Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inko Midoriya has a son.

Misaki and Daichi know this. They’ve been next door neighbors to the Midoriyas for the past couple of years now, and apparently, a few years ago, she adopted a little boy. A nine year old, Misaki remembers overhearing--the boy would be twelve now, if she remembers correctly.

Except, for all their visits to the Midoriya household, Misaki and her husband have never seen him.

“He’s here,” Inko says uncomfortably when they inquire his whereabouts, “he’s just...he’s very skittish. He doesn’t really like people all that much, you’ll have to understand.”

It was an interesting choice of wording. “Skittish” rather than “shy” and “you’ll have to understand” rather than “you’ll have to forgive him.” The neighbors are confused and skeptical; after all, they’ve never seen the boy, or even any sign that he actually exists at all.  

Misaki is over at the Midoriya residence for coffee one day (Inko is always very welcoming, if just for a short time; she never has company for more than thirty minutes or so) when she sees the first sign of there actually being someone else in the house.

“So, this son of yours,” Misaki is saying during said visit, stirring her coffee absentmindedly if just to have something to do. “Are we ever going to get the chance to meet him?”

Inko smiles softly. It looks painful. “Maybe someday,” she says, “hopefully. He’s…” She stirs her own coffee nervously. “He’s, well, he’s very--”

A door slams abruptly in another room.

Misaki jumps, nearly spilling coffee all over herself, and Inko raises her head. She isn’t startled, merely...concerned. Like this has happened many times before.

“I’m sorry,” Inko says, setting down her coffee and rising to her feet, “but, for now...I’m going to have to ask that you go.”

This has also happened before, Inko asking her to leave abruptly. Inko, of course, is as sweet as she can be about it, never demanding and always very kind, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t odd, and that doesn’t mean Misaki isn’t offended.

The Midoriya household is strange. Misaki and her husband don’t visit often, but every time they’ve been over this far, the household has had a...strange air about it. Or, perhaps it’s not the household so much as it is the feeling Misaki and Daichi get when they’re in the household. Inko says that it’s an old house and maybe it’s just because it’s creaky and rickety, but Misaki has her doubts.

That, and she finds knives lying around the house sometimes.

She doesn’t find very many of them and the occasions are rare on which she does, but they’re there--embedded in the walls, scattered across the coffee table, even behind the couch cushions sometimes. Inko laughs is off, but the laughter is always nervous and pained.

“It’s nothing,” Inko says, yanking two knives from the wall and setting them on the kitchen counter. “You aren’t in danger here, I promise you that.”

Another odd choice of wording. Inko doesn’t explain the knives; she never has, and Misaki doesn’t think she ever will.

Misaki doesn’t try and investigate. She isn’t sure she won’t find something she’ll regret. The Midoriya household is full of secrets, and despite her curiosity, Misaki isn’t about to go snooping again.

The one time she tried, when Inko was making tea in the other room, two knives had shot out of nowhere and missed her by inches.

Misaki’s visits to the Midoriya household stopped after that. Inko had been furious, and she said that Misaki had no right to go snooping, which was true, but either way, Misaki wasn’t about to step into that household again.

Inko Midoriya has a son. And, apparently, Misaki is on both of their bad sides.

Inko does have a son.

She has a son, twelve now (she thinks--the police hadn’t been able to find out Izuku’s birthday for sure, but he’s about twelve), and she loves him with her whole heart. Izuku is quiet and skittish and he has a bad habit of throwing knives at people when he’s scared or feels threatened, but he tries his best and has a heart of pure gold.

Misaki and Daichi leave after a visit, their final visit, and Inko, once she’s sure they’re gone, creeps down the hallway towards the door of her son’s room. It’s never locked, Izuku never locks it, she knows this without trying. She knocks on the door twice, and when she receives no objection from within, she heads inside.

Her son’s room is... special.

That’s really the only nice way she can put it.  

The walls are splashed with multi-colored paints, reds and blues and greens and purples and pinks and oranges and, basically, all things bright and colorful. Her son fell in love with colors the day Inko brought him home, and one of the first things Inko had done was bought several cans of paint and let him splash the walls with color.

Her son likes colorful things, and he also likes stuffed animals and blankets with “pretty patterns” and…

And…

...He likes knives, too.

The walls, bright and colorful, are lined with knives. None of them are longer than Inko’s forearm, but the blades gleam in harmony beneath the overhead lights of the room, threatening despite their sizes.

The knife thing isn’t exactly new; Izuku had always had knives on him since the day he was found. He’d almost knifed the hero who found him in the face several times.

(No one blamed him.)

(No one could.)

Inko makes her way across the room and to the closet. This door is locked, she knows it is without trying the handle, and she knocks twice. She waits a moment for an answer, and when one doesn’t come, she opens her mouth.

“Izuku?” she calls gently. “You can come out now, it’s alright. They’re gone.”

There’s a beat.

And then, two knocks come from the other side of the door.

Inko smiles gently, even though Izuku can’t see her. “Not yet?” Inko asks.

One knock this time.

“Alright,” she says, understanding. Her son loves her, she knows this, but he needs space sometimes. A lot of space sometimes. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Two knocks come as an answer.

“Alright, that’s okay. What about ice cream?”

There’s another long beat.

And then, one knock.

Inko smiles brightly again, despite that Izuku can’t see her. “I’ll be right back,” she says, a promise, and she turns on her heel and retreats the room.

Inko loves her son. She’s only been his mother for three years thus far, but she loves him dearly and would do just about anything for him.

“He was brought in last month by the hero, Ingenium. We ran his DNA through the system, but there aren’t any matches. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, this boy doesn’t exist.”

Inko is awoken that night by a hand shaking her shoulder.

She sits up, blinking rapidly and willing her eyes to adjust to the dark. “Izuku?” she murmurs, suddenly more awake now that she realizes what’s going on. “Izuku, are you…?”

Her eyes adjust enough for her to make out Izuku’s outline in the dark. He’s fiddling with something--knives, she realizes. Two of them, one in each hand, the blades gleaming in the light of the full moon shining through the window.

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku stammers, his blades sliding against each other. His hands are shaking, she notices. “I-I...I-I just…”

“It’s okay,” she says immediately, and she reaches out, gently--very, very gently--settling her hand on his cheek. “It’s okay, Izuku, it’s okay. You’re safe, I promise. Come here.”

He does. He sets his knives on the nightstand first, but then he’s in Inko’s arms, and she hugs him tight.

This happens a lot, Izuku coming to her in the middle of the night, never offering an explanation (never needing to offer an explanation). He’s had nightmares regularly since the day he came home, and Inko’s heart aches for him every time.

She never asks what he dreams about. She doesn’t dare make him relive whatever horrors he sees in his dreams. And anyways, it’s not like she needs to know to be able to hold him and comfort him, so she lets it go. It’s been three years, yes, but she’s still finding Izuku’s boundaries. He has several of them.

“It’s okay, Izuku,” she promises, running her fingers through his hair. He’s trembling (not crying, he never cries) and holding onto her in what she’d consider a death grip. “It’s okay, you’re safe, I promise you’re safe.”

It’s a horrible, horrible thing, his nightmares. The boy has a hard time sleeping already; add “nightmares” to that and he hardly ever gets the chance to rest peacefully. It isn’t fair, Inko thinks, holding him and stroking his hair as he trembles in her arms. He’s done nothing to deserve this. For all his knives, he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve this.

“Ma’am, are you sure about this? He’s our hardest case, if you're looking to adopt a child, there are others--”

“No. I’d like to meet him. Please.”

Izuku doesn’t like people. He never has. He tells Inko to have company over so she can hang out with others, but then he runs off and locks himself in the closet until they leave. He doesn’t like company, and she’d stop having people over altogether if he’d let her.

But he doesn’t. He wants her to have friends. Which is odd, considering Izuku’s own distaste for people.

Or maybe “distaste” is the wrong word. Perhaps “fear” is more accurate.

He doesn’t like going out in public at all, he never has. He’ll go out with her occasionally, but stays glued to her side like he’s terrified to lose her, and she doesn’t let him out of her sight. He gets startled easily, and when he’s scared he brings out the knives and that is not something Inko wants happening in public. The public doesn’t understand that knives are Izuku’s comfort, that knives make him feel safe and that he’d never actually hurt anyone. He throws knives when he’s scared or startled, yes, but his aim is accurate and he’d never, ever hit anyone.

The public doesn’t understand this, and for this reason, Inko and Izuku don’t go out often. When Inko goes shopping for groceries, she lets Izuku stay home, where he does his schoolwork (she’s homeschooled him since adopting him--he can barely handle a walk down the street, much less being in a classroom full of other kids) and, when he’s able, he rests, too, which is good. He needs whatever sleep he can get.   

He likes going out with her to the park on occasion, though. He’s told her before that he loves the sunshine.

“Hello, there. My name is Inko. What’s your name? ...No? You don’t want to tell me your name? That’s okay, you don’t have to, sweetheart. Take your time.”

Izuku dyes his hair green.

He says it’s because “black is scary” and “green is pretty,” but Inko has a suspicion it has something to do with the fact that her own hair has a natural green hue to it. Izuku is shy and skittish and not much of a talker at all, but Inko knows he loves her, and she doesn’t miss how his eyes light up when, due to their matching hair color, strangers at the parks they visit comment on their “family resemblance.”

It’s expensive, keeping up with hair dye, but Inko does it. She knows how much it means to him.

“I have a question, sweetheart. Would you...like me to be your mother? Would you like to be my son?”

Izuku does not smile.

It’s not that he isn’t happy, because he is. Inko has seen him truly, honestly happy a fair amount of times. Like the day she brought him home and showed him his new home, or when she bought him his first stuffed animal (and all the stuffed animals that followed). He doesn’t smile--Inko isn’t sure he can-- but his eyes fill with life and light, and even though he isn’t smiling, Inko can always tell when he’s happy.

She isn’t sure anyone else would be able to tell, but she can, and that’s what matters.

“Would you like a new name? ...Yes, that’s right, you can if you want to. You can pick anything you’d like. ...Would you like me to help you choose?”

A nod, small, shy and quick. 

“Alright, let’s think, shall we? Hmm…”

“I-Inko-san?”

Inko turns; Izuku is standing in the doorway, fiddling with one of his knives. He’d spoken to her, but he isn’t looking at her.

She wishes he’d call her “mom,” but he’s only recently dropped “Midoriya-san,” and she’ll take small victories. They’re still trying, still moving forward, still making progress. They’ll get there. Eventually.

“Yes, what is it?” Inko asks, smiling gently. Izuku is much like a cat in that he gets startled easily and that it takes time to gain his trust. Inko is proud to say that Izuku trusts her, but even so; he’s easily spooked and extremely hard to calm down.

Plus, he has a tendency to lash out and throw his knives when he’s startled, and although he’d never hit anyone, Inko doesn’t want him to feel threatened enough to attack.  

Izuku fiddles with the knives some more. The green is fading out of his black hair; they’ll have to get it re-done soon.

“H-Hypothetically,” Izuku stutters slowly, “c-can...c-can I be a hero?”

Inko pauses with a small frown. “Why do you ask?”

Izuku bites his lip. “I-I mean,” he says, “I-I was just...thinking, recently. I-I mean, h-heroes don’t really...look like this, do they?”

Inko absolutely hates the way he phrased that, but she understands where he’s coming from.

Izuku has never been the healthiest person. He’s skinny, pale, and he’s prone to illness more often than Inko wants to think about. But, aside from that...Izuku is covered in scars.

All over his forearms, all over his legs, all over his face; beneath his clothes are more scars, more times he’d been hurt. Some of them are small and faint and others are long and jagged, like his skin was cracked.

“...Izuku…” She studies his face, his eyes. “Is this...really hypothetical?”

Izuku doesn’t flinch, but he slides the blades of his knives together slightly more frantically. “Yes.”

It isn’t. He’s lying. And Inko gets the feeling that he knows she knows he’s lying.

She doesn’t call him out, though. Instead, she crosses the room towards him. He doesn’t flinch back like he used to; he stays where he is, and when Inko reaches him, she kneels in front of him and settles her hands on his. The knives finally still, and Izuku raises his head. He’s small for a twelve year old, and they’re eye-level.

“Izuku…”

“Is that the one you want? You decided?”

A nod.

“Alright.” Inko smiles. She doesn’t hug him, even though she wants to. It’s taken months for them to build enough trust for him to answer her when she asks a question (he answers non-verbally, but even so), and she isn’t about to break that trust.

She’ll wait for him. She’ll wait for him, wait with him, and she’ll be patient all the way.

“You’re absolutely sure of this, sweetheart? This is your choice?”

The nine year old nods feverishly, and Inko beams at him.

“Well, in that case...Izuku it is.”

Izuku doesn’t smile, but his eyes shine with a newfound light. It’s the first time Inko has seen it.  

It isn’t fair, Inko thinks, for what feels like the millionth time when it comes to this boy. It isn’t fair, none of it’s fair. His entire life hasn’t been fair. He’s suffered through so much and been hurt so many times, seen and endured more than any human being, let alone a child, should’ve.

It isn’t fair, Inko thinks. It isn’t fair at all.

But Izuku is watching her, waiting for an answer, and she puts those thoughts aside for now and smiles at him.

“Izuku, sweetheart…” She meets his eyes and squeezes his hands gently. “You’d make a great hero.”

There’s just a moment, a moment in which she sees light in his eyes, bright and shining even though the rest of his face stays stoic as always. The knives hit the floor and then he’s hugging her, and she hugs him back tightly.

“Do you like it, Izuku?”

A nod.

“Good. Because it’s yours. This is your room now, sweetie.”

He whirls around to stare at her, eyes wide. He blinks once, confused, and she smiles. He doesn’t return the gesture, but she can tell by the light in his eyes that, if he could, he’d be smiling back at her.

It isn’t fair, Inko thinks. She’s sitting on the couch, and Izuku is sleeping, curled up against her side, two knives held loosely between his fingers. She runs her fingers over his cheek and through his hair absentmindedly, and when her fingers brush over some of the many scars on his skin, her heart aches.

It isn’t fair. This boy has seen and been through so much, so much he didn’t deserve, so much pain.

And it also isn’t fair that the boy who wants to be a hero more than anything else…

...Would be raised and hurt so devastatingly by villains.

Chapter Text

Izuku is tired.

He’s always tired. He sleeps in mounds of stuffed animals and blankets his mom got for him, and it’s warm and comfortable and safe and he knows it’s safe, but he can never get a decent amount of sleep. When he can sleep, he gets nightmares; if he manages to fall asleep again, he wakes up exhausted.

He wonders, briefly, if he’ll ever get a full night of sleep a day in his life.

Shink.

His mother’s chopsticks clatter against her plate, and Izuku sharpens his knives across from her, absentmindedly, with a piece of flint. His breakfast sits in front of him, untouched; he hasn’t had much of an appetite since last night’s nightmare, and he isn’t sure he’ll have an appetite at all today.

Shink.

“What is this?”

Shink.

“Child, you misunderstand. This is where you belong.”

Shink.

“This is who you are.”

Shink.

“This is what you are.”

Shink.

“...Izuku.”

Izuku’s head snaps up immediately, hands tensing. His mom smiles at him, gently but sadly, and she reaches across the tiny dining table, settling her hand over his.

“I know you don’t want to,” she says, “but try to eat something, okay?”

Izuku swallows thickly. “...Okay.”

He sets the knife and flint on the table and takes up his chopsticks. A part of him is hungry, but the majority of him wants to puke just by the mere thought of food. He stares at his plate, chopsticks between his fingers, for a long, long moment.

Eventually, his mother sighs. “...You can sharpen your knife if you want, Izuku. Try to eat something later, okay?”

Izuku takes up the knife and flint again immediately; he doesn’t say anything, but that’s alright. He and his mother have mastered the art of silent communication.

(They’d had to.)

His mom puts foil over his plate for him to have later if he wants it, and Izuku, after making sure she doesn’t need his help, scurries off to his room again, shutting the door behind him.

(He doesn’t lock it. He never locks it.)

He’s fifteen now (he thinks--either that, or fourteen. He doesn’t remember his birthday, so he and his mother decided on celebrating it in April), but his room isn’t what you’d expect from a boy his age. The walls are splashed with multi-colors, mostly bright and neon ones like green, pink, blue, and yellow. Izuku had done this, with his mother, when he was around nine. She’d bought him cans of paint and let him go at it, coming into help and check on his progress every now and then.

His bed is covered with stuffed animals (mostly cats and dogs) and blankets, and the multicolored walls are lined with Izuku’s knife collection. His mother doesn’t know how he got half of these knives, and she doesn’t really ask; Izuku finds them anywhere, in alleys, dumpsters, plus what knives his mother did purchase for him.

Honestly, Izuku isn’t really sure how he ended up with so many knives. He has two pencil cups on the little (paint-splattered) desk by his bed, and although the cups are full, there’s only one pencil in each. The rest of the space is taken up by even more knives.

(No, he’s not obsessed with knives. He’s just vaguely terrified of being caught without them.)

He flops onto his bed, face-down, and shuts his eyes.

“You’re making a mistake, my boy. Believe me, you don’t want to do this.”

Izuku opens his eyes again and sits up. It’s a Saturday, which means there’s no schoolwork for him to get done, which means he can relax.

Or, as much as someone in his predicament can relax.

Which is less than ideal, honestly.

He gets up, grabbing his favorite hoodie off the bedpost (tye-dyed, blue and white, like a bright, cloudy sky) and slipping it over his head. He pulls two knives out of the pencil cup by the bed, sheaths them at his belt along with the knives already there, then leaves his room.

He finds his mother in the living room, bent over papers sprawled on the table. Izuku stands there, waiting for her to notice him; as soon as she does, she raises her head and looks at him quizzically.

“What is it, Izuku?”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” Izuku says, pointing over his shoulder at the door. “Is...that okay?”

His mother pauses briefly, thinking this over. Then, she nods.

“That’s fine,” she says. “Be careful, though, alright? Remember what Kagami-san told you.”

“I will,” Izuku promises. She beckons him over, and as soon as he’s within reach, she kisses his cheek. Afterwards, he makes for the door, slips on his shoes (they’re light-up shoes; odd, perhaps, but what the heck), and heads out.

It’s a recent development, his mother letting him take short walks by himself. It’s been a long road, getting here; Izuku has been seeing a therapist (Kagami-san) for the past six years or so, but even then, it’s taken this long for him to be comfortable walking down the street without his mother beside him.

Slow development, but development nonetheless. He’s proud of it, if he does say so himself. He wishes it’d be faster, though. Oh, how he wishes it’d be faster.

It’s warm out--he can tell by the sunshine--but he’s always cold, so he leaves the hoodie on. He’s always had a hard time regulating his own body temperature, hence the reason he had so many blankets on his bed and so many hoodies in his closet.

He ignores the looks he gets from people as he heads down the way. He keeps his hood over his head, avoiding their skeptical gazes and hoping they don’t see just how many scars there are on his face. He hears a couple words, a couple questions, like, “Should a kid really be out here alone?” and “He’s all by himself. That’s strange…” but he ignores it.

Honestly, he looks like a ten year old. He’s short (very short, actually--barely five feet tall) and skinny, not to mention the shoes he’s wearing that light up with every step. He probably looks like a child to them. And he’s oddly okay with that, as long as they leave him alone.

Better they mistake him for a little kid than see the scars and mistake him for what he used to be.

He keeps on down the street, hands in his pockets, fingers curled around two pocket knives. He’s okay. He’s okay. No one’s stopped him or said anything yet. He’s okay. He can do this, he’s okay. He’s oka--

Someone knocks shoulders with him, hard, and Izuku stumbles, just slightly, balance askew by the force of the hit. He turns around, raising his head ever so slightly.

“Oy, watch where you’re going.”

Izuku looks at him. He’s blond, with spiky hair and flaming red eyes. He’s walking with two others who, thankfully, hadn’t knocked into Izuku as well.

He’s furious.

“You were the one who knocked into me,” Izuku says, not because he wants to, but because that’s the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry for my part in it.”

The kid snarls back at him. He’s angry, but Izuku doesn’t sense danger from him. It’s an empty threat, his fury. He’d never actually outright attack Izuku.

(Izuku knows how to do this, how to tell when a threat is real or not.)

The kid steps towards him, stopping just short of him. Izuku’s fingers clench his knives just a little bit tighter.

Empty threat. Empty threat. Empty threat, he tells himself, but that doesn’t stop his immediate reactions to being approached like this. It’s an empty threat. Empty threat. Empty threat. Breathe. You’re okay. Don’t throw knives at him. Don’t throw the knives. Hold back. Empty threat. Empty threat. You know what a true threat is and this isn’t one. Don’t throw away your development thus far for him. Empty threat. Empty threat. Not worth it.

Not worth it.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it.

Don’t use it--

“--Hey, I’m talking to you.” The kid’s voice brings Izuku back to the present, and he reaches forward to grab Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku ducks beneath his hand and springs backwards, avoiding the touch. His head snaps up, and for the first time, the kid gets a look at his face.

Immediately, Izuku watches the stranger’s eyes fill with something-- something like shock, confusion, horror, and everything in between. Izuku stares at him, right in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says, feet already moving. “I have to go.”

He power-walks down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, leaving the stranger and his friends behind.

“Here…”

Cold fingers on his face. Black flooding his vision.

“Maybe this will calm you down...teach you your place…”

He screams, and the world explodes into white and red and black.

As soon as Izuku knows he’s far away enough (he isn’t following you, he isn’t following you, you’re okay, you’re okay, he isn’t following you, empty threat, empty threat, empty threat), he ducks into an alleyway and leans against the wall, breathing heavily for a moment or two.

That…

That could have gone very, very badly.

It’s over now. It could have gone badly but it didn’t. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

Izuku catches his breath and opens his eyes again. The sky above is bright, but the alley is dark. He stomps his foot, then watches the multi-colored lights flash on the floor and wall. It’s comforting, somehow. It reminds him that darkness isn’t all there is.

Mew.

Izuku’s head snaps up again, and he looks around wildly for a moment or two, fingers clenching around the hilts of his sheathed knives. He doesn’t hear the sound again for another long time.

Mew.

He turns his head to the side, where the sound comes from. He waits a long moment, and then, he creeps down the alley to investigate, occasionally stomping his foot every now and then to light up the alley.

A little further down, he sees a cardboard box, lit up by his shoes when he stomps. Curious, and constantly looking over his shoulder, just in case, he closes in, loosening his hold on his knives.

He kneels by the box, steels himself, then flips back the flaps to look inside.

Six pairs of glowing eyes look back at him.

Izuku tilts his head. The eyes blink at him.

He doesn’t leave the alley alone.

“Hey--heyheyheyheyhey, calm down, calm down, it’s okay, you’re safe now, calm down. It’s alright, no one will hurt you now.”

...

“Do you want the knives back? ...Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll give you them back if you promise not to try and stab me again, okay? ...Okay, here… Heya, headquarters? Ingenium, requesting backup. Send an ambulance, hurry.”

“Welcome back, Izuku. Did you have a nice--Izuku what is that.”

Izuku kneels and sets the cardboard box down, kicking the door shut behind him. His mom stares, watching, waiting; when Izuku flips back the lids, six kittens turn and meow in scattered unison at him and his mom.

His mom stares for another moment--and then, her eyes soften in realization. “Oh, Izuku, we can’t...I’m not sure we can…”

The kittens immediately hop out of the box, climbing onto his lap and on his sleeves. Izuku pets their fluffy little heads, then turns his gaze up towards his mother pleadingly.

She looks torn. “Izuku, we can’t... all six of them…”

Izuku looks down again, sadly. There’s another long beat, and then,

“Okay, okay, Izuku, okay, we can keep them.”

Izuku’s head snaps up to meet her gaze, and she bites her lip. “But they’re your responsibility to take care of, alright?”

Izuku nods immediately, rising to his feet. He holds three of the kittens in his arms; the other three cling to him, their little claws digging into the sleeves of his hoodie. He feels their purrs against his hands, and he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest.

He looks at his mother, not smiling, but she can always tell when he’s happy, somehow. She smiles at him, and he hopes she can tell just how thankful he is.

He sleeps...reasonably okay that night. He’s always cold, and usually he sleeps with a hoodie along the rest of his blankets, but this time, the kittens curl against his chest, meowing and purring happily, and he snuggles them as tightly as he dares.

Their warmth seeps into him, and he sleeps.

“What the hell...what happened to this kid?”

“Villains, there’s no other explanation. We’re lucky we found him when we did, he was losing a lot of blood.”

“Those wounds...it looked like his skin was cracked open from the inside out. Like something was destroying him.”

“Ingenium, you said you found him alone?”

“He was alone, yeah. Freaked out pretty badly by something, too, poor kid. If I’d been any slower, he would’ve knifed me in the face.”

“Hmm, yes. Does he have a Quirk? Do you know?”

“Well, I mean...ex-rays of his toes would suggest that he didn’t. But…”

Izuku goes out the next day for cat food and a litterbox. His mother gives him some cash, and shortly afterwards, he heads out (after kissing each kitten on the forehead once...or twice).

He wears his heelys this time and the same hoodie from yesterday (now covered in black cat hair, not that it matters), and thankfully, he isn’t approached or knocked into by anybody, which is good. He can avoid more breakdowns that way.

The pet shop is located on the other side of town, further into the city in a small, infrequently busy part of town, for which Izuku is glad. Going out two days in a row, especially to places with lots of people, would be hard. He isn’t sure he’d be able to cope with it.

He continues down the sidewalk, towards the edge of town where the pet shop is. He passes a few people here and there, but not too many, and soon, he’s all alone. No one passes by, on foot or in cars; just him and the sidewalk.

He comes to a bridge, and he stops there for a moment. It isn’t a very long bridge; he can see the light from the end of it, but even so, he’s never liked the darkness.

(He has reason not to like the darkness.)

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small but bold flashlight. He flicks it on; the light penetrates the darkness, and after another moment, he keeps walking, following the path of light left by the flashlight.

He gets about halfway through before he hears a clank and a clatter behind him.

He spins around immediately, yanking two knives from sheaths at his belt and holding them between his fingers. A sewer cap hits the road, spins like a coin, then falls on its side.

From the gaping hole in the street emerges a gross, slithering blob of something, a shapeless something with beady, bulging eyes and white, white teeth. Its body doesn’t have shape, but it’s definitely alive.

Its eyes find Izuku’s and stay there. “Well, whaddya know,” it says in a garbled, gurgling voice, emerging further from the sewer to face Izuku fully. “Perfect timing, kid.”

Threat.

Threat.

Threat.

Threat.

Threat.

The villain lunges.

“Grab him! Somebody, grab him!”

“I’ve got him, I’ve--ACK!”

“He’s running, get him!”

“I’ve--OW! He bit me--!”

He runs. He runs, he headbutts people who grab him, he bites them, he kicks, he thrashes, he screams, he’s scared, he wants out, he wants out, he has to run he has to run he has to get out of here before they hurt him everyone hurts him he has to run he has to run before before before before before--

He makes it to the door, but then it opens, and he bonks his head against the new arrival’s leg. He’s thrown backwards by the force of it, and he hits the ground, breathing heavily, scared, terrified, hyped up, exhausted, exhausted, exhausted, he’s so tired of running, he’s so tired of running--

He looks up at the face of the person he’d knocked into. A woman. A stranger. Someone he doesn’t know.

She meets his eyes, and he doesn’t know why but a sudden feeling of calm overcomes him, and he knows in an instant that she isn’t going to hurt him. He knows somehow that she isn’t going to hurt him. He doesn’t know how he knows it but he does.

The woman kneels in front of him, looking at him with a gentle gaze, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. She reaches towards him, gently, and when he flinches back, not out of fear but out of habit, her smile turns sad, and she nods, knowingly, withdrawing her hand.

“Hello, there.” She sits on the floor, just like that, and he feels like he should feel threatened but he doesn’t. “My name is Inko. What’s your name?”

His name.

He...he has a name. He does, but…

He shakes his head feverishly, ignoring his pounding headache. The woman watches him with soft, kind--that’s what it is, it’s kindness--eyes.

“...No? You don’t want to tell me your name?”

He shakes his head again, more feverishly this time. He’s expecting a hit, he’s expecting pain, but all he gets is another small, understanding smile.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to, sweetheart. Take your time.”

No one has ever spoken to him the way this woman speaks to him now, gentle and kind and understanding.

It shocks him, but also comforts him.

Izuku dodges.

Chapter Text

Izuku skids backwards for a moment or so, but ultimately keeps his wits and footing about him. The shapeless, gurgling villain turns its bulging eyes towards him, and its white, white teeth curve into an amused smile.

“A feisty one, are you,” the villain grins, slithering towards him again. “I like a kid with some spunk--!”

It lashes out at Izuku with its shapeless body, and Izuku turns, ducks, and dives to the side. Something splashes his hand as he dives, but he’s fast enough to avoid the villain. He skids, his heelys carrying him backwards from the momentum of the dive; he stops himself by slamming the blade of his knife into the asphalt before him.

The villain looks less amused this time, rising up again to face Izuku fully. “Alright, kiddo,” it says, “you can stop dodging now. I love the feisty ones, but this is getting tedious…”

Threat.

Th R eA t.

T h RE a T.

Th RE A t.

THREAT.

Izuku feels something bubble up in his chest, as his fingers curl around the hilts of his knives and the villain rises to its full, shapeless, gurgling height in front of him. Izuku grits his teeth, mind racing.

“Now, let me show you how it’s done…”

He runs towards the villain this time without giving it the chance to strike first. The villain grins at him, most likely assuming this is his game, but it isn’t.

The villain swings at him, and Izuku shifts from the balls of his feet to his heels, where the wheels are, and bends himself backwards. The villain’s swinging limb misses his face by inches, and Izuku waits, watching, for the right moment. The villain fixes one of its bulging eyes at Izuku, and with a swing of Izuku’s arm, the knives fly.

“Knives are close-combat weapons, but if you get good at hitting your target, well, it’s a whole new game. ...Why not get good at it now, my boy? Your aim?”

Two of them sink into the villain’s liquid body harmlessly, as Izuku had deducted they would. That’s why he threw three knives.

There’s a spurt of blood, and the villain lets out a horrible screech and wail, thrashing and writhing and moving shapeless limbs to clutch at its face.

Izuku swings himself around, a considerable distance away, and watches. The only thing he feels is regret from losing three of his knives.

“I-I can’t, I-I-I can’t, I-I’ll hit her--!”

“Then you’re going to have to learn to aim quickly if you don’t want to.”

The villain looks at Izuku, blood mixing with its green, shapeless body. One eye is wide, scared, angry, pained; the other is bloody, with a knife protruding from it.

“What the hell are you!?” the villain shrieks. “You’re just a kid, how could--!”

Izuku responds by shining his bright little flashlight in the villain’s face. It shrieks and writhes back further, and Izuku watches, deadpan.

“You’re a villain,” Izuku says plainly. “And you attacked me. What did you expect me to do? ‘Oh, yes, please suffocate me. I’d love that.’ I don’t think so.”

The villain looks at him again, and this time, it meets Izuku’s eyes. Rather than seeing Izuku as a potential victim or a target, it finally looks at Izuku’s face, half-shrouded by darkness and the hood over his head.

Izuku knows how he looks. He’s always known. He’s always wished he didn’t know.

“What…” The villain has gone from angry and shocked to utterly horrified. “You...a kid…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay, they made you do it. It’s okay.”

A gust of wind interrupts the villain, and Izuku’s hands go up to shield himself instinctively. The villain’s shriek turns into a gurgle, and its liquid body is blown to bits, splashing unceremoniously on the street and the sides of the tunnel.

Izuku blinks, then turns towards the source of the wind.

There’s a man standing there, tall, intimidating, burly. He’s holding a bag in one hand (a grocery bag--Izuku and his mom shop there often enough for him to recognize it), and there’s a near blinding smile on his face.

Not a threat.

“Fear not, child!” the man proclaims in a loud, booming, reassuring kind of voice. “I am here!”

Izuku tilts his head to one side, turning his flashlight off and stuffing it in his pocket with three other small, sheathed knives. The man starts across the way towards him, and Izuku has half a mind to flinch away.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asks. “I apologize for getting you caught up in my villain chasing. I’ve been trying to capture this one all morning!”

Izuku blinks at him. “...Are you a hero?”

The man looks confused, maybe shocked for a moment, but it’s gone an instant later. “Indeed!” he says, and he extends his hand to Izuku. “All Might, at your service.”

Izuku shakes the hero’s hand around a sheathed knife, which he’d forgotten he was holding. The hero--All Might--gives him a bit of an odd look (or, rather, he gives the knife an odd look), but then, he raises his head towards Izuku.

Izuku keeps his head down, hoping his hood and the darkness shroud all the scars on his face.

“We’re taking you out on a mission with us. ...No, this isn’t something you can skip. Consider this your official initiation, my boy.”

“Well, if you’re alright, I will be taking this villain to the police!” All Might says, releasing Izuku’s hand. “You should probably move along as well, my boy.”

Izuku flinches, but just for a second. He nods, the movement small and miniscule, and All Might turns away and begans gathering up the slime splattered on the walls and road.

It is not over quickly.

Shink.

All Might actually jumps, and he turns to Izuku again. “...That reminds me,” he says, straightening up. “Do you like knives, my boy?”

Izuku has absentmindedly been sharpening one for the past minute or so.

“Yeah,” Izuku says simply, still sharpening it. It bothers him that he doesn’t remember pulling his knife and flint from his belt.

Izuku keeps sharpening the knife, and All Might goes back to gathering up the slime. Izuku isn’t sure what All Might is feeling, but just from the vibe he’s getting, there’s an air of...awkwardness.

Oh.

Right.

He said I should go home.

Izuku spins on the balls of his feet to head in the opposite direction.

“...You don’t want to do this. Believe me, my boy, you don’t want to do this. This is who you are now. This is what you are now. You cannot deny it.”

"T͔͍̺̣h̤ͅḭ̫̥̩̪͖s̴̙͎̫̩.͝"̬̬̫͇͇̦ ̘̲͉̦͞

̷͉̘̮̤̖"̦̯̳͞Is̖̻̹̲̺̻̠͞.̼̱͓̱͓̼"̠̮̫͈

͚̹̜̺͖ͅ"҉̬͎̙Y̜̘̜o̠u̜.̢̠"҉͇̣͓

Izuku stops, frozen in place.

“Well, that should be it!” All Might says behind him, and Izuku turns; the hero has, somehow, managed to compact all the slime into two identical soda bottles. “Also, here! I believe these are yours?”

He holds three knives out to Izuku. One is still bloody. Izuku takes the knives immediately, sheathing the clean ones at his belt and holding the bloodied one for another moment. He’d have to clean it off later…

“Well, I hate to fight crime and run, but this is where I take my leave!” All Might says, beaming at him. “You did well holding your own against the villain, my boy! I applaud you for that. Try to be more careful in the future, alright?”

Applauded for holding his own, huh. Izuku is fairly certain he did a bit more than that.

But no matter. He nods, and All Might steps out of the tunnel, into the sunlight. Izuku watches; the hero crouches, and a second later, he launches himself into the sky, another gust of wind blowing Izuku’s hair and hood back off his face.

He looks up as the hero disappears from sight.

“...This is what you’ll always be.”

Izuku turns and looks at the gaping sewer cap in the street.

Izuku leans against the wall of the police station, waiting, sharpening a knife absentmindedly. His hood is back over his head, and he focuses on his scarred hands as he moves the flint across the blade.

He hears the door of the police station open again, and out walks All Might, no longer carrying the sludge villain with him. Immediately, Izuku lifts his head and steps out of the shadows, towards the hero.

All Might stops, staring at him in wonder, looking him over from top to bottom. Once he’s sure that, yes, this is the kid he’d met under the bridge a little while ago, he says, “Well now, you got here quickly.”

Izuku shrugs, hoping he doesn’t smell like the routes he’d taken to get here. “There’s something I wanted to ask you,” Izuku says simply. He’s been here since the hero arrived to turn in the villain and has been waiting ever since. “About hero work.”  

“Ahh.” All Might rubs the back of his neck for a moment or so, awkwardly. “I’m really sorry, kiddo, but there’re a few other things I have to get done today, and I’m kind of on a time crunch.”

Izuku frowns. “It won’t take long, I just. I wanted to know something.”

“I have a website,” All Might says. “Message me from there, alright? What’s your name?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku says, without hesitation, “but--”

“Alright, just sign your message as such, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” All Might says. He’s rushing his speech, Izuku notices; he’s in a hurry to...get somewhere or do something, apparently. “I hate to run off on ya like this, but I’m completely out of time.”

Izuku opens his mouth.

“You’re going to live to regret this...if you survive at all.”

No sound comes out of it. All Might launches himself into the air again, and Izuku watches the hero disappear into the sky once more, higher up, and up, and up--

He lands on the rooftop of a building a little ways off, completely vanishing from Izuku’s sight.

Izuku frowns, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

And then, he decides to investigate.

Toshinori is nearly out of time.

He’s close, he’s really close; he can’t maintain his “hero” form for much longer, and maintaining it while talking with the police officers regarding the sludge villain had already been a struggle.

And then, that boy…

Toshinori feels horrible for running out on him like he had, but he was out of time. He couldn’t stay and have a proper conversation with the boy without revealing his secret.

He stopped on the rooftop for a break, just to catch his breath. He really isn’t fit for long villain chases anymore; he’s lucky he hasn’t revealed himself yet--

Thump.

Toshinori spins around--he’s still “All Might,” currently, but he’d been about to drop his form a second ago, and there’s steam rising from his body. Any second now, it’s going to drop, and there isn’t a thing he can do about it.

The boy from earlier swings himself onto the rooftop, a forearm-length knife in each hand.

Toshinori stares at him, wide-eyed. “How did you…”

“I scaled the building,” Izuku says casually, like he didn’t just do the thing he said he did.

“You... how…!?”

“I’ve done it before,” Izuku says flatly. He has a hood over his head and he’s keeping his head down, so it’s hard to tell exactly what kind of expression he’s wearing. Honestly, Toshinori has... no idea what to think about this kid. He looks like he’s maybe...ten? Eleven?...but he’d stabbed a villain in the eye with aim that’d make even a professional fighter jealous. With mental, emotional ease that would make a professional fighter jealous.

And maybe a little scared.

More steam rises from Toshinori’s arm, and he’s reminded of his time limit.

“Listen, kiddo, I’d love to talk with you more,” Toshinori says, and he means it, he really, really means it, “but I don’t have time right now. I don’t--”

Izuku raises his head, and for the first time, Toshinori meets the boy’s eyes.

His eyes are... dead. Haunted. The eyes of someone who’d fought a vicious battle and emerged victorious, but not unscathed. The eyes of someone who’d witness a thousand bloody, gruesome murders. The eyes of someone who’d suffered and seen too much.

Toshinori has seen eyes like these before. He’s seen them on retired heroes, on heroes who’d witnessed and been through so much. He’s seen them on heroes who’d been traumatized in the line of work. He’s seen them on people who have suffered so much that, eventually, their eyes lost their light.

But he’s never seen them on a child before. A child’s eyes, dead, eyes that have seen and suffered so much. Scars splattered all over his skin, all over his hands, all over his face, two knives clutched between scarred fingers.

“I want to know,” Izuku says. “...What is it...that makes a hero?”

What…

His time runs up, and the rooftop is engulfed with steam.

The kid is not shocked. A little startled, perhaps, when buff, hero “All Might” suddenly becomes skinny, sickly “Toshinori Yagi,” but he isn’t...shocked. He isn’t off-put. He doesn’t shout, or scream, or run away (not that he could, considering the height of the building they’re atop, but point in case).

Toshinori is forced to tell him. He tells the boy about the injury he’d received while fighting that villain five years ago; the boy listens, nodding periodically, knives sliding against each other, and Toshinori can’t believe he’s taking it so well. He really, really can’t. This kid, this child, is nodding in understanding while Toshinori explains a gruesome injury.

Something about that isn’t right.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Izuku says, looking down at his knives. “I know it’s...hard. I’ve been…” He pauses, knives sliding together slightly faster than before. “...Villains have hurt me, too.”

It shows, Toshinori thinks. He doesn’t want to imagine the kinds of things this boy has gone through. Doesn’t want to imagine the kind of things those eyes have seen.

“...Your question,” Toshinori says, watching him steadily, unsure of what he should say or how he should respond. “About ‘what makes a hero’...what do you mean by that?”

The knives still for a moment, and then the boy continues sliding them against each other, the sound of metal against metal in Toshinori’s ears.

“...I was wondering how you can be one,” Izuku says. “If, s-say, someone like me wanted to become a hero...hypothetically.” He adds this quickly, with an air of seriousness. “Just...just hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” Toshinori repeats, not buying it but not calling him out. Izuku nods feverishly.

“Hypothetically,” Izuku says again. “Could...I be a hero? Could someone like me, I mean, hypothetically, if I wanted to.”

Toshinori looks down for a long moment, considering his answer.

“...If you want to be a hero, Midoriya,” he says, “then that’s all there is to it, isn’t there? If you want to be a hero...if you want to save others…”

Spare them from the fate that befell you. You want to keep them from experiencing the things you’ve experienced. Keep them from seeing what you’ve seen.

“...then, I don’t see why you can’t become a hero,” Toshinori says.

Something flashes in the boy’s dead, tormented eyes; a flash of light, something real that hadn’t been there before. It isn’t a smile--his face doesn’t change--but Toshinori thinks, maybe, it could be.

“I do have to ask,” Toshinori says. “Your knives…” (The knives in Izuku’s hands still as his fingers go stiff). “...You have...extremely accurate aim.”

Izuku nods stiffly. “Yeah.”

“...Is there...a reason you’re, you know...fiddling with them?”

Izuku blinks at him for a moment, a little confused. Then, he looks away again, though he makes no move to put the knives away.

“...Sorry,” Izuku says. “I have…”

He slides the blades of the knives together again.

“...Problems.”

There’s nothing Toshinori can say to that.

Izuku goes home after that, stopping by the pet shop to grab the supplies he’d originally set out to get that morning. He has his hood up over his head again, as usual; when he steps through the front door, he flips off his hood and begins slipping off his shoes.

At least three dozen different meows meet him, and Izuku sets the bag on the floor and kneels, reaching out as the six kittens approach him and rub against his legs and hands. Their happy purrs and trills warm Izuku’s heart, and he scratches behind their ears and lets them climb on him. They’re very clingy.

“Welcome back, Izuku!” his mom says, peering around the hallway and smiling at him. She’s whisking a bowl of something. “I’ll be there in just a second, alright?”

Izuku nods, making sure she sees it before rising to his feet, holding three of the kittens while the rest hang off him precariously by their claws. It reminds Izuku, just a little bit, of how he’d scaled the building earlier to get to All Might.

Honestly, the look on the man’s face when Izuku swung himself onto the rooftop…

Solid gold.

Izuku heads into his room, pushing the door shut with his foot, and he kneels, managing to pry the kittens off of him. They explore his room happily, most of them ending up curled on his bed in his mounds of blankets and stuffed animals.

The rest of the day goes uneventfully; Izuku cleans the blood off that one knife and sharpens the others, then settles the kittens in with their litter box and food and water bowls. He plays with them for a little while after that, dangling a piece of string above their heads and yanking it up when they leap for it. Their claws remind Izuku of little tiny knives.

His mom makes curry for dinner, and after she kisses him goodnight (and tells him, for the utmost time, not to be afraid to wake her up if he needs her), Izuku goes to bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry, K-Ko--”

“Shh, it’s okay. It isn’t your fault. They made you, you didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I-I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay, stop crying. You didn’t hurt me, remember? They made you. It isn’t you, it’s them. It’s okay, I promise.”

“She couldn’t do it, my boy, don’t you see? She was weak.”

“Y-You...h-how...w-w-w-why did you--”

“Don’t cry, child. You’re stronger than she was. And this experience will only make you stronger.”

“Here...maybe this will calm you down...teach you your place…”

“Everyone, get out of here! What the hell--!”

A scream. A crash. More screams. Some of them are his. Some of them are not. 

Izuku wakes up, silent, but sharply. He lays there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, heart in his throat and breath getting caught on a lump there, something he can’t swallow back.

His nightlights are on (all five of them), but they don’t help quell the darkness now like they usually do. He feels distorted, frantic, not entirely there, and he moves on numb feet into the bathroom, thoughts racing as quickly as his frantically beating heart.

"̝͔̟͈͚͢T̵͕̖̦̦͇h͕̜̝̞is͍͍̥̹̣͜ ̧̥̠̪̻͙i̙̬͉ͅs͎͍͇͉͞ ̤̻̞̲w̯ͅh̰̮̟̺̲̻ͅo̯̮͔̘ ̖̠̞̤̙͕yo̴͚̭̲̭̳̬u̲ ̻̞̝͓̙̭͎a͓̲͓̘r͙̰̩͍̗̝̬͝e.̬̺̳͔̞̝ͅ"̲̹̤̘̜͘ ̟̲̮̟͍

̺̺͈͍͚"T̹̹̖h̟̹̦̥i̶̘͔s ̝͉͎͔͕͔i̦̲̝s ̢̤̖͍̮͓̲w͔̻̗̻̙͔̜͜h͏̞̳͎͙̯a̱͉̞̻͉̼t̼̜̫̣͢ ̳̳̕yo̝̝̠̺̯̳u̳͈ ḁ̴̦̖̝͖͈͔r͙̟e̼̼̦̫̲."̙͚ ͢

He bends over the toilet and throws up.

Inko wakes up feeling...distorted.

She sits up immediately, ears ringing, and although her body is still half asleep, her mind is fully awake and aware, and she swungs herself out of bed immediately, rushing from her room, down the hall, all the way to her son’s bedroom.

She wants to throw the door open, but doesn’t. She’s done that before, in the past; Izuku hadn’t meant to, but he’d thrown five knives. The doors still have deep nicks where they’d sunk into the wood.

She knocks. Her ears are ringing, her mind is jumbled, but none of that matters. She knocks, more frantically, when she gets no answer.

“Izuku?” she calls. “Izuku. Izuku, I’m coming in now.”

No answer. She opens the door and hurries inside.

The six kittens Izuku had brought home yesterday are circling in front of the bathroom door, meowing, pawing the door, scratching it. Inko rushes over immediately; she sees the light on from the crack at the bottom of the door.

She knocks, becoming more scared and frantic by the second. “Izuku? Izuku, answer me.”

There is no answer.

She turns the knob. The door is, blessedly, unlocked, although the static in her mind and ears makes it take a second longer to register this information. She swings open the door and hurries inside.

Izuku is curled up on the floor, back pressed against the wall, shaking horribly. Inko pushes past the static in her mind and races over, keeping her steps as light as she can.

“Izuku. Izuku.”

This has happened before. She knows how to handle it. That doesn’t make it any easier, but at least she knows what to do.

She reaches out and gently settles her hand on his balled fist. Immediately, his eyes snap open and find hers.

His green irises flash gold, just for a moment; she feels a blur in her mind, another distortion, and her vision goes blurry, but it passes quickly. This has happened before, many times before. She knows how to handle it.

She pushes through the static, squeezing his white knuckles.

“It’s okay. You aren’t there anymore, Izuku, you’re here. You’re here, you’re safe, I promise. Please…”

She waits for him to make the next move, because anything she does from here on could end very badly, for both of them.

Izuku blinks. Some of the panic fades from his eyes, but only some, and realization, awareness replaces it. He moves, slowly, painstakingly slowly, uncurling from his fetal position and sitting up, palms pressed flat against the tiled floor. He looks at her, face pale, scars standing out painfully against his skin.

Inko opens her arms to him, and he falls into them, his own arms going around her waist, head tucking under her chin. He doesn’t cry, but he trembles, and Inko strokes his hair and rocks them both back and forth.

The kittens find them eventually, too, and they make themselves comfortable, hopping into Inko’s lap and curling against Izuku’s stomach and chest. Inko barely notices them. The static in her ears and brain finally begins to dissipate as Izuku’s trembling slows, and eventually, it stops altogether, and Izuku’s breathing evens out.

This happens more often than Inko wants to think about, and even though she knows how to handle situations like this…

...That doesn’t make it any less painful. She squeezes Izuku tightly, resting her cheek on top of his head.

Another close call.

“Turn on the alarm, hurry! There’s a break--!”

“Stop it, right there--!”

“You won’t get away, we won’t let you--!”

A swing. A gurgle. Unconscious policemen. Alarms blaring as the new, half-blind, anger and hate driven prisoner escapes.

V e n g e a n c e

Chapter Text

"I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, I-I—”

“Hey, stop that, okay? Stop apologizing, it isn’t your fault. You’re getting better at aiming, you know! It barely grazed me—!”

“I-I don’t want to hurt you!” His voice is a high-pitched shriek. “I-I never wanted to hurt you, K-Ko-chan, I-I never wanted, I—I—I hate myse—!”

“Nonono, don’t say that!” She hugs him tightly, and when she pulls away, she’s smiling, trying to be reassuring. “I-I know you hate it now, and...and I hate it, too, but you’re getting really good with those knives! They’re like...they’re like little claws, you know? You’re like a cat! A little kitten!”

He blinks at her. “R-R...Really?”

“Of course!” She boops him on the nose lightly with a bandaged finger. “So, don’t hate yourself, okay? Please, for me.”

“...Okay. I won’t, Ko-chan.”

Inko cannot let Izuku get sick.

He gets sick a lot, due to his less-than-stellar health, but it’s the fevers that Inko has to avoid. Whenever Izuku shows any sign of a fever, she has to do literally whatever it takes to snuff it out.

And, right now, it feels like Izuku is getting a fever.

It makes sense, really; after last night, when he’d stress-vomited at least thrice and couldn’t get even an hour of decent sleep, it only made sense for him to get a stress fever. But even so, she can’t let it happen if she can help it. Bad things happen when Izuku is feverish, not just to her but to him, too, and she doesn’t want to put him through that. He goes through so much as it is.

She sits by him at his bedside, pressing her hand over a wet rag on his forehead. He’s curled in a fetal position on his side, chin nearly touching his knees; the kittens he’d brought home are curled with him, purring, and Inko is glad she’d decided to let Izuku keep them. Maybe their warmth helps.

She reaches over and settles her free hand on Izuku’s balled fist, biting her lip. His hand is cold—his hands are always cold—and she strokes her thumb along his white knuckles.

After a second or so, she removes her hand and reaches over. Izuku has a sheathed knife on the desk by his bed, and she grabs it, then turns back to her son. She uncurls his balled fist, then closes his fingers again around the hilt of the sheathed knife. Izuku’s fingers tighten around it immediately, and Inko rests her hand over his again.

When she checks his temperature later, she’s relieved to discover that Izuku was not getting a fever—or, if he had been, she’d been able to snuff it out before it got any worse.

She’s glad.

She’s going over papers in the living room when she hears a door open and close, and Izuku shuffles into the room, dark circles even more prominent than usual on his pale face beneath his tired eyes. He has a blue and white striped blanket pulled over his shoulders, and he’s holding a sheathed knife. The kittens (three of them—the other three must still be asleep) curl around his ankles, rubbing their heads against his legs.

Inko smiles softly (sadly) and scoots over a tad, patting the spot beside her on the couch. Izuku blinks at her for just a moment, but doesn’t hesitate; he quickens his steps and sinks down beside her on the couch, and when he knocks his head against her shoulder gently (an “okay”), she wraps an arm around him and threads her fingers through his hair.

(It’s mostly black again; Izuku will probably want to have the green re-done pretty soon.)

“Are you alright now?” Inko asks softly. She feels the smallest hint of static in her mind, though she doesn’t comment. It isn’t bad enough that she can’t push through it with ease.

Izuku pauses, then nods, the movement small and stiff. She waits another moment or two to see if he’ll continue, and when he doesn’t, she goes on.

“...Do you want to take the medicine, just in case?”

Izuku bites his lip for a long moment. Then, he nods feverishly, and Inko kisses his temple lightly before getting to her feet and heading into the kitchen.

