Chapter 1: Kamino Ward
Chapter Text
Boom
The ground rattles with the force of another trade of superhuman blows. Izuku stumbles with the impact, fingers gripping the railing of the old fire escape he clings to.
—
Mr. Midoriya Izuku,
UA would like to thank you for your application to our illustrious place of learning.
—
It’s insane. This is insane. When he first took it upon himself to find the location where the League of Villains had taken Bakugou, it was under the impression that the police and UA hadn’t known where to look.
—
As you are aware, this past year, UA has opened its hallowed halls to children of all walks of life, including quirkless individuals.
—
The press conference being held by the Eraserhead and Principal Nedzu was a convenient distraction – surely it would be the perfect time to sneak out of his room and to scope out Kamino Ward.
Imagine his surprise when the heroes had the same idea. Apparently they’re more competent than Izuku gave them credit for.
—
However, we are afraid to inform you that this only extends to our General Education program.
—
Only not enough – All Might had charged in head-first and spooked them, and now Bakugou was. Was –
Boom
Swearing, Izuku continues his climb up the fire escape to the top of the next building. On the ground below, hundreds of people swarm away from the cataclysmic fight. But he’s headed into it. Where Bakugou must be, because All Might all but flew in this direction after Bakugou was spirited away. After an explosion rocked the very foundations of Kamino Ward.
—
While we are more than happy to accommodate your abilities, we will not be able to process your application for the Heroics portion of the entrance exams.
—
Muscles screaming, he hauls himself up the last few flights of stairs and onto the rooftop, then jogs over to the edge.
“Shit.”
Before him, a scene ripped straight from old-world quirk movies plays out.
An ugly, gaping crater unfolds like a festering wound in the ward’s landscape. News helicopters hover around it, flies drawn by the stench of death, and shine lights on the Symbol of Peace and the monster he’s fighting. On Bakugou, at the center of it all.
—
Nor will we be able to accept an application for our Business or Support courses.
—
All Might looks…bad. Really, really bad, and for all that he despises the man, for all that he rejects him, Izuku can’t help but feel despair at the sight of the number one hero. Battered. Bruised. Fighting for his life.
He watches, frozen in place, as the mysterious villain charges forward. He rears back a grotesque limb, bloated and unnatural. It cuts through the air like a fleshy scythe, its trajectory aimed straight for Bakugou.
Izuku screams.
“Kacchan! No!” But his voice is ripped away by the wind.
Faster than Izuku can register, All Might’s there. It’s jerky, slower than he’s ever moved, but he’s there. He moves between Bakugou and the villain and flings him away. Bakugou goes flying off somewhere. Probably hurt, definitely freaked out, but safe.
Izuku has about half a second of sharp relief before the blow hits All Might.
The sound is stomach-churning. The oversized arm slams into his rib cage, and even from up here Izuku can see blood fly from the number one’s mouth. The blow lands, but the momentum just carries – like All Might weighs nothing, like he’s made of flimsy plastic.
In the blink of an eye, All Might is torn from the ground and sent hurtling away. Straight into the building that Izuku’s perched on.
The roof beneath him heaves a great shudder, and then –
—
Should you wish to re-submit an application for the General Education track, our Admissions Office is taking applications until the end of May.
UA High School
Admissions Department
—
Then there’s no roof beneath his feet at all.
Izuku comes to dazed.
There’s the smell of iron in the air around him and something heavy on his back. He tries to move his legs and is met with a wave of fresh pain. He screams, but dust coats his throat, and it turns into a hacking cough. His vision swims. Shadows dance before him, cut by beams of bright light. In the distance he can hear helicopter blades.
Where is he?
“Young man.”
It takes a moment for the shapes in front of him to make sense. Most of it is rock – rubble? Did the building fall down? – but there’s something else. Someone else. His brain struggles to understand the figure in front of him.
“All…Might?...” But that doesn’t make any sense. Why is All Might here? He hasn’t seen the hero since –
—
“Are you the vigilante that’s been causing trouble in this area the last four months?”
“I, uh. Maybe?”
“Young man, you know vigilantism is illegal? You can’t be much older than a middle schooler – surely you’d do well applying for a hero program.”
Izuku stares, dumbstruck at his childhood hero.
The comment stabs at him, but he does his best to ignore it. “Uh, y-yes All Might, sir, but,” he shakes his head, rising to his feet. Now is not the time to be fanboying. He’s been caught red-handed, by the last person he’d ever expect to run into in downtown Musutafu at two in the morning. He gestures to the would-be thief that dangles unconscious in All Might’s grasp. He’d already caught the guy, but just as he was tying him up for the police to grab him, suddenly the hero appeared. What was he doing so far fromTokyo?
“But this area is notorious for the lack of hero patrols. Someone had to step up, and no one has for months. Crime has been going down significantly since I started patrolling here,” he babbles, acutely aware of how much he’s talking. He pauses, taking a deep breath, “And t-technically, it’s not illegal for me to help. I checked. I’m quirkless, so it’s not vigilantism. I actually tried to apply but…I got rejected.”
All Might doesn’t frown, but his smile does go hard. Flinty. Izuku flinches. He feels his heart sink before his hero even opens his mouth.
—
“Young man,” All Might says again, and Izuku snaps out of it. He blinks, feeling his face go numb. The man in front of him is the Symbol of Peace, but he’s…deflated. He’s hunched over in front of Izuku, but half of him looks emaciated. Skeletal. Blood is gushing from a wound in his side and down his mouth. This isn’t the number one hero; this is a dying man.
“I don’t…know what you were doing here my boy, but…I must impart something to you. This villain, I’m…I’m not going to make it out of this fight ali –” he breaks off into a wet cough. Blood flecks on the floor in front of him and Izuku wants to scream, wants to cry, but he doesn’t have the strength for it. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
All Might can’t die.
The hero jerks forward painfully, a grimace on his half-sunken face. Shakily, he raises a fist to his lips and swipes a thumb over them. It comes away in a smear of blood. Izuku can’t do anything but watched through glazed eyes as the number one hero brings his bloodied fist forward.
Izuku tries feebly to move away, nearly gags when it brushes across his mouth. On instinct he purses his lips, tasting iron on his tongue.
“I’m sorry, I…I should have chosen before now. But no-one seemed right. My quirk is yours now. You cannot die, young man. Hang in there. I must…end this while I still can.”
What?
What the hell does that even mean?? He tries to move, tries to speak, but he just can’t. All Might stares at him through sunken blue eyes and smiles, but it’s all wrong. The hero stands, seemingly with great effort, and Izuku can only watch as his half-deflated body surges back.
With a groan he reaches around Izuku. There’s the sound of shifting concrete. He can only assume that he’s been freed of the rubble, but he still can’t feel anything aside from bone-deep ache.
His vision dims.
No, stay awake, he thinks, pleads with his body, now is not the time to pass out!...
He barely manages to raise his eyelids. All Might is gone. Somewhere beyond the ruin he hears a ferocious roar:
“ United…States of…SMAAAASH!”
There’s a tremendous tremor and a blast of pressurized air.
And then all Izuku knows is darkness.
Author's Note
Archive sometime does this thing where the 1st chapter's A/N exists throughout the series so I'm putting this here.
Thank you so much for reading!
I'm incredibly excited to tell this story. I'm going to be working on this while I work on getting "Breath and Blood" re-written (I reached a major writers block and the story got very away from me). This story is pure indulgence. I don't know how long it's going to be, but writing it in bite-sized chunks should really help with my bad habit of going overboard. If you enjoyed, please leave a comment below! They're so appreciated, I can't express that enough.
<3 See you in a few days!
EDIT: Hello friends, InnocentBystander here. Just dusting the shelves, watering the plants, re-arranging the furniture etc. Beyond minor edits only the order of some of the very first paragraphs were changed.
Chapter 2: Interrogation 1/2
Summary:
Izuku wakes up in the sleep-deprived hands of none other than Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa.
Notes:
Hey y'all! A short note this chapter: DM is going to update on Fridays! Maybe weekly, maybe bi-weekly, but always on Fridays! It just depends on me and my beta reader. Chapter two is finished, so expect one next friday :) Thank you for the warm reception on the prologue!
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You know –”
Kacchan pauses just outside the threshold of the classroom door, the back of his gakuran creasing as he straightens up, and with a casual smirk, throws a look over his shoulder. Like it’s just a passing thought.
“You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you. If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… go take a swan dive off the roof.” Kacchan punctuates the thought with an ugly, snorting laugh and slams the door closed behind him. The thud is muted by the classroom walls, but the sound still rattles him.
Izuku stares at the door. Somewhere deep inside him, something snaps.
He’s not really sure how he winds up outside on the ground level of the school, crouched over the poorly-kept koi pond with his water-logged notebook in his hands. But he does. He stares with hollow eyes at the title – Hero Analysis for the Future!!! – and tries to feel something. Anything.
But wait.
He’s been here before. He’s… he remembers…
That horrible day, he realized that “Kacchan” wasn’t truly his friend – that he hadn’t been for a long time.
He remembers standing at the koi pond in front of the school and staring at the cover of his notebook. Hours passing by in the blink of an eye. Mom calling him and asking where he was because there was a villain attack at the convenience store by Aldera.
Going home, where the Letter was waiting to find him.
He remembers, and the vision of the koi pond wavers. Izuku blinks.
—
When he opens his eyes, it’s to a place he unfortunately recognizes.
He’s in a grey, colorless room with no windows. The wall he’s facing looks to be a plexiglass of some sort, and he’s seated at a fold-out table.
He doesn’t need to look down to know that his hands are cuffed to the table; he’s been somewhere like here before. Twice, actually.
Izuku takes a mental catalog of his person: his clothes from earlier are missing, replaced with a soft white gown, along with his pants and consequently, his phone.
Did they patch me up at a hospital and send me straight to the precinct?
The sound of a lock clicks through the room and Izuku’s eyes zero in on the sound. In the far left corner, the room’s single door opens, and in steps one of the most haggard men Izuku has ever seen. His posture is hunched, his face gaunt, and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow frames his jaw.
Izuku eyes him wearily. The man stares back.
“You’re awake,” he says, walking over to the side of the table opposite to Izuku, “Good. Let’s get this over with.”
“Who are you?” Izuku says, eyeing the recorder the man pulls from the pocket of his coat and sits on the table. “Which station am I in? And while you’re at it, why am I here? Is it protocol to put innocent bystanders in interrogation after a villain attack?”
The man folds his hands together on the table’s surface, his thumbs fidgeting.
“My name is Detective Tsukauchi. I’m with the Tokyo Police force. We had a skilled healer fix up the majority of your injuries – you may feel some slight fatigue, though. Allow me to cut to the chase:
“You’re here because when rescue teams went in to comb through the wreckage of Kamino, one of the officers at the scene recognized you from a vigilante arrest several months back.”
“Not a vigilante.”
There’s a faint click, and Izuku looks around. Is there a clock behind him or something? He dismisses the thought. Not important.
“Excuse me?”
“Under Japan’s quirk laws, I’m not considered a vigilante,” he says, focusing back on Detective Tsukauchi, “I’m quirkless, Detective. It’s why both times I was caught they let me go.”
“Quirkless or not, you’re a repeat offender of disturbing the peace and interfering with Hero jurisdiction who just so happened to be at the scene of Japan’s most destructive act of terrorism in the last ten years.” Detective Tsukauchi frowns and leans in, “ That’s why you’re here.”
Izuku scowls.
“You think I was working with them??”
“ I don’t know,” the Detective says, settling back in his seat, “You tell me, Midoriya.”
He grits his teeth. Seriously? Don’t they have better things to do than harass a quirkless high schooler?
“Fine. I wasn’t working with supervillains.”
At this, the Detective’s brow seems to smooth over marginally. He tilts his head and sighs.
“Alright then, what were you doing at Kamino Ward?”
“Taking a walk.” Click.
In front of him, Tsukauchi purses his lips. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not! I was out on a jog – I’ve been trying to get out more lately. You know, since I had to drop my main source of exercise. Getting my steps in, taking in the nightlife, then BOOM! Earthquakes, screaming, a building falling down on me – a building Detective! Honestly it’s a little insensitive that you’re making me relive such a traumatic experience –”
“Midoriya,” Detective Tsukauchi rubs his face, “Please. I’m not an idiot. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop making things up. I’ve had a long enough night as it is.”
The bags beneath his eyes are almost enough to make him feel guilty. Almost.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m telling you the truth.” Click. Alright, he must be hearing things. Maybe they didn’t patch him up as well as they thought?
“No, you’re really not.”
“And you can prove that how?”
“Look, I know it feels a lot like I’m the bad guy here. But trust me when I say the last thing I want to do it lock a kid away for being affiliated with All Might’s murder, so if you could…”
The rest of Tsukauchi’s words fade into white noise. Izuku feels his stomach drop through the soles of his feet.
All Might’s…
Murder?
“All Might’s dead?” He blurts, interrupting the Detective. Tsukauchi pauses. After a stretch of silence, he answers:
“Yes. He is.”
“I didn’t…” Izuku’s gaze drops to where his hands are cuffed to the table, “I didn’t know that.”
Detective Tsukauchi speaks slowly. Cautiously, like he’s addressing someone fragile. Izuku hates it.
“I know you weren’t just out for a jog, Midoriya. Why were you really there last night?”
Dimly, his brain clocks that it’s been at least half a day since Kamino Ward. Half a day since he’s apparently been out of it. He stuffs that information away and looks up.
Detective Tsukauchi has his hands splayed out in front of him, pensive.
For whatever reason, this man is convinced that Izuku was there for less-than-legal reasons. And he’s right to doubt him; Izuku was there as more than a bystander. Just not the less-than-legal reasons the Detective seems to believe.
He’s reluctant to admit the actual motive for him being there. Under normal circumstances he would fess up – the laws haven’t changed since the last time Izuku’s had a run-in with the police – but being there for the number-one hero’s death was a lot more incriminating than normal.
If there’s a surefire way to get the Detective to believe that he was there as a separate entity from the League, he might be able to tell the truth and move on with his life. But how to guarantee that? How to know for certain that if he tells the truth, they’ll send the quirkless kid who stepped out of place back home and not straight to Tartarus?
Tsukauchi seems confident in his ability to determine whether or not he’s lying, but how far does that confidence go? What’s backing it? Years of experience or something else? A quirk perhaps?
“I was on a walk, like I said. Next thing I know, the building fell down,” he lies. Click. “Is there a clock in here?”
Tsukauchi squints. “No, there isn’t. Don’t change the subject. Try again.”
Interesting.
“You said you had a healer fix me up? No brain damage, or anything?”
“Midoriya.”
“What? Just making sure. I’m feeling a little off. You want me to answer to the best of my abilities, don’t you?” Click.
This time, Izuku’s listening for the sound and – oh. It’s coming from Tsukauchi. Is he…clicking his tongue? So it’s been him the entire time. A nervous tick maybe? He doesn’t seem to be aware of it. Could it be a response to some kind of external stimuli? So far he’s only clicked when…
When he was through telling a lie.
He trains his face to keep still at the realization.
In his seat, Detective Tsukauchi sits a little straighter. “I can assure you that the doctor who healed you gave you a clean bill of health. You don’t have any persisting damage. Now if you could please answer my question – truthfully.”
“Okay, fine. I was there because I followed All Might.”
He listens for another cue, but all the Detective does is nod. “Why?”
“Because he’s the best – what fanboy wouldn’t follow after All Might?” Another click.
Ah, okay. Lie detector quirk it is, then.
Tsukauchi opens his mouth to say something, but Izuku beats him to it.
“Yea, I know, you don’t believe me. Fine. I was following him because I figured he was headed to where Bakugou was.” He has to bite his cheek from snorting at the look of surprise on the man’s face. Yea. Definite lie-detector.
“Bakugou Katsuki?”
“Loud, abrasive, explosion quirk – that Bakugou Katsuki, yes. Is he okay by the way?” He may be putting up a facade for the Detective, but if he learns that two of the most important formative people in his life were taken out in one night, he might just burst into tears.
Compartmentalize, Izuku, compartmentalize. Now is not the time to break down.
The Detective seems to gather himself and sits back in his chair. “Yes. We got the same doctor to take care of his injuries. He’s safe.” Oh thank God. “So you were at Kamino Ward to look for Bakugou Katsuki. Care to elaborate on that?”
Satisfied that he at least don’t be arrested for assisted murder and kidnapping, Izuku relents.
“Sure. He’s a childhood friend. Sort of. Kind of. Well, he was, until we turned four and he got his quirk. Then having me around made him look weak, or whatever.” Izuku shrugs, “He went to UA to become a hero, and I stayed back and became a troubled youth.”
“When I heard he’d been kidnapped, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. So when UA started the conference, I went out to look for him.”
Tsukauchi raises an eyebrow. “And you just wound up at Kamino?”
“Your police car envoy wasn’t exactly subtle. I followed All Might after they broke down the wall to that hideout or whatever.”
“You couldn’t just leave your friend’s rescue to the pros?”
He scoffs. “In my experience ‘the pros’ are fairly unreliable. Is that all? Can you let me go now with a warning or whatever? I want to go home.”
The Detective purses his lips. “Almost. Just one more thing. I couldn’t ask before, but I can with some security now:” Tsukauchi leans forward. Izuku follows his hand, watching as it comes forward to turn off the recorder.
That’s. Concerning.
Tsukauchi tucks the device into the pocket of his coat and clears his throat.
“One of the helicopters on the scene captured footage of the building in the minutes after it collapsed. It shows All Might lifting some rubble away, speaking to someone – speaking to you. ”
For some reason, Izuku’s pulse ticks up. He does his best to appear calm despite the rapid beating of his heart.
“Midoriya, I cannot stress enough how important this final question is. I need you to answer truthfully and to the best of your ability. Did All Might say or do anything to you? Can you remember anything, anything at all?”
“Um.” Suddenly the cuffs on his wrists feel tight, like they’re cutting off circulation. He licks his lips.
Did All Might say or do anything to him? He…he thinks so, but it’s hard to remember. Everything after the building fell is hazy.
“S-something about…a quirk? I think? He uh,” Izuku closes his eyes, wills himself to recall. “I remember blood? My blood, obviously, but also his. There was…a lot of it.” So much. From his side, from his mouth. Splattering the floor. He shivers. “I think he may have gotten some on me? In my mouth?” He lets out a weak chuckle, and it sounds fake even to him. “Why? Did All Might have super herpes or something?”
Opening his eyes, Izuku stiffens when he sees the expression on Detective Tsukauchi’s face. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost.
“Why? Detective?”
Knock knock knock
The two of them jump when a series of sharp knocks sound at the door. Hardly a second passes before it’s flung open, and in strides the last person Izuku expected to meet today.
“Sasaki,” the Detective says, rising to his feet, “What are you doing here? I’m covering his interrogation –”
“And I’m here to make sure you do your job,” Sir Nighteye says, shrewd eyes locking onto Izuku. If he was the same person he was a year ago, Izuku would have turned into a gibbering fanboy mess. As it is, he’s immediately wary of the way the late number one’s former sidekick is looking at him, “To make sure that this delinquent is dealt with accordingly.”
“Dealt with?” Izuku says, wrinkling his nose.
The Detective heaves a world-weary sigh.
“Sasaki, a word.”
…
One minute. What Naomasa wants, more than anything in the world right now, is one minute where he’s not caught in an absolute shit storm. But no, apparently the universe has other plans – as if losing his best friend wasn’t enough for twenty-four hours.
Naomasa shuts the door to the interrogation room, leaving Midoriya Izuku once more by himself. Not completely, of course; they can still see him, looking very upset and very confused at the table in the other room through the one-way glass.
He turns his attention to the self-important hero standing behind him.
“Would you like to explain how you got here?”
Sasaki sniffs. “Please. Your people owe me enough favors for all the problems my agency has solved in this city. Getting into your little interrogation room was childsplay.”
“And you saw fit to interrupt my interrogation because?? I’m a literal lie detector, Sasaki. If there’s anything you can trust me with, it’s this. This one thing.”
“Your quirk is hardly infallible. I think it’s reasonable to want to have two pros on the case when dealing with a situation like this.”
Folding his arms, Naomasa gives him the nastiest look he can muster on three hours of sleep and two pots of coffee. “You don’t think I can handle this? He’s a child.”
“That child, ” Sasaki points at the glass, “Is an experienced villain. Quirkless or not, he is a menace. Have you seen his case file?”
“Yes, but I have a feeling you’re going to – oh, yep, there you go.”
Sasaki proceeds to pull out a manilla file from inside his suit jacket and slaps it on the table next to the intercom. It’s the very same one Naomasa looked at not an three hours ago, before Recovery Girl deemed him stable enough to transfer to the precinct for questioning. At first glance it’s size is innocuous. Inside are exactly two police reports:
One having been filled out by Toshinori himself ten months ago in downtown Musutafu, where the kid was taken in for incapacitating a would-be atm thief. The other is four months ago, filed by Endeavor, when he managed to knock out The Hero Killer. Honestly, it had been the latter that convinced him to take Midoriya into police custody. A person capable of that had to be held under scrutiny. He wouldn’t have been the first slighted citizen to turn down the path of villainy. He’s seen it too many times.
Just two police reports, but you’d have to be either naive or blind to believe that that’s all Midoriya Izuku had done over the last year or so. For a kid to take down such a big-name villain? It couldn’t have been a fluke. The kid sitting in the other room was a practiced vigilante, whether the law acknowledged it or not.
And now he was Toshi’s successor. Christ.
“There’s a reason why he was there last night, Tsukauchi. I know it. He’s working with those scum. He’s partly responsible for Yagi-san’s – for All Might’s –” Naomasa almost feels pity for the man when he chokes, fist slamming down onto the file. There’s a desperate gleam in his eyes. “The rest of All for One’s little cronies got away. I refuse to let this one escape as well.”
Naomasa combs a hand through his hair. He sighs.
“Sasaki. Listen: Midoriya wasn’t with the League. He was there for Bakugou, to rescue him. Apparently they grew up together; the kid was worried.”
“And you’re sure of that?”
“Positive, I had him clarify repeatedly just in case. It’s almost like this is my job or something. We can corroborate his claim with the Bakugous, if you’re that worried about it.”
“Hmph. Very well. But then you won’t mind if I have you clarify with a few questions of my own?”
Why was he always like this? Why couldn’t he just cooperate this one time?
Pinching his nose, Naomasa sighs. “Okay, look. You want to cement it in your mind that the kid didn’t have anything to do with Toshi’s death? Fine, you do that, because very soon, we’re going to have to be working with him towards a compromise or something.”
“What the hell does that mean, Tsukauchi?”
“It means,” Naomasa says, with all the wit of the severely sleep-deprived, “That our little delinquent here is the newest holder of One for All.”
Notes:
Hope you're ready to hate Nighteye, all my homies hate Nighteye
Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 3: Interrogation 2/2
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
I meant to update this around 12, but I've been feeling really bad the past few days and totally forgot, my bad!
This chapter has been beta'd by Maryliz2121 <3Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You give it back.” For the second time in thirty minutes, Izuku’s soul leaves his body as the door to the interrogation room is flung open.
Sir Nighteye is fuming, anger rolling off him in waves, and Izuku can’t help but feel like he’s about to be struck when the hero storms over to him. He flinches, instinctively raising his hands up to protect his face, but the cuffs keep them chained to the table.
Thankfully, the hero stops several paces from him with his hands curled into fists at his side. He looks absolutely livid.
Izuku stutters. “I – what?”
“All Might’s quirk,” the man hisses, cutting him with a furious glare, “The one you conned him into giving you. Give it back right now.”
Izuku looks at him like he’s grown two heads.
“Detective?” He says, straining to look behind the hero at the disgruntled Detective standing in the doorway, “What’s he talking about? Should I be worried about getting assaulted?”
Detective Tsukauchi crosses the room, takes Sir Nighteye by the shoulders and wrenches him away.
“Jesus, Sasaki, you’re a hero; act like it.”
“I will ‘act like it’ when this thief explains how he managed to trick the Symbol of Peace into giving him his quirk!” He twists out of Tsukauchi’s grip and stomps over to the empty seat across from Izuku. With a huff, he wrestles it from beneath the table and sits down. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. So my apologies ,” he says, turning to look up at the Detective.
“I’m still lost here. Can either of you explain? All Might couldn’t have given me a quirk. That should be impossible.”
It has to be, right? He’s been quirkless all of his life, branded as sub-human. An outcast. To suddenly receive something so life-altering shouldn’t be able to happen so easily, so quickly.
Right?
“I’m quirkless. All Might didn’t give me anything, right?”
Instead of the answer Izuku’s looking for, the Detective deflates. Impossibly, he looks even more tired than before.
“I’m going to go grab a second chair. Sasaki, be civil.”
In the small space of the interrogation room at the Tokyo Precinct, tucked away from the chaos of the outside world, Midoriya Izuku learns about one of the best kept secrets in Japan, and how he was apparently forced into having a role in it.
When Detective Tsukauchi finishes speaking, when his voice runs hoarse and the tide of unbelievable information stops, Izuku stares blankly down at his cuffed hands. At his hands, scarred and calloused from the year of training and, until recently, his vigilante career. The hands that hold strength he’s worked so hard to cultivate, so hard to achieve, so that he could prove to the world and to himself that being quirkless was no less limiting than any other minor inconvenience anyone could suffer.
They look so familiar, except that now, lurking beneath his skin, is a power that he never once asked for. Forced onto him by All Might, the hero that spat on his ambitions. Who apparently was a massive fucking hypocrite. Who probably didn’t even realize the irony of his last will.
Izuku stares at his hands, and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room.
Sir Nighteye clucks,“Well? Don’t you have anything to sa–”
“He probably didn’t even recognize me. At Kamino,” he grits his teeth, “He brought me in that one time, in downtown Musutafu. He knew I wanted to be a hero and told me I couldn’t because I was quirkless, only he was quirkless too. If he would have wanted to give it to me before, it would have been then.”
“Exactly,” comes Sir Nighteye’s irritated baritone, “It was an act of desperation. He already had a successor lined up, hand-picked by myself, but he didn’t have the chance to turn it over. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind; so you’re going to give it back.”
White-hot anger flashes across his vision, and he looks up to meet the hero’s sneer.
“Apparently, he didn’t hold your opinion all that highly, because he told me that no-one seemed right.”
“I call bull, you lying little miscreant.”
“He’s telling the truth,” The Detective says quietly, and the hero throws him a disbelieving look.
“You honestly expect me to believe the word of –”
“So what happens to me now?” Izuku interrupts, looking over at Tsukauchi. “I don’t particularly want All Might’s quirk, and it sounds like you have someone in mind to take it. But clearly this is a pretty big secret to be in on. What’ll happen if I cooperate?”
“ If you cooperate?? Are you suggesting –”
“Sasaki!” Detective Tsukauchi cuts with a fierce look. “I’m not above having you escorted off the premises.”
The hero snaps his mouth shut, leaning back against his chair and folding his arms. He looks supremely displeased, but he doesn’t say a word. Tsukauchi stares, as if daring him to say something else. When he doesn’t, the Detective turns back to Izuku.
Huh. Tsukauchi might be his favorite member of law enforcement he’s had the displeasure of dealing with.
“Should you cooperate, All Might’s quirk will be passed onto its intended inheritor and you’ll be quirkless again. None of the previous One for All users have experienced negative side effects from giving the quirk away, so it’ll be as if you never had the quirk in the first place.”
Humming thoughtfully, Izuku taps his fingers together.
“Alright, alright. Awesome. Personally, I was just fine without a quirk, so that sounds good to me.”
In his chair, Tsukauchi straightens up a bit and Sir Nighteye smirks.
“Excellent. I’ll call my agency and have All Might’s rightful successor brought in immediately,” the hero rises from his seat, straightening his glasses. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“Slow down, let’s not be too hasty. I have a request.” Sir Nighteye stops mid-stride.
“What.”
“A request. Re-quest? I’m sure you’re familiar with the word,” Izuku drawls, “By dint of All Might’s impeccable planning skills, I’ve been roped into what sounds to be a massive state secret. Actually – scratch that. The fact that I’m being held in such a low-security location leads me to believe that not even the Safety Commision is privy to the nature of All Might’s quirk. Am I wrong?”
Detective Tsukauchi purses his lips, but it’s Sir Nighteye that answers.
“Incredibly. We’re paid by the Safety Commision, you think we keep secrets from them?”
Click. From the corner of his eye, Izuku catches the faintest movement. It’s the Detective again, shifting in place.
Izuku keeps a placid face. This fucker.
“Sure. Whatever. I’ll just get to the point: I want immunity.” Tsukauchi opens his mouth to answer, but Sir Nighteye answers instead.
“Immunity?”
“You heard me. Immunity. I want a guarantee – in writing – that once I hand over the quirk, I can walk away untouched. You get your ‘rightful successor’, I get my freedom, and we can go on our merry way ignoring each other’s existence.”
Sir Nighteye growls, “Oh? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, vigilante.”
Izuku deadpans, “Not a vigilante.” Click. Heh.
“Sasaki,” the Detective says, rubbing his temples, “Some tact, please. Midoriya, I think that sounds more than reasonable –”
Sir Nighteye stands abruptly from his seat and strides towards the door without a backwards glance. “Tsukauchi, outside. Now.” He punctuates his exit with a slam of the door.
Izuku almost feels bad for the Detective, who stares after him with so much exhaustion on his face.
“...I’ll be right back. Again.”
…
“I don’t trust him, I don’t care what your quirk says. I refuse to give him immunity.” Sasaki whirls on him before Naomasa even lets go of the doorknob.
He scowls. “Why not? It’s a fair trade for Toshi’s quirk, isn’t it?”
“You’re going to sit there and tell me that that child is entirely without fault? Without suspicion? That you seriously believe, for a single instance, that he just happened to be there to receive Yagi-san’s quirk?” Folding his arms, Sasaki snorts, “Please. All for One is the most cunning villain to have existed in two-hundred years. He is more than capable of such a plant.
“No, Midoriya Izuku is not being granted immunity. He’s transferring the quirk to Mirio, and then he’s getting a one-way ticket to Tartarus.”
For whatever reason, the fraying string that’s been keeping Naomasa’s emotions in check decides that moment to snap completely. Throwing his hands up, he all but yells:
“And what gives you the right to decide that? He’s a child, Sasaki, for fuck’s sake! The poor kid has been through enough. I let you stay here out of respect for our relationship to Toshinori, but may I remind you: This. Is. My. Case. Mine. Like it or not, I have the final say in what happens here, and I say enough lives have been ruined for the day. He’s getting immunity. You’re getting the quirk.” To make his point, Naomasa swivels around and gets a hand on the doorknob. “End of story.”
But Sasaki is faster (damn him) and knocks his hand away, grabbing him by the wrist and spinning him back to face him.
“And may I remind you, Detective,” he hisses, “That I have been in on this secret for much longer than anyone here. You may have been Yagi-san’s friend, but I was his partner for years before you came along. I have personally seen to it that One for All’s secret has been kept a secret for two and a half decades, and I will not see you throw away all of our hard work because you have developed a soft spot for a vigilante.” Naomasa yanks his wrist back, staring hatefully up at the hero. Sasaki stares back, unflinching.
“I will not hesitate to pull seniority over you on this, Tsukauchi. If you cooperate with me now, I can promise that Midoriya won’t spend his entire life in Tartarus. Just long enough for Mirio to get control over the quirk, and for the dust to settle over this incident. If not, I give you my personal guarantee that he won’t see the light of day again.
“So what will it be?”
Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to punch Sasaki in his pointed little face. In the end, after a tense silence, Naomasa keeps his hands under control.
“You’re unbelievable. Toshi would be disgusted with you.”
To his credit (so he isn’t made entirely of stone), Sasaki flinches.
“Well Yagi-san’s not here, is he?”
…
Izuku eyes the two adults entering the room, keeping his mouth shut until they both take their seats once more. The Detective appears visibly aged. That can’t be a good sign.
“ ...So,” he says slowly, once they’re both seated, “Am I getting my immunity?”
Sir Nighteye nods, his eyes masked by the glare of his glasses. “Of course. We’ll get the papers in order and signed as soon as the quirk is successfully transferred.”
Click.
Izuku sucks in a breath. So they’re doing this, huh?
“Wonderful. Alright; I think I’ll keep the quirk, thanks.”
“What?” “Midoriya?”
Izuku picks at his nails like they’re the most concerning thing in the room.
“Why wouldn’t I, when you’re lying through your teeth? Don’t,” Izuku snaps, letting some of his anger seep into his voice. Detective Tsukauchi closes his mouth.
“ Don’t sit there and lie to me. I’m a teenager, not an idiot. I know you have a lie-detecting quirk. Your tongue clicks whenever it goes off. I’m assuming you have no control over whether or not it’s activated, considering you’ve been clicking when Sir Nighteye lies, too. I’m sure it comes in real handy when you’re in the field – it serves as a way to keep your colleagues up to speed, right? It’s pretty subtle. I’m sure that outside of a controlled environment I wouldn’t have been able to hear it if I wasn’t listening for it.
And don’t try to tell me you have someone on the other side of that mirror telling you when I’m lying or not. There’s no means of transmitting sound on you or in this room, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered with turning off the recorder earlier. Your paranoia is telling. So,”
Leaning in, Izuku shoots Sir Nighteye his most charming smile. The hero looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel.
“Now that we’re all being honest with each other, mind telling me what your actual plans for me are?”
“I – you – what?” Tsukauchi stammers.
“Tartarus.” Izuku turns to look at the hero. “For life. Or less, if you are to cooperate.” Sir Nighteye looks at him like something he scraped off the sole of his shoe, but Detective Tsukauchi doesn’t click.
Not for the first time, Izuku wishes his hands weren't cuffed together. He goes to fold his hands, but settles for leaning forward instead.
“Interesting. Tell me, Sir – do you really want to see the last remnant of your precious mentor rotting away in a prison cell?” He takes supreme delight in the hero shooting to his feet, chair clattering to the floor behind him. The following silence is loud. Izuku continues.
“Let me tell you what I think. I think that you want this quirk more than I do. I’ve long accepted my quirklessness, and honestly my life would be a whole lot simpler without it. Unfortunately, the same is not the same for you.
“I think that you heroes left all of society’s peace of mind and stability resting on the shoulders of one man, and now that one man is gone, along with what sounds to be the Boogeyman of Japan. And now that both of them are gone, you find yourself with two major power vacuums. Your Symbol of Peace is shattered, and as of right now, you’re scrambling to pick up the pieces. Did I get that all right?”
Sir Nighteye manages to pick his jaw up off the floor.
“You have some nerve–”
Izuku tuts. “You know. I’m glad I was able to stop Stain, he was a dangerous man with dangerous ideals; however, he wasn’t entirely off the mark with his beliefs. You heroes put too much stock into one person, and now you’re up Shit Creek without a paddle.
“Sure, you could lock me away in Tartarus forever– sweep your little secret and All Might’s fuck-up under the rug. But I know, that you know, that you can’t afford to do that. You don’t just want my quirk: you need it.”
Izuku smiles and it’s all razor-blades.
“So. I’m keeping it. And we’re going to sit here, and you’re going to stop lying, and we’re going to find a solution that doesn’t involve me going to prison. Sound good?”
…
Principal Nedzu sits in his office, typing diligently away on his computer. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, so many game-changing incidents that will change UA – not to mention Japan – forever. He’s up to his ears in problems:
Coming up with a last-minute dorm system for the students, writing up parent permission slips, dealing with the media fall-out, handling his staff, and, probably the most pressing, finding out what to do with the vigilante that almost certainly has the late number one’s quirk.
Despite the fact that they have All for One in custody (at the very least, All Might was triumphant in that), the rest of the League is still very much at large. They still haven’t the slightest clue as to what happened to the Nomu in the warehouse, nor have any information on the person responsible for creating them. Nedzu wouldn’t put it past the criminal mastermind to have a contingency plan in wake of his capture, so it’s imperative that they begin the training for the next One for All holder at once.
One thing at a time, Nedzu. We will prevail.
He’s deep into considering the logistics of having Cementoss create a new dorm system when his office phone rings. It’s an unknown ID, but a number he has memorized. Detective Tsukauchi has been an immense help in the past; hopefully, he has good news to report.
“Why, Detective!” Nedzu answers cheerfully into the phone. “I do hope you have some good news, but given that you’re calling at –” he looks to his desktop clock, “My goodness, three in the morning, I’m assuming that it may be something different, hm?”
“Nedzu, hello,” the Detective sounds dead on his feet, “We have a…unique situation on our hands. I think...”
Nedzu gives him a few seconds, but there’s only silence. Frowning, he says into the receiver:
“Hello? Detective? Are you quite alright?”
There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “Yes, sorry. It’s just…You were right, Midoriya has it. I think you’re going to want to talk to the kid. He has a. Proposal.”
For some reason, a shiver runs up Nezdu’s back, sending his fur on end. Biting back a smile, he replies, “Oh-ho? Put him on the phone.”
Notes:
Thanks for all the love for the last update! I really enjoyed writing this one, hope you liked it. Chapter 3 is in the works, next update might be in two weeks because of the aforementioned health issues, but I'll do my best to update next week.
Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 4: Aizawa Shouta
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Thank y'all for the comments on the last chapter they made our day reading them! I managed to finish chapter 3, so update today 😁
Edit: Recently updated thanks to my beta Maryliz2121!
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Shouta collapses into the driver seat of his car, pulling the door closed heavily behind him. He braces his hands on the steering wheel and wonders exactly how much force he’d need to slam his head on the horn hard enough for the airbags to deploy and knock him unconscious. He could probably snag at least an hour of sleep before Recovery Girl could revive him. Nedzu would almost certainly send him back to the school, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with handling the problem child the bastard is dumping on him.
Because Shouta isn’t dealing with enough already, right?
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I feel the need to remind you that you used up most of your sick days recovering from the USJ incident.” Speak of the devil.
Shouta turns his head just enough to give the principal of UA the stink eye as he hops into the passenger seat and clicks his seatbelt in.
“I could just quit,” he says, sitting up to buckle himself.
“Come now, Eraser. Both of us know you’d never do that. Especially now of all times. Besides, today hasn’t been all that bad.”
Not that ba – have they even been in the same company for the past six hours?
“The Yaoyorozus threatened to sue us for negligence.”
“Ah, but they didn’t.”
“We just had a thirty-minute conversation with the Kirishimas that was mostly the poor kid just crying, ” he ticks off his fingers for emphasis, “The Iidas wouldn’t even speak to me, and the Minetas pulled him from the school.”
Nedzu hums and waves his hand (paw?), “So focused on the negatives! You forgot to mention how well our chat with the Bakugous went, all things considered. And why are you counting the Minetas as a negative? You were planning on expelling him anyways; they just saved you extra paperwork. And anyhow, it’d be a shame if you quit now. We only have one family left.”
Starting up the car, Shouta mutters under his breath while he checks his side mirror:
“Only the most problematic of the bunch…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
—
Shouta has spent the better part of the last twelve hours locked in his office trying to iron out the absolute clusterfuck that is the new semester plans (if he even still has a class to teach by the time that rolls around) when his phone goes off.
His first instinct is to launch it at the wall, and he probably would if not for the fact it's Nedzu's contact.
He lets it ring exactly three times before resigning himself to whatever awful news the rat is about to throw at him.
"What is it," he says in lieu of a greeting. Best to get whatever this is out of the way as soon as possible. He immediately regrets this decision. Some pleasantries may have softened the blow for the "new job" his boss had planned for him.
"I didn't know UA had a vigilante reform program."
"We didn't! Not until 7 AM this morning. An acquaintance of mine in the HPSC owed me a favor and I was able to pull some strings. However, it’s not so much a vigilante reform as it is…well, think of it as probation."
"Probation?”
“Yes. You see, we let him off with a slap on the wrist previously, but given his record and the fact that this is his ‘third strike’, so to speak, I decided to take more active measures.”
“What's so special about this Midoriya kid that you wouldn’t just let the court sort him out?"
"Apart from being a former UA applicant, It would be an absolute waste to see such an exceptionally bright and talented young mind locked away."
"If he's so exceptional, how is he a former applicant?" As a professional crime-fighter, Shouta can smell bullshit and scheming from a mile away, and the rat reeks of both. "Why show interest now?"
"Mmm well, do you recall the Stain incident?"
"...You're shitting me."
"If only."
—
Detective Tsukauchi is standing at the doors of Tokyo Precinct when Shouta pulls up. Immediately his eyes are drawn to the short green-haired child at his side who looks like someone told him to take off his shoes and walk across a floor of hot legos. There are thick-set bracelets on his wrists, too, some heavy-duty quirk suppressors by the look of them.
While Tsukauchi walks them down the steps Shouta turns to Nedzu.
“You said he was a vigilante, not a supervillain. Besides, the kid who took down Stain wound up being quirkless. Why do they have him in those?”
“Have him in?...Oh! The suppressant braces, yes. Mister Midoriya was actually only quirkless until recently. The trauma from the collapsing building seems to have awakened a dormant quirk, and quite a strong one at that! Quite intriguing, wouldn’t you agree? As part of our arrangement, Midoriya is to wear them outside of your supervision explicitly.”
“So let me get this straight: you decided to take under our custody not just a vigilante, but one with a powerful quirk who has no understanding of how to use it, and then dumped him on me.”
“Correct. I would have handed him off to Vlad, but Midoriya is a little rough around the edges. I think you’d be a much better fit given your quirk and disposition. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he replies, resisting the urge to throw himself through the window.
