Chapter Text
The blinding halo of Suzuki’s light wreathed Mob as he gripped his left arm with intensity. He could feel the white-hot glow permeate his veins, spouting from his eyes, mouth, wherever it could vent itself. Dark lightning and violet flames crackled as he strained to draw in the energy cascading from Suzuki.
“If I can absorb it…”
Almost immediately, his body seized, and Mob grit his teeth together. It was endless, coursing through his bloodstream faster and faster as his senses filled with pure psychic energy.
“Don’t,” Suzuki said, dulled blue eyes wide in a rare display of shock. “You’ll just end up…”
Another surge of radiance, and Mob let out a cry as power erupted around him. His hands trembled, palm barely managing to stay open as everything in his body curled in on itself. The aura flared, sending piercing white and violet swirling into the air like a beacon.
Suzuki drew back from Mob as the pulsating purple in the veins snaking across his body ebbed and flowed. Through the haze of the blinding light engulfing him, waves of unmistakable fear washed over the young esper. But through the gaps of emotions, memories made their way through as well.
A woman, fair-haired and gentle, holding a tiny kitten.
A woman, distraught and sobbing, pleading with her husband.
Opening the door she had left through, to find that there wasn’t much left of ‘home’ anyways.
Bargaining. Regret. Betrayal.
How had someone managed to live such a painful life? Tears crawled at the corner of his eyes in empathy.
“You wanted to apologize, didn’t you?!” Mob croaked through his strain. “Then you need to do it, say it loud and clear!”
His tattered uniform began to char a deep violet at the edges as psychic flames lapped at his body, energy threatening to burst from every pore of his skin. He keeled, feeling his grip beginning to falter.
No, no! His fingernails dug deeper into his arm. Mob threw his head back, as if lifting a tremendous weight. He had to do this. He was the only one who could.
Mob knew that if he lost now, not only would he and Suzuki die, but everyone…
Tsubomi.
Her name crossed his mind for only a second, but it was a remembrance. A remembrance that he still had a goal to achieve, something he wanted to do. Outside, back at Salt Middle School, she was still there.
And in a way, his goal was similar to Suzuki. He knew how the man felt, and his heart ached further. He steeled his grip and persisted.
Brilliant wisps billowed from his eyes and mouth as he managed to find a few more words despite the roaring burn ingrained in his throat. “That’s right. I also…”
“I also have someone I need to express my feelings to!”
The ground groaned and rumbled as Suzuki’s energy pulsed with a final heartbeat, and Mob stumbled back.
It was like carrying a small star, tendrils lashing and crawling through his system with a weight that caused his bones to creak and muscles to scream.
It was too much, he realized with horror as the light began to slip between his fingertips like fistfuls of sand.
His barrier shattered with a deafening crash as his grasp was shoved away from Suzuki, psychic power overflowing and spurting like a severed artery. Suzuki’s outline was barely visible, but through his squint, Mob could see the man kneeled and still, stunned to the spot.
Mob tried to step forwards, to regain his concentration, but his senses were swamped. Left became no different than right.
Something crackled, tearing the air around him. Stone and rubble tore itself from the floor, rising into the electric air.
He’d failed.
Master. Ritsu. Hanazawa. Suzuki…
A force of a million tons bore down on Mob’s shoulders as his legs buckled, small stones engraving itself into his shins. He kneeled, teeth braced in a deep grimace.
Mob’s eyelids fluttered, the feeling of weightlessness causing his numb mind to spin. His knees dug into the ground, swaying in the sheer force of the energy around him.
He couldn’t go unconscious. Not here. Not now.
Power flowed off of him like rivulets, the pressure pounding against his skull paramounting as at once, something massive freed itself from Mob’s hold. The building heat under his skin shot out all at once like a popped balloon, as his body went flying, tumbling, freefalling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Until it was still.
The long quiet flooded Mob’s ears, a high pitched drone whining away to fill the abrupt silence. It was suddenly calm and dark and cold.
Every piece of Mob’s body suddenly felt lighter, as if his bones were filled with feathers instead of lead. The roiling heat of Suzuki’s energy no longer coursed through his veins, and a sudden chilly breeze caused goosebumps to rise on Mob’s forearms.
He felt hollow again, and his stomach churned with relief as he tilted his head gently upwards. A few frozen seconds passed uninterrupted, as Mob breathed in, then out. No burning sensation, no crushing pressure.
Then, he slowly opened his eyes.
Spots danced in front of his vision as he adjusted to the smothering shadows around him, a violently stark contrast to just seconds before. He blinked, bleary images of stars in the sky finally registering to his brain.