When she returns with two small pills and a cup of water, the kittens are in Izuku’s lap, and he’s stroking his fingers through their fur gently, though he’s holding the hilt of his knife in a white-knuckled grip in his other hand. Inko sits beside him again; he takes the pills with the hand not holding the knife, then accepts the water to wash them down.

Inko sets the empty cup on the coffee table and wraps an arm around his shoulders again. With her other hand, she reaches out, and the kittens immediately raise their heads to investigate her hand.

“...Do you have names for them yet?” Inko asks quietly.

Izuku nods, some light returning to his exhausted eyes. Fluffy, he fingerspells, then points at one. Marshmallow, (he points to another), and Kittles. (He points at the last one.) The other three are Icy, Snickers, and Rainbow.

Inko smiles. “Those are good names,” she says, running her fingers through his hair again. Izuku nods in his own agreement, and Inko returns to the paperwork on the table, absentmindedly stroking Izuku’s hair.

He falls asleep eventually with his head on her shoulder, and she doesn’t dare move until he wakes up first.

“Stand aside, brat.”

“You can’t make him train today! He’s sick, you can’t make him do it today, please!”

The villain—a henchman—clicks his tongue. “Tch. Stupid girl. You’d better learn your place, or else—”

“Now, now…” A hand lands on the villain’s shoulder. “Didn’t you hear her? She said the boy is sick. We need to treat these children with respect.”

The henchman calms down, just a bit, then shrugs off the hand, spins around, and storms from the room. “Stupid brats…”

She bares her teeth at his retreating back.

It takes a couple of days before Izuku decides to go out again. It always does; after close calls like the one he’d had a few days ago, when he’d almost, almost lost control, he stays home for at least a couple of days.

“Are you sure you want to go out?” his mother asks. She isn’t worried, merely making sure he’s alright with it and not pressured by some self-set rule. “You can wait for a few more days too, if you’d like.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says (he’s back to talking again—his bouts of selective silence don’t generally last more than a few days). “I’ll come home if I need to.”

She nods. “Give me a call if you need me to come get you.”

Izuku nods back at her, pulling his hoodie over his head. This one is dark purple, almost black, with tiny swirls like galaxies throughout it. His hair only has a few streaks of green left in it now, leaving it mostly black, but for now, that’s fine; as much as he hates it, he can wait a few more days to get it re-done.

After making sure he has at least ten knives with him (keywords: at least) , he says one final goodbye to his mother and the six kittens, then heads out.

The first thing he notices when he’s outside is the pair of eyes watching him from between the blinds in the neighbor’s house.

Izuku frowns, tilting his head to one side; when the owner of the eyes realize they’ve been found out, they abort, snapping the blinds shut and hiding their faces. Izuku shrugs to himself, then turns and continues on his way. His mother has warned him about their “snooping neighbors”, and besides, he doesn’t want to affiliate himself with them (or anyone, really), anyway.

It’s a sunny day again, which is really nice. He doesn’t like the rain or the darkness, so these fair-weathered days are nothing short of a godsend. At least he doesn’t have to deal with rain or darkness today, on top of everything else…

Absentmindedly, he pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through the news. The first headline to meet his attention is, THE HERO, ALL MIGHT: SEVEN VILLAINS CAPTURED IN THREE HOURS! and he looks it over once or twice, then stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

Three hours, huh, Izuku thinks, continuing down on his way. That’s his time limit. Three hours. Guess he won’t be doing any more hero work today...

He keeps on down the sidewalk. He keeps his hood up, hands stuff in his pockets, fingers curled around hilts of his knives as he walks. He ignores the usual looks and finger points, and his feet carry him all the way to the park he and his mother frequent on good days.

Izuku passes a few kids playing catch with mothers and fathers; he doesn’t get any odd looks from people here, considering he looks like a ten year old and it’s after school, not to mention he keeps his hood over his head and his gaze pointed at his light-up shoes.

There’s a cherry blossom tree in the middle of the park; the branches are thin, allowing sunlight to stream through them and hit the grass below, and Izuku flops on the ground in the sun, hands folded on his stomach, eyes staring up at the sky.

A clear, blue sky. Sunlight. Warmth.

He shuts his eyes. He doesn’t fall asleep, merely rests.

Cherry blossoms fall on his face.

He sits up, shaking his head (his hood has fallen back), then reaching and picking up one of the blossoms. He examines it curiously for a moment or two, then raises his head.

There’s a little girl standing across from him, black hair flowing over her shoulders, wide eyes bearing into his. Izuku blinks at her twice in rapid session, then considers how he looks and shrinks backwards.

“S-Sorry,” he says immediately, reaching behind him for his hood, “ignore me, it’s fine—”

The girl doesn’t seem to notice; she points, wordlessly, into the tree over Izuku’s head, and Izuku leans back and looks.

There’s a frisbee stuck in the tree, caught on the edge of one of the branches.

Izuku blinks up at it, then looks back at the girl. She stares back at him, and then, they both raise their heads up at the frisbee again, then back down at each other.

Izuku points up at the frisbee. “Do you...want me to get that for you?”

The girl follows his finger with her eyes, then points up at the frisbee, too. Izuku blinks at her again—but then, he comes to a realization.

Can you hear me? he asks, using what Sign Language he and his mother had learned previously.

The girl’s eyes shine, and a brilliant smile lights up her face. She shakes her head feverishly, raising her own little hands and messily Signing.

No, she says. But, you know how to—

“H-Hey! Wait up!”

Izuku looks over her shoulder, and the girl follows his gaze and spins around. A kid races over, bright red hair spiked atop his head, looking frantic.

“Don’t run off like that!” he says to the girl, panting from the run over. “I—” He stops, raising his head to look at Izuku.

Izuku blinks at him. He blinks back. There are about thirty seconds in which that’s all they do.

And then the girl runs over to the stranger and tugs at his shirt. The kid looks at her, and she fingerspells, He Signs, slowly and precisely. The kid watches her, and it takes a few times, but then it clicks, and he “ohhhh” s in realization.

“Hey, you know Sign?” the kid asks, now looking at Izuku, and Izuku shrugs, making a little seesaw motion with his hand.

“A little,” he says. “My mom and I learned some a couple years ago.”

“Oh, man, this is great!” the stranger says, grinning. “Gosh, you have no idea what a relief this is. I bumped into her earlier at the train station, but I have no idea how to talk to her right. I’ve been, y’know…” He pulls out his phone and flips around the screen. “I found the alphabet, but, I mean…”

Izuku nods, looking at the girl again. You’re lost? he asks, and the girl nods. You’re deaf? Another nod. What’s your name?

Yatchi, the girl answers, and then, she looks up at the tree again—rather, at the frisbee still trapped in the branches. Izuku and the stranger both look up at once, the latter wincing.

“Ah, man,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s pretty high up there…”

It’s stuck, the girl, Yatchi, announces, as though this is a conclusion she’s only just now coming to.

Izuku nods, and this time, he gets to his feet.

“I’ll get it down,” Izuku says simply, brushing a few blades of grass off his jeans. “Give me, like, ten seconds.”

“Give you ten— oh geez.”

Izuku doesn’t even use his knives; he grabs the closest branch and swings himself up into the tree.

He gets his feet underneath him and balances on the branch, then grabs the next highest one and pulls himself onto that, too. He isn’t heavy; with his size, his general lack of appetite, not to mention his health, he probably won’t ever be a healthy weight.

Right now, though, it works. The branches don’t snap beneath him, so that’s at least a good thing. Being unhealthy isn’t, but at least he won’t fall from the tree unless he does something stupid…

He continues to swing himself up, branch by branch. He doesn’t pull out his knives to climb; that’s not really something he wants to do right now, especially not in front of that little girl or the parents and their children at the park.

He gets to the frisbee sooner than expected, and he reaches out towards it with all his might, one hand curled around a branch to keep him steady, the other stretched out towards the frisbee. It’s on the edge of a branch, barely out of his reach; his fingertips graze it, but he can’t make it fall.

Crap.

He whips out a knife, just for a second, and knocks down the frisbee with it. He glances down as it falls; the girl rushes forward immediately to catch it, and by the time she raises her head to beam at him excitedly, Izuku has sheathed his knife and is already making his way back down the tree, hopping branch to branch.

His feet hit the ground, and he straightens up again, brushing himself off. Yatchi is beaming from ear to ear with a smile even more blinding than All Might’s, if that’s a thing that’s possible, and Izuku is glad.

“Whoa, that was really cool, actually,” the kid with red hair says, and Izuku turns to him, blinking. “Do you do that a lot? Climb trees, I mean.”

“No,” Izuku says, shrugging. “I just, I’m good at navigating.”

“Navigating?” the stranger repeats, blinking. “That’s...a nice word. How old are you, again?”

“Fifteen.”

A beat.

“WAIT,” the stranger says, eyes wide. “I thought you were, like, eleven!”

“I get that a lot,” Izuku says.

“Well, I’m sorry, then,” he says. “I’m Kirishima Ejirou, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Midoriya Izuku. Likewise.”

“Seriously, though,” Kirishima goes on, calming down some since his initial shock, “I swear, that was really dang cool. You were like some kind of alley cat, jumping around like that.”

“Oh, I know! I’ll call you Kitten! You’ll like that better than your real name, probably, right?”

Izuku swallows hard. “...Yeah.”

Yatchi waves a hand at him, and Izuku turns to her, blinking. Thank you, she says, still beaming, clutching the frisbee close.

Izuku nods. You’re welcome, he says, and then, he turns back to Kirishima. “You said she’s lost?”

Kirishima nods. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found her at the train station earlier. I think she got separated from her parents, or they got on a train without her. We waited there for a while, but, I mean, obviously we didn’t have any luck. I was on my way to the police station, but she wanted to stop for a little while, so, well...here we are.”

Izuku nods stiffly. “Would it help if, you know...if I stuck around for a while? Just until we find her parents?”

Kirishima sucks in a deep breath, then claps his hands together and bows his head, like he’s praying. He says, in a single rush of breath, “Please stick around and help me I can’t understand anything she’s trying to tell me.”

Izuku nods simply. It isn’t what he wants to do; he’d much rather be alone, be lying in the sun, maybe on his way home to snuggle his cats, but this is more important. He’ll stick around at least until he’s sure Yatchi gets home safely.

Yatchi rushes towards him and holds out the frisbee, practically pressing it into his hands, and Izuku looks back and forth between her and Kirishima, not really knowing what to do. Eventually, his fingers close around the frisbee, and Yatchi lets go of it and steps back.

We can play together, she says.

Izuku blinks.

“...She wants us to play frisbee,” Izuku says to Kirishima.

“Oh!” Kirishima snaps his fingers. “We can do that, yeah!”

“What kind of ‘mission’ is this?”

Izuku catches the frisbee in one hand, then sends it at Yatchi, who catches it with both hands over her head, beaming, then throws it (gracelessly) at Kirishima. Kirishima lunges forward, skidding on the ground with hands outstretched to catch it, and Yatchi laughs and points.

Kirishima tosses the frisbee to Izuku, who again tosses it to Yatchi, who again tosses it to Kirishima, and so on and so forth.

This is strange, Izuku thinks, catching it and sending it at Yatchi once more. His hood is still down, but so far, he hasn’t gotten any looks (or, maybe he has, and people have just been kind enough to avert their eyes and not draw attention to him). This is...really strange.

He’s so lost in thought that he almost misses the next time the frisbee is thrown at him, but his reflexes are fast enough that he catches it and sends it off to Yatchi in one smooth movement.

This is...really, really strange.

He’s never...done anything like this before. With his mom, yeah, once or twice (not very often, though; usually when they go to the park, all Izuku wants to do is lay in the sun), but this is...something totally different.

He’s never...done something like this with people his age before. He’s never hung out with other kids before.

“Here’s your initiation, my children. ...Kill him.”

Izuku throws the frisbee too hard and too long, almost like—

—almost like he’s throwing one of his knives—

Yatchi ducks beneath it, and it sails right over her head, far behind her, finally disappearing into the shadows of a small forest nearby. Yatchi gives Izuku this less-than-thrilled scowl, then spins around and chases after it.

Izuku actually has to catch his breath, sucking oxygen from between his gritted teeth once, twice, thrice—

“Hey, man, you okay?”

There’s a hand on his shoulder suddenly and Izuku whips around, and there’s blood in his ears and his heart is pounding and kill him he wants me to kill him I can’t kill him—

He snaps out of it as he reaches for one of his knives. The familiar feeling of his fingers curling around the hilt is what finally whips him back to the present where he belongs.

He forces himself to relax, forces himself to take a deep breath, recalls what his therapist told him. The danger is gone and cannot hurt him anymore. He’s alright here, where he is. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Sorry,” Izuku gasps out, turning his head away. “Th-That was uncalled for.”

“No, it’s cool,” Kirishima says, though he seems just as shocked as Izuku, though his shock is laced with worry. “I shouldn’t have grabbed ya like that, that was my fault. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, shaking his head with vigor, like he could somehow knock his feelings and memories out of there (he can’t). “Sorry, I...I have...problems.”

The only reason he isn’t sharpening a knife right now is because he isn’t sure what he’d do the moment he has a knife in his hand.

“Well, I mean…” Kirishima pauses, like he’s thinking about what to say. “You kinda look like you’ve been through hell, no offense.”

Well, at least it isn’t pity.

“Yeah, kinda have been,” Izuku says. “Anyway, I—I think we should go to the police station now. Have them find Yatchi’s parents.”

It’s hard to tell exactly what’s going through Kirishima’s mind right now, but he doesn’t argue, rather nodding. “Yeah, agreed,” he says. A second later, Yatchi returns with the frisbee, and when Izuku explains that they want to go ahead and find her parents, Yatchi smiles and nods, and they set off.

Yatchi skips between Kirishima and Izuku, her hand in Kirishima’s, the frisbee tucked under her arm. Her free hand sways at her side as she bounces, taking two steps for every one of Kirishima’s (Izuku, also, takes two steps for every one of Kirishima’s).

Unexpectedly, Yatchi slips her free hand into Izuku’s, and out of habit, Izuku flinches, but doesn’t pull away. It’s just a little girl, just a little girl, pull yourself together—

Just a little girl.

“Kowareta, my girl, why don’t  you go first?”

Izuku jerks his hand back, releasing Yatchi’s, and Yatchi gives him this sad, wide-eyed look, like he’d betrayed her in some horrible way.

Sorry, Izuku Signs quickly. My hands are cold. You probably don’t want to hold them anyway.

Yatchi doesn’t look any less betrayed, but she doesn’t try holding his hand again, which both hurts him and leaves him grateful.

They keep on towards the police station, and Izuku keeps his head down, hands now stuffed in his pockets where he can feel his knives against his knuckles. A few clouds have begun to roll in, which only adds to his gloom. Why can’t it just stay sunny, seriously, why—

He hears a whirring sound and a crunch of metal to his left.

Threat.

He leaps and tackles Yatchi and Kirishima to the ground, slamming what measly bodyweight he has against them. He takes them both down, hitting the asphalt, and an entire car flies out from the side street they’d passed a second ago, missing them just barely.

Izuku rolls with the fall and skids to his feet immediately, knives already flashing, one in each hand. Kirishima and Yatchi are still on the ground, but they’re out of danger for now. They watch, the three of them, as the car slams into the side of a building with more crunches and creaks of metal, and Izuku grits his teeth.

Screams fill his ears, and surrounding civilians begin to run, scrambling to get away from the disaster.

“What the hell!?” Kirishima gasps, scrambling to his feet alongside Izuku, pulling Yatchi up with him. Her eyes are wide, and she grasps at Kirishima’s forearms for purchase, holding tightly. “Holy—!”

Another car slams into the first one, and it explodes.

The shockwaves throw Izuku back off his feet, as well as Kirishima and Yatchi, and Izuku rolls twice before getting his feet underneath him again, skidding backwards slightly as his shoes scrape the asphalt. He grits his teeth into a snarl, eyes narrowed.

Threat.

There are fires now, along with the screaming, panicking civilians and the decimated vehicles still smashed in the side of the building.

Threat.

T h r eA t

“Get back!” Izuku shouts, running, shoes slamming into the asphalt. Multi-colored lights flash in the corners of his vision as he draws out two more knives, another one for each hand. Screams and the crackles of fire roar through his ears, feet pounding the ground in time with his racing heart.

He turns the corner sharply.

If his reflexes had been any slower, he would’ve had his head taken off by a car.

He dodges, grazed by some part of the crunched metal that used to be a vehicle. The gash on his arm is already bleeding, and it stings, but he’s had worse. He’s had so much worse.

He gets to his feet, eyes narrowed at the sight in front of him.

“Do you wanna die!?” Izuku barks. “Is that it!?”

The slime villain moves its one eye and white, white teeth on him, face curling into a grotesque grin. “So you finally get here,” the villain gurgles, slithering towards him. “I thought you might...you know, kid, you took something away from me under that bridge...my eye, my dignity…”

“You...literally tried using me as a skin suit,” Izuku says. “What did you expect me to do? Sing you a song?”

He clutches his knives, two in each hand, a little harder, and the villain looks appalled.

“That didn’t give you the right to stab me in the eye!” it shrieks in a gross, wretched gurgle. “You…” The villain’s body thrashes and writhes for a moment. “I’m...going...to kill you…”

“You already tried once,” Izuku says, crouching. “You really wanna lose that other eye?”

“Oh, I won’t fail this time,” the villain says, grinning at him. “This time, it’ll be you who loses.”

Izuku pounces. The villain springs at him likewise, laughing, actually laughing, and Izuku grits his teeth, hilts of his knives held between his fingers, ready to fly, itching to fly, itching to bury themselves in their target—

“You heard me, Kowareta. Kill him. Kill him and become who you’re meant to be.”

He snaps himself out of it quickly, a little scared of himself, because that train of thought was. Not. Good—

Izuku’s hesitation costs him. The knives fly, but the villain is able to slide its eye further down the slime on its body, and the knives sink harmlessly into it.

There’s a beat, a moment.

And then he’s drowning.

There’s a situation downtown. It’s...bad. It’s really bad, judging by the clips Toshinori saw on the news.

As it is now, he’s rushing for the scene as Toshinori, not All Might (he’d already used up his time today, dammit), just to see for himself. Heroes are on their way already to do what they can, but…

He has to make sure his hunch isn’t right. He has to make sure the villain hadn’t actually escaped—

Sirens whir as vehicles speed by him on the roads. The sky has turned black with smoke, and embers rise into the sky, only to be swallowed up by darkness.

Toshinori gets there; the area is already being blocked off by police, and a few heroes are on the scene, dragging injured civilians from buildings or vehicles, then bringing them to waiting paramedics.

“Hurry, we need reinforcements—!”

“I can’t fight in fires like this—!”

“Where’s the firetruck!?”

“The road conditions—!”

“There’s a kid, there’s a kid—!”

“YATCHI!! MIDORIYA!!”

The voice prevails through the others, and a kid comes barrelling down the street, whirling around frantically, looking this way and that, scared, horrified.

“MIDORIYA!!” he shouts again.

Midoriya.

“There’s a kid.”

Toshinori’s heart leaps into his throat.

“I won’t kill him!” She throws down the knife she’s been given. “I won’t kill him. I don’t care what you think is right or good, but I will not kill him!”

A chuckle, dark and deep.

“...Yes, that’s what I thought, too, my dear girl. ...You’re weak.”

Izuku is drowning.

He’s kicking and he’s thrashing and his lungs fill with liquid until he can’t breathe anymore, until his throat constricts and tightens and he can’t, he grips his knives tighter but he can’t fight anymore, he’s thrashing and fighting but anything he does now is p o i n t l e s s he’s going to d i e he’s going to f a i l—

And then it stops.

He hits the ground, coughing and hacking and bringing up whatever foreign fluid clogs his lungs and throat. His shaking fingers close around the hilts of his knives, palms bracing him against the ground, the cracked asphalt leaving scrapes on his knees through his jeans.

His head snaps up a second later. The slime villain isn’t looking at him anymore, rather smiling, grinning, at someone at the end of the alleyway.

Yatchi. Hands outstretched, hands dripping wet. Her eyes are wide and scared, but she doesn’t back down, she doesn’t run, she…

“Well, well, well,” the slime villain says, slithering towards her slowly. Izuku finally stops hurling and his mind starts ticking like a bomb, and he tightens his grips around his knives and, “a water Quirk...how fascinating…”

And—

—Stay away, stay away, stop, stop, stop stop stop stop stop stop stop—

The villain pounces on her, and her screams cut through Izuku’s mind like a chainsaw.

“No! Stay away from her! Ko-chan!” He’s screaming, he’s thrashing, he’s being physically restrained by several villains cuffing his forearms, dragging him back. “Ko-chan! KO-CHAN!”

Ko-chan is reaching for him, the ringleader of this whole operation grasping her upper arm, keeping her from escaping. “Kitten—!”

Their fingertips brush, but then they’re yanked away from each other, and fingers are settled over Ko-chan’s face and tears stream down her cheeks, she’s scared she’s scared she’s so scared—

“KO-CHAN!” He screams and thrashes but it’s not enough, it’s not enough, he’s never enough. “KOWARETA!!”

There’s a sound. A crack. A crunch. A snap. Ko-chan’s screams tear through his ears, and blood splatters the walls and floors and she crumples to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing, and there’s blood beneath her and around her and—

Yatchi is still screaming and thrashing and the villain is laughing, he’s laughing, he’s killing her, and for a second Yatchi’s figure flickers, and it isn’t Yatchi anymore but Ko-chan, it’s Ko-chan screaming and then it’s Yatchi again, scared eyes, terrified, dying, being killed—

Izuku’s mind fills with static. His entire body goes numb. In the back of his mind he hears words, he feels it, a voice that is his but also isn’t.

 D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

And then, louder. Getting louder. Filling his mind, blanking out any other thought.

 D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́ O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑ .͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́ O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎ D̹̟̺̦͖̬ Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈ D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

Around him, the world blurs. Izuku narrows his eyes, a stinging burn in his chest, but he ignores it, the pain drowned out by thoughts of, I want to save her, I want to save her, I want to save her, I have to save her, I won’t lose anyone else, I can’t lose anyone else.

I won’t let anyone else...  

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

He narrows his eyes, a burn in his chest.

T̷̳̳̲̥̩̊̉̆̍ȟ̸̷̰̝͎̫͎̮̱͓̼͂͌ͨͧ̏ͫi̵̛̻̖ͮ̏͆͗̐s̶͈̜̗ͤ͐ ̣͇̏̌ͩ͊͜͝ͅį͓̰͇͙̮̰͙ͦ̍̏ͭ̓ͩ̅̋͝͡ŝ̲̲̳͇̥ͣ͆͆ͧ͑͐ ̻͓̫̃̍͊̐͋̓͘͜ͅw̵͕͇͖̭͈̒̇͗̔̿͐̎̕͜h͎̻̱̠ͯ̄ͨͨ̄͊͠ö̴̰̪̳͎͙̘́̓̓̆̉͒̐̂ͅ ͓͈͚͇̲͚͓̞̌͆͋͌ͤ͢͜͟y͍͉͈̘̳̍ͣ̌ͧͣ͊̕͞͡ͅo̧̼͉̻̅́u̾̑͏̸̛̹ ͕̥̰̝͈͕̠̤̿͑ͩ͌̏͢à̵̶̻̺͒ͩ̽̈́ͣ͆ͣ̕r̳̫̔̊ͮ̏͡e͚̥͇̥͔͍̳̳͇ͨ͗̑ͪ͊͊̒͂ͬ͘.̯͇̻̞̞͓ͫ́̽͊̽̌͑ ̢̣̺͖̘̤͙̭̤ͩ̋T̵͍̮̝̟̰̓̅ͮ̉̊̅ḥ̴̳̮͆͗ͬ͝i̮͖̹͔͗́͊̊ͦs̳̳̣͓͂͠ ̶̝͎͍͇͇̥̫́̀ͪ͂̓̌̾̚i̸͈̫̭͚̊ͮͣ̃̆̌̈͆ͯ͟s̸̥͎̞̜̐ͮ̀̎͂͂̎̓ ̢̫̩͙̠̼̊̋́ͅw̸̮̱̔̂͛ͤͅẖ̞͈̣͖̟̥͎̞ͬ̑ͣ́̚̚á̧̮ͫ̾̌ͫ͝ť̼̹͚̼̙̩̥̍͋̍͛ͩ̚͝ ̘̽̓̂y̵̘̫̟̰̪̬̩͂̄ͧ̆̿ͨ͊̓̕͡ͅo̤̩͙̺̪̳̞͍̝͐̄̆̓͆͆͝ư̙̫͈̼̭͉̼̽̔ͥ̎͟ ͓̥̹̮͔̪̬͎̦͒ͥͪ̉́̚a̶̢̫͉ͩ̏̆̈̽r̻̬̭̘̓̌̉̈̋ͭ̽̎̔͠ȅ͎̙̖͎̱͖̫͖ͨͤ.̂͆̈̑̈́̋̚҉͖̙͈̜͇̲̯̝͖͢͝ ̔ͥ͑̽̏͏͎̩ͅ

T̷̳̳̲̥̩̊̉̆̍ȟ̸̷̰̝͎̫͎̮̱͓̼͂͌ͨͧ̏ͫi̵̛̻̖ͮ̏͆͗̐s̶͈̜̗ͤ͐ ̣͇̏̌ͩ͊͜͝ͅį͓̰͇͙̮̰͙ͦ̍̏ͭ̓ͩ̅̋͝͡ŝ̲̲̳͇̥ͣ͆͆ͧ͑͐ ̻͓̫̃̍͊̐͋̓͘͜ͅw̵͕͇͖̭͈̒̇͗̔̿͐̎̕͜h͎̻̱̠ͯ̄ͨͨ̄͊͠ö̴̰̪̳͎͙̘́̓̓̆̉͒̐̂ͅ ͓͈͚͇̲͚͓̞̌͆͋͌ͤ͢͜͟y͍͉͈̘̳̍ͣ̌ͧͣ͊̕͞͡ͅo̧̼͉̻̅́u̾̑͏̸̛̹ ͕̥̰̝͈͕̠̤̿͑ͩ͌̏͢à̵̶̻̺͒ͩ̽̈́ͣ͆ͣ̕r̳̫̔̊ͮ̏͡e͚̥͇̥͔͍̳̳͇ͨ͗̑ͪ͊͊̒͂ͬ͘.̯͇̻̞̞͓ͫ́̽͊̽̌͑ ̢̣̺͖̘̤͙̭̤ͩ̋T̵͍̮̝̟̰̓̅ͮ̉̊̅ḥ̴̳̮͆͗ͬ͝i̮͖̹͔͗́͊̊ͦs̳̳̣͓͂͠ ̶̝͎͍͇͇̥̫́̀ͪ͂̓̌̾̚i̸͈̫̭͚̊ͮͣ̃̆̌̈͆ͯ͟s̸̥͎̞̜̐ͮ̀̎͂͂̎̓ ̢̫̩͙̠̼̊̋́ͅw̸̮̱̔̂͛ͤͅẖ̞͈̣͖̟̥͎̞ͬ̑ͣ́̚̚á̧̮ͫ̾̌ͫ͝ť̼̹͚̼̙̩̥̍͋̍͛ͩ̚͝ ̘̽̓̂y̵̘̫̟̰̪̬̩͂̄ͧ̆̿ͨ͊̓̕͡ͅo̤̩͙̺̪̳̞͍̝͐̄̆̓͆͆͝ư̙̫͈̼̭͉̼̽̔ͥ̎͟ ͓̥̹̮͔̪̬͎̦͒ͥͪ̉́̚a̶̢̫͉ͩ̏̆̈̽r̻̬̭̘̓̌̉̈̋ͭ̽̎̔͠ȅ͎̙̖͎̱͖̫͖ͨͤ.̂͆̈̑̈́̋̚҉͖̙͈̜͇̲̯̝͖͢͝ ̔ͥ͑̽̏͏͎̩ͅ

T̷̳̳̲̥̩̊̉̆̍ȟ̸̷̰̝͎̫͎̮̱͓̼͂͌ͨͧ̏ͫi̵̛̻̖ͮ̏͆͗̐s̶͈̜̗ͤ͐ ̣͇̏̌ͩ͊͜͝ͅį͓̰͇͙̮̰͙ͦ̍̏ͭ̓ͩ̅̋͝͡ŝ̲̲̳͇̥ͣ͆͆ͧ͑͐ ̻͓̫̃̍͊̐͋̓͘͜ͅw̵͕͇͖̭͈̒̇͗̔̿͐̎̕͜h͎̻̱̠ͯ̄ͨͨ̄͊͠ö̴̰̪̳͎͙̘́̓̓̆̉͒̐̂ͅ ͓͈͚͇̲͚͓̞̌͆͋͌ͤ͢͜͟y͍͉͈̘̳̍ͣ̌ͧͣ͊̕͞͡ͅo̧̼͉̻̅́u̾̑͏̸̛̹ ͕̥̰̝͈͕̠̤̿͑ͩ͌̏͢à̵̶̻̺͒ͩ̽̈́ͣ͆ͣ̕r̳̫̔̊ͮ̏͡e͚̥͇̥͔͍̳̳͇ͨ͗̑ͪ͊͊̒͂ͬ͘.̯͇̻̞̞͓ͫ́̽͊̽̌͑S̢̫͉̠͎̺͓̙ͭ̑ͬ͌̆͘͟a̛͕̠̟͉̟̙͕̭̳͑͑ͬ̇̊͞v̛̩̫̎̒ͮ͋ͪͤe̥͖͚̱͔ͫ̂ ͖̤̳͇̰͈̣̏ͯ̽̔̿͘ẖ̲̻͎͇̘̬̝ͫ̄ͣ͌ͧ̕e̸̷͉̘͍̘̺̰͆ͨ͞r̜̼̰͙͎̥͉ͪ̐̒ͭͦͧͯ͊̕ ̢̣̺͖̘̤͙̭̤ͩ̋T̵͍̮̝̟̰̓̅ͮ̉̊̅ḥ̴̳̮͆͗ͬ͝i̮͖̹͔͗́͊̊ͦs̳̳̣͓͂͠ ̶̝͎͍͇͇̥̫́̀ͪ͂̓̌̾̚i̸͈̫̭͚̊ͮͣ̃̆̌̈͆ͯ͟s̸̥͎̞̜̐ͮ̀̎͂͂̎̓ ̢̫̩͙̠̼̊̋́ͅw̸̮̱̔̂͛ͤͅẖ̞͈̣͖̟̥͎̞ͬ̑ͣ́̚̚á̧̮ͫ̾̌ͫ͝ť̼̹͚̼̙̩̥̍͋̍͛ͩ̚͝ ̘̽̓̂y̵̘̫̟̰̪̬̩͂̄ͧ̆̿ͨ͊̓̕͡ͅo̤̩͙̺̪̳̞͍̝͐̄̆̓͆͆͝ư̙̫͈̼̭͉̼̽̔ͥ̎͟ ͓̥̹̮͔̪̬͎̦͒ͥͪ̉́̚a̶̢̫͉ͩ̏̆̈̽r̻̬̭̘̓̌̉̈̋ͭ̽̎̔͠ȅ͎̙̖͎̱͖̫͖ͨͤ.̂͆̈̑̈́̋̚҉͖̙͈̜͇̲̯̝͖͢͝ ̔ͥ͑̽̏͏͎̩ͅ

T̷̳̳̲̥̩̊̉̆̍ȟ̸̷̰̝͎̫͎̮̱͓̼͂͌ͨͧ̏ͫi̵̛̻̖ͮ̏͆͗̐s̶͈̜̗ͤ͐ ̣͇̏̌ͩ͊͜͝ͅį͓̰͇͙̮̰͙ͦ̍̏ͭ̓ͩ̅̋͝͡ŝ̲̲̳͇̥ͣ͆͆ͧ͑͐ ̻͓̫̃̍͊̐͋̓͘͜ͅw̵͕͇͖̭͈̒̇͗̔̿͐̎̕͜h͎̻̱̠ͯ̄ͨͨ̄͊͠ö̴̰̪̳͎͙̘́̓̓̆̉͒̐̂ͅ ͓͈͚͇̲͚͓̞̌͆͋͌ͤ͢͜͟y͍͉͈̘̳̍ͣ̌ͧͣ͊̕͞͡ͅo̧̼͉̻̅́u̾̑͏̸̛̹ ͕̥̰̝͈͕̠̤̿͑ͩ͌̏͢à̵̶̻̺͒ͩ̽̈́ͣ͆ͣ̕r̳̫̔̊ͮ̏͡e͚̥͇̥͔͍̳̳͇ͨ͗̑ͪ͊͊̒͂ͬ͘.̯͇̻̞̞͓ͫ́̽͊̽̌͑S̢̫͉̠͎̺͓̙ͭ̑ͬ͌̆͘͟a̛͕̠̟͉̟̙͕̭̳͑͑ͬ̇̊͞v̛̩̫̎̒ͮ͋ͪͤe̥͖͚̱͔ͫ̂ ͖̤̳͇̰͈̣̏ͯ̽̔̿͘ẖ̲̻͎͇̘̬̝ͫ̄ͣ͌ͧ̕e̸̷͉̘͍̘̺̰͆ͨ͞r̜̼̰͙͎̥͉ͪ̐̒ͭͦͧͯ͊̕ ̢̣̺͖̘̤͙̭̤ͩ̋T̵͍̮̝̟̰̓̅ͮ̉̊̅ḥ̴̳̮͆͗ͬ͝i̮͖̹͔͗́͊̊ͦs̳̳̣͓͂͠ ̶̝͎͍͇͇̥̫́̀ͪ͂̓̌̾̚i̸͈̫̭͚̊ͮͣ̃̆̌̈͆ͯ͟s̸̥͎̞̜̐ͮ̀̎͂͂̎̓ ̢̫̩͙̠̼̊̋́ͅw̸̮̱̔̂͛ͤͅẖ̞͈̣͖̟̥͎̞ͬ̑ͣ́̚̚á̧̮ͫ̾̌ͫ͝ť̼̹͚̼̙̩̥̍͋̍͛ͩ̚͝ ̘̽̓̂y̵̘̫̟̰̪̬̩͂̄ͧ̆̿ͨ͊̓̕͡ͅo̤̩͙̺̪̳̞͍̝͐̄̆̓͆͆͝ư̙̫͈̼̭͉̼̽̔ͥ̎͟ ͓̥̹̮͔̪̬͎̦͒ͥͪ̉́̚a̶̢̫͉ͩ̏̆̈̽r̻̬̭̘̓̌̉̈̋ͭ̽̎̔͠ȅ͎̙̖͎̱͖̫͖ͨͤ.̂͆̈̑̈́̋̚҉͖̙͈̜͇̲̯̝͖͢͝ ̔ͥ͑̽̏͏͎̩ͅ

S̢̫͉̠͎̺͓̙ͭ̑ͬ͌̆͘͟a̛͕̠̟͉̟̙͕̭̳͑͑ͬ̇̊͞v̛̩̫̎̒ͮ͋ͪͤe̥͖͚̱͔ͫ̂ ͖̤̳͇̰͈̣̏ͯ̽̔̿͘ẖ̲̻͎͇̘̬̝ͫ̄ͣ͌ͧ̕e̸̷͉̘͍̘̺̰͆ͨ͞r̜̼̰͙͎̥͉ͪ̐̒ͭͦͧͯ͊̕ T̷̳̳̲̥̩̊̉̆̍ȟ̸̷̰̝͎̫͎̮̱͓̼͂͌ͨͧ̏ͫi̵̛̻̖ͮ̏͆͗̐s̶͈̜̗ͤ͐ ̣͇̏̌ͩ͊͜͝ͅį͓̰͇͙̮̰͙ͦ̍̏ͭ̓ͩ̅̋͝͡ŝ̲̲̳͇̥ͣ͆͆ͧ͑͐ ̻͓̫̃̍͊̐͋̓͘͜ͅw̵͕͇͖̭͈̒̇͗̔̿͐̎̕͜h͎̻̱̠ͯ̄ͨͨ̄͊͠ö̴̰̪̳͎͙̘́̓̓̆̉͒̐̂ͅ ͓͈͚͇̲͚͓̞̌͆͋͌ͤ͢͜͟y͍͉͈̘̳̍ͣ̌ͧͣ͊̕͞͡ͅo̧̼͉̻̅́u̾̑͏̸̛̹ ͕̥̰̝͈͕̠̤̿͑ͩ͌̏͢à̵̶̻̺͒ͩ̽̈́ͣ͆ͣ̕r̳̫̔̊ͮ̏͡e͚̥͇̥͔͍̳̳͇ͨ͗̑ͪ͊͊̒͂ͬ͘.̯͇̻̞̞͓ͫ́̽͊̽̌͑S̢̫͉̠͎̺͓̙ͭ̑ͬ͌̆͘͟a̛͕̠̟͉̟̙͕̭̳͑͑ͬ̇̊͞v̛̩̫̎̒ͮ͋ͪͤe̥͖͚̱͔ͫ̂ ͖̤̳͇̰͈̣̏ͯ̽̔̿͘ẖ̲̻͎͇̘̬̝ͫ̄ͣ͌ͧ̕e̸̷͉̘͍̘̺̰͆ͨ͞r̜̼̰͙͎̥͉ͪ̐̒ͭͦͧͯ͊̕ ̢̣̺͖̘̤͙̭̤ͩ̋T̵͍̮̝̟̰̓̅ͮ̉̊̅ḥ̴̳̮͆͗ͬ͝i̮͖̹͔͗́͊̊ͦs̳̳̣͓͂͠ ̶̝͎͍͇͇̥̫́̀ͪ͂̓̌̾̚i̸͈̫̭͚̊ͮͣ̃̆̌̈͆ͯ͟s̸̥͎̞̜̐ͮ̀̎͂͂̎̓ ̢̫̩͙̠̼̊̋́ͅw̸̮̱̔̂͛ͤͅẖ̞͈̣͖̟̥͎̞ͬ̑ͣ́̚̚á̧̮ͫ̾̌ͫ͝ť̼̹͚̼̙̩̥̍͋̍͛ͩ̚͝ ̘̽̓̂y̵̘̫̟̰̪̬̩͂̄ͧ̆̿ͨ͊̓̕͡ͅo̤̩͙̺̪̳̞͍̝͐̄̆̓͆͆͝ư̙̫͈̼̭͉̼̽̔ͥ̎͟ ͓̥̹̮͔̪̬͎̦͒ͥͪ̉́̚a̶̢̫͉ͩ̏̆̈̽r̻̬̭̘̓̌̉̈̋ͭ̽̎̔͠ȅ͎̙̖͎̱͖̫͖ͨͤ.̂͆̈̑̈́̋̚҉͖̙͈̜͇̲̯̝͖͢͝ ̔ͥ͑̽̏͏͎̩ͅS̢̫͉̠͎̺͓̙ͭ̑ͬ͌̆͘͟a̛͕̠̟͉̟̙͕̭̳͑͑ͬ̇̊͞v̛̩̫̎̒ͮ͋ͪͤe̥͖͚̱͔ͫ̂ ͖̤̳͇̰͈̣̏ͯ̽̔̿͘ẖ̲̻͎͇̘̬̝ͫ̄ͣ͌ͧ̕e̸̷͉̘͍̘̺̰͆ͨ͞r̜̼̰͙͎̥͉ͪ̐̒ͭͦͧͯ͊̕

S̴̢̼̭̹̘̹̻̩͍̼̖̯͍͑̏͛̂̇͂͝Á̧̐ͮͤ̃̈̉̑ͥ͟͝҉̴̠̦̳͇̯̭̮̲̞̘ͅV̶̸͓̙̪̮͒̎ͫ̅̅̍͑͂̒͂̍ͥ̾ͦ̕Ȅ̋̒͌ͬͨ̐̄̍̈̎҉͘҉̼̝̺̼̲̦̮̻̮̝̭ ͇̥̮̜͕͎̦̲͇̉̑̓̿̎͛̉̑͘͠ͅH̛͐ͪ̂ͤ͒͐̆ͣ͐ͪͮͭ͂̏̍̎̈́͠͏̺͕̮̝͕͈͖̥̜̣̦̼̥̼E̗͔͙̬̜̜̦͔͍͓̘̺̝͍͍̺̗̽͛̆͂̊̏̈́̄ͥ͊͜͞ͅR̶̴̸͔̙̺̣͓̤͕͕̪͆̉ͫ̏͐̔̌̓ͧ͗̔̊ͧ̒͑ T̡̰̣̱̺͔̪͔͚̹̙̼͈̙̤͓̗ͤ͂͌͑̓̃͜͠h̵͉̱͇̼̼̜͍͖̻̳̟̙̞̖̱ͧͬ̓̃̅̚į̡͓̦̗̮̪̦̮͉̬̬ͥ͋ͫͥ̆̆ͨ̌ͥ̓ͤͤ̂̚͟s̡̲̲̝̬͑̐̏ͭͧ̄̑͒̿̍͐́ͤ͑ ̢̧̩̦͖̣̥̲͖̖̝͚̱̰͉͎͍̐͐͐͐ͪ̂͒̐̈́̈ͤ͆͜į̐͑̐̎̄ͧ̓̆ͤͮ͒̚҉̩͓̟̱̭s̵̗̯͕̟͙̲͙̟͓͓͈̩̻͈̭ͧ̂̎͗̄ͧ̄ͤ̆̊̑ͮ͗̓ͣ̀ͨ ̵̧̨̼͉̫͇̻̘͈̖̯̲̤̭͙̽̓ͥͫͯ͛̋̒͋͗̀ͫ͞͡w̸̷ͫ͆̐́̐͆ͧͩ̓̂ͯ̌͌͆͘͜͏̜̦̗̜͖̮̹̥ͅh̷͇͕̪̺͍͓̰̫̠͖̫̤͉̯̦̺̽̆̌̓ͮͯ̀̎̑̒̓̈͊̑̿o̷̵̢̘̦͈̘̳̲̝̠͓̤̲̫̼̺͙̺̣̔̿̂͒̊̿̍ͮ̍͘ͅ ̶̧͔͓̮͔̝̘͙̠̮̤͕̪̻̻̮͖͕̬ͭ͋̓̊ͯͣ̏̂̂̌͟ỳ̷̵̶̢̡̜̱͕̖̼͉̪̮̗͖̬̥̯̺̫̤̣͛ͩͪoͮ̎͂̋̎̌͂͢͡҉͚͕̼̬̲͕̬͍̬̻̝̫͓̟̤̲u̢̪̳̥̫̭̝̘̺͂̂̆̓̇͐̽̈̊͊ͧ̍͘͘͢͟ͅ ̸͎̼͚̼̹͉͚̺̼̳͍̮̙̭̙̯̮̜̖͋ͣ͊ͣ̉ͥ̑ͥ̾̈́͢ä̴̮͙͓̩͈͚͈͔͈̟͙͈̲͍͚͉̙̙́͒ͫ̅̉͑͛̿ͭ̌ͬ̽̋̕͜͡r̵̅ͪ̿̌ͫ̿̏ͭ͞͏̱̦̱̬̺̮̺̹͙̠̜̰̹̰̼͔e̐ͯͫ͆ͣͤͤ́̍ͯ͒҉̨̧̼͍͍̩͔͍̞̖͙̱̖̬̝͚͈̕ S̴̢̼̭̹̘̹̻̩͍̼̖̯͍͑̏͛̂̇͂͝Á̧̐ͮͤ̃̈̉̑ͥ͟͝҉̴̠̦̳͇̯̭̮̲̞̘ͅV̶̸͓̙̪̮͒̎ͫ̅̅̍͑͂̒͂̍ͥ̾ͦ̕Ȅ̋̒͌ͬͨ̐̄̍̈̎҉͘҉̼̝̺̼̲̦̮̻̮̝̭ ͇̥̮̜͕͎̦̲͇̉̑̓̿̎͛̉̑͘͠ͅH̛͐ͪ̂ͤ͒͐̆ͣ͐ͪͮͭ͂̏̍̎̈́͠͏̺͕̮̝͕͈͖̥̜̣̦̼̥̼E̗͔͙̬̜̜̦͔͍͓̘̺̝͍͍̺̗̽͛̆͂̊̏̈́̄ͥ͊͜͞ͅR̶̴̸͔̙̺̣͓̤͕͕̪͆̉ͫ̏͐̔̌̓ͧ͗̔̊ͧ̒͑ .̡̜̝̲͉͚̭̗̻͇̪̪̫̞͋̾͗͊̕͜͝ͅ ̶̴̢̛͔̦̱̖̰͊ͬͯ̾ͮͯ͆̒́̒̀͌̀͊́͆͠ͅT̰̬̻̙̘̺͓̠͍̦͓̞͍̭̄̋̆̏ͪͪ͗̃̏̿ͨ́͢h̸͖̘̪̥͓ͭ̓͒ͤ̆ͨ̌͑͆̌̅͞͠i̸͉̹͔͖̥̩̩͆͐̇̃̈́̍ͮ͊ͥ̀ͯ͗̊͡s̲̫̞̳͇̲̹̭̯̮͙̉͂̅ͥͨͪ͆ͩ̍̈̃̚͡ ͮ̊̍͋ͥ̾ͯ̉ͮ́̅͐̑̈̒̔͏̷̵̢͉̻̼͇͇̖̱̘̪͎͖̺̜̰i̢ͩ͊̂ͥ̒̈́͐̑ͫͬͮ̿ͫ̽͜҉̴̹̼͈͉̞̱s̳̠̣͔̪͙̘̘ͫ̀͂ͨ̕͝͝ͅ ̨̩̫̼͎̳͎͉͍̙͉̊̈̓ͪ̀ͫͨ͐ͣ͘͠wͦͦ̏͐ͨͧ̋̉̓͌͂̃̃͋̐ͪ̏̾̈͡҉̢͖̭̱͇̣̦̗̕h̫̪̰̖̬͍̳͂ͯͭ̌̓̉̌͒͗̈̂ͤ̉̕͝ͅa̢͈̟̜̺̙̦͚͖͖̬͈̤̭̜̘̞͕͌̾̊̔ͬ̔̓͆̅͜ͅt̼̙͇̜̤͚̦̣͕͙̜͕̬̻͕̦͈̪͖͛ͫ̊̓̑͘͡͞͡ ̸̧̫̲̘̠̹̤̻̭̥̿ͤ̎̎͊̈̓ͯ̓̑ͫ̇͢͜͡y̸̨̥̥̩̲̝̞̭̝͔̘̝̱̱̭͙̥̾̓̆̔̌̉͑̈̏̓̂̑ͯͫ͛ͨ͛͘o̢̪̦̙͔͇̖͚̲̺̫̣̤̳̓̐͂̔͆̀̽̾̓ͩ̎͌̋͌͟u̵̷͓͓͚̳̝̙̯̪͇̞̦͉͔̱͙͓̭ͬ̌̈̓͐̒̐ͨ͂̍ͯ͌̍͠ͅ ̨̮̖̘͙̠̯͖͈̮̉͐͐͛͒̈́̊̇̒̿͂͐͂ͥ̿͜͜ͅą̗̜̗̩͍̳̞̺̮̻̹̦̳̞͊͊ͬ̑̿͆r̶̞̣͉̰̭̖̬̣ͧͨ̀͒̅̿̓͠e̥̬̼͕̬̦̮̟͚̞̪̝̯̥̣̬̬̲̅̏ͥ̋͛͆ͨ̅͋͢͡.̴̷̡͓͓̭̮̩ͥ̽ͦ̒̃͞ ̸̨̨̮͈̼͒̋ͥͣͤ̉͌̒̾̈́̕ S̴̢̼̭̹̘̹̻̩͍̼̖̯͍͑̏͛̂̇͂͝Á̧̐ͮͤ̃̈̉̑ͥ͟͝҉̴̠̦̳͇̯̭̮̲̞̘ͅV̶̸͓̙̪̮͒̎ͫ̅̅̍͑͂̒͂̍ͥ̾ͦ̕Ȅ̋̒͌ͬͨ̐̄̍̈̎҉͘҉̼̝̺̼̲̦̮̻̮̝̭ ͇̥̮̜͕͎̦̲͇̉̑̓̿̎͛̉̑͘͠ͅH̛͐ͪ̂ͤ͒͐̆ͣ͐ͪͮͭ͂̏̍̎̈́͠͏̺͕̮̝͕͈͖̥̜̣̦̼̥̼E̗͔͙̬̜̜̦͔͍͓̘̺̝͍͍̺̗̽͛̆͂̊̏̈́̄ͥ͊͜͞ͅR̶̴̸͔̙̺̣͓̤͕͕̪͆̉ͫ̏͐̔̌̓ͧ͗̔̊ͧ̒͑

T̢̨̜͍̫̯̺͚̫̣̄͑̑̋̄͌͑̉͒ͨ̿̒ͩ͊͡H̸̷̆͑̔ͨ̇ͤ́ͤ͞҉̥̭̬̪͙̳I̷̢̜̤̻͈͙͕͙̗̼̠̗͈̍̿ͥ̚͘S̷̗̙̦̦̝̭̼ͭ̆̈́ͫ̂ͬ̈́̏̅͋ͦ ̉͐͌͒̅ͣͬ̍̋̊̓̈́̔͂͌ͤͧͨ͏̢̠̘͎̺̬̻̝̹̮̦̫͖̥̻̺͞ͅÍ̴̢͔͚̟̲̜͔͍͍̺̰̭̌̅̎̓̑ͩͫͣͣͦͅS̷̛̹̟̗̣̳̹̫͑͂̇́̾̿͛̌ͪ͊͆͛̿ͯ̇ͣͥ̈́͞ ̸̷͖̬̼̗̠̥̗͎̼̮͎̘ͭ͗̒̅̆ͦ͑̚S̝̲̜̞̥̠̹̻͇͍̘͂ͩͪ̄͑͛͑̂ͯ̃́̈̑̀̎̏ͧ̈̓͠À̡̛̱̪̠̘̲ͨͫ̔̒ͧͧͤ̈́̇̄̃́̏̓ͫͣ͜V̧̧̡̯̖̫̗͇̭͈̫̥̠͖̞̻̼̜̫̰̤̰ͥͩͨ̾̂ͣ͆̿ͮ̌̀̐̑̒ͨ̍ͧ̂Ễ̥̫͖͎̼ͦ͐͒̆̐̄̓͡ ̌ͩ͛̍ͧͪͪ͂͌̃̾͆̾̌̎͏̭̰͇̲̘̪͠Hͩͭ̄ͫͣͩ͂̍ͧ͂̄҉̴̜̮͕̯̱̦͈̘̺̖͍͙̗͎̳͙̟̣E͗̀̆̈́̊̄̿̄̂ͩͫ̾̌̊̈́̀҉͍̺̝͈͠ͅR̵̘͓̮̱̐͌̿͂͢ ̵̎ͨ̃̓̃̈҉̛͟͏̦̺͖̺̘̩̪̰͓̳̖̼ͅW̘̞̪͎͔͎̰̟͉͓̟̖̿̃͑̑̄ͭ̊ͭͨ̑̚̚͠͞͠H̶͓͍̳͇̼ͦ̿ͪ͊̊͟͠O̡̲͈͔̺͔̖̱̝̟͒̒ͦ͋ͥ̂ͤ̾̐͛ͬͬ̍̄ͣ͞ ͬ̃̊͘͟͏͍͈̬̮̭̞͖͈̕Y̷̷̭͈̰̦̤̌̈̊̆͌͒̇ͫ͞͝͝O̶̢̦̫̠̜͓̗̟̯̙̙̳͌̽̀ͨ̓Ư͌ͭ͂͑͒̅̏̓̋̈́̍ͪͫͤ̍̈̿̀҉͡҉̧̦̠̺͍̺̯̞̰̮ͅ ̡͚͎̜̳̭̤̳̱͈̳͎̺̾ͪ̎̒̀̒̏̎ͫͨ͆͗͟ͅS̶̸͍̤̱̻̯̱̝̙̮̺̼̳͍̉̌ͥ̈́̓̌ͪͭͩ̋̄ͫ̈̑̒͝ͅA̧̭̖̩̻̖̙̙͇̟̘̤̺̥̫̻̥͖͆͊̒ͯ̆̍ͤ̉͛̋͛ͫ͛̑͆̃ͫV͌̓ͥ̍͆̃̍̐̚͏҉̢͏̙̘͍͖͙͍̠E̴͑̏ͫ͆̕͟͢҉̥̳̗̜̰̫͍̳̤ ̔̄͌͋͐҉̴̛͇͓̖̘̫̟̺̰͍̺̻̯̯̕͝Ḧ̡̛̠͔̭̣̜̰͉͈͚̭̜́̈́̇̅́̐̄͛͆E̸̞̠̹͍̟̓ͭ͐̂̇͆͐̽̐͐̂͋̒ͅR̶̶̡̛̹̜̯̺͉͙͎̮͍͇͈͒ͥ͊̋̑ͪͤ̆̉͐͑̈́̕ ̵̨̧͙̲̬̫̗̪̫̘̰̜͇̬ͫ͆̄̓ͧ̽͋̔̉̏̅̆̈̏ͨͫͨͦ͘A̷̦̦̗̘͉̯̥̻̎̊̏̒͐̓̋̅ͭ̾ͯ͆ͥͫͬ͟͝͞Rͥ̋̋̌̽̽ͣ̈́̾̌̔͛ͤͪ́̚͜҉͍͖̰̼͙͇E̛̹̫̟̖͇͙ͫ͋̂̈͛͝ ̷̶̭͕̺̇̈́͛̉̽͌͐̃͛́̄̀ͮ͒ͪ̈́͛̾̾͘S̡̝͈̺͇̮̫̞͔͖̜͎̘̻̟͍̩̲̦̝̒ͮ̌͂̓͛ͬ̅ͧͤͦ̇ͥ̅̑̑͒ͬ̆͟͡A̡ͤ͑͊̈́̓̾̓̈́̒͌͒̓̿͑ͤ̉͒҉̯̲̘̻͎̫͓̼̳̘̘̤͇͚̜̼̹̤͞V̴̸̶̛̱̳̖̺̪̥̖͙͚̏͗ͭͬͧ̈́͊̋ͩ͊̇ͬͭͦͪ̚͢E̴̙͍̙̱͂ͩ̌̑ͥ̄ͯ̃͌̋̏͒̒̅͌ͯ͊͜͟͝ ̗̬̭͙̥͖ͣ̐͆ͭͨ͂̄ͣ͊̃͆ͧ̊̔͋̕͢͜͡H̵̡̨̟͕͉̻̲̗͔̪̟̭̦̗̟͈̮̥̗́ͯ̍ͧ̊́̄͊ͦͩ̐ͫͫ̂͊̚̚͢ͅȨ̛͙̫̲̪͇͉͕̘̦̪̙̼̫̖͔̥̱̓̆ͥ̉̊̕͟ͅR̷̷̙̫̥͚̳̫͇͑ͦ̏͆͊ͯͦ̂̅͌ͪ̏͒̎̇ͯ͜ͅ ̸̃̊ͥͪ̄ͬ͋҉̝̫̠̝͓̟̳͖̻̺̯̻͎̘̠̲͔̟Ş̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅ

