Of Twisted Arm and Bended Knee - Cornflower_Blue, orkestrations - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Izuku’s hands ache. When he moves them too fast, too sudden, a sharp pain shoots through them. Every time that happens, Recovery Girl’s ultimatum from the day before echoes through his head: I won’t keep healing these self-inflicted injuries.

It’s okay, though: he won’t need her to keep healing him. With the internship week coming up, whoever he interns with should be able to help him figure it out. And even if they don’t, then he’ll just need to … figure it out himself. And he can do that!

He can absolutely do that. Even if he’s had One For All since February and hasn’t been able to figure out how to use it without hurting himself in that entire time.

(He’s had it for three whole months and still hasn’t figured it out.)

“Izuku? Are you okay?”

He looks up to see his mother leaning towards him, her brow furrowed and eyes wide as she looks at him.

They’re sitting together on a train, heading into UA despite classes being cancelled for two days after the Sports Festival. The school had called his mother this morning, apologizing for the short notice and asking if they could come in for a meeting. Considering her flexible work schedule as a freelance programmer, she agreed. Whatever UA wants to meet about on a day off must be important.

“I’m fine,” he replies, smiling. “Just thinking about the internship week!”

“Okay.” She leans back into her seat.

They’re quiet for the rest of the train ride in, Izuku pulling out his phone to scroll through social media to occupy his time. At one point, Uraraka sends him a meme, and he responds in kind.

Hearing from Uraraka reminds him: he hasn’t heard from Iida since his friend had to leave the Sports Festival so suddenly. That’s not unusual, but Izuku had sent Iida a text asking him why he had to leave and sending his condolences for the forfeit, and it is unusual that Iida hasn’t responded to that. His friend normally replies to texts as soon as possible. When Izuku and Uraraka had asked him why he did that, he had told them that he does that out of respect for their time.

And ‘disrespectful behavior’ and ‘Iida Tenya’ are not phrases that belong together.

When they arrive at UA, Izuku sets his worry aside. This meeting must be important, and he doesn’t want to be distracted while they’re attending it. Getting called out for spacing out in class is one thing—being called out for spacing out in a meeting in front of his mother?

He might just die if that happens.

Together, he and his mother walk up to UA’s front gate. While Izuku’s ID card will let him in without tripping any alarms, his mother needs to stop by the intercom and have the security guard clear her for entrance. This process only takes a minute, and then they’re heading into the main building, walking side-by-side.

His mother, who hasn’t yet seen the school, looks around with wide eyes at everything around them. Izuku can remember looking around like that for his first day (his first month , really). Being in the halls of UA is a lot. Knowing that he’s walking the same halls that heroes like All Might and Best Jeanist walked leaves him reeling with a sense of breathless awe every time he thinks about it.

They arrive at the specified meeting room on the third floor. Izuku opens the door, holding it for his mother, before following her in.

Aizawa is already there, sitting at the table with paperwork in front of them.

“Mrs. Midoriya. Midoriya. Thank you for coming,” he says as they enter and sit down across from him.

“Of course,” Izuku’s mother replies. “You mentioned over the phone that this meeting was to discuss Izuku’s future at UA. What did you mean by that?”

Aizawa takes a deep breath, glancing between Izuku and his mother. “This … was not an easy decision to make, and effective immediately, he is being transferred into Class 1-C of the General Education Department. This decision was made with his own safety in mind. We cannot, in good conscience, continue to allow a child to maim himself to meet the rigors of the Hero Course.”

Wait.

What?

“You can’t !” Izuku doesn’t realize he’s speaking until the words are already out of his mouth. “Just—the internships are next week, right? Just, just give me until then, give me until the end of the internships, and, and, and, and I promise , I’ll have it under control, I won’t keep hurting myself with it. If I come back from the internships and I, and I still can’t use it without hurting myself, then you can expel me, but please , please just let me— please .”

“Izuku.” His mother puts her hand on his wrist. “Please sit back down.”

Her voice is whisper-soft, ringing in the quiet after his plea.

When did he stand up?

“The paperwork is already drawn up.” Aizawa pushes the papers across the table. “And I’m not changing my mind.”

Izuku falls back into his seat, hands landing lax in his lap.

Of course.

Of course, there was no way that Aizawa, a teacher , would listen to him, especially not when he’s already proven that he can’t do what he needs to do. In what world would he be given the two weeks he needed?

Being let into UA is already so, so, so much more than he ever dreamt of.

“There is the possibility that, in the future, should you be able to prove that you have improved and deserve to return to the Hero Course, you may be transferred back into 1-A.”

Yeah, right. He’ll believe it when he sees it. How is he supposed to gain control of One For All when he can’t even use it? He can’t use it at school—only hero students have that luxury. He can’t use it at home—it’s powerful enough to shatter icebergs with a single finger flick (not to mention his own bones ). He can’t use it anywhere else—public quirk use laws are a thing that exists (and never, never before has he hated them so much).

Aizawa continues speaking, but Izuku doesn’t hear a word he says. A high-pitched ringing fills the room, but, no, that’s only in his head. His mother says something in reply to Aizawa. Paperwork gets signed.

Someone puts their hand on his shoulder.

He twitches, head whipping around to see his mother peering back at him with wide eyes. She begins speaking.

His ears don’t start working right until partway through.

“... Let’s go home,” she finishes, patting his shoulder.

Home.

Sure.

They stand, and head towards the door.

“Midoriya.” Aizawa’s voice stops them.

Izuku turns and catches sight of Aizawa’s blank stare.

“Work hard,” Aizawa says, “and I’ll see you back in my class this fall.”

Yeah.

Sure.

Izuku nods, once, just because a response is expected.

His mother leads him out of the room.

The train ride home, and the rest of the afternoon, pass without him taking note of them. At some point, he begins crying.

At another point, he curls up on his bed and takes a nap. Not intentionally—it’s just like his first two years of middle school, when he would fall asleep just to avoid thinking about his life.

His mom knocks on his bedroom door, tells him that dinner will be ready in a few minutes.

His voice is hoarse as he replies that he’ll be there soon.

He does not leave his room.

Instead, later, his mom knocks on his door again.

“Izuku, I’m coming in,” she says. She waits, just long enough that it gives Izuku time to sit up and attempt to dry his eyes on his hoodie sleeve.

The door opens, and she steps through, carrying a bowl and a pair of chopsticks. She gently picks up some of his papers and a notebook to clear a space where she sets down the bowl and chopsticks. The notebook and papers go, stacked, on top of one of his textbooks.

With that done, she turns towards Izuku, and the gentle expression on her face breaks his heart.

“Hey, mom,” he rasps.

“Oh, Izuku,” she sighs, walking across the room and sitting down next to him on his bed. She first puts her hand on his shoulder, then removes it and wraps her arm around both his shoulders and pulls him close. He leans into her as her other arm comes up around him, and buries his face in her shoulder as the tears come back with a vengeance.

She murmurs soothing words to him, phrases he can’t make out and can’t understand, as his shoulders shake. She runs a hand up and down his back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

He cries until he swears he has cried every tear he has left to cry. As the sobs subside, his mom begins to speak more seriously.

“It’ll be okay, alright?” she says, her hand still running up and down his back. “I’ll …. I’ll be more pushy with the quirk counselors, I’ll get you in somewhere you can practice with it, safely, we’ll figure this out, okay?”

“There’s no way he’ll actually let me back into the hero course,” Izuku mutters, shaking his head.

“He said he would.” The hand that hasn’t been moving lifts, briefly, from his back before she places it down on his head, threading her fingers through his hair.

Despite the weight of her hand, he still shakes his head. “Just because he said that doesn’t mean he will .”

“I know you don’t … have a lot of faith in adults.” His mom squeezes him tighter, pressing her cheek against the crown of his head. “But I don’t think he’s lying.”

“He almost expelled me on the first day because of my quirk.” His words are muffled in her shoulder, but he knows she understands by the way she freezes.

“He— You didn’t tell me about that.”

Izuku shrugs. “Didn’t think it mattered.” He’s lucky Aizawa didn’t expel him sooner. He was in the hero course on borrowed time from day one. If only he hadn’t been so useless, such an idiot …. For all that he claims to be good at quirk analysis, he really f*cked up when it came to figuring out One For All.

His mom sighs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Please, make sure you eat,” she says, before releasing him from her embrace and standing up. “We’ll talk more about this in the morning, figure out where to go from here. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nods, and she leaves his room.

They do not, in fact, talk more in the morning.

A client calls his mom and she spends the entire morning on the phone with them, arguing back and forth as they propose ridiculous ideas for their website and she does her best to whittle them back down to a manageable level. The afternoon is taken up by her scrambling to make up for the time that one client took, a mad rush to meet deadlines for other clients.

She does, at one point, leave to swap out Izuku’s hero course uniform for the general education one, leaving him alone at home. He finds himself wandering aimlessly around the apartment, thoughts chasing them around and around inside his head.

He’s a failure. He’s worthless, he’s such an idiot, he should have figured out control over One For All sooner. There’s no way he’s ever making it back into the hero course, not with Aizawa having it out for him from day one. Yeah, his teacher had protected him at the USJ, but he had jumped into the fight to protect all the students, not just Izuku. Izuku should have known better than to let that pull him into a false sense of security: teachers are never on his side.

And the real, cardinal sin in all this: he’s wasted All Might’s time. Somehow, he must have tricked All Might into thinking he could be a good hero.

What a joke .

When he hears his mom unlocking the front door, he retreats to his bedroom, to lay back down on his bed and keep chasing those thoughts around.

[Direct Messages between Midoriya Izuku and Yagi Toshinori]

MI

Do you have some time this evening to talk?

YT

I apologize, I’m busy with meetings! We can meet during your lunch period tomorrow?

MI

Yeah that works I’ll see you then

So, no, Izuku and his mother do not have that promised conversation.

When he wakes up the next morning, he dresses robotically, pulling the general education uniform on and trying not to look at it. It’s just a visual representation of his failure, a neon sign calling out to everyone who knew him that he had fallen from grace.

(Had he ever even had any in the first place?)

He stuffs his school supplies into his backpack, not caring for order. His mom makes him breakfast, and he tries to eat it, he really does, but he ends up spending more time picking at it than eating it.

She hugs him before sending him out the door, pulling him in close and pressing another kiss to his temple.

“I’ll see you after school,” she murmurs. “Try to have a good day?”

“I’ll try,” he agrees, even though he knows he will not.

The train ride to school, he keeps his head down and hopes no one notices him.

Those hopes are dashed as the train approaches UA’s station.

“Hey, isn’t that the Midoriya kid from the Sports Festival?”

Izuku tucks his chin close to his chest and bites his lip until it hurts.

“No, that’s one of the general education uniforms. Midoriya was in the hero course.”

For some reason, being dismissed carves a hole into his chest, even though being noticed filled him with fear.

Reaching UA, he continues to keep his head down, praying to any deity that will listen that no one from his class, no one from the hero course at all, sees him, recognizes him.

The universe must be going easy on him today, because he makes it to his new classroom without running into anyone he knows.

Big, bold, and red, just like the hero course doors, the door to Class 1-C’s room stares down at him.

Izuku stares back, and prepares himself to enter.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

News Weekly Acclaimed: From Hero Hopeful Hopeful No More?

The U.A. Sports Festival is always a spectacle to behold where hero hopefuls strive to leave a lasting impression on the watching audience. And this year, all eyes were focused on the first years after several of them became the target for some nefarious villain activity earlier this year.

Among those bright eyed and bushy tailed first years was one Midoriya Izuku.

No one knew what to expect when Midoriya stepped out onto the field, and the first year made an impressive showing during the first two rounds of the festival with minimal usage of his quirk. So when Midoriya stepped up into the ring for the one on one battles, everyone was waiting with bated breath to see what he would pull out of his pocket.

But no one was expecting Midoriya to put on a disturbing display of power and lack of self preservation as he faced off against son of the #2 Hero, Todoroki Shouto.

“It was terrifying.” One Hero who attended the festival is quoted as saying, “I wouldn’t take him on, recklessness like that in the field will get you killed on the first day.”

And someone at U.A. must agree with the hero. Because over the weekend, sources told Weekly Acclaimed that Midoriya was removed from the Hero Course and enrolled in the General Education program instead.

No word yet as to how Midoriya is taking the news, but it is unlikely that he will be allowed back into the U.A. Heroics Course with how difficult it is to get into in the first place. And given Midoriya’s brazen showing at the Sports Festival, it seems unlikely that any other Heroics courses are going to be chomping at the bit to scoop up the first year either.

It looks like at least one heroic hopeful will have to find a new career to pursue.

Izuku can feel the glares of all his new classmates boring into him, can feel the heat of them almost burning his skin.

He wasn’t totally sure what he was expecting, but this almost feels worse than middle school. At least in middle school he was mostly ignored by his classmates unless Kacchan took an issue with him that day and drew his classmate’s attention. Here, everyone seems to know exactly who he is. And they all seem to dislike him on principle.

Midnight is his only teacher he recognizes on sight. And he does his best to avoid her gaze after the first time he meets it and sees nothing there but pity. The other teachers in General Education give him a type of whiplash he wasn’t expecting, either ignoring him completely in favor of the other students in the class, or demanding he answer every question. But the quiet animosity he can feel in their looks is all too familiar.

Izuku’s right back where he started from. And this time, he’s proven that this is where he belongs, that being a hero was always meant to be a dream just out of his reach. Available to everyone else, but never a quirkless nobody like him.

Izuku’s the only one who hears it the first time his stomach grumbles, but by the second or third rumble he’s getting nasty side-eyes from the other kids around him as he sinks lower into his seat, cheeks coloring. The time for his usual lunch passes with the glares of his classmates getting stronger and stronger each time his stomach makes a noise.

Finally, the bell rings, releasing them for lunch. Most of the other students gather their things right away and move quickly through the door. But a small contingent of them surround his desk, their glares pinning him in place.

“You might think you’re going to be the big man here cause you were a Hero Course student. But you’re Gen Ed now, a more deserving person is in your spot, and we’re not going to let you walk all over us because you managed to beat up some stupid robots better than the rest of us before you flunked out for having the quirk control of a toddler,” one of them says, a girl with a shock of almost translucent white hair that seems to be giving off a very faint glow. Izuku has no idea how to respond to the statement, has no idea what he could say to convince them that he’s never wanted to throw his weight around, even when he was a Hero Course student. And even if he could come up with something to say, his tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of his mouth and there is something rock hard lodged in the back of his throat.

The group around his desk starts to move away and he feels something unwind in him for each person that peels away from him. Until there’s only one person left, a boy with snake eyes and a forked tongue that flicks out to taste the air as he steps up to Izuku’s desk.

“You made the papers, congratulations.” The boy’s voice is as cold as ice as he throws a paper magazine onto Izuku’s desk before walking away. Izuku sees the headline that the boy was referring to and immediately cringes backwards into his chair, physically recoiling.

He spends the next few seconds getting his breathing back under control. The magazine ends up in the trash as Izuku makes his way out of the room. His knees feel like jelly as he moves. But All Might is expecting him, and Izuku can’t leave the hero waiting, not when there are such important things to discuss.

The door to their regular meeting room is slightly cracked as Izuku walks up to it and he can feel his palms begin to sweat. All Might is in there, All Might is waiting for him and Izuku is scared. Scared to come face to face with how disappointed his hero is in him, scared to see the physical proof written all over All Might’s face of how very badly Izuku’s failed him.

Izuku takes a deep breath, doing his best to ground himself in the moment. And then he pushes the door open.

“My boy,” All Might practically jumps to his feet as Izuku walks in. Part of Izuku wants to break down as soon as he sees the hero, apologize for everything and beg for All Might to give him another chance to prove he’s worthy of One For All even though he’s done nothing to earn it.

But Izuku can’t break down, he has a job to do, a responsibility.

“Hey All Might, thanks for agreeing to meet me,” Izuku says. All Might steps forwards, his hand lifting from his side as if he intends to clasp Izuku on the shoulder like he has so many times before.

But his hand stalls halfway out before dropping back down to his side. Izuku feels something hollow out his stomach as he watches the movement.

“Of course my boy, sit down, sit down,” All Might gestures towards the seat Izuku normally sits in, moving to sit back down in his own seat.

Izuku plasters on a smile, forcing his limbs to work as he woodenly moves into his seat, accepting the glass of tea All Might pushes into his hands on autopilot, the warmth of it seeping into hands that feel cold as he stares into the depth of the dark liquid.

“I am sorry about the expulsion, my boy,” All Might says after a few beats of silence. Izuku can feel All Might’s eyes on him, can feel in the air how badly he wants Izuku to look up. But Izuku keeps his gaze focused on the cup in his hands and the tea that is gently sloshing against the sides because if he looks at All Might now he won’t have the strength to do what he needs to do. “I tried to talk Aizawa out of it, I tried to make your case for you, my boy. But he just, he wouldn’t listen to me. Told me that my blatant favoritism was showing and that he wasn’t going to let a kid destroy themself just because I liked them better than all the others.”

Izuku feels his shoulders hunch further in on himself he cracks open his mouth and manages to whisper out a scratchy, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my boy. No, no. You have nothing to be sorry about,” All Might says. A warm weight settles on Izuku’s shoulder and he should shrug All Might’s hand off, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Can’t make himself give up this one last comforting touch before he loses All Might altogether. He takes a sip of his tea, mindful of how hot it is to distract him from the swirling mess of emotions and thoughts in his head and in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing, my boy. I failed you as a teacher. I should have taught you how to properly use One For All faster so you wouldn't have needed to destroy yourself every time you used it.”

Izuku’s shaking his head before All Might has finished his thought, resolutely setting his tea cup back on the table and finally meeting the hero’s eyes head on.

“You were, the best teacher,” Izuku gasps as he desperately tries to hold back the tears he can feel sliding down his throat. “You gave me, a chance. And I blew it. I ruined my chance.”

And then he has to look down again because if he looks at All Might any longer, sees the hero’s gaunt face and drawn expression for longer than he already has while he knows he has wasted so much of All Might’s precious time already in the search for a proper successor, he won’t be able to control himself. And control is what he needs most of at this moment.

So he takes another deep breath, beats back the building tears, collects all his emotions in the center of his chest, and then locks them up tightly where they can’t hurt him until he lets them out again. If he lets them out again.

“My boy, you have not ruined anything. I’ll get better, I promise I will. I will teach you how to properly use One For All and then I will help you get back into the hero course. This expulsion doesn’t have to change anything, it’s just a small hiccup is all. You are still my successor and I am still proud of you.” All Might says. And his voice is warm and reassuring as he gently squeezes Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku wishes he could believe him.

But instead of saying anything, he reaches out and picks up the tea cup All Might had put down and then never picked back up, raising it to his lips and taking a small sip of the rapidly cooling liquid.

“You are a hero, my boy. Through and through. I know it already, we just have to work a bit to make sure that everyone else can see it too. Alright?” All Might’s voice is soothing.

Izuku can’t look the hero in the eyes as he lies and softly says, “Alright.”

All Might gives Izuku’s shoulder one last squeeze before he removes his hand and picks up Izuku’s original tea cup.

Izuku watches the tea cup, his breath shallow in his lungs as All Might lifts it to his lips. And, when All Might takes a sip, Izuku closes his eyes and focuses as hard as he can on One For All, on the wellspring of power and energy that constantly buzzes at the center of his being.

Then he imagines it flowing down and out of his body, back to its rightful owner.

For a moment, Izuku’s not sure if he’s done it correctly, is concerned that he might’ve messed it up. And then he feels something inside One For All lurch sharply, almost painfully inside him.

He has no idea how long the complete transfer will take. When he got it, it had taken a few hours for the quirk to kick in. But All Might had it for decades before handing it over to Izuku, while Izuku only had it for a handful of months. So maybe it’ll be a quicker transition this time.

Either way, Izuku has no intentions of being around All Might when the Hero finds out. It would be too painful to see the quickly hidden relief on the tero’s face as he realizes that he doesn’t have to ask Izuku to give One For All back.

So Izuku drains the rest of the cup he’s holding quickly and sets it back down on the table with hands that shake just slightly enough to be visible.

“I should go eat lunch with my classmates,” Izuku says, reciting the line he’d practiced the whole way to the meeting room, “I don’t know any of them yet and I should make an effort to know them, like I did with my 1-A classmates.”

“Very well then my boy, I will let you go.” All Might stands up with Izuku and walks him to the door.

Izuku’s not sure how he manages to make it there with the way it feels like he’s floating three inches above his head. But he does.

“I promise I will not fail you again, my boy,” All Might says just as Izuku is about to round the corner.

Everything inside Izuku freezes and for a second he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to move. He feels so brittle.

Still, he manages to turn his head and give All Might a soft little nod, one last lie to burn the bridge completely.

Then he’s gone, moving away from the meeting room and All Might and the last connections to his crushed dream as fast as he possibly can. Izuku throws himself down hallways and whips around corners just desperate to get away.

He is so desperate that he practically runs into Aizawa-sensei as he takes a corner at top speed, only managing to prevent himself from hitting the underground hero thanks to years of avoiding extended feet and elbows in hallways.

“Hello Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei is staring at him, his face cold and impassive. And there is something raw and tender deep inside that Izuku hadn’t realized was there until just now that begins to pulse painfully at the sight.

“I was hoping I would run into you at some point today. I wanted to ask you how you’re settling into your new classes.” The breath in Izuku’s lungs is tight and hot as he tries not to pant. His eyes begin to prickle in the corners, and Aizawa-sensei just continues to stare at him, as if expecting a response when Izuku can barely manage to keep himself grounded in the moment.

An emotion crosses Aizawa-sensei’s face, a flicker of movement in his eyes and then it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared and Aizawa-sensei steps forwards, further into Izuku’s bubble. Part of him wants to lean away or step back, but he knows that would be rude. So he locks his knees and forces himself to stay still.

“Look, Midoriya. I know you weren’t happy with my decision the other day,” Aizawa-sensei extends his hand to reach out for Izuku, “But I hope that you’ll see-”

Izuku doesn’t mean to. There is a buzzing in his brain that is getting louder with each passing second and his breath is coming faster and faster with each passing second and he doesn’t mean to. But when Aizawa-sensei reaches out to Izuku, Izuku flinches away without thinking.

They freeze in the hallways for a second that stretches out into eternity as Izuku realizes what he’s just done. Aizawa-sensei said that Izuku could try and work his way back into the hero course and Izuku’s always known that was a lie from the moment it was said. But now he just handed Aizawa-sensei a perfectly gift wrapped reason to keep Izuku out.

“Thank you for your concern,” Izuku manages to get out in a single breath before he pivots on the heel of his foot and turns back around the corner he came from.

He spends the rest of his lunch period tucked away in some corner, convincing himself that his chest is not being crushed and that his heart is not being broken. He did the right thing. He did what needed to be done. And he’s known from the moment Aizawa-sensei told him that he was expelled that getting back into the Hero Course was a lost cause.

His classes after lunch pass in a haze as well, and when the final bell rings for General Education, it takes a moment for Izuku to realize what is going on as the rest of his classmates stand up and start to collect their things before moving out the door. But his brain catches up soon enough and he realizes that he doesn’t have a heroics course at the end of the day anymore.

Part of him is relieved to have avoided another possible interrogation from his old classmates without him having to actively avoid them. But knowing that even if he did still have One For All, he is too far behind them now to ever possibly think about catching up hollows out something in his chest, one last bit of him that was still clinging to the possibility of a maybe.

Leaving U.A.’s campus feels like trading a crushing weight on his chest for a hand pressed against his throat. Everywhere he walks, it feels like there are eyes following him, whispers judging him. Like everyone knows who he is and just how badly he’s failed.

It gets so bad, Izuku ducks down a quiet side street hoping to shake the feeling as he leans up against one of the buildings to gather himself.

He doesn’t notice the sound of footsteps coming up behind him. He doesn’t notice the shadow of another figure melding with his. He doesn’t notice the smell of anti-bacterial spray in the air.

He does notice the hand that wraps around his throat as someone leans into his space and says, “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Izuku freezes. The grip on his throat is loose. He could easily shake it off, but something stops him. Memories of the USJ flash through his mind, moments where Shigaraki’s touch ate away at clothing and flesh alike.

He swallows, his throat pressing against the palm of the hand for a split second.

“A UA student,” the stranger continues. Not Shigaraki, can’t be Shigaraki, the voice is too smooth, too measured, too even. It lacks the rasp, the mania, the cracks around the edges. “And not just any UA student, either. I find myself curious about why the school would remove such an obvious powerhouse from the Hero Course. Care to enlighten me?”

“N-not particularly, no.” Izuku’s voice comes out high and reedy, half-strangled even though the stranger applies no pressure to his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you l-let go of me.”

There’s no way this man can miss how Izuku’s heart hammers in his chest, how his pulse flutters in his throat like the frantic wing beats of a panicking bird.

The man chuckles. “Sure, sure.” He removes his hand from Izuku’s throat and slings his arm across Izuku’s shoulders: a familiar gesture that makes his skin crawl. “So …. What did you do that was so bad UA kicked you out of the hero course?”

Years of stranger danger lessons kick into gear in Izuku’s head. “That’s not any of your business,” he replies, shoving the man away and taking a few quick steps down the road.

“Now, that’s rude.” The man sounds so disappointed.

Izuku turns his head, catches a glimpse of him over his shoulder. Tall, slender, a ruff of purple feathers and a beaked mask …. Is this a villain?

With long strides, the man catches up to him fast. Izuku tenses, about to take off running down the street—even without One For All, he’s fast, he might be able to outrun this man—but before he can get going, that hand returns to his throat, wrapping around it and giving the gentlest of squeezes.

Izuku freezes, again, limbs rigid and fear trickling down his spine. Ice runs through his veins instead of blood.

“I just want to have a conversation. Don’t worry, I don’t want to hurt you—unless you make me. You must be feeling pretty down after being kicked out of the Hero Course, huh?”

Absently, Izuku nods. His conscious mind whirls away, analyzing the situation and taking stock of his options. He doesn’t know this man’s quirk. He doesn’t know why this man is talking to him.

There are guesses he can make: the man likely has a touch-based quirk, given the hand on his neck. If Izuku can move fast enough, startle the man, he might be able to escape before the man activates his quirk. He can run out to one of the main streets, where having eyewitnesses around may-should-likely will act as a deterrent to his … stalker.

“The truth is, I’m approaching you because I have an offer for you to consider. UA made a mistake, letting you go like they have. I saw your performance in the Sports Festival. With just a bit of tempering, the right kind of quirk training …. But obviously, UA must not see that. How shortsighted of them. You shouldn’t kick someone to the curb just because they make a mistake or they’re a little slow on the uptake. You teach them. You explain what they’re doing wrong, and you help them improve. That’s what I’m offering you: teaching. Improvement. I know a few people with quirks like yours, who have struggled like you are. They could teach you a thing or two. What do you think?”

Izuku swallows, choking down the ball of fear and desire in his throat. Maybe he was too hasty—

No. No, he made the right decision, giving One For All back to All Might. But if he still had it ….

Despite the hand around his throat, the offer dangled in front of him smells so sweet.

Izuku just doesn’t have a quirk, anymore.

“I-I’m sorry, I, I’ll have to decline.” His voice shakes. He peers up at the man from the corner of his eye. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s not for me.”

“Are you sure?” The man raises one thin, crooked eyebrow. “I could just introduce you to one of them. Let the two of you get to know each other. A bit of a … low-pressure meet-and-greet.”

Holding him by the throat isn’t exactly giving him the impression that it’s low-pressure, but okay. “I’m sure.”

The man sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. Here it is: the chance to get away. Izuku grabs the man’s arm, ripping his hand off his throat, and takes off running down the street. His feet a drumbeat on the pavement, his breath a counterpoint in the air—

A shift, a crack, the ground disappears beneath Izuku’s feet.

A rush, a groan, something slams into Izuku’s thigh, jerking a cry from his mouth.

The noises repeat, and Izuku crashes into the road, tumbling to a stop. His elbows ache where they slammed into the ground, he has road rash on his hands, his leg—

His leg burns. He looks down.

Blood spurts out of a hole in his inner thigh. Each gush is synced up to his heartbeat—oh, sh*t, the villain hit an artery. Izuku scrambles to apply pressure, covering the injury with his hands. His own blood is hot and sticky, getting under his nails and soaking into his clothes as he leans all his upper body weight into his hands.

The man’s shoes scuff the ground as he steps forward. “Sorry about that.” His voice maintains the even, measured quality of earlier, even as he watches Izuku bleed out in front of him. “You’re just simply too valuable for me to let you say no.”

If Izuku is too valuable, then why did the villain go for a killing strike?

Scratch that, he can’t worry about that right now, the only thing to worry about is getting away .

And then he can worry about the bleeding out problem.

His phone sits heavy in his pocket, but he can’t waste time pulling it out now. Instead, he lifts his right hand, ignoring the ache that lingers in his bones, and tucks one finger back.

Like All Might, he should retain some embers of One For All. All Might kept going for months , even after passing the quirk on to Izuku, and while Izuku likely doesn’t have as much of a stockpile as All Might did, he still has something .

Please let it be enough to get him out of this.

He summons the remnants of power and flicks his finger.

The pain is expected, immediate, easy to ignore after his actions against Todoroki. The villain’s reaction time is just as quick as Todoroki’s, the man dropping into a crouch and creating a barrier of asphalt which is blown apart by Izuku’s smash.

Izuku doesn’t stick around to watch—he can’t run, with his left leg punctured how it is, so he crouches with all his weight on his right leg and channels One For All into it as his hail Mary.

He leaps, flying down the road—

A barrier.

He slams into it shoulder-first and tumbles to the ground. The impact jars his now-broken leg.

“You may be powerful, but all I have to do is outlast you,” the man says, striding forwards. “That shouldn’t be too difficult, considering you’re bleeding out, as well.”

Izuku, caught between the villain at his front and a wall at his back, grits his teeth, curls his fingers into a fist, and turns to smash his knuckles into the wall behind him.

His third smash and already One For All is declining in him. It no longer hosts the same electric heat, no longer crashes through him with all the rage of a thunderstorm.

It still does what he needs it to, breaking apart the wall—

Which instantly vanishes and re-forms.

Right arm and leg both shattered, left leg punctured, the wall once more behind him, Izuku grits his teeth and raises both arms. He pulls back his index and middle fingers on each hand, summoning the dregs of One For All and aiming at the villain. He creates his barriers which are then blown apart by Izuku’s smash—if he fires enough in a row at the man, then one will blow past the shattered asphalt and hit him.

And if nothing else, maybe he can make enough commotion to draw hero attention.

Index, middle, index, middle, right hand, left hand, he fires in quick succession.

Rather than making one wall in defense, the man makes a forest of spikes. Some shatter and fall apart, but the man makes more, a seemingly endless line of defense against Izuku’s so-very-finite power.

“Curious,” the man murmurs, just loud enough for Izuku to hear. “Your attacks are weakening—could it be the blood loss? Are you starting to feel its effects?”

Izuku is . His head spins and aches, and even if he could get to his feet, he wouldn’t be able to stay on them.

But the man’s hypothesis is wrong. Izuku’s attacks aren’t getting weaker because of blood loss.

They’re getting weaker because he’s returning, inevitably, to his basal quirkless state.

Returning to how he belongs .

Even though he knows, now, that he was never meant to be anything more than a quirkless nobody, he still wishes, desperately, that he had waited another day or two before giving One For All back to All Might. Maybe he would have been able to leap away, bash through the wall, shatter his fingers over and over again without worrying about burning through the last of its echoes.

His vision swimming, Izuku raises his left hand again as the villain approaches. He readies the power, but doesn’t unleash it.

There’s no way any heroes in the area have somehow missed this fight. There’s no use in Izuku using any more power now; he’s dying, anyways.

“I’m sorry to have cornered you so,” the villain murmurs, crouching down in front of Izuku.

Izuku glares up at him, struggling to catch his breath.

The villain’s gold eyes bore into Izuku, an icy intensity that reminds him of Todoroki. “Don’t worry—I never break what I can’t fix.”

He lays a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, the same place, the same way All Might had touched him just hours beforehand. He squeezes, the same way All Might had—

Izuku doesn’t even get a chance to scream. It is so total, so complete, his entire vision becomes white. Tearing, pulling, burning—

Blackness.

And then light.

He gasps, scrabbling for purchase against the ground, grasping for a handful of the villain’s clothes, something, anything, to ground him from the nothing, from the everything—

He doesn’t hurt.

His entire body, every bone, every muscle fiber, every cell, screams in protest.

But his injuries are gone.

His injuries are gone so completely that his hand no longer aches. He catches a glimpse of it, and the fine white scars leftover from his surgery are no longer there. His fingers are once again straight, his skin smooth and unblemished.

“Oh, now that’s interesting,” the man purrs. “Tell me …. What’s someone like you doing with an extra toe joint?”

Oh, no, no, no no no, oh no how did he find out—

But he’s quirkless, returning that way, he gave back One For All. He is quirkless, it’s not like that’s a secret, but …. But the man thinks he’s quirked.

The whole world thinks he’s quirked.

Maybe, in retrospect, giving One For All back to All Might was incredibly short-sighted of him. Not like that matters, now, with the villain leaning over him and Izuku so disoriented from blood loss and whatever that man’s quirk is (just because his quirk closed the hole doesn’t mean it put the blood back in ) that he barely struggles as he’s picked up.

“I forgot to introduce myself. How rude of me.” The man’s chest rumbles against Izuku’s side. “Call me Overhaul. I think you’re going to be very important to me, Izuku.”

Izuku’s vision blurs, but he has enough energy to shudder before he passes out.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Inko can feel the muscles in her back aching from the way she’s been holding herself on the couch for the past few minutes. The joints in her fingers ache with how tightly she’s clenching them together.

She knows she’s not quite pulling off the casual look she was going for when she first sat down. But it’s been several long minutes past when she’d been expecting Izuku to walk in the door, and still she can’t hear him walking down the hallway towards their door. Can’t hear the excited almost skip that his footsteps had become this past year. Can’t hear the plodding tread that it had been before that either.

But this wouldn’t be the first time Izuku was late home from school, in fact it had become almost commonplace recently for him to be a few minutes late, too caught up with his friends to realize exactly what time it was or when the trains left the station. She shouldn’t worry all that much, she knows Izuku will be home soon and then she can have the conversation with him she’d intended to have days ago, the conversation they should have had days ago.

Inko checks the time on her phone again, half hoping that she’ll see a new text from Izuku telling her that he’ll be home soon. But as the screen flashes the time at her, no new text messages appear. It’s just as empty as it was the last time she checked.

She stands up suddenly, her phone clenched in her fist as she starts to pace their apartment, nervous energy making it impossible for her to sit still. She’s just being ridiculous, Izuku will be home soon. She knows he will. She’s just being ridiculous and worrying for no reason.

Maybe there was a villain fight. Izuku loves them, loves to get caught up in the way the heroes display their quirks, the innovative ways they used them. Maybe he just got caught up in another one, too distracted to realize that he’d been expected home. She just needs to remind him.

[Direct Messages between Midoriya Inko and Midoriya Izuku]

MI

Izuku, sweetheart. There are still some things we need to go over together when you get home.

MI

Izuku, please let me know when you’ll be home.

MI

Izuku. I really need to talk to you. Please come home.

Inko waits a few moments after she sends the text, staring at her string of unanswered texts, hoping that this will be the one that her son responds to. And when a text doesn’t come in right away, Inko turns her phone off to stare listlessly at the small stack of documents that are neatly compiled, waiting for Izuku to walk through the door so they can sit down and discuss them.

And she knows that sitting down and discussing the plan his teacher had laid out to her for helping Izuku get his quirk under control before allowing him back into the Hero Course is the right thing to do. She knows that it’ll give Izuku the skip in his step back and bring the light back to his eyes. But a part of her, the part that remembers how hurt he’d looked on the small screen of her television, how tenderly he’d held himself that night as she carefully wrapped her arms around him, wants to shuffle them away, convince Izuku that he can be a hero in other ways. She knows she can’t, can’t take Izuku’s dream away from him without giving him the chance to pursue it, but she’s so very tempted.

Inko checks her phone again, hoping for a text from Izuku. But still nothing.

He must have gotten caught up watching a villain fight. That’s why he’s so late.

But what if he’d rushed in to help the heroes? What if he was convinced that intervening in a fight was the way to convince his teacher to let him back into the Hero Course? What if he’s hurt?

Inko unlocks her phone again, her hands shaking just slightly as she opens up her internet tab. She does a quick search for villain fights in the area, but the only results she gets are from the previous few days. And still, no message from Izuku populates as she scrolls quickly through the results.

She moves swiftly across the apartment to her laptop and powers it up while she refreshes the results for her search. Something new populates as she signs on, but when she clicks the link it’s not a major fight with heroes and villains, just some loud noises and a bit of purported property destruction that disappeared when the person alerting the police to the incident tried to take a picture of it. Just some people breaking local quirk laws, nothing that Izuku would be attracted to.

The contact information for U.A. is at the top of the forms she still has pulled up from the weekend when she confirmed Izuku’s transfer. Inko stares at the number for a moment, convinced that she’s just being ridiculous and that Izuku’ll walk through the door at any minute and all her worry will have been for absolutely nothing at all.

But he doesn’t, and her phone remains silent, and Inko can’t help but remember how empty Izuku had looked this past weekend, how hauntingly familiar that emptiness had once been and how very relieved she had been when it had disappeared.

Inko enters the number and hits call before she can overthink it any more, her heart pounding in her chest. She needs to know where Izuku is.

The phone rings three agonizingly long times before someone picks up the other line and a woman’s voice says, “Hello, how may I be of assistance today?”

“My, my son, Midoriya Izuku-” Inko starts, her breath stuttering in her lungs.

“Is he a prospective student or already a member of our student body?” The woman asks.

“He’s already a student,” Inko answers, something settling in the gut of her stomach.

“Alright, give me a moment to pull up his profile.” Inko looks at the door, tracing it’s outline with her eyes as the woman falls silent.

“Okay, here he is, Midoriya Izuku. What were you hoping to learn today?” The woman asks and Inko takes the best steadying breath she can at the moment.

“He hasn’t come home yet,” Inko starts, finally voicing her concern. And it feels like a stone in the pit of her stomach settling in, as if saying it has made it more real. Izuku’s not come home yet and she’s concerned what sort of situation he might’ve found himself in. She’s concerned about what he might have done.

“Hmm, it looks like our records state that he left our campus a few minutes after his final class let out for the day,” The woman says. Inko feels like something has just punched her in the side. Izuku left school, and he still hasn’t come home yet.

She waits for the woman to follow up with something else, but the line is silent.

“Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?” Inko asks, a tinge of desperation coloring her voice as she clutches at her phone.

“I’m very sorry, all I can tell you is that he scanned out of our facilities.”

“Can I talk to his teacher? One of the other heroes?”

“I’m sorry, after our students leave our facilities, they are legally no longer our responsibility. And our teachers are very busy right now with their other classes.”

“That’s it, that’s all you can tell me? He’s my child!” Inko cries out. She can feel the tears building behind her eyes.

“I am very sorry ma’am, but maybe he’s out with his friends and just forgot to tell you,” the woman says. And there’s sympathy in her voice, Inko can hear it. But Izuku isn’t home yet. She has no idea where her son is.

“That’s all, you have no idea where my son is and all you can tell me is that maybe he’s out with his friends? That he’s legally not your responsibility?” Inko’s voice is shriller now as a sob works its way up from her chest into her throat.

“If you really believe something might have happened to your son, I would recommend reaching out to the police, they’ll be able to help out better than we can.”

“You’re a school for heroes, you employ the number one, you’re supposed to help people.” Inko’s practically sobbing now, but she can’t stop herself. Her whole world feels like it’s crumbling around her at the edges because Izuku has not come home yet and no one has any idea where he might be at and there haven’t been any villain attacks reported recently in the area but maybe Izuku went looking.

Maybe Izuku had hurt himself.

Inko knows the statistics for quirkless people, she’s had them memorized since Izuku was four years old and had received his diagnosis in that cold doctor's office. She’d watched them change over the years, and had watched her son ever closer as the numbers grew higher. And they knew he wasn’t quirkless now, but he’d carried that with him for so long.

“I am very sorry ma’am, I wish there was more I could do.” And the woman does sound sorry, she does. But that does nothing for Inko, does nothing for Izuku.

“I hope your son comes home soon.”

Toshinori can’t shake the bone deep feeling that something is wrong, that something feels off.

It started at lunch, with Young Midoriya, his boy who wouldn’t look him in the eyes through most of their conversation, who reminded him uncomfortably of the middle schooler he vaguely remembers from their first few meetings. The one who’d desperately asked him on the roof of a building if he could be a hero too.

And the feeling had followed him through the rest of the day, a swirling in his gut, a fizzling in his bones that leaves him feeling unsettled and over energized. It’s bad enough that rather than taking the train or a car home right away after his last class, he allows himself a walk, extending his path uneccarilly again and again until the shadows stretching away from the buildings have left the streets and sidewalks in perpetual twilight. But still, the unnerved feeling will not leave him alone.

Something is very wrong, and Toshinori has no idea what or how to go about fixing it.

Still, he knows that this feeling started in his meeting with his boy. So he pulls out his phone and crafts a quick message to Young Midoriya, promising him that they can start meeting up at their beach again next week, start training him in all the things his classmates are learning while helping him get control of One for All so that he can prove to everyone just how much he has earned his spot in the Heroics program.

He stares at his bright screen for a moment after the text sends. Midoriya always responded quickly to him, no matter the time or what else he’s doing. So Toshinori feels something in his stomach sink as his screen goes dark without a response.

Then his phone starts to buzz with a call, Tsukauchi’s name lighting up the screen. He feels disappointment wash over him, but he knows his friend wouldn’t call him without reason, so he answers the call, smothering his small sigh.

“Yagi, are you with Midoriya right now?” Tsukauchi snaps as soon as the phone is up to his ear.

“What, no?” His friend’s never sounded this aggressive towards Toshinori before and it sets off a warning flare in the back of his mind.

“Were you with him recently?”

“No. Tsukauchi what is this about?”

“Please, Yagi, when was the last time you saw him?” And now his friend doesn’t sound angry, he sounds concerned and trying to hide it, and that scares Toshinori.

“I saw Young Midoriya during his lunch period today. Why? What’s happened to him?”

There’s a heavy sigh from Tsukauchi and the feeling that hasn’t left Toshinori alone all day mounts. Part of him wants to hang up, go back to just a few moments ago where something was wrong, and he had no idea what it was, but at least he was not staring up at a tidal wave about to crash down on him and sweep him away forever into dangerous and unknown waters. But he doesn’t do that because something is wrong with his boy, and he needs to know what it is.

“His mother called us, she just got through filing a missing persons’ report on him.” All the air rushes out of Toshinori’s lung. It feels like he’s been sucker punched by All for One all over again, tearing out the rest of his vital organs.

“Yagi, Toshinori, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but if you know where he might be, you have to tell me. She’s afraid he might have hurt himself. Apparently he’s shown signs of suicidal ideation before.”

And the steady ground Toshinori had been standing on just a second ago falls away as his vision shrinks down to a pinpoint.

The paperwork for Midoriya’s extracurricular quirk training is still at the top of his paperwork file when Shouta walks into the teacher’s office in the morning, the space for All Might’s signature is still blank and he feels exasperation bubble in the pit of his stomach. He knows the man was upset with him when he told the rest of the staff he was removing Midoriya from the Heroics Course, had argued vehemently against it in fact. But Shouta hadn’t been able to remove the sight of Midoriya’s limp body collapsing against the stands out of his mind since the moment it had happened, hadn’t been able to stop drawing comparisons. So he had remained firm.

It was only after he’d calmed down a little that he’d realized that he’d neglected to give All Might the paperwork to ensure Midoriya got the kind of quirk training he needed to ensure he never hurt himself like that again while out of the high stress environment that was the Heroics Course.

And now the Number One Hero was being petty and ignoring him completely. The only time All Might would deign to acknowledge him was when it came to Class 1-A and their performances in class, the hero was the perfect picture of civility then. But if Shouta attempted to bring up anything other than his class, All Might would find a reason to be as far away from him as possible.

Still, if he ambushes All Might as soon as he walks through the door today, he should be able to use the element of surprise to explain things far enough that he might actually listen to the rest of Shouta’s plan.

But All Might doesn’t show up before classes begin, and Shouta carries his irritability around with him all throughout the first half of the day. He was hoping to have Midoriya start training his quirk by the end of the week to ensure that when he was ready to transfer back to the Hero Course he wasn’t too far behind the rest of his classmates. However, with All Might still ignoring him and the permission slips still in possession of the boy’s mother, it was looking more and more likely like that wouldn’t be happening.

Lunch time rolls around and he still hasn’t seen All Might all day and he’s about ready to snap when Nemuri pulls him aside. He opens his mouth to say something that will get her to leave him alone, but he catches the look on her face and the words die halfway up his throat.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He asks instead, slipping into the comfortable mantle of hero as easily as breathing.

“Midoriya was reported missing yesterday by his mother, All Might’s been out trying to locate him all night but so far all attempts have been unsuccessful.” Her tone is all business, nothing of her flirty hero persona slipping through and it chills Shouta down to his core.

Even worse is the image of Midoriya flinching away from him in the hallway the day before, a hunted look in his eyes.

“The police have sent in a request to track his possible location through his phone’s GPS signal, but it’ll take a few days before we get any of those results back. We haven’t let any of the student’s know, but it’s likely the police will want to start questioning them soon to see if they know anything about where he might be.”

“And if he was taken? What leads do the police have on that route?” Shouta asks. The words taste like ash on his tongue, but he has to ask them, it’s his job to ask them.

“Nothing yet. If he was taken, his kidnappers were very clean about it, very thorough.” And he expected that answer. If the police had any leads as to a possible kidnapping, Nemuri would have led with that instead.

“I want in on the case,” Shouta says. And he phrases it like a request, but they both know it isn’t one. Still, Nemuri gives him a sharp nod.

Toshinori is exhausted. Weariness drags at his bones and slows his reactions. But he can’t go home yet, can’t sleep yet. Not until he has found his boy. He needs to find Young Midoriya, needs to make sure he’s brought home safe and sound.

He needs to make sure his boy hasn’t hurt himself.

And just like every time before, the mere thought of Young Midoriya hurting himself is enough to nearly bring Toshinori to his knees, his breath quickening in his lungs.

He can’t be dead, can’t be gone. Toshinori had only just found him, only just begun training him. The rest of the world hadn’t even had a chance to see him yet, not really. Young Midoriya couldn’t be dead. Toshinori wouldn’t be able to survive it if he was.

He takes a few steadying breaths, focusing himself back onto the task at hand. And then probes the edges of One for All, wondering if he can handle a jump yet. The quirk responds to his call, flooding into his veins. And unlike the previous times he’d tried, he doesn’t lose his form as soon as he holds it.

Energy sparks back through him as he realizes that he can finally use One for All to search for his boy. He readies himself and then kicks off the ground with a burst of speed.

Toshinori nearly breaks the sound barrier he takes off so fast the wind practically cutting into him. He looks down at the rapidly disappearing ground in confusion, his muddled brain struggling to compute what his body already knows.

He used too much of One for All, he’s not had this much of the quirk since he passed it onto Young Midoriya.

Young Midoriya gave it back. He has all of One for All once again

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Izuku wakes to a chill seeping into his bones. His shoulder blades press against something hard. The air around him and the surface he lays upon both suck all the heat out of him, leaving him shivering as he slowly blinks his eyes open.

Light floods his vision and he scrunches his eyes back closed. Is he in the infirmary again? Recovery Girl is going to be so mad at him; she told him that she wouldn’t be healing any more of his self-inflicted injuries.

An apology already rests on the tip of his tongue—

He doesn’t have One For All anymore. He passed it back, slipped away, there’s no way for him to be in the infirmary if he doesn’t have the quirk, and the infirmary beds aren’t this hard anyway. In fact, they’re almost comfortable ….

The expulsion, his first day at class, his walk home, it all begins rushing back. The fight comes in flashes. He had been bleeding out, arm and leg and fingers shattered.

Every one of his muscles seizes at once as the memory of what came next washes over him. It was worse than suffocation and worse than exsanguination.

His breathing speeds up, coming in shallow pants as he wraps his arms around himself. Pressure in his chest, heat in his eyes, he rolls over and curls up, tucking his knees close to his chest as he shakes and shakes.

He never wants to experience that again.

Pressing his face into his knees to hide away, he prepares to let everything go and cry everything out.

Something doesn’t smell right.

Sterile and lifeless, the fabric he presses his face against smells faintly of dust and storage and the strange lack of a scent that comes from being tucked away into a dark closet for a long time. Its texture is wrong, too, rougher than he was expecting the pants of his uniform to be.