Just then, the back door opens and in comes the problem child of the hour. Midoriya doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look up to make eye contact through the rear-view as he shuts the door and buckles in. Detective Tsukauchi stoops over in the window next to Nedzu and Shouta rolls down the window pane. Somehow, Tsukauchi looks worse than Shouta feels.
“Thanks for grabbing him. I already got in contact with Mrs. Midoriya over the phone last night,” he chuckles (if you could call it that) and rubs at his eyes. “She’s up-to-date on the situation. Unhappy, obviously, but cooperative. Stopped by the station this morning to talk to him and give him a change of clothes. All you should have to do is stop by his apartment to pick up his things.”
Nedzu smiles. “Thank you Detective, your help is tremendously appreciated.”
“Thank you, but I’ll feel appreciated when the station finally lets me go home. I’ve been here for…thirty-eight hours?”
“We’ve all been working hard,” Shouta says with a nod, “I hope you get some rest, Detective.”
Dipping his head, Tsukauchi straightens up. “You too, Eraser. Midoriya?”
In the back seat, Shouta sees the kid’s eyes flick up briefly to look at the Detective. Tsukauchi sighs.
“I’m sorry it wound up like this. I hope you do well.” Midoriya answers his sentiment with a middle finger. “...I’m going to let you all go now. Good luck.”
The pull away from the precinct in silence until Nedzu breaks it, twisting around in his seat to peek at their escort through the head rest:
“Hello! It’s wonderful to finally meet you face-to-face. I’m Principal Nedzu; we spoke on the phone. And our driver for today is to be your guardian, Aizawa Shouta, codename –”
“Eraserhead,” the kid interrupts. For the first time since he got in, Midoriya looks up. Shouta gets a look of disdainful green eyes in the rear-view.
“Yes!” Nedzu chirps, unfazed. From the corner of his eye Shouta sees the principal’s fur ripple, like an interested predator. He looks at Shouta. “Have you two met before?”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Shouta frowns. He’s pretty sure he’d remember running into a vigilante of the kid’s stature before. He’s had run-ins with a few vigilantes, even worked with some before, but not Midoriya.
“No,” he says, and his tone makes it very clear that he has nothing further to add. It’s a little concerning, and Shouta makes a mental note to drill the kid for answers later. For now, he’s content to get the rest of this job over with.
“You’re positive there isn’t any other option for Izuku?”
Is the first thing Midoriya Inko says when she opens the door to her apartment. Shouta doesn't even get a chance to knock on the door; he stands there with his hand poised to rap against it and instead looks down at the female clone of the problem child that’s sulking behind him.
She’s standing at the foot of the door to the apartment complex in house slippers and a wrinkled t-shirt, and knots her fingers together as she looks at him. Thankfully, Nedzu pipes up.
“I’m afraid not, Midoriya-san. Your son put us in quite a unique situation. I’m afraid this is the best we can do given the circumstances.”
She looks like she’s about to argue, and Shouta really doesn’t have the mental bandwidth for it, so he noses a foot over the threshold of the door and wedges himself inside.
“Where are his things?” He asks, toeing off his shoes.
Midoriya senior gives him a pinched look before stepping out of the door completely. “In his room, down the hall. Second door on the left.”
He’s already moving towards the hall, Midoriya’s voice trailing behind him. “Come in, please. About the circumstances; the detective at the police station tried to explain everything to me, but I’m afraid I still don’t…”
Shouta leaves Nedzu to the mercy of the women, finding the right door and stepping inside. For a teenager’s room, the place is surprisingly barren. There’s a bed, a desk with a few composition books lined on it, and a dresser beneath the single window, but aside from that, it's empty. Some brighter patches on the wall suggest that posters once stuck there, but if ever they did, they’re long gone. Sitting on top of the bed are two suitcases, and Shouta makes a beeline for them. The sooner he retrieves the kid’s things, the sooner he can go to the car to let Nedzu deal with his mother. Normally, he wouldn’t…tactically retreat…in the face of his students’ parents, but he thinks it’s pretty justified given the circumstances.
The kid was all but dumped on him thanks to Nedzu, so excuse Shouta if he doesn’t feel bad about leaving the rat to deal with an unhappy mother.
His plans are thwarted, however, when he grabs the suitcases and feels a shiver run up his spine. Muscle memory kicks in and he whirls, hair rising from his face as he activates his quirk. It’s the kid.
He has a split second to think how the hell did he sneak up on me, but it’s immediately followed up by right. Vigilante.
Shouta drops his quirk.
“You should be with your mother and Nedzu.”
“It’s my room,” the kid says, stepping inside, “Excuse me for not wanting to be present while my mom insists that I’m not ‘suited’ to attend a hero school.” Midoriya walks straight to the desk. He grabs the line of composition books there and turns them so they’re stacked, then looks over at him.
“Bring those over here?”
Shouta doesn’t budge. Like hell he will; he’s not a nanny. When Midoriya realizes that he’s not going to comply, he rolls his eyes, walks over and yanks one of the suitcases from his hands.
Shouta says nothing as the kid zips it open, mutters something under his breath, and starts throwing things onto the floor. Hero merch, specifically. Rolled up posters, blankets, figurines, pins, pens, the whole deal. It’s easy to see the kid has his favorites – there’s merch from many of his colleagues, sure, but the overwhelming majority is of All Might. The kid’s face turns a dark shade of red the more stuff he removes. After a few moments, Midoriya gives up, dumping all the contents onto the floor.
“A fanboy?”
“Not anymore. Mom hasn’t exactly accepted that.” An uncomfortable silence falls over them as Midoriya carefully replaces all the hero merch with the composition books, then zips it closed. He gives the second suitcase a look-through and, when no more merch turns up, closes it and stands up. By now, Shouta has migrated to the door, both ears on the conversation out in the living room and both eyes on Midoriya. He’s curious about the contents of those notebooks, but not enough to actually prod about them. Besides, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t get any kind of satisfying answer from the kid.
His plans for escaping to the car have gone out the window, so he’ll settle for hiding out in the room until Nedzu calls him. It seems that Midoriya has the same idea, because he falls onto the bed. A few tense seconds tick by and he picks absently at his bracelets.
“Stop that.”
Midoriya snorts and plants his hands on either side of him.
Shouta feels his eye twitch. He should say something comforting, maybe, but comfort was never his strong suit.
Nedzu gave him the rundown of the situation the day before, but it’s still hard to believe that the small, petulant kid in front of him is the vigilante that’s been stirring up trouble in Musutafu’s underground for the past year and some change. That this kid took down Stain. While quirkless. Shouta hasn’t had any run-ins with him, personally, seeing as downtown isn’t his jurisdiction. That doesn’t mean Shouta hasn’t heard of him though. As an underground hero, it’s kind of his job to know things. Speaking of.
Given everything he knows, he really should try not to be so…himself. He grimaces at the thought of it. Okay, he can do this. He's been best friends with the living embodiment of sunshine for fifteen years, he has plenty of examples to go by.
Shouta opens his mouth to say something Hizashi-approved, but it comes out like this:
“Not suited for a hero school? Your mother does know you’re the one that caught Stain?”
For a brief moment the constipated look on the kid's face falters, looking genuinely surprised. “You know about that?"
"The idiot you saved was my student. We both had to sign a non-disclosure agreement."
"Oh. Yeah," The look returns again, and bitterness seeps into his tone. "She knows I was in Hosu during the attack. You heroes didn’t want the public to know what really went down, you think they’d tell my mom?”
Shouta sniffs.
They leave shortly after. Shouta isn’t sure what went down between Midoriya senior and Nedzu while he and the problem child had the world’s most awkward staring contest, but when they leave, she doesn’t give them any trouble. There’s tears in her eyes and a warble in her voice, and he fears that they’ll have to separate her from the kid with a crowbar, but they manage to depart without too much trouble.
Midoriya is strangely quiet through all of it, and if Shouta didn’t know any better he’d say that the kid almost looks relieved when they pull away from the apartment building.
…
There’s a distinct air of awkwardness on the rest of the way to UA, and Izuku is content to let his captors stew in it. Call it “vigilante reform”, or whatever fancy name the principal of UA slapped on it in order to be released into their custody, he’s going to call it how it is: he’s their captive.
Their unwanted guest for the next three years, kept close to their chest and monitored for any kind of suspicious activity until they can come up with something better to do with him. It was the only compromise Izuku could find that didn’t end with him serving some kind of prison time. He’s not happy with it, but it’s better than Tartarus.
Aizawa drives them through UAs massive gates, and Izuku does his damndest to squash the little flame of excitement that instinctively leaps to life in his chest at the sight. He may be at UA, but it’s not in the way he would have wanted.
Izuku tears his eyes away from the window to look at the bracelets adorning his wrists. They’re heavy, clunky, uncomfortable, and a permanent accessory for the foreseeable future. He can take them off inside UA, but only under Aizawa’s supervision. He’s not even allowed to handle the key. Putting their distrust of him aside, apparently All Might never thought to inform anyone on how using his quirk even works, only that the users needed to be pretty in-shape to wield it properly. Either way, they don’t want it accidentally going off, and they definitely don’t want him knowing how to use it.
Aizawa pulls them around to the back of what he’s pretty sure is the main building (because wow, UA is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside) to what’s likely the faculty parking lot. Principal Nedzu is the first to hop out, promising to speak with him more once he’s “settled in.”
He hopes that conversation is a long way off. Nedzu is much more intelligent than Tsukauchi or Sir Nighteye, and arranging all of this felt like pulling teeth.
And then he’s alone with Eraserhead.
Looking off into the middle distance, the hero sighs.
“Alright Midoriya. Follow me.”
As if he has a choice. Tightening his grip on the handles of his suitcases, he follows.
He’s led across campus to a set of buildings that look suspiciously like they’ve been thrown up overnight. The landscaping isn’t polished like the rest of the campus appears to be, like the land was only recently bulldozed and built upon. Shrubbery and decorative trees are still leaning against the side of the building, waiting to be planted, and “1A: Alliance” is painted above the arched doorway and he feels dread pool in his stomach. He feels eyes on him and looks down from the sign to find Aizawa looking at him. Unnerved, he hurries up the stairs.
“You teach 1A?” He asks, as Aizawa gets the door unlocked. Aizawa motions for him to step inside ahead of him and he does, tugging his suitcases quickly behind him. It’s pitch-dark inside. Behind him, Aizawa flicks a switch and light floods the room.
Predictably, it’s big. Inside is a sprawling common area, with several couches and armchairs arranged around a massive TV. A little ways in Izuku can see the island of a counter peek around a corner, and further back still is a stairwell and elevator adjacent.
Aizawa clears his throat and Izuku walks further in.
“I do,” he turns to face Izuku, “Is that going to be an issue?”
Fan-freaking-tastic. He swallows back a bark of manic laughter. Instead, he sticks a plastic gin on his face. “Nope.”
There’s a pause, then Aizawa looks away and gestures half-heartedly into the air.
“This entire building belongs to 1A, which while you’re certainly not a part of, as my responsibility to watch all of you, it’s only logical to keep you under the same roof . Due to recent events, UA has decided to make dorm rooms mandatory for students in its hero program. The rest of the class is arriving tomorrow.” Great. That’s one day for him to mentally prepare for that shit storm.
“Consequently, I’ll also be moving in to make sure you brats don’t level the place.” The man sounds incredibly exhausted by that fact. He pauses to level him with a stern glare. “I expect you to behave. I may not be able to expel you, but I have zero tolerance for nonsense.
“This is the ground level. You and I are on the first floor.” He nods to the elevator. “I’m room one, you’re room two. You have a closet and bathroom to yourself. The entire building has cameras both inside and out, barring your rooms and bathrooms. It locks, but I have an override key. Don’t make me use it.”
Izuku scoffs. “What, you’re not even going to attempt to make me feel like I’m not here against my will?”
“You’re not stupid, and I’m not here to coddle you. So no.”
He shrugs; it’s a fair point. “And the rules I’m expected to follow?”
“Don’t leave the building and don’t do anything stupid,” the man says, making his way to the stairs, “I’ll be notified as soon as you do,” he stops in the arch of the stairwell and points to Izuku’s wrists. “Unless it’s to shower, I’m leaving those bracelets on; it’s not up to dispute. Welcome to UA.”
And then he’s alone.
It’s not until Izuku is showered, eaten, and on the bed in his new room that Izuku has a realization:
That was probably the most decent interaction he’s ever had with a teacher.
Notes:
Next chapter has Bakugou :)
Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 5: Old Faces
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
PLEASE READ THE EDIT
We just wanted to say thank you again for all the wonderful feedback! And for your patience :)
Edit: AHHH I almost forgot! For all of you who aren't reading this fic for the first time: I made some pretty big contextual changes to the last chapter last week. I would highly recommend going back to read "Aizawa Shouta," the changes will completely change Izuku's experience at UA for the duration of the fic.
I basically got a little ahead of myself and accidentally ignored some pretty freaking important plot points, and by the time my co-creator caught them, it had already been posted 😅 It's partly why this chapter took an extra week.
Don't worry, something of that scale won't happen again, haha. Anyways --Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mirai watches Midoriya talk into Tsukauchi’s phone from the other side of the one-way mirror and wills himself to calm down. A hot-head was bad in most situations, this one included, and Midoriya Izuku seems to have a talent in making his blood boil. That’s no good – this is his mentor’s legacy they’re dealing with, and the future of the hero world.
Detective Tsukauchi is in there, too, listening in on the conversation with quiet resignation.
They’ve spent the better part of the last four hours trying to get the upper hand on the brat to no avail, and now they’ve been forced to call in on that rat in order to get anywhere. He left the room to keep himself from losing composure – once tonight was enough, and resulted in Midoriya turning the tables on them.
He should go back in to make sure that they don’t screw this up any more than it already is. Much like the man himself, Yagi-san’s friend is far too earnest, too lenient for his own good. He’s about to do just that when Midoriya presses something on the phone screen, then slides it across the table where Tsukauchi grabs it.
Mirai squints when the two exchange words, but it’s no good; he can’t read lips. He doesn’t wonder for long though, because Tsukauchi stands up and, with a tip of his hat, leaves the room. Mirai is on him as soon as the door is closed.
“What was that? You’re done talking with the Principal?” The Detective looks incredibly put upon, but he pays it no mind.
“We are.”
“And?”
Tsuakuchi pulls his collar up defensively and shoves past him. “And nothing. Nedzu agreed a neutral third party would be best. He’s getting everything arranged, and Midoriya will be out of our hands for the time being.”
Mirai turns after him. “I know you don't like this. But it’s our best option for now.”
“Is it though? Personally, I would have been happier if we already had One for All back – oh wait, we did, but that apparently wasn’t enough for you.”
“It shouldn’t have been enough for you. I cannot believe that you were going to agree to his ludicrous terms out of hand.”
“And I can’t believe,” Tsukauchi whirls to face him once more and jabs at his chest with a finger. Mirai slaps it away. “That to you, agreeing to give an innocent kid immunity is ludicrous as opposed to stuffing him in Tartarus indefinitely! And yet, here we are.”
He takes a deep breath. Do not blow up again, Mirai, you owe it to Yagi-san.
“I am willing to admit,” he says slowly, adjusting his glasses, “That my original plan may have been rash.”
“No, really?”
“However I had just witnessed my mentor being murdered on live broadcast–”
“As if the rest of us didn’t–”
“And my emotions were high.” He glares at the Detective, and the man only rolls his eyes. “But it came from a place of good intentions.”
“Oh, did it? Then by all means, enlighten me on your thought process.”
“All for One should have been dead.You thought he was as much as I did. As much as Yagi-san did. Their fight was brutal. They brought down an entire prefecture, and we had our best quirks on the case to make sure that the fight was thought to be the result of a natural disaster.”
“Your point?”
“All Might caved his skull in. Your department ID’d the corpse. You and I both watched them burn the body. But he didn’t die. By all accounts, by all logic, All for One should be the one gone right now, not Yagi-san.
“If he could pull that off, can you really look me in the eyes and tell me that there’s no possibility that Midoriya is a plant? That some time between his arrest following the Stain incident, the League of Villains didn’t get their hands on him? For all we know, this is all part of his plan. We would all be safer with Midoriya in custody until we can know for sure that he’s telling us the truth.
“And don’t try to tell me we know that for certain. He knows how your quirk works; we can’t know for sure that he hasn't also figured out a way to work around it.”
“Yes, but the likelihood of that is incredibly slim.”
“Maybe, but you aren’t looking at the big picture here. Let me put it this way: best case scenario, I made an error and one person suffers for it. Worst case scenario, we hand over immunity to a member of the League of Villains with a head full of state secrets along with the identity of the next One for All user, and we all suffer for it. If you could even call it that– suffering is too light of a word.
“Granting him immunity is too risky. Barring Tartarus, UA is the best place we can put him under surveillance without running the risk of a security breach. If he is as innocent as you think he is, then we have One for All set aside in one of the most secure locations in the country, as well as a vigilante taken off of the streets. However, should my ‘paranoia’ prove warranted, then we have the upper hand on the League.”
Tsukauchi looks pained, and he runs a hand through his hair.
“Why are we having this conversation, Sasaki? What’s done is done.”
“And I understand that,” he takes a breath, “I just– I wanted to explain myself. We’re going to be working together until we get this mess sorted out, and I want you to understand where I’m coming from. Earlier I was being emotional, and I have only made things harder for us. I do not intend on doing so again.
“Plant or not, Midoriya Izuku now holds the last vestiges of Yagi-san. I don’t want to see it rotting in prison, but I also don’t want it under control of that… child. So from here on out, I hope we can work together to find a long-term solution.”
Detective Tsukauchi stares at him for a long time before shaking his head and turning back around to leave the room.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
He’s left with the ringing of the door as it slams .
—
“How was your first night at UA?”
Izuku stares at the Principal perched on the edge of the wide desk in front of him. Nedzu waits patiently for him to respond, taking a sip from the comically-large teacup in his paws. He doesn’t want to admit that it was fine, all things considered, or that the bed they provided was probably the most comfortable he’s ever slept in. Instead, he chooses to ignore the question completely.
“What do you want.”
Nedzu pauses mid-sip, then sets his cup down beside him. The Principal grins, revealing a neat little row of sharp teeth. Izuku wills himself not to flinch.
“Skipping the pleasantries I see. Nothing concerning, I assure you. Your signature is needed to certify your new quirk status.” With that, Principal Nedzu reaches behind him and retrieves a sheet of paper. He holds it out for Izuku, who snatches it quickly.
The paper is thick, almost like cardboard, with a picture of him taken from his online school’s photo ID. Next to it is his name and current address, and where his quirk status would usually say “N/A”, it instead reads something else. The line for his signature is printed at the bottom.
He squints.
“You couldn’t think of a better name than ‘Superpower’?”
Picking up his teacup, Nedzu shrugs. “We couldn’t very well name it One for All. If you would like to change it later on, that’s more than doable.”
He grunts an affirmation and holds out a hand. “Pen?”
Nedzu obliges, and he quickly signs the line. Handing the form back, Izuku stands up from his chair.
“Can I go now?”
“One last thing –” The next thing Nedzu pulls from his desk is a plastic card; he tosses it over and Izuku snatches it from the air on reflex. Turning it over in his hands, Izuku realizes that it’s an ID. His ID.
It’s red, white and blue, the school’s colors, with “Ward of UA” written across the top. In the center is an updated photo of him, one he recognizes from the precinct a few days ago. He snorts. He looks terrible – fresh out of the interrogation room after spending an hour playing verbal tug-of-war with the Detective and Sir Nighteye and three hours on the phone talking with Nedzu. It’s cropped awkwardly, just before his chin (definitely to hide the rude gesture he made as it was taken).
Izuku pockets it and looks expectantly at the Principal.
“That will be all, Midoriya. Do you need assistance finding your way back to the dorms? I can call for Aizawa.”
“I got it, thanks,” he says, waving a hand over his shoulder as he walks to the door. He has no desire to see his new guardian, and he doubts Aizawa wants to see him either. He practically sprinted away once they arrived outside the Principal’s office, probably preoccupied with the task of moving in twenty-odd, freshly-traumatized high schoolers.
Gods, classmates. I really didn’t miss those.
Being schooled online has spoiled him. He never expected to have to deal with bigoted classmates again, and now he’s forcibly attending the premier for big-shot hero students. With Bakugou. Even if they're not classmates, technically.
He wasn’t alone with Nedzu for too long, so maybe if he hurries, he’ll make it back to Heights Alliance before anyone gets there.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, “Four days ago you were a vigilante, you can handle a few teens.” He can do this. This isn’t Aldera, and he’s not quirkless; they have no reason to be hostile.
Bakugou doesn’t need a reason, a traitorous voice whispers. He picks up the pace.
…
Any normal school year, Shouta would have given his left kidney to have a subdued class of first years. They’re always loud and always obnoxious, quick to use their quirks and slow to use their brains. This year, he was lucky enough to have a class full of potential, but that seems to be where his luck ended.
Now, he almost wants his students to be their usual annoying selves. But this is no regular school year, these are unprecedented circumstances, and the Symbol of Peace is no more.
A few of the chatterboxes – Kaminari, Ashido – try to keep up the class’ spirits and obsess over the size of the Heights Alliance, but the overall mood of the class is abysmal.
He goes over the rules, threatening them accordingly, and when his spiel runs dry he braces himself to deliver the last bit of news.
“Before I dismiss you,” Shouta says, feeling pointed exhaustion weighing on him, “I have two more things to announce. One, I will be carrying out your lessons in heroics from now on,” In the back of the pack Kirishima wipes at his eyes quickly, and Bakugou stares blankly at the ground.
If he’s being honest, it’s Bakugou that he’s most reluctant to have back in class. If it were up to him, the kid would be going to mandatory therapy and pulled from the hero course until he’s cleared by Hound Dog, but the kid’s parents were determined to have him back.
He’s been eerily quiet since he arrived with the rest of 1A thirty minutes ago. The part of him that’s a teacher hopes that maybe Midoriya will be good for him. The kid was captured trying to go in to save him, after all– but the part of him that's an experienced pro knows not to put much stock into hope.
“And two, we have someone joining us. He’s not a classmate, let me make that clear. UA has recently adopted a vigilante reform program, and Nedzu has put it upon me to be his guardian for his stay here. Your parents have been informed and agreed to send you back to UA with that in mind."
On queue, a ripple of conversation runs through the class. Some of the spark from pre-Kamino breaks through, their voices running over each other. Even Bakugou and Todoroki look vaguely interested.
“Is that…safe?”
“It has to be, otherwise our parents wouldn’t have agreed to it, kero. ”
“We have a reform program?”
“What mad times have befallen us.”
“Who is it, Sensei?” Iida, in typical form, raises his hand, his voice loud and clear over the rest of them. Shouta meets the kid’s eyes and raises a brow. To his credit, Iida keeps calm. Out of everyone here, he almost certainly knows the ‘who’ in question.
“Yeah, I didn’t even know there were vigilantes our age,” Sero says.
“If it weren’t safe, Nedzu wouldn’t have placed him in our care,” he says, answering the first question. “He is required to wear quirk suppressants for the duration of his stay here. Though he used to be a vigilante, I will have zero tolerance for harassment and childish behavior. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to even interact with him. But try anything stupid and you’ll be expelled. Do I make myself clear?” A murmur of (adequately nervous) affirmatives follow.
“Good. As for who he is, none of you would have heard of him, since as far as I know, he didn’t have a name people called him by. Unlike most vigilantes, he had the sense not to draw unwanted attention to himself. Until recently, obviously.”
He notices a floating uniform wave its sleeve enthusiastically. Hagakure.
“Yes?” Behind them, he sees a blurry figure approach the front door. Perfect timing.
“So what did he do to get caught?”
He huffs. “Ask him yourself.”
The door opens, and all eighteen of his students in his class whip around at once.
…
He opens the door, chest heaving from his brisk flight back to the dorms, and comes face-to-face with around twenty wide-eyed stares. Like a magnet, his eyes are drawn immediately to Bakugou’s.
Well, shit.
For a solid chunk of time, everything seems to stop. In his periphery, he sees Aizawa slip away up the stairs, and he has a split second to think, you hobo bastard, before the moment abruptly ends.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bakugou snarls, his voice cracking. Izuku can’t help it; he flinches on instinct (he doesn’t fully process it, but the rest of 1A looks shocked that he’s spoken at all).
Izuku sucks in a quick breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Hello,” he says, choosing to ignore him, “I’m Midoriya. I don’t want to be here anymore than you probably want me to. I’ll keep to myself if you keep to yours.” He stops, then adds as an afterthought, “Thanks for having me.” It’s then that he notices a second familiar face. Aizawa’s “idiot student” he saved back in Hosu.
What was his name? Ii-something? He vaguely remembers the kid wearing some kind of Ingenium getup. Oh God, does he recognize him? He did lose his surgical mask during the fight, but he had charcoal in his hair and that alley was really dark at the time. But judging by the star-struck expression on his face, he almost certainly does. He really hopes he doesn’t say anything. That would be weird. And probably illegal. And Izuku really, really doesn't want to give Sir Nighteye any more fuel to the raging dumpster fire that is his current situation.
Not wanting to be gawked at any longer, he dips his head and makes a beeline for the stairs. Maybe if he moves fast enough, he can use their stunned silence to avoid –
He smells Bakugou’s quirk before he sees it.
Izuku twists his body away from the oncoming assault before he can even touch him. The smell of sickly-sweet caramel fills the air and it makes his stomach churn. Oddly enough, it isn’t followed by an explosion.
He spins to face Bakugou, because like hell does he want his back to him, legs tensed and ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
Bakugou looks more shocked than angry that he doesn’t currently have Izuku’s shirt bunched in his fist, and smoke curls form his palms.
There’s an outcry as the rest of 1A reacts, but it’s a red-haired kid and the Ingenium guy that run up to restrain him.
“Dude! What are you doing? Did you not hear Aizawa like the rest of us?”
“Exactly! It doesn’t matter if he was once a vigilante; he is a guest here! You would do best to get a hold of yourself –”
“Stuff it Shitty Hair, Four-eyes,” Bakugou spits, ripping himself free from them. They relent, but hover nervously close in case he were to attack again. It’s unnecessary. Bakugou is angry – furious, even – but something is clearly wrong with him.
He’s trembling, and when he speaks there’s a tremor to his voice that Izuku’s never heard before. And it’s wrong, because Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t shake. Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t ever look like he’s on the verge of tears. And yet here he is, and Izuku knows that his ex-childhood friend couldn’t touch him if he tried.
“Don’t you – don’t fucking ignore me, Deku. How the fuck are you a vigilante? Why are you in quirk suppressants? Is this some kind of fucking joke??”
Around them, the class and the two who ran up are saying something – saying a lot of things, really – and maybe they’re trying to talk Bakugou down, or maybe they’re apologizing for his behavior, or maybe they’re asking the same questions, but Izuku doesn’t hear anything they say at all.
He looks into his old tormentor’s wild eyes, watches the way his chest heaves unhealthily, sees his teeth bared in spit-soaked snarl, and everything else turns to static.
Izuku’s mouth moves of its own accord, twisted in a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He bares his own teeth, and it’s Bakugou who flinches.
“Fuck off.”
This time when he heads up the stairs, nobody tries to stop him.
Notes:
Next chapter should be out in only 1 week this time
Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 6: Day One
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Hi, I'm alive. Barely, but alive lol
Sorry for the big pause. Life got...lifey. Is continuing to be lifey. Not sure what the future update schedule is going to be, but I wanted to get this one out since it's been so long, even if it isn't a Friday. Thank you for your patience, we really appreciate it <3This chapter has been beta'd by Maryliz2121
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He makes it to his door before he hears it; Bakugou thundering furiously up the stairs. Well, Bakugou and someone else, if the pursuing footsteps and protests are anything to go by.
Izuku gets the door to his room halfway closed when there’s a soft click of the door next to his opening, and the commotion behind him comes to an abrupt stop. He pauses, peeking out just enough to glare out into the hallway.
On the first floor landing is Bakugou, the two from before, and a handful of other students he didn’t really stop to look at before, the latter looking like a bunch of deer in headlights and the former grinding his teeth angrily.
Izuku’s eyes flick to follow their line of sight and is surprised to see none other than Aizawa standing in his doorway, arms folded and glaring something foul.
“What did I just get finished saying?” The man asks, his monotone making his students flinch. Well, save for Bakugou, who just clicks his tongue.
“Sensei, we were just–” The kid with the red hair starts.
“Blatantly ignoring what I warned you against? With the threat of expulsion?” That one elicits a cringe from Bakugou, and isn’t that nice? “I don’t care what you were ‘just’. Unless it was to check out your rooms or ask me a question, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Yes Sensei,” they all say, at varying levels of fear. Even Bakugou, who’s eyes flick to his before looking to the ground. To his mortification, Aizawa catches this.
The mob of students retreat, tails tucked between their legs, and Izuku ducks entirely behind his door in the hopes of writing off the past five minutes as a decent success and –
“Midoriya.”
Cursing under his breath, he opens the door to reveal Aizawa looking at him with an inscrutable expression.
“What?”
“You have a history with Bakugou.” Izuku feels his eye twitch. “I don’t care for it, and I don’t particularly want to be enlightened. I just need to know that it’s not going to cause a problem.”
It takes everything in him not to scoff. Instead, he grips the door in one hand and levels Aizawa with a stare.
“If anyone is going to cause a problem, it’s him.”
He slams the door closed, and when the sound of footsteps retreating to the other room comes muffled through the wall, followed by the shut of a door, Izuku breaks.
Shaking, he slides down the door and hits the floor heavily, his heart beating staccato in his chest.
“Damn it,” he bites, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes where tears threaten to burst. The cool metal of the cuffs press into his cheeks. “I won’t let you get to me. I won’t. ” Sucking in deep gulps of air, he pulls his hands away and grimaces at the way they shake. Shit.
Apparently no amount of vigilante work or grandstanding can stop his body from reacting the way a decade of bullying has trained it to. He’s just grateful he was able to keep it together for as long as he did.
It helped that Bakugou was clearly off as well, but that doesn’t stop frustration at himself from bubbling up his throat. Izuku rises unsteadily to his feet, a hand braced on the door behind him, and looks around the room. It’s bare aside from the desk, the dresser and his bed. What little clothes his mom packed him are already stashed away, and without his old fanboy merch, the only thing to indicate that it’s even occupied is the row of composition notebooks lining the desk along with his phone.
Technically there’s nothing stopping him from wandering around Heights Alliance, but the downstairs full of curious, star-struck, or hostile hero students has him reluctant to leave the room. He’ll leave the room later, to stretch his legs or sneak food when the rest of 1-A is asleep, but for now he’ll just have to bide his time.
He falls in the desk chair and reaches for his phone. There’s a dozen or so texts from his Mom – cringing, he turns off the screen and tosses it behind him. Instead, he reaches for a random volume of “Hero Analysis for the Future” and cracks it open; if he can’t exercise his limbs, he might as well exercise his mind.
…
Somewhere in Tokyo, in the gutted-out shell of a condemned apartment building, Tomura watches with increasing ire as half of his remaining team bicker about who has dibs on the couch Compress somehow got his hands on that night. It’s hideous, covered in faded green cloth with holes and exposed springs, and it’s almost definitely infested with something.
Still, Twice and Toga fight over it like it’s the last cookie in the cookie jar while Dabi looks on disdainfully.
Magne and Compress gave up trying to reason with either of them a while ago, and have retreated to the small section of the living room they’ve lined with makeshift sleeping pallets. Apparently he also got his hands on a handheld radio on his outing, because they have it set on the floor between them. It was interesting listening to the masses cry over their beloved idol for the first hour, but almost a full day later and he was ready to dust the damn thing along with the couch.
Tired of listening to them, he goes to reach for his handheld in his hoodie and scowls when his hand meets nothing. It’s not there – of course it isn’t, he left it on the bar right before All Might and his stooges broke in and ruined everything.
Tomura curses under his breath and rises from the ground to stomp over to the balcony door. He gets halfway there before Dabi’s raspy voice calls after him:
“Where’re you going, Dusty?”
“Out. To get some peace and quiet before I kill them,” he says, cutting the duo in danger a look. They don’t even pause; if anything, they get louder. Toga is waving a knife around, and Twice spews a string of curse words while raising his hands defensively, and Tomura rolls his eyes before wrenching the door open.
It smells like garbage outside. Hot garbage, thanks to the heat of the summer. The smell wafts up from the narrow street below, and he has a lovely view of the brick siding of the building adjacent. Whatever; it’s better than watching the shit show inside and ignoring the doubtful eyes of his subordinates looking for instruction.
He’s not stupid – he knows they’re questioning him, their loyalty to the League of Villains. All Might is dead, but Sensei is gone, along with all their funding. Having the number one nuisance out of the way was great and all, but Tomura knows that without support, his team is likely to break apart. The big boss is cleared, but the game is hardly over. They need money to level up so they can progress to the next level, start the next mission. And they have that, he knows it, they’re just waiting on that useless doctor –
He leans one arm against the rusty railing of the balcony and scratches at his neck idly.
Where the fuck is Kurogiri?
Almost on queue, the sharp taste of ozone saturates the air, and he feels his ears pop. The space beside him warps, and then Kurogiri’s purple mist makes an appearance. Ghostly yellow eyes look down at him as his form solidifies, and Kurogiri steps into existence.
“Shigaraki Tomura,” he says, bowing, “I’m back from my rendezvous with Dr. Garaki. I apologize for the delay.”
“It’s been two days, Kurogiri. That’s a bit longer than a delay.”
“The doctor is willing to hold an audience with you, but I am afraid that such a meeting comes with a catch.”
“A catch?” Anger flashes through his body and he bares down on the railing with all five fingers. It wasn’t much to begin with, but now it disintegrates fully. Swearing, he steps away from the edge. “What fucking catch? I’m Sensei’s successor, he’s supposed to listen to me now.”
“Dr. Garaki’s loyalty has always been to All for One, Shigaraki Tomura, and All for One is not dead yet. If you want his support, you must first prove to him that you are capable of succeeding on your own.”
Tomura’s scratching ramps up, skin flaking beneath the onslaught. “How does he expect me to succeed without any funds?? I can’t feed a team on expectations!”
“I argued similarly,” his warp gate says, eyes squinting, “I believe his wording was ‘if Sensei saw something worthwhile in him, he’ll figure something out.’”
“Augh!!” He lashes out at the wall this time, but his touch is expertly diverted by a warp gate. His hand pops out in front of a dumpster down below, decaying it to dust in a handful of seconds.
The door slides open, revealing an unamused Dabi. He dips his head in Kurogiri’s direction before locking onto Tomura.
“See our messenger is back. Any news? We gettin’ outta this shithole anytime soon?”
Clicking his tongue, Tomura yanks back his hand. He’s going to yell at him to get back inside, when he hears some news anchor’s voice from inside:
“....an Endeavor fill the hole that All Might has left in his wake? Now more than ever, the country needs a stable pillar in these tumultuous times.”
Tomura pauses. Cocks his head to the side as a toothy grin splits his face. Ignoring Dabi completely, he looks to Kurogiri.
“He wants proof I’m competent? Fine. I’ll show that bastard ‘competent.’”
…
The sun has long dipped past the horizon when Izuku deems it safe to go outside his room.
He’s pretty sure he heard his unwanted roommates bustle to their rooms about an hour ago and there hasn’t been any noise since, so he should be good to sneak down to the kitchen to grab food.
Was it good to skip eating all day? No. Realistically, is he going to be able to avoid the whole of 1A for the duration of his stay here? Also no, but he’s going to keep it up for as long as possible. Especially after the shit show that was this morning.
He peeks out of his door before emerging completely. It’s dark in the building; something about the lights being on a timer.
Izuku leads the way with light of his phone, stepping lightly and with his eyes glued to the door to Eraserhead’s room as he makes his way to the stairs. He makes it downstairs, takes a step past the couch –
“Midoriya!”
His body moves on instinct, fist lashing out and catching someone squarely in the chest. The hit lands with a hollow thud; the stranger grunts painfully and falls flat on their back.
Izuku quickly shines his phone down and doesn’t stifle his groan. It’s the Hosu guy.
“I’d say my bad, but you really should have seen that coming.”
Hosu guy grunts and props himself up on the heels of his hands, wincing.
“I suppose I should have. It was unwise of me to ambush you like that, I apologize.”
He sounds like he means it, and Izuku feels guilty enough to reach out hand; he immediately regrets it, because the guy’s face lights up like a torch. He takes his offered hand and heaves himself up. Then he straightens his glasses and bows sharply at the waist, so abruptly that Izuku fears he might fall over again.
“Again, I apologize!” He tries to whisper, but it sounds awfully loud in the space of the empty common room. “I wanted to speak with you, and I figured you would wait for the others to retire before coming down, so I waited.”
Not weird at all.
“Okay?” Izuku shifts anxiously. He has a feeling he knows what he wants to talk about, and he’d really rather not, thank you very much. However, he gets the feeling that he won’t leave him alone until he gets whatever it is off of his chest. Sighing in defeat, Izuku looks past him towards the stairs. “Talk, then. But could you be a little quiet about it? Not wanting to deal with your class still stands.”
“Of course,” he straightens up, face serious, “Firstly, I wished to introduce myself. My name is Iida Tenya, hero name In– ah, yet to be determined. Secondly,” he bows again, “I wanted to thank you. I don’t know if you remember me, but you saved my life and avenged my brother back during the Hosu disaster. I wasn’t able to before.”
“Iida, right,” he says, shuffling closer to the stairs. Maybe while he’s bowing he can make a swift escape. No food tonight, but he’ll live. “I remember you. It’s uh, no big deal, I did whatever anyone else would have don–”
“But it is a big deal!” Iida jolts upright, and Izuku cringes at the volume. Iida slaps a hand over his mouth, then lowers it and whispers with intensity, “It is. I would have died. Native would have died, too, because I was too angry to be the hero he needed. But you saved us. You were that hero – more than that, the only hero who could manage to defeat that villain.”
Izuku has one foot on the landing and one hand on the rail, but Iida’s words stop him in his tracks. Something heavy rolls in his chest, thickens in his throat. The cuffs on his wrists feel like barbells.
“Thanks,” he says, the word sticking in his throat. He huffs a laugh to clear it, “You’re probably the only one who thinks that.”
“But you are! I must insist. The news called you a vigilante at best, and a villain at worst, but no villain would have acted so selflessly. And against the Hero Killer no less–”
“Is this going anywhere?” Izuku says, gripping the railing. The strange feelings are only growing heavier, growing thicker, and he can feel heat prickling behind his eyes. He’d really rather not do this right now, rather not (finally) be called a hero while there’s shackles on his wrists.
“No, ah, I suppose it wasn’t? I just felt the need too –”
He takes a step. “Then I’m going to sleep.”
“Midoriya, wait!”
Exhausted, Izuku looks over his shoulder.
“What?”
“You’re not going to eat?”
“No,” he says, just in time for his stomach to make a strangled noise. He feels heat rush to his face and he turns away, “G’night.” Izuku bolts up the stairs before Iida can get another word out.
Izuku makes it to his room without further incident, curls up in his bed, and wrestles back the confusing emotions swimming in his chest. He falls asleep like that.
Morning comes and he feels even more like shit – a shower helps, but the water pinging off the quirk suppressants sounds like defeat. He dries off, dresses in his starchy UA uniform, and spends the next thirty minutes staring at the newest wave of messages from his mom. Outside his door he can hear the rest of the building waking up, the chatter of hero students and their parade down the hall. Then there’s a sharp knock at his door, and Eraserhead’s gruff voice ordering him to open up.
Aizawa’s holding a plastic plate of something. It smells delicious, and Izuku pointedly ignores the sound his stomach makes when it hits his nose.
“Your tie looks awful,” the hero says, then shoves the plate in his hands, “Iida saved a plate for you. Next time make it to breakfast with everyone else, or you won’t eat at all. There’s no food allowed in class, so finish it on the way. Follow me.”
Izuku doesn’t need to be told twice – he has half the food down his gullet before they even step out of the elevator, and he tosses the paper plate in a trashcan they pass on the way to 1A. Making a mental note to thank Iida when he can – because Izuku will give credit where credit's due – he walks dutifully after the hero.
He feels marginally less terrible by the time they make it to 1A’s homeroom, but he stops just in front of the threshold when Eraserhead steps through.
The door to 1A is huge (like everything else at this school) and the sounds of the class within can be heard from the hallway. Rubbing absently at his cuffs, he feels anxiety creep up on him, sharp as the night in Kamino.
UA is leaps and bounds better than Tartarus, but the thought of facing Bakugou after yesterday makes him nauseous. Will he cause another scene? Probably not in front of Eraserhead (the teachers actually seem to be a deterrent, here), but he’d bet money the jerk would find a way. There are three things guaranteed in this world: death, taxes, and Bakugou finding a way to be an asshole.
He stands there until he catches Aizawa giving him the stink eye, and he thinks fuck it before stepping inside.
The reaction is instant; an awkward silence falls over the classroom. Eighteen pairs of eyes lock onto him, and Izuku realizes with mounting despair that the only two free desks are behind Bakugou.
Bakugou seems to notice this at the same time, and he bares his teeth in a grimace, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.
“Class is starting,” Aizawa says, “Pick a seat.”
Doing his best to ignore the eyes on him, Izuku hurries to the back. He takes the furthest seat back from Bakugou, in front of a girl with a black ponytail.
He gets situated just in time for the tardy bell to ring, and Aizawa takes attendance. Izuku tunes it out, realizing for the first time that he doesn’t have any supplies – no backpack, no textbooks, not even a pen or paper.