It was nighttime, somehow. Sundown had only just begun while he was fighting Suzuki, and yet the full moon hung directly overhead. How long had he been out..?
…out? Did he get knocked-
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No, no, no, not again.
Panic rose in his throat as the stars blurred out of focus once more. Mob whipped his head around, searching for whatever destruction his pow- he had caused.
His younger brother, life pooling onto the sidewalk.
Black Vinegar Middle School, unravelled in the air.
Waking up, free from Mogami’s prison after being torn to shreds.
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He could feel his bangs lift from his forehead, aura spiking at the memories branded into his eyelids. There had to be something to focus on, some hope.
His master was smart- he surely got everyone away from the explosion in time. Everyone had to be safe, his shishou would make sure of that. And they had Ritsu too. His brilliant younger brother would know exactly how and where to evacuate.
But..
Ritsu would’ve been afraid of his powers. What if he panicked or froze?
What if Mob had hurt him again?
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As his worry mounted, small fragments and shards of emotion poked through the metal box in his heart, and his chest began to rise and fall with a new frantic intensity.
He had to get himself under control, he had to calm down, a small voice urged in his head. His master had taught him grounding techniques before- what were they again? There was too much anxiety clawing at his brain, too many thoughts to properly get a hold of.
Deep breaths, right? His master had done that once with him. In for five, hold for five, out for five.
Mob sharply inhaled.
Something flew down the wrong airpipe, and he began to gag and cough. He doubled over, choking on his own idiocracy and saliva. Tears welled up, not from any particular emotion, but sudden tension seizing his face as he tried to force his airways to clear again.
Whatever had been stuck slowly saw itself out as Mob’s chest heaved with each shaky breath he attempted. At the very least, it had taken his mind off of his panic. Somewhat.
He paused, for a moment, to push his emotions back down, down, down. His hair settled back into a now-unkempt bowl cut.
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Suddenly, a new voice cut through the midnight air, a bright and bold contrast to whatever had been swirling inside of Mob seconds before.
“Hey kid, you alright? You shouldn’t be out this late. Could be dangerous, you should know that.”
Mob’s eyes snapped open, aura lashing out as his heart jumped in surprise. A strong wind picked up, but nothing beyond that. With a flicker of relief that nothing had exploded, the buzzing energy surrounding him died down to only a faint hum.
The confident voice spoke again. “Do your folks even know that you’re out here?” Mob picked his head up, searching for whoever was talking to him.
Perched atop a flickering streetlight was a young man, looking down at Mob with a self-assured grin.
He had light, tousled hair, spiky eyebrows (that reminded him of Suzuki), and donned an aviator jacket with yellow goggles to match. With his face mostly backlit against the bright post, any other details were obscured.
Additionally, the fact that the man was on top of the streetlight to begin with wasn’t odd to Mob. Rather, the large, crimson wings that sprouted from his back that caused Mob to jump to the conclusion for a split second that he was dead, and the man was a spirit.
But no spiritual energy came off the man, no matter how hard Mob tried. This left him with more questions than answers.
The esper blinked up at the winged figure, before quickly glancing from side to side. Something caught his attention- an odd detail to notice for anyone else, but it was important to him.
The lamppost was fully intact. A bit worn down, but nothing about it was dented or destroyed or otherwise imploded, a usual telltale sign of his telekinesis.
And on that note, nothing else was either. The road- he was in the middle of the road, he realized- where he kneeled was not cracked or caved in. There was no glass littering the sidewalk, collapsed buildings, or any indication that any battle had ever occurred.
He’d fixed his destruction before, but even then it was still flawed. But his environment was fully intact. And when he took a quick moment to reach out and feel for his friends and brother, Ritsu’s familiar aura greeted him, along with a few other esper signatures. They were a way’s off, but alive.
Mob exhaled. If he wasn’t so numb and disoriented, maybe he could have even cried. Nobody had been hurt by him or the explosion somehow, and everything was fine. Wherever they were, everyone was safe.
But this realization opened a fresh new can of worms.
Now that he was finally becoming more aware of his surroundings, it became quickly clear that he was definitely no longer in Seasoning City.
Mob knew the city’s architecture by heart- he’d lived in it all his life. Its towering grey skyscrapers and wonderfully average infrastructure felt as comfortable as his skin. It was his home, and he’d always know if he was in his home, no matter how large Seasoning City was.
Wherever he was, on the other hand, felt off.