But wouldn’t dried blood make his pants stiffer?

Wouldn’t he be able to smell dried blood?

He opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of light grey sweatpants.

Where did his uniform go?

Heart racing rabbit-quick in his chest, he scrambles upright. The concrete floor scrapes at his fingertips. He ignores it, too focused on the clothes covering his body to register any physical pain.

Aside from the sweatpants, he’s dressed in a plain navy-blue hoodie. He lifts the hem of it to reveal a plain black T-shirt underneath.

Fear threatens to tear him apart at the seams.

Someone changed him into these clothes.

Someone, while he was unconscious, stripped him, saw him, touched him. He had no say in the matter. They could have done anything to him—how would he know if they did or did not?

His hands go numb but all he can do is stare at his knees, at the grey fabric that isn’t supposed to be there.

There is no indication of time passing except for the pulse in his leg (he was bleeding out there, yesterday, earlier today, he doesn’t know, how long was he out?) and the growing discomfort of his bladder. His hands, minutes, hours, after the panic passes still shake. Tremors wrack his whole body, aftershocks which do not let him out of their grip.

Every time he begins to calm, his brain spirals back to what happened while he was unconscious.

And every time, he tries to tell himself that he would know if anything more happened … but would he? There are things that people can do to an unconscious body that don’t leave marks.

(What if that villain used his quirk? What if all marks were erased, the same way the ache in his hand leftover from the Sports Festival was erased?)

(He would never know.)

Time drags by. His thoughts circle around endlessly into themselves, wringing out all possibilities before beginning again. Over and over, running on the same track, his thoughts spin.

He was kidnapped. He was almost killed. He was taken, unconscious, and stripped. Who even knows what could have happened in that time.

Once again, his thoughts begin to circle around to that conclusion. A word he can barely think whispers through the back of his mind, a question he can’t answer.

Where are the heroes? Are they even coming for him? Do they even still want him?

Shuddering sobs threaten to dam his lungs up, thick snot dripping down from his nose and phlegm sliding down the back of his throat. He leans forward, resting his chin on his knees (he can’t hide in them, he can’t, the smell isn’t right and the fabric isn’t right and he can’t hide where he’s forced to confront the very thing he needs to hide from—). Burying his fingers in his hair, he grabs and tugs, letting the pricks of pain ground him. Still gasping and choking, tears still streaming down his face, he takes a deep breath. The air catches in his throat on the way in.

If the heroes aren’t coming for him, he can escape on his own.

Can’t he?

But he doesn’t even know where he is. Who is watching him? How many people?

Is one of them Overhaul?

How much does he even have left of One For All? Is it enough to get him out of here?

(It has to be, it needs to be, he needs to get out of here, needs to put these questions behind him—)

One For All is drained down to the barest flicker of warmth in his chest. Is there even enough left there for him to use? If there is, since there’s so little, then he cannot afford to waste it.

Hands buried in his hair, entire body still shaking, he presses his back against the wall and stares at the door.

He’ll have to be smart about this.

Someone opens the door.

For hours, days, minutes, an interminable length of time, it’s been just Izuku, alone in this room. Izuku, the light, the walls, the door, the clothes that aren’t his. His only entertainment has been the thoughts looping over and over upon themselves in his head.

His eyes catch on the motion and he watches closely as a stranger steps through.

The first thing Izuku notices about the stranger is the brown beaked mask over their face. Similar to Overhaul’s, but with less detailing and decoration, Izuku shrinks back at the sight of it.

A gang.

This must be some sort of gang.

The rest of the stranger is unspectacular. The straps of the mask part shaggy blonde hair, like a buzz cut left to grow out too long. A plain black yukata shifts with his movement as he takes a couple steps towards Izuku.

“Midoriya?” the man asks. “Overhaul has requested your presence.”

Izuku doesn’t move and doesn’t open his mouth to respond. He watches the stranger from his position tucked into the corner.

“Do you need me to come in and drag him out?” someone outside the room yells, voice rough and deep.

The stranger inside the room takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, eyes closing, before sighing. “No, Rappa, thank you. I will let you know if I have need of your abilities.”

The person outside the room grumbles something, but no new stranger enters.

Above Izuku, the man opens his eyes. He stares down with an unreadable expression.

“Come, now. It wouldn’t do to make Overhaul wait.” The stranger’s voice is soft. His expression thaws as he stares at Izuku.

Izuku looks a mess, right now, he knows that. He doesn’t need a mirror to look in and figure that out. With his face red and blotchy and crusty from crying and snot having leaked out his nose, he’s sure he looks hideous.

The man takes another step towards Izuku. “The less you inconvenience him, the easier it will be on you. Come, get up, or I may just need to call Rappa in to carry you.”

Izuku bares his teeth, a number of instincts all fighting in him at once. Kick, scream, fight, you need to escape. Comply until the heroes come, you need to stay alive. Stay here, don’t comply, you can’t cooperate with villains.

The man takes another step forward and Izuku jerks back, pressing as far into the wall as he can. Putting his hands up, the man takes a step backwards and crouches down to be at eye-level with Izuku.

“Overhaul can be reasonable,” he says, diction exact and voice level. “But he doesn’t like it when people make him wait. I’m sure, if we explain that you’re having a bit of a hard time, he’ll be lenient … but just this once. You get one free pass, okay?”

One free pass … right. Sure. Yeah. He’ll believe that.

Hopefully he won’t be here long enough to need any more.

Gritting his teeth and glaring at the stranger, Izuku staggers to his feet. Pins and needles fill his legs as his blood moves again. After sitting in one position for hours, he stumbles and struggles to walk right.

The stranger leads him out of the room, eyes filled with something Izuku is reluctant to call concern.

His prison is filled with long and winding halls. Each one is the same as the one before and the one after it, all smooth concrete walls and tangled pipes above their heads.

The stranger who retrieved Izuku from his room leads him through the compound while the stranger from the hallway—Rappa—follows behind them. Tall, broad-shouldered, with wild brown hair and heavy gauntlets, Rappa intimidates Izuku. And if his height and demeanor weren’t enough, he, too, wears a beaked mask on his face.

Unlike Overhaul and the other stranger, Rappa’s covers his entire face with slits for him to see out of. Its black and white pattern reminds Izuku of Gang Orca.

He tries not to think of the heroes. How long has it been since he was kidnapped, now? How long without a rescue?

Izuku shakes those thoughts from his head as he is lead out of the hallway and into a large room filled wall-to-wall with machines and tables. A space in the center of the room stands clear, its only occupant a sturdy chair with chains and cuffs.

Overhaul looms over one of the tables, eye pressed to a microscope. Dressed the same as he was the day he took Izuku (is it already a new day? Or is it the same day? Is it night or morning? What time is it?), the only difference is the addition of white fabric gloves over his hands.

“You’re late.” Devoid of emotion, Overhaul’s drawl hits Izuku’s spine with ice. Izuku shudders, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Yes, he was a bit reluctant,” the stranger replies, dipping his head. “I’m sure he’ll come easier next time. It won’t happen again.”

Overhaul straightens and turns, cold eyes surveying the three before him. “See that it doesn’t. Tengai, Rappa, you’re dismissed.”

Both men dip their heads to Overhaul before turning and exiting. Their footsteps echo in Izuku’s ears as they walk away, leaving him alone with his kidnapper.

“Next time,” Overhaul says, pinning Izuku under his gaze, “do not make me wait.”

Izuku holds eye contact for a breath. After that, his eyes skitter away under the pressure of Overhaul’s stare.

Silence fills the room, holding taut between them for several heartbeats before being broken by a footstep. Izuku’s eyes dart towards Overhaul as the man steps towards him. He takes a step backwards, shying away, and a brief flicker of irritation twists Overhaul’s blank expression.

“None of that, now.” Overhaul tugs at one of his gloves. Izuku freezes in place as he strips first one and then the other, stuffing the gloves in the pocket of his jacket and leaving his hands bare. “I’d prefer to use my quirk as minimally as possible, but that doesn’t mean I won’t use it if you make it necessary.”

Heartbeat pounding in his ear, Izuku follows Overhaul with his gaze as the man walks closer and closer, circling around behind Izuku and resting one hand between his shoulder blades. The pressure of that touch is feather-light through the hoodie fabric. It’s there, but so faint his hair stands on end and imaginary hands crawl up and down his spine.

“Come,” Overhaul’s breath ghosts across the shell of Izuku’s ear. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

He applies more pressure to Izuku’s back. On autopilot, Izuku steps forward, letting the man guide him towards the chair in the center of the room.

He will have chances to escape later. He just needs to bide his time, save his strength, play along, and leverage whatever opportunity he can grab.

Again and again, he tells himself this, a mantra repeated in his head over and over as he’s pushed into the seat. Cuffs around his ankles and wrists lock him into place. The chains remain hanging loose, a silent threat, a possibility which makes his skin tight from imagined pressure where they would sit.

He will have his chance to escape.

His heart crawls into his throat as he keeps telling himself that.

“No fighting?” Overhaul murmurs, stepping away from Izuku and looking him up and down. “Good, good. This will all go much easier if you stay still and don’t struggle.”

He turns his back and walks towards one of the many equipment-laden tables. His hands, slender and long-fingered, graze over different tools and instruments. With graceful movement he picks one up and rolls its handle between his fingers.

“What will be easier?” Izuku’s voice cracks. Dehydration and tears have made it thick and harsh, a rasp building in his words.

Overhaul doesn’t respond to Izuku at first. Instead, he fiddles more with his instruments, checking them over and inspecting them.

After several minutes have passed, he sets down the scalpel in his hand and glances back towards Izuku.

“You, Izuku, are going to prove yourself incredibly useful to me. To have both the flagship quirkless signifiers, and a quirk? All but unheard-of. The things I am going to be learning from you ….” Overhaul trails off, expression distant. After a moment, he blinks and his eyes focus again. “My first question: how does your quirk work? Initially, I thought its decrease in power was from blood loss and exhaustion, but that’s not it, is it?”

Izuku bares his teeth. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Pity.” Overhaul’s expression does not shift from its slack, apathetic stare as he picks up a blue tourniquet and turns towards Izuku. “I suppose I’ll just have to uncover your secrets for myself.”

He begins walking to Izuku, not a single shred of pity in his eyes. Izuku shies as far away as the chair will physically let him. He twists and pulls at his bonds as Overhaul’s even steps bring him ever-closer.

“Didn’t I say it would be easier if you didn’t struggle?” Overhaul pins Izuku’s arm in place as his voice slinks its way into Izuku’s head.

Izuku can only watch, frozen by the thought of Overhaul’s quirk, as the man rolls up first one of Izuku’s sleeves and then the other. His hands, in one flowing motion, move up to Izuku’s neck, where he clicks another cuff into place. Settled across his neck like a collar, when Izuku swallows, his larynx presses against the metal.

Overhaul’s hands are cold against the skin of Izuku’s upper arm. Gooseflesh rises as Overhaul touches him, wraps the tourniquet around his bicep, begins tightening it. The elastic bites into his muscle.

Izuku can’t hold back his whimpers. The tourniquet around his arm is as good as a vise around his chest. His arm feels weird with its blood flow cut off, the kind of weird which speaks to the scared, trapped animal in his mind. Never before has he wanted to chew off his own limb, but the restraints holding him in place and the tight band around his arm raise within him the desperate need to do whatever he can to free himself and run away.

“Easy,” Overhaul murmurs. His frigid fingers brush against Izuku’s forehead and through his hair.

As soon as it arrived, that fleeting touch is gone, and Overhaul is walking back to his tables while Izuku shakes in his restraints. Soon, he’s returning, pulling a tray along behind him.

Izuku tries to take deep, even breaths while Overhaul swabs the inside of his elbow with an alcohol wipe. It doesn’t work—they shake and jerk and shudder inside his lungs.

He will have his chance to escape. All he needs to do is bide his time, play along with Overhaul, and not hesitate when he sees his chance.

That’s what he tells himself, biting down on his lip to keep the words from slipping out, as Overhaul sticks a needle in his arm. Izuku can’t watch, can’t make himself look, his eyes instead locking onto a much smaller set of metal cuffs sitting on one of the tables.

In his peripheral vision, he sees the motions of Overhaul hooking the needle to a clear tube.

Moments later, the tube is red.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

“Get up,” someone says at the entrance to Izuku’s cell. Izuku doesn’t know him. Or at least, he doesn’t think he knows him. If they have met, Izuku certainly doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember a lot from the past few days.

Exhaustion drags at his bones, seeps into his muscles and makes his brain foggy, like a layer of cotton has separated it from the rest of his body and he is pushing to get through with every second he continues. It feels like he just laid down, just closed his eyes. He doesn’t want to get up.

But the burly, bald man who is glowering at Izuku only glowers harder when Izuku doesn’t move.

“Get up, Overhaul is waiting for you,” the man says, taking a step further into the cell. Izuku knows he should get up, he remembers with almost perfect clarity what Overhaul is capable of, what he did to Izuku when they first met, what he continues to do to Izuku each time he decides he is finished with Izuku for the session. Izuku remembers what it feels like to not exist for a moment, for several moments that pass in the blink of an eye and linger on for an eternity. Izuku remembers what it feels like to just, not be.

So he knows he should get up, should comply.

But the weight of his exhaustion has sunk its claws deep into him. And even though he knows what Overhaul will do to him if he doesn’t get up and start moving, it still feels like a distant consequence.

“I’m not asking again.” the man snarls, “Get. Up.”

One for All, the little ember of it he can still burning away in his gut, pulses sluggishly in Izuku’s veins as the man reaches down and grabs his upper arm. Part of Izuku wants to lash out with it, to wreath himself in that warmth one last time and escape this terrible place once and for all. But he has no idea where Overhaul is, and he has no idea how long it would take the man to reach him, and he has no idea if what he has left of One for All would even last him long enough to get out of this place. Much less take him to help.

And even if he did have enough One for All to make it out, to make it to safety. Izuku is so tired. He can barely see straight.

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way then,” the man says, and there’s an odd pressure from where the man has grabbed him. Izuku twists his head, trying to get a look at the man’s hand.

He only catches a glimpse of it, and what he does see doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, light blue and purple shards of something are where his hand used to be. And then the man yanks on Izuku’s arm sharply and any motor functions he had over his neck go out the window as he’s yanked off the cot and onto the ground.

The ground is a jaringly solid force as Izuku’s head connects with it. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges as his ears ring. There’s not enough air in his lungs to take a full breath, but Izuku tries anyways as his brain struggles to keep up with what’s happening to him. Then the sensation of moving sets in and Izuku realizes that the villain is dragging him behind as they exit the cell.

Hallways pass in a blur. Izuku tries to push himself up, the rough ground rubbing his skin away at every point of contact. But every time he manages to get his hand underneath him, it’s yanked right back out again, leaving his head to smack against the ground again.

“You’re late,” Overhaul drawls as soon as they enter the lab, a dangerous lit to his voice that sends gooseflesh skittering across Izuku’s skin. And Izuku knows it must be the lab because they have stopped moving and there is a scent in the air that only ever seems to linger in the lab.

Finally he manages to push himself up slightly as the man lets go of Izuku’s arm in order to gesture as he says, “The stupid brat was being uncooperatve. He wouldn't get out of his bed.”

Izuku can still see the blue purple of the crystals on the man’s fist, sprouting out from his skin. Some of them are streaked with small smears of blood and Izuku can feel the corresponding cuts across his upper arm and the beads of blood that roll across his skin.

Beyond the new villain, Izuku can see Overhaul, dressed like he always is. A flat expression on his face as he glances over Izuku before focusing on the villain, “You’ve damaged him Hojo.”

Izuku doesn't like Hojo, hasn’t really liked any of the new people he’s interacted with since he was kidnapped, but Hojo has been the worst experience since Overhaul himself so far. But as Overhaul steps forwards, malice radiating off him in waves even as his expression barely changes, Izuku feels something stir deep in his gut.

The same feeling he had felt when Kacchan had locked eyes with him for a split second while trapped inside the slime villain. The same feeling that pushed him into movement when Uraraka was pinned under a boulder and the Zero Pointer was bearing down on her. The same feeling he felt when Todoroki looked at him and Izuku realized the other boy was sad.

It bubbles inside him and it is almost like using One for All at full percent those few times he has managed it without breaking himself.

“I was just getting him here like you asked me too boss.” Izuku keeps an eye on Overhaul’s hands as he advances forward another step. If he’s going to attack he’ll lead with one of those, all Izuku has to do is grab the hand he reaches with and keep it away from Hojo long enough.

Long moments pass where the tension in the room mounts with each silent beat of Izuku’s heart. In the back of his head, a small part of Izuku screams at him to be rational. That getting in between Overhaul and Hojo won’t earn him any favors with Overhaul or Hojo, that it might make his situation here worse. That it won’t help the heroes find him any faster, if they’re looking for him at all. That if he ever wants to make it out of here he needs to make as little a fuss as possible.

And with each passing second that voice is getting louder and louder, making him second guess his instinct to step in between.

Then the moment shatters as Overhaul shifts forward and all thoughts fly out of Izuku’s mind as he shifts forward as well, only to meet Overhaul’s piercing look. Izuku freezes in place, a butterfly pinned to a board. His heart pounds in the back of his throat as he understands that Overhaul had predicted his move, had been looking for it.

“Well, I suppose I can forgive you this one infraction as long as you promise to never do it again,” Overhaul says, his voice considering as he turns away from Izuku and Hojo, “We ran a bit late here anyways.”

As Overhaul moves, Izuku relaxes slightly and allows himself to look beyond the man, taking in the details that he didn’t before when Overhaul was the biggest threat, preparing himself as best he can for what he knows is about to happen next. What has always happened next.

Only to meet wide red eyes in a face that is much too young to be her staring at him.

Izuku’s heartbeat roars in his ears as he takes in the small metal cuffs that have never moved but that now hold her down. The blood that coats her arms. The faint outlines of scars. The way her breath hitches just slightly as Overhaul steps towards her, his hand raising into the air.

She’s scared and Overhaul is approaching her hand first. She’s scared and Overhaul is going to hurt her. She’s scared and Izuku can save her.

She’s scared and Izuku needs to save her .

He’s moving before he has the chance to think about it, all previous reluctance and exhaustion banished from his body as he throws himself forwards.

Shouts sound as he lurches forwards, One for All humming in his veins despite the fact that he knows the quirk isn’t active. The echo of being unmade reverberates through Izuku’s bones as he moves.

Then there are more hands on him and hands are dangerous, hands mean being unmade, mean he can’t save the little girl in front of him who needs saving so very badly. So he wrenches out of them, limbs striking out in an attempt to keep himself from being grabbed again. But they grab him and pull on his arms anyways.

He’s so close to the girl now, but Overhaul is in his way and reaching towards him with a bare hand. Izuku feels the memory of his body being forcibly unwritten tremble through him as the first few fingertips brush against his face.

He barely thinks about the action as all his pain and terror over the last few days combine into one crystalline moment. And with a quick movement, Izuku bites down on Overhual’s hand as viciously as he can, locking his jaw around the appendage.

Overhaul shouts as the flesh beneath Izuku’s teeth gives way. The man yanks back his hand, and for a brief second Izuku doesn’t think the hand will move as he does his best to clench his jaw around it harder. But with a violent movement Overhaul removes his hand from Izuku’s mouth as the hands wrapped around him yank him sharply backwards.

As he goes, Izuku meets Overhaul’s furious gaze, the most expression he has ever seen on the villain’s face since he was taken. Behind Overhaul, the little girl still looks scared, but at least now all the attention is on Izuku rather than her.

Izuku shifts in Hojo’s hands. One for All swirls in his gut uncomfortably as he sees the girl shift backwards, he strains forward because he needs to save her, has to save her.

Ovherhaul’s hand pushes into his chest and then Izuku feels it as his body is ripped apart, a scream dissipating into thin air halfway up his throat.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he comes back into being, nausea lurching in his stomach. But there is nothing in his stomach to throw up as he heaves, gagging on the air in his stomach. The exhaustion is back in his bones, settling in deeper than last time as the effects of Overhaul’s quirk settle in. Izuku feels himself sag against the ground even as he knows that he needs to get back up, that he needs to keep going, needs to make sure the little girl is safe.

But all he can do is struggle weakly against the floor, trying to get his feet back under him while feeling like his limbs are only loosely connected by threads with each fumbled movement. And Overhaul is walking back towards the little girl and Izuku is about to fail her in the worst way possible and he has to do something .

“I was born Quirkless!” The fact tears it’s way out of Izuku’s throat before he can think about the consequences.

It accomplishes what Izuku was after though as Overhaul halts in his advance towards the little girl, half turning back towards Izuku to ask, “What?”

“You wanted to know about how my Quirk worked right? That’s what you took me? Well I can provide details.”

“What’s the catch?” Overhaul asks as he turns to face Izuku fully.

“You have to promise to leave her alone,” Izuku says, finally managing to fold his legs underneath him and push himself into a somewhat upright position. “Leave her alone and I’ll tell you everything.”

“I can’t promise to leave Eri alone entirely, she’s too important to the work we’re doing here.” Overhaul starts, appraising izuku with a new gleam in his eyes, “But if you promise to cooperate, I’ll be- gentler.”

It’s not the save Izuku was hoping for, and the small voice in the back of his head is telling him that he’s making a mistake. But as long as he can keep Overhaul’s eyes on him, Eri will be as safe as Izuku can make her right now. So Izuku gives Overhaul a sharp nod and allows himself to be guided into his chair and strapped down.

And then he watches as Overhaul unmakes Eri.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Toshinori wakes with the taste of blood in his mouth. It’s hardly unusual, considering his condition. He rolls over and slaps at his side table with one hand until his fingers meet the side of the tissue box. With a sharp motion, he yanks one out and coughs into it, spitting a mouthful of blood.

While his room is still dark, he can summon the image of bold red on bone white easily enough. He sees it almost every day, after all.

The itch in his lung has been getting worse. The ache in his joints, as well. The past week has worn on him, not just because Midoriya is missing. One For All is taking its toll on him again, the full weight of the entire quirk almost more than his battered body can handle.

Perhaps his chronic pain is acting up because he has been pushing himself too much, too hard. He has his classes to teach, yes, and after those, he ekes out every last minute of his muscle form searching for Midoriya.

Every last minute, and then some.

Sighing, Toshinori sits up, right hand automatically drifting over to clutch at his scar. His shirt catches and tugs at his skin, soft fabric made rough by oversensitive skin. Why is his skin so sensitive today? It almost itches, but not quite. Instead it’s like someone shrink wrapped his skin over his muscles. He wants to take his nails to it, to rip and shred and tear at it until it fits right again.

No.

He closes his eyes and takes as deep a breath as he can. Inhaling deep until the air begins to tug at the catch in his lung, he holds it for a count of seven and exhales. His racing heart calms just enough so it no longer feels like it will run right out of his chest.

When he’s ready, he opens his eyes. His room is still dark. Outside, the sun hasn’t even risen. Once again, he’s awake before dawn, his conscious brain shaking off the wisps of his dreams. Phantom fingers ghosting over his skin are chased away by his own all-too-real pain.

That must be why his skin feels wrong: he was dreaming of people touching him. He can hardly stand touch on the best of days.

(He can hardly stand it, and yet craves it all the same, the paradox of touch-starvation.)

The past week does not count as the best of days by any stretch of the meaning.

He takes another deep breath. His shoulders raise and drop back down with the motion of his chest. Another day, another morning he drags himself out of bed and teaches classes he barely knows how to teach and chases leads which will never go anywhere.

Midoriya is alive. Toshinori knows this (he hopes this). A thread of One For All, the barest connection between them, remains. It reaches across space and ties them together and that is how Toshinori knows, deep in his very bones, that Midoriya is alive out there somewhere.

If only he could follow that thread, but it does not, physically, go anywhere. He tried following it, the very evening he learned of Midoriya’s disappearance.

It never led him anywhere but to his own disappointment.

He reaches up and rubs his temples, rubs away those thoughts. So he can’t follow the connection—there are other leads to follow, other ways to find Midoriya.

And he can’t find those leads if he’s in bed.

Getting his hands underneath him, he levers himself out of bed. Back, knees, elbows, shoulders, they all pop and protest as he moves, each and every one stiff from sleep. They’ll limber up as he moves, but for now, he grimaces and bears it.

Grimaces and bears it is a good description of how he makes it through the day. He tries to keep his smile bright for the students, but they make it difficult to do so when their expressions are so sad.

Ever since they found out Midoriya went missing, a shadow has fallen over their class. Toshinori keeps a particularly sharp eye on Young Iida—for his brother to be so devastatingly injured and one of his close friends to be missing so close to each other must be incredibly difficult for him.

“Went missing.” Such a trite way of putting it.

“Went missing” was how they phrased it when they first told the class.

Now, everyone knows it was kidnapping, after seeing it plastered all over the news.

Uraraka and, surprisingly, Todoroki seem to be the other two most impacted by this turn of events. Todoroki, previously a loner in Toshinori’s observations, has drawn closer to Uraraka and Iida in the days since Midoriya’s kidnapping made the news.

The other concern is the newest member of the class: one Shinsou Hitoshi.

Now, Toshinori is mature enough to acknowledge his feelings and admit when they may be unfair.

His resentment towards Young Shinsou is absolutely unfair. Shinsou did not ask to be transferred into 1-A, he did not ask to take Midoriya’s spot. He is, in fact, struggling to acclimate, because Toshinori is not the only one holding resentment.

He makes it through class, keeping an eye on these students.

That afternoon, as he leaves UA, his phone rings. He pauses to check the caller ID—

He shivers. He can let this call go, right?

No. No way. If he lets this call go, Gran will hunt him down.

He picks up the phone.

“G-good—” he clears his throat— “Good afternoon, Gran. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, cut the bullsh*t. You could email me about the internship delay, but you couldn’t be assed to tell me your own damn self that your successor got kidnapped?”

Toshinori cringes. “I apologize. I suppose—”

“No need to justify yourself, brat. What sort of evidence are you working with?”

“Well.” Toshinori frowns. “The investigators don’t have much. The cameras where he was taken were all down due to, supposedly, faulty wiring. The police traced his path all the way from UA to the edge of the camera blackout, and there were reports in the area of a commotion at about the right time to be … when it happened. There was also ….” Toshinori takes a deep breath. “There was blood at the scene, quite a bit. They took multiple samples—it all came back as Midoriya’s.”

Gran Torino grunts. “Cameras around the blackout?”

“Of course, they checked those. No suspicious people or vehicles within six hours, either way, of the time of kidnapping.”

Toshinori takes a deep breath, biting down on his urge to scream. The crime was clean, or, clean enough for all the evidence to have gone stale by the time the cops could get to it.

They don’t even have a suspect.

“Damn. And no useful tracking quirks showed up, did they.”

“Not a single one. The scene had already timed out before anyone would be able to get there.”

“sh*t, you’re really working with nothing. Have you considered the possibility of All For One being behind it?”

If Toshinori still had a stomach, it would be doing flips. “Yes,” he chokes out. “I have. And I don’t think it’s him. He wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide it.”

As horrifying as it is to consider, All For One would gloat. If he kidnapped Toshinori’s successor, he would want to make it a spectacle.

He would want to make it hurt, the same way he had when he killed Nana.

“Mm.” Gran Torino hums noncommittally. “Perhaps. I’ll put my ear to the ground where I’m at, then, and let you know if I find anything out. Keep me updated, Toshinori, I mean it.”

The line beeps as Gran Torino hangs up. Toshinori sighs, letting his arm drop until he holds his phone loosely at his side.

Keep Gran Torino updated. Right.

He’ll need to think about ways to tell him how Midoriya gave back One For All right before getting kidnapped, then.

Shouta sets aside Asui’s submitted internship paperwork. She was simple: Selkie will be a good match for her, in both temperament and quirk type. Likely, the only thing she’ll be doing on that internship is ship upkeep, which is fine by Shouta. She’ll get to watch how Selkie and his team do search and rescue, maybe see them handle smugglers, and stay safe while doing so.

Simple.

Easy.

He is not expecting this next student to be as simple as she.

Iida Tenya, the kanji at the top of the page reads.

Iida Tenya is a stubborn little sh*t. Shouta knows this not only from teaching him, but also from babysitting him and watching him grow up over the years. Tenya has never had the greatest skill at managing his emotional responses, and this past week—

Shouta cringes to himself.

The week Tenya’s had would test anyone.

He scans over the paperwork, eyes widening in surprise as he reaches the ranked list of agencies Tenya would like to intern with. Manual? The Fly? Native? Shouta thought he had better taste than that.

Not that Manual would be a bad hero to intern under. There’s a reason why he is the top of the list, unlike any of the other Hosu-based heroes offering—

Hosu-based heroes.

As in Hosu, the city where Tenya’s brother was almost killed.

As in Hosu, the city where the Hero Killer Stain is still at large.

It’s a good thing Shouta had time to take a closer look at the forms. Having internships a week after the Sports Festival doesn’t give him or the mentoring heroes much time to think about things. If internships weren’t postponed, then likely, they all would be blanket approved. Tenya would go to Hosu, which is probably the one city he shouldn’t be in any time soon.

Shouta ignores the way that sounds like a hollow excuse, even in his own head. He’s just lucky he hasn’t f*cked up before. Even now, days after finding all the evidence which points towards kidnapping ….

For two days, he lived with the thought that actions he took may have directly influenced a student’s decision to take his own life.

Isn’t it sick to consider a kidnapping lucky?

But compared to a suicide, a kidnapping, presuming Midoriya is still alive, is preferable.

Shouta picks up his red pen, scrawls “Intern with anyone who doesn’t work in Hosu” on Tenya’s paperwork, and sets it in its own pile, to be handed out the next time Shouta had him for class.

Uraraka’s paperwork is next up. Midoriya’s two closest friends, right next to each other. Hopefully, she’s planning something as obviously stupid as Tenya, and Shouta can cut that off before she can get going with it.

The preferable option would be if she wasn’t planning anything at all. Shouta knows better than to hope for that.

Gunhead Agency is her first choice. Nothing immediately jumps out at him as being suspicious about that. Gunhead is a good hero, and if she’s wanting to improve her hand-to-hand combat skills, he’s a great pick. He isn’t located in Hosu, or anywhere near the location where Midoriya was taken.

Everything seems clean on the surface, which must mean she’s planning something stupid yet subtle.

Still, he sees no obvious reason to deny her choice. In fact, denying her choice may be actively detrimental to her progression as a hero, so he stamps his approval on it and sets it onto the pile.

Ojiro next. Finally, a student he doesn’t have to be suspicious of.

He’s just beginning to read through Ojiro’s list when the door to the office opens. Shouta glances up, ready to greet one of his friends.

The words freeze in his mouth when he catches sight of All Might.

Shouta has barely seen the man in the past week. He’s only been present for classes and briefly for the handful of meetings they’ve had since Midoriya was taken.

Already sickly, All Might now looks worse than Shouta has ever seen him. While he can’t tell any difference in the man’s muscle form, in this form the shadows beneath his eyes have darkened. His hair is even more of a bush than usual. Shouta catches a glimpse of his eyes and can hardly see the fire burning there that he’s seen in the past.

He must be closer to Midoriya than Shouta ever guessed.

“When was the last time you slept?”

The words slip out of Shouta’s mouth, a familiar phrase from recent years spent watching Hizashi attempt to work himself into the ground.

Hizashi knows that when Shouta asks that, he’s asking from concern.

Evidently, All Might does not know that. He turns and glares, eyebrows drawing down in a look that sends chills down Shouta’s spine. For the barest moment, he entertains the idea of falling out of his chair to beg forgiveness for whatever crimes he must have committed.

“I’ve been sleeping plenty, thank you.” All Might’s voice is glacial. “You look just as well-rested as ever.”

Shouta hasn’t been sleeping. He looks even more a mess than he has in a long time.

“Thanks,” he drawls.

That looks to be the end of their interaction. All Might continues on his way to his desk, their coworkers all go back to minding their own business, and Shouta is almost content to let that be it. There’s no love lost between them, and they’re certainly not friends, but ….

“How have you been holding up?” Shouta can at least show the barest amount of obvious concern, since All Might misinterpreted his last overture.

All Might sets his briefcase down and pulls out his chair. He doesn’t look at Shouta. He doesn’t give any indication that he even heard Shouta, and honestly, Shouta’s about to give up and go back to reading internship forms when All Might turns and pins him with his gaze.

“I don’t know, Aizawa,” he bites. “You tell me.”

Their coworkers are all watching again, eavesdropping while pretending to be working.

Shouta frowns. “There’s no need to get pissy at me.”

“Isn’t there?” All Might raises his eyebrows. The weight of his stare is just as heavy.

“I haven’t done anything wrong for you to be upset at me,” Shouta grinds out.

“Haven’t you?”

Another f*cking question. Infuriating.

All Might continues, “I seem to remember a certain decision you made a week ago which may be directly linked to Midoriya’s disappearance. But sure, there’s no reason for anyone to be upset with you.”

Shouta stands up, knocking his chair backwards. His hands tingle. “I am not at fault for Midoriya’s kidnapping.”

“Not directly. But would he have even been taken if he were still at school, still with the hero course?” All Might’s voice cracks.

So does something in Shouta’s chest.

“You can’t know that,” he snarls and takes a step closer to All Might.

Behind him, Hizashi begins to speak. “Hey, maybe we should—”

“No,” Snipe cuts him off. “Let them fight it out. Might get rid of the f*cking tension in here.”

Thanks for the support, Snipe.

“No, we can’t,” All Might agrees. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself down. “I apologize for my short temper. The past week has been … difficult.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Nemuri jumps in, quick to take advantage of the opportunity to diffuse the situation. “You knew Midoriya before he started school here, right? That must be hard for you.”

All Might nods. “Yes, I’ve known him for … a little over a year, now.”

“Really? If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you meet the little guy?” Nemuri grins, sharp and teasing. “He’s not your secret bastard lovechild, is he?”

“No.” All Might snorts and shakes his head. “I met him on-scene at a villain attack. He reminded me why I’ve dedicated my life to this job.” His wistful expression morphs into something sad. “I offered to help him prepare for UA. I’ve never met someone with such a raw heroic heart before.”

Nemuri smiles softly. “He sure is something special, isn’t he? We’ll get him back. He has one of the best heroes in the world on his case, after all.”

All Might smiles as well, twisted, bitter. “I appreciate the support.”

Something in Shouta’s chest shatters.

“We had arrangements made,” he spits. His face heats up. Every eye in the room turns to him. “It was going to work out. We were going to give him time to settle into the General Ed course and then work on more specialized training. There was a plan.”

For a moment, no one responds.

“Did you actually have anything planned, or did you decide to grow a conscience overnight and come up with something?”

All Might’s words cut through another one of the slipshod supports in Shouta’s chest. He’s right. Shouta didn’t have anything planned until that evening. The afterimage of Midoriya’s response to receiving the expulsion still plagues Shouta. He’s expelled many students, and none have reacted as Midoriya did. Anger, yes, he was expecting anger. Bargaining. Tears.

Only one of those things happened, and Midoriya only tried bargaining once. After that, he rolled over and accepted it with the blankest look Shouta had ever seen on his face, aside from the brief period he was under Shinsou’s quirk in the tournament.

Shouta failed Midoriya. How many other students has he failed and just not realized it?

Toshinori rubs at his arm as he leaves UA. It’s been tingling, periodically, in the past few days, and he’s not sure what’s causing it or what to do about it.

Oh, well. Just another health concern to toss on top of the pile and talk to Recovery Girl about, at some point. It’s hardly the most important issue he has to deal with at the moment.

He shouldn’t have snapped at Aizawa, especially not while everyone was around to watch. He’ll have to apologize later, once they’ve both calmed down. The words still smart, even hours afterwards. How could Aizawa, someone who prides himself on being so smart, so logical, completely miss how being expelled from the hero course destroyed Midoriya’s brittle sense of self-worth?

He shakes his head. He’s being unfair. Not everyone knows the boy as well as he does, after all.

Not everyone has the same knowledge about One For All that he does.

As if sensing that he’s thinking about it, the quirk pulses in his chest, a surge of heat. It’s been different, since Midoriya gave it back. Even having such a short time with the quirk, he left his mark on it. Before Midoriya, it never responded so clearly to Toshinori’s thoughts and emotions. It’s as if, in having it, he gave it the potential to become something more than just a quirk, just a power, just a tool to be used as a means to an end.

Toshinori sighs, a bitter feeling gnawing at his chest. If only there was something he could have said to Midoriya that day during lunch, which would have convinced him to keep One For All.

A second, more piercing, thought comes: if only he hadn’t been kidnapped. Toshinori would’ve had time, then, time to talk to Midoriya, time to figure out what was going on inside that head of his.

Aizawa was right about one thing. If Midoriya hadn’t been kidnapped, then it would have worked out. It may have been messy, and surely, there were ways to figure out how to convince Midoriya to stop breaking himself without going so far as to kick him out of the hero course, but it still would have, eventually, worked out. Toshinori would have figured out he had One For All back and been able to talk to Midoriya about it.

Sighing, Toshinori steps to the edge of the sidewalk and closes his eyes. There it is, that tenuous connection, the thinnest filament of a bridge between One For All and Midoriya. Still there.

He’s still alive, somewhere.

Toshinori takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and keeps walking.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Inko checks the time on her phone again. It’s the third time she’s checked since she arrived five minutes ago, but she still can’t stop herself from clicking it on and then off again. Part of her is still hoping to receive a text message from Izuku despite the fact that she has Izuku’s dead and waterlogged phone sitting on the counter at home at this very moment because the police determined it was useless to them after doing their best to get it working again.

But the screen is just as blank as it has been since Izuku first went missing.

The vial of Izuku’s blood from the crime scene seems to burn hotter in her purse, singeing a hole in her side as she clutches the straps tighter.

She checks the street around her again, trying to keep the ache in her chest at bay with a few short, sharp breaths as she looks at the small storefront she’s here to visit. Then left and right as she tries to spot the hero who had asked to come with her.

Inko hadn’t been sure when the request had first come in, resentment a stone in the back of her throat as she remembered the way she had been dismissed by U.A. when she had first tried to call them. But it hadn’t been him on the other end of that call, and he seemed to genuinely want to help her find her son, so Inko had messaged him the time she would be meeting the specialist at.

If he hadn’t shown up in the next minute or so however, Inko was going in without him. Recovery Girl had pulled too many strings to get her this appointment and Inko wasn’t going to let it go to waste. No matter how sincere the Number One Hero had seemed over text.

She looks down at the address she wrote down on a scrap of paper. She already knows what it will say, but she just wants to make sure that she is in the right location. For the third time in a row.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, hope it wasn’t for long,” someone says from right behind her. Inko practically flies into the air as she whips around to come face to face with All Might.

He looks different without his ever present smile. Less like the untouchable hero Izuku adores and more like a person. More like someone who might be missing her son just as badly as she is. More like someone who might be as desperate as she is for reassurance that they can still get him back.

“I wasn’t waiting long,” Inko says, a little white lie to keep the atmosphere amicable. Because if All Might, the Number One Hero was on her side, Inko wasn’t going to alienate him by informing him that she had been about to enter without him or else risk losing her meeting time.

“After you then.” All Might gives her a tight smile as he gestures towards the front of the apartment building. As they walk across the street, Inko wonders if he’s been here before, if he’s part of the reason why she burned out. She wonders if he’s investigated missing persons cases before, missing children.

For a moment, Inko considers asking him. They always report on the fact that no one has ever died after All Might showed up at the scene, they never say how many people die before he shows up. They never report on the people he was too late to save. But she doesn’t actually want to hear the answer, not really. Because Inko knows the statistics, looked them up and had them memorized before she was even finished making her missing persons report. And she wants to keep her hope for as long as possible.

The apartment is on the third floor and easy enough to locate. The door is an unassuming one but as they draw closer Inko feels the tense, tight muscle in her back clenching harder with each footstep.

Part of Inko wants to turn around and walk away, continue to live with the war inside. Half of her repeating the statistics of Izuku being alive over and over in her head, the other half of her convinced she would know, deep in her bones and in her gut if Izuku was gone. Because least if she walks away now then she would have the option of pretending everything was fine. If she stays the path she will have no other choice but to be confronted with the truth.

But no matter how badly she wants to turn around, she owes it to Izuku to see this through, to know for sure.

Inko knocks on the door, squaring her shoulders as she takes a deep breath, rooting herself to the ground and in the moment. She can’t run away from this, no matter how much every inch of her body is singing for it. It’s too important for the investigation and this meeting won’t be an option tomorrow.

The woman who opens the door is small and plain looking, Inko probably wouldn't spare her another glance out on the street. And then she meets the woman’s eyes and Inko knows that hunted, haunted look will be featuring in her dreams for the next few days. This must be Hato, there’s really no one else it could be.

“Ms. Midoriya?” Hato asks, but she isn’t looking at Inko anymore. Now her gaze is locked on the Number One Hero and there is a certain hostility to it that Inko had not considered before just this moment, but maybe bringing a hero to the home of a person who left the police force due to trauma surrounding her quirk and what it revealed wasn’t the best idea. Too late to regret it now though.

“Yes that’s me,” Inko says, doing her best to project a confidence she doesn't feel into her voice.

“I was expecting you to come alone, Chiyo certainly implied that when she asked me to do this for you.”

“I’m one of the lead heroes in Young Midoriya’s case. Ms. Midoriya was generous enough to allow me to accompany her here today so that the investigation can move as quickly as possible after this meeting,” All Might says. For a moment the atmosphere is tense and Inko worries that the door is about to be slammed in their face, but Hato simply pivots sharply on her heel, leaving the door open in a silent invitation. Inko doesn’t hesitate to take it. All Might does.

“Some people in this world will take your money and lie to you because you’re desperate or give you false hope because they don’t want to hurt you. But I won’t, I can’t with my quirk. As soon as I touch the blood everyone here will hear if there is a heartbeat. So before we start, are you absolutely positive you want to go through with this?” Inko knows the question Hato is really asking as she sits down on her couch, knows the other woman is giving her one last chance to run in case Izuku’s heartbeat doesn’t sound.

“I’m aware,” Inko says as she sits down on the seat across from Hato. She has to see this through, she has to know, for Izuku.

“All right then, let’s get started.” Hato holds out her hand expectantly. Inko can feel All Might hovering behind her as she reaches into her purse and hands over the vial.

Hato pours a portion of it out onto the table between the two of them and, without any preamble, places her fingertips in the small puddle. The blood glows a faint red as Hato’s quirk activates and Inko feels every muscle in her body clench.

The room around them is silent and still. Inko feels the small spark of hope she had been carefully cultivating all this time start to crumple inside her.

Then a low thump reverberates throughout the room.

A second one follows a moment later, and a third a moment later. If Inko wasn’t sitting down she knows she would have collapsed in relief.

Izuku is alive. That’s his heartbeat and he is still alive.

She had hoped all along, told herself that she would know if he were gone. But this irrefutable proof that she was right, that her son, her baby is still alive lifts the weight of the world off her shoulders.

All Might is leaning forwards, a desperate and hungry look about his face as the heartbeat continues. His knuckles are white where they are gripping the back of Inko’s seat.

Hato doesn’t seem to mind the possible imminent destruction of her furniture at least. The other woman’s face had gone slack the second the heartbeat had sounded and now she is staring at the puddle, her face open and shocked as she breathes heavily.

Because Izuku is still alive, Inko still has the possibility of getting him back.

And then the heartbeat cuts out.

Toshinori can feel the blood in the back of his throat and pooling in his mouth. If he were to open his mouth, a long stream of blood and saliva would leak down his chin. But even if he wanted to open his mouth, Toshinori can’t move. Not a single inch.

Hato looks gray as she looks down at the still glowing puddle of Izuku’s blood, her breathing becoming more and more unsteady the longer the silence between them stretches. He thinks she might be having a panic attack, or at the very least be close to one. But even seeing another person in distress is not enough to move Toshinori right now.

Everything inside him is screaming and tearing itself apart. One for All is a maelstrom of confused emotions. He can still feel that tenuous thread connecting him to Young Midoriya, can still feel the bond they share through their quirk. And it may feel frayed around the edges, but it is still taut, he can still feel Izuku on the other end of it, he knows he can. But his heart isn’t beating anymore, it was and now it isn’t.

And Toshinori has no idea how to tell what’s real, what truth he should believe in.

Then a thud echoes through the room again and he loses the grip on his muscled form as his soul soars. The blood that had been pooling in his mouth spurts from in between his lips as a cloud of steam surrounds him.

He knows he should care about the fact that he has just revealed his small form to two people who do not know him and have no real reason to keep his secret. He knows he should explain himself as both women shout and leap up from their seats. But all Toshinori cares about is the fact that Young Midoriya is still alive. He is still alive.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Ms. Midoriya says, clutching the strap of her purse as she steps towards him.

One for All is singing in his veins. It feels like he is a middle schooler again and Nana has just given him her quirk, like when he was still in his prime and couldn’t be beaten.

“Well?” Ms. Midoriya snaps, taking another step towards him and Toshinori crashes back into reality as he realizes he needs to start explaining quickly or he is going to be beaten with her purse. And possibly anything else she might get her hands on.

“Did you come here to mess with my son’s case?”

“Please, Ms. Midoriya, my name is Yagi Toshinori and I truly am All Might.”

“Prove it,” Hato snaps, and Toshinori spares the other woman a glance and sees the police officer she once was shining out through her eyes.

His hero license is easy enough to produce and he hands it over to them as he explains, “Several years ago I was in a fight that was kept quiet from the public due to how injured I was in the aftermath. Very few people know about this form, and I would ask that you all keep this secret as well as the possible fallout of the public finding out about it could be devastating.”

“It’s real, that’s him,” Hato says after examining his license for a long moment. She holds it back out to him and he slips it back in the hidden pocket of his suit where all his important documentation is kept.

Ms. Midoriya still seems wary though as she examines him critically before asking, “Will this affect the investigation of Izuku’s kidnapping at all?”

“Not a bit,” Toshinori reassures, glad to be able to confirm this without having to worry that he might be lying to her. Ms. Midoriya gives him a sharp nod before turning back to Hato.

“Thank you for your time, I’m very thankful you agreed to help me.” Hato gives Ms. Midoriya a faint nod, her eyes never straying far from Toshinori.

Ms. Midoriya seems to take a deep breath and then leans over to collect the vial of blood, still at least half full, and places it back in her purse. Then she starts heading towards the door. Toshinori falls in step behind her, preparing to buff back up.

Another thump sounds through the room and Toshinori turns back around to see Hato, her fingertips back in the puddle of Young Midoriya’s blood. Toshinori gives her a soft nod and he and Ms. Midoriya walk out of the apartment with Young Midoriya’s heartbeat in their ears and the knowledge that he is still alive, that they still have the time and ability to rescue him and ensure he stays that way steady in their bones.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Izuku learns to recognize the men who come for him by the sound of their footsteps in the hall outside. If there are two sets of footsteps, it’s Tengai and Rappa. They’re the preferred option—Rappa shouts and threatens to drag Izuku out into the hallway, but he never follows through. Tengai is always the one entering the room, voice soft and understanding as he pulls Izuku away from relative safety back to Overhaul’s sanctum.

If the footsteps are heavy and loud, it’s Hojo.

Hojo is the least preferable option. At least with Tengai and Rappa, he knows (he thinks?) he won’t pick up additional injuries just from being dragged out of his cell.

On the scale with Tengai and Rappa at the end labeled ‘most preferable’ and Hojo at the end labeled ‘least preferable’, the other three men rest somewhere in the middle.

Setsuno walks softly, ambling down the hall and opening the door with little fanfare. His voice grates on Izuku’s hearing and he talks like Overhaul hung the stars in the sky, but overall, he’s not terrible to Izuku.

Sakaki is decidedly less pleasant. He staggers down the hall, footsteps uneven. The moment he opens the door, Izuku is left staggering like him. Izuku has been getting better at walking under the influence of Sakaki’s quirk, but that doesn’t mean it’s exactly pleasant to stagger down the long hallway with the stench of alcohol surrounding them like a noxious cloud. Sometimes, Sakaki will even pull out a bottle from who-knows-where and shove it up under his mask. He drinks sloppily, spilling alcohol down his chin and body and, inevitably, onto Izuku.

Those days are just as bad, in their own way, as the days Hojo is the one to drag him to Overhaul.

Overhaul cannot stand when Izuku is brought to him with alcohol sticky on his skin. With nothing but a sharp look at Sakaki, who slurs out a “Promise I’ll be more neat next time!” and laughs, Overhaul stalks towards Izuku and remakes him without the contamination.

Izuku has been remade so many times that a little slice of the pain has settled deep into his body, filling all the space in his cells.