What exactly do they expect me to do? Am I just supposed to sit here for the next three years? Did Eraserhead just forget to give me school supplies? I know they’d rather have me in jail, but if they’re gonna put me under UA house arrest, I might as well get to continue my education –
“Shut the fuck up, Deku,” Bakugou hisses under his breath.
Fear flares up in his chest, a reflex from a decade of harassment, but it’s replaced quickly by annoyance.
“I’m sorry, am I bothering you, Bakugou?” He whispers back.
In front of him, Bakugou twitches and turns to look over his shoulder.
“You fucking –”
“Is there a problem, you two?”
Bakugou whips around. Eraserhead is leaning against the podium, glaring heavily at them over his perch, and Izuku is suddenly made very aware of the tension in the room. It’s awfully silent, with all of them seeming to hold their breath – Izuku opens his mouth to say ‘no’, but of course Bakugou opens his mouth.
“Actually,” he answers, and Izuku feels his soul leaving his body. Bakugou shoves up from his desk, “Yea, there is. This fucker has been quirkless his whole goddamned life, what bullshit did he spew to convince you he’s a vigilante?”
Izuku goes rigid. Even worse than before, he feels attention settle over him in an unwanted shroud. He’s pretty sure he hears voices whispering around him, pretty sure he Aizawa is saying something back to Bakugou, but it mostly goes to static. His limbs move on their own; one moment he’s sitting, the next he’s up, chair falling to the ground with a clatter at his side.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” The words fly from his mouth before he can stop them. “Blessed with the perfect quirk for a hero, admired by anyone and everyone, and all this time you still feel the need to put me down. It’s embarrassing. Would you mind your own business for once, just once, in your life?” He looks at Eraserhead.
“There is a problem. If I have to sit near him for the rest of the year, he’s not going to stop harassing me. Can I swap seats with someone, please?”
His heart pounds in his chest, louder than anything. Bakugou, for once, is shocked silent, crimson eyes as wide as bowls. For a moment, he thinks that Aizawa is going to tell him to sit down, or worse, send him to Nedzu. But the hero surprises him, sighing and rubbing at his eyes.
“Fine. Satou.” A huge kid with short, spiky hair startled in his seat.
“Y-yes, Sensei?”
“Swap seats with Midoriya. And Bakugou, quirkist remarks will not be tolerated on this campus. Need I ask you to leave?” Bakugou goes red, and his palms crackle dangerously with his explosions, but Aizawa doesn’t look phased. Actually, his eyes go red with his quirk and his hair starts to float, and Bakugou’s explosions are quickly extinguished.
“I see. I shouldn’t have asked. Straight to the Principal’s office, now. You know quirk usage is prohibited outside of training.”
Izuku watches, bewildered, and Bakugou looks just as lost. He sputters a protest, but it dies on his tongue when Aizawa’s stern expression doesn’t waver. Seething, he looks from Aizawa to Midoriya, then once at his classmates, before violently shoving his things in his bag and tearing out of the room.
Izuku just watches, mystified, until someone clears their throat behind him. It’s the big student, Satou, apparently, and Izuku scrambles to move out of the way to change seats.
His new spot is only four desks away from where he was before, but the space already has him feeling less strangled. He sits down shakily, shocked by how well that went, and breathes a sigh of relief when homeroom picks back up.
That interaction is definitely going to come back to bite him in the ass later, but at the very least he knows that Eraserhead isn’t a complete jerk.
The relief is short-lived, however, when he remembers that the entirety of 1A just witnessed that and now thinks he’s either quirkless or a liar. It’s only made worse when he feels another set of eyes on him, closer now, and looks to his left to see the son of the now Number One hero, Todoroki Shouto.
Notes:
Sorry again for the wait! Hopefully the next one will be out a lot sooner. I have a bunch of scenes written out, it's just a matter of getting from point A to point B, haha
Also...should I add a Bakugou/consequences tag? I didn't intend to, but I feel like it's going in that direction
Thanks so much for reading!!
Chapter 7: Gym Gamma
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Hi y'all! This chapter is on the shorter side, but it's more of a transition/relationship-starter. We get further into cannon with the next one! Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and support in the last chapter <3 You're all so kind ;-;
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Todoroki Shouto.
Izuku doesn’t know much about him, except for what he saw at this year’s Sport’s Festival. And what he saw was impressive – Todoroki has incredibly fine control over the ice he produces, and uses it to devastating effect. Despite his bitterness towards UA, it was a given that he’d watch the Festival; he had for years, and being spiteful didn’t stop quirks from being interesting. He has a whole two pages dedicated to Todoroki in one of his notebooks, full of speculations and weaknesses and ways he could apply his quirk for rescue and combat, as well as a full half-page rant about why it’s stupid he doesn’t appear to use the left half of his quirk.
He has his suspicions for Todoroki’s aversion to it, given the fact that his father has historically been known for being a dick, and the gnarly burn scar on Todoroki’s face. It wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together, but that doesn’t stop Todoroki’s stubbornness from being incredibly dumb.
Still, just half of the guy’s quirk is stronger than most pro hero’s, so Izuku doesn’t have that much room to judge.
He’s shown he has a mind for critical thinking, versatile quirk use, killer instincts, and has been personally trained by Endeavor.
And he’s looking right at him.
Obviously, unabashedly, and inscrutably at Izuku.
Why, why, finally, were so many people interested in him? A year ago he would have been ecstatic to be noticed by anyone, but now more than ever, he just wants to be the plain, readily-ignored quirkless kid that he’s always been dismissed as.
Todoroki stares at him, and Izuku keeps his look squarely forward, tuning in to whatever Eraserhead is saying to the rest of the class:
“...Despite the events of the last two weeks, UA does not see fit for you all to slow down in your training. In fact, we’ll be accelerating it. The rest of your break will be used to prepare for your Provisional License Exam. Should you all pass, you’ll be going into internships at the start of second term. For the next week, we will be working on super moves in Gym Gamma.”
Super moves? For the Provisional License Exam? Already? Those usually were pushed back until second year. UA must be more desperate to pump out heroes, now that All Might is gone.
Nervous, excited chatter bubbles up around the class. With it, the attention on Izuku slowly pulls away and it feels like he can breathe again. Well, most of it.
Izuku can still feel Todoroki’s eyes on him even as Aizawa directs them out of the class. Anxious, he waits until the class files out in front of him to rise from his desk and follow them out. He walks at the back of the cluster of excited students, and tries to look away from the distinctive head of red-and-white hair just in front of him.
Eraserhead tells Izuku to stay at his side while the rest of 1A funnels into the changing rooms. That’s more than okay with him; he was planning on doing so anyways.
Izuku picks quietly at his cuffs while Aizawa stands with his nose buried in his scarf, mind running a mile-a-minute. He might dislike them, but he can’t deny that getting to see so many quirks in action will be interesting. He’ll definitely have to bring a notebook with him tomorrow, but for now he’ll just observe as much as he can so he can jot it all down later –
Next to him, Aizawa heaves a massive sigh.
“I said that I didn’t want to know, and I still don’t,” he starts, and Izuku goes still, “But now, it would be illogical to move forward without a better grasp on the situation at hand. What is your relationship with Bakugou?”
Izuku trains himself not to cringe. Keeping a level voice, he turns and looks up at the hero.
“We grew up together.”
Aizawa sniffs. “Clearly. I knew that already, problem child. I thought you’d be on at least decent terms, considering you’re in this situation because of him.”
This time, Izuku can’t help but flinch as if slapped.
“In fact, I’d hoped that an old friend might pull him out of his funk. And it has, but obviously not by any productive means. So try again.”
Embarrassment and frustration, hot and choking, boils up inside him. Izuku flexes his fingers and turns his face to the ground. His words come out quiet and harsh.
“I thought you were supposed to be good at deduction. What do you think our relationship is? I’m a quirkless freak, and he’s the next All Might. We were friends, once. Now he hates me. I couldn’t tell you why.”
Aizawa hums. “You tried to rescue him, though.”
“That’s what heroes do.”
“You’re not a hero.”
Izuku jerks his head up. “Tell that to the people I’ve saved.” Several seconds tick by, Izuku matching the hero’s unwavering stare.
"You've done good, I won't deny you that, but you're still not a hero," with a tilt of his head, he points towards the changing rooms, "And neither are they. Not yet. You're still children, and good intentions or not, you had no business being there. Though let me make one thing blatantly clear: all that has nothing to do with your past quirklessness."
He’d been gearing up for a scathing response, but it all goes poof when Aizawa says that. Blank. He's horrified to feel a stinging at the corners of his eyes. Thankfully, Aizawa either doesn't point it out or doesn't notice (it's almost certainly the former).
"You messed up, majorly. You couldn't rescue Bakugou. You couldn't rescue yourself. All Might did, and even he was barely enough. That's why you're here. Because you're not a hero; you're a kid playing at being one. Everyone in this program is. You need training and direction before you can be anything else."
"T-that's not fair," he croaks, hating the tremble in his words, "You say it has nothing to do with my quirk status, but I tried to get t-training. I applied, and your school rejected me for that very r-reason."
Aizawa looks unimpressed. "Life isn't fair, kid. Of course you got rejected from the Hero Program. Good hero candidates slip through the cracks all the time because of this school's illogical quirk requirements. That doesn't give you an excuse to take matters into your own hands. This may be a bogus reform program, but if you leave here learning anything, it needs to be that.
"At any rate, I get why you and Bakugou can't get along. He was quirkist towards you."
A caustic laugh rips from his throat; Bakugou was a lot more than quirkist towards him, but whatever. He's more stuck on what Eraserhead said.
Sure, life isn't fair. He knows that. More than anyone else, he knows that. Aizawa may have a point, but he doesn't get to stand there and tell Izuku that his circumstances are a product of poor luck.
He's been ignored, spat on, pitied or handled with gloves by everyone he's ever known because of his quirklessness. It's not a matter of 'illogical quirk requirements' – it's a matter of social prejudice. In the eyes of UA, Izuku never had a leg in the race to begin with.
And he wants to point that out, but he knows it'll fall on deaf ears. Aizawa doesn't care what he thinks, not really. He's made that abundantly clear. Whatever this conversation is, it's not one he's having out of the goodness of his heart.
It's out of obligation for his job as a teacher.
It's frustrating, but it's also a decency that Izuku has yet to be afforded, and so instead of blowing up, he grits his teeth and keeps his temper in check.
“Yeah, sure.”
Aizawa scratches at his stubble. “That kind of attitude is disgraceful for anyone to have, even more so for a hero in training. It won’t be a problem any longer. I should have addressed his aggression sooner, but I didn’t know the scope of the issue. I’ll speak with him separately, but let me know if this continues to be an issue.”
And then Aizawa shifts his attention to the students now trickling out from the changing rooms in their gym uniforms and walks away like nothing happened.
He’s always been fascinated with quirks – his current predicament hasn’t changed that at all – and 1A is chock full of some really interesting ones.
Aizawa banished him to the far side of the wall, but the Gym Gamma is so large that Izuku can watch all of the hero students without needing to get close. And they really are incredible. Even the ones that didn’t make it far into the Sports Festival have interesting quirks.
Itching for his notebook and pencils, Izuku watches a girl with a frog mutation deftly bob and weave around an onslaught of attacks from Ectoplasm clones. A little ways away, a boy with an abdominal laser tests out an interesting piece of support gear. He sees some familiar quirks as well; the kid with a bird head and his sentient shadow, Iida’s engines and the guy with the red hair that stopped Bakugou before.
Boom
Speak of the devil.
More explosions ring out in the gym as Bakugou lets loose a volley of explosions. They obliterate a chunk of the pillar he’s practicing on, and Izuku watches with reluctant interest as it crashes to the ground. Luckily, there’s no one around the area of impact. There’s a short lull as the rest of 1A throw him uneasy glances, but a harsh bark from their teacher to get back to work gets them moving again. Sneering, Bakugou pops off firecrackers in his palms and releases an explosion loud enough to make him wince. He doesn’t, however, yell – not even his signature “die”. Aside from the blast of his quirk, Bakugou has been weirdly quiet since trudging into Gym Gamma thirty minutes ago.
Aizawa had stopped him as he’d walked inside, dragging him over to the entrance with a stern face and undoubtedly harsh words until waving him off with an unimpressed stare. Bakugou had locked eyes with Izuku as he walked away, face burning an angry red, but he hadn’t said so much as a word since.
Hopefully that’s a good thing.
Boom
He scoffs. "Yea, and maybe Sir Nighteye will let me go."
Training ends a couple hours later.
Aizawa dismisses them for the day and slowly 1A filters out of Gym Gamma, moaning and groaning about overused quirks. Izuku discrete falls into step once more at the back of the pack. He makes it exactly two steps away from the group when there’s a voice just behind him.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“The dorms?” He says, looking behind him.
Aizawa squints. “You’ll go to the cafe to eat with the rest of 1A. Other faculty members are stationed there, so I can get some time to myself.”
“Fine.” If the cafe is anything like the rest of this school, it’ll be ridiculously big and he can find a table far enough away from the rest of them. It’s when he stalks off that he notices a dozen curious faces looking on at the interaction. They quickly look away; all except Todoroki, who blinks owlishly at him before ambling on.
He sighs. It’s been exactly one day, and he’s already exhausted.
Thankfully, the cafeteria is just as large as he anticipated. Izuku collects his food quickly – curry rice and miso – and shuffles off to a lonely table to marvel at Lunch Rush’s mysterious quirk.
His isolation is ruined when a tray clacks down on the table in front of him. Looking up, his nerves kick into high gear when he catches the mismatched gaze of Todoroki. He pauses with his spoon half-raised to his lips. Todoroki says nothing, doesn’t bat an eye – he simply plops down into the seat across from him and quietly digs into his food.
Slowly, Izuku sets his spoon back in his bowl, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When nothing happens, he looks around for the rest of 1A to see if this is some kind of elaborate joke. Still nothing.
Izuku clears his throat. Todoroki looks up from his plate of noodles and tilts his head.
“What um, what are you doing?”
“Eating,” Todoroki answers obviously, but there’s no sarcasm to it. He states it without inflection, and Izuku can’t tell if he’s messing with him or not.
“I can see that,” he says, mouth twitching, “But what are you doing?”
“Eating…lunch?”
“No shit.” Slapping a hand to his mouth, Izuku goes rigid when Todoroki pauses and calmly sets down his chopsticks. He didn’t mean to say that, but he’s so thrown off that the words flew from his mouth before he could censor himself.
He expects anger or disgust, but he gets neither. Instead, Todoroki purses his lips together with a thoughtful look before saying:
“I’m confused, what answer are you looking for?”
Izuku blinks. “Why are you sitting with me, Todoroki?”
"Because you don't want to be here."
"Really?" He can’t help the slightly manic laugh the bubbles to his throat. "What makes you think that?"
Todoroki, thankfully, doesn't look at all phased. He levels Izuku with an inscrutable look and shrugs.
"Lucky guess?"
This time when he laughs, it's genuine. Todorki remains impassive, and his gaze slides behind him, to the cafeteria beyond. He continues as if Izuku didn't just laugh at him.
"The rest of the class really wants to talk to you. You're all they've been talking about. It's exhausting." He guides a mouthful of soba to his lips and slurps noisily.
Izuku only stares, rudeness be damned -- Todoroki obviously doesn't care.
"...So why sit with me, if I'm so exhausting?"
"They are, not you. I want peace and quiet. They're too afraid to approach you. You're basically classmate-repellent."
Izuku feels like he should be offended, but the way Todorki says it so plainly, so matter-of-factly, he just isn't.
The hero student tilts his head, brow furrowing. It reminds Izuku vaguely of a dog. "Unless you'd rather I leave?"
"No, I. Uh," Izuku stutters, "I don't really -- you can stay." He leans forward. "But seriously, you really don't have any questions? Like if I was actually quirkless, or how I know Bakugou?"
Todoroki takes a minute to respond. Izuku fidgets nervously at his wrists while he finishes chewing. Then,
"Would you ask how I got my scar?"
The question throws him for a loop. Reflexively, his eyes fly to the burned patch of skin on his left side, to the angry red around a spot of bright azure. He looks away just as quickly, oddly embarrassed.
"No."
Todoroki nods. "Then I won't ask you."
Notes:
I love awkward Todoroki, I'm so excited to write more of him ^^ Thank you so much for reading <3
Chapter 8: Exam-Bound
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Enjoy~
Edit 12/3/22: Reviewed and edited by Maryliz2121
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They finish lunch in relative silence after that, but Izuku decides that if Todoroki is being truthful, then that’s not his problem. And it really doesn’t seem to be. Weary, he occasionally looks up from his plate to see if Todoroki is fidgety, or regretting his choice, or, worse, staring at him again. He’s not.
The bell rings to signal the end of lunch, and Izuku all but flies from his seat to toss his tray and get out of there. Beating the crowd, he opts to stand just outside the cafeteria doors to wait for the rest of 1A to funnel out, making himself small so as to divert attention from any other unwanted attention.
The universe must be finished throwing him curveballs today, because he makes it back to the dorms without any further incident. Ignoring the attention on him as he hurries through the common room, Izuku books it to the stairs back to his room. Only once the door is locked securely behind him does he let himself relax, falling into his desk with a sigh.
Almost on queue, his phone goes off.
Nevermind, universe.
He doesn’t have to look to know who it is – sucking in a breath through his teeth, he answers the call.
“Hey, mom.”
“Izuku!”
Cringing, he pulls the phone away from his ear when his mom’s voice comes booming through the receiver. He hits ‘speaker’ and sets it down on the desk.
“How are you doing? Are they treating you well? Have you been eating, sleeping? Why haven’t you answered any of my texts, you’re worrying your mother to death!”
Ignoring the stab of guilt, he sighs, “I’m fine, mom. They’re treating me fine. I have food, and my own room, just like Nedzu promised. I just…haven’t been checking my phone.”
“Do they take it away from you? Are you only allowed a small amount of time to use it? I know it’s not…not prison, right? Confiscating your phone was not in the agreement. Do I need to call your parol –”
“No,” he cuts in before she can start. He already regrets answering her, “I just haven’t checked. Really. Besides, even if that was the case, you couldn’t do anything about it. I’m technically a criminal, remember?”
There’s a long pause on her end.
“ I don’t think you should be there. You didn’t break any laws.”
He closes his eyes. “It was my third strike,” he rehearses, like Nedzu told him, like they agreed upon, “They couldn’t just let me go home like nothing happened.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not like you could actually do anything –” he grits his teeth, “That’s why they let you go the first two times! You’re my baby, you couldn’t hurt anyone or anything. This All Might thing has them worked up for nothing. I mean really, putting you under parole in the heroics course. It’s-it’s irresponsible, that’s what it is. Izuku if those heroes hurt you, or you feel like you’re in danger or uncomfortable –”
“I said I’m fine.” He doesn’t mean to snap, but he can’t help it. He presses his hands to his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m just…it’s been a long day, mom. I’ll do better about answering your texts. Goodnight.”
He hangs up before she can get another word in. The silence of the room is suddenly deafening, and he inhales slowly before his stupid tears can get any ground.
The quiet of his room is too much. The frustrated tears he’s managed to shove down double back with a vengeance, and he reaches for the nearest notebook and flips it open to a random page before they start to fall. Without really seeing the entry in front of him, Izuku retraces the faded graphite, pencil pressing sharply to the page.
It’s a long time after that that there’s a knock at the door.
Looking up from his notes, he waits pensively for another sound before leaning across the table to check his phone; eleven o’clock. Has that much time really passed?
Weary, Izuku stands, pads over to the door, and presses an ear to it. When nothing else happens, he unlocks it and cracks it open to peer out into the dark hallway.
There’s a plate at the door, piled high with rice, chicken and veggies.
Iida, it has to be.
It’s a little annoying that the guy has apparently taken it upon himself to make sure Izuku doesn’t starve, but maybe that’s just his bad mood talking. With a quick look to make sure that the enthusiastic hero student isn’t lurking around the corner to jump him, Izuku ducks out and makes a grab for the plate. It’s no Lunch Rush, but it’s not bad either.
When morning comes, Izuku is dressed and outside his room before Eraserhead can heckle him. He doesn’t go downstairs though; instead, he perches at the top of the stairs like a solitary gargoyle and waits for the noise to die away downstairs.
Aizawa only raises an eyebrow when he exits his room to see him, and Izuku stands up to trail after him. Except he was wrong – not everyone has left for training.
Once again Izuku is face-to-face with the son of the Number One hero, only this time he can’t run away. Todoroki is leaning against the wall by the kitchen, blocking the only exit and scrolling quietly through his phone. He looks up when Aizawa steps into the room (Izuku is still on the bottom stair).
“Good morning Sensei.”
“Get to class,” Aizawa answers, sounding more tired than anything. The hero walks past him out the front door, and Todoroki tilts his chin towards Izuku.
“Good morning Midoriya.”
“...Morning.” Resigning himself to his fate, Izuku takes the last step down and approaches him cautiously. “You’re waiting for me?”
He tucks his phone into his uniform and nods at the counter to his left. “Iida asked me to make sure you got breakfast.”
It’s only then that Izuku sees the bowl of fruit sitting there, alongside a protein bar. Something odd tugs in his chest, and he swallows down the feeling of cotton in his throat as he walks over and grabs an apple from the bowl and the bar. He pockets the latter and takes a bite of the apple.
He doesn’t quite know how to feel about this. Not only does Iida seem to be taking on some kind of…mother hen role, but now he’s roped Todoroki into it? Maybe he should have taken his tray and left yesterday before people could make assumptions.
“Thanks, I guess.”
Todoroki shrugs, then abruptly turns on his heel and starts to walk away.
Izuku stands in place for all of five seconds before heading after him.
They’re looking at him again.
He can feel it on the nape of his neck, but knowing that it’s out of curiosity instead of animosity rubs at his nerves significantly less. All except one.
He hasn’t said anything to him since yesterday’s confrontation, but Bakugou has been eyeing him ever since he stepped into class. Aggression rolls off of him in waves, so much so that even his classmates have gravitated away from him, except for that red-haired kid. He’s the only one that dares to get close when Aizawa dismisses them to Gym Gamma. Izuku wonders if he has some kind of death wish.
Still, he can’t judge him too much when his insistence takes Bakugou’s attention off him. He finds himself falling once more to the back of the pack, only this time he’s not alone.
“You mutter a lot.”
“If you don’t like it you can leave.” Izuku keeps his eyes trained in front of him. He sees a few of the hero students throw furtive glances over their shoulders; when they catch his eye they spin back around and their chatter redoubles.
Todoroki doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave, either.
Rinse and repeat.
He doesn't know if Todoroki truly seeks out his company for means of escape, or if it's an elaborate trap set in motion by Iida to make sure he doesn't starve himself.
Maybe it’s both?
He tells himself he doesn't care and it doesn't matter, and dutifully ignores Todoroki's presence in class. And training. And lunch. All the way back to the dorm, where he scurries to his room and locks himself inside like a hermit. It's easy enough to do, since he has his notebooks.
It goes like this until Friday, and when it no longer feels like 1A is looking at him like a new toy, he lets his guard drop, just a little.
This is a mistake.
Eraserhead hasn't commented on his note-taking, and Izuku hasn't yet become desperate enough to ask for any textbooks, so he takes advantage of his totally-not-state-mandated-prison time to get some close-up analysis done on UA's newest batch of heroes.
Todoroki materializes out of thin air behind Izuku at Gym Gamma, and Izuku nearly decks him out of reflex.
"What do you write in there?"
Instead, he snaps the book shut and puts healthy distance between the two of them. Seriously, when did he get there? He could have sworn Todorki was just across the gym not two minutes ago.
"None of your business." He'd feel bad, but Todoroki hasn't minded his bluntness before, so he shouldn't now.
"I saw a drawing of me, so I think it is." he says, and just like that, the feeling of ice water goes down his spine. Izuku pulls his notebook to his chest and musters his best glare (one that makes grown criminals flinch, thank you), but Todoroki doesn't so much as twitch.
Neither of them move, and Izuku isn't willing to speak first. Their silence stretches on for a handful of seconds then:
"You were writing something about my quirk. A lot about it, actually."
Biting his cheek, Izuku gets ready to wind up on another 1A student's shit list, but loses steam with the next words that come out of Torodoki's mouth.
"What are your thoughts?"
"I–huh?"
"On my quirk."
"You–" Izuku untenses, only slightly, "You want my thoughts about your quirk?"
"Aizawa Sensei said you were a competent vigilante. You have experience, and you must have been at least decent if he praised you." Well, he doesn't really know if you could call that praise , but whatever.
"Okay? Why are you asking me for help?" "Our provisional license exam is next week. I need to pass."
"So? Ask Eraserhead."
"I have. I didn't like his suggestions."
By this point Izuku's gone from weary to perplexed. No one had ever asked to see his notes before, not ever. They were more liable to call him a stalker than ask for his input.
He takes a quick look around.
No one seems to be paying much attention to them, absorbed as they are in their training. Eraserhead is currently speaking with the invisible girl. His eyes catch Iida's for a brief moment, but the other boy startles and hastily looks away, jogging over to Ectoplasm. That's… probably suspicious, but if the worst Iida's going to do is feed him and sicc Todoroki on him, it's not too concerning.
When he looks back at said hero student, he's still waiting patiently for an answer. Izuku's attention flicks to Todoroki's scar, and his stomach twists uncomfortably.
He can guess what Eraserhead's suggestion was – Izuku has a whole rant in his entry on Todoroki after all.
"No fire, right?"
For the first time since they've started these strange interactions, Todoroki's eyes go flinty.
"Right."
And that's the exact moment Izuku's resolve crumbles. Sighing, he lets his hands fall to his sides.
"Have you tried projectiles?"
It takes exactly five hours to regret his decision to help.
That night, when he’s scurried up to his room and locked the door, something breaks the normalcy of his schedule. Izuku is anxiously scrolling through his mom’s newest slew of texts when there’s a soft crinkle at the foot of his door. He freezes, eyes locking on the door. Something slides through to the other side, and he counts to thirty before sliding to the floor and padding over to investigate.
…Huh.
He bends down to snatch them, flicking through them quickly. Then he reads through them again. And a third time for good measure.They’re quirk reports. Okay, maybe reports is a strong word, because they contain the bare minimum of information and are anything but official. It’s a stack of four, and they’re written in different handwriting, ranging from near-illegible scrawl to neat, sharp writing. There are names at the top, and it’s easy to match names to faces with the quirk description accompanying them.
Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, Asui Tsuyu, and… He frowns at the last one: Kirishima Eijirou.
He’s at a loss for exactly why they decided to give him these, until he notices a note scribbled on the back of Iida’s:
Midoriya,
Pardon our forwardness, but a few of us have noticed your interest in quirks. After Todoroki’s new implementation of techniques after your rendezvous in Gym Gamma today, we realized you may be interested in our quirks as well! Please, feel free to take what notes you may from these entries. If you are so inclined, we would be honored to receive any suggestions towards improving our quirks that you may have.
Sincerely,
Iida Tenya
Izuku is out the door and down the stairs before he can register his feet moving. The sounds of 1A talking and laughing ups in volume until he rounds the last set of stairs and comes to a stop at the foot of the staircase.
The room falls silent. He doesn’t mind it, zeroing in on the meddlesome hero kid and storming over.
“What is your
deal?”
Izuku asks, frowning up at Iida. He’s standing over the pink-skinned girl, mid-lecture about her feet propped up on the coffee table, and he quickly snaps out of his shock smile at him. Damn, what are they feeding these guys? Why are they all so damn tall?
“Midoriya! It is wonderful to see you joining the rest of us! Though I am confused. What is my…deal?”
Oh, for –
“These,” he says, flapping the papers in his face.
“Oh! Our quirks. Yes, well, seeing as you seem quite adept at –”
Somebody sneezes, and it hits him that he’s at the center of attention of far too many people. Standing straighter, Izuku grabs Iida by his sleeve and hauls him towards the stairs.
Once in the safety of the stairwell, Izuku whirls on him.
“What do you want from me, Iida?”
“I am not sure what you are asking.”
“You– you– you set food out for me at night, you make sure Todoroki gets me breakfast, you smile and act all nice and – and–now you’re asking for my advice?? What the fuck do you want from me?”
“The vulgarity is unnecessary,” he says with a frown, and Izuku resists the urge to yank his hair out, “But if that is what you mean by my ‘deal’, then I believe I can explain myself.”
“Then please do.”
“I want you to feel welcome. As class rep, it is my duty to make sure that all members of 1A are taking care of themselves.”
“I’m not a part of your class, Iida.”
“True, but for the time being you are.” He gestures to the papers that Izuku has been waving around, “And you’re clearly talented. Our provisional license exams are in two days, and we have an experienced, outside source that is interested in our quirks. I figured that meeting you halfway in a common interest would be a good idea. Uraraka, Asui and Kirishima thought so too.”
All at once, Izuku feels very tired. He presses his hands to his face and bites back a groan.
“If I have caused you stress, I apologize.”
Izuku peeks up at him through a scowl. As annoying as his meddling is, he sounds legitimately concerned. Uuuugggh .
“I’ll give you feedback,” he says, and holds up a finger before Iida can launch into another spiel. “I’ll give you feedback, but it does not mean I want to be your friend. Or anyone's friend. I’m doing it so–so they don’t get rusty. My analytic skills. And because the world desperately needs competent heroes with a full understanding of their skillset.” He says it with a snarl, but Iida is smiling in a way that makes him want to tear the papers in half.
“Of course.”
He squints. “ I mean it. Not friends. Not buddies. I don’t like heroes, and I don’t like 1A. Are we clear?”
His smile widens. “Crystal.”
“Great.”
Later that night, when six more papers find themselves under his door, Izuku seriously weighs the cons and pros of autodefenestration.
…
“This is where we’re taking our exam? It’s huge!! ” Ashido gawks, two steps off the bus and somehow louder than she was inside the bus. The rest of his class have similar remarks; Shouta slinks his way to the front of the gaggle of students and flashes his quirk.
It gets the desired effect, but they’re still practically vibrating with excitement.
“Remember you’re not here to sightsee. Now more than ever it’s imperative that you all be prepared for your future careers as heroes.” And ah, maybe that was a little too sobering.
A somber befalls the group. “...That said, you’ve all been working hard. I’m sure you’ll do just fine representing UA.”
There, never let Hizashi say he can’t give out encouragement.
Already his class is alight with focused intensity. Iida gives them a few more rousing words (honestly, the kid does his job for him in that regard) and just like that they’re bounced back.
Shouta tells them to stay put by the bus while he figures out the sign in, just in time for a few Shiketsu students to wander over and start making noise (scoping out the competition).
“C’mon, problem child,” he says to his ever-present shadow since they pulled away from the school. Midoriya hurries after him, muttering something under his breath.
To his relief, the kid has been less of a problem than he was expecting. After the Bakugou incident was sorted out there had been no more outbursts, and he’d actually started interacting with the class. And training them, too, presumably putting to use all that muttering and note-taking he does when he thinks Shouta isn’t paying attention.
Initially he’d been concerned with what exactly he was doing, but after unlocking his room during lunch one day and skimming through the collection of notebooks, he was intrigued to discover the full extent to Midoriya’s writing. The kid is a veritable genius – it’s no wonder why he was so successful on his own as a vigilante. There were entries on just about every pro in a thirty-mile radius, including himself. Which, while explaining why Midoriya recognized him on that first day, still didn’t explain how he recognized him.
Shouta is more anal about his privacy than the average underground hero, and he’s certain that he never came across Midoriya before the Stain incident.
He chose to file that information in ‘I’ll think about that later’ and observed with a scrutinizing eye as slowly, most of 1A sought out Midoriya’s opinions over the past three days. There was no harm to it – the opposite actually – and his students would need every edge they could to put up a fight against the rest of the students here today.
Midoriya sticks close to him, hunched and quiet, but Shouta catches the way his eyes scan the building, the people. Even now that brain of his is running a mile-a-minute. He’s going to have a serious talk with Nedzu about fixing the absolute disaster that is UA’s enrollment policies. This kid has more potential than most students he’s dealt with and they had completely glossed over him.
Shouta gets them checked in, then makes it back to his class in time to de-escalate an argument between Bakugou and one of Joke’s kids.
“Save the bickering for the exam,” he says, before shooing them inside.
Speak of the devil.
“Eraserhead,” Joke appears from out of thin air and loops an arm around his neck, “You old dog! Avoiding me again?”
“Hey Joke. Let go of me.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Marry me?”
“Absolutely not.”
A snort at his side reminds him of the problem child currently stuck to him, and he ducks beneath her arm to straighten out his scarf.
Joke smiles, unphased. “One day you’ll say yes. Who’s this? You ban another kid from taking the exam this year?” Her eyes go big when she notices the cuffs, and then dart back up to him. “Uh?”
“I’m not one of his,” Midorya deadpans, before he can explain, “I’m here against my will.” Shouta can feel his hair turning grey.
“Nedzu opened a vigilante reform program. This is Midoriya. No vigilante name”
“He opened a what now? Wait,” in a rare instance, Joke’s smile fumbles, “The guy in my patrol route stopped poking around a while ago, is this–”
“The kid who picked up your slack in downtown Musutafu? Yes,” Midoriya says, picking idly at his cuffs, “You do good work, better than a lot of limelight pros, but there’s always crime that slips through the cracks.” Midoriya’s eyes flick up to him briefly before turning back to his hands. He mutters something, and it sounds an awful lot like ‘for most people, at least’.
Shouta knows an out when he sees one.
“Sorry, he has a mouth, and I’m not paid enough to keep it in check. See you inside.” He leaves Joke with her jaw on the floor and for once, stunned blessedly silent.
“Quit picking at those,” he says, flashing his quirk while he ushers the two of them though the building’s (illogically large) doors.
He just wants today to be over with.
…
He just wants today to be over with.
This building is too big, 1A is too loud, there are too many eyes on him, and his quirk suppressant cuffs are making him self-conscious.
Thankfully, once they’re all checked in, he gets to follow Aizawa out of the main room to the stands where the teachers can watch. He expected some form of scolding after Ms. Joke, but the man hasn’t done any more than whisk them away. Izuku suspects that he hates being here as much as he does, and honestly given 1A’s history with public outings, the feeling is warranted.
A labyrinth of hallways takes them up to the observation level, though Izuku suspects Aizawa is taking more turns than necessary to make sure he can’t find his way around without an escort.
They make it to their seats and sit in an uncomfortable silence. After a few minutes he sees Ms. Joke enter through one of the doors, but she takes a look at the both of them and sits a few rows away.
Next to him, Aizawa slumps just a little more in his seat.
Far down below, the overworked Hero Commision test proctor explains the rules of the test, and Izuku settles in for the long haul. At the very least, this will be interesting to watch.
Time to see if any of them actually listened to me.
…
Todoroki Shouto is her target.
Honestly, in any normal circumstance, she knows that Shouchan would totally overwhelm her in a fight. He held off Moonfish during their raid, and he was even more agile than her with those pretty teeth of his. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and people are easiest to hurt when they least expect it.
The security here is excellent– especially after they killed All Might– which is why Shiggy had Kurogiri warp her into the girl’s bathroom.
Himiko puts her victim into a chokehold, smothering her protests with her sleeve until she goes limp in her arms. Hm, it’s not a UA student, but then, with all eyes on UA, nobody would ever think to notice if a Shiketsu student were to be acting…off. All she has to do is not get tagged (easy-peasy), get close to Shouchan as Ochako-chan, and kill him! Oh, it’ll be so much fun!
If his scar is anything to go off of, he’ll look so handsome covered in blood.
And then that awful Endeavor guy will be that much easier to deal with, and the Doctor will want to help the League when he sees how good Shiggy is at leading.
Himiko sinks her fangs into the Shiketsu girl’s neck and drinks, feeling the warmth of her blood seep from her head to her toes. She pulls back and licks her lips, before reaching for a syringe at her thigh strap to take a little more blood – just in case. The blood loss will keep her unconscious for longer, and should serve as a good get-away disguise.
Kurogiri is on standby in case she needs an emergency exit, but that shouldn’t be necessary.
In a matter of seconds, Himiko is transformed, and she emerges from the stall with an entirely different identity.
She washes her hands (because she was still in a bathroom and she isn’t gross), dries off, and skips outside. A student wearing the same uniform as her waves her over and she smiles, hurrying over.
“C’mon, Camie! The exam is about to start.”
“Coming!”
OMAKE
Tenya sits at the desktop in his room, typing furiously into his keyboard. There are several tabs open on his screen, bookmarks from his hasty searching the previous morning:
Befriending antisocial people
How to make friends
How to make friends with ex-vigilantes
How to coax antisocial friends out of rooms
Feral humans and how to befriend
How to tame feral cats
How to attract friends with food
How to make sure my child is eating nutritious food
Notes:
Sooo sorry again for the wait for this chapter. I don't know why but the writer's block has been hella strong. I think things should be easier with the next few chapters (We're especially hype to show y'all the post-exam fallout) so thank you thank you thank you for your continued support of this lil story. Iida is slowly taming Izuku and he will go kicking and screaming, aha
Kudos to my Beta Maryliz2121 for the Omake, I woke up my SO laughing at our DMs
Also Mary: I cracked the code
Iida is making the two most antisocial messes become friends
he is socializing them
two feral catsAnyways, thank you so much for reading <3
Chapter 9: Provisional Liscense Exam 1/2
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Heya! Happy post-Thanksgiving! I updated the chapter name of the last chapter because I realized now was a better time for the title to actually come into play haha. Just a short one this time, but I plan on updating next Friday! The writers block for this part was immense -- I rewrote this chapter several times, but I finally landed on something I was happy with, here. I hope you like it as well. Thank you for all the awesome comments! They make the happy brain chemicals flow.
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Not for the first time, Izuku wonders exactly how much money the HPSC has tucked away in its coffers. He watches a Ketsubutsu kid with some sort of earthquake quirk take down the equivalent of a city block and thinks, too much.
Class 1A is faring well enough; no one has been taken out despite pretty much all participants gunning for them at the starting whistle. They may be loud and annoying 90% of the time, but there’s no denying they work hard. Izuku absolutely does not sit up in his seat when he notices several of them taking his advice to heart, nope.
Even Todoroki, who peeled off from the rest of them as soon as the exam started, is doing what he suggested; keeping his attacks localized and restrained, so as to keep from succumbing to frostbite while maximizing offense and minimizing collateral damage.
It really is a shame that he doesn’t want to use his fire, though. If he has that much power and fine control of his right, imagine the things he could pull off if he trained his left. He probably has something bordering on pyrokinesis, if his manipulation of ice is anything to go off of.
Izuku spares a look at Aizawa, who’s been leaning back in his seat since the exam began. To anyone else, it may look like the hero is dozing, but he’s been watching intensely from beneath his hooded gaze. For a moment, he considers straight up asking him if he has any intention of looking into whatever’s up with Todoroki.
Eraserhead isn’t stupid, in fact, he’s far from it – there’s a reason why Izuku never patrolled where the hero regularly prowled. He suspects it’s the same reason why Nedzu stuck him with him instead of any of the other pros that taught at UA. He has to know something is up with Todoroki; Izuku knows and he’s only spent a week with him.
Aizawa’s eyes flick to meet his own.
“What.”
“Uh–” He gets drowned out by a loud buzz, and the proctor announcing that someone named Inasa Yoarashi has made it to the next round.
“Nothing,” he says, turning back to the arena. He feels the hero give him one hard look before turning his attention back to the cityscape below. Izuku has to blink several times to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.
Down below, a massive portion of the fake-city has been completely blown away, debris and unconscious hero hopefuls strewn about. They’re covered in the sticky red tags they were given at the start of the exam, and he watches with no small shock at the student (Inasa?) who stands at the epicenter, unscathed. He tips back his hat with a smile, and stomps proudly away from the scene of destruction.
“People tend to forget about how strong students from other schools are, since UA is often at the forefront of Japan’s attention,” Aizawa drawls, “But they’re no laughing matter. Inasa actually placed higher than Todoroki in the recommended entrance exams.”
Izuku frowns. “Really?”
“Really.”
At that moment, the temperature in the arena plummets, and Izuku looks just in time to see Todoroki freeze a handful of would-be attackers in place. He calmly walks over to each of them in turn, sticking a marker to their targets. There’s a buzz, and the proctor drones:
“Todoroki Shouto, passed. Please head to the waiting room.”
“But not by too much.”
His fingers twitch, reaching for a pen or pencil that’s not there. He watches Inasa finally make it to the other side of the arena to the entrance of the waiting room, and wonders to what extent Inasa can manipulate wind. He's ninety percent sure he can orchestrate a way to find out.
“I need to use the restroom.”
A handful of seconds pass.
“You can hold it.”
“I can also piss on the floor, so.”
The look Aizawa shoots him is so disgusted, he can’t help the snort that escapes him. The hero stands abruptly, and Izuku does with him, but instead of leading the way like he anticipates, Aizawa raises a hand.
“Joke.”
Izuku’s eyes follow the gesture to where the heroine is sitting a few seats behind them. She perks up, flashing a bright smile.
“Shouta!”
“Can you take my brat to the restroom?”
“Uh,” the smile falls, “Sure?”
To her credit, Ms. Joke pulls the same trick Eraserhead did – leading him down a convoluted series of turns and halls until they arrive at their destination. Fortunately for him, he’s a little more perceptive than they give him credit for. All they’ve really managed to do is give him a bigger map of the testing ground’s building to work with.
Also fortunately, Joke is just as easy to slip past as she is on patrol. Izuku ducks out of the bathroom the moment her back is turned, and is halfway to the lobby with absolutely zero issue. Despite the high security within and around the event, he’s able to make his way down without any issue – seriously, it’s concerning how much you can get away with when you look like you know what you’re doing.
