Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE (TWO YEARS PRIOR):

Grasshopper bolts through the back alleys, making his way towards a column of smoke rising over the rooftops. A fire truck races by on the main street, sirens drilling into his ears. He needs to be faster.

The vigilante glances up at the skyline as he ricochets through the backstreets like a pinball from the arcade. Rooftops are around 50 feet away. Easy. He keeps momentum, sliding into a low crouch before jumping for a roof. Giran always said he’d crash one day doing this. It hasn’t happened yet, and Grasshopper is willing to trust in luck.

Dragon Legs is a useful quirk. From what he can figure out, it’s a mutation from grandparents from both family lines. His father’s family tends towards dragon-like attributes, while his mother’s side swaps between telekinesis and jumping quirks. As a result, he can shift his legs into a second anatomical structure. The new scales and claws are easily hidden under costume fabric and custom boots. Grasshopper has transitioned slowly from hating his quirk to loving the work it lets him do. He can save people with this power.

Jumping is almost like flying. Grasshopper revels in the air rushing past his face before he spots it. A crumbling building belches smoke onto the streets. He lands, refocused. People are in danger.

Rooftops disappear under his legs seconds after he spots them. At this speed, deciding where to go takes most of his energy.

He arrives at the site, rolling to reduce momentum and still barely managing to catch himself on the roof ledge. It takes a few precious seconds to take stock of the situation.

An old brownstone office building is actively crumbling- flames flicker in several windows, and civilians in others. It's… not good. On the ground, heroes focus on the building but none of them enter. Mt. Lady – who really needs to move out to the countryside – shouts something about not being able to get through. Another yells instructions to wait – wait until what, the fire puts itself out? Firemen mill in the street without making any move to enter, which can only mean there’s a villain on the scene.

Windows on the second floor are blown out, covered in slime. Definitely a villain. Shouts filter through the chaos until Grasshopper figures the situation out- they’re waiting for a hero with the right quirk. The civilians don’t have time for this.

Grasshopper grits his teeth, estimating the distance across the street. Probably 40 feet or so, horizontal to the nearest empty window. It’s too dangerous with momentum and too much smoke to see what he’d be landing on.

The roof is further- an added 20 above his current height. He can make it with enough momentum. Grasshopper speeds back across the roofs, taking a straight path back until he’s built up enough distance. Smoke rises in a column – a signal to light his way.

He bends down, securing good footing and tugging his green hood up. The biggest downside to his quirk is traction – when shifting his legs into their second dragon-like proportions, his feet are smaller, coated in thin scales, with less space to grip the ground. Wearing shoes like this makes acceleration hard if it’s not aimed upwards.

Better that than anyone figuring out how far his quirk goes.

A police siren sounds and he’s off like a cannon. Buildings blur in a moment before the final rooftop. His legs burn when he pushes off, the ever present feeling that he could have gone faster if he’d just tried harder drifts away, and Grasshopper is airborne.

Time is still in the air. He can watch the building draw closer, up and under him. A news crew below spots him, but he’s gone before the cameras focuses.

Impact brings everything rushing back. Grasshopper affixes his mask securely, making his way to a door. One kick and it falls in. Smoke rushes at him like a slap in the face. He can hear more now, too. He grabs the roof fire extinguisher as he moves downwards cautiously.

The lessons Dabi and Zookeeper drilled into his head echo back: triage. Prioritize. Work from the outside in with unknown threats, especially with heroes nearby. Direct attention to victims, only step in if it’s necessary.

The first civilians are suspicious. Convincing him that he isn’t a villain takes precious time, and allowing him to jump them to another roof even more so. As he works down they stop asking, then they run to him. As the minutes tick by and the oxygen in his mask runs low, it becomes harder and harder to find them.

That should be good- should mean a difference. To Grasshopper it means he might be missing someone, and his time is running out. By now the news crews have spotted the civilians and probably gotten an interview. He needs to hurry before heroes desperate to look busy target the vigilante rather than the villain.

There are rules against that, not that anyone’s bothered to read them past cramming for an exam.

He’s jumping back from rescuing what he hopes is the last civilian when the building begins to crumple further. Flames erupt over a side and Grasshopper twists in midair so he latches onto the fourth floor window ledge rather than enter.

Grasshopper lets go, and falls. His arms scream when he catches the second floor window ledge. Behind him, heroes shout but the vigilante is in before any of their warnings finish.

The second floor is the worst. He’s been down only around the edges, avoiding whatever was shaking in the middle. There were people to save before he could scout the problem fully.

What he finds is the worst scenario: Kidnapping, assault and hostage situation all rolled into one. All they need is a bomb threat and this party will be really started. A villain made of slime has enveloped a civilian, trying to take over their body. Grasshopper is surprised they’re still conscious. The victim's quirk goes off, explosions popping from their hands.

Ah. There’s the explosives. Why can’t life be easy for once?

The villain screams when an explosion comes too close to it’s eye. It must be a weakness. Grasshopper swears, launching himself forward to kick straight into the villain’s eyes.

The slime villain rears back, loosening its grip just enough for it’s victim to draw a gasping breath and oh shit Grasshopper knows that face.

How does he know that face?

Ｈｏｗ　ｄｏｅｓ　ｈｅ　ｋｎｏｗ　ｔｈａｔ　ｆａｃｅ？

Grasshopper freezes, and that’s what does it. The villain lashes out blindly, clipping him in the shoulder and crushing him against a wall. The explosions redouble in effort, and Grasshopper has to roll to avoid a stray blast.

He needs to focus. Grasshopper dodges another blast before jumping to another wall. He moves from wall to desk to ceiling to floor to table and back again at top speed. If he keeps this up it might provide a distraction; might let the civilian breathe for even a second.

Deku.

A voice he should know catches him off guard, but there’s no time. His mask is beeping softly, a sign he’s out of oxygen. The villain yells something- whatever it is cut off by an explosion in its mouth.  The heroes should have intervened by now.

Useless nerd.

He should know, or care what those words mean. He doesn’t. Grasshopper pinballs through the room before launching himself at the eyes again. He almost makes it, too. The villain turns marginally, and Grasshopper is sunk chest deep into the slime.

Bad memories well up when his legs don’t respond, and he kicks out repeatedly. One manages to move slime from the civilian’s mouth, subjecting Grashopper to much fouler language than he was expecting.

“-FUCKING ASSWIPE, LET ME BEAT HIM ON MY OWN YOU USELESS EXTRA HERO WANNABE-“

Ah, Grasshopper thinks as shock sets in and his childhood bully cusses him out in a crumbling, burning building. It’s this asshole.

“Yeah, sure, let me leave you with a villain because that benefits either of us,” Grasshopper snarks back, lashing out again with his legs. The slime disperses his kick, and traps his arms when he pushes against it.

“I’ll beat him!” Bakugo rages. He unleashes a string of curse words much too violent for any kid just starting middle school. “I’m going to be the best hero! This greasy-ass jerk thinks he can take my quirk? Well guess again, fuck-face!”

“Jeeze, lighten up will ya?” Get it? Lights? Explosions? Too vague? “You’ve sure got an explosive personality, bet it’s real pop- ular.”

Bakugo snarls something else, but Grasshopper can’t hear. The sirens began to blare outside, and the building shakes. Something’s coming. Something bigger than the villain.

Grasshopper shakes his head, refocusing. Two more kicks propel him inches closer to the villains eyes, and he manages to grab one at the sacrifice of his arms. Slime covers them, sucking him down, down, down until light is swallowed up by gross, writhing slime. It feels disgusting.

He doesn’t let go of the eye. Even if he dies- even if this kills him – he can at least take the villains vision until the heroes arrive. It won’t hurt a regenerative slime quirk like this in the long run, anyway.

Grasshopper struggles with his own lungs, forcing himself not to draw in air and doing fake chest compressions instead to stave off the instinct to suck in slime. He needs to keep his lungs clear for the rescuers.

Then there’s nothing but wind.

Grasshopper is blown back. He catches sight of All Might, and scrambles into the shadows to catch his breath. He’s been told to prioritize intelligence over speed when dealing with the number one hero. He can’t be here. The fire and creaking building cover his gasping and unsteady footsteps as Grasshopper runs.

There’s so much smoke.

Grasshopper makes his way to a window and leans out, drawing greedy lungfuls of air for a few seconds before leaping up, story by story to the upper floors. From there, it’s easy to clear the street no matter the smoke in his lungs and burn in his legs.

Buildings blur together as Grasshopper sprints. If he’s lucky, the news won’t focus on him. They’ll look to Bakugo or All Might. He’s been lucky before. He’ll be lucky again.

He isn’t.

Grasshopper’s fanbase begins with their figurehead stained in sweat and ash, born of fire. Izuku watches the news at home with his cat, mask off and legs shifted back to human form. He gives up hiding from the public eye within hours. It takes two weeks for stores to start selling merchandise.

PRESENT DAY:

Buildings make good vantage points for disasters.

Grasshopper's known this since two years ago after middle school. It had been a building fire that time, and the heroes had almost left civilians behind. He shakes his head, batting away memories of smoke-stained walls and Bakugo cursing him out. Some origin story, huh?

Grasshopper doesn’t want this to happen. The heroes have been amassing resources for this bust for years, but they’ve got it wrong. They’re prepared to deal with angry gang members trafficking drugs for profit.

They won’t be expecting scared victims of human trafficking smuggling their own friends and found family into Japans’ borders.

And now the forces are about to clash right in front of him. On one side of the dock, he can see the heroes. From the bright costumes of All Might, Miriko, Hawks, and Midnight. Behind them, more underground heroes stand in the darkness. The estimated size of the cargo had accounted for the drug trade in most of northern Japan, so it’s garnered plenty of interest.

In short, as many of the big names as they could get.

On the other side, a small crowd gathers. They look rough, with torn shirts and few jackets between the lot. The strongest of them are out front. Mutation quirks have always been discriminated against in Japan. Less so in other countries, so they likely don’t know how bad this setup is for peacekeeping.

They stand together, refusing to flinch against the wind, and they stare at the heroes with something between hope and fear. Grasshopper is well versed in the light he sees in their eyes.

Desperation.

Grasshopper bites his lip, watching it all. The wind stings at his eyes and cuts through the cheap fabric of his homemade costume, but he forces himself to stay still.

He can’t afford to attract attention yet.

A single member of the foreigners steps forward. He raises his hands in a universal peace symbol, but it just makes the heroes tenser.

They’ve all been lied to before.

“Please,” The man says in broken Japanese. “We want to talk.”

Miriko’s voice rings out across the space. “So you say, villain. What about?”

Grasshopper notices movement amongst the underground heroes. This isn’t a peace talk. This is an ambush.

The man continues to speak, pleading for mercy, but the heroes are too cautious. Grasshopper reaches up to tap his headset. “Heya stale meme, where are you?”

Dabi isn’t long to respond. “Fuck you bug boy, I’m right by the ship. They’re still unloading.”

“Some undergrounds are heading your way. They don’t know I’m here.”

“Well, Shit. Go take the spotlight, grass guy. I’ll clean up here.”

“Thanks, T-pose vigilante.”

“Ant: the shortest fleabag.”

“S’mores-guy.”

The man is still trying to explain in halting words that they are the victims, but Miriko isn’t taking it. They’ve all heard villains’ monologue before. After a while, it becomes hard to differentiate between honest speech and manipulation.

“Bunny hop vigilante.”

“Toasted wheat cereal.”

 “You know what? I’ll take it.”

Too many heroes are lied to these days. Miriko moves first, clearing the stretch of open ground easily with her quirk. Grasshopper winces as the heroes move in tandem, a well-trained force.

An army. The victims won’t last long like this.

“Glad one of us has some self-worth. Going in.”

“Let me know if Hawks gives you trouble. Fucker owes me one.”

He needs to be smart about this. His quirk shifts in seconds. The feeling of joints in his legs sliding into their second location is a comfort by now. Muscles warp and shift, reorganizing to his new bone structure. Scales slot out from under his skin, itching under the costume fabric. It’s not the prettiest quirk activation, but it’s saved lives.

Grasshopper hesitates a moment longer before he jumps. The wind whistles in his ears and the city lights blur before he makes impact, hitting the ground right between Miriko and the smuggler leader.

Miriko doesn’t hesitate, kicking out with a vengeance. She might not even know who he is. That’s okay.

Grasshopper blocks, just barely, but his arm explodes in pain. He kicks out with an attack of his own and she dodges, leaping up.

Grasshopper runs, scooping up the leader- he’s too light to be healthy, unless it’s a quirk- and speeds through the crowd. He keeps his leaps long and low to the ground. Miriko won’t hesitate if they’re airborne.

He’d be mincemeat.

Something hits him in the back, and Grasshopper crashes to the ground.

Everything hurts.

The smuggler’s leader is yelling something, and Miriko responds, but he can’t concentrate over the blooming warmth in his back.

He can’t feel his legs.

He can’t feel his LEGS.

He’d heard of people losing their quirk in this part of town. A terrible thought hits, and Grasshopper pushes it back.

No.

He can’t panic.

The fighting is dying down. Grasshopper parses through the noises, trying to push himself up. The ground is warmer, wetter than it should be under his hands, color is leaching out of his vision.

“-he’s a vigilante for crying out loud!  He’s never committed a crime beyond public quirk usage!’

“Not like I could tell!” Miriko’s scathing voice cuts off Midnight. “He shouldn’t even be playing hero.”

“He’s a kid!”

“Well excuse me for assuming a costumed, unregistered opponent was a villain. Better cuff him now with the rest.”

“No…” Grasshopper needs to say something. Needs to make them stop.

“There’s still villains left. Let’s go.”

They can’t. They can’t arrest the victims. “No!”

Grasshopper flinches away when a weight descends on his shoulder. He looks up to find Best Jeanist watching him cautiously.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Don’t move.”

“No, wait-“ Grasshopper makes the mistake of trying to prop himself upward, and pain shoots through his spine. He still can’t feel his legs.

Midnight speaks up. “Kid, sit this out. Let us do our jobs.”

“NO!” Grasshopper screams it out, hoping the heroes will hear. “Did you even check what their cargo was? Did you even look into their past records?”

Best Jeanist tries to calm him, but the words don’t reach. Grasshopper has been told to sit down and shut up his whole life. Not today.