The last of his retrievers sits between Setsuno and Sakaki on the scale. Chronostasis has only come to get him once, but that once was enough to burn the memory of his quirk into Izuku’s mind.

One jab from that arrow-like protrusion, and Izuku could barely move. Chronostasis was free to do anything he wanted to Izuku.

He’s lucky the man only picked him up and carried him to Overhaul.

Today, the footsteps approaching Izuku’s door are soft but move with purpose. Not Setsuno, then. Someone new?

Izuku stops doing push-ups, setting down one knee to rest. He’s exhausted, and his whole body aches, but he needs to do something to keep himself from losing his mind to the four blank walls surrounding him when he spends hours and hours alone with his thoughts.

Face flushed and heart racing from exertion, Izuku stares up at the door as whoever is coming for him pauses outside it.

The door swings open. Overhaul himself, missing his jacket, stands in the doorway, staring down at Izuku with one impassive eyebrow raised.

Izuku scrambles to his feet, stumbling as his vision blacks out. He’s lightheaded, even when his sight comes back. They haven’t been giving him as much food as his training plan required, nor does he get water any more often than twice a day.

Overhaul doesn’t speak at first, just looks Izuku up and down with that piercing stare.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, considering.

“That’s right. You’re probably used to UA’s high activity levels.”

Izuku says nothing in response.

“If you behave yourself, I’ll see about arranging some time for you to use one of the gyms in the compound.”

Izuku bites his lip, teeth digging into flesh until it hurts. He wants it—wants anything other than this room, the hallway, and the experimentation room. He wants it so badly his chest aches with the need.

Agreeing to behave feels like a betrayal.

He shouldn’t be compliant, be willing to participate in this villain’s f*cked-up experiments. Who even knows what Overhaul’s end goal is? Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

The only reason Izuku can see as justifying his complicity in this villain’s plans is Eri’s well-being. Anything else is just … selfishness.

And yet, no matter how much he tells himself that, he still wants.

Overhaul leads Izuku from his cell, and Izuku follows, head down, quiet. Eri is on his mind now. He hasn’t said two words to her, hasn’t had the chance to, but he sees her every day. They sit in on each other’s sessions, each one a blade hanging over the other’s neck because Eri is just as desperate to keep other people from being hurt as Izuku is.

Nevermind the fact that Izuku is the elder, he should be the one trying to keep her safe, not the other way around. She still caves every time Overhaul turns to Izuku with hands ungloved.

She’s already there, restrained and waiting, by the time Izuku and Overhaul arrive. Izuku is first up, always is, for how Eri’s session goes depends on how compliant Izuku is.

He lets Overhaul chain him down in the chair as quiet and willing as he can make himself. He suppresses his reflexive flinches and pushes down the urge to crane his head and watch Overhaul as he moves about the room.

The first step is the injection. Apart from his first time in the room, Izuku has received the injection every time he has been brought in here. Overhaul walks over to the fridge in the corner of the room and grabs a brown glass vial from it, carrying it over to the table and the bin of unused syringes. He is careful, exacting, precise as he sticks the needle in the vial and pulls back the plunger.

The syringes are clear, giving Izuku an unimpeded view of the red liquid which fills it. It’s too bright, too translucent to be blood, but Izuku draws the comparison in his mind anyways.

He’s seen too much blood recently.

Overhaul, once he’s pulled as much of the liquid out of the vial as he needs, puts the cap back over the needle and picks up a second syringe. Each vial has enough of the liquid for both Izuku and Eri’s injections, and the injection for Eri is left out on the table to warm up before it’s given to her.

Izuku is not afforded that luxury. Overhaul swabs his arm and jabs the needle directly into the meatiest part of Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku bites the inside of his cheek and cringes as Overhaul pushes the plunger down. Once it’s all the way down and everything has been shoved into Izuku’s body, Overhaul pulls the needle out, re-caps it, and tosses it into the nearby sharps bin.

Overhaul is just as clinical as he massages the injection site as he is with everything else. If Izuku closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s at the doctor’s office getting a vaccination. He just needs to ignore the restraints holding him in place, and his mind can be somewhere else ….

At least until Overhaul addresses him.

“Izuku.”

He opens his eyes to see the man turning around, tablet in hand.

Oh, great. More questions. He’s already given the man his medical history and his family medical history (what little of it he knows) several times over. He’s explained, and re-explained, that yes, he’s had all the flagship quirkless signifiers his entire life. He has the x-rays of his feet and the results of test after test sitting in a folder in one of his mom’s filing boxes.

And yet, Overhaul keeps running his own tests, keeps asking his own questions.

“I think I have everything I need about your quirklessness,” Overhaul says, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads something on his screen. “Now I have questions about the quirk you presented.”

Izuku bites his lip. He can’t give up the secret of One For All. Hopefully, the lie he’s been weaving in his head will stand up to whatever scrutiny Overhaul gives it. “What do you want to know?”

“When, exactly, did it present?”

“The twenty-sixth of February … this year,” Izuku mutters.

Overhaul raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

sh*t. Izuku cringes, internally kicking himself. If Overhaul takes his frustration out on Eri later …. Izuku speaks louder, more clearly this time: “This year. The twenty-sixth of February.”

“Mm.” Overhaul types something on his tablet. “And it presented the same way it appeared in the Sports Festival?”

“Yes.” Izuku nods.

“I find I’m curious about its effects. Does it shatter your bones every time you use it?”

Oh, please don’t let him ask Izuku to demonstrate it. Ever. He only has so little of it left. What would he do if he drained the rest of it jumping through hoops for Overhaul?

The man himself clears his throat. Izuku twitches. That’s right, he’s waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” Every time except for once, but Overhaul doesn’t need to know that.

“Mm. That shouldn’t be too difficult to deal with. Unlike whatever pitiful attempts at medical care UA provided, you won’t need to worry about permanent damage here.”

Izuku shudders.

“Now, the thing I am truly curious about: how did someone with every flagship quirkless signifier present a quirk?”

Izuku licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I … met someone.” Come on, just like he’s rehearsed it in his head. “Their quirk lets them share power with others. They, they thought I …. They thought I had potential as a hero, so they shared their power with me. It’s worn off by now: I need, needed regular contact with them for it to, to work.”

It’s flimsy. It is so flimsy. Overhaul is going to see right through it and poke so many holes in it.

“Oh?” Overhaul raises an eyebrow. “And what’s the name of this person? Their relationship to you?”

He’s such an idiot, he never came up with a f*cking name. While trying to keep the panic off his face, he spits out the first name to come to mind that doesn’t belong to his mother or any of his friends or teachers.

The second the name is out of his mouth, guilt punches a hole in his gut. Did he just condemn one of his middle school classmates to a hell like this because he needed a lie?

Overhaul presses his lips together and types something on his tablet. “And their relationship to you?” He’s still typing.

Izuku reaches for the first thought that comes to mind. The best lies are always close to the truth, right? “They’re a retired hero. They moved into the area—I met them on the way home from school, and, and kept seeing them around and got to know them a bit. They’re like—”

He bites his tongue to cut himself off, unwilling to voice that thought to Overhaul.

Overhaul looks up from his tablet, one eyebrow raised. “They’re like what?”

“N-nothing.” Izuku shakes his head. “It’s nothing, nevermind.”

“Are you sure that’s the answer you want to go with?” Overhaul sets the tablet aside and tugs at the hem of his left glove.

Izuku cringes and shrinks back as far as the restraints and the chair will let him. “I, I, um …. They’re like the father I never had?” He blurts it out, barely louder than a mumble. Please let him not ask again, please.

Overhaul narrows his eyes. “You’re an intelligent young man, Izuku. I should not need to remind you to answer me clearly as often as I do.” He takes one step toward Izuku, and then another, pulling his glove off as he walks. “Perhaps you need something to help it sink in.”

Already pressed as far back as he can possibly go, Izuku bites his lip. He won’t beg. Not for himself.

Overhaul turns toward Eri and walks in her direction instead.

Izuku is not above begging for her.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts, twisting in his restraints. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, just, please—please!”

His heart thunders in his ears as Overhaul keeps walking. The man doesn’t give any indication that he heard Izuku. Eri herself watches wide-eyed and trembling as Overhaul draws closer.

“Please don’t hurt her! I’m sorry! I-I said he was like the, the father I never had! Okay? Please! Just … please don’t hurt her.”

He trails off, the hollow guilt eating him up even more inside. Overhaul isn’t turning around, he’s almost reached Eri, he’s going to—

He’s going to remake her now, for no reason other than to send a message to Izuku. It’s Izuku’s fault, Izuku’s screw-up that’s getting her hurt now.

Overhaul pauses, standing in front of Eri. He towers over her. His shadow falls across her form, blocking her from the floodlights above.

Izuku doesn’t breathe as he watches Overhaul. All three of them are frozen in the moment, Eri and Izuku both watching as the man deliberates. He doesn’t emote, his face doesn’t change, there’s no indication of what he is ultimately going to do.

Finally, he turns, setting his cold gaze upon Izuku. Izuku shrinks back, suddenly small under the weight of that look.

Overhaul blinks, languid like a cat, and walks back toward Izuku. He does not put his glove back on and Izuku’s eyes follow that bare hand.

“He’s like the father you never had, hm?” Overhaul bends over and puts his left hand on Izuku’s head, slender fingers threading through his hair. “Some father. Two months working with his quirk, and he couldn’t even teach you how to not break yourself with it.”

The words hit like a lance to Izuku’s heart.

“You can’t blame him.” His voice cracks as he protests. Tears blur his vision. “It’s not his fault I couldn’t figure it out fast enough.”

Overhaul shakes his head. “You spent your whole life quirkless. It’s only logical that you would struggle.” He pulls his hand away from Izuku’s head and straightens back up.

Walking back to the table, Overhaul picks up his tablet and reads something on it. His eyes narrow once more at whatever he sees.

“Now.” His voice is sharp, more dangerous than it was when he was threatening Eri after Izuku’s mumbling. “Would you like to tell me his name? His actual name this time.”

Overhaul flips the tablet around. The screen displays the social media account of Izuku’s former classmate.

Izuku cringes. “I …. He never told me his name.” It’s the truth. Overhaul should believe it, right?

“His hero name, then.”

He can’t say it. He can’t—He can’t betray All Might like that.

The only sounds in the room are Eri’s soft whimpers, the hum of machinery, and three different sets of breath.

Overhaul’s eyes bore holes into Izuku.

Despite the pressure, he can’t do it. He opens his mouth and no words come out.

“It makes me wonder ….” Overhaul flips the tablet back around and stares impassively down at it, running a ringer along its upper edge. “You lied about his name. How much else did you lie about?”

“I didn’t lie to you about anything else,” Izuku gasps. “I promise. I didn’t lie.”

“I understand. You want to protect the man who gave you so much. I can relate.” Overhaul looks up. Something in his expression softens. “There are many great and terrible things men do to repay their fathers, whether their father is related to them by blood or not.

“However … that does not mean I can forgive lying to me.”

That same something in his expression hardens again, his eyebrows knitting together in an almost-glare as he sets his tablet aside.

“I will be lenient to you this once. We will proceed as normal for today’s session while I think on how to properly impress upon you that lying to me is not in your best interests.”

Overhaul picks up the syringe with Eri’s injection and walks over to her. She doesn’t flinch as he jabs her, doesn’t cry as he massages her upper arm.

Returning to Izuku, Overhaul checks the clock on the wall. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls the tray-on-wheels over and swabs the inside of Izuku’s left elbow.

Izuku, resigned, looks away as Overhaul ties the tourniquet around his upper arm and slides the needle into his vein.

How does he even have any blood left for the man to take? The amount that’s been pulled out of his body in the last … however long it’s been … should be enough to drain him dry several times over.

And yet, he still has more to take.

Overhaul was telling the truth when he said the session would be the same as normal. Izuku sits there, watching his blood leave his body, until Overhaul decides he’s taken enough for now and pulls the needle out. Izuku flinches away, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

But it never comes.

Overhaul unlocks the restraints holding Izuku in place and tugs him to his feet. Lightheaded, Izuku stumbles and almost falls, but Overhaul’s hands on his shoulders steady him.

Someone knocks on the door. Izuku twitches and turns to watch it open.

It doesn’t open.

“It’s Chrono.” The words are muffled by the door between them.

“Come in,” Overhaul calls back.

This time, the door opens. Chronostasis is, just as the last time Izuku saw him, wearing his mask. The hood of his coat is pulled up over his head. Izuku doesn’t even get the tiniest glimpse of his appearance.

“Take him back to his room.” Overhaul shoves Izuku forward and finally removes his hands from Izuku’s shoulders.

He almost trips and falls, but miraculously manages to keep his feet under him. Chronostasis steps forward to grab his arm.

“Make sure everyone knows: he’s not to have food for the next three days.”

What?

“Don’t forget to give him water—if he dies of dehydration, I will find out who was responsible and they will be sitting on that chair in his place.”

“Yes, sir.” Chronostasis tugs Izuku’s arm and leads him out of the laboratory. Izuku follows, too woozy and distracted to fight.

Overhaul always remakes Izuku after the sessions—why didn’t he do that this time?

And three days without food? His stomach clenches at the thought. He’s skipped a meal here and there in the past because he’s just plain forgetful, but he’s never gone more than a day without eating.

“Oh, and one last thing.”

Izuku freezes, anxiety gnawing at him as he waits for Overhaul’s final edict.

“I hope you’ll be more forthcoming with information the next time I ask you about your quirk, Izuku.”

The laboratory door slams shut, the sound echoing down the hallway. Izuku’s ears ring in the wake of it.

Chronostasis tugs his arm again, and wordless, Izuku follows him back to his cell.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“Midoriya! Midoriya!” Toshinori shouts into the darkened maze around him. He knows his boy is here somewhere, he can feel it deep in his bones and the way One for All is buzzing in his veins. Midoria must be here, all he has to do is work out where.

But everywhere he turns there’s another hallway, and every hallway leads to more hallways. None of them lead him closer to Young Midoriya. None of them are leading him closer to the center of this maze.

“All Might?” A voice echoes through the hallways, a faint call that sounds like it might be Young Midoriya, but might be someone else entirely at the same time. But it can only be Young Midoriya because Toshinori isn’t looking for anyone else, isn’t missing anyone else as desperately as he is missing his boy. And if Young Midoriya is calling out to him then Toshinori needs to go to him, needs to return him to his mother.

Toshinori needs to save him. Because he already failed to save his boy once before, he cannot fail again. He will not fail again.

He turns the next corner and finally, there is something other than yet another hallway. Instead there is a set of stairs leading up to a door. Toshinori takes them two at a time. Midoriya might not be at the end of them, but they’re better than the endless hallways behind him.

The door at the top leads him onto a roof, the wind sipping at his hair and throwing it sharply back in his face. Toshinori takes a few steps forward, scanning the rooftop as he does.

There, standing on the edge of the building, the wind tearing at his school uniform, in stark relief against the blue of the sky, is his boy. Toshinori found him. He found him.

“Midoriya,” Toshinori starts, disbelief high in his throat as he takes a half step forward.

On the edge of the roof, Midoriya stumbles back a step.

Toshinori freezes in place, his head beating an erratic pattern against his ribs. Midoriya is too close to the edge of the roof, he needs to come away from there right now, before the wind takes him away.

“Midoriya,” Toshinori starts again, his voice lower, as if he is trying to talk to a frightened animal.

“Help me.” Midoriya reaches towards him. There are tears in his eyes, but he doesn’t step away from the edge of the roof.

“All Might, please. Please help me.”

“Step away from the roof my boy,” Toshinori says, his hands raising to his sides in a placating manner. “I’ll help you but first you need to step towards me, okay?”

“All Might! Please! I need help,” Midoriya begs.

Toshinori can’t ignore a cry for help, can’t ignore this cry for help if his life depended on it.

He practically lurches forward, intent on grabbing Midoriya’s wrist. As he does, Midoriya topples backwards, weight overbalancing into the endless blue sky behind him.

It feels like Toshinori is moving through molasses, helpless to do anything but watch while Midoriya falls, screaming his name, asking to be saved. Even as he reaches out, he knows he will not be there in time, knows that he is moving too slowly to catch him.

Midoriya disappears from view and Toshinori feels the world around him slam into fast forward. He is at the railing of the building before even realizing he has moved, and only the knowledge that he should be gripping them as he throws the upper half of his body over the railing connects them to his hands. Every other inch of him is straining towards where Midoriya disappeared, trying to spot his boy. Maybe he can still save him, maybe he can still be fast enough.

Except there is no sight of his boy below him. Midoriya is neither falling nor painted against the ground. Something inside Toshinori unclenches while something else inside him winds even tighter.

Again, he moves before his mind can keep up with his body, throwing himself onto the ground in search of his boy. Swinging his head wildy side to side trying to spot Midoriya.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of green flickers. Toshinori whips his head around and just manages to catch sight of Midoriya sprinting away from him. He is up and after his boy within a second, feet slapping against the pavement.

No matter how fast he runs, how hard he pushes himself, Midoriya always manages to stay just ahead of him, always running around the next corner just as Toshinori rounds the previous one.

Finally, as he rounds the last corner, his heart plumments through the floor.

The sludge villain takes up the entirety of the alleyway Toshinori has found himself in. His gurgling laughter echoes throughout the street. No one else seems to have noticed the impending threat yet.

No one else besides his boy, who is racing towards the sludge villain in a mirror of the scene that inspired Toshinori to take him on as his successor. And just like last time, there inside the sludge villain, a figure fights to get free.

Midoriya reaches the figure just as Toshinori realizes it’s there and he gets one glance at the person trapped inside.

Toshinori does not remember most of the people he has saved over the years, there have been so many of them that they tend to blend together. He does tend to remember the younger ones, as they stand out to him in a way the others don’t.

He is positive he has never seen this little girl before, the small horn on her head would make her memorable. Her red eyes are wide in fear, and Toshinori has never been able to walk away from someone in fear.

Midoriya can’t, either. It’s why Toshinori picked him to be his successor.

It’s the reason why Midoriya is running towards the sludge villain yet again.

Toshinori moves to intercept his boy, but even without One for All, Midoriya manages to reach the sludge villain before Toshinori can shift forward a centimeter.

The sludge villain chuckles as Midoriya shoves his hand inside, reaching for the little girl. It feels like Toshinori can’t move. No matter how hard he strains forwards, how hard he can feel himself straining forwards, his body refuses to be anything but a frozen meatsack around him.

Then the sludge villain expands for one brief moment, spread wide across the alley, his manic smile looming before swooping forwards and engulfing Midoriya.

Only then do Toshinori’s limbs unlock around him and he finds himself rushing forwards.

“Midoriya!” Toshinori reaches out for his boy even as he prepares a blast of One for All, he does not want to hurt his boy or the little girl. But he knows that letting them stay inside the villain is not an option.

Inside the villain, Midoriya doesn’t look like he is trying to reach back to him though. He looks like he is trying to dig his way deeper into the villain, ignoring Toshinori entirely.

So as he reaches the villain, he braces himself for the punch he is about to throw, hoping that he can be fast enough to catch Midoriya and the girl inside before they get hurt.

But when his fist connects with the villain, nothing happens. The villain does not come apart like he should, the blowback that Toshinori had been braced for does not come. All it does is sink slowly into the villain.

And in front of him, Midoriya continues to move away from him. He doesn’t even try to look at Toshinori. He just keeps moving towards the little girl.

“Midoriya! My boy! Please!” Toshinori shouts, struggling to reach the boy.

Other hands reach for him as well, struggling against the muck to grab either of the two victims inside. Toshinori would look to see who has come to his aid, but Midoriya is more important right now. Reaching Midoriya takes precedence over everything else.

Around his hand, the texture of the villain changes. Gone is the slimy texture he remembers so well. Rather, between him and his boy, Toshinori’s hand is surrounded by feathers.

Izuku is hungry.

He’s other things too, but the hunger eclipses everything else until it is everything.

He thought he had been hungry in his life before. That was nothing compared to this.

For the first day he had tried to distract himself from the gnawing hunger in his stomach. Had resumed his workout routine right where Overhaul had interrupted it, doing his best to focus on other parts of his body. Planning to gorge himself on water when it was offered to him. Figuring that while he probably wouldn’t be able to keep himself from being satisfied, he could at least keep himself full enough to get by, and distracted enough for all the moments in between.

That plan had lasted until Izuku had been given his water that night.

It hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. There had been just enough water to keep him from being actively thirsty and no more.

The second day had been worse. Izuku had known he wouldn’t be getting enough water to keep up with his exercise routine. So he hadn’t even tried.

For the first part of the day he had walked around the room, trying to remember and quietly list all the quirks he had ever seen. After he had done that he listed their attributes and different scenarios they could be useful in.

But about halfway through the day he had felt dizzy and had sat down hard on his bed.

He hadn’t gotten back up.

Izuku is pretty sure that day three has started at some point, but he’s not totally sure. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for a period of time and he can’t really tell anymore.

He thinks maybe some people come in and sit him up and have him drink some water, but it only takes the edge off his thirst. It doesn’t do anything for the all encompassing hunger.

Then hands on his arms force him up and out of his bed. They force him to walk after them, and he can barely see in front of him he is so dizzy, but the hands on his arm keep him upright and moving until he is practically shoved down into his operating chair.

“Hopefully you’re feeling a little more cooperative today Izuku,” Overhaul says as Izuku catches sight of him over by where his tools usually sit. There is nothing there today though.

“Let’s start with an easy one shall we? What is the hero name of the person who shared their power with you?”

And Izuku knows that he can’t lie to Overhaul, not again, he doesn’t think that he would survive another punishment right now. But he can’t give up All Might either, can’t give up the secret of One for All. He can’t give All Might’s secret to a villain, can’t risk All Might being targeted, can’t risk the lives All Might will save with that power.

So Izuku presses his lips into a tight line and refuses to answer.

Overhaul lets out a frustrated sigh as he places his tablet down, the space between his eyebrows crinkling just slightly as he gives Izuku a look that spells trouble. Still, Izuku knows that if he gives up this secret, that’s the end. Overhaul can have all his other secrets except that one.

“I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then,” Overhaul says looking over Izuku’s shoulder. “Nemoto, it looks like I’ll be in need of your services after all. If you would please come here and question Izuku for me.”

A slender man in a black poncho steps into Izuku’s view. Picking up the tablet Overhaul had placed down before turning towards Izuku fully and asking the exact same question Overhaul did.

The way he says it though is different though, there is a heaviness to the words that seems to ripple through the air.

Izuku realizes it’s Nemeto’s quirk a second before he feels the effects.

He wants to tell the truth. He has to tell the truth. He can feel the truth clawing its way up his throat.

But he can’t-

He needs to-

All Might will-

Izuku locks his jaw around the truth, doing his best to keep it inside. It’s a burning thing in his mouth, in his chest. And Izuku is still so weak from hunger.

“His hero name is All Might.” The sentence spills out of his mouth, each word rushing to get out faster than the one before it. Izuku slams his mouth closed with a click the second after the words are out. But the damage has already been done. Izuku has already failed.

Both men in front of him go unnaturally still as Izuku struggles not to let the tears he can feel forming show. He just told a villain All Might’s biggest secret, his biggest weakness. He may just as well have handed All Might over on a silver platter.

“All Might,” Overhaul whispers into the silent room. But it may as well be a slap to the face for how Izuku flinches back into his chair.

“Well that certainly does change some things, doesn’t it. Nemoto, ask him the next question on the list, I want to figure out exactly how this all fits together.”

Izuku clenches his jaw, determined to not spill any more secrets, no matter how hard Nemeto’s quirk tried to pull them out of him. He may have broken his promise to All Might and told someone about the quirk, but he can at least resist telling Overhaul anything more.

He has to try.

Nemeto opens his mouth again and the truth burns its way out of Izuku’s throat.

“Midoriya!” Toshinori’s throat burns as he jerks up in bed, hand still reaching out for a person who isn’t there.

He sits there and pants as the memories of his dream wash over him. It’s been years since he had a dream that vivid. He can still feel the echo of feathers against his hand, can still see Midoriya struggling towards that girl.

It’s hours before he can fall back asleep again.

The little girl’s face, surrounded by muck and so very scared, is still haunting him when he sets off for U.A. in the morning. He is still convinced he hasn’t ever seen her before.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Izuku’s body weighs him down. A lingering ache has made itself at home in the spaces between his cells, a remaining remnant of being broken apart and then remade. It fades, given time, but each day it is renewed.

He lets his mind drift. The pain fades as his awareness does. Only the tube attached to his arm tethers him to the moment.

Overhaul’s bare hand lands on Izuku’s shoulder, jerking him back to reality. Its presence makes him want to throw up, the same way he had after eating for the first time after the interrogation. He’s had five meals since then, assuming he hasn’t miscounted. Two meals per day, two and a half days since he gave up the secret of One For All.

Again, assuming his counting is correct.

“You looked lost there.” Overhaul pats his shoulder, once, before turning back towards Eri.

Where before, Izuku and Eri’s sessions would be run back-to-back, they now occur simultaneously. Both are injected, one after the other, then fitted with the needle and tube in the crooks of their elbows.

Another change—Overhaul stopped using his quirk on Izuku’s full body after the sessions, instead localizing it to his arm. Izuku isn’t sure why, and the quirk being localized doesn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, the pain is only stronger, radiating out from his arm and resonating through his whole body.

His best guess is that it’s a reward, perhaps, of some twisted sort, for … having Nemoto’s quirk used on him?

Yeah, he’s not at all sure why the change happened, but he’s not going to argue. He hasn’t done much speaking at all in the last few days aside from muttering to himself in his room and, occasionally, responding when Overhaul directly questions him.

The time he spends in the lab passes in near-silence. The fridge and lights hum in the background, while Overhaul’s actions, the tap of his footsteps and the thuds of his fingers against his tablet screen, settle into the foreground.

“Izuku.”

He startles. His head, which had been lolling toward his chest, snaps up as he looks toward Overhaul.

“The end of today’s session will proceed differently than you are used to. It is a necessary part of exploring Eri’s quirk. Try not to interrupt, hm?”

Izuku blinks. What does that …. That can’t be good.

“You won’t be disruptive. Right?”

Ah, Overhaul is demanding a direct response.

“What …. What is it you’ll be doing?” Izuku asks, eyes fixed on Overhaul’s face to gauge the man’s response.

Overhaul’s expression remains as cool and impassive as always. “Nothing too horrible. You’re not being punished. Simply a routine test of her quirk. I thought I might warn you ahead of time so as to avoid you kicking up a fuss.”

“I …. Alright.” Izuku narrows his eyes, gaze flicking towards Eri. Her expression, normally scared but holding it together, has morphed into something unspeakably sad. The corners of her eyes are tight with resignation.

His stomach flips. No child’s eyes should look like that.

What kind of torture does Overhaul have in mind next for her?

Izuku looks back toward Overhaul as the man types something out on his tablet.

Soon, their session is wrapping up. Overhaul pulls the needles out of both of their arms but only resets Izuku’s arm. Izuku’s heart sinks.

What reason does Overhaul have for not resetting Eri’s arm?

He carefully tracks the man’s motion across the room as Overhaul walks to the door. Overhaul opens it and steps to the side. “Chronostasis, we’re ready.”

Chronostasis? What does he have to do with this? Will he be using his quirk on Eri, or will she be using her quirk on him, or something else?

Izuku’s thoughts grind to a screeching halt as Chronostasis enters the room. Wearing his usual white coat and beaked mask, Izuku still hasn’t gotten a glimpse of any of his features.

He pushes a wheelchair in front of him, and in that wheelchair is a man. An old man, stooped with age, hands gnarled and skin thin. He doesn’t move and barely reacts as he’s brought in. Sluggish blinks and slow breathing are, in Izuku’s experience, sure signs of Chronostasis’s quirk.

Chronostasis wheels him over next to Eri’s chair and leaves him there before stepping over to stand next to Izuku.

“This will be your first time seeing it, won’t it?”

Never before has Chronostasis bothered to speak to Izuku. Why is he doing so now? Is he expecting a response? Maybe not, but it’s not as if Izuku can tell, given how his features are completely covered and his body language gives nothing away.

He doesn’t press Izuku for a response, and Izuku doesn’t give one.

They both watch as Overhaul releases Eri’s upper body, unlocking the cuffs around her wrists and releasing the collar from around her neck. Once that’s finished, he steps back behind her chair.

“You may begin whenever you’re ready,” Overhaul instructs.

Izuku barely breathes while she leans forward and raises hands which shake so hard Izuku can clearly see them trembling from where he sits. With just a moment’s hesitation, she places them on the old man’s hands and screws her eyes shut.

Despite himself, a sick sense of curiosity grows in Izuku’s gut. Just what is her quirk? What is it about her that draws Overhaul’s attention?

Her horn shimmers, shedding gold light and beginning to spark. The light spreads, encompassing her body before wreathing around the old man as well. They both seem to glow from within. Golden light casts ethereal shadows on the floor around them.

The old man’s spine begins to straighten, shoulders lifting and the hunch in his back disappearing. Wrinkles begin to vanish, his skin smoothing out and growing thicker, healthier … younger. Liver spots vanish, arthritic fingers unbend, muscle mass returns.

Izuku, entranced, cannot tear his eyes away. Is he even breathing anymore? He’s not paying enough attention to his own body to tell.

He watches as the man’s face fills out. A youthful roundness returns to it, cheekbones and jaw softening. His body grows more slender and begins to shrink.

And shrink.

And shrink, until there is a child, as young as—younger than—Eri, sitting in the wheelchair in front of her.

Overhaul’s hand lands on her head and the glow cuts out as he unmakes and rebuilds her.

Izuku chokes on his breath. What did he just see?

A hand lands on his shoulder and Chronostasis leans his head in towards Izuku’s ear. “It’s amazing to watch, isn’t it?”

All Izuku can do is try to breathe as his breath sputters in his chest. What was—what even—

A de-aging quirk, a complete de-aging quirk, of some sort. Her horn is shorter now, that must have something to do with it. A stockpile, of some sort? And the glow started with her horn. She also touched the man before activating it, does it require skin-to-skin contact? But then, why did Chronostasis come over here, unless that has nothing to do with her quirk—

The man.

Izuku’s brain stumbles over that as he catches up to his own train of thought.

The man, now child, who sits in the wheelchair Overhaul is pulling away from Eri. At some point, Overhaul had put his gloves back on before grabbing the handles on the back of the chair.

Eri is crying.

Overhaul swabs the now-child’s arm with an alcohol wipe.

Eri cries quietly, near-silent, her eyes screwed closed and hands grasping at the fabric of her skirt.

Overhaul injects something into the now-child’s upper arm.

Chronostasis’s hand is still locked onto Izuku’s shoulder.

Overhaul turns, his voice the crack of a gunshot through the ringing silence in Izuku’s head. “Chronostasis. He’s ready.”

The hand leaves Izuku’s shoulder, untethering him, as Chronostasis walks toward Overhaul and the now-child.

“Wh,” Izuku begins, words completely abandoning him. His head turns, gaze following Chronostasis until he leaves the room with the wheelchair and the once-man in it.

He blinks. His eyes burn.

“What …. What?” he finally manages, eyes still locked on the door Chronostasis just walked through.

“That,” Overhaul begins, pausing to take the used needle off the syringe and throw it in the sharps bin, “is Eri’s curse.”

Izuku’s head snaps back towards Eri, locking on where she’s still crying. Her face is flushed, hair falling wildly around her shoulders and into her face as her shoulders shake.

He should be feeling something. Anything. Instead, he just feels hollow, like someone’s scooped all his internal organs out and replaced them with ice.

“What did, she, you, what, what was that?” Izuku fights his uncooperative lips until something coherent leaves his mouth.

Overhaul doesn’t respond at first. Izuku’s breathing grows harsher. It rushes louder in his own ears.

“What just happened? What did she—what did you make her do?”

Tears track trails of heat down his cheeks as his eyes flick back and forth from Overhaul to Eri and back again. He leans forward, a yank in his chest calling for him to run to Eri, to calm her, to wipe away her tears, to scoop her up and take her away from this place.

The collar holding him back bites into his throat, choking him. He collapses back against the chair and coughs.

Overhaul clicks his tongue. “Oh, Izuku, do calm down. That man isn’t dead—the exact opposite, in fact.” He pins Izuku down with a cold glare. “He’s been given a second chance. We’ve done him a service.”

“A, a service?” Izuku chokes.

“Did you not see the state he was in when Chronostasis arrived with him? His days were numbered. His health was declining. All Eri did was rewind him back to his childhood. He’ll get to grow up again, live again, be healthy again.”

There is no passion, no care, behind Overhaul’s words.

Izuku licks his lips, mouth bone-dry. “What, what’s the, what’s the catch?”

Overhaul tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Why do you so automatically assume there’s a catch?”

A direct question.

Izuku needs to respond.

“Isn’t—isn’t there?” he asks, scrambling to pick out the correct words. “I, you, you don’t seem like the, the kind of person to, to give away things for free.”

“Well, yes, I do get something out of it. But that’s not exactly information you need to know …. Not yet.”

Overhaul steps over to where he last left his tablet. He picks it up, types something into it, and sets it back down. For a moment, he pauses, before turning and glancing over his shoulder towards Izuku.

“A life is being saved. Shouldn’t that be enough for you, little hero?”

Izuku flinches back. Before he can think up any sort of rebuttal or argument, someone knocks on the door then opens it.

“Tengai. Rappa. Good timing,” Overhaul says.

“Boss.” Tengai nods to Overhaul as he walks into the room.

As always, Rappa remains outside.

Tengai’s hands are deft and gentle as he undoes the restraints holding Izuku in place. He grabs Izuku’s right arm and pulls him to his feet. Izuku stumbles, legs stiff from being locked in place, but Tengai holds him up and leads him out of the laboratory. Once in the hall, Rappa closes the door behind them and falls into step with them.

“That was your first time seeing Eri’s quirk in action, wasn’t it?” Tengai asks. If Izuku didn’t know better, he would say the man’s voice sounds sympathetic.

Izuku nods in response. Questions are to be answered, and even if Tengai and Rappa do not have Overhaul’s authority, he does not want to see what they would come up with to punish him.

Tengai sighs. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Rumor around the compound says that she completely erased her father from existence when it manifested, and that’s why Overhaul is caring for her,” Rappa adds.

“I fully believe she did.” Tengai’s hand tightens around Izuku’s upper arm briefly.

Tengai is right, her quirk is terrifying. Overhaul called it rewinding, what she did. The ability to completely rewind someone like that …. It’s a power not to be underestimated.

Even so, it was still beautiful, both to watch and in its potential. She could rewind injuries and illnesses, restoring people back to their prior health.

But what about memories? Does she completely erase the memories of the age she rewinds? Is there now an old man’s mind in a four-year-old’s body, or are that man’s experiences, an entire life’s worth of memories and connections, gone?

Was he even asked permission? He probably wasn’t.

Izuku shudders. What would it be like to have your entire life erased? Your experiences, your memories, your body rewound to a much younger age? To be stuck, reliving childhood—

A door opening jolts him out of his thoughts. Tengai pushes him into his room (his cell).

“We’ll be back in a few hours with your dinner,” Tengai says before shutting the door and closing Izuku back in his cage.

His world has become two rooms and the twisting hallways connecting them.

Sighing, he shakes that thought from his head. A wave of sudden exhaustion washes over him, and he rides it out, letting it dump him onto his bed. Wrapping himself in the threadbare blankets he’s been allowed to have, he turns his back to the door and curls up as close to the wall as he can jam his body.

He slips one hand between the mattress and the wall. Concrete scrapes his knuckles raw, but he shoves his hand down until his fingers brush against dried, hardened bread. The food he’s stashed is still here. Even if Tengai was lying, and dinner does not come tonight, he still will not go three days without again.

His door clicks open and Izuku shakes off his dreams, the last cries of seabirds and the crashing of waves echoing in his ears while the smell of salt and brine refuses to fade from his nose. Dinner was already brought to him today, so what do they want now?

He raises his head and shoves his body upright, blinking until the world comes into focus. Setsuno ambles toward him, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty rest.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “There’s been a change in the rooming situation. Come on, get up.”

Izuku drags himself out of bed and rises to his feet. All the blood rushes from his head and he staggers, vision going black for a few moments before his body adjusts to the sudden change of position.

Setsuno is accompanied by someone Izuku has never seen before. A small, skinny person wearing a ragged purple shirt and a bag with holes cut out for their eyes over their head follows, wordlessly, as Setsuno leads Izuku out of his room and down the hallway.

“That’s Tabe,” Setsuno says, jabbing his thumb at the new person. “Don’t mind him. If he weirds you out, deal with it.”

Izuku nods. It’s not like he has much of an option other than to deal with it.

Setsuno leads him down a different path than the way to the laboratory. Izuku does his best to memorize the turns they take, but by the time they stop in front of a plain door, he’s hopelessly lost track of their location relative to his room.

“This is Eri’s room,” Setsuno says. “And now, your room. She gets fevers after using her quirk. She has one now. Stay awake, keep an eye on her, take her temperature occasionally, and if it gets too high, then just come knock on the door. We’ll be monitoring you. Got it?”

They’re moving him into Eri’s room? Why are they doing that? Is it just so he can keep an eye on her fever? But why wouldn’t Overhaul have some underling dedicated to doing that?

“Got it?” Setsuno asks again.

sh*t, that was a direct question, right. “Got it,” Izuku replies, voice shaking.

“Good.” Setsuno unlocks the door, opens it, and shoves Izuku inside before slamming it shut behind him.

Eri, curled up in a ball on her bed, does not react. She’s dead asleep and wrapped tight in her blankets.

There’s more to her room than there was to Izuku’s. A few toys are shoved haphazardly in the corner, and a nightstand sits next to the bed with a thermometer on top of it. A single night light on the opposite wall gives him just enough light to see all this by.

Izuku steps softly across the room towards her and settles down on the edge of the bed. Her mattress creaks as it takes his weight.

Her eyes crack open, fever-bright. She cranes her head back to look up at him. “What …?”

“They brought me over to keep an eye on you while you sleep off your fever,” Izuku murmurs. “Just go back to sleep, okay? Your fever will go away sooner if you get plenty of rest.”

She frowns, pale eyebrows drawing together. “You’re … just keeping an eye on me?”

His heart aches in his chest. “I’m not going to hurt you, or, or anything like that, okay? I promise. I’m just …. I’m just going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

Her expression, at first, does not change, until it smooths out and she nods.

“I’m going to touch your head now, okay? Just to, I’m just going to stroke your hair. If that’s alright? My mom used to do that for me, when I had trouble sleeping ….” He trails off and bites his lower lip. His whole chest aches now. He misses his mother. He misses her hugs, he misses the sound of her voice, he misses the smell of her lotion and the way she kisses his temple and how she’ll rub his back when she catches him crying.

Does she miss him as much as he’s missing her?

Below him, Eri considers his words. Her face screws up in concentration.

At last, she nods, and Izuku shifts so he can sit more comfortably before reaching down and running his fingers through her hair. She is tense, at first, her eyes following the motion of his hand. Occasionally, her gaze flicks up towards his face like she’s trying to analyze his thoughts from his expression.

He continues to stroke her hair, and, after a few minutes, she relaxes. Her eyes begin to droop closed.

Long after she’s fallen back to sleep, he still runs his fingers through his hair. Silent tears drip down his cheeks.

He’s still thinking about his mother.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Ochako had seen the article even before her parents had sent it to her, asking if this was the Midoriya she was always talking to them about, expressing their concern about the fact that he had injured himself so badly that he had been expelled from the Hero Course. She had seen it that morning on her warmup jog around the block and had abandoned the rest of her plans for anything that morning.

She hadn’t wanted to believe it was true, had tried to convince herself that it was a lie. After all, Deku was her friend, the person who had saved her during the entrance exam when no one else had. And Aizawa-sensei had said his declaration to expel the person with the least potential had only been a logical ruse to get them to do their best.

The article had just been a lie, or speculation. Magazines, especially tabloids like News Weekly Acclaimed, made up lies all the time. There was no reason to believe that this wasn’t just more of the same.

But part of her whispers that the article isn’t lying. Because Aizawa-sensei had seemed so serious when he said he would expel anyone with no potential, and he had told Deku over and over again that if he couldn’t stop from hurting himself he would be a liability in the field. So maybe he had followed through on his threats, maybe Deku really was gone.

And where would that leave Ochako? Sure she was friendly with the other kids in class, but she and Deku had bonded, he was her best and closest friend. Taking action to save him was how she had earned her spot in the heroics program.

He isn’t responding to her messages either as she makes her way to school. He hadn’t been responding to her texts for the past few days, but she hadn’t thought anything about it because sometimes Deku forgot to respond after reading messages. Now though she is concerned that he isn’t responding because he isn’t in the Heroics Course anymore.

She spends most of her trip to school going back and forth, arguing with the part of her that whispers to her that she knows the truth, deep down. She fiddles with her phone, flipping it open to check her messages, seeing nothing new has populated, closing it, before flipping it back open again.

Around her, everyone else seems to be talking about the sports festival and Deku and his expulsion, but none of them will meet her eyes when she looks at them.

Entering U.A. feels like a relief, at least the people here don’t immediately look away from her the moment she makes eye contact. But then she looks towards where Deku is normally waiting for her by the front gate so they can walk to class together, and doesn’t see him.

Ochako pulls off to the side, away from the flow of traffic and stations herself right by the door, determined to grab Deku as soon as she spots him. He doesn’t show up though. And with each second Ochako can feel dragging past her, with each student passing by her on their way to class, she can feel the tension in her gut and in her spine mounting.

She waits there, just watching for Deku, until she has to peel away from the front gate and start making her way to class or risk being late. As she walks she tries to tell herself that Deku had just entered the school before her and had gone on ahead to the classroom instead of waiting for her. But even as she repeats it to herself over and over, it feels like a lie.

It feels like a lie all the way up to the 1-A classroom, where as soon as she walks through the door, the hollow pit in her stomach tells her it is definitely a lie. She ignores that as she scans the room.

There are still a few people missing, Deku among them. But Iida is sitting in his seat, and Ochako figures that if anyone would be able to dispel the ugly voice in her head and reassure her with the truth, it’ll be the class representative.

“Hey Iida, have you seen the news yet today,” Ochako starts. She can feel every head in the room snap in her direction as she speaks up. The hairs in the back of her neck rise at being the focus of such unwavering attention, but she pins her shoulders back. There is no going back now, even if she wanted to.

And part of her does want to as Iida looks up at her with a cold rage that sends a shiver down her spine and reminds her of the villains who used to wreck havoc in her old neighborhood as he says “I was already aware of the situation before the news media got ahold of the information.”

“You already knew?” It feels like Ochako is whispering as she speaks, but she can’t be because the tension in the room ratchets a notch or two higher at her words, the others shifting uncomfortably in their seats in the peripheral of her view.

But none of that matters. Not a single other person in the room matters because Iida had known . He had known and he had let her find out from a News Weekly Acclaimed article anyways.

“Yes Uraraka, I was made aware during the sports festival,” Iida says, his eyes narrowing at her as his voice dips colder.

Ochako feels burning hot and ice cold. Iida had know for days, and he didn’t bother to tell her, didn’t bother to give her a heads up or even a warning text.

“Why didn’t you tell me if you knew at the sports festival?”

“Frankly Uraraka, I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

She has never felt more like a villain in her life as she considers lunging across Iida’s desk.

“He’s my friend Iida, I can’t believe you’d let me get blindsided like that.” Her voice is shaking with barely suppressed rage.

Iida’s cold demeanor breaks as he blinks at her, looking completely taken aback.

“It’s true then? Midoriya really has been expelled from the hero course?” Mina asks, speaking up for the first time. She’s standing just to the side of Iida’s desk. Ochako isn’t even sure when the other girl moved from her desk, but she looks sad. And that does more to pull Ochako from her anger than the shock from Iida.

“I mean it makes sense,” Kaminari says from where he’s sitting at his seat, twisted around to look at them, “He was breaking his bones every time he used his quirk and Aizawa-sensei is always saying he would expel anyone with no potential.”

And there’s the rage again, bubbling underneath her skin as she once again considers becoming a villain.

“I mean, I don’t do as much damage to my body, but I still can’t use my quirk for more than a second without hurting myself,” Aoyama pipes up from his seat, “Not to mention Midoriya is a better student than I am, does that mean that I should be expelled as well?”

“And you fry your brain anytime you put out too much electricity, and Deku made it further in the festival than you? Are you next on Aizawa-sensei’s list?” Uraraka snaps at Kaminari. He reels back as if he’s been slapped even though she is standing several feet away from him.

“Wait,” Iida says, trying to interrupt, but Uraraka has a full head of steam now.

“Why should you get to stay when Deku didn’t? What makes you better than him?”

Ochako can see Kaminari throwing sparks as he leans forward, his face twisting in anger. She bends her knees, her hands lifting slightly from where they had been hanging down at her sides so that she can float him as soon as he gets in range.

“That’s enough!” Aizawa-sensei snaps from the front of the room, “Find your seats, now.”

Ochako doesn’t want to. She wants to throw herself bodily at Kaminari and make him take back his words, she wants to make him regret. Iida too. She wants them to feel exactly how she’s felt this morning. Or as close as she can manage.

But Aizawa-sensei is staring directly at her, a ring of red around his eyes. And as much as she wants to defend Deku and make them take back their words, she can’t risk her position in the Hero Course. Not when her parents sacrificed so much to get her here. So she sits down in her seat, pushing her anger down deep inside the pit of her stomach.

Unease swirls in the pit of Shouta’s stomach as he takes his place at the lectern. For a moment there he had been sure that Uraraka was going to refuse to sit down. And before he had interrupted them, he had been sure that he was going to have to force her apart from Kaminari with the way the two of them had been going at each other.

He will have to see if he can’t figure out a way to fix this rift before it becomes a serious problem. He has a feeling though that it’s going to be a bit more complicated with the wrench he is about to throw into the works.

“Yes, it is true that Midoriya has been removed from the Heroics Course,” he says, answering the question he can feel hanging in the air above all their heads. The tension in the room tightens, thickening the air. Shouta feels like he can barely breathe through it.

Half of the class looks just like when the villains stepped out of the portal at the USJ. The other half just looks blank, which is unnerving in and of itself. All except Iida.

Iida looks like he has been sucker punched.

He must not have known. He must have been avoiding the news since the attack on his brother, it would have been the logical thing to do.

“And in that vein, as is tradition for students not in the Heroics Course, an offer was extended to the two highest performers in the Sports Festival.”

“No,” someone in the class whispers. He does not know who, but they sound like he is gutting them.

“Shinsou Hitoshi will be the newest member of class 1-A and will be learning by your side going forwards.” The boy in question walks into his room at his announcement, automatically the center of everyone’s attention.

“I just wanted to say, I am not here to make friends. All of you here are just obstacles in my way to achieving my goals,” Shinsou declares, back straight, head held high.

It is the exact wrong thing to say to the class as all their hackles rise. Shouta can’t fault the boy for his statement, but he does wish he had read the room a bit better. That will have to be one of the things Shouta teaches him soon.

“Aizawa-sensei, why did Midoriya get expelled?” Aoyama asks.

“That’s not important at the moment,” Shouta says, gesturing to Shinsou to take Midoriya’s old seat.

“But if we don’t know what got him expelled how would we know to avoid it?” Yaoyorozu asks from her desk, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

“You will avoid being removed from the Heroics Course by proving to me that you have the potential to stay here,” Shouta snaps at her. She doesn’t flinch at his words, but her shoulders do tense.

“Now, if there’s no one else who wants to interrupt me, let’s begin our class for today.”

Shouta has no idea what he is going to do. He has no idea how he is going to face his students and tell them that Midoriya is missing.

He doesn’t even want to let them know honestly. He’s already going to have to break it to them that internships are being pushed back after having told them about them just the other day. Letting them know that Midoriya is gone, that he might have run away or something worse, in the same breath will only hurt them more.

But hearing it from him is better than them finding out about the situation from the newspapers like they did with his expulsion. It might be the thing that loses him their trust entirely.

So he has to tell them, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t.

As soon as he enters the room, all the ambient chatter in the room stops as the students make their way into their seats. He stands at the lectern and looks at them staring up at him and he tastes ash in the back of his throat.

He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to tell them.

“It has come to the attention of U.A. that on Monday evening, while he was walking back to his home, Midoriya went missing. We are unsure yet if he met with unfavorable circ*mstances or if he left of his own volition.” He can hear them talking amongst themselves, can hear their dismay, but he cannot stop now, he has to keep going otherwise he might never be able to finish what he needs to say to them.

“If any of you have any idea where Midoriya might have gone, the police officers working this case have asked me to pass on their contact information. I will also be available to talk if anyone would feel more comfortable with that.

“In light of this recent news, we will also be pushing internships back until further notice. Now, let’s begin our class for the day.”