Everything was too symmetrical, too bright and coordinated and put together. The road was smooth, bare of any potholes or cracks from years of wear and weather. And the streetlight, when he looked closer, was a different design to the ones from his city. The sidewalks were alien and the storefronts were alien and it was so, so obvious that he was nowhere near Seasoning.
He blinked a few times, trying to keep his racing thoughts confined to just a subconscious blur. The man on the streetlight leaned forwards, wings shifting to maintain balance.
“You know that man?”
Who? Mob noticed the small tilt of the winged man's head, looking to the right of him. The esper followed, gaze landing on- ah.
Touichirou Suzuki laid prone on the ground beside Mob, nothing but the tattered collar of his dress shirt remaining to cover up his form. His eyes were closed, his previous ghoulish, bulging veins now retreated.
Something about him was almost skeletal now, cheeks hollowed and pale skin clinging to his bones. Using up so much energy at once had taken a clear toll.
In such a quiet state, all Mob could see was an injured man, no longer a monster. Perhaps a dead one as well- that thought was dashed, though, as soon as he saw the gentle rise and fall of Suzuki’s chest- but still just as human as him or anyone else he could have ever passed on the streets. It was unnerving, in a way, but also pitiful.
Somehow, Mob found words. “Yes.”
“Was he bothering you? Being a creep?” the figure continued with a casual tonation. “I’ll take him in if that's the case. A hero’s job and all. You did a nice job knocking him out cold, I’ll give you that.”
Mob opened his mouth again on the verge of another affirmation, when he paused. Should he turn Suzuki in?
Obviously, his first answer was yes. He had hurt so many people, uprooted and destroyed countless lives in the pursuit of a delusional scheme. He’d tortured, brainwashed, manipulated, discarded others without as much as a second thought, and through the destruction of his battle with Mob, all he could do was laugh.
The way he treated others, the Ultimate 5, Serizawa, his own son…
His stomach twisted. Then there were the unknowns that even someone as typically unobservant as Mob had to consider.
He still had no clue where any of them were, or who the man on the lamppost was. It could be a trap from whatever was left from Claw to separate him from Suzuki. Mob felt exhaustion beginning to weigh in his veins as the adrenaline drained from his system. If it was some harmful Claw plot, there was no guarantee he’d be able to defend himself now.
But if Suzuki woke up, would the winged man be able to fight back if he attacked? His wings clearly indicated something supernatural, but Mob felt no further power. Flight alone wouldn’t be able to hold against an esper of Suzuki’s caliber.
At the same time, would Suzuki attack in the first place? Could he even be able to after expending twenty years of stored energy in only a few minutes? What if the winged man was able to take him on?
Saying yes could be the ideal response in this situation though… there was room in Suzuki to grow, humanity and love and remorse that even Mob in his unyielding patience had nearly missed. A prison sentence could give him time for any form of redemption or change.
Or maybe he’d just be executed on the spot. That was more likely and much worse of an answer.
Mob really didn’t feel qualified to answer with the full truth, as twisted as that sounded to him.
When he found the others, he could ask Reigen anyways. His master would be much more knowledgeable on handling this matter than he was.
It wasn’t like Suzuki was in any shape to wake up any time soon.
Thoughts still racing, he found himself shaking his head, the back of his neck prickling with sweat. “No… no.”
The lie came out like an oil slick between his teeth- disgusting, wrong, nothing at all like the silver that his shishou could weave with ease. But his head was buzzing and the words spilled regardless.
If his answer seemed sketchy at all, the winged man showed no sign of a large reaction. “Hm,” he hummed amusedly, one leg now dangling from his perch. “I’m interested to hear your explanation, then.”
“I-” Mob’s words tripped over his tongue. His hands gripped into his tattered gakuran. “We- we’re lost. Can you tell us what city we’re in?”
“Dodging the question a bit here, no?”
“N-no!” Mob shook his head, feeling the words leap from his throat earnestly.
A pause, then a short laugh. “I was getting that feeling. You’re in Musutafu. That help?”
“A-ah..” The name didn’t ring any bells. Something uneasy sat in Mob’s gut. “I think. Thank you. Do you know how far from Seasoning City we are?”
The man’s voice hummed in thought. “...can’t say I do. Never heard of that city either. Is it in Japan?”
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Mob nodded numbly.
“Hm. Did somebody misplace you and the guy next to you with any sort of transport Quirk?”
Quirk?
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“I…”
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“I don’t…”
“Woah, hey,” the winged man interrupted, leaping from his perch. He landed on the road with two feet, hands out in an assuring gesture. Now closer, Mob could catch his golden-blond hair and eyes, a bit of stubble decorating the man’s chin. “You’ve probably had a long night. I can take you and your pal to the station, it wouldn’t take long to find you on the Quirk Registry. I’ll get you two home in no time.”