Within a few minutes he’s made his way down to the waiting room by the testing grounds, where he’s met with his first obstacle.
“Who are you? You can’t be down here.” A large security guard with a ram mutation stops him at the entrance. Looking around him, Izuku catches a glimpse of Inasa laughing with another student who must have passed in the time it took him to ditch Ms. Joke.
“I’m a ward of UA,” he answers, reaching into his pocket to fish out his ID, “These are my classmates. Eraserhead gave me permission to come down.”
The man blinks, leaning in to get a closer look, then straightens up with a huff.
“Alright, but –”
“I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes, thank you!”
Across the room, tucking into a packed lunch supplied by the event, Todoroki looks vaguely surprised when Izuku squeezes past the guard. He raises a hand in greeting and before he can think better of it, Izuku waves back.
Then he’s on a beeline towards the loud, towering Shiketsu student.
“Inasa Yoarashi!” Izuku calls, flashing him his brightest smile. He seemed like the friendly type before (if a bit obnoxious) if his interaction with the rest of UA was telling.
“Hey! You’re that moody, quiet kid with UA’s group! How can I help you?”
Hit the nail right on the head.
It’s always nice when Izuku meets people that aren’t thrown off by all of his quirk questions, and Inasa all but matches his own enthusiasm about his quirk.
Quite a few more students funnel in through the testing grounds – including several familiar faces – but if they notice him, they’re too off put by Inasa’s size and volume to approach them. He’s listening intently to Inasa’s explanation about how he manipulates wind currents, but he’s also acutely aware of the people in the room. He figures he has ten minutes before he’s found out, maybe fifteen if Joke tries to look for him herself before admitting to Eraserhead that she lost him in the first place, and while he’s willing to face the consequences of his actions, he’d rather not be taken by surprise, thanks.
Which is why it’s so disconcerting when Inasa pauses mid-laugh and his eyes lock onto someone over Izuku’s head.
“Yo, Camie! Great to see you made it through!”
On instinct he turns to look at whoever Camie is, and does a double-take when he notices the tall brunette a few feet away. He’s been cataloging the people trickling in this whole time, and she is wholly unfamiliar. Camie looks surprised, too, spinning to face the two of them.
Immediately, he’s on edge.
She smiles, and there’s something off about it. It pulls too tight, comes too quick, and though she meets Inasa’s gaze her attention almost immediately flicks to the side.
“Hey,” she says, and almost reluctantly changes course to walk over. There’s a strange movement to her gait; she walks on the balls of her feet, light and quick, and Izuku realizes why he didn’t notice her. She’s quiet, even for the low rumble of the room, and she walks like she is acutely aware of every movement she makes. Despite the heavy boots on her feet, she doesn’t so much as make a scuff.
“How was the first round?”
“It was alright, I guess…”
He tunes their conversation out. She’s talking, smiling, engaging with her classmate like it’s a perfectly normal conversation, and by all means it is. But there’s something nudging at his instincts, that sixth sense that sends you looking over your shoulder that whispers wrong, wrong, wrong, the same instinct that he’s learned to listen to after so much time spent as a vigilante.
Camie keeps looking at something. It’s subtle, but every few seconds her gaze flits to something off in the room, too quick for Izuku to get a good lock on whatever it is that has her attention.
“...I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce you! My bad, this is Midoriya, he’s with 1A.”
“Oh?”
And then those eyes are on him. Maintaining his smile, Izuku ducks his head and forces himself to look bashful. He pulls it off, but there’s something downright predatory in the way she looks at him that makes him want to disappear.
“Y-yea, but I’m not taking the exam with you guys.”
“I don’t remember seeing you on TV at the sports festival,” she purrs, “Why’re they keeping such a cutie from the eyes of the public?” A hand finds its way on his forearm, and before he can help it, his hand flies to snatch it off of him.
Izuku keeps his smile light, and so does she, but the air between them goes dreadfully tense.
“Sorry,” he finally says, releasing her hand. It drops to her side, well away from him. “I’m new to the class, but training is intense, you know? Keeps you on your toes.”
“Right!” Camie nods, but instead of dissipating, the threat in the air only grows stronger. “Hey, I gotta go grab lunch, but good luck in round two. It was nice to meet you, cutie-san.” Her smile grows impossibly wider, and before either of them can say anything she’s off.
Inasa calls something, but Izuku is too busy watching her disappear into the throng of people that have made their way into the room. She moves like before, and he thoroughly believes she would have vanished into the crowd had he not been looking for her. It’s skilled, the way she moves. The way he moves, the way underground heroes move –
The way Stain moved, his mind whispers, and the hairs on his arm stand up.
“What’s her quirk?” He asks suddenly, not looking away.
Please be something stealth-based, please be something stealth-based, plea–
“Uh, Glamour, I think? She can cast visual and audio illusions, I’m pretty sure.”
And call it paranoia, but Izuku bids him a rushed goodbye and hurries after her. There’s a decent number of contestants between them, but all he has to do is keep his eyes on her hat as it weaves between bodies. Izuku follows suit, moving fluidly between people to catch up with her.
The mob thins out, making it easier to follow, and all at once it becomes very clear where she’s headed.
A small group of 1A students are gathering on the far side of the room, where he saw Todoroki a few minutes ago. Like a homing beacon, Camie picks up the pace, moving with brutal, silent efficiency. From her uniform sleeve, Izuku catches the light glint off something metallic, and if his instincts were on edge before, they’re outright screaming now.
“Hey,” he says, voice tight, hand gripping the cuff of her sleeve.
Camie whips around, pupils shrunk like pinpricks. She smiles. It feels like he’s staring down a leopard.
“Cutie-san,” she sing-songs, sending chills up his spine, “I’d love to talk to you later, but I thought grabbing was a no-go for you? Should I call you hypocrite-san instead?”
“Should I call security? I’m pretty sure knives aren’t allowed in the building.”
…
For the second time in half as many minutes, Himiko finds herself staring down the stange, green-eyed kid and thinking Dangerous, he’s dangerous.
It makes her giddy.
He’s small and unassuming, but he looked at her like he was going to carve her to pieces, and she loves it. He’d even snuck up on her. On her. Who was this 1A kid, and why hadn’t the League seen him until now? He would make a much better villain than that explody guy.
“What knife?” She blinks, doe-eyed, but even that doesn’t phase him. If anything, the grip on her uniform gets tighter.
“Open your hand.”
For a moment, she considers it.
Considers unsheathing her blade and digging it right in the soft spot of his neck, to see how pretty the red of his blood would look against the green of his hair. But if she did that, then her cover would be blown and the mission would be a bust. Shiggy would be furious, the doctor would be disappointed, and they’d still be living in that crummy apartment.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the decision is made for her when the sleepy hobo-man from UA storms into the room. Midoriya must really be a part of UA, because he sees him at the same time she does and goes sheet-white.
“Problem Child,” he hisses, with all the vehemence of Kurogiri when she and Dabi accidentally set the bar on fire one time. He’s flagged by some other hero teacher, one with green hair, and in the resultant chaos she’s able to slip away into the crowd of rapidly retreating students.
There goes her chances of covertly offing Todoroki.
Oh well, she thinks as she watches him get towed off, there's always the second round of the exam.
Notes:
You know that screen shot of Tanjirou from Demon Slayer where he just looks so upset/disgusted? I keep visualizing Aizawa like that and I had to put it in the fic, I just *had* to. You understand.
Izuku: I'm just gonna sneak away, do some nerd stuff, it'll be fine.
Himiko: *Exists*
Izuku: Well, shit.Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 10: Provisional Liscense Exam 2/2
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
I got this chapter done really quickly, I was so excited to write it. And since the last few updates have been so far between, I decided to drop this today instead of Friday!
Thank you all for the comments on the last chapter ^^
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I thought you were smart enough not to pull anything stupid,” Shouta seethes, “Clearly I was wrong.” He nudges the kid forward with his capture scarf when Midoriya gives him a withering glance over his shoulder.
Shouta doesn’t bother with leading him on a round-about journey back up to the bleachers, because that had been so effective the first time. They walk in single file, Midoriya in the front so Shouta can keep his eyes on him, and Emi nervously taking up the rear.
“If I hadn’t, then an intruder would have gotten through security without ever being found out. Something that you should really look into, by the way!”
If Shouta rolled his eyes any harder, they’d pop from his skull. “Security is tighter than it has ever been. ID scans, metal detectors, triple guard postings, state-of-the-art camera installation. Keep walking.”
“Because that all worked so well to stop me.”
“ You abused your UA ID, as well as your connection to me.” In no time, they make it back to the large arch that leads back out to the observation deck. They walk through, and Shouta gestures back to their seats. “Now sit down, shut up, and I might consider keeping this little stunt away from Nedzu and the Detective.”
He crosses his arms, immovable, staring him down when Midoriya pointedly does not take his seat.
Behind them, Emi clears her throat, “Ah…if this is all good then I’m just gonna–”
“You really think I would lie about something like this? That Shiketsu girl–”
“I don’t know what to think,” he cuts off. Unconsciously, he activates his quirk, eyes flashing, “Because any semblance of trust I had towards you the moment you snuck away from a hero to go goofing off. You seem to have forgotten the reason you’re here, Midoriya, and it’s not to go sightseeing whenever you feel like it.”
“Shouta…”
“You. Are. A . Ward.” He lets the silence ring out. “How you act reflects greatly on this school. For whatever reason, Nedzu decided to stick his neck out for you, after all the bad press we have been receiving. The world is watching us, Midoriya, for one more slip up, one more screw up, and if we give them even an inch there will be hell to pay. And it won’t just be for you, since you have your parole through his program.” He points down towards the arena, where they seem to be setting up for the second half of the exam.
“It’ll be for all of those kids down there that have given it their all to be here today. I need you to understand that by sneaking off and putting your interests first, you put their futures in danger. Do you know what could have happened if that security guard had reported you for suspicious activity? 1A would have been disqualified for potential cheating, and the entire exam would have been stopped. Your actions have consequences, Midoriya. That’s why you’re here in the first place.”
Midoriya’s eyes are red, wet with unshed tears, but Shouta has a hunch that it’s not because he’s feeling sorry for himself.
“Geez, Shouta,” Joke whispers, “Maybe take it easier on the kid, yea? No harm, no foul.”
“He’s not just some kid, Joke,” he says, not looking away from Midoriya, “He’s a criminal on parole. He’s not stupid, and I’m not going to coddle him like he is.”
Midoriya’s voice is cutting, acrid venom being spat through grit teeth. “I’ll admit w-what I did was reckless, okay?”
Shouta sighs, lets his quirk deactivate. “Go–”
“I’m not finished. It was r-reckless, and selfish. I’ll c-cop to that. I’ll tell Nedzu myself when we get back to UA, and he can call his little Detective and that snake hero Nighteye, and you can wave your aw-awful problem child goodbye while they cart me off to Tartarus–” Tartarus?? “But you can do that after we go find the test proctor and tell them to stop the exam. I couldn’t care less about w-what happens to me, but there’s an intruder mixed in with the examinees down there, and she’s armed and dangerous.
“You think my s-stunt would make UA look bad? Then think about what’ll happen if one of your students winds up dead. ”
BOOM
The entirety of the stadium shakes with the force of several explosions. The three of them stumble, grasping at the railing to keep from falling over from the shock of it. Shouta bristles as the entire mock-city goes down, creating a disaster area. Far up above, a loud whirring sound of industrial AC takes over, nearly as loud as the explosion itself. Snow falls in cascades over the wreckage, smothering the destruction in a blanket of thick snow in a matter of seconds.
Jesus.
The proctor’s voice drones over the intercom about the students’ tasks for the next part of the exam, but Shouta can’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.
The entire stadium has become a kind of war zone. It’s ideal for simulating a rescue scenario, yes, but any of the security cameras for observing the students caught in the blast would have been destroyed. What they fuck were they thinking?
It takes a little while to recover from the shock, as the remaining one-hundred hero students all begin to pour out over the new snowy terrain.
It’s the perfect cover for a disaster.
“Eraserhead, please. ” A few tears are falling freely now, but all of the anger on the kid’s face has vanished. He looks horrified, fale pale, white-knucling the railing so hard that his bones pop. Terrified eyes turn to look at him, and Shouta feels the reality of the situation hit him like a sucker punch.
“He’s not lying.”
Emi’s voice floats weakly between them. “What?” She looks back-and-forth between the two of them, “For real? How– how can you tell? You don’t seriously believe there’s a villain down there, right?”
“I don’t know, Joke, but do you really want to risk it? Your kids are down there too.”
She sucks in a breath..
“No. I don’t.”
“Get to the test proctor, tell him there’s been a security breach and the kids are in danger and he needs to stop the exam,” he says, hopping up to perch on the railing. His scarf unravels, reaching down to the level below them. “I’m going down there. Kid, what did the intruder look like?”
“Midoriya snaps out of whatever shock that he’s in, instead taking on a calculating manner. He launches into a break-down:
“Tall, brunette, with shoulder-length hair. She’s wearing a Shiketsu uniform, is carrying at least one knife on her person, and is currently responding to the name Camie. However, it’s likely that she’s a villain with either a shape-changing or puppeteering quirk since she snuck in with the examinees, so I wouldn’t rule out any suspicious behavior you see with a student not matching that exact description.”
Great, just perfect. That means he’s essentially going in blind. But Midoriya seems to be holding something back; he bites his lip, brow furrowed.
He bites back the urge to snap and probes calmly. “What else is there, problem child?”
“I–I really hope I’m wrong, but. But I think she’s after someone from 1A. Possibly Bakugou.”
Because of course they are. It's the summer camp nightmare all over again; this time without Mandalay's quirk to warn them. At least that’s narrowed his search a bit – find his problem children, and he’ll probably find whoever it is that’s made it their mission to go after them. But Shouta is a professional, and instead of letting his worry show, he instead looks to Ms.Joke.
“You got all that, Joke?”
“Loud and clear,” she nods, “I’ll let them know and they’ll have all participants evacuate the arena. Get down there, Eraserhead. Save those kids.”
Then she’s gone, running back through the door they came from, and there’s at least a little relief that they’ll soon have at least one thing under control.
Shouta’s about to pitch himself over the railing when Midoriya clears his throat.
“What do you want me to do, Eraserhead?”
Headache already building, Shouta levels Midoriya with the most stern glare he can manage.
“Nothing. You’re not a hero, no more than the kids down there. You are to stay put and wait for me to return. Do you understand?”
There’s a split second where he thinks Midoriya will actually fight him on this, but it’s only that; a split second. His lips purse with distaste, but the kid nods.
“Understood.”
“Good.”
With that, he sails over the ledge, instinctively rolling his body to land safely, before sending out his capture weapon to grab onto the next ledge. It’s a long way down – good think falling is faster than the stairs.
…
Izuku watches Eraserhead drop into the arena below, counts to thirty, then hops the railing himself. He lands, rolling easily to a stop.
“Hey, kid–” Izuku turns to see a few other heroes (teachers from the other schools, probably) mid-stand, rising from their seats. “Where are you going?? Where is Eraser–”
He vaults down to the next floor before they can finish, then the next, and the next.
They’re heroes; if they’re worth their salt, they’ll either try to intervene or find out for themselves.
It takes five drops to finally hit the freshly-fallen snow of the stadium below, and few teachers do try to stop him. If there’s anything he’s good at though, it’s evading capture; he rolls, twists, dodges and sprints to the edge of the disaster zone, yelling over his shoulder:
“The exam is compromised! Find your students and evacuate them!”
From there, he melts into the snowy cityscape.
It’s freezing. All around him are debris and destruction, collapsed buildings and smoking asphalt. Izuku notes the large imprints of Eraserhead’s feet in the fallen snow, and veers quickly in the opposite direction. Partly because he doesn’t want to get caught, and partly because if they split up, they’ll cover more ground.
Izuku passes several students on his run, all in various stages of rescue or planning, that he doesn’t bother stopping. None of them are 1A students, have any reason to believe him or recognize him, and so trying to get them to evacuate would be a waste of breath and time.
Besides, he reasons, They’re not 1A, so they’re probably not in immediate danger. Ms. Joke and the others will get them out just fine.
He’s pretty sure he knows who the intruder is after anyways–
Bakugou. Not only did the League fail to turn him last time, but they lost their leader in the process. If there’s any student worth targeting, for revenge or otherwise, it’s Bakugou. Luckily, he’s one of the easier people to find.
You just have to follow the yelling.
He’s acutely aware of the passing minutes as he runs, heart beating madly with adrenaline and fear. Cold air stings his lungs but he ignores the pain. Every minute lost is another minute closer to disaster.
Why haven’t they shut down the exam, yet? What is Ms. Joke doing??
“Midoriya?”
Izuku rounds a pulverized city block and nearly falls over himself trying not to slip and fall face-first onto the concrete. Chest heaving, he comes to a stop and looks wildly around for whoever called him. It’s not Bakugou, but it’s a step in the right direction for finding him.
“Uraraka,” he calls, jogging over. She has one of the HPSC elderly actors cradled in her arms and, despite her shivering, has a good hold on them.
“What are you doing down here? You’re not one of the–”
“Stop talking to your buddy!” The old man snaps, and they both jump, “I could be dying of hypothermia, this is no time to shoot the breeze. Minus points!”
Uraraka winces, but Izuku ignores him.
“Where’s Bakugou?” He asks, cutting to the chase, “You’re all in danger. Someone here is after your class, and I think their target might be him. You need to find everyone and tell them to get back to the waiting room.”
Her eyes go wide. “W-wait, the League is here??”
“Maybe, we don’t know yet. Eraserhead is trying to find out. Have you seen Ka-Bakugou? Please, tell me if you have.”
“Excuse me,” the actor says, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not funny. If you’re going to continue this–”
His patience snaps. “Would you shut the hell up?! There are actually fucking lives at stake here–”
“What’s your name, young man?” He asks, wiggling free of Uraraka’s hold. He jabs at his chest with a gnarled finger, “I’ll have you failed immediately!”
The crunch of snow alerts them to a new presence. “Uravity, hey girl, what are you doing back here? You ditch Shouto or somethi– Midoriya ?”
Three sets of eyes turn to face a startled newcomer. Izuku recognizes her immediately; it’s Ashido, the girl with the acid quirk. She was one of the students that asked for his help with quirk ideas. She still hasn’t approached him directly, not like Iida or Todoroki, but she is one of the students Izuku could see himself actually tolerating at some point.
Right now, though, she looks surprised and uneasy, especially when she realizes the mess she’s unintentionally waltzed into.
“I’m here for a reason,” he says quickly, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Bakugou isn’t their target this time. “What was that about Todoroki?”
“I, uh,” she takes a step back, “Uravity…was just with him?”
“No I wasn’t,” Uraraka says slowly, “Me and Froppy were sent over here, to the southwest sector.”
“That’s what I said, but you told me you’d finished the southwest sector.”
For the love of –there’s no time for this.
“How long ago did you see them?” He butts in.
“Like, fiveish minutes ago? They both have good quirks for supporting busted structures, so they went off too–”
“Where?” In a flash, he’s closed the distance between them. Ashido yelps, holding her hands out, and takes another step back. “ Where did they go? ”
…
Shouto scowls down at his bare hands, perfectly at ease in the cold.
It’s not fire, but it’s still irksome that his father’s quirk is useful to him in this setting. His left side isn’t chilly at all; it’s perfectly comfortable. He can feel the left size of his quirk just beneath its surface – coiled, strong, ready to be summoned at any moment. It does little help to think that his mother’s side of the quirk is making this just as easy, but at least he can rely on that to help people.
Dropping his hands to his sides, he pulls his attention back to the moment at hand. The blistering cold (to everyone else) whips around him and the destroyed city, promising death to anyone trapped for too long. He and Uraraka split up and agreed to investigate the further reaches of the arena to look for civilians that may have been overlooked in the initial search.
So far they’ve had no luck.
Normally he’d prefer to work alone – he did just fine in the first half of the exam – but there was an emphasis on teamwork for this portion, and Uraraka had approached him with pretty solid reasoning. If he had to work with someone to pass, he’d much rather it be a familiar face.
Besides, the students giving out orders had been about to pair him off with that giant Shiketsu guy, and he looked about as hospitable as Bakugou. Todoroki might be tone deaf on a good day, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Shouto, I found something.”
Right, the exam. Shaking from his thoughts, Todoroki turns to face Uraraka. She jogs over, shivering from the cold.
“Where,” he says, willing his left side to release a little more heat. She visibly relaxes, stepping a little closer, and smiles. “Over in that building," she points to a half-collapsed convenience store across the fake highway, "There's a fallen support beam trapping someone, but I need your ice to support the roof so I can lift it."
"Let's go," he says, breaking into a sprint. He can hear his classmate's boots crunching through layers of snow behind him, and he picks up the pace.
Inside the convenience store the lights are shot, but a hole in the ceiling lets in light from the outside, as well as a steady sprinkle of falling snow. There's shelves tipped over, piled on top of each other, with fake items scattered in the steadily-building snowfall, but nothing immediately catches his eye.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" He calls, stepping inside. His voice echoes back. "I'm the pro hero Shouto, I'm here to help! Please, say something if you can hear me.” More silence. A can crunches under his boot as he walks farther in. “Uravity, where did you–”
It’s years of Endeavors brutal training tactics that cause him to move. The air around them goes lethally still, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and survival instinct screams at him to move. He lurches forward, trying to spin himself around.
He’s not fast enough.
White-hot pain stabs into his thigh, and it’s all he can do to bite his tongue to keep from screaming out. He swipes out with his right hand, sending ice flying out in a small blizzard of hail.
He takes a step back to regain his balance and his vision goes white with pain. His knee buckles, and he slips, crashing back into a display shelf and collapsing to the ground.
It’s then that he looks up and sees…someone. Definitely not Uravity.
A girl, blonde and grinning, stands at a crouch a few meters away by the entrance. If any of his ice managed to hit her, the wounds are covered by a thick sludge that melts off her body. His focus quickly turns, however, to the knife dripping with blood in her hand. It falls to the floor, staining the snow. There’s a trail of it leading back to him.
“Ooo, good reflexes!” The stranger croons, “Looks like the number one trained you well! But not well enough, I guess.” She tips her head to the side, her sharp-toothed grin stretching wider. “You look so pretty, Shouchhan. Let’s make you even prettier!”And she moves. Fast, too fast.
He panics, flings up a wall of ice between the both of them. But it’s frail and thin, a far cry from his usual form, and she starts hacking through it with terrifying ease. Painfully aware of the small amount of time he has, Shouto takes stock of his injury and swears.
That’s a lot of blood. Too much blood.
It soaks the pant leg of his costume and pools on the floor. Arterial cut, his training supplies, and he fumbles to undo his belt. He needs to make a–a–a tourniquet, that’s the word.
The world goes fuzzy and his hands fumble on the blood-slicked buckle, at the same time the last bit of ice shatters.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping the belt and throwing up another feeble wall. It’s worse than the last one. It’s cold now, so cold, but his ice isn’t working. He’s never felt this cold in his life, but he keeps throwing whatever he can at the stranger.
She laughs, wild and unhinged, the sound ringing in his ears.
Oh, he realizes, I’m dying. This is what dying feels like. He feels surprisingly calm. Well father, you wasted your time.
The stranger breaks through his last pathetic ice wall, and Shouto watches with muted eyes as she raises her knife.
…
There’s no time for thought.
Izuku sees the girl standing over Todoroki, knife in hand, and he just moves.
Throwing himself forwards, he hooks his arms around her waist and tackles her into the collapsed display case. They collide in a tangle of limbs, and he barely manages to avoid a cut to the throat as she recovers and slashes wide with her knife.
Teeth grit, he grabs her by the wrists and pins her. She screams, thrashing wildly, biting for his arms, but his grip doesn’t falter. Footsteps behind them alert him to the hero students’ entrance.
“Todoroki!” Uraraka shrieks. Ashido follows suit, the two of them rushing over.
“How is he?” He grunts, doubling down on his grip. Hell, she’s strong.
He can hear the panic in Ashido’s voice.
“Blood – blood, there’s a whole bunch of blood.”
“He’s conscious. It looks like she slashed an artery.” Uraraka says. She sounds much more level-headed. “We don’t have much time. Todoroki, can you cauterize the wound?”
“I…can’t,” comes his weak response.
“Can’t or won’t? ” He snaps, sparing a look at him.
He doesn’t answer.
“Fucking– make a tourniquet! His belt,” he says, seeing the discarded leather lying in the snow, “Use your quirk to lift him out of here.”
Uraraka answers in assent, getting to work. Her hands are steady, and if they all get out of here alive Izuku reminds himself to hug her for being the only competent hero student in 1A.
Ashido is on the verge of tears. “W-what do I do?”
“Go ahead back to the others, if you see Eraserhead lead him here, there should be an evacuation so– gah!” The breath is knocked from his lungs as the girl gets her legs under him, kicking him back with surprising strength. He loses his grip and rolls back as she cackles, swings again with her weapon.
Izuku recovers, tensing in a crouch, and his opponent does the same. From the corner of his eye, he sees Uraraka and Ashido leaving with a (hopefully) unconscious Todoroki, belt cinched tight around his upper left thigh.
“Sensei says you're competent, and Iida says you’re a hero so–please be safe,” Uraraka says, “Help will be here soon, so don’t die!”
Izuku doesn’t answer, just keeps his eyes on the intruder and dances back when she lunges.
That’s the plan.
“What’s your name,” he asks, hoping that she’s stupid enough to allow him to buy some time. Most villains love to talk. She’s no different.
She smiles, and it looks like it’d be more at home on a serial killer’s face than a teenage girl. “Toga, but you can call me Himiko, cutie-san.” Toga tips her head to the side. “They called you Midoriya. What’s your given name?”
“I only give that out to friends.”
“Aw, don’t be that way. We can be friends, Midochan.” She attacks.
For a long stretch of seconds, the collapsed room is deadly silent, save for the crunch of snow underfoot and their labored breath. Unarmed, there’s little more he can do than avoid being cut. Like he observed before, back in the waiting room, the stranger moves with scary efficiency, no movement wasted as she attacks. Throughout it all, she doesn’t stop smiling, fangs bared.
Izuku finds himself mimicking her expression.
Slowly, but surely, his suspicions are confirmed by her pattern of attack.
“You’re a Stain fan,” he grunts, dipping back as a blade slices where his neck would be.
Her eyes glint with glee.
“How did you know? Do you like Stain-sama too? You move real good, Midochan.”
“While I appreciated his message,” he bends backwards, planting his palms in the snow. In one swift move, he snaps his legs up – the heel of his shoe kicks out, catching her extended hand. There’s a metallic twang as he flips back onto his feet, the knife landing somewhere behind him in the store. He stands, fists readied. “I couldn’t get behind the whole ‘killing heroes’ shtick. So I had to put him down.”
In an instant, her surprised expression twists into rage.
“You…you’re lying,” she shrieks, leading with a right jab. Izuku ducks and lands a hit of his own, right in her solar plexus. Toga grunts, stumbling backwards, but her guard is back up. She gasps, “Endeavor took down Stain-sama. You’re just a runt.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
With a scream, she charges, and their deadly dance resumes.
Even disarmed, Toga is a menace. She aims to incapacitate, to maim, and with rage backing her movements, her attacks are all the more vicious. He’s nearly regretting it, but it’s also making her sloppy.
She lands a few painful blows, but Izuku retaliates with more. There’s fresh bruises forming on her arms, legs, and mid-section, each ugly blossom slowing her movements a little more. What’s more, the cold is winning out.
It seems that whatever her quirk does, it is unable to maintain her outfit, because she’s basically naked. Izuku may be feeling the cold too, but he at least has a few layers to work with. Toga’s movements grow sloppier, sluggish, her enraged grimace broken by chattering teeth.
Izuku’s not sure how long they’ve been fighting – it feels like hours, but it can only have been a couple minutes – when a third person enters the fight.
His footing slips on ice, and he watches in slow-motion as Toga throws a punch aimed right for his throat. But it doesn’t land. He hands hard, tailbone singing with pain when he lands on tiles, and his opponent screams with inarticulate fury.
Izuku blinks up at her, confused as to why his trachea hasn't collapsed, and falls back against the ground in relief.
“Just in time,” he laughs.
Eraserhead steps the rest of the way into the store, quirk activated and capture scarf bound tightly to the writhing villain on the floor.
…
“You’re going to give me grey hairs, kid.” Shouta deadpans, trying and failing to be angry. He will be, later, when all of this is said and done and he has all of his kids under one roof. But for now, Midoriya’s brash actions and disregard for orders and his own safety has saved a life.
“Worth it,” his problem child mutters.
Shouta cautiously approaches the girl on the floor. She’s gone suspiciously quiet, and her struggling has stopped. She looks up at him with angry red eyes, and sticks out her tongue.
“Boo! Go away hobo-man, you’re just in the way.”
“You’re under arrest,” he says, flaring his quirk again for good measure.
“Kuro giriii, ” she whines, “I messed up, get me out!”
What?
It’s then that he sees the piece in her ear.
Shouta yanks his capture weapon back, but it’s too late. The smell of ozone floods the room, moments before a swirling, black portal opens up on the floor beneath her. He tries to reel her in, but the portal closes, and the last thing he sees before his capture scarf is ripped in two are two red eyes gleaming in the dark.
“I’ll be back for you, Midochan.”
Just like that, they’re alone.
Notes:
Writing fight scenes are fun, but I'm always worried they might read weird. Hope you liked this one! Next chapter, Izuku has two heart-to-heart chats...one of them does not go well.
Thank you so much for reading <3
Chapter 11: We Need to Talk
Chapter by KitKateC
Chapter Text
They find the real Camie unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, in one of the bathrooms. He hears this from a gaggle of Shiketsu students that walk by, and later sees with his own eyes when a team of paramedics from a different ambulance roll her out on a gurney.
The police are here, too, alongside a handful of heroes that Izuku passively catalogs while they prepare all the school buses to be escorted back to their respectful institutions. 1A is one of the last to be herded out, since Aizawa is still busy giving his statement to the police.
As soon as they got the building evacuated and the paramedics arrived on scene, he was carted off to be examined. He was fine, of course. A few shallow cuts and some nasty bruises, but they still kept him confined to the back of the ambulance. Literally.
The moment they assured Aizawa that he was in good health the hero was whisked away by the cops, they attached his right suppressant to the gurney.
In snippets of gossip, he also learns that there were no other injuries, no more villains found at the scene, and that the one-hundred students who had passed the first round would be back at the end of the semester to complete the exam.
When the tide of students and teachers dries up, he busies himself time thinking up all of the possible ways in which the rest of the day is going to play out, and once he’s exhausted those scenarios (one way or another, they all wind up with him in Tartarus. Call him a pessimist, but he prefers the term ‘realist’), he thinks about all the days after.
Would they give me my own private cell, at least? Probably. Nighteye doesn’t want the only line to his precious quirk getting shanked in his sleep.
He has time to think about a lot of things, but at the very least he doesn’t have to worry about Todoroki. He saw the paramedics shuttle him away around an hour ago, back when the damn alarm was finally raised and the proctor called the exam off.
Todoroki looked far from okay – he only caught glimpses, and what he saw of him was bright red against snow-white skin – but the paramedics that Aizawa left him with assured him that he’d made it to the hospital alive, so.
Small victories.
Thirty minutes later, Aizawa makes a reappearance. He nods at the medic who’s waiting dutifully at Izuku’s side, who stands up and shimmies past AIzawa. He hops out of the car and closes the doors behind him, leaving the two of them alone.
Without a word, Aizawa pulls a set of keys from one of the pockets on his uniform and unlocks his tether, then takes a seat where the paramedic had been.
Izuku is quick to pull his newly-freed hand into his lap.
He replaces the key and slumps in his seat, eyes closed. The unmistakable rumble of the vehicle’s engine starts up, and they jerk with momentum as it presumably pulls away from the curb.
“Where are we going?” He asks after a few minutes of quiet, knowing full-well what the answer is.
Two bloodshot eyes open to look at him.
“Atlas Medical.”
Izuku blinks. He can’t have heard that right.
“What?”
“Atlas Medical,” the hero repeats, his voice like sandpaper.
“That’s–that’s a hero hospital.”
“Where did you think we were going?”
“I thought…” he bites his tongue, reconsiders. If he isn’t immediately going to prison, why try to expedite it? So instead he says: “I’m not injured, though?”
The hero sighs. Somehow he looks even more exhausted than normal.
“You just had an encounter with an extremely dangerous individual. You sustained several cuts and bruising. On top of that, you’re a minor in my custody. Of course we’re going to the hospital.”
Truthfully, Izuku could point out a lot to counter that. That he’s sustained much worse injuries without medical attention and that several teachers have overlooked far more severe instances of violence towards him and told him to suck it up. Instead, Izuku lays back on the gurney, closes his eyes, and watches the colors from the lights overhead shift beneath his eyelids until he falls into an uneasy sleep.
Getting situated at the hospital is a quick affair.
He’s admitted to a room (windowless), a doctor checks him over, stitches up a cut that looks a little too deep and gives him some painkillers. Throughout the process, Aizawa watches soundlessly from the corner of the room, and when the doctor declares him “all wrapped up” and leaves, he finally speaks.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, making his way to the door, “The door locks from the outside. Don’t try to leave.” He rests a hand on the handle when Izuku croaks out:
“What’s going to–” His voice cracks. Panic and fear flutter in his chest. Cursing under his breath, he quickly wipes away a frustrated tear. Izuku takes a breath to steady himself and tries again. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Aizawa hovers at the door, expression inscrutable, until finally,
“I suppose that depends on you.”
Before Izuku can ask him what the hell that means, he’s gone.
‘A bit’ turns out to be thirty-three minutes. Izuku counts them, because if he doesn’t, he’ll start thinking about Tartarus, and he refuses to spiral right now. He’s got no fucking clue what Eraserhead is on about, but he intends on being of sound mind if what happens next truly is up to him.
A soft click, and the door swings open.
He’s expecting Sir Nighteye, or the Detective, or an escort team to Tartarus. What he gets are Aizawa and the Principal.
“Hello Midoriya! Good to see you in one piece,” the rat-thing chirps with a polite smile. Nedzu waits for Aizawa to take a seat before walking over and hopping atop his shoulders. If this bothers him, the hero doesn’t say so.
“...Hello.”
“You seem confused. You didn’t suffer a concussion, yes?”
“No, I didn’t.” Izuku looks between the two of them. Nedzu’s expression is as carefully-neutral as ever, but Eraserhead looks…severe. Intense.
No, that’s not right. Nothing about his body language is different from how he holds himself at UA, but at the same time–
His gaze is sharp. Focused. Dark eyes bore into him, and he suppresses a shiver. His last words echo like a phantom in his mind: I suppose that depends on you.
“Excellent, I would rather have you lucid for this conversation.”
“What conversation?”
The principal spreads his paws. “This one! Aizawa already told me everything, and I just wanted to see to it personally that you received UA’s apology regarding the lapse in your safety.”
Very, very carefully, Izuku trains his expression to remain neutral.
“Oh?”
Nedzu hums. “Of course! We came to the terms of your arrangement with the promise of your safe existence during your stay with us, and today we failed you. I understand that you only sustained any injuries at all, because the villain had an additional knife on her person and was able to escape Aizawa’s capture weapon and assault you before she was whisked away.”
He clenches his jaw. Looks to Aizawa again.
The man leans forward, hands clasped on his lap.
“I should have made sure she was completely disarmed before letting my guard down, Midoriya. I’m sorry.” He dips his head.
What the fuck is going on?!
“It’s…okay,” he says slowly. He doesn’t have to fake being uncomfortable; the tightening of his voice is real, the shifting on his hospital bed genuine, “She was slippery, I…I should have stayed back like you told me too.”
Nedzu nods, grave. “Indeed. But panicking in a stressful situation is more than understandable. We’re lucky everyone walked out of this intact.”
He thinks of Todoroki bleeding out on the snow-laden floor, and thinks that he and the principal have widely different opinions on what constitutes as intact.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me I need some other matters to attend to. Rest well, Midoriya. We’ll have you back to Heights Alliance before dinner!” With that, Nedzu hops down from Aizawa’s shoulders and sees his way out. Izuku is about to ask Eraserhead what the hell just happened, but Nedzu pops his head back in.
“Oh, and I spoke with your mother. She’s been alerted that you are in good health, and on your way back to the school. Goodbye!”
The slam of the door is the only noise in the ensuing quiet of the room. Aizawa is still looking at him, expression much the same.
A single question sits heavy on his tongue, sticks to the roof of his mouth on the way out:
“Why?”
…
The rat doesn’t believe him for a second. Shouta knows that without a shred of doubt. But Nedzu has never been one to toss away interesting toys, and he certainly won’t go out of his way to throw away Midoriya.
So when he finishes his bullshit story about the League girl (Uraraka recognized her from the Summer Camp, they have that confirmed. Which is a whole separate can of worms to worry about, but he’s had enough drama for one day thank you very-fucking-much) he does so without any worry.
“And that’s your story? Really?”
He huffs, “Yes sir.” They stand down the hall from the problem child in question’s hospital room. He just got off the phone with his mother, and Shouta would really like to just move things along. “You can see if the kid disagrees. I don’t think he will.”
Nedzu regards him silently for a few moments before breaking out into a chuckle; Shouta bristles.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” the Principal replies, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye, “I just didn’t think you’d get attached. He’s quite something, that Midoriya. Quite something indeed. Well, given that any cameras present in the exam arena were destroyed in the disaster simulation, I suppose I have to take your word.”
“Can we just get this over with?”
“Of course!”
“Why?” Midoriya croaks. Something about the kid looks…fragile, in a way that Shouta wasn’t expecting. He looks away, suddenly too nervous to meet Midoriya’s eyes. Illogical.
Shouta stands and averts his gaze.
“...Twice now, you’ve saved one of my students. Thank you for that. And while what I said about your recklessness still stands, I owed you one. Exactly one. Don’t think too much about it.”
He messages out his neck and pretends not to see the tears welling up in Midoriya’s eyes. Before he has to do something horribly awkward like comfort the kid, he quickly adds:
“Right, and Todoroki’s awake. They finished his blood transfusion a little before we got here and cleared him for visitors. He’s asking for you.”
When he looks back at Midoriya, he’s rubbed the tears from his eyes (thank god), and pulled himself together, but his eyes are still red. Now, he straightens up on his hospital bed, blinking back surprise.
“He is?”
…
Izuku follows Aizawa through the hospital’s maze-like layout in silence, not bothering to pay attention to where they’re going. His mind is still reeling from the news that he’s not going to prison. That Aizawa lied to the Principal of UA for him.
Just when he gets the hero pegged as one type of person, he’s thrown for a loop and left scrambling to find a new category to slot him in. First it was how he handled the Bakugou situation, and now this.
He can’t help but think about how most every other adult in his life would have leapt at the chance to be rid of him, but for some reason he can’t parse, Aizawa hasn’t.
He’s so lost in thought that he almost runs into Aizawa when he suddenly stops.
“This is the room.”
Izuku shakes his head, actually takes a second to look at his surroundings; usually he can’t afford to zone out like that. He blames the shock.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Todoroki’s room is in the nicer part of the hospital. The lighting is better, and the halls have floor-to-ceiling windows that give a stunning view of Musutafu from the top floor.
He can also see a large group of reporters crowding the hospital’s entrance below, and quietly hopes there is some other hidden exit that they can take to leave. The last thing he needs is more eyes on him.
“Well?” Izuku turns his attention back to Aizawa, who’s watches him with tired eyes. “Are you going to stand there all day?”
Hurriedly (a little embarrassed) he knocks.
“Come in.” It’s muffled, but the voice is unmistakably Todoroki’s. Before Izuku can change his mind and bolt, Aizawa opens the door for him and waits, expectantly.
“I’ll be waiting out here. You’ve got fifteen minutes, and then we’re headed back to UA.”
Absently, Izuku nods his head in acknowledgement and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, I guess.
He doesn’t know how anxious he is to see Todoroki until he gets a look at him, alive and breathing, and is hit with a wall of relief. He’s still in bed, obviously, but his previously white complexion is healthy with color.
Aizawa closes the door as he takes a step in, and his relief is quickly replaced with the horrifying realization that he has no fucking idea how to talk to Todoroki. Sure, he’s been following him around (somewhat) against his will, but for the most part he’s been more of a shadow than a source of company.
They’re in a staring contest for all of twenty seconds before they blurt at the same time:
“Thank you for saving me.” “Why the hell didn’t you use your fire?”
Izuku feels his will to live curling in on itself in real time.
Todoroki’s goes through more emotions than Izuku’s ever seen it display–surprise, confusion, anger–before settling somewhere between neutral and exhausted.
“Wait–fuck–no,” Izuku drags a hand over his face because god he’s so stupid. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m glad you’re okay, you don’t have to explain anything.”
But when he looks up from his hands, Todoroki surprises him. The hero student shakes his head and gestures weakly to the only chair by his bed.
Holding his breath, Izuku shuffles quickly forward, pausing when he notices the scorch marks on the fabric.
“Father was here,” Todoroki says, and ah, that explains it.
He takes a seat. Maybe he can divert this disastrous conversation. “Is he pulling you from UA?” He asks, remembering the mod of reporters downstairs.
“No. He was more upset that I allowed myself to get caught unawares. We’re going with the story that it was just a random villain attack, so that UA doesn’t get any more heat. And so the bastard can save face.”
“And Nedzu just approved of that?”
“There was a little resistance, but not much.”