“You expect us to just move on from the fact that Deku is missing?” Uraraka exclaims from where she has half risin out of her seat, her hands planted flat on her desk, rage coming off every inch of her.

“Yes, that is exactly what I am expecting you to do. As heroes, you will often be given personally upsetting information, but you will still be expected to do your job and do it well. If you don’t think you are capable of handling that, the General Education classes are just a few hallways down and they have more than enough room for anyone in this room who would like to move there.”

Uraraka sits down, but she does not stop glaring at him. Shouta has a feeling she may not stop glaring at him for a long while yet.

Tenya can barely hear Aizawa-sensei talking at the front of the room, his ears are too full of the sound of his blood rushing to make anything distinctive out.

Midoriya is missing.

Midoriya is missing and Tensei is still in a hospital bed because a villain attacked him and left him for dead.

These two facts buzz around in his head, refusing to let him alone for even a moment. Tenya has never felt so helpless in all his life.

He was powerless to do anything for his big brother, his hero , when he was attacked by a villain. He didn’t even know about the attack until after so much time had passed, until he was out in the Sports Festival and his parents decided to call.

Now Midoriya has gone missing, right when Tenya stopped paying attention. He hadn’t even known that his best friend had been expelled from the Heroics Course until Aizawa-sensei had confirmed it when everyone else around him knew before they entered the school. And now he is missing and Tenya is once again left reeling.

He needs to focus, fix one problem and then another. He can’t do anything to find Midoriya that the police are not already doing. If Midoriya ran away then Tenya has no idea where he ran to, and if he met with villains then Tenya has no idea where to start looking. He doesn’t have enough information. Not yet.

But he does know who hurt his brother and where the villain will most likely be for the foreseeable future. Stain is a problem Tenya can fix. One he intends to see through.

And then after that, after he has dealt with Stain, then Tenya will devote all his energies towards getting Midoriya back, or avenging him like he is avenging his brother. Midoriya deserves nothing less.

Tenya stares down at the paper in his hands and feels an anger so hot he’s surprised it does not turn the sheet to ash. It does shake and crumple slightly in his hand though.

Denied. His internship application has been denied. He is going to have to pick another place, another hero. Anywhere besides Hosu, the paper says.

Anywhere besides where the villain Stain is currently operating. Anywhere besides where he needs to be in order to avenge his brother.

He’s never heard of an application being denied before. His brother had told him that most teachers viewed it as a learning experience for the first years, experience that paid off in spades when it came time to pick their work study mentors and didn’t pick the first name that jumped out at them but instead took the time to do through research on who they would be working with. So to have his application be denied, to be told no even after Tenya had done the proper research and put in the effort to know which hero he wanted to work with. It makes him furious.

Add to that the fact that Midoriya is still missing, still has not come home if he ran away or fought his way out of the grasp of villains and Tenya has never felt so helpless in his life.

But he can fix this. He has to fix this.

Avenge his brother and then find Midoriya. That is his gameplan.

“Iida? You okay?” Uraraka asks, cutting through the cloud of anger that surrounds him, reminding him of where he is and how he must conduct himself. There might still be a way to avenge Tensei afterall, and showing too much of his hand now because of a setback can only serve to hurt him and his brother.

“I’m fine Uraraka,” he says. He does not mean to sound so curt with his words, but he needs to focus on this problem, find the solution that will enable him to achieve his goals.

“Did something happen with your internship application?” This is an olive branch, he knows it is. She had been avoiding talking with him since the previous Monday, still hurt with the way he had talked to her when she thought he knew Midoriya had been expelled before her. She had said she understood when he had stiffly explained to her at lunch that he had been avoiding the news since his brother’s attack, but he hadn’t apologized for his words and she clearly hadn’t forgotten.

But Tenya can’t afford to be distracted right now. Not when Tensei is still laid up in his hospital bed, facing down a life forever altered. Not when Midoriya is still missing, and no real leads on his possible location.

He needs to stay focused. Fix the problem he can do something about and then move onto the next one.

“Everything is fine, Uraraka. I will see you in class tomorrow.” He barely even spares her a last glance as he leaves U.A.. He can make up for all his snubs later, once he has seen his goals through to completion. Tensei and Midoriya have to come first right now however.

Before anything else, he has to make up to them how useless he was before.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

“I found the stash in your old room,” Overhaul whispers. His breath brushes over the shell of Izuku’s ear. All the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. “Ought not do that in your new room. We wouldn’t want to attract vermin, would we?”

Izuku barely breathes as he nods in response. “Y-yes, sir.”

Overhaul leans away, his breath no longer warming Izuku’s skin. “Good to hear. I would hate for you to have to clean up the mess they would make.”

What form of veiled threat is that? Which punishment awaits him if he does that again (and gets found out)? It’s a threat, he knows it is, there’s nothing else it can be, but he can’t figure out what it implies.

Despite the unidentified threat, Izuku continues to stash food. It’s not just himself he has to worry about now: what if Overhaul decides to restrict his food again, and Eri ends up not eating, either? The risk, to him, is worth it. And it’s such a small thing—despite all his threats, Overhaul is reluctant to damage Eri in any way beyond the testing and remaking. If (when?) he does get caught, he can afford the pain of punishment.

A second bed is, at one point during one of the lab sessions, moved in Eri’s—into their?—room, shoved into the far corner.

The morning after the first night Izuku woke to her nightmares, he shoved the two beds together. The effort left him winded and sweating, tiring him more than it really should. He spent ten months hauling trash around on the beach, then transitioned to the UA hero course’s rigorous physical demands. Shoving a bed around shouldn’t wear him out like this.

He’s probably just worn out from the stress, he figures. He’ll be fine, it’s just the exhaustion from the repeated experimentation and food restriction and the fact he can hardly sleep, constantly wired and reacting at every little sound in the room.

A few days pass. Slowly, Eri becomes more comfortable with him in the light. At night, when she’s tired and falling asleep and can barely think through the sleepiness, she curls up next to Izuku with hardly any hesitation. He cards a hand through her hair and murmurs hero facts and quirk analyses to her in lieu of bedtime stories, continuing into the night long after she falls asleep. During the day, however, when they’re both awake and conscious, she shies away, ducking her head and watching him work out or doze in his bed with wary eyes.

What is he doing, she asks one day, after gathering all her courage and finding her voice. He answers her, and in the process of explaining himself, he finds he questions himself.

Why is he spending so much energy on this? He doesn’t have One For All anymore. He doesn’t have the calorie intake to sustain so much activity, and lack of sleep and Overhaul’s endless blood theft sap him of any energy leftover.

So, why is he doing this to himself?

That night, he sits up in his bed, knees pressed to his chest with one arm wrapped around them and the other one stroking Eri’s hair. The motion comes automatic, leaving his mind open to think about other things.

Things such as the questions he has now started asking. What’s the point? Why is he wasting so much energy on this? What are the benefits? The drawbacks? His mind scrambles over and around itself, scrabbling for an answer that rests just out of his reach.

Next to him, Eri stirs, whimpering in her sleep in response to whatever she’s dreaming. He shifts smoothly from the hair-stroking to lay his hand on her shoulder, thumb running back and forth over her exposed collarbone. She quiets, pressing closer to his side.

Maybe she’s the point. Does it matter what happens to him, so long as she makes it out? She doesn’t know anything other than this place and its concrete walls, nothing more than Overhaul’s cold eyes and pain-gifting hands. If he can maintain his physical fitness, at least a little bit, then maybe, possibly, if there’s an opportunity for escape ….

He sighs, uncurling and sliding down to lay under his blankets. With one arm, he pulls Eri closer and stares up at the ceiling he can barely see.

Besides, it’s not just her. He can’t just give up . All Might didn’t choose Izuku because he gives up —

But Izuku un-chose himself, thereby giving up.

He cringes, baring his teeth for a moment as tears sting his eyes. He’s already given up, so why not make it slightly easier for himself rather than continuing to live in some sick state of denial?

Just as he thinks that, the banked embers of defiance stir in his gut. What is he doing , he already regrets giving up once more than anything, so why would he do it again ? Is he that much of an idiot, that he needs to touch the electric fence more than once?

He can’t give up, won’t give Overhaul the satisfaction of watching him give up. Until he’s dead or escaped, he’ll defy Overhaul in whatever way he can—in whatever way won’t cost Eri more pain than she already faces.

He goes back on his resolution the very next day like the coward he is. Like the idiot he is, he talks back to Overhaul. All it takes is the man’s eyes sliding toward Eri, cold intent written in the way he tugs at the hem of his glove, and apologies are dropping from Izuku’s mouth like flies.

For the rest of the session, he’s compliant and quiet, avoiding looking up to see Eri’s worry or Overhaul’s calculating face.

That evening, before their dinner, Overhaul slams open the door to their room. Izuku shoves Eri behind him, prepared to stand between them and take any harm the man can give.

“Izuku. Come with me,” Overhaul orders. Both his hands are bare, and terror drops like a stone in Izuku’s gut.

What does Overhaul want? He can barely breathe as he sweeps his eyes up and down Overhaul’s form, searching for any clues in his posture and expression and clothes.

Behind Izuku, Eri grips his shirt. She trembles against him, fists tightening around the fabric as she peers past his shoulder at Overhaul.

“Now, Izuku. That wasn’t a request .”

Izuku startles, jerking away from Eri as Overhaul snaps at him.

“Go,” she whispers, so quiet Izuku can barely hear. Her palms briefly press flat against his back. “He’s angry. Don’t make him angrier.”

He goes, glancing once over his shoulder. Eri looks back, the fabric of her own dress twisted in one hand while the other hand goes in her mouth. Her shoulders shake, sob muffled in the meat of her thumb.

Izuku takes a deep breath and looks away from her. He fists his own hands in his pants to hide how violently they shake.

“Thank you for your … timeliness.” Overhaul puts one hand on Izuku’s back, resting it gently between his shoulder blades, and shuts the door behind them.

It automatically clicks locked.

For the entire duration of their passage through the halls, Izuku perceives nothing but Overhaul. The hand doesn’t lift, doesn’t move, just continues pressing Izuku forward while his stomach tries to crawl out of his mouth. Overhaul walks steady and measured while Izuku tries not to trip over tingling feet.

Their walk comes to an end outside an unfamiliar door. Overhaul opens it, guiding Izuku into a room with—

Food.

A large wooden table, dishes laden with more, better, healthier food than Izuku’s seen in days if not weeks. His hunger rears its ugly head in, reminding him in aching clarity that he has not eaten enough at all in ages. Smells flood his nose, rich and varied and oh so tantalizing.

The door shuts behind them.

“Have a seat,” Overhaul says, pushing Izuku closer to the table.

Izuku does as he’s told, taking the first chair he comes to and leaving himself terribly aware of the door at his back.

Overhaul sits diagonally to him, on the perpendicular edge of the table. He picks up a pair of chopsticks and gestures at Izuku. “Eat up.”

Izuku blinks.

What?

What’s the catch? If he eats now, what will the price be later—

“Eat as much as you want. It’s not poisoned, nor is it drugged. I won’t punish you for eating when you’re told to—that would be counterintuitive.”

Izuku stares at Overhaul, who stares back. There’s nothing he can pick up from the man. His face is blank, unreadable, shoulders slack and arms loose.

Tentatively, Izuku picks up the chopsticks in front of him.

Overhaul doesn’t move to stop him. Rather, he looks away from Izuku, and begins to eat, plucking pieces of food from various dishes.

After watching Overhaul eat a few bites, eyes locked on the man’s jaw and throat, Izuku slowly reaches out and picks up a piece of food from the first dish Overhaul ate from. With his prize in his chopsticks, he snatches it back and puts it in his mouth.

Oh, how he had forgotten how good food can taste. After days of eating stale bread and overcooked vegetables and whatever slop they deign to give him, it’s like seeing the sun again after days of cloudy skies.

Admittedly, that’s a terrible metaphor, since Izuku hasn’t seen the sun in days, either.

He does his best to eat slowly, so he doesn’t end up vomiting it all back up. Even so, he finds he’s full before he expects to be.

Despite that, he keeps going. Who knows when the next time will be that he will be allowed to eat so much? He needs to take advantage of it while he can, and so he forces himself forward, heart pounding in his ears and palms slick with sweat.

Once he truly can eat no more without the risk of throwing up from overindulgence, he sets his chopsticks down. It hurts to move from how tight and swollen his stomach is. Breathing becomes uncomfortable, lungs pressing against the space his stomach fills.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Overhaul asks. His voice and expression give away nothing other than polite disinterest.

Izuku nods, one arm wrapping around his abdomen. He tries not to make it too obvious. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Overhaul stands and pushes his chair in. “Let’s return you to Eri, then.”

Izuku stands, stomach protesting. He moves slowly to avoid jostling it. Gut leaden and nausea rising, he mentally kicks himself. He should have stopped just a little bit sooner, but no, he ate too much and now here he is, fighting back the urge to vomit every time he moves.

Overhaul’s hand lands on his back, right between the shoulder blades again, and Izuku almost throws up then and there. Slowly, the hand moves up his spine until it rests on the back of his neck, bare skin meeting skin.

“You know,” Overhaul begins, maintaining that politely disinterested tone. “I told you to stop hoarding food.”

Izuku has barely processed the words before he’s ripped apart. Overhaul’s quirk tears through him, splitting cell from cell before sewing them back together.

Falling to his knees and panting, Izuku’s left hand lands in something sticky. A sour scent fills his nose—bile. He blinks, and the floor comes into focus.

His hand is planted in a pile of half-digested food. The discomfort in his stomach is gone, replaced by the too-familiar ache of hunger. It bites at him, teeth all the sharper for the stolen meal.

Someone yanks on his shirt collar. Material biting into his throat, he stumbles to his feet, hauled upwards by steady pressure. He is turned, and Overhaul grabs his face in his hands, holding him so he can’t look away.

Reflexively, Izuku reaches up to grab the offending hands, realizing half a second too late that, well, his left hand is still covered in—can he technically call that vomit?

Overhaul sneers, eyes twisting with disgust as he shoves Izuku backwards. Izuku stumbles, tripping over his own feet. His hands fly back to catch himself on the edge of the table, but he misses, left wrist clipping the table and the back of his head cracking against the vertex. Stars fill his vision as he hits the ground. All he can do is sit there, reeling, following Overhaul with his gaze as the man cleans off his wrist with a sanitizer wipe.

After seeing to himself, Overhaul throws the used wipe in the trash can by the door before turning toward Izuku. He still clenches the packet of wipes in one hand. Izuku cringes back as Overhaul steps toward him, shoulders climbing to his ears.

He sits, frozen, as the man crouches down in front of him. Surely Overhaul must be able to hear his heart, so loudly does it pound.

Overhaul reaches out and wraps his fingers around Izuku’s left wrist. He tugs, and Izuku shifts his weight onto his right hand, left arm pliant in Overhaul’s hold.

Izuku’s expectations are shattered when Overhaul pulls a fresh wipe out of the packet and begins to gently clean off Izuku’s hand. Izuku stares, detached from himself—it doesn’t even feel like his own hand that Overhaul cradles—as the man carefully wipes the sick off his palm, off his fingers, threading the wipe through between them to clean off every millimeter of dirtied skin.

Once every single possible germ has been chased off Izuku’s hand, Overhaul balls up the wipe and sets it to the side. Pocketing the packet of wipes, he leans forward and runs his fingers through Izuku’s hair. Delicate fingertips probe the back of his skull, pressing against the swelling lump from where Izuku’s head hit the table.

Despite himself, Izuku hisses as Overhaul presses it. The man clicks his tongue but withdraws his hand, instead moving it down to tug on Izuku’s right wrist.

To let Overhaul take his arm, Izuku shifts and leans forward. The motion brings him into Overhaul’s space, where he can smell the sharp, pungent sanitizer that always clouds around him.

“I told you to stop hoarding food,” he says again, voice soft. He holds both of Izuku’s hands in his own.

Izuku can’t look up, can’t look into Overhaul’s face. Instead, his eyes land on the nearby former stomach contents and stick there.

Overhaul’s hands release Izuku’s, and a moment later, they land on his face again, cupping his cheeks and turning Izuku’s head so he’s forced to look at Overhaul’s face.

“Why did you continue to hoard food, even after I told you not to?”

Trick question, trick question, Izuku’s mind screams, alarm bells going off in the back of his head. But he has to answer it. Even though he knows it’s a trick, knows that whatever his answer is, he will be punished someway, somehow, he can’t not answer it. Not answering will be worse than whatever Overhaul devises from his answer.

“I’m,” Izuku begins, voice cracking. Overhaul’s eyes bore into him, sharp and heavy and strong. He can barely think with that stare settled so firmly on him.

He tries to pull away, leaning back, but Overhaul’s hands are firm. He’s not allowed an iota of distance.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku tries. The moment the words are out of his mouth, he knows it’s not enough. “I, I was, I was saving it for, for Eri, just in case …. In case you decided not to feed her, or us. I didn’t, I don’t want to go hungry again.”

“Don’t misbehave, and I won’t have to punish you—or her. Don’t misbehave, and you won’t need to worry about your meals being withheld.”

But I don’t know what counts as misbehavior , Izuku wants to ask. But he keeps his mouth shut. It seems like everything he does that’s not perfect, meek compliance may or may not count as misbehavior.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Overhaul releases Izuku’s face, and he can breathe again.

The man stands, picking up the discarded wipe and throwing it in the trash. He glances down at Izuku.

“We can do this again at any time if you forget this lesson and return to hoarding food. You were a pleasant meal companion, once you got over yourself and actually ate.”

Izuku shudders at the thought as he clambers to his feet. No, thanks. He would rather not do that again.

Overhaul’s voice sharpens as he says, “When someone gives you a compliment, it’s good manners to thank them for it.”

“That was—” Izuku bites his lip to cut his words off. “Thank you,” he tries instead.

“You’re welcome.” Overhaul places his hand on Izuku’s shoulder and guides him out the door.

Izuku does his best not to stumble as they walk. It’s hard; his limbs have an odd, distant quality to them, and his head spins. Whether the lightheadedness is from hitting his head on the table, hunger, stress, or panic, he’s not sure. Any one of them could be the cause.

After what feels like an endless traipse through the halls, they reach the door to Eri’s room. Overhaul opens it and shoves Izuku through. Izuku barely manages to keep his feet, turning in time to see the door slam shut.

“Izuku!” Eri calls out, the bed springs squeaking as she slides off the mattress. Her bare feet scuff against the ground as she runs over, halting just out of reach. “Did he hurt you?”

He turns and catches sight of her, all big red eyes and shaking hands. “I’m fine,” he lies.

“Okay.” She nods, taking him at face value and retreating back to the beds. Izuku follows her, feet dragging until he reaches the edge of his bed and drops into it. The bedframe shudders from the impact of his fall, and he curls up on his side, facing away from Eri.

He fades in and out of sleep for an indeterminate amount of time. His dreams slip through his hands like sand. Warmth, the smell and taste of blood, sleek green hair so similar to his own: fleeting images briefly touch his mind before fading away, ephemeral sensations that he yearns to hold onto.

That night, Eri is the one whispering to him, simplified and half-forgotten medical facts slipping through her lips and lulling Izuku back to unconsciousness while her small hands card through his tangled hair.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

“Today we’ll be seeing how far you’ve developed as heroes from your first few days here. We will once again be pitting you all against each other, heroes vs. villains style!” All Might says from the front of the small crowd of costumed hero students. His smile is wide and bright as he flashes them a thumbs up, but Hitoshi isn’t buying it. All Might hasn’t smiled properly since Midoriya went missing and Hitoshi took his spot in the Heroics Course. Or at least, he hasn’t given a real smile anywhere Hitoshi has been around to see it.

Maybe the other kids can’t see it, the fact that All Might is always faking around them. But he’s spent most of his life learning to tell when someone is lying to his face, learning to tell the difference between a real smile and a fake one before those smiles could turn into sneers. So he knows that All Might is not truly smiling anymore.

“Like last time, you will be randomly split off into pairs and like last time, your sides will be randomly chosen. I am expecting to see some improvement in your skills however! Show me how far you’ve managed to come! Plus Ultra!”

The call is repeated by most of the other students in the class, but Histoshi is already thinking, already calculating. They did this exercise before he joined, so in order to prove himself worthy of his spot here, he’s up against Midoriya’s performance. He has to do better than the other boy and show that the Sports Festival was not a one time fluke for him. And something tells him Midoriya did not lose his battle, no matter which side he was on.

Hitoshi hates living in someone else's shadow. He hates that he is striving to catch up to someone else’s starting line.

But if beating Midoriya’s memory is what he has to do to stop the prickling on his neck and the judgemental stares, then he will destroy any record the other boy left. He will prove himself over and over again if that’s what it takes. He won’t let anyone, not even a missing boy who was kicked out of the Heroics program before Hitoshi even got there, stand in the way of him achieving his dreams.

“Young Jirou and Young Shinsou will form team F,” All Might says. Hitoshi practically collapses with relief. Jirou doesn’t actively avoid him like some of the other students do. He can work with her. He can win with her. This is going to work.

Hitoshi keeps that attitude until All Might starts announcing which teams are going to be facing off against each other and the hero announces, “Jirou and Shinsou as the heroes vs. Uraraka and Ashido as the villains.”

Uraraka has made her distaste for Hitoshi as clear as she possibly could without walking right up to him and declaring it. Ashido had been a bit nicer about welcoming him into the class, but not by much. Both girls are going to be gunning for him as hard as they can.

At least he knows one weak spot he can exploit to get them to respond to him.

They’re the third matchup of the class, so Jirou and Hitoshi get a front row seat to Kirishima and Todoroki as heroes fighting Kaminari and Satou. Todoroki freezes the whole building as soon as he enters, Kirishima breaking out of the ice around his feet easily with his quirk. But it’s obvious that Todoroki is thrown for a loop when Kaminari manages to electrocute them anyways through the ice with a full power blast and Satou breaks himself free in the same way Kirishima had. There’s a quick scuffle after that, with Kirishima taking point against Satou that Kirishima manages to win and the heroes manage to secure a victory, but Todoroki seems to be off a half step for the rest of their exercise and all the way back up to the observation deck.

They pay less attention to the second match, trying to strategize as best they can for their own match, but Hitoshi does catch Aoyama drawing the attention of the villains, Bakugou and Sero, with a dazzling light display from his navel lazer and then the two villains drawing up short as All Might declares the heroes the victors with Hagakure latched onto the fake bomb and Bakugou getting a seriously dangerous look on his face as he storms back up to the observation room.

And then it’s the third round and Hitoshi is staring up at a real building created for the sole purpose of being used in U.A. Heroics exercises and he doesn't feel ready. He could work for a hundred years and not be ready for this.

The buzzer sounds and Hitoshi has no choice but to be carried forwards by Jirou’s momentum as she runs into the building, plugging her ear jacks into the walls as soon as she can.

“They’re up on the fifth floor, back right corner. I think Uraraka might be floating some things right in front of the door. But there’s definitely something weird about the floor all around them,” she says, rapid fire. The voice modulator around his neck feels heavy as he slips it over his face for the first time. He has absolutely no idea if it’s going to work the way he wants it to, but there’s no way he can run this exercise without it. Not if he wants to win.

“Let’s take them down fast then, if I can get them to respond to me we can walk right past them to secure the bomb.”

“Ashido will probably answer you faster, and of the two of them she’s the more mobile in any situation.”

“I have something specific for Uraraka,” Hitoshi tries to explain. He doesn’t want to give away too much in case Jirou thinks it’s too villainous and nixes the idea. But she shakes her head anyways.

“Uraraka has it out for you, with Ashido you stand a chance of her answering you before she decks you. And Ashido is more likely to be able to get around me to wake Uraraka up from your hold. You’ll go after Ashido and I’ll take care of Uraraka,” Jirou says with a swift nod at him.

Hitoshi needs to win, and Jirou knows their classmates better than he does. So he gives her a nod back, willing to follow her lead. And then they are off again, racing through the building to the closest staircase as fast as their feet can carry them.

Jirou keeps one ear jack in front of them as they run, alternating one ear for another as soon as she’s passed one. Hitoshi assumes she’s keeping an ear out for Uraraka and Ashido, waiting for them to mov or something. But she doesn’t call anything out so Hitoshi assumes they’re staying in their room. Waiting for the heroes to come to them.

They run into their first problem when they reach the staircase. Ashido it seems, was not wasting her five minute head start on them. The staircase might have once upon a time been a fully functioning one, but acid has made it dangerous at best and deadly at worst.

“How much you wanna bet that the other staircases look like this as well?” Jirou asks, but Hitoshi knows that she isn’t really looking for an answer from him as she plugs her ear jacks back into the wall.

While he waits for her to be finished, Hitoshi looks at the ruined staircase, wondering if there’s still a way for them to get up there without bringing the whole staircase down with them. He can’t find a way up though that doesn’t involve one of them being two feet higher or breaking their backs in an impossible maneuver.

“Can you climb?” Jirou asks suddenly, turning to face him.

“What?” Hitoshi blinks at the girl, wondering where her line of questioning is coming from.

“Can you climb? Preferably upwards?”

“Yes?” Hitoshi still feels like she is talking around the issue, and part of him is wondering if Midoriya would be able to understand her without being asked, if any of the other hero students would be able to understand right away.

Jirou gives him a sharp nod as she pivots in place and races away from the staircase further into the building. Hitoshi can do nothing but follow. He doesn’t want to ask her to stop and clarify, not if it will slow them down, not if the answer should be obvious to any of the other hero students.

She leads Hitoshi to an elevator shaft and plugs her ear jacks into the walls again. He stares at the chrome doors, half wondering if there’s a working elevator inside it and once again remembering how much effort is put into making U.A. Hero Course graduates the best of the best.

And then, like a lightning strike, he realizes all at once what exactly Jirou’s plan is.

“Alright, we should be good. They’re still up in their room and I can’t hear anything off about the elevator shaft, I think they might have forgotten about it,” Jirou says, moving to grip one of the silver doors, clearly expecting Hitoshi to grab the other one. He crosses his arms in front of him instead.

“You didn’t ‘hear’ anything weird about the stairs either and those were completely destroyed,” he says, matching her exasperated looks with one of his own. He can’t afford to mess this exercise up. He can’t afford to mess up any exercises.

“I wasn’t listening for the stairs before, I was focusing on where Uraraka and Ashio were in the building. This time, I listened for anomalies in and around the elevator shaft.” She says before giving her door a hard yank to emphasize her point, “Now help me get these open so that we can get up there and win this thing.”

Hitoshi moves forwards and jams his fingers into the seam of the doors, slotting them into place between Jirou’s and says, “On three.”

Jirou flashes him a tight smile as they count down from three together before Hitoshi yanks on his door with all his might, throwing the whole of his body weight backwards into the movement.

The doors come apart slowly and then all at once with a metal groan and Hitoshi stumbles backwards, only just keeping himself from falling down. Jirou isn’t so lucky, she hits the ground with a huff. The doors thankfully don’t close as soon as they’ve been released and Hitoshi goes over to offer Jirou his hand.

“Thanks.” Her hand is warm and solid in his as she pulls herself to her feet with Hitoshi acting as a counterweight.

“Hope you can keep up with me,” Hitoshi says, trying for a lighter tone as he gives her a slight smile.

“Oh you are so going to regret that,” Jirou says with a smile of her own before she slips into the waiting elevator fast as a snake and, using the handrails and paneling, pulls herself up to the top hatch of the elevator.

Hitoshi follows her maneuver to get himself up to the hatch as it opens to the accompaniment of metal grinding against metal. He boosts himself up through the opening before Jirou can, but offers his own hand back down to her to lift her up.

“First one to the top buys the other’s lunch tomorrow,” Jirou says as soon as her feet are planted on the other side of the hatch.

“Deal,” Hitoshi says. As soon as the word is out of his mouth he is whipping around to face the wall, searching for possible handholds in the shaft. Behind him, he can hear Jirou doing the same as he starts to climb. He has a longer reach than she does, but she’s had several more weeks of hero training under her belt, so he figures that they’re about evenly matched. Which means if he wants to win this he has to give it his all. And he wants to win this, even if it is just a silly little competition, he wants to win.

He has no idea how long they spend climbing in the shaft, but it feels like he is moving relatively quickly upwards. Jirou still beats him to the top floor though, quietly announcing her win just seconds before Hitoshi was about to announce his.

“Guess I’m buying you lunch then,” Hitoshi says as he moves over to the doors.

“Wouldn’t have made the bet if I wasn’t fairly confident I couldn’t win,” she tells him as she reaches out to grip one of the doors. Hitoshi grips the other one and they both pull.

These doors open much smoother than the ones downstairs and they quietly slip onto the floor. Jirou holds a finger up to her lips as she plugs into the wall, listening for a second before gesturing for Hitoshi to follow her. He does his best to be as silent as possible as they run through the nearly silent hallways.

She stops in front of a door and gives him a thumbs up that Hitoshi quickly returns before she braces herself and then kicks out hard with her boot and sends the door flying inwards.

Hitoshi hears the two girls inside give twin shrieks of surprise as Hitsohi throws himself inside the room, Jirou right behind him.

It becomes very clear at once why Jirou said that the floor was strange at the beginning of the match, it’s been covered in a layer of Ashido’s acid, with only a small clear patch in the middle with the bomb and the two girls.

“Release!” Uraraka shouts, bringing her fingers together. Hitsohi barely has a second to glance upwards and notice the random office supplies that Jirou had mentioned earlier starting to fall downwards.

“Dodge!” Hitoshi shouts as he pitches himself sideways. He hopes Jirou makes it out from under the pile in time, but he can’t see if she does as he hits the acid on the floor and skids into the wall, connecting hard.

Hitoshi does his best to stand up, but the acid on the floor, while not eating away at the floor, does make it very difficult to move without losing his footing. But he knows he needs to get up, he doesn’t have any other choice but to get up.

And using the wall as a support, he does manage to make it to his feet, just in time to see Ashido jetting towards him smoothly over the acid, a wide smile beaming from her face as a glob of acid slides into her hand.

With a quick movement, Hitoshi tackles Ashido around the knees, aiming to throw her off balance as well as he can. It works a little too well and they both go down in a ble of limbs that earns Hitoshi something sharp to his elbow and burning acid on the back of his legs.

He goes to pull himself forwards, aiming to get a hand on the bomb as fast as possible. But Ashido gets her arms around him and her feet underneath her faster than he thought she would and drags him backwards. He flips around as best as he can, kicking out with his feet.

In the air, he sees Uraraka fending off quick jabs from Jirou’s earjacks, trying to grab at them before Jirou can retract them while Jirou is going her best to cause as much damage as she can before Uraraka can grab onto her. It’s a waiting game, but he and Jirou don’t have the time to play a waiting game. They have to win.

Hitoshi fills his lungs as fast as he can and hopes that his voice modulator works the way it’s supposed to as it pushes subtly against his throat.

“Ashido!” The scream fills the air in Uraraka’s voice, panic clear. Hitoshi feels a bright flash of triumph light up his core because it worked.

“Wha-” Ashido turns to look up at Uraraka as the floating girl pauses in her attack against Jirou. And then Ashido goes limp, her eyes staring off into the distance.

Hitoshi pulls his feet out from the girl’s grip, watching as Jirou lashes out with both her ear jacks. Uraraka moves faster though as she finally manages to wrap a hand around one of Jirou’s ear jacks. Her touch lights up pink and Jirou lifts off the ground.

“Move Shinsou!” Jirou shouts and he remembers that he needs to capture the bomb before the timer runs down. He flips around and starts making his way towards the bomb, slipping and sliding all the way.

Something thumps behind him and Hitoshi assumes that Uraraka has managed to hit Ashido as he feels his connection to her snap and a small noise of surprise.

His heart is beating wildly in his chest, because he needs to win this and Jirou is still stuck against the ceiling and he can’t get his feet underneath him. He can’t lose, he needs to prove that he deserves to be here just as much as anyone else. He needs to convince them all that he has what it takes to be a hero. He needs to convince them, but he’ll never be able to if he loses right now, in his first class exercise. Not when he is positive Midoriya did so well.

Hitoshi still has one trick up his sleeve though, he still has one trick he can pull and be sure to get a reaction. And if he can get Uraraka to answer, she might just drop her quirk, and then Jirou would be back in the game.

He has only heard Midoriya once in his lifetime, barely even talked to the other boy. But his voice comes easily to Hitoshi’s throat as he screams “URARAKA!”

The air around him stills with an uncomfortable energy that buzzes under his skin. Hitoshi ready’s his quirk, preparing it for use despite the looks he knows he is going to get from everyone later, because as long as he can secure the bomb, it’ll all be worth it. He will have proven himself, if not to them than to himself.

Brainwash doesn’t catch though, Uraraka doesn’t respond to him. And when Hitoshi chances a look over his shoulder, he sees that she has pressed her lips into a thin white line.

Uraraka’s eyes though, they burn with every word she is not allowing herself to say as she gives Hitoshi the nastiest glare he’s ever gotten.

He flips back around, letting go of his quirk and focusing entirely on moving towards the bomb. Uraraka can’t do anything to him if he’s already won the exercise.

“Release!” Uraraka shouts from behind him and he hears Jirou’s startled shout as she drops down to the floor, only a second before Uraraka does.

He is so close to the bomb, all he has to do is reach out and touch it and then they’ll have won. But he feels a hand wrap around one of his ankles and suddenly Hitoshi goes weightless.

Then he is whipped backwards as Uraraka throws him into a wall with all her might. He barely has time to see Jirou’s shocked face as he flies by before his back is cracking into the wall.

“Release!” As soon as he hits the ground with a heavy thud, Uraraka is on him again, fury blazing through every inch of her as she bears down on him from above.

Hitoshi tries to get his hands in front of him to fend her off or something. But as soon as she touches him he is weightless again and helpless to do anything but flail uselessly as she throws him into another wall.

Around his neck, his voice modulator creaks against the back of his neck as it connects with the wall, pressing against his neck painfully.

Then Uraraka releases him again and Hitoshi falls down to the ground. He tries to catch himself before he can impact, but his wrist bends unnaturally under him and he clenches his teeth around a scream.

“Shinsou!” Jirou shouts from somewhere in the room. He tries to pinpoint where she is, if she needs his help. But his vision is swimming. All he can see is Uraraka coming towards him, wrath incarnate.

Just as she is about to touch him again, the buzzer sounds throughout the building and All Might announces, “Villains win!”

Hitoshi feels all the energy leave his body as Uraraka pulls up short. She stares at him for a moment longer, and then she turns away from him and walks out the door. He lays there, just watching her go, until Jirou limps into his vision.

“You are so gonna pay for that move later, I told you Uraraka had it out for you and I don’t think she’s the type to forgive and forget easily,” she says, staring down at him.

Jirou looks just as bad as Hitoshi feels, she clearly got into it with Ashido while Uraraka was busy with him. There are acid marks all over her body and the way she won’t put pressure on one of her legs leaves her looking lopsided.

“You hero students really don’t mess around,” Hitoshi says by way of answer.

“No, we don’t. Still think you can keep up with us?” Jirou asks, folding her hands in front of her.

“I’m gonna have to if I want to be a hero, aren’t I?” Hitoshi snaps back. He thought he could work with her, he thought he might have found the one person in the class who didn’t seem to hate him on principal because of who was in the class before him. But maybe not, maybe she had just been biding her time, waiting for Hitoshi to fail so that she could rub it in his face.

“Good. I’d never be able to collect my lunch from you if you gave up after one exercise.” Jirou extends her hand down towards him and Hitoshi takes it after a moment.

“Now let's shuffle on out of here and go see Recovery Girl. I wanna see Kaminari get his ass kicked by Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami.”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Off-balance, decentered, Shouto’s world has shifted on its axis, leaving him lopsided and wrong-footed.

And it keeps shifting.

He spends the two days post-Sports Festival thinking. Deeply. His father crows his pride at Shouto’s use of his flames in the match against Midoriya, and he scolds Shouto for his absent-mindedness moments later, and then he’s gone, left to Hosu for an intensive mission there.

If they think Endeavor will be effective bait to catch the Hero Killer, then they’re right, but honestly, the Hero Killer would need to be chronically erroneous to fall for such an obvious trap. Unless Shouto’s eavesdropping only gave him half the story, and his father is there to be the hammer and not the spring.

With his father out of the way, Shouto is free to wander around the house. He thinks in the kitchen and he thinks in the living room. He thinks in that one hallway that goes unused. He lays down in the courtyard, sun-heated cobbles a hard bed, and thinks.

The night before he’s to return to class, Fuyumi makes soba. Cold soba, the way he likes it. He appreciates the gesture, though it confuses him. Is it a reward for something? A celebration? An apology?

“Shouto …. You’ve been off since the Sports Festival. Is everything okay?” she asks.

Ah.

It’s a trade: she made his favorite meal, so hopefully, he’ll talk to her. He would talk to her anyway, but he will also never say no to cold soba.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Fuyumi waits for a few moments before asking: “About what? If you …. If you want to share.”

“Midoriya. My fire.” He pauses. “Mom.”

“That’s … quite the list.” Fuyumi stirs her noodles around in her bowl. “Do you … want to talk about it?”

Does he? He’s not one to talk about things, but somehow, talking to Midoriya had … helped. Maybe talking to Fuyumi will also help?

“My fire is not my father’s fire.”

Fuyumi blinks, brow furrowing. “That’s … correct, yes. Your fire is your fire. Whether you want to use it or not is your choice.”

“I think I do want to use it.” Facing Midoriya, using both his fire and ice, staring down that overwhelming power …. It was an exhilaration he’s never before felt. Midoriya could have won against him, even with his broken bones, and instead he had chosen to goad Shouto into using the full extent of his abilities.

He had chosen to help Shouto at the cost of his own body and victory. To return to only using half of his power would be to spit on that sacrifice.

And, to be honest, Shouto is excited to train with Midoriya. His heart beats faster and adrenaline runs through him whenever he thinks about testing his skills against the other boy. Maybe, perhaps, he can return the favor, and help Midoriya figure out how to use his quirk without breaking his bones. A power of that magnitude, with such drastic backlash, and housed in someone who’s not a hero’s legacy? Shouto can perhaps understand why Midoriya struggles with it. Between quirk use laws, the medical repercussions, and a lack of training spaces and trainers, it would be difficult to figure it out.

… And so far, Midoriya seems to have been left to his own devices with it.

(Of course, Shouto is still certain there is something going on between Midoriya and All Might, but All Might is also an abysmal teacher. Learning and improving—he’s already better at it than he was the first time he worked with them—but it’s clear he hasn’t the faintest idea how to help Midoriya with his quirk.)

“ … Shouto? Are you listening?”

“Huh?” He shakes himself out of his head. “I apologize. I got lost in my thoughts. Could you repeat that?”

Fuyumi smiles, bittersweetly affectionate. “Of course. I was saying that I’m glad you want to use your fire, and I’m proud of you for making that choice on your own.”

“I didn’t make it entirely on my own. Midoriya helped,” he corrects.

Fuyumi frowns and looks to the side, thinking. “Midoriya …. He’s the second one you fought in the tournament, right? The one you used your fire against? How did he help?”

“He told me something I needed to hear.” A sudden thought occurs: “Can I visit mom?”

Fuyumi blinks and raises her eyebrows. “Why couldn’t you? You’re always welcome to visit her, whenever you want.”

“Oh.” Well. He’ll just have to go visit her on his next day off, then.

His equilibrium shifts again.

He goes to school, sits down at his desk, and waits for Midoriya to show up.

And waits.

And waits, until Uraraka approaches Iida. The two of them almost get into a fight, until Ashido speaks:

“It’s true then? Midoriya really has been expelled from the hero course?”

Shouto freezes the underside of his desk.

Midoriya? Expelled? Why? How? He has All Might’s favor; how could he possibly be allowed to be removed from the hero course? If Shouto were removed from the hero course, his father would throw a fit and pull every string he could to get him reinstated. Either All Might cares less than Shouto thought he did, or he has more scruples than Endeavor.

(The second option is, admittedly, the more likely of the two.)

He listens and watches as Uraraka, Aoyama, and Kaminari almost get into a fight with each other. The shouting and glaring and angry posturing feels a thousand miles away as Shouto tries to make sense of why, why, how, possibly, Midoriya could have been removed from the hero course.

The only reason that makes sense to him is Midoriya’s poor quirk control. But if that’s the case, then Aoyama and Uraraka are right: why was Midoriya the first to go, when Kaminari and Aoyama are both worse students than him, with their own severe quirk drawbacks?

Aizawa arrives, defusing the almost-fight between Uraraka and Kaminari.

“Yes, it is true that Midoriya has been removed from the Heroics Course. And in that vein, as is tradition for students not in the Heroics Course, an offer was extended to the two highest performers in the Sports Festival.”

“No,” Shouto whispers, icing the bottom of his desk again. They’re already replacing Midoriya. He must not have been what they—what Aizawa—wanted out of a hero, a student. Shouto knows how this goes. Midoriya, just like all of Shouto’s older siblings, was the imperfect child, the failed experiment, and now ….

“Shinsou Hitoshi will be the newest member of class 1-A and will be learning by your side going forwards.”

Aizawa picked out the perfect student, his idea of a perfect hero, the boy who Midoriya beat. All gravity-defying purple hair and tired eyes and lean height, Shouto has to wonder: did Aizawa make room in his class for his own family member?

Shinsou plants his feet and stares down the class. Shouto stares back, channeling every shred of his antipathy into one icy glare.

“I just wanted to say, I am not here to make friends. All of you here are just obstacles in my way to achieving my goals.”

Obstacles. That’s exactly how Shouto thought, just mere days ago, before Midoriya showed him otherwise.

Obstacles.

If Shinsou wants obstacles, then an obstacle Shouto will be.

Shinsou’s entrance had distracted Shouto from his earlier thoughts, but Aoyama is the one to remind him when he asks why Midoriya was expelled.

Aizawa brushes him off with a “That’s not important at the moment,” gesturing for Shinsou to sit down.

Shouto follows Shinsou’s path back to Midoriya’s desk with his eyes. Shinsou glares back at him, a silent challenge which Shouto finds himself thrilled to accept.

“But if we don’t know what got him expelled how would we know to avoid it?”

Shouto wants to tell Yaoyorozu that he knows. He knows how people like Aizawa and Endeavor think. He can barely remember Touya, but he knows how to walk on silent feet and listen to conversations he’s not supposed to hear. Touya couldn’t cut it, so Endeavor looked elsewhere. Aizawa’s reasoning must be similar: he found his perfect student and picked which problem to get rid of. Compared to Aoyama and Kaminari, Midoriya came with issues, issues which extended beyond his quirk control—no one could miss the way Bakugou and Midoriya behaved around each other. That would surely be troublesome to deal with, and so Aizawa picked which one to keep.

“You will avoid being removed from the Heroics Course by proving to me that you have the potential to stay here.”

Yaoyorozu tenses, and in that moment, she looks like Fuyumi in the way she dips her head, in the way she recoils, in the way she submits. Aizawa says something more, but Shouto doesn’t care to listen to him.

Instead, he turns toward Yaoyorozu.

“I don’t think you have to worry,” he murmurs.

“Maybe not,” she concedes, dipping her head. “But what about the rest of our classmates?”

Shouto doesn’t have an answer for her.

She speaks again, though, asking something else. “Are you okay? You’ve been … upset all morning.”

“I’m fine. I was just looking forward to seeing Midoriya.”

Yaoyorozu smiles thinly at him. “You’ll just have to catch him tomorrow morning.”

“Todoroki. Yaoyorozu. Anything you want to share with the class?”

Called out by Aizawa, Shouto turns his glare on his teacher. “No.”

“No, sir. I’m sorry.” Yaoyorozu dips her head.

“Then stop talking and pay attention.”

Shouto, as per Yaoyorozu’s suggestion, looks for Midoriya the next morning. Perhaps he could offer the use of his own training space? Accidentally taking out a wall with the help of All Might’s favorite would be an amusing way to piss his father off. Or, alternately, his father will be excited to have the student who provoked Shouto into using his fire around.

It could go either way.

But Shouto doesn’t find Midoriya. He arrives early and lurks just inside the main gate, stationing himself next to Uraraka, who frowns up at him.

“Todoroki?” she asks. “What do you want?”

“I’m also waiting for Midoriya. I’m hoping to exchange phone numbers with him.”

“For … why?”

Uraraka is Midoriya’s clear best friend. It would be in Shouto’s best interest to tell her the truth, to make her like him. Based on her fight against Bakugou and her near-fight with Kaminari, she is not someone he wants to make an enemy of.

“He could have beat me in the tournament. Instead, he sacrificed his body and his win just to provoke me into using my fire. I want to get to know him better.”

Uraraka blinks and then smiles. “Yeah …. Yeah. He has a way of doing that, doesn’t he? In the entrance exam, he smashed the zero-pointer to save me when he didn’t have any points of his own. He ….” She sniffs, smile turning wistful. “He sacrificed his body and his win for me, too.”

They don’t say any more after that, waiting together and watching the flow of students.

Despite how early they arrive and how long they wait, not once do they catch sight of that curly green hair they’re looking for.

“It has come to the attention of U.A. that on Monday evening, while he was walking back to his home, Midoriya went missing. We are unsure yet if he met with unfavorable circ*mstances or if he left of his own volition.”

Shouto’s axis has tilted so far, he is now so unbalanced, that everything crashes to the ground. All around him, Shouto’s classmates burst into discussion. Exclamations of dismay, of denial, Shouto hears them but does not comprehend.

“If any of you have any idea where Midoriya might have gone, the police officers working this case have asked me to pass on their contact information. I will also be available to talk if anyone would feel more comfortable with that.

“In light of this recent news, we will also be pushing internships back until further notice. Now, let’s begin our class for the day.”

“You expect us to just move on from the fact that Deku is missing?” Uraraka exclaims, and Shouto is rising to his feet to agree with her. How could they lose Midoriya, right after expelling him from the hero course?

“Yes, that is exactly what I am expecting you to do. As heroes, you will often be given personally upsetting information, but you will still be expected to do your job and do it well. If you don’t think you are capable of handling that, the General Education classes are just a few hallways down and they have more than enough room for anyone in this room who would like to move there.”

More than enough room—right, because they just lost Midoriya. Once again, Shouto finds himself freezing the underside of his desk. He almost does more than just freeze it, this time.

His anger runs cold but his rage runs hot.

Their task today is to repeat the Heroes vs. Villains exercise from the first day of class. All Might presents their task to them with a smile faker than any Shouto has seen from the man.

He’s paired with Kirishima. Not a terrible match for him, all told. Kirishima is a solid close-range melee fighter, while Shouto is an overwhelming mid-range damage dealer. His only concern will be neither freezing nor roasting his teammate.

Although maybe, perhaps, he should wait to use his fire until he’s had a chance to train more with his father. It’s been years, now, that he’s been refusing to use it, and it wouldn’t do to accidentally hurt his classmates from a lack of control. He will not give Aizawa any excuse to look at him as anything less than a model student.

All Might pairs them off against Kaminari and Satou, with Kirishima and Shouto as the advancing heroes. Their opponents are both short-range fighters, so as long as Shouto stays out of Kaminari’s range, the exercise should be an easy win.

(Especially if you bait out Kaminari’s indiscriminate shock, mutters the petulant little voice in the back of his head.)

“Hey, man, if you want to freeze over the building like you did the first time we did this, it won’t bother me. I can just break out of the ice with my quirk!” Kirishima offers.

Shouto tilts his head. “They’ll be expecting that from me.”

“No, no, listen to me: Satou will already be sugaring it up, probably to come chase us before the lethargy kicks in, and Kaminari won’t ….” Kirishima cringes. “He’s a bit of a one-track thinker.”

“Okay. We can try,” Shouto concedes.

When the beginning is called, he does as Kirishima suggests and freezes the building. They make it up to where the fake weapon is being guarded, Kaminari and Satou frozen in place beside it, without any difficulty beyond the occasional slip on the ice.

Kaminari is the one to throw the wrench in the plan—he attacks outright with his indiscriminate shock before Shouto can even think about baiting it out of him. The two members of the villain team are far enough apart that Satou is safe from the attack, and Shouto barely manages to throw up a wall of ice to protect himself and Kirishima in time.

Doesn’t he know that ice is a poor conductor of electricity? Maybe not, but hopefully he’ll figure that out soon.

Ice cracks nearby, and Shouto turns to see Satou using his quirk to break out.

“I’ve got this! You go secure the bomb!” Kirishima yells as he takes off sprinting toward Satou.

Shouto complies, skating forward on his ice past a loopy Kaminari to place a hand on the fake weapon.

All Might calls their win, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Shouto ignites his left side, flames flickering and licking along his clothes as he works to stabilize his internal temperature.