“We’re all together!” Grasshopper fights through the pain, not caring if his hood has slipped back, displaying recognizable fluffy hair for the world to see. “The legislation, the broken hero system-“

He screams the truth out hoping someone out there will understand that words matter.

“They affect all of us, but we try to help people. And sometimes it hurts every one of us!”

Across the front lines, All Might glances to one of his colleagues.

“We just want to live and go home! So please- can we please-“ His voice breaks, revealing the teenager under the mask.

“Can we please just talk this out?”

Miriko moves, and Grasshopper tracks her with the corner of his eye. He catches Best Jeanist swearing before something hits him like a truck, and he’s out.

Grasshopper collapses unconscious.

Hood off, green hair for all to see.

Back severely injured.

Crying.

Chapter Text

He wakes up slowly.

Something had happened- a fight?

Machines beep nearby and Izuku realizes abruptly his mask is off. The room is too clean and white. It doesn’t feel like his messy apartment. Blinking through the fog in his head yields few results, besides that he’s in a hospital and his hands are shaking. That’s not right. He shouldn’t be panicking from being in a hospital. Izuku tries to sit up, to get off the bed, but he can’t- he can’t- he can’t get up, oh god his legs are numb.

His hands aren’t moving either, what- oh. Oh, no no no NO he’s cuffed to the bed, he’s back, they found him and they’re gonna take him back to the lab-

He’s faintly aware of the heart monitor beeping too fast for comfort, but that doesn’t matter because what happened, what did they do to his legs- what if his quirk is gone like the rumors say-

It’s all he has.

They forced him to have it and now it’s gone, he wants it back-

A door opens and Izuku’s head snaps to the side, watching the new figure with wide eyes. As it steps closer his vision blurs, breath coming in gasps faster- faster- faster-

Like back then, lungs burning, taste of iron and water all around he can’t stop it-

Izuku leans far away, but his legs won’t let him move and his arms are cuffed- no, no no nonononono no

They haven’t done anything. Izuku watches warily, mind half back before Junior High when he was kidnapped and forced to develop a quirk. It’s years ago, but even after therapy he hasn’t fully recovered.

The person sitting next to him, why are they sitting next to him, what is that orange thing they’re holding; he doesn’t want it-

The figure slowly folds it out. An orange blanket.

Izuku watches distantly through blurred vision as the figure slowly drops the blanket over his bed. They’re talking, he realizes, but who knows what’s being said.

Maybe it’s Spanish.

Or Russian- then he could make a good joke about Russian out of here.

He doesn’t know why this thought calms him down, but it’s random and amusing so Izuku anchors himself to it as his breathing slows.

“...you’re safe, and I’m just going to tuck this corner in, alright? Nobody here wants to hurt you, and I’ll be nearby if anything happens.” The figure- a doctor, Izuku realizes – keeps up a gentle stream of quiet words, and Izuku relaxes minutely.

He’s in a hospital.

Just like that, everything that happened hits him and Izuku’s vision blurs again. He didn’t want this. He wanted them to stop fighting, to listen for once.

For the second time that day, Izuku drifts away from consciousness.

This is a nightmare.

Eraserhead stares at the file Nezdu has pressed into his hands. Midoriya Izuku, declared legally dead at age nine, has a family tree grown from hell. His mother is Midoriya Inko, the famous lawyer who sued the entire Japanese Hero Department for the death of her son and won, resulting in a complete shift in quirkless protection laws. She then founded the nonprofit Quirkless Voices, which is now Japans largest activist group. It’s either a mercy or a curse that she’s abroad lecturing somewhere right now, so they have a little extra time before she throws them to the sharks.

That alone should be enough for a headache. It’s only the tip of the iceberg.

Eraserhead feels a migraine blooming as he notes Midoriya Inko’s sister is Pro-Hero Miriku. Midoriya Izuku was injured by his own aunt. That’s family drama Eraserhead’s not touching with a 30ft pole.

Whatever research Nezdu had pulled off reveals Midoriya Izuku’s father is none other than a villain only mentioned by rumor, Midoriya Hisashi. It’s possibly the worst joke fate could play on them. Eraserhead has no idea who the man is, only that he’s mentioned in passing on most levels of the underworld as being involved in nearly every branch of shady business under the sun. They cannot send his son to prison and expect zero repercussions. Nezdu must know doing so would put a huge target on the back of every UA staff, student, and sponsor. That just makes the current situation worse.

Eraserhead returns to the file.

Pro-hero Ryukyu had admitted two years ago the man was her brother, and a minor crime lord by the name of Scalebreath had followed, completing a family tree designed to make processing this case difficult if not nearly impossible should they all decide to intervene. Eraserhead doesn’t know if the kid cuffed in Mustafu General Hospital knows his blood is a ticking time bomb.

Eraserhead needs a coffee.

Nezdu smiles at him cheerily. “I want him at UA,” the principal informs Eraserhead as though this is not a death wish but rather the midterm exam schedule. “And you’re going to help.”

Eraserhead needs a coffee and a raise.

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s valuable,” Nezdu chirps back. “And you know him.”

Eraserhead does not want to do this, but he expelled the last of his class last week. He has no excuses. “We’re offering him sanctuary,” he grumbles. “That’s the only way I’m agreeing.”

“That was already part of the deal.”

Eraserhead needs two coffees, a raise, and a goddamn vacation.

The second time Izuku wakes up is easier. What he can see of the sky is even darker than last time, though if it’s a different day or not is anybody’s guess. The orange blanket is still there, which is nice.

It’s clean and soft, and Izuku decides immediately he’s going to keep it. If they let him.

It deserves a name.

The blanket is now named now Mr. Sherbet. Mr. Sherbet is replacing Dabi as accomplice to forthcoming crime because SOME people left their flatmate to get ARRESTED.

Bitch.

Izuku pulls on the cuffs, letting them rattle against the hospital bed. He certainly hadn’t wanted to end up here. Rain pounds on darkened windows, and Izuku leans back, letting the sound drum in his ears.

Dabi must be figuring the situation out right now. That, or the bacon man is raiding his ramen stash, so it’s a 50/50 on getting poppies at his funeral. Pretty good odds. Beans will probably miss him eventually, but the dry cat food is supplied from an automatic feeder. The cat likely hasn’t noticed anything’s changed yet.

Izuku misses his cat.

He waits through a day with minimal contact from nurses. The doctor from last night must be off shift, but Izuku does recognize a nurse from his neighborhood as the sister of his favorite convenience store clerk. Once she recognizes him the nurses are changed. Must be a security thing. Understandable. Izuku – or Grasshopper, if they haven’t figured out his name - is a vigilante and legally dead.

The cuffs are soon clearly the worst part. He can barely get hair out of his face without it flopping back, and the HELP button is just barely out of reach.

Physical therapy happens, and Izuku zones out through the whole thing. He should probably be worried about that, but shock over the entire situation is taking priority in his mind and everything about this is terrifying. It’s probably expected that he can’t focus.

Midway through day one, Izuku gets a surprise visitor.

“Excuse me.” The door opens to a tall man with dark, unkempt hair and a weird thin scarf. Between the unremarkable black jumpsuit and standard-issue belt, this is an underground hero.

“I will not excuse you, but thanks for asking,” Izuku says just to see what will happen. He gets no reaction.

“I assume you are Midoriya Izuku.” The hero’s voice sounds dead. “You’ve been convicted on charges of illegal quirk use and interference with hero activity.”

“I’d do it again,” Izuku says before he can stop it.

The hero startles. “Explain.”

Izuku will most certainly not explain, thank you very much. He’s not an idiot when it comes to interrogations. He watches silently as the hero pulls up a chair, leaning back and waiting. Is he supposed to say something? Because if neither of them is going to say anything, Izuku can win this. He’s petty enough to make this work.

“I want a lawyer,” Izuku says finally, and once again gets no reaction. Fine. He settles in for the wait.

The minutes drag by, and about an hour later Izuku must make a decision. Either he’s going to fall asleep and have an underground hero watch him, or he has to talk.

He really doesn’t want to talk.

He also refuses to have a stranger watch him sleep because fuck that.

He needs to start eloquently. Something to really show his stance on recent events. Preferably charismatic and charming, so they think he’ll cooperate. Izuku opens his mouth, excellent speech prepared, and notices that the hero is asleep.

“Fuck you,” Izuku ends up saying. Nailed it. Now he sounds like Dabi, which can’t be good.

The hero doesn’t open his eyes. “Finally ready to talk?”

Oh, he’s awake.

“Fuck you,” Izuku repeats. “How do you know I even can talk? Not to mention this whole setup. I can’t even contact someone if there’s a problem because the button is too goddamn far away.”

Izuku rattles the cuffs for emphasis, and grins when the hero winces at the noise. He rattles them harder out of spite.

“First,” the hero starts, “We got in contact with your old school, and there were no disabilities listed. Also, you responded the moment I came in. Second, there’s been a hero outside if you needed anything, which we both know so don’t play dumb about that.”

Izuku didn’t but refuses to show it out of petty stubbornness.

“Third, you’re under arrest, so don’t play the pity game with me.”

“And you are?”

The hero huffs, and it might pass for laughter. “Don’t play dumb either. The police are after your blood, and so are most of the heroes. If I were you, I’d be cooperating.”

Izuku frowns, before sitting back. “I refuse. Where’s my lawyer?”

“You know the vigilante laws, or at least you act like you do. Heroes don’t count as police. That law is null and void in any conversation we have.”

“That’s an exploitable loophole y’all need to fix. I still refuse.”

“Kid.” The hero carefully gestures as though explaining something to a toddler. Rude. Izuku knows he’s short without his quirk but he’s not a little kid. He’s at least five whole feet tall. Probably. “Don’t do this. You can build a case and get payment for medical. Heck, I’ll help.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’d rethink that. We can file you as a good Samaritan and waive all charges if you cooperate. It’s not a bad deal. UA is willing to step in on your behalf and trust me when I say that you want to talk to me instead of the principal.”

“Fuck you. I don’t even know who you are.”

The hero sits back, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

Izuku snorts, raising his hand as much as the cuff will let him. “Scouts honor, I have never seen you in my life.”

“It appears I’ve employed an idiot.” The hero reaches into his scarf, pulling up yellow slotted goggles. Pieces begin to fit together. Eraserhead, who he is an informant for, is handling the investigation. Either he’s legitimately doing a favor, or the police have put him up to this. Given UA’s place in the legal system, it’s probably neither. This is the doing of UA’s principal.

“Oh, excuse me.” Izuku rolls his eyes. “My mistake for never recognizing you when we only meet in dark alleyways and across rooftops to throw USB drives at each other, Mr. Eraserhead, sir.”

“So now that you know why its me and not a detective, spill. I need to hunt down a whole drug trade that’s on high alert because of someone making the news.”

“Oh for crying out loud- they’re not part of the ring!”

Eraserhead’s eyebrows continue to rise, and Izuku rattles the cuffs again out of spite.

“Stop that,” the hero says in a perfect dad tone. Izuku sticks out his tongue. He can’t be in any more trouble. What are they going to do, arrest him? Cuff him? Interrogate him?

“They were smuggling people.”

“And that’s supposed to make things better? Human trafficking is worse, you know.”

“I’m not a kid, I know what trafficking is!”

“Yes, you are. And now that I know your age, we’re discussing your employment as an informant later.”

“Fuck you,” Izuku responds and regrets it immediately, because mom may hear about this and he does not want to swear around her. Ever.

“You’ve said that, yes. And the trafficking?”

“Will you let me go if I spill?”

“I can offer sanctuary.”

Ehhhh. “No offence, but I need insurance that you mean it.”

Eraserhead doesn’t speak, instead pulling a file from his belt. How it fit in those tiny pockets, Izuku will never know. Maybe it’s a pocket dimension. Ha.

When the hero hands it over Izuku thumbs through the pages, which compile several legal forms. There’s a safe house, and legal promise to take his side, so long as he didn’t do anything on an admittedly long list of items. Izuku checks through, before tapping the first one.

“I’ve done that in self-defense. A couple others in the same incident. This one… these two… Oh, I’ve definitely stolen, but only from the bigger criminals and one hero who is embezzling funds anyway. I haven’t killed anyone personally or arranged any murders.”

Eraserhead frowns. “Why… arson? Really?”

“They kidnapped me, what do you expect? Anyway, they’re arrested, and I’m alive, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does matter, actually.”

Izuku raises his chin, trying to look more like an authority figure and less like a petulant child. “I’m not talking about it. You need to be at least a level 10 friend to get the tragic backstory, and we aren’t friends.”

Eraserhead nods, evaluating this. “Fair. I’ll offer sanctuary, and you have it in writing.”

“Good enough.” Izuku squirms, slipping the file under his pillow and trying to spot his homemade uniform in the back closet. “My costume. Right second belt pouch, I’ve got your info. Passcode key is ‘one corn chip.’”

Eraserhead rises, finding the pocket and USB drive. He holds up the Ziplock baggie it’s in for Izuku to see.

“That’s the shit. I was looking for you when a purple idiot told me about the bust. Next time ask me for info before trusting a two-faced bastard of a weapons dealer who wants more than he gets.”

Eraserhead looks up sharply. “How did you know about that?”

“Not telling. Sorry Eraser, but I need some sort of insurance you’ll keep your word.”

Eraser grimaces at this, but another voice interrupts him.

“Well! You really do know something after all.” The door opens, and a small, white creature enters. He’s well dressed, but Izuku knows this rat.

“I must be important,” Izuku sasses. “My employer and the principal of UA, all come to see a paralyzed criminal.”

Nezdu nods happily at his suffering. That’s messed up. “I’ll get right to it, Grasshopper. You’re a wanted man to most of hero society right now. The marketing and business teams are out for blood.”

“Good to know. Sounds like a them problem and not a me problem.”

Nezdu only grins wider. Does he thrive from Izuku’s suffering? Is that what’s happening? “Your ideology is dangerously close to that of another vigilante,” the rat remarks idly, and Izuku squints at the sudden topic change.

“I’m a bit lost.”

“I’m talking about the Hero Killer: Stain.”

Izuku wrinkles his nose, much to Nezdu's amusement. “Oh, him.”

“Overall, your chances of normal life from here on out are slim to none. We could ship you off to prison, but there’s a catch.”

“My mother.” She’d hunt them all down individually for any number of charges. Izuku needs popcorn for watching that go down.