The esper’s shoulders sagged in partial relief. He had no clue on what the Quirk Registry was, but the promise that it could help was almost elating. If Mob had to guess, it was likely some sort of government database, right? It would make sense that it would have his address.
Hopefully that’s where Ritsu and the others were as well. His brother’s aura hadn’t moved at all since he last checked and was still awake and healthy, so it was likely that Reigen had guided his friends to the police. His master was responsible like that.
Suzuki’s chest rose and fell shakily, like an almost-dead leaf clinging to a branch. He would need medical attention.
“Could… could we get him to a hospital as well?” Mob asked meekly. “After- after we figure everything out.”
“Mmh, don’t see a problem with that.”
Carefully, he nodded before removing his uniform jacket and gently draping it across Suzuki’s unconscious form. With the dredges of psychic energy that he could still muster, he lifted Suzuki’s body off the ground, floating the man beside him.
“Yes please- thank you.”
Mob learned that the man’s name was Hawks, apparently a well known ‘Pro Hero’. His wings were a part of his ‘Quirk’, not some sort of psychic or spiritual energy.
Mob didn’t ask any further questions about that.
As they walked (Hawks had offered to fly the two of them over to the station, but Mob declined due to his delicate motion sickness), Mob observed how Hawks carried himself- confidently yet casual, not unlike his shishou. Maybe they would get along.
Mob also was (teasingly?) ribbed by Hawks for levitating Suzuki, due to not having some sort of Quirk license. That didn’t exactly make sense to him, as he was pretty sure that there weren’t any official esper laws in place before. Maybe Musutafu had a more well-known esper population?
It still didn’t explain Hawks’ wings.
The police station was massive, larger than anything Seasoning City could ever host. The building was sorted into geometric shapes, an iron gate surrounding the structure. Hundreds of windows decorated the walls, a handful or so still lit even at the late hour of the night.
Ritsu’s aura was inside. It was hard to register anything other than that as his vision swam again.
Suzuki’s body trembled in the air as Mob’s grasp faltered. Feeling his heart suddenly spike in his chest, Mob quickly took his mind off of tracking his little brother’s signature, and back to stabilizing the man beside him- albeit with more effort than he was used to. His weakness was finally catching up to him from hours and hours of expending his energy.
Hawks’ hand grabbed Mob’s shoulder, carefully steadying him. “I’ll take him off your shoulders. Wouldn’t be right for a civilian to carry a burden like that for too long.”
He nodded dazedly as he slowly retracted his shaky hold on Suzuki’s body. The last thing Mob wanted was for the man to crack his head open on the sidewalk after everything that had just happened.
Hawks caught on immediately, scooping up Claw’s boss in his arms easily. Mob was only a little envious of his casual strength.
They stepped through the station doors into a roomy lobby, sparsely decorated with a lone houseplant and a few neat rows of waiting room chairs. A built-in reception desk protruded from one of the walls, a wide window allowing a view into the office behind. If he hadn’t walked in himself, Mob could almost confuse it with a doctor’s office.
However, what would usually be a fairly spacious room on any other day felt like the interior of a shaken soda can. Maybe because of the small horde of a dozen and then some espers (plus an evil spirit) crowded around the receptionist’s glass window, talking over one another with vigor.
A familiar, wonderful horde.
He could spot Koyama, Sakurai, the other Seventh Division Scars who had fought alongside them. A group of espers around Ritsu’s age stood by Hanazawa and Dimple. A shock of red hair that belonged to Suzuki’s son, along with two of the previous Ultimate 5.
“Looks like there’s a full house today,” Hawks noted unconcernedly, setting Suzuki down on one of the chairs. “Couldn’t have been a villain attack, I would’ve felt that…”
A tuft of spiked black hair flashed from the center of the crowd.
“Ritsu?” Mob croaked.
Although his voice was quiet, it managed to carry to one set of ears- a head of unruly hair turned towards him, large hands wrung and fidgeting anxiously with the hem of his orange hanten.
“A-ah, Kageyama..” Serizawa replied with wide, relieved eyes. The man’s fussing paused, gratitude glowing from each facet of his aura. “You’re alive!”
More eyes drew and heads turned with a rush of voices that caused Mob’s head to spin.
“Kageyama!”
“Knew he could do it!”
“Is he dead?”
“ Nii-san! ”
Ritsu’s voice soared above all the others as he shoved his way through the group, flinging his arms around Mob’s neck. He held his brother tight, tight as if he let go Mob would slip away again. And maybe he would, as Mob’s mind felt further away than ever in sheer relief from seeing his brother.