“Man! It’s easy to forget you even have fire when your ice is so damn versatile,” Kirishima remarks.

Shouto tries not to glare at him as he melts Kaminari free of the ice. “I don’t have as much practice with my fire. I’m hoping to rectify that soon.”

“Well, I’m pretty fireproof when my quirk is active! We could train together sometime if you wanted.”

Shouto hums noncommittally. Kirishima is not the training partner he wants.

“Perhaps,” he finally says as they begin to help their mentally-indisposed classmates back to the viewing room.

On Sunday, Shouto visits his mother.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. He sits down, and he tells her about Midoriya. He tells her about Aizawa and Shinsou. He explains his tentative, burgeoning friendship with Uraraka and asks her what she thinks about Kirishima’s offer.

She talks, too, telling him about the handful of friends she has in the hospital.

That evening, he leaves somehow more unbalanced than he was when he arrived.

The final school week before their internships begins. Shouto tries to recenter himself, to prepare for spending an extended amount of time with his father.

It’s in the middle of this week that he receives two more hits: one from his father and his successful capture of the Hero Killer ….

And one from Aizawa, who never seems to run out of bombshells to drop on the class.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Shouta is staring through the paperwork in front of him. He knows he is. But no matter how hard he tries, how hard he tells himself to concentrate, he just can’t get it to come into focus. Midoriya’s case, his missing person’s file, will not stop playing in front of his eyes instead.

It’s been over a week since they realized he was missing. Over a week since they found a pool of his blood and his cellphone in the river, completely useless to them. And all of their leads, any possible clue they might have into where Midoriya was or who had attacked him, had disappeared like smoke.

They had absolutely nothing.

But Shouta knew there had to be something, some detail they were missing. All he had to do was find it.

First though, he has to finish grading these papers, can’t fail the kids he still has with him. Can’t let the kids he still has under his guidance be allowed to come to the same fate that Midoriya did. The same fate that Ob-

“Shouta,” Hizashi says, cutting Shouta off mid thought as he looks up to see the other man, dressed down and with a stern expression on his face, leaning just slightly on his desk, hand covering the paper that Shouta should be grading. “We need to talk.”

“I need to get back to grading, we can talk after that,” Shouta snaps, trying to remove Hizashi’s hand without tearing the paper.

“You’ve been staring at that piece of paper for half an hour and you haven’t made a single mark,” Nemuri says, stepping out from bedding Hizashi, “We’ll talk now.”

Shouta gives her a nasty glare, hoping that she can be convinced to leave him alone. But rather than rolling her eyes and walking away from him, Nemuri gives him a glare right back, matching him look for look.

“Look, Shouta, we’re not going away until you talk with us,” Hizashi says. Shouta turns his glare on the man. But Hizashi does not glare at him, he just looks unimpressed and tired.

Something inside Shouta breaks a little at seeing his oldest friend looking so unlike himself and yet so hauntingly close to what he looked like when they lost Oboro.

Shouta relents.

“Alright, fine. What is so important that you have to talk with me right this very minute?”

Hizashi and Nemuri share a loaded look as Hizashi pulls away from him. Something starts thrumming in Shouta’s veins, some deep instinct that he has trained into a finely tuned instrument that tells him something is coming. Something that he is not going to like because he cannot read that look, cannot decipher what silent words are passing between the two of them. And that is never a good sign.

“I’m pulling you off Midoriya’s case,” Nemuri says finally, stepping forwards.

“What?” Shouta is not entirely sure when he stood, but his chair has gone flying so there is no way he is going to go fetch it now.

“Could there not have been a better way to phrase that?” Hizashi asks, one of his hands coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m the lead Hero that brought you onto the case, and now I’m removing you. And no, I wanted to rip the band-aid off.” The second sentence is addressed over her shoulder to Hizashi, but Shouta is still reeling from the first few lines she delivered.

“Alright, look, Shouta, you’re spiralling hard. Don’t try to tell us you’re not because we all know that would be a lie. Your grading is slipping, you won’t eat or sleep, and the kids in your class are falling apart at the seams because you snap at them every time you try and talk to them or they try to talk to you,” Hizashi says, crossing his arms in front of him.

“If they can’t handle being a Heroics student then maybe they aren’t cut out for the position,” Shouta snaps, feeling hot and uncomfortable under his hero costume.

“God Shouta, they’re just kids, they haven’t even been out on their internships yet. I know you feel like you have to control everything when your life starts to get messy but that isn’t working this time. You’re hurting them and their chances of succeeding in this industry. So it’s time to adapt,” Nemuri says, stepping forward, further into Shouta’s space.

“I have no idea what youre talking about.” Shouta turns away from them, refusing to look at either of them.

“Shou, Iida is on a serious downward spiral and he and Uraraka aren’t even talking anymore. Yaoyorozu refuses to look anyone in the eye and Shinsou is slowly isolating himself from everyone in the class. And those are only the ones who are obviously falling apart. All of them have incredible potential, everyone can see it. But you’re failing them, Shouta, and they’re gonna burn out of the Heroics Course or they’re gonna end up just like Oboro when they rush into a situation they can’t handle because they’re desperately trying to prove themselves to you.” Shouta feels like Hizashi has just punched him in the gut. All the air in his lungs seems to have left in a rush.

“Look, we know you’re doing your best, and we know you’re a good hero, but something here has got to give. And if I need to pull you off Midoriya’s case to make sure that the other twenty kids in your care aren’t the ones who end up having to give, I’ll do it. I don’t want to pull you off, but they need to come first for you right now,” Nemuri’s voice is soft, and her hand is even softer as she places it on his back. But Shouta does not want her pity, he does not want either of them to pity him.

He shakes off her hand, still refusing to look at either of them but straightening out his shoulders as he prepares to refute them. But before he can say anything Hizashi fills the air between the three of them.

“We know you took it hard when Midoriya went missing, we all did. But it wasn’t your fault, Shou. No one could have known that his removal from the Heroics Course would go any differently than the hundreds of other removals. If it does end up being the League of Villains who took him, it was All Might they were after at the USJ, never specifically any of the kids. All of us assumed he would be safer in General Education with the chance to get him back in Heroics if he could control his quirk better so he wasn’t causing serious damage to himself every time he used it. None of us thought that Midoriya might have been in danger, not even All Might brought up that possibility when he was fighting to keep Midoriya in Heroics. None of us blame you. So you gotta stop throwing yourself on the cross for this one.”

“All Might sure thought it was my fault the other day, he said so himself,” Shouta grumbles. He doesn’t want to be sulking about this, but his words still play on repeat in his head. Because he was right, Shouta had pulled the kid from the Heroics department, Shouta had been the one who had scrambled the night after to put together a plan to train him. Shouta had been the one who had failed Midoriya over and over again.

“All Might was being a crotchety old bitch. We were all trying to give him some consideration given how hard he was obviously taking Midoriya’s disappearance and how much effort he was putting in to finding him. But he shouldn’t have taken his anger of the situation out on you,” Nemuri says.

“Especially when we all backed your decision to remove Midoriya from the Heroics exam,” Hizashi adds on.

“Look, I won’t pull you from his case right away. But in exchange, tomorrow morning, you’re going to relax your iron grip a little and have a conversation with your home room where you don’t shut down their questions and then after that you’re going to listen to them. And you’re gonna keep doing that so that when we find Midoriya, you don’t have to scramble to make up for how much you’ve been an ass to his friends and classmates. Deal?” Nemuri holds out her hand.

Shouta stares at it for a moment, not sure if he wants to take it, if he wants to admit that his situation has spiraled so far out of his control. But then he sees Midoriya, the way he had flinched back from Shouta that first day back in classes, the way he had looked like an entirely different kid after only three days. Remembers how that look had reinforced his desire to get All Might in on his training plan for Midoriya, to help the kid as best he could. And beside that look he sees the rest of his homeroom, the glares Uraraka keeps shooting him throughout class, the stiff way Yaoyorozu keeps herself contianted, the anger radiating off Todoroki and Iida.

He reaches out and takes her hand, sealing their deal with a wordless shake. Something has got to change, and Shouta is the one who has to do it.

“Alright! Score one for open communication!” Hizashi cheers, pumping his fist into the air, “Now let’s get Shouta caught up on his grading so he can’t use his sleepiness as an excuse for why he can’t talk to his class!”

“What?” Shouta twists to give the other man an off putting look as he lunges for Shouta’s stack of paperwork. Shouta lunges to intercept him, and then Nemuri is slipping in behind him,cackling as she grabs more papers.

“Come on Shouta, we’re helping you.”

Shouta wakes up in the morning to his alarm going off and two text messages marked as urgent on his phone’s home screen when he goes to turn it off. The first one is just a general alert from the regular Hero network in the area letting them all know that S Ranked Villain Hero Killer Stain had been apprehended by Endeavor late last night, after Shouta had finally gone to bed.

The other was a message from the Iida’s informing him that their youngest son is missing.

He was wide awake in a flash, his heart pounding as all his left over sleepiness dissipates in an instant. He opens his phone and clicks over to the messaging app, noting as he does that Hizashi is telling him he is on his way as he reads the next few messages in the chain that were not marked urgent and didn’t get pushed to his home screen.

Hizashi had let the Iidas know that the police had been alerted as well as all the transportation hubs in the area and they had responded that they were reaching out to all theri Hero contacts to put them on alert, if Iida was anywhere in their area, they would know about it.

But part of Shouta is screaming in a blind panic because what if he has gone missing, just like Midoriya. What if Shouta has let down another kid, another family, with a situation that was easily preventable.

Hizashi’s banging on his door is enough to snap him out of his haze as he flies to unlock it and rush to the other’s car, only pausing to grab his capture scarf on the way out.

“Based on video surveillance in the area around the Iida home, the police were able to confirm that he left on foot last night by himself. They’re trying to figure out if he left of his own volition or if he was lured out by someone and where he might have gone after walking out of sight of that surveillance footage,” Hizashi reports as he hops into the driver side of the car and starts the engine.

“I know where he’s going,” Shouta says, mouth pressing into a grim line. He had figured that Iida was going to try something like this when the kid had said that Manual was the Hero he wanted to intern under, Shouta had told him to pick a different Hero, a different agency outside of Hosu. Iida hadn’t resubmitted his form.

“Hosu right?” Hizashi asks, his fists tightening on the wheel.

Shouta doesn’t need to answer as Hizashi speeds up, weaving through traffic as they start making their way toward Hosu. They might not be able to catch up to Iida right away, but hopefully they’ll be able to catch him before he makes it to the Hero Killer. Hopefully they can catch him before something happens to him, or he does something irreversible.

They spend several tense moments in silence as they watch the road fly by. So when their phones both chime, Shouta nearly jumps out of his skin. Then he is lunging forward to snatch at his phone, unlocking it with hands that shake just slightly as he reads the message with disbelieving eyes.

“Shou, you need to tell me what’s happening,” Hizashi says, his voice tense.

“They’ve got him, the railway station in Mufastu, they caught him on camera trying to board a train to Hosu but they were able to detain him,” Shouta says, and it feels like he is sighing out a thousand pounds of weight. Iida is safe.

“Oh thank f*ck,” Hizashi says, and Shouta feels his stomach flip out of him as their car does a gravity defying U turn. Then they are flying towards the railway station as fast as possible.

“What, in the hell were you thinking?” Shouta says. He is standing in front of Iida, separated only by the bars of the holding cell. If he had been asked at the beginning of the year which kid he would have to bail out of jail for something stupid, he never would have guessed it would have been Iida. And he never would have guessed that Iida was intending to commit an act of vigilante justice.

“That’s right, you weren’t thinking,” Shouta can still feel his heart pounding though, can still feel the panic that came with thinking that Shouta might have lost another kid to the underground world. And Iida refuses to look at him, his brow creased in fury, which only serves to make Shouta angrier.

“Shouta, you promised open communication and not snapping,” Hizashi says as he walks up with the keys swinging from one finger before he turns his attention to Iida. “Comeon kid, perk up, we’re springing you from this joint.”

Iida does not look up though as Hizashi opens his door. He does not even twitch except to scowl deeper.

“Your parents were worried about you,” Hizashi says. And finally, Iida’s head snaps up as he bleeds fury into the air around him.

“I was going to avenge my brother. I was going to make that man pay. And you stopped me!” Iida snarls, stalking forward step by deliberate step.

“Do you think it would have helped your brother if you had wound up a criminal? Do you think he would have felt avenged? Or do you think he would have felt like Stain had taken even more from him?” Shouta asks, stopping Iida cold in his tracks. For the first time in weeks, the kid is showing something other than anger as he looks at Shouta. So Shouta keeps going.

“Why do you think that your brother would want you anywhere near the man who hurt him so badly?”

“Because I could have stopped him! I could have made him pay!” Iida yells. There is something fragile about his expression though, something that looks like it might fall apart at any second.

“He was stopped, Iida, and he will pay. But he’ll do it legally,” Shouta says, trying to speak softly.

“But Tensei is my family! I should have been able to help him! And instead I was useless! I didn’t even get to know until I was out of the Sports Festival!”

There it is, the root of the problem. Shouta feels something inside him crack as tears start to stream down Iida’s face.

“I understand what you’re feeling right now,” Shouta says, “Tensei was my friend too, and I didn’t get to hear about his injury until the festival was over with. I haven’t been able to search for Stain at all because my jobs keep me in Mufastu.

“And with Midoriya missing, it feels like I’m trying to bail water out of a ship with no bottom. And I think I’m only now realizing that I’ve been failing at everything at every turn. I’m going to try and be better, but I need you to be there too, okay? Stain will get what’s coming to him, but you need to not be in prison next to him when he does. So instead of focusing on how you feel and how you can make yourself feel better, you can focus on making your brother feel better.”

Iida seems to collapse in on himself, but he gives a small nod, and Shouta will count that as a win for now.

“You would have made a terrible vigilante anyways little listener, we caught you on camera right away,” Hizashi says, injecting cheer into his voice as they lead Iida out of the holding station. Shouta is not sure it does anything, but he appreciates the other man for trying. More than he can say, he appreciates him for trying.

Shouta leads Iida into the classroom. There is no one else there, which Shouta is grateful for at least as Iida takes his seat. He still has time to prepare, time to figure out what he is going to say.

But no matter how hard he thinks, how hard he tries to find the right words, no matter how much he tries. He keeps coming up blank.

As each kid shuffles in, Shouta draws a blank until they are all seated in front of him and it is time for homeroom to begin.

He takes a deep breath, and begins, “I haven’t been fair to you all these past few weeks. I am going to try and fix that starting today. I am going to try and be better about communicating with you all, which includes telling you all what might actually entitle you to removal from the Heroics Course. The first on that list, starting today, is vigilantism or attempted acts of vigilantism. We’re here to learn how to be Heroes, I refuse to allow anyone I teach to use the same tools I give them to break the law. The next is hurting yourself beyond repair in pursuit of winning a school tournament. The rest can be worked out as we go and you will not be expelled for a rule that was not in place before you did anything. Any questions?”

Uraraka’s hand shoots up into the air, and Shouta would love to put off her question, whatever it might be. Bt he promised, and Iida is proof of what happens if he doesn’t talk to these kids.

“Yes Uraraka,”

“Why did you expel Deku?”

“We removed him from the Heroics Course because he was hurting himself significantly with his lack of control over his quirk. I had an outline for a training regime for him to help him gain control while he was in General Education, which unfortunately he was not informed of as I thought it was better to get his mother on board first.”

Uraraka gives him an appraising look. The glare on her face does not go away, but she does nod and fold her hands calmly in front of her.

“Any other questions?” Several more hands rise into the air.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

“Hey, man, we’re proud of you.” Hizashi bumps Shouta’s right shoulder with a gentle fist. “Takes a lot of guts to own up when you’ve f*cked up.”

“You bullied me into it,” Shouta grumbles, not looking up from the depths of his coffee.

To his left, Nemuri cackles. “We can never convince you to do anything you’re not already open to doing. Admit it, you knew it was what you needed to do, too.”

Shouta rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be going over today’s lesson plans instead of picking on me?”

“But picking on you is so fun.” Hizashi scoots his chair over and leans his head against Shouta’s shoulder. Nemuri copies his movements until Shouta is caged in by his two idiot friends.

He sighs, shaking Hizashi off so he can pick up his coffee cup and take another sip. His drink, bitter and still piping-hot, helps chase away the unsettled lump in his chest.

“We’ll let you get back to work now.” Nemuri sits up straight, pulling her weight off Shouta’s shoulder and scooting her chair back to her own workstation. “But seriously, I’m proud of you. Good job.”

Shouta presses his lips together and nods. The out-of-place feeling in his chest shifts and he runs a hand through his hair, twisting a lock of it around his index finger tight enough to briefly cut off blood flow before releasing.

“Okay, I know I just said we would leave you alone, but something’s wrong. I know that expression. What’s up?” Nemuri turns her chair back toward Shouta and faces him.

“Nothing’s up.”

Nemuri raises one eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Shouta bares his teeth at her, a half-hearted grimace. “I hardly did a good job. If I was doing a good job, I wouldn’t have needed to have that conversation in the first place.”

“Oh, this.” Nemuri rolls her eyes and points at him. “Don’t you start with the self-flagellation. That’s not going to help anyone or make anything better so just knock that off right now.”

“I’m not—”

“She’s right,” Hizashi cut in. “You screwed up, but you know what you did wrong now so you know how to fix it in the future! Beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help.”

Shouta sighs. “Fine. You’re right.”

“You know it,” Nemuri purrs. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, ready to pounce if you slip up, just so you know. No self-flagellating Shoutas on our watch!”

Shouta sighs and prepares himself for the two of them to be even more insufferable than usual in the next few weeks.

All Might wraps his hand around Shouta’s elbow, startling him out of his thoughts. This late in the afternoon, every student except for the most dedicated has left, leaving the teachers and staff full reign of the campus. As such, All Might’s smaller form isn’t a surprise to see, but that fact he’s sought Shouta out on (seemingly) his own is.

“Can I help you?” Shouta tilts his chin up so he can look at All Might’s face.

“Do you have a moment?” All Might asks. His gaze darts away until he takes a deep breath and refocuses on Shouta. “To talk. I owe you an apology.”

Shouta frowns. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I beg to differ.” All Might lets his hand drop from Shouta’s elbow, instead tucking it into his pocket. “This is a conversation I would prefer to have in private, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah. That’s fine.” Shouta shrugs.

It doesn’t take them long to walk to the nearest private room and get settled. All Might tucks himself into one of the chairs, whacking one of his knees against the table, while Shouta drops himself into a chair across from him.

“So?” Shouta raises an eyebrow. “What do you think you have to apologize for?”

“A couple weeks ago, I said something entirely uncalled-for to you. I was—I still am—upset by … certain recent events, but that’s no excuse to treat my coworkers badly.”

Shouta squints at him, combing through the weeks since Midoriya vanished and all his interactions with All Might in that period. There’s not much to look through. The two of them hardly seek each other out, after all.

One memory, one comment in particular, stands out to him.

“Are you talking about the whole ‘grow a conscience overnight’ thing? Because you were right. I didn’t have a plan when I first met with them.”

Admitting to that, out loud, to All Might, is like digging into his chest and dragging his intestines out through his ribcage with a fork.

“That doesn’t mean you deserved to be snapped at like that.” All Might takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I know you did come up with a plan, and I know that the expulsion wasn’t intended to be permanent. I spoke carelessly and without thought and I apologize for that.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Shouta protests. “It didn’t—the meeting with Midoriya wasn’t anything like I was expecting it to be. The students I expel like that? They argue. They get angry. They yell at me and they, they throw fits.” He gestures with his hands as he speaks, something bubbling up within him he needs to release. His voice grows rough and raw as he continues. “Midoriya was nothing like that. The expulsions are supposed to be reality checks, but he …. He looked like his world had ended.”

All Might remains silent. After several long beats pass without the older man saying anything, Shouta looks up, searching his expression for a window into his thoughts. A deep frown mars All Might’s features, etching lines and intensifying the exhaustion in his eyes.

Mouth suddenly dry, Shouta swallows and averts his eyes. If All Might has decided to condemn him, then it’s nothing less than Shouta deserves for what he set in motion.

“You misjudged him.”

When All Might speaks at last, he does so with a measured tone. There’s not a trace of accusation or anger. He simply states a fact.

“You misjudged him, and now you’re realizing that.”

Shouta shakes his head and laughs, a bitter, joyless noise. “I knew. That’s why I even came up with a plan. I knew the second I let myself reflect on that meeting that I had f*cked up.”

All Might takes a deep breath, leaning back into his seat. “And you took steps to resolve your mistake. You may not have admitted it immediately, but it would be highly hypocritical of me to hold that against you.”

“So what do you hold against me?” Shouta asks, mouth moving before he fully processes what he’s saying.

“Once you made up your mind, you refused to listen to what anyone else had to say. No matter what point anyone else brought to the table, no argument was good enough to be considered.”

Should he hate or be relieved by how quickly All Might replied?

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw shut against the surge of emotion in his chest. No need to name it, for all it tastes bitter and burns like acid.

“I’ll do better,” he promises, somehow finding the strength to shove the words out through the vise around his chest. “In the future. I’ll put more thought into what other people say.”

“That’s all I ask,” All Might replies.

Todoroki is strange. In the weeks since Midoriya’s expulsion and subsequent disappearance, he’s been a near-constant presence at Momo’s side while they’re on school grounds, unless he’s spending time with Uraraka and Ashido, as he has been doing more often lately.

She finds herself drawn into that group as well, simply by dint of enjoying Todoroki’s company and finding his quiet presence easier to handle than any of her other friends.

Aoyama had been far from the only student shaken by Midoriya’s expulsion—if a student as skilled and driven as Midoriya could be booted from the course that quickly, then surely, Momo might be at risk as well. She has none of the same fire, her drive much less of the all-consuming passion and more of a banked and tempered desire.

She tries to reason with herself. Logically, as one of the recommendation students, it’s unlikely she would be kicked out. She is one of the best of the best, at least, in the legacy hero side of things.

Every time she tries to soothe herself with this thought, a little voice in the back of her head pipes up. Her teacher’s track record is well-known throughout the school—and beyond. When her admissions came, her parents had taken one look at the name of her homeroom teacher and tsked before telling her she must be on her best behavior, at the top of her game at all times in his class. Not that she wouldn’t be expected to be at her best in any other class, but there were different stakes for Eraserhead’s class.

She hadn’t believed them.

On their first day, before the quirk apprehension test, when Aizawa said that the student coming in last place would be expelled, she had assumed it was simply a ploy to drive them. He wanted to see the upper bounds of what they were capable with their quirks, so he lit the fire in them.

That day, she had been the one proven right.

At least, right until after the sports festival.

The day they came back, and they all found out about Midoriya’s expulsion?

Safe to say, she no longer disbelieves her parents.

Aizawa’s concession, his almost-apology, helps. Todoroki’s companionship helps. Uraraka and Ashido’s enthusiasm and ceaseless energy help. They help her feel better, so that by the time Iida approaches her, a few days after Aizawa’s talk, she has metaphorically found her balance.

“Yaoyorozu!” he calls, and Momo turns around. Beside her, Ashido pauses in the middle of a story she was telling them about herself and Kirishima in middle school. Classes have just let out, and most of their class is still milling around the classroom, getting ready to leave.

Tension rises in the air as he approaches. Something broke between Iida and Uraraka, in the days directly following Midoriya’s expulsion and disappearance. Just another thing to be sad about—the three of them had been almost inseparable, but without the third member of their trio, Iida and Uraraka had just fallen apart.

“Hello, Iida,” Momo replies. “What do you need?”

“I would like to talk to you, for a few minutes, if you have time.” He stops in front of her, glancing past her to the other three. “It won’t take long, I hope.”

Is there some class representative duty they need to talk about? Did she forget something? Or is it about something else?

She nods. “Okay. Yes, I’m free to talk.” She turns to Todoroki, Uraraka, and Ashido. “I’ll be back soon, but there’s no need to wait for me.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Uraraka chirps. “Don’t worry about it! We’ll be right here when you get back.”

Momo smiles. “Thank you.”

Grinning back, Uraraka gives her a thumbs-up. “No problem!”

Iida leads her out of the classroom and down the hall, where he turns his back to the classroom door and speaks in hushed tones. Though they’re about the same height, he still seems so much bigger than her, his broad shoulders dwarfing her own frame.

“Yaoyorozu,” he begins, bowing his head. “I would like to give up the position of class representative to you. I haven’t been a very good class rep recently, and I did—I did something ill-advised. I don’t think I’m a good candidate for the position anymore. Will you take it?”

“Oh, uh.” Momo blinks, trying to wrap her mind around Iida’s offer. “I’m sure you’re still plenty qualified. Are you sure you want to give it up? You were so excited to be class rep ….”

Iida nods. “I’m sure. I have been thinking about this for some time now. I think you will be a much better choice than I.”

“Alright then. If you’re sure,” she concedes, though doubt gnaws at her stomach. Is she really a good choice? If Iida, who she thought was an almost-perfect candidate, is no longer right for the position, then what about her? Where does that leave her?

Taking a deep breath, she shoves away her doubts for Iida’s sake. She can think about this later, but right now, Iida is trusting her with this responsibility, and she doesn’t want to sow any of her own doubts in him.

“We should tell Mr. Aizawa,” she says instead, “so that he knows.”

“Right.” Iida nods. “I believe he’ll be in the teachers’ office, right now. And, Yaoyorozu, thank you for being willing to take on the responsibility.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, falling into step beside him as they head for their teacher. “You could still be vice rep, if you wanted. I think we make a good team.”

Iida takes a moment to reply. “... I’d like that. Thank you.”

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

“And lastly, Young Uraraka and Young Shinsou will be our last quirkless sparring pair,” All Might announces. Ochako feels something vicious curl in her gut. She hasn’t had a chance at Shinsou since their first exercise when he had used Deku’s voice to try and get to her and she’s been itching for a rematch.

She’s a little surprised All Might paired them together. But maybe he’s hoping that if they fight quirkless she won’t be able to get nearly as aggressive or have the same upper hand or something. She is going to enjoy proving him wrong.

“Remember, the purpose of sparring without quirks is to build better foundations for you, so that when you do fight with your quirks you can continue to build on those foundations,” All Might continues, his gaze sweeping over their group, “The rest of you will focus on the small intricacies of your quirk, figuring out the nitty gritty of what it can do and learning it as intimately as you can so that when you need to call it to your aid in a fight or disaster, you know exactly what it can do for you.”

Then his booming voice calls out the school motto, everyone around her joining in. Ochako calls out as well, but it is more muscle memory than enthusiasm for the call at this point. Her mind is more focused on what she knows about Shinsou and his quirk, how it works, how he uses it, and how that might translate over to quirkless sparring.

She knows he typically stays back in class exercises, preferring to fight from a distance or from the shadows and that he typically does not do well when forced into close combat situations with most of the other students. Part of her wonders if that is just because he has no training or if he does not want to get hurt or if he already believes he is going to fail when he gets out of his comfort zone and so subconsciously self-sabotages.

It doesn't really matter either way: Ochako is going to exploit that weakness for everything she is worth. Dodging hits and getting up close is part of her speciality afterall. But it would be helpful to know if he’s actually capable of being more than just her punching bag.

The rest of the class stars splitting off into their groups and Ochako turns to face Shinsou who is giving her a glower that might have been intimidating coming from anyone else in the class while Jirou pats him on the back before moving to stand with the kids going to work on their quirks.

Ochako felt a spike of anger make itself known in her gut at the movement. Why should Jirou be offering comfort to Shinsou, it’s not like he lost his two closest friends in the span of a day. Shinsou got everything he wanted and hoped for when Deku was kicked out of the Heroics Course.

She’s only paying back a bit of that pain.

As she moves towards him, ready to give as good as she can, part of her wonders irrationally if maybe Shinsou decides he doesn’t want to be in the Heroics Course, or if he’s shown to be lacking potential, Deku might come back and take his rightful spot in their class again.

And she knows that thought is irrational. She knows that Deku was kidnapped, taken against his will with no way to get back to them because otherwise he would have come back.

But she still can’t help but want it to be true.

Hitoshi feels his back hit the sparring mat with a solid thwack that radiates pain throughout his body and leaves him gasping for air. Even without her quirk, Uraraka is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to handing Hitoshi his own ass on a silver platter.

He growls as he struggles back to his feet and gets back into his starting position, waiting for her to throw herself at him with a series of fast little punches and quick dodges that never fail to leave Hitoshi stumbling over his own two feet in an attempt to gain some distance. And even if they were fighting with quirks, Hitoshi doesn’t think he could win against her. She has never once allowed him to get the upper hand in any of their fights no matter what types of tricks he’s pulled on her.

He is so tired of losing to her, to her lingering glares and snippy comments and the way she never talks to him. Just like no one has ever really wanted to talk to him his whole life for fear of what he could make them do. Only Uraraka isn’t afraid of him, she’s mad at him.

And somehow that only makes it sting more.

What right does she have to be mad at him for? When she was given a fantastic quirk and every opportunity to succeed when he has had to scrape and scrounge to even be allowed at the starting line.

Uraraka starts moving, her feet propelling her forward like an unstoppable object. But this time, Hitoshi refuses to dodge aside.

He won’t give her an inch. Not this time.

She dodges quickly to the side, and Hitoshi shifts his weight to accommodate for this fact as her first punch takes him in the side. Her second coming right after.

Then Hitoshi sends out a punch of his own. It feels like his first real one of the entire class, the only one he has not thrown in a panic. It catches Uraraka by surprise as she stumbles backwards, her face written over with shock as she looks at Hitoshi.

But then she moves in again, even more determined than ever.

Hitoshi is determined too though.

She doesn’t even get her first punch in before he strikes out again, pushing her back again and again until he wraps his hands around her arm, twisting his body so that he can leverage her body weight over his shoulder and flipping her onto her back, winning his first match of the session.

“Well done Young Shinsou!” All Might booms from across the room. Hitoshi’s eyes snap up to see the Hero giving him a wide grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and an enthusiastic thumbs up. He feels himself flush hot under his collar at the thought that the Hero had been watching him enough to know that this is the first time he has managed to win this session and then calling him out on it in front of the whole class.

As if Hitoshi needed another reminder that he is only here because someone else didn’t make the cut.

Uraraka gets back to her feet and Hitoshi gets ready to fight her again, anger still burning hot in the pit of his stomach.

He refuses to budge again as she tries to force him backwards punch by punch. His anger bubbling hotter with each blow until he feels something inside him snap and he rears back to give the best punch he’s got, fuling it with every bubbling, burning spark inside him.

The feeling of his fist connecting with the side of her head is dulled by everything else swirling around in his head. But he still feels a small spike of pain from his knuckles as Uraraka goes sprawling.

She looks up at him from the mat, her hand coming up to brush against the side of her face. Her face is still storm dark as she looks up at him and he can still feel the noxious anger swimming in his gut, demanding more.

Hitoshi stalks forward, prepared to throw another vicious punch as Uraraka pushes herself to her feet. His hands ache with the need to hit something.

Then there is a large hand wrapped around his bicep and All Might quietly says, “I think that’s enough for the day you two, why don’t you go see Recovery Girl for your injuries.”

Hitoshi wants to argue, he wants to keep going. But as soon as he turns to make his argument to All Might, as soon as he sees the serious look the Hero is giving him. All the fight goes out of Hitoshi in one big rush, leaving him feeling empty inside. Like his anger was the only thing filling him up, leaving no room for anything else and now he is just hollow inside at the faint lines of concern he can see in All Might’s face.

All he can do is give a silent nod as Uraraka agrees, all hints of anger gone from her voice. And she sounds just as exhausted and defeated as Hitoshi feels.

The two of them make their way out of the room, neither of them exchanging a word. As they do, he feels the weight of nineteen stares following him out.

Toshinori doesn’t think he will ever be able to forgive Aizawa for the defeated way Young Midoriya had looked at that last lunch they had together and what had resulted from it. He doesn’t think he will ever want to.

But he does want to try and move past it if he can. Both for himself as well as for Young Midoriya, so that he has not needlessly isolated his boy when they find him and rescue him.

Apologizing for his hastily harsh comments was the first step. This is the second, he knows it is. That does not make it any easier to do.

“Aizawa, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks. The other Hero looks at him apprehensively, but at least he still follows All Might into a more secluded corner of the room.

“I know the rescheduled internships are coming up soon and that most of the students have already confirmed which Heroes they’ll be working with. But I was going through the paperwork and I noticed Young Shinsou has yet to commit to someone,” He says.

“You want to make the kid an internship offer?” Aizawa asks, and the question throws Toshinori through such a loop that it leaves him blinking stupidly at the other man for a few long moments.

“What?” He asks after his brain has finished rebooting.

“You’d be an odd match, I’ll give you that, and I probably would have denied your request outright a few weeks ago. But I know you did well with Midoriya,” Aizawa continues as if this is a perfectly logical conclusion to come to.

“I wasn’t asking for me,” Toshinori says.

This time, it’s Aizawa who blinks up at him for a few silent moments before slowly saying, “Then why did you bring it up?”

“I was going to suggest you take him under your wing.”

“I don’t have time to take an intern,” Aizawa says immediately after, dismissing the thought out of hand. Irritation wells up in Toshinori’s chest at the thought of Aizawa so casually dismissing another student after doing the exact same thing with Young Midoriya. But he presses that down and does his best to continue on calmly.

“Shinsou is new to the Heroics department, he needs a guiding hand to help him with his fundamentals as well as his quirk and I think he would benefit more from you than he would from any of the Heroes the school offers.”

Aizawa gives him a second, more considering look. Toshinori meets his gaze with a level one of his own.

“You really think I should take him?”

“Don’t you?” Toshinori challenges.

“I hadn’t really considered him all that much,” Aizawa says, looking away.

“Maybe it’s time you should start.”

Ochako shifts on her cot as Recovery Girl’s lips press a brand into her cheek where Shinsou had hit her.

The older Hero has already seen to Shinsou and his broken hand. But he has not moved from his cot, his entire frame bending under the weight of his exhaustion.

“There you are Dearie, right as rain, just eat a few of my gummies here and you should both be able to head right back to class,” Recovery Girl says as she presses a few of her brightly colored gummies into Ochako’s hand.

Ochako eats them without thinking about it and watches as Shinsou does the same. Then they silently get up and make their way out of the room. There is a tension coming off Shinsou and it sets Ochako on edge.

Still, she cannot help but think about their last spar, the one when Shinsou had stopped backing away from her and had actually started fighting back. It had felt good, to fight with someone who was really fighting back. To fight against someone who was really giving it their all.

“Would you be willing to spar with me again?” Ochako asks on impulse.

Shinsou’s head whips around to look at her, but she continues to stare straight ahead as he asks, “Why?”

“Because I think it’ll be good for the both of us. You can do a bit of catching up and I get to hit you,” Ochako says, shrugging one shoulder.

They are nearly back to their classroom before he says, “Alright. Just tell me when and where.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

The door clicks open. Izuku and Eri, both sitting together on Eri’s bed, freeze and snap their attention over to the entryway and the man stepping through. Eri’s hair, fine and wavy, slips through Izuku’s fingers and falls out of its half-formed braid.

Tengai stands in the doorway and stares down at them with calm golden eyes.

“Midoriya,” he says. He and Rappa are the only two here who still call Izuku by his family name, rather than his personal name.

It’s hard to say whether he appreciates the respect or resents it.

“I have been speaking with Overhaul,” Tengai continues. “You have been well-behaved the past few days, and it would be wrong to not acknowledge that. Come with me.”

Izuku hesitates, hands frozen in front of him. Memories of the last time he was pulled out of the room for anything other than standard lab work dance through his head. Something pulls in his chest and his hands begin to shake.

Eri glances up at him, eyes wide, lips pressed together as color drains from her face.

He shifts, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. For a moment, his knees wobble and almost give way as his vision greys out, but he keeps his feet and takes a tentative step forward. “Alright. I’m coming.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he briefly catches Eri’s expression and tries to give her a reassuring smile.

Who knows how reassuring it actually is, when apprehension and anxiety hurtle through his body and leave him wracked with tremors.

Tengai leads him out the door and down the hallway. Rappa falls in behind them. Neither man speaks much, and Izuku keeps his mouth closed tight, though Rappa’s stare rests heavy on his back. He burns with the weight of it but there’s no way to lessen the impact, even as he hunches his shoulders and curls in on himself.

They go down a way Izuku is unfamiliar with, taking turns he does not expect and passing rooms he has not seen before. Occasionally, they walk by strangers, all of whom peer curiously at their procession but ask no questions. It’s almost a shock to see new faces after so long of only seeing the same people, but Izuku shrugs it off and tries not to devote too much energy to them.

Finally stopping and opening a door, Tengai steps aside and gestures Izuku forward. Swallowing his fear (it doesn’t work—adrenaline still shakes his hands, his heart pounding in his chest), he steps forward and into the room. Tengai and Rappa follow him in, closing the door behind them.

They stand in a sizable office. Just like every other room he’s been in, just like every part of the stronghold he’s locked in, not a single window exists within it. One desk stands in the back half of the room, neat piles of paperwork and folders sitting on it and surrounding a computer monitor set off to the side.

Overhaul looks up, golden eyes flicking away from the screen to glance them over. His gaze is like ice, settling on Izuku as a chill runs down his spine.

He cannot suppress his shudder.

“There you are.” Overhaul closes a folder and sets it aside before leaning forward and steepling his fingers. “Tengai and Rappa should have told you why I called for you.”

Izuku nods, anxiety gnawing at his gut. Should he respond verbally? Is it better to keep his mouth shut? Which option is safer?

Before he can spin himself deeper into the indecision, Overhaul responds. “You like to keep up your fitness, don’t you? I respect that. It must be difficult, trying to do so without any proper equipment.”

More than a little creeped out now, Izuku nods. Are there cameras in their room? How else could Overhaul know?

“We have, of course, fitness facilities on-site. If your good behavior continues, you will be allowed use of them while supervised by members of the Eight Bullets. Tengai and Rappa will be your chaperones today. They will be reporting back to me afterward, so you should be on your best behavior.” Overhaul pauses and stares down Izuku, whose teeth lock together under the weight of his stare.

After several long moments, Overhaul finishes. “Prove to me I should continue to allow you this privilege.”

Izuku’s jaw unlocks just enough for him to utter a quiet “Yes, sir” before they’re dismissed. Once again, Tengai and Rappa lead him down unfamiliar winding hallways. How big even is this underground complex? Locked in for the past however long it’s been, his whole world has shrunk down to endless concrete and unfamiliar rooms.

Some days, it feels like this complex is all there is anymore, the outside world a distant fleeting dream.

Those days are by far the worst days.

Tengai and Rappa send Izuku into a room alone. It’s some sort of changing and shower room, with tiled floors and walls and a drain set in the low point. Will he be allowed a shower afterwards? It’s been so long. While Overhaul’s quirk technically reassembles him without filth, it’s still nothing compared to actually bathing.

Then he notices the clothes.

A bench stands along one wall with a stack of folded clothes on it. Overhaul’s quirk affects clothes, too, also removing from them any accumulated filth. Again, it’s nothing compared to wearing fresh clothes.

He hasn’t changed clothes in … however long it’s been since he woke up in that first cell.

Hesitantly he walks over to the bench. His chest hurts, he can barely breathe, his eyes sting as he hauls in a shuddering breath. The clothes he’s being offered are plain, simple, just like the clothes he’s been wearing. That doesn’t change their difference, the fact they’re something new.

Hot tears track down his cheeks. He reaches up to scrub at them, smearing them all over his face and getting his hand all wet. Out of all things, he’s breaking down over clothes? He sniffles and closes his eyes, biting his lip like he’s biting back whatever is overflowing and swamping him.

He almost succeeds.

When he opens his eyes, he notices the shoes. Bulky red hightops sit on the floor underneath the bench.

Those are his shoes from before. Not even just the same style, the exact same shoes. The scuff marks on the toes leftover from dragging trash around on Dagobah Beach are right there.

And there is nothing in the world that he wants more in this moment than to be back on Dagobah Beach, training under All Might’s watchful eye as he drags around broken appliances and car parts and gets sand in his shoes and his pants and his hair. It obliterates the last shred of self-composure holding him up and knocks him to his knees. He bends over, pressing his forehead to the edge of the bench and wrapping his arms around himself.

He lets himself cry in a way he hasn’t since he was moved into Eri’s room.

Eventually, the sobs subside, and he changes clothes, motions mechanical. They’re as plain as the clothes he’s currently wearing, just simple shorts and a T-shirt in neutral colors. Something inside him has gone numb, like he’s empty, lessened. He pulls on socks and shoves his feet into his shoes and tries not to think too hard about the bloodstains splattered across them. They’re hard to see against the red, but he knows they’re there.

He tries not to look at himself too closely, either. But in the end, he can’t help it: the mirrors on the wall are inescapable, and even if he’s looking away from those, he looks down as he’s pulling on his clothes.

His ribs press against his skin, clearly visible and easy to count. He’s lost a lot of the muscle mass he gained while training with All Might, and while he hasn’t returned to the easily-exhausted stringy little fourteen-year-old he was before, he’s … much leaner, now.

Just something else he’s lost that he won’t be getting back.

He walks over to the door and knocks on it. A moment later, Tengai opens it. “Are you ready to go?”

Izuku nods.

Tengai pauses. His mask blocks most of his expression, but his eyes flicker across Izuku’s form before narrowing slightly as a crease appears between his brows. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

And what of it, Izuku almost asks, but he holds his tongue.

After a moment, Tengai’s expression smooths back out again. All traces of concern are gone, wiped clean, and he turns away. “Follow me.”

Izuku is led across the hallway, and this time, Tengai and Rappa enter the room with him. It’s filled with weights equipment, although Izuku couldn’t name any of it. All of his working out has, prior to this, been done through free-standing weights and hauling trash.

A handful of men are already inside, wearing workout gear and clumped around one of the racks. They chatter as they watch one of them lift, though they fall quiet as Izuku and his guards enter.

He heads directly for the free-standing weights, all racked at the back of the room. Tengai and Rappa trail after him, stuck to him like his own shadow.

At the rack, he automatically reaches down for a dumbbell. He stops partway, hand hovering in the air over the weight he had been lifting before his kidnapping.

Swallowing the bitter dregs of his pride, he readjusts and picks up a weight several sizes down.

Rappa, following right behind him, picks up a set of weights much larger than Izuku’s. His actions fuel the inadequacy that sits deep in Izuku’s gut, a nagging feeling that he’s extraneous, disposable, weak.

His guards stick with him as he finds an out-of-the-way bench to sit down and do curls at. Rappa sits on a nearby bench while Tengai sits down cross-legged on the floor and closes his eyes.

While they lift, Izuku’s skin crawls with the gazes of the strangers in the room. Even when he glances over at them, they don’t look away, eyes locked onto him.

He looks away and focuses on counting his reps.

At one point, he notices the clock hanging on the wall opposite him. Just a regular analog clock, it tells him it’s about 2:30, though whether it’s morning or afternoon, he can’t tell.

It’s the first time he’s been able to tell the time since his kidnapping.

That hollow place inside him grows.

A few minutes after Izuku notices the clock (he keeps looking at it, every few seconds, just to make sure it’s still there), Rappa gets up without a word and walks away, weights in hand.

As he leaves, the volume of chatter amongst the strangers swells, and one of them approaches.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he says, leaning up against a nearby rack and staring down at Izuku. His eyes are bright with hunger. “It’s a shame you’re off limits. I’m sure we could have some fun together.”

Izuku freezes like he’s been dunked in a lake full of ice.

“Mind your own business,” Tengai says. Izuku didn’t see him get up, but he’s standing now, between Izuku and the stranger.

The stranger raises his hands. “Hey, the boss has good taste! I’m only admiring, don’t worry—I know not to touch something that’s already claimed.”

He glances down at Izuku again with those same hungry eyes.

“I didn’t know he liked them older, too.”

He takes a step back and bumps right into Rappa, who stares down at him, expression rendered completely unreadable by his mask.

The stranger hurries away a lot faster after that.

“I think we’re finished for now,” Tengai says, looking down at Izuku. “Put your weights up.”

Izuku nods, chest numb, hands tingling, and complies.

The stranger’s eyes follow him until he leaves the room.

When he’s told he may take a shower, he runs it as hot as it will go and stands under it until Rappa begins banging on the door and telling him to hurry up.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Eri is a heavy weight on top of him as Izuku drifts in the half awake state that has started passing for sleep recently. But knowing that Eri is here, that she is as safe and protected as Izuku can make her right now, helps.

She shifts in her sleep and Izuku feels himself rise briefly into a more awake state as he checks to make sure she is still safe and secure before he drifts down again.

An echo of his name sounds in his head. But Izuku pays it no mind because it sounds like All Might shouting his name, and with Eri still pressed against him, he knows it is just a memory of a dream from his life before.

Then the door to their room opens and Izuku snaps to awareness, his arms tightening around Eri as she goes still in his arms, her wide eyes meeting his in a silent communication. Izuku shifts them into a sitting position as Nemoto opens the door to their room, stepping in with one smooth movement. Something inside Izuku’s throat tightens as Eri catches sight of the person standing in the doorway and curls even tighter in Izuku’s grip, her hands clutching at his shirt.

“Let’s go,” Nemoto says, his voice almost dull as he shifts slightly so that the open doorway is partially visible behind him. Izuku shifts Eri off his lap and slides off the bed. She tries to hold onto him as he goes, but Izuku holds her wrists gently in his as he moves, letting her keep her grip on him all the way up until the last second when he applies a little bit of pressure.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” Izuku whispers as she lets go of him.

“You’re both coming,” Nemoto snaps. A chill works its way down Izuku’s spine. He had been hoping that Eri would have gotten more time to rest and stay safe in their room while Overhaul pulled Izuku for more of his more focused experiments. But it seemed like her brief respite had officially just ended.

Eri slips off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with nearly silent slaps that still almost echo through the room. Izuku wants to insist that she be left behind, he wants to place his body in front of hers and tell Nemoto and anyone who comes after that they’ll have to get through him first before he allows her to be experimented on again. But he doesn’t do that because he knows that it will only upset her and lead to worse punishments for the both of them. And Izuku won’t make Eri suffer for his decisions.

Her hand slips into his, their fingers threading together as they follow Nemoto out of their room and Izuku gently squeezes her hand in his, trying to offer her as much comfort as he can while also giving her as much support as possible in this brief moment of contact. Then he draws away from her and hopes that Nemoto did not see them.

Izuku wants to keep holding her hand, to offer her as much comfort as he can while they walk to the lab. He just doesn’t know how Overhaul would react to seeing them so attached and offering each other comfort. And that uncertainty makes him uncomfortable, it makes him feel off balance.

“Ahh, I see you made it with minimal issues. Let’s get started, shall we. Eri, in your chair,” Overhaul does not even look at them as they enter the lab.

Izuku’s chair isn’t in the lab anymore, he can’t see it.

Why isn’t in the lab? Why is only Eri getting put in a chair today? Why is Izuku here?

Eri walks away from Izuku’s side and without even thinking his hand extends to grab at her and drag her back, his heartbeat racing with all the changes to their usual routine.

She doesn’t notice Izuku’s sudden movement, but Overhaul and Nemoto definitely do as both their gazes narrow, Nemoto even going so far as to take a step towards him. Part of Izuku screams that he is making a stupid decision, but he doesn’t know what’s going on or why and all he can feel is a blind panic welling up into his throat and witing out every other thought. And under that, a small hard kernel of fierce protectiveness that insists he not let Eri walk away until he understands what’s going on.

Izuku moves without thinking, his body reacting before his brain can process. But Eri is out of his range before he can reach her, and Nemoto has his hand wrapped around Izuku’s upper arm before he can move towards her.

“Now, now Izuku, you were doing so well, let’s not step out of line,” Overhaul says, his stance settling into something that radiates danger.

Eri freezes in the middle of the room, completely alone as she looks back over her shoulder at Izuku. She looks spooked, and Izuku can see her chest moving rapidly under the rags of her dress.

“Eri, in the chair,” Overhaul says, his voice dipping. She stands there a moment longer, before something inside her seems to snap back into place. Eri scrambles forward as if she is trying to make up for lost time, pulling herself up into her chair in one fluid movement when she gets there and sitting down, her eyes going to Overhaul as soon as she is settled.

Izuku does not fight against Nemoto’s grip on his arm, he knows better than that, but he can feel Nemoto struggling to keep his grip on Izuku as he hangs in his grip, his whole body leaning toward Eri in her chair.

“Izuku, behave yourself, or I’ll be forced to remove you from this session and remove your gym perks as well,” Overhaul snaps. Izuku can see him approaching out of the corner of his eye, but all of his attention is focused on Eri. Every molecule of his being, right here, right in this moment, nothing else matters to him except that she is safe, that he can protect her.