Ş̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅŞ̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅ

Ş̇͋͋̄̈́̊̈́̅̚҉̴̤̞̭̖͚ͅA̢̯̳̘̹̱̣̣̼̖̲̹͇ͦͫͤͨ͌̒ͦ͢͢V̸̺͎̦̤̋ͬ̃̂ͣ͆̉̇͗̑͐̕͟E̵̶̲̩̺̲̜̺̞̭̪͉ͫͩ̔ͥͩ̉̓ͥͧͥ̈ͯ̔͂ͣͧ͌̅́ͅ ̵̢̨̗̙̼̖̦̞͈̗̞̳̻̼̝̗̫͚̰̃̍̊͋̕͝ͅH̸̸͔͓͎̜̦̝̺̪̼͓͚̺͕͓̱̙͇̒͐ͬͫͅE̷̟̫͖̳̩͓͋̽ͫ̊ͬ͊̿͛̓ͩ͗̍̃̂̓͊Ṛ̨̮͖̞̪̘̺̪̰̮̝ͯ̾ͨ̐̃̌͘͘͠ͅ

S̏̍̄́̋̈́̎̀͗ͯͬ͋̚͞͏̛͈͔̱̱͚̪̪͓͞A̛̘͇̼̟ͫ͋͒̊͌ͩ̋͢͟V̵̜̹̻̱̬͈͉̺̮͓̣̻̤̍̅ͭ̒̂̎͠E̢̪̰̣̰̱̭̘̯̝ͦ͆̀̒͗̽͋͊ͥ̈ͪ̆ͦ̉̊̎̇͊̂͢ ̭̲̱͎̳͇̖͓̼ͤ̅̿̏̓̕͠͠Ḩ̧̤̩̹͍͂̏́͑͐ͣ̃̀̽É̷̡̧̖̳̪̞̳̯̮̰͖̣̯͇̣́̽͊͒̑ͭ̒̏ͨ́̈͒͊ͦ̄̿͊̏͟Rͮͫ̔̋ͦ͐ͨ̅̓̍̆̏̉̍̏͢҉̶͈̻̝͇̦̗̫̦̝̟̫S̏̍̄́̋̈́̎̀͗ͯͬ͋̚͞͏̛͈͔̱̱͚̪̪͓͞A̛̘͇̼̟ͫ͋͒̊͌ͩ̋͢͟V̵̜̹̻̱̬͈͉̺̮͓̣̻̤̍̅ͭ̒̂̎͠E̢̪̰̣̰̱̭̘̯̝ͦ͆̀̒͗̽͋͊ͥ̈ͪ̆ͦ̉̊̎̇͊̂͢ ̭̲̱͎̳͇̖͓̼ͤ̅̿̏̓̕͠͠Ḩ̧̤̩̹͍͂̏́͑͐ͣ̃̀̽É̷̡̧̖̳̪̞̳̯̮̰͖̣̯͇̣́̽͊͒̑ͭ̒̏ͨ́̈͒͊ͦ̄̿͊̏͟Rͮͫ̔̋ͦ͐ͨ̅̓̍̆̏̉̍̏͢҉̶͈̻̝͇̦̗̫̦̝̟̫S̏̍̄́̋̈́̎̀͗ͯͬ͋̚͞͏̛͈͔̱̱͚̪̪͓͞A̛̘͇̼̟ͫ͋͒̊͌ͩ̋͢͟V̵̜̹̻̱̬͈͉̺̮͓̣̻̤̍̅ͭ̒̂̎͠E̢̪̰̣̰̱̭̘̯̝ͦ͆̀̒͗̽͋͊ͥ̈ͪ̆ͦ̉̊̎̇͊̂͢ ̭̲̱͎̳͇̖͓̼ͤ̅̿̏̓̕͠͠Ḩ̧̤̩̹͍͂̏́͑͐ͣ̃̀̽É̷̡̧̖̳̪̞̳̯̮̰͖̣̯͇̣́̽͊͒̑ͭ̒̏ͨ́̈͒͊ͦ̄̿͊̏͟Rͮͫ̔̋ͦ͐ͨ̅̓̍̆̏̉̍̏͢҉̶͈̻̝͇̦̗̫̦̝̟̫ S̏̍̄́̋̈́̎̀͗ͯͬ͋̚͞͏̛͈͔̱̱͚̪̪͓͞A̛̘͇̼̟ͫ͋͒̊͌ͩ̋͢͟V̵̜̹̻̱̬͈͉̺̮͓̣̻̤̍̅ͭ̒̂̎͠E̢̪̰̣̰̱̭̘̯̝ͦ͆̀̒͗̽͋͊ͥ̈ͪ̆ͦ̉̊̎̇͊̂͢ ̭̲̱͎̳͇̖͓̼ͤ̅̿̏̓̕͠͠Ḩ̧̤̩̹͍͂̏́͑͐ͣ̃̀̽É̷̡̧̖̳̪̞̳̯̮̰͖̣̯͇̣́̽͊͒̑ͭ̒̏ͨ́̈͒͊ͦ̄̿͊̏͟Rͮͫ̔̋ͦ͐ͨ̅̓̍̆̏̉̍̏͢҉̶͈̻̝͇̦̗̫̦̝̟̫S̏̍̄́̋̈́̎̀͗ͯͬ͋̚͞͏̛͈͔̱̱͚̪̪͓͞A̛̘͇̼̟ͫ͋͒̊͌ͩ̋͢͟V̵̜̹̻̱̬͈͉̺̮͓̣̻̤̍̅ͭ̒̂̎͠E̢̪̰̣̰̱̭̘̯̝ͦ͆̀̒͗̽͋͊ͥ̈ͪ̆ͦ̉̊̎̇͊̂͢ ̭̲̱͎̳͇̖͓̼ͤ̅̿̏̓̕͠͠Ḩ̧̤̩̹͍͂̏́͑͐ͣ̃̀̽É̷̡̧̖̳̪̞̳̯̮̰͖̣̯͇̣́̽͊͒̑ͭ̒̏ͨ́̈͒͊ͦ̄̿͊̏͟Rͮͫ̔̋ͦ͐ͨ̅̓̍̆̏̉̍̏͢҉̶͈̻̝͇̦̗̫̦̝̟̫

Save her.

He surrenders himself to the static and moves forward.

He’s on his hands and knees, tears streaming vigorously down his face, Ko-chan’s blood pooling beneath her still body.

The ringleader, the one who’d done this to her, the one who’d k i l l e d h e r, stands to his full height before him. He seems almost proud.

“She couldn’t do it, my boy, don’t you see?” the monster says deeply. “She was weak.”

He cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe. He’s shaking harder than he’s ever trembled before, and he’s never cried so hard in his entire life.

“Y-You...h-how...w-w-w-why did you—”

“Don’t cry, child,” the m o n s t e r soothes, kneeling in Ko-chan’s blood in front of him without any heed to it at all. The monster reaches out and takes his chin, and he jerks his head away. “You’re stronger than she was. And this experience will only make you stronger.”

“You didn’t have to k-kill her!” He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, his throat is so tight and his chest burns, why does it hurt so much, why does it hurt so much, p l e a s e s t o p p l e a s e s t o p p l e a s e s t o p. “You knew she couldn’t do it, y-you knew! W-Why did you—? You didn’t have to—!”

“Hmm…” The monster does not move from his spot, rather raises a single hand towards him, almost gently. “My boy, let this make you stronger, now. Let this experience—!”

“No, I won’t! What you’re doing can’t be right, K-K—” it hurts it hurts it hurts “K-Ko-chan was right, what you’re doing is twisted and wrong and I won’t have any part in it!”

The monstermonstermonster chuckles and shakes his head. “You don’t want to do this. Believe me, my boy, you don’t want to do this. This is who you are now. This is what you are now. You cannot deny it. You are...a villain.”

“No, you’re a villain!” he shrieks, defiant. “You’re a villain, and no matter what you do to me, I won’t be one, too!”

Another deep chuckle. The monster is amused. “Foolish child. Here…” He reaches out a hand, a hand splattered with Ko-chan’s blood and tears as she screamed and cried, as her life was stolen from her. “You are not in your right mind now, my boy. Maybe this will calm you down...teach you your place…”

Fingers—cold, deadly, monstermonstermonstermonstermonster settle over his face, gentle but cold, gentle but scary, gentle but murdering—

“You will live to regret this. This, rebellion. ...If you survive at all.”

He feels a surge of something, and within him he feels several snaps and crunches and breaks and he screams, and his veins fill with fire and heat and it burns, it hurts, it hurts so bad, he feels like he’s being ripped apart from the inside out, and he feels blood in his throat and he feels it on his arms and legs and chest and stomach he’s literally being torn apart he’s being torn apart t o r n a p a r t—

“Kitten.”

He screams and grabs and y a n k s, not at something physical but at something within him, he yanks and he pulls and he drags and he harnesses and it hurts so badly, it hurts so badly but seeing Ko-chan in pain hurt so much worse this is nothing this is nothing this is nothing—

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

“Aaagh, what in the—!”

“Everyone, get out of here! What the hell—!”

He feels himself screaming as static fills his mind and heart and soul and all he can think about is Ko-chan, all he can think about is her shining eyes and smile but the image is swallowed by her blank, dead eyes and broken body and he screams louder, cries harder, thrashes, shrieks, yanks yanks yanks, drags drags drags, pulls pulls pulls, until—

Static.

Toshinori watches, and there’s nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. The police are forcing the civilians back, and there isn’t a single hero on site right now that can take care of the situation.

And Izuku is there. And so is a little girl, who’d slipped past the policemen to help Izuku when it was him being drowned and suffocated, but now it’s her in Izuku’s place, held captive in the villain’s liquid but suffocating grasp. Toshinori feels a burn and an ache but there’s nothing he can do, there’s nothing he can do, absolutely nothing he can do—

And then something weird happens.

The villain has been thrashing and laughing and cackling this entire time, but now...it stops. The villain stops moving, stops laughing, stops everything.

Izuku has moved again, striding forward, and he has those same dead eyes as before but now they’re bright golden, his irises are a bright, molten gold and he’s striding forward, slowly, but deliberately.

Toshinori’s vision blurs. On the corners of his sight, static begins to gather, like pixel-glitches in a video game. His ears ring, and his mind is full of the static, suddenly. He can’t think. He tries but he literally cannot think.

And then the villain is thrashing again, but this isn’t a gleeful thrash, a triumphant flailing of joy.

No. This is writhing. This is the villain shrinking in on himself, shrieking, twisting, and Izuku continues towards him, step after step, eyes bright gold.

"̢͈̲͎̰L̬̟̺̱͉̗̯͎ͅe̦̬͠t̶̢͚͔̞̦͚̰̬͡ ̡̻̗̻͙͖͚̘ḩ҉̱̤̟͙̱̜e̻͖̝͘͡r̨̩̝̥̝͈ ̖͍̖̠͘͟͞ģ̺͎̫̻̱̗͞o̢̥̠̭͔̫.̴̤̙̺̯͎̱͚̣͢ͅ"҉̧̜̙ͅͅ ̝͉

Izuku’s voice slices through the static, but only long enough for Toshinori to be completely, utterly horrified by his tone of voice. His voice is low and it sounds like there are several people talking at once, garbled but somehow oh so very clear.

The villain thrashes again, writhing and screeching like it’s in physical pain, and Yatchi drops from its hold and scrambles to her feet. She doesn’t run towards the police; rather, she runs towards Izuku, hiding behind his legs and burying her face in his lower back.

Izuku doesn’t flinch. Two knives come out of nowhere, and suddenly he’s holding three in each hand in between his fingers, blades gleaming in the light of nearby fires.

“͘Y̴͖ou̷̘̣͚̬̹ ̢͕̭͖͈̹h͖̣͔̘̭̱̣av̜̭͔̦̗̜e̝̦̺ ͓̘̤̼̝̱n̵̝̤̟̯͚͚o̷̜̟̩̻̝̥͇ ̸̭̣̞̼r̯̝̝͔i̜͔͍̻ͅg̝̳̭̞͔͓̕ͅh͉̯͉͡t͜ t̸͙̬͉̦̯̱̫o̬͙̮̻ ͈̤͈͈o̟͙̘̘̪͚th̖̪̞̝̟e̤̮̝r̸͓͇͚̘s͍̬̠̥͍͕̫’͎̙̟̖ ̘l̪͠ͅi̧̗͍̠̙̺̪̥v͙̘̫e̛̜͖̝͍s͖͚̮.͍̲͈̱͇̖ͅ”̸̳͎͈͕͙͖͙ ̜

There is no way that voice is coming out of a kid, there is no way—

“͟T͔̬̹͍͍̻͢h̪̬̮e̻͎̥i̖̰r̦̰̬̯͕̘ͅ ̬̘̗̱͕l̰̰i̖̻͠v̰͞e̮s̫̗̣͍̣̲̼ ̢̞̲͕̱̭̥ͅd̙̰̥o͏̦̝̘ ͍̺̳̮ͅͅn̴̰͓͎̪̘o̲͕͈͈̬̠t̞͉͉͈̝ ͈͖̜̭b̧̯̻̰̦e̛̘̮̹̬ḷ̻o͖̟n͍͎͔ģ̗̺͇̣̞̣ ̡͙̖̝͖ͅt̵̻̖͍̮̟o̴̝̰̱͇̫̘ ҉̳̜͔͓̤̞ͅy͇̰͜ou̧̘͚̥.̦”̠̘̥͖ͅ ̢͖̖̖̥̣̫

The slime villain is still shrieking and writhing.

“̗̹Y̺͎͓̲̖̼̺o̶͈̳̟͓u͇̖̪ ͙͓̞ẖ̦͓̣̗̥a̲͕v͖͘e̟̱̗̬͘ ̛̥͕̮̞̻͉͈n̷̙̯̰̥̖o ̭̦͕̠͖͖͎r͎̗̰̮̰̰̬i̸̜̝̼̮͓g̨h͟t͉͓̙̩͚͖̬ ҉̺̮t̝͙̻̖̼͚͢o͕̳ ̗͖͈̠̯t͔̤̬̮͔a͚̯̩̝k͓̼̯̹̺̕e̹̪̱͙̘͞ ̱͚i̹͖͕t̥̻̖̩̣̬͢ͅ ̪̻̘ͅf̵̫̞̭͙r̸͔̫̲̯̳̹o̠̮m̖̪͍̼̘̤͢ ̘̙̦͍͔t̯̣̦͓̦h̬̲̬̗͈͙e͖̥̖̕m͓͖̘͈̬̞͓͘.̢̞̜̤̲̻”͓͖̠̬̹ ̮̠̖̫̞͕

“S-Stop it!” the villain gurgles. “Stop it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, s-stop it, please—!”

“̥͈Y̴̜̝̥͙o͉̜̣͍̪͙̭u’̸̼̘̪̳̪r̗̭̥e͏ ̗̤͔̖͓̜t̟̤̰̹ͅͅh̨e̶̫ ̜͉̫o̕ͅne̲̹̹̟ ͙̞̬͇g̨̱̭ͅo̠̹̟̮̞̻ͅi̻͚̤̯̻̯͝ͅṇ͎̭͙̹͝ͅg̡̪ ̩͇̮͈͉̞̻͘a̗͖̻̖̜͠r͍̼̱̮̤͚ͅo͎̖u̦͡n͚̮̣̕d̵̼̰̗͎̙͈͍ ̲͉͍̘̙͈̮t̙̼̤r̰̬y̭̬̺͓͎͍̗i͍̟͕̠n̤̤̩͈͉g̵ ̜̘͙̗̫t̩͉͖o̤͍̪̖ ̡̘̠̪͕̥̺̟s̱̳̤͉t҉͇͔e͇͙ͅa̷̗̪̬̻͓̟l ̼̯͠pe̻̳͉͕̙̻̞o̲̞͘p̵l̶̗̟̰̠e’̶͍̥̩̥̼̻s̬͇̳̦̪ ̮l͔͇̬̠̦͉i̱̭̤̯̕v̟̫̻̜e̠͕s̮̗͉,͍̻̥ ͔͉͚͖̠̝ṋ̨͓͖̘̩͙o̡͇̠̱̘̫t̥̱̥͚ m͔̻̜̗̦e̘̮̗͜.̝̣̻͔͖͡”͔͕̟͜ ̰̣̜

What. The hell. Toshinori’s mind is still full of static and for the life of him, he can’t get rid of it. His line of sight is closing over with static, and judging by the reactions of the people near him, they’re experiencing the same.

“Stop it, I’ll do anything!” the slime villain pleads with him, actually pleads. “Stop it, stop it—!”

Izuku stares him down harder. The villain shrieks and writhes again, thrashing, screaming, and Toshinori’s ears fill with static, too, until he can’t hear anything but a buzz, a garbled, static buzz through his mind and ears.

And then, Yatchi’s arms wrap around Izuku’s leg and squeeze tightly. Her eyes are closed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and—

Something changes. Izuku’s eyes flicker green, for a brief, brief moment—and then the slime villain drops into an unmoving puddle, its one eye closing.  It...probably isn’t dead, Toshinori thinks. Probably.

There’s a beat. The static clears—some of it, at least, but not all of it—and Toshinori shakes his head vigorously, then raises his gaze—

Izuku’s eyes are still golden, and there’s blood running down his face from them, like big, bloody tears.

And then he crumples to the ground.

The static cuts abruptly, giving Toshinori a sudden yank of whiplash, and Yatchi’s screams bring him back to the present fully. The girl shakes Izuku harshly, but Izuku doesn’t move, limp and still with blood on his face beneath his closed eyes.

It takes Yatchi’s scream to bring them all back to the present, actually, and then there’s business around Toshinori again, paramedics rushing forward towards Yatchi and Izuku (tailed by that red-haired kid who’d been shouting for them earlier), and the heroes and police move to secure the unconscious villain.

Toshinori can’t move. Midoriya Izuku, scarred, with eyes of a hardened soldier ready to carry out commands, a boy with knives and scarily accurate aim, a boy who’d seen so many unspoken horrors.

That moment, when Yatchi’s arms squeezed Izuku’s leg and Izuku’s awareness returned, when the green flashed in his irises…

Toshinori had seen fear.

Toshinori had seen pain.

A chuckle. “I suppose you’re stronger than even I gave you credit for, my boy. How intriguing. How...wonderful.”

Chapter Text

Tensei is having a bad day.

Villains have been on the loose and more bold than ever, seemingly, and not only has it been a bad day, but it’s been an incredibly long day as well that just can’t seem to end fast enough.

Right now, he’s on patrol in an abandoned part of the city. A helicopter had spotted a few suspicious looking individuals earlier and reported it to the police station, and the police had sent the memo to the nearest hero agency, who in turn but Ingenium on the case.

It isn’t a problem at all, he just wants this day to be over already.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t complain. Being a hero means helping people, and if he can help someone by investigating this area, well, he’ll do it--

Like on cue, a piercing, grating scream meets Tensei’s ears, and immediately, he stands a little straighter, now fully alert and on the lookout. The scream goes on for a good long while--a child’s screams, a boy’s by the sound of it--and Tensei takes off after it, following the echoing, pained scream down winding roads and streets.

He touches the communicator by his ear. “Headquarters, this is Ingenium, checking in. Downtown, near Shinjuku. I need people on stand-by.”

“Noted, Ingenium. Be careful.”

Tensei cuts the connection and keeps down the street, running. The screams have stopped, leaving a haunted echo of them in Tensei’s ears, and he moves faster. That’d been a child, a young child, scared and hurt and Tensei only hoped they were okay--

Tensei sees him, running. A blur in the darkness, tripping and stumbling, but the silhouette is too small to be anything other than a child.

“H-Hey, wait!” Tensei calls, sprinting after him. A part of him thinks smooth, smooth, real smooth, but he ignores that as best he can and continues to run, chasing after this child with all his might.

And then he feels something, almost physically feels something. It isn’t a solid thing, but rather...something within him. His mind fills with haze and static, and the corners of his vision pixelate, blacks and whites blinking and winking at him as he tries to follow the kid through the streets.

Must be the kid’s Quirk, Tensei thinks, plowing through the invading static as best he can. If he was the one screaming a second ago…

He runs faster. It gets harder the closer he gets to the boy, but no matter, he runs anyway.

He catches up to him.

“Hey, kid, hold on a second! I’m a hero, I’m here to help you--!”

The kid whirls around. His eyes glow a bright gold in the darkness, gold flecked with green, and it’s hard to tell what color his hair is in the bad lighting, but it’s dark, and he’s covered in--

Shit.

Holy--

The boy lashes out at him unexpectedly with a short but grating scream, and Tensei barely has the chance to dodge before the blade of a knife swipes the space he’d occupied a second before. Another knife is thrown at his leg (to keep him from running, Tensei thinks; smart kid), and Tensei dodges again.

“H-Hey, kid, calm down--!”

The kid does not calm down. He runs at Tensei, withdrawing his arm, about to plunge a knife straight into his face. His eyes are gold but they’re also full of such terror and fear unlike anything Tensei has ever seen before.

He lets instincts and training take over, grabbing the kid’s wrist and, and he hates himself for it, twisting the knife out of his grip. The kid’s shoes hit the ground and he thrashes and struggles, still screaming, and the static is worse than before but Tensei pushes through it.

“Hey--heyheyheyheyhey, calm down, calm down,” Tensei says, catching the kid’s other wrist and holding him steady. He’s bleeding from several wounds in several places; Tensei would probably get a headache trying to count all of them. “It’s okay, you’re safe now, calm down. It’s alright, no one will hurt you now.”

The kid finally meets his eyes. They’re half-gold-half-green now, gold covered with green splotches (or maybe it’s the other way around), but it looks like some of his awareness has returned, if some.

The kid opens his mouth. Nothing comes out of it. Tensei reaches over without breaking eye contact, taking the kid’s knives off the ground; immediately, longing flashes in the kid’s wide, scared eyes, and Tensei looks between him and the knives for another moment.

“...Do you want the knives back?”

The kid doesn’t answer, not really; his breath hitches in his throat, and his eyes fill with a new kind of fear.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Tensei says immediately. “I’ll give them back if you promise not to try and stab me again, okay?”

The boy swallows hard, then nods. The movement is shaky and desperate, and Tensei hands the knives over with a small, “Okay, here.” The kid snatches them away at once, clutching them close; Tensei has half a mind to remind the kid to be careful with them, but all things considered, he doesn’t.

“Now,” Tensei says, trying to be gentle, “we have to--kid!”

His eyes roll back in his head, and Tensei swoops in to catch him when he falls. Unconscious. Still bleeding.

Tensei touches the earpiece again. “Heya, headquarters? Ingenium, requesting backup.” The kid’s breathing is deeper now than before, but his breath wheezes. “Send an ambulance, hurry.”

“Noted. We’ll be with you shortly.”

It’s a mess.

All of it.

Now that he’s been brought to something like awareness again, Toshinori hears the sirens of the arriving firetrucks and ambulances. The boy from earlier with spiky red hair is comforting the little girl; her face is buried in his stomach, and her hands fist handfuls of his shirt. He’s patting her head calmingly while giving a testimony to the police; said officer is jotting down everything he says on a notebook.

The ambulance has already loaded Izuku onto a stretcher. He’s unconscious, face a ghastly pale with blood running down his cheeks from his eyes, almost like tears. Those eyes had been open a minute ago, bright gold and deadly and blank.

But also afraid. In those moments of awareness brought back to him by Yatchi’s arms around his leg, there had been fear and pain in the boy’s flickering eyes.

Toshinori has already assumed the boy’s been through hell. This much has always been obvious, what with those jagged, broken scars all over his skin, that exhausted but dead look in his lightless eyes…

But this is further confirmation.

“Toshinori.”

Toshinori turns; Naomasa starts towards him, eyes full of concern, but also a sense of solemness and professionalism.

“Tsukauchi,” Toshinori greets, turning to him.

“The villain is still alive,” Naomasa says, getting right down to business for now. “I can say pretty confidently that he’ll be serving a lifetime in prison for what he’s done.”

Toshinori nods stiffly. A roll of thunder echoes through the sky as the paramedics load Izuku into an ambulance and promptly take off for the nearest hospital. Toshinori watches the ambulance until the lights fade out of sight, then turns back to Naomasa.

“That boy,” Naomasa says. “Do you know him?”

“...Sort of,” Toshinori answers. “We met briefly on a different encounter with the same villain. I’d gotten there to save the boy, but, honestly, he was doing just fine on his own.”

Naomasa nods. “I’m assuming this is why the villain only has one functioning eye.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.” Naomasa looks at where the ambulance had disappeared down the street, then shakes his head. “It takes a lot of mental strength to do something like that, even in self-defense…” He stops suddenly, like he had just remembered a long-forgotten answer on a test. “...Do you know the boys’ name?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

Naomasa’s eyes fill with something odd, something Toshinori can’t put his finger on. “I see,” Naomasa says, turning away.

Toshinori frowns. “You’ve heard of him?”

Naomasa releases a sharp exhale through his nose. “There isn’t a detective in the region who hasn’t heard his name.”

Toshinori’s breath catches in his throat, but before he has the chance to say anything else, they’re approached by the red-haired boy, who is carrying the girl against his hip.

“H-Hey, sorry for interrupting,” he says, hoisting the girl up further, “a-and this might be a bad time, but me and Midoriya--” He pauses and winces. “We were taking this girl to the police station when we were attacked by that...thing. I found her alone this morning. She’s deaf, and I have no idea where her parents are.”

“Oh,” Naomasa says, nodding. “yes, thank you for looking after her. Would you mind accompanying us to the station? It won’t take long to locate her parents and give them a call.”

The boy nods immediately. “Yeah, I don’t mind,” he says. “Thanks.”

He’s keeping level-headed about all of this, Toshinori thinks briefly. Despite the situation, he’s keeping a level-head about this.

He doesn’t really dwell on it for very long; Naomasa says his farewells and gets in the police car with Kirishima and Yatchi, and while they speed out of sight, Toshinori contemplates what to do.

In the end, his feet carry him to the hospital. The words, “What is it that makes a hero?” run through his mind constantly, like a broken record.

There’s a woman pleading earnestly with a nurse when Toshinori reaches the hospital. She isn’t frantic, isn’t panicking, just very, very earnest. And maybe a little desperate.

“You have to let me see him,” she’s saying, and it almost, almost sounds like a demand. “Please. It’s important.”

The nurse looks at her helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but until he stabilizes, we can’t allow any visitations. He’s on heavy Quirk suppressants as it is, we don’t know--”

“You don’t understand.” She reaches out, taking the nurse by the arm and looking him dead in the eyes. “If he wakes up alone like this, in this place, he’s going to panic. He’s going to freak out, and he’s going to end up hurting someone, or himself. Please, just...let me see him.”

Izuku’s mother. There...isn’t much resemblance, honestly, aside from the few green streaks in Izuku’s hair that matches this woman’s, but there isn’t any doubt about it, in the end.

This woman is Izuku’s mother.

The nurse looks torn, and after another second--after closer inspecting the raw desperation in the woman’s eyes--he nods.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and the woman nods while he turns away and disappears down the hallway. The woman watches him leave, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The way she spoke, the words she used...this has happened before. Maybe not this exact scenario, but the basic gist. It’s happened before.

Izuku had been hospitalized like this before.

And, judging by the woman’s desperation, the results had been disastrous.

Eventually, the nurse returns and tells the woman that, yes, she can see her son now, and she follows the nurse back down the hall from whence he’d come, and Toshinori watches them go, a bit torn.

Midoriya Izuku.

Toshinori doesn’t know why, but something about the boy--his eyes, his suffering, his scars, the words, “What is it that makes a hero?” --really hits him hard. He doesn’t hang around the hospital (he sees no point to), but he makes a mental note to return at a later date.

It’s dark.

That’s the very first thing he notices when he regains consciousness. It isn’t the fog in his head or the tiredness of his limbs; it isn’t the tubes against his arms and face, or even the dull but painful burn in his chest.

No. It’s the fact that it’s completely dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

“Ha, what a brat. Think you can talk like that and get away with it? Well, I’ll show you what happens when you mouth off to me.”

Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

“Stop screaming! The sooner you stop yellin’ at me, the sooner I’ll let you out!”

Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Something reaches out and touches his forearm. Very lightly, very gently, barely enough to bring him back to reality, but once he’s there he’s able to keep a firm grip on himself, sucking in long, deep breaths (he’d been holding it a second ago; he hadn’t even realized it).

Mom.

It’s mom.

The dark is still there but he’s reminded that it’s temporary. His ears are ringing. He hears and sees nothing. But he can feel that touch, gentle and soft and just a little bit hesitant, trying. Giving him space.

He reaches for her, and she threads her fingers through his and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back and tries to swallow the lump in his throat with little success.

His mother loosens her hold on his hand, but doesn’t let go entirely. For a second, he wonders what she’s doing; and then, he feels a small weight dip what he assumes is the hospital bed.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And then he feels something rub against his cheek. Something soft and warm and vibrating gently. Other similar somethings climb on his chest or nuzzle under his arms.

He feels his mother bend his fingers into letters.

I s n u c k t h e m i n

Izuku squeezes her hand, hoping she realizes what this means to him.

She does.

Izuku’s sight, along with the rest of his senses, come back all at once the next day. His hospital room is stark white, and the distinct, familiar smell of it makes his stomach churn. At least mom is here, her and his kittens. That’s the only good thing about this situation.

“They’re going to take you off of Quirk suppressants a little later on today, when they’re sure it’s stabilized,” Mom informs him softly, petting one of his kittens in her lap. “After that, they’re going to send you home.”

Izuku nods stiffly, looking down at his scarred hands. “Are...are my eyes back to normal, or…?”

“Hmm, here.”

She takes his chin in her hand gently and looks into his eyes for a long moment. After that, she smiles and sits back in her chair once again.

“There are a few gold speckles left,” she says, “but you can’t see them unless you’re really looking for them.”

Izuku nods, fiddling with the edge of the scratchy hospital blanket. Just the feeling brings back unwanted memories.

His mother notices. “Do you want me to bring you anything from home?” she asks.

So far, she’s brought him the six kittens and two knives, both of which sit on the bedside table; normally Izuku would be clutching them, but he’s decided to hold Fluffy right now instead.

Izuku nods. His mother doesn’t ask exactly what he wants; she knows him pretty well, so chances are she’ll guess correctly. She smiles and rises to her feet, leaning over and kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll be back,” she says, a promise; he nods, and she heads off. He doesn’t look away until the door closes behind her.

He’s okay on his own--or, he supposes, he isn’t really on his own, with the kittens constantly crawling over him and snuggling down once they’ve found a comfortable position. Izuku is exhausted, but he doesn’t sleep, can’t sleep. He has a hard time sleeping naturally as it is, but add recent events onto all of that…

Mom gets back reasonably quickly, with his favorite white-blue tye-dyed hoodie and a blanket of the same color. He feels better, once he’s wearing the hoodie and the blanket is wrapped around him tightly; just the familiar feeling brings a lovely sense of comfort to him, and he relishes in it.

“I spoke with Kagami-san earlier,” Mom says, sinking back into the chair by the bedside. “Your next session with him isn’t supposed to be for another three weeks, but he said if you’d like, he could meet with you sometime this week instead. What do you think?”

Kagami-san. His therapist. Izuku has always liked him; the man has a very gentle, comforting air about him, he always had, which was exactly what Izuku needed.

Izuku waits for a bit, thinking. “...I’ll...think about it,” he answers finally. “I-I think...I-I’ll be okay, but, just in case…”

Mom nods. “Alright,” she says, smiling softly. “I’ll tell him. Let me know when you make up your mind, okay?”

Izuku nods back. “I-I will, Inko-san.”

(Inko-san, a step up from Midoriya-san. He doesn’t know why, but he’s...never been able to bring himself to call her “Mom” to her face.)

She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s never seemed to mind. She’s always had an endless amount of patience for him; Izuku has no idea where she gets it all from.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she says, threading her fingers through his hair for a moment. She smiles again, this time focusing on his mop of black hair. “When we get home,” she says, “let’s re-do the dye, alright?”

That’s another thing; she’s always seemed to know exactly what he’s feeling. It’s taken time to get here, where they are now, but they made it, and there’s only moving forward from this point on.

Izuku nods. “S-Sounds good.”

“Oh.” She pauses for a moment, withdrawing her hand. “I spoke with one of the detectives on the police force,” she says. “He’d like to speak with you, if you think you’re up to it.”

Oh.

Um.

Izuku has...never been a fan of interacting with people, and if this had been two years ago and Mom was asking this question--well, first of all, she wouldn’t consider asking this question, already knowing his answer was a solid no, but second, he wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

Now, though…

“That’s okay,” Izuku says, nodding as though to reassure himself. “I-I think I’ll be okay. When do they wanna talk?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Izuku swallows, absentmindedly stroking Marshmallow’s fur. “...I...I-I think I’m ready now.”

Mom nods, rising to her feet again. “You know the gesture, if you change your mind,” she says. “If anything makes you uncomfortable or you feel threatened, don’t hesitate, okay?”

Izuku nods back. “I won’t.”

Two people enter the hospital room; someone Izuku doesn’t recognize, and All Might (but not the “All Might” the world knows him as; this is the All Might Izuku met on the roof, maimed and scarred by a villain many years ago). Mom is right behind them, and of course she is.

“Hello, Midoriya-kun,” the stranger greets, extending a hand to Izuku (he’s cautious, Izuku notices; not pushy at all, waiting for Izuku to make the next move). “I’m Naomasa. This is Toshinori, a friend of mine who also helps out on the force.”

Not technically a lie, Izuku thinks, then reaches out and shakes Naomasa’s hand. He feels no threat from the officer. He must know about All Might’s true identity, then.

“If you don’t mind,” Naomasa says, withdrawing his hand, “I do have a couple of questions I would like to ask you regarding the slime villain.”

Izuku nods. “I-I don’t mind,” he says, and he says it to both him and Naomasa. A little extra reassurance to himself never hurts.

Naomasa nods and takes an empty chair by the bed. Toshinori and Mom move to stand elsewhere, Toshinori to the side and Mom on the other side of the bed.

Naomasa pulls out a small notebook and a pen. “I’ll keep this short,” he says, flipping open the notebook. “And then I’ll let you rest. There are only a few things I would like you to clarify for me.”

Izuku nods again, petting Kittles beneath the hospital blanket, and Naomasa launches off the questions, one after the other, and Izuku fires back his answers.

“Have you and this villain had any encounters in the past before today?”

“Once. I met him under a bridge.”

“Hmm. And you gouged his eye out in self-defense?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did he want with you, originally?”

“Something about taking over my body, I think. I didn’t really give him much of a chance to say anything else.”

“I see. And…”

It goes on like this for some time, simple questions, rapid fire. Izuku has no trouble answering, which is...odd, considering it usually takes more time for him to recover after episodes.

Maybe he’s getting better. The thought sends a happy little leap through his chest.

After the questions, Naomasa has Izuku confirm a few other things from other eyewitness accounts, things that’d happened when the slime villain attacked the second time. Izuku confirms it all with a consistent “yes”; the information is accurate (although he does have to fill in a blank here and there).

“Well, I do believe that’s all from me,” Naomasa says, rising to his feet and tucking his notebook into the pocket of his coat. “Thank you for your time, Midoriya-kun. I’m sorry we had to do this so suddenly after the incident.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, nodding, once again to himself and Naomasa. “Thank you. The villain, is he…?”

“Behind bars,” Naomasa assures him, nodding firmly. “And he’s going to stay there for a long, long time, don’t worry.”

Izuku lets out a long breath. It isn’t exactly a sigh, merely an exhale. At least he won’t have to worry about the slime villain again.

“Inko-san.” Naomasa turns to his mother, and she meets his gaze. “If you have a moment, I would like to speak with you outside.”

“Of course,” Mom says, nodding--and then she stops and turns to Izuku. “Will you be okay?”

Izuku nods. “I’ll be fine.”

Mom smiles and nods once in acknowledgement. Naomasa turns from her towards Toshinori, still standing on the other side of the room. He has yet to say anything.

“Toshinori--” Naomasa says.

And then Toshinori finally speaks.

“If it’s alright with you, Inko-san,” Toshinori says, straightening up and fully facing Mom for a moment, then turning towards Izuku, “I would like to speak with your son for a moment.”

Oh.

He probably wants answers. It’s fair enough, Izuku thinks; after all, who wouldn’t want answers, after what happened earlier?

Mom looks from him, to Izuku, then back to him. “If Izuku doesn’t mind,” she says, “and if he’s comfortable with it, then I have no complaints. Izuku?”

Izuku looks at Toshinori for a long moment.

Not a threat.

He nods. “It’s fine,” he says, and he actually believes the words this time. He doesn’t have to do any extra convincing. “If...If I feel overwhelmed I’ll ask him to leave.”

Mom nods once, then follows Naomasa out, leaving Izuku and Toshinori behind. Toshinori doesn’t do anything for the longest of moments; and then, he crosses the room and sinks into the chai by the bedside that Naomasa had occupied moments before. One of the kittens--Rainbow--pokes its head from under the blanket and mrows at Toshinori questioningly, and Izuku exhales sharply through his nose at the look of awestruck confusion on Toshinori’s face.

The moment passes very quickly, though. Izuku glances at the clear liquid in the bag on the IV stand; Quirk suppressants, leaving an odd, constricted feeling within him that he only notices when he thinks about it.

“...You want answers, right?” Izuku says stiffly. “That’s why you’re here.”

Toshinori feels like he’s being called out, but...he assumes it’s only fair. He’d come, first and foremostly, to make sure Izuku was alright, but now that he knows the kid is alright, he’s brought to his second reason for being here, his second reason for asking Naomasa if he could accompany him to the hospital.

There’s a story here. A story behind each scar on Izuku’s skin, a story behind those dead eyes. A story behind that Quirk.

“I won’t lie,” Toshinori says, folding his hands loosely together. “Ever since I met you…”

“I’m strange, right?”

Toshinori blinks. “I wasn’t going--”

“You were thinking it,” Izuku cuts in. “And that’s...that’s okay. I think it, too. I don’t think…” He stops, takes in a breath. “I don’t think there’s anything about me that isn’t seriously messed up.”

His tone of voice here is odd. Resigned, even. He doesn’t sound upset or frustrated, or even angry, merely... accepting. Like this is a truth he’s already grasped and he will refuse to hear anything else.

“...Midoriya, my boy--”

“D-Don’t.”

Toshinori’s breath gets stuck in his throat. Izuku’s tone is completely different now, small and...desperate.

“D-Don’t call me that,” he says.

“...Midoriya?”

“N-No, the...the other thing.”

And Toshinori doesn’t understand it, but then again, he doesn’t understand a lot about this boy, and either way, it’s not his place to question.

So he doesn’t. He nods, making a mental note to never call Izuku that again. “Alright. I won’t call you that.”

Izuku nods stiffly.

“...What happened earlier,” Toshinori says, “and...and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. You owe me no answers. But before, with the villain…”

“I wanted to kill him.”

It comes out so suddenly that Toshinori feels like he’s been physically beaten upside the head with the words. He’d been meaning to inquire about Izuku’s Quirk, not...not that.

“I wanted to kill him,” Izuku says, and his hands ball into fists against the blanket over his legs. “If...if Y-Yatchi hadn’t snapped me out of it when she did, I-I...I think...I-I honestly think I would have.”

There’s blood and bile in Toshinori’s throat, and he fights to swallow it back. His next words come slowly, hesitantly, and he knows they aren’t the right words to say in this kind of situation, but they flow anyway.

“...Have you ever...killed anyone, Midoriya?”

There’s a long pause.

“...No. I haven’t,” Izuku says, “but...I’ve...I’ve come close. Really, really close. My Quirk, you...you saw what it did to the slime villain, r-right? You know what it can do.”

An image of the slime villain, screaming and writhing in pain in the alleyway springs into Toshinori’s mind. He chases it away quickly.

“It’s why I asked you what I did, back on the roof,” Izuku goes on. “About ‘what makes a hero,’ and whether or not I could be one...my Quirk, it’s…”

His next words are small.

“...It’s a villain’s Quirk.”

Toshinori feels vaguely like he’s been stabbed in the gut, but no, this is finally something he can help with. He knows what to say, right now. He can finally say something that would help Izuku.

“No, it isn’t a villain’s Quirk, Midoriya,” Toshinori says quickly. “It isn’t. It’s your power, and whether it’s a villain’s or a hero’s depends on what you--”

“N-No, that’s not...that’s not what I mean.” He raises his head, meeting Toshinori’s eyes with his own blank, dead ones. “It is literally a villain’s Quirk. It doesn’t...exactly...belong to me.”

...And once again, Toshinori is stumbling for something to say.

He comes up empty. He has no idea how to respond to that, or even what that means.

“...Midoriya…you don’t have to tell me,” Toshinori assures him, and then, “but...if you want to share...I’m listening.”  

If he’s truthful with himself, he wants to know. He’s invested with this boy’s case at this point, and more than that, he’s worried for him. He’s concerned about this child.

Izuku takes in a long, deep breath and holds it for a long, long while.

“...There were three of us.”

All other thoughts fade away, and Toshinori rests his chin on his knuckles and listens.

“...I...I-I don’t know why we were there or what he wanted from us,” Izuku says, and it’s really, really hard to tell exactly what he’s feeling, by his tone of voice. “But, there were three of us. Me, another boy, a-and--”

His voice stops. There’s a pause. Then he continues.

“...We were training to be villains,” Izuku goes on. “O-Or, they were training us to be villains. The reason I got so good at fighting was because they made me. I-If I didn’t do what they wanted, they…”

Toshinori takes in a breath. “Midori--”

“There was this one villain,” Izuku interrupts, plunging forward. “He was the leader’s second in command, or-or something. He hated us. W-When we didn’t do what he wanted, or when we talked back to him, he--disobeyed his own orders and, he--he--”

Toshinori feels a sudden rush of something--the kind of feeling he gets when he sees a person in distress, when he sees someone backed into a corner and wants nothing more than to save them.

“...When I was...nine,” Izuku goes on, “we were--the three of us, I-I mean, we...we were brought by our leader to this...building. We had...we had no idea…”

His voice is picking up speed.

“...Midoriya, if you want to stop--”

Izuku doesn’t stop. He probably can’t stop at this point. “He brought us there, and--and there was that villain. The one who...the one who always hurt us, the one who...w-who always yelled at us. He was tied up, w-with his hands behind his back, and he--”

Toshinori almost doesn’t want to know, but he’s invested now, and Izuku doesn’t seem like he’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“--He was scared,” Izuku says, and yes, that is a strain in his voice. He is struggling. “It...it was the first time any of us had seen him scared like that. A-And then, our leader, he--he gave Ko-chan a knife, a-and…he told her to kill him.”

This story is going south, Toshinori knows it. There’s a reason for Izuku’s scars, for Izuku’s pain, and he feels like this might be it, he feels it but he doesn’t want to, he almost, almost doesn’t want to hear the rest of it.

“She didn’t,” Izuku says, voice suddenly sharp. “She didn’t, a-and--and our leader, he, he knew she wouldn’t be able to, he knew, but he still--”

Oh no.

No, no, no, no--

“He killed her,” Izuku chokes. “He killed her, r-right in front of me, a-and...and I couldn’t...I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

There’s a sudden rush of silence, a sudden rush of nothingness that mirrors Toshinori’s current thought process. When his train of thought is back on the rails, it speeds on relentlessly, and all he can think of is children, they were children, Izuku and this girl, they were children--

“After that, I...I rebelled,” Izuku goes on, and the strain from his voice is gone, replaced with this bitter something. “I told him I wanted no part in what he was doing and that I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t stand around and tolerate it anymore. A-And then...and then he grabbed me. I-I don’t...at the time, I-I didn’t know, exactly, what he did, but--he forced one on me. A Quirk, I mean.”

Oh.

…

Oh--

“I think…” Izuku takes in a breath, holds it, then lets it go and keeps going. “I think he did it thinking it’d...thinking it’d slow me down, or maybe--maybe even kill me. But...”

He lowers his head, and his hands shake.

“...He underestimated the strength of someone who’d already lost everything.”  

Toshinori puts all other thoughts out of his mind and focuses on this boy in front of him, this boy who’d been through hell, who’d literally witnessed what sounds like a horrible, gruesome murder--and not only that, but the murder of someone he knew. The murder of someone…

...Someone he probably called a friend.

“Were you two...close?” Toshinori asks, hardly wanting to voice the question at all. “The girl, was she...was she a friend?”

“My sister.”

“...Oh.”

There’s a moment that follows in which Toshinori feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest.

“...Our parents didn’t want us,” Izuku says. “They left us for dead. Ko-chan was...I think she was three, and I was...two years younger than her, so one. The villains found us and raised us and one more to be like them. Right up until…”

Toshinori nods stiffly. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s why I want to be a hero so badly,” Izuku goes on. “Because...I-I mean, after what happened to K-Ko...the thought of that happening to anyone else, just...I-I...I can’t take it.”

“I understand,” Toshinori says, but it’s a lie, he doesn’t understand. There’s no possible way he could understand even a tiny bit of what this boy has gone through, the things he’s seen.

“But I can’t,” Izuku says sharply, and Toshinori feels almost physically yanked by the whiplash. “My Quirk, it’s...it’s…i-it belongs to a villain. It’s...it’s a villain’s Quirk. I can’t be a hero with it.”

“...What exactly does your Quirk do, Midoriya?”

“I can twist and warp a person’s senses,” Izuku answers simply. It feels rehearsed. “I have little to no control over it, though. It’s just...output. I can’t direct all of it at a single person. Some of it slips through the cracks either way.”

“Senses,” Toshinori repeats, and Izuku nods.

“That includes most of your nerves,” Izuku elaborates. “S-Since pain is a feeling and feelings are senses, I--I can twist that, too. Amplify it, or take it away. But I can’t really control it fully. It’s...it’s foreign, this Quirk. It...it’s like an extra limb was sewn onto me. It’s there, but...I can’t...really control it.”

A Quirk, forced on him. Toshinori has a serious sense of deja vu--he’s heard this before. Stories of people with Quirks forced upon them against their will. A villain with the ability to do that.

“...Your eyes,” Toshinori says, remembering. “...They were bleeding.”

Izuku doesn’t flinch. “I can’t turn it off.”

“...What?”

“My Quirk,” Izuku says, looking at him. Toshinori can still see golden flecks in his irises. “I can’t turn it off. The most I can do, to keep from hurting anyone I don’t want to hurt...is redirect it on myself.”

It’s like something out of a horror film, really. And, like something out of a horror film, Toshinori doesn’t want to believe any of it is real.

But it is. It makes sense now.

“...And that’s why,” Izuku says, “I can’t be a hero. This Quirk, it isn’t...it isn’t even mine. I can’t--I can’t become a hero with a power that doesn’t belong to me--”

“Yes you can.”

Izuku’s head snaps up. “What?”

Toshinori folds his hands together and takes in a breath.

I can’t give One For All to this kid. It would literally destroy him, mentally, physically, emotionally.

But…

“...Let me tell you the story,” Toshinori begins. “About how I became a hero.”

And then, he tells him. Not the whole story. He leaves out the part of All For One and the origins of One For All, but aside from that, he leaves nothing hidden. He tells Izuku about One For All, knowing the boy will keep it a secret, and the boy listens attentively, eyes wide and full of...something Toshinori can’t be sure of.

But he tells him. Toshinori tells him the story; himself, Quirkless, a mentor who believed in him, who gave him power so that he could become a hero.

“...It seems almost improper,” Toshinori says, once he’s finished, “to compare it with your situation, but...your power, Midoriya...it belongs to you. Not the villain who gave it to you. This power is yours, and it’s for you to use however you like.”

Izuku ducks his head. Toshinori can’t see his eyes. “I can’t,” Izuku breathes.

“You can,” Toshinori says.

“I can’t!” Izuku snaps, and he sounds genuinely distressed. “I can’t control it, don’t you know!? I wanted to kill him, there’s no way you can think that’s okay--!”

“The villain,” Toshinori cuts in, “was going to murder you. And he was going to murder that little girl. You had to be snapped out of it, but, Izuku...you were snapped out of it. And I think...if you wanted to, and only if you wanted to…”

He pauses. Izuku says nothing.

“...You can become a hero.”

The words hang in the air for a good long while. When Izuku’s voice comes back, it’s strained and soft.

“...I don’t think I can.”

“I know you can,” Toshinori says. “And...if you’ll allow me...I’d like to help you.”

Izuku looks up at him again. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll help you,” Toshinori repeats. “If you want to be a hero, if that’s your goal...I’m not perfect, and I don’t expect you to accept my help right away, or even at all, but if you’d like, I could help train and prepare you.”

Izuku’s eyes shine. It’s not much, but they shine. The gold is almost completely gone now, leaving behind deep green.