“Your father, actually.” This is valid. He’d hunt them down in entirely different manner, and Izuku has only met the man twice. Nezdu pads around, and Izuku really doesn’t like that he can’t see what the principal is doing. “I want you in my sight, and you want to change the future of heroes. It seems we have adjacent situations.”

“A distrust in humanity due to traumatizing events?” Maybe that was a little harsh, but this conversation is getting at something Izuku can’t track, and he doesn’t like it.

Nezdu ignores him in favor of continuing. “Bluntly put, I’m offering you a chance to fix hero society from within. Come stay at UA as a student teacher, and maybe we’ll both achieve our goals.”

Izuku is about to say no on the spot, but Eraserhead beats him to it. “I’ll talk to him.”

“You have a day to decide.” Nezdu hops up, padding out the door. “I’ll let you think about it.”

The door closes and Izuku resumes staring at his cuffs. “I don’t have another option, do I?”

“No. It’s a horrible idea, really.” Eraserhead pulls out his phone and flops into the window side chair. “Welcome to UA. I’ve found coffee is the only way to survive, personally.”

This is a nightmare.

Miriko stares down at the footage her interns had dug up, replaying it again and again. The police won’t tell her Grasshopper’s identity, but she’d seen his eyes in the last moment before she’d knocked him out – that wasn’t just an angry teen with an unknown and dangerous quirk.

That was her nephew.

She’d been wary of Grasshopper lashing out, calling backup or revealing the hidden truth he’s known for using to sway heroes to his side. Grasshopper’s words are just as dangerous as his knowledge, his ability to sink deep into the cracks in your morals and break through a hero’s confidence as though it were eggshell-thin.

She should have known it was Inko’s son. Words were never Miriko’s strong suit, better left to Inko, the older, more mature daughter. Miriko does not expect Inko to call, or even address what had happened. Her sister played all the cards she had when Izuku died.

Except, he didn’t.

Izuku is alive.

Miriko had thought he had been taken away, kidnapped. She had investigated after other heroes had stopped, searching even when they told her a quirkless child had no hope of survival. She’d helped Inko tear into the very industry employing her – employing them both, at the time. Inko is the best of the best in a court of law. She’d gotten justice for her lost, eventually determined deceased, son.

Miriko had helped her, but Izuku is alive.

There are things you respect, in the Usagiyama family. There are rules, such as how you can ask how work was, but not what it was. Family is protected at all cost. Favors are bartered for Obaasan’s dumplings and villain tip-offs with equal value. This matter is one such thing.

Rumi shreds the files, one by one.

Inko may have kept the Midoriya name after her marriage, but she’s still an Usagiyama. Blood is thicker than water, and Inko’s son – Miriko’s nephew – is no exception.

She does not know what happened. She cannot ask with her calls taped and location tracked. Rumi knows, deep in her heart, that trust has been betrayed somewhere. Whether it is from the truth of Izuku’s survival or the arrest she made, it is not clear. She will not ask, for his sake.

Usagiyamas protect each other.

Izuku naps after Eraserhead disappears. He only wakes up when an officer bustles in with a laptop (that is definitely tracing all activity) and informs him they’ve worked out the legal mess of his medical papers and contacted his guardian. Thus begins a long skype call. Mom goes through the routine they’d made together long ago, sobbing over how her baby is alive. Izuku knows she’s crying because he’s in the hospital and arrested, having known he was alive for years, but neither say it. Neither can with the police listening in.

Izuku promised himself he’d keep her separate from this part of his life. It’s a weird balance, but it works. Once enough time has passed, she starts fretting anew. This worry is genuine. He can see it from how she hovers over the screen worrying about his paleness, asking if the doctors are treating him right, then why he hasn’t talked to any.

“I’ve been up for like. Five hours at most. It’s fine.”

“Still, they should be there by now. I’ll put in a call-”

“It’s a big hospital, mom. I’m okay.”

“If you’re sure.” Midoriya Inko fidgets on the other side of the Skype call, peering at her son’s face nervously. “I can’t believe Rumi would hit anyone that hard.”

“She didn’t mean for it to land,” Izuku assures her. “And she didn’t know it was me.”

“She meant it, Izuku.”

“Even so, I’m fine. UA has offered sanctuary, so I’ll work with them in half a year. The contract lasts until I graduate high school, so that gives us time to think up a strategy to get me away.”

“They won’t put you in prison,” Mom mutters, typing something in the laptop. “Don’t you worry about that. Focus on getting better right now.”

“Okay.” Izuku looks up at footsteps at his door. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry. They’ve got me stuck here for a year, but you contact me if anything happens, understand? I know you have a good head on your shoulders, so go ahead and do whatever you need to while I’m away.”

“I will, mom.”

“Oh, and Sweetie?” Mom smiles gently. “Make them pay for what they did. By any means necessary, understand?”

Use my contacts and name, she doesn’t say. She can’t, not when the police are recording the call. Work smart, not big.

“I understand. Love you.”

“To the moon and back,” she tells him, and waves before the screen goes dark.

A young woman with glowing hair pokes her head in. “Midoriya Izuku? I’m Doctor Hikari. I’ll be working with you on your spinal injury. Is your call over?”

Izuku nods, swallowing. He’s ready for this and has resigned himself to a life without using his legs. Honestly, it’s all he’s been able to think about in his abundant spare time. The doctor is nice- she asks how he’s holding up as if she cares, which is more than the police have been doing.

Dr. Hikari pulls up a chair by his bedside and flips through the papers. “I’d like to be upfront: we’d like to run some tests, but they require your cooperation and permission. I’d like to get an myelography of your lower back, as well as an electromyography. We can go over these in a second. I’d also like to do an MRI in case of internal- are you all right?”

Izuku stares at the doctor dully. “That’s a lot of stuff for a paralyzed guy. Better save it for people who might walk again.”

“Midoriya, did the nurse tell you about your injury?”

“I haven’t spoken to a single nurse since y’all re-assigned Saki.”

The doctor freezes before smiling tightly. “I will be sure to fix this issue, thank you for telling me. Shall I start from the top, then?”

Izuku nods, and the doctor sets her clipboard aside. “Bluntly speaking, you may be able to walk again.”

The world seems to spin as the doctor continues.

“Your legs and lower back are structured differently due to a physical quirk, so caution is advised. That’s why I’d like to recommend a couple tests. It will take a long time, and lots of therapy until we know anything can be done. Luckily, this hospital is a response center near a prominent city and hero school, and we’re equipped with some of the best staff who are gifted with both talent and licensed healing quirks.”

“I might… I might walk?” The idea itself doesn’t make sense. Izuku stares at his hospital blanket as if it will tell him this is a lie. Mr. Sherbet the blanket offers no answers.

“There’s a very good chance you will make a full recovery, yes.” Dr. Hikari’s voice is gentle. “It will take a lot of work, but I can’t tell you to what extent until the tests.”

“Okay,” Izuku breathes, and his chest shudders as he tries to fight off the shock. “Okay, let’s do some tests.”

“Do you want a moment to process this? We can continue later.”

“No.” Izuku draws a hand across aching eyes, blinking back tears. He swallows back the thickness in his throat and says, “Let’s work this out now. What’s the first test?”

“An MRI; we need to make double sure your kidneys are up to par after that trauma. I’ve got some paperwork for you to fill out, but we can go through it together, if that’s easier.”

“Please.”

The doctor nods, returning to her clipboard. “Stop me at any time and take as many breaks as you need. Now…”

After the MRI, Izuku is cuffed back to the bed. His mouth tastes metallic, which is apparently a common side effect, but it freaks him out. He doesn’t want to taste this, too close to when he was stuck cuffed to a chair, metal in his mouth-

Oh.

Wait, there’s a cup of water next to his bed. Izuku almost sighs in relief before coming to a new and devastating conclusion: the water is just out of reach. If he strains against the cuffs, he can just barely brush the cup with the tips of his fingers. He can’t lean too far forward because of his legs.

He tries again, and his fingers caress against the cup like a lost lover, until he ends up pushing it further away. If that’s not a metaphor for his future, Izuku doesn’t know what is.

He ends up glaring at the plastic cup from his bed. This sucks. Its so close- so! Close!!

The metal taste is ever present, and Izuku wrestles it back by focusing on his frustration. He’s not there, there’s no metal in his mouth, or water dripping, all around him, he can’t breathe, he can’t - what’s happening, nobody’s coming-

“Midoriya?”

-they didn’t have to do this to him, didn’t have to cripple him, he’s on the ground, he’s floating, he’s drowning in his own blood-

“Midoriya, breathe with me, big breaths-”

-he’ll never get out, he can’t move, can’t feel his legs, can’t jump because they weighed him down the first time, crushed him like a bug the second-

Someone is speaking nearby and Izuku spirals out of his own thoughts. He’s aware, distantly, that they’re next to him. Whoever they are, they’re telling him to do something. It must mean a lot to them that he does it, so he should probably listen.

“Midoriya, can you take a breath with me? In… two… three, out. Two… three. And again: in… and out. One… two…”

Izuku follows along, taking shuddering gasps. The doctor talks him through it, leading him though another exercise once his lungs are doing their job again.

It’s another doctor. They’re tall and nondescript, besides the blue hair cut through with two yellow stripes. They return to a steady droll commentary on the weather, letting him follow their voice. The water cup is pressed into his hand, and the doctor finds another blanket, putting it close enough for him to reach.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says, and they shake their head.

“Nobody blames you for panicking, so don’t apologize.”

Izuku shakes his head, staring at the water for a moment. “I don’t know your name.”

“Dr. Isha, and my pronouns are they/them. I came to talk about your physical therapy options, but we should leave that for another time. There’s a hero outside your door all the time, and they can call us, too.”

Izuku nods, still watching his water. The doctor goes back to talking, telling him what they’re doing to the equipment by his head.

“I need to adjust your plan, but don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

“Um.”

“Take your time.” Dr. Isha waits for Izuku as he deliberates his question.

“Can I… who’s the hero outside?”

Dr. Isha smiles. “An intern named Suneater. His supervisor will be back soon. I’ll have to let him know you asked, though.”

“Thank you. Could you... ask him something?” Izuku bites the bullet when Dr. Isha nods. “Will Miriko be there?“ He hasn’t talked to his aunt in years. Reuniting like this would be right in line with their family’s habit of popping up suddenly.

“Miriko will not be seeing you.” Dr. Isha continues as Izuku stares, dumbfounded. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but if it will lessen your stress… An agency that wasn’t involved in your case is on security. Are you all right?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”

“Why are you doing this?” Eraserhead strides through the principal’s door without further introduction. He’s had a long day on patrol. Now that Grasshopper is out of commission, villains are starting to get confident. Underground Heroes across Japan are being pulled for extra hours.

“Class 1B needs the training fields on Tuesday, Vlad King was quite adamant-“

“Don’t play me, the kid pulls that nonsense enough. Why offer him a job here?” Eraserhead elaborates when Nezdu smiles widely. “You could have left him out to dry like any other vigilantes. Even with his family ties, enough heroes were on the scene to minimize damage. I’m not complaining about your choice – he’s a good kid – but I don’t see your reasoning.”

Nezdu gestures to the couch, and Eraserhead grumpily pours himself tea as the mouse begins messing with a tablet. “Watch this.”

Eraserhead takes the tablet, watching a video. It’s… something, that’s for sure. Somebody has pieced together clips of Grasshopper’s interference. Music is barely noticeable in the background, but Grasshopper’s speech is clear, spliced together from seconds between combat. He speaks passionately out against the hero system, shielding a man who is clearly not well from the heroes. In this lighting, Miriko looks more like the villain.

After the final blow is dealt, Grasshopper’s head slams against the ground, silencing him for real. Miriko stands over him, and it begins to rain.

When the video ends, Eraserhead stares at the screen, not really registering the message playing afterwards- something about the broken system. Instead, he’s looking at the 30 million view count.

“This appeared a couple days ago. We haven’t been able to trace the creator, but what with how many views its garnered, I wouldn’t be surprised if Grasshopper’s already strong following doubles or triples before the week is out.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question.” Eraserhead puts the tablet down, clasping his hands. “Why not leave him to rot in jail? Don’t get me wrong, he’s got a good heart and I agree. But there are easier ways for justice to happen.”

“That’s not your question,” the principal says, which is both creepy and insightful. Eraserhead hates it.

“What are you using him for?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” The principal returns to his desk, hopping up on the seat. “Grasshopper has a large vigilante following. If he is sent to a correctional facility-“

Eraserhead hates that term. Call it what it is- prison is a place to put people who don’t fit into society’s viewpoint these days. It doesn’t correct anything, just keeps people and dangerous quirks out of the way. All the real criminals go to Tartarus, anyway.

“-His followers would have no leader to follow. They’d likely migrate to the smuggling ring involved, and we’d be facing a larger problem.”

“It wasn’t a smuggling ring.”

“But only the heroes and police know that.” Nezdu pulls an envelope out of his desk, and hands it over. “I know you’re visiting again this weekend. His acceptance letter is inside, but I’d appreciate any additional information you could get out of him first.”

Eraserhead takes it, standing. “I build trust with my informants. Save manipulation for your employees, and don’t govern how I treat mine.”

“All the same, then. He’s to be cuffed with a tracker and escorted over once recovered sufficiently. I’d like you to keep an eye on him.”

Eraserhead nods. He doesn’t like it, but he’ll do it.

Chapter Text

Izuku has done so. Many. Tests.

He’s avoided hospitals for most of his life through the sheer power of perseverance, back alley doctors, a friend’s rejected medical school degree, and an unholy pain tolerance. It had taken the doctors three minutes to find out just how much metal is in his body that should not be there, and another couple days to deal with it. The whole ordeal solidifies Izuku’s opinion on hospitals, which can be summed up with maniacal laughter and a ‘would rather be kidnapped, 0/10, do not recommend.’

The handcuffs don’t help. Izuku can’t even walk and yet the detective – of course it’s Tsukauchi, the guy who met him in freefall off a burning skyscraper – claims they’re a ‘necessary precaution.’ Izuku calls Bullshit.

Dr. Hikari goes through everything with him. Mom sends the hospital a polite email expressing complete trust in her son’s decision making and calls in for good measure. His medical team is small, as with most heroes or persons of interest, and apparently UA is paying the expenses. The school’s involvement odd at the bare minimum, but there’s no way for Izuku to do research on it without technology.

Nothing is free with Giran. Izuku suspects the same goes for Nezdu.