Because as long as he can still protect her, as long as he can still keep her as safe as he can manage, then at least he is still good for something. At least he can be someone All Might would be proud of.

Eri’s eyes flick to him, a second of connection. There is a plea in them, a kind of desperate request that Izuku is helpless to deny. So he pulls himself back to standing in Nemoto’s grip, as his gaze drops to the floor, something inside him crumpling like wet paper as he does.

Overhaul’s shoes stop right at the edge of his vision for a moment before he says, “Good, now go strap Eri in, we’re going to do something a little different today.”

Izuku nods numbly, his chest aching with a pressure that pulls him in and pushes him out in one dull constant. His feet drag as he moves across the tilted floor, he still manages to get to Eri far too quickly though. His hands ghost over her skin, shaking just slightly while they move from strap to strap. Eri sits perfectly still, far too comfortable with the movements despite the fact that it feels like Izuku is tearing away at parts of himself with each limb fastened.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper past the lump in his throat as he finishes. It chokes off every other thing he wishes he could say, but he forces those two words out because they are the most important ones, the only ones that matter.

He moves away before she has the chance to reply, marooning himself in the middle of the lab, wondering what he is supposed to do now.

“Now, Izuku, come here,” Overhaul says. Izuku moves like a puppet as he goes to stand next to Overhaul by the computers. When he gets there, Overhaul looks him over, Izuku knows he does despite the fact that he does not see it, he feels the man’s eyes scraping against his skin as it moves up and then down again.

After a long moment that feels like an eternity, Overhaul finally moves as he pushes a button and for a second, nothing happens. And then Izuku’s own voice filters in through the speakers on the computer.

“Present Mic, Pro Hero, Quirk, Voice. Voice allows Present Mic to increase the volume of his voice to sonic levels. Voice has a cone shape effect on the surrounding areas and has been known to get loud enough to shake buildings. Present Mic is most effective in a wide open area with multiple potential targets and least effective underground or in tight spaces in a one on one battle. Could Voice be a part of why Present Mic is so effective on the radio? He must have had to train his voice in order to be able to control it so effectively. Maybe part of that training led him to radio-”

Izuku’s voice is cut off as Overhaul messes with the controls on the computer before it fades back into the lab.

“-Quirk, Slime. Slime allows Hedoro to transform his body mass into a fluid-like sludge or slime. While in his slime form, Hedoro can increase his mass as he travels by picking up more dirt, water, and general muck. Hedoro is also capable of cramming most of his slime mass into a person-”

Overhaul skips forward again.

“-Create bursts of wind as they move. If they train their quirk enough it’s possible they might be able to perform flight? Could they control their directionality or would it have to be an upwards movement only? Maybe depending on how they position their hands-”

And again and again. Overhaul keeps skipping around, but no matter where Overhaul skips to, Izuku recognises it all. It’s all his quirk analysis, every last single line. Muttered in between lab sessions and when he was feeling most alone and at night when he was holding Eri and just looking for something to say while she falls asleep. All of it’s his.

Finally it comes to a stop and Izuku is left in a ringing silence for what feels like an eternity as his heart pounds somewhere close to the top of his head. All of his analyses were based off publicly available information, but that still doesn’t change the fact that he feels like he has done something terrible by speaking them aloud where Overhaul could hear them.

“It’s fascinating what you learn about someone when you take the time to listen to what they have to say. I didn’t even realize what we had until Chrono brought it to my attention,” Overhaul says. Izuku can only just hear him over the pounding in his ears and the sharp breaths that are forcing their way out of his throat.

“I wish you had brought this to my attention earlier, but we’ll let bygones be bygones just this once,” Overhaul continues before he stands up suddenly. Izuku barely manages to stumble out of his way, but he does not think that Overhaul notices his state, or if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. “Come on, let’s begin.”

“Begin?” Izuku manages, his voice somewhere between a squeak and a painful breath.

Overhaul shoots him an irritated glance and Izuku feels his panic spike. The man has been very forgiving of Izuku so far today, far more forgiving than he has ever been before. And Izuku doesn’t want to find out where his line is today, he doesn’t want to keep pushing. But it feels like all he can do today is push.

“Starting today you will be taking a more active role in Eri’s lab tests. You will learn how to give Eri her injections and observe the effects of her quirk and each week we will meet and you will give me your observations and any suggestions you might have on how she might perform better. Now, if you’re finished wasting time,” Overhaul leaves a pregnant pause at the end of his sentence that implies all kinds of threat. Izuku still cannot wrap his head around the first part of it though.

He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to help experiment on Eri, he doesn’t want to become one of the people he is trying to protect her from.

But Izuku can’t keep pushing Overhaul, he doesn’t want to find the line for today. Because with Eri strapped into the chair, she would be the one facing the consequences for his actions, and then after she was finished being punished, Overhaul would still insist that Izuku help him during today’s lab tests. If Izuku keeps pushing, Eri will be facing down double the pain today, and Izuku can’t do that to her, not when he is already going to be hurting her today.

So when Overhaul starts moving towards Eri again, Izuku falls into step beside him.

When Overhaul hands him a syringe, Izuku takes it in fingers that shake so badly he can barely wrap them around them.

And when Izuku steps up to Eri, the syringe in one hand with Overhaul right behind him, his upper body wrapped around Izuku’s in a pantomime of a hug to keep Izuku’s hands steady as he inserts the syringe into the crook of Eri’s elbow, neither of them comment on the tears he can feel gathering in his eyes.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Five days.

Izuku has a new Before and After to count days by.

While they’re not called into the lab every day, other things happen that help him count. He retains workout privileges, after all, for how good he’s been, helping out with Eri.

Five days have passed since he was taught how to give injections, since he made that ultimate betrayal. Their shots are all intramuscular, he’s now learnt, delivered into the meat of their shoulders, just like he’s giving a vaccination.

Eri remains still and silent, barely flinching as his unpracticed hands sink the needle into her arm and press down the plunger. Giving the injection itself isn’t difficult.

Emotionally, it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

“Good job,” Overhaul purrs.

Izuku’s stomach clenches and flips. The praise lands like a branding iron in his chest, searing away something in his soul.

In direct contrast, his skin feels like ice when he wraps his arms around himself.

The lab session flies by, a blur of injections and questions and a spreadsheet on a tablet. Izuku’s job, outside of injecting Eri, is to record the results Overhaul tells him to record. The tablet he is handed does not connect to any outside networks—he’s checked, several times, when Overhaul was busy with his equipment or monitoring Eri.

Of course, Overhaul wouldn’t make a mistake as stupid as handing Izuku a tablet with an internet connection. The hope he’s managed to hang onto, that someone will slip up and give him the chance he needs, dies just a little more.

The lab session comes to an end after interminable hours. Izuku gives Eri her final injection, that bright cherry-red liquid, and Chronostasis opens the door to escort them back to their room.

“Izuku remains with me,” Overhaul says.

A block of ice replaces Izuku’s heart. Please, please tell him he heard wrong—

“Yes, sir,” Chronostasis replies, releasing Eri’s restraints. When she stands, he puts a hand on her head to lead her from the room.

As she walks out the door, she turns back to look at him, red eyes wide.

How can she stand to even look at him? How can she still look at him with such naked worry?

“I’ve never had an assistant like you.”

Izuku flinches. Overhaul now looms over his shoulder, too close for comfort. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his shoulders rise toward his ears.

“You’re incredibly intelligent,” Overhaul continues, his voice soft, almost fond. “Your insights are far beyond any that an assistant has offered me before. While you haven’t been helping me in this capacity for very long, you’ve already offered me several ideas that I had not yet thought of before.”

One hand, long-fingered and cold, lands on Izuku’s shoulder.

“None of my assistants have lasted long enough for me to trust them with my more … intense experiments, but I feel like you’ll have many valuable questions about them. You like dissecting quirks, puzzling out their many abilities and finding their every limit. How much do you know about what mine does?”

A direct question: Izuku has no choice but to answer. He does so, swallowing once before speaking through the desert in his mouth.

“You can disassemble and reassemble objects, living and non-living, on a molecular scale, manipulating their structure upon reassembly,” Izuku replies.

“Yes, that’s essentially what it does. I am limited by my own mind, in how well I remember what goes where, or how well I can visualize the structure upon reassembly.” Overhaul pauses. Izuku glances up at him. The man stares at nothing in particular, eyes unfocused. “Disassembly and direct, immediate reassembly are simple. Anything else requires a bit more thought. Of course, disassembly on its own is simpler still.”

Izuku nods. That makes sense, and he files the new information down somewhere in his brain. Hopefully, it will be useful in the future.

“Now, come along.” A gentle pressure on Izuku’s shoulder pushes him forward, and they begin to walk together. “Let me show you my other limits.”

Jars upon jars fill the room, the hallway lights bouncing off rounded glass. Shelves, stuffed with jars, line three walls. The whole room is one long rectangle, plunging back into the earth away from the door to the hallway.

The back wall makes up another two doors, heavy steel and padlocked. Roaring fans and rattling belts tell Izuku exactly what they lead to: refrigerators.

Then Overhaul turns on the lights.

And Izuku can make out what, exactly, the jars contain.

Body parts.

Human body parts.

Izuku freezes, stomach rolling. He holds onto his meagre lunch as his eyes pass over eyeballs, fingers, hands, livers, brains, fetuses. One large jar contains what, upon first glance, appears to be many pale worms of varying sizes.

Upon second glance, he catches sight of the heart in a tangle of veins and arteries.

“It’s all a bit macabre, I know,” Overhaul says. He glances around the room like it’s nothing, completely unaffected by their grisly surroundings. He strolls through like it’s just another day at work, and for him, it truly is.

“It was a bit much for me, too, at first,” he continues, pausing to rest his fingers against one of the jars. His shadow falls across someone’s suspended spine. “You get used to it.”

Izuku never wants to get used to this.

“You see, while my end goal is to erase quirks in their entirety, my own quirk is essential to that research. Therefore, the first step in that research is to know exactly what mine is capable of, to learn it just as thoroughly, if not even more thoroughly than any hero learns their own power.”

If there’s one thing Izuku is good at, it’s putting a picture of a quirk together from mere shreds of evidence. And here, he’s being offered much more than shreds.

“You practiced on people,” he whispers. “Disassembling them. You practiced disassembling certain parts of them.”

“Astute.” Overhaul nods. “Yes, that was part of my early training, though I didn’t start with humans. I was too young, and humans are too complex. Biology classes begin their dissections with invertebrates: I did the same, and after I was confident with that, I moved onto vertebrates. Frogs, first, how terribly stereotypical of me. Rats. Stray cats and dogs, livestock, then, eventually, humans. These …. You could consider these as souvenirs, I suppose.”

Souvenirs.

Overhaul keeps trophies.

Izuku barely swallows down his bile.

“I’ve moved on from such simple exercises, these days,” Overhaul continues. “I disassemble, and then I reassemble. You’ve seen me do it before.”

Izuku nods. He has, he has been remade himself.

“The question now: how long can I leave something living disassembled before it becomes something dead?”

Once, with slime crawling down his throat, Izuku thought he had reached the extreme end of fear. That terror was hot, burning in his chest as he struggled to breathe and choked on sewer-smelling sludge.

He was introduced to cold terror mere minutes later, watching Kacchan struggle against the same slime, and thought he had once again reached his limit on fear.

He learned there was further to go at the USJ, a colder terror waiting in the wings. Watching the Noumu almost kill his teacher, watching Shigaraki almost disintegrate his classmate, he thought he had once again pushed the limits of his fear.

Now he knows: there is no limit. There will always, always be a stronger terror, a bigger horror, waiting around the next corner his life turns. It takes different shapes and grips his heart in its talons with varying strengths, but there’s always further to go.

Perhaps he has fallen in so deep he will never come up for air.

Here, he will finally thankfully meet his end, one more piece of fodder for Overhaul’s tests.

“I have expanded the scope of these tests beyond what I initially envisioned. There are factors, I’m sure you can guess, which impact how long I can leave something disassembled before I cannot put it back together the way it was. Temperature, contamination, the list goes on.”

Overhaul continues talking, and it makes sense to Izuku: there is no better secret-keeper than a deadman. Did he share such information with everyone he’s brought to this room, or is Izuku unique in this?

“Here.” A tablet is, once again, offered to Izuku. He takes it with shaking hands. “You know what to do.”

“I—” Izuku swallows, mouth once again arid. “Sir, I’m. I’m confused?” He shrinks under Overhaul’s stare.

“How are you confused?” Overhaul asks, and it makes Izuku feel like the biggest idiot on Earth.

“I—” His teeth lock together but he forces them apart again. “I don’t know what you want me to do?”

With one raised eyebrow, his stare still withering Izuku, Overhaul answers. “You will record the results and take notes as I dictate them to you. You will offer suggestions and insights as you come to them. You will do the exact same thing you do during Eri’s sessions.”

“Oh.” Izuku sighs. He glances over at the jars again. “I thought—”

He cuts himself off, teeth clicking together as he looks back up at Overhaul.

Where he expected to see the same scathing, belittling look he had been receiving, instead, there’s something—

He doesn’t want to think about what he sees there.

“Oh. I see now. You thought I brought you here to perform that test on you.”

He can look away from Overhaul, but he cannot suddenly deafen himself. Something undeniably soft leaks into Overhaul’s voice.

(Or maybe Izuku is so starved for affection that he’s hearing things that aren’t there, making warmth up where there’s nothing but cold detachment.)

“Rest assured, that is not the case. I am far too invested in you to give you up. Consider it the sunk cost fallacy, if that comforts you. Now come. We have quite a bit to get through.”

Izuku follows.

Whether out of mercy or misplaced care, Overhaul performs no further human experimentation in front of Izuku that day. Though every container in the refrigerator is labeled (and his ability to read has not degraded: he is not so out of it that he can mistake “human male #11” for anything else), the only creatures subject to Overhaul’s experiment today are rats and mice.

“It saves space,” Overhaul explains. “And attention. There would be no way to escape notice if I performed only on humans.”

It still turns Izuku’s stomach to see dead rats, limp and unmoving, appear from the containers of ….

Sludge.

That’s the best way to describe the mish-mash of tissues in the containers, chunky and a dark reddish-brown. The smell almost overwhelms him, cutting above the sterile formaldehyde and choking his nose. He’s never stuck an entire rat in a blender, but he imagines this is what it would both smell and look like: a mix of salty-sweet blood and something ripe and fetid he can’t name but imagines that may be what guts smell like.

It sticks with him long after they leave the room, clinging to his skin, his clothes, his hair. He knows better than to press his luck, but part of him wants to beg for a shower just to wash the sick of that room off.

Instead, he is led to Overhaul’s office.

“I’m proud of you,” Overhaul tells him, and this time it’s not gore turning Izuku’s stomach. “It’s nice to see you behaving so well. Quite a pleasant change from our first meeting, hm?”

A question.

Izuku swallows down the bitter taste of a lie and nods his head.

(But isn’t it at least partially true? Is it not better to be allowed workout privileges, to be talked to, if not as an equal, then as a person? To watch his and Eri’s portion sizes occasionally come a little bigger than usual, on the days he behaves the best?)

“I hope you’ll find that I can be quite generous to those who work with me,” Overhaul continues. “It behooves a man to take care of those who give him their loyalty. In fact, I have something for you now. You were very helpful to me today.”

Izuku watches, transfixed, as Overhaul leaves him standing by the door and walks to the back of the room.

If it were the Izuku of weeks ago left here, he would have taken his chances and bolted out the door.

The Izuku of now remains rooted in place.

“You’ve demonstrated to me quite the intellect.” Overhaul pulls something out of a cabinet, and though his body hides most of it, Izuku catches a glimpse of grey fabric. “It can get quite cold down here, can’t it? I know you and Eri like to share body heat, but that’s not always feasible.”

Overhaul turns and walks back toward Izuku, revealing the object in his hand.

A UA blazer, the General Education style.

“I took the time to remove the bloodstains from it,” Overhaul says as he hangs it on Izuku’s shoulders. “If you can keep up the good behavior, then perhaps I’ll let you go on a little field trip. It’s been quite a while since you’ve seen the sun, hasn’t it?”

The blazer still hangs off his shoulders, sleeves empty, when Izuku is returned to his room. Eri, curled up on her bed with blankets wrapped around her, looks up as he enters. Her hair falls away from her face as she sits up.

The door clicks shut behind him, lock turning with a thunk.

“What did he do to you?” she asks, scrambling off the bed and running over to him. Unflinching, she grabs his hand and tugs him back to the beds.

He lets her. Around him, the world blurs and fuzzes out until the only solid things remaining are her hands wrapped around his and the weight hanging off his shoulders.

“Please,” she whines, pulling him until his legs hit the bed frame. She leaves him no option but to collapse, folding down onto the bed. “Please, big brother, what did he do to you?”

Therein lies the problem: Overhaul didn’t do anything to Izuku.

Unable to find his words, Izuku simply holds Eri’s hands in his.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers. Burning eyes come at odds to his freezing hands. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s not an answer. He doesn’t have one of those for her. However, there’s enough awareness in him left to notice her shivering, and he does have something for that.

Releasing her hands, he slides the blazer off his shoulders and places it on hers.

Overhaul is right about sharing body heat not always being feasible. She should at least have options, shouldn’t be forced to touch him if she wants to stay warm, not when his hands have started hurting her.

“Izuku?” she whispers, reaching out to touch him anyway.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Inko runs her hands down Izuku’s blazer, making sure it lays flat on the hanger. It never lays anything but perfectly now-a-days, but this is a habit Inko has built up over years, a few months are not enough to break it.

Her hands needlessly straighten the tie next, pulling it first one way and then the next as she rearranged it a few centimeters here and there. Before she decides that it too is hanging perfectly.

For a moment, as her palm rests against where his heart would be, Inko feels something dark and terrible well up inside her, threatening to swamp her and pull her down into its merciless depths. And for a moment, Inko wants to let it. She wants to stop treading water, let herself be enveloped in the nothingness that would come next.

Because it’s hard. It’s hard to keep strong and to keep going. Without Izuku her days feel empty and greyscale. Each breath feels like it is being ripped ragged from her lungs. It’s hard to keep going, keep her spine straight and her shoulder squared as she carries the weight of the world and the loss of her son.

Then the moment passes and it is slightly easier to breathe.

Inko allows her hands to fall away from the blazer and tries to force some of the tension out of her shoulder blades with a deep breath.

She has to keep faith with Izuku. Because as long as he is alive, Inko knows her son will be fighting to get back to her. And as long as there is still a possibility that he is still alive, she will keep her hope alive.

Inko will keep her hope for Izuku burning and she will keep fighting for him. To keep him at the forefront of the minds of the police and Heroes working his case, to make sure that Izuku is not forgotten about. He deserves nothing less.

Slowly she pulls away from the blazer, casting her eyes around his room for anything out of place. But it is all exactly where Izuku left it, a picture perfect snapshot of what her home used to look like. There is nothing for her to fix or adjust. So she yarns around and leaves, hesitating at the doorway for only a second, tempted to look behind her and find some reason to say inside, before she softly shuts the door behind her.

Her next breath is a heavy one as it leaves her chest. The one after that is lighter though as she moves away from his room.

There is still an emptiness in the house that constantly reminds her of her son, but moving through the house without becoming debilitated has become easier with each passing day. Now her steps are haunted only by the memories of her tears.

Almost on instinct, her feet carry her to the kitchen. But as soon as she gets there she remembers that she has not gone shopping recently, she has nothing in her kitchen to make. Even if she did though, she is meeting All Might for lunch.

Which she completely forgot about until this moment and she is going to be late for it if she doesn't leave soon.

Inko doesn’t bother to change her clothes, only grabbing her purse and slipping on her shoes as she heads out. The sun is shining, and there is not a cloud in the sky. Inko hopes that somewhere out there, Izuku is enjoying this weather at least.

It doesn’t take her long to reach the cafe that has become their regular meeting spot. She knows it’s a bit out of the way for the Hero, and has offered to switch up where they meet several different times, but he insists that it’s no trouble for him to get out. Inko thinks All Might just enjoys being able to get out every once in a while without needing to be a Hero first. She enjoys their meetings too though, so she doesn’t comment on it.

Her weekly meetings with the Number One Hero started out as a way for All Might to keep her informed about Izuku’s case. But once the information stalled out and leads started going cold, they became more casual, a way for them to keep each other company as time stretched on. It’s nice after all, being around someone who misses Izuku as much as she does, someone who is fighting just as hard as she is to keep a focus on him.

As soon as she enters the cafe, she can spot All Might’s distinct blond hair, although it lays down over his eyes and tufts slightly differently in his smaller form and he hunces more than he does in his bulkier form. So Inko isn’t that surprised that no one else has seemed to notice that the most popular Hero is sitting among them.

She spots him right away though.

He is sitting at their usual table, two drinks in front of him. His head is bowed and his fingers are curled protectively around his cup, but Inko knows that he is acutely aware of everyone in the cafe and their positions in relation to him. She knows that if anyone approaches their table too fast, his head will snap up and his eyes will burn blue fire as he assesses them for danger.

All Might does not assess Inko though. When their eyes meet, a wide smile blooms across his face and erases lines and years from his face, weariness from his shoulders.

“Ahh, I was worried you were going to stand me up,” he jokes, gesturing to the coffee cup sitting in front of the seat across from him, “I hope you don’t mind but I grabbed your coffee for you.”

“Sorry for worrying you, I just lost track of time,” Inko says as she slips into the chair, giving All Might a smile as she does. She takes a small sip of her drink, but she already knows that it will be just how she likes it. This is not her first time running late despite how close the cafe is to her home, and the Hero has never gotten it wrong once.

“There haven’t been any new leads on Young Midoriya’s case but my police contact, Tsukauchi, told me that he thinks he might have a new direction he wants to investigate and Midnight seems eager to indulge him,” All Might says, working himself into the routine their meetings always take.

“And you’re sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

“If we need something from you, I promise I’ll ask,” All Might says, his gaze softening as he looks at her. Inko can only hold his look for so long before she has to look away. She knows that All Might is doing his best, they all are. But seeing her own aching longing for something new reflected in his eyes is almost too overwhelming for her.

There are tears building up in the back of her throat again. Inko can feel them pooling in her eyes and clogging in her lungs. But she doesn’t want to cry today, she cries so much now and this is supposed to be a casual meeting.

“How are your students doing?” Inko forces out, blinking furiously to beat back the tears.

All Might launches into a story about one of his students putting his head through a wall in a training exercise as Inko takes a few rapid breaths in an attempt to steady herself. He is a very good story teller, and she recognizes a few of the names he gives from Izuku’s own stories of his classmates, so she is able to follow along fairly well despite only half paying attention.

The Hero also manages to coax out a story from her as well, telling him about how one of her potential clients had looked up a few things online and had approached her, dead set on the fact that he could do her job better than she could and only needed her for the feminine touch she would have brought to the work. By the time she is reading bits of his email to her out loud, Inko is holding back giggles and All Might is smiling at her brighter than a mega watt bulb.

“I feel like a bad mother sometimes,” Inko admits after they have lapsed into a few minutes of silence, staring back down into her drink again as she admits it.

She sees All Might start from the edge of her vision, his back straightening in his seat. And she is willing to bet anything that both his feet hit the floor as he does.

He is going to interrupt her, she knows he is. He is going to tell her that she is a great mother, that Izuku loved her so much and that she did her best for him. He is going to tell her that no one could have expected her to predict a kidnapping and that as soon as she thought something was wrong she did everything she could do, and has continued to do everything she can do.

And all of his pladitutes would be true, and they would be said in such a devastatingly soft way that Inko would give in and let him convince her. So she doesn't give him the chance to interrupt her.

“Izuku has been missing for months. I haven’t seen my baby boy in months and I don’t even really know if he’s still alive or if I’m waiting for the police and the Heroes to find his body. And it feels like my whole world should have stopped when he went missing, like I should have gone missing with him because at least then I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that it didn’t. My world has continued to spin.

“I deal with crazy customers and I get to sleep in my bed every night and meet new people and go out to cafes and laugh and smile. All of it without him. It feels like a betrayal, like I’m moving on without him when part of me feels like I should be stagnant.”

“He’s still alive, I know it,” All Might tells her, his voice low and serious.

“How could you possibly know that?” Inko snaps, something inside her feeling cold and brittle.

She can see it as All Might reaches out for her hand, but then withdraws it before it reaches her as he says, “ I just feel it. If Young Midoriya were to die I think my whole world would tilt on its axis and I would know that he was gone. And I think you would too, instinctually.

“Even if he were gone though, I don’t think Young Midoriya would want you to crawl into the grave with him. I don’t think he would want your world to stop turning for him. And I also don’t think you’re a bad mother for allowing yourself to keep living even when he isn’t here to see it.”

Inko feels the tears that have been threatening all day long spill out over her cheeks and stream down her face. She bends her head down even further as her shoulders shake, she keeps her mouth shut though, biting her lips closed.

She doesn’t want to bring attention to them, she doesn’t want to share her sadness with anyone else. This moment is just for them, this aching loss is just theirs.

“I’m finished if you are,” Inko says once her tears have mostly petered out. All Might nods his head as they both stand up, Inko wiping under her eyes as subtly as she can before they dispose of their cups and make their way out of the cafe.

“Thank you for meeting me,” All Might says as they stand in front of the doors. There is a slight breeze in the air and it picks up All Might’s hair tufts and sends them swaying in front of his face as he looks down at her.

“Thank you for talking with me,” she replies. And she wants to tell him how much these meetings mean to her, how much she looks forward to them. She wants him to know how important to her he has become, she just doesn’t know how to phrase the words.

Somehow, All Might seems to know what she is trying to say anyways though as his smile transforms into something softer and he says, “I’ll always be willing to talk with you.”

Inko is just about to say her final goodbyes when someone bursts out of the alleyway, running like their life depends on it as they streak down the sidewalk. Their appearance startles Inko and she takes a step backwards, her heart jumping into her throat.

All Might reacts too, twisting around as one arm flies up as if he were attempting to stop her forward momentum in a car crash. Steam leaks off his skin as he watches the runner and Inko moves as if on instinct, wrapping both her arms around All Might’s arm.

She has no idea what she is intending to do other than possibly hinder him for a slight second, but her every instinct is screaming at her to keep him with her and keep him safe where she can see him.

Inko lets him go a second later when she realizes what she’s done, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as All Might looks at her. He doesn’t go after the runner though, and that settles something in her still pounding heart.

“Sorry,” she says, taking another step back from the Hero.

“It’s alright, I need to keep better track of my hours as All Might anyways.” She knows he’s providing her with an out, but Inko still can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She can’t believe she grabbed onto the Number One Hero to keep him from going after someone, as if she has any say in All Might and what he does outside of their weekly cafe meetings. And even then, if he didn’t want to meet her anymore, Inko would be powerless to keep him from leaving her.

“Come on, let’s go see what he left in the alley way,” All Might says, already moving in that direction.

“How do you know he left something there?” Inko asks as she follows behind him.

“The way he was running away from it, there’s something he left here he didn’t want anyone finding,” All Might says as he moves.

The alleyway reeks of rotting food and spoiled milk, an almost sweetness that clings to the back of her throat as she breathes it in. All Might moves cautiously, his back tense in front of Inko.

She still spots the bag before him though.

And again, she moves on instinct as something inside the bag moves.

Inko pushes past All Might and opens the bag in one swift movement, revealing a tiny scrap of a kitten staring back up at her, it’s tiny yellow eyes wide as it gives her a pitiful little ‘meow’.

“He must have been trying to throw it away,” All Might says as she pulls the kitten close. It’s fur is so dirty and matted that she cannot tell what color its fur is other than dark. And it shivers in her arms, it’s whole body quaking.

“We should take it to a shelter,” Inko says, running a thumb down it’s side in a similar gesture for what she used to do when Izuku was a baby and feeling sick.

“I know of one nearby that’ll make sure it’s taken care of,” All Might says. Inko stands up, the bag with the kitten in her arms.

The whole way there, Inko barely takes her eyes off the kitten, and the kitten barely looks up at her. She trusts All Might to get them to where they need to go safely.

“You guys are this little kitten’s heroes,” the shelter worker says when Inko hands the kitten over, “We’ll make sure to take good care of the little fella.”

Inko almost doesn’t want to let the kitten go, but she knows its what’s best for the kitten. So Inko lets him go and follows All Might back onto the street.

“I’ll see you next week, right?” All Might asks as they part ways. Inko gives him a smile and a nod before she heads back to her empty apartment that feels too hollow for just one person.

A week later, All Might helps her adopt the kitten. Inko names him Polaris.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Sunlight so bright it burns beats down on Izuku. Even with sunglasses shielding his eyes, he still squints at the world around him. The sidewalks, the buildings, the cars, they all reflect the light of the sun, leaving nowhere safe to look.

He had forgotten how much brighter the outside world truly is.

And the heat. It nearly floors him. He stops in his tracks and lets his eyes fall closed just to bask in it. Any moment, one of his minders will snap him out of it, pull him along on whatever schedule they’re supposed to be keeping ….

Though he expects it, nothing comes. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

Chronostasis and Tengai stand just within arm’s reach of him. Neither man wears his beaked mask. Instead, they are both bare-faced, while Izuku’s features are hidden behind a surgical mask and those oversized sunglasses.

Izuku is also the only one of the three wearing a hat.

He is, after all, the only one with a missing person’s report out for him.

That thought drags him right out of his reverie and slams him back to earth. His features must be kept hidden. That’s the most important part of today’s trip: he must not be noticed and recognized.

A distant part of him, buried far away in the back of his mind, screams that he should use this privilege to his advantage. He needs to seize this chance while he has it, slip away from his minders and contact the heroes or the police.

A much more present part of himself reminds him that if he tries anything, it will be Eri paying the price.

He cannot escape without ensuring her freedom as well.

(He does not deserve to escape without her.)

“Let’s get going,” Chronostasis says while checking his watch. “Might as well make the most of the time allotted.”

He glances back at Izuku, but his expression is neither cold nor unkind. All things considered, it’s on the warmer side of neutral.

Compliant, Izuku follows Chronostasis and Tengai away from the car they arrived in. Black asphalt radiates heat, further baking Izuku in the jacket he was given to wear for the excursion.

Rather than continuing to wear the same off-white scrub-like clothes he’d been relegated to ever since moving into Eri’s room, he’d been directed to change into a whole new set of clothes (with jeans and plain white shoes), thus increasing his current outfit count to three whole sets.

At least he didn’t cry over this one.

Together, the three of them walk across the parking lot. Izuku scans his surroundings, eyes flying over the gleaming cars and taking in the sight of people.

People.

So many people, all at once. Groups of friends walking in bunches. Partners holding hands. Families, young children held in check by their mother’s careful hands.

Izuku, Chronostasis, and Tengai are easily lost among the crowd.

The crowd.

Voices press on Izuku’s ears. He hasn’t heard so many people talk at once since … the train ride, maybe, that last day at school. Or perhaps earlier: the Sports Festival.

They drill into his head, a crush of noise and wall of sound. He loses track of the rest of himself, body carried away somewhere he can’t quite find it.

A hand lands on his shoulder. Snap—he jerks, body suddenly returning to him.

“How are you doing?”

Izuku turns, follows the closest voice. Tengai speaks quietly, eyes soft, brow furrowed.

It strikes Izuku then that this is the first time he’s ever seen the lower half of the man’s face. Tengai purses his lips, expression the picture of concern.

“It’s just loud,” Izuku replies. “There’s … a lot of people.”

Tengai nods. “Yes, I prefer to avoid places like this myself. The noise gets to me, too.”

Not in the same way, Izuku thinks but does not voice. Tengai at least has the choice to stay away as he pleases.

With a sigh to steel himself, Izuku walks through the entrance to the mall alongside his tenders. Throngs of people and advertisem*nts plastered over every surface greet him. As he takes in the specific ads and the kinds of outfits people are wearing, he starts putting those pieces together with the heat, and wonders.

It was spring when he was kidnapped.

When did it become summer?

How long has he been missing?

What in the hell was Hitoshi thinking when he agreed to come on the mall trip? He should have done like Bakugou and Todoroki did and refused. Spending another few hours at home studying and playing video games would be so much better than this purgatory. Honestly, he’d rather deep clean the entire apartment than be stuck here.

Alone.

In the middle of a very crowded mall.

Grimacing, Hitoshi keeps his head down as he slips around groups of friends. The moment everyone had arrived at the mall, the class had split into groups and headed off.

None of those groups had included him.

He already knew that no one in his class particularly liked him, but he thought he had been making friends, at least. Jirou seemed to like talking to him, and despite their rocky start and the fact their relationship mostly consisted of trying to beat the snot out of each other in sparring, he considered Uraraka something of a friendly acquaintance. Her friend group—Todoroki, Tsuyu, Ashido, Aoyama—even seemed to put up with him well enough.

Apparently they just don’t want to put up with him outside of school as well.

Maybe he’ll just go home early. If anyone asks, he can say he got sick or something, that way he doesn’t have to outright tell them that he got butthurt because no one wanted to spend time with him.

Just as he’s thinking that, an arm slings across his shoulders and a hand wraps around his neck.

“Don’t make a scene,” someone hisses in his ear, voice scratchy and torn. “We’re just old friends catching up, alright?”

Hitoshi stiffens and turns to glance up at the person holding him, meeting manic red eyes. “Who—”

“Uh-uh,” the stranger says, cutting him off. “I’m doing the talking, here. I know how your quirk works, Shinsou Hitoshi. As for who I am? I’m sure your classmates have told you all about the villains they fought at the USJ.”

Actually, they haven’t told him sh*t about the USJ attack. He did, however, overhear a conversation between Tsuyu and Uraraka, once, about a villain with a disintegration quirk almost killing one of them.

Is this that villain?

“Come on,” he says, shoving Hitoshi forward. “Let’s sit down, have a chat, shall we?”

Throat tense, entire body taut as a suspension bridge, Hitoshi lets the villain guide him to a nearby bench, where they sit down together.

“I’m curious about you, Shinsou Hitoshi,” the villain continues. “What do you have that’s so good they would trade the little green brat for you?”

And that makes two of them. Hitoshi earned his spot in the hero course, he’s sure of it, it’s one of the things he knows like he knows his own mother’s voice. But why did it come at the cost of someone who, according to what the entire class has to say (with the exception of one Bakugou Katsuki, who Hitoshi isn’t very inclined to take seriously anyway), was an excellent student who was working just as hard as anyone else to become a hero?

Hell, maybe he was working harder. Harder than even Hitoshi. He can’t forget the way Midoriya, after breaking out of his quirk, kicked his ass. And he can’t forget the way he spent weeks getting his ass kicked in every exercise he participated in, not just because certain classmates were taking their upset out on him, but because they were already so far ahead of him.

“All Might’s disciple,” the villain continues. “They traded All Might’s disciple for you … and then they lost him.”

Is this villain here to gloat? Is he responsible for Midoriya’s kidnapping?

Hitoshi’s heart slams against his ribs. Though the villain’s grip is almost loose, four fingers resting against Hitoshi’s throat and neck, it feels like he’s begun to squeeze.

Is Hitoshi going to be their next victim?

“And so you just decided to come swing by and hang out?” Chronostasis hisses. Arms crossed over his chest, he glares daggers at Setsuno, who shrugs back.

“Yeah? Come on, we hardly get to hang with the little man—Tengai and Rappa take up all his time!”

Chronostasis sighs. “Might I remind you what, exactly, our jobs are?”

Izuku watches the back-and-forth with interest. This is the most emotion he’s ever seen out of Chronostasis. Usually, Overhaul’s right hand is stony-faced and unreadable. Or else, he’s masked, hood up, a complete brick wall.

However, while Chronostasis is locked in argument with Setsuno, Izuku hasn’t been left unsupervised. Flanked by Tengai and Hojo, there’s no chance for him to slip away.

While Izuku’s currently assigned keepers are Chronostasis and Tengai, Hojo and Setsuno had shown up part way through the trip. Having been off doing something, apparently they decided they wanted in on the mall trip, too.

Oh, well. It’s not like Izuku is in any position to argue with them.

He is, however, dying of heatstroke.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. After ages spent in a series of different freezing concrete boxes, the warmth is nearly intolerable, and the jacket retaining heat definitely isn’t helping. Sweat glues his shirt to his back and drips down his forehead. His hair sticks to his face and gets in his eyes. He’s badly in need of a trim.

...It won’t matter if he takes off the hat for just a moment, right? It’s not like his hair is that distinctive (or even his face, for that matter: he’s been called plain his whole life, practically).

He pulls the hat off to run his fingers through his hair and break up some of the sweat—eugh, gross, hopefully they let him have a shower when they get back. He’d rather not stink this badly around Eri.

Even something as small as pulling off the hat provides him a small bit of relief from the heat. He pulls down his mask, too, just a little bit, just enough to wipe at the sweat collecting underneath it and shove the sunglasses to the top of his head. Rubbing a sleeve over his eyes and chasing off the salty sting of sweat in his eyes, he sighs. Maybe he should take off the jacket, though he was told not to ….

He opens his eyes and blinks them a few times to clear the stinging.

Across the courtyard, he sees a shock of purple hair.

The villain keeps talking. Any time Hitoshi tries to respond, tries to say anything, the man cuts him off. Without any way to use his quirk, he just … sits.

He just lets it happen.

God, how useless can he be? Just sitting here, letting this villain talk and talk and talk, while he has the perfect quirk to end it right here.

The villain still doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise.

On their bench, with their backs to the wall, they have a good view of the whole courtyard. Hitoshi watches people pass by, all sorts of groups with all sorts of mutations and styles of dress and none of them look at him. Every single person in the mall is utterly oblivious to the villain amongst them. No one looks twice at the arm around his shoulders, no one looks close enough to see the hand around his neck.

They’re so unaware of everything going on around them. Hitoshi’s only hope is that some of his classmates happen to come this way and notice what’s happening before the villain does anything beyond just chatting and making him incredibly uncomfortable.

He scans the crowd again, looking to make eye contact with someone, anyone, just to get their attention. Maybe if the villain gets noticed, he’ll just leave, before any trouble can be had.

On his third check, he locks eyes with someone on the other side of the courtyard.

He can’t believe it.

Is that Midoriya, or has he finally lost it?

Izuku freezes when Shinsou makes eye contact with him. Something about the other boy’s expression, the way he’s sitting and holding himself, it’s like he’s screaming for help and only Izuku can hear.

And there is something wrong there—someone has their arm across Shinsou’s shoulders, someone in a black hoodie, and as Izuku squints, he can barely begin to make out a hand wrapped around Shinsou’s neck.

Unbidden, the memory of Overhaul’s hand wrapped around Izuku’s throat surfaces. He swallows, hard—

“What are you doing?” Chronostasis hisses, pushing Izuku back into his seat and shoving the hat back on his head.

Izuku hadn’t even noticed he was standing up.

“Hey, wait, aren’t those some of the kid’s old classmates?” Hojo asks, gesturing in another direction.

Izuku turns to look, and sure enough, there’s Shouji, his height calling attention to him like a beacon in the night. Jirou follows close behind him, glancing around like she’s searching for something.

“Oh,” he whispers.

He had almost forgotten what her face looks like.

“We need to go.” Urgency laces Chronostasis’ voice as he wraps a hand around Izuku’s arm. Any gentleness is lost as he pulls Izuku away, away from Shinsou, away from Jirou and Shouji.

Izuku plants his feet and pulls back.

“Are you kidding me? Now?” Hojo growls, wrapping his hand around Izuku’s other arm. He grabs tight, fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise. The two of them easily drag Izuku through the halls, and Izuku—

Izuku doesn’t put up a fight.

Midoriya—or Midoriya’s very uncanny look-alike—notices Hitoshi. He begins to stand, and for a moment, just half a second, relief begins to flood through him. Someone’s seen him, that’s enough, they’ll be coming to help—

Someone steps between them and shoves a hat back over Midoriya’s hair.

That’s right.

Midoriya’s missing. Kidnapped. He can’t save Hitoshi, not if he can’t even save himself. But his presence drags up more questions: why is he here? Why would his kidnappers bring him out to this mall, the very same mall where Hitoshi and his classmates and this villain are?

Hitoshi watches, silent, the words of the villain passing unheard in one ear and out the other. He keeps his eyes on Midoriya and the men with him as they begin to pull the other boy away. Midoriya stops, drags his feet—yes, that’s it, that’s it, kick up a fuss, make someone notice you—

One of the other men grabs Midoriya’s other arm and Midoriya makes no more move to fight them.

“Oh,” the villain says, the first word to make it through the sharp focus in Hitoshi’s mind. “Looks like our time’s up.”

Hitoshi glances away, just long enough to see Jirou and Shouji standing nearby, eyes wide with fear.

“This was a nice chat. I look forward to seeing you again, very soon.”

The hand around his neck vanishes.

Hitoshi doesn’t even look to watch if the villain leaves or not; he’s off, shoving through the crowd toward where he had last seen Midoriya. People snap at him, berate him for his rudeness, but he ignores them. Being polite, never all that high on his priority list, has dropped to the very rock bottom of any list he’s ever had.

He turns the corner and Midoriya is nowhere in sight. Nor are the men with him.

“Shinsou, what?” Jirou gasps as she catches up to him. “Shinsou, that was, that was Shigaraki, what did he want with you—why did you run off?”

He does not stick around long enough to answer her. Goddamnit, Midoriya noticed him, and he noticed Midoriya—

Never did he think he would feel this much connection to the disgraced hero student he replaced.

It spurs him on, jabbing deep spikes of fear into his gut. Adrenaline buzzes through him as he takes off running through the mall, ignoring Jirou shouting for him or the shoppers yelling at him for disrupting their trip. He looks back and forth, across the crowd, head turning like a satellite dish as he searches and searches.

There is no sign of Midoriya.

He could be anywhere in the mall by now.

Hitoshi, panting, skids to a stop and braces himself on the wall. Jirou catches back up to him again, and there are more of his classmates with her. Uraraka peers at him in concern, while Ashido, Aoyama, and Tsuyu hang a little further back.

“What is going on?” Jirou pleads. She wraps a hand around his wrist, insurance to keep him from running off again.

In between gasping breaths, Hitoshi replies: “I saw Midoriya.”

“What?”

Izuku catches a glimpse of pink, a flash of brown hair. He gets a moment to look closer, and oh.

Oh, Uraraka’s at the mall, too. She’s accompanied by several of her classmates: Ashido, the pink he saw, along with Tsuyu and ….

He knows the blond with them. He knows he knows. They were classmates.

And yet, the name escapes him. He scrabbles and scratches for it, trying to dig it up in his head. The boy is part French, or at least knows French. He needs a support item to use and handle his quirk, which is a laser he shoots from his navel.

Izuku knows all this, and yet, he can’t recall the boy’s name.

He watches as his captors pull him past the four of them, watches Uraraka and Ashido chat about something while the blond boy peers through a storefront window.

A string pulls taut, hooked behind his heart and tugging him back toward the four of them.

He follows it, pulling in vain against the viselike hands around his arms. The shape of Uraraka’s name is in his mouth, right there and ready for him to call out—

Chronostasis yanks on him, hard enough for something to pop in his shoulder. Izuku bites back his yelp and ducks his head as Chronostasis looms over him.

“Do not even think about starting something right now,” the man growls. “I will make you regret being born. Eri already regrets being born, but I’m sure I can come up with something for her, too.”

Eri.

That’s right.

He can’t leave her.

Head down, putty in their hands, he lets Hojo and Chronostasis drag him through the mall.

They don’t even bother blindfolding him for the ride back to the compound.

Hitoshi doesn’t get the chance to explain what happened to his classmates before the police begin evacuating the mall. A couple officers, once he’s identified as Shigaraki’s target, pull him aside to take him to a nearby station.

To his complete and total surprise, Uraraka crosses her arms and sets her jaw and demands to come with. Maybe she just wants to interrogate him about Midoriya.

But she’s not the only one. Jirou stands next to her, while Tsuyu, Ashido, and Aoyama all nod their agreement.

Sighing, the police give in and take all six of them to the station. Split into two cruisers, Hitoshi spends the ride crammed in the back with Ashido and Jirou while Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Aoyama ride in the other.

For the first few minutes, Ashido types furiously into her phone and scrolls just as frantically. Though Hitoshi’s curious about what she’s doing, Jirou sits between them, and he’s not so unmannered as to just lean over her to stare at Ashido’s phone.

He finds out what she was doing a few minutes later, anyway, when she thrusts her phone over to him.

“Does that look like what he was wearing? Over on the left side,” she asks.

Her screen displays a photo-sharing app, and she’s stopped at one picture in particular. Posted in the last half-hour by user schr0dingers-sp1r4l, it depicts the mall they were just at still filled with crowds of shoppers.

For a moment, Hitoshi wonders if she’s asking him to pick out Shigaraki’s outfit, before he sees it. There, on the left-hand side of the photograph, is Midoriya and two of the men with him. Hitoshi wouldn’t be able to tell it’s him if he hadn’t seen him in person. A hat covers his distinctive hair, while sunglasses and a surgical mask hide his face.

“Yes, that’s him. How did you find that?”

Ashido scrolls to another picture, this one posted more recently. It’s a selfie posted by someone named bonecryptid—apt username for someone with horns like that—and there, in the background and slightly blurry, is Midoriya, in the moment he had taken off the mask, hat, and glasses.

He stares into the distance, eyes locked on something—

Eyes locked on Hitoshi.

Ashido presents him with several more pictures, all taken in a small timeframe by a user named november_clouds, all with Izuku or the men with him in the background or somewhere in the photograph.

By the time they reach the station, Hitoshi’s all-but-forgotten about Shigaraki.

“There’s six of them?” the detective asks as the group is led into a meeting room.

“Only the purple-haired one,” the officer replies. “The other five insisted on coming with him.”

Jirou raises her hand. “I found him with Shigaraki.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine.” The detective waves the officer out of the room. “Shinsou, right? You’re not under any suspicion at all, we’d just like to get a statement from you, though we’ll need to wait for your mother to get here.”

She won’t take long, considering she works at a nearby precinct, but that’s not something Hitoshi is worrying about.

Instead, he leans forward over the table and plants his hands on the surface of it.

“I saw Midoriya Izuku at the mall.”

That statement gets the detective’s attention in a hurry. He raises his eyebrows, but before he can ask any questions, Ashido holds out her phone. “I took screenshots of all the pictures with him in them.”

The detective takes her phone, eyes widening as he looks at the picture.

A while later, after Hitoshi has finished giving his statement and his mother is still in talking to the detective (Detective Tsukauchi, Hitoshi now knows, which is a name he recognizes from his mother’s stories about her job), he finds himself sitting in the station’s break room with his classmates. No one talks, all of them caught in their own inner worlds.

Tearing his eyes away from the grey spackle ceiling, he glances over at Uraraka.

“Why did you all come with me?” he asks in a moment of bravery. Or stupidity, consider he’s probably about to be told that they only came because he said he saw their friend.

Ashido looks up from her feet, frowning. “What? Why wouldn’t we?”

“You were completely freaking out,” Jirou adds.

“I, yeah, but the police could have dealt with that,” he protests.

Jirou frowns, a deep line appearing between her eyebrows. “Dude, you’re our friend. It would be pretty sh*tty of us to just leave you alone while you’re freaking out, even if you are going with the police.”

Maybe it’s all the stress. Maybe it’s the shock, the surprise of being grabbed by a villain and finding his kidnapped almost-classmate both in the same damn mall.

Maybe he’s just tired of the pretenses.

“I’m your friend?” he snaps. “Funny. Where was that when everyone went off with each other and no one wanted me with them?”

“Hey,” Jirou flinches back. “We thought you were with us! You usually hang out with us, so we just kind of assumed you would be coming along! Shouji and I went looking for you, that’s how we found you with Shigaraki, and yeah, we probably shouldn’t have just assumed, but—”

Tsuyu lays a hand on her shoulder, jerking Jirou out of her frantic explanations.

“We thought you went with Jirou’s group,” Uraraka offers, looking apologetic. She smiles wanly at him. “We should have asked who you wanted to go with. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Hitoshi blinks and stares at his hands. “So … you didn’t come with me just because I said that I saw Midoriya?”

“I mean, that was part of it, yes, but you’re my friend now, too,” Uraraka replies. “I didn’t want to leave you alone after all that.”

Hesitantly, Hitoshi looks up.

Uraraka looks back at him, such naked genuinity in her expression it makes his chest ache.

“We’re … really friends?”

That’s not what he meant to ask, and it comes out quiet enough he wants to curl up in a pathetic little ball and never be seen again.

Uraraka nods. “We’re really friends.”