“Wow.” He’d say he was surprised, but he’d be lying: Nedzu likely jumped at the chance to wipe any more attention off of UA.
Unfortunately, his tactic doesn’t work.
“You asked why I didn’t use my fire.”
Izuku squirms. “Yea, uh, you don’t have to answer that. I was mad before, and I’m like,” he gestures at himself, “Really, really bad at talking to people, if you haven’t noticed, so when I was at the door I sort of just blurted the first thing that came to mind when you just called me here to thank me. I’m sorry, I know it’s probably a personal question.” He winces.
But Todoroki doesn’t look annoyed at his rambling, or anything of the sort.
A few moments pass before Todoroki responds. When he does, it’s nearly in a whisper.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened. I keep playing it back in my head. You’re right in asking – I should have used my fire. I could have died. But I didn’t, because you were there.” The words slam into him like a ton of bricks. “If anyone should know why, it’s you. Midoriya, have you…” His words trail off, losing steam. Todoroki takes a deep breath, and he looks resolved. Two-toned eyes stare like daggers into his own. “Have you heard of quirk marriages?”
Izuku can’t say he’s surprised about what comes next. He’s suspected it for a while, of course. The revelation doesn’t make him any less angry.
Todoroki finishes his heartbreaking story without so much as a hint of emotion, but Izuku can hear the pain in his voice when remembering. Todoroki may be good at keeping a straight face, but Izuku knows abuse, knows the coping mechanisms you pick up along the way while you’re trying to keep yourself glued together. So he takes the red-hot anger simmering in his chest and files it away to deal with later.
Once Todoroki is done, Izuku takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye, and says very, very slowly:
“You know it’s not his power, right?”
Todoroki goes still.
“What…do you mean?”
“It’s not his. Your quirk. It’s not his, and it’s not your mom’s. It’s yours.”
The mask cracks, and Todoroki frowns slightly. “I was created to–”
“No, stop. You weren’t created. Endeavor didn’t purchase a bunch of parts, assemble them together and slap it with a stamp labeled ‘mine’. Todoroki Shouto is not Todoroki Enji.”
Todoroki looks lost.
“But my fire, it–”
“That’s just it: it’s your fire. Hold on, let me ask you something.” Izuku brings his hands together under his chin. “What does your mom’s quirk do?”
Blinking rapidly, Todoroki answers: “She freezes water? Liquids or gas. Where is this going?”
“Can she sculpt it?”
“Not very well.”
“Can she throw it?”
He frowns. “I…I don’t think so?”
“Use it in large volumes? Make a blizzard? Make a glacier?”
“No. None of that.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that is?” A long, long pause. When Todoroki doesn’t answer, Izuku leans forward. “Because they’re fundamentally different. Because your quirk is uniquely yours.” He lets the words sink in for a bit, lets the implication hang in the air. “Your quirk is amazing, you know. It may be a product of a painful, awful process, but at the end of the day, it really is. No one else in the world has anything like it.
“It’s yours to use, or not use, as you see fit. But if you’re going to be a hero, you owe it to yourself and the people you’re saving to acknowledge it as so. Heroes…heroes have to use all the tools at their disposal. And you’re not trained to fight quirkless.”
Todoroki doesn’t say anything for a long time. Belatedly, Izuku wonders just how much time has passed. How long did Aizawa say? Fifteen minutes? He feels a bit like a jerk, turning Todoroki’s “thank you” into a whole lecture, but Todoroki needs to hear this. Despite everything, the hero student has somehow wiggled himself into Izuku’s mental bubble labeled “people I kind of like”, and if something stupid like refusing to use his quirk gets him killed, Izuku could never forgive himself.
“Midoriya, I…” his eyebrows knit together. “I…Haven’t thought about it like that before. I can’t promise that...That I’ll use my fire all the time. I’ve rejected my left half for so long that I think consciously using it will be difficult. But I’ll try.”
Izuku smiles. “That’s more than enough, Todoroki.”
And he can’t…quite…parse the surge of emotions that swim in Todoroki’s eyes, but after a moment, a soft smile curves at his mouth.
“You can call me Shouto.”
Unbidden, heat surges to his face.
“Uh. O-okay. You can c-call me Izuku, I guess.”
"Your given name is Izuku?"
Oh, right, he'd only told 1A his family name.
"Yeah," he says, rubbing his neck.
"Izuku," he says, as if he's testing the syllables on his tongue. "I like it."
Impossibly, he feels himself grow redder. It's the first time someone other than his mom as called him by his name.
"Um. T-thank you?"
“Fifteen minutes are up.” The door swings open, and Izuku’s never been more grateful for anyone to appear in his life.
His return to UA is met with more fanfare than he expected.
True to Todo–Shouto’s word, Endeavor and Nedzu arrange for the official story to be the result of a random, untargeted villain attack, and Izuku signs his second non-disclosure agreement. He could only assume that everyone else involved in the attack had to as well, but that makes Uraraka and Ashido no less motivated to rope him into their “We Survived Another Villain Attack” party they throw in the common room.
Aizawa pulls another disappearing act, so there’s no saving him when they open the doors to Heights Alliance and Izuku is swept away by the both of them. Two escape attempts later, he resigns himself to sit on the couch wedged between Iida and Uraraka. At some point the kid that swapped spots with him in homeroom (Satou, he learns) hands him a slice of the best chocolate cake he’s ever eaten, so that’s nice.
Bakugou was trapped into attending too, apparently, but Kirishima and the rest of the self-appointed Baku-squad keep them on opposite sides of the room. A bunch of the students who Izuku’s helped with their quirk over the weekend make small talk with him and casually coax them into their conversations as the night goes on. It’s not much – they don’t overwhelm him with questions and keep the conversation light. Despite the name of the party, no one actually asks about what happened during the exam, and Izuku feels a knot loosening in his chest.
After a while, it becomes easy to ignore Bakugou’s glares. A little more after that, Izuku finds himself really smiling. Izuku’s having an interesting conversation with Tokoyami and Dark Shadow when the front door opens.
Eraserhead (when did he even leave?) steps through with Shouto, and the whole room falls silent.
“Don’t mob him,” Aizawa deadpans, and quickly absconds up the stairs. Shouto is immediately mobbed.
“Everyone, give him some room!” Iida says, using his quirk to sprint ahead of the rest of the class and wedge himself between them and Shouto. “I’m sure he’s had a long day and does not wish to be bother–”
“Actually,” Shouto says, and the entire room seems to take a collective breath. Blue and grey eyes find Izuku on the couch, and Izuku wills himself not to look away, “I can stay for a bit.”
And that’s how Izuku comes to the decision that 1A isn’t all that terrible.
Apparently it takes two life-or-death villain attacks in the span of a month for Nedzu and the rest of their teachers to decide they deserve a break, because the next morning in homeroom, Aizawa announces that they have the rest of the break off.
This means absolutely nothing to Izuku, but the rest of 1A goes into a frenzy. Once Eraserhead reminds them that they cannot, in fact, leave the school grounds unattended, the energy boils down to a simmer (but not much). He reminds them that the do-overs for the preliminary license exam will be held at the end of the semester and warns them not to slack off, then dismisses them to do…whatever.
For Izuku, that means following Aizawa around; he’s still there as a part of his technical parole, so by default he doesn’t have the free reign that the rest of the class does. He spends time harassing the other teachers in the teacher’s lounge, probing them for questions on their quirks and doing little to restrain his inner fanboy. They don’t really mind, once Aizawa assures them that Izuku is mostly harmless, and he gets to make the most of a boring situation.
When they’re not in the actual school, Izuku’s in the dorms.
He blatantly ignores the way Iida beams whenever he joins in on common room shenanigans. Izuku wouldn’t even really call it “joining in”. Mostly, he just stands in the corner with Shouto while the rest of the class goofs around. It’s oddly soothing to have someone (a friend) who doesn’t expect him to talk, who’s simply content to exist in each other’s presence.
The downside to this is that 1A is no longer afraid to approach him, and they do so regularly. Sometimes to talk quirks (a pleasant surprise), sometimes to weigh in on opinions, and sometimes to talk about absolutely nothing. It’s the last bit that confuses him the most, considering that none of his former peers ever had any interest in talking to him just for the sake of talking.
Answers to homework, sure. Passing insults, fine. But just…talking? Because?
Izuku couldn’t marvel at that for long before he started to get emotional, and he absolutely refused to cry in front of a bunch of hero students.
To his ongoing surprise, 1A doesn’t push at all about his past or how he wound up here. He suspects Iida has something to do with that, but he’s not about to complain. And that’s probably the most shocking thing of all. Where most people in his life have been pushy ( Why are you so weird? Why do you like quirks so much? What makes you think you can be a hero? What’s it like being useless? ) 1A just...
Isn’t.
For whatever reason, despite the shitshow that was his introduction to them, 1A simply adopts him like he’s just another addition to the class. For the first time in a long time, Izuku doesn’t feel like the odd one out (and he does cry a little, okay. Just in the privacy of his room). Not even the cuffs on his wrists or his mom’s constant worrying get him down for long, not before there’s a knock at his door and Iida or Shouto is inviting him downstairs, or Eraserhead is collecting him to head to the teacher’s lounge.
The next week is one of the best he’s had in recent memory. It’s almost enough for him to imagine that he was never forced here in the first place, that All Might’s unwanted quirk isn’t ingrained in his DNA, that Tartarus isn’t just a hairsbreadth, that the world outside hasn’t gone to shit.
Almost, almost, almost.
It’s the night before the new semester. Izuku’s helping Iida clean up in the kitchen, humming some song that Asui showed him earlier that day. After some light harassment, Shouto got him to spill what his favorite food is, and Satou made them all Katsudon. He’s…
Happy, he thinks, handing Iida a plate to dry. The realization hits him like a slap to the face, and he allows himself a small smile.
“Deku.”
It’s comedic, in a tragic kind of way. Izuku flinches, dropping the plate in his hand, and it’s Iida’s fast reflexes that keep it from shattering on the floor. He turns. Bakugou is scowling in the doorway.
“I need to talk to you.”
Years of bullying kick in, and it’s like Izuku’s standing in an empty classroom again. Scrawny, small, and horribly alone.
“You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you. If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… go take a swan dive off the roof.”
“–doriya. Midoriya?”
Blinking, Izuku realizes that he’s frozen in place.
“W-what did you say?”
Iida frowns, but it’s concerned. “Do you want to speak with him? You don’t have to if you do not want to.”
Bakugou bristles. “Fuck off, Four Eyes. I just need the nerd for a minute.”
“He is clearly not okay with–”
“It’s fine, Iida,” Izuku says, hating how small his voice sounds, “I’ll go. Just a minute, right?”
Bakugou’s face smooths over slightly. He grunts. “Yea.”
“Okay, let’s talk.”
They get weird looks when they emerge from the kitchen, Bakugou in the lead and himself in tow. Shouto looks sharply up from the couch.
“Where are you going?” He asks, eyes flicking to Bakugou.
“None’a your fucking business, Halfie.”
“Izuku is my friend, so I think it is.”
Friend. The word makes something in his chest swell like a balloon. It’s discombobulating, but it also fills him with confidence. Like he’s less of a shell, more of a person.
“To talk,” Izuku says before Bakugou can start, “We’ll be back.”
Shouto doesn’t look sure, but he doesn’t look displeased, either.
“Okay. We’ll cover for you if Aizawa asks.” The rest of the class in the room nod or agree, and Izuku nearly loses it right there.
“Thank you,” he says. It sounds a bit strangled. Hopefully no one notices.
Bakugou yanks him away. He’s too stunned to really resist it, not until they’re outside and he comes back to his senses.
Outside, the sky is a deep orange. The sun casts long, deep shadows. It’s too pretty to be having a “talk” with Bakugou. Izuku tears his arm away.
“Well? What is it.”
“Not here.” Bakugou stalks away, not even looking behind him to see if he’s following. A small voice in his head urges him to just. Turn around. Go back inside. Nothing good has ever come of Bakugou, and that fact isn’t going to change tonight.
He counts to ten, and stalks after him.
He has no idea where they’re going, but no alarms have gone off and Aizawa isn’t swooping down on them, so they keep walking. Heights Alliance disappears behind them as skyscrapers loom on the horizon. The sky turns from molten caramel to red, then purple, then black, and they keep walking. It's been fifteen minutes. Still nothing, from Bakugou or the teachers. Izuku picks nervously at his cuffs. Were the security threats a bluff?
Eventually, Bakugou stops.
He seems to have led them into one of the school’s many training grounds. This one is no smaller than the others he’s seen; it looks like a replica of a city. They stand in the center of an empty intersection. For the first time since they set out, Bakugou faces him. The hard lines of his face are somehow harsher in the moonlight.
In his chest, his heart beats wildly; Izuku steels himself and keeps his voice as level as he can.
“Why did you call me out here?”
Strangely (disturbingly), Bakugou sounds just as calm. “I have questions, and you’re going to answer them.”
Ba-dum, ba-dum
“Okay. What is it?”
“Why are you here?”
Ba-dum, ba-dum,ba-dum
“I’m a vigilante. I got caught.”
Bakugou snarls. “That’s the shit you told the heroes. I want the real reason.”
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum
“That is the real reason. After we graduated, I got rejected from UA. And Shiketsu. And Ketsubutsu.” He barks a nervous laugh. “Pretty much everywhere that I didn’t want to just be a general admission. So I trained, and I became a vigilante.” He raises his wrists. “I got caught, and Nedzu took pity on me, I guess.”
A long pause.
Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum
“Fucking fine. I’ll play along. So they wouldn’t take your worthless ass,” Izuku’s breath catches, “And you were desperate and stupid. That doesn’t explain the cuffs, shit stain.”
Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum
“I–I. The w-way I got caught. I got hurt by a, a v-villain.”
A snort. “Okay. And?”
“I g-got hurt really, really bad. And it–”
“I’m sorry, I…I should have chosen before now. But no-one seemed right. My quirk is yours now.
“–T-trauma.”
“What?” he snaps, “Speak up.”
Izuku tries to regulate his breathing, and fails. “Extreme t-trauma. I almost d-died. It triggered my quirk to act-activate. Th-that’s what the d-doctors said.”
“Trauma,” Bakugou parrots, irritation washing over his features. He takes a step forward. “The fuck kind of bullshit is that? Nothing like that has ever been reported. That the crap you fed Aizawa? Nedzu? Just for some attention?”
Ba-dum ba-dUM BA-DUM BA-DUM
“It, it’s not. Not b-b-b-b–”
Suddenly Bakugou is there, in front of him, a fist in his shirt and a feral look in his eye. Smoke curls in the air at the point of contact. He’s…he’s shaking, like he was that first day at UA, like beneath the rage there’s something wrong.
“I did some research, Deku. Looked up recent vigilante arrests, in case you changed your shitty story. And you didn’t lie to me, congradu-fucking-lations. But here’s the thing. Only one arrest matches up with the timing for you winding up here. It’s the night he died. The Kamino raid. I got one more question for you, Deku, and speak fucking clearly:
“What the hell were you doing there?”
BA-DUMBA-DUMBA-DUMBA-DUM
“I w-w-w–” Bakugou shakes him, roughly.
“Fuckin’ clearly. ”
All at once, everything stops. His heart racing in his ears, the fear running rampant in his chest, the smell of caramel and burning cloth. There’s only static. And then anger. It flushes through his system like cooling, liquid nitrogen. Steadies his voice, smothers his nerves.
“I was there for you.”
“What?”
“I was there for you,” he repeats. Slowly, like he’s talking to a toddler. “You needed help. So I came.”
“You…you were there for me? ”
“Are you hard of hearing?” Izuku smacks away the fist curled in his shirt. It falls to Bakugou’s side, limp. “Yes, Bakugou, I was there for you. Because even though you’ve done nothing but torment me, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. There. Are you fucking happy?’
That seems to snap Bakugou out of it. His slack-jawed expression morphs into one of fury, and he spits in Iuzku’s face.
“No, I’m not fucking happy. Where the hell do you get off, trying to rescue me? Where All Might himself failed? Where he– where he died. He fucking DIED, Deku! Trying to rescue me. And you– shitty, quirkless, useless Deku– thought you could fucking do something?”
“Stop calling me that,” he hisses, holding his ground, “I’m none of those things. Including quirkless now, thanks to you.”
Bakugou swings.
Izuku’s half-expecting it, intercepts it. In one fluid motion, he side-steps Bakugou and twists his arm up around to his back and pushes. Bakugou falls forward, Izuku plants a knee in the small of his back, and they both hit the asphalt, hard.
He tightens his grip on Bakugou’s arm; any more pressure, and it’ll snap clean. They both know it. Beneath him, Bakugou breathes heavily.
“Get the–fuck off’a me!”
“No.”
“AUGH!”
“Why’re you doing this? Why are we out here?”
“This can’t be, this can’t be happening,” Bakugou’s voice is rough, a desperate tinge to it, “You can’t be here. You can’t have a fucking quirk, you can’t be here and All Might can’t be dead because of me.”
“That’s what this is? You’re feeling guilty?” A laugh tears itself out of his throat, but it feels like a sob.
“I don’t…know what you were doing here my boy, but…
“You cannot die, young man. Hang in there. I must…end this while I still can.”
“You’re not the reason why All Might died, Bakugou. A villain is. You’re not special; All Might would have happily given his life to save anyone, because that’s who All Might was. As much as I disliked him, he was a real hero, ” He spits, driving Bakugou’s arm harder against his back, “One who didn’t take his self-loathing out on others.
“You wanna be mad? Take it out on me, because you made me your punching bag for so long? Well too bad. You’ve got no fucking right. Not when I’m here because I was at Kamino trying to save your ass–Agh!” A bright explosion from the palm he’s restraining forces him to back off.
Spots go off in his vision, and he’s too stunned to react.
He hears the popping of tiny explosions and then he’s on his back, weight on his chest and an arm pressing against his throat.
“You think I needed your fucking help?! You think even if I did, I would have asked for you? A lying, quirkless, pathetic shitstain that’s been looking down on me since we were fucking five??” The arm presses harder, and Izuku coughs, hands reaching up instinctively to claw at his offender. Another explosion goes off, knocking his skull against the pavement.
Shit, shit shit shit. He might be trained, but Bakugou has been too, and he’s bigger than him. The blast from the explosion makes him too disoriented to do anything about it.
He’s going to black out. His face burns. His mouth opens in a wordless gasp for air and all he smells is burnt hair.
“Get– off–”
But Bakugou either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care. “I don’t believe for a single motherfucking second that you were some big-shot vigilante. I’m sure that’s what you told the police, huh, as a last ditch effort to make it into UA? Fudged your quirk status and took credit for someone else’s work? You’re a shit-eating liar and a fake, Deku .
“ You seriously expect me to believe that you were at Kamino for what – Me? You were trying to save me ?? You can’t even save your fucking-self, bastard. ”
Another blow lands across his cheek – it’s a quirkless punch, but it still has him seeing stars. Or maybe the lack of oxygen is doing that. Bakugou is heedless of his predicament, still ranting, screaming vitriol and flecking spit across Izuku’s face.
Why did he agree to come out here? Why did he think Bakugou would ever just talk? Bakugou isn’t capable of conversation; he’s only capable of violence. He was an idiot to think anything else.
He lies there pinned to the pavement, bruised, bleeding, and on the verge of blacking out, and he burns with rage. Rage that he chose to entertain Bakugou’s request, rage that he let his guard down, rage that no-one has fucking found them by now , because were all those threats about UA’s surveillance system bullshit?
But mostly, he’s pissed that he ever went to Kamino in the first place. What was he thinking? After everything, he still went back to Bakugou. Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou-fucking-Katsuki, who is so mad with grief and anger that he might actually kill him without realizing it.
Izuku’s rage pools, building in his stomach and overflowing up his throat, through his limbs, in his veins, and something short-circuits. Literally.
There’s a pop of electricity and suddenly his wrists are on fire, but he doesn’t feel it.
Screaming with pain and inarticulate rage, he swings a fist up in a last-ditch attempt to get Bakugou to stop –
His fist catches flesh. Crack.
W o o s h
A massive gust of air blasts him back. Concrete tears at his back as he skids backwards before coming to a rough stop. The pressure gone from his throat, he gulps down precious breaths of air. He sits up.
Adrenaline makes him dizzy, but alert, and he frantically assesses his injuries. When he does, he blinks to make sure he’s seeing things clearly.
The suppressants on his wrists are utterly fried. They still cling to his wrists, but barely; there’s exposed wire peeking through the usually smooth casing, and they’re sparking. His right hand is mangled, and it’s flickering with red energy.
Scratch that, his whole right arm is messed up . It’s a miracle he’s not passed out from the pain, but that’s likely because of the way his heart is hammering so fast at the moment.
And then he remembers Bakugou.
About thirty meters away there’s a person-sized hole in one of the training ground buildings. And a person-sized dent in the guard rail leading up to it. And a broken lamppost.
There’s nothing more he can do than sit there, stupefied, while his brain struggles to comprehend what just happened.
And then he’s bound head-to-toe in capture gear.
Pain rips up his arms and his back and he cries out in pain, vision going blurry with it. The red energy he’s crackling with also fades, but he doesn’t notice. Seconds before passing out, he sees the approaching figure of Aizawa with…is that the Principal on his shoulders?
He’s unconscious before he can tell.
Notes:
<3
Chapter 12: Meet the Bakugous
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Heyo, I herd ya nerds like double updates <3
First, thank you SO MUCH for all the feedback last chapter, it's a big part of why this double update is happening (serotonin goes brrr and this magically poured forth from me idk I can't explain it). Yall's comments made my week. I tried to comment back, but Ao3 keeps giving me this message that says "retry later" on some of them, and I can't figure out what's up with that. Anyone know why?
Second, I'm so sorry I turned y'all against Aizawa lmao
Dadzawa is a thing, I promise, but I am a firm believer that Dadzawa happens slowly. Canon Aizawa is an asshole until after the 123850394th time Midoriya is in mortal peril, and I stand by that haha, he gets better!
Anywaaays, I hope this one makes up for the cliffhanger I left y'all with!
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This isn’t good. No, this isn’t good at all.
Nedzu scrubs back through the security feed for the umpteenth time, beady eyes reflecting with the harsh light of the computer screen.
He watches Midoriya expertly restrain Bakugou, diverting what would have been a solid punch, and say something unintelligible to the cameras. His ears flick with annoyance; if only the cameras could have picked up, clearly, what they were saying. Nedzu would pay to hear just what their little “talk” was about. All he can make out is the end, and that’s mostly Bakugou’s screaming.
After another few minutes of watching the same footage, he sits back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.
This situation is his fault. He was alerted immediately by the proximity triggers in the boy’s suppressants as soon as they left the dorm rooms. Aizawa doesn't make a habit of leaving the kids to their own devices after sunset, so of course he’d checked the camera’s feeds to see what the boy was up to.
Was it foolish to allow the two of them to make it all the way to Ground Beta before alerting Eraserhead of their departure? Yes, but his burning curiosity got the better of him, and now they were in a mess entirely of his own making (He never tried to deny his curious nature, but usually he trusted his judgment. How could he have possibly anticipated Bakugou forgoing the threat of expulsion to assault Midoriya? He always forgets that, for a supposedly intelligent species, humans can be remarkably stupid).
He only hopes that they can walk away from this quickly and with as little resistance as possible.
The door to his office swings open– heavy, bloodshot eyes find him across the desk.
“The Bakugous are here,” Aizawa says, “They’re waiting in my office.”
Nedzu closes the surveillance feed and shuts down his computer, and hops down from his chair. “Splendid, let’s go, shall we?”
…
“A fractured skull, a broken jaw,” Bakugou Mitsuki counts off on her hands, practically foaming a the mouth, “Cracked pelvis, forty-three hairline fractures, a concussion– whatever the fuck else I’m missing– It’s a miracle he isn’t dead, for chrissake,” she snarls, “I want whatever little shit did this to be expelled, or I’m suing you to hell and back.”
Shouta takes in a slow breath and counts to ten. Bakugou Mitsuki is reflective of her son in the most frustrating ways. The last time he spoke to her, she’d been agitated but agreeable, and Bakugou Masaru had helped to smooth out the edges. Unfortunately, this time he’s doing no such thing.
The man sits quietly beside his wife, radiating a quiet anger, and simply nods.
“Frankly Aizawa, Principal Nedzu, I find it wildly irresponsible that you haven’t already.”
“Damn right,” Mitsuki growls. She slams a fist on his desk. Shouta feels his eye twitch. “How the hell did my son leave the custody of villains in better shape than he is right now?”
“Actually, your son is quite alright,” Nedzu points out, and Shouta wants to drown him in his own tea cup, “Injuries like this happen every now and then in hero institutes, despite our many preventative security measures. UA in particular is equipped with state-of-the-art medical equipment and a world-renowned healing staff. As his guardians, you signed a waiver acknowledging this before submitting his admission papers. I understand your frustration, but Bakugou is healed and resting up in the medical wing as we speak.”
Bakugou Mitsuki looks like she is about two seconds away from committing the deed herself, so Aizawa swats his boss with his scarf and quickly interjects.
“Bakugou’s situation is nonetheless upsetting. I apologize that the altercation ever occurred. They should have never made it out of the dorm’s front doors in the first place.” He resists the urge to side-eye the rodent. “Normally I would completely agree with you and have the offending student expelled immediately.”
She backs down (just barely) and folds her arms. “So why aren’t they?”
“And why aren’t their parents here? Or the child?” Bakugou Masarou says quietly. “Katsuki is recovering, but what about his attacker?”
Shouta purses his lips. Legally, he isn’t sure how much he can disclose about Midoriya’s current predicament, but he is more than at liberty to say this:
“Because Midoriya didn’t attack your son; it’s the other way around.”
Silence.
“Midoriya is actually in a protective custody of sorts,” Nedzu says when they don’t say anything, “His mother has temporarily surrendered guardianship to the school, and so we are in charge of handling any legal disputes. Though his mother has been made aware of his condition, she is not able to attend this meeting.”
Bakugou Masaru recovers first, shaking his head. “I’m sorry– you said this child’s name is Midoriya?”
“That is correct.”
“Midoriya Izuku?”
Nedzu tips his head to the side. “Do you know him?”
The Bakugous exchange a look.
“His mother is an old friend of mine. We stopped speaking a while ago, around the time little Izuku was diagnosed as–” Bakugou Mitsuki pauses, “How the hell did Izuku do that to Katsuki?”
Years of active hero duty are the only thing that keep Shouta from reacting. He can only groan inwardly, wondering how this can of worms just got shittier.
“I’m afraid that’s part of the reason why Midoriya is currently in our custody. Due to recent traumatic events, Midoriya has activated a latent quirk. It would seem his fight-or-flight response triggered him to use it on Bakugou.”
To their credit, the Bakugous look much more subdued – but considerably more confused.
“What exactly happened?” Marasu says after a moment.
“I’m happy you asked!” Nedzu turns the monitor on Shouta’s desk so that it faces the both of them. The CCTV footage from the night before is on screen, locked and loaded – Shouta hits “play”, and the footage starts to roll. The lighting is poor, but the light from the moon clearly distinguishes Bakugou’s hair from Midoriya’s, even with their features obscured. They let the footage play out until Midoriya pins him; Shouta pauses it before it gets messy.
“As you can see,” Nedzu starts. The silence from the Bakugou’s is heavy. “Your son actually initiated the fight. What you saw was an expert de-escalation technique displayed by our ward. I could play you the rest, but it gets quite…disturbing.”
“Bakugou uses his quirk to stun Midoriya,” Shouta says calmly, “Before pinning him by his throat to the ground and beating him. This is the first time Bakugou has actively harmed Midoriya, but it’s not the first time he’s displayed unprovoked aggression towards him. I don’t approve of the force Midoriya used to defend himself, but had he not acted out in fear of his own survival, he would have died. Or worse.”
Bakugou Mitsuki looks sufficiently horrified. “Or worse?”
“Brain damaged,” Nedzu supplies, “Or braindead. It would depend on how long your son deprived him of oxygen. But based on the footage, death was most likely.”
In his mind, Shouta hears the phantom echo of Midoriya’s scream when he secured him with his capture scarf – back then, he hadn’t seen the extent of Midoriya’s injuries in the dark, hadn’t known the context of the situation. He’d only seen his student go hurtling through the building like an over-sized ragdoll, and his instincts screamed danger, subdue. Thinking back, he could hit himself; Midoriya was scared, cornered, and suffocating. He’s appalled at his actions as a guardian.
“I just– I just don’t understand,” Bakugou Mitsuki rouses him from his thoughts. “Why would Katsuki do that, why– they used to be best friends!”
Shouta sighs. “According to Midoriya, your son has treated him with extreme prejudice over lack of a quirk. We had a smaller issue occur between the two of them two weeks ago wherein Bakugou attempted to use his quirk against him, but I was there to put a stop to it and threatened him with expulsion. I thought that would be enough to settle the issue.”
As soon as the word expulsion leaves his mouth, the both of them stiffen.
There it is; the realization that they’re the ones in deep shit.
Nedzu turns the monitor back towards them. “I suppose I should have led with this over the phone, but I wanted you to get a deeper understanding of the scope of the problem first,” the principal raps his claws on the table. “The lightest your son can be charged with is assault. The worst? Attempted murder.” Shouta watches the blood drain from their faces nigh-instantly. “He’s only a minor, and it’s his first offense, so the charges would be swept from his record when he turned eighteen. Be that as it may, he would likely wind up in a juvenile detention center until then.” He gestures to Shouta, “Aizawa here believes that, and state-mandated therapy, are the most fitting options for your son. I, however, am of a different opinion.”
The Bakugous’ expressions are muted – Shouta’s is too. He and Nedzu had discussed the plan to deal with Bakugou well into the night, and personally, he is in complete disagreement with the principal. Whatever Bakugou’s issue is, it’s ingrained too deeply into his personality not to be dealt with ruthlessly and efficiently. For whatever reason, Nedzu opposed him vehemently. So he keeps his mouth shut and listens with a sour face.
“Seeing as Bakugou was recently kidnapped, and you so graciously agreed not to press charges, I would like to keep both him and UA out of the spotlight as much as possible. In tumultuous times like these, I believe it best not to ‘stir the pot’. The last thing this country needs is less faith in its protectors.
“That being said, we need good protectors. Bakugou has potential, but not as he is now. He is deeply troubled, and putting the power of a licensed hero in his hands would be grossly ill-advised. So here is my solution.” Nedzu produces a stack of papers from seemingly out of nowhere and slides them forward.
When did he have the time to print those up? To write those??
“Should you agree to these terms, Bakugou Katsuki will be removed from 1A’s hero course. He will be transferred to general studies effective immediately. During that time, should he attempt to contact Midoriya, he will be expelled and we will press charges. Bakugou will be allowed to transfer back into 2B the following year, provided he passes a psychological exam at the end of year one. Regardless of the results of that exam, he is to attend weekly therapy with either our resident therapist Hound Dog, or a school-approved therapist of your choice for the duration of his education here at UA.
“In return, we will drop all charges against him. Does that sound agreeable?”
Shouta has never seen a pair of people sign something so fast in his life.
Half an hour later, after the Bakugou’s have been escorted off the premises, Shouta finds himself standing outside of Recovery Girl’s office.
After getting chewed out and subsequently assuring the old heroine that he isn’t there to disturb her patients, Shouta slips quietly inside. There’re curtains separating the occupants of the room; he walks past the first one and stops outside the second.
Midoriya looks peaceful, younger than Shouta’s ever seen him than when he’s awake.
The ugly maroon of his broken arm is faded back to a healthy tan and rests painlessly against his chest. The splotchy red across his neck from where Bakugou choked him is healed, Recovery Girl’s quirk having progressed its stage to a bruised yellow. It should fade in a few days. Shouta knows that he’s scuffed up in several other places, and the skin that was torn from his back after skipping across the pavement is still tender, too. Normally injuries like that would be healed entirely, but the bones in his arm were shattered so completely that she wasn’t able to do so as effectively.
“I’ve set his arm and repaired the internal bleeding. Any more than that, and he’d be in a medical coma. The damage in the one arm was almost as bad as the damage throughout Bakugou’s entire body.”
He takes a seat at the single chair at the foot of his bed and stares. They had to remove the remains of the quirk-suppressant cuffs– they were destroyed beyond use. Completely fried. The cuff on his right wrist had burned so thoroughly that it actually melted with his skin.
He’d never seen anything like it.
Ten years dealing with criminals and villains alike, with non-mutation quirks of all kinds of variety, and not once had any of them managed to overload a pair of prison-grade suppressant cuffs.
But Midoriya had. He’s watched the footage as much, if not more, than Nedzu. Midoriya broke them like they were nothing.
And the damndest thing – neither Recovery Girl or Nedzu were half as surprised as he was. What's more, Bakugou Katsuki should have been expelled; bad publicity be damned.
Shouta’s worked long enough with the rat to know that he puts the student’s safety above anything else and has enough connections in both the courts and the HPSC to have kept the affair hushed. What he fed the Bakugous – hell, even Endeavor – was bullshit. What’s the real reason behind all the cover-ups?
Shouta sits and mulls over the enigma that is Midoriya Izuku, and he makes up his mind.
He leaves the infirmary.
Stalks across main campus all the way to Nedzu’s office, scaring off a number of terrified coworkers that are unfortunate enough to try and greet him. All except one, of course.
“Mornin’, Sho– woah, what’s got you so cranky?”
“Not now, Zashi.”
“Woah, hey, that’s no way to talk to your best bud!” Hizashi matches his stride easily, ponytail bouncing as he does so. It must still be fairly early, if he doesn’t have it slicked up in that obscene cockatiel crest that he likes. “Is it something else with 1A? Midoriya? You’re only ever worked up if it had to do with your kids. No, wait, is it Shinsou? Did Nedzu not approve of his transfer?! I know you were worried about–”
“Hizashi.” Shouta stops abruptly, and Hizashi nearly falls over himself trying not to run into him.
His friend smiles at him sheepishly. “Oh no, my full name. You’re really pissed.”
He scoffs. “I’ve had a very stressful last twelve hours. Last two weeks, really. Thank you for showing concern and I’ll tell you later, but when I said ‘not now’, I sincerely meant it.” God, he hadn’t even thought about Shinsou in the past two weeks; he’s completely forgotten about that pending transfer.
I just want to have time for the mental breakdown that I deserve.
Shouta closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he looks up at Hizashi.
“I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?”
Hizashi beams. “Okay! Just, don’t overwork yourself, alright?”
“It’s not exactly like I want to.”
Hizashi snorts. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
He makes it the rest of the way to Nedzu’s office uninterrupted. Hizashi’s intervention leaves him a bit more level-headed, and he sends a silent thanks for having someone as patient as him in his life. He’s going to need all the coherency he can muster for this conversation.
Shouta doesn’t bother knocking; he just opens the door, jaw set.
“Aizawa?” The principal looks up from his computer, “Did you need something else?”
“You’re going to tell me everything that you’re keeping from me about Midoriya.” Nedzu’s confusion subtly morphs into something...animalistic. His mouth quirks into a sharp-toothed smile.
Adrenaline douses him like ice water, and Shouta feels his hairs stand on end. Unbidden, his quirk surges to the surface and he wrestles it into submission.
“Now, whatever do you mean?”
The rational, tired voice in the back of his head tells him to take it back.
He forges on.
“Cut the bullshit, Nedzu. No normal quirk destroys suppressant cuffs like that. As far as I know, no quirk ever has.” Against his better judgment, he steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. “I know Midoriya’s history, but if you really wanted him in a reform program, you would have done so the moment you heard that a previous applicant took down the Hero Killer, not nearly half a year later.
“Midoriya has an exceedingly dangerous, not to mention vague, quirk. One that supposedly manifested after an extreme trauma event. Something that, to my knowledge, has never happened before. If that’s really the case, why be so quiet about it? Why is he here and not in a medical institution, being screened and cared for? Why is Nighteye involved, why is the kid afraid of going to fucking Tartarus, and why are you trying to hard to keep him out of the media?”
Is he a noumu?
It wouldn't be that much of a stretch to put together, given the timing and place of the kid getting his quirk. If it were multiple quirks stuffed inside of him, then that could feasibly explain why the cuffs exploded – no one quirk had ever done that before, but several? That might be a different story entirely. Was Midoriya simply a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time with extraordinarily awful luck, or the product of horrific experimentation?
He doesn't dare ask it aloud; just bites his tongue and waits.
How had he not stopped to consider this before? A lot was happening, sure, but how had he not noticed that Midoriya was more of an unknown than known variable? Had he really been that willing to ignore what was right in front of him?
Judging by the way Nedzu is smiling at him, Shouta has stumbled upon something much, much bigger than what he previously believed. Something potentially dangerous.
“Mister Aizawa,” the principal says, “Lock the door behind you and take a seat.” He gestures to his ever-present tea-pot. “Have a cup of tea.”
His instincts would much rather him pitch the chair at Nedzu and get the fuck out of dodge, but he obeys. Keeps his eyes on the tiny predator in the room, locks the door, and walks slowly and calmly to the chair across from him. He does not pour a cup of tea.
Nedzu shrugs, then picks up the phone on his desk and dials a number.
“Who are you calling?”
“Some acquaintances. What I’m about to tell you goes deeper than anything you could possibly imagine."
God
dammit.
Notes:
Bakugou, meet consequences. I've been wanting y'all to meet for a while lol
A bit of shameless self-promotion: I know this fic has been updating randomly (update schedule who?) so in the meantime, might I interest you in a completed, 2-part, massive villain tododeku that's a product of my 2020 lockdown? Maybethinkaboutitokaybyyyyyyyeloveyall
Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 13: Good Morning Starshine
Notes:
Happy Holidays, Happy New Year! Here's a brand-spanking new chapter to bring 2022 to a close <3
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You threatened a minor with Tartarus.”
Shouta stares at the phone incredulously, then back to Nedzu. The principal has been silent throughout most of the explanation, sipping his tea and interjecting at random. He’s been remarkably calm, though that distinct air of danger about him lingers in the room. Shouta can’t help but feel like the rodent has been judging his every reaction throughout this impromptu discussion. It makes his skin crawl.
“It wasn’t what I wanted ,” Tsukauchi says, his voice warped through the speaker phone, “Midoriya asked for immunity, and Sasaki overrode his request.”
“With perfectly good reason. Do remember that before you try to shirk responsibility, Naomasa.”
Shouta’s quirk flares at no-one in particular– it’s out of sheer shock. Outrage coils like a snake in his chest, ready to uncoil and strike. He takes a slow breath through his nose.
“What reason could that possibly be??”
“Have you not been listening? Midoriya–”
“Is a literal child. A textbook example of ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ and you threatened him with Tartarus. Why wouldn’t you just use your quirk on him to see if he was a spy?”
The silence that follows sticks for so long that Shouta wonders if Nighteye has simply hung up.
“My quirk– I don’t dare use it on matters concerning All for One .”
Is he fucking serious? Shouta grits his teeth. “And why the hell not?”
“Because the last time I did, Yagi-san died. I’m not keen on tempting fate again.”
Shouta’s rendered speechless. That’s not– he couldn’t seriously think that his Foresight cemented the future, could he? Such a train of thought was highly illogical, and yet–
Nighteye sounds deadly serious. Serious enough to have vouched for tossing Midoriya into the most high-security prison in the world.
“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, dropping his quirk.
“I’m sorry, but I’m still stuck on the fact that we’re having this conversation at all. Nedzu, why on Earth did you think it a good idea to share Yagi-san’s secret with a civilian?”
“I’m not a god-damned civilian, I’m his guardian.”
“You’re his babysitter,” he can hear the sneer in Nighteye’s voice, “You had no right to this information in the first place. Nedzu?”
“You’re not talking to the rat, you’re talking to me. ” He realizes a moment too late that he just referred to his boss as a rat, but if anything, Nedzu looks more amused than annoyed. “This entire situation could have been avoided if I had been informed fully of the situation, not fed some half-assed bullshit.”
“If it were up to me, Eraserhead, you wouldn’t have been fed anything at all. Midoriya would be where he clearly belongs; in Tartarus, until this whole issue was sorted out.”
Shouta slaps a hand on the desk and Nedzu nearly drops his tea.
“He’s not a damn criminal. He’s a kid, ” his mind flashes to Midoriya asleep in the infirmary cot. Thinks about how, unconscious, Midoriya looked the most at-peace Shouta’s seen him. He thinks of the fear on his face, in his voice, back during the license exam. Of Uraraka and Mina flagging him down, hauling a barely-breathing Todoroki, telling him that Midoriya was fighting a villain. He thinks of the kid’s barely-there smile that been making an appearance over the past week. He thinks of all of this, and he wants to strangle Nighteye through the phone.
“And a damn good one, at that.”
“You can't possibly know that. For all we know, he’s playing the long-con.”
“Really? Then tell me, would a villain playing the long-con skip out on a free escape?”
Across from him, Nedzu sets his cup down and blinks.
“What do you mean?” Naomasa asks.
Nighteye’s tone is mocking. “Do enlighten us.”
Quietly, Nedzu considers him. A small smile grows at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Aizawa. Please do.” Right, the rat had known his cover story was a load of bull from the beginning.
Shouta starts to launch into an explanation, but catches himself.
He could tell them what he knows– that Midoriya couldn’t possibly be in cahoots with the League of Villains because he literally fought one of their members hardly a week ago– but that would probably do more harm for the kid. After hearing exactly how the problem child landed here in the first place, it’s clear that Nighteye is too entrenched in his own paranoia to listen to logic. If he were to tell them that Midoriya actually had contact with the League, it could possibly land him in even more hot water. That’s the last thing he wants. And sure, there’s always Naomasa’s quirk, but if they’ve already discounted that, then any true testimony on his part would be rendered moot. Not only that, but he’s sure that All Might’s old sidekick would find some way to twist Shouta covering for the kid into some intricate brainwashing bullshit.