Izuku’s back aches constantly now, a side affect of the quirk that will heal him over a year’s time. He focuses on anything that may serve as a distraction. At the moment he has a Netflix account and nothing else. He has watched Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood and Queer Eye too many times and managed to pirate Moominvalley through cheap hacking tricks. Bribing a nurse with hero celebrity gossip may have played a roll. Eraserhead dropped off an acceptance letter to UA’s student-teacher position, tucked into books on teaching as a bookmark. Izuku’s read through them all. He’s going to do something vaguely illegal just for the drama because the boredom and constant pain are just that bad.

Dr. Hikari’s conversation plays through his head again and again.

“We have two plans, and I’d like to go through them both with you. One of our staff has matched an ideal quirk for your injury, or we could forgo that for a natural heal.”

“Okay?”

“The quirk is called Year of Health. It converts the location of injury back to it’s prior state over a year, guaranteeing restoration to your original health. It causes pain at the location of injury due to it concentrating your healing reserves and shifting bones into place, which may be difficult to manage. Are you with me?”

“Yep, one-year recovery. Why would I choose the other option?”

“It’s a gamble. Your spine is slightly out of alignment - here’s the x-ray – and the pain resulting would be much easier to medicate. With natural healing and only support quirks, you’d achieve the same results with about an extra two years and a couple surgeries. I’d advise either treatment plan- some people need to be healed fast for personal reasons, and others like to avoid discomfort.”

“I’ll do the quirk healing. If it means I’m back in a year then the pain will be worth it.”

The Year Of Health quirk hurts. He knew this going into it but hearing about something and experiencing it are often quite different matters. It’s constant dull pain. It’s the never-ending presence of discomfort that really gets Izuku. He hasn’t felt this since… well, since his first kidnapping.

Thank goodness they’re letting him skype his therapist.

Izuku’s brought back to the present by a gentle knock.

“Nurse,” an achingly familiar voice calls, before letting herself in. Izuku recognizes the pale face instantly. Zookeeper is blank in every sense of the word – expressionless, white hair, eyes and skin as if her quirk leeched away every identifiable mark. She uses it to her advantage, though. While Izuku is a vigilante fighting for the public’s attention, Zookeeper avoids outside eyes like the plauge. She is unknown in the underworld, police database, and public eye.

“’Been a while, Hops,” Zookeeper says quietly, and Izuku nearly cries in relief at the old nickname because it’s really her. Finally, someone he can trust. “I leave for a weekend and you go throw Japan into a panic.”

“It’s my charming personality and unprecedented charisma.”

Zookeeper places her push broom in the corner of the room and wanders over to take his pulse. “You’re a pinnacle of humility. Speaking of, here-”

A phone is dropped in front of him and earbuds are slipped into Izuku’s ears, an unfamiliar video already loaded. The view count and timestamp mark it as viral within 12 hours. He doesn’t ask, instead starting the video.

It’s a mess.

Izuku hates it instantly. His intervention in the smuggling bust and speech are twisted to gather crowd pity. The dramatic music is insulting. Whoever did it clearly knew what they putting out into the world, knew that his mask was off. It’s a small blessing that there’s no clear shot of his face, thank goodness. Grasshopper’s identity remains secret. He’s painted as a tragic hero, and Izuku hates that detail the most.

He’s not some defenseless, murdered vigilante. The very thought is sick.

Zookeeper transitions to taking his blood pressure. She drops a burner phone and Plexiglas lockpick set in front of him in the process. She unlocks the phone twice, letting him memorize the passcode. She doesn’t leave fingerprints – Izuku doesn’t know if she even has them.

“I hate it,” Izuku whispers finally, and Zookeeper nods slightly. It’s good, to finally speak honestly.

“You have every right to.”

“They didn’t have to- to…” He trails off, not really sure how to put the frustration into words. “They used me for pity views.”

Zookeeper takes back the phone and earbuds gently. “They did, and they shouldn’t have.”

She waits, letting him process the implications and feelings attached. Izuku knows he should be worried about how this changes things, how it affects his possible future trial or involvement with UA. He can’t. The editing and soundtrack keep coming back to haunt him and Izuku is so, so tired of people treating him like glass.

He’s not ‘fragile.’ He’s not ‘broken.’ The video paints him as both. Izuku wishes he could burn the phone.

Zookeeper collects a backpack from the closet and begins to sew the lockpick set in. She slips the burner phone between pads on the back. Izuku watches her distantly.

“Do you know if my mom’s seen it?”

Zookeeper nods shortly. “She hasn’t made a move.”

“She can’t,” Izuku says and regrets it immediately. He doesn’t want to think of how she must have felt seeing her son crushed by her own sister. “How’s the public reacting?”

“There are rumors of a movement starting up.” Zookeeper ties off the tread and returns the backpack to its original place. “The Grasshopper Movement. They lack direction, but it’s been a long time coming. It won’t go down quietly.”

“You think it’ll stick?”

Zookeeper rolls her head from side to side, debating. “I think people have been wanting someone to rally around for a long time. You’re not wrong, you know – heroes do a lot of damage. You just happened to be a match ready to light this gas-soaked mess up.”

Izuku wanted to make a change. He didn’t want it to happen without his consent, though there’s very little of that in a fight. He wanted change to happen on his terms.

“I hate this,” Izuku says quietly. He doesn’t know what he’s referring to – being captured, injured, exploited, placed on a pedestal for being hurt - or any number of events. He just knows it isn’t good. He wants to walk out of the hospital and never return. Zookeeper seems to understand.

 “I know. I know that it’s hard and it sucks, and I’m going through something similar but different since they messed with my mind. It will someday fit into your life and will eventually work out even though it sucks so bad right now.”

“I want it to be over.” Izuku listens to the faint sound of traffic past the windows, fiddling with the sheets. Zookeeper dropped off the grid after she got out of her old life. Maybe Izuku can do the same.

“It will be. Someday. Everyone works through things differently, but we’re just gonna have to suit up and punch it in the face.”

“It’s scary when you say that with a calm face.”

“I’m right though.”

They hug as best possible with cuffs, and Zookeeper collects a cleaning rag. She bumps his shoulder before activating her cleaning quirk and removing fingerprints from the equipment she touched. “I’ll be around if there’s any news. Got messages for the outside world?”

“Make sure Dabi is feeding Beans?” The cat is likely close to emptying his automatic dispenser by now.

Zookeeper snorts. “I’ve been feeding Beans. Do you know what my codename even is? What else.”

“Um… Oh! Could you tell Destro and Giran I’m alive?” He owes them that. Destro probably won’t spread the news – he’s got too strong of morals for that, but Giran will. Nothing is ever free with the Broker, and Giran will know it to be payment for a future favor. He’ll keep quiet on Grasshopper’s identity, though.

Giran won’t go back on his deal with Mom. He owes her, and they all know it.

“I’ll pass it on.” Zookeeper pauses, collecting her broom. “Dabi says ‘give ‘em hell, kid.’”

Izuku waves back from an empty room.

Tsukauchi has already pulled an all-nighter for this investigation and it’s barely even started, which doesn’t bode well for his coffee intake. It’s also currently top priority case. Midoriya Izuku likely holds enough connections and information to take down half of the city if he’s anything like his father. He won’t bring it down until it suits him, if he’s anything like his mother. Nobody knows which is worse.

They’ve run through his gear, his costume, bloodwork, even the information Eraserhead managed to get has been checked and re-checked. There’s not so much as a single fingerprint, a strand of hair, not even dust on his costume or traces linked to Grasshopper’s work. It’s impossible – there should at least be proof Midoriya has worn the costume. All they have is confirmation from the DNA test that he is Midoriya Inko’s son.

This is the work of a quirk, or a spy. Somebody erased the evidence, and they were good enough to get in undetected and still do a better job in five minutes than most labs would manage in a month.

Grasshopper has been documented working with nearly every vigilante and half of northern Japan’s heroes over the past two years. The concerning thing is that they’ve been watching his post-arrest communications like a hawk, and he’s done nothing besides call his mother a couple times, watch some shows, and read teaching materials. The nurses have all been screened, and only two doctors are granted access.

He didn’t ask for evidence to be erased. Either he didn’t need to, or someone’s doing him a favor. Tsukauchi doesn’t know which is worse.

Miriko checks her calendar, confirming that the incident was two months ago. The date explains why the hidden camera in her office was removed by police. She would be offended how they think she never noticed, but it’s an advantage she likes to keep. In her desk, a phone sits. It’s cheap, with a limited plan. Untraceable.

There’s an old rite of passage for Usagiyama children. Lockpicks are placed in young hands at five years old. At their seventh birthday evening, the particularities of the underworld are explained. At twelve, they purchase their first burner phone. At fifteen, the family stops asking what they want to be when they grow up and starts teaching them how to hold weight in an unknown game. Usagiyamas stand in a world torn between villain and hero. The family holds itself together with strange but efficient teachings. They protect each other.

Izuku never got those lessons from his mother.

Inko picks up on the third ring. “You shouldn’t have this number.”

“Surprise. We’re destined to annoy each other forever. That’s sisterly love.”

Inko’ breath whooshes out in a laugh. “Rumi.”

Miriko is about to respond when Inko continues, voice growing cold. “Did you know it was him?”

“…No.”

“Did you know he was a child?”

Miriko grips her agency’s desk, biting back a thousand questions. “I thought he was older, but still a minor.”

“Then why did you do it? Why would you attack him?” Inko’s voice grows quiet. “Why did you hurt my son?”

Usagiyamas protect each other. Miriko failed a test she didn’t know she was taking.

“I… I don’t fucking know. His words were dangerous. I should have figured it out from that and the quirk, the hair – shit, Inko. How long have you known he was alive?” She doesn’t expect an answer. “I was worried about a voice activated support quirk. I’d fought a villain earlier with one and it just… you know we were taught to play it safe.”

It’s not a good enough reason, but it’s all she has. It’s the truth.

“Let him choose the next move,” Inko tells her sister. “We both owe him this, for not being there.”

“One question.” Rumi breathes in, out, forcing her hands to stop shaking as the reality of what she did crushes her all over again “Was the kidnapping fake? He was in elementary school for crying out loud-“

“No. I thought my baby was dead.” Inko’s voice takes on a hard note, cool rage rolling through it, but it’s not directed at Rumi. “I thought he was gone the first time, and in Tartarus the second. There will not be a third.”

There will, they both know. The Usagiyama bloodline is hunted by trouble at every turn.

“I’ll stay out of it,” Rumi promises through the shame weighing her shoulders down, “but I’m stepping in if he falls too far. We owe him that.”

“I know. Just let him walk his own path until he’s out of high school.”

“You’re holding up okay?” She hasn’t talked to Inko since the arrest. It’s not long, but still more than usual.

“I’m fine. The professor job was a good decision, I can shape more futures teaching here than fighting in a courtroom. Give me until after next summer to visit Japan.”

“Maybe I should go to Europe and raise a little hell.”

“Ha! Neither of us need that. I’ll see you in just under a year, so don’t break anything until I’m back.”

When the phone falls silent, Rumi goes through the motions absentmindedly, clearing all traces and snapping the burner in half. It will be abandoned in pieces, one in a dumpster and one in the bottom of the river. The sim card is fully destroyed, a habit stemming from their grandfather’s paranoia.

Usagiyamas protect each other.

Rumi failed, but she can make sure to stay out of Izuku’s way for his own sake.

It’s three months since he was hospitalized and a quarter of his way through recovery when Izuku gets to leave. Finally. The year’s school term is only just over. Izuku would have graduated Jr. High last week if he’d had a normal life, but that concept was doomed from before he was born. He hasn’t stepped foot in a school for years, unless it was night or for an investigation.

A prison-grade tracker is locked onto his ankle. The weight will remain attached for at least four years. Izuku idly wonders how long Nezdu expects him to keep from hacking it.

He’s finally regained complete feeling in his legs. Granted, he needs a wheelchair to get around and can walk only a few wobbly steps at a time, but it’s still a literal breath of fresh air. A team of heroes escort Izuku to UA, because according to Aizawa it’s the ‘only safe place.’ Who knows what that implies, but whatever. He’s just glad to be a thorn in Nezdu’s side. It’s minor petty vengeance for this whole arrest, and Izuku is nothing if not petty.

The dorms are built as a cover for UA’s vigilante-hoarding problem.

Izuku rolls into his dorm room and immediately has to stifle giggles. Somebody’s gone to the trouble of adding sensors to the windows and hasn’t hid them at all. Does UA have interns? This looks like intern work.

He throws open his backpack and pulls out the orange blanket (Mr. Sherbert!) Dr. Isha let him keep. It’s one of his five current possessions. He tosses it on the already-made bed (did they hire someone to do this?) and hefts himself out of his wheelchair to collapse on the orange boi and roll across it like a burrito. No matter what UA does, Izuku isn’t giving this blanket up.

Also, his back hurts like hell from just moving that much. Moving takes energy he most definitely does not possess so until dinner, it’s burrito time.

Izuku looks up at the knock on his door. “It’s open.”

“We’re ready to go pick up your stuff whenever.” Aizawa raises an eyebrow when he notices the orange burrito child. “You know we literally gave you blankets and stuff, right?”

“You don’t use them either.” Izuku has bet Dabi good money that Aizawa lives in a sleeping bag. He’s staked his honor on this bet.

Aizawa’s eyebrow raises incrementally further. “That’s classified. What’s your point?”

Izuku wriggles around so his burrito is a little closer to the door. “First, bullshit. This is a callout post and you’re the type to act like a minimalist hobo. Second, this is all I need. I don’t trust y’all with my house.”

“Then we’ll go shopping. Online, since you’re a flight risk.”

“No need. How about I get my shit to be delivered here and we stop trying to raid my home for evidence?” Ha. Gotchya.

Aizawa’s eyebrow rises so high Izuku fears it will disappear from existence. “And how will you manage that?”

Izuku shrugs and giggles like a toddler getting away with murder in his orange blanket burrito. “Secrets,” he hisses in his best Gollum voice.

“Fine. Well, we got you notebooks and pens for the teaching course. It’s an online one, and the school has sponsored a laptop for that.” Aizawa passes over a laptop with the UA logo on it. Izuku reaches out of his burrito to take it like he’s holding a bomb. “Nezdu added your lessons to it and set up some study guides. If you have any questions, I’ll be downstairs in the common room.”

“…Why? Wait, you live here?”