“...You...You would do that,” Izuku says, and Toshinori thinks it’s a question, even though it’s posed as a statement. “Even though you know my story, even though you know where I came from...even though you know what I am--”

“Who, Midoriya,” Toshinori corrects, “who, not what. Don’t degrade yourself like that.”

“But--” Izuku blinks, looking caught somewhere between confused and helpless. “I...I grew up a villain, how--”

“Your roots do not define the person you become,” Toshinori cuts in, before he can degrade himself again. “That’s up to you, Midoriya.”

The silence stretches on for what feels like decades. For a moment, Toshinori doesn’t think it will ever break.

And then,

“...I accept,” Izuku says, looking at him again. “I...I’ll have to ask my mom, first, and make sure she’s okay with it, but...as for me, I...I think I’ll be okay. With you training me.”

Toshinori nods. “And only if you’re sure,” he says. “You can back out any time.”

“I’ll be okay,” Izuku says, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Toshinori-san. I...I’ll become a hero.”

And Toshinori sees something new in his eyes, as he utters those words. He’s seen anger and fear and pain in Izuku’s gaze before, but now, as he looks into the boy’s eyes…

...He sees determination.

Toshinori smiles. He wants to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair, but doesn’t. “I’m glad,” he says instead, smiling. “You’re going to be a great hero, Midoriya. I know it.”

Izuku doesn’t smile--Toshinori isn’t sure he can--but his eyes shine brighter than ever before.

Chapter Text

“I wanted to assure you that your son will not receive any sort of punishment for his actions today,” Naomasa says, once he and Inko are alone in the hallway outside the hospital room. “Considering the position he was in and the stress he was under, it wouldn’t be fair for us to hand out any form of punishment, despite his Quirk usage against the villain being technically against the law.”

Inko nods. It’s hard to read this woman, Naomasa thinks; either way, he isn’t about to get in the way of her and her son. She gives off this vibe, and he has no doubt she’d tear him or anyone else into pieces if they tried harming her boy.

“I wanted to speak with you regarding his Quirk and his medical complications,” Naomasa continues. “I have it down that the request for Quirk suppressants was accepted...five years ago?”

“Around five years ago,” Inko confirms, nodding shortly. “We only use them if we suspect his Quirk could go haywire, and it’s a considerably light dosage, just enough to force it down.”

Naomasa nods. “I was speaking to our higher-up in light of the villain attack,” he continues, “and we’ve sent in clearance for him to carry stronger Quirk suppressants with him at all times. Not just for his own safety, but for the safety of the people around him.”

She nods again, taking this in. “That makes sense,” she says, and although she isn’t the easiest person to read, Naomasa can definitely see pain in her eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate you talking to me about this.”

“Ah, it’s the least I can do,” Naomasa says, and it really, really is; he doesn’t know a whole lot about Inko or her son, but he knows enough. He was one of the detectives leading the investigation, after the kid was brought in by Ingenium six years ago.

“Thank you for your time.” Naomasa bows, then straightens up. “I’ll let you get back to your son.” When he thinks about it, he pulls a notebook from his pocket, jots something down, then tears out the page and hands it to her. “Feel free to call me any time. The doctors should get back to you on Midoriya-kun’s Quirk suppressants soon.”

Inko takes the slip of paper, looks at it a moment, then folds it in half and stows it in her pocket. “Thank you,” she says, and Naomasa merely nods and tips his hat.

The door of the hospital room opens, and out steps Toshinori. In all his years of knowing him, Naomasa doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man look more drawn and exhausted.

The farewells are bid, and while Inko returns to the hospital room with her son, Toshinori and Naomasa flank each other and start down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“So,” Naomasa says, quietly, “you spoke to him? The boy?”

Toshinori takes in a breath. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “...That poor kid…”

Naomasa nods stiffly.

“How much do you know, about his situation?” Toshinori asks, and Naomasa sighs heavily.

“I know whatever the investigation team managed to scavenge. That he was born without a Quirk but ended up with one, that there’s no record of him anywhere, and…”

Toshinori’s eyes bear into his. “And?”

“...He escaped the hospital once or twice, after Ingenium found him,” Naomasa says stiffly. “He was on Quirk suppressants back then, so he couldn’t blow away the staff with his power, but he got past the security every time. We always chased him down, in the end, before he got very far, but...eventually, we decided to investigate in the direction he was headed.”

Toshinori says nothing.

“We found a building,” Naomasa goes on. “Way, way out there, in part of an abandoned suburb. It was structurally unstable at first, so we had a group of heroes come in and secure it before we carried out the investigation. We found...well, we found villains, first of all. Several of them, in deep states of unconsciousness. Also…”

The double doors open for them, and they step out of the hospital, into the light of the setting sun.

“...We found the body of a young girl,” Naomasa says. “We did a DNA sample, and…”

“Kowareta,” Toshinori says, and Naomasa turns to him. “She was Midoriya’s older sister.”

Naomasa nods stiffly, and in his mind he wonders what kind of twisted people would murder a little girl, murder a child, but he’s been a detective long enough to know that the world really is just that sick and demented, that there are people out there—villains, monsters—who would do such a thing.

“The doctors examined her body to determine what actually killed her,” Naomasa goes on, “and from the x-rays...it looked like every bone in her body had been twisted and snapped. Her internal organs were damaged beyond what could be fixed, and if that didn’t kill her already, the bloodloss would’ve.”

It makes his stomach twist, thinking about this, but he turns towards Toshinori and doesn’t let it show.

“...And now you’ve spoken with the boy, too,” Naomasa says. “So you know his side of the story?”

Toshinori nods stiffly, pain and exhaustion ebbed deep in his eyes. “...Tsukauchi...that girl, Kowareta...and Midoriya, his Quirk…”

“...All For One,” Naomasa says simply. They’re both thinking it. “He’s the only villain out there that can forcefully put Quirks on people like that, not to mention keep an operation like that so under wraps…”

“He forced something onto her, too,” Toshinori says. “Kowareta. All For One knew she wouldn’t be able to handle having a Quirk forced onto her, so he killed her by doing exactly that.”

Naomasa takes in a breath through his nose. He feels suddenly very drained. “That’s what it looks like, yeah.”

Toshinori looks down for a long moment, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I hope that bastard burns in hell.”

Naomasa lets out a breath, but nods his agreement. “We can at least be glad that you defeated him, when you did,” he says. “By the way it sounds, you fought him a year or so after Midoriya-kun was rescued by Ingenium. He’s long gone now.”

Toshinori nods, the movement small. “...I do have one last question,” he says, looking up. “The boy, Midoriya...does he know? How Kowareta was killed?”

Naomasa’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

“...No. No, he doesn’t.”

“Damn brat, this is the third time we’ve had to treat her for cuts. Do you care about her at all? Do you even give a damn that one slip of the knife could literally kill her?”

“No, I-I do care, I-I do—!”

“Then you’ll work harder at your aim. We ain’t gonna keep treating her injuries. If you don’t want her to die, you’ll do literally whatever you can to handle those knives better. Do you understand me?”

“I-I do, I-I do, I promise.”

His forearm is bandaged—he hadn’t noticed it before, but he remembers being cut by a piece of torn up car that’d been flung at him. He sighs, reaching over and running his fingers along the bandages.

“Ko-chan?”

Her arms are bandaged. Both of them. “What’s up?” she asks, turning to look at him. They have a room, not a cage, but even their shared bedroom is dehumanizing. There are three beds, small. A window way up high. Dark walls.

Very dark.

“A-Are...your arms,” he says, moving towards where she’s sitting on the floor, fiddling with a small pocket knife idly. Knives are usually his thing, but she’s been trained, too. Not as intensely as him, but still. “...The gashes, do you think they’ll...do you think they’ll scar?”

Ko-chan shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, scooting aside needlessly and patting the spot next to her. He sinks down, drawing his knees to his chest. “Either way, I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says, and his eyes burn. “I care.”

She gives him a look. “Listen,” she says, “I know you care, but...it’s like I said before. If you weren’t forced to do this, you wouldn’t, and I know you wouldn’t. You just have to...you have to remember that, Kitten. You have to remember that. Okay?”

“...Okay.”

Another scar, probably, he thinks, clenching his teeth behind his lips. Great.

It’s...quiet, in the hospital room. The doctors are going to be taking him off Quirk suppressants soon, which is good; if his Quirk comes back on, though, they’ll have to keep injecting him. Usually a few doses of Quirk suppressants turns off his Quirk—”resets it,” so to say. He only hopes it happens quickly, he’s never been the biggest fan of hospitals and even though he has most of the comforts of home here with him—Mom, blankets, his kittens, and his favorite hoodie—he still misses his own room. The white walls aren’t bad—at least they aren’t black—but he’d rather they be colorful.

Mom is perched on the chair in the corner of the room, filling out a clipboard, and Izuku’s kittens are curled either on top of him or beside him. Their warmth and purrs makes him feel at home, when he shuts his eyes to block out the view of the hospital room.

He doesn’t say anything, and his mother doesn’t, either. The silence is welcoming, and Izuku has half a mind to fall asleep again then and there (and only half a mind—the other part of him, the part closest in touch with recent events, would keep him awake with a fear of the nightmares he knows would come).

And then there’s a knock at the door, and Mom looks up as Izuku turns his head. Mom rises to her feet, settling the clipboard down on her chair behind her before crossing the room.

She opens it. Izuku can see the doctor just beyond the threshold.

“I have two people in the waiting room who would like to see Midoriya-kun,” the doctor explains. “A little girl, and an older man. I told them I would have to ask the two of you first, make sure you were alright with it.”

Yatchi. The little girl has to be Yatchi. As for the man...perhaps Yatchi’s father?

Mom turns to look at him, and although she says nothing, Izuku can see the unspoken question written clearly on her face.

“...Maybe...for a little bit,” Izuku says. Talking with Toshinori earlier had been...draining, to put it lightly, and while it hadn’t been especially hard to tell the man about his past, once he’d started...it still took a lot out of him, to remember.

He’s glad he did it, though.

Mom nods to the doctor, who leaves with a promise to return shortly. Mom doesn’t move back to her spot in the corner, rather staying by the door to await the arrivals, and Izuku pushes himself into a sitting position. He isn’t nearly as exhausted as before, and it isn’t hard. Rainbow gives a little mrrow of protest when he moves, but soon enough the kitten is making itself comfortable again by his side.

And then the door bursts open, and in tumbles Yatchi.

There’s no moment, no second, no time to prepare himself or even call out; Yatchi barrels across the room as fast as she can and promptly dives right into Izuku’s arms.

“Come on, come on, we’re nearly there!”

“I-I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, stumbling as Ko-chan drags him along. “I-If we get caught—”

“We just won’t get caught, then, it’s that simple!” she says, beaming at him, and somehow that smile erases his worries, cuts through the dark like a powerful flashlight. “Besides, we might never get another chance like this! We have to!”

There’s something about the tone of her voice, that smile on her face, that has him agreeing with her. They head down the winding corridors—they’ve done this often, they know this terrain well—and finally come to an enormous door at the end of the tunnel.

It’s not locked, they know this. He and Ko-chan reach out and began pulling and tugging on the handle until eventually, at long, long last, they manage to open it. A breeze of cold, biting wind hits him in the face, through his thin clothing, everywhere, but it’s...it’s somehow the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt.

“Come on, hurry!” Ko-chan says, beaming again, and she takes him by the forearm and pulls him outside, into the night. It’s not like they can escape; surrounding them on all sides is a legitimate electric fence, and they know from past attempts that it is not something to be messed around with.

Ko-chan lets go of his arm. The building lays behind them and the fence ahead, but he feels almost free outside, in the cold, in the wind. He feels real.

Ko-chan tilts her head back, and he stops alongside her and follows her gaze.

Above them stretch millions of stars. It’s dark above, dark behind, dark all around, but the stars are there, bright and brilliant, and...he’s never seen them like this before. He’s never seen anything so increible.

“...Wow,” he breathes, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. It feels unnatural, on his face, but perfect at the same time. “...It’s...it’s so pretty, Ko-chan…”

Her hand squeezes his, and he tightens his fingers around hers immediately. They don’t turn their gazes from the stars, don’t look at each other, but they don’t need to.

“...We’re going to get out of here someday, Kitten,” she tells him, and she says it in such a way that he absolutely, completely believes her. “Someday...you, and me...we’ll escape. We’ll get out of here, the two of us. I promise we will.”

She squeezes his hand, tighter.

“I promise.”

And as they watch the stars, as they feel the cold, as they stand in awe, and even when they return to their cell of a bedroom, even when they continue on, even as they train the next day…

...He holds onto that promise and doesn’t let go.

“KO-CHAN! KOWARETA!”

He didn’t consent to this and there are millions of red flags going off in his head. He feels Yatchi’s arms around him and he’s screaming at himself to get away, to make her let go because no, he isn’t ready for this, he’s not, he’s not.

But for some reason, he...doesn’t push her away. He doesn’t return the embrace, sure, but he doesn’t force her back, doesn’t flash Mom the “safe” gesture, doesn’t ask someone to get her off.

He raises a hand and pats her head a little awkwardly, but it seems to be enough. She pulls back finally, and he hates that he’s glad she did, but when she smiles at him, he’s reminded. He remembers.

The man in the doorway—Yatchi’s father, by the resemblance—takes a step forward. Yatchi hops off the hospital bed, and Izuku’s cats swarm him again, though for the first time, he ignores them.

He meets eyes with the man for a moment.

Not a threat.

“I want to thank you, personally,” he says, and to Izuku’s surprise, he bows lowly, and Izuku is too shocked to say anything. “Thank you for saving my daughter. If it weren’t for you, I...I don’t know where we’d be right now.”

“You can become a hero.”

It’s...odd.

Everything.

He feels odd, his thoughts aren’t coming together the way they should, and...he’s never been... thanked before. Let alone for actually rescuing someone.

He opens his mouth. The thought that comes to mind is, Yatchi rescued me, too. She snapped me out of it. She’s the reason I’m here right now.

The words won’t come. His breath isn’t there. He feels vaguely like he’s being strangled, but it’s not even...a bad feeling. It’s just, not something he’s familiar with. He doesn’t understand.

He sees Mom smile at him and give him a thumbs up, and in his head he hears her words. He’d been twelve when she said them. He’s not sure she remembers but he does. He holds onto these words. He’s never forgotten.

“Izuku, sweetheart…”

“...You’re welcome,” he manages, somehow.

“...You’d make a great hero.”

Ko-chan hadn’t kept her promise. She hadn’t been able to. He doesn’t resent her, he can’t; if anything, the only thing he feels is a bone-deep regret.

But…

I promise, he finds himself swearing, as Yatchi beams, then bows clumsily alongside her father, like she’s not entirely sure whether or not she should be doing it, I promise, Ko-chan.

...As long as I have a say in it...I won’t let anyone suffer like you suffered. I won’t lose anyone else.

I promise.

I swear it.

No matter what.

Chapter Text

Home, is all Izuku can think, flopping face-down onto his bed. Surrounded by warmth, comfort, and his walls full of knives, he exhales deeply and closes his eyes.

Home.

His kittens roam the room freely, apparently just as glad to be back as he is. Most of them end up on the bed with him as he burrows himself beneath his mound of blankets and stuffed animals and curls into a ball. His eyes are still closed, so he can’t see, but he can feel the kittens curling against him, purring, and he lets out another long sigh of relief.

For the first time since the villain attack, he allows himself a moment of relaxation.

Mom makes dinner—katsudon, a meal he’s come to associate with “home” and “safe,” so it’s perfect for tonight. He eats what he can and sharpens a knife for the remainder of the meal; Mom seems satisfied with how much he’d eaten, because she doesn’t prompt him to eat more, rather storing the leftovers in the fridge for if he wants it tomorrow.

Mom kisses him goodnight, reminds him that he can always come get her if he needs her, and he nods and heads to bed, his cats hot on his heels. They’ve started following him around; he can’t go anywhere anymore without six tiny, purring escorts.  

Not that he’s complaining.

Sleeping in his own room, alone aside from the kittens, doesn’t last long, and he eventually finds himself crawling into bed with Mom. He doesn’t do it now as much as he did when he was little, but in light of recent events, he really doesn’t feel like being alone.

She always understands, opening her arms to him and never asking for an explanation, which he appreciates. Explaining himself sometimes can be…

…

…

...Difficult. And he’s glad she doesn’t make him.

He’s convinced his cats are mini godsends. Their warmth, their life, their constant happiness, almost makes up for Izuku’s lack thereof. He’s glad he has them, glad his mother let him take them in.

“I bought some new dye yesterday,” Mom says, and Izuku lowers his book to look at her. The kittens are either hanging off his sleeves, curled on his lap or, in one case, on his head, and Mom smiles. “Whenever you want to redo it is fine with me.”

Izuku nods, setting down his book on the coffee table, careful not to shift the cats. He reaches and pulls Fluffy off his head; the kitten mrows in protest, but calms down again the moment Izuku settles her in his lap.

“Are you...busy now?” he asks.

Mom shakes her head.

Roughly an hour later, Izuku’s hair is drying, but he can already tell by looking in the mirror that it’s almost completely green again. The exception is the roots, but it’s an exception he can live with; the majority of it is green, and that’s enough for him.

It’s relaxing, just, being home while things slowly yet surely return to normal (or, as “normal” as things can get when Izuku is involved). He’s glad to be out of the hospital; he’s never felt very comfortable in them, not without Mom.

He’s wandering around the house, dangling a piece of string that the kittens keep going after and attacking, when there’s a knock at the door.

Mom looks up from the coffee table from where she’s bent over papers, and Izuku raises his head to meet her eyes. He nods at her, and she rises to her feet while Izuku bends down, scoops the kittens into his arms, and ducks behind the couch with them.

He hears Mom open the door, and he peaks his head up from behind the couch to watch.

“Good morning, Midoriya-san,” says Toshinori from beyond the door. Izuku still has a hard time believing this man is actually “All Might,” but either way. “I came to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Oh,” Mom says, blinking. “One second.”

She closes the door, then looks over her shoulder at Izuku. “Is this okay with you, or do you want me to tell him to leave?”

Izuku shrugs, straightening up and moving to sit on the couch instead of crouching behind it. “It’s okay,” he says, releasing the kittens when they squirm. “He’s fine, I don’t mind him.”

Toshinori may be the first person apart from Mom and Kagami-san (and possibly Kirishima and Yatchi, possibly) that he genuinely doesn’t mind.

Actually, for perhaps the first time in his life, Izuku is curious. Toshinori offered to help Izuku become a hero, to help train him even after he heard Izuku’s story, even after he knew Izuku’s origins, what he once was.

Now he’s come to their home, and Izuku wants to know why.

Mom lets him in, and Toshinori steps into the house meekly, bowing and apologizing for the intrusion. Mom offers him a chair, and he declines, saying that he’d rather stand (which only further heightens Izuku’s curiosity).

The two of them cross the room, and Mom sits on the couch beside Izuku while Toshinori offers him a smile, one Izuku acknowledges with a nod and nothing more. Rainbow hops off the couch to investigate the newcomer, though Toshinori doesn’t seem to acknowledge her.

“What’s this about?” Mom asks in a tone Izuku has heard quite often—it’s a stern, almost warning kind of voice; she’s used it on snooping neighbors a lot in the past.

Toshinori takes in a breath. “I’m not here to waste your time,” he says, “so I’ll cut right to the chase. I wasn’t completely honest with you when I introduced myself; my civilian name is Yagi Toshinori, but I am more commonly known to the public as All Might.”

Izuku hadn’t recognized the name when he first heard it, but Mom certainly does. Her eyes widen, but other than that, her face doesn’t change.

“Go on.”

“I sustained an injury and cannot perform hero work for more than three hours each day,” Toshinori goes on. “I came here to tell you who I really was, and to ask you a question regarding your son.”

Mom’s tone doesn’t change, either. “What about my son?”

“I spoke with him for a bit,” Izuku answers; both Mom and Toshinori turn to him immediately, and he goes on: “He offered to help train me to become a hero.”

Mom’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t seem over the top surprised. Izuku raises his head to Toshinori, and the man nods, then starts up again.

“Yes,” Toshinori says, “that is true, but I wanted to ask your permission beforehand, Midoriya-san.”

“Inko is fine,” Mom says, and then, on the topic at hand, “Where would you be training him, and how?”

“Dagobah beach,” Toshinori says, “and how depends all on Izuku. I won’t push any boundaries or do anything that I know would harm him, I assure you.”

“You’d be gearing him up to attend a hero course through high school, I assume.”

“Yes, that is the goal.”

“Which hero school?”

“U.A., if at all possible. We’re aiming for the most prestigious hero academy there is, but I have an acquaintance there who I think will be able to help Izuku learn to control his Quirk. There are a lot of skilled individuals there, and I think, even if getting accepted is a challenge, that being there will benefit Izuku a lot.”

Mom pauses, then turns back to him. “Are you okay with this, Izuku? You trust him?”

“Trust” is...a very strong word. Izuku has never trusted easily, never, but All Might is a hero, and he’s never gotten any bad signals from the man, in or out of hero form. Izuku has learned how to distinguish between threats and not-threats (and empty threats, too, in some cases), and All Might—Yagi Toshinori—falls into the “not-threat” category. Izuku is sure All Might is a threat to villains, of course, but not to him.

He nods. “I do.”

Mom nods as well, then looks Toshinori in the eyes. “If Izuku wants to, then I have no objections.”

Toshinori blinks twice, like he wasn’t expecting it to be this easy, but then, he nods firmly.

“Thank you. I won’t let either of you down, I promise.”

Toshinori doesn’t know how he winds up sitting on the couch beside Inko while Izuku bustles about in the kitchen. Inko had, with Izuku’s consent, asked Toshinori if he’d like to stay awhile just so the two of them could talk, and Toshinori really had no right to say no, considering this woman is trusting her son to him.

Speaking of,

“I’ll be honest,” Toshinori says, “I wasn’t expecting you to agree to me training Izuku so quickly.”

Inko nods. “If Izuku wants to do something and is comfortable doing it,” she says, “then I like backing him up. He seemed excited, actually, when you walked in.”

Toshinori blinks. The most he’d seen Izuku do was stare at his cats and occasionally raise his head. “...Excited?”

“He doesn’t show it how most people would expect,” Inko says, “but there are ways to tell, once you get to know him better. Also, regarding my agreement, there aren’t many people who stand a chance against him when he’s threatened, so I know he’ll be able to take care of himself if it comes down to that.”

Honestly, Toshinori wouldn’t have believed Izuku could take care of himself if he hadn’t seen how he reduced the sludge villain to a puddle of unmoving muck. The villain himself is actually being treated by medical professionals in the confides of prison and has yet to regain consciousness.

“I do have a question,” Toshinori says, “and if this is too personal, or you’d rather not answer, then feel free to tell me off.”

“Alright, go on.”

“Why did you choose to adopt Izuku?”

Inko swishes her cup of tea for a moment. “I happened to have a bit of involvement in his case myself,” she says, “so, as soon as I heard there was a child…”

Toshinori blinks. “Involvement?”

Inko nods. “I’m a lawyer,” she clarifies simply. “I was called in by a friend who needed an opinion, and I ended up...well...getting invested in the case myself, not as a lawyer, but, as a person.” Inko sets her tea down on the coffee table and takes in a long breath. “You know, I’d never planned to adopt a child. When I adopted Izuku, it was right after my husband up and left, so I wasn’t in the best spot in a lot of ways.”

Toshinori says nothing, but he nods to show he’s listening.

“When my friend told me about the case,” Inko says, “and said there was a child involved, that he was traumatized and hurt and that no one knew what to do with him...I don’t know, it struck me really hard. Once he’d stabilized some, I asked if I could meet him, and, well...when I saw him…”

She opens the door, and he crashes into her leg.

She’s almost surprised at how little the impact has on her, the fact that the boy is thrown nearly five feet back while she is barely fazed, but she knows all too well. She’s seen situations like this far too many times.

She’s seen cases of domestic abuse, she’s spoken with children who’d come from abuse families, and it breaks her heart every time. Now, she sees that same kind of fear, that same kind of denial, that same kind of panic in this boy’s eyes, as he stares at her from where he is on the floor, as the doctors make to approach but don’t, as the boy’s chest heaves and his eyes lock with hers.

The moment their eyes meet, Inko is invested. She sees pain and fear and panic in this child’s wide eyes, but beyond that, she sees a deep, aching something. She sees a child who has been destroyed, a child who has had everything taken away from them. A child who’s lost everything.

He looks terrible, pale skinned, almost painfully thin. His forearms and legs are bandaged all the way down to his hands and feet, and Inko sees more bandages that disappear beneath his hospital gown. The only thing not completely bandaged is his face, but even then, there are wads of gauze taped over one cheek, and his forehead is wrapped with even more bandages.

A lot of things happen when she looks him in the eye, and when that moment passes, it leaves her with a newfound sense of purpose.

No one else would give a damn about this child as he is, sick and traumatized and hurt and honestly, dangerous, if the reports are anything to go by.

But she does. She’s barely known him for ten seconds and she already cares about him so much.

“...He needed me,” Inko says, “and I think I needed him, too. It was...it is, it still is...it’s a battle. Izuku does whatever he can, tries his best, talks to his therapist, and he’s getting better. He’s already made so much progress, and we’re still moving forward, and it’s hard, but it’s all been worth it. I wouldn’t change anything.”

Toshinori takes this in, then nods. “I’m glad the two of you have each other, then,” he says.

Inko smiles. “Me too.”

At that moment, Izuku steps down the hall and into the living room, holding a kitchen knife. It’s impossible for Toshinori to read exactly what he’s thinking, but Inko gets it immediately and rises to her feet.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, taking the knife when he hands it out to her. “Give me a second.”

Izuku nods, and Inko retreats down the hall into the kitchen.

It’s weird, seeing Izuku give up a knife, even if it is a kitchen knife. “What’s wrong?” Toshinori asks.

Izuku looks him dead in the eyes and says in a flat tone of voice, “I can’t chop vegetables.”

It actually takes Toshinori a couple seconds to process this.

“...You can’t... what.”

“It’s weird I know,” Izuku says, “but I keep almost taking my fingers off whenever I try, so it’s better to just leave it to my mom.”

“But...I thought you were good with knives.”

“I am. Throwing knives. And sometimes slashing, depending on the situation. But I’m uncoordinated when it comes to actually chopping things.”

There’s a lot Toshinori doesn’t, will not, and can not understand about this boy, or even this family, so he doesn’t push it or ask again. Inko returns shortly thereafter, tells Izuku that everything has been chopped, and Izuku returns to the kitchen and Inko to the couch.

“He’s kind of chatty, once you get to know him,” Inko says absentmindedly, taking up her tea and stirring it. It stopped steaming a while ago. “Honestly, I thought it’d take longer, but he already seems pretty comfortable around you.”

It’s about the highest form of compliment Toshinori can receive, so he smiles. “I’m glad.”

Izuku returns a while later saying that there’s curry available, and then he disappears to his room with a steaming bowl in his hands and his kittens following him in a straight line, like a bunch of ducklings after their mother. He hears the door of Izuku’s room shut, then turns back to Inko.

“I’d best be going,” he says, rising to his feet. “Thank you for the hospitality, and again, I’m sorry for coming uninvited.”

Inko nods and rises to her feet beside him with no objections. “Here,” she says, spinning on her heel, “let me get you some of the curry to take with you, at least. Izuku likes cooking for people when he can.”

Toshinori opens his mouth to tell her that it’s fine, but he thinks of Izuku and drops it. Inko returns with a tupperware of curry wrapped in a hand towel, plus a little note card with her phone number on it, and she sends Toshinori on his way with a smile and a thank-you.

When he tries it at home, Toshinori comes to the conclusion that it is, admittedly, some of the best curry he’s ever had.

Izuku goes out the next day. He feels...good, actually, which is weird considering he’d been in the hospital until just recently. The looks and stares he gets as he heads to the park don’t even bother him as much as they should (and normally do).

U.A. He’d looked up the school yesterday on his laptop after Toshinori left. A prestigious hero academy with a little to no acceptance rate, strict in its teaching, a well-revered school.

And Izuku is going to be a part of it.

Well, he is, if he can get his Quirk under control by then, which...well…

He isn’t looking forward to that part of it.

Izuku is just passing the park when he sees something flying towards him out of the corner of his eye. He raises a hand before he turns his head, and his fingers close around smooth plastic.

A frisbee.

He looks in the direction from whence it’d come; Yatchi sprints towards him with a smile on her face, and hot on her heels is none other than Kirishima.

“Oy!” Kirishima says, waving his hands over his head and beaming. “Dude! I haven’t seen you in a while, how’s it going?”

“It’s fine,” Izuku says, handing the frisbee back to Yatchi, who takes it and bounces around him in a circle for a moment. “How are things with you?”

“Oh, I mean, well, things are going great,” Kirishima answers, nodding. “But I’ve been worried like crazy about ya lately. You were in the hospital, right?”

“Yeah,” Izuku answers, and he thinks, vaguely, that he likes Kirishima quite a bit. He’s easy-going and admittedly a bit more touchy-feely than Izuku is comfortable with, but he hasn’t tried laying hands on him since that one incident on the day of their first meeting, which he appreciates. “But I’m fine now, don’t worry.”

Along with his knives in his pocket, he also has a syringe with the stronger Quirk suppressants the doctors and police warranted him with. They’re stronger than his pills, which is nice, but he still hopes he never has to use them.

“Well, I’m just hanging out with Yatchi now,” Kirishima says. “Her dad’s teaching me some more Sign, so that’s nice. You can hang out with us for a while, if you want.”

Izuku almost says no, but...he’s actually feeling okay, right now. And besides, he wants to get better as soon as he can, so he supposes the more he gets used to socializing, the better.

“Alright,” he agrees.

Yatchi’s father, Kawomoto-san, is a lot like Kirishima. Easy going, good-natured, and he respects Izuku’s boundaries, too (or, that might just be because Kirishima purposely sat between the two of them on the grass). They play a couple rounds of frisbee, and it goes better now than it did the last time. Only good things come out of this visitation.

Eventually, Yatchi and Kawomoto-san bid their farewells, and Yatchi thanks Izuku (in Sign) for playing with her, to which he returns the gesture (literally), and afterwards, they part ways.

Yatchi and Kawomoto-san head down the sidewalk one way, no doubt to the train station, and Izuku and Kirishima head down the opposite way, towards Kirishima’s place.

“You don’t have to walk with me if you’ve got somewhere better to be,” Kirishima says idly. “I mean, it’s great to have company, but—”

“It’s fine,” Izuku says.

“...Dude.”

“Yes?”

“Are you...worried we’ll get attacked again?”

“No.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Just let me walk with you.”

Kirishima gives him a look, but shrugs.

“Listen,” Izuku says, when he isn’t sure he’s being taken seriously, “that villain escaped prison once, so what makes you think he can’t do it again?”

Kirishima looks suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, buddy, I dunno if you’ve heard about this, since you’ve been in the hospital…”

“What is it.”

“Um—”

“Just say it.”

“The slime villain dude hasn’t woken up since that day,” Kirishima says, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s been unconscious and getting some pretty heavy medical treatment, from what I’ve heard.”

Izuku doesn’t loose footing. “...Oh.”

“Yeah, um...you really totalled him, dude.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you...okay?”

“Processing.”

“Alright.”

They take a couple more steps—and then, Izuku realizes that Kirishima isn’t beside him anymore.

He stops and turns; Kirishima is a couple steps behind him, head down, fists balled at his sides. Izuku frowns at him for a long moment.

“...Um...what’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima blurts. “That day, when the villain attacked...I couldn’t do anything. I was trying to get people out of the buildings, but—there was this—this weird—I don’t even know how to describe it, it was like some weird... block was in my head. I couldn’t think or move or anything, I just—”

“That was my fault.”

Kirishima blinks at him twice. “What?”

“I have a Quirk,” Izuku says, turning fully. “I accidentally set it off when the villain got ahold of Yatchi.”

“Oh, that’s right, I never asked what your Quirk was..”

The word “your” there leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but Izuku nods, spins on his heel, and keeps walking. Kirishima follows him, jogging to catch up.

“It’s not something I’m proud of,” Izuku admits, “but, the Quirk lets me twist and control a person’s senses.”

“Oh,” Kirishima says, pondering. He cradles his chin with a hand, and then, with a grin, he snaps his fingers. “You know, that’d be great for hero work, actually! Just think about it, like, if you could blind a villain during a fight, or like, mess around with the way they see things or hear things, there’s a lot you could do!”

Izuku pauses. “I guess,” he says.

If I could control it, anyway...and if I was willing to use it on other people.

“Do you have a name for it?”

Izuku blinks. “A name?”

“For the Quirk,” Kirishima clarifies, and he raises his arm. “My Quirk is ‘Hardening.’ I can harden any part of my body ‘till it’s pretty much indestructible.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s not super flashy, or anything.” Kirishima sighs, shaking his head. “I probably won’t be that popular of a hero, honestly. Everyone’s more into the flashy Quirks and stuff, so I don’t really know how well I’ll do.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Izuku says, and he isn’t sure why he says it, actually. “I’m trying to get into a hero academy through high school, but I don’t know if I’ll make the cut.”

“Oh sweet, which one?”

“U.A.”

“Oh, dude! Same hat!”

Izuku blinks.

“I mean, me too!” Kirishima says, grinning. “Like I said before, my Quirk isn’t anything super flashy, but I’m still going to try my best to get in! What a cool coincidence, that we’re both aiming for the same school and all.”

It is pretty cool, actually. Izuku hasn’t known Kirishima for very long, but he likes him; it’ll be nice to have someone he already trusts nearby in such an enormous school as U.A.

“Oh, wait, you never answered!”

“Never answered what?”

“Your Quirk!” Kirishima says, and he raises a hand as though to knock Izuku on the shoulder, but thinks better of it and halts. “You never told me what it’s called!”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. It’s not called anything.”

“Not called anything?”

“Nope.”

“Well, we can name it, then, right?”

Izuku frowns. “...I mean, if you really want to.”

“Alright!” There’s a spring in Kirishima’s step now, and he puts his hand to his chin again in deep thought. “Hmm...oh waitwaitwait, I know, how about ‘Pixel.’”

Izuku blinks. “Like a video game?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima says, “exactly like a video game. What do you think?”

Izuku ponders it for a while, then shakes his head. “...I don’t think it fits.”

Kirishima doesn’t seem hurt, but he does look confused. “Really? I thought it worked pretty well, honestly…do you have any ideas?”

Izuku does. The first thing that comes to mind is static, because that’s exactly what he feels whenever he’s actually using the Quirk, but, he affiliates static with a lot of horrible things, so he isn’t sure he wants it to name it that.

“It’s kind of...broken,” Izuku says, shrugging, “the Quirk, I mean. If that helps.”

“Oh, ohohoh, I’ve got it, I’ve really got it!” Kirishima leaps in front of Izuku and holds out his hands dramatically. “How about ‘Glitch’?”

“...You’re really sold on this ‘video game’ thing, aren’t you?”

“C’mon, it’s cool!” Kirishima says, grinning. “Glitches in video games can be really helpful sometimes, too, just by convenience. What do you think?”

‘Glitch,’ huh?

“...Sure,” Izuku says, shrugging again, “why not?”

Kirishima claps his hands together— “Great!” — and when Izuku starts walking again, Kirishima jogs to catch up once more. “Hey, dude, since we’re both aiming for U.A., we could even train together. You seem to know what you’re doing with those knives, so I’m sure there’s a lot I could learn from ya.”

It doesn’t take long for Izuku to think this over. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’m not sure how much I can teach you, but, I mean, I’ll do my best.”

“Great!” Kirishima actually does a little victory leap into the air, beaming brighter than ever. “Thanks a bunch, dude!”

Izuku nods. “I’m training with someone myself,” he says offhandedly, “so I might be able to talk to him, if you’d want to get help from him, too.”

“Hey, I mean, any help would be awesome,” says Kirishima, “so if the guy you’re training with doesn’t mind, that’s be sweet!”

“I’ll ask him,” Izuku says, making a mental note to do so when he meets up with Toshinori at Dagobah beach tomorrow. “It depends on what he says, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I won’t,” Kirishima says, but Izuku has a feeling that he’s already doing the exact opposite.

They walk for some time—quite some time, actually—but then, something flashes in the corner of Izuku’s eye.

He has his hands on his knives immediately, on edge and ready to fight. Kirishima stops beside him, and Izuku hears him ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t listen.

“The alley,” Izuku says, pointing with a knife. “Something moved in the alley.”

Kirishima smiles, but it looks like a wince. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, “you don’t have to—w-wait, hang on—!”

Izuku has already taken off across the street to investigate, and Kirishima hastens to catch up with him.

“You can’t just go chasing after every weird thing that moves in the alleys!” Kirishima whisper-shouts as they come closer. “You don’t know what’s in there. This is how people get killed.”

Izuku isn’t listening. He continues on, and despite his protests, Kirishima follows anyway.

They come to the alley; the lights on Izuku’s shoes bounce off the walls and make the blades of his knives gleam. For a long moment, Izuku stands and stares, and Kirishima falls into place behind him.

“...Okay,” Kirishima says, blinking. “What the hell.”

There’s a cat standing across from them, one paw raised off the ground. It hisses at them, ears flat against its head, and Kirishima flinches back while Izuku presses forward.

“Dude,” Kirishima hisses. “What are you doing?”

“It’s hurt,” Izuku says, looking over his shoulder at Kirishima. “We can’t leave it here alone, it’ll die.”

“That thing’s gonna scratch the crap out of you,” Kirishima says, shaking his head. “I get where you’re coming from, but there’s a better way of handling this that doesn’t involve just, grabbing it.”

“You’re right,” Izuku says, looking him in the eye. “It’s a shame we don’t have someone with indestructible skin. That’d be really nice right now.”

Kirishima looks horrified. “No way. I’m sorry, but no way.”

“Holy crap it’s going to kill me.”

“You’re fine, just hold on.”

“It’s literally going to kill me Midoriya.”

The cat has been making low, growl-like meows ever since Kirishima activated his Quirk and took it into his arms, but it hasn’t actually tried to attack him. Izuku assumes it has to do with the fact that the cat is injured and no doubt too weak to do so.

“Dude.”

“Just, calm down.”

“I really don’t like the way it’s looking at me dude.”

“It’s just scared,” Izuku says, stepping up to his front porch and pulling out his apartment key. “It’ll calm down once we get its leg fixed and we leave it alone.”

The cat growls lowly again, and Kirishima winces. “Yeah sure, sure, please hurry—” Mmrrrrrrr “—holy crap please hurry.”

Izuku unlocks the door, then opens it.

“I’m home,” he says, stepping inside; Kirishima steps in behind him, still holding the snarling cat, and Izuku’s kittens come prancing down the hallway to see him.

“Hi, it’s good to see you again,” Izuku says, kneeling down to pet each of them, “but there’s something I have to do.”

Mom rounds the corner. Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so shocked and dumbfounded before in the entire time he’s known her.

There is, first of all, the cat in Kirishima’s arms.

And secondly, there is Kirishima.

“Mom, this is Kirishima Ejirou,” Izuku introduces, swinging an arm and gesturing at him. “He’s…” He’s...what? “He’s a friend of mine. I met him a little while ago, right before the slime villain incident.”

Mom blinks twice on the word friend, but then she nods. “It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima,” she says warmly, and then, back at Izuku, “But why is there another cat?”

“We found it in the alley,” Kirishima says; the cat mrrows at him angrily, and he holds it as far away from him as he can without letting go. “It’s hurt, so we wanted to take care of it.”

Mom sighs, shoulders slumping. “This place will be infested before long if this keeps up…” she moans, but then, she straightens up again and starts forward with purpose. “Alright, let’s see what we can do…”

Bandaging the cat’s leg is hard all on its own. Kirishima is the one who ends up doing it while Izuku holds the cat, and the cat struggles, but ultimately submits, too weak to do much else. Afterwards, Mom gets an old towel from the bathroom and sets up a little spot in Izuku’s room for it (her—this is something they realized while bandaging the cat).

As soon as the cat is laying down on the towel after Izuku gave it some water, it falls asleep.

“Thanks for doing that,” Izuku says to Kirishima; the two of them, plus Mom, are by the door once again. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Kirishima says, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come back tomorrow and check on her, y’know, see how she’s doing.”

Mom and Izuku exchange a meaningful look, then turn back to Kirishima. “That’s fine,” Mom says, nodding. “It’s been wonderful meeting you, Ejirou-kun.”

“It’s been nice meeting you, too, Inko-san,” Kirishima answers, and with a clumsy bow and a wave that Izuku and Mom return, he sets out for home.

Later, Mom tries convincing Izuku to get some sleep that night, but in the end, his insomnia keeps him up, and he sits with the cat right up until around three in the morning, when he finally ends up falling asleep on the floor with his kittens on top of him.

Ejirou goes back the next day, and the door is answered by Inko-san almost as soon as he knocks.

“Ah, Ejirou-kun,” Inko says, smiling and stepping out of the doorway. “Please, come in.”

“Thanks for having me,” Ejirou says, bowing, and when he straightens up, he looks around. There’s no sign of Midoriya, or the kittens that’d been following him around yesterday when they brought the cat in. “...Where’s Midoriya?”

“He’s still sleeping, as far as I know,” Inko answers. “It’s odd. He’s usually up by this time.”

Ejirou nods. “Did you look at the cat at all this morning, or…?”

She’s shaking her head before he finishes speaking. “No, I haven’t. Izuku is a light sleeper, so I don’t want to do anything to wake him up if he’s still asleep.”

“Ahh, right, gotcha…” Ejirou looks down at the ground, feeling a bit awkward. “So, um—”

A door opens in another room down the hall, and Midoriya walks into the room, wearing an expression Ejirou has never seen before.

Apparently, it sends off red flags for Inko, too. “Izuku?” she says, starting towards him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Midoriya looks at her for a long moment, eyes wide, and then he turns to Kirishima. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he says.

“Why,” Inko says, burying her face in her hands. “Why.”

“You’re either cursed,” Ejirou says, eyes wide, “or incredibly stinkin’ lucky.”

The cat is currently nursing three newborn kittens, leg still bandaged from the previous night. When Midoriya reaches out, she lets him pet her head without any kind of protest.

“I think we won her over,” Midoriya says, raising his head, and although he doesn’t smile and his expression doesn’t change, something in his tone definitely does. “Do you wanna help me name them?”

“This is it, then,” Inko says, shaking her head. “We’re going to become our own personal little cat cafe.”

She says it with so much mock-drama that Ejirou can’t help but laugh, and even Midoriya exhales sharply through his nose in something that could be amusement.

Izuku and Kirishima become close friends after that. There are some things you can’t do without growing incredibly fond of each other, and saving an injured mama cat together is one of them.

Chapter Text

It takes a lot of courage for Izuku to drag out a blank notebook, then seat himself in front of the desk. He pulls a pencil (the only pencil) out of his knife-filled pencil cup, flips open the notebook, and stares down at the pages. His cats roam the room; Fistfight (the mother cat—Izuku had let Kirishima name her) walks right across his notebook, then perches at the edge of the desk. Her newborn kittens are sleeping in a small cardboard box stuffed with one of Izuku’s fluffiest blankets on the other side of the room, and the seven resident kittens curl around his ankles or try biting the pencil out of his hand.

After a while longer of contemplation, he takes in a breath and pushes the chair backwards. Rising to his feet (and moving Rainbow out of his lap and onto the floor), he spins on his heel and retreats from the room.

His kittens escort him, as per usual (except Fistfight, who stays there on the edge of his desk like a judgemental gargoyle), but the journey is a short one. Izuku returns shortly thereafter with a purple sharpie from Mom’s office drawer, then takes his seat at the desk once again.

He flips the notebook back to the front and writes in big, bold print:

Quirk Analysis, No. 1

And then he sets the sharpie to the side and opens the notebook for real. He has to pry the pencil out of Kittles’ mouth, and once that’s done, he brandishes it, takes in a breath, and begins writing.

Name: Midoriya Izuku

Quirk: Glitch

The Quirk allows the user to twist the senses of the people around him. Can also alter nerves to cause pain and can also be used to block out pain. Can also be used on wielder. Hard to control.

He pauses, then scribbles that last bit out and writes it again.

Hard to control. Impossible to control. Can’t turn off. Can’t direct it properly. Can redirect on self. Causes blackout when used on self for too long. Makes victims heads “fill with static.” Like a “block.” Can override senses and override thought processes.

Can maim. Can hurt. Only use as a last resort. Can’t control. Can’t stop.

Threat.

He swallows hard, then circles the word “threat” over, and over, and over, and over—

“GABCK!”

Kirishima hits the ground on his butt in the grass, clutching his shin. He rolls over on his side, groaning, and Izuku stands by him.

“You don’t guard well if you don’t use your Quirk,” Izuku says.

Kirishima wheezes. “Yeah I noticed,” he strains in a single breath. Once he’s composed himself a bit more, he sits up, still wincing and rubbing his leg. “Dang, dude, for being so small, you can kick really hard.”

“It’s not that hard,” Izuku says, shrugging. “Getting hit in the shin hurts a lot, anyway, so if you can get a clean hit in it’s always a good option.”

Kirishima winces again. “Kinda dirty, though, don’t you think?”

“When it comes to your life or fighting dirty, I mean, the choice is obvious,” Izuku answers simply. “You can’t expect your enemy to pull punches or be sympathetic just because they wanna avoid fighting ‘dirty.’”

“I mean, I guess you’re right,” Kirishima says, shaking his head, “but still, I thought, y’know...we’re trying to be heroes, so wouldn’t fighting dirty kind of...put a stain on that?”

“Pretty sure ‘death by dirty-fighting villains’ would leave a stain on things, too.” Izuku extends a hand to Kirishima, and Kirishima takes it and lets Izuku pull him to his feet. It’s interesting; Kirishima is an easy person to be comfortable with, so Izuku isn’t even bothered by the contact.

“I get you wanna be better than villains,” Izuku says, stepping back, “but we aren’t stooping to their level. All we’re doing is making sure we have a means with which to survive. So.”

He spins around to face Kirishima again and raises his hands.

“You can avoid it if you want,” Izuku says, “but when it comes to saving your life or poking a villain in the eyes, I think the choice there is pretty obvious, don’t you?”

Kirishima doesn’t seem fully convinced. “It just seems kind of cowardly, y’know?” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “The whole ‘fighting dirty’ thing.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to. But remember that it’s always an option. Round three?”

There’s something cathartic about sparring with Kirishima.

Back in his days with the villains, sparring was...terrifying, to say the least. They’re memories he keeps blotted from his memory, so he never dwells on it for long, but sparring with Kirishima is so simple and so lighthearted that it almost seems more like fun hang out time instead of training.

Plus, he doesn’t mind hanging out with Kirishima for extended periods of time, unlike he does with most people. Kirishima never asks Izuku about his past, either, why he’s scarred the way he is, why he knows so much about fighting, why he knows so much about fighting dirty, and that’s nice, too. He doesn’t mind talking about his past, but he’d rather do it on his own time.

Maybe when he and Kirishima have more trust built between them.

“So, this trainer you’re meeting with,” Kirishima says as he and Izuku trudge back down the sidewalk; Kirishima has grass stains all over his gray shirt, and Izuku fiddles with a pocket knife absentmindedly. “Did you talk to him about meeting me, or…?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Haven’t yet,” he answers. “Actually, I haven’t met with the guy to officially start training yet, either.”

“Seriously? I thought you were supposed to start meeting with him yesterday.”

“I was,” Izuku says, “but something came up, apparently. He says he has an acquaintance he wants me to meet before anything else.”

“Huh, guess that makes sense,” Kirishima says, but he says it in such a tone of voice that it obviously doesn’t make sense to him. “But, let me know as soon as you have his answer, ‘kay? We’ve only got about eight months now before the entrance exam, so we really need all the time we can get.”

Izuku nods. “I’ll let you know,” he promises.

“Thanks. So, um, about sparring...do you have any pointers? Any suggestions or anything? You landed me flat on my butt more times than I wanna admit.”

Izuku frowns. “Do you really wanna go through it all right now?”

Kirishima’s shoulders slump. “Y’know, I was afraid you’d say something like that,” he says, shaking his head. “Is it really that bad?”

“No,” Izuku says, “it’s not, but when it comes to suggestions, there’s a lot I can help you with.”

“Hit me.”

Izuku turns and faces the sidewalk once again. “Your Quirk is better for close-combat, right? But if you were standing a ways off and against someone with a long-range Quirk, you’d still be able to harden your body to defend. Offensively speaking, though, it’s close-range or nothing.”

“Sounds about right,” Kirishima says, nodding.

“So you’re a close-range fighter, which makes hand to hand combat even more important,” Izuku says. “If you harden your fingers and nothing else, you could make some pretty solid weapons for yourself without draining your stamina.”

Kirishima turns to him and blinks with wide eyes. “...Knife fingers.”

“Basically.”

“Knife fingers.”

“You’re the one who wanted tips from me.”

Kirishima pauses for a long moment, contemplating. “It’s not bad,” he says, “but if I’m gonna use my fingers as literal knives, I’d rather save it for a last resort kinda thing, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Izuku says. “Well, there’s other stuff I could talk about, but this is where we split up, so I’ll either text you or just tell you the next time I see you.”

“Ahh, alright,” Kirishima says, nodding. “See ya later, Midoriya!”

Izuku raises a hand. “See you.”

When he gets home, Izuku adds a new page in his notebook for Kirishima’s Quirk. He doesn’t have a whole lot of information on it yet, since they don’t use their respective Quirks during sparring sessions, but he jots down what he knows, what strategies Kirishima could possibly use during fights, then bids Mom goodnight and heads to bed.

He doesn’t actually end up sleeping, but laying there and staring at the ceiling with nothing better to do is pretty nice, too.

Dagobah beach has a reputation, but it definitely isn’t one to be proud of.

Izuku meets Toshinori there the next day, after Mom receives a text asking for Izuku to meet him there as soon as he’s available. Izuku is awake anyway, so he heads over around 5am to the infamous Dagobah beach.

Illegal dumpings, washed up garbage, as far as the eye can see. It’s astounding, really, how much junk has accumulated here. Neglect and illegal dumpers have left the sandy shores covered in so much garbage it’s kind of impressive. Everyone knows about Dagobah beach, even people just driving through the city.

...Which is all fine and dandy but it really, really doesn’t make sense why Izuku would meet All Might here for training. Unless their training has to do with a life-lesson about litter and illegal dumpings, which Izuku seriously doubts.

When Izuku arrives, Toshinori isn’t the only person standing behind an impressively tall heap of garbage. There’s someone else with him, another man with black hair and an exhausted expression that Izuku relates to more than he wants to admit.

The stranger sees Izuku coming before Toshinori. “Ahh, there you are,” he says, turning; Toshinori follows his gaze, and Izuku steps forward. He doesn’t get any threat vibes from the stranger, so he doesn’t think much of it.

“Midoriya, this is Aizawa Shouta,” Toshinori introduces. “Though, in the hero-world, he’s known more primarily as—”

“Eraserhead.”

Toshinori blinks at him. Aizawa looks unamused, but intrigued.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Izuku says, “so I did some digging around. You’re an underground hero who can erase Quirks.”

Aizawa nods. “To put it simply, yeah,” he says. “I’m surprised you were able to find me online, though.”

“When you’re sleep deprived enough,” Izuku says flatly, “anything’s possible.”

Aizawa blinks at him. Toshinori gives a long sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s only now realizing how bad of an idea it was for Izuku and Aizawa to meet.

“But you’re here because you can turn off my Quirk,” Izuku says, and although the word my leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he swallows it back and doesn’t beat around the bush. “Right?”

“Toshinori called me so I could meet you and exchange a word or so,” Aizawa answers simply. “I won’t be forcing you to use your Quirk if you aren’t comfortable with it. However, I will say, unless you have some semblance of control over your Quirk by the time of the entrance exam, you cannot be accepted into U.A. We can’t allow students in with unstable Quirks.”