Shouta shuts his mouth so hard that his teeth clack together. Nedzu eyes him, and it feels distinctly predatory.
“Well, Aizawa?” He prompts.
“He…could have lied back during the initial interrogation,” Shouta says, the lie scraping like sandpaper across his tongue, “If he wanted an easy out. He didn’t know about your quirk initially, right Naomasa?”
The Detective sighs, “We don’t know at what point he figured out how my quirk worked.”
NIghteye scoffs. “Were you even listening before, Eraserhead?”
Shouta bites his cheek to keep from saying something he’ll regret.
“Right, so as I was saying: why did you deem it necessary to bring him in on Yagi-san’s secret, Nedzu?”
Shouta goes rigid. They haven’t told either of them about– about the incident. If either of them learn that the cuff suppressants don’t work–
Nedzu interrupts his frantic train of thought by tapping his claws together. “I must confess, Aizawa put the pieces together himself! He confronted me about Midoriya, and I feared that more harm than good would come about keeping him in the dark.”
“Really?”
“Really!”
“...I see. Well, see to it that no one else ‘pieces things together’. The whole point of placing that delinquent in your care was for UA to act as a neutral party, not for you to start spreading state secrets.”
Shouta wants to reach through the phone and strangle him, but Nedzu keeps a composed demeanor.
“Of course, Sir Nighteye. Aizawa and I will work to make sure that UA upholds our part of the agreement until you are able to find a suitable solution for our One for All problem. Goodbye!”
The Detective sounds tired over the phone. “Right, goodbye.”
“Goodb–” Shouta presses the “end call” button with vehemence. As if a puppeteer has snipped his cables, Shouta collapses back into his chair. He’s left feeling – well, a lot of things – but mostly exhausted.
For the time being Midoriya is safe from Tartarus, but their problems are hardly over. The fact that there is a centuries-old grudge match and villain with unknown powers at his disposal currently locked up, and the only person with the ability to combat him is a fifteen-year-old with a savior complex and a deep distrust of the heroes is a lot to take in. Christ. Fucking hell.
A thought hits him, and he feels his will to live die in real time.
“Nedzu,” he rasps, sitting up in the chair, “Midoriya busted the quirk cuffs. If he can do that, then–”
“Then All for One likely allowed us to capture him? Yes, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“So why didn’t you tell them that?” He waves a hand at the phone. “Naomasa and Nighteye?”
“The good Detective is dealing enough with Sir Nighteye as it is,” he says, running a claw around the rim of his cup, “And frankly, Nighteye is too frightened to think straight. I think withholding the last twenty-four hours from them is the best course of action for the moment.”
Hearing him say that out loud relieves at least a little bit of his stress– at the very least, someone other than him is thinking in Midoriya’s interest.
“So what are we going to do?” There’s a ticking time-bomb in the depths of Tartarus, and they have absolutely no way to disarm it. Shouta can only imagine why he hasn’t broken out already. The League must be planning something big, and they’ve already made a move to attack the school again. Something needs to be done.
The principal sighs, “For the time being? Contact the warden of Tartarus and have security on All for One’s cell increased. Aside from that, all we can really do is try to convince Midoriya to transfer the quirk. We need it if we are going to stop All for One and the League for good. All Might was a wonderful pillar, but that has long-since crumbled.”
A surge of indignation reignites has Shouta shooting up in his seat.
“ Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re seriously–” In a blip of incredulity, he almost laughs, “What exactly do you plan on doing to achieve that? We’ve given Midoriya no reason to trust anything we say.”
Nedzu frowns. “We can’t very well allow the quirk to stay put with him. When we thought All for One was safely locked away, waiting out his graduation was a viable solution. Now, that’s no longer an option. We need Midoroya’s quirk; It’s the only plan I envision going forward.”
“Bullshit.” He challenges. Shouta feels– he doesn’t feel quite like himself. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the absurdity of the secrets that have just been laid out for him, but whatever it is, it has him feeling reckless. But then, desperate times and desperate measures.Screw it. “Why can’t the kid have the quirk?”
Nedzu blinks. “He’s quirkless. He has no prior experience controlling power, much less something of this magnitude. Furthermore, as you put, he has no reason to trust us and therefore no reason to work with us.”
“You know just as well as I do what that kid is capable of, quirkless or not. He lowered the crime rate in the areas he patrolled, he took down Stain. He fought a member of the League, all while quirkless,” the strange feeling in his chest snowballs, and Shouta rolls with it. He ticks off his fingers. “He’s smart, he’s trained, he’s capable, he has more potential than half the students I work with, and he wants to help people. Just be honest with the kid, and that’s all the reason he’ll need.”
Nedzu regards him quietly. “What are you getting at, Aizawa?”
He takes a breath. What is he getting at? His mouth forms the words before he can think twice:
“We don’t need a new holder; we need someone willing to teach him.”
…
Izuku wakes up slowly.
The first thing he registers is the harsh light above him, painfully bright. He groans and goes to shield his eyes only for something to catch on his arm– it’s a sling. Izuku blinks sluggishly at his arm.
Why is it in a sling?
Slowly, as he blinks into awareness, pieces of pictures come to mind. Of a tall, empty city at twilight. Of screaming, of panic– Bakugou. His whole body alight in pain. They all slot together to form a memory, and swears.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “Fuck , I’m so screwed.” He injured Bakugou. Badly. Maybe even killed him. He could be a murderer. He lets that thought sink in, waits for panic to overtake him but…but the anxiety won’t surface. He feels it somewhere in his chest, but it’s hazy, like wading through a thick sludge.
A small bit of clarity, of anxiety, flares brightly for a moment. He tries to focus and hold onto it, but it flickers out like a weak flame. Instead, he tries to gather his thoughts. First on the agenda; where is he?
Obviously, Eraserhead and Nedzu found them. Obviously, he passed out. Obviously, he’s in some sort of holding cell.
Only…that doesn’t seem to be the case. He takes in the space around him with muted interest; wherever he is, it can’t be prison. There’s a window just behind him that’s streaming in sunlight, for one. He’s no expert, but if a police interrogation room didn’t put in windows, he’s pretty sure the infirmary at Tartarus wouldn’t. At the far end of the room is a tiny rolling chair pushed up to a desk with a mug on it and piled high with paperwork.
Izuku sits up a little more, adjusting his sling and–
“You’re awake.”
Sluggishly, he turns his head to the left and comes face-to-face with Eraserhead.
The hero is a dark smear against the white of the curtains behind him, folded up into his chair like a gremlin. His haggard face and unkempt hair only add to the imagery. The bottom half of his face is tucked deep in his capture scarf. For a split second, Izuku feels a sharp pang of fear, but it’s immediately dulled.
Izuku frowns.
“What did you do to me?”
“Recovery Girl has you on some mild sedatives in case you woke up in a panic. Based on the security feed, you only activated your quirk in a moment of extreme duress. We didn’t want you to wake up and have the same thing happen. It’ll wear off in a few hours without another dosage.”
“Oh.” If Recovery Girl is responsible for his miraculous healing, then it’s safe to assume this is the infirmary on UA’s campus. That’s as good a start as any.
It’s only then that he notices the missing quirk suppressants. Eraserhead follows his line of sight.
“Don’t try to activate it. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can.”
His frown deepens. “I wasn’t.”
Eraserhead hums. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” A little achy maybe, but that’s nothing compared to earlier. “Bakugou?” Another pang of anxiety, smothered before it can bloom into anything more.
“Recovered. Resting,” the hero tugs his scarf down around his mouth, “Temporarily removed from the hero program. You won’t have to worry about him attacking you again.”
Even the drugs in his system don’t stop him from nearly choking on his own tongue. He– he couldn’t have heard that correctly, right?
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. If it were up to me he’d be expelled and halfway to juvie. You could have died.”
“I don’t follow.”
Eraserhead sighs. “You weren’t in the wrong, kid. Bakugou was. Nedzu got everything on camera. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner and…” A strange look passes over his features. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Izuku stares at him for a long, long moment.
There’s way too much to address here– if not for his current state, no doubt he’d have spiraled into a muttering mess by now– so he forces himself to set it all aside and save it for the inevitable meltdown once the drugs wear off.
“Am I going to prison?”
Abruptly, Aizawa goes from cowed to quietly furious. His quirk activates in a flash or red and flurry of lashing hair. The capture scarf around his neck flicks like a snake in warning, and Izuku can’t help it– he flinches. Eraserhead catches the movement and swears, dropping his quirk and control over the weapon.
“Damn, I’m– no. No, you’re not going to prison. Nighteye isn’t getting his way if it’s the last thing I do.”
Izuku’s stare turns to the hero.
“Who said anything about Nighteye?”
Eraserhead runs a hand through his hair, huffs a breath through his nose. “No-one. I know what he’s threatening you with. I know why you’re actually here.”
Izuku tries and fails to feel surprised. “You do?”
“I do.”
“How much?”
“Everything. Your bad luck is astounding, problem child.”
“Gee, thanks.” He pauses. “Wait, so you don’t think I’m working with the League of Villains?”
“Obviously not. How you acted last week is proof enough for me.”
“Well that’s…nice, I guess.” At a loss for what to say, Izuku turns his attention back to his sling. It’s incredible how powerful Recovery Girl’s quirk is. The last he’d seen it, it was a mangled, smashed mess. He can only imagine how bad Bakugou was hurt. His mind and body are at duality; he wants to feel disgusted with himself, he really does, but he’s met with a wall of nothing. He squeezes a fist. He’s so, so tired. Izuku looks up at Eraserhead, and it hits him that the man has been very…well, not nice, necessarily. But not very “Aizawa-y”, either. In fact, he's taking this all weirdly well.
“If you know everything, why are you here?” He squints. “What do you want?”
—
“We don’t need a new holder; we need someone willing to teach him.”
Nedzu’s contemplative look slowly morphs into one of glee.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, “You humans never fail to surprise and impress.”
Aizawa glares.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Aizawa, nothing at all. Just a casual observation.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Don’t play games, Nedzu. You know what. Can I teach him how to use his quirk?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
“Of course I can,” Aizawa snaps, “I wouldn’t be asking if I couldn’t. You know what I meant.”
“Do I? I don’t know anything,” Nedzu says, placing a paw demurely on his chest, “ I’m simply a neutral third party in charge of ensuring his extended stay at UA.
“What happens during that time?...Well, that’s up to his guardian, wouldn’t you agree?”
—
“I want to teach you,” Eraserhead answers, “I meant what I said before; you aren’t a hero, but you can be. You have just as much potential as anyone else at this school, previous quirk status or otherwise.”
Izuku only stares.
Somewhere deep in his chest he feels something pull. Something slick drops down his face. He purses his lips, and it comes back salty.
“So what do you think, problem child?”
Leave it to him to cry, even with mood dampeners.
“Fuck you," he says, quickly wiping away the stray tear, "I’ve been a hero the whole time. But sure. Train me, or whatever.” He bares his teeth in a nasty smile because it feels right, even if he can’t feel it. “If it means Nighteye can’t get what he wants, I’m in.”
“Then congrats, kid,” Aizawa’s face splits into a wild grin, “Welcome to your Hero Academia.”
Notes:
KKC: Ahhhhhh we're so excited to get this one out! Hope y'all liked it, think of this as the end of Act 1, there's some fun stuff to come ^^
IB: We are worried that our readers might be concerned that this chapter heralds a return to the canon story. We wish to dash these rumors. We have already taken canon out back of the wood shed and we want to assure you that we will continue to desecrate its corpse accordingly.Thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 14: One Step Forward
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Thank you for all of the kind comments last chapter! It's been a hot minute, so I decided to drop this chapter basically as soon as it was done lol. Forgive any mistakes until it's beta read, please! We've done a good bit of planning for what's essentially act two, and I'm super psyched to start it all off.
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m telling you, Mido-chan was amazing!” Toga yells, jumping out of the way of his grasp. “And cute, and sexy, and deadly, all wrapped up in one–”
“Shut up!” Tomura screeches. He reaches for her again, but she jumps back onto the couch. He lunges after her and she leaps away. Their awful couch disintegrates under his touch (“Our couch…” Twice wimpers). “Your weird crush ruined our whole plan, how the hell am I gonna get that doctor to take me seriously when you couldn’t kill one hero brat?!”
“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Dabi says. He’s a safe distance away, watching them with the rest of the team from the other side of the room. Like they’re watching a fucking spectacle, like they can’t even take this seriously. “Endeavor’s trophy won’t go down so easily.”
Tomura whirls and points a nail-bitten finger at him. “I don’t want to hear shit from you either. You haven’t done anything except for loaf around and complain and tell me how dumb my ideas are.”
Magne speaks up. “Now why don’t we all just calm down? So she fucked up the mission, so what? We’ll just come up with another one.”
“And his hair! His eyes! They were so green, and looked so good mixed with the red I left on him–”
“Wait. Green hair?”
“Yeah,” Toga sighs, “His eyes too, don’t forget his eyes.”
“None of the 1A brats have green hair.”
“Yuh-huh! He said he was with them but he couldn’t take the exam. And he was with that mean Eraser guy.”
“Eraserhead?...” Tomura frowns and beckons to the warp gate that’s been waiting silently in the corner of the room ever since Toga was warped back. “Kurogiri, get me the thing.”
“The thing, Master Tomura?”
“My bag! Just– get over here and open a warp to my stuff I asked you to hold.”
He does so, walking over. His chest expands, and a warp gate billows into existence. Tomura sticks a hand through, feeling around for– ah, there it is. Four fingers close around a duffle bag and he hauls it through.
Muttering under his breath, he lets it drop to the floor and unzips it to rummage through its contents. By the time he’s found what he’s looking for, the rest of the team has wandered over to crowd over him.
Tomura comes back up with a small, hand-sized plastic filing case. Inside are messily-scrawled notes and pictures of the brats in 1A. He flips through them with careful fingers.
“There’s no-one with green hair in these,” he growls.
“You’ve made a file on 1A?” Mr. Compress asks.
“Know your enemies. It’s one of Sensei’s teachings.”
Dabi scoffs. “Creep.”
“I think it’s smart,” says Spinner.
Tomura ignores them. “Are you sure he had green hair?”
“Positive! I could never forget him, never ever.”
That makes no sense; the hero program only ever took in new students if they placed high enough in the Sports Festival, and no one of that description had even shown up during the competition. She has to be mistaken. It is Toga afterall, and she has more than a few screws loose.
He huffs, “What was his quirk?”
“I have no idea! He was wearing quirk suppressants, I think.”
“And he was able to keep up with you? You must be losing your touch, do better!” Twice says.
Magne hums, leaning over his shoulder to look at his notes. “Why would the heroes have one of their own in quirk suppressants?”
“If I may interject, Master Tomura, I believe UA has recently adopted a vigilante reform program. It is possible that our mysterious adversary isn’t actually a student at all.”
He snaps the files shut. Vigilante reform program? He scowls.
“So 1A has a vigilante working with them now?”
“It would seem so.”
“Oh, oh! That would make sense,” Toga suddenly pops over his shoulder. He swipes at her, but she deftly dodges, “because Mido-chan also said he’s the one who took down Stain-sama.”
Tomura sucks in a breath. The room goes very, very still.
“You couldn’t have led with that?! ”
Once more, Tomura finds himself on the shitty balcony waiting for word from his underlings, only this time, it isn’t Kurogiri who he’s waiting for.
It’s been three days since the Provisional License Exam, three days since he’s set his sights on a new objective.
It didn’t take too much digging to piece a few things together after that: one, that UA initiated a vigilante reform program. Two, that their first and only reformee was Midoriya, first name redacted. Three, up until the night of the Kamino Ward raid, said brat was completely quirkless.
And isn't that interesting?
Had Sensei imparted him with a quirk as a last gift to Tomura? Or was the brat somehow linked to All Might? There had been a lot of dust, a lot of confusion in their final confrontation, and according to what little information he had been able to wring out from scattered articles online, Midoriya had been at the epicenter of it.
Sensei taught him a lot of things, and one of his most important teachings was on coincidences , or rather the lack of them. A quirkless vigilante suddenly developing a quirk after being in contact with All for One and All Might? That wasn’t happenstance– that was deliberate.
So Tomura had decided to let Toga’s little mishap slide, and chalked the mission up as a stepping stone rather than a failure.
He needs to prove himself as a competent leader to the damn Doctor anyways, so adapting to a given situation instead of throwing a tantrum is key.
So they didn’t kill off Endeavor’s kid– so what? The heros’ morale is already ruined, anyways, one more dead kid is thinking small. Right now, he needs to think big – to think like Sensei. And Sensei didn’t wait for opportunity to fall in his lap, he simply took it.
Knock knock knock
Knuckles wrap dully on the sliding glass door, and Tomura turns to see Twice standing in the doorway.
“He agreed to a meeting time, Shigaraki. No he didn’t, he’s a stuck-up prick.”
Tomura scratches idly at his neck and grins. “Excellent.”
…
Izuku doesn’t see Bakugou.
They keep him in a private room in Recovery Girl’s infirmary for another three days while they move Bakugou’s things from the 1A dorms to 1C, and then a few days after that for monitoring. He knows it’s something to be thankful for, but with the drugs fully out of his system he can’t help the way his stomach churns at the thought of hurting him the way that he did.
Destructive.
Izuku breathes in.
Uncontrollable.
Breathe out.
Dangerous.
In.
It’s not mine, not mine, not me, not–
Out.
You ruined his hero career.
Just. Fucking. Breathe.
Maybe you should have taken that swan dive, saved everyone the trouble–
His heart beat flares, and Izuku drags a hand over his face.
“You’re better than that,” he mutters to himself, “don’t give him an inch. It wasn’t even me, it was this damn–” His throat constricts. Abruptly, he swings his feet over the side of the bed. Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he sees that it’s six-thirty in the morning– Aizawa said he’d be moving back into the dorms later today. Hours from now.
He also sees the newest slew of texts from his mom, which he dutifully ignores.
Water, he decides, he needs water.
Ksssshhhh
The crash of the faucet’s fills the small bathroom with white noise, forgotten.
His reflection stares back in the mirror, tired green eyes staring through a mess of hair. He hasn’t bothered brushing it out in days. The bags under his eyes are deeper than he remembers, and maybe the skin against his freckles is paler than it was a few days ago but–It’s still him. Still Midoriya Izuku.
Except it’s…not.
He couldn’t tell before. Sure, they said he had a quirk now– that All Might gave him One for All. He was aware that whatever weird DNA transfer happened altered him fundamentally but. But it wasn’t real. Before the Bakugou incident, he could at least pretend that he was the same Midoriya Izuku he always was. That all he had to do was wait for this to blow over and he could go back to his normal, quirkless existence. Ignored by society and ignoring it in turn.
But now? Izuku can feel it. The Quirk.
Now, he can’t pretend everything’s the same if he tried. And he’s tried.
Its presence is inescapable. It hums beneath his fingers, seethes within his veins, lurks just underneath his skin. Like it’s alive– this power, this might – and it’s so fundamentally wrong he can feel it in his very bones.
Izuku’s eyes trail his reflection to where his hands are braced on the lip of the sink. On his wrists are a second pair of quirk suppressants.
The moment the drugs wore off and he’d felt it there, (wrong, wrong, wrong ) he’d beeped Recover Girl and demanded a second pair. Despite both her and Aizawa’s promise that they were fully functioning, he hadn’t needed to test his power to tell that they would be just as ineffective as the last ones. It was as if finally activating One for All was like breaking the spigot off a hose, and now he was helpless to stem the flow.
Their dull shine in the fluorescent-lit bathroom mocks him.
He’s no longer the Midoriya Izuku he used to be. All the effort, all the pain it took to overcome his own self-hatred, has been rendered moot. His dream of proving to the world that being quirkless wasn’t some kind of defect is shattered thoroughly, and there’s nothing he can do to glue it back together– the delineation between his past and present carved into the very stones of UA by his own unearned strength.
All that’s left is to scrape the bits of himself off the floor and try to move forward, even if it hurts. Even if it kills him. He’s going to be a hero. He is a hero. He already was a hero. He never needed a quirk to prove that, goddammit–
“You in there, kid?” Aizawa’s muffled voice comes through the door, and Izuku snaps out of his thoughts. How long has he been in here? It’s only then he realizes the cracks in the porcelain of the sink where his fingers are curled, and a wave of nausea rolls through his stomach. He cuts the water off.
“Yeah,” he calls back, voice faint, “Sorry. Coming.”
Great, because having an existential crisis isn’t enough – now he has to play damage control with 1A.
Surly Bakugou made a scene. It’s Bakugou, why wouldn't he have? He for sure told everyone how awful Deku ruined his life. Whatever strange peace he’d made with them was definitely shattered by now, and he’d begin his– whatever it was– with Aizawa in isolation all over again. It’s only been three days, but Izuku knew better than anyone else how little time Bakugou needed to sow the seeds of hatred in classmates.
Izuku stands in front of the doors of Heights Alliance next to Aizawa, and a hundred thoughts tumble through his mind.
“Sometime today, problem child,” Aizawa huffs, but any kind of annoyance he’d normally convey is completely ruined by the fact that half of his face is no longer hidden in his scarf. For whatever reason, the hero hadn’t worn it around him ever since he’d first woken up.
Not because he’d seen Izuku flinch, that couldn’t be it.
Without his scarf to hide behind, Aizawa looks a lot less grumpy and a lot more tired. Worried? The bags under his eyes are a lot more prominent, too.
He replies on autopilot– something halfhearted, sarcastic– takes a breath, and opens the doors.
There’s a handful of students in the common area, and they all stop and stare at him. Embarrassment and shame well up in tandem, but before he can make a break for the stairs a voice breaks the tense silence.
“Midoriya!” Izuku instinctively throws up his arms when Iida comes barreling forward. Luckily, he has enough sense to stop some feet away before they can collide. His hands reach out, then jerk backwards in second thought.
“Are you–did Bakugou–I’m so sorry we didn’t–”
“Welcome back, Izuku.” Shouto appears from behind Iida, face flat but eyes smiling.
“Yes! Welcome back!”
It takes a few tries to find his voice. “Um. Uh. T-thanks,” he finally manages.
From there, slow, cautious sentiments are echoed around the room. He notices that none of the Bakusquad is there aside from Mina, and that stings a bit, but that’s to be expected. He finds himself seated on the couch between Shouto and Uraraka holding a plate of breakfast that Tokoyami shoved in his hands, and it’s all so overwhelming that for the first time in three days, he forgets the feeling of the unwanted quirk running through his veins.
They seem determined to keep him preoccupied as, immediately after his last bite of omurice is taken, Iida drags him over to the study table and drops a stack of textbooks in his hands– literally. It’s so tall that it obscures his vision, and were it not for his vigilante training, it definitely would have pitched him forwards.
“Uh, what is this?”
“Textbooks! The semester started three days ago, and Aizawa Sensei entrusted me to see that you received all the required reading material. Since you’re several days behind, it’s your responsibility to catch up in every subject so far. I made a detailed list of all the chapter reading, and noted all the supplementary reading in the planner on top. ”
Peeking around the mountain of books, Izuku blanches.
“Gee, Iida. Thanks.” It’s half-sarcasm, half-exhaustion, but Iida beams like Izuku just told him the secret to life itself.
Quiet footsteps approach from his left.
“I took notes for you,” Shouto says, “You can borrow them later if you want.”
“Yes please.”
…
It takes a thorough lecture on the responsibilities of quirk-usage, bullying, and a fair amount of threatening, but Shouta thinks he got it through 1A’s heads why Bakugou was leaving them.
The kid’s groupies – Mina, Kaminari, Sero, Kirishima – had taken it pretty hard, but he made sure to emphasize that Midoriya was in no way, shape or form responsible for what happened.
Shouta has a no-bullshit policy in his class, and he made damn-well sure that was known.
His plans with Midoriya going forward would be impossible if the kid thought he was in a hostile environment.
Luckily, his class of first years proves yet again why he has yet to expel any of them when Midoriya steps back into Heights Alliance.
They’ll be alright, he thinks as the kid gets mobbed, slipping past them to the stairs. Shouta’s not stupid. He hasn’t missed Midoriya’s sullenness these past three days, or the way he stares at the useless suppressants on his wrists. The kid’s clearly suffering from some type of quirk dysphoria (something he’s painfully familiar with), and while Shouta has the emotional aptitude of a rock, he can at least understand that. Still, he makes a mental note to suggest setting the kid up with some sessions with Hound Dog– ignoring the problem will definitely cause more harm than good.
Shouta enters his room, locks the door behind him and sits heavily at his desk. His capture scarf drapes over the back of his chair; he eyes it mournfully, but leaves it be. His poker face is ruined without it, but until he can be sure that it won’t mess with Midoriya he’s resolved to keep it locked away during school hours.
There’s piles of paperwork to be graded, half-finished training regimens, and his lesson plans. Rubbing his temple, he organizes what he needs for today, and considers how the next semester is going to play out. He offered to train Midoriya, so of course he’s going to do it. But there’s also Shinsou Hitoshi. To anyone else, Shouta may seem like a masochist for agreeing to take on the training of two new problem children on top of his his other classes (while still going on patrol, fucking gross ), but he’s not– really. These kids are special cases. Midoriya’s an (understandably) paranoid little shit that trusts the rest of the staff about as much as Shouta trusts Hizashi to use his inside voice, and Shinsou…well. Looking at his record, the kid reminded him too much of a younger Shouta, and if he’s even half as troublesome to work with as Shouta was, he trusts absolutely no-one other than himself to handle his training.
If that means zero free time for himself, then so be it.
On the bright side, the big three are going to give a demonstration for the work-studies program today, so that gives him an entire free period to figure out exactly how this schedule is going to work.
He spends approximately three seconds trying to remember who made the cut for the big three this year, then gives up. It’s impossible to recall such details before his third cup of coffee.
Wham
The door to the class smacks the wall as it’s thrown open, and it takes all of Shouta’s willpower not to activate his quirk out of sheer annoyance.
“Hiya 1A!”
Shouta blanches. Fuck, that’s right.
The big three walk to the front of the class, the girl smiling wide to address the rest of them. General chaos ensues – it always does – but Shouta is too busy watching the way one of them scans the room. It’s subtle, the kid is trained well to be discreet, but Shouta knows how to read a person. He clocks the moment the kid finds who he’s looking for, feels a migraine coming on as the kid’s smile turns a bit sharper, eyes a bit brighter.
He sees the moment Midoriya notices his stare, weary eyes looking up from where he’s trying to disappear into his desk.
“Ah, I guess it’s my turn,” the kid says, still looking at Midoriya, “My name’s Togata Mirio, and the future is…grim!”
Notes:
Oh Mirio, I love you almost as much as I love stressing out Aizawa
Thanks so much for reading!
Chapter 15: Two Steps Back
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Hello! Happy Valentine's Day! Have some angsty Izuku <3
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“All three of them are kinda weird…”
“Why would he open with that?”
“It’s kinda hard to tell what they’re made of.”
1A’s whispers pass around not-so-silently in the face of the big three, but Izuku’s too occupied trying to figure out why the hell Togata Mirio was looking at him like he knows him. Like he knows.
Izuku looks to Aizawa for any kind of confirmation that the hero’s in on something that Izuku doesn’t know about, only to find that the man looks just as disgruntled. Unease washes through him in a thick, toxic wave; out of habit, his fingers fly to pick at his cuffs.
Why would a third year know about him?
“Are you okay?” Comes Shouto’s voice, a low whisper.
Izuku takes a steadying breath and forces his hands against the desk.
“I’m fine.”
“How about you all take me on, then?” Togata says, demanding his attention. “It’ll probably get my point across better.”
“Aizawa.”
“It’s Aizawa Sensei to you, kid.”
“You’re not legally my sensei.”
Shouta sighs. “What do you want?”
“That third year was staring at me.”
“Togata?”
“So you noticed too.”
A pause.
“Yeah, I did.”
They’re on the way to gym gamma, to watch whatever weird demonstration the third year has in mind. The rest of the class is a decent way ahead of them. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for Izuku to fall in step with their teacher, and no-one mentions it as the third years lead 1A across campus.
“Should he know about me?” Does he know Nighteye and the police suspect me of being with the League, goes the unspoken implication.
The hero side-eyes him. “No more than anyone else should.”
“I feel like he does,” His gaze wanders to the back of Togata’s head, “Do you think I’m reading too much into it?”
“Since when have you cared what I think?”
The question nearly has him stumbling. He recovers, thankfully, and tears his eyes away to look at the ground.
Since when has he cared what Aizawa thinks? The man is just another captor, another hero who’s only working with him because it’s in his job description. So what if he said he could be a hero regardless of quirk status? The fact of the matter is that Aizawa wouldn't have given him a second glance if not for what All Might did. His opinion never mattered before, so what changed?
“No need to blow a gasket, problem child. I was kidding.”
“...Oh.” Izuku blinks as they exit the building, sunlight spotting his vision. Gym gamma lies a little ways off; half of the class is already wandering inside.
“I don’t think you’re reading too much into it. Mirio is a pupil of Nighteye’s– that’s why he’s here with the others to talk to 1A. I’d like to think that Nighteye would have the sense not to go around telling…” Whatever else Eraserhead has to say, it’s lost on him.
His vision tunnels in on Togata, who’s propping open the doors to the gym and ushering the rest of 1A inside. As if drawn magnetically, the blue of his eyes snap up to match his.
A work study student. A pupil of Nighteye’s. The reason why someone who hadn’t even placed in the Sports Festival suddenly skyrocketed to the big three.
Izuku locks eyes with All Might’s would-be successor, and the One for All burns.
He doesn’t listen to the rest of what Aizawa has to say; they approach the door and Izuku keeps his stare firmly ahead. Cool, calm, totally not having an internal meltdown– that’s him, definitely.
Izuku walks in the building and makes an (unhurried) beeline to the corner furthest from the door. He makes it halfway there before someone taps him on the shoulder. It’s Shouto.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“What do you care,” he says, clipped, and immediately feels bad for it. Shouto doesn't look offended, and that almost makes him feel worse. “I mean– I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a little stressed.”
Shouto slowly looks back and forth from him to Togata.
“I could tell. That guy kept looking at you in class. Do you know each other?”
“No.”
“I can ask him to leave.”
A thin laugh makes its way up his throat before he can help it. Warmth follows after it, and the pressure building up beneath his skin dissipates a bit. Shouto looks at him, confused.
“What’s so funny?”
“You can’t just ask him to leave.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, he’s a guest speaker.”
“He’s making you uncomfortable–”
Togata’s booming voice suddenly interrupts. “Okay! I think the best way to do this is to just have all of you rush me!”
All at once, the small bubble of levity is popped. He’s reminded of the big blonde elephant in the room, and worry starts to seep in once more. A stark silence befalls the gym.
“Um…is this for real?” Sero asks.
“Yup, sure is!” He’s looking at Izuku again. What, does he expect him to join in on this? Just what the hell is his deal? He’s about to voice just as much, consequences be damned, when Shouto steps up.
“Okay.” Without another word, he lifts his left hand. There’s a half-second where every eye in the room widens. 1A scrambles to get out of the way just as a torrent of flame surges from the tips of his fingers. The sudden heat sends Izuku’s hair billowing backwards, but he’s too shocked to do much more than stare in awe at scorching flames.
Shouto’s face brow is pinched slightly in concentration. He holds it for a handful of seconds before flinching, and the flames abruptly stop.
When they clear completely, Togata is gone.
“Oh my God, Todoroki killed him!” Kaminari shouts.
Shouto looks disgruntled. He shakes his head. “Those weren’t hot enough to do that. Maybe scorch him a little, but–”
“Wow! I wouldn’t think you’d open with that. Great start, but you need to try a little harder if you want to hit me.”
Every eye flies across the room where Togata is–
Mina screams. “ Naked, ohmygod.”
“My bad,” he yelps, then promptly vanishes into the floor.
What happens thereafter is so perplexing that Izuku almost forgets his worry. He slowly backs away to watch as, one by one, students charge Togata and get absolutely throttled. It’s like he’s everywhere at once– popping out of the floor, dropping from the ceiling, launching from walls –dodging a litany of attacks and hitting back with equal ferocity.
He incapacitates Shouto first and Tokoyami second. Just like that, the class is down two of their strongest and most versatile quirk users. He makes quirk work of the rest. No one can even land a hit on him, and Izuku’s eyes fly around the room as he tries to turn over exactly what the fuck the guy is even doing.
Teleportation? No. He may be using the entire room to move, but he only ever disappears and reappears along the same surfaces. If he drops from the ceiling, it’s because he springs from the floor first. There’s also the fact that solid objects just seem to pass through him.
He watches Kirishima execute a form-perfect punch, and instead of impacting his stomach, it falls right through him. Togata compliments him on his stance before delivering a chop to the back of his neck; Kirishima drops like a rock. Kaminari tries to follow up with a blast of electricity, to the same effect. Only Togata doesn’t bother with knocking him out. The idiot uses too much again, (seriously, what was the point of giving him all that quirk advice if he was just going to ignore using it?) and falls to the floor with a dazed expression on his face.
So no, not just solid objects. He’s phasing through matter completely. How is that possible?
He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t even realize Togata’s dealt with all of 1A until he sees that there’s no one left standing. Not even Togata. Where did he go?
“I gotta say, no one’s gleaned so much about my quirk before! You’re a smart one.”
Izuku doesn’t think; a year's worth of training kicks in, and his body acts on its own. He whirls, fist already forming.
Things seem to pass in slow-motion. He spins on his heel and sees Togata standing behind him, uniform hastily replaced. He’s smiling, completely unfazed at the first hurtling at him. Izuku can feel his quirk activate. There’s a familiar pop as the cuffs give out. This time he sees it; the arc of electricity that cracks up his arm, the buildup of heat energy that blooms beneath his skin to dye it an angry red. Izuku has enough time to think “fuck” before it it suddenly…vanishes.
The herculean strength singing through his veins ebbs in an instant; his momentum does not.
The perfect picture of shock paints Togata’s features before his fist makes contact with his face. Then time speeds up.
A crack rings out through the air as Togata’s head snaps violently to the right. Izuku follows through, breath frozen in his lungs. Togata takes a step back, stumbles, then falls ass-first onto the floor. It’s quiet. Really, really quiet.
Eraserhead steps into his vision, hair raised in a black halo and red eyes flashing. He looks the same as ever, but Izuku catches the tremble in his voice when he barks:
“That’ll be enough for today. You two,” he calls to someone. Izuku turns a shaky head to the side– right, the other third years. Hadou and Amajiki? They look at him like they can’t quite believe what they just saw. “You’re dismissed. Collect your friend and get back to class. Thanks for taking time out of your schedules to be here.”
He just stands there, frozen, heat beating madly in his chest as the two of them snap out of it and rush over to help Togata up. Amajiki looks at him with something like fear in his eyes– it makes his stomach twist. It’s enough to make him take several steps back. He nearly falls when pain races up his calf muscles. He’s still standing, somehow, so his legs probably aren’t messed up like his arm was before, but One for All undoubtedly bolstered his speed.
Oh God. Oh God, he almost– he might have– would Togata have been able to activate his quirk in time? If Aizawa hadn’t–
“That was some punch,” Togata says, standing up. He waves off his friends’ protests and holds out a hand. “You were a lot faster than I anticipated. I shouldn’t have underestimated you, Midoriya. Put’er there!”
When Izuku doesn’t take it, Togata chuckles and lets it drop back to his side. His smile doesn’t fall, though.
“Next time, I’ll go all out!”
Behind them, someone groans. “You weren’t even going all out?”
“There won’t be a next time,” Aizawa says. He walks up with his arms folded and gives them both a look. “You’re lucky I don’t give you detention. Midoriya was not a part of the exercise. Everyone, sort yourselves out and get back to class. Midoriya, come with me.”
Heck, he doesn’t have to ask him twice. Izuku nods and hurries after him, and he doesn’t look back.
Aizawa takes him to the infirmary. Neither of them want to talk about what almost happened, apparently, because it’s a silent trip. Unfortunately, it affords a decent stretch of a time for his mind to wander back to the demonstration.
So that was the student he replaced. Nighteye’s chosen successor to the quirk. He replays the brutal efficiency with which Togata moved, his clear mastery over his quirk, all while keeping a smile on his face. One for All– it should be his, not Izuku’s. It’s a sour thought, only worsened by the presence of the unwanted quirk thrumming in his veins.
And it would have been, if he’d just gotten his damn immunity.
They stop in front of the door to Recovery Girl’s office, and only then does Aizawa say anything.
“We’re starting your training tonight. Especially after today. You didn’t actively choose to use your quirk just then, correct?”
Izuku looks up at him, surprised. That isn’t what he’s expecting to hear.
“No?”
“I thought as much. The suppressant cuffs don’t work on you anymore, so the sooner you figure out how to manage it, the safer everyone will be for it. I won’t always be there to stop you from exploding.”
“I know. But thanks. For stopping it this time–the quirk, I mean.” He makes a fist at his side. Now’s not the time to be thinking about what-ifs. This is the hand he’s been dealt, and giving up would only give Nighteye exactly what he wants. “I’ll work hard so it doesn’t happen again.”
Aizawa stares at him for a few seconds, before nodding and opening the door.
Recovery Girl yells his ear off, of course, before ushering him into an empty bed and asking why in the world he’s already back in the infirmary. She tells Aizawa to take a seat outside while she examines him. Ten minutes and three x-rays later, she confirms that he has hairline fractures along three of his limbs: both of his legs from the sudden burst of speed, and his right arm from where he started to throw a punch. She gives him a kiss, admonishes him, tells him to lie there for twenty minutes to give his body a rest, and then hurries outside, presumably to harass his teacher.
Izuku’s hardly alone for two minutes before the door opens again. Only this time, it’s neither Aizawa or Recovery Girl– it’s Togata. They see one-another simultaneously, and Togata freezes. The swelling on his face is worse, but otherwise he looks fine.
Togata smiles. “Hey there! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Did you bust your knuckles or something?”
Izuku goes to pick at his cuffs, but forces his hands still. Why is his luck this bad? Shouldn’t he be due for some karmic balance by now? “Or something.”
Togata hums, still smiling, and for some reason it makes Izuku feel bad.
“How’s your face?” He offers.
“Fine, I think! But, ah, I haven’t been hit in a while, so Amajiki nagged me to come up just to make sure that’s the case. Recovery Girl was still yelling at old Aizawa, though, so I just slipped in to wait for her.”
“Ah.”
“Yep!”
There’s nowhere to hide, and Togata just continues to stand there. It’s so awkward it physically hurts, but he refuses to say anything else. He still doesn’t know what Nighteye has said to him and his motives could be–
“So um, I also wanted to apologize.”
“For what,” he says, before he can stop himself, “Scaring the shit out of me?”
Togata barks a laugh and rubs nervously at his neck. “Yeah, that. Guess those vigilante rumors were true, huh? Your reaction time is insane.” Vigilante rumors. The words rub him the wrong way, as if he doesn’t know exactly who he is and deliberately provoke him. What the hell is his angle? He’s disgusted that he felt bad for being rude, even for a second.
“Good reflexes go a long way in the real world. Shouldn’t Nighteye be teaching you that?”
“I didn’t tell you Sir was my mentor?”
Izuku smiles meanly. “You have your rumors, I have mine.” Somehow, the mood in the room takes an even more drastic nosedive. Togata opens his mouth as if to say something, but snaps it closed. Because he’s feeling particularly nasty, he lets Togata stew in the awkward tension for a few seconds before adding:
“Thanks for your apology, but I don’t want it. Just keep away from me and I’ll keep away from you.”
Togata frowns. “Uh. Alright then.”
Recovery Girl chooses that exact time to make an entrance. She gives Togata a single glance, starts hollering, and Izuku takes that as his queue to leave.
…
Shouta wraps up the last of his classes for the day, Midoriya a brooding shadow at his side throughout. The kid doesn’t say much of anything to anyone after they get back from the infirmary, not even to the kids from his class who have glomped onto him. It’s like experiencing deja vu from a month ago. The kid doesn’t even say hi to Hizashi when he greets him in the teacher lounge, and for the umpteenth time in four days, Shouta curses Nighteye for his meddling.
After his initial nerves wore off and he took the time to actually think, he decided that Nighteye wouldn’t do something as irresponsible as tell his student close-kept secrets. No, it’s more likely that the hero only bad-mouthed Midoriya– he was officially part of his arrest, after all– and Togata was simply curious from that and the combined rumors of Midoriya running rampant around the school. Still, that only resulted in only more issues for Shouta, and he wants to march up to Nedzu’s office just so he can call the man and chew him out. It’d be like therapy, he thinks. For free.
But that’s not on the table of possibilities right now, so he does his best to put his frustrations out of his mind and focus on the task ahead. Namely, coming to peace with his lack of sleep schedule thanks to the new schedule he’s finally ironed out.
When the last bell signals the end of last period, Midoriya makes a break for the door of the teacher’s lounge.
“Where do you think you’re going, problem child?”
“...My room?”
“Nope, gym gamma.”
“Right now?”
“Yes,” Shouta feels his eyebrow twitch, “Right now.”
Thankfully, there’s no students to chase out of the gym when they arrive. Shouta sends a text to Nedzu to let them know they’re starting with the kid’s quirk training in case they need Cementoss to run by afterwards, then pockets his phone.
Midoriya lingers nervously at his side.
“So. What kind of training are we doing?”