“I do now. Nezdu wants me to ‘become the ultimate dad’ so unfortunately you’re stuck with me,” Aizawa says bluntly. “Dinner is at seven. I have to check in every couple hours ‘till then. Don’t die.” With those loving words, the door is closed and Izuku is left with a definitely bugged laptop.

Izuku leans the wall and opens it carefully. He finds three separate programs right off the bat and deactivates two just to keep Nezdu from getting suspicious. His internet seems to be restricted, which is totally uncool. Also valid, considering he is technically a criminal. Still. He wants to read shitty fanfiction and bad memes to soothe his angsty teenage heart, and even Tumbles is down. He works through one of the lessons before Aizawa knocks again.

The heroes face upon learning he already has an essay to grade is priceless. It’s beautiful. Izuku resolves to finish all the lessons in the next month and overachieve on each essay out of spite.

He slips out the burner phone and sends a quick text once he hears Aizawa downstairs. If they’re going to keep him stuck on campus, they better be prepared for the consequences. Izuku gets to work on a little side project.

Your move, Nezdu.

“He built an entire website,” Powerloader complains during the next faculty meeting. All faculty are present besides Snipe, who’s gone to collect the problem child.

Nezdu nods at this news enthusiastically. “He’s certainly surpassed expectations, hasn’t he? I’m excited to see how his knowledge will benefit next year’s class.” The principal presses a key, and HeroesSavePeople.com is displayed on the projector. “The site seems to be for tracking discrepancies and flaws in the hero system. It will prove quite useful to Hero Morality classes at UA.”

Mic leans over to Shota. “We know for sure it was Grasshopper?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me Nezdu didn’t bug that laptop a hundred times over.” Shota watches his partner glance at their mastermind boss.

“…Fair point.”

Nezdu gestures to the projection. “I’m guessing Midoriya is too empathetic to honestly wish harm on our staff. His target is the hero system, and very few heroes within it. I’ve searched all his past appearances and can assure you that nobody in this room qualifies as a target. Now, I’ve noticed our former students starting to get sloppy. I’d like you all to consider this reform as a kind of pop quiz for the current hero population. Naturally, all employees of UA are expected to pass this test.”

They’re supposed to do what now? Shota leans out of his seat to get a good look at his co-workers reactions. Sure enough, Midnight looks like somebody spat in her drink. Power Loader has completely zoned out, and Vlad King looks insulted on a spiritual level. None of them have a half-decent poker-face. He’s going to give them hell for this over drinks next Saturday.

Nezdu opens up another PowerPoint on the big screen. “Moving on, faculty placements. You were all emailed my suggestions for the coming years-“

“Sorry we’re late,” Snipe announces loudly. His warning gives the faculty time to hide their notes of the Grasshopper situation as Midoriya politely refuses help with his wheelchair. Shota scoots over to make room at the table next to Hizashi. The kid pulls out a notebook to start drawing Nezdu with a surprisingly skilled eye. He’s talented. Especially at ignoring animosity in the meeting room.

Nezdu positively beams at the tension. “I hope everyone will get along. Now, I’ve assigned Midoriya to be assistant teacher in Aizawa’s homeroom, and in Foundational Hero studies with our other new faculty member.” Midoriya perks up as if sensing chaos, then settles back reluctantly once there’s no immediate danger. He’s drawing the staff as Roombas. Aizawa’s Roomba has too many knives taped to it. It’s a surprisingly accurate depiction of his current mood.

“There’s another?” Shota clarifies through the dread blanketing the room. Please, not a criminal or vigilante. At least let them be law-abiding.

Nezdu escorts the new teacher into the room and oh it’s so much worse. Whispering breaks out around the room. “This is Yagi Toshinori, although I’m sure you all recognize him. I offered the position and expect you all to help him on the path to teaching.”

Shota keeps an eye on the criminal next to him as the Symbol of Peace stands before them. Said Symbol of Peace then reveals a secret of national-level importance right in front of Japan’s most wanted vigilante.

“I have a time limit,” All Might says as if they’re all trustworthy. Spoiler: one of them is very much not. “Please treat this information with the utmost secrecy.”

Midoriya ignores the outcry about the Number One Hero having a hole in his stomach and continuing to work like a dumbass, in favor of selecting the color of Mic’s Roomba. He decides on hot pink. Shota deserves a raise for enduring this meeting alone.

All Might stutters to a stop, finally recognizing the elephant in the room. “Um,” he starts intelligently. “Whose kid is that?”

Shota is instantly shot back in time to when Nezdu cheerily handed him a file explaining Midoriya’s unholy bloodline. World-famous activist Midoriya Inko, sister to pro-hero Miriku, had a child with underworld bogeyman Midoriya Hisashi. Said underworld legend is brother of pro-hero Ryukyu and minor mob boss Scalebreath. Whose kid is that? Oh, you poor fool.

The other teachers seem to be experiencing similar flashbacks.

“Well, I dunno,” Mic chirps. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Shota loves Hizashi from the bottom of his heart. God, he has the best boyfriend. He shoots Hizashi a grateful look and Midnight barely disguises her laughter as coughing. All Might nods excitedly. Are Shota’s friends hazing the Symbol of Peace? Can they get fired for that?

“Hello, my boy,” All Might begins earnestly. This finally catches Midoriya’s attention. Shota slowly reaches for his capture scarves.

“Oh, wow. The Symbol of Peace.” Midoriya actually sounds minorly impressed and only slightly sarcastic. Wonders will never cease. “Guess I’m really meeting all kinds of heroes here.”

“Well- yes. Are you here with your parents?”

“No,” Midoriya says easily. “I was bribed to be here. Also threatened, technically.”

Good ever-loving fuck, not this shit again.

All Might nods, accepting this into his worldview of teenage humor. “Do they at least know you’re here?”

“Probably.”

“Excellent-“

“I’m Midoriya, by the way,” he grunts impassively.

All Might evidently recognizes the name, because he stammers out an “I-I see… nice to meet you,” and carefully re-directs the conversation to teaching and heroes. Nezdu takes the reigns, starting a careful explanation on practical hero courses.

It’s going to be a long year.

“You know him,” Shota says quietly as the room returns to it’s usual too-loud hum of conversation.

“Oh, the Symbol of Peace?” Midoriya watches the retreating back with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah, we met last year. Not sure if he remembers, though.”

“You met him?”

“I made a bad decision that day. It was my fault, make no mistake. He could have stopped it, though. Just one word for a whole future; it’s not All Might’s fault he never realized.”

Shota watches Izuku’s lazy stare. This kid is dangerous.

“He looked at a kid obviously going through some shit, and when that kid asked if they were worthy of the same goal as everyone else, he said no.”

Shota considers Midoriya’s handling of the conversation. All told, it could have been worse given this new insight. Still, he’d like details. “What goal?”

“To be a hero.”

What the fuck. What the fuck?!? All Might told a kid he couldn’t be a hero? What the absolute fuck? It takes all of Shota’s latent poker skills to shut down his expression. He needs to deal with this later, when he has all the facts. Shota manages to move on with only minor tightness in his voice.

“He isn’t in contrast with your goals?”

“It all comes down to the fucking broken system. And in the end?” Midoriya jabs a thumb over to All Might. “That guy’s the one who can break it to pieces.”

Shota lets the conversation drop there. This is… news. He’ll definitely be asking All Might about it later. Midoriya isn’t so willing to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Two times he’s revealed that secret to me, and not once did anyone stop to ask my name. That’s dangerous, Eraserhead.” Midoriya returns to his Roomba art. “Legends can’t afford such risky moves. Nezdu’s probably keeping him close to minimize damage.”

Shota is definitely having words with All Might. Also Nezdu. This is only day one with Grasshopper in the school and he already wants to drown his sorrows and break into the cat café. This year is going to be a mess. They haven’t even added twenty teenagers into the mix.

The meeting moves on to entrance exam details but is briefly interrupted with the discovery of a large cardboard box delivered to UA’s front gate. It could be equipment or supplies. It also could be a bomb. While Snipe and Powerloader troop off to inspect it like all good paranoid heroes, Nezdu sends the security camera footage to the projector.

“Holey moley,” Midoriya says to nobody in particular, “that’s my shit.”

Three hours later, Aizawa learns that not only does Midoriya possess an ungodly amount of vigilante merchandise, but somehow all fingerprints and DNA traces have been removed from the box and it’s contents. That shouldn’t be physically possible, because such a heavy-duty cleaning quirk isn’t registered in Japan. There isn’t even dust or dirt on the contents. Aizawa doesn’t want to ask, but he has a paycheck to earn and a criminal to monitor.

“Secrets,” Midoriya chirps while unpacking a custom oil painting of the number two vigilante Dabi dressed in Hello Kitty themed Victorian wear. Aizawa leaves to find coffee.

It’s too early for this.

Izuku waits until he can hear Aizawa downstairs before grabbing the tiny knife he found in his alarm clock. Zookeeper is clever when it comes to smuggling, and he can tell Dabi helped decide what to pack.

He’s found several plastic toy grasshoppers in his stuff that he’s never seen before in his life.

The only large item he’s never seen before is this painting. It’s terrible, and he resolves to sell it off at first opportunity. Izuku flips it over to the false back, seated cleverly between the wooden frames to look like a reinforced canvas. It takes some work to pick out the staples, and he pauses every few seconds to make sure Aizawa isn’t coming back.

The back pops out, revealing a familiar thin laptop inside. Izuku shoves it between the desk and wall immediately and continues unpacking. He finds a small box with a 'G' sharpied on inside a Pop☆Step plushie. Giran likely knows his wifi will be watched, and Izuku turns the box over to see a short description of the high-security hotspot.

Izuku knows somebody paid for this. Considering his family, it could be anyone. He doesn’t notice the tiny drawing of a rabbit above a mountain kanji scribbled in a corner. Perhaps it’s better that way.

He arranges his room as best he can, but the walls look bare. Izuku managed to put the fairy lights on one little hook in his room before falling back on his bed and deciding to never move again. They rest are lying in a pile on the floor, and he knows already that that's where they'll stay for the rest of the year. He's too stubborn and distrustful of UA's staff to ask for help.

Fine.

At least he has around twenty plastic bugs now.

Chapter Text

Izuku has a check-up with Dr. Isha the next day. They’re willing to listen to his complaining about the unfairness that is Nezdu’s evil plans, so he suffers through therapy with few complaints. The medical team really is amazing. Izuku’s going to buy them muffins or something once this is over. Would they accept muffins? Can he even give them since he’s technically a criminal? Izuku resolves to buy muffins anyway because it’s what mom would do, and she has so many more braincells than Izuku will ever have.

He can walk for short periods of time now. The Year of Health quirk seems to work. It still feels like torture on his back, so Izuku ends up checking through the news to keep his mind from focusing on the ever-present ache.

The news is big.

Two heroes died recently. Izuku met the Waterhose Duo as Grasshopper once. They were kind and genuine. Izuku can admire heroes who legitimately are trying to work through the rules so all civilians remain safe. It’s strange to think of them as gone.

The media praises their sacrifice. Comment after comment of well-wishes lift up the heroes as examples for the future, while other sources claim the deaths were preventable. They were, too.

When Izuku finds the location of the attack, he needs to shut his computer. It was on his old patrol route. He breaths in, trying not to think about how if he were active, he would have been in the neighborhood at that time. He could have interfered.

It’s his fault they’re dead.

Mandalay speaks out on Tweeter, (not twitter, that’s another universe that probably has better rules about eating in the teachers’ lounge), and her approval ratings skyrocket. It’s literally the only thing that stops her from getting fired, and is covered up by the press teams in minutes.

Change means work. The Grasshopper movement is leading the charge for legislation, but they’re missing the mental health front. Izuku spots a post claiming to act in memory of the murdered vigilante Grasshopper and closes the whole webpage. That’s enough for today. He shifts on the couch, abruptly aware of the feeling of his spine being lit on fire.

Aizawa glances over. “Need ice?”

“I mean, I won’t turn it down.” Izuku accepts the offered cold pack wrapped in a towel. “Thanks.”

There’s an email from Dabi. He doesn’t even bother addressing it, like uncultured swine. What a mood.

            wtf dude?? u skipped on ramen night like 3 times now. I’m surviving on that good gas station bread. Get ur ass over here and help me find the good kimchi flavored stuff.

            Seriously. it’s been months. I get u like playing dark and mysterious but come on. Message me on LINE. I need someone to complain to and Zoe has no sympathy. She keeps breaking in to play with my cat

            -Smokey

Izuku keeps his face carefully blank. Zoe is probably Zookeeper – sounds like they’ve been in contact and she’s still taking care of Izuku’s cat. That’s good, Beans needs pats. Gas stations mean 711. Smokey is code for 420. They’d started using the meme code to annoy Giran and it had evolved into a whole cryptic language from there. Dabi always puts danger level, location, then date and finally time. He’s set the meeting for tonight.

It’s either the old ramen shop by the station or by the apartment. Knowing Dabi, he’ll be paranoid and go for the station. Izuku sends off a reply, confirming his messages are watched.

            Ah shit, I gotta make a new account hold on.

                        -FI

He downloads the app and makes a new account, figuring Dabi will know better than to send anything out of code. He checks it once, then twice to check all the codes he needs are in place and hidden enough and sends it off. Now just to wait for a reply. He gets one in seconds.

BrusselSprouts:

Yea, that’s on me

 Got messed up in a fight a couple months ago so I’ve been out of it

Can’t walk much so I’m essentially grounded for the next year. Like a penguin. Flightless. Look upon my misery and weep, for there’s no ramen tonight.

anyway I’ll buy you the good shit next time uwu

Smores:

Bitch??? U think I care abt birds???

BrusselSprouts:

owo

This is news

Smores:

U saw me punch a guy with hardcore plague fashion choices

BrusselSprouts:

Yes??? And he was an outlier who should not be counted??

Smores:

ugh

There’s ramen to be had. gimme ur address so I can break in and drag u out fr a night on the town

He’s missed this flavor of nonsense. Dabi’s asking for a code, likely to Izuku’s tracker. This is going to be tough. Nezdu will be able to read whatever he sends, but Izuku’s counting on him not caring. He’s must know Grasshopper will sneak out eventually – that’s just common sense.

0073360-448 is the anklet passcode. It must activated off campus for Izuku to leave. These next messages will be a test: how far is Nezdu willing to go to keep up appearances?