Toshinori winces. “That’s a little—”

“Harsh?” Aizawa frowns further. “I’m telling him the way it is. Midoriya, you Quirk is specifically one that can cause harm to others unless it is controlled, and with power like that, I’m afraid that’s just the way it has to be.”

Izuku’s hands are in his pockets, and he feels the cool glass of the Quirk suppressant syringe against his knuckles while his fingers curl around the handle of a knife. This makes perfect sense; he has no doubt Aizawa knows about the incident with the sludge villain and, furthermore, it’s possibly he knows about Izuku’s entire background, so it makes sense why he’d put this forward first.

“I can help you learn to control it,” Aizawa says simply, “but that’s only if you’re willing to use it. If not, then, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. The first step is getting your Quirk under control; if we can’t do that, then there’s no point in spending the next eight months here training.”

He’s right. Izuku knows this.

“...I’m...sorry for wasting your time,” Izuku says, raising his head, “but could we meet here again tomorrow? I think...I think I need some time, y’know, to think about it before I just…”

Aizawa sighs. “Got it,” he says, nodding, “but you have to make up your mind quickly. When it comes to Quirks and bringing them under control, it takes time. A long time. We don’t have the leisure of taking as long as we need.”

Izuku nods, bows, apologizes again, then spins around and heads for home without saying goodbye.

There’s a lot Izuku is unsure of.

He wants to go to U.A., he really, really wants to go to U.A., but his Quirk is a block. This Quirk he didn’t ask for, this Quirk he doesn’t want, is holding him back. It’s keeping him from that end goal.

And if he wants to reach U.A., he first has to tackle his Quirk, and that’s…

He spends all night thinking about it, wondering if it’s worth it, wondering if maybe being a hero isn’t for him after all, if maybe he’d be better off doing something else—he’s a broken person with a broken Quirk, after all, and even though Toshinori— All Might— told him very plainly that he can indeed become a hero…

He still has his doubts. He’ll always have his doubts.

And then his phone dings. Blinking against the light, Izuku reaches for it, grabs it off the side table, and holds it a little ways from his face.

[Kirishima]
Hey, dude, thanks for sparring with me and everything! I know we’ve only just started, but I feel like I’m learning a lot, thanks to you! I think it’s awesome we’re both going to the same hero school. I’m super pumped!! :D

...Huh. Impeccable timing. Izuku swallows, then swipes his scarred fingers across the on-screen keypad.

[Izuku]
Me too.

He’s not sure whether he means it, but sending that message to Kirishima kind of drives it home. He wants to be a hero, he wants to get better, he wants to feel like a normal person for once in his damned life.

And if that means learning to control his Quirk, even if it leaves him sick and reeling, he wants to do it.

“I’ll do it,” Izuku says, and the words almost make him physically sick. The way they feel going out, the way they feel in his own ears, makes him want to spin around and dive right into the nearest pile of garbage, but he doesn’t do that. The urge to face this head on and overcome it is greater than the urge to faceplant the garbage. “I’ll...I’ll use my Quirk.”

“You’re sure about this,” Aizawa says simply, and it’s phrased less like a question and more like a statement of fact. “Once we start, we’re going to see it through to the end. Are you ready?”

Izuku swallows hard. Ready is a strong word, but he nods. “Yeah, I...I am.”

Toshinori stands by him, but at Izuku’s gesture, he moves off the side to watch. He seems concerned, and his eyes keep darting between Izuku and Aizawa, probably waiting to see who makes the first move now.

Izuku takes in a breath and shuts his eyes. Using his Quirk willingly isn’t something he’s ever actually done before, so he isn’t sure how to exactly turn it on, but…

Whether I like it or not, it’s a part of me. This “extra limb that’s been sewn on” is just as much a part of me as my eyes or my arms. I hate it, but it’s there. It’s here.

It’s…

Me.

He reaches for something within him, something unnatural and dark and oh he really wants to vomit right about now but he forces it back. He calls to it, summons it to him; he feels the beginnings of it in his temples, then in the forefront of his mind, then gently eating away at his sight like...well...like glitches in a video game.

Izuku feels disgusting. Every part of him feels... wrong and twisted and he wants it to stop, he wants it to stop, it has to stop, he hates it, he hates it so much, the static is familiar and it calls his name, beckoning him further into it, and he tries to stay afloat but he feels like he’s steadily being dragged into an abyss and he can’t see anything, everything feels wrong and he wishes he’d said no, he shouldn’t have agreed to this, he knew it was bad, he knew it was, he knew it was, he knew it was—

And then it stops.

He feels like everything is sapped right out of him—and he means everything. His strength, his vision, his Quirk, his hearing, his senses, his thoughts…

He blinks at Aizawa, just in time to watch the red fade from the man’s eyes. “...You…”

“Sorry,” Aizawa says, and his voice is flat, but his eyes are apologetic. “I’d meant to erase it quicker. You good?”

Izuku is... really good, actually, for some odd reason. It’s the first time the Quirk has been turned off. Sure, Aizawa forcefully did it, but there were no Quirk suppressants involved, he didn’t have to turn the Quirk inward on himself, he didn’t even really have time to start panicking fully.  

“Hey. Kid.”

“Sorry,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “I’m...really fine. You just...you erased it?”

Aizawa nods. “Yeah, basically,” he says. “Took a second, but yeah.”

Izuku is surprised by how okay he feels right now, considering he’d been using his Quirk—something he hated, something that, up until this point, he’d only done mostly subconsciously and as a last resort—just a second ago. Maybe actually having it turned off for once by a semi-natural means is relieving. It’s progress. It’s improvement.

“From what I gather,” Aizawa says, “your Quirk is mostly output, correct? You can amplify its usage against certain individuals, but you can’t keep it from effecting anyone else nearby.”

Izuku swallows, then nods.

Aizawa pauses for a moment, thinking to himself. Toshinori seems concerned about something, but Izuku is still reeling from the whiplash too much to put much thought into why.

“I can help you,” Aizawa says simply. “It won’t be easy, but I think, with time, you can learn to at least control the output and who is effected. First and foremostly, you’ll need to learn how to properly use your Quirk without affecting the innocent onlookers. Everything else will come after that.”

Izuku blinks a couple times, still reeling, but he runs Aizawa’s words through his head once, then twice, then nods.

They don’t do anything else after that. Izuku makes a mental note to ask Toshinori about Kirishima tomorrow, thanks him and Aizawa for their time, then turns and heads home.

He feels... floaty, which is very strange for him. The last time he’d felt like this was when Mom first brought him home and gave him a life outside the torment of the villains. His Quirk has always been a problem, it’s always been his number one this is why I can’t be a hero.

But maybe now it’s different. Maybe if Aizawa helps him, he can learn to control it. Maybe now, for the first time in his life, he has a real, concrete reason to believe that in time, with training, he really can become a hero.

“I don’t think you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Toshinori turns to Aizawa with a frown. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, “and, yes, Midoriya isn’t...entirely stable, as a person, but—”

“His Quirk Factor is broken.”

Toshinori blinks at him, but Aizawa doesn’t turn, rather staring down the sidewalk where Izuku has left.

“People are generally born with Quirk Factors, even if they don’t have a Quirk to use it,” Aizawa says. “However, Midoriya had that Quirk forced on him, when he harnessed the Quirk and forced his body to adapt to it, he severely damaged his Quirk Factor. I had a hard time figuring out how to turn the Quirk off.”

Toshinori lets this sink in, and it lands in the pit of his stomach like a stone. “So, on the topic of him learning how to ever control it...are you saying he can’t?”

“If he wants to learn how to control it,” Aizawa says, “he’s going to have to figure out how to work around the broken parts. I think a lot of it has to do with psychological and emotional damage, which is, well...it’s more complicated than a physical problem.”

Toshinori nods stiffly. “But he can do it, you think.”

“It depends mostly on him,” Aizawa says. “But, that being said, I’ll do what I can. I think if he starts using his Quirk under his own free will, knowing I’m here to turn it off if it becomes dangerous, it’ll help his mentality regarding his Quirk.”

It makes sense; when Izuku had used his Quirk now, Toshinori had felt the output. It wasn’t nearly as intense as it’d been during the slime villain incident, but even so.

“He has a long way to go before U.A.,” Aizawa says, shaking his head, “but I don’t doubt him. If he really wants to be a hero...he’ll be able to do it.”

Kirishima’s fist swings at his head, and Izuku ducks beneath the blow, his own fist jabbing Kirishima in the stomach. Kirishima reels backwards, but throws up both arms in front of his face when Izuku swings his own fist. Izuku hooks his foot behind Kirishima’s shin and gives a hard yank; Kirishima trips and flails, and while he’s in the middle of regaining his balance, Izuku slams his heel into Kirishima’s chest and sends him to the ground.

“Hey, that lasted longer than before!” Kirishima says, grinning and bouncing to his feet. “I’m getting better, right?”

Izuku nods. “I think so,” he says. “Considering we’ve only been doing this for a couple of days, you’ve gotten really far.”

Kirishima grins brighter. “Thanks!”

Izuku hasn’t had the chance to ask Toshinori about Kirishima training with him; maybe on the days that Aizawa isn’t working with Izuku on his Quirk Kirishima can come along. He doesn’t think Toshinori would mind, granted he trains as “Toshinori” and not, well, “All Might.” While Izuku hadn’t known who All Might was when he first met him, now that he’s been doing more research on heroes on the internet, he’s surprised he didn’t.

The number one hero, All Might. Also the hero with the most lethal and secretive weakness.

“Even if my trainer can’t help both of us,” Izuku goes on, “I think me and you working together like this is good, too. I can teach you whatever he teaches me.”

Kirishima nods, and shortly thereafter, the two of them head out just as the sun begins to set beyond the horizon.

“Thanks again for helping me out,” Kirishima says once they’re walking. “I’ve always wanted to get better at hand to hand combat, seeing as how my Quirk kinda hinges on me being good at it…”

“No problem,” Izuku says without batting an eye. “It’s nice to be able to spar with a friend.”

Friend.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking!” Kirishima says, raising an arm—he realizes what he’s about to do a second later, and he lowers his hand back down to his side with a bit of a dejected look. “Anyway, how’s your week looking?”

Izuku shrugs. “I don’t have much going on,” he says. “My mom got called out for a case, so she won’t be back until tomorrow, so I’ll probably just hang out, maybe try working on some schoolwork.”

“Ah, right, you mentioned you were homeschooled,” Kirishima says, touching his chin. “Dang, I’m so screwed when it comes to my own schooling. I’m probably what you’d call the ‘problem student.’ Everyone’s smarter than me.”

And Izuku doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, what kind of crazy thing makes him open his mouth, but he finds himself asking,

“Do you wanna come over to my place tonight? I might be able to help out.”

“You’re serious!?” Kirishima rounds him, eyes wide. “Dude, you’re already helping me with training, I really don’t wanna impose—”

“If you don’t want to that’s fine,” Izuku says, “but you aren’t imposing, I’m offering.” He doesn’t know why he’s offering, though, because he’s never actually invited anyone to his house before, ever. “I can make curry, too.”

Kirishima seems torn, but after a second, he takes in a deep breath and nods firmly. “I swear I’ll make it up to you someday, Midoriya,” he says. “You’re a super cool person, y’know?”

He’s never been told anything like that before, so he shrugs as a response. Kirishima makes to ruffle his hair, but stops before making contact, and Izuku feels both relieved and guilty at the same time.

Mom won’t mind Kirishima being here. She’s always encouraged visits, actually (although she always asks for Izuku’s consent beforehand, obviously), and she’s told Izuku time and time again that she’s glad he has a friend like him.

It’s one of the reasons why Izuku is alright with Kirishima coming over; if he didn’t think Mom would permit it, he wouldn’t have considered it. But, Mom likes Kirishima a lot, and so does Izuku’s growing number of cats (except Fistfight, who still hisses at him when he passes too close to her), so that’s a plus too.

The fridge is stocked; Izuku makes fresh rice and reheats leftover curry from his and Mom’s dinner the night before, then goes ahead and sets two plates out for him and Kirishima. He assumes they’ll sit in the living room and eat while they work. Mom has never minded that, either.

Izuku gets the cats their dinner around the same time the doorbell rings. “It’s open,” Izuku hollers down the hall as the kittens rush for their food bowls, and Izuku hears the front door open and shut as he makes his way over.

“Hey!” Kirishima greets, grinning and raising a hand. He’s toeing off his shoes, one hand around the strap of his backpack. “Thanks for having me over on short notice. You’re a real lifesaver, you know that, right?”

Izuku shrugs, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

The night goes uneventfully. Izuku won’t lie, he does feel a bit out of place here (not uncomfortable yet, just out of place), with Kirishima here and Mom out on business. He doesn’t know why he even offered for Kirishima to come over in the first place, because it’d definitely been a spur of the moment decision that he probably should’ve thought through a little better.

It’s fine, though. He’s fine. This is good. Socializing like this is good. Kirishima is his friend, someone he trusts, there’s nothing wrong with this situation. Besides, Izuku has been doing fairly okay ever since spilling his life story to Toshinori and getting discharged from the hospital. Maybe that’s another reason.

Everything is uneventful, at least, until a roll of thunder crashes outside and all Izuku’s seven kittens latch onto him like their lives depend on it. Kirishima raises his head from his text book toward the window.

“It’s raining?” Kirishima says, getting to his feet and hurrying over. Izuku manages to pry the kittens off him and follow.

“Crap.” Kirishima winces out the window; droplets of water roll down the glass surface on the outside of the house, and now that Izuku listens, he can hear rain pattering along the rooftop. “That changed super fast…”

“I should’ve known,” Izuku says, staring out the window. “I’ve been sore all day, I just didn’t think it had anything to do with the weather…”

“Wait, if you’ve been sore, then why were you sparring with me!?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Kirishima spins around to face him. “It is a big deal!”

“Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Izuku says without meaning it, “but that’s not important right now. What do you wanna do?”

Kirishima regains his composure, looks out the window once more, then turns back to him again. “I could walk back to my place,” he says, “but it’s, y’know...it’s still a long ways off. I could call my parents, I guess, but like I said, they’re working late.”

Izuku thinks about this for a long moment. “...If you don’t have another option...you could stay here overnight.”

“Are you kidding me!?” Kirishima looks so shocked it’s almost comical. “No way! You’ve already done so much for me, man, I don’t wanna keep imposing on ya—”

“Pay me back with a soda or something,” Izuku says, “it’s probably better you stay here instead of trying to trudge home in the rain.”

“A soda!? For sparring, tutoring, and letting me stay overnight, you want a soda!?”

“Okay, fine. Two sodas.”

“Dude—!”

“It’s not just for you,” Izuku cuts in before he can start another argument. “I’d feel better if I knew you were here safe and not washed down some gutter because you weren’t paying attention.”

It takes a long time before Kirishima finally (reluctantly) agrees, though he refuses to do anything other than sleep on the floor. Izuku lets him, throwing him a pillow and a blanket off his bed.

“So you like colorful things,” Kirishima says thoughtfully, surveying Izuku’s bedroom as he spreads the blanket out on the floor. He hasn’t asked about the knives (yet), but then again, he hasn’t asked about a lot of things. Like Izuku’s scars.

Izuku nods. “Color is underrated,” he says, yanking another blanket from the closet and tossing it to Kirishima.

“Have you ever thought about glow in the dark star stickers?” Kirishima asks curiously. “I have some on my ceiling, they’re nice to look at sometimes when you can’t sleep.”

“...Star stickers?”

“Yeah, star stickers,” Kirishima confirms, nodding. “They glow in the dark. I don’t know if you can get them in different colors, but they’re really cool either way! I could bring you some sometime—actually, I’ll definitely bring you some sometime! You can take it as part of my rent.”

“It’s just for one night.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“You don’t—”

“Just take the damn star stickers, Midoriya.”

Izuku opens his mouth to object again, but doesn’t. Having glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling to look at when he can’t sleep might be...kinda nice.

“...Alright. Thanks.”

Kirishima grins at him, and once Kirishima is settled in on the floor, Izuku hops onto his bed. Fistfight is in the cardboard box with her kittens, and five of the others curl up with Izuku while the other two snuggle up with Kirishima.

“Goodnight, Kirishima.”

“Night, dude.”

Izuku flicks off the bedside lamp. The nightlights scattered throughout the room keep everything considerably lit.

“Do the night lights bother you?”

“Nah, they’re fine,” Kirishima answers; in the light of one, Izuku sees the two kittens curled on his chest, and Kirishima is petting them. “Yeah, you definitely need some star stickers, though. They really complete a room.”

“I look forward to getting them,” Izuku says. “Goodnight.”

“Night dude, part two.”

Kirishima is asleep long before Izuku, and Izuku finds himself...content, actually. He’s been pushing himself lately, doing things he’s never done before—like sparring with Kirishima, using his Quirk, even having Kirishima over to his house and, furthermore, for a sleepover, but he feels...okay.

He’s really okay, actually. He feels like he’s making more progress than ever before.

To his surprise, he falls asleep easily.

The world is pixelating before his eyes. The flames move in like glitches, popping up where they shouldn’t be, their flames following the pixels and eating away at the world. The streets are empty, the sky is dark; the pavement has a long, single crack through it that stretches a full foot in diameter.

He stands amidst it with a body that doesn’t feel like his own, with a head that’s full of fog and distortion, and in the back of a mind he hears a voice, a voice that’s familiar but not his.

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

D͎̰̼͇̎͐͐ͮ̈́O͎̬̥̲̫ͣ̋͒́̂̽̉ ̲̗̥͖̈́̂̓I̤̱̫͍͙ͪ̅́̉ͥ̚ͅT̥̭̖͓̅ͣͥ̀ͩͅ.͕̤̱̣̪̪͓̿ ̗̲̪͓̭̎D̹̟̺̦͖̬Ȏ̰̮̠͉̥ͧ́ ̇ͯ̔̋͋I͓̙̟͍͑̋͑̈T̪̆͑.͈̳̄̈́̌̍̔͗ ̗̗͎̈̃̐̈D̥̘͍̰̻̪̲̊̔O̞͎̟͉͒ͅ ̪ͯͮ̏̚I͍̻̳̭̩̖ͧ̽ͦ̍͊T̆̾.̼͎͕͚̿͌͗̈́̐

The voice tells him to and he’s trying to hold back, but the world is being swallowed up right before his eyes. The flames grow, the buildings crumble into pixels and disappear before they hit the ground, his vision is clouding and his thought process isn’t his own.

“Izuku.”

He spins around. Across from him, amidst it all, he sees Yatchi.

But he hears Kowareta.

“That’s not your name, though.”

He grits his teeth and chokes on something. It tastes like blood. A crash drags his attention in that direction; half of a building slams into the asphalt and sends a shockwave that he barely feels.

When he turns his head back, he sees Kowareta, but she raises her hands and Signs, You know who you are.

Stop it, he thinks desperately, something rising in his chest and burning in his eyes. Stop it.

Kowareta becomes Yatchi.

“You know who you are.”

“Stop it!” he shouts, but the voice isn’t his. Another crash from the other direction, and he spins around to look behind him.

A giant pane of glass is just before his face, and he doesn’t see himself in the reflection. He sees a man, tall, with shaggy hair and an aura that radiates power. When he stumbles back, the not-him in the reflection smiles.

“This is who you are, [̸͝Ḑ҉̨͢͝*̸̛̕͢(̶̶͘#̡͢j̶̕ę͢͢a҉̸̧͡s̶̨j͠͏̧k͠s̶̵̸*̶̵7̢͢#̛͡u̷̵͘]̵̷͏͟,” says Kowareta’s voice as the villain’s lips move. “This...is what you are.”

When he looks down, there’s blood around his feet and splattered on his clothes.

When he raises his head towards the mirror, he sees Kirishima, standing smiling like always.

A crack breaks the glass, and now Kirishima’s eyes are dead, skin pale, splattered in blood.

He stumbles backwards with a shriek, and tumbles into the crack in the pavement.

He falls.

Something touches him. Izuku screams and lashes out.

He doesn’t remember when he got a knife. He feels the impact, like metal against metal, and his eyes snap open just in time to watch pieces of his blade gleam in the moonlight, then scatter across the ground like large pieces of broken glass.

Kirishima kneels on the ground across from him, arms guarding his face, Quirk activated. Izuku is holding onto a destroyed knife, a small piece of the blade still protruding from the hilt.

He feels it a second later, amidst the panic and horror and the feeling like his chest is about to burst.

He turns it inward. It hits him immediately, the pain, the dulled senses; his vision goes black, and his ears ring. He thinks he hears Kirishima shouting something, but he can’t be sure.

“The drawer,” he gasps out, and his words are swallowed up by the ringing of his ears. “The drawer, the desk drawer, there’s a syringe—”

It’s the pain that hits him next, like his nerves are being twisted and tweaked all at once. He grits his teeth and rides it out and please hurry, please hurry, please—

Something pricks his arm, and his body doesn’t feel like his own anymore. The static begins to fade as an unnatural coolness penetrates through the burning haze, and slowly, the pain begins to ebb. The black in his sight becomes gray; he sees Kirishima, like a silhouette, kneeling on the ground in front of him again, and he hears Kirishima’s voice fade into his ears.

“—ey, hey, dude, Midoriya, Midoriya, hey, talk to me, man, please—”

Izuku drags in a shuddering breath, still clutching the hilt of the destroyed knife in a shaking hand.

“I’m okay,” Izuku chokes, gasping, heaving.

And then he makes a dive for the bedside trashcan and throws up.

“Oh hell, hell, dude, what—”

Kirishima is by him as bile burns his throat, and Izuku can feel his panic like it’s a tangible thing in the air. Kirishima doesn’t touch him, though; after what just happened a second ago, he’s probably afraid to.

Izuku stumbles back; his shoulder blades hit the wall first, and he sits there, panting, trying to get his breath back. He loosens his grip on the hilt of the knife, just because he feels too weak to maintain it.

He opens his mouth. He can’t speak.

“Just—sit here,” Kirishima says, getting to his feet, “I’m—I’m gonna find a first aid kit, or something, just stay here, don’t move.”

Izuku still can’t talk, so he nods shakily.. When Kirishima turns his back, Izuku shuts his eyes—a second later, a soft weight drops on his lap. Izuku’s eyes snap open; Marshmallow blinks at him and mrrows in his face. Izuku chokes on a shuddering sob, and just before Kirishima leaves the room, Izuku bangs the butt of the hilt into the floor twice.

Kirishima spins around. Izuku raises his other hand.

Thank you.

Kirishima smiles, and although it looks like a wince, Izuku can tell he’s trying his best to be reassuring.

Kirishima uses gauze to patch a wad of cotton over Izuku’s arm, where the syringe broke his skin. Izuku murmurs a shaky, barely distinguishable thank you, and Kirishima shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says, tying off the gauze and sitting back, running a hand through his hair. “It’s—It’s fine, I just—are you okay?”

No.

He’s not. He’s not.

The shattered pieces of his blade are still on the floor, where the knife had met Kirishima’s hardened arms. He thinks about it, and then he thinks about it again, and then again, and—

“No, hey, dude, no, that wasn’t your fault,” Kirishima cuts in immediately, sitting closer to him and shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t’ve grabbed you, I just—” Kirishima stops and sits back, biting his lip. “You weren’t breathing.”

...Oh. He’s not mad at Kirishima for grabbing him, even without this new information; he’s upset that he’d lashed out, that he’d swung a knife, and he thinks about Kirishima’s quick-thinking, Kirishima’s Quirk, his arms in front of his face, and he thinks what would’ve happened if it’d been any other person, if it’d been any other Quirk, if it’d been a split second too late, if he’d been one second faster, if Kirishima had been one second slower—

“Why?”

Kirishima says nothing, and Izuku presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and drags in a long, shuddering breath.

“Why am I like this?” Izuku heaves, and the edges of his vision are black. He probably isn’t breathing right, even now, but it doesn’t matter at all. “I just, I’m—I’m doing better, I was doing better, so why—”

“Dude, it’s...it’s not your fault,” Kirishima says, shaking his head. “You lashed out because you were scared, anyone else would’ve done the same thing—”

“I was getting better,” Izuku snaps, and his voice trembles although his eyes are dry. “I’ve been trying, I thought —I thought I was, I thought, I—”

“Midoriya—”

“I could’ve k-killed—”

“You wouldn’t have,” Kirishima cuts in sharply, leaning forward and reaching out, like he’s going to put his hands on Izuku’s shoulders although no contact is made. “You wouldn’t have, Midoriya, I know you wouldn’t have.”

Izuku chokes on something—a spite-filled laugh, his frustration, his anger. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“You’re wrong,” Kirishima argues. “I don’t know everything about you, you’re right, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want, but I think I know more about you than you realize.”

Izuku chokes on that odd not-laughter again. “You don’t know—”

“You saved me and Yatchi,” Kirishima goes on, regardless of Izuku’s protests. “When that car was hurled at us, you could’ve just saved yourself. But you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t—”

“After that, when people were running and screaming and trying to get to safety, you could’ve gone with them. You could’ve evacuated and gotten yourself out of there. But you didn’t.”

“T-That—”

“When the villain grabbed Yatchi, you didn’t have to fight back. You didn’t have to save her. You could have used her life as an opening and ran. But you didn’t, Midoriya.”

Izuku takes in a breath. So does Kirishima.

“...And, even before that,” Kirishima says, “when I was wandering around with Yatchi with no idea what to do, you stepped up to help us.”

“I-It was just because I knew Sign—”

“Still, though, you didn’t have to help us. You could’ve just kept going on about your day and kept doing your own thing, but you wanted to help us. It’s a lot smaller than the other things I mentioned, but, I think you get what I’m saying.”

Izuku wants to laugh again. And, also, he kind of wants to cry.

“...Listen, Midoriya…”

Kirishima scoots a little closer, opens his mouth, then shuts it and averts his gaze.

“There’s...a lot I don’t know about you,” Kirishima says quietly. “I don’t know why the hell your walls are lined with knives, I don’t know why you’ve got so many scars, I don’t know why you don’t smile, I don’t even know what the hell I injected you with a second ago or why it was so important. But...after everything...I think I’ve seen you, as a person. I think I’ve seen your heart.”

Izuku inhales sharply, then exhales the same way.

“Kirishima, you...I, just...don’t change, would you? Don’t ever change.”

Kirishima smiles at him, and it’s more honest this time, although Izuku can still see a bit of hurt and pain in his eyes.

“Hey, um, dude…” Kirishima rubs the back of his neck for a second. “...Um...if you don’t wanna that’s fine, and don’t worry about it at all, but, do you...want a hug?”

A hug. If Mom was in Kirishima’s position, Izuku would already be in her arms, but right now he’s not entirely sure. As much as he loves his mother’s hugs and how comforting they are, there’s just...he doesn’t know if he can handle it.

“I’m...I’m not...I don’t know,” Izuku says, then swallows hard. “It’d, I-I—It’d be nice, I just don’t…”

“...How about this,” Kirishima says, sitting a little straighter. “We can try, and the second you get uncomfortable, just pull away and I’ll let go, no questions asked.”

That...that could work. Besides, he trusts Kirishima. He gets no bad vibes from him, no threat, no danger. Kirishima is, honestly, a godsend of a friend, patient and bright when Izuku is upset and, well, to put it poetically, dark.

He nods. He has his doubts, has his fears, has his worries—right up until Kirishima’s arms actually encircle his shoulders.

He stiffens. Kirishima’s embrace is a lot different than Mom’s, but it’s not even in a bad way, it’s just...different. It’s tight, protective, secure, and even though it’s only been a few weeks since they’d actually become friends, Izuku feels safe.

Actually, it reminds him of Kowareta’s hugs. It’s that same kind of feeling, that same kind of “I’m not letting go,” that same kind of “I’m here for you.”

It takes a second, a second that seems to last no less than an eternity, but his arms move, the hilt of the broken knife slips from his hands, and he hugs Kirishima back.

“I’m trying,” he says, and his voice cracks. It’s not because he’s crying, because he isn’t, he’s just really, really frustrated. And disappointed. And angry. “I’m trying, I’m really trying—”

“And you’re doing a damn good job,” Kirishima adds firmly, squeezing him tighter. It’s still hard to breathe, but it’s okay this time. “You’ve seen hell but you’re still trying so hard and dude, that’s... really freaking admirable.”

Izuku exhales shakily. “I’m—”

“If you say you aren’t doing a good enough job, don’t even think about it. You’ve been pushing yourself lately, and you’ve really gotta learn to cut yourself some slack. And if that means staying home and missing a day of sparring, that is fine by me.”

Hearing those words means a lot to Izuku. It means more to him than he could properly express in his own words, so he just nods against Kirishima’s shoulder and does nothing more.

He doesn’t really know how long they’re on the floor like that together, but it definitely lasts a while. Eventually, Kirishima pulls back, and Izuku lets go. Izuku feels dizzy and disoriented; the Quirk suppressants did their job quicker than normal, considering it’s a stronger, more concentrated dose injected straight into his bloodstream in comparison to the pills, but still. Quirk suppressants have always made him feel off and sick, and now is no exception.  

“Listen, you’re gonna hate me for what I’m about to say,” Kirishima says, bringing Izuku out of his daze, “but you should probably eat a little something, even if it’s just a couple of crackers.”

That’s not a pleasant thought. Izuku shakes his head.

“Dude, I could feel your ribs, and you were literally just puking, you’re going to make yourself really sick at this rate—”

“If I eat something now it’s gonna come right back up,” Izuku says, shaking the thought from his mind. “It’s better if I just, wait until tomorrow.”

Kirishima bites his lip, but nods. “Do you, I don’t know...you wanna go back to sleep, or do you think you’ll be up for a while longer?”

“I’ll probably just...pass out in a few minutes, actually,” Izuku says, already feeling lightheaded. “The Quirk suppressants really mess with my senses…”

Kirishima blanches. “That’s what that syringe was?”

“I’ll explain it tomorrow,” Izuku says, “I promise, I’ll—I’ll tell you everything. For now, I just…”

“Right, bed, yeah,” Kirishima says, and he rises to his feet, wincing a bit. He holds a hand out to Izuku right afterwards, and Izuku reaches out, takes it, and lets Kirishima pull him to his feet. He staggers for a second, but doesn’t fall.

“Thanks, for...for being here,” Izuku says, stomach finally settling to something almost normal. “And...I’m sorry, about the knife—”

“Seriously, don’t apologize for that anymore,” Kirishima says. “Like I said, I’m sure I would’ve done the same thing. Just, try and get some sleep, yeah? I’m here if you need me.”

That comfort is enough.

When Inko gets home around noon the next day (she’d been supposed to get home sooner, but the airline was delayed a few hours due to the weather), she sees Izuku’s stack of homework on the coffee table, along with a stack of school books she doesn’t recognize. Her first thought is that Kirishima is visiting; after all, there’s no one else Izuku is close enough to invite over.

It’s odd, though, that Inko hasn’t seen either Kirishima or Izuku since arriving home. Not even the kittens have greeted her.

Confused, and a little concerned, she sets down her things and heads down the hallway toward Izuku’s room.

She knocks, and when there’s no answer, she opens the door and peaks inside.

It’s...odd, to say the least.

Kirishima and Izuku are curled up together on the floor, covered in at least five blankets. The seven kittens are on top of the boys, and it looks like Fistfight brought her two kittens out of the cardboard box and is curled around them on the edge of the pillow. Kirishima and Izuku are both sleeping soundly, soundly enough to not hear her come home or open the door, which is...very strange to see Izuku do.

Inko retreats from the room quickly as though not to disturb the peace, and she heads into the kitchen to start making lunch for whenever they wake up.

Chapter Text

Waking up is a slow occasion, which is odd because usually it’s the exact opposite. Actually sleeping in and of itself is something he can’t do a whole lot of, so the fact that he’s waking up at all already adds enough oddity to the situation without the fact that he’s waking up peacefully instead of in the thralls of some nightmare.

He wakes up in warmth and in peace, blinking his eyes open slowly and looking around. He’s still on the floor, wrapped in Kirishima’s arms and about three blankets. The kittens are all over the two of them, either curled up or sprawled, and Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever been this blatantly content before upon waking up.

Not to mention, the static has completely faded from his head thanks to the Quirk suppressants Kirishima injected him with last night. He still has to explain all of that.

Kirishima is still sleeping, it would seem, so Izuku doesn’t wake him or get up. He doesn’t have any reason to get up anyway what with how warm and comfortable it is here on the floor. He could easily stay here for another week and have no regrets.

So he shifts closer, until his forehead is touching Kirishima’s chest, and the sirens don’t even go off in his head like they usually do. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this blatantly calm before in his entire life. It’s odd.

He shuts his eyes and breathes in a long breath. Now that he’s slightly more awake, he feels a bit of what he’d felt last night; nauseous, dizzy, sickly. But he’s so comfortable right now that he’s completely okay with enduring it. He really doesn’t want this to end.

“Buddy? You awake?”

He hears a rustle by his head. A second later, Kirishima’s touches his shoulder lightly. “Dude?”

Izuku nods without opening his eyes.

“Do you...wanna get up?”

Izuku shakes his head. “If you want to that’s fine,” he says, even though he’ll admit (not out loud) that the floor would be much less comfortable without Kirishima, “but I’m just gonna stay here.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Kirishima settles down again and drapes his arm back over Izuku. “I didn’t really wanna get up, either. Just wanted to know if you did.”

Izuku nods again. “Cool.”

It’s quiet for a while, until Kirishima pokes his shoulder again. “You feeling a little better now?”

“Yeah,” Izuku says. “...Lowkey feel like I’m gonna throw up, but it’s fine.”

“Oh, crap.” Kirishima shifts again. Izuku cracks his eyes open to see him sitting up, carefully pulling the kittens off him and settling them closer to Izuku. “Do you, uh, do you want medicine or something? Should I bring a trashcan over?”

Izuku shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, snuggling further into the blankets. The kittens that had previously been laying on top of Kirishima now cuddle up with him, and he closes his eyes again. “I’ll make a dive for the bathroom if I have to. I’m fine right now.”

Kirishima is silent for a time. “...If you’re sure,” he says, and settles down again. The cats make no move to return to him, content with their new positions, and Kirishima drapes his arm around Izuku again, mindful of them. “Man, I’m just glad you’re alright, dude. Last night was…”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t really need to. Izuku nods slowly, thinking, then decides not to and settles down again.

“We can talk about it later,” he says with a silent promise to himself to do so. “I promised I’d tell you about the Quirk suppressants and everything, so…”

Kirishima sighs. “As much as I’d love to know, you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with,” he reminds, keeping his tone soft. “You’ve obviously seen some crap, I don’t wanna make you relive anything.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’m not gonna run around shouting it to everyone,” Izuku intones, “but I don’t mind telling you.”

“Alright.” Kirishima shifts again. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

Izuku hums. He feels more awake now than before, which is disappointing, but he supposes it can’t be helped. The more awake he becomes, the less stellar he feels, and eventually, he sits up and scoops the kittens off him, depositing them onto the blanket below.

“Be back,” he says, rising to his feet. He feels unsteady, but it’s nothing compared to last night, so he counts it as an improvement.

“Oh, sure.” Kirishima sits up, then stands. “You okay, or…?”

“Remember that thing I said about throwing up?”

“...Oh.” Kirishima lets out a long sigh and runs his hand through his hair, and the silence stretches for a time. “Is it...is it really normal for stuff like this to happen, Midoriya?”

Izuku pauses, then exhales slowly. “No, it’s not,” he says. “It shouldn’t be. But it’s my normal.”

There’s really nothing else Kirishima can say after that, so Izuku goes ahead into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He doesn’t actually throw up, which surprises but relieves him, so he just splashes some water on his face to clear the remaining drowsiness and heads back into the room. The kittens are wandering around; Fistfight has her own kittens back in their cardboard box while the previous six roam the floor or hop onto Izuku’s bed.

Kirishima is folding up the blankets they’d used last night, and he raises his head when Izuku re-enters the room. “You doing okay?” he asks, standing with an armful of blankets.

Izuku nods. “Fine,” he says, picking a pillow up off the ground to help out. “I think I’ll probably feel better once I have something in my system, but it’s hard to say.”

“Okay, but as soon as you feel like it, we’re definitely going out later on to get those sodas I promised you.”

Izuku blinks. “We’re…?”

“Whenever you want to,” Kirishima answers, turning to him. “It could be today or it could be a month from now, but I really wanna do it.”

“I was joking.”

“So you don’t like soda?”

“No, I do, I just—”

“Then it’s settled, we’re doing it.”

“You don’t have to—”

Kirishima actually chucks one of the blankets at him. It smacks Izuku in the face and successfully cuts him off, which he supposes was Kirishima’s intention all along.

“Dude. Honestly.”

Izuku yanks down the blanket from his face and meets Kirishima’s eyes.

“You’re doing so much for me,” Kirishima says. “Just, let me find small ways to return the favor. Alright?”

Izuku stands there with an armful of blankets and wide eyes. Eventually, he nods, and Kirishima turns away, satisfied.

Izuku waits until Kirishima least expects it before hurling the blankets at him. They hit the back of Kirishima’s head, and Kirishima makes a small yelp of surprise and spins around.

“Now we’re even,” Izuku says flatly.

Kirishima grins at him, and Izuku’s sure that if he had the kind of face that could smile, he’d probably grin back at him.

“Morning, boys!” Mom greets cheerfully, beaming at the two of them as they head into the kitchen. “Good to see you up. I have breakfast ready.”

“Great!” Kirishima says, never one for proper etiquette. “Thanks for having me, Inko-san, Midoriya.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Mom says, which is exactly what Izuku is thinking. She has already dragged up an extra chair from the hall closet, and the table is set. “Go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring everything over.”

“Do you want help?” Izuku asks, but Mom is already shaking her head and turning away. He doesn’t persist; he knows her well enough.

Izuku actually eats and stomachs his breakfast, which is fantastic. One of the reasons he ate more than he generally does (still not being that much, but anyway) was because he kept catching Kirishima side-eyeing him, concerned, and Izuku had promised that he’d eat breakfast this morning, so he was left with no choice.

Mom and Kirishima talk most, and Izuku inputs his two cents whenever he feels like it, though he mainly leaves it to them. Mom doesn’t know much about Kirishima aside from the fact that he and Izuku are friends, so them having the chance to get to know each other like this is good.

“So, how did you and Izuku meet?” Mom asks curiously, when they’re about midway through breakfast. It’s a fair question; considering Izuku is homeschooled, plus not being the biggest fan of socializing, there aren’t many opportunities for him to make friends.

“Oh, I met him at a park,” Kirishima answers, setting his chopsticks aside for the moment. “I was watching a little deaf girl, but I didn’t know any Sign Language, so at the time Midoriya was kind of a godsend.”

“I could teach you more Sign Language if you wanted me to,” Izuku says. His own chopsticks have been sitting off to the side for a long while now. “I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years.”

Kirishima puts his hands together. “Dude. Buddy. Pal. You’re gonna have to stop helping me out so much until I can repay you with something.”

“I already said you could buy me a soda.”

“Yeah, you did. One soda.”

“And you’re bringing me star stickers.”

“They’re just star stickers, you’re literally giving me free tutoring lessons, sparring lessons, you’ve let me invade your house—”

“I invited you over.”

“Dude.”

“You don’t have to get me anything at all, I don’t really care either way.”

Kirishima takes up his chopsticks and aims them at Izuku pointedly. “You, my friend, need to stop being so stubborn.”

Mom’s soft laughter brings Izuku and Kirishima out of their argument, and she waves a hand idly when they turn to her wide-eyed. She has her other hand by her mouth.

“You two are great,” she says, lowering her hand and smiling. “Eijirou-kun, feel free to come over any time you’d like. You aren’t imposing on either of us.”

“Are you sure?” He hadn’t really accepted it from Izuku, but maybe hearing Mom say it too will finally drive it home. “I don’t wanna—”

“We just said you’re not imposing,” Izuku says, taking up his chopsticks to eat again in a silent way of saying he’s through discussing this. “Besides, I like having you here, so it’s a win for both of us.”

Kirishima stares at him, and so does Mom for just a moment, though she breaks it by smiling. Izuku thinks it may be one of the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen from her.

Kirishima heads out shortly thereafter with a promise to return with Izuku’s star stickers. As for the sodas, he said he wanted to make it a more special occasion and take Izuku out to one of the shops downtown.

“You can pick your own that way, too,” Kirishima says as he slips on his shoes by the door. “We’ll make an outing out of it. Goof off downtown or something. Maybe I can get you a hoodie, you like those right?”

Considering the fact that Kirishima’s ever only seen him wearing a hoodie, and the fact that Kirishima’s ever only seen him wearing different hoodies every day, Izuku supposes his assumption is well founded.

“If you want to, I won’t stop you,” Izuku says simply. “...And I don’t think I could stop you if I tried anyway, so…”

Kirishima grins, straightening up again. “Well, I’ll be back with the stickers soon,” he says, turning towards the door. “Until then—oh, before I forget.” He pauses and looks to Izuku again. “That trainer you’re working with—”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Izuku says, already guessing Kirishima’s question. “Sorry, I just think it’s better to take it easy after last night—”

“No, I was just gonna say that you probably shouldn’t rush back into things,” Kirishima corrects. “I wasn’t gonna ask about training with him, I just wanted to remind you not to push yourself too hard.”

“...Oh. I see. Thanks.”

Kirishima smiles one final time, then heads out. Izuku waves goodbye until the door shuts behind him.

“He’s a nice boy,” Inko says, washing dishes while Izuku brings her the bowls from the table. “I’m—thank you—I’m glad the two of you became friends.”

Izuku nods. One of his kittens is hanging off his sleeve precariously. “I’m glad we’re friends too,” he says, bending down and picking Fistfight up from the floor. She’s skinnier than what she should be, but she’s gained weight since finding a home with the Midoriyas, which is good. “Kirishima is...he’s a good friend.”

Inko nods, fills the bowls with water to soak, then cuts the tap. “So,” she says, grabbing a towel and drying her hands with them, “do you...want to tell me what happened last night?”

Her back is turned to him, but she hears his shark intake of breath, followed by a sigh. “I...just, y’know...nightmares. The usual.”

Inko freezes and bites her lip, but nods steadily afterwards. “And Eijirou? He was there?”

“He was, yeah. He...he was.”

Inko turns around to face him finally; all his cats had somehow climbed onto him while she had her back turned, and now he has Fistfight in his arms and the older six kittens either on his shoulders or hanging off his arms.

Izuku looks down uncomfortably for a moment, shifting his weight. “He...he had to inject me with one of my new Quirk suppressants. Looking back on it now that things have kinda blown over, I hate that I made him do it, but...I don’t...if he hadn’t done it, I...”  

Inko nods, still biting her lip. It’s hard, situations like this. “You wouldn’t have asked him to do it if you didn’t need to, Izuku. It isn’t your fault.”

“I know.” But the tone of his voice says the opposite. “I just...it’s…” He stops, gives up, then shakes his head. His eyes are dull. “It’s...difficult. S-Sometimes.”

Inko sighs, but shakes her head. “You’ll get there,” she says gently. “It’s not always going to be this difficult.”

“I know.” His voice holds more confidence this time, just enough for Inko to notice. “I know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles softly, then pauses. “...Izuku?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you...sure you’re feeling alright?”

Izuku blinks at her, and it’s only now she realizes how glassy his eyes look. “What?”

“I know yesterday was rough,” Inko says, setting the hand towel to the side, “but, aside from the usual, do you feel any worse?”

Izuku blinks at her again. Fistfight squirms in his arms, and he lets her go. “I don’t...think so?”

Inko reaches out and presses her hand against his forehead. He doesn’t flinch; by this point, he trusts her enough to not to.  

“You feel warm,” Inko murmurs, lowering her hand again. “I don’t think it’s a fever, but if you notice anything out of the usual, let me know, okay?”

Izuku bites his lip, probably a habit he picked up from her. “Inko-san—”

“Izuku.” She takes his hands in hers, and she can feel his scars against her smooth fingers. “You have to tell me if something’s wrong. Whatever it is, we can work through it together, but I have to know. Okay?”

Izuku swallows hard, but nods shakily. “Okay.”

When Eijirou knocks about half an hour later, it’s Izuku who goes and opens the door. Eijirou has a little brown paper bag of something, which he holds up excitedly for Izuku to see.

“Got ‘em!” Eijirou says, slipping off his shoes hastily. When he sees Inko further down the hall, he lifts a hand and waves enthusiastically. “Hi Inko-san!”

Inko waves back with a smile, and Eijirou turns back to Izuku. “You wanna go ahead and put them in the room?” Eijirou asks, looking hardly able to contain his excitement.

Izuku nods, and Inko sees his eyes shine. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Great!” Eijirou reaches out as though to grab Izuku’s wrist, but then stops short, flinching back. “Um, I, erm—”

Izuku lets out a sigh and raises his arm. “It’s okay.”

Eijirou beams, grabs Izuku by the wrist, and drags him excitedly out of the room and into Izuku’s bedroom. Inko hears the door swing shut (it doesn’t latch, just closes), and she shakes her head with a smile.

Eijirou is just what Izuku needs. Someone cheerful and outgoing in nature, but someone who can also respect Izuku’s own boundaries and not push him into doing anything he isn’t comfortable with. It’s good that Izuku has a friend like him now; Inko has always done whatever she could to coax Izuku out of his shell, but maybe having someone his own age, a friend and not a parent, can influence him further.

She goes back to her papers, still smiling.

“I think you’re really gonna like the stickers a lot,” Kirishima says, laying on Izuku’s bed and staring up at the ceiling with his fingers by his face, making a frame. “We could put some there,” he points, “there,” he points again, “anywhere you want. They’re gonna look awesome.”

Izuku is on his bed as well, though he’s laying on his front and scrolling idly through his phone, looking at pictures of constellations. The bag of stickers is on the bedside table.

“Find anything you like?” Kirishima asks, sitting up and repositioning himself so he’s laying beside Izuku in the same position. He glances over Izuku’s shoulder at his phone. “Got anything in mi—oh I like that idea, putting them on a ceiling fan. Hey, I bet we could get some glow in the dark paint somewhere and make some of them look like shooting stars. What do you think?”

Izuku nods stiffly, though there’s something else on his mind. “Hey, Kirishima, this...this might not be the best time, and you can say no if you want to, but do you wanna hear about my past?”

Kirishima stares at him like he’d just suggested chugging a jar of glow in the dark paint.“That came out of nowhere. Why do you wanna tell me now?”

“Because I want to stop thinking about finally telling you,” Izuku answers, sitting up, “and...I wanted to do it before the star thing, that way I have it off my chest.”  

Kirishima turns away for a moment, frowning, but then he nods. “If you wanna tell me, pal, I’m...I’m all ears.”

Izuku takes in a breath to steel himself. It doesn’t really bother him much anymore, talking about his past. It’s a part of himself he’s moved on from and never has to go back to. The repercussions of it are still here, but when it comes to Kirishima, his first friend after his mom...he can tell him.

“So...I, um...I didn’t always have this Quirk,” Izuku says slowly, holding his knees against his chest with his arms wrapped around them. “I was originally Quirkless, just like my sister. Up until I was nine, we—we lived with and were raised by villains.”

Kirishima’s eyes widen, but he has no tremendous outburst of shock, which Izuku appreciates. “I guess that kinda explains all the scars,” Kirishima says, pointing at one near Izuku’s neck. “Damn, dude, you must’ve seen hell. Where’s your sister now?”

“She’s—” This, this is something he’ll always have a hard time saying. “She’s dead, Kirishima.”

“...Oh.” Kirishima’s voice is small, and Izuku doesn’t trust himself to look at Kirishima’s face. “Midoriya, I’m—I’m really sorry—”

“Me too,” Izuku says, something rising in his throat. “A-Anyway, basically what happened is, she was killed, I flipped out, the leader gave me a Quirk trying to slow me down, I escaped, Inko-san adopted me, and...here we are. That’s the shortened version.”

“And...the longer version?”

Izuku swallows thickly, then shakes his head. He’d told Toshinori specifically because Toshinori was a retired hero and Izuku had no doubt he’d be able to handle the extent of what happened; but for Kirishima, Izuku doesn’t want to make him carry everything, not now. Maybe someday. Not right now.

Kirishima gets it, and doesn’t push for answers. “I’m—I’m really sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “and even that feels stupid to say.”

“It’s not stupid,” Izuku says, looking away. “Thanks. Sorry for dropping that on you all of a sudden.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kirishima says, shaking his head. “I just—um—I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s fair.” It’s getting awkward, so Izuku bites his lip, then changes the subject altogether. “Do you wanna go ahead and get started on the star stickers? I’m actually really excited about putting them up.”

“You are?” Kirishima turns to him, then tilts his head. “...This is how you look when you’re excited”

“I try, at least.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me.” Kirishima beams at him, trying to lighten the mood, and reaches over and snatches the paper bag off the table. “Y’know, I kinda noticed, the corners of your eyes have this little light to them when you’re in a good mood.”

Izuku blinks. “Is that so?”

Kirishima nods, and Izuku ponders. Mom has always told him that he got the gleam in his eyes when he was happy, or content, or as Kirishima put it, in a good mood. He finds it interesting that Kirishima picked up on it so quickly, and it’s nice that Kirishima knows how to tell when he’s genuinely happy instead of thinking he’s constantly dead inside.

They get to their feet, and Kirishima opens the paper bag. “Let’s get this started, then!”

“Little to the left.”

“Dude you just said that.”

“Further left.”

“Okay, this any better?”

“Too far, go back.”

“Midoriya, please, this is really dangerous.”

“It’s not dangerous in the whole scheme of things,” Izuku says, balancing precariously on Kirishima’s shoulders and reaching for the ceiling with the star stickers. Kirishima is standing on his bed, his hands clasped around Izuku’s ankles to hold him steady. “This is one of the safer-dangerous things out there.”

“What does that even mean?” Kirishima cries, stumbling. “Dude please this is super precarious.”

“I’m almost done, just a little bit more to the left.”

“I don’t like this, no sir, nooooo sirrr —dangit Fistfight now is not the time to like me.”

“What’s she doing?” Izuku asks, eyes focused on plastering one of the stickers to the ceiling.

“She’s rubbing against my ankles,” is Kirishima’s answer, voice strained. “Fistfight, please, do this when I’m not standing precariously on a bED—!”

Kirishima’s voice rises in volume and pitch, and suddenly he and Izuku are tumbling, stumbling, then falling. Izuku manages to steel himself and tuck and roll upon landing, but Kirishima isn’t as lucky and barely manages to fire up his Quirk before slamming back-first into the ground.

“...Dude,” Kirishima breathes, staring upwards, “we are not— oh the star stickers actually look really nice—but ow, we are not doing that again—”

“I still have ten stickers—”

“Put them on the wall or something. Fistfight’s out to kill me, I’m not doing that again.”

There’s a knock at the door, and when Izuku and Kirishima turn in that direction, Mom pokes her head in. “I heard a thud,” she says, frowning at the two of them on the floor. “...Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Izuku says. “Kirishima?”

Kirishima wheezes. “Yeah I’m good. Never better. Just trying to get the stickers on the ceiling.”

Mom blinks at him, then turns and looks up at the star-coated ceiling. “We have a ladder, you know,” she says, looking at Kirishima and Izuku again. “And several step stools.”

“Oh.” Kirishima flops back on the ground. Fistfight has gone back to ignoring him, rather pouncing into Izuku’s lap innocently and rubbing her head under his chin. “Oh, this is perfect. Perfect.”

Kirishima is such a drama queen and this entire situation is so absurd that Izuku almost wants to laugh.

The next time Izuku finds himself at Dagobah Beach for training, Aizawa isn’t there.

“He was asked to accompany a group of pros on a hideout mission,” Toshinori explains when Izuku ponders his whereabouts out loud. “He’ll probably be joining us a little further into the week, but knowing him he’ll be absent for a while.”