“The quirk kind. Like we discussed.” Predictably, Midoriya winces. His hands go to pick at his cuffs, but he shoves them quickly back to his sides.
“Oh…right.”
Shouta sighs. He reaches into his other pocket to retrieve the key to the cuffs and gestures for Midoriya to step over. Once he does, Shouta squats to unlock them, speaking quickly as he does.
“There’s no real reason for you to wear these. They don’t work, and they can’t be comfortable.” The last cuff releases and clatters to the floor. Midoriya rubs at his wrists, looking away from him.
“How do you plan on training me?”
Shouta trains his face to stay neutral. He stands.
“For today, we’re going to figure out how to activate it safely. Once you know its triggers, you won’t have to worry about accidentally hurting anyone. All Might wielded the very same quirk, and he never hurt anyone he didn’t intend to.” The kid finally looks at him. A determined glint shines in his eyes, and he nods.
“Alright.”
Shouta makes his way to the middle of the gym. Footsteps follow behind him.
“I know about your analysis books, and the extra quirk training you’ve been giving my students.” He turns to face the kid, who’s gone rigid. “Those, coupled with the fact that you were such a successful– and slippery– vigilante, leave no room for argument over your intelligence. You’ve had four days to think about your quirk training, so I’ll let you take the lead. What are your thoughts?”
“My– wait, you know about my notebooks??”
Best to lay all his cards out on the table.
“I do. When you started teaching Todoroki, I went into your room and skimmed your books to see what you were telling them. Originally, it was with the intent of only reading the one you carried around, but they were so well detailed and insightful that I skimmed the rest. Technically, as a ward and not a student, you have no right to privacy, so I never needed to ask or inform you. It was easy to think of you as a criminal.
“Knowing what I do now, that was wrong. I apologize. I'm telling you now because if I’m going to train you, then we need to trust each other.”
He’s expecting to be yelled at, or for Midoriya to turn around and stalk out of the gym. What he doesn’t expect is for his body to cackle with red energy. Shouta activates his quirk, and Midoriya only glares.
“...Your reasoning makes sense. But don’t go through my things.”
Shouta doesn’t blink. “I will if I have to. But in the future, I’ll inform you first.”
When it no longer feels like he’s actively suppressing anything, he lets his quirk drop. It’s intensely silent for several long seconds.
“What were you feeling just then when your quirk activated?”
“Pissed off that you went through my things,” Midoriya says, looking away, “Like I wanted to hit you.”
Shouta hums. That’s fair.
“How did it feel the other two times?”
The kid looks back at him, expression softened with that of thoughtfulness. “With Togata I was surprised. My training from vigilante work kicked in and I tried to neutralize the threat. With Bakugou I was– I was scared. And angry. H-he wouldn’t get off of me, and I couldn’t breathe, and he was saying these terrible–” Midoriya catches himself, closes his eyes and blinks them open. “I wanted him to get away from me. Patterns of strong emotion seem to be the trigger, but All Might never mentioned anything like that in his interviews…plus, it’d be pretty dangerous for a quirk as strong as One for All to lead completely on emotions…maybe my emotions were just a catalyst for intent…is it really that simple?”
Shouta strains to follow what he’s saying, when suddenly the muttering stops. He’s about to ask the kid to repeat himself when suddenly a red glow bursts to life across Midoriya’s skin. Arcs of green electricity leap across his body, and instinctively he starts to activate his quirk–
“Wait,” Midoriya says, strained, “I think I got it. I think it’s stable.”
Shouta lets his quirk slip into dormancy. “Are you sure?” He takes a step closer, and when he’s sure that the kid isn’t about to combust, slowly circles him. “Doesn’t look too stable.”
“I’m pretty sure if I moved, my legs would explode again.”
“ What?” In an instant, his quirk is up. The cackling energy around Midoriya dissipates, but instead of looking relieved, he just looks annoyed.
“I said if I moved, not that I was going to.”
“There will be no more exploding limbs, problem child. It’s bad for you, and I think Chiyo would literally strangle me with her cane if I brought you back today.” But Midoriya isn’t listening, he’s too busy muttering up a storm.
He doesn’t get paid enough for this.
“Speak up, kid.”
“Huh?”
“I need to know what’s going on.”
Midoriya sighs like he’s the one being put out. “I’m thinking about percentages.”
“Percentages?”
“Yes. Earlier today I moved without exploding. My bones in my legs had hairline fractures, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as when I punched Bakugou. I think if I’d actually landed a quirked punch on Togata, it might have been, but I didn’t need my legs to jump or kick, just to move faster than normal. That was subconscious, of course. But if I consciously focus on needing smaller percentages, then I can probably use the quirk for speed and strength modulation.”
“So you can regulate power to different parts of your body?”
For a moment, the tension on Midoriya’s face vanishes and he looks like any other first year kid, not one with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Excited, almost, like any other first year when they're working on their quirks. “I think so.”
“Alright. What percentage would you say you were at just now?”
“One hundred, probably. It was like someone poured all this energy into my body, and surface tension was the only thing keeping it from overflowing.”
“Start small, then. Show me one percent.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Do you think you can do it?”
…
Izuku shuffles, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. When Aizawa said he would help train his quirk, he didn’t think the hero would leave so much to him. “I don’t know. Theory is easier than practice.”
“That’s why I’m here, so you can practice. You’re a smart kid. If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t have offered to train you.” It’s hardly encouraging. Hell, it’s barely even praise. But Izuku’s had the unfortunate opportunity to watch Eraserhead’s teaching style over the last few weeks, and coming from him the words might as well be a gift.
All of his irritation from the last ten minutes ebbs, just a bit. Aizawa believes in him. Eraserhead, the pragmatic skeptic. Okay, alright– he can do this.
Izuku closes his eyes and concentrates. One of All is shockingly responsive. Unnervingly so. He's been quirkless all his life so he doesn't know if he's simply overly-sensitive to the quirk, but it almost feels like a second living thing has taken up residence in his skin. Maybe he should have expected it, with how noisy the damn thing has been ever since those drugs wore off in the infirmary. Once more, the energy in his limbs leaps to life, a sudden surge of power flushing through his system. It’s dizzying. Unwelcome. He feels nauseous.
Less, he thinks, I need less. One percent. This is too much.
And for a single instant, it works. One for All shrinks from a thundering tidal wave to a steady trickle of water. Izuku opens his eyes and the angry red of his skin fades, leaving a gentle hum of green electricity. He turns to face Aizawa.
“I think I’ve got–”
It isn’t Aizawa he sees, and he’s no longer in gym gamma.
A swirling mass black and purple surrounds him in a typhoon, broken only by a stretch of stone that stretches before him. What really steals his attention, though, is the spectral, golden form before him. It towers over him and looks down with eyes of pure, searing light.
Izuku tries to scream, but the breath doesn’t leave his mouth. It doesn’t even get past his lungs. Panicked, he looks down to see what’s blocking his airway, only to see a cloud of black smoke obscuring his body.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what in the actual–
“I’m sorry, my boy. I had no idea…”
Izuku’s eyes snap back up to the towering figure. Is it- speaking to him? His eyes widen. Why does it sound like?...
“I didn’t know who you were. I was desperate. I didn't mean to cause you turmoil.”
All Might?
This thing– it couldn’t be All Might, right? For one thing, All Might is dead. For another, he was huge. This specter in front of him can’t be All Might. It’s thin and wispy. Yet it’s.
Familiar.
A vision of Kamino flashes before him, of dust and debris and blood. This is All Might. He’s looked like this before, half-dead and bleeding. All Might continues:
“One for All should not have been given so recklessly, so hastily. But I had no choice, and you were dealt the consequences. I'm so sorry. I should have listened to Mirai.”
Violently, abruptly, the surreal scene vanishes.
Izuku gasps in a lungful of air, eyes wildly flying around the room. The room. He’s back in gym gamma, on the…the floor? He jerks upwards. His heart thunders uncontrollably against his chest.
“–oriya. Midoriya. Kid, calm down.”
Izuku’s eyes fly towards the voice, expecting to see the ghost; but it’s not a ghost. It’s Eraserhead, taking a knee. His eyes flash scarlet, a beacon amidst the black wisps of hair. Izuku scrambles back, trembling, and Aizawa releases his quirk. He can’t–he can’t– what the hell was that? What just happened??
“I don’t know, I was hoping you could tell me.” Aizawa says slowly, his hands raised in surrender. Like he’s talking to a corned animal. Did he say that out loud?
“I don’t know,” he manages. His throat feels tight.
Aizawa’s jaw tightens. “You screamed a name. All Might–”
“I said I don’t know,” he spits. Izuku doesn’t even try to put on a brave front; he pulls his limbs in, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, but he can’t stop- he can’t stop the shaking.
“...Okay. That’s alright, we’ll worry about that later. How do you feel? Are you in pain? Should we go back to Recovery Girls?”
“No.”
He’s fine, he’s sure of that. Nothing’s broken. A manic giggle bubbles up his throat.
“No. I think I saw a ghost.”
Aizawa frowns. “A gho–?”
“I want to go back to the dorms.”
They stare at each other; Aizawa with ill-concealed concern, Izuku with– well, he doesn’t know. He probably looks insane. He certainly feels insane.
After a handful of seconds, the hero stands. He gives him a small nod. “Okay. I’m trusting that you’re telling me the truth and that you don’t need healing. But we need to talk about what happened soon.”
Izuku is standing before Aizawa can finish his sentence. He mutters a quick ‘thank you’, and all but sprints out of the gym. He makes it halfway back to Heights Alliance before he notices the tears tracking down his face. It’s been a long, strange day, and he doesn’t bother with wiping them away.
When he bursts through the front doors several voices call out to him, but he vehemently ignores them; he flies up the stairs, slips twice with the lock on his door, and throws it shut behind him before collapsing on the bed. Somehow, he falls asleep.
—
In his dreams, he’s alone.
Well, that’s a lie. He’s not quite alone– his mom is there. He dreams he’s living in their apartment back on the outskirts of Musutafu, and he’s quirkless once more. Only now, his door is locked, as are his windows. He beats on them, screams, begs his mom to let him out. Outside, the city is on fire. He hears voices screaming; innocents, strangers, but also familiar ones. He hears Shouto, Iida, Uraraka. Bakugou. They cry for his help, yell his name.
“Where are you? Save us, save us please.”
He can help them, he can save them. But his mom thinks otherwise.
“You can’t help them, Izuku. You’re not a hero,” her muffled voice chastises through the door.
“I am! You know I am! I’ve– I’ve saved people!” His voice cracks from strain, and his hands hurt from beating on the door to no avail.
“You’ve played pretend, dear. It’s not safe out there. You’re not safe out there. Just stay home with me, sweetie. You’ll always be safe with me.”
Outside, the fire burns hotter. His friends’ screams grow more desperate. “I’m not safe here! I’m dying, you’re killing me, can’t you see that?” He throws his body against the door, and this time it gives.
He falls forward, a painful heap of limbs and tears, but his mom isn’t on the other side of the door.
It’s All Might. Really All Might. The Symbol of Peace as he once was.
“I made a mistake,” he says, mournfully, “How are you supposed to save them?”
—
Knocking wakes him up.
He’s not of sound mind to tell them to leave; he stumbles to his feet, head full of static and mouth full of cotton. Izuku isn’t thinking when he throws open the door, revealing Shouto and Iida on the other side.
Iida’s holding a steaming plate of food, and he nearly drops it. Shouto’s brow creases.
“Izuku,” he says quietly, “Are you alright?”
Izuku looks between the both of them, blinks back a fresh wave of tears, and shakes his head. “Can I,” his voice catches. His hand grips the door frame, “Can I ask you guys something?”
“Of course,” Iida says a tad too loudly, straightening up.
Shouto nods.
Taking a step back, Izuku props the door open wider. It’s a silent invitation; the two of them take it. They step inside and he shuts the door.
Notes:
I gotta go back and answer all of y'all's comments from the last chapter, they made me so happy haha
Also I added/altered some tags.
Until next time, thanks so much for reading <3
Chapter 16: 15.5
Chapter by KitKateC
Summary:
The boys have an important talk
Notes:
Hi! I'm alive! Writing for this fic has been tough, I've hit sort of a slump. There are several other writing projects I want to work on, and IB is crazy busy with school, so we haven't really had the time to sit down and get much done for Desperate Measures in the last month, so apologies. This chapter is really short, but I think it stands by itself really well and should serve as a nice little snippet to tide y'all over until the next chapter is finished. There's some interesting plans for this story in the works and I want to make sure that it's written precisely as we envision it, so thank you for your patience.
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku closes the door and turns to address them. Shouto stands by the bed, ever an unruffled presence, while Iida hovers nervously at the desk.
Panic seizes him, and the words die in his throat. Inviting them in was a stupid, impulsive decision. Why did he invite them in? He’s not in the right mind to talk to them about anything, let alone–
His train of thought is cut off by the mortifying growl of his stomach.
“You should eat,” Iida says, gesturing with the plate he’s holding, “You look troubled, and everything is always worse on an empty stomach.”
“I…uh, sure.” He stumbles forward and takes the plate from Iida. Iida steps away from the desk to pull out his chair and nods so hard that his glasses bounce.
“Here! It’s your room, you shouldn’t be standing.”
It’s so absurd that the nerves melt from his body. He takes a seat, a wisp of a smile on his face.
“You guys can sit too,” he waves at the bed, “It’s alright. Thanks.” He takes a bite from whatever they brought up, and shovels a few more bites in when he suddenly realizes just how hungry he is. With each bite he feels a little less frayed, a little more grounded. When he no longer feels like he’s going to burst into tears, he sets the food down and wipes at his face; there’s dried tear tracks there, and his eyes feel puffy. Something is nudged onto the table; it’s a tissue box, the one he keeps on top of his dresser.
Shouto says nothing, but quietly returns to the bed.
Izuku plucks one from the box and dabs at his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, blurts. Hiccups. “I didn’t realize– It’s b-been a long–”
Shouto’s voice is calm.
“It’s alright. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Todoroki is right! You’ve done nothing wrong, Midoriya. Did you still want to ask us your question?”
“Or we can leave, if you want.”
“That too.”
Izuku pauses. Squeezes the tissue in his hand and clenches his jaw. He– he doesn’t want them to leave, but now his question feels ridiculous. Do you need a quirk to be a hero? It’s a stupid question, one that he’s long put past him, dragged up by a bad day and even worse dreams. There’s no point in asking, because the only one that matters is the one he’s decided for himself.
Izuku takes a deep breath before straightening up and facing them. His… Friends. These are his friends. Somehow, for some reason. “I…my question was dumb. Today was rough, I just had a bad dream.” It sounds ridiculous to say out loud, so he tacks on: “Sorry for causing any trouble.”
“Was it the Big Three guy? I could try to set him on fire again, catch him by surprise.”
Iida makes a strangled noise and shouts Todoroki! at the same time Izuku erupts with ugly, snorting laughter.
“N-no, it wasn’t him,” he says, trying and failing to stop smiling, “Though I don’t really like him.”
“Fuck him,” Shouto deadpans.
Somehow, Iida’s voice jumps an octave. “Todoroki Shouto!”
“It was Aizawa, actually.”
Shouto presses a thumb to his lips, nose scrunching with thought. “It’d be harder to get away with setting Aizawa Sensei on fire.”
Iida erupts with a noise that sounds impressively close to a dolphin squeaking, and Izuku loses it. It takes two minutes to catch his breath, and another three to calm Iida down while Shouto looks between the two of them, the picture of plasticity.
By the time he’s caught his breath again the tightness in his chest is gone completely, and he leans back in his chair with a strange sense of calm.
“I’m quirkless,” he says into the air, his eyes closed and head tipped back. For a split second that calm threatens to twitch into fear, but he wrangles it back in place and continues, “Bakugou and I were childhood friends and he used to bully me for it, so I became a vigilante to prove him and everyone else wrong. I thought I didn’t care about him anymore after we graduated from middle school but…when Kamino happened,” he sucks his teeth, “When Kamino happened I still had to save him. But I fucked up. I got hurt, really bad, and it apparently triggered my quirk factor. And then I got arrested. Now I’m here in this stupid vigilante program, and I have to learn how to use a quirk I never wanted in the first place, only who knows what’ll actually happen to me once I do. And if I’m not shipped off to prison it’ll be because they think I’m ‘reformed’ enough to be put on a leash to do hero work again, and everyone’s gonna say it was because I finally got a quirk. But I don’t need a quirk to save people; I never did.”
Once he starts talking, he can’t stop. He just goes until there’s nothing left to say, and because he’s a jerk, he makes Shouto and Iida stew in the remnants of it. He doesn’t think they’ll judge him; out of everybody in the school, he firmly believes they’re the last ones who would. He…trusts them, and if anyone should hear the truth, it’s these two. For better or worse.
And hey, if they walk out on him, at least he didn’t waste any of their time.
“That’s what you meant in the hospital before,” Shouto says after a long stretch of silence, “‘ You’re not trained to fight quirkless.’ You said that because you are.”
Izuku releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“...Yeah.” Cracking open an eye, he sees Shouto looking at him with something he can’t quite place. Surprise? Awe? It’s gone before he can process it. Iida, on the other hand, is outright gaping. He leaps to his feet.
“Wait, so am I to understand that when you took down St–”
“Confidentiality clause!” He hisses, “Please! I really don’t need another reason for the heroes to want me in jail.”
“My apologies.” Iida blinks, hard. “You were quirkless back?...”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand,” He starts pacing, “I thought you had some sort of intelligence-boosting quirk and that Bakugou was just exaggerating. How did you manage to–?!”
“A shitton of research and sheer, dumb luck,” he says, sinking further into his chair at the memory, “It could have gone really, really badly, but it didn’t.”
Shouto looks back and forth between them. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”
Iida falls back onto the bed, white as a ghost.
“Something like that,” he answers, sounding faint. “I was impressed before, but…now I’m absolutely taken away. You are terrifying, Midoriya.”
“Thank you?”
“Did Sensei’s training hurt you?” Shouto asks. He raises a hand to his scar in an unconscious gesture. It makes Izuku’s heart pull. “Is that why you had a bad day?”
“No,” he assures him, “I promise. Aizawa is…he’s not a bad person. He’s a great hero. He’s helping me figure out how this quirk works, it’s just that I don’t want it. And it comes with a lot of baggage.” In his mind's eye, All Might’s visage stands before him. I’m so sorry my boy. He blinks it away. “My quirk is…difficult to use. It’s super strength, and I don’t know how to regulate it. The circumstances surrounding my gaining it are also, um, traumatic. Hence the bad dreams.”
He closes his eyes and pulls his limbs up in the chair, close to his chest.
“I’m just tired. Bad day.”
A hand touches his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he sees Iida.
“I’m happy you feel comfortable enough to reach out to us. You didn’t have to, but thank you for sharing, Midoriya. Your secrets are safe with us.”
Shouto nods in agreement, but he’s frowning slightly.
“You should tell Sensei.”
“What?” he says.
“If using your quirk is…traumatic,” he says, brow furrowing, “You should tell him. I did. The day after the license exam. He made accommodations.”
It’s like he’s knocked off-kilter. The whole world tilts a little to the left, and something is wrenched into place in the pit of his stomach.
“Huh?” He says, like a genius.
Shouto looks away…is that blush coloring his face? It can’t be; it has to be a trick of the light.
“You…said I can’t fight quirkless. That I owed it to myself and those I want to save to use my entire quirk. So I told him about my fire. Not everything, just that I was reluctant to. He agreed to start slow with it. He’d probably do the same with you.”
“Sure,” he says, the answer shocking even him. The truth about One for All isn’t as simple as he’d put it, and he doesn’t think that telling the hero that he’s being haunted by the ghost of the number one hero will score him any points towards his sanity, but the answer is ripped from his mouth before he can think better of it. “I’ll try that, I guess. If you think it’ll help.”
Shouto nods, frown slipping off his face. “I do.”
“Alright then.”
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! If you like this story and want more of it, please feel free to interact with it down in the comments! Y'alls' feedback is largely my inspiration to keep writing the things that I do, and I love and appreciate it so much. Until next time!
Chapter 17: A Turning Point
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
I'm late to a movie so I'll update the notes later! Enjoy <333
Chapter Text
He doesn’t mean to wind up here, halfway across campus in general education kids dorms. Typically, Shouta spends his nights patrolling the city, but after Midoriya’s disastrous training session he’d gone for a walk to clear his mind, sort out what had gone wrong. By the time he realized where his wandering footsteps had taken him, he was already standing outside the 1-C building.
He ignores the ogling eyes of the students lounging in the common room (particularly the violet ones staring from behind a massive mug of hot chocolate) and trudges up the stairs until he makes it to Hizashi’s room. He knocks a rhythm onto the door and hardly waits two seconds before a muffled voice shouts:
“I know that knock!”
There’s the sound of clumsy footsteps, and then the door is flung wide open. “Shouta!” Hizashi smiles widely, hair down and falling around his face like he was mid-brush before scrambling to answer the door. Looking around his shoulder, that seems to be the case; there’s a Hizashi-sized dent on the mattress next to a hair brush and a phone that’s playing some sort of dance video. He’s wearing pink pajamas and black cat slippers that he and Nemuri got him for his birthday.
Shouta snorts, “Get in and close the door before your students see you, they’ll take you even less seriously.”
“Rude,” Hizashi says, but he steps back to usher him in and the smile on his face only ticks wider. Shouta takes the invitation and enters, falling heavily onto the padded desk chair across from the bed. He hears the door close, and then Hizashi throws himself on the mattress, hair brush and phone sent bouncing.
“Soooo,” Hizashi sings, folding his legs in a pretzel and leaning so far forward that Shouta fears he’s about to fall face-first off the bed, “Why has the elusive Eraserhead ditched patrol to bless me with his presence?”
Shouto goes tense, starts to hide behind his scarf, realizes it’s still back in his room, and settles for sliding his eyes over the expanse of the room instead.
“...Talk to me for a while. Anything’s fine.” He can feel Hizashi’s eyes on him, burning with curiosity. As airheaded as a lot of people seem to think Hizashi is, Shouta knows better. A hundred thoughts and questions are racing through his friend’s mind, but because Hizashi is a better person than he is, he doesn’t probe.
“Well, ” Hizashi says, “Today I had some issues with your probation student, Bakugou. I don’t know how you did it, Sho, that kid is a tiny nightmare!”
“Oh? I’ve been meaning to ask about him.” Shouta lets his eyes fall back onto Hizashi, who picks up the stray brush and starts running it back through his hair.
“Well let me tell you about him.”
Tucked away in his friend’s room, whispering like a bunch of students up way past their bedtime– it reminds him of simpler times, and does wonders to ease his nerves. Slowly, the tension leaves his shoulders as he lets Hizashi’s voice wash over him. He rattles off about his day, his students, how Snipe owed him a thousand yen after a particularly stupid bet concerning Nemuri and two bold second-years– but eventually the chatter pitters out into a comfortable silence, save for the textured sound of bristles running through his hair. He knows the pause for what it is: an invitation.
Shouta takes a slow breath in, and talks:
“I’m having trouble with Midoriya.”
“The new little listener?” Hizashi says, perking up. “I thought he was acting weird today, what’s wrong? What did you do?”
“What do you mean, ‘what did you do?’”
Hizashi gives him a look. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what’s going on.”
.
.
.
“You told him WHA–” Hizashi’s voice cuts off to a hoarse squeak and levels him with a look of exasperation.
“You’ll wake your students,” Shouta deadpans, then releases his quirk.
“You told him you went through his things? You told him you’d do it again??” He hisses in a whisper. Shouta squints.
“That’s the part you’re stuck on?”
“Well, obviously the poor kid is having some sort of identity or quirk crisis and that needs to be addressed– but yes, that’s the part I’m stuck on, Sho.”
He’s taken aback by the tone of Hizashi’s voice. He’s actually upset with him right now. Because Shouta is unabashedly a jerk but genuinely wants to understand, he says:
“I don’t see what the big deal is. I was honest with the kid– I don’t want to invade his privacy. I didn’t want to the first time. But if I have to, I will. He seemed to understand. I don’t see how my handling of that has to do with the rest of the situation.”
Hizashi presses his hands together and brings them up to his face, and takes a deep breath through his nose.
“Sho.”
“Zashi.”
“Respectfully: what the hell?”
He crinkles his nose.“ What?”
“Sho,” he folds his legs pretzel-styles and leans forward, “it has everything to do with the situation, oh my God.”
…
The next day is…better. Not great, because he’s still here against his will with a quirk that he doesn’t want and under constant surveillance– but not bad, either.
The rest of his sleep is dreamless, and when his alarm goes off in the morning he rolls out of bed feeling less like a raw bag of emotions and more like a person. He showers, puts on his uniform (Except the tie. Maybe he’d try if he actually wanted to be here, but he gave up on wearing it after day one), ignores the wall of texts from his mom and responds with a ‘good morning’ so she knows he’s alive, and heads to breakfast.
Iida and Shouto don’t say or do anything particularly different after their heart-to-heart last night, but his nerves are significantly less frayed when he sits down beside them at the dining table. Most of 1A is already there or trickling in, and most of them acknowledge his arrival in one way or another. Bakugou’s friends are still quiet towards him, but that’s fine. They don’t have to like him, they just have to leave him be.
Aizawa descends the stairs like a living shadow, somehow already clutching a mug of coffee. Izuku forces himself to chew the breakfast bar in his mouth and pointedly looks away. He mumbles a vague threat to the rest of them about getting to class on time and then he’s out the door, and relief sags in his shoulders.
He can feel the looks of concern from his friends on him, but they don’t mention it and neither does he.
Homeroom passes, then the rest of core classes. Izuku takes notes diligently and with quiet intensity. Helps Uraraka with a particularly nasty trig problem, asks Present Mic with clarification on subject-verb agreement after a pop quiz. To his surprise, helps Kirishima weigh the pros and cons of interning with Fat Gum when one of the Big Three sheepishly extends an invitation before lunch.
It’s a good day. Too good.
Izuku is emphatically aware of this as they wrap up the last class of the day. He knows what’s coming next, doesn’t flinch when Aizawa calls his name at the final bell. Resignation weighing on his shoulders, he gets up from his desk and seriously considers trying to bow out of training today when there’s a tap on his shoulder. It’s Shouto.
“We can still find a way to set him on fire. You know, discreetly.”
It’s enough to make him snort, genuinely.
“I know.”
Shouto nods. “Just making sure.”
The rest of the class files out, and only the two of them remain. Izuku goes to fidget with his cuffs, then momentarily panics when he remembers that they’re no longer there. He’s starkly reminded of the quirk that’s nestled there, quiet but breathing like a living thing. He really, really doesn’t want to train today.
You should tell Sensei. That using your quirk is…traumatic.
He takes a breath.
“This quirk feels wrong–” “I need to apologize–”
Izuku goes still. They both do. The air tastes like electricity on his tongue, like battery acid. Aizawa’s face crumples like a folded napkin.
“What do you mean?” He says, slowly, like if he goes any faster Izuku might spook.
“You first,” Izuku says, because he’s still trying to grasp what he just heard (and because he’s a coward).
Running a hand through his hair, Aizawa sags at his desk and sighs. The bags under his eyes are heavier than normal, more defined.
“I’m…not good with people.”
“No shit.”
Aizawa glares. “I’m not good with people, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I do, vastly. That’s why I became a hero, and that’s why I became a teacher. I am the way I am and do the things I do because I want you to realize the reality of the world now, while UA can catch you, before you go out in the real world and get yourselves killed. So I don’t pull punches, I don’t baby, and I don’t bullshit.”
Izuku can’t help it.
“This isn’t sounding like an apology, Eraserhead.”
…
Shouta sighs. Smart-mouthed brat.
But he’s right, this isn’t sounding like an apology, and he desperately needs it to. If they’re going to get anywhere with this shitstorm of a situation, it needs to.
“I’m getting there. Listen, what I’m saying is– my approach to most things is black-and-white. I see grey where I need to, but I failed to do that with you. You’re the grey, Midoriya. You already know how awful the real world is. Up until now I’ve handled you like you didn’t, and for that I apologize. What I’ve said to you has been cruel.” It really has, he thinks with a wince. “I’m more than your guardian; I’m your teacher, and I haven’t adjusted accordingly. Additionally…” Shouta closes his eyes. He can’t think straight with Midoriya looking at him like that, like he’s about to burst into tears. Has no-one ever been sincere with the kid before? Has no-one shown him kindness, or decency?
You haven’t. Don’t forget why you’re apologizing in the first place.
“You aren’t a…criminal. Even if it was justified, I should have afforded you the decency of telling you I needed to look through your notebooks. If I’m to assist you, we need to trust one-another. I expected you to meet me halfway without putting in the effort on my behalf, and that was unreasonable and illogical.”
When he finishes, he opens his eyes. Alarm spikes through him. Midoriya isn’t on the verge of tears, he’s–
…
–Crying again. Fuck him, he’s crying again. But these aren’t sad tears, they’re- they’re-
Happyrelivedshocked furious–
“ Of course I’m not a f-fucking criminal,” are he words that fly from his mouth, “And y-yeah, you are so unreasonable. Like, h-holy shit. It took Bakugou being punched into a p-paste and me nearly dying for you to even s-see me, you asshole! And, and off people I thought you would be different because you’re, you’re underground, and you know how s-shitty things are, but you’re still so rigid! It’s infur-in- infuriating!”
Is he even making sense? He feels crazy. He feels like Eraserhead took a hot knife and flayed him open, and it hurts but it’s not all terrible and he can’t stop crying.
“I’m not–I wasn’t a vigilante because I wanted to be. I w-wanted to be a hero, a hero, with my own two hands and h-heart and drive, but no-one believed in me. No-one. N-not even my own mom, because what? Because I didn’t have a quirk? Some stupid f-fucking mutation? Even people with the most, most unhelpful quirks in the world don’t get laughed out of a room, or, or burned, or told to kill themselves when they say they want to be a hero. But I wanted to, and they said I couldn’t and you know what? I did it an-anyways!” He gasps, wipes tears and snot from his face with a fist, then gives up halfway because there’s no salvaging anything anymore.
“ I did. M-Midoriya Izuku, quirkless. I saved people. I saved T-Tenya and Shouto. I did that, me. Without th, this stupid fucking quirk that makes me feel like a stranger in my own s-skin. So you know what, Aizawa? Fuck you and your apology. You can s-stick it up your ass.”
He takes a stuttering gulp of air. Gathers the shattered pieces of himself up off the floor and holds them together with spite and blood. Ignores the awful way the quirk under his skin almost seems to burn.
Izuku reaches for his backpack. Hauls it over his shoulder, staring holes into the floor, and bulldozes his way to the door. Kicking it open, he throws one last searing look back at Aizawa.
His voice is steady. Calm and collected in a way that he doesn’t feel.
“I don’t accept it. Your apology. But I appreciate it. Can we skip training for today?”
A heavy, heavy pause.
“Yes,” Aizawa says, looking appropriately stunned, “That’s understandable.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t slam the door.
Chapter 18: On the Right Foot
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
Notes to be updated soon! I'm late for work x-x
Enjoy~
Chapter Text
Trying to get into good graces with the Yakuza is not what he would have imagined for himself, but walking through the fortified base of the Shie Hissaikai, Tomura is reaffirmed in his decisions. The League of Villains are in a rough spot, and partnering with well-off allies is what they need right now; even if it means swallowing his pride. Whatever it takes to prove himself worthy of leading in Sensei’s stead.
We’ve already killed the Symbol of Peace. We’re not the ones in a rush here.
He reminds himself as he takes a seat on the lush couch in the room they’re supposedly meeting Overhaul in. He repeats it as they sit through an insufferable meeting with the self-righteous prick. Seriously, he talks a lot of shit for someone in a purple boa.
He makes nice, holds his tongue and his teammates back when they grow visibly agitated, and ignores the urge to tear at his skin when they’re dismissed. If this guy’s someone important enough to have been on Sensei’s radar, it’s in his best interest to watch his temper.
One of the seven bullets – Chrono, he thinks – leads them back out. They’re led through a different set of twisting hallways until they emerge under the night sky in a completely different location than they previously entered. Chrono hands them a caseful of yen – a ‘gift’ for joining the family, ugh – and steps back.
“Overhaul will keep in touch,” Chrono says, like he’s addressing gunk stuck to his shoes, then he slams the door behind them. There’s the sound of several locks clicking into place, and they’re alone.
Malcontent suffocates the air like a poison; Tomura doesn’t address it, instead ordering Kurogiri to open up a warp gate back to their current hideout. He does, and in a matter of moments they’re all back within the confines of the crummy apartment. Magne is the first to speak up.
“That was bullshit,” she snarls, slamming her pillar against the floor. The floorboards creak in protest, and Tomura feels annoyance bubble up in his gut, “Twice said he was interested in us. Where does he get off, talking down to us like that?”
Twice cringes. “W-well, I mean, I thought he was!”
She ignores him, stepping forward to point at Tomura. “And you just let him. He shat on our goals, called us directionless–”
“Big sis Mags–” Spinner starts.
“Nah, she’s right,” Dabi says, “Why’d you roll over and lick his boots, Dusty? I thought the whole point of this little rendezvous was to prove that wrinkly doctor fuck that you could lead in place of All for One. Mind explaining why you let things play out like that?”
“I think we’d all like an explanation, Shigaraki,” Compress says. It’s hard to gauge his emotions beneath his rorschach mask, but he sounds more intrigued than anything.
Toga points, tucking her arms against her chest. “Yeah! What he said.”
Ugh. What a lousy party, questioning their leader. He wants to scream– he’s just as frustrated as them, if not more so, can’t they see that? But no, he can’t afford to blow up. This is just another test, another mission on his journey of leveling up to meet Sensei’s expectations. It’s true that he can’t just expect his pawns to follow him blindly. Tell them only what they need to know.
Those beneath you are dogs, Tomura, Sensei’s words echo in his mind, Dumb and hungry. Feed them scraps; enough to curb their appetite. Enough to keep them loyal.
Tomura schools his face in a calm expression and turns around, walks over to the windowless sill by the sliding door, and props himself up on the ledge.
“Overhaul is nothing more than a stepping stone. Sensei has plans for us– I have plans for us– and in order to see those plans into fruition some momentary sacrifices have to be made.” He gestures to the dilapidated room around them. “Losing the bar. Letting that brat think he’s in charge. Both necessities.”
“Necessities for what, exactly? I don’t see how this gets us in the Doc’s good graces,” Dabi says.
“Do you know why I had Twice reach out to Overhaul?”
Spinner scratches nervously at his cheek. “Because he has money?...”
“That’s just a nice bonus. No, it’s because the Shie Hissaikai have been on Sensei’s radar for some time now. He’s tied to Dr. Garaki’s research into the quirk singularity theory. The doctor wants us to prove ourselves, and with All Might out of the picture, we need to do something impressive to do that. Not just targeting more hero brats.” He waves a hand dismissively.
“No. If we get in good with the Shie Hissaikai, not only will we get in good with Dr. Garaki by obtaining information on his research, but we also get support and money to recuperate and plan our next steps. Overhaul’s just a side quest. And once we’ve claimed our reward, we’ll crush him.”
He lets his words sink in.
Magne grunts. “Fine. But I ain’t turnin’ into some Yakuza plaything. I didn’t join this organization to do whatever the fuck that germaphobe has planned.”
“And you won’t.” Smirking, he undoes the clasps on the case and plucks out a band of yen. Then he tosses the rest out towards Compress; he snatches it out of the air.
Tomura tucks his share into his coat pocket. “You all have done well. Why don’t you treat yourselves? Get a new couch, or some shit.”
It’s a dismissal, but they don’t complain. Compress fends Toga and Twice off as they make a break for the case, dashing out the door. Spinner and Magne hurry after them, and Dabi rolls his eyes before strolling out.
“...Master Tomura?”
“What?”
Kurogiri strides over, almost floating across the room until stopping in front of him.
“That was well said. You handled that as All for One himself would.”
Pride pokes at his ribs. He tries not to show it. “You think?”
“Indeed.” Kurogiri’s form flickers, luminous eyes yawning into the dark. “I shall make a report of our progress to the doctor. He will undoubtedly be pleased. I will be back shortly–”
“Wait.”
The sudden spike of ozone in the air dissipates. Kurogiri stands at attention.
“Yes, young master?”
Finally succumbing to his urges, Tomura drags chipped nails across his skin. The pain serves to sharpen his thoughts.
“What I said to the rest of the party wasn’t the full truth.”
“Oh?”
“I still intend on using that bird brain, but there’s another quest we could use the Shie Hassaikai on. You knew Sensei well…” Tomura drops his hands. Slouches forward so his elbows rest on the meat of his thighs. “What do you think of Midoriya?”
The yellow mist making up Kurogiri’s eyes waver.
“Quite a non sequitur. UA’s parole ward?”
…
Shouta doesn’t say much to Midoriya for the next day. He doesn’t say much to him in general, but today’s silence is far louder than any of their previous stand-stills. It’s not…hostile, per say, rather edging on something awkward.
Midoriya refuses to look him in the eye, answers in one-word responses, and Shouta keeps catching him staring from the corner of his eye when the kid thinks he’s not looking in class. He’s 90% sure he hasn’t screwed up completely, because aside from avoiding him like the plague, the kid is much more engaged with the rest of the class and his fellow teachers.
“Did your talk with the little listener go well?” Hizashi asks him during lunch.
Shouta crushes an empty jelly packet in his hand and shot-guns his thermos of coffee; he hears Snipe choke on his own lunch from across the teacher’s lounge and pays it no mind. His best friend is unfazed, and gives him a very unimpressed stare as Shouta wipes his mouth clean.
“He won’t look at me head-on and I think he’s revolutionized Todoroki and Iida against me. But he showed up first in class this morning and apologized for telling me to go fuck myself, so I’m going to chalk it up to a success.”
“That’s…good?”
“Probably,” Shouta says, setting his thermos down to flip through his planner. Hastily scribbled dates and plans line the margins in ever-increasingly small handwriting as he struggled to tetris more activities into his day. Squinting at what he’s got laid out for this afternoon, he makes grabby hands at the half-full pot of coffee next to Hizashi.
Hizashi rolls his eyes and hands it over.
“You’re good with ‘probably’?”
“I’m going to have to be,” he grunts, reaching out to take it, “He asked to skip training yesterday and we start joint training this afternoon, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“Wait.” Hizashi snatches the pot back and Shouta’s fingers close on air. He feels his eyes twitch. “Joint training? With Shinsou? You’re putting both of them together already??”
“If I want to keep their training on track? Yes.” He reaches over to pluck the pot from Hizashi’s grasp. “It’s the only way to efficiently progress with both of them.”
“And you’re sure that’s…smart?”
Shouta sighs, “I’m aware they both have hang-ups, but if I’m going to have any time to sleep it’s going to have to happen. Besides, Midoriya has a knack for befriending introverts.”
“They both have horrible trust issues and quirk dysphoria!”
“Exposure therapy.”
“Why does Nedzu keep throwing kids at you to traumatize?”
With a twist of his wrist, Shouta seals his thermos shut then pushes up from his desk. Hizashi glares up at him with no small amount of concern in his eyes. Shouta does not let it phase him.
“It’s not ideal,” he says, taking planner and thermos in hand, “But nothing about the last two months has been, either.”
Shouta tells himself that, then thinks of introducing a smaller, angstier version of himself to an agitated Midoriya and thinks this might be the death of me, though.
…
Since he’s been here, Izuku hasn’t taken part in heroics class. After his outburst yesterday he made a show of sitting on the sidelines with one of his journals, and the day before that was the fiasco with Nighteye’s intern, so. Yeah. His track record for heroics is looking pretty dismal so far.
Which is why he feels his pulse tick up when Eraserhead drags them all once more to Gym Gamma, makes eye contact with him for the first time since yesterday and announces to the class:
“Today’s focus is going to be on hand-to-hand combat. You’ll be sparring in pairs, without quirks, and rotating partners.”
Huh.
Murmurs wash through the class in varying volumes; their teacher silences them with a flare of his quirk. It’s a lot less menacing without his capture scarf rising like an angered serpent (something Izuku has taken note of and still doesn’t know what to think about) but it still does the trick. Once everyone’s quieted down, he continues:
“What would you do if using your quirk meant putting others at risk?” The class has nothing to say about that, a few of them shuffling nervously in place. “If you’re put in a situation where you can’t use your quirk? If the enemy has something akin to erasure?” Unease pervades the gym in a haze. Because he’s mean, Eraser lets them wallow in it for several long seconds.
Izuku finds himself unconsciously leaning in, eyes wide and attentive. His pulse is still up, but for another reason entirely.
“In such situations, your mettle as a hero is tested in ways that most pros are not prepared for. And when heroes aren’t prepared, people die. Using your quirk to bolster your abilities is one thing, but relying on it entirely is illogical. So,” dropping his quirk, Eraserhead levels each of them with a heavy stare, “Quirkless combat training. There are many different forms and schools of fighting; you may develop whichever best works for you later in your school careers, but for now we’re going to merely observe what you know, so that going forward you can be aware of your strengths and weaknesses. Obviously, some of you are more experienced than others, which is why at the end of training today, we’re going to discuss performances and ways to improve.”
“Um, Aizawa Sensei?” A hand goes up, and Izuku recognizes Yaoyorozu. He hasn’t spoken to the class VP much, but she is one of the people that asked for quirk advice before the license exam. She’s quiet, and intelligent, and thanked him personally for his observations and advice, so she’s currently pretty high on his list of 1A students at the moment.
“Yes?”