BrusselSprouts:

            Yea sure

like im telling u after taking my james bond set and that circle thing

Also- don’t forget abt that squared octopus sushi Zoe likes

Smores:

u done?

BrusselSprouts:

ye

Go drink some coffee

Smores:

fine

Ill pay next ramen night but u gotta gimme all th dish

After a day waiting for Nezdu to call him out on his bullshit and no response, Izuku decides it’s time for a little breaking and entering. There hasn’t been nearly enough chaos in the last 24 hours. He shuts off the tracker on his anklet with little difficulty and stows his secret laptop in a backpack between a couple books.

Said backpack is stowed on the back of Izuku’s wheelchair as he sets off to have what will probably be the worst conversation of his day.

The lock to Nezdu’s office is easy to pick. Izuku pushes the door open to see the principal waiting for him, already pouring tea.

“Dude,” Izuku says because this is a super-genius who knows Izuku is in a wheelchair and that lockpicking in a wheelchair is a task you could only pay Izuku to do through the promise of chaos and semi-legal yen. “Did you just make me pick a lock for no reason?”

“You decided to break in,” Nezdu chirps. “Join me for tea, Midoriya.”

Izuku huffs, pulling up his wheelchair to the small coffee table. “You look busy.”

“I’m always busy.” Nezdu picks up his cup delicately. “Especially with a couple big names on payroll, including a certain vigilante.”

Who knew Nezdu ever made jokes? Not Izuku. “I’m not on All Might’s level.”

“No.” Nezdu grins, too wide for comfort. “Not in terms of outright fame. Tell me, Midoriya-kun-“

“I prefer the use of my first name. Midoriya is my mother, and I’d like to avoid dragging her into my current occupation.” Izuku smiles thinly. All bets are off when talking business.

“Izuku-kun, then. Tell me, what agreement do you think we’ve worked out with the police?”

Oh. Interesting choice to bring this up. “I suspect UA is functioning as a gilded cage,” Izuku says bluntly. He has nothing to gain from sugar-coating his words when Nezdu will see through it anyway. “They likely assume you will keep me here until graduation, whereupon I’ll likely undergo a trial. I’m assuming my high school life will be spent hiding all details of my past from both you and the faculty.”

“A decent analysis,” the principal hums. “You’re forgetting one detail. Grasshopper only has sway with the criminal element of Japan so long as he’s active. We’re hitting the fourth month of your recovery soon, and the public is beginning to move on.”

“You want Grasshopper to make a statement.” So he’s a pawn? A backup piece in some game Nezdu is playing? Izuku should have realized it sooner. He was too caught up in the day to day life of UA and Aizawa’s inhuman coffee addiction to notice the politics and power shifts involved in his placement. Nezdu is planning something that very likely does not benefit Izuku.

A gilded cage is still a cage. Nezdu wants this bird to sing.

It’s never that simple, though. Nezdu sits back in his chair. When he smiles, Izuku is reminded of all the brokers and informants he’s worked with. Even the good ones have motivations. Izuku is sure Nezdu is no different, but he can’t track what the principal is after. He can’t read Nezdu.

“Saying so goes against my agreement with the chief of police,” Nezdu says eventually, confirming that he wants Grasshopper to do something. He’s outright asking, which means Izuku may benefit from whatever deal is being proposed.

Izuku wants to go take a nap. He wants his cat. He’s out of his depth here and just wants to go home. Actually, that’s an idea.

“How about this? You know I’m going to tell my family I’m okay and pay my cat sitter. I know I’m going to do this. Everyone knows. So how about we arrange something so that you know I’m not causing an outrageous amount of political upheaval, and I know I can come back and teach.” Izuku leans forwards, looking the rat in the eyes.

I may be a small piece in your grand scheme, he tries to say through expression alone, but keep in mind I can leave whenever I want. Izuku is a puppet so long as he has a place within the school’s campus. His bargaining chip is the ability to disappear. He will take himself off the playing field.

Zookeeper did it after she was brainwashed years ago, and he got an up-close lesson on how to wipe an entire identity off the map. Izuku learned from the best.

“I have much less to lose in this game you’re playing, Nezdu. You can fire me; I’ll just go home. Sue me, and risk my mother - or father, if you’d prefer. You could kick me out and stop paying medical, but I’ve got family and friends, I’ll survive. Arrest me and deal with the crime boost we both know might follow. But no matter how I walk out those doors, you’ve got one less political pawn. Oh, don’t think I don’t know. So. What’s your move?”

Nezdu’s smile stretches wide. “I was wondering how long it would take you, Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku shoves down the urge to flip the principal off. “It’s Izuku.”

Nezdu doesn’t react. “The faculty must comply by the orders of the police. Additionally, UA must be protected at all costs. You understand this, yes?”

“You’re telling me that I can leave anytime the campus isn’t in danger, providing I can sneak past the teachers?” Izuku asks just to clarify.

“Why of course not! Telling you that goes directly against my agreement with the chief of police!” Nezdu is so creepy. Luckily, it seems he does not give a single shit what Izuku does. This is excellent news.

“…. Right. Even though I have a tracker anklet that clearly feeds information straight to his laptop.”

“If you haven’t cracked that system by now, then I have hired the wrong student teacher.”

“You got me there. I’m going to pay my cat sitter.” Izuku wheels to the door, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. “Have a good day, sir.”

“Likewise, Izuku-kun.”

Izuku double checks his tracking anklet is offline before calling an uber. Not that he doesn’t trust his hacking. He just doesn’t trust Nezdu. He knows there is probably another secondary one on his person, but so long as it wasn’t injected into his system (kidnappings are the worst for his white blood cell count) Izuku can deal. When the car pulls up, he spots familiar white hair in the driver’s seat. Izuku doesn’t bother asking how she knew he would be here. Sure enough, Zookeeper helps him into the car before tossing over something she took from the support equipment.

“They’re tracking your wheelchair,” Zookeeper grunts while starting the engine. Izuku fumbles for his laptop before deciding he’s not paid by UA enough to put up with this and tosses the tracker out the window. He nearly gets it in a trash can.

“Kobe!”

“You missed.”

“Still counts.” If only the anklet would be so easy to deal with. Izuku glares at it as if he can melt it off through force of will alone.

He admits defeat halfway through, and squirms around so his anklet is right by the wheel. Zookeeper taps it without looking, activating her quirk and ‘cleaning’ it’s signal. No matter what Nezdu does, he can’t track what isn’t there.

“It’ll be back online in three hours,” she grunts. Izuku hums in acknowledgement, readjusting to stay out of her space. He doesn’t ask where she’s taking him. Honestly, it’s just good to be away from the school.

She only speaks once they’re rolling through a parking by one of the crustier apartments in the seedier side of downtown. In other words, it’s a place avoided by anyone with the option. The fire escape is tragically broken, and that’s just on the outside. Even the mold has mold on it.

“We’re here, kid. Need a hand?”

Izuku looks up at the fourth floor where he knows his apartment is. The lights are on, so his housemate must be home. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m gonna need a lot of help. You’ll stick around?”

“Not much choice. You two wouldn’t last three seconds without me.”

Just because it’s true doesn’t mean she has to say it.

Zookeeper parks the uber and pulls down the light. She then scatters some junk in the passengers seat to mark it as a low-profile vehicle. Wheelchairs in this part of town will make him recognizable, and therefore reportable to anyone who comes asking. Zookeeper ends up carrying him up the staircase like she and Dabi always do when he’s injured on the field. All their neighbors think Izuku is Akatani Mikumo, a short college student who gives no shits ever, so this is right in line with his M.O.

Dabi throws open the apartment door and pulls them both into a hug. “Hops, you fuckin’ idiot,” he grits out. “Don’t ever leave me in charge of your cat again. I’m a dog person.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Izuku says, even though he might be crying at having three quarters of his found family together again. Dabi smells like burnt pinecones and old pizza. “You hate dogs and made Beans an entire cat tree, don’t speak such blasphemy.”

Dabi snorts and stands aside so he and Zookeeper can enter the apartment. It’s small, but much more sanitary than the rest for the building. Izuku notes the hallway is gathering dust – Dabi hasn’t touched his section of the apartment in time he’s been out. Good.

Dabi closes the door roughly. “Glad you’re alive, chicken legs.”

“Thanks, taro boy.” Izuku navigates the last steps to the couch on his own before collapsing into it.

Zookeeper stays by the locked door, leaning against the frame casually scrolling through her phone. She’s probably keeping an eye on security. Izuku is distracted from this when a full 30 pounds of round grey tabby appears in the kitchen doorway.

“Beans,” Izuku whispers reverently. Oh, he’s missed his cat. He’s missed the comforting weight on his chest when falling asleep and the scratchy meow Beans always calls out with. When Beans approaches, Izuku is worried the cat won’t recognize him.

Then Beans shoves his face into Izuku’s hand, and all is well in the world.

“Bleeding heart,” Dabi says without heat.

“Hot Topic man,” Izuku shoots back.

“Idiots,” Zookeeper confirms. “Not you,” she tells Beans. “You’re exempt by virtue of cuteness.”

Beans purrs so hard he squeaks on the inhale. Izuku is home. He takes a good long time just petting Beans and relaxing. For the first time in forever, he can breathe without watching every word he says. It’s okay to just exist as himself.

Then they get to business.

Dabi makes his way to the wall, pulling aside a curtain and- wow. Dabi always prefers paper information to digital, but he’s gone all out on this one.

The entire wall is covered floor to ceiling in newspaper clippings, photos, and red yarn. At the center is a big sticky note reading ‘THE VIDEO.’ It’s a conspiracy theorist’s dream. Izuku reads through the article titles, making sense of Dabi’s logic while the vigilante vanishes.

He’s tracking the response to the Grasshopper arrest video. According to this, Grasshopper made more of an impact than UA is leading him to believe.

Dabi reappears, passing Izuku his backpack from the car. “My mother was into this kind of stuff. Runs in the family.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for other conspiracy theorists,” Izuku chirps, opening his laptop. “Now. Let’s get a game plan.”

“Start with a catalyst,” Zookeeper says from the door without looking up. “You’ve got the video, so now we need to get motivation. Break it down into categories and get someone to take each one. That’s how you mastermind it.”

“Done a revolution before?” Dabi snarks.

“I don’t know. Ask Izuku’s mom, she broke Japan.”

That shuts him up.

They work through history books and online classes. Dabi and Zookeeper have been reading up, and Izuku is gifted with a few books on politics and social justice. From the trends through history, it looks like there are four ways to incite change: emotion, environment, laws, and money.

Midoriya Inko changed quirkless protection laws across Japan through the legal system. Her son thrives on drama and overachieving. Izuku convinces the other two criminals present to go for all four.

“We should start with emotion,” Dabi says, tapping the central sticky note. “People still remember the video. It sucks, but it’s publicity. Maybe it could work through the news or social media.”

“I’ll work on talking points, and we can stage something to make it look like I’m recovered. Couple people would take advantage of that,” Izuku mutters, typing away. “Zoo? You’re looking into environment, right?”

“The grassroots that’s started up can work for environment. I don’t have a connection there yet.”

Dabi hums, tracing one of his yarn lines and stopping at a group of pictures. “Pop☆Step showed up at a couple of the rallies. She was near the front of a march.”

“I’ll contact her,” Izuku mutters, already scribbling a memo to text his second cousin. His family tree is weird, but it only has two active vigilantes. “She probably knows the leaders, or someone who can act as an oracle for us.”

“Good.” Zookeeper moves onto the next point. “Next is laws.”

All eyes turn to Izuku. “What?”

“You know everyone in this whole-ass city,” Dabi drawls. “Spill.”

“I do not!”

“We literally can’t shoplift supplies because you know at least one employee at every store. Now which lawyers can you call?”

Izuku slides down in his seat, wrapping both arms around Beans. The cat shifts before resuming his rumbly purr. “I know… a couple lawyers. We’ll have to find the money to assist, but it would be easier to find clients willing to pay their own way.”

Zookeeper turns back to her phone. “Giran saved a good lawyer with no connection to your mother. Since the Broker still owes you for taking out Shinsou Takayama’s business, I think we can call in a favor if the others don’t work out.”

Dabi writes on another sticky note. He’s started a new mess that covers the opposite wall. One wall for plans, and another for real time events. It has color-coded sticky-notes. Izuku stares at the ‘plans’ wall as the room echoes with Beans’s rumbling purr. The sticky note with money is only connected to a badly drawn sad cat saying ‘money? In this economy?’

“We need to do something about the profit system,” Izuku hears himself saying. “Can we set someone on tracking down CEOs and Support companies that give bribes to criminals so their products get used?”

“I’ll take that one.” Zookeeper types something into her phone. “I’ve got a job next week, but you two need to stay away from Destro’s group. He’s been stepping back and I’m busy enough doing damage control without you attention-seekers crashing my party.”

Dabi looks up from his sticky notes. “What do you mean, stepping back?”

“I mean his son is usurping him. It’s messy, and that’s all I’m giving you. I’ll take on the bribery problem for support companies by investigating the Detnerat Company first and branching out.”

Dabi writes this on his sticky note and sets it on the wall. He steps back, admiring what looks like a conspiracy theorist’s dream, and grins wildly.

“I’ve got an idea. Hops, do you have your spare mask?”

“Yeah? It should be in my room.”

“Hear me out - how do you feel about yeeting yourself off a building?”

“Absolutely? That’s my entire aesthetic.”

A video goes viral the next day.

“Grasshopper!” The voice is familiar to some. TrainMan is a Youtuber, known for his videos which give off outrageous amounts of dad-energy. He’s most famous for wandering around spooky buildings and critiquing the interior design choices. “Oh, shit - it’s really him.”

The camera swings as it approaches a figure in a hoodie. The person is sitting on the edge of the building, and most features are obscured by the darkness. His legs are weirdly jointed, and a mask covers his upper face. Grasshopper nearly blends into the AC unit, unrecognizable but for the lights in his mask.

The vigilante looks up from his slouched position on the building edge. “It’s-a me, Mario. You should be careful on buildings- woah, hey, is that a camera?”

“Yeah- just, you’re alive? What the heck, dude? Thought you died saving that guy months ago!”

Something flashes in Grasshopper’s eyes. “I am not a Martyr. I am not a victim of the circumstances. I am one person who was in the right place at the right time to speak up, and I did, like we all should.” Grasshopper messes around with his gear for a moment, and metal clangs against the ac unit below them. “You sure you wanna be taping me, dude? Internet’s a nasty place.”