“That’s alright,” Izuku says; after what happened the other night, the thought of using his Quirk again, even in a controlled environment with Aizawa right there to shut it off, still makes him feel very sick. “What do you want to work on today? Is there something specific?”

“Actually, there’s not much I can think of right now that I can genuinely help you with,” Toshinori admits, shaking his head. “I could give you a couple hand-to-hand combat pointers, but you seem to have that figured out as well, and you certainly don’t need any weapons-training from me. Not that that’s a requirement for U.A. in the first place.”

Izuku supposes this makes sense. All Izuku really needs to figure out at this point is his Quirk. Everything else—his skill, his abilities—is pretty set in stone, and there’s no need to modify it.

“Are you going to be at U.A. this year, Toshinori?” Izuku asks at long last, when the silence stretches into a more uncomfortable zone.

Toshinori pauses, but nods. “I am,” he says, turning towards the horizon. “I’m searching for a successor at the moment, actually. There is someone I have in mind, but...I would like to wait until I know for sure I have the right person.”

Izuku nods, turning to look at the horizon likewise. “...On a totally unrelated subject, I have this friend I want you to meet.”

“HE SAID YES!?”

“He said yes,” Izuku says, nodding. He’s sitting on the headboard of his bed, holding the phone to his ear. His cats curl in his lap or on his chest, and his nightlights shine through the dark. “He wants to start meeting with you tomorrow if you’re up to it.”

“HELL YEAH, OH MAN THIS IS AMAZING, DUDE THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU’RE THE BEST, I COULD NEVER REPAY YOU, NEVER—”

“...Are you...crying?”

“THE WORLD DOESN’T DESERVE YOU, MIDORIYA IZUKU! YOU’RE TOO GREAT!”

Izuku exhales sharply through his nose, but argues not. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Remember, four o’clock, in the morning, at Dagobah Beach. Don’t forget it. Write it down on your arm if you need to.”

“You got it, bro! I’ll see you then, alright? Oh, and make sure to get a good night’s sleep. Remember, I’m just a phone call away if you need me. Just say the word, I’ll come running.”

Izuku snorts again, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Kirishima.”

“Night, dude!”

He hangs up and sets his phone on the side table before snuggling beneath his comforters, taking his cats with him. Despite her attitude, Fistfight is surprisingly gentle with Izuku, and she’s currently curled against his chest, right where his heart is. Her three kittens are in their cardboard box on the other side of the room, snuggled up in their own blankets. Fistfight will return to them soon, Izuku knows this, she always does, but for now, she’s choosing to stay with him as though he were also her kitten.

Izuku glances up at the ceiling, at the star stickers he and Kirishima had put up there earlier, and he can’t believe where he is now. This time six years ago he’d been orphaned and alone, and now he has so much. There’s still a lot he’s getting through and a lot he has to deal with, but the fact he’s come so far already gives him more hope for the future.

He grabs his phone and snaps a picture of the ceiling. It looks better in person of course, but that doesn’t matter; he sets the photo as his phone’s background, then settles down again and falls asleep.

He’s on his way to Dagobah beach the next morning—early, of course—when Kirishima barrels past him energetically, whooping and leaping and pounding his fists into the air.

“Whoo! Yeah, let’s do this!” Kirishima hollers, launching into the air and fist-bumping the sky. “I’m so freaking pumped!”

“It’s four in the morning,” Izuku says simply, falling in step beside Kirishima when he waits up for him. “You should probably keep your voice down.”

“I know I know, but this is awesome! I can’t help it!” At this, he punches his fist into his open palm, looking so excited he could burst. “I’m super hyped, dude. This trainer guy you’ve been meeting with, he any good?”

Izuku pauses, pondering. So far, Aizawa has been far more of a help than Toshinori, which makes sense considering Izuku’s weaknesses and Aizawa’s strengths, but one thing Toshinori does have is experience, skill, and advice. After another second or so, he nods.

“He’s good,” Izuku answers. “He definitely knows what he’s talking about, if nothing else, and I’m sure he can give you a few more pointers on using your Quirk in battle, since I’m not exactly the most adept at that.”

Kirishima winces, but it lasts no longer than a moment before he’s beaming again. “Well, yeah, if you admire him, then he’s gotta be good,” Kirishima says, turning to him, and he’s run ahead before Izuku can ask what he means. With a sigh, Izuku jogs to catch up.

Toshinori is waiting for them on the garbage-covered shoreline of Dagobah beach. Aizawa isn’t there again, which Izuku was expecting, but Toshinori turns to them as they rush toward him.

“Ahh, morning,” Toshinori says, smiling. Izuku and Kirishima stop in front of him, panting (though Kirishima is far more dramatic about it than Izuku). “You must be Kirishima. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really!?” Kirishima stammers, eyes wide. “I’ve heard a lot about you too, Toshinori-san! I look forward to working for you!” And then, with a low bow, “Thank you for having me!”

Toshinori waves a hand idly, and Kirishima straightens up again and runs a hand through his hair, nervous. He still has absolutely no idea that he’s talking to All Might. Judging by the look on his face and his current enthusiasm, he hasn’t got so much as a suspicion.

“Well, I won’t do any beating around the bush,” Toshinori says with a smile. “Kirishima-kun, what exactly is it you want to do?”

“I want to save people!” Kirishima shouts the words like he’s said them his whole life. “I want to be there if someone needs me, and I want to be able to do it as best I can, Sir!”

“Toshinori will do,” Toshinori says, shaking his head. He glances at Izuku, who shrugs, then turns back to Kirishima. “That’s a brilliant goal to have, Kirishima. You’ll make a fine hero with that attitude.”

Kirishima beams and turns to Izuku, who wishes, for the life of him, that he could return the gesture.

“Hauling garbage,” Kirishima strains, breathless, as he drags a loaded crate across the sands. “When you said we were training, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Training starts with your mind and body,” Izuku says, standing off to the side and watching idly. “We work on the ‘body’ part first, then the mind.”

Kirishima stops momentarily and stares at him, breathing heavily. “Then why aren’t you hauling anything?”

Izuku stares. “I’m literal skin and bones. The crates would sooner haul me.”

Kirishima sighs, but accepts it and keeps going.

Izuku notices Toshinori watching Kirishima, every so often casting a glance at Izuku, who doesn’t know how to respond other than shrugging or blinking. He ponders Toshinori’s search for a successor, One For All and what worthy person would eventually wield it in All Might’s place. It’s an odd thought.

He turns his gaze to Kirishima again, still struggling with the crates. “On second thought, lemme push. You pull.”  

“He’s a good kid,” Toshinori says, after a full morning of hauling and shunting. Kirishima bid Izuku goodbye and is heading off now, jogging down the sidewalk despite being working for hours.

Izuku watches Kirishima leave until he’s disappeared around a corner, then nods simply. “Yeah, he is.”

Toshinori is silent for a long moment. “Do you trust him, Midoriya?”

Izuku returns the silence for an equally long amount of time. He hasn’t known Kirishima for very long and he’s been notorious for having trust issues, and for good reason too, but already, he considers Kirishima to be a close friend, maybe even something of a brother.

“I do,” Izuku answers at long last. “I trust him with my life.”

Toshinori nods, taking it to heart, but says nothing. “Well, you should be heading home too, kiddo,” he says, turning to Izuku once more. “You and Kirishima can come back tomorrow, and I’ll ask Aizawa when he’ll be returning.”

The thought of working with his Quirk again still doesn’t appeal to Izuku, and he’d almost rather faceplant into the garbage than think about it, but he knows it must be done if he wants to get to U.A. and furthermore, become a hero at all, so he nods.

“Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate you doing this for us.”

“Think nothing of it,” Toshinori says, and although he’s smiling, there’s something very sad and tired about the look in his eyes, his demeanor. “I’m glad to be of service. Now, go ahead home, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Izuku nods. “See you.” He sets off, jogging, down the sidewalk. He usually walks, but he feels a spring in his step today. Maybe those star stickers are a bigger morale booster than he realized.

Izuku sits on his bed late that night, scrolling through his contacts. He’d gotten Toshinori’s number from his mother, and that’s saved there, although he has yet to start an actual text conversation with the hero. Izuku doesn’t have many contacts on his phone at all; back before now, he’d had Mom’s, but that was it. Kirishima’s was added recently, as was Toshinori’s, so he has a total of three numbers on his little phone.

He’s just about to shut it down for the night when a text from Kirishima pops up. Izuku opens it.

[Kirishima]
Hey dude you wanna go out for those sodas tomorrow??? I’m not doing anything else after training I don’t think, and it’s the weekend so we’ll have plenty of time. What do you say?

Izuku doesn’t really have to think about it. He shifts into a more comfortable position and leans against his headboard; the surrounding kittens mrrow in protest to his movements, but settle down again quickly.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Sure, that sounds fantastic. What time and what place?

[Kirishima]
OH YAY!! \o/
As for a time….probably after training, or, like, whatever works for you. Maybe around noon? There’s a soda shop downtown, so just meet me by the plaza and I’ll show you to it.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Cool. See you.

After a long second of contemplation, Izuku sends another text.

[Midoriya Izuku]
:)

[Kirishima]
SHDFKJIJEFSKLDF
YOU SMILED.
HOLY CRAP YOU SMILED.

[Midoriya Izuku]
It’s. It’s an emoji. I’m not actually smiling physically.

[Kirishima]
YEAH BUT YOU’RE SMILING ON THE INSIDE RIGHT??
THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS.
DUDEDUDE I SCREENSHOTTED IT HOPE YOU DON’T MIND
DUDE I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU.

[Midoriya Izuku]
…
It’s. It’s just an emoticon.

[Kirishima]
ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
SO HECKING PROUD OF YOU.

[Midoriya Izuku]
-_-

[Kirishima]
Ahh, now you’re back to normal. ANYWAY, I’ll see you tomorrow!! Don’t forget!

[Midoriya Izuku]
I couldn’t possibly forget. See you then. :)

[Kirishima]
YOU’RE JUST TOYING WITH ME NOW.

[Midoriya Izuku]
¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Kirishima]
JWOLKSKPOKSDF:LDSKFL:DF

[Midoriya Izuku]
Goodnight, Kirishima.

[Kirishima]
Ok you win this time, night dude!! Cya tomorrow!

[Midoriya Izuku]
See you.

Izuku shuts off his phone, puts it on the charger on his nightstand, then turns over on his side and tries to fall asleep.

He wakes up to a sharp jolt of something, and as soon as his eyes are open, he feels like he’s being stabbed repeatedly in the head.

He jerks into an upright position, clutching his head a second later. His skin is burning. There’s a tightness in his chest, and he feels his Quirk, raging and strong and there even though he hadn’t turned it on out of his own free will.

His cats are meowing at him, concerned, but Izuku pays them no mind. He fumbles with the nightstand, still clutching his head with the other hand, feeling like his insides are going to become his outsides any second now. He tries forcing his Quirk inward on himself, but he can’t. He never can when stuff like this happens.

He finds the syringe of Quirk suppressants in the drawer. He’d just used one the other night, he hadn’t wanted to use one again so soon, it isn’t healthy, but he’s never been healthy and he can’t not use them right now so he does it anyway. He injects himself, shuts his eyes to ride it out, then tosses the syringe back into the drawer and slams it shut with a shaking hand. His whole body is shaking, actually.

He feels his Quirk get pulled back by the suppressants moments later, but it isn’t gone for good. He knows it isn’t. For a time it is but it’ll be back soon, it’ll be back and stronger than ever and he can’t take a second dose of suppressants, not immediately after a first dose.

He gets to his feet shakily and stumbles into the bathroom—or, rather, the first thing he actually does is stumble into the wall, but he’s aiming for the bathroom. He trips over the doorway and catches himself on the bathroom sink, wrists burning when he lands on them wrong.

He fumbles with the lightswitch next, and the white fluorescent lights seem to burn through his eyes and into his skull. It makes the pounding in his head skyrocket, but he ignores it in favor of rummaging through the bathroom’s top drawer.

Izuku finds the thermometer after minimal searching, and once he has it in his hand, he stumbles back against the wall and sinks to the floor. He holds the on button until the digital number zero blinks at him, then settles the tip of the device under his tongue and holds it there. His hands are shaking worse than before and he’s sure it won’t be an accurate reading, but he doesn’t have a choice right now.

It feels like an eternity between turning on the thermometer and hearing the small beeps to indicate it has a reading, and when those beeps finally come, Izuku pulls the device from his mouth and stares at it. The floor spins, but he manages to get the numbers 39.1 for the fever reading.

Yeah, that hadn’t just been a feeling. He is burning up.

Mom hasn’t seemed to notice yet, which he has to thank the Quirk suppressants for, coupled with his quick reflexes. He’d managed to get to the suppressants before the involuntary activation of his Quirk woke his mother, which is good. It’s very good.

It means she can’t stop him.

Izuku isn’t crying, but it’s about as close to crying as he’s ever gotten since living with Inko.

He’s only been with her for two years, and this is the first time she’s seen him like this. He clings to her often after coming to her in the wake of a bad dream, but now it’s different. It’s different because he’s feverish, and the Quirk suppressants aren’t doing their job. Maybe they can’t do their job.

“I hate it!” Izuku shrieks, and it’s the first time he’s spoken like this. The first time his voice has been this desperate. “I can’t stop it, I can’t, I can’t, I-I’m trying—!”

Inko holds him tighter, stroking his hair. “It’s okay,” she says, “It’s okay, Izuku, just calm down.” —But there’s static and confusion in her head, and she can barely actually feel Izuku right now. She can hear him through her ringing ears, but her senses have been completely thrown off. It’s not Izuku’s fault, he can’t help it, but it’s hard to work through. It’s hard to be reassuring when she isn’t 100% sure of her surroundings.

Izuku isn’t crying, but his voice is thick and shaky and honestly he may as well have been sobbing. “I hate it so much, I-I didn’t ask for it, I-I didn’t ask for it, Midoriya-san, I didn’t—”

“I know, I know you didn’t, it isn’t fair,” Inko says, trying to hold him tighter despite the war that seems to be raging in her head, “but you’re going to be okay. The fever won’t last forever, you’re going to be okay—”

But Izuku has no control, and sooner than later, Inko finds herself consumed by the Quirk that wasn’t his, but had been painfully thrust upon him.

Inko’s eyes snap open as a crack of thunder rolls through her ears. She sits up in the darkness, wondering why that of all things had been what she was dreaming about (remembering), and she sits there pondering for a single second before realizing.

Her eyes go wide, and she leaps out of bed and tears from the bedroom, rushing down the hall. The house is dark but her eyes are adjusted to it, so she doesn’t bother turning on the lights. She throws open the door to Izuku’s bedroom, for once without knocking.

The bed is empty. The bathroom light is on, the door wide open. Izuku’s kittens are roaming the room, meowing, searching.

And the window is open.

Inko runs to it and sticks her head out, greeted with rain and another roll of thunder. She searches, leaning out dangerously far and searching, desperate, but she finds nothing.

No one.

She retreats into the room, shaking, breath coming in tilteds gasps. The kittens have flocked around her but she doesn’t even notice them. Her eyes burn, she’s trembling, and she feels like the worst human being alive.

“D-Damn it.” She grits her teeth, her back hits the wall, she balls her fists. “Damn it, Izuku!”

She doesn’t mean it, but she can’t help it, and she flees the room, even as the tears begin to fall, and snatches her car keys off the table. She takes off into the night.

It’s still stormy the next day when Eijirou stands at Dagobah beach, alone, with Toshinori standing across from him. It isn’t raining anymore, but the clouds are plentiful and dark overhead, so he doesn’t trust that not to change.

Toshinori stares at Eijirou for a moment, then frowns. “Is Izuku not with you?”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen him all day,” Eijirou answers, frowning likewise. “It’s weird for him to not be here. Even the other day, he was half way here before I caught up with him, and I was running.”

It’s odd. It’s not right. And now that Eijirou has some understanding as to exactly what his friend went through, he’s worried.

“I’ll text him,” Eijirou says, already whipping out his phone and scrolling through it. Toshinori doesn’t stop him, and Eijirou finds Izuku’s number in his messages and sends a quick one.

[Kirishima]
Hey man, we’re at Dagobah beach rn. You sleeping in? Taking a day off? Either way it’s fine, just wanted to know how you were doing.

He doesn’t pocket the phone, rather holding onto it and impatiently awaiting a response. It doesn’t come.

“Maybe he’s still sleeping,” Eijirou concludes, finally pocketing his phone and nodding as though to convince himself. “Yeah, he’s probably just sleeping. You probably know he doesn’t have the best sleeping habits—I mean unless he didn’t tell you—”

“I assumed as much,” Toshinori says, holding out a hand, but he definitely seems worried, which only pushes Eijirou further on edge. “Well, we’ll wait for him a while longer before we begin. Maybe he forgot his phone.”

“Maybe,” Kirishima says, but it already seems unlikely.

Toshinori knows Izuku didn’t “forget his phone” and that’s why he isn’t responding to Kirishima’s texts, and the only reason he brings it up as an option is to try and put Kirishima’s mind at ease. He can tell the boy doesn’t believe him or think the option is a plausible one, but either way.

“I’m going to go check on Midoriya and Inko-san once we’ve finished up,” Kirishima tells him; ever since they started training, he’s been very out of it, and it shows in his progress thus far. When Izuku was here yesterday, Kirishima’s energy had been doubled. Now, it’s almost nonexistent.

“You can go check on them now, if you want to,” Toshinori says simply, knowing they won’t get anywhere today now that they’re both concerned for Izuku’s wellbeing. “I’ll drop by myself a bit later.”

“Really?” Kirishima says, turning to him, though his eyes dart to the sidewalk at once.

Toshinori nods, and Kirishima says a hasty thank you before taking off in the opposite direction. Toshinori isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone run that fast.

No one’s there. Not when Kirishima goes over in the morning, and not when Toshinori goes over that afternoon. The door is locked, the windows are shut, and the car is missing from the street. No matter how you look at it, Inko and Izuku aren’t at home now which, considering Izuku’s overall situation, puts Toshinori on a concerned, almost frenzical edge.

He hasn’t been able to get ahold of Inko, and Kirishima tells him that he hasn’t been able to get ahold of Izuku, either. The house is shut, vacant; it’s almost like the two of them have completely disappeared.

Toshinori visits again in the evening. Kirishima goes the next morning, a full day since they last heard from either Midoriya. Kirishima goes that afternoon, and Toshinori tries visiting in the evening, but nothing. The house is just as empty now as it’d been all the previous times they’d tried.

“I don’t get it,” Kirishima says, a whole solid two days since they last heard from Izuku or Inko. “I don’t get it at all, why wouldn’t Midoriya say something? I’ve been texting him all the time, why won’t he respond? It isn’t like him to be like this, and I know it isn’t like Inko-san, either.”

Something’s wrong. It’s a silent agreement between Toshinori and Kirishima. Neither of them dare to say it out loud, but they both know the truth; something is terribly, horribly wrong.

And then, on the evening of the third day, Toshinori is just leaving the residence after what seems like a wasted effort when Inko quite literally crashes into him.

She’s distraught about something, that much is plain. The car keys are still in her hand, and there are dark circles under her eyes, like it’s been days since she last slept. Around them, the rain falls and the sun sets in the horizon, and Toshinori thinks, for a moment, that Inko looks very scared.

No, Inko looks terrified, and despite everything, despite the fact that she’s raising a traumatized child, that she’s been in the hospital with him several times, is a lawyer, has seen so many terrible cases, including her own child, she looks devastatingly horrified.

“Inko,” Toshinori says, and she stares at him wide-eyed, like she’s never seen him before. “What’s wrong? Where’s Izuku?”

Something flickers in her eyes, and in the sky above them, lightning cracks.

“He’s gone.”

Toshinori is sitting on the couch, and Inko is taking several full bowls of cat food and setting them on the floor for the kittens. Toshinori had heard her fine, but he wants to believe he hadn’t.

“Gone?” he breathes, and Inko nods feverishly, rushing back to the counter to grab two more bowls for the many cats of the household. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

Inko is very distracted and very frantic, so it takes a good five seconds before she stammers out a response. “When he was little, eleven, he, he got terribly sick and he accidentally harmed me with his Quirk. It didn’t hurt much and it wasn’t a physical affliction, but it scared him, it scared him so badly, and now, whenever he gets sick, he—he, I—”

The door opens again around the same time thunder rolls and lightning strikes.

Izuku is in the doorway, and he looks worse than Toshinori has ever seen him. He’s soaking wet, his hair hangs in front of his face, and every inch of bare skin (which is mainly his face and neck, he’s still wearing a hoodie) is a ghostly shade of pale.

The bowls in Inko’s hands hit the ground, dry cat food flying everywhere, and she charges across the room with a sharp cry of Izuku’s name. She catches him when he pitches forward, though she pulls away a second later and frames his face in her hands, frantically looking him over.

“I told you we could work it out,” Inko tells him, and there’s a mixture of pain, relief, and anger in her tone, though mostly the former two. “I told you we could get through it together, Izuku, I told you to tell me.”

Toshinori approaches with a blanket he’d grabbed off the back of the couch, and Inko wastes no time in taking it and wrapping it around Izuku’s shaking shoulders. While she guides him over to the couch and the cats abandon their food in favor of greeting Izuku, Toshinori shuts the front door to keep out the wind.

He’s still processing this, all of this. Izuku had mentioned that he got sick often, but he’d never mentioned how disastrous it is when he gets really sick. He never told Toshinori that he leaves home, without warning, whenever his fever gets high enough to send his already wayward Quirk haywire, and of course he had no obligation to tell Toshinori anything, but…

Toshinori finds himself wondering if there’s something the kid doesn’t have baggage attached to, and as he watches Izuku curl up on the couch while Inko fusses over him (with good reason), he finds himself recalling Aizawa’s words.

He finds himself thinking that maybe he did bite off more than he could chew.  

Chapter Text

I’m sorry.

Mom keeps glancing at him over her shoulder from where she’s working in the kitchen, and whenever they make eye contact, Izuku raises a hand weakly.

I’m sorry.

Mom lets out a long sigh and takes the tray she’s been preparing and enters the living room, setting it down on the coffee table. Izuku is laying on the couch, a now-damp rag settled over his forehead; there’s a basin of cold water on the floor beside the couch.

I’m—

Mom reaches toward him and takes his hand in both of hers, cutting him off. She holds his gaze for a long moment, then sighs and settles down on the edge of the couch without letting go of his hand.

“Don’t apologize,” she says, voice quiet—or maybe that’s just Izuku’s ringing ears finally coming back to normal. “Izuku, I—all you’ve done is apologize since coming home, just... stop.”

Izuku swallows hard, head pounding. He feels like he owes it to her to apologize and to keep apologizing; after all, he’d been gone for a whole three days, isolating himself somewhere where no one would find him, where no one would feel the effects of his out of control Quirk, and it’s not the first time he’s done this. He’d come home as soon as his fever dropped below 39, which seemed to be the temperature in which his Quirk went haywire, but he’s still feverish and sick now and his mother is left to take care of him, even after frantically searching for him for the duration of those three days.  

“Izuku, you...you can’t keep doing this,” Mom says, shaking her head and squeezing his hand. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, or to me. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, but I’d rather be here and have to deal with your Quirk than to not know where you are or if you’re hurt or in danger.”

Izuku knows this, he just doesn’t agree.

“Izuku, please. I want to help you figure things out. I want to do whatever I can for you, and I’m going to. There’s nothing you can say or do that’ll change that. But…” She stops, and sighs. “When you leave like that, without telling me where you’re going...it hurts me more than your Quirk ever could.”

Izuku also knows this, but he says nothing. After what happened when he was eleven, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to trust himself enough to be around his mother while he’s feverish and his Quirk is out of control.

He raises the hand she isn’t holding. I’m sorry.

Mom lets out a long, long sigh, but smiles sadly and removes the rag from his head, soaking it in the water by the couch. She kisses his forehead, then settles the now wet rag back over his head and eyes.

“Just, lie still for now,” she says, and her voice is calming and gentle, though Izuku can also hear her exhaustion. “I’ll bring you your soup again later, after you’ve slept some. Alright?”

Izuku nods, and when he reaches for her hand, she squeezes it and doesn’t let go until long after he’s fallen into a restless slumber.

When he wakes up again, he still feels hazy and sick, but there’s a weight dipping the couch that definitely isn’t his. He sits up slowly from his fetal position, the humid rag falling onto the cushion he’d been curled on. Kirishima is sitting beside him on the couch lazily, thumbs tapping away at some game on his phone.

Kirishima glances over at Izuku, but just for a second. “Heya,” he says, but his tone lacks its usual merriment. “How’re you feeling?”

Izuku sighs. Okay, he says. He can feel something akin to hostility rolling off Kirishima in waves. ...What’s wrong?

Kirishima frowns at him, then sighs, still tapping away at his game. “I’m mad at you,” he says simply. “You were sick and you ran off without telling anybody. Inko-san said it happens a lot. Why would you do that? Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried we all were?”

Izuku has always felt guilty about going away like he does when his fever drives his Quirk to the brink, but with his mother’s words, coupled with Kirishima’s, he feels even worse. I’m sorry, he says, for what he knows won’t be the last time. I’m sorry.

Kirishima lets out a heaving sigh, then lifts an arm. “C’mere, buddy.”

After little hesitation, Izuku scoots over and leans into Kirishima’s side. Kirishima settles his arm around Izuku’s shoulders, his other hand swiping at his phone. He’s playing some variation of Temple Run, and judging by the speed the character is moving at, he’s good at it.

What is it? Izuku asks, using simple signs that he’s sure Kirishima knows.

Kirishima manages to catch the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Just some dumb endless run game,” he answers shortly. “You wanna try?”

Izuku shakes his head. Kinda dizzy, he says. I’ll watch.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, you still feel pretty warm. Do you feel better or worse?”

Physically, better. Emotionally, worse.

Kirishima looks at him out of the corner of his eye, wincing. “I’m sorry,” he says, “that might’ve been kinda...harsh, y’know. For me to just drop that on you. But, dude, seriously, I was freaking out. I didn’t know where you were or what was going on. If you’re gonna do that again, just, text me so I know where you are. I’ll bring cookies or something, I dunno. Or soup, yeah, that’s probably better—”

“N-No.” Izuku’s voice is weak, and he feels Kirishima tense. “D-Don’t go looking for me. P-Please.”

“Dude, I won’t have to go looking for you if you just tell me where you—”

“I-I can’t—” Izuku’s parched throat gets the better of him, and soon he’s coughing and hacking. Kirishima stops what he’s doing and thumps him on the back, forcefully but not harshly, until the fit ends.

“Yeah, save your voice,” Kirishima says once it’s finally over, and he settles an arm around Izuku’s shoulders again. “Just, sign if you wanna talk, alright? Although, you should probably be resting instead.”

Izuku definitely doesn’t plan on verbalizing again, but he isn’t tired enough to fall asleep again right now. Kirishima restarts his run game, and Izuku leans his head on his shoulder to watch. He’s definitely good at the game; Izuku wonders if he plays it a lot.

A thought strikes him, and he bumps his head against Kirishima’s shoulder. Kirishima looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up?”

About you, Izuku says.

“...Me?”

Izuku nods. You, growing up.

“Oh—you wanna know about my childhood?”

Izuku nods again, and Kirishima takes in a breath, pondering. “Hmm...it’s pretty boring, to be honest, but I guess I should start from the top…”

Izuku closes his eyes, listening.

“Well, for starters, I was adopted, too.”

Really?

“Mmmhmm. Not really like you were, it was kinda more like...my parents left me on someone’s doorstep? That’s what my dad—y’know, my foster dad—that’s what he told me. It never really bothered me, y’know? Like, they were my parents one way or the other, blood or not, but I always did wonder what happened to my blood parents.”

My blood parents gave me and my sister up too, Izuku says. I know the feeling.

“Ah, right, erm...so, I guess from there I just kinda, y’know, I saw videos of heroes saving people, and I thought it was really cool. There was this girl I knew in the school I went to when I was younger. I didn’t really talk to her, but she was really inspiring. My family and I moved a little while later, and then...well, from then on I’ve got nothing to report, up until I met you.”

Izuku takes this to heart. So you were inspired to be a hero by that girl you knew?

“Well, partially. You were a huge inspiration to me, too, y’know.”

Izuku opens his eyes and blinks at Kirishima several times. Kirishima looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, but doesn’t turn to him, thumbs flying across his phone screen.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kirishima says, cracking a smile. “It was really freaking awesome what you did against the slime villain dude. Even though you could’ve died, you jumped in there to save Yatchi, and I mean, that was...that was pretty amazing. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do that, at the time.”

Izuku looks away.

“But I want to be able to, someday,” Kirishima says, smiling a little brighter. “I wanna be able to jump into the fray, fearless, and face whatever I’ve got right in front of me. I wanna be that shield between the victim and the villain, and thanks to you...I think I might be able to.”

It’s weird, hearing this from Kirishima, but Izuku supposes it’d be weird to hear from anyone. He says nothing, and Kirishima ruffles his hair with the hand that isn’t holding his phone. Izuku would usually flinch away from gestures like this, but it’s Kirishima. He trusts him.

“So...I’ve got a question for you, Midoriya. Why do you run off whenever you get sick?”

Izuku stiffens. It’s not that this is any harder to share than the rest of his life story, but he’s never actually had to explain this to anyone before. He takes a breath, swallows, then speaks. Softly.

“I can’t stop it. My Quirk. When I’m sick, Quirk suppressants only stop it for a small amount of time, and it’s dangerous to take more than the required dosage in a short amount of time. So I just...I-I don’t want to hurt anyone, so I just...I leave.”

“...I guess I get it,” Kirishima says, “but at the same time, man, I mean...do you really think that’s the solution?”

“I can’t control my Quirk,” Izuku croaks. “It’s like...i-it’s like I’m trapped within its chains whenever I use it. I can’t break free, and, the chains...they’re constantly suffocating me. That’s what it’s like. I don’t want to do that to anyone else.”

Kirishima is silent for a long time.

“...But, it’s your power, isn’t it?”

Izuku frowns at him, wondering, and Kirishima goes on.

“It’s your power,” Kirishima elaborates. “It’s yours now, regardless of who it belonged to before, and...it’s going to be hard, but you’re going to learn to control it. You’re going to use it to save people someday. I know you will.”

Izuku swallows back the lump in his throat. How do you know? he asks, only half sarcastic.

Kirishima pauses his game, sets his phone to the side, then turns to Izuku and smiles. Because I know you, Kirishima answers.

Izuku stares, and Kirishima laughs and ruffles his hair again. “Want a turn at the game?” he asks, passing over his phone, and Izuku shrugs, takes it, and gives it a shot.

It’s definitely Kirishima’s thing. Izuku can’t play it to save his life.

That’s about as coherent as Izuku gets for the next couple of days. He stays on the couch, sleeping fitfully and only waking up long enough to sip at some broth or water before going under again. He doesn’t really take the whole “recovery” thing very seriously until he overhears Mom telling Kirishima that she’s considering taking him to see a doctor, concerned that he’s dehydrated. After that, he begrudgingly drinks more water when he is awake, and when Kirishima brings him a bowl of soup his mother made, he accepts it.

It’s feels like it takes an eternity, but in reality, Izuku was only sick for a total of six days—three of which he spent where no one would find him, and the other three that were spent at home with Mom and Kirishima. On the sixth day since waking up feverish in the middle of the night, he finally manages to drag himself out of bed on his own fruition and head into the living room. He doesn’t remember exactly how he ended up in his own room instead of on the couch. Maybe Kirishima carried him, he can’t be sure.

Mom is going over papers when he steps into the room, his cats curling around his ankles. She beckons him over, and Izuku takes a seat beside her on the couch. Despite him knowing that she isn’t mad at him, he still can’t help but feel awkward and guilty.

“Toshinori called,” Mom says absentmindedly, reaching over and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  After a moment or two, he leans into her. “He’s been worried about you, too, but I told him you were alright. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Izuku says, which is true; it’s been the first time in almost a week that he’s felt well enough to function. “Thanks.”

Mom shakes her head. “I told Kirishima to go home and have some time to himself,” she tells him, tone light. “He’s been here consistently ever since you came home. He really cares for you a lot, Izuku.”

Izuku thinks back to Kirishima’s words, his smile, his heart, and nods. “I know.”

Mom nods, then lets him go and rises to her feet. “Well, I have soup leftover,” she says, already making for the kitchen. “Even if you don’t feel like it, you should eat something now that you’re up.”

Izuku wants to argue, but he can’t bring himself to do it this time. Not after everything he’s put her through. “Okay.”

“I’m like, almost positive that it’s too soon for you to be going out.”

“I won’t feel any better tomorrow,” Izuku says, falling in step beside Kirishima as they head to Dagobah Beach the following morning. Today makes a full week since Izuku originally got sick and ran off. “Besides, normality is good sometimes, especially with my life. Anything I can keep normal, I’d like to.”

Kirishima frowns, but sighs. “Okay, man, as long as you’re sure you can actually handle it,” he says. “I don’t mind carrying you home, but I’d rather not have to.”

“I’ll be okay,” Izuku assures him, but he’s not sure Kirishima believes him. “If it makes you feel better, I ate breakfast this morning.”

“That’s good,” Kirishima says, “but still. If you wanna go home, just say the word. Got it?”

Izuku snaps an unenthusiastic thumbs-up at him, and they continue on.

The day goes uneventfully. Nothing changes; Toshinori does seem worried, and he asks Izuku several times throughout the day if he’s alright, to which Izuku says that, yes, he is, and no, he doesn’t need to go home early, he’s fine, and yes, he’ll be okay. It’s tedious and it does get kind of annoying before long, but Izuku can hardly blame him for his concern.

They end earlier than usual that day, no doubt Toshinori trying to let Izuku home early, just in case he was lying about being alright. Kirishima has no argument against it; instead, he bows and thanks Toshinori for everything, then turns back towards Izuku with a grin.

“Well, I’ll cya later!” Kirishima says, approaching. “If you feel up to a study session tonight, just lemme know.”

“Alright.” Izuku nods. “See you later, maybe.”

“See yo—oh wait, I have an idea!” Kirishima takes Izuku’s wrist and moves his arm so it’s held out in front of him. “Do this—” Kirishima brings his hand down on the top of Izuku’s, “—then this—” He reverses the action, hitting the top of his hand against the bottom of Izuku’s, “—and then—” He balls his hand into a fist, and when Izuku does the same, Kirishima knocks their knuckles together. “—There we go! A handshake!”

Izuku blinks twice at his still-outstretched hand. “...That wasn’t a handshake.”

“Yes it is!” Kirishima says, grinning. “It’s our handshake!”

“...But we didn’t shake hands.”

Kirishima laughs, then shakes his head. “It’s one of those ‘best friend’ handshakes that people come up with,” he says, still beaming. “I figured we should have our own!”

Izuku blinks thrice, then draws his hand to himself and stares down at it. “...I…”

“Well, later! Bye, Toshinori-san!”

Kirishima waves his hand over his head at the both of them, and Izuku waves back at him slowly, still wide-eyed. Toshinori moves to stand beside him, also waving, and as soon as Kirishima is out of sight, they lower their hands in unison.

“...I’m considering giving One For All to him,” Toshinori says out of nowhere, and Izuku turns, listening. “I hadn’t had time to think about it before, but that boy was a help during the incident with the slime villain, wasn’t he?”

Izuku nods. “He took care of Yatchi, too,” he says, turning to face the sidewalk down which Kirishima had gone. “Even though he couldn’t communicate properly with her, and even though he didn’t know the first thing about her or her family, he still did whatever he could to help her.”

Toshinori nods. “So...what do you think?”

“About giving it to Kirishima?”

Toshinori nods, and Izuku ponders this.

“...I think, if he’d accept it, he’d be the perfect candidate for it,” Izuku says and means every word. “But, ultimately, whatever  you wanna do with your Quirk is up to you.”

He realizes, a second later, that that’s the exact same thing Kirishima had told him.

“Hmm…” Toshinori muses, then sighs. “Well, I’ll keep it in my thoughts,” he says, smiling. “As for you, Aizawa had asked me to tell you to meet him at the park near the plaza when you were finished up here. I told him you were under the weather and that you might not be able to make it today, but…”

“Tell him I’ll be there,” Izuku says, already turning in that direction. “Thank you, Toshinori-san.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo. Tell Aizawa hi from me, the only way he’ll accept it is if it comes from you.”

Izuku nods, waves, then turns and heads down the street.

True to what Toshinori told him, Aizawa is waiting downtown in a small grassy park. It’s out of the way for the most part; not like the park Izuku had met Yatchi and Kirishima at. Not many people are here; Izuku sees an occasional passer-by or jogger, but that’s about it.

Aizawa lifts his head to him when he arrives. He isn’t wearing his costume, rather a plain gray t-shirt and black pants. Probably to blend in, Izuku thinks; despite being an underground hero, paparazzi is still a very real, very annoying thing, especially for Aizawa, who hates the media to begin with.

“You made it,” Aizawa says, arms crossed, though there’s no malice in his voice. “All Might told me you were sick.”

“There’s always something wrong with me,” Izuku says, “so whether we do this now or later doesn’t really make a difference. Besides, I’m feeling better.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him, but shrugs it off. “We won’t be training here,” he says, turning and walking in the opposite direction. “Follow me. We’re taking the bullet train.”

Izuku tilts his head to one side, then jogs to flank him.

“The Shituigi Prefecture,” Aizawa announces after they get off the train and head farther downtown. “Mostly abandoned. There was a catastrophic earthquake a couple of years ago, and a lot of people call this place ‘cursed.’ It never got rebuilt, so it makes for a nice training ground.”

Izuku blinks at the wreckage. Half-standing buildings with blown out windows surround them. None of them are the same height, and every building looks more demolished than the last. There are giant, gaping cracks in the road from where the earthquake tore the asphalt apart, and Izuku has a hard time imagining a time where this was ever a bustling place.

“All Might basically told me that he’s got no idea how to train you or what to work on,” Aizawa says idly, stepping towards one of the buildings, “so he’s left it to me to train you properly.”

“That makes sense,” Izuku says, thinking this over. “With my skills, I’ll probably end up becoming some kind of underground hero, anyway. The media’s never really been my shtick, either.”

Aizawa turns to him, wondering. “You’re talkative today.”

“Would you rather I wasn’t?”

Aizawa shakes his head, which really could mean anything. “Anyway, yeah,” he says, turning towards the buildings, “all things considered it’s better for all of us that I’m the one to train you. Along with basic skills, there’s also your Quirk, which we still need to get a handle on before school starts.”

Oh. Yeah, that.

“What do you suggest?”

“As far as your Quirk goes? Nothing, right now. Before we do anything…” Aizawa turns to him sharply and shifts his feet. “Fight me. However you’d like to.”

Izuku blinks, then shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Alrighty.”

He swings both arms out at the same time, and four knives go flying. Aizawa swings between them and aims a kick; Izuku throws himself backwards, fingers closing around another knife in his pocket. The next time Aizawa comes at him, Izuku throws it towards his face. It leaves a nick on his cheek, but that’s all it does. Izuku dives to the side to regain his bearings, grasping another knife, but then, his feet are kicked out from under him, fingers curl around his knife-arm, and he sees stars when the back of his head hits the pavement.

Aizawa pins his arm down beside his head on the ground, immobilizing it. “You’re quick on your feet,” Aizawa says, “but—”

Izuku grabs a handful of dirt from the ground and throws it in Aizawa’s face. Aizawa springs back, blinking feverishly, and Izuku hops to his feet and pulls back his knife arm, ready to throw the blade.

“I could end it,” Izuku says, looking Aizawa in the eyes (which is a bit tricky, because Aizawa is still blinking to clear away the dust), “but I’m not going to.”

Izuku lowers his knife arm, and Aizawa fishes clearing away the dirt in his eyes and stares.

“So,” he says, “you’ve already developed your own style there, huh.”

“It’s been years since I started fighting,” Izuku says, “so I would hope I’ve developed something by now.”

Aizawa gives a curt nod, though he seems distracted. “You know, Midoriya, I see a lot of things in you,” he says, stepping forward. “I see someone who’s had to fight for his life, I see someone who’s learned what he knows now from experience and pain, I see someone dangerous, someone with more power than he realizes. But, you know what I don’t see in you?”

Aizawa kneels in front of him, and with Izuku’s height, they’re nearly eye-level.

“... I don’t see a fifteen year old boy.”

Izuku swallows hard and grips his knife tighter. “Up until I met Kirishima, I didn’t know what a fifteen year old boy was supposed to look like.”

Aizawa nods and rises to his feet again. “I want you to know, I’m extremely familiar with your situation,” he says calmly, but matter of factly. “The police force almost had to call me in when they first found you, because their Quirk suppressants were no good at first and they didn’t want to risk giving you a higher dose. In the end, they didn’t need me, but they filled me in.”

That would explain a few things. “So you know everything.”

“I only know what the police knows,” Aizawa answers. “Anything you’ve kept to yourself, anything extra they’ve found just recently, I don’t know any of that. But I thought you had the right to know.”

Izuku looks down at his shoes—light up ones, a pair Mom got for him shortly after she took him in. They’d been big on him before, but he’s nearly grown into them now.

“Thanks,” he says, looking to Aizawa again. “Saves me the trouble of explaining everything, then.”

Aizawa nods sharply. “Tell you what,” he says, crossing his arms again. “Do good with your training, and I’ll take you out for ice cream or something.”

Izuku frowns. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s like I said,” Aizawa says, shifting into another fighting stance that’s more or less the same as the last time. “Fifteen year old boy. Now, round two?”

Izuku blinks, then nods and readies himself as well.

They don’t get around to any Quirk training that day. Aizawa says that, if Izuku really is under the weather or recovering from being ill, the last thing they want to do is force Izuku to use his Quirk and put his body under stress.

“We’ll wait until you’ve completely recovered before getting back into that,” Aizawa says as they head from the train station and back into the more populated part of the city. “Until then, don’t think about it too much, alright?”

Izuku nods. It’s later in the day, and there aren’t many people around; they still haven’t reached the heart of the city, and Izuku decides to enjoy the serenity while he can.

“Do you think I’ll be able to figure it out?” Izuku asks, when he thinks about it. “Do you really think I’ll be able to figure out my Quirk before school starts?”

Aizawa doesn’t answer for a long time. “It depends,” he says. “I won’t lie to you, your Quirk and your Quirk Factor aren’t in good shape. There’s a lot that’s been broken and torn and destroyed, most likely from when you first received the Quirk forcefully. If you want to control it, you’ve got a lot of work to do. So, I don’t think it’s so much a matter of whether I think you can do it. In the end, it’s primarily up to you.”

Izuku ponders this for a long moment. Being able to actually control his Quirk feels more like a distant dream than a possible future, but then he thinks of Kirishima’s words, and Kirishima’s faith in him, and, well...who is Izuku to let down his best friend?

“I’ll definitely give it my best shot,” Izuku says firmly. “And if I can’t do it, well, at least I tried.”

Aizawa turns to look at him for a moment, then nods and faces his head forward again. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Izuku is just about to say something else, but just as he and Aizawa pass a nearby tree in the grass beside the sidewalk, he hears something rustle in the leaves. There’s no wind, so it can’t be that, which means…

Izuku and Aizawa both glance upwards into the tree at the same time. Standing on one of the highest branches, claws deep into the bark, is a striped, orange cat.

Izuku and Aizawa turn to look at each other at once. “I can climb trees,” Izuku says immediately, already stepping into the grass. “I’m going to get it down.”

To his surprise, Aizawa nods instead of objecting. “I’ll catch you if you fall,” he says, in on it, and Izuku swings himself up onto the first branch, then onto the second, then the third.

The cat does not want to be touched. It doesn’t want anything to do with Izuku, actually. It swipes at him and hisses, not realizing that it’s being helped, and Izuku barely manages to retract his hand in time.

“It’s scared,” Izuku hollers down to Aizawa, then tries again. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, just let me—”

The cat snarls at him, and Izuku sighs and retracts his hand again. “I know how it feels, you know,” he says, and in his heart he knows the cat can’t understand him, but, still. “Being scared and thinking you need to fight all the time. But you don’t need to fight all the time. I want to help you.”

The cat doesn’t stop glaring at him, but the next time Izuku reaches out to it, it doesn’t swipe at him. It hisses, wary, right up until Izuku settles his hand gently on the cat’s head.  The cat stops snarling at him, and carefully, Izuku scoops it into his arms.

“You got it?” Aizawa calls up to him.

“Yeah, barely,” Izuku says, nodding, “but I don’t think it’s gonna want me carrying it down from the tree. It’s really scared.”

There’s a moment of silent thought, and then, Aizawa holds out his arms. “Jump, I’ll catch you.”

Izuku doesn’t even need to think about it. He leaps from the branch, tightening his hold around the cat, and he lands in Aizawa’s arms.

Aizawa sets him down, and Izuku loosens his grip on the cat when it squirms. It looks around, curious, then hisses at Aizawa when it notices him.

“Thanks,” Izuku says, petting the cat on the head with a finger. “Now that he’s down from the tree he’ll probably be a lot happier—”

“Midoriya. You’re too light.”

Izuku blinks at him. “What?”

“You weigh next to nothing,” Aizawa says, and now that their eyes meet, Izuku can see something like shock and realization deep in Aizawa’s stare. “If you want to keep training like this and eventually get into U.A., you’re going to need to get your health back on track first.”

Izuku blinks again. “I—”

“This isn’t negotiable, Midoriya. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on like this.”

Izuku wants to argue, but he knows there’s no way he can. Aizawa is right, he’s absolutely right, and it’s not the first time Izuku has heard this. Mom has always told him the same thing, pushed him to eat when he didn’t want to. Except, now, it’s finally starting to click.

“...Okay,” Izuku says, holding the cat a little tighter. It’s nicer to hold than his knives. “I’ll—I’ll do my best.”

Aizawa sighs, then straightens up and jerks his head down the sidewalk. “Well, come on. I promised you an ice cream either way, didn’t I?”

Izuku nods, puts down the cat, murmurs a small, “Goodbye. Stay out of the trees from now on,” then follows Aizawa down the sidewalk.

“Do you like cats, Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku asks, falling in step beside him.

Aizawa pauses, but nods. “I do,” he says. “I’m quite fond of them, actually.”

“Do you have any?”

Aizawa nods again.

“How many?”

“....Seventeen.”

Izuku’s heart soars. “Can I go see them sometime?” he asks, wishing he had the kind of face that would display his excitement properly. “Do you think they’d like me?”

“They’d probably like you more than they like me,” Aizawa says, and he sounds almost betrayed, “but yes, if you would like to see them sometime I don’t see why you can’t.”

Izuku’s spirits lift higher, and he nods. “Thank you.”

“What about you?” Aizawa asks. “I’m not even going to ask if you have any. How many do you have?”

“Ten, right now,” Izuku says, recalling each to mind. “I had six at first, but then I found another one, and then she turned out to be pregnant so now we have three little tiny kittens that live in a cardboard box.”

“Ten, huh?” Aizawa pauses for a moment, then looks over his shoulder. “I believe you have eleven, now.”

“What?” Izuku follows his gaze. The bad-tempered cat is right at Izuku’s heels, following him. “Aww…” Izuku kneels and stretches out his hand; the cat sniffs it, but doesn’t swipe or hiss, which is an improvement. “I bet they don’t have a home…”

“I’m sure they do, now,” Aizawa says, and Izuku has to agree. He holds out his arms, and when the cat steps into them tentatively, Izuku rises to his feet again.

“Do you think the ice cream place allows pets?” Izuku asks, falling in step beside Aizawa again with the cat nestled in his arms.

“Dunno,” Aizawa says, shrugging, “but we could always sit outside if we have to.”

Izuku gets home later that afternoon, around four o’clock; not late enough for his study session with Kirishima, but early enough for dinner to still be in the workings.

The cat in Izuku’s arms squirms, wanting to search out its new surroundings. Izuku shushes it and holds tighter.

“Just hang on a sec,” Izuku says, creeping towards his room after kicking off his shoes. “I have to ask Mom, but it’d be best to do over dinner. You don’t want her finding out about you before I have a chance to talk to her first—”

“Talk to me about what?” comes Mom’s voice from almost right behind him, and Izku takes in a long breath through his nose and lets it out slowly. “Izuku...what do you have?”

Izuku bites his lip, looks down at the cat, then turns around toward his mother. “Fiddlesticks?”

It garners exactly the kind of reaction Izuku was expecting. Mom lets out a heaving sigh, shoulders slumping, and shakes her head sadly.

“Izuku, I’m sorry, but ten is already too many,” she says, still shaking her head. “We can’t keep bringing more and more cats in, sweetheart, we can’t…”

“He’s sad,” Izuku says, looking to her desperately. “Look at him, Inko-san, he doesn’t have anybody to love him.”

“Izuku, sweetheart—”

“He’s really sad. And he’s all alone.”

“I’m sorry, Izuku, I really am, but...we already have so many…”

Izuku is just about to lose hope, but then he realizes something. He freezes, waits a second, and then, his eyes go wide. “Inko-san, he’s purring,” Izuku says, staring at her with bright eyes. “He’s purring, he’s never purred before, he’s actually happy, Inko-san, he’s happy, he loves us.”

“Oh, good lord…” Inko pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yes, yes, you can keep it...oh, dear, we might as well just open a cat cafe and be done with it…”

Izuku’s eyes shine. “Can we?”

“Izuku.”

Chapter Text

"I don’t know how to help him.”

“Yeah, I kinda gathered that from the beginning,” Shouta says with a frown, turning to face the horizon. “I’m surprised you’re only getting it now, but you’ve always been a little on the dense side.”

All Might—in his true form, not the form the world knows him by—turns to look at him, almost betrayed, but it doesn’t last long. His shoulders slump, and more than anything, he looks weary.

“I thought I’d know what to say, or what to do,” he says, turning to watch the sunrise, “but...after what happened now...I don’t think I’m suited for this kind of thing. I don’t want to give up on him, don’t get me wrong. That’s not what I mean. But…”

He trails off, but Shouta already heard all that he needed to.

“You want a quick fix for things,” Shouta says flatly, facing the horizon likewise. “You want to be able to dive into any kind of situation and right every wrong in the span of a moment. It’s what you’re used to doing. But you can’t do that with Midoriya. You’ll never be able to do that with Midoriya. The things he’s seen, what he’s been through...it could take a whole lifetime before he reaches any semblance of normal.”

“I know,” All Might says dolefully. “I know that—I knew that—I just hoped that I could do something about it regardless.”

Shouta takes in a breath, then nods. He understands it, really, he does, but even so. “Let me work with Midoriya,” he says, in a tone that doesn’t leave room for argument. “Quirk-wise, combat-wise...I’ll work with him.”

All Might turns to him, wide-eyed. “You’d do that?”

“I already said I’d help you,” Shouta says simply, “and at this point, I’m invested. You can focus on Midoriya’s friend and getting him into U.A., and I’ll work with Midoriya.”

All Might takes in a long, deep breath, then lets it out in a rush. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Mm. Don’t forget it.”

Shouta lands a blow on Midoriya’s ribs with the heel of his foot, and Midoriya stumbles to the side with a soft but sharp cry. Shouta straightens up again, panting to get his breath back, and Midoriya holds his side with his off-hand.

“Sorry,” Shouta says, stepping towards him. “I wasn’t trying to kick you that hard.” He isn’t one to go easy on people, especially aspiring heroes, but Midoriya is a special case. Shouta knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that even a single, normal kick has the potential to seriously injure Midoriya.

“It’s fine,” Midoriya says, lowering his hand and straightening up (though Shouta does catch the slight crinkle at the corner of his eye, something reminiscent of a wince). “I got distracted, and you hit me.”

Shouta frowns. “You got distracted.”

“Yep.” Except, he goes back to sharpening his knife with a piece of broken asphalt, and considering that this is a nervous habit, Shouta has no reason to believe him.

“Midoriya, I have a question for you.”