“With Bakugou and Mineta gone, we have an odd number of students. Will one of us have to rotate out with partners?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Including Midoriya, you make for an even eighteen.”
There’s a collective intake of air as seventeen pairs of eyes fly to look at him. Heart in throat, Izuku flashes them his most menacing smile. Next to him, Shouto forcefully exhales through his nose, and Iida flashes a ten gigawatt smile right back.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
“So, er,” Kaminari stutters, taking up a clumsy stance. In a single glance, Izuku identifies at least four different ways he could put him on his ass in one move. “You’re going to go easy on me, right?”
Izuku finishes stretching out his calves, stands straight and rolls his neck with a satisfying pop. Ah, that’s nice.
“What’s the point in that?”
“Not killing me??”
Falling into a basic stand, Izuku scoffs. “I’m not going to kill you, Kaminari. This is a learning experience.”
“Against an ex-vigilante!”
“An enriching learning experience. Now come at me.”
“You want me to make the first move?”
Smiling, he shrugs. “Otherwise you’re not gonna learn much.”
The poor guy looks about five seconds away from shitting himself, but he also rushes forward with a battle cry that only sounds a little bit like a wail, so he gets points in Izuku’s book.
He opens with a clumsy left-hook, which might as well come in slow-motion. Izuku dodges, grabs him by the wrist and pivots, turning Kaminari’s arm in on itself to pin him in place; it’s enough pressure to threaten a broken joint, but it’s just a warning.
“I concede, I concede!”
Izuku drops the hold and steps back, putting a healthy distance between them.
Kaminari yanks his wrist back, cradling it like a baby.
“You good?”
“Ack.”
“Round two?”
“Uuuuugh.”
“Don’t telegraph your moves,” he says, giving him a friendlier smile, “It’s really easy to tell what you’re going to do next. Keep your limbs closer to your body.”
“Okay…”
Most of class passes this way. Izuku’s partnered with a hero student, beats them out without throwing a punch a few times, and change. Rinse and repeat. There are a few exceptions– though hand-to-hand combat isn’t in their usual repertoire, Yayorozu, Iida, and Shouto have decent experience, likely because their parents could afford prior lessons. Having physical-based quirks, Satou, Kirishima, and Asui also put forth good efforts.
Aside from them, though, Izuku takes down his opponents without so much as batting an eye– he makes sure to point out what they’re doing wrong, offer helpful suggestions and compliments them on adjustments though, so no one is left with a sour taste in their mouth.
Nearly an hour passes, and Izuku is starting to work up a sweat when Aizawa approaches at him with something that can only be described as a menacing grin and says:
“Time to swap.”
Weary, but on a decent high, Izuku bows to Hakagure (the tank top and shorts on the ground make a strained, wheezing sort of reply) and walks away to face his next opponent.
“Midoriya,” his new opponent says with a bow.
Izuku blinks. Cocks his head. He can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face.
“Ojirou, right?” He says, dipping his head.
“That’s right.” Ojirou falls into a practiced stance, legs wide for support and tail low to balance his center of gravity. “I’ve been watching your spars. You’ve been holding back; I would advise against that now.”
“If you say so,” he chuckles, a fresh burst of adrenaline pulling his smile wider. He eyes Ojirou’s tail. “Does using your tail count as quirk usage?”
“Doesn’t matter either way.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I won’t need it.”
Unlike the rest of his matches, Izuku moves first. He’s fast, striking out with a kick to Ojirou’s side, but the hero student is ready. He parries with a kick of his own– Izuku torques his upper body to the right in a jab, and Ojirou drops his leg to nimbly duck out of the way. There’s laughter in his opponent’s eyes as they both fall back and start to circle one-another.
“You’re good,” Izuku offers, because this is the first proper fight he’s had in a long time. Hell, this is the first time he’s properly sparred. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried.
“Thanks, this is kind of my thing,” Ojirou laughs, and immediately follows up with a flurry of jabs.
And so the fight begins.
They trade blows for a while, blocking where they can and taking hits where they can’t. Ojirou has been doing this longer and it shows, but until his recent capture, Izuku has devoted the past year and some change all towards training. Fighting, maneuvering, studying, all so that he could keep up with his quirked opponents. He’s slower– clumsier in places and obviously less practiced– but his practical experience definitely outweighs Ojirou’s. There are opportunities for foul play (villains don’t play clean, and neither should heroes) but this is only sparring, so Izuku holds back and takes his beatings.
Even still, Ojirou takes his fair share of hits.
In the end, Ojirou’s training outweighs his own. After minutes of wordless exchanges, Izuku falters; a single lapse in concentration, and Ojirou gets his arms around Izuku’s calf as he tries for another kick.
Shit, he thinks, an instant before Ojirou grins and flips him.
He hits the ground hard, a little dazed, but feeling good.
Ojirou’s form appears above him, chest heaving and hand outstretched. “Need a hand?”
“I’m, I’m good,” he heaves, waving him off, “Just gonna meld with the, with the floor for a second.” He takes a deep breath and adds on: “Good match.”
Nodding, Ojirou agrees. “Good match!”
It’s only then he realizes how quiet the gym has gotten. Cringing, he props himself up on his hands and looks around. Ojirou notices at the same time. Every single sparring match has come to a stop, all of 1A paused to stare at the two of them in varying degrees of awe.
“What’re you all staring at,” Aizawa says, making them all jump (Izuku shoots him a look, and Aizawa pretends not to see. As if he weren’t staring too), “Class is almost over, group up so we can talk about what you’ve learned today.” Walking past the two of them, Aizawa spares a moment to look down at him. “Nice moves, kid.”
Something like pride wells up in his chest, taking him completely by surprise.
“Uh. Thank you.”
Aizawa nods once and walks away.
“Hey Ojirou? Can I actually get a hand?”
“You’re really good,” Ojirou says quietly as they merge with the rest of the class, “Where did you learn?”
“HeroTube, mostly,” Izuku answers, “And escrima classes I got my mom to sign me up for a year back. I sort of no-lifed my training though,” he adds when Ojirou’s eyes go wide, “And got my ass kicked like, a lot at first.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
Chapter 19: On the Left Foot
Chapter by KitKateC
Summary:
Why can't he ever get normal kids?
Notes:
*pokes head nervously around corner" Hey guys, long time no see. Haaaaa
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s as if, for the first time since Bakugou’s expulsion, all of 1A released a collective breath.
The ex-Bakusquad don’t give him uneasy stares from where they sit, Aizawa is less of a grumpy old man, and he and Ojirou swap training stories on the way back from Gym Gamma. They finish out the day with mathematics, and Shouto wanders over to sit on his desk while Izuku finishes collecting his things.
Aizawa gave him a bookbag (Star-spangled with UA’s colors, gross) so that he no longer has to balance his things on his journey to and from the dorms. He zips up the last compartment, then raises his head to see Shouto…pouting? Well, as close to Shouto can get to pouting. His face is doing something weird, unused to the position it’s in.
“Can I help you?” He says with a half-laugh, rising from his seat.
“You’re no longer classmate-repellant.”
“Does that mean I’m no longer friend material?”
Shouto stands so abruptly that he almost takes the desk with him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Joking! I was joking,” he says, raising his hands. Agh, sometimes he forgets that Shouto is even worse with people than him. Shouto stuffs his hands in his pockets like a nervous cat.
“Oh. Good.”
“Todoroki, Midoriya,” Iida all but yells, waving frantically from where he stands at the door, “I have organized a study group for the upcoming quiz in English! You two should accompany us in the common room.”
“Actually, I’ll be stealing the problem child for the next few hours.”
Izuku almost forgot about Aizawa, slouched in his desk with his hideous sleeping bag pulled up to his ears. Shrugging off his cocoon, he emerges and rises to his feet like the world’s most sleep-deprived butterfly.
“Training today. No getting out of it.”
It’s almost Pavlovian, how at the mention of ‘training’ the quirk that has been blessedly quiet the past two days surges forth. His limbs feel staticy and panic claws up his throat. Yet there’s no crackle of electricity, no hum of superhuman power, so at least their running theory on intent to use the quirk holds. He has a sneaking suspicion that if he intended to try and run though, its power would summon completely.
“Alright. Thanks, Tenya, but I’ll have to study on my own.” Iida spends approximately five seconds frozen in place before what he said catches up with his brain. “Wait, crap, my bad.” Oh god, oh no, what has he done? “I didn’t mean to–”
“Tenya is fine!” Iida screeches, a massive smile splitting his face. “More than fine! Todoroki, we should leave Midoriya to his training!” In a burst of engine, the class rep all but flies away with an extremely unimpressed Shouto wedged under his arm.
“...I feel like I just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing.”
Aizawa, the bastard, doesn’t even acknowledge him.
“You know the drill. Gym Gamma, kid.”
Izuku feels a bit apprehensive following Aizawa through the school. He hasn’t done anything to single him out or address his clumsy apology all day, and it feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely the man wouldn’t just ignore what happened yesterday? He’d have to be waiting to tell him off, or threaten him with changing his mind about the whole ‘hero’ thing, or– something.
Right?
“You did well in hand-to-hand combat today,” Aizawa says suddenly. Izuku nearly jumps.
He answers slowly, “Were you expecting something else?”
“No. Going toe-to-toe with that League girl and your success as a vigilante were indicative enough of your combat abilities. But this was the first time I’ve seen you in action, so I thought acknowledgement of that was warranted. Even if you did pull your fight with Ojirou.”
Izuku tenses, tilting his head to gauge Aizawa’s expression. He didn’t sound upset at that fact. He mulls over exactly how to respond, failing to realize they’ve arrived at Gym Gamma before Aizawa shrugs open the door and watches him expectantly.
Izuku scuttles past, careful not to make eye contact. For whatever reason, he feels the need to defend himself.
“It was just sparring.”
Aizawa hums. Izuku tries to ignore the nerves clawing up his back.
The gym, large even when filled with twenty-odd hero students, seems cavernous now. The automatic lights are harsh, almost clinical, and he can’t help but feel like Aizawa is scrutinizing him. After a heavy pause, Izuku opens his mouth to demand what kind of training is happening today, when Aizawa finally speaks up.
“I noticed some things watching you spar. Or recognized, rather. Specifically the moves you incorporate into your fighting. Miruko’s footwork, Gunhead’s grappling,” he pauses, “Some of my techniques, too. Particular attention to joint-locking and movement redirection.”
Izuku can feel his mouth going dry.
“Those notebooks aren’t just for quirks, are they?”
“You should know,” Izuku can’t stop the bitter words, turning away from the hero, “You read them.”
Aizawa’s footsteps stop beside him. There’s a long, uncomfortable pause.
“It’s another thing to see it in action.” the hero says. He at least has the decency to sound guilty. “And I know for a fact that I haven’t seen the expanse of it. Which is why you’re sparring with me today. No punches pulled.”
What?
“What?”
“I need to judge for myself how much you know so I can better tailor your training going forward. You can fight me for real, don’t worry.”
Izuku shakes his head. “No, I mean– we’re actually training?”
Aizawa looks put-out. “That’s what I said we were doing today, yes.”
“You’re not going to talk about yesterday?”
“You already apologized. Do you want to talk about yesterday?”
“Not…not particularly,” he says, suddenly lost. Is Aizawa really going to let all that go? No punishment, no repercussions, no nothing– just like that?
“Then we won’t.”
“So we’re just fighting? Quirkless?” He tacks on. Maybe today isn’t a fluke after all. Maybe he’s just having an honest-to-God good–
“For now. We have to address what happened the day before last. And I have something special planned within the hour.”
–day. Well, maybe he should just count his blessings, huh?
“That’s fine, I guess.”
“Good, because it’s not up to change this time. Now– let’s begin.” Eraserhead falls into a defensive stance.
Not wasting another word, readies himself. There’s no use in asking if the man is serious about not pulling any punches; if he’s a hero worth his salt, and Izuku knows he is, he can handle himself against a self-trained vigilante. Besides, he’s not going to turn down the chance to fight Eraserhead.
Izuku bobs forward and jabs, aiming straight for his sternum. As predicted, Eraserhead dances back, light on his feet and lightning-quick. Izuku advances, giving him no room for pause. He throws several punches in quick succession, all aimed at weak points along his torso, and the hero dodges all of them. He follows up with kick aimed for Eraserhead’s ankles– Eraserhead jumps, lands, and throws out a roundhouse kick that pauses a hair's breadth away from his temple.
“Incapacitated. I know you can do better than that.”
Scowling, Izuku knocks his foot out of the way. “I was just warming up.”
“Prove it.”
…
Midoriya is every bit as good as he anticipated.
He’d have to be, to avoid so many Underground heroes. Seeing the kid in motion, it’s suddenly very clear as to why his only official captures had been by All Might or after being severely injured. He’s quick as a whip, observant, and vicious.
Shouta puts some healthy distance between them after Midoriya tries not once, but three times to hit him in a weak spot that would leave him nauseous with pain. Shouta knows underground heroes who aren’t as quick to use such tactics.
But then they have their quirks to rely on. Midoriya had nothing but his own two hands and whatever hits he could muster.
He’s worked up a sweat and so has the kid. Midoriya has paused, breathing in steadying breaths when Shouta goes in for his first hit in the match. As predicted, he sees it coming and dodges accordingly; what he isn’t expecting is for the kid to dart forward and grab a fistful of his uniform.
He yanks back and throws Shouta off balance, then raises his knee– and time slows.
Shouta blinks up at Midoriya, and for a second the kid looks like a mini Mirko, executing a perfect vertical split with his heel poised for an axe kick. Green lightning crackles around his raised limb and sends his hairs on end.
Time barrels on, and Shouta throws himself forward. Midoriya’s foot crashes down into the spot where his back had just been and the pavement cracks, sending up a cloud of dust.
Neither of them moves. Midoriya looks just as shocked as Shouta is, eyes wide and watery from the cloud of debris. He stares accusingly at his foot still planted in the floor, then looks up at Shouta with pure panic in his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he says, voice cracking, “I really didn’t. I was just– I thought that only if I was a little faster I could–” He yanks his foot free and gestures frantically, “I didn’t know it would trigger the quirk, I swear. I’m so sorry, are you alright? I– I swear I didn’t–”
“That was a perfect Luna Arc,” Shouta blurts. This only sends Midoriya into further hysterics.
“ That’s your take away from that??” His voice hits a pitch that makes Shouta cringe.
Shouta rises to his feet and dusts himself off while his charge dissolves into panicked muttering.
“-gonna give up on me, I know it. This whole thing was too good to be true, not to mention hopeless–”
“Calm down, Problem Child. You think you’re the first student to almost nail me with their quirk?”
That seems to get his attention. Midoriya’s thousand-yard stare slowly disappears. Shouta goes on once his breathing evens out:
“You’d be wrong. I’m more concerned about your leg.”
…
His leg? Izuku almost snapped the man’s spine and he’s worried about Izuku’s leg?
But then…
Izuku’s eyes snap down to his leg. His perfectly intact, not-shattered-into-pieces leg. He sucks in a shocked breath and yanks it up, then gingerly taps it against the floor. When he doesn’t fall to the ground in a fit of agony, he puts all of his weight onto it.
Huh. Would you look at that.
“It…doesn’t hurt.”
“Looks like you can use it without hurting yourself, kid. There’s hope for you yet.”
Izuku is spared from thinking about the mix of pride and embarrassment that runs through him by a new voice.
“Tell me you’re not piting me against one of your hero students , Sensei,” a deep, irritated drawl has him looking at the entrance to the gym. A tall, deeply exhausted student with a shock of purple hair stands in the open door, not even bothering to hide the look of disdain he points at Izuku.
His defenses are immediately up. Izuku crosses his arms and scowls right back.
“He’s not technically one of my students,” Aizawa points out, “Buy yes. This is Midoriya Izuku, my ward. He’s the first participant in Nedzu’s vigilante program, and since the rat likes to throw all of his projects at me, I’m going to be training you both after hours. Midoriya, this is Shinsou Hitoshi.”
“A vigilante?” Shinsou says. His gaze goes from scrutinizing to cold. Izuku fights the urge to flinch. He looks at him for a few tense seconds, then turns to Aizawa. “I’m not training with a villain.”
…
Gods, Nedzu better be getting him a fat fucking bonus this Christmas.
Because nothing can ever go smoothly in his life, Shinsou utters the word “villain” and Midoriya goes downright hostile. Shouta activates his quirk reflexively at the sudden rush of anger that pervades the room, hair rising up like wrathful tentacles. Shinsou flinches and takes a step back.
His Problem Child doesn’t move an inch, but his voice is tight with barely restrained venom.
“I’ve helped more people than I can count. You don’t know me. Think before you go throwing words around.”
Why can’t I ever get normal kids?
Notes:
2023 was wild. Had a quarter life crisis and lost my creative juice, went on a cruise, turned 25, spiraled some more and had a R O U G H Christmas, but we're back! And mostly mentally stable! Rejoice!
I've also started two other fics that helped me get back into the flow of writing that I started uploading yesterday! They're going to be much smaller, self-contained stories than Desperate Measures, but they're all the more fun for it. There's a lot of story threads to address in this fic that don't exist in the story lines that I have planned for them. One is a Haikyuu/MHA crossover with some of my favorite characters, and the other is a Villain DabiHawks. They'll likely be uploaded more frequently than Desperate Measures, but for now, we're officially through with the Hiatus! Thanks for everyone who stuck around for this story :)
As always, thank you so much for reading <3
Chapter 20: Old Ghosts
Chapter by KitKateC
Summary:
The boys' first training session goes fine, all things considered.
Notes:
Wow, I was absolutely blown away by the support from you guys after disappearing for almost a year. I'm sorry I haven't gotten through responding to all the comments yet, but I'm working on it! It feels great to work on this story again, and even better knowing that there are people who look forward to reading it :')
Seriously, thank you so much
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In the end, both Midoriya and Shinsou manage to make it through their first joint training session without murdering each other, but it’s rough-going.
Shouta’s able to negotiate their cooperation by limiting their first session to one hour instead of two, and they spend the entire time in a thick, tense silence.
He leads them through proper warm-up routines, then runs them both through a series of tests to gauge their abilities. It’s essentially what he did for 1A at the beginning of the year, but quirkless– Neither of them like their quirks on a good day, and he would rather avoid another shitstorm altogether, thank you very much.
As expected, Midoriya is in good shape, while it’s evident that Shinsou has had no prior training whatsoever. It’s no wonder why he didn’t get in through the hero program initially; his quirk is not made for physical combat, and it quickly becomes apparent that Shinsou hasn’t conditioned himself at all.
Midoriya, on the other hand, suffers from a different problem entirely.
After their physical, Shouta runs them through the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Predictably, Shinsou is at a beginner level. Midoriya is by far the best fighter in his group of students at the moment, but his form suffers in the fundamentals. It’s little things that have likely accumulated from being self-taught– not a problem when fighting petty crime and wannabe villains, but an entirely different issue when going against people that know what they’re doing.
He makes mental notes on what to touch on for each of them, and at the end of a very long hour, he calls the first session to an end. The both of them take off without eye contact and without a single word.
Shouta watches the door to gym gamma shut, then sighs. At least it wasn’t a complete train wreck.
He looks around at the empty gym, the crack in the floor where Midoriya almost sent him to the hospital, and decides that he needs a drink.
…
It quickly becomes apparent after leaving gym gamma that he and Midoriya are both headed in the same direction. He could smack himself for not realizing that they were both staying at the dorms, but he’d honestly figured that Midoriya would have some sort of special accommodations given his status.
Apparently not. Had he known before, he would have stuck back with Aizawa Sensei to put some distance between them. Unfortunately he hadn’t considered that, and now he and 1A’s vigilante project were walking back together in silence, trying dutifully to pretend the other didn’t exist.
Hitoshi is content to participate in this shitty pissing contest, and thankfully so is Midoriya.
He could speed up– he’s considerably taller than Midoriya– but the thought of leaving his back open to the guy makes his skin crawl. So they walk as far apart as they can manage on the sidewalk with their eyes fixed ahead.
It’s a good five minute walk back to Heights Alliance. He tries not to let his mind wander, not to let his guard down, but he catches himself glancing Midoirya’s way. When he does, two wide, piercing green eyes look back, and his hear damn-near flies from his chest. After a few moments his eyes flick back over, and Midoriya is staring determinedly forward once again. Hitoshi takes the second to take him in.
Midoriya’s small. Small, but compact with muscle, given his performance during training. Something bitter curls in his gut when he thinks back to gym gamma; Midoriya out-performed him in just about everything. Combine that with the small crater in the floor that Aizawa Sensei purposefully kept them away from, it was safe to say that the guy had some kind of strength enhancement quirk.
How could Sensei put them together? He’d been looking forward to training with Eraserhead, ecstatic to finally be given a chance at being a hero– he should have known there would be a catch. Now he would have to work with some vigilante with a flashy quirk who probably wouldn’t take him or training seriously.
Tch. Fucking great. Just perfect.
“Could you think any louder?”
Hitoshi flinches.
“What?” He grits through clenched teeth.
“I can practically hear you cursing me out,” Midoriya says, throwing him an annoyed look, “I’m not exactly happy about training with you, either.”
“Then don’t,” Histosh snaps before he can think better of it, “I’ve heard the rumors of Principal Nedzu’s pet project. I know you don’t take any of this,” he gestures to the school, “Seriously. You’re moody, abrasive, and you beat the shit out of that Bakugou jerk that got transferred to my class. If you don’t want to be here, then just leave. You can call yourself whatever you want, but at the end of the day you’re a criminal, and the only reason you’re here and not in juvie is because you have a useful quirk that the principal thought he could spin into good press for the school.”
It takes him a few seconds to notice that Midoriya has stopped behind him with his head bowed and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Hitoshi curses himself for being such a monumentally massive idiot, bad-mouthing the vigilante when they’re isolated like this. UA has cameras, right?
Heights Alliance is finally in view, the 1-C building in sprinting distance. If he has a head start, maybe–
“What the fuck is your problem?”
All thoughts of fleeing are wiped from his mind when Midoriya turns those burning green eyes back on him. It’s like he’s pinned in place.
“Huh?”
“You heard me; what is your problem with me? You don’t even know me. I’ve never seen you before in my life, and you’re attacking me. Does it feel good, or something? To bully someone who can’t fight back?”
Hitoshi stops breathing entirely when Midoriya strides up to him. Hitoshi easily has eight centimeters on him, but it still feels like the kid is towering over him.
“O-obviously you can, if Bakugou is anything to go by,” he says, trying to sound less terrified than he is.
The laugh that comes out of Midoriya is harsh, nerve-wracking.
“Bakugou attacked me , asshole. I almost died; that was self-defense. I don’t know if you have some sort of complex or whatever, but I’m not going to stand here and let you talk shit about something you have no clue about. Because you don’t.
“You think I chose to be here? You think I wanted to be a walking spectacle for this entire school to gossip about? Because I didn’t. I didn’t ask to be here, and I definitely didn’t ask to be judged by hero students who can't be asked to view me as a goddamn person before jumping to half-assed conclusions about my character.”
Just when Hitoshi thinks that Midoriya is going to slug him, he steps back. Midoriya holds his gaze for a few more seconds, before huffing and storming off towards the dorms.
Hitoshi is left standing in the middle of the sidewalk, stunned. He watches Midoriya leave, slamming the doors to the 1-A doors behind him, before guilt sucker-punches him and takes all the air from his lungs.
He deflates, slumping over with his head in his hands and curses under his breath.
“Nice-fucking-going, Shinsou.”
…
Honestly, at this point Izuku shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. Nothing can ever seem to go entirely right for him, quirkless or otherwise. It would be better for his mental health if he accepted his rotten luck gracefully; but it seems he’s only capable of making a bad situation worse.
He leaves Shinsou standing in the middle of the sidewalk and storms into 1-A.
He only stops when he’s halfway to the stairwell and almost bowls over Asui in his haste to retreat to his room.
“Ah, sorry.”
“No worries, ribbit. And really, please call me Tsu.”
“Sorry, Tsu.”
Like magic, all of his anger drains out through the soles of his feet. He and Asui haven’t interacted much, but not out of any kind of malice. She’s one of the few people in 1A that didn’t immediately brand him as an outcast or relentlessly break down his walls to befriend him. She just– treated him like any other kid.
Asui was one of the first students to come up to him personally to ask for help with their quirk, and thanked him sincerely afterwards. She likes to hang around Iida and Uraraka, and more often than not they wind up sitting at the same table at lunch. They have a vague, friendly acquaintanceship, and her blunt, easy-going nature is a weird kind of balm to his fried nerves.
Her big, brown eyes look up at him inquisitively.
“Are you alright? Tenya mentioned you had training with Aizawa today, ribbit, did it go badly?”
“Not… badly. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
She nods. “I get that. Aizawa’s teaching methods are pretty intense. Don’t overwork yourself, Izuku.”
Despite himself, he cracks a smile. “I’ll try not to.”
Asui croaks approvingly, then plods over to one of the tables where Shouji, Tokoyami, Kouda and Jirou all sit doing homework. They all wave save for Jirou, who has her eyes closed and is bobbing her head to whatever’s playing in her head phones.
He waves back, then starts walking for the stairs with a much clearer head. The elevator pings as he crosses the threshold, and Yaoyorozu steps out.
“Oh, Midoriya! I just passed Iida upstairs. He and Todoroki are doing Kayama Sensei’s group project in his room.”
“Thanks, I’ll head there now.”
She gives him a small smile.
“You’re welcome.”
It’s weird, he thinks, that he’s been with 1A long enough for him to be familiar with so many of them. He jogs up the five flights of stairs to Shouto’s room feeling light as a feather, his rotten encounter with Shinsou put behind him.
Who cares what one guy thinks, he thinks to himself. Izuku raps on Shouto’s door with a pleasant burn in his calves. Iida answers it, and Izuku can’t help the smile that leaps to his face. What he thinks doesn’t matter anyways.
Later that night, Izuku settles down into his bed feeling good about today. Unfortunate introductions aside, the day had been pretty good. Aizawa forgave him, he got to show 1A that fighting quirkless wasn’t pointless, and he was officially up-to-date on assignments for the semester. His quirk had even been quiet, and he’d been made blessedly unaware of it for the remainder of the night.
Being here, staying at UA…was looking less and less hopeless. Maybe he could make this work. Maybe, with Eraserhead and 1A’s help, he could prove to Nighteye that he really wasn’t a threat. Maybe he could be recognized as a hero.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Izuku opens his eyes.
It’s dark, but there’s enough moonlight filtering through his window to make out the shapes of his dorm. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and grimaces when its light floods the room. It's just his mom.
A dozen other text notifications take up the screen, messages that trail off into ellipsis that give him anxiety just looking at them. The last one, though, is much shorter.
Mom
| I love you, baby
Izuku stares at the message for several long, long moments. Then, carefully, he types back:
Me
Love you too, mom |
He puts it on silent and places his phone down after hitting ‘send.’
Izuku settles back down, turns over on his side, and pinches his eyes shut. He falls asleep without realizing it.
.
.
.
He’s back in the storm.
Izuku opens his eyes, and once more finds himself in the strange, purple hurricane that he stood in once before. He doesn’t panic, not immediately. Instead his brain works in overdrive to frantically assess the situation.
Looking down confirms that his body is still obscured by the storm, everything below his eyes indistinguishable from the blacks and purples that swirl around him. Where before a small stone path faded away into nothingness, it now leads to a wide platform adorned with eight thrones. All of them, save for the one in the middle, are empty.
The glowing yellow figure from before looks at him. It has no eyes, but it looks at him.
That’s when it sets in, the panic, his non-existent heart racing in his non-existent chest. A yell claws its way up his throat, but is silenced without anywhere to escape from.
Calm down, the rational part of him screams, This has to be the quirk. All Might’s quirk.
The figure stands.
Izuku can only watch, held in place by the raging darkness, as it approaches. With each step the golden light fades, details carving themselves into the features of the figure, until it stands before him. Until the specter is no longer a specter, until the only light that remains is the piercing blue of its eyes, and Izuku is forced to stare at the blonde wisp of a man that stands in front of him. There is no denying who it is anymore.
“Young man,” All Might says, his lips pressed into a thin line, “I believe I have some explaining to do.”
Notes:
Wooooooooo-
So.
We are fast approaching the end of Act Two! I like to think of this part of the story as the calm before the storm. Act Three will be an unholy mashup of the Overhaul and School Festival Arc, and I am so excited to take a shovel to the canon event's face lmao
Anyways, Ghost Might! Vestiges! Shinsou being his usual dickish self!
I promise I love him, but he's a complete asshat when we first meet him in the show and I think that still stands here. Don't worry, we'll get that sweet sweet *character development* soon enough :) As always, thank you so, so much for reading <3
Chapter 21: Happy Thoughts
Chapter by KitKateC
Notes:
I'm in a hurry once again, will hopefully update the notes later!
Edit: I fixed the "Afo" issue later in the chapter! Thanks to the people who pointed it out <3 Much appreciated
Enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking– some quirkless nobody suddenly shows up at the boss battle, and when the dust clears, he’s suddenly quirked? That's cheating the system,” Tomura scratches idly at his neck while he speaks, “The info I dug up on the brat said it was trauma-induced, but the last time I checked on any news, the articles were gone. UA is hiding something. The way I see it, there’s two possibilities:
“One, it’s the truth, which I don’t buy for a single goddamn second. There’s only one person in this world who can give and take away quirks, and Midoriya was one of the last people around him. Which leaves me with two: this Midoriya brat is either an asset of Sensei’s that I didn’t know about, or a last-ditch effort to smuggle some important quirk away from the heroes. Either way, I plan on retrieving him and delivering him to Garaki. For all we know, he could be the key to freeing Sensei.
“As it is, the League is too small and UA is too on-guard to infiltrate at the moment. We even lost contact with that stupid traitor. But if we use the Shie Hassaikai…”
Kurogiri’s eyes widen. “...We have the strength of the Yakuza to make up for that.”
Tomura smiles. “And any useful info on quirk experimentation that Sensei was interested in in the first place.”
“Very impressive, Shigaraki Tomura.”
“Sensei made me his successor for a reason, didn’t he?” He preens, “I have to impress him for when he returns. But anyways, I wanted your input. Do you think Midoriya is an NPC worth looking into?”
“Given what you laid out?” Kurogiri flickers, expands. “Quite.”
…
“Young man,” All Might says, his lips pressed into a thin line, “I believe I have some explaining to do.”
Unfortunately, Izuku doesn’t have a mouth to respond. Fortunately, he has the upper half of his face, which he uses to level All Might with the deadest of stares he can manage, one he hopes translates to Yeah, no shit.
Ghost-Might might have scared him before, but he had the element of surprise, then. As it is now , Izuku just got through a very tiring day and actually managed to go to sleep vaguely content, only to have his head invaded by the last person he wanted to think about.
Turns out his irritation outweighs his fear, go figure.
“Er, that’s quite a glare on you, young man,” All Might chuckles nervously, “One I suppose I’ve earned. I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep, but based on how you reacted to our last encounter, I figured the best time to attempt communication would be once you were alone– and this was the only time we could find.”
Izuku squints.
We? He thinks. To his surprise, All Might responds.
“Yes, we. There are eight of us,” he gestures back to the empty thrones, “Myself included. One remnant for each past One for All holder, though it’s news to me as well. This particular facet of One for All never manifested with me. Master believes it’s the stockpiling nature of the quirk at work, building power with each subsequent passing of the torch. The previous holders’ vestiges have been a part of One for All from the very beginning, but until you the quirk’s strength wasn’t potent enough to manifest this mind space. She also suspects that’s why the quirk is so volatile and ah…hard on your body.”
…Is this what it’s like for people to listen to when he rambles?
All Might blinks.
“Sorry. I’m not starting this off very well, am I?”
No, Izuku thinks emphatically, But considering your track record, at least you’re consistently incompetent.
All Might’s eyes go wide for a moment, then he sighs and they go sad. He chuckles.
“Harsh, but fair. Allow me to start over: as you may have concluded, I am All Might. Or the vestige of him, at least, that remains in the quirk passed on to you,” All Might does something strange then– he bows, deeply, the tips of his thin bangs brushing the stone floor. “And I owe you my deepest, most sincere apologies, my boy. I have caused you a great deal of hardship.”
Izuku can’t do much but stare warily. He doesn’t really care for an apology, if he’s being honest It’s a nice sentiment and all, but it doesn’t really change the fact that because of the man in front of him he’s basically become a prisoner.
Cool apology, still shitty of you. Is there any other reason why you brought me here? Wherever ‘here’ is.
All Might nearly topples over, sputtering, and quickly straightens.
“Yes. Ah– I suppose it’s a bit too late for any meaningful apology anyways. Very well, young Midoriya, I’ll get to the meat of the matter.
“My nemesis, All for One, is alive and well in Tartarus. Knowing him, it’s only a matter of time before he devises a way to escape, and when that happens your power is the only thing that will stand between him and the fate of the world as we know it.”
Izuku rolls his eyes.
Tell me something I don’t know.
“You’re very blunt, aren’t you? Haha. Right, well– thanks to my old sidekick’s paranoia, you have been placed in a very tough predicament. Transferring the quirk to young Mirio isn’t an option, so we have decided that helping you along is the best course of action– though, it really would be easier if–”
“Not going to happen.” It’s a shock to both of them when Izuku speaks and words actually form. A quick glance down confirms that the darkness obscuring most of his body has receded down to his chest, and isn’t that nice? He recovers quickly enough, looking back up to All Might. “Next?”
“...Right. Helping you along. As I said before, One for All is a stockpiling quirk at its core. As it’s passed along to each user, its power increases exponentially. As the eighth holder, it granted me incredible speed, strength and durability.
“Upon transferring to you, more facets of the quirk have manifested, such as this place,” he gestures to the swirling darkness, “And the vestiges that lie therein. Vestiges that will become available to you, in time.”
“Meaning?...”
“There are eight of us in all; eight users, and their stockpiled quirks.”
Izuku considers his words for a moment, closing his eyes. He takes a deep, calming breath, then opens them. He speaks slowly, so he doesn’t choke on the anger that simmers in his chest.
“So. Let me get this straight– I not only had one massive fuck-off quirk unwilling given to me, but eight?”
All Might at least has the decency to look guilty.
“Just seven, actually. Since I was…”
Izuku laughs, all venom and razor blades.
“ Right. You were quirkless and a hypocrite, how could I forget.”
“I…I may have made a lot of mistakes, but I was only trying to protect you. Being a hero, it’s dangerous, it would have been irresponsible for me too–”
“What, to offer some fucking encouragement? To be a decent human being?”
All Might winces.
“Young Midoriya–”
“Or, I don’t know, consider the fact that most heroes don’t even have offensive quirks? That support items exist for a reason? That our society is made up of a bunch of quirkist assholes and the last thing a kid needs to be told by their idol is that they should give up on their dream of equality?”
All Might looks sufficiently bewildered at the sudden outburst, and stumbles a few steps back.
“Is that what the previous holder told you ? Did they belittle you? Shatter your hope? Turn you into the police like some kind of criminal and leave you to pick up the fucking pieces?” As he talks, the darkness that clings to him starts to give, as if the sheer vehemence outpouring from his body is enough to burn away the shroud obscuring him.
Izuku doesn’t notice. All Might takes one step back, and he takes two forward, a finger poking into All Might’s sternum.
“You’re the absolute last person I want to hear talking shit about me and my capability, not when you couldn’t even manage to find a successor. What, so you get to screw up and foist your problems onto me? Force your bullshit legacy onto the kid you might as well have told to take a swan dive off a roof?”
For all of his height, All Might looks like a kicked puppy. He stares mournfully at Izuku, shrinking further into himself with each word.
Good. Let him feel bad.
Tears prick at the corners of Izuku’s eyes; he blinks them away and bears his teeth.
“You can take your help and shove them up your–”
A gentle hand takes a hold of his shoulder, and Izuku whirls, shaking it away.
A woman he’s never seen before stands behind him, tall, but not quite as tall as All Might. Her face is arranged into a careful mask of calm, but her dark eyes are hard. Steely.
“I think that’s enough, kid.” She looks past him at All Might. “I know you wanted to talk to him alone, Toshi, but I think your presence is doing more harm than good.”
“I…yes, Sensei, it would seem so.”
Izuku casts one look at the man behind him, and sees him for what he is: the sad , withered ghost of a dead man with too many regrets. And suddenly he doesn’t feel angry– he feels pity.
Whatever this version of All Might is, he’s not worth getting angry over. He’s not worth the effort.
Izuku takes a deep breath and feels the remnants of his anger bleed out of him on the exhale. He takes a split second to take stock of his newly-freed limbs, then looks up at the woman who is eyeing him patiently.
“Who are you? And what good was the hypocrite trying to achieve, anyway?”
“My name is Shimura Nana, the seventh holder of One for All and Toshinori’s predecessor. We brought you here because the situation is evolving faster than we’d hoped, and you must quickly evolve with it.
“It’s as Toshinori said– All for One will return, and you have to be the one to take him down. Your sensei, Aizawa, and the Rat have good heads on their shoulders, but you’re going to need our help if you’re going to unlock the full potential of your quirk.”
Izuku scoffs.
“Bold of you to assume I’m going to participate in your grudge match.”
Shimura looks unamused.
“I’m literally in your head, kid. I know you’re not the type to walk away from danger. You might not be interested in being a hero, but you have the heart of one.” She ducks down to his eye level and smirks. “You’d want a piece of him regardless.”
Izuku holds her stare for several long seconds.
“ Fine,” he spits, hating the smile that breaks over her face, “Fucking fine. I’ll fight your Big Bad. Just tell me what your stupid quirks are, and I’ll tell Aizawa about this new development.”
At that, Shimura tenses.
Izuku narrows his eyes. “What. What is it now.”
All Might answers, only flinching a little when Izuku turns to face him.
“We can’t actually… tell you, young Midoriya.”
Izuku closes his eyes. Counts to ten. Thinks of Todoroki and Iida and Katsudon and puppies and is able to relax his jaw enough to say through clenched teeth:
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what he said,” Shimura answers, “We’re only vestiges– remnants of past holders who’ve already died. Any and all knowledge we retain comes from what we knew while we were alive, so well– all we can tell you is what we know.”
“And you don’t know your own quirks??”
“We know our quirks. Mine was called Float. It’s activated by summoning pleasant thoughts. My predecessor’s quirk was called Smokescreen, but I don’t know how it worked or the quirks before his. Unfortunately, One for All only made it as far as it has because of the secrecy with which past users have operated under, and unfortunately…” she sighs. “Unfortunately, the majority of us don’t believe that you are fit to wield them, let alone know what they are.”
Izuku claps his hands together.
“Cool. Cool cool cool. So let me summarize, just to make sure I have all of this sorted out: I have a centuries-old adversary to defeat, seven quirks to figure out how to use, and the only people that can help me do both of those things are actively working against my ability to do so.”
All Might fiddles with his hair.
“Well–um– yes, that about sums it up. I think.”
“You just have to convince them,” Shimura tries, but she can’t even manage to sound confident, “You have the drive, I’m sure with a little–”
“No, stop. I’ve heard enough, thanks. I think we’re done here.” He turns to leave, is met with an endless inky purple void, realizes he doesn’t even know how to, and curses every single circumstance that has led him to this moment. All at once he feels very, very tired, and figures the stone floor is as good a place to sit as any.
He sits down, pulls his knees to his chest, and rests his forehead there.
“Kid…” “Young Midoriya–”
“Nope,” his voice is muffled into the fabric of his pajamas, “Nope. No. Stop talking. I’ll fight your stupid battle, I’ll figure it out, just– just stop. Please.”
Miraculously, they do. Neither of them speak, and soon the howling of the storm is the only thing that Izuku can hear. After a while, he feels the eyes on his back disappear, and even then he doesn’t look back until another few minutes pass.
Sure enough, the small space is empty. Not even the eight thrones remain.
Izuku curls back up, closes his eyes, and lets the noise of the storm lull him to sleep.
“Did you sleep alright, Izuku?” Shouto asks him the next morning.
Izuku had woken up in his bed when his alarm went off, disheveled and feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Needless to say, he was in a poor mood. He even risked the wrath of Aizawa by making sure to wait two minutes past the first bell so he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone. The rest of 1A have already left for homeroom, just as he’d planned.
Of course, Shouto was the exception.
“No,” he mumbles, stumbling down the last few stairs.
Shouto stands up from the couch, his own backpack already on, and offers him an apple; Izuku stares at it for a solid ten seconds.
“You don’t have to take it.” He sets it down on the coffee table. Shouto’s face is impossible to read to most, but he’s spent enough time around him to see the look of uncertainty in his eyes. “I thought you’d want something to eat before class, and you were late to breakfast. I’m sorry for assuming.”
Izuku blinks.
“No, I…thanks. I’m not hungry right now, but I appreciate it.” And he does. He really, really does. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, maybe it’s the ghosts in his blood, maybe it’s the looming final boss that lurks in the depths of a prison two kilometers under the ocean that has a target on his head, maybe it’s everything– but he feels the insane urge to smile. So he does.
“What’s that look?” Shouto asks, head tilting to the side.
“What look?”
“I think that may be the most threatening smile I’ve ever seen,” Shouto says, like he’s commenting on the weather, “If I didn’t know you, I think I might actually be scared shitless.”
Izuku can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get to class, yeah?”
Shouto shrugs.
“Okay, sounds good.”
They leave for main campus. The sun is well on its climb in the sky, and there’s a bracing breeze at their backs. It’s a new day, and maybe, just maybe, he can play this bullshit game. Hell, he might even win.
Notes:
Thanks so much for reading!
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