“I’m a YouTuber. TrainMan.”

“Really? A YouTuber?”

“Yeah!”

“…I support that life choice. Good for you.” Grasshopper gestures to the camera. “I’m guessing this is going up, then.”

“Yeah, uh. You’re cool with that? Can I uh, ask some questions?”

Grasshopper laughs, and his mask twists it into a staticky hiccup. “Why not? Might give the police a headache if I’m lucky.”

“Okay, okay… um. Oh man, I have like, zero questions now that I can ask them… You have any words for the people at home?”

“Sure. Let’s see...” Grasshopper taps his mask in thought, pulling up his legs. The gear on them is new, higher tech. People will recognize the strange anatomy, similar to pro-hero Miriko. This is the real Grasshopper.

“Once again, I am not a Martyr. That term feels offensive, in all honesty. I am not a victim of the circumstances. Something is wrong with our society, and it will take more than one person speaking out to fix this system. We must each do our part and hold each other accountable, in order to create a brighter future.” Grasshopper settles on his words and looks straight back at the camera. “We must lift each other up and take care that nobody is looked over or accused without fair evidence.”

“Dude,” the cameraman says giddily. “That’s so fucking badass- yo, can I ask uh. Well. That video.”

“I’ve seen it,” Grasshopper says, his voice tight.

“Well, it’s just. You got hit, dude. Like… Damn. You good?”

“Should have seen that one coming,” Grasshopper jokes. He interrupts the man’s apology.

“Sorry-“

“Hey, no. it’s fine. I offered to answer that question, and the last thing I want is anyone worrying over me. I’ve been working in the wake of everything that happened and had to drop off the grid. That last fight really hit my network hard, and it’s still rebuilding. Expect to see me back on the streets eventually. Just not yet. I’ve got good people covering my old patrol routes, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

The camera shakes as TrainMan gestures. “No, you take all the time you need, man. Listen, what happened… it really sucked seeing it, okay. Like, that video was kinda over dramatic and stuff, but – we heard you. Some people did, anyway. And we’re trying to make a difference. A few of my buddies and I, we’ve started volunteering locally. Doing our part, you know?”

“That’s really good of you,” Grasshopper says quietly. “Thanks.”

The camera moves as Trainman nods before he remembers something. “Hey, so… real talk.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m part of the Grasshopper movement, and we all… kinda, uh. Thought you died. Sorry. Do you have any advice for us?”

“I have had nothing to do with the Grasshopper Movement, but I appreciate the work you’ve done to repair recent damage.” Grasshopper fidgets slightly as he talks, pressing his fingers together tightly. “Here’s my outlook: speak out, but do not endanger others. Fight for justice, but do not fight each other. I know I’m asking a lot of you, for someone who hasn’t been there to stand alongside everyone. I am still fighting, still working for justice with the next generation. The system can be fixed.”

The city lights slide into focus momentarily, before Grasshopper comes into view again.

“It’s up to us. Together.”

Grasshopper leans back, falling from sight. The person behind the camera says something that’s beeped out, jostling the lens as he runs to the edge. The street is empty.

Grasshopper clings to Zookeeper in the window below. TrainMan swears, then starts talking animatedly. “He just- he just fucking vanished! That’s the real Grasshopper, guys! It’s Thursday night right now, but we’ll see when I can get this up by. Damn. ‘Aight. Be sure to like and Subscribe… holy shit.”

Footsteps wander around before gradually retreating. Grasshopper lets out a wheezy laugh quieter than a whisper. “Oh wow. Ohhh boy. I thought I was gonna die for a second there.”

Zookeeper holds a hand over his mask. It won’t do anything, but the meaning is clear. Shut up until he’s gone.

They’d worked hard to find the perfect setup. TrainMan’s YouTube channel isn’t too popular, but it has a decent following. His camera work is terrible when it’s not pre-arranged, and he’s hinted at being a part of the Grasshopper Movement without using it for reputation points. He’s also literally known for the ability to walk into stupidly dangerous situations with confidence only a 40-year-old cis white man could have. All in all, a guy who would likely be easy to predict in terms of questions, and more willing to ask them than to call the police.

They’d set the meeting up, but it’s subtle enough to be a coincidence. It’s also someone likely to post largely unedited footage without attaching their own spin, unlike the news services.

Zookeeper eventually leans out, checking the coast is clear. She comes back, hooks up a rope to the building, and begins lowering them both to the ground.

Grasshopper nearly cries when he touches the pavement. Never again his he pushing anyone off a building – okay, Dabi’s mysterious father figure is an exception. Still. That second of freefall before Zookeeper caught him was the worst moment of his life.

“Come on,” Zookeeper hisses as she uncovers her motorcycle from the trash bags and wheels it over her hat is stowed and a motorcycle jacket is tugged on to complete a new disguise. “I can’t believe you jumped off the roof.”

They need to be fast. Izuku finds the helmets and passes Zookeeper her own as she packs up the rope. “I need drama like I need oxygen,” he whispers-yells back. “Let me be iconic in peace.”

He holds tight as she turns on the engine. Zookeeper tosses a jacket over him. “That’s not iconic, it’s idiotic. Dabi’s your babysitter, go complain to him.”

“Excuse you? I don’t need a babysitter?”

“Tell Giran. You know, the adult your mom asked to help fake your death that first time.”

Fine. He can’t complain with that.

One building away, TrainMan hurriedly prepares his shaky footage for uploading. The alley is empty well before he’s done.

Aizawa passes over a mug of tea that evening after school. They’re both in the common room, working on whatever Nezdu is paying them for. Is Izuku being paid for this? Because if he’s going to be functionally kidnapped by a principal, there better be at least a decent amount of money involved.

“Midoriya.” Aizawa catches his stifled laugh and switches names reluctantly. “Izuku.”

Izuku’s been working on getting the faculty to only address him as Izuku, and so far Aizawa and All Might are the only two who haven’t switched. “Yes?”

A phone showing the video by TrainMan is shoved in front of his face.

“Was this you?”

Oh, fuck. “Absolutely not. Never. Must be a copycat.”

“Good to know.” Aizawa goes back to his own papers. “You can’t lie for shit.”

“Hey!”

Chapter Text

By February 26^th, the day of entrance exams, Izuku has said goodbye to the wheelchair for good. On one hand, this means all secret plans for a jet-engine wheelchair (badass and dangerous, as all things relating to Izuku should be) are off the table. On the other hand, his crutches are collapsible, which means Izuku gets to listen to them click into place like a sci-fi weapon he’s about to use to save deep space.

It’s the little things in life.

During the practical test, he perches in expensive seats with the rest of UA’s staff, viewing the collage of screens that display every angle of the practical exam. Izuku sits between Aizawa and Snipe, trying not to fiddle with the papers on his lap, displaying a long list of names and faces.

Today is not a good day. He’d busted into Nezdu’s office yesterday to point out the exam flaws and propose an alternate testing solution, but Nezdu had simply winked.

“I know,” the principal had said cheerfully. “That’s why I’ve developed an alternate program.”

Izuku hates the alternate program. It functionally allows one student in so UA can get their ‘we tried and therefore cannot be criticized’ badge. Essentially, Izuku gets to edit the incoming class roster once and only once. He needs to make the right choice.

“That one,” he says, pointing to a grape-haired kid who’s making less-than-decent choices as to where he puts his hands. His score is already a passing mark into UA’s hero course, which is an insult to both the scoring system and other applicants. “I get one veto power and it’s reserved just for him.”

Mic checks the screens. “Mineta Minoru.”

“Him. Gone. Now.”

Aizawa writes it down. “And replacing him?”

“We’ll see.” Izuku continues to watch as Bakugo goes absolutely wild on the robots before making friends with a kid who has a hardening quirk. Izuku is shocked when they team up to take down more than either would individually. Bakugo doesn’t do teams. He does followers, but never teams.

He’s changed.

“Pretty sure that’s not allowed,” Midnight hedges. Snipe grunts in agreement.

“Heroes that can work together are an asset,” Cementoss argues. “If possible, I’d like to give them rescue points for their decision.”

Nezdu evaluates the faculty feedback, weighing the words and perspectives of each member. Izuku stays quiet, in case anyone claims his opinion here negates his say in who fills the grape-kid’s spot. It probably won’t happen, but there’s a super-genius in the room and Izuku likes to play it safe.

Another kid with a brainwashing quirk is trying desperately to fight the robots. Izuku watches him as an agreement is made on Bakugo and the hardening kid’s teamwork.

“We shall allow the team up, with no rescue point impact on their scores,” Nezdu chirps. “Now It’s Time for Panic!” The principal happily slams his hand down on a giant red button, thus beginning what is likely the worst day in some of the examinees lifetimes.

“Vibe check,” Izuku whispers as the principal laughs evilly.

A gargantuan robot rises out of nowhere, crumpling city blocks as it wades around aimlessly. It won’t hit anyone, but it will come close. One student gets caught in the rubble – she’d too stuck to catch it with her anti-gravity quirk, struggles as the robot draws near.

The brainwashing student sprints forward against the crowd. He manages to lift the rubble away enough so the girl can activate her quirk. She then takes the rubble and swings it towards the robot, re-directing its attention long enough for them to get away. Both earn hefty amounts of rescue points, but only one has enough villain points to make it in.

The brainwashing kid only has a total of 38. Only a few more and he’d be in, but there’s too little time. The buzzer rings before he’s gone three steps. His score is impressive when considering a lack of a physical quirk, but it’s not enough on its own.

Izuku knows the look on that kid’s face. The expression is so clearly that of somebody trying not to be hopeful when the odds are so clearly not in their favor. It doesn’t take a super-genius to see a score of zero villain points and know it’s hopeless. Helping him wouldn’t be out of pity, because the kid has nearly earned a spot even with an unreasonable handicap. He’s earned this. Giving it to him wouldn’t be a gift (not with the hero industry spreading details about his quirk by the first Sports Festival, and especially not with the public backlash that may follow), but it is the morally right decision. Izuku doesn’t really have a choice.

“We need to maintain proper levels of purple. I want him.” Izuku points to the kid. “Shinsou Hitoshi will join the hero course under my recommendation.”

“You’ll have to train him during the second round of internships. You sure?”

Izuku side-eyes Aizawa. “He’s my kid to adopt. Go get your own.”

Hitoshi gets home from school like any other day. He avoids attention, keeps his footsteps light past the living room where his mother is watching the news, grabs dinner from the fridge, and is about to head to the safety of his room when an envelope on the table catches his eye. It’s thick and bears the UA logo. A quick glance confirms his family must have seen it but have neglected to inform him of this very important information.

Typical.

He grabs it and hurries, locking the door behind him once he’s upstairs. The envelope is torn open with little ceremony and Hitoshi dumps the contents out onto his desk. It’s a disk. The dark room is lit from a holograph that pops up, and Hitoshi hurriedly pulls up a chair, scrambling to find a volume dial and toning it down just in case. He doesn’t think anyone will overhear, but it’s better to be safe.

“Hi,” the person on screen announces eventually. It’s not a hero. It’s a boy Hitoshi’s age with unruly green hair, wearing a sweatshirt proclaiming, ‘shirt for when I no longer have f*cks to give.’ UA has blurred out the swear word, but it’s still obvious. He’s sitting in front of another screen replaying Hitoshi’s exam. The teen stares blankly at through the camera for a moment, as the screen behind him plays a robot successfully chucking Hitoshi into a wall. It’s ruthless, and he leaves a body-sized indent.

Is this hazing? Does UA allow hazing?

“You scored 38 points in the entrance exam,” the boy starts abruptly. He pauses, looking off-screen and adds, “I’m Izuku, by the way. Student teacher to class 1-A under pro-hero Eraserhead.”

Eraserhead. The hero Hitoshi has looked up to for years. One of the 50 printed copies of Eraserhead’s only hero poster is currently on his wall. This is from Eraserhead’s TA.

Then the kid brings Hitoshi’s hope crashing down. “Anyway, 38 points is not a passing score,” he continues blandly. Is UA here to taunt him? Is that why they sent a projection? To say he didn’t get in? Hitoshi is seconds away from tossing the disk in the trash if explaining doesn’t happen right now-

“However, I believe the exams structure is unfairly structured in that it does not give all quirks equal opportunity to pass.”

What. Hitoshi freezes, eyebrows pinched together and heart beginning to race at the possibility that maybe things are going to be okay for once.

“A couple teachers agree. Our illustrious principal has allowed one student to enter 1-A under my recommendation. Should this measure prove useful, a mentor system will be implemented in coming years and I will laugh in the face of justice because it’s been a long time coming. You’ll also have to train with me after… eh, sometime around the licensing exams. Prepare to get your ass royally kicked.”

Wait-

Izuku leans forward, sharp grin stretching across his face. It would be bright, if not for the way his eyes narrow at Hitoshi. “Heroes are born from trial and testing. This is no easy road, but your track record communicated passion and drive. You have what it takes. More importantly, the exam was not favorable for your quirk, yet you consistently tried your hardest and adapted to the situation even as the clocks ran down. This tenacity is crucial in a hero. Therefore, it is my honor to inform student number 19, incoming class 1A, of their acceptance as the only student under UA’s new mentoring selection.”

No way-

“Welcome to the UA Hero Course, Shinsou Hitoshi. This is your hero academia.”

Hitoshi cries that night. When he goes downstairs to drop off his plate - locking his room on the way, always locking his room – he mumbles the news to his family with calculated gratitude. His parents don’t complain about the good news, which is better than he was expecting considering the high tuition fee. They’ll let him go.

He did it.

He’ll get into UA, convince his parents to let him move into the dorms by second year, and graduate. As a pro hero he’ll prove his quirk can be used for good. He’ll start over and cut ties with his semi-family. Independence is so close. It’s going to be okay.

UA must know that Izuku is a tired vigilante who has spent years building up his connections and is capable of going absolutely batshit crazy under house arrest. He takes full responsibility for breaking the security camera outside the dorms. The tracker anklet was too easy to hack, anyway. Their shitty security is not his fault.

So… technically, if Nezdu wants to keep Izuku in, he’s going to have to work harder. Therefore, it’s the security head and Nezdu’s fault. He’s the one who basically asked Izuku to break out of UA whenever he felt like it.

Leaving UA is the best decision he’s made in months. Especially when he has errands to run and government systems to upset.