Okay, okay, that’s enough emotional vulnerability to last him for the next ten years. He snorts, and summons up a sarcastic quip: “Wonder how Midoriya’s gonna feel when he comes back and you’re friends with his replacement.”

Uraraka simply shrugs. “I don’t know, I think he’ll like you. He thought your quirk was really neat after fighting you in the Sports Festival. He had a lot to say about it.”

“And before you get all sensitive,” Ashido interrupts, “that’s a good thing. Midoriya loves analyzing quirks. I think I remember him saying something about, like, hostage situations? He just thought your quirk was really cool.”

“Yeah, hang on, hang on.” Uraraka reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. Everyone watches as she unlocks it and scrolls, before finally showing the screen to Shinsou.

[Direct Messages between Uraraka Ochako and Midoriya Izuku]

MI

Yeah, he said he really wants to get into the hero course

UO

You think he has a chance?

MI

Yeah! He really, REALLY wants it, so I think he’ll be working hard for it. And I think he did well enough in the Festival to get someone’s attention: he was the only gen-ed student to make it to the third round, after all. And his quirk will really come in handy for hero work!

Don’t tell anyone but I think they’d be stupid not to let him in.

UO

Your secret’s safe with me!

All the timestamps read of the night after the Sports Festival.

“I guess I didn’t really keep that secret,” she says as she takes her phone back, smiling ruefully. “I forgot how excited he was. We were up until, like, midnight texting each other.”

Hitoshi doesn’t have a response for her. He’s torn in two directions by relief and regret.

Relief because these are his friends.

Regret because Midoriya was so enthusiastic about his chances, and yet, when Hitoshi replaced him, all he did was look down on him.

When his mother comes to take him home, the room has once again fallen silent, each of the six caught in their own thoughts.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

The area around Toshinori feels more crowded than they look. He can see what he thinks are people, but none of them are distinct. They’re more like blurred figures than actual people. But everytime he looks away, someone grabs at him, only to find that there isn’t anyone actually there when he tries to look at them. It’s disquieting. Toshiori feels like he can’t stop looking over his shoulder for invisible people.

He thinks he might be at a mall, the shops around him certainly suggest that fact. But he can’t make out any of the signs on the storefronts, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been here before. Something about it does seem familiar though, so he isn’t completely sure.

Toshinori tries looking around him again, trying to get a bearing on where exactly he is, only for his arms to be grabbed by the invisible hands again as they pull at him.

Annoyance bubbles in his stomach at his body being manipulated so roughly without his consent, touched when he doesn’t want to be. So he locks his knees and does his best to refuse to move, but the hands on his arms are insistent, yanking him forward against his will until Toshinori is forced to follow. The figures around him blur even more, becoming colorful blobs.

It almost reminds Toshinori of the time he was in America and Dave took him to a playground late one night after their finals to relieve some stress. Dave had pushed him around on the merry-go-round as fast as he could make it go and then shouted at Toshinori to lean his head back. Around him, the world had streaked like someone had taken a paintbrush to it and he had laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks as he watched.

He is not laughing now though.

Now there is a weight that sits high in his throat and makes it hard to breathe. And the invisible hands are making everything worse. They feel like iron cuffs around his wrists.

But Toshinori can’t struggle out of them, as much as he tries, they stay locked around him. He doesn’t want to give up struggling, and then he sees Young Midoriya, just ahead of him. His boy is the only solid figure in front of him, the only person with defined features. Toshinori can just make out the young, red-eyed girl wrapped in Young Midoriya’s arms, her arms wrapped around Young Midoriya and fisted in the back of his plain white shirt.

And that sight alone, Young Midoriya, hunched over a young girl, his soft green curls falling across his face as he stares off into the distance, is enough to make Toshinori fumble forwards.

The arms keep him moving, he feels like a wooden puppet in their hold, but he doesn’t care. Because they are moving him towards his boy and that’s all that matters. As long as Toshinori can keep moving towards his boy, keep drinking him in, then he doesn’t mind anything else.

Young Midoriya looks wane, his skin no longer holding the same healthy glow Toshinori watched develop during their beach training. His hair is longer too, his curls hanging down his face. But none of that matters, because he’s still Toshinori’s boy, still Young Midoriya. And Toshinori can still see his heroic spirit flowing through his veins as he hunches over the girl.

The thing clogging his throat comes undone and Toshinori is able to shout out, “Young Midoriya!”

And Young Midoriya hears him. For the first time since Young Midoriya disappeared and started showing up in Toshinori’s dreams, he seems to actually hear Toshinori calling out to him as his head whips around and his eyes meet Toshinori’s.

There is something hunted about his gaze, something terrified and unsure. It gets Toshinori on his feet again as he throws himself at his boy. He doesn’t know why Young Midoriya looks scared, but Toshinori does know that he will do everything in his power to make his boy feel safe again, to wipe that look from existence.

Only, as soon as Toshinori tries to get close to Young Midoriya, the hands around his wrists that had been carrying him towards his target are now keeping him back again, moving him in the opposite direction.

“No! No! Young Midoriya!” Toshinori cries, thrashing in the invisible hold. But nothing gives as Young Midoriya continues to look at him like he is terrified of Toshinori getting another step closer to him.

He tries one last time, throwing everything he has into escaping, straining forward with everything he has. But even as he tries, he knows he isn’t going to succeed.

And when he looks up, it only confirms his gut feeling because Young Midoriya and the mall are no longer there. Instead it looks like he is inside a car, the black interior almost claustrophobic compared to the openness from before, but it’s also more comforting because at least now Toshinori can see the walls around him, he knows where they are.

He turns to look outside and something about the scenery is familiar, the buildings flying past as the car moves, the bits of greenery he catches sight of, it all reminds him of some place he knows he’s been before. He just can’t put his finger on why the area is so familiar.

Toshinori is turning it over and over in his head, knowing the answer is right on the tip of his tongue, just barely dancing out of reach each time he thinks he has the answer when they pass in front of a building that is almost all glass and Toshinori manages to catch sight of his reflection.

He rears back as wide green eyes stare back at him, green curls falling across his face as he flinches back. His cheeks are hollower than they should be and dark shadows make his eyes seem more sunken than they usually are.

Something inside Toshinori’s heart cracks in half as he realizes that Young Midoriya is staring back at him in the window, and he looks more like Toshinori right after he has run out of time than Toshinori has ever wanted his boy to look.

Toshinori opens his eyes and twists to the side, rolling out of his bed in one smooth movement. The heat in his throat spikes as he lands on his hands and knees just in time to gag. Nothing comes up because nothing ever comes anymore, but that doesn’t make the dry heaves any easier to bear.

The cool ground feels nice against his feverish skin though as cooling sweat drips down his back. And once his body has stopped trying to throw up, it feels very nice against his forehead as well.

He just rests there for a moment as he processes his dream. He hasn’t the faintest idea what any of it means. Toshinori can understand why he keeps dreaming of Young Midoriya, the boy is never too far from his thoughts and his absence aches like a physical thing. But he knows he’s never seen the little girl before, he would have remembered her by now.

Namosama doesn’t know who she might be either, Toshinori has asked.

The other details don’t make sense either. He knows he was at a mall, but Toshinori has been in so many malls throughout his life, both for career reasons and just because he needed things, it would be impossible to narrow down the location. And even if he did, there’s no guarantee that the mall would mean anything important. It could all mean nothing after all, just his mind pulling up details and scrambling them together and giving him normal dreams. He shouldn’t be wasting time trying to interpret them.

But that doesn’t stop him from sitting up and pulling the journal from his nightstand, the pen he had left on it from the last time he wrote in it falling to the ground and rolling away. Toshinori spends the next minute or so grumbly chasing after it on his hands and knees before he flips open the journal, his eyes glazing over dozens of entries, some neater than others, but all of them documenting different dreams over the months in which he has seen Young Midoriya.

The blank page in front of him feels intimidating for a moment, Toshinori can already feel the edges of his dream slipping away like gossamer strands on the wind and it’s important that he gets it all right. If he doesn’t get it all right then there’s no use in him keeping a record at all.

Because if he doesn’t get it right and he leads people down the wrong path because that’s what he thought they should do based on his dreams and he loses Young Midoriya more time, Toshinori will never forgive himself. Because if Young Midoriya is managing to get him these messages through the tenuous connection Toshinori can still feel in One for All and he messes them up, then every single second longer his boy stays with the people who captured him will be on Toshinori’s shoulders.

And if Young Midoriya dies. That will be on his hands.

So Toshinori can’t get the details wrong, because the details are important. Everything is important.

Toshinori takes a deep breath to calm the racing thoughts in his head, settling them all in place. Then he starts writing.

At first the words are halting as he tries to remember the beginning of the dream, the things that had been innocuous at first but had slowly built up. Then the words flow more smoothly as more and more of the details come back to him. Until it feels like he is barely keeping pace with his pen as the words fly out of him.

He almost doesn’t realize what he’s written when he starts on Young Midoriya’s reflection in the window as they passed by a building. He is so focused on getting everything down about the way Young Midoriya had looked in the window and his pen is moving so fast that he doesn’t realize it at first. It’s only on his reread of what’s on the page that he sees exactly what he’s written. But there it is, his brain making the connection he couldn’t make in his dream.

Nighteye’s Agency.

That’s the building Young Midoriya was passing in front of as Toshinori saw him in the window.

His phone is in his hand before he can think of it, dialling the number he still has memorized even after deleting it in a fit of frustration years ago. It rings for a few seconds. Long enough for Toshinori to second guess himself, for his brain to catch up and realize how irrationally he’s acting.

But not long enough for him to talk himself into hanging up the phone before the line clicks active and Nighteye answers, “I hope you’re calling to tell me you’ve reconsidered and are willing to take on my student as your successor.”

“No Nighteye, I haven’t,” Toshinori says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut as he does. He knows it’s stupid to assume Nighteye would act in any other way but he was at least hoping.

“Then unless you’re announcing your retirement so you can find and train your successor, I don’t see why this conversation needs to continue.”

“I have a successor Nighteye,” Toshinori starts, irritation spiking. He hates having this argument, they used to be friends and Toshinori misses that closeness, but it seems like they can’t ever work themselves out of old grooves.

“Ahh yes, the missing boy, I thought he had given you back One for All,” Nighteye says. Only the fact that Toshinori knows Nighteye has agreed to help with any rescue efforts has him biting his tongue to keep from snapping something back.

It isn’t until he can taste the blood in his mouth that he feels like he can answer, “He did, but I intend to give it back to him once he’s rescued.”

“Toshinori, you have no idea if he’s even still alive.”

“Young Midoriya is alive!” Toshinori snaps, his temper getting the best of him.

“Oh right, I forgot, he’s sending you messages through your quirk. Toshinori please, I know you’re stressed but you must give up this notion, quirks cannot be sentient, they do not convey messages,” Nighteye says. And Toshinori knows that Nighteye is concerned about him in his own way, which is why he doesn’t hang up the phone.

“Please, I just, I think he was outside your agency recently, I saw your building.” It’s a quiet plea, one friend asking a desperate favor of another. It’s made even more desperate by their years of separation, and by the fact that Toshinori knows Nighteye feels like he and his student are being snubbed.

There is a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, Toshinori can still picture the way Nighteye must look right now, the way he is holding himself as he takes in what Toshinori is asking of him before he says, “I promise I’ll review the cameras for him or any suspicious behavior as long as you promise to give Togata another look.”

Inside him, One for All rolls like a living thing, the power of it crackling along his skin. It’s been different since he got it back from Young Midoriya, more volatile, like a tiger pacing its cage. Like it knows it should be with someone else.

And when it shivers like this, when One for All rises up inside him like a tidal wave, it hurts. Not just because it's a constant reminder to him that he’s lost Young Midoriya almost completely, but also because he knows that Young Midoriya left his mark on the quirk, even though he only had it for a comparably short amount of time.

One for All doesn’t fit inside Toshinori’s skin properly anymore.

It could fit inside Young Toogata’s though.

Toshinori can almost picture it. The young boy was certain to be a marvel both on and off the field, someone personally trained by Nighteye would be nothing less. And he would have the muscle density for the quirk. Everything would be taken care of, all Toshinori would have to do would be to pass off the quirk and watch as Young Togata became all Nighteye had trained him to be. He could be rid of this aching thing that only served as a reminder to his greatest failure as a Hero and as a mentor.

Except, Young Togata wasn’t his boy, he wasn’t Young Midoriya. And Toshinori wouldn’t give away Young Midoriya’s quirk, that wasn’t his choice anymore.

One for All didn’t fit Toshinori anymore, but he already knew who it did fit.

“I can’t do that Nighteye, One for All is Young Midoriya's.”

“I’ll talk to you later Toshinori,” Nighteye says. And then hangs up with a click.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

The room remains quiet, save the buzzing of the lights and the shuffling of papers. A dozen or so people, all Pro Heroes and members of law enforcement, sit around a table. Fluorescent lights overhead leave everyone looking washed-out and drawn, though how much of that is reality and how much is Toshinori projecting his own perpetual exhaustion onto others remains to be seen.

Sitting next to Midnight, Toshinori in his small form goes overlooked by most. This is ideal: better that he go overlooked and the heroes and officers who are unused to working with All Might can focus all their attention on the case.

He doesn’t need to be All Might for this meeting, anyway. Though he’s used his influence to keep the investigation going and push those actively working the case to continue pursuing whatever scant leads they have, that influence is not necessary here.

This meeting isn’t happening because they’re scrambling to produce leads out of nothing for a case going cold, but because they finally, after two months of nothing, have real, solid leads.

When Tsukauchi had hung up after calling Toshinori to tell him they had something, Toshinori almost broke down and sobbed.

Ultimately, he didn’t, but it was a close thing. He can be relieved they have leads, yes, but there’s still work to be done before he can truly just let go of the tangled ball of tense, tight fear that resides in his chest.

(More than just the fear lurks down there—some unsourced anxiety, a deep, aching, heart-breaking pain have made themselves at home in him as well, and all he can think when he feels them is please, Young Midoriya, please just hang on, we’re coming for you as soon as we can.)

Tsukauchi walks in and all attention turns to him. He speaks in rushed, quiet tones to one of the other officers before pulling down the projector screen and dimming the lights.

One thing Toshinori has always appreciated about Tsukauchi: he does not beat around the bush. As efficiently as possible, without skipping any information, he lays out the events that led to their new leads and what, exactly, those leads are.

When the pictures go up on the screen, Toshinori’s heart aches. None of them show much detail, all too low-quality or focused on other areas for that, but Toshinori can easily fill in the gaps between the pixels. His brain jumps eagerly at the chance and overlays the hollow cheeks and shadowed eyes from his dreams onto the photographs.

“We submitted takedown requests to the hosting platform, and as of now all of the pictures have been removed,” Tsukauchi explains. “I don’t need to tell you all about the need for utmost discretion here. I’m sure you’re all very aware of the possible consequences should it get out that we have these pictures.”

Toshinori would prefer not to think about those possible consequences. His brain often delights in presenting him with many, many different possibilities while he’s trying to go to sleep, and each one is inevitably worse than the last.

The possibilities are endless, too. With a faceless captor, their motives and personality and quirk remain completely unknown. Any number of things could be happening to Young Midoriya right at this moment—

And he’s done thinking about that now, thank you.

At the front of the room, Tsukauchi is still speaking.

“We’ve retrieved security footage from the mall and our technicians have put together a timeline of events tracking their steps. We do not yet have any evidence suggesting a method of arrival and departure, though our technicians are searching through security footage from cameras nearby to find any trace of how they got there.”

Toshinori bites his tongue. His teeth, though worn down with age, press hard into its side until he must stop for fear that he will actually draw blood.

What could he say here? That he thinks the dreams he’s been having are actually messages somehow sent through their transferable quirk from Midoriya to Toshinori? Not only must he keep the secret of One For All, he would be laughed out of the room or, perhaps, checked into the hospital for having finally cracked under the pressure.

And even Tsukauchi, even knowing already about One For All, even he cannot be told. If Nighteye won’t believe Toshinori after all their years of companionship (despite how things ended, their time together must have meant something), then there’s no way anyone will seriously consider the possibility that Toshinori is right and these dreams are coming from Young Midoriya.

Except, perhaps, Gran Torino.

Toshinori makes a mental note to contact him soon.

They move on to another part of the presentation.

“These are the men who were with Midoriya.” Four pictures go up: one mugshot, one selfie taken from a social media page, and two cropped from the pictures taken at the mall. “We have identified two of them: Hojo Yuu and Setsuno Touya. So far, they appear to have no connection to each other, and we have no current residences for them. We hope that interviews with people who know them will yield more fruitful results.”

So, they don’t have much yet. That’s okay—it’s barely been a couple days since Young Shinsou’s encounter at the mall. It’s not the lucky find blowing the whole case wide open that Toshinori was hoping for, but it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Tsukauchi pulls Toshinori aside into his office after the meeting. His expression is concerned, but stern, dark eyes fixed on Toshinori’s face burning with a quiet intensity.

“I know that you know how this works. I also know that you are more than willing to flaunt the rules. It’s worked out for you in the past, because you’ve been smart about it, but Toshinori, listen to me.”

He grips Toshinori’s elbow, fingers wrapping tight.

“You cannot tell his mother about anything from that meeting.”

“She’s his mother,” Toshinori retorts. “She has a right to know. Who would she even tell?”

Tsukauchi sighs, briefly frowning before responding. “We don’t know who she would tell. You’re not stupid, so stop acting like you are. I know you want to tell her, I get it, I really do. Just think about it logically: she’s going to have friends and other family members, right? You tell her, and she goes home and tells her best friend or her sibling. She wouldn’t do it maliciously, you and I both know that, she would be looking for support and just to share the burden. But there would be no way of knowing who that next person would tell, whether anyone would go to the news, whether word that we have these leads might make it back to the kidnappers themselves. So, please, just … hold onto your emotions, this time. Okay?”

Toshinori regards Tsukauchi for several moments. With eyebrows drawn and fingers digging into Toshinori’s arm, Tsukauchi’s body language paints a serious picture.

A rush of air leaves Toshinori’s lung as he lets go of the breath, and the tension, he had been holding.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t tell her about the pictures, or the sighting at the mall.”

The tension drains from Tsukauchi, as well, and he slumps, letting his hand fall away from Toshinori’s arm. “Thank you. I’ll keep you updated. You’ll be the first to know when we get something new.”

Toshinori knows that’s a lie—there are many people who will know ahead of him when something new is uncovered, given they are able to actively chase down leads, unlike Toshinori, who is trapped by his jobs and his time limit—but he appreciates the sentiment anyway.

Something twinges in his chest. Regret, maybe, or guilt. Tsukauchi has been going out of his way to keep Toshinori updated and involved, and yet Toshinori is keeping something very big from him. If he shared what’s been shared with him, the investigation would have more leads, more information, they could find Young Midoriya sooner.

But if his dreams are just the wishful ramblings of his subconscious mind … that could be a waste of manpower. Tsukauchi’s team is working on following real, concrete, poven leads. If Toshinori sent them on a wild goose chase that cost them even more precious time ….

And yet, if he holds his tongue, and it turns out what he sees in his dreams is true, it will kill him just as much.

For now, he makes himself content with the fact that Nighteye will look around and keep an eye out for anything to do with Toshinori’s missing student. Despite their quarrels, he trusts that Nighteye will keep to his heroic morals.

The man is many things, but someone who will deliberately hamper efforts to save a child is not one of them.

Though they have their regular weekly meetings, Toshinori steps outside the schedule and messages Mrs. Midoriya as soon as he leaves the station. A quick chain of replies later, and he’s on his way to her apartment, thinking over what precisely to say to her.

It shouldn’t be a difficult conversation, he hopes. He’ll just tell her that they have new, solid leads to chase down and that, no, he can’t tell her what, exactly, those leads are. She’ll probably cry (at this point, he’s become well used to that particular shared Midoriya trait) and thank him, and he’ll tell her that it’s no problem, of course he’s telling her, there’s no need to thank him for doing so.

All those expectations are abruptly defenestrated when he actually sits down with her to talk.

Once they’re both settled on the couch, teacups in hand, he tells her exactly what he had scripted beforehand in his head:

“I told you there was news on his case,” he begins, and she nods, expression carefully neutral. “I can’t share any specifics, but they’ve discovered new leads. The investigators are confident that these will bring them much closer to finding him and bringing him home.”

For a moment, she does not respond. Her expression does not shift, and her eyes don’t fill with the tears Toshinori was expecting, which strikes him as odd and out-of-character.

She takes a deep breath. “This may seem like a non-sequitur, but I promise, there’s a point to it. Yesterday, I received a visit from Uraraka Ochako.”

Toshinori blinks.

It hits him, suddenly, and he groans and drops his head into one hand. “She didn’t.”

“She told me about a certain encounter that happened during their trip to the mall,” Mrs. Midoriya confirms. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it, she made that much clear, but ….”

Here, she sighs, expression growing wistful and misty as she looks into the distance. When Toshinori follows her line of sight, his own gaze lands on a picture of Young Midoriya, with Young Iida and Young Uraraka, taken as a selfie just outside the main UA building. “She wanted to check on me, and felt like she needed to tell me about it even though she wasn’t supposed to.”

A noble and admirable impulse, but one that will need to be curbed. Discretion is an important skill for heroes and one that they will not last long without.

Mrs. Midoriya turns to him, a small, teary smile crawling onto her face.

“He picked good friends, didn’t he?”

Toshinori nods, though internally, he disagrees. It’s not so much that Young Midoriya chose them, as it was Young Iida and Young Uraraka both choosing him.

And even now, when he’s been missing for twice as much time as they knew each other for, they still choose him.

Izuku’s hands shake. An empty chasm fills the space where his internal organs once resided. Does he exist in his body, or is he merely piloting it from afar, like a character in a video game?

His mind tears in two different directions. Overhaul looms, a mountain taller than Everest in his thoughts. How will he react to what just happened?

How will he punish Izuku for what just happened? Izuku took his mask, hat, and glasses off for a moment, just a moment, and a moment was just long enough for him to be seen, to lock eyes with someone who recognized him across the courtyard—

“I’m just saying, it would be better for us if he didn’t know that happened. You know he won’t be happy that we were sloppy with the kid.”

“And I’m telling you, we’re not gonna lie to the boss!”

His guards have an argument around him, harsh tones and sudden movements filtering through the haze. They’re all muffled, though he can tell that with each wild gesture comes an accompanying flinch from his body.

The other part of his mind spins over and over on itself. He’s forgetting, how could he forget, how dare he forget, he’s forgetting their names, forgetting their faces, what if he forgets them entirely? He rakes over and over what he remembers of his month at UA, but the events are fuzzy in his mind. Only a few things stick out, beacons in the fog of forgetting.

(Blessedly, the one bright side, those last days—from the meeting about his expulsion to the day he spent in General Education—are some of the memories beginning to blur out, being stricken from his timeline of recollection.)

Desperately, he clings to what he can remember, though it all rests in the looming shadow of Overhaul’s punishment on the horizon. He runs through the list of classmates—former classmates—in his head, reciting what he can remember of their names, quirks, anything interesting and stand-out he can remember about them.

Iida’s older brother is Ingenium, and he hopes to live up to the family legacy and make his brother proud. Uraraka’s parents own a construction company, and though poor, they encouraged her to pursue her own dreams. Todoroki refuses—refused—to use his fire because of his father’s designs for his life.

Belatedly, as his mind turns to the Sports Festival, Izuku figures this feels a lot like being held under Brainwashing. He walks forward, but he doesn’t consciously give his body the command. Everything has gone grey, just as it had back then.

Only this time, there are no ghosts waiting to help him break out.

There is a look in Kai’s eyes as Hari enters the office. Something cold, and sharp, and rarely directed at him.

“Did you know,” Kai begins, not even giving them a chance to start. “You were caught on camera? Posted on quite a few different accounts, in fact.”

Oh.

Hari’s heart sinks.

Of course, he had someone keeping an eye on that.

And why does he remember Shinsou’s name, but not his blond (French, sparkles, he can remember that much) classmate’s name?

Because he replaced you, whispers a poisonous little voice in the back of his head.

“I apologize.” Hari prepares to say more, but he isn’t given the chance.

“That wouldn’t be an issue … if Izuku’s face had remained covered.”

But, no, that’s not how it works. Shinsou wasn’t responsible for Izuku’s expulsion. That fault lies solely on Izuku’s shoulders, for not being good enough to stop hurting himself with his—with All Might’s quirk.

And now, he’s here.

Standing in Overhaul’s office.

Cringing back, Hari searches for anything he could have done differently, and it’s quite easy to find where he had gone wrong. He never should have let Setsuno distract him like that.

Of course, there remains the point that Hojo or Tengai could have also noticed what the kid was doing, but Hari is not in the habit of hiding from his responsibilities.

Things happen around him. He should pay more attention to what they’re doing, saying, should follow those half-muffled snaps back to the present ….

“I know you’re better than this,” Kai says. The disappointment in his voice is almost too much for Hari to bear. “I can’t believe you would be so careless.”

Hari closes his eyes and dips his head. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

When he looks up, Kai’s eyes have warmed to him again.

… But the grey is too inviting. Despite Overhaul’s shadow hanging heavy, the fuzz and fray is almost comfortable.

And comfort is something that has been in short supply for him as of late.

“I know it won’t.”

Others would hear malice in Kai’s voice—Hari knows better. It’s trust, plain and simple. Though shame burns like lava in his chest, the simple knowledge that he is trusted not to make this mistake again is a balm upon that.

The ice returns to Kai’s stare as he turns to address the others. “As for you three—”

Izuku is torn in two different directions. In one way lies the fog, and though he sinks into it, something else pierces through.

“I am so sorry, boss, it won’t happen again.” Setsuno, sniveling as always. Useful quirk, horrid temperament.

“My apologies. I should have paid better attention.” Tengai, much more tolerable. Hari can almost enjoy spending time with him, whenever the other man can get away from his Rappa-shaped manacle.

“Sorry.” Hojo, straightforward and to the point.

Kai narrows his eyes. “Very well. You three are dismissed. We will discuss this later.”

A hook sinks into Izuku’s gut. It buries itself deep, finding somewhere in the void-where-he-used-to-be the coils of his intestines, pulling and tugging on them as it begins to yard him … somewhere.

Is it real or fake?

There would probably be a lot more blood, and a lot more pain, if it were really, physically present.

‘We will discuss this later’ are never good words to hear from Kai. Hari watches as the other three leave before turning with a raised eyebrow toward Kai.

Kai blinks and looks to the kid, tacit instructions for Hari to remain. Hari steps back, toward the door, to give the two space while Kai strips his gloves and approaches.

Izuku is yanked, unceremoniously, back into his body as Overhaul’s ungloved hand lands on his head, flattening his hair down. His entire soul feels like it’s just been plunged into ice water, and now he’s frozen, too, body locked in place by the simple action of a hand touching his head.

“It was rash and foolish of you to remove your mask like that.”

Any moment now, his vision will white out and his entire existence will be rent asunder.

“You understand, don’t you, Izuku? Why you shouldn’t have done that?”

Izuku forces a response out his throat. “Yes.” He keeps his head down, eyes locked on the floor, even though he couldn’t raise his eyes with Overhaul’s hand holding him.

“Explain it to me.”

There are two ways Izuku could respond to that order: with the reason Izuku thinks it was stupid, and the reason Overhaul is probably looking for.

He goes with the second option, the safer bet.

“B-because it could lead law enforcement b-back to you. N-none of the others were wearing masks.”

Izuku swears his heart almost stops in the long moments it takes for Overhaul to respond.

“Precisely,” he finally says. “You’ve put us at risk of discovery, should any of those four be connected back to the Hassaikai. Thankfully, they’re good at what they do, most of the time, so it shouldn’t be easy for the heroes to trace them back.”

Izuku’s heart sinks. Still, somewhere hidden behind the looming shadow of whatever punishment is coming for him, a small spark of hope rekindles.

Only to be immediately extinguished as Overhaul next speaks.

“If you remain well-behaved, this won’t be the last time you get the chance to leave the compound. I’ll make sure that next time, you won’t be able to make this mistake again.”

The ice returns, and Izuku shudders. He would almost rather never go outside again than learn what terrible thing Overhaul is devising for him.

“Now, your punishment for misbehaving today.”

Here it comes. Izuku tenses, though nothing can ever truly prepare him for what is about to happen.

Overhaul pulls his hand away.

The world jitters to a stop, shock flooding Izuku’s body.

Shock, and an even deeper terror locking itself deep around his bones. Having that quirk used upon him—he knows what to expect. It tears apart and leaves him trembling for hours afterward, but it’s straightforward and over with quickly.

When Overhaul decides to get creative with his punishments ….

(Izuku swears he almost smells the food that had been laid out on that table.)

“Chronostasis. Take him back to his first room. No food, three days.”

Maybe one day, the sheer shock and stress and terror will up and stop his heart. However, today is not that day, and Izuku returns to the haze as Chronostasis leads him out of the office.

The concrete box he spent his first days in remains as cold and empty as it was when he was moved out of it, even as he’s nudged through the door and locked in.

In a room devoid of any warmth or companionship, not even the fog he drifts into can hold back the sea of emotions the day’s amassed. Still standing where he was left, he shakes apart, hot tears stinging at his eyes. He wraps his arms around himself in a pale facsimile of his mother’s hugs and lets himself collapse with his knees cracking against the floor.

He was so close, if he had just—he couldn’t—there’s no way he could have beared to leave Eri, he can’t leave without her, he doesn’t deserve to leave without her, what point is there to leaving without her when he’s worth nothing?

Funny, he must be finally losing it completely, because he could swear he feels a hand steady on his back, though he knows there’s no one else in his room.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

Eri loves her big brother. And she knows her big brother loves her too. She can tell.

Mr. Overhaul had explained to her once, as he slowly inserted a needle into her arm, that quirks were abominations that never should have developed. His quirk was a necessary evil towards the eradication of quirks, something he had to put up with only until he could show the world how wrong they were to hold quirks up as the next step in the evolutionary process. But her quirk, it was a curse, meant only to hurt people. And only Mr. Overhaul could keep her from doing that.

And so, because of her quirk, she didn’t deserve to be loved.

Izuku didn’t seem to mind though.

He didn’t act like she was dangerous, like even the brush of her fingertips could make him disappear in a matter of seconds if he wasn’t careful. Instead he held her gently, like he was the one afraid of hurting her. And he could always seem to sense whenever she was having a particularly bad day and would offer her as much comfort as he could.

His hands running patiently through her hair, his voice a soft rhythm against her ear, his arms wrapped around her, they had all long since become her only true comforts, the only things that she knew were offered because Izuku cared about her and not because Mr. Overhaul told people to give her things to keep her complaint.

This is how Eri knows that Izuku loves her, in the small things he does to try and keep her happy and warm and comforted. So Eri does her best to give her Big Brother as many things as she can as well, to let him know that she loves him too.

Because she may not have had her Big Brother for all that long, but he is still the best person Eri knows, he still holds her close and loves her despite how much danger she puts him in every day. So Eri is determined to keep him as safe as possible, make herself the one Mr. Overhaul hurts rather than him, because then Izuku will know that she loves him as much as he loves her.

The worst days are the days where Izuku gets singled out for special treatment by Mr. Overhaul. Because that means that Eri can’t go with him, she can’t make sure that Mr. Overhaul is looking at her when Izuku goes distant and fuzzy around the edges. All she can do is make sure she is there when Izuku gets back and provide him as much as she can.

When Mr. Overhaul tells Izuku that he has to help him with his tests on Eri, she makes sure to sit extra still so that he won’t cry as much. And when he pulls Izuku away after a session in the lab and he comes back to their room looking distant, Eri wraps her arms around him and hopes that it is enough to keep him with her.

And when Izuku gets pulled away one day without warning and does not come back for a long time, she stays up for as long as she can, because she knows that something is happening with her Big Brother and she wants to be there to make sure he’s okay when he gets back.

Only, Izuku doesn’t come back that night, and when Eri wakes up the next morning after having fallen asleep on top of the covers of their bed, Izuku is not wrapped around her like a warm blanket and he has not moved her under them either. That is when Eri really starts to worry. Because Izuku must have done something wrong while Eri was not there to distract Mr. Overhaul. And now she doesn’t know when she’ll be getting her Big Brother back, she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to make sure he’s okay.

She doesn’t know if he’ll ever be coming back.

And that last thought is the worst one, because Mr. Overhaul seems to like Izuku more than he’s liked some of Eri’s other minders, he’s never let their hands be the ones who perform injections after all. But none of them would’ve had hands as soft and as kind as Izuku’s when they do them either.

Eri has never minded or noticed when another one of her minders stopped showing up for a few days and then someone new started showing up instead. But the loss of Izuku, her Big Brother, Eri does not want to even think about what that might feel like. She doesn’t think she’d be able to survive Izuku being disappeared.

All day she waits for him, keeping her gaze laser focused on the door, watching for even the slightest movement that indicates the door opening up again. The only time it opens though is when one of Mr. Overhaul’s men brings her food in. It’s a serving for one.

Eri doesn’t touch it, despite the rumbling in her stomach that starts up as the time drags on. She won’t touch it because Izuku isn’t here. She refuses.

Time continues to stretch onwards, and all Eri can do is think and look at her food.

Mr. Overhaul is probably going to be mad at her when he realizes she isn’t eating, and that thought alone almost sends her flying to her food tray to devour everything waiting for her there. But if Mr. Overhaul is mad at her, then he won’t be mad at Izuku, if he’s mad at her maybe he’ll forget that he’s supposed to be punishing Izuku. And even if he doesn’t, she can probably trade her willingness to eat for information on Izuku, maybe. She knows Izuku has made similar deals for them in the past so she should be able to make one now.

So she pulls her knees up to her chest and locks her arms around them and strengthens her resolve to wait.

Eventually the hunger spreads out from her stomach, clawing its way into her limbs and then up her spine and into the back of her head where it settles in with a fierce intensity that reminds Eri of the way Mr. Overhaul will walk towards her occasionally, as if he is just waiting for her to give into what he wants.

She clutches her knees tighter each time she feels herself start to waiver. Izuku, she isn’t going to eat until she knows he is coming back to her.

Her eyes slip close at some point and she falls into an uneasy unconsciousness, not entirely asleep, but not entirely awake either. It is the type of exhausting sleep that was once usual for her but slowly started to disappear with Izuku by her side and only seems to come back when Izuku isn’t with her or when he’s been singled out by Mr. Overhaul.

There are a few times she wakes up during the night to look around and check for Izuku, but he’s never there when she looks, and eventually that half aware state reclaims her again and again.

Eri only truly wakes up when her door opens again, the hinges of it squeaking just slightly enough for her brain to catch. She is up and out of her bed as fast as she can manage, her feet nearly tanging in the sheets underneath her as she moves.

Mr. Sakaki is the one who appears in the doorway though and Eri pulls up short and back away quickly. She knows that Mr. Sakaki works for Mr. Overhaul, and that he is one of the people who sometimes comes and collects her and Izuku for Mr. Overhaul’s experiments, but he’s never come and collected her himself, and seeing him makes her heart pound in her throat uncomfortably. Because he doesn’t have Izuku with him, and the way he is leaning into the room makes the back of her mind feel alert while her hands start to shake.

“Yah, yur havn’t eat’n,” he says as he almost falls into the room, catching himself only at the last second. Eri back up again, keeping her distance from the man as she wishes more than ever that Izuku was here with her, that he would step up like he typically does when Mr. Sakaki is the one who comes to collect them.

Izuku isn’t here though, and she wants him back. So she is going to have to deal with Mr. Sakaki.

“I want to see Izuku,” she tells him, doing her best to plant her feet the way she sees Izuku do sometimes.

“Awwww, ‘re yah mak’n demands nuh?” Mr. Sakaki says, almost laughing as he smiles too widely at Eri, exposing all the teeth in his mouth.

“I won’t eat until I get Izuku back,” she says, clenching her hands into fists so that he can’t see them shaking. Part of her is hoping that he won’t give her what she wants from him, that he’ll just leave the room and leave her alone. But another part of her is hoping that he knows exactly where Izuku is and he’ll agree to go get him for her. And as he looks at her untouched food and then back up at her with his not entirely focused eyes, she can’t decide which one she wants more.

“Auh cu’e,” Mr. Sakaki says, his smile stretching even wider. She can feel the discomfort building in her stomach the longer Mr. Sakaki is in her room, the longer he keeps smiling at her. She has to stay strong though, for Izuku. Not to mention, Eri knows that she’s important, and that Mr. Overhaul doesn’t like it when his people hurt her. So if Mr. Sakaki doesn’t want Mr. Overhaul to be mad with him, he’ll give into what she wants. And that keeps her strong as well.

Eri is valuable to Mr. Overhaul, the one who’s most essential to his work, and Izuku might not be.

Without warning, and faster than she is expecting, Mr. Sakaki lashes out and grabs her arm, his hand colder than she expects as it wraps around her upper arm.

“‘Cm ‘n, Ov’rhul is watin’” Mr. Sakaki says, as he turns around and begins to drag her behind him. Eri tries to dig her feet into the floor, to keep herself in her room. But Mr. Sakaki doesn’t even seem to notice. He just keeps dragging her behind him as they make their way through the hallways.

Halfway through their trip, Eri has the thought that maybe Izuku is waiting for her, that maybe Mr. Sakaki is taking her to the lab and Mr. Overhaul because that is where her Big Brother is. So she stops trying to fight him. She doesn’t walk obediently beside him, but she stops trying to twist out of his grip.

They reach the experiment room. Eri looks around, taking a quick inventory of everything that has already been set up and who is there.

In the center of the room is her chair, all by itself, but that isn’t unusual now-a-days, Mr. Overhaul has been using Izuku more and more to help with Eri. But only Mr. Chronostasis is in the room, and even he has pushed himself into the background, and not by Mr. Overhaul’s side like he normally does when he’s in the room. Izuku isn’t anywhere in the room.

“Ghot ‘er!” Mr. Sakaki says. Eri tries to back out of the room while Mr. Overhaul still has his back to her, but as soon as his cold eyes meet her’s, Eri knows that there is no escaping this moment. She is going to have to go through this all alone, without Izuku.

“Thank you Sakaki,” Mr. Overhaul says, his voce cool as he looks at Eri. Everything inside her feels like it’s frozen. His gaze is never warm towards her, always clinical, sometimes cruel when she can’t deliver the results he wants with her quirk. But now it is downright cold.

“I’ve been told you haven’t been eating Eri,” Mr. Overhaul says as he turns to face her all the way.

“I want to see Izuku,” Eri says. Her voice feels light and faint in her chest and every instinct she has is telling her to not let them past her throat, but she forces them through anyways. She has to be brave now, for her Big Brother, Eri has to make sure he’s okay.

“Is that right?” Mr. Overhaul says, something in his voice dipping even lower. Eri steels herself though, Izuku is always doing his best to make sure she is okay, she has to do the same for him.

So despite the fact that she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes while she does it, she gives Mr. Overhaul a tight nod.

“Well, I can’t let you see him now, Eri, he did something wrong that put himself and all of us here in danger.” She knew it, she knew Izuku must have done something to make Mr. Overhaul mad while Eri wasn’t there to draw Mr. Overhaul’s attention away from him. Having it confirmed though just makes everything worse.

“He had to be punished so that he’ll learn his lesson. He’ll be returned to your room soon. But if he keeps up this pattern of disobedience when I’m giving him so much leeway, I might have to reconsider that decision,” Mr. Overhaul finishes. Eri can feel the blood rushing in her veins.

She’s being given a second chance to keep Izuku safe. And she will, she won’t let him be hurt by Mr. Overhaul ever again.

“Now that that’s settled, I presume you’ll begin eating again, correct? I’d hate to think that Izuku is rubbing off on you in unfortunate ways,” Mr. Overhaul says as he trunks away from her. Eri doesn’t answer him verbally, he doesn’t need that, she knows, Mr. Overhaul prefers actions over words. So she climbs up into her chair like he expects her to, and she sits patient and still throughout his experiments.

It’s mostly blood draws again, which hurt more without Izuku there to cradle her arm in his hands, without the soft brushes of his fingertips against her skin that always come after the needle is removed.

Mr. Overhaul does his experiments with her until she is feeling faint and slightly woozy in the way that always heralds the end of her time in the lab. But rather than stepping back and removing one of his gloves the first time her head bobs forward and grey starts to overtake her vision, he continues to take blood from her, reminding Eri in his soft voice that she wouldn’t be feeling this way if she had eaten the food he provided her. And she can’t exactly disagree with him because she has never attempted to not eat before and this is the first time she has ever felt like this.

More time passes before Mr. Overhaul lets her go, long after the blood has started to pound painfully loud in her ears and the grey fog that had been only a hint around the edge of her vision has taken over more and more of what she can see until only a pinprick of color. She does her best to muscle through it though, breathing through her mouth and doing her best to take deep and long breaths despite the feeling of a weight pressing down on her chest.

When she gets up off her chair, everything gets worse though, and it feels like the world is rushing away from her at top speed. Her knees buckle and Eri has to catch herself on her chair.

No one steps up to help her though. She knew they wouldn’t, not with Izuku missing, but the absence of him stings even more as Eri focuses on not collapsing even further.

The chair is the only solid thing around her as she takes deep breaths, trying to not pass out as hard as she can. Around her the others in the room are talking, but she can’t hear what they are saying, only the fact that they are talking. The back of her throat feels hot and tight as she breathes and she can faintly smell the material of her chair as she presses her forehead into it.

Someone grabs her arm and she flinches unconsciously into her chair, trying to get away from the harsh grip. Eri knows it isn’t Mr. Overhaul, because he never touches her without Overhauling her, and the pain of being unmade has not settled deep into her bones yet. Other than that, she doesn’t know who’s grabbing her, or where they’re going once they start dragging her across the floor.

“Be sure you eat next time Eri, I’d be very displeased otherwise,” Mr. Overhaul calls out over the rushing in her ears. Her stomach flips at the reminder.

As she struggles to keep her feet underneath her, the rushing in her ears slowly starts to fade and the darkness that had been encroaching on her vision slowly starts to fade and she catches sight of Mr. Chronostasis walking just ahead of her.

He opens the door to her room and shoves her in before pointing at her tray of food and biting out, “Eat.”

Eri makes her way over to the tray, her feet still feeling wobbly underneath her as she goes. She doesn’t know why Mr. Chronostasis is mad at her, he never snaps at her like this even when Mr. Overhaul is upset she couldn’t do something properly. She wants to keep an eye on him, to wait until he has closed the door and left her alone to eat, because she’s never known Mr. Chronostasis to get mad and unknowns are dangerous.

But he gave her a direct order and Eri can’t ignore that.

Her food from yesterday feels stale as she tears into it, but it tastes like the best thing she has ever eaten. She has barely started it when it’s all finished and Mr. Chronostasis is moving forward to take her tray from her.

“Do not disappoint Overhaul like that again,” Mr Chronostasis says. Her stomach lets out a loud growl and he sneers at her before he is out the door and Eri is once again left all alone in her room.

The food has helped her feel more settled, more grounded, but now that she’s eaten, she can feel the hunger she had been doing her best to push into the background comeback full force. Her stomach won’t stop growling and it feels like she has been hollowed out inside all over again.

Eri tries to distract herself the way Izuku does when she’s had a bad day. She sits on their bed and tries to concentrate. The braids in her hair fall out of their plaits almost as soon as she makes them, though, and her own hands running through her hair don’t feel the same. She tries to talk about some of the quirks that Izuku likes to tell her about, but she can’t remember any of the details and the rhythm of her voice comes out wrong.

All in all, she feels like a very poor substitution for her Big Brother, and as she gives up, Eri feels lonelier than ever.

Someone brings her more food at some point. Eri eats it without thinking and even though it’s fresher than what she ate earlier, it still tastes like sawdust on her tongue.

After, Eri crawls into their bed and wraps the sheets around her body, cocooning herself in tight. Wrapped in the sheets, it feels like Izuku could be back the next time she opens her eyes as she allows the memory of him to lead her gently into sleep.

He isn’t, though. Eri opens her eyes and Izuku is still not back and this is the longest time they’ve been separated since Izuku was moved into her room with her. She sits on the bed, the sheets pooling around her as she clutches as much of them in her hands as tight as possible, the lines around her knuckles going white.

She can’t help but wonder if Mr. Overhaul lied to her, to get her to eat, to keep her from fighting back. She can’t help but wonder if Izuku is never coming back and Eri is never going to see him again, all because she couldn’t keep him safe.

Eri spends what feels like hours worrying a path in her mind until the top of her head feels strangely floaty, as if she is experiencing the world a half step behind.

She gets up off the bed at that point. But walking only makes the sensation worse as it moves to the back of her head and changes just slightly, now feeling more like something is gently but continuously rubbing the inside of her skull with fine-grained sandpaper. And with each step it feels like her skull bounces on her spine.

Moving around at least feels better than sitting though. She’s seen Izuku run through some of his exercises and she always wondered why he stuck to them so closely, performing them at least once a day. Now, she gets it. So she widens her stance the way that Izuku does, takes a few deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth even if she isn’t sure what it’s supposed to do. Then she slowly lowers her center until her thighs and hips are about even and her legs are screaming at her.

It feels different than Mr. Overhaul’s type of pain though. It feels better, less intense tearing and more of a pleasant burn.

Slowly, she lifts herself back up, straightening her legs before repeating the whole process. She tries to run through Izuku’s whole routine, she can’t do everything, but she feels better the more she does. Even when she tries to push up from the ground like he does and ends up face planting onto the floor.

It helps her feel more connected to Izuku, like he is right there in the room with her, or just moments away from being returned to her.

She stops when the door opens and her meal is dropped off. The food still tastes just as bland as it did yesterday, but she eats it all as fast as she can, her stomach growling ravenously with the first morsel that hits it and demanding more.

Eri doesn’t go back to exercising after that, her limbs feel weak and wobbly and loose on her bones in a way that they never have before. But even more than that, she feels tired, and she doesn’t want to exercise more and fall asleep before Izuku comes back. She needs to be there when Izuku comes back, to make sure he’s okay, that Eri hasn’t failed him and that he knows she loves him, she has to prove it to him.

So Eri settles back in to wait, her back pressed up against their bed, her feet planted on the ground in front of her. It feels like the first day of waiting for Izuku to show up all day again, not knowing the whole time if he was even still alive.

Again, the thought that Mr.Overhaul lied to her, that Izuku isn’t coming back creeps into her mind, and this time it’s harder to dispel. Because the longer Izuku is gone, the harder it is to remember what he looked like and the feel of his soft hands running through her hair and holding her arm as he helps Mr. Overhaul with experiments.

The longer Izuku is gone, the harder it is for Eri to convince herself that Izuku was ever real in the first place.

More time passes and Eri is struggling to hold onto Izuku in her mind. Because Eri doesn’t deserve to be loved, Mr. Overhaul had told her and so it must be true, but Izuku loves her despite the fact that her quirk makes her undeserving of love.

So maybe he doesn’t love her. Maybe he was there one day and gone the next and everything else has been nothing but a dream. Maybe she’s already killed him with her quirk under Mr. Overhaul’s orders, rewound him into unexistence.

She has almost convinced herself that Izuku is never coming back, that he died because Mr. Overhaul wanted him to die and she was helpless to do anything but comply. And then the door opens up.

Eri is up and running the second Izuku is outlined in the door, flinging herself bodily into him.

Izuku stumbles backwards slightly but keeps on his feet as Eri fists her hands into the back of his shirt. The person who brought Izuku back to the cell makes a noise of surprise and she knows that this is all going to get reported back to Mr. Overhaul, but Eri doesn’t care. Izuku is shaking just slightly under her hands and she hasn’t seen him in days, but he is real and he is here and he is safe. Eri can still keep her Big Brother safe.

“Eri,” Izuku says into her hair, his arms coming up to wrap around her. For the first time in four days, Eri feels safe, she feels loved, wholly and completely.

“You’re back, you’re really back,” Eri says into his stomach, togenting her hold on him until it feels like she’s holding him as tightly as she can.

The person who brought Izuku back says something to him, but Eri isn’t paying attention to anything but the feeling of her Big Brother, alive and real and with her again. The four days of missing him, of convincing herself that he wasn’t coming back ever or that he hadn't ever been with her in the first place, disappear in the blink of an eye.

Izuku shifts forward and Eri steps backwards, never letting go of Izuku’s middle as he walks them back into their room. She thinks the person says something else and then she hears it as the door closes.

Something inside Eri untwists a little more because the door is locked shut and Izuku is still with her, he isn’t going to be forced away from her again. Slowly, she unwinds herself from Izuku, never quite letting him go but allowing some distance to come between them.

“They said you weren’t eating,” Izuku says, one of his hands coming back from around her to sweep across her cheek. Eri feels her breath catch in her throat as Izuku treats her gently, like she is deserving of love despite the curse of her quirk.