Midoriya stops and glowers up at him. He probably isn’t trying to glare, but his general demeanor and flat facial features make it seem that way quite often. “Shoot.”

“Is there anything else I need to know? Something that maybe the police don’t have on-file?”

Midoriya tilts his head to one side, but the look on his face stays the same. “Like, what do you mean?”

“I mean, is there anything I can say or do that’ll trigger a flashback.”

Midoriya’s hand freezes, the chunk of asphalt about halfway up the blade of the knife. He stares at Shouta, and he doesn’t look confused or shocked, merely startled. After a long moment, he lowers his arms down to his sides and takes a breath.

“...I don’t like being cornered.” Midoriya looks away and shifts his weight, rubbing his forearm with his opposite hand. “I know it’s bound to happen in the line of duty, but, while we’re training…”

“Noted. Anything else?”

“Don’t yell unexpectedly. Or call me ‘my boy.’”

“Don’t see why I would, but also noted. Any more?”

“...Don’t leave me alone in the dark.”

Shouta frowns, but takes this to heart, too. “Again, don’t see why I’d ever do that, but I won’t forget. Is there anything else?”

“No, not right now.” Midoriya sheathes the knife at his belt, and honestly, a part of Shouta is glad he’s finally stopped fiddling with it. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

“Please do.” Shouta studies Midoriya’s face one final time, just in case he’s in more pain than he’s letting on, then repositions his feet in a familiar stance. “Wanna try again?”

Midoriya nods, and they launch back into it.

“Your Quirk is interesting, Midoriya,” Shouta comments when they’re done for training that day and well on their way home. Midoriya turns to him with a frown, then shrugs and looks the other way.

“I mean, I’d guess it would be,” Midoriya says like he couldn’t care less, “if it weren’t such a pain to actually study.”

Shouta nods. “It’s odd,” he says, facing forward. “Considering its abilities, I want to label your Quirk as an emitter type, but then, your eyes change colors when you use it.”

“They flash gold for a while, yeah,” Midoriya says, nodding. “Usually there are golden flecks in my eyes for a while afterwards, too, even when the Quirk is off. That’s about all they do, though, so  it’s nothing special. Besides, don’t your eyes turn red when you use your Quirk, too?”

“Yes,” Shouta says, “but yours stay gold for days after. My eyes go back to their normal color the moment my Quirk is off, but your eyes have had golden flecks in them leftover from our first day training.”

Midoriya turns away again, and Shouta swears, he’d do anything to know exactly what this kid is thinking right now. “So...what do you make of that?”

“It’s a physical part of you that’s affected for a substantial duration of time by the activation of your Quirk,” Shouta continues, pondering all this over in his mind while he speaks. “That leads me to believe that it’s slightly more of a mutation Quirk. If you had been born with it, your eyes would probably be permanently golden. But, at the same time…”

Midoriya studies him. “‘At the same time’...what?”

Shouta sighs. He’d known what he was getting into from the very beginning, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. “Your Quirk,” Shouta says. “You don’t have any control over it, but you do subconsciously hold parts of it back.”

Midoriya’s frown deepens. “How do you know that?”

“Your Quirk is damaged severely. It may as well be broken, if I’m completely honest. Your Quirk factor’s all messed up, and your Quirk is about twice as screwed. It’s hard to turn off with my Quirk every so often, but while I am turning it off, it’s less like I’m forcing something back and more like I’m just straightening it out.”

Midoriya blinks at him, hard and long. “I don’t get it.”

Shouta heaves a groan. “Usually, when I turn a person’s Quirk off, I have to force it back. I have to shut off the Quirk factor in its entirety. But, with you, there’s only a small bit I have to shut off to force back whatever part of your Quirk’s going haywire. Makes sense?”

Midoriya does that weird blinking thing again. “...Slightly more sense. So it’s like fixing a leak in a dam rather than having to rebuild the entire thing.”

“Something like that,” Shouta says, though he makes a mental note to leave all analogies up to this kid in the future. “What I’m basically saying is, there’s a lot of your Quirk that we can’t explore at the time, because you’re always subconsciously holding something back because of your experiences. Which makes perfect sense, of course, but...someday, Midoriya, you’re going to have to accept it. No matter how much you hate it and no matter how twisted it is, this Quirk is a part of you now, and what you do with it is up to you to decide.”

Midoriya turns away and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk to the train station, and Shouta takes this time to think. The fact that there’s a huge part of Midoriya’s Quirk that he isn’t even using, the fact that he’s holding something back, the fact that there’s so much mystery, his eyes…

Shouta runs by the convenience store on the way home and grabs a six-pack of doubleshots. He’s gonna be up all night anyway, so might as well have some caffeine to pass the time.

“Two raspberry sodas!” Kirishima says, holding up two fingers beside his bright smile. If it were any brighter, Izuku would probably have to look away.

“Comin’ right up,” the barista answers with a smile, and after Kirishima has paid and put a name down with the order, he and Izuku find a booth and sit down across from each other.

“Man, this is so nice!” Kirishima says, leaning back in his seat. He’s wearing a gray tanktop and has a sweatband tied around his head. “Jeez, training with Toshinori-san is brutal. How are things going on your end? You think you’ve recovered fully yet or nah?”

“I told you yesterday, I’m fine,” Izuku answers shortly. The barista comes by and drops off their drinks, bowing back after Izuku and Kirishima thank her. “I wouldn’t have left the house if I was still sick.”

“I dunno, dude.” Kirishima tears the paper off his straw, shaking his head. “You kinda have a bad habit of pushing yourself. Anyway, lemme know what you think about the soda. It’s not for everyone, and if you don’t like it I’ll get you something else.” Izuku nods, tears the paper off his own straw, then takes a sip of the beverage.

“...This is really good,”  Izuku says, staring at the drink wide-eyed. “I...didn’t know what I was expecting, but it’s really good.”

“I know, right!?” Kirishima grins at him, almost madly. “It’s great, isn’t it? It’s my favorite thing to get here. It’s kind of a bummer, it’s one of the less popular flavors, so not many people even wanna give it a shot.”

“More for us, then.”

Kirishima blinks, then smiles again. “More for us,” he agrees. When he raises his glass chessily, Izuku rolls his eyes, but clinks his own glass against Kirishima’s anyway.

Mom makes katsudon for him all the time. It was one of the first things she made for him after adopting him, and since then, he’s had a nostalgic, emotional attachment with the food. He’s positive that he could have it every day for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

He usually doesn’t finish it, though. Eating has always been a chore, and no matter how much he enjoys it, he has a hard time eating more than a few bites at a time. This is how it’s always been; he’s definitely eating more now than he did before, even when he was held captive by the villains, but it’s still nowhere near what he needs to be eating.

He sits at the table with Mom, and she sets down two bowls of katsudon, one for herself and one for him. She digs into her food first after a small, concerned glance in Izuku’s direction, but Izuku takes a bit more time contemplating before taking up his chopsticks. He thinks of Aizawa’s words, Kirishima’s comment on being able to feel his ribs when they hugged, and Izuku takes in a long breath, makes up his mind, and empties the bowl in about ten minutes.

Mom is shocked, which he expects, too shocked even to react when he pushes the empty bowl towards her and says that he’s going to bed. Once he’s in his room, alone, he flops face-down onto his mound of stuffed animals and blankets, stomach churning and bile burning his throat. His cats curl around him, purring, and Izuku just hopes he’ll be able to keep everything down.

He does, somehow. And for some reason it feels like a bigger victory than beating the slime villain.

“Hero costumes?”

Kirishima nods. He’s walking Izuku to the train station again, like he’s been doing for the past little while, ever since Izuku started training with Aizawa in the abandoned prefecture of the city.

“Something like that,” Kirishima says, nodding. “I was looking more into the U.A. applications, and they want you to send in your costume designs to the support group as soon as you can. I already have the basics of my costume down, although, there are a few things I wanna tweak here and there. What about you?”

Izuku has never thought of a hero costume. Up until recently, the mere thought of being a hero was idiotic; there was no way he could become a hero, absolutely no way, so the concept of designing a hero costume never once crossed his mind.

But, now,

“Guess I have some brainstorming to do,” Izuku decides, already thinking things over in his head. “I really have no idea.”

“Well, lemme know if you want any help,” Kirishima offers, grinning. “I’m not a super good brainstormer, but, I mean, I can throw a couple ideas out here and there.”

Izuku nods. “You on for another study session tonight?”

Kirishima lets out the biggest groan Izuku has ever heard. From anyone. And he’s been training diligently with Aizawa for a while now.

“...I’ll put gummies on the pages,” Izuku says finally, relenting. “And every time you reach the gummy on the page, you can have it. A little more motivating then, right?”

Kirishima perks up some, but only some.

Three beds. Two empty. One full. He and Ko-chan rarely sleep on their own respective beds anymore; they always end up curled on either his or hers, one way or another. The third bed is empty now. It usually isn’t this time of night, but…

“Do you think he’s okay?” he asks, head tucked beneath Ko-chan’s chin, arms tight around her waist. “He’s...he’s been gone for so long…”

Ko-chan’s arms tighten around his shoulders. “I’m sure he’s fine, Kitten,” she says, and her voice is so calming and familiar that he can’t help but cling to the words. “Sensei won’t hurt him. He’s always been the favorite…” Her voice trails off, and he feels her shake her head. “Nevermind, let’s talk about something else, okay? Anything else, you pick.”  

He shuts his eyes and ponders for a long moment. “Ko-chan...if you could be anything...anything at all...what would it be?”

“Anything?” Ko-chan pauses. “Hmm...you mean, like, any kind of person? Or any kind of anything? Because if so, turtles are pretty cool.”

He giggles, then shakes his head. “No, I mean, any kind of person. What job do you want?”

“Well...I’ve always wanted to be a doctor,” Ko-chan says at long last. “Kinda like Sensei’s doctor, except I want to actually help people who need it. I wanna be able to go in places like this and help people like us.”

He thinks this over. It sounds good to him. He’d like to do that, too. “That sounds nice.”

“What about you, Kitten?”

Her voice grows dimmer.

“What do you want to be?”

Izuku opens his eyes and blinks up at a ceiling, lit with glow-in-the-dark stars. He’s back in his room, away from the memory, even though he’s not relieved. The memory is one he remembers with fondness; a time he and his sister had talked about the kinds of people they wanted to be, should they ever get away from that place.

He doesn’t remember how he answered her, though.

He sits up and in doing so accidentally knocks Snowball off his chest. He apologizes, but Snowball has already abandoned him for the foot of his bed, which he supposes is fair. He swings himself to his feet, then sits down at his desk and flicks on the lamp.

He pulls one of his composition notebooks from the drawer, then a pen from his pencil cup (though, he has more knives than pencils in it). Once he finds a blank page in the notebook (one right behind his analysis of Aizawa’s Quirk), he writes Hero Costume, No. 1 and begins scribbling.

He’s at it until sunlight streams through his window and he’s finally come up with something he likes. After that, he shuts the notebook triumphantly and crawls into bed with his cats again. Snowball has forgiven him, it seems, because she bumps her head under his chin and curls up at the crook of his neck.

Chains. That’s what his Quirk is. His Quirk is chains, wrapped around his chest, squeezing tight then tighter. Trapping him. Encircling him. He’s stuck. He’s always stuck. His Quirk is a prison. It controls him. He has no control over what it does or who it hurts. He has no say in it, and that is terrifying.

Those are Izuku’s thoughts as he exchanges blows with Aizawa. Aizawa fights in much the same way Izuku does, although Aizawa seems a bit more hesitant to land devastating blows (no doubt in favor of Izuku’s weak body—while Izuku is nimble and good with knives, that’s about all he is A couple serious blows from Aizawa and he’d be off to the hospital with broken ribs).

“I think that’s enough for now,” Aizawa says; he isn’t nearly as winded as Izuku, but he’s still panting. “So. Quirk training. Go ahead and fire it up.”

This is where the chains come in again. Izuku nods, shuts his eyes, and draws his Quirk out of himself. The only voluntary action he has when it comes to his Quirk is his ability to turn it on, and even then, it’s not like he can keep it from turning on when he’s sick or otherwise. Once the Quirk begins to activate, he’s hands-off. He can’t do anything.

But there’s something comforting about having Aizawa here. Just when the chains start to choke him, Aizawa forces the Quirk back, and Izuku can breathe freely again, vision cleared, fearless. (For a time. He’s only ever truly “fearless” for a very short amount of time.)

“You think you’ve gotten used to how it feels?” Aizawa asks, eyes returning from red to their usual color. “The first step is getting used to it. After that, we’ll work on getting you to shut it off voluntarily.”

“I think I’m getting used to it,” Izuku says, even though the hairs on his arms are standing straight up. “I’m—I’m not comfortable with it at all, but...I’m getting used to the way it feels.”

“And how does it feel?”

Izuku swallows thickly and looks down. “...Wrong. It feels wrong.”

“That’s understandable. This is an entirely different aspect of yourself that you’ve never actually explored before. You’ll get the hang of it, it’s just gonna take time.”

It’s been a full month. A full month since Izuku started training with Aizawa, and it’s only just now that he’s getting used to how his Quirk feels.

“Are you sure I’ll be able to do it before the entrance exam?” Izuku asks, fiddling with one of his knives. One thing Aizawa doesn’t seem to mind at all is when Izuku sharpens a knife absentmindedly.  “I mean, you...what do you think, realistically?”

“Realistically?” Aizawa frowns, but he doesn’t have to think about it. “No, I don’t think it’s possible for you to learn how to control it completely before the entrance exam. After working with you for some time and seeing your strengths and weaknesses, I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will not be able to control it before school starts.”

This slams into Izuku like a bullet train, and he’s left stumbling for something to say. “But—you said if I didn’t learn to control it that going to U.A. wouldn’t work. You said—”

“I know what I said.” Aizawa takes in a breath through his nose, then lets it out slowly. “Looking back on it now, it was unrealistic of me to put that kind of lock on you. It’s going to take a long time before you make this Quirk your own, maybe even several years, who knows.”

“Several years…” Izuku doesn’t want to think about this. He’s been working hard, trying to eat better, just trying to be healthier, trying to get his Quirk under control, but now…

“I didn’t say that means you won’t be accepted into U.A.”

Izuku meets Aizawa’s gaze, and Aizawa keeps going.

“During the entrance exam, you’ll be fighting robots, which your Quirk is useless against anyway. You have no reason to use your Quirk, and considering the nature of your Quirk, it shouldn’t turn on suddenly like it did against the slime villain.”

Izuku blinks, mulling this over. “That’s...that’s true.”

“And,” Aizawa goes on, “Naomasa tells me you have Quirk suppressants. You could always take those with you just in case something does come up unexpectedly, but I doubt it. From what your Quirk has showed us so far, unless there’s immediate danger of death, it shouldn’t turn on without your consent.”

Izuku nods, but this is only one problem. “The rest of the school year,” he mentions, then bites his lip. “What about that?”

“You’re just going to have to shoot for Class A,” is Aizawa’s curt response, “which I will be homeroom teacher of. If you’re in my class, I can keep tabs on you and your Quirk in case something goes wrong that you can’t use suppressants for.”

“Class A...that’s the top class in the hero course, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Izuku thinks this over. “So...it’s...it’s really all or nothing then, isn’t it?”

“That’s how it is being a hero anyway,” Aizawa says idly. “All or nothing. You know this, don’t you?”

He does. Izuku knows it better than anyone.

“We’ll keep doing what we’re doing now,” Aizawa goes on, “but when it comes to your Quirk and getting used to it...the only progress I see us making before the entrance exam is you’ll be able to turn it on comfortably. But, you still won’t be able to turn it off, and you still won’t be able to control the output.”

Izuku accepts this. Just being used to his Quirk is already improvement, and from there, he’s sure he can learn to control it. Once he stops freaking out whenever he feels its familiar presence overtaking his body.

“Do you wanna do another physical combat round or do you wanna try your Quirk again?” Aizawa asks after another moment, and after Izuku thinks it over, he decides.

“The Quirk again. If you would.”

“Got it.” Aizawa nods, then shuts his eyes. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”  

Izuku takes in a breath, holds it, then lets it out slowly. “I’m ready.”

“Your grades are terrible.”

“I know that!” Kirishima cries, running both hands through his hair frantically. “That’s why I’m here!”

Izuku flips the page in Kirishima’s notebook, looking back over past work. “...Hey, Kirishima, I think I found out what your problem is.”

“Really?” Kirishima perks up, then peers over Izuku’s shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Izuku flips around the notebook and points to it with a pencil he’d had tucked behind his ear. “All these answers are wrong.”

“DAGNABBIT MIDORIYA I KNOW THAT!!” Kirishima howls, burying his head in his hands. “JUST TELL ME HOW TO FIX IT!!”

Izuku exhales sharply, shakes his head, then goes into the actual explanation. They’re sitting in the living room of Izuku and Mom’s apartment, with Kirishima’s workbooks spread out on the coffee table and Izuku and him kneeling on the floor around it. The newest addition to the Midoriya family, Fiddlesticks, prowls the premises menacingly (except, he is scared of Fistfight. Izuku hopes they can get along someday soon. He’s getting really tired of hearing Fiddlesticks whining in the middle of the night when Fistfight is waiting to jump him nearby).

“It’s like this, see?” Izuku shows Kirishima one of the problems he reworked. “You had the formula wrong so all the answers were wrong. It’s a simple fix, but, y’know how picky math can be about numbers and whatnot. One little mistake and the whole thing’s gone to hell.”

“Ahh, I see.” Kirishima studies the notebook for a long moment, then nods. “I think I get it now, lemme try.”

Kirishima hasn’t said anything about One For All. Izuku isn’t sure Toshinori’s told him about it yet, or even decided to give it to him, so it’s not like Izuku can ask Kirishima, either. In the end, whether or not Toshinori gives it to him and whether or not Kirishima tells him about it is up to the both of them; it doesn’t make a difference to Izuku either way.

“So you’ve been training with someone else lately?” Kirishima asks as he reworks the problem for what feels like the upteenth time. “You’re barely with me and Toshinori-san anymore.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working with someone who’s helping me learn to control my Quirk,” Izuku answers, sharpening a pencil with one of his knives absentmindedly. “Since I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat and I don’t need, y’know, bodybuilding, it’s better that I work with this other guy.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Kirishima keeps scribbling. “The entrance exam is gonna be on us before you know it, man. Only a few more months to go now. Ya think we’re gonna be ready?”

To be completely honest, Izuku has no idea either way, but before he can say this, he thinks of the real meaning behind Kirishima’s question. He’s not looking for a specific yes or no; he’s looking for a morale booster. An encouragement.

Izuku nods firmly. “Definitely. We’ll be ready.”

Maybe the morale booster isn’t just for Kirishima, either.

Things continue on this way. Kirishima goes to train with Toshinori, and Izuku goes to train with Aizawa. He does join Kirishima and Toshinori every so often, when Aizawa is out on a mission or busy otherwise. The shoreline of Dagobah beach slowly clears as they move the garbage away, until the sky is visible and the shores sparkle in the sunlight.

They meet with Yatchi at the park every so often, too, on their way home from training or on their way to the soda shop. They play frisbee with her and her dad, Izuku has to climb a tree more than once to get it out of a branch when it’s thrown too far or too hard, and Kirishima slowly becomes better and better at Signing the longer he’s around Yatchi and Izuku.

Izuku makes an attempt to eat better, and it’s working. Mom always looks so shocked and surprised, but relieved underneath all of that, and Izuku kind of wishes he’d started eating healthier sooner, if just to put her heart at ease.

Fistfight’s kittens grow up. Fiddlesticks and Fistfight eventually learn to get along, though Fiddlesticks continues to keep up his “I couldn’t care less” persona, which is fine and expected of a cat like him. Izuku keeps taking notes on different heroes he sees on the news or otherwise, and keeps adding things here and there to his hero costume design whenever he thinks about it. He finally sends it out to U.A. once he’s finalized it; even though he isn’t yet a part of the school, they want everyone’s designs beforehand.

Along with that, he sent in his application form, which includes his name, age, Quirk, birthday, a copy of his medical files (which is about as thick as a small novel), the likes. As the months fly by and the day of the entrance exam draws closer, Izuku begins to feel more nervous than before, but at the same time, his excitement is skyrocketing.

If he can manage to pull this off he’ll be an official student of U.A. He’ll officially be on the road to becoming a hero. That thought excites him, and terrifies him at the same time.

The entrance exam is on them sooner than Izuku could have ever hoped, and early that morning before heading over to U.A., Izuku finds himself hugging and kissing each of his cats goodbye (Fiddlesticks pretends he doesn’t like it). Fistfight’s kittens are older now, almost as big as she is, and so are the original six kittens.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” Izuku promises when they flock around him mrrowing in confusion. “I know, I know, I’ll miss you too.”

Mom turns the corner, smiling softly. “You ready for today?” she asks, and Izuku nods, straightening up.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, meeting her gaze. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”

Mom smiles, but it’s almost sad this time. “Whether or not you get into U.A.,” she says, taking his hand in both of hers, “I will always, always be proud of you. Don’t forget that, Izuku.”

Izuku squeezes her fingers, then bumps his head against her shoulder. She hugs him tightly, and he returns it; The cats curl around both their ankles, purring and mrrowing, and eventually, Izuku steps out of his mother’s arms, waves goodbye, and sets off.

There’s still another good two hours before he has to be at U.A. for the exam; he’d set out early for the specific purpose of meeting with Aizawa at the abandoned city for one last training session before the exam. The morning is cool, but the sun is rising. Before long, it’ll be warm and sunny, just how he likes it.

He’s just about to head into the station when—

“MIDORIYAAAAAA!”

Izuku whirls around, and Kirishima almost glomps him, thinking better of it at the last second. It’s almost been a full year now since they first met, but he’s still careful to respect Izuku’s personal boundaries.

“You heading to see your trainer one last time?” Kirishima asks, breathless, like he’d run all the way over here.

Izuku nods. “Yeah,” he says. “And you’re going to Dagobah?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Kirishima says, nodding. “Dude, this is great, I’m so excited. I can’t believe it’s actually today, y’know? We’ve been training for months and it’s finally here.”

Izuku swallows hard, then nods. “I can’t believe it either,” he says. “And, to be honest, I’m kind of terrified.”

Kirishima heaves a long breath. “Yeah same dude,” he says, then straightens up again with a grin. “But, this is what we’ve been training for, so we’ll be fine! How’d the Quirk training go? Did you get it under control?”

Izuku shakes his head. “I can’t control it, but I’m more or less used to how it feels, which is the first step to learning to use it properly.”

Kirishima beams at him, brighter than ever. “Dude!” he cheers, putting out his arms—and then he stops, once again calling to mind Izuku’s boundaries. There have been considerably less of them, the closer Izuku and Kirishima have grown as friends, but regardless of all that, Kirishima is still cautious when it comes to sudden physical contact, which Izuku appreciates.

“You can hug me, Kirishima.”

Kirishima does hug him, tightly, and Izuku can’t even hug him back properly because his arms are pinned to his sides. Kirishima lets him down shortly, but there’s something different on his face. Something like relief.

“What is it?” Izuku asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Kirishima says, but his eyes are bright. “I could feel your ribs before, Midoriya. I couldn’t this time.” Izuku blinks, but there’s something rising in his chest. Something warm and light. Kirishima cracks a grin, then shakes his head and ruffles Izuku’s hair playfully. “You’re still a midget, though.”

Izuku scoffs and kicks Kirishima in the shin. Kirishima howls and leaps backwards, holding his offended limb and hopping around on one foot.

“OW!! What’d you go and do that for!?”

“That didn’t hurt.”

“Yeah it did!”

Izuku rolls his eyes. He knows Kirishima is half kidding; he’s always been a bit more of a drama queen than most people. Eventually, he stops howling and complaining and steps up to Izuku again with a smile.

“Good luck,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll see you at U.A.”

Izuku nods back at him. “See you.”

They perform their special little (not)handshake, bid their farewells, and while Izuku steps onto the train, Kirishima spins around and bolts in the other direction, away from the station.

Huh, Izuku thinks as the train departs and Kirishima fades from sight. He ran all the way out here just to see me off...even though we’re literally going to see each other again in a few hours...

He doesn’t know why, but that thought also sends something warm and bright rising in his chest.

Aizawa is waiting for him again at their training grounds, just like always, but they don’t launch into their typical routine. Today is a bit different.

“So you’re comfortable with your Quirk now,” Aizawa says after they exchange a brief greeting. “Or, at least more comfortable than you used to be.”

Izuku nods. “I’m still getting used to it, I think, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be super comfortable using it, but it’s definitely better than it was. I think...I think I can do it, today. I really think I’m ready.”

“Good for you,” Aizawa says, and the words sound about as sincere as they can, coming from him. “I’ll be watching and grading the examinees, but don’t expect any favoritism from me.”

“I’d be more upset if you did show favoritism,” Izuku responds dryly. “So you’d better not.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes, but Izuku has known him long enough to know that he isn’t actually angry or fed up. If the rolling of the eyes could be done as a fond, endearing kind of gesture, this is what it would be.

“Well, good luck,” Aizawa says curtly. “I’ll see you there.”

“See you there, Aizawa-sensei.”

U.A. is enormous. It’s one of the biggest buildings Izuku has ever seen, and it’s one of the more intimidating ones, to be sure. But it’s not so much the building itself that intimidates him as it is the dozens of students running up the steps toward the building.

Izuku walks slowly, keeping his head set forward. Since hanging out with Kirishima and Yatchi more often, he’s had an easier time with people. Just in nine months, he’s already a lot more comfortable here than he’d be without the positive changes in his life.

Except, there are still dozens of people here, and he’s still working through a lot of crap.

So.

He took one knife with him. Aizawa said that they couldn’t let him take all his knives and that he can’t use it in the actual entrance exam, but he knows knives are a source of comfort for Izuku, just a little something that he can hold onto, and he said that he’d take the fall for it if Izuku got in trouble for having it.

Izuku holds onto the knife in his hoodie pocket. He’s wearing his galaxy hoodie again, along with a pair of bright red light-up shoes that also double as a pair of heelys. Kinda overkill, maybe, but what the hell, this is his big day and he’s stressed out enough as it is. Now if only he had Mom Kirishima and his cats with him. That would really complete this “comfort of home” thing.

“Oooh, your shoes are so cool!”

Izuku jumps and whirls around. A girl bounces up to him with bright eyes and lots of brown, bushy hair. She’s beaming, and it’s like the smile lights up her entire face. Kinda like Kirishima’s.

“I really like them a lot!” she says once she’s caught up with him. “I wish I had some light up shoes, that’d be—” She stops when she actually sees his face, and she blinks rapidly, her smile fading. “...That’s...a lot of scars.”

Izuku winces. “Sorry,” he says, turning away and making to pull his hood back over his head. “I’ll just, y’know, bye—”

“No it’s fine!” she says quickly, waving her hands about. “Sorry, I was just thinking out loud, that really wasn’t the right thing to say, I’m terrible, I’m sorry, I’m just, I’m so nervous and I’ve been waiting for this day for ever and, oh man, I messed up, I messed up now oh man—”

“Erm…” Izuku has always been socially inept, but now his mind is completely blank. He didn’t mind the comment about the scars; he knows how many he has and he knows how unusual it is to see so many on a boy’s face, but now he’s gone and upset her and now she’s upset herself and he doesn’t know what to do.

What would Kirishima do?

“Hey, erm...I’m nervous too,” Izuku says eventually, and she stops and looks at him, wide-eyed. “Let’s, just...l-let’s be nervous together.”

N a i l e d  i t.

This is somehow the right thing to say, because the girl lets out a huge sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” she says, more calm than before. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that, either. I’m, erm, my name is Uraraka Ochako. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Midoriya Izuku, likewise.”

There’s a total of five seconds in which neither of them say anything.

“...So…”

“S-So…” She rubs the back of her neck, and Izuku fiddles with the knife in his pocket a bit more. “We should...probably head inside now, right?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“OY, MIDORIYA!!”

Izuku and Uraraka both turn. Kirishima sprints toward them down the road, looking frantic.

“Oh man, I made it!” Kirishima says, panting and gasping for breath once he’s stopped in front of them. “Dude I thought I was gonna miss it—oh!” He notices Uraraka and straightens up again, smiling. “Who’s this?”

“Uraraka, this is Kirishima,” Izuku says, gesturing. “Kirishima, Uraraka.”

“Hi!” Uraraka greets, waving a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima.”

“You too,” Kirishima says, smiling with a nod. “Do you guys wanna go ahead inside?”

Uraraka nods, Izuku nods, and they head up the steps and into the building.

Aizawa was right, they are fighting robots, but the setting is a bit different than Izuku thought it’d be. It’s like one of Kirishima’s video games; each robot is assigned an amount of points based on how difficult it is to take down, and the points are calculated by the judges and added up at the end of it all. There’s a one-pointer, a two-pointer, a three-pointer, and a zero-pointer just thrown in there as an extra obstacle for the entrees to overcome.

“Ahh, man, we got assigned to different fields,” Kirishima laments, rubbing the back of his neck as the students disperse after Present Mic’s announcement. “Well, good luck out there, dude. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, nodding, “you too.”

Kirishima nods, but he seems distracted, and for a second Izuku thinks he’s going to say something else. He doesn’t, though, and waves goodbye as he turns with the others assigned to the same field as him and heads out. Izuku does the same with his own group.

He sees the girl, Uraraka, a little further up ahead. A part of him wants to walk with her, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really know her, and besides, up front has the most people. He lags behind intentionally and brings up the rear of the group just for sake of avoiding awkward interactions.

There’s someone else there that looks familiar, walking at the very, very front of the pack, but Izuku knows for a fact that he’s never seen the boy before. When he turns his head slightly, Izuku catches dark eyes and a pair of glasses; his hair is also dark, near black, and he has a very stern expression.

Izuku swears he’s seen him somewhere before. He looks familiar, but at the same time, he knows he never met him. He’s never even passed him on the street like he did the blond bad-tempered kid.

Maybe he should ask about that sometime.

They reach the training grounds—a gigantic mock-city, with towering skyscrapers Izuku can see even above the surrounding wall. There are a lot of people here, strangers; Izuku is only glad that they’re not fighting each other. Robots he can handle, but going up against actual people with Quirks would be a lot more difficult.

For a while, everyone just kinda loiters in front of the open gates. They’re chatting, talking, comparing Quirks and boasting that “they’re gonna ‘win’” and that “they’re gonna make it into the hero course.” Izuku likes the enthusiasm, sort of, but he also kind of wishes they’d shut up.

“WE’VE STARTED!” booms Present Mic’s voice from one of the speakers surrounding the area, and all heads snap in that direction, Izuku’s included. “WHAT ARE YOU GUYS STANDING AROUND FOR!? WE’VE BEGUN!”
Oh, Izuku thinks, blinking. Guess we’re doing this, then.

He races ahead with the torrent of other examinees.

Everyone disperses once they’re inside, splitting off down side streets and alleys and the likes. Some of them plunge forward; Izuku decides to turn into one of the nearby alleys, for a couple of reasons. One, it’ll keep him away from everyone else, and two, well, where no one else is…

A robot spins around the corner, and Izuku skids to a halt. The robot raises what Izuku assumes is its mechanical eye and looks at him. The red dilates.

“Target locked,” chirps its robotic voice. The red light glows brighter, and Izuku barely has time to leap into the air before the blast is fired. It hits the asphalt where he’d been moments before, leaving a black crater in the street.

Izuku rolls on his shoulder and bounces to his feet, facing the robot. It stares at him like it wasn’t quite expecting him to dodge; and then, with another bright light, it fires again.

Izuku dodges this time, and the blast hits the cement harmlessly. Deciding that this is going nowhere and that he really needs a strategy, Izuku dives out of the way of another attack and hits the ground running.

A whirring, clicking sound behind him says he’s being followed, but he keeps going, listening for the tell-tale fire-up of the robot’s canon. He has an idea, but for it to work, he needs—

A second robot turns the corner in front of him, and it takes less than a second for it to lock on Izuku.

“Target locked,” the second robot says, firing up a blast; behind him, Izuku hears the sound, and he waits until the very last second to make his move.

He hears the blast behind him, the blast in front of him, and he leaps into the air. The robots’ respective blasts slam into each other, and they produce a couple sad whirring sounds before crashing to the ground in sad, smoldering heaps. Izuku rolls and gets his feet underneath him again shortly thereafter, gaze set forward.

He has a strategy now.

“Peculiar…” In the viewing room sits the soon-to-be teachers of U.A.’s new students, judging the entrance exam. Nedzu in particular is very intrigued, leaning forward in his chair to get closer to the screen. “Most of them are using their Quirks to take down the robots...yes, we have a couple of power houses, I see...but this one.”

He taps the screen; Midoriya is running down a street, pursued by two three-pointers. His gaze is set forward, determined, but anyone who didn’t know him well enough would assume he was simply bored.

“He’s not using his Quirk at all,” Midnight says, cradling her chin with a hand. “He’s using the robots to destroy each other.”

“Midoriya Izuku, examinee eight-four-five-six,” Cementoss says, looking over a paper on the desk in front of him. “FIfteen years old, Quirk ‘Glitch.’”

“So he has a Quirk,” Midnight says, frowning, “but he isn’t using it at all...”

“Does that count as points for him?” Cementoss inquires with a frown. “He isn’t technically  using his Quirk.”

“The entrance exam isn’t all about Quirks,” Shouta interrupts. All chairs turn towards him, and he sighs. “The exam is a time for the students to show us what they’re made of. Numbers on screen are great and all, and of course we want to see their Quirks in action, but…”

On-screen, Midoriya dives to the side and wall-jumps out of the way. Three two-pointer bots take out the three-pointers that’d been pursuing him, and Midoriya takes off down the street again, followed closely by the one remaining bot.

“...Their sense of strategy isn’t something we should brush off or overlook.”

The teachers stare at him a while longer, then turn back to the screens.

It’s actually going better than Izuku ever thought it would.

Being pursued constantly by robots sure gives him a run for his money, and his throat is burning with the force of his gasps, but he won’t stop now. He hasn’t been keeping track of how many robots he’s beaten thus far, but he can’t shake off Aizawa’s words, that “all or nothing.”

If he doesn’t come in first, if he doesn’t make it into Class A, he can’t go to U.A. Without Aizawa there should his Quirk go haywire, there’s no telling what he can do.

So his path is obvious: take out as many robots as possible, then hope that somehow it’s enough.

He keeps on with it, tricking robots into shooting each other. All he can say is, he’s glad he was able to start eating a bit healthier leading up to this; he isn’t sure his stamina would be able to hold out, otherwise. Plus, what training he did do with Toshinori on the beach had helped. He’s not sure he’d be able to continue like this without it.

“Five minutes remain!” Present Mic’s voice hollers, resounding throughout the training city. “Hurry, everybody! No time to waste!”

Izuku begins to mentally countdown from five minutes, running all the while.

He’s fleeing a two-pointer when the alley ends and suddenly he finds himself in the heat of the moment. Everyone is fighting; there are robots everywhere, getting blasted to smithereens and, in some cases, torn apart. Uraraka is running back and forth, tapping robots and launching them into the sky. When she taps her fingers together again, they drop and smash into the asphalt, their light-eyes going out.

That’s a cool Quirk, Izuku thinks, running past her; so long as he’s being pursued, he can’t really stop for anyone. I should write that down—

The ground shakes. Izuku skids to a halt, eyes going wide. He hears the sound of the two-pointer making ready a blast, and he leaps to the side to avoid it. The moment his feet touch the ground, the cement gives a lurch that almost sends Izuku off his feet again.

Ahead of them, buildings crash and crumble. Smoke rises. Examinees that were farther ahead are running back now, screaming, retreating. The robots that everyone else forgot are circling, though they don’t fire any blasts, considering they aren’t being directly attacked or approached.

Izuku watches as the Zero-Pointer steps down the street, bringing down entire buildings with it as it goes. Present Mic had treated this robot like it was as harmless as a butterfly; and now, seeing it, Izuku has determined that he’s a liar.

The thing is huge, and every move it makes sends the ground lurching. Izuku maintains his footing, but everyone else has turned and is running for the hills with abandon. They want nothing to do with the Zero-Pointer, it seems; the rest of the lesser, smaller robots watch them go, but don’t engage. It’s like they know the students are running. It’s like they know the students are scared.

And then, up ahead, Izuku hears something. A small cry of pain, barely there, but still, he heard it.

He turns, and the dust up ahead clears just enough for him to see Uraraka, pinned by a chunk of asphalt. Her face is contorted in pain, and she’s trying to reach behind her to touch the chunk of building, but she can’t reach around that far, and it seems trying brings more pain. Maybe her shoulder is dislocated.

The Zero-Pointer continues down the street, straight toward her. It isn’t dangerously close yet, but it’s getting there. Slowly but steadily, it’s getting there.

Izuku grits his teeth behind his lips, mind whirring.

And then he turns and looks at the complacent robots.

“It always turns out this way, doesn’t it?” Nedzu is saying, looking amused, which Shouta can’t be sure is a good sign. “Everyone always runs from the Zero-Pointer, no matter how powerful they are or their odds of victory. We all run from what we don’t understand, don’t we? I wonder…”

“Um…” Cementoss blinks at the screen several times, then points. “He’s not running.”

Everyone turns to watch—everyone but Shouta, who has known Midoriya long enough to know exactly what he’s planning.

“Uraraka-san!”

Ochako barely manages to lift her head off the ground, pain sparking through her arm and ribs. The ground trembles, tears burn her eyes, everyone ran the moment they saw the Zero-Pointer, even the ones who’d noticed she was stuck, pinned. They kept running even though they knew she was hurt, they left her alone.

Except—

“Make me float!” Midoriya shouts, sprinting towards her, and for someone that’s yelling, his voice is surprisingly steady and calm. “Do that thing you were doing with the rocks! Send me up!”

Uraraka just met him. She doesn’t know him. He’s covered in scars she doesn’t understand, and he’s always had this dead look in his eyes, like he was a corpse walking.

But there’s something in his gaze now, as he races towards her with what looks like an entire army of robots behind him. It isn’t panic. It isn’t franticness. Even his tone of voice remains reasonably calm.

No, there’s something in his eyes now that tells her that he knows exactly what he’s doing. There’s something in there that tells her, I’ve got this, please, trust me.

It’s uncanny, really, but she doesn’t question it. Wincing against the pain, she raises her hand, and Midoriya slaps it with his own. Immediately, his feet leave the ground, and he takes to the air.

“When I give you the signal, let me go!” Midoriya says down to her, calm despite the volume of his voice. “But only when I say so!”

Ochako is a bit more aware now that she has something to think about that isn’t impending doom—and it’s now that she notices all the robots that had been previously chasing Midoriya have stopped in their tracks and have raised their canons upwards at him.

The Zero-Pointer approaches still, shaking the ground, and Ochako’s panic flares. “Midoriya!” she shouts, voice breaking at the end. “They’re aiming for you! They’re going to—!”

“Don’t let me go until I say so!” Midoriya hollers back down at her, and now it’s there in his tone, that calm, collected I know exactly what I’m doing, trust me, and she does. She trusts him, even as she hears the robots fire up their blast, all in unison. She brings her hands together, fingertips a mere inch apart, waiting—

The robots fire their blasts, Midoriya’s voice rings “Now!” over the roaring in Ochako’s ears, and she taps her fingertips together and squeezes her eyes shut, not daring to look. She hears the crack, snap, and crunch of metal; then a wheezing, whirring sound, like clicking gears working against each other.

She looks over her shoulder, eyes barely cracked open. And then, they blow wide.

The Zero-Pointer, its glowing red eyes dark and lifeless, with a crater-like dent in the chestplate, is toppling down.

And only now does Ochako remember that Midoriya is still falling, too.

Her head snaps forward again, and she ignores the nausea that follows and stretches out her hand. “Midori!” she cries, straining to reach farther. Midoriya, falling, gets exactly what she intends and smacks their hands together again. His fall breaks, just before he hits the ground, and Ochako taps her fingertips together again to release him.

Midoriya rolls with practiced ease, then turns to look at her. “Hanging in there?” he asks, breathless, and Ochako nods. “Good…” Midoriya turns towards the robots again, and they’ve aimed their canons in his direction. All of them.

Ochako’s panic spikes again, but Midoriya maintains a startlingly calm demeanor. Under his breath, she hears him counting.

“Three, two, one…”

“TIME’S UP!” Present Mic’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, and the robots die all at once, their metal bodies slumping like broken marionettes and their red eyes going dark.

Ochako still feels nauseous, and her shoulder hurts something awful, but she can’t help but stare in awe at Midoriya’s back. She’d known there was something about him, something different, something special from the moment she first saw him, but...this was...this was far beyond anything she’d ever expected.

“Here…” Midoriya straightens up and moves towards her, then settles his hands beneath the asphalt pinning her. “I’ll lift and you go, okay?”

Ochako nods, and Midoriya strains and moves the asphalt just enough for her to wiggle free. He lets go of the chunk with a sharp exhale, and Ochako sits up with some difficulty, cradling her injured arm.

“Do you...need a medic?”

Ochako looks up at him, and he meets her eyes. He has the same dead expression as before, devoid of panic or joy or fear or sadness, just like his tone, and Ochako can barely bring herself to nod. Her mind is racing.

“Alright, just...stay here.” Midoriya holds a hand out to her (that’s scarred too, she realizes), then spins on his heel and jogs away.

Ochako watches him leave, still awestruck.

She realizes a second later that, unless it has something to do with turning him into a brilliant strategist, he didn’t use his Quirk at all.

Once Uraraka was treated by the school’s nurse (she has a healing Quirk, which is incredibly convenient because Izuku is sure Uraraka wasn’t the only victim, not to mention the other training cities and other Zero-Pointers Izuku knows were unleashed), Izuku doesn’t see much reason to stick around. Uraraka thanks him again for saving her when he makes to leave, and Izuku replies simply that it’s nothing and he’s glad she’s okay. After that, the entrance exam is announced complete, Uraraka bids him farewell and says that she hopes to see him in class, and Izuku agrees and heads to the front of the facility to wait for Kirishima.

That’s where he is now, scrolling through his phone idly. He’d already sent a text to Kirishima saying that they’ll meet at the front of the building, to which Kirishima had agreed readily and said that he’d be there shortly. Why he isn’t here now is what really bothers Izuku, though. Unless something went wrong.

It’s at that moment that Kirishima shows up, jogging and holding his phone in his left hand, but something is wrong. His right arm is in a sling around his shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kirishima says once he’s caught up, panting. “Were you here long?”

Izuku studies Kirishima’s face for a long moment, then pockets his phone. “What happened to you?”

Kirishima laughs shakily and rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels. “It’s, ahh...it’s kind of a long story...and a lot to explain...but seriously, those robots were no joke. And that Zero-Pointer? Super awesome but also reeeally overkill, don’tcha think?”

Well that was an abrupt change of subject. Izuku quirks a brow at him, suspicious, but he decides not to pry.

(Yet.)

Chapter Text

It’s going to be a while before they get the results back from the exam. Two-weeks, that was the estimate they were given before leaving the school. It takes time to sort through everything, apparently, which makes sense considering the sheer number of examinees.

Kirishima’s arm doesn’t take long to heal; he said that the school’s nurse kickstarted the healing, and by the next day, Kirishima removes the sling, his arm good as new.

“So, tell me.” They’re going over Kirishima’s workbooks in the living room the day after the exam, when Kirishima can use his right arm properly. “How’d you break your arm?”

Kirishima stiffens, then sighs and shakes his head. “Well, basically…” He sits back, leaving the pencil on the table beside his workbook, “...I kinda...turned myself into a human torpedo and shot straight through the center of the Zero-Pointer.”

Izuku blinks twice. “A human torpedo.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima says, nodding, “it was really cool, man, you should’ve seen it. But, I wasn’t really thinking about how my arm would take the force of impact, and, y’know...it just shattered.”

Izuku turns back to the workbook, turning all this over in his mind. Unless Kirishima got someone to help launch him, like Izuku got Uraraka’s help, then there’s no way Kirishima was able to shoot through the Zero-Pointer like a torpedo.

Also, Uraraka’s arm was also fractured, and her shoulder was dislocated. The nurse was able to heal both injuries in a short amount of time.

Which means that it shouldn’t have taken Kirishima’s arm longer to heal. Unless the nurse had something else to fix, first.

Izuku puts it out of his mind. Toshinori’s words about passing on One For All to Kirishima ride through on his train of thought, but he decides that, if Kirishima does have One For All now, it’s not his place to pry about it. If Kirishima really wants to share, then he’ll share.

And it’ll be on his terms.

“I’m still impressed that the two of you applied for U.A. at all,” Mom says over dinner; Kirishima is eating with them again, as he’s been doing quite often since coming over for studying sessions. “It’s the top hero academy in the region, isn’t it? It’s quite the goal to shoot for.”

“All the big-name heroes graduated from U.A.,” Kirishima says absentmindedly. “For most people, if you wanna do well in the hero world, you’ve gotta go through U.A. Besides, they’ve got a lot of heroes that teach there, too, so I bet you can learn a whole lot from all of them.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything. He’s more focused on not tossing his cookies at this point. It’s been easier to eat more lately, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is easy.

Kirishima heads home after dinner (and after thanking the two of them for their hospitality. Mom waves it off with a smile, and Izuku simply waves it off), and once he’s gone, Izuku starts down the hall toward his room, followed by all eleven of his cats (they follow him around constantly like ducklings after their mother, for some reason). He still can’t bring himself to get a full night’s sleep, but it’s whatever; he’s managed this far, he can continue to manage.

Except, “Izuku, can I talk to you for a second?”

Mom calls him back, and Izuku nods, spins on his heel, and steps back into the living room. Mom beckons him over to sit with her on the couch, and he does so.

“What is it?” Izuku asks, half concerned and half curious. “Is something wrong?”

Mom shakes her head feverishly. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she promises, and he knows she isn’t lying, “it’s just…” She pauses, then turns to him and takes both his hands in her own, squeezing his scarred fingers. “Izuku...you have no idea how proud I am of you, sweetheart. All you’ve done, after everything you’ve been through...shooting for U.A., trying to become a hero…”

She squeezes his fingers tighter and takes a moment before continuing.

“Even if you don’t get in,” she says, “even if you don’t make it, even if you can’t, Izuku, I’ll...I’ll always, always be proud of you for trying so hard.”

Izuku opens his mouth to say something, but the words are snatched out of his mouth before they’re even there. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t find something to say. He can’t find the words. He wishes for the life of him that he could smile, but he’s pretty sure what he’s feeling right now would leave him crying if not for his broken tear ducts.

He wishes he could show exactly what he’s feeling, because words aren’t something he has right now. And anyway, mere words don’t seem like they’d cut it here, either.

She gets it, though. Mom always gets it, and she releases one of his hands and cups his cheek instead, smiling.

“I know it’s hard,” she says, tracing one of his scars with her thumb gently, “but you’re going to get there, Izuku. Everything you’re doing now...even if it’s slow...you’re going to get there. And we’ll be there with you. So...don’t give up on it, okay?”

He’s overcome with it again and tries finding something, anything to say, but the only words he can manage are, “Thank you, Inko-san.” Even though his tone remains flat as always, she still manages to hear his gratitude in it, somehow, and she presses a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll get the test results from U.A. soon,” she says, stroking his cheek again. “Until then, don’t worry, okay?”

He’d done his best in the entrance exam. He’d shot for the top, maybe even went a little overboard in taking down the Zero-Pointer, but what the heck. “I won’t,” Izuku says, and he means it. “I put my best foot forward at the exam, and if I don’t make it now...well...at least I know I gave it my all.”

She beams at him, and later that night when Izuku’s in his room, surrounded by all eleven cats and watching dumb animal vines on his computer, she brings him a bowl of his favorite ice cream.

Izuku doesn’t hear from Aizawa at all those two weeks leading up to receiving the test results from U.A. Izuku remembers Aizawa telling him, briefly, that he’ll be one of the final judges, so it makes sense why he hasn’t gotten back to Izuku yet, but still. A word here or there would be nice.

But, anyway, he doesn’t get any. Not until a full two weeks have passed since the entrance exam; then, he gets a text from Aizawa later that afternoon as he’s walking home alone from a soda shop trip with Kirishima.

[Aizawa-sensei]
Sorry about the cold shoulder. Trying to send out all the letters to everyone. It’s a pain. You should be getting yours soon. You did good at the exam.

It’s not much, but it’s a high compliment coming from Aizawa, so Izuku takes it and responds accordingly.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Thanks. You think it’s okay that I didn’t use my Quirk?
Or are they gonna go deducting points because I didn’t use it?

[Aizawa-sensei]
Well the rest of the judges didn’t really know how to go about that but you still took out the robots, which was the entire point of the exam. How you went about it doesn’t really matter.
In any case, I’m impressed. Nice thinking out there, I was wondering how you’d handle those robots without your Quirk.

[Midoriya Izuku]
It was either that or tearing apart the side panels and ripping out the wires. I’m glad the blaster thing went as well as it did.

[Aizawa-sensei]
I’d appreciate it if you went with a less reckless approach next time, but good job.
Bit of a warning, the results come in a projection, so get ready for some noise.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Oh. Thanks.

[Aizawa-sensei]
Yeah, don’t mention it.
Anyway, good luck. You’ll get the results soon enough.  

[Midoriya Izuku]
Willing to bet good money that you already know exactly what my results are,
But that’s none of my business.

[Aizawa-sensei]
Can’t you just take the ‘good luck’ and be done with it.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Absolutely not.
:)

[Aizawa-sensei]
That looks so passive-aggressive it’s not even funny.

[Midoriya Izuku]
:)

[Aizawa-sensei]
If your smile is that passive-aggressive in real life, you’re going to make one terrifying hero.

[Midoriya Izuku]
My real life smile is broken. This is the best I can do.

[Aizawa-sensei]
You’ll smile someday.

That actually catches Izuku by surprise. Aizawa doesn’t add to it, doesn’t say anything else, just lets that text hang there, and Izuku isn’t sure what to make of it. Izuku hasn’t smiled in years. The last time he smiled was…

Well, the last time he remembers smiling was when he and Ko-chan were looking up at the stars after sneaking out of the villains’ fortress, the night before Ko-chan was taken away from him forever. He hasn’t smiled since then, not once, not even a little bit.

But Aizawa’s words sound like a promise, and when Izuku gets home that late afternoon, he lays in his bed and stares up at the ceiling for what feels like weeks.

And then, that evening, the letter arrives.

Mom rushes into the room, beaming excitedly and waving it around over her head. She gives is to him when he approaches, and she says quickly that the postman just dropped it off. After that, she wishes him good luck, and Izuku heads into his room, alone, to open it.

He sits at his desk, the envelope on the surface in front of him. His cats are curiously curling around his ankles and hopping onto the desk to investigate the new item, and Izuku shoos them away calmly, then takes up the envelope and tears it open.

Like Aizawa said, a small, metallic object with a clear white bulb drops from the envelope, along with a letter,  and Izuku barely has time to bring his hands around his ears before the projection begins and All Might’s voice fills his head.

Except, he isn’t yelling, as he usually is. Izuku realizes this a second later and slowly lowers his hands from around his ears.

“Young Midoriya!” All Might, as a projection says. “Usually I’m a bit more enthusiastic when it comes to things like this, but Aizawa told me you weren’t good with loud noises, so I am holding back for your sake!”

Oh thank God.

“You know something, Midoriya..I never doubted you, but I was concerned.” In the projection, All Might is still smiling, but his tone of voice has changed. “I didn’t know how you’d hoped to pass the entrance exam, considering your Quirk, and more accurately, your inability to properly use your Quirk. But...time and time again...in the replays...I was blown away, Midoriya. You’re going to make a brilliant hero.”

Izuku blinks at the screen several times. “...Wait…”

“And,” All Might goes on, stepping to the far right side of the screen, “it is with great pleasure that I present to you, your final score.”

A small blue box appears on the opposite side of the screen.

COMBAT POINTS: 81
RESCUE POINTS: 60

Izuku stares.