Mob’s legs buckled as he began to crumple, but was caught simultaneously by half a dozen concerned hands. Ritsu still held the hug firmly.
“Is… are you alright?” Mob whispered hoarsely.
“Yes!” Ritsu laughed, eyes red and shining with the beginning of tears. “I’m alright. We’re all alright.” He pulled back, hands still on Mob’s shoulders. “All of our injuries were healed. Our clothes are in shambles, though.”
“Ah.” Mob smiled tiredly, something warm curling around his heart. “I’m glad.”
They embraced for a silent, full moment, before Ritsu drew away. His younger brother’s hands were still trembling slightly as he wiped away a tear, something rare when it came to Ritsu.
“Kageyama,” Hawks hummed from behind Mob. “That’s a nice name. That’s your brother, then?”
Mob nodded, not looking back.
As soon as Hawks spoke, every gaze in the room snapped up to the Pro Hero, auras surging. The sudden tension was palpable, and Mob could easily assume that all eyes were particularly on Hawks’ impressive wings. Hawks didn’t flinch.
“Oh, that’s Hawks, he’s a Pro Hero,” Mob explained, hoping what he knew was sufficient. He hadn’t ever heard of a Pro Hero before, but perhaps one of the others did. He wasn’t very well versed in the news to begin with, anyways. “He found me and Suzuki and brought us here.”
“Pops is here?” Suzuki’s son interjected, startling blue eyes narrowing in a furious gust of emotions.
Mob gestured to the chair where Hawks had set Suzuki down, head lolled in unconsciousness, Mob’s gakuran covering him like a threadbare blanket. The redhead stiffened, a tight breath sucked between his teeth.
“You brought him here unrestrained ?” he snapped, voice wavering. “What if he woke up?”
Serizawa took a step forward, sweat beading his forehead. “The… the president. Is he…?”
“He’s unconscious,” Mob answered. “He won’t wake up for a while.”
Next to Serizawa, the other Ultimate 5 member (Minegishi, if Mob heard those Claw grunts correctly) huffed a sigh. “Not even exploding could stop him. I’m somehow not surprised.”
Serizawa relaxed slightly, but the others showed no such change. Suzuki’s son opened his mouth to speak again but said nothing, eyes glued fiercely to the floor.
Before an awkward silence could swallow the room, Hawks spoke up.
“You really have a whole party in here, huh,” the Pro Hero mused. “Were you all looking for these two?”
“We were,” Ritsu replied. Although his face was still blotted a light pink from tearing up, he was more or less composed. “We got separated while evacuating during the terrorist attack. Thank you for finding my brother.”
Out of the corner of his eye, for the first time since meeting Hawks, Mob spotted a small frown on the man’s face. “Terrorist attack? When did that happen?”
Minegishi and Serizawa exchanged glances. Hawks’ odd answer caused a pit to sink in Mob’s stomach.
Although they were no longer in Seasoning City, Claw’s attack had to have been broadcasted or reported on, especially since the Prime Minister was kidnapped by the organization mid-televised speech. Mob would’ve imagined that someone who claimed to be a Pro Hero for a living would be keeping an eye on such important news.
Ritsu paused in surprise, mouth slightly ajar and eyebrows knitted together. Shaking his head, Ritsu gave an apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry. I was just surprised that you didn’t hear about it, since-“
He was cut off by a door swinging open with a creak, and two figures walked out. One was a frazzled man with short, neat black hair in a collared shirt and dark tie, expression pinched in disgruntlement.
The other was unmistakably Reigen, his cheap suit and tie a bit rough around the edges, but intact. He kept a calm smile, one hand tucked in his pants’ pocket and the other waving about as he chattered easily with the other man.
“Of course, of course! Thanks for the information. I’ve got it all under- hm?” Reigen paused as he spotted his disciple surrounded by the others. He grinned, putting a hand up in greeting. “Oi, Mob, you made it! Knew you could do it.”
Mob’s bleary eyes widened as Reigen began making his way towards him. “Wow, you really look dead on your feet,” he noted softer than usual, a tinge of something genuine in his voice.
“Shishou,” Mob murmured, taking one step forward, then another.
“Woah, hey, kid!”
Everything felt like jelly as he pitched forwards, tripping over his own feet. Darkness crept in as the world around him became an incoherent dream.
A shout. A pair of hands catch his ragdoll limbs.
For the second time in two days, Mob passed out in the arms of his master.
Progress to Mob’s Explosion: 53%