“I wanted to see you again, to make sure you were safe,” Eri responds, her eyes taking him in properly. His green curls frame his face and his eyes are slightly duller than she remembers, but he still looks like Izuku, like her Big Brother. Mr. Overhaul didn’t do anything permanent to him while they were separated.

“Eri, please don’t hurt yourself for me, please promise me you won’t try to starve yourself for me again,” Izuku says, his brow crinkling as he looks at her, his eyes sweeping over her before coming back to meet her gaze.

“I promise, Izuku,” Eri says, because Mr. Overhaul has already made it clear that if she misbehaves, Izuku will be punished for it, and she can’t let Izuku be hurt because of her, he needs to know how much she loves him, that she loves him just like he loves her. Eri needs to keep him safe from Mr. Overhaul.

But she can’t keep him safe from Mr. Overhaul, not really. These past few days have proved that to her. With each second it has been repeated over and over again until it feels like it’s carved into her skin. As long as Izuku is here, Eri can’t protect him from Mr. Overhaul.

But she can make sure Mr. Overhaul never hurts her Big Brother again.

Izuku is still holding her face and she reaches up to wrap her hand around his, allowing herself this one selfish moment of contact.

Then she lets her quirk unwind from her horn.

Golden light spills down her body in shimmering rivulets, engulfing her in a matter of seconds. Eri sees Izuku’s eyes widen as he registers what’s going on, his mouth opening, before he is engulfed too.

“Eri-” Izuku chokes out as he falls to his knees, she can feel him trying to pull away from her, but she can’t let him, this is too important.

“It’s okay Big Brother, I won’t let them hurt you ever again,” Eri promises, concentrating as much as she can on making her quirk as painless as possible for Izuku.

“Eri, don’t-” Izuku starts again.

“I love you, Izuku,” Eri whispers. And she knows she is crying, she can tell by the way that the tears are blurring her vision, the way the breath is catching and shuddering in her chest before it has even the possibility of escaping her throat.

She doesn’t want to lose him, she doesn’t want Izuku to be rewound out of existence. He loves her and he is kind to her and he is the only one who has ever treated her like she is more than her quirk.

Izuku loves her and she loves him.

And that is why she has to do this, despite how much she doesn’t want to. She has to rewind him because she has to keep him safe from Mr. Overhaul and the way he tears people apart. Izuku has never deserved that and she was always too much of a coward to help him in the way she has always known she should. Eri is still scared, but she knows that she loves him more though.

There are noises coming from the door, Mr. Overhaul’s men must have figured out what she’s trying to do. It doesn’t matter though, none of them will be willing to approach them, not while Eri’s quirk is still active.

Eri is looking Izuku right in the eye as she pushes Rewind a bit further, watching as some of the shine returns to his eyes, keeping in mind that she needs to be gentle the whole time. She is looking Izuku right in the eyes because she can’t look away.

And so she is looking Izuku right in the eyes as a grouping of spikes shoots up through the space between them, throwing them violently apart. She is looking him directly in the eyes as one of Mr. Overhaul’s spikes pierces his torso and comes out the other side stained red.

“Izuku!” The scream rips it’s way from her throat as Eri hits the ground. She tries to scramble back up to her feet, to get back to ehr Big Brother and finish what she started before Mr. Overhaul can hurt him anymore. But several more spikes form in the ground around her, drawing her up short.

Eri races around them as fast as she can, knowing as she does that she is going to be too late to keep Mr. Overhaul from reaching Izuku. Still, she is fast enough to see the spike remove itself from Izuku, Mr. Overhaul catching him as he falls. There is blood gushing from his wound, forming a puddle around his feet.

Mr. Overhaul turns with Izuku still in his hands. His eyes meet hers for a brief moment and if he looked cold earlier during her experiments, now he looks down right furious.

She wants to stop, to back up until she is pressed up against the wall, until she is invisible and Mr. Overhaul forgets all about her. He’s still got Izuku though and Eri has to protect her Big Brother from him.

Mr. Overhaul doesn’t say anything as he completes his turn and strides out of their room, Izuku limp in his grasp, feet dragging across the floor as he trails a streak of blood.

Eri pushes herself to go faster, to reach Izuku once again. And finds herself tripping over her own feet.

Her hands fly out to catch her as she falls, landing in Izuku’s blood.

She is up in the next second, trying to ignore the way that his blood feels tacky on her skin. Eri only gets a few more steps in before the door is slamming in her face, separating her from Izuku all over again.

“No! Izuku!” Eri screams as she throws herself against the door, trying to pull it open despite the fact that she knows it’s already locked.

The blood on her hands makes her grip slick and she falls backward into more of Izuku’s blood. The smell of it coats the back of her throat, surrounding her from all sides as she gets back to her feet and throws herself at the door again, pounding against it with her fists, leaving several smears of blood each time she makes contact.

“Big Brother! Bring him back!”

But he isn’t coming back, the door isn’t opening back up.

Eri has lost him, maybe for good this time. And it’s all her fault.

“Izuku!”

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

Inko wakes up, turns off the alarm on her phone, and bursts into tears when she catches sight of the date. This round of tears doesn’t last long, runs its course within a couple minutes, but a heavy, dark emotion lingers in her throat and chest afterward. Polaris, curled up in the crook of her knee, wakes up as she does, lifting his head and stretching his legs out, curving in a long arch before rolling over and clambering to his feet.

She hauls herself out of bed, dragging her body around like gravity works ten times harder on her. Polaris follows her, sliding off the bed and hitting the floor with a thud before following her on light paws into the bathroom. A splash of cold water on her face helps wake her up more and hides the puffy redness her tears have left behind.

Getting up in the morning has gotten easier as she’s adjusted to living with the weight in her heart, the emptiness in her life. But today—today is different.

Today, she meets her own eyes in the mirror. She finds nothing but her own anguish reflected back at her as she grips the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as she leans her entire weight forward. Her arms shake. Whether from the strain of holding her or from the emotions eating at her, she can’t tell.

A quiet trill pulls her attention back to the present as Polaris jumps onto the counter next to her. He blinks up at her, yellow eyes wide. He’s small, so small, and still so skinny, but he has such a big heart ….

It’s only been a few days, and he acts like he’s been living with Inko his whole life.

Choking back a cry, she rubs a hand over his head, scratching the soft fur behind his ears and under his chin. He leans into her, purring, whole body vibrating from his loud rumble.

“Thank you,” she whispers through her tears, voice heavy and breaking.

Every time she opens her phone, the date stares up at her, almost accusatory.

The fifteenth of July.

Izuku is sixteen, now.

And for the first time, Inko can’t celebrate that with him. She knew it was coming, eventually, he’s been growing up, growing older, and there comes a time when children no longer celebrate their birthdays with their parents. Lord, she knows this, she did it herself, though she’s hoped with all her heart that Izuku will have fonder feelings for her as an adult than those she still carries toward her own mother.

Still—no matter how she thought she prepared for him growing up, drifting away, none of that could prepare her for having him ripped away so suddenly and so completely.

Shouta and All Might do not speak much. They communicate lesson plans, observations about the students, enough that they can do their job (and Shouta can avoid failing his students again). They can’t be considered friends, can barely be considered friendly.

Still, after Shinsou’s encounter at the mall, he keeps an eye on the man. Call it concern, call it professional interest, call it what you will.

All Might, the first couple days afterward, seems unchanged, if a bit lighter than he had been. He does approach Shouta one afternoon, brow furrowed in thought.

“You know,” he begins, “perhaps you should impress a need to learn discretion upon your class. Information is power, after all, and some secrets should stay just that: secrets.”

Shouta sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. “What did you hear them talking about?”

“I believe more of the class than just those who were with Young Shinsou at the mall now know about a particular encounter he had there,” All Might replies, dancing around the subject of Midoriya. Out of all the UA staff, only the two of them, plus Hizashi, Nemuri, and likely Nedzu know about Shinsou spotting Midoriya. They all know about Shigaraki’s presence there, but their knowledge of Midoriya’s presence, and his appearance on cameras, is much more sensitive information than a villain who was there and then gone.

So, the next morning, Shouta fixes his homeroom class with a burning glare and lectures them all on what, exactly, constitutes an infohazard, and the importance of not spreading sensitive information about active cases. It will be important for them to remember when they have their work studies this fall, though he doesn’t yet tell them about those, just that there will be things they can’t talk about that come with the job.

A few students stand out as looking particularly guilty or sheepish during his lecture—Uraraka, Ashido, and Kaminari—though all his students take it in with appropriate seriousness.

And, a couple days later, when All Might comes into work quieter, more withdrawn than he has been, Shouta approaches him. Maybe it’s concern, maybe it’s just interest in making sure his colleague is going to be able to perform to the best of his ability (the same way Nemuri and Hizashi do for Shouta), maybe it’s because he knows many of the teachers still find themselves intimidated of All Might because that’s All Might, so they’re not going to approach and ask him ….

“Hey,” Shouta grunts, lightly kicking the rolling wheels underneath All Might’s chair to get his attention. “You’ve been quiet today.”

All Might’s head snaps up and he turns toward Shouta. A wry, joyless smile quickly replaces the surprise on his face. “Oh. Aizawa. Hello. It’s been that noticeable, huh?”

Shouta shrugs. “Noticeable enough, I guess.”

“Don’t worry.” All Might’s chuckle is just as dry as his smile. “I’ll be fine to teach.”

“That’s good,” Shouta replies, raising his eyebrows. “Will you be fine for everything else?”

“God, Shouta, would it kill you to actually tell someone that you’re concerned about them?” Nemuri asks, bumping his shoulder with her fist.

“It probably would,” Hizashi replies from across the room.

All Might watches this exchange through slightly narrowed eyes, the weight of his consideration leaving Shouta feeling stripped bare of his skin.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” All Might finally says. “Today is ….” He takes a deep breath. “Today is Young Midoriya’s birthday. It’s just hitting me a little hard.”

“Oh.” Shouta grimaces. All Might’s bad mood makes a bit more sense: anniversaries like birthdays hit harder. He still gets messed up over Oboro’s birthday, even fourteen years down the line.

And if Shouta’s mood is a little darker for the rest of the day, well, he can’t say it’s unjustified.

Mrs. Midoriya’s smile shakes as she opens her door. “Thank you for coming on such a short notice. Mitsuki and Masaru had something come up.”

She steps aside, leaving room for Toshinori to enter before she closes the door behind him. The Midoriya apartment remains just as he last saw it, though a fair number more cat toys populate the ground, strewn across the hardwood in the living room.

“I’m honored that you’ll share this day with me, though saddened that circ*mstances call for it,” Toshinori replies.

Mrs. Midoriya nods as she shoos him toward the living room. “I’ve … never spent Izuku’s birthday alone, so really, you’re doing me a favor.”

Toshinori’s lips twist, a joyless smile, though it softens as he and Mrs. Midoriya sit down together. A dull, distant ache in his gut has been a constant drain on his energy today, but for the Midoriyas, he would pull energy from nothing just to be there for him.

(And as he thinks that, his mind drifts to One For All, and his dreams. The ache feels just enough like his forgotten sense of hunger that he wonders—is this Izuku’s hunger?)

Neither of them talk much. Rather, they simply exist, in the same space, together. Mrs. Midoriya types away on her laptop, occasionally breaking the silence to grumble at whatever she’s doing, while Toshinori catches up with paperwork from his agency on his phone.

As dinnertime approaches, Mrs. Midoriya closes her laptop and sets it aside.

“I’ve been doing some research,” she says, standing up, “since you told me about your gastrectomy.”

Toshinori remembers that day—one of their regular meetings, though Mrs. Midoriya requested a different place than usual, as she was out between errands. She had offered to pay for something for him to eat. He tried to turn her down, as she is a single mother freelance web designer and he’s Japan’s Number One, but she had been insistent.

“I don’t want to be a leech,” she said, and resisted any argument he provided for why she should both let him decline letting her buy him food, and why he should be the one paying in the first place. So, he had told her about his distinct lack of a stomach, and she had been so embarrassed about pushing hard enough to make him share such sensitive personal details with her that she didn’t notice when he sneakily paid.

“I don’t know what your favorites are—you’ll have to tell me—but I have a meal planned for tonight,” she says, heading toward the kitchen.

He stands and follows her, ignoring his protesting back. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she replies. She turns and looks over her shoulder at him, green eyes shining. “Do you know just how similar you and Izuku are? In middle school, one day, he came up to me with this meal plan—you know about this, already, since I know now that you’re who gave it to him—and even though he had this meal plan, and he was bound and determined to follow it, he kept tripping all over his words while giving it to me because he didn’t want me to go out of my way for it.”

She sighs, shakes her head, and murmurs, “He doesn’t quite understand that parents are supposed to go out of their way for their children.”

Toshinori wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to pry. “I think I understand what you mean by that. He’s … so very considerate of everyone but himself.”

His mind turns back to that last day, the last time he saw Izuku before he vanished. That meeting had been hard. Izuku had been so clearly falling apart, trying, and failing, to hold everything together, and yet he hadn’t given any indication of what he was truly up to. Months later, and Toshinori still wonders if there were any way he could have noticed, any way he could have figured out what was going on before the transfer took place. He was so focused on what came next, on how to properly train Izuku, on the coming phone call with Gran Torino, that he hadn’t even noticed whatever it was Izuku had to have done to his tea to initiate the transfer.

(Sometimes, late at night, he sits, and he thinks, and he wonders if, had Izuku possessed more than the fading echoes of a quirk held for a mere two months, he would have made it back to them already.)

(Has Izuku truly been missing for as long as he had possessed One For All?)

“The only thing he’s ever wanted for himself,” Mrs. Midoriya says, “is to be a hero. And even that’s not a wholly selfish desire.”

She pauses, pursing her lips, before the corner of her mouth turns upwards in a mischievous smile.

“Well, no, that’s a bit of a lie,” she says. “He has, after all, asked after an awful lot of your merch, over the years.”

Heat rises to Toshinori’s cheeks. “Yes, well.” He chuckles, expelling some of the awkward tension in his chest. “He is quite the fanboy.”

She nods, turning and walking the rest of the way into the kitchen, where she opens the refrigerator and begins pulling out ingredients: carrots, peeled potatoes, lean beef.

“Can I help?” he asks.

She turns and watches him for a moment.

“Sure,” she replies, turning back to washing carrots. “There’s a big pan in that cupboard,” she points, “fill it with water for the potatoes.”

He does as he’s told then steps out of the way—Mrs. Midoriya apparently uses her quirk in the kitchen, summoning her cooking implements from around the room.

Just for a moment, he almost wants to ask if Izuku ever got jealous when she used her quirk around him, though he holds his tongue. It would be rude to ask, especially coming from someone with such a powerful quirk, and he can guess the answer already.

Toshinori himself had been an angry, jealous child, burning with bitter self righteousness. What Nana saw in him … sometimes, he still wonders how she possibly saw a hero worthy of One For All within scrawny, scrappy teenaged Toshinori.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Mrs. Midoriya begins, not once turning away from the flash of her knife as she chops carrots. Her voice carries a hidden weight to it, words carefully measured. “Why did you choose to train Izuku? Even when everyone thought he would never manifest a quirk, could never be a hero. What did you see in him that everyone else missed?”

Toshinori presses his lips together. What does he say without revealing the truth of One For All? Though, the thought of telling her about it has crossed his mind before, but the weight of the secret he’s carried for so long presses up against his teeth, too big to spit out on his own.

He’s not a complete fool—he knows there’s no way for Izuku to return from a two-month kidnapping the same person he was before it. There’s a large possibility he might not even be physically capable of holding it anymore, and it would be hard to explain where, exactly, his terrifyingly-powerful bone-shattering quirk went.

Still, he dances around the subject. He can deal with it later.

“He reminded me of what it truly means to be a hero, why I’ve dedicated my life to being one. Of what it means to look impossibility, to look certain death in the eye, and tell it, not today.” Toshinori sighs, leaning against the doorframe, head ducked to keep from bumping against the top of it. “He has the heart, and the intelligence, and the sheer, unrelenting drive to make it. All he needed was the guidance, a little bit of help to make the pieces fall in place. Even if he never manifested a quirk, I believe he could have made it without one.”

If, for whatever reason, partway through their training, Izuku had second thoughts and changed his mind about One For All, Toshinori still would have done his best to help him make it into heroics. He became far too invested, far too quickly, in Izuku’s future, though even now he can’t bring himself to regret that.

All he can hope now is that, whatever has happened, whatever is happening to Izuku, doesn’t leave him so badly hurt that he can no longer reach toward that future.

Mrs. Midoriya sighs, pulling Toshinori out of his train of thought. “I wish someone had seen that sooner. Not that I’m upset it was you!” She scrambles to make up for some imagined slight. “It’s just …. The past year was the happiest he’s ever been in a very long time, and I suppose I have you to thank for that, don’t I.”

“Then I have to thank you for raising such a wonderful son,” he replies. “He …. It’s been a pleasure, training him and guiding him.”

She nods but does not respond verbally.

Toshinori pretends not to hear her sniffle, or see her try to surreptitiously rub at her eyes.

“I’m curious—where is Polaris hiding?” he asks, after some time has passed and everything is cooking.

Mrs. Midoriya waves a hand. “Oh, last I saw he was napping on my bed. He played very hard all afternoon. He should come out soon, though—it’s almost his dinnertime, too.”

Toshinori smiles, thinking about the tiny scrap of fur they found together. “So, the two of you are getting along?”

Mrs. Midoriya nods. “Yes, he’s quite the affectionate little thing.”

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear—” something twinges in his chest—“—that.”

“All Might?” She turns and frowns at him. “Are you—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of what she says. One For All roars in his ears, a twin beat with his pulse. A door opens. Not a physical door, but the lingering connection between him and Izuku. The dreams, the out-of-place sensations, he’s sure they’re all related, but this is the first time he’s felt it open, the most vivid it’s been during his waking hours.

Flashes of gold flicker in the corners of his vision. Distant sensations roll through him, pulling, unwinding, like fingers gently working at knots, picking and pushing as they untangle.

Just as suddenly as it opened, the connection slams shut again, leaving the rushing in his ears and his gasping breath. Shock, confusion, distress, all roil in his chest as one turbulent mess. Something just happened to Izuku, but what?

What could throw open the door like that just to slam it back shut again halfway?

“—okay? Oh, who should I call, who should I call—”

Right.

He’s not on his own.

Mrs. Midoriya hovers over him, hands fluttering anxiously as she worries over Toshinori, for a moment behaving so exactly like her son that Toshinori almost sees Izuku instead.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, pushing himself back up again. Oh, he was crouching on the floor. How did that happen?

“You are clearly not fine!” she squawks back at him, hands waving in front of her. “You just, you just collapsed! And then you weren’t responding!”

“It’s ….” He presses his lips together. How …. How to deal with this. “Let’s sit down, first, perhaps, and calm down.”

“As long as you’re not having a medical emergency,” Mrs. Midoriya responds.

“To the best of my knowledge, I am not,” he replies.

Together, they move a couple chairs into the kitchen, so they can sit while Mrs. Midoriya can keep an eye on the food. Toshinori ruminates over his options while they do so. A lie would be easy enough: he has enough injuries and underlying conditions, one could just be acting up right now. Or, he could go closer to the truth, say it’s something to do with his quirk that he can’t talk about.

Or …. Well, it would be easier to tell her about One For All soon rather than waiting until after Izuku has been rescued. It’s knowledge she’ll need, eventually, as his mother.

But not now. Not today, when she’s already down and struggling.

“It’s to do with my quirk,” he explains. “It’s been … acting up in odd ways, as of late. It’s nothing … dangerous, I’m not actively dying,” though his injuries will catch up to him eventually and the time of Nighteye’s prophecy draws closer, “but it’s complicated. Today isn’t …. It’s not the right time to talk about it, not today, but eventually.”

“Alright,” she agrees, the skin around her eyes tight as she peers up at him, like she’s trying to read all the hidden pages in the book of his mind. “I’ll hold you to that, then.”

He nods. Before he can say anything in response, a loud, piercing meow cuts through the air as a small grey cat enters the kitchen, brushing the entire length of his body against the leg of Toshinori’s chair.

Mrs. Midoriya laughs, watery but relieved, and stands, chattering at her kitten as she feeds him.

Given the moment to think, Toshinori’s mind turns back to Izuku, concern eating away at him. Whatever just happened, it was powerful enough to reach through their connection and tug at One For All, and though he’s certain Izuku must still be alive (the door, now that he’s noticed it, is almost impossible for him to lose track of), the unknown rests cold within Toshinori’s heart.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

Izuku is drifting in and out of awareness. He thinks he can hear Eri screaming, the feeling of cold tile on his skin. But they are far away, distant. Like memories of a memory from another life.

More real is the darkness that surrounds him, the pain in his stomach that feels like it will never end and ended a long time ago at the same time. The fuzzy sensation that coats his brain and whispers that everything is going to be alright if only he just gives into it.

Ever since Overhaul first brought him to his lab, Izuku had been asking himself if being unmade by Overhual’s quirk truly counted as dying, if it were possible to actually die when you were pretty positive you’d be coming back a minute or so later.

This doesn’t feel exactly the same as being unmade by Overhaul, this darkness feels more creeping, more total. But it’s close enough for Izuku to figure that it does count, that he’d been practicing this whole time for just this moment, a thousand temporary deaths for this permanent one he can feel wrapping around his limbs and making its way slowly but surely toward his heart. And he both wants to give into it and fight it all at once.

Because Izuku is tired , he is so very tired. It hangs on his bones and claws at the back of his mind, a near constant weight that he keeps adding to with each day, with each trial that Overhaul puts him through. And he could give into it, it would be so easy for Izuku to stop clinging onto life and let himself slip away into that hazy grey wash that promises him restful oblivion.

Except Eri is still screaming for him, her small voice filling his ears and ringing through his chest. She still needs him, and Izuku is not going to abandon her to whatever Overhaul has planned for her if Izuku dies. He refuses to leave her alone.

So Izuku clings to life with as much as he has in him. He digs his fingernails in and refuses to let go with a stubbornness he learned when he was five years old and told it would be better to just give up on all his dreams.

It almost feels like he loses his grip at one point and he is about to go hurtling through time, only for phantom hands to grab him at the last second, keeping him tethered.

Then Izuku stops existing all together.

He doesn’t know how long he spends in unexistance, but he comes back to the feeling of his body laying flat on a metal table. Briefly, he wonders if he is in a morgue, if this is where Overhaul brings all the dead bodies he must populate every once in a while. But if he’s in the morgue, why is he still alive?

Overhaul is many things but sloppy isn’t one of them, he wouldn’t have left Izuku as a loose thread. He would’ve made sure that Izuku was really and truly dead himself.

So Izuku can’t be dead.

“Sit up Izuku, I need to finish my examination,” Overhaul snaps. Izuku isn’t even aware his body is responding to the order until he finds himself sitting up and twisting on the examination table to face Overhaul, his feet hanging off the edge into empty air.

He still isn’t entirely sure where he is, but at least he knows for a fact now that he’s not anywhere he’s ever been before. This room is completely foreign to him, and that makes him wary. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that Overhaul had shown him all of the base, but Izuku had at least assumed that he had seen all the rooms where the man performed experiments when he had seen the terrible room with the jars.

Apparently not, though. Apparently there were still more secrets and surprises for Izuku to discover, or for them to be thrust unwanted upon him. Part of him wonders idly what horrors he might experience in this room. It’s more of a background thought though, one that plays in the back of his mind like white noise as Overhaul circles around him, poking and prodding him and asking him the occasional curt question. Izuku always keeps his answers brief and to the point, but he can still see the way Overhaul’s mouth is pressing into a thinner and thinner line and Izuku’s heartbeat begins to pound a little harder in his ears.

“It looks like she didn’t Rewind you that much, only a week or two, a month at most thankfully,” Overhaul finally says after a few silent and tense moments.

Izuku doesn't know if he is relieved or devastated that he was given back such a short amount of time. Both feelings are swirling around in his gut, fighting for dominance. Neither can gain the upper hand over the quiet fear that shadows everything else though.

“Now, tell me Izuku, why did Eri decide to use her quirk on you this afternoon?” Overhaul asks, his voice quiet and low and dangerous.

All the warning alarms that had been faintly sounding off in the back of Izuku’s head this whole time start to sound off like claxons, wailing impending doom. Except it’s not Izuku’s doom they’re alerting for, it’s Eri’s. Because Overhaul might be directing his incredibly pointed question towards Izuku, but it’s Eri’s name his voice curls possessively around. And it’s Eri who broke the rules, who used her quirk without being given the go ahead by Overhaul.

It’s Eri who used her quirk against Izuku.

“It was an accident!” Izuku practically shouts, only barely managing to moderate his tone at the last second.

“An accident,” Overhaul says, a question that isn’t being asked as he looks at Izuku. Because he doesn’t believe him, Overhaul is going to hurt Eri because he doesn’t believe Izuku.

Izuku needs to make him believe, or he and Eri will be treading in unknown waters. And he doesn’t think the both of them will make it out alive if Izuku can’t turn their trajectory around right here, right now.

“Yeah, she was talking about how much she missed me and crying a little I think and she just, got overwhelmed and lost control of her quirk, it was an accident,” Izuku says, the words practically spilling out from his chest.

“If you’re lying to me Izuku, I will know. I intend to watch the video footage and if I thought for a moment that either of you were trying to harm the other or were attempting to undermine me somehow, I’d be very disappointed. I might just have to keep you and Eri separated for a while,” Overhaul says. Izuku’s heartbeat pounds furiously in his ears, but he refuses to let any of it show on his face.

“I already told you, it was an accident.” Overhaul continues to look at him for another long few seconds, his expression unreadable, before he turns away.

“I’ll be keeping the both of you apart while I investigate, and if I find out differently, there will be consequences,” Overhaul lightly says over his shoulder lightly before he leaves the room.

Izuku would like to relax, but he has a feeling that he and Eri aren’t out of danger yet. So he can’t allow the luxury of relaxing. Not until he can see Eri again and make sure he hasn’t failed her, that she is still safe.

Eri doesn’t know how long it’s been since she saw Izuku, since Mr. Overhaul dragged her Big Brother, broken and bleeding, from their room. But her hands are still covered in his blood. It’s long since dried to her skin, and it feels like it will stain her skin red for the rest of her life, but no one’s come in to clean it off her, so maybe it hasn’t been that long. Maybe it hasn’t been days, weeks, months.

No one’s come in at all really, not to give her food, or to take her to go see Mr. Overhaul in the lab. Or to clean up Izuku’s blood on the floor.

Maybe they decided Eri is too cursed to deal with. Maybe they asked Izuku what happened and he told them that Eri had tried to kill him, to Rewind him out of existence, maybe Izuku’s endless love for her had run out as her quirk had wound its way around him and tried to take everything he was from him. Maybe he had told them that Eri shouldn’t be allowed to live anymore.

Or maybe he’d really died. Maybe he had bled out and Mr. Overhaul hadn’t put him together again and his last moments alive were filled with pain and suffering because Eri couldn’t save him. As much as she tried, she couldn’t save the one person who had ever shown her kindness.

She can’t decide which option is worse. If it would be better for Izuku to be alive still and hate her with the possibility that she can still save him from Mr. Overhaul and his experiments some day. Or if it would be better for Izuku to have died, hanging from Mr. Overhaul’s hand while Eri tried desperately to get to him, forever in pain, but at least beyond Mr. Overhaul’s grasp.

Time passes, and still, no one comes for Eri.

Izuku’s blood starts to peel off her skin in dried flakes with every movement she makes and her stomach rumbles through the empty room. But Eri only cares about one of those things.

Her skin is not stained underneath Izuku’s blood, not that she can see anyways. But she can feel it, Izuku’s blood on her hands, and she doesn’t think she will ever be able to stop feeling it. She doesn’t try and scrape it off though, she doesn’t deserve to rid herself of this situation.

It does give her an idea though, watching bits of Izuku flake away from her a bit at a time. Eri has no idea if it will work, but she has to try, for Izuku.

Slowly, she unfurls from where she is curled up against the door, her joints and muscles protesting at the movement after spending so much time locked in one position. Eri forces them to move though, unfurling her body slowly but surely.

They refuse to hold her weight when she tries to stand up though, her knees buckling under the weight of her own body and sending her crashing back down to the ground. Eri considers trying to stand up again, but she doesn’t want to risk the possibility that someone will walk in on her, so instead she drags herself across the floor.

The streak of Izuku’s blood on the floor is dried to the floor, but that doesn’t matter much for what Eri wants to do.

She plants her hand firmly in the stain, conjures the image of Izuku smiling and happy to the forefront of her brain, and then allows her quirk to unfurl from her horn once again.

It feels different this time. It feels less, somehow. And as it’s glowing strands wind their way down into Izuku’s blood, she hopes that it doesn’t matter.

Her quirk winds through Izuku’s blood and Eri hopes for something, anything, to happen.

But nothing does. Izuku’s blood remains stagnant and lifeless on the floor.

As she kneels in his blood, it hits Eri full force, she really has lost her Big Brother forever. Izuku is either dead or gone, and it’s all Eri’s fault.

The tears that roll down her face feel like they’ve been carved out of the empty spot in her soul.

“It seems like you were telling me the truth,” Overhaul says as he enters Izuku’s room. Izuku feels the knot that has been tangling in his stomach for the past three days loosen slightly. Overhaul believes him, he believes him .

“You’ll be moved back into Eri’s room later today. But be aware, Izuku, if I find out you’ve lied to me, the consequences will be quite severe,” Overhaul continues. Izuku hears the threat in his words, Overhaul isn’t doing much to hide it really, but he and Eri are always under threat from Overhaul and his experiments. So if he’s threatening Eri and Izuku with punishment, then it must be worse than usual.

Izuku doesn’t want to see worse. He doesn’t want Eri to even think about worse.

“I promise, I’ll help Eri control her quirk,” Izuku says.

“See that you do,” Overhaul bits out before he turns around and leaves Izuku all alone again. Izuku doesn’t relax though. He doesn’t relax when Chronostasis collects him from the barren room and down long empty hallways until he’s back in front of Eri’s door.

Unbidden, a wave of anxiety threatens to swamp him. The memory of the last time he was here trying to sweep him off his feet. But Eri is behind that door, and Eri needs him.

And Izuku needs to keep her safe.

So he shoves his fear aside with extreme prejudice and pushes open Eri’s door, revealing the scene before him. Eri is asleep on the floor, in the middle of a rusty streak that Izuku is uncomfortable to realize must be his own blood. All the spikes that Izuku vaguely remembers Overhaul throwing up while Eri’s quirk swirled around him in dancing eddies of light are still scattered around the room.

“Eri.” Izuku calls softly, placing his hand gently on her shoulder, “Come on Eri, wake up.”

“Izuku?” Eri responds, her voice cracking with sleep as her eyes peek open. Then they shoot wide as she jolts into awareness.

Eri tries to throw herself into Izuku’s arms, but he is faster, throwing himself backwards. She freezes as she registers his movement and his heart breaks at the sadness and desperation that cloud her face as she slowly pulls back into herself.

“Eri, listen, this is important ,” Izuku stresses as she settles himself onto his knees in front of her. He needs her to listen to him, because he needs her to be safe, but he can’t do anything if she decides to try her quirk on him again.

“Okay,” her voice is soft and quiet and Izuku hates himself so much for it, he might never forgive himself for how beaten down she looks right now, how much pain he’s causing her. But if he can keep her safe, then it doesn’t matter if she cares about him.

“You have to keep control of your quirk Eri, there can’t be any more accidents or we’ll be separated for good. So you need to promise me you’ll try harder to keep your quirk under control, okay?” Izuku asks.

“Okay Izuku, no more quirks,” Eri promises him. He wants to pull her forward into his arms and wrap them tight around ehr to keep her safe. But he isn’t going to push her, and he isn’t sure she still wants a hug from him, not when he’s being so harsh with her right now.

“Izuku, can I ask a question?” Eri asks. Her shoulders are trembling and she won’t look Izuku in the eye.

“Of course, Eri, anything,” Izuku promises.

“Are you still my Big Brother?”

“Yes, of course, yes.”

Izuku finds himself with an armful of Eri.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Eri may not have rewound much, but her quirk worked its effects on him either way. She dragged him out of the grey swamping his senses and back into bitter awareness. No longer does he float, distant strings keeping him tethered to his body, but he exists in it with a visceral sort of reality. He had begun to forget what that kind of existence even felt like.

Now, he is once again all-too-present. Three days separate from Eri left him with plenty of time to remember things he would rather forget, and even now, several days after being reunited, the fog has yet to return.

He’s not sure he wants it to. It had been … not a comfort, not safety, but the fog, the distance, had brought with it an alleviation of the inescapable pain encompassing his entire existence here. Even so, the idea of it coming back, slowing his thoughts and reactions again, fills him with a cold trepidation. He can’t afford to be slowed, not when he needs to look after Eri.

However, he doesn’t think he has a choice in whether or not the fog comes back. It crept up on him the first time, slowly whispering in on cat’s-feet until it had filled every valley of his mind, so subtle he didn’t realize it was there until it had been forcefully burnt off.

Maybe he doesn’t have a choice in it, but he sure can try.

That’s the promise he makes to himself as he deftly braids Eri’s hair. He will try his hardest to stay present for her, to stay thinking and aware, as long as he needs to keep her safe, to assure her escape.

(From deep inside him, a quiet sadness emanates. He pays it no mind, long since used to a deep ever-present grief he can’t escape.)

Izuku sits cross-legged on one of their beds, Eri nestled in the circle of his legs. Silent and still, she holds herself like a statue as he carefully ties off one braid with one of the hair ties Tengai had snuck into the room for them. She’s been like this since his return to her, quiet, tentative, like if she moves wrong, he’ll vanish.

Which … he thinks he understands that. He did vanish because of something she did.

Still, it breaks his heart, every time he catches notice of her doing it.

Finishing and tying off the other braid, he rests with his hands on her shoulders for a moment. Heat emanates through the thin fabric of her dress. It doesn’t even begin to pick away at the chill underneath his skin, something in the lack of sleep and lack of food leaving him cold, but she leans into his touch so he leaves his hands there and leans into her, as well.

Aside from the humming of the lights, their breaths are the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens, shattering their silence. Chronostasis stands before them, and though Izuku cannot see his face behind the mask, he can picture the impassive look in the man’s eyes well enough.

“Izuku. With me,” he orders. “Eri is to remain here.”

Tensing, his fingers dig into Eri’s shoulders. She gasps, a small, quiet thing, and he forces his hands to release her as he takes a deep breath and slips off the bed.

He glances back at her while he walks away. She stares up at him, eyes wide, fingers clenched tight in her skirt. Pressing his lips together, he nods at her and tries to somehow communicate to her without words: whatever this is, he’ll be fine, don’t worry about him.

None of that reaches her, the deeply-concerned expression remaining stubbornly fixed on her face.

They run out of time, and Chronostasis’ patience. He wraps his hand around Izuku’s upper arm and pulls him away, through the door and into the hallway where Chronostasis shuts Eri away behind them with a finalistic click.

Neither speaks as they walk through the empty hallways. Usually they come across a couple yakuza members, the inhabitants of this compound long-since grown used to Izuku’s presence, but today (or tonight?) they’re conspicuously absent of any other person.

He recognizes the route they take, at least, Chronostasis leading him to the hallway where Overhaul’s office and the main experimentation laboratory are. Chronostasis happens to be taking him to the former, pulling him into the office where Overhaul sits behind his desk.

Overhaul looks up, golden eyes finding Izuku and remaining there. “Did he behave, Chronostasis?”

“Yes, sir.” If Chronostasis nods, Izuku doesn’t know, his own gaze locked on Overhaul, tracking him carefully as he stands and begins to approach.

“Good.”

Izuku fights the urge to duck and back off as the man draws closer. Even when Overhaul pulls off one of his gloves, Izuku tenses but does not flinch away.

“You’ve grown more … spirited, again, since Eri activated her quirk on you,” Overhaul remarks. “I suppose I should thank her for that. You’re more valuable to me as a research assistant than as a puppet.”

Having no response, Izuku just keeps careful watch on Overhaul’s one bare hand.

“Do you remember, a couple weeks ago, what I said to you after that ill-fated outing of yours?”

It’s already been a couple weeks since then? Izuku’s stomach sinks. It’s felt like only a few days, if that, though maybe that’s a side effect of Rewind?

Not that he could even begin to guess how long he’s been a captive here. A couple months have elapsed, at least, long enough for summer to arrive, but whether that’s the beginning of summer or the end of summer … he doesn’t know.

“I told you that if you behaved well, you could go outside again, with certain preventative measures in order. You have been behaving since then, so Chronostasis will be accompanying you off the compound. But first … the preventative measures.”

Overhaul’s long fingers, graceful, delicate, cup Izuku’s cheek, an almost affectionate gesture were it not for the bare skin of his palm meeting the bare skin of Izuku’s face and the riptearshred wave of breathtaking pain rippling out from it.

Unlike other times, it remains localized to his face, a pulling apart and melding back together. Overhaul has used his quirk on individual parts of Izuku before, yes, but never on just his face.

On … just his face?

Izuku’s breath hitches and he reaches up with hesitant fingers. Overhaul’s touch leaves him to be replaced by Izuku’s own as he probes at his cheekbone, his eye socket, his browline, his nose.

Stomach rolling, he maps out the changes in the structures beneath his skin.

“What did you—” He gasps, voice breaking off, cannot even finish the sentence as his eyes burn. Tears leak out, rolling down unfamiliar cheeks. “I—” He flexes his hand, tries to dig his nails into the skin beneath his eyes, but they’ve been chewed down to the quick and barely scrape deep enough to sting.

“None of that, now,” Overhaul chastizes, pulling Izuku’s hand away from his face. “This will only be temporary. I’ll set you back to rights when you return. Like I said, we just needed preventative measures. Chronostasis? Take him to get changed.”

The mirror in the changing room gives him plenty of ability to document all the changes—the softening of his jaw and browline, a new fullness to his lips, a feminization to his face that leaves him stumbling backwards and shaking his head. His freckles vanished, smoothed out into one even skin tone. Even his eye color had been changed, one eye light blue and the other one brown.

Overhaul had left his hair color alone, and Izuku isn’t sure whether to be relieved or unsettled. It hangs lank and lifeless, no thought spared to taking care of it, curls unwound and flattened. Though it’s still green where the light hits it, his roots have gotten even darker than before, unbleached from lack of sunlight.

Even without the forceful changing of his facial structure, he looks … almost like a different person. Almost unrecognizable from who he was back in April, walking into UA as a hero student with All Might’s quirk.

Despite this being only the second time he’s seen the sunlight since being captured, Izuku can’t keep his focus during the outing. They’re only out for a couple hours, long enough to drive somewhere for a short hike and then drive back, but it feels like an eternity he weathers with the wrong face. The smart part of him tells him he should ignore the pervasive wrongness, focus on the warmth of the sun and the smell of green growing things, stop and run his fingers over the rocks if Chronostasis will let him, but that same wrongness keeps him paralyzed, stiff and wooden at Chronostasis’ side as they walk.

After they return, Overhaul resets Izuku’s face before sending him off to change back into the same colorless scrubs he’s been wearing for weeks now.

He changes quickly and spends as long as Chronostasis will allow him just staring in the mirror, counting his freckles. Were they always that spread out? Didn’t they used to be denser, more numerous, across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks and spotting his forehead and shoulders? Was this always their arrangement, these exact positions, was this the path he traced with his fingers when he was younger and wishing he could just make them disappear, could take away just one thing his classmates teased him over—

Were his cheekbones this prominent, his eyes this sunken, the shadows beneath them this deep? He runs his fingers over his jawline—has everything always been this sharp, this angular on his face?

Weight loss, aging, stress, those could all explain away the subtle shifts and changes, but none of them settle right in his chest.

He closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, acid crawling up his throat as he bites back a sob.

The face pressed against his palms still doesn’t feel like his own.

Toshinori wakes and rushes to the bathroom. His face aches, a fading remnant of the memory-dream which woke him. In the darkness, he reaches out and finds the light switch by memory, flicking it and burning his retinas with the sudden brightness. Once his eyes adjust, he stares at himself in the mirror, tracing the planes and angles of his face.

He’s gaunt and pointed, his cheekbones still sticking out above hollow cheeks and heavy brow still casting its dark shadow over his deep eyes. When he reaches up and runs his fingers down his nose, it feels like his, the same sharp shape it always is.

The dream, the memory, the vision—he looked in a mirror and found a face that wasn’t his.

Izuku looked, and found a stranger looking back.

At least Toshinori can rest safe in the comfort of knowing his face is still the one he remembers, something Midoriya has now lost.

Toshinori closes his eyes and leans forward, bracing his arms against the counter as his shoulders shake and hot tears paint tracks down his face. How much longer must his poor kid wait—how many more tortures must he go through—before he’s finally found?

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

The last time he had been let out of the compound, the sun had been bright and hot in the sky as it warmed every inch of Izuku’s face. And after they had dragged him back into the compound, he had carried the memory of that sunlight with him, treasuring it and hoarding it away. He hadn’t even shared it with Eri, it was something he kept just for himself.

The sun feels different now. Not as warm, not as bright in the sky. But it still feels like it is warming his skin up from the inside out, slower this time, but still managing to reach deep inside him to a cold hard knot that he forgets is there until the sunlight hits him.

“Stop standing there, people are starting to stare,” Tengai snaps under his breath, just loud enough for Izuku to hear him but quiet enough that no one else will.

Izuku wants to bite back that even if people are staring at him, no one will recognize him, Overhaul made sure enough of that. But he bites his tongue at the last second. He still isn’t sure how to feel about receiving these privileges that Eri never has the opportunity to get. It twists his insides up into complicated loops and whirls everytime he thinks about it, but he can’t risk throwing them away either. Not needlessly, not when they provide him with information he wouldn’t otherwise get in Overhual’s lab.

So instead he lets his head drop, taking in the world around him out of the corners of his eyes as he shuffles over to where Rappa and Tengai are impatiently waiting for him to join them. As he moves, he tries to figure out where exactly they are.

There isn’t anyone else on the street with them, which seems strange, because Izuku knows that even in the middle of the night, there’s always at least a few people on the streets. But he can’t spot a single other person besides their little group.

“We should move someplace else, being here feels too conspicuous,” Tengai says under his breath as Izuku reaches them. Their small group starts to move and Izuku can feel how tense his two companions are on either side of him.

“Boss specifically said to bring him here, though, said he wouldn’t be recognized,” Rappa says. But Izuku can see the way he shifts his weight around. A quick glance at his face tells Izuku that Rappa’s eyes are roaming, probably watching for danger.

“Yes well I doubt Chisaki knew how deserted Kamino has become since the fight,” Tengai snaps back.

Izuku wants to ask, he wants to know what they’re talking about. But he isn’t supposed to ask questions, he isn’t supposed to be curious, to show interest. He wants to know so badly bites his tongue until it bleeds, filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood, just to keep himself from asking.

Tengai must notice something that hints at his curiosity though, some shift in his shoulders or change in his face because he answers Izuku’s unasked question anyways, “There was a big fight here a week or so ago. The League of Villains kidnapped some U.A. students from the Heroics program and All Might and an unknown villain faced down over it, it was decently destructive.”

It feels like someone just sucker punched Izuku. He keeps on walking, but it feels like an unconscious movement, his body carrying on with a pattern that he doesn’t have to think about.

Part of him feels bitter, fierce and scalding in the back of his throat. Because he was kidnapped too, and All Might didn’t crash through any walls, didn’t fight off any villains for him. None of the Heroes did, not a single one came after him. And really, he knew they wouldn’t. Izuku always knew he wasn’t worth the big theatrics, the daring rescues. He’s known since the moment All Might chose him that he was living his dream on borrowed time, and that when Aizawa-sensei expelled him, his time was up. But it still hurts knowing that not a single person tried for him when it’s obvious with this kidnapping and this fight that they could’ve.

The other part of him, the more rational part of him, tries to fight back against that gut instinct. The Heroes couldn’t have come crashing through the doors because they didn’t know who took him. They don’t know where he is. So of course he wasn’t gonna get the big rescue. It wasn’t because they didn’t care about him, it wasn’t because he wasn’t important.

Rationalizing it doesn’t help any though, it doesn’t make the swirling pit of emotions in his gut any easier to bear.

“Oh?” Izuku asks, he has no idea how much time has passed or even if they’re still talking about the same thing, but it feels like he should be contributing to the conversation somehow.

“Yes, I believe they targeted the first and second place medalists from the first years,” Tengai says, continuing on as if no time has passed at all.

And maybe no time at all has passed. Maybe they are all having a normal conversation and Izuku is the only one who can feel the last remnants of the world melts away to reveal the cold bones beneath.

Then the rest of his statement catches up to Izuku and he realizes that Kacchan and Todoroki were kidnapped.

“I woulda’ loved to be in that fight, test myself against All Might,” Rappa comments as they turn a corner.

In front of him, the city-scape disappears sharply into a line of destruction so total that it’s completely erased any hint of what might have been there before. Izuku knows at once that this must be where the fight happened in the same way he felt the tides turn the day his mom took him to the beach. And he also knows in that same deep down instinctive way which villain All Might fought.

All for One.

He doesn’t know how he knows the name, or why he feels the shiver of fear creep up his spine at the name, but he knows the villain. He knows that the man who fought All Might here is the same one who injured him all those years ago, the other half of the coin to the quirk the Hero shared with Izuku.

Tengai and Rappa turn him away from the scene of the battle, and Izuku goes willingly, something about the sight of that much destruction casting a shadow over him. The rest of the trip outside passes. Izuku tries to recapture the slight enjoyment of the feeling of the sun on his face, but he just can’t seem to do it, to reinvest himself.

It barely registers as a blip to him when he realizes that fall is fast approaching and his birthday has already long since passed. He is too caught up on the idea of All Might fighting All for One and the aftermath of it all.

He only really snaps back to himself as he is gently guided into the backseat of a car and he realizes that they are going back to the compound and he no longer has the luxury of zoning out. Eri needs him to be focused now. And Overhaul will want him to be present.

The trip back feels brief, but he has no idea how long they actually travel for before he is being let out of the car, surrounded by the plain white walls of Overhaul’s domain once again.

“I trust there were no issues?” Chronostasis says from where he is standing in the doorway to the rest of the compound.

“None at all,” Tengai replies, voice smooth as ever.

“Good,” Chronostasis bites back and Izuku expects that to be the end of it, but rather than indicating that he should be led back to his room, his eyes snap to Izuku’s as he says, “Kai has requested your presence.”

Izuku nods his head woodenly and falls in step behind the other man as he leads Izuku through the twisting hallways, unsure of what to expect.

After a few turns, he figures they can’t be going to either of the labs, and after a few more he knows they aren’t going to the gym either. He still hasn’t figured out exactly where he’s being led by the time Chronostasis pushes open a door and gestures Izuku inside the room.

He pauses in the doorway, thrown for a loop by his surroundings and half expecting this to be a hallucination or a dream. But when he blinks his eyes, the room is still there. And it is quite possibly the most normal looking room Izuku has been in since he was first kidnapped.

There are two sofas and a coffee table between them. There are plants scattered around the room and even a rug. The whole setup is completely incongruous with the rest of his experience in the compound.

“Come Izuku, sit down, it’s time we had a chat,” Overhaul says from where he is sitting on one of the sofas. Izuku moves as if he is in a dream to the other sofa, the sound of Chronostasis shutting the door softly behind him the only other sound as Izuku moves.

The scene reminds him of a distant memory, one that belongs to another him from another time, another adult, one who had trusted him with all his secrets and cared for Izuku in the best way he knew how. And for an aching moment, it’s almost like Izuku can see All Might, sitting in his chair, right before Izuku gave him back One for All and severed any connection they had.

He isn’t foolish enough to believe that Overhaul is going to sever his connections with Izuku though.

It isn’t until Izuku is settled in the opposite couch that Overhaul begins talking, his hands folded in front of him, “When I first approached you, I thought you might be an asset to me, Izuku. I had no idea how true that thought would be, or how much I would come to trust and rely on you. I have shown you things that only my most trusted advisors in the Eight Bullets know about, included you in experiments that I have yet to allow anyone else take part in. You are invaluable to me, and so I thought it was high time I made things official.”

Izuku doesn’t want to know what he is talking about, he doesn’t want this to be happening at all, but he really doesn’t want to know what is going to happen next. He can’t help but know, though, as Overhaul gestures to the object sitting unassumingly on the coffee table between them.

“I think it’s time for you to take your place as one of the Eight Bullets.”

Izuku stares at the face mask, knowing already that he has no other choice but to pick it up and accept.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to call you the Nine Bullets, now.”