“Even though you knew the peril of the situation,” All Might continues, “even though you could have used that time to take out the robots instead of turning them against the Zero-Pointer, you risked all of it to save that girl, even when no one else did or would. And that, Midoriya...is what being a hero is all about.”

Izuku can’t believe what he’s hearing, honestly. He’d told Kirishima that he thought they could do it, he’d told Aizawa that he was ready, he’d told himself that he’d do his best and go beyond, no matter what, but—

This, this is—

“Congratulations, Young Midoriya. You’re well on your way to becoming an incredible hero.”

Inko is pacing up and down the hall outside Izuku’s bedroom door. She hears a muffled voice from inside, but can’t make out any of the words. She’s lost count of how long it’s been since Izuku went in there with the letter, and she’s more antsy than she’s been in a long time.

Please, let him get in, she finds herself pleading with whoever it is that’ll listen. Let him get in. He deserves this. He’s earned this. Let him get in.

And then the door swings open, and Izuku stands in the doorway, eyes wide and shining. Without even asking, before he even says anything, Inko knows exactly what happened.

“You got in,” she breathes, bringing her hands to her mouth. It’s not a question, she already knows exactly what’d happened, but still. Izuku looks her in the eyes, lets out a breathy, shaky exhale that could be something like a relief laugh, then nods.

Inko can’t help it. She beams, then throws her arms around him tightly. Izuku returns the gesture fiercely, equally overwhelmed and equally relieved and overjoyed.

He’s done it. He’s been working towards this, hoping for this for a very long time now, and he’s done it. Even after everything, he’s finally done it.

[Midoriya Izuku - Problem Child]

[attachment.photo]
:)

It’s a very bad selfie of Midoriya, surrounded by all eleven of his cats, and holding up his acceptance letter to the camera. His expression is as dead as ever, but there’s a light in his eyes that Aizawa had never seen before.

[Aizawa Shouta]
Nice going, kid. See you at school.

[Midoriya Izuku - Problem Child]
See you.
Thanks for everything.

Aizawa exhales sharply with a half-smile, then shakes his head and pockets his phone. This kid is bound to be the death of him.

[Incoming Call - Kirishima]

Izuku picks up without hesitation. “What up.”

“DUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE I GOT IN I GOT IN HOW ABOUT YOU?”

Izuku pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing. So much for getting by without too many loud, sudden noises. Oof.

“You got in?” Izuku says, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“HELL YEAH I GOT IN, OH MAN DUDE I’M SO EXCITED, DID YOU GET IN TOO?”

“I did,” Izuku says, nodding, and the words only truly sink in for him now. “I got my acceptance letter a couple hours ago.”

“ME TOO, OH MY GOSH, DUDE THIS IS AMAZING! WE DID IT, MAN, WE REALLY FREAKING DID IT!”

They did, didn’t they. Izuku pauses a moment, then pulls the phone away from his ear and opens his messenger without ending the call.

[Midoriya Izuku]
:D

On the other end of the phone, Kirishima makes a choked, intelligible noise.

“HOLY CRAP DUDE REALLY? ARE YOU THAT HAPPY?”

[Midoriya Izuku]
:D :D :D

Kirishima makes the noise again.

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM FOR YOU DUDE.”

Izuku exhales sharply through his nose, then shakes his head and holds the phone to his ear again. “You should probably go to bed,” he says, glancing at his clock momentarily. “It’s late, right?”

“Oh yeah you’re right, sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“I’m very rarely asleep before two in the morning.”

“...Hey, dude?”

“Yeah?”

“Might wanna think about getting some sleeping meds or something.”

“I’ve tried,” Izuku says, “but they’ve never worked all that well on me.”

“Hmm, right, right, yeah...sorry, it was stupid of me to assume you hadn’t already tried that...well, how about warm tea or something? Or reading a book?”

“I guess I could go over my notebooks again,” Izuku thinks out loud. “I could keep up the notes and whatnot.”

“Yeah, that sounds good! And I’ll leave my ringer on, so if you can’t sleep, don’t be afraid to give me a call.”

Izuku frowns. “Are you sure?”

Kirishima’s end goes silent, and then, Izuku’s phone lets out a little ding!

[Kirishima]
:D

Izuku snorts, then returns the phone to his ear. “You’re a dork.”

“YOU, sir, have no right to call me that.”

Izuku snorts again, then shakes his head. “Goodnight, Kiri-chan.”

It’s only a second later he realizes exactly what he’d just said. His stomach does a flip, his heart lurches, and he immediately tries covering for it.

“Wait, I take it back, forget I said anything—”

“DUDE!!”

Izuku jumps, but doesn’t pull the phone away from his ear this time. “Um...are you…? Mad…?”

“Dude no! I love it! My first nickname…! I’ll remember this moment forever!”

Izuku’s heartrate returns to normal, and he exhales sharply through his nose again. “...Dork.”

“OY!”

Izuku shakes his head, but the weight in his chest is gone, replaced with warmth. “Goodnight, Ki—Kiri-chan.”

“‘Night, buddy!”

Izuku terminates the call and, to his own surprise, falls asleep easily.

U.A. has a dress code. It isn’t super strict, but it is a dress code regardless; the students are each shipped their uniform shortly after being accepted into the school, and they’re expected to show up in said attire.

Izuku wears his uniform, definitely, but he also wears a tie-dye shirt beneath his gray blazer. It’s the first day of school, and despite the fact that he’s feeling mostly okay so far, he really goes all out in making sure he’s got as much color as he can in his outfit. He even wears mismatched, neon, ankle-length socks, and of course his light up shoes go without saying. He kind of considers re-dying his hair, but he’d done it recently enough and besides, it’s too much of an ordeal to consider doing before heading out.

So, he grabs his backpack off the back of the chair (it’s a swirl of pink, black and purple; the only reason he’s okay with the black is because it ties together well with the pink and purple to create what look like galaxies), heads out of his room, and meets his mom by the door.

She turns to him with a smile, seeming absolutely beside herself. “Do you have everything?” she asks, stepping forward to meet him halfway. “Your books, pencils, Quirk suppressants…?”

Izuku nods, feeling a mixture of terrified and excited. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Thank you. For...for everything.”

Her smile turns softer, and she cups his face in her hands and kisses his forehead. She’s taller than he is, so it takes a bit of bending down, but she’s never seemed to mind.

“Have fun, okay?” she says, gazing into his eyes. “And don’t be afraid to call me if something happens. Tell a teacher, call me, I’ll come pick you up, no questions asked.”

“I won’t forget. Thank you.”

She hugs him tight, then lets him go. He sets out, down the steps leading to their apartment, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack.

When he reaches the main street, he stops, looks around, then slings his backpack off and kneels on the sidewalk, unzipping it. Rainbow pops her head up from within and meows at him questioningly.

“Sorry.” Izuku scoops Rainbow into his arms and straightens up again, slinging his backpack over his shoulder again. “I didn’t want to be alone today.”

Rainbow bumps his chin with her head. She’s about ten months old now, but she’s always been small, so carrying her around, in his arms or his backpack, isn’t hard to do. Izuku holds her closer and makes his way down to the train station; he isn’t sure what U.A.’s policy is on animals, but with luck, he’ll be able to keep Rainbow hidden today.

Rainbow is surprisingly okay stowing away in Izuku’s backpack. She has to stay there while Izuku rides the train, then again once Izuku reaches the front steps leading into U.A. He only hopes Rainbow stays quiet; the last thing he wants is to be found out and get in trouble on the first day of school.

Finding Class 1-A once he’s inside is incredibly easy.  He manages to make it down the hallway without being too noticed by other students, and when he arrives, he stands before the towering door of Class 1-A, feeling more than a little intimidated. Buildings don’t scare him; it’s what lies beyond the door that he’s afraid of.

He takes in a breath and wonders if this was the right thing to do. He hasn’t seen Kirishima all morning, nor Aizawa, nor Uraraka; the only familiar face he’s seen all day has been Mom, and of course Rainbow, but the cat hardly counts. Izuku kind of wants to go hide in the bathroom and snuggle with Rainbow until he can get ahold of Kirishima, but that idea seems stupid, even to him.

Which leaves him with the only other option: actually facing his destiny. Oh boy.

He reaches for the door handle, but that’s all he has the chance to do before a familiar— blessedly familiar —voice bounces down the hallway towards him.

“Midoriya! You got in!”

It’s Uraraka, the girl from the entrance exam, and she’s beaming and springing towards him excitedly. “I’m so glad you did!” she says once she’s reached him, not even panting from her sprint. “That thing you did at the entrance exam was really cool!”

Izuku blinks. He hasn’t the slightest clue why she’s being friendly toward him. “...I...guess so?”

“No, really, I thought it was awesome!” she goes on, and Izuku takes a small, unnoticeable step backwards. She’s a bit more forward than what he’s used to, and he’s friends with Kirishima. “You were really cool, I’m glad you’re here!”

He wonders why. Why she’s glad he’s here. They don’t know each other, they aren’t friends, so unless she’s just a naturally nice person—or, unless she feels sorry for him because of a past told in his scars and eyes—he doesn’t understand her motives.

He’s just about to ask whether she wants to go on inside, when echoing footsteps draw his attention elsewhere. He lifts his head, and Uraraka follows his gaze; Kirishima sprints towards them frantically, gasping like he’s been doing this for hours.

“Made it,” Kirishima gasps once he reaches them and finally stops. “Man, that’s the second time I was almost late...that’s what I get for sleeping in, I guess…” He looks towards Uraraka, then beams. “Oh, you got in! Congratulations!”

“Thanks!” Uraraka says, beaming back at him. Izuku thinks he might just be blinded by it. “I’m really glad we’re all here!”

“We should head inside,” Izuku says, not because he’s in a hurry, but because he really, really doesn’t want to wind up in trouble on the first day of school. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, right!” Uraraka says, nodding, but it’s Kirishima who sums up the courage first to reach for the handle and pull open the sliding, towering door.

The classroom is noisy and rambunctious when Kirishima, Uraraka, and Izuku step inside. The one boy Izuku sort of but not really recognized is getting on the case of the blond kid Izuku had met on the street, which seems so very long ago now.  Everyone else is chatting and talking, sitting on desks or otherwise, and within moments, Izuku is overwhelmed. His previous plan about hiding out in the bathroom appeals to him more than ever before.

Kirishima taps him twice on the shoulder, and Izuku whirls around to face him. Kirishima offers him a thumbs up and a smile, knowing exactly what’s going through his mind, and slowly, bit by bit, Izuku feels a bit of his panic ebb away. He’s sure that as long as the classroom is this noisy, he’ll always have trouble, but with Kirishima, maybe he’ll be okay.

The blond kid Izuku had met on the street notices him, though, and he looks Izuku in the eyes, completely ignoring the words of the other student. “Hey, I remember you,” the blond says, glowering at him. “You’re that weirdo I met on the street.”

The other students, to Izuku’s dismay, have turned to watch the exchange, and no, this is going terribly, he didn’t want to make a first impression like this, never.

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t remember,” the blond growls, and Izuku can’t tell what he wants from him. Is he expecting some kind of a fight? Is that what he wants? The words empty threat bounce around in Izuku’s head for a while.

“No, I remember you,” Izuku says, nodding and trying to avoid the stares of the rest of his classmates. “Unfortunately.”

The blond glares, and Izuku can’t bring himself to be intimidated. Despite his persona, he knows this kid is all bark no bite; Izuku is a bit more worried about the pressing stares of his new classmates, though. That is quite a bit scarier.

“...Anyway, this is Midoriya!” Kirishima’s arm goes around his shoulders and honestly Kirishima is such a godsend that Izuku wonders sometimes if maybe he’s an angel. “I’m Kirishima, and this is Uraraka. Nice to meet you guys!”

Kirishima has such a bubbly personality, and when equally cheerful Uraraka nods enthusiastically and pounds her fist into the air, it breaks the tension. Izuku still gets a couple of looks as he makes his way to the empty desk near the back of the room (specifically from the boy with glasses that Izuku really feels like he should recognize), but at least he’s not the center of attention anymore.  

He takes his seat, slides his backpack off and leaves it on the floor (he wants to bring Rainbow out, but knows it isn’t a good idea, despite how badly he longs to hold her), then catches Kirishima’s eye again as Kirishima sits down at his own desk.

Kirishima takes his seat, but half-turns and raises a hand over his shoulder. You okay?

Izuku nods, though he remains unsure. I think so, he answers. I won’t know for sure until things get started.

Kirishima nods back at him, acknowledging this. Let me know if you need me to cover for you, he says. I’m a horrible liar but a great distraction.

Izuku thanks him, and Kirishima turns back around to face the front of the room.

And then Izuku realizes that he’s being stared at by someone else. Across the room, a few desks away on the back row, is a boy that Izuku has never seen before. He wasn’t even joining in on the din. He has an oddly shaped face, and it’s hard to tell exactly what’s going through his mind; his demeanor is gentle and non-threatening, but the fact remains that he is staring, which is kind of weird.

Then, to Izuku’s complete surprise, he lifts his hands. You Sign? he says, movements sharp with enthusiasm, and Izuku’s own eyes widen because up until this point, Yatchi is the only person he’s met who already knew Sign Language.

I do, Izuku says, feeling a bit numb. Are you deaf?

The stranger shakes his head. No, he says, selectively mute. You?

Selectively mute sometimes, Izuku answers, and it’s so much easier to Sign all of this than to actually say it. He wishes he could Sign with everyone. Your name?

Kouda, is the answer. Your name?

Midoriya, Izuku replies. It’s nice to meet you.

Likewise. Kouda smiles, and Izuku wishes he could return the gesture; being able to talk to Kouda like this, in a language Izuku is more comfortable with anyway, is fantastic.

Izuku fiddles with a knife in his pocket for a while absentmindedly, waiting; and then, he sees Kouda wave a hand in discreetly in his direction and turns his head towards him again.

Your cat thinks very highly of you, Kouda says, like it’s as easy as asking someone to pass the salt. She says that you need to be protected, though.

Izuku stares.

I can talk to animals, Kouda supplies, and he smiles, a bit embarrassed. I’ll help you cover for your cat today, he promises. Your secret is safe with me. Let me know if you need help.

Izuku finds himself wondering exactly what it was Rainbow had told him, but he decides that maybe he’s better off not knowing. He nods, says a quick thank you with a single hand, then goes back to fiddling with his knife. He feels better now than he did before.

The din continues for a while longer, until finally, Aizawa arrives. The air in the room changes immediately, going from lighthearted to grave in a matter of seconds.

“Please take your seats,” Aizawa says curtly, eyeing what students remain out of their chairs. “Don’t waste any more time.”

They leap and dive and sprint to obey, clambering to their desks like their lives depend on it. Within a matter of moments, everyone is where they should be.

“Good.” Aizawa stands in front of the desk for a total of three seconds before spinning around and making for the door. “Now follow me, single-file. We’re going outside.”

Confused and tentative, the students rise from their chairs again and do as instructed. Izuku takes up the rear, just behind Kouda, and when he reaches the door, he realized that Kirishima and Uraraka had waited up for him, too. They join him in the back of the group with Kouda, and much of Izuku’s unease fades.

Today is going pretty okay so far. He only hopes it keeps up.

The first order of business is a Quirk Apprehension test which, of course, Izuku has no way of properly attending. Aizawa pulls him aside and tells him, basically, that he gets it, but he still wants Izuku to do the exercises anyway.

“Whether or not you use your Quirk doesn’t really matter right now. I know what you’re capable of, so I don’t need any further proof of your abilities.”

This is fair. The test is fairly simple and not at all as strenuous as Izuku would expect from a test of this manner; there’s a ball throw, a couple general fitness training exercises, but it’s all standard procedure and really not anything super flashy. The exercises don’t take Izuku by surprise.

What does take him by surprise? Kirishima.

Kirishima aces the ball throw, going even farther than the blond kid, who Izuku now knows has a very powerful explosion Quirk. The only person Kirishima doesn’t beat out in the ball throw is Uraraka, who, of course, tapped the ball and sent it into infinity.

Except, as soon as the ball has taken air, Kirishima waves his hand around like it’s on fire and he’s trying to put out the flames. “Ow, owowowowowow,” Kirishima says quickly, then finally stops and looks down at his hand. “Dangit, that hurt more than I thought it would...I’m glad it’s not broken…”

Izuku slides up to him, arms crossed. “What’d you do.”

Kirishima jumps, which already says enough. Izuku should probably teach him how to lie, that might be nice. But, Aizawa has already moved them off to their next activity before Izuku has the chance to say anything, which, for now, might be for the best.

“Nice going on the ball throw!” someone says to him; Eijirou wishes he could remember all these names. He’ll probably be better off writing them all down on his arm for reference. “That’s some Quirk you got there, huh?”

Eijirou brushes it off as best he can. “S’not all that,” he says, shrugging. “Sorry, what’s your name again? I’ll probably be asking you that a lot.”

“Oh, it’s Sero,” he answers with a grin that Kirishima returns easily. Aizawa starts them on their next activity, instructing them to move into the gym for these next tests, and Sero flanks him.

“Hey, so, I’ve got a question,” Sero says, and Eijirou turns to him. “Your friend, Midoriya...what’s up with him?”

Eijirou’s immediate response is to be defensive; “what’s up with him,” what does that even mean; but then he takes into consideration that Midoriya is a special case. There’s no one quite like him in the entire world.

Eijirou glances behind him. Midoriya is at the very back of the line, walking with Uraraka. She’s talking and gesturing with smooth, exaggerated movements, and while Midoriya doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, he isn’t uncomfortable.

“...He’s...been through some stuff,” Eijirou says, shaking his head. “I know it’s easy to get intimidated by him—hell, I know I was at first—but he’s a really good guy. You just gotta be patient with him.”

“Ahh, I get it.” Sero nods, then holds his chin with a hand, pondering all of this. “Thanks, man. Some of us were wondering, but we didn’t wanna just... walk up to the guy and ask him. Didn’t really seem right.”

Eijirou shrugs. “He probably wouldn’t’ve minded,” he says, “but I get what you mean. Hey, if you wanna talk to him at all, bring up cats. Or heroes, he’s been super into them lately.”

“Thanks!” Sero flashes him another grin. “I’ll do my best!”

He breaks off towards the middle of the group and immediately starts talking with a few others in the class that Eijirou still has to learn the names of, and Eijirou looks farther back and catches Midoriya’s eyes. Eijirou snaps him a thumbs-up, and Midoriya throws him an unenthusiastic peace sign in return.

There are people talking about him. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, he can’t make it out all that well, but he knows they’re talking about him. It doesn’t necessarily bother him, that he’s the hot topic for conversation (which makes sense, he understands), but he wishes they’d say it to his face.

It doesn’t even seem bad, what they’re talking about. They don’t throw him any sympathetic glances or anything, don’t eye him nervously like they’re expecting him to pounce them. It’s...weird, actually. They don’t approach him, they don’t ask him questions, which is good, it’s nice, but they aren’t bad-mouthing him, either.

He wonders what Kirishima told that boy earlier, but that’s another thing he’ll just have to wait and see.

It’s really uneventful, really, the entire apprehension test. The explosion kid gets angry a few times (Bakugou, apparently; Aizawa had addressed him as such at one point), and Iida, the boy with glasses who Izuku can’t tell whether or not he’s supposed to actually recognize, keeps looking at him oddly out of the corner of his eye, which, considering Izuku’s appearance and the fact that Izuku didn’t use his Quirk once during the actual test, not to mention everyone else’s talking about him, could really mean anything.

“Take a long, hard look at your results,” Aizawa tells the group once it’s all said and done and their results are projected onto a giant screen by the gym. “Now we have a foundation from which to build upwards. Return to the classroom now, if you would please. You’ve got fifteen minutes before your next class.”

Simple enough. The students file back up toward the classroom, through the back door leading into the school. Izuku takes up the rear with Kirishima; Uraraka gets swept off by the crowd, which Izuku thinks may be for the best. As much as he likes her, and as nice as she is, she’s a bit too energetic for him right now.

Kouda moves a hand in Izuku’s line of sight, and Izuku turns to him, curious (and relieved that Kouda hadn’t tapped him to get his attention).

Your cat is thirsty, Kouda tells him. She’s been upset for a little while now.

Izuku has heard Rainbow’s muffled meows (and they’re blessedly muffled by everyone’s footsteps and voices), but he hadn’t known what she wanted. He takes this in, thinking; and then he realizes Kirishima is staring at him with wide eyes.

YOU BROUGHT YOUR CAT WITH YOU? Kirishima says, movements wide with disbelief, and Izuku nods.

I brought Rainbow.

That is a wonderful name, Kouda says, beaming.

Thanks, I like it too.

Kirishima pinches the bridge of his nose, but doesn’t ask again. I’ll cover for you or something, he says, get the cat some water.

Izuku nods, and he and Kouda stay in the back while the rest of the group plunges on towards the classroom.

They end up in the boy’s bathroom which is, thankfully, empty when they arrive. Kouji isn’t entirely sure what to think of Midoriya, this boy with scars on his skin and pain in his eyes, who smuggled in an actual live cat on the first day of school at the most prestigious Hero Academy in the world.

But, anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Right now, Midoriya is using the cap of his water bottle as something of a small bowl for the cat in question, Rainbow (who is completely white. Kouda wasn’t sure what he’d expected).

Rainbow is a chatterbox, really, she is. Kouda thinks it’s quite endearing; most cats he meets are the opposite, but this one won’t stop going on and on about Midoriya. Kouda just wishes she had more positive things to say about him.

This one’s mine, Rainbow says proudly, bumping her head underneath Midoriya’s chin when he offers her a bottlecap of water. Her “voice” sounds like meows and trills to Midoriya, of course, who doesn’t suspect a thing. He has lots of problems. He likes you, he thinks you’re nice. You’re quiet. He doesn’t mind being with you.  

Kouda doesn’t respond; he doesn’t want Midoriya to think he and Rainbow are gossiping about him when he can only hear one side of the conversation.

He’s my kitten, Rainbow boasts, curling against Midoriya’s chest as he caps the water bottle again. I love him very much.

Midoriya turns to Kouda, and although the look on his face doesn’t change much, he seems curious. What’s she saying? he asks; another odd thing about Midoriya is that while he can talk and he does talk, he seems more comfortable with Sign Language.

Kouda supposes it’s not all that strange after all. He’s like that, himself.

She says she loves you, Kouda answers with a smile. Midoriya blinks at him thrice in rapid session, then brings his arms around Rainbow and hugs her tight, burying his face into her fur. Kouda hears him murmur “I love you, too,” and his smile turns soft.

There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t mean he can’t look after Midoriya regardless.

Izuku and Kouda return to Class 1-A shortly thereafter, without bumping into anyone, and Izuku thanks Kouda (in Sign) and heads to his desk in the back of the room. He places his backpack across the surface and slides into his chair, glad to be off his feet.

The teacher for their next subject isn’t here yet, which might be a good thing seeing as how no one, aside from him and a few others, are in their proper seats where they belong. They’re sitting on desks (much to Iida’s dismay), chatting to each other even though they’ve only just met, and...

It’s weird.

It’s really weird, all of this, because Izuku is surrounded by new faces of people he doesn’t know, people his age, all with differing personalities and strengths and weaknesses, and it could just be him, but he’s pretty sure his classmates are intentionally avoiding him, which makes sense considering his scars and whatnot, and Rainbow is starting to get antsy now and he doesn’t know for how much longer he’s going to be able to keep her a secret—

Rainbow meows. Loudly.

And everyone turns to stare. Izuku is only glad the English teacher isn’t here yet, because there is no way that would go undetected.

“Wait...does someone have a cat?” the earphone-jack girl, Jirou, says (one thing Izuku did manage to remember was their names, which he has written down on a small notecard in his pocket for reference).

It’s Kirishima who answers first, slinging an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Nahh, you probably just heard it wrong,” he says breezily, and he’s such an easy-going guy that it’s hard not to believe him. “Maybe someone sneezed or something.”

Rainbow meows again, and this time there’s no denying it.

“Someone does have a cat!” Ashido declares loudly, leaping to her feet. “Okay, who is it!? I wanna see the cat, I love cats!”

Izuku sighs, but realizes that, quite literally, the cat is out of the bag. He unzips his backpack, and out of it leaps Rainbow, who trills and explores Izuku’s desk curiously.

“OH MY GOSH IT’S A CAT.” Ashido practically flies across the room. Rainbow lets her close, rubbing her face against Ashido’s hand when she reaches out. Rainbow has always been one of the more friendly cats, which is good; besides, the cat makes a nice distraction to keep peoples’ eyes off of Izuku. “What’s his name?”

“Her, and it’s Rainbow,” Izuku answers quietly. Ashido looks at him for a moment, then quickly refocuses her gaze on the cat, cooing and scratching her head.

“Awwe, I love her!” Hagakure gushes, and it’s hard to tell exactly what kind of face she’s wearing, considering she doesn’t...technically...have a face… “She’s so cute!”

Izuku is beginning to feel overwhelmed again, but he plays it off now better than he did before, taking Rainbow into his arms and holding her tight. “Thank you,” he murmurs, feeling awkward, but better now that he’s holding Rainbow. “I love her, too.”

It’s not as bad as it could be. Kirishima is right by his side, and already, Izuku knows his appearance isn’t the most approachable type, considering most of the class holds back. He’s almost glad for it. Everything seems to be going okay—

“Midoriya, is it?”

All heads turn in that direction. It’s Iida who spoke, that person Izuku feels like he should know from somewhere but doesn’t, and he’s looking at Izuku with the same eyes he gave the students perched on the edges of their desks where they didn’t belong.

“Hi,” Izuku says, already anticipating the worst. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring the cat tomorrow.”

Iida doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t scold him, either, just nods. “Alright,” he says, straightening his glasses. “But we aren’t supposed to bring pets. Please refrain from doing so in the future.”

Maybe Iida feels sorry for him. Maybe he overheard whatever it was Kirishima told Sero. Izuku doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to ask—

“I’ll give them back if you promise not to try to stab me again, okay?”

Izuku’s eyes go wide as Iida turns away. He’s realized it.

The hero who saved him all those years ago. Iida looks just like him.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything; by the time he comes up with something, the teacher enters the room, and everyone is forced to quit conversation and return to their seats.

Izuku has some concerns. Rainbow has been well-behaved so far, but she’s getting antsier now, wanting to be free and out of his backpack, which is completely understandable, but at the same time, Izuku doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he’s found out by the teacher. Would they expel him for bringing a pet? It seems kind of extreme, but this is U.A., and after that Zero-Pointer in the entrance exam, Izuku wouldn’t put anything past them.

The teacher of their final class, the pro-hero Midnight, stands at the front of the room and gestures to the blackboard. Izuku listens and takes notes, but he’s mostly concerned about the squirming bundle that is his bag.

“As you can see here,” Midnight is saying, moments before disaster strikes, “the formula--”

Mrrow!

Disaster has struck, and everyone--but specifically Midnight--turns to look in the direction from whence the sound came. Izuku knows he’s done for. He’s absolutely done for. He’d taken Rainbow with him today because he didn’t want to go alone, but it might be his doom now—

To his shock, it’s Ashido who leaps from her feet and shoots her hand into the air. “I’m sorry!” she says, bowing lowly. “I sneezed! I tried holding it back but I couldn’t!”

Izuku stares.

Somehow, though, the teacher buys it. “Don’t get so worked up about it,” she says, frowning. “Go ahead and sit down, no worries.”

Ashido sinks back into her seat with a feigned sigh of relief, and she flashes Izuku a thumbs-up behind her back.

Izuku would like to say that’s the first and only time that happened, but it isn’t. Rainbow is still restless, and she still voices all these complaints. No matter how many times it happens, someone always covers for it; Kaminari pretends he’s coughing into his fist to stifle Rainbow’s protests, Jirou “knocks” her book off the table—even Yaoyorozu, whom Izuku took to be the most logical of the class aside from say Iida, scoots her chair backwards to cover one of Rainbow’s meows.

It’s one of the most bizzare but endearing situations Izuku has ever found himself in, and he can’t tell whether they’re doing it for his sake, or for Rainbow’s.

Either way, as his new classmates come up with more and more bizzare ways to cover for Rainbow’s noise, he can’t help but feel something stir in his chest. He’d had doubts before, lots of them, but…

Maybe coming to U.A. will be the best decision he’s ever made.

[Aizawa-sensei]
Sorry I didn’t get the chance to catch you before school ended. If you aren’t too out of it, do you wanna go for another Quirk training session at the usual place?

Izuku is on his way out of the school when he gets the text. He’d told Kirishima to go on ahead; like always, Kirishima was running late for his train, so Izuku shooed him on ahead. Rainbow is tucked away safely in Izuku’s backpack, secret safe. No one approached him afterwards expecting a thank-you; a couple of them winked at him behind the teacher’s back, a few more gave him thumbs-up in like manner, but that’s it. No one asks him about Rainbow, not even Iida.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Sounds good. See you in like half an hour.

[Aizawa-sensei]
Make it more like an hour, I’m still finishing up here.
Also, if you wanna bring your cat to school you can leave them in the teacher’s lounge.
No more stowaways.

Izuku isn’t surprised. The only thing that does surprise him is that Aizawa hadn’t brought it up sooner.

[Midoriya Izuku]
Alright. That’s fair.
See you later.

Aizawa doesn’t text back—there’s really no need for him to—so Izuku pockets his phone and finally looks up again.

He passes someone, someone with dual-colored hair and eyes and an expression nearly cold enough to match Izuku’s own. Izuku saw him at the Quirk Apprehension test, then later in Class 1-A; a classmate, but this is the first time Izuku’s been this close to him.

It’s the first time he’s actually had the chance to look at his face.

Todoroki, that’s his name; Izuku remembered his just like he remembered everyone else’s. He doesn’t look at Izuku when they pass, even though their shoulders nearly touch, and it should be fine, really, it should be.

But it isn’t.

It isn’t fine because every instinct Izuku has is screaming t h r e a t .

The world around him fades into white and slows to a near standstill. Todoroki doesn’t look at him, but it’s like Izuku can’t pull his eyes away.

T h R e AT, says every moment of training, every instinct, every hard-learned lesson from the villains.

Todoroki…? Izuku can’t look away. Wait...that doesn’t make sense...why would he…?

T h R e a T, it says again.

The world comes back into focus and motion, and Todoroki passes him and continues down his way, unaware that anything had transpired at all. Izuku spins on his heel and watches his retreating back, eyes wide, heart racing. This isn’t right, this can’t be right, this is his classmate, this is someone his own age, this is—

This is wrong, this is—

TH r E a T.

But how? Izuku thinks desperately, searching himself, because Todoroki isn’t a danger to him, Izuku is not threatened by Todoroki, but there’s something there, some deep instinct Izuku has that’s saying the opposite. How is he a threat? Why? To whom?

T h R e A t . . .

Izuku watches Todoroki until he turns the corner and disappears from sight.

. . . T o  h IM S e L F .

Chapter Text

Izuku spends a good hour on his laptop that afternoon after school, researching. The laptop itself is bright pink and decorated with dozens of stickers, but that’s not important; Izuku’s more focused on what’s on his screen right now.

He knew the name Todoroki sounded familiar to him. Endeavor, the number two hero—his true name is Todoroki Enji. Izuku had run into an article on him once while he was doing some digging on Aizawa. Izuku already doesn’t like the vibes Endeavor gives off, even in his picture, but he really can’t judge until he meets the man in person.

He reminds himself to bring an extra knife or two (or ten) should he ever meet the man.

And then he moves on to the “Iida” family. He looks up the family name, followed by “hero,” and the results file in. The top result is Iida Tensei, the hero “Ingenium,” a popular, well-loved guy who’s respected by both civilians and the entire hero industry. He’s definitely Iida’s older brother; Izuku wonders if maybe he should say something tomorrow at school.

He shuts the laptop, grabs a syringe of Quirk suppressants just in case, and heads out to meet Aizawa at the abandoned city.

Tomorrow comes quickly, despite Izuku barely catching two hours of sleep that night, and soon enough he’s setting off for the train station. Kirishima meets up with him, barely making his train in time, and then, a bit farther down the line as they’re walking towards U.A., Uraraka and Kouda sprint up to them, both beaming.

“Morning!” Uraraka says cheerily, and Kouda Signs the same thing to Izuku. “How are you all doing today?”

“I’m doing great!” Kirishima fist-bumps nothing, grinning. “Ready for another day, that’s for sure!”

Izuku tunes out the conversation and looks ahead. He catches a glimpse of Todoroki as he steps into the building, and Iida is a little farther off, marching towards the front steps.

Izuku doesn’t know what’s going on with Todoroki right now, so there’s not much he could say anyway, even if he wanted to, but Iida…

Be right back, Izuku says to Kouda while Kirishima and Uraraka ramble on and on. Don’t wait up for me.

Kouda nods his acknowledgement, and Izuku takes off towards Iida. It’s not really what he wants to do, but at the same time, he feels like he has to say something. Besides, today is a good day so far; what better time to talk to him than during the rare moments in which Izuku feels vaguely sociable?

“Iida.”

Iida turns to him, halting mid-step. “Oh,” he says, putting his foot down, “it’s you. You don’t have another cat, do you?”

Izuku shakes his head and resists the urge to start fiddling with the one pocket knife he has on him. “I wanted to apologize,” he says. “I...I probably shouldn’t have brought the cat yesterday at all, but...I just…”

Iida studies him for a moment, and Izuku feels vaguely like he’s being dissected. “I understand,” he says, “school is stressful for everyone, especially on the first day, but...please refrain from bringing pets in the future, alright?”

Izuku nods. Iida continues walking, and Izuku flanks him, though he does leave about a foot of space between them. They continue on in silence, and Izuku can’t tell whether or not it’s a comfortable silence.

Homeroom goes smoothly, and so do their next classes. At lunch in the cafeteria, Izuku spends his time, again, in Kirishima’s shadow. He’s glad no one’s seemed to notice his bizarre appearance yet, though he’s not counting on it to stay that way, and when he and Kirishima find a table, they’re joined quickly by Uraraka and Kouda.

Izuku can’t help but feel like he’s doing something wrong. He’s never been good in situations, and here, he doesn’t really feel like he belongs in this situation. Maybe he can take his lunch somewhere else so everyone can enjoy their time together. He doesn’t know if he’s handling these social situations correctly, he doesn’t know if maybe he’s coming across as too forward, or maybe not forward enough, or maybe he’s fine and he’s just overthinking things, he has no idea.  

And then, to Izuku’s surprise, Asui joins them at the table.

They haven’t spoken yet, not even a simple passing word, but Izuku has discerned already that Asui has a very simple, easy-going demeanor. She isn’t a mystery like Todoroki, won’t keep her true feelings to herself, and always speaks her mind.

“Midori-chan,” she says, sitting beside him (he has to resist the urge to scoot away, but she isn’t touching him, so he’s alright for now), “after the cat thing yesterday, I saw this and thought of you.”

She places something on the table and nudges it towards him.

“I was downtown shopping yesterday and I found this,” she says. “You iron it on, I believe. It might be kind of silly, but you seem like you like wearing colors, and you brought a cat with you yesterday, so I thought it suited you well. You can even put it on your blazer if you want.”

It’s an embroidered, cartoon-y cat, with multi-colored hearts on its coat and neon whiskers. Izuku stares at it, wide-eyed, and takes it into his hands carefully, like it’s glass with a crack already running down the center.

“You...really got this for me?”  

Asui nods. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

Izuku stares a while longer, then releases a shaky breath. “Thank you, Asui.”

“Call me Tsuyu,” she says, smiling at him. “I hope we can be friends, Midori-chan.”

Any previous sense of unease and worry leaves Izuku’s mind, and Asui—no, wait, Tsuyu—remains with them for lunch, chatting and talking away with the others. Izuku doesn’t join in the conversation, but it’s not because he’s uncomfortable. It’s for the opposite reason, actually.

The day goes uneventfully—Izuku and the others breeze through their final classes with flying colors. It seems his tutoring with Kirishima is finally paying off, because he almost gets some of the questions right.

And then, their final class of today. Hero Basic training, taught by none other than All Might.

It’s the first time Izuku has seen the hero since before the entrance exam; he’s looking like his usual, chipper self that the world knows him by, and with wide gestures and a blinding smile, he gives the introduction.

“I’m sure you’ve all really been waiting for this moment,” All Might says, clicking a button on the remote on the desk, “so I won’t beat around the bush!”

From several mechanical lockers on the far wall come several briefcases, each numbered according to its corresponding student.

The students don’t need to be told what this means.

“Hero costumes!” Kaminari exclaims, hopping to his feet. Izuku is glad they’re on opposite sides of the classroom, because he’s sure the volume and suddenness of the shout would have him flinching away. “Are you for real!? We really get to wear them!?”

“Indeed!” All Might says, nodding. “Go ahead and get suited up, then return to the classroom for further instruction!”

“Yessir!”

Hero costumes. It’d taken a lot of time and a lot of reworking it before Izuku was proud of his design. He had to take everything into consideration; his Quirk, his knives, his limitations, Quirk suppressants, what he should do if his Quirk leaves him blind, deaf or otherwise...there’s a lot to consider, when it comes to him. Everyone has things to consider, but he’s willing to bet good money that none of them have to think about nearly as much as he does.

At first he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d wanted to do with his costume. Half the time he spent working on it was just him trying to determine exactly what kind of message he wanted to give off. He’d grown up a villain, and he doesn’t want that to be what people affiliate him with, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to come off as weak to villains.

Something intimidating, but someone friendly. That’s what he’s going for.

For the longest time, he had no idea what to do. He’d thought about it ‘till his head pounded, then a little longer, until it finally hit him.

It’d hit him in the form of Fistfight pouncing Fiddlesticks.

Everyone, suited in their costumes, meet All Might on Field Gamma.

“OH MY GOSH, MIDORI!” Ashido springs forward, beaming excitedly at him. “You’re literally a cat!”

“Not quite,” Izuku says, shifting his weight. “It’s mainly the ears.”

He does have a pair of heavy-duty cat ears, if that’s a thing, along with several sheathed knives strapped around his calves and thighs. His entire costume is black, from his long-sleeved shirt to his black pants, except for the flipside of his cape, which is silver, but unnoticeable unless he puts it on upside down.

“Oh wow, that looks awesome!” Kirishima says, racing over. He looks pretty slick in his own costume, too, black, long-sleeved shirt and bright red shoulder pads. “Like a panther, right?”

“A kitten,” Izuku says, “but same difference.”

“I’ll be honest,” Tsuyu says, tapping a finger to her chin, “I was expecting something with a little more color, Midori-chan, taking into consideration what you usually wear.”

“Oh, I can do this.” Izuku stomps his black combat boots harder than usual; bright, multi-colored LED lights flash on the ground. “Plus, my cape is reversible. It’s silver on one side.”

“Nice.”

“Now, everyone, we will be deciding the teams at random!” All Might says flamboyantly, and Izuku and the others stop what they’re doing to listen. “Each team consists of two people, and each battle will have both a hero team, and a villain team! It’s the hero’s job to infiltrate the building and secure either the villains or their weapon, and it’s the villains’ job to stop the heroes, or defend their weapon. So whether you’re an attacker or a defender, there’s something here for you!”

Izuku’s brain is ticking already. So...villains versus heroes...attacking or defending…

The lots are drawn, and All Might declares them loudly for all to hear.

The villain team: Iida and Bakugou.

The hero team: Izuku and Uraraka.

All Might says something to Izuku, briefly, as he moves to join Uraraka outside of the training building. “I don’t know how you feel about all this,” All Might says, just loud enough for Izuku to hear as he passes by, “but if it gets to be too much, cross your fingers. I’ll call off the match.”

Izuku appreciates All Might looking after him, even though he’s sure he’ll be fine. After all, it’s just a practice match. “Thank you,” he says, then continues walking and joins Uraraka while Bakugou and Iida take their places and All Might and the remaining students head into the viewing area to watch everything unfold.

“Here.” Uraraka passes him a copy of the floorplan, which Izuku takes and studies. “There are a lot of stories, what do you think we should do?”

Izuku nods simply. “Judging by his behavior at the Quirk Apprehension test, Bakugou will probably be on the offense. Iida’s Quirk is better suited for defense anyway in comparison to Bakugou, so they’ll probably have Bakugou fight and Iida defend.”

Uraraka nods. “That sounds right.” She mulls this over in her head for a while, then moves her index finger down the front of the blueprint. “If we infiltrate through the side window, they probably won’t know we’re there.”

Izuku takes a moment to think about it. “How confident are you in your combat abilities?” he asks, turning towards her. “Because if you think you can hold our own in a fight, I have an idea.”

Uraraka glances at him. “I’m listening.”

“If you infiltrate the building from the ground and I infiltrate from the roof,” Izuku says, moving his finger along the blueprints as he speaks to show her the path, “we’re both bound to either run into Iida or Bakugou. Their fighting styles are a mystery to us right now, but I think it’s fair to say that they won’t be sticking together during the trial.”

“Oh, I get it…” Uraraka nods. “So if we check every floor, you from the top and me from the bottom, we’ll definitely bump into both Bakugou and Iida.”

“Exactly. And it’ll go a lot quicker this way, too. By splitting up like this, we won’t waste time wandering around trying to find them.”

“Perfect!” Uraraka beams enthusiastically, nodding. “But...that still leaves us with what we’re going to do once we bump into Iida or Bakugou…”

“We’ll think about that once we’re in the building,” Izuku says, raising his head and looking at the structure. “Our ten minutes is bound to be up any second now.”

As though on cue, All Might’s voice booms over the loudspeakers. “Time’s up! Heroes, you may now infiltrate the building!”

“Here we go,” Uraraka breathes, looking towards him. “Good luck, Midoriya.”

“You too.”

Izuku whips out two knives, one for each hand, and although Uraraka jumps, she doesn’t seem afraid. She enters through one of the windows on the first floor, and Izuku digs his knives into the side of the building and begins to climb.

He’s at the final floor in almost no time at all, and he pulls open the window with one hand and swings himself inside. He rolls on his shoulder to keep from making too much noise, then crouches and looks around.

No sign of anyone.

He rises to his feet slowly, knives still in hand, and takes another glance about the room. It’s a labyrinth of walls and turns and dead ends; Izuku isn’t sure how anyone would really be able to find their way through it, and for a hero exercise, it seems a bit overkill, but it’s whatever.

It’s too quiet up here for there to be anyone but Izuku. One thing Bakugou is not is quiet, and neither is Iida. Their Quirks are noisy ones, and so are their costumes; it’d be hard for either of them to sneak up on him without him realizing it.

So he takes the stairs down to the next lowest floor.

Then to the next lowest floor.

The further into the building he goes, the thicker the labyrinth becomes. He still doesn’t hear anything of great significance, and he isn’t far down enough to bump into Uraraka yet, so he has some time.

He does find it weird that he hasn’t heard anything from anyone yet. He taps the communication device by his ear.

“Uraraka, anything yet?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“No, nothing,” she answers, voice a harsh whisper even through the mechanisms. “I don’t like this. I keep feeling like I’m being watched. Like someone’s breathing down my neck.”

Izuku doesn’t feel the same way, but he has to admit, everything is startlingly calm right now. It’s like they aren’t even in the middle of a test. “Bakugou is probably hiding out somewhere waiting for us,” he deduces, sprinting down the next staircase and moving swiftly through the labyrinth, feet barely touching the ground. “We’ll meet in the middle soon enough.”

“Got it. Over.”

Izuku doesn’t tap his device again. He continues through the labyrinth, checking through doors, peering into each room he passes. He knows something should happen soon; it doesn’t make sense for things to keep continuing this way.

He passes one door, then immediately presses himself against the wall to avoid being spotted. Silently, he taps his communication device by his ear.

“Uraraka. I found Iida. And the weapon.”

“Wait really? That’s great!” Uaraka’s voice is more enthusiastic than before, though still not much more than a whisper. “If you think you can take him out and get the weapon then go ahead. I’ll keep Bakugou distracted, wherever he is...I still haven’t seen any sign of him.”

“Gotcha.” Izuku nods. “Gonna engage now. See you on the flipside.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

Izuku lowers his hand back down to his side and draws a knife. He hears Iida monologuing to himself inside the room, but can’t make out any words.

Now’s as good a time as ever…

Izuku takes a breath, swings himself around the corner, and throws the knife after taking aim. The knife goes right by Iida and the nuclear weapon, embedding in the far wall.

Iida spins around to face him. Izuku raises a hand and waves at him. “If you could throw my knife back to me that’d be fantastic.”

Iida blinks at him twice, rapidly, then moves into a stance. “Never, hero!” he says, pointing a finger accusingly. “It was foolish of you to give up your weapon in the first place! I will never let you have this weapon!” After this, Iida breaks into a round of exaggerated, evil cackling.

Izuku blinks. “Is...is that your impersonation of a villain?”

“I am a villain!” Iida barks back at him.

Izuku blinks again. “...My cats are scarier than that. I’m sorry.”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR SYMPATHY.” Iida moves to stand in front of the weapon, ready to defend. “GIVE IT YOUR ALL, HERO!”

“Wellp.” Izuku crouches, then draws a second knife to replace the first one. “Guess we’re doing it this way.”  

He charges, not for any particular reason, but to see how Iida reacts.

It goes about how Izuku expected; when he gets too close, Iida grabs the weapon and zooms to the opposite side of the room with his Quirk. Izuku skids to a halt, then turns to look at him as he takes his stance before the weapon again.

“Nice try, hero!” Iida gawks, still playing the part. “But I will not let you lay a finger on this weapon!”

Izuku frowns. “You’re taking this pretty seriously, don’t you think?”

“Of course!” Iida nods, and the movement is very extreme and obvious, even with his helmet. “You are a hero infiltrating our base and trying to stop our brilliant scheme! Of course I’m taking this seriously!”

“Nice.” Izuku retracts his knife hand. “Shame if something happened to that weapon, don’t you think?”

Iida blinks at him, then takes a step backwards. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Izuku doesn’t wait for a response. He throws the knife.

Iida reacts the moment he sees Izuku’s hand move; he grabs the weapon again and yanks it out of the way of the knife. The blade sinks harmlessly into the wall, but it was a close call.

“You are insane!” Iida says, pointing at him again.

Izuku draws up another knife. “You’re the guys who brought a nuclear weapon into a small building in the first place, so I’m pretty sure this is more your fault than mine.”

“Don’t question our ways! We’re the villains here!”

“Really.”

Izuku tilts his head to one side without breaking eye contact.

“ You don’t laugh like one.”

It’s wrong, really, pulling this card, but Iida drops his guard long enough for Izuku to make his move. He throws a knife and kicks off the ground at the same time; the knife sinks into the wall by Iida’s head, and while Iida’s attention is directed there, Izuku moves in closer.

“It’s your power,” Kirishima had said, as Izuku leaned against his shoulder and watched him play dumb games on his phone. “...It’s going to be hard, but you’re going to learn to control it. You’re going to use it to save people someday, I know you will.”

Iida…

The feeling is familiar now. He only needs a little bit. Aizawa had already said he was holding the majority of it back; maybe he can hold back most of it again. Only use what he needs.

...I’m sorry.

Tenya has no idea what happens. One moment there’s a knife right by his head, and then, he can’t see anything. His vision doesn’t go black. No, it cuts to static, like one of those old TV screens with poor signal. He can hear it roaring in his ears, crackling constantly, getting louder—

—and then there’s nothing. His vision goes black, but he realizes this time that it’s because his eyes are closed. He opens them, blinks upwards; his blurry vision comes back into focus, and he sees Midoriya, scarred and breathing hard, with the needle of a now-empty syringe buried in his arm.

“Sorry, Iida.” Midoriya’s voice is thick, and Tenya can’t actually tell what kind of emotion is behind it, if any. Midoriya sounds exhausted more than anything else. “I didn’t want to have to use it, but…”

There’s capture tape wrapped around Tenya’s wrists, binding his hands together.

But that’s not what he’s concerned with. He’s lost, sure, and he knows he’ll lament his inability to fight back later, but what he’s really concerned with is Midoriya’s words.

Tenya doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’d never felt anything like that before, that static, that roaring in his ears like he was by an electronic, crackling ocean. He wonders if it has anything to do with Midoriya’s—scarred, dead-eyed Midoriya’s—Quirk.

But there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Midoriya. There’s a lot he’s not sure he wants to know.

“Either way…” Midoriya slips the needle into a special cylinder on his thigh. “...Guess I’ll just...end it here…”  

“Thought I heard a rat. Stand back before I blow off your head.”

Midoriya turns around, slowly. Bakugou is standing in the doorway, one of his gauntlets poised to fire.

Midoriya frowns. He isn’t close enough to the weapon to be able to reach out and touch it, but he’s close nonetheless. “You wouldn’t fire,” Midoriya says flatly. “It’s a nuclear weapon.” (Paper mache, actually, but they’re not supposed to think along those lines.) “Firing off that blast is suicide.”

“Who says I give a damn?” Bakugou’s finger curls around the pin of the grenade. “You’re the only one pitching a fit about it.”

“What are you doing!?” Tenya only finds his voice now, as Bakugou prepares to pull the pin. “Don’t do it! What are you thinking!?”

“Step away from the bomb,” Bakugou tells Midoriya, “and we’ll fight this good and fair. What do you say?”

“How about this.” Midoriya draws two knives. He’s still breathing hard. “You stop acting like an idiot and lower your weapon. If you fire that off, you’ll kill everyone in this building.”

“You know I’m not gonna back off!” Bakugou barks, teasing the pin. “Step away, or I’ll fire!”

“Then let’s see who’s quicker.” Midoriya retracts his arm, taking aim. “And who’s bluffing.”

“Midoriya!”

Uraraka barrels in out of nowhere and leaps at Bakugou.

It’s like Bakugou is ready for her, because he swings around and bashes the side of her head with the gauntlet. She flies backwards with a sharp cry of pain and hits the ground, unmoving. She might’ve blacked out, but she’s not bleeding, and the hit wasn’t hard enough to concuss her. Izuku wants to check on her more thoroughly, but right now, he has to believe that she’s okay.

“Nice going.” Izuku straightens up, lowering his arm. “You’re a coward, you know. Not even coming directly at me.”

Bakugou snarls at him. “What did you say?” he demands, starting forward. “You really want me to come directly at you, is that it, huh? I’ll give you that, Cat. And you’re not gonna like it.”

“Charming.”

He runs at Izuku, and Izuku has a brief thought that maybe he shouldn’t have egged Bakugou on right after taking a Quirk suppressant.

Izuku springs out of the way of Bakugou’s first swing; he swung with his left arm, very sure of himself. He was expecting to land the blow. But he doesn’t.

Izuku kicks Bakugou behind the knees, which sends Bakugou pitching forward. Just as Izuku is about to spring on him with the capture tape, Bakugou swings his arm around and fires off a blast dangerously close to Izuku’s face. Izuku falls back, his shoulder blades hitting the far wall; he can feel pain spiking up the side of his face and wonders, briefly, if he’ll wind up with another scar there.

“I forgot what you said.”

Bakugou grabs Izuku by the front of the shirt and slams him against the wall harder. Izuku’s mind goes blank. Their faces are inches away from each other, his feet are dangling, there’s a wall behind him, and he still has his knives in his hands but he can’t bring himself to raise them. His ears ring. His vision blurs. His head fills with cotton.

“You said you wanted me to come at you, didn’t you?” Bakugou’s holding him, grabbing him. He’s pinned up against a wall. His feet dangle, limp. A part of him wants to scream.

“...You know, you’re not all that, are you?” Bakugou leans in even closer. Izuku’s heart springs into his throat. “You talk a big game, but you really look your costume, you know. You’re pathetic. A kitten. A deku.”

Something snaps.

He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s a very defining something.

Izuku slams his knee under Bakugou’s chin. Bakugou reels back, but doesn’t let go, and Izuku sinks his teeth into Bakugou’s forearm. He shrieks and throws himself back, and Izuku hits the floor gasping.