Ah, fresh air. Bustling people. Getting more lost than Best Jeanist in the underworld…. Wait. Fuck. Google maps is traceable and therefore not an option. He can’t ask for help at the local koban without getting arrested. Izuku spends the next five minutes royally lost and cursing the lack of his non-burner phone. His shoulders hurt so bad from using the crutches this often, but it’s miles better than attempting it without.

He’s seriously considering giving up a corporeal form at this point.

A cute house matches the number he’s been looking for, and Izuku nearly cries in relief when he finds the family name matches the kanji he’d memorized long ago. This is an old friend of his mother.

Izuku knocks on a deep green door. There are lily pads designed into the handle, and a cute flowery nameplate outside. He shifts uncomfortably. It’s a risk, standing here out of costume, but he knows this connection through his mother. Networking relies on face recognition.

The door swings open, revealing a girl about Izuku’s age in overalls. She’s recognizable from the entrance exam, scoring just under 50 points. “Kero?”

Izuku smiles with energy he doesn’t have. “Asui, right? I’m Midoriya, your mother may have mentioned I’m stopping by.” There’s a second where she blinks, expression unreadable, before she nods shortly and opens the door all the way. Izuku slips off his shoes and follows her invitation.

“Come on in.” She leads him through to where an older woman is just setting on the tea kettle. Izuku sits immediately, too tired to stand for long.

“I’ll be right with you,” the older woman calls. Asui the younger bobs her head and disappears to herd her little sister upstairs. It’s a very froggy family.

Izuku tightens his hands around the omiyage he’d brought. Giving gifts while visiting others is an old gesture he’s exempted from due to his young age, but this is official business. He has work to do.

“I wasn’t expecting a call from Inko,” Asui-san says as she sits. “It’s been nearly two years since she left to teach in England, gero.”

“They’re lucky to have her,” Izuku offers back.

He offers the gift, politely going through the proper etiquette. They chat about small things, UA and Tsuyu’s acceptance. She promises to pass on his warning not to let the teachers intimidate anyone to her daughter, and he manages to catch up on all the latest legal gossip. It’s only after this that Asui-san’s voice takes on a hardened note.

“You didn’t come here to catch up with your mother’s old law school roommate, though. This is business.” She’s blunt. Izuku can appreciate this.

“I want to change a law,” Izuku begins. “The problem is, legal precedents.”

“A case? You’d have to start small, then work your way up.” Asui-san stirs her tea pensively.

"Exactly,” Izuku replies. “I need advice.”

Asui-san watches him carefully, stock-still as if made of stone. It was hard to read her expression already, but now it’s impossible. “Which law?”

“I want heroes to be required to see therapists after death or near-death situations if they were at the scene. I’m not worried about how much it would change yet- this is just step one to ensuring public safety. We need to get heroes diagnosed and receiving the care they need.”

“…Do you have a specific case in mind, gero?”

Izuku shrugs. “Not particularly. There’s one around a Shino Nakamura that looks promising, but I’m out of my depth here. I thought it better to be proactive and ask a lawyer for advice.”

The room returns to silence. Izuku forces himself to stay still, face betraying nothing as Asui-san mulls over what he is and isn’t saying. It feels like an eternity before she sets down her cup.

“It won’t help for Inko’s son to get involved. You have political ties by virtue of blood, like it or not. I may be accused of taking bribes or any number of offenses.”

“You mean-“

“My daughter has a good head on her shoulders,” Asui-san murmurs as she sits up. “I am not so confident in her future co-workers, gero. Yes, I’ll do it. On one condition.”

Izuku nods eagerly. “Please.”

“Stay away from all my cases. Even by email, I’d better not hear a word from you if it’s not official UA correspondence. Call me like you did earlier if there’s anything I need to know, but we can’t leave a paper or digital trail.” She holds a slightly webbed hand across the table, waiting. This is a very valid request. Izuku would love nothing more than to barge in and help somehow, and she knows it. Well, maybe a certain vigilante can hop in to assist.

Izuku shakes her hand, sealing the deal. “I understand. Thank you, Asui-san.”

She ribbits, smoothing out her skirt. “Inko mentioned you were into vigilante watching recently. If you find any - and I know how trouble finds you – ask them to pass on a message for me.” Asui-san’s face continues to give nothing away. “Tell Grasshopper to keep his nose out of it. He’s older than you and should know better, but this case is right up his alley. I don’t need two reasons for the jury to get antsy.”

Shit. There goes plan B. Looks like he’s sitting this one out.

“He’s dropped off the grid,” Izuku says evasively, “but I can ask around.”

The door creeks open and both startle. Asui-san’s daughter pads into the room, quietly opening the fridge. She definitely heard. Ah, shit. Shitshitshitshit shit.

Asui-san waves her over. “Tsu, this is Izuku. He’ll be your student teacher at UA next year.”

“Nice to meet you.” Tsu tips her head to the side, watching Izuku carefully. Her expression doesn’t give anything away, and Izuku realizes that it may be quirk-related. He has no idea what she might do with this information.

 He bows from his seat. “Likewise. I look forward to learning with you. Let me know If you need anything.”

Tsu smiles genuinely, and conversation moves on smoothly. It’s slightly uncomfortable for Izuku now that Tsu’s overheard, so he makes his excuses as soon as possible without looking like he’s in a rush. They wait with him for a cab, and Asui-san watches on as he carefully navigates the pebbly path out.

The driver opens his door, waiting until he’s in to shut it gently. It’s only on the way to UA that she speaks up.

“So,” Zookeeper begins as she takes off her fake glasses and tosses them into the driver-side cupholder. “How’d it go?”

“Ughhhhhhh.” Izuku flops over in the backseat, not bothering to pretend he has bones. The taxi stops for a light, and Zookeeper adjusts the rearview mirror so she can fully acknowledge his misery.

“Badly, then.”

“She took the case. I think. But I can’t interfere.”

“A tragedy,” Zookeeper deadpans. “And?”

“Neither can Grasshopper,” Izuku mutters into the seat cushions.

Zookeeper whistles, flipping on the turn signal and merging onto a main street. “Never thought I’d see the day you completely handed off a responsibility.”

“Listen, I am very small and currently a little weak, but I am blessed with the occasional need to fuck shit up,” Izuku grumbles to himself before adding the new terrible news. “Her kid overheard us talking vigilantes.”

Zookeeper sobers at this. She glances up, silver eyes wary in the rearview mirror. “…What’d she hear?”

“Her mom asked me to pass a message on to Grasshopper- and she doesn’t know who he is under the mask, thank goodness. I said I’d ask around or some shit and her daughter definitely overheard that. She’s in Class 1-A, Zoo. She’ll figure me out. She knows I know people of dubious morality.”

Zookeeper rolls her eyes. “You are a ‘people of dubious morality.’ Tell the whole class you’re an underground hero who works with vigilantes. Or you’re an informant. Everyone can be an informant if they’re nosey enough.”

“Not sure that’s how it works?” Izuku’s fairly certain informants are all calculating edgy folks who think wearing dark colors makes them less suspicious. Cloud is the only one of Izuku’s informants who doesn’t fit that, but he’s an outlier who should not be counted on account of being a cryptid.

“Never said they stay alive, that’s just how they get started.” Zookeeper shrugs to further articulate her point. She’s not wrong, and Izuku leans forwards and snags Zookeeper’s taxi hat rather than argue. She grabs it back. Izuku whines about the unfairness of the world until she rummages around and passes him a nikuman bun, still warm from the convenience store. It appeases his pettiness enough to get back on track.

“I can’t lie for shit,” Izuku announces once his mouth is full. “I’m not you.”

“Then don’t. Tell them truths that don’t conflict with your lie and let people believe what they want. That’s how you do it.” Zookeeper sounds like a spy. She technically is, come to think of it. The older vigilante looks up in the rearview mirror again and adds, “don’t get crumbs everywhere. I already need to forge fingerprints on the handles and replace your security footage.”

Izuku raps on the taxi window. “You stole this?”

“Borrowed. Its driver is drunk off her ass, and I’m a former employee she’s paying to keep the boss off her back.” Zookeeper adjusts her hat and Izuku is suddenly very jealous of her ability to swap cover stories like they're playing cards. He can barely go undercover without getting attacked.

“Damn, you get paid for this?”

Zookeeper cracks a grin. “I’m making so much extra cash today; next time you need a taxi just call me directly. Some tourists gave me a tip for telling a good story. Made them think the docks were haunted.” This is probably a good thing, considering the docs are haunted with the living. Izuku’s uncle lives down there with his mob, and they love scaring tourists.

“Damn. Oh, before I forget: how’s Giran doing?” Izuku hasn’t heard from the old man in ages, which either means he’s being kept at a distance for damage control, or that Giran just doesn’t have a use for him right now. It’s hard to tell with the Broker.

Zookeeper shrugs. “He’s good. Making you a costume after Dabi sent in the order, I’ll send it through eventually in a nice, suspicious-looking duffle bag big enough to hide a body in. Which room’s yours?”

“Dorm 1-A, left side, second window back on the third floor. How’s Beans?” He wants his cat so badly. Izuku is over a third of the way through with his recovery but he already misses his sweet round son. He keeps hoarding salmon from his meals out of habit.

“Still fat. Still raspy. Still perfect. I’m keeping him until I trust UA not to dissect the little man because quirked cats aren’t really…. Common.” She’s right, but he wants his cat.

“He’s immortal.”

“We agreed not to test that.”

This is fair. “Nezdu’s against animal cruelty,” Izuku hums, glancing out the window. The car next to them is an old blue model, packed full of kids with yellow and black hair. The one closest to the window looks like an inverse copy of one of next year’s class 1A.

Hey, wait a moment.

“Zoo? Keep level with the car next to us?” At her agreement Izuku rolls down his window, reaching across the traffic lane to tap on the car’s window. The response is immediate. It rolls down, the girl poking her head out.

“You tryin’ to die, dumbass?!” she yells over the wind.

Izuku shrugs. “Saw y’all just now. Are you Inazuma Kaminari? And that’s Denki Kaminari?”

The girl glances at her twin, then back to him. “Who’s asking?”

Izuku offers a hand to shake, not really caring that they’re both traveling 30 miles per hour. “Izuku. I’ll be 1-A’s student teacher this year. Congrats to both of you on your acceptance to the support and heroics departments.”

She hesitates, then shakes his hand.

“Stoplight,” Zookeeper warns, hitting the break just as the Kaminari family does. Izuku thanks her and steals her hat again.

“You’re a student teacher?” Kaminari Denki leans over his sister. The two trade seats effortlessly, like they’ve done it a million times before. “So, you’re a hero?”

Izuku shrugs, remembering Zookeeper’s advice to be vague rather than lie outright. “Anyone can be a hero. It just takes the right set of circumstances. The title exists to remind us of our purpose, which is the protection of citizens and safety of all creatures.” He holds their eyes, tipping the hat as the light changes. “I think we need to remember the title is earned, not just hired. Later, y’all.” He flashes a peace sign as the cars start moving. He can hear Zookeeper’s strangled wheezing as she accelerates just above the speed limit.

Izuku ducks back into the cabin, screaming his embarrassment once they turn a corner. “Holy fucking shit-”

Zookeeper immediately starts crying of laughter. “You- you just- ‘later, y’all, I’m Izuku and I don’t give answers because I’m Mysterious and Edgy.’ Kid, you’re killing me.”

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Izuku mutters, wishing he had stayed in the dorms and dismantled the fridge like a good TA.

“You gave- You gave a whole speech.” Zookeeper fights for breath, cackling. “You lectured on hero ethics and school hasn’t even started.”

“I’m not fit to be a teacher.” Izuku curls up across the backseat, pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. “Kill me now.”

“No. I need my source of entertainment.”

Izuku is insulted on a spiritual level at this betrayal of trust. “Excuse you? I’m suffering here?” He tugs down the taxi driver hat, so it covers his face and muffles his voice. “How dare you mock my misery.”

“That’s what I was born for.” Zookeeper glances to the mirror abruptly. “They’re three cars behind us.”

Izuku swears, throwing himself into the cab’s foot space. He’ll be a little Izuku sandwich until his shame passes.

Zookeeper snorts. “Kid-“

“No.” he’s going to stay here forever. Like a hermit.

“Hops, come on.”

“Nooooo.” Izuku is small. Like a little piece of lint. He’ll live under the taxi seat for the rest of eternity and forget his shame ever existed because he’s a piece of lint and pieces of lint aren’t TAs so he’s free to avoid responsibility forever-

“I was kidding; they turned two lights ago.”

Izuku freezes. “Are you kidding me?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

Izuku wallows in his shame for a moment longer before coming to a decision. “I’m littering the backseat with breadcrumbs.”

Zookeeper nearly crashes the borrowed cab in her haste to get the nikuman bun out of Izuku’s hands. “No you won’t, you little gremlin-“

Izuku tries not to die when he sees the Kaminari twins on Uniform Day. He leaves. They still see him begging Thirteen to dissolve his soul into the nothingness it belongs in, but that’s for worrying about later. He gives up and opts for plan B.

Plan B is the ceiling air vents, which present their own unique challenges.

He’s trying his hardest to hide from his problems, but something Izuku had never considered was that hiding in the ceiling requires functioning legs and spine in order to achieve the proper elevation. He eventually gives up and finds a quiet hallway to lie on the ground in and regret his life choices.

It’s comfortable. Izuku is nearly asleep when someone speaks nearby.

“You were in my acceptance letter.”

Izuku blinks up into the tired eyes of none other than Shinsou Hitoshi. “I was.”

“Are you dead?”

“No-“ Izuku sees Shinsous beautiful yet cursed shoes and freezes. “Oh, holy smokes,” he whispers as if discovering water in a desert. “Holy fudeberries. What are those?”

“You swear like an old man.”

“I will forgive this insult for one favor.” Izuku looks up from the glorious purple bedazzled knee-high converse reverently. They’ve got glitter on the sides. “Tell me where you got these.”

Shinsou blinks at him drolly before looking up the website on his phone. Izuku waits with bated breath until Shinsou plops down on the hallway floor and passes the phone over.

“Awe yiss,” Izuku cheers like a bird with breadcrumbs. “Motha. Fuckin. Heelies.”

Shinsou takes a moment to evaluate the situation. “We’re going to be best friends,” he informs Izuku. This is excellent news.

Shinsou leaves once his parents find them. Something about his family is uncomfortable, as if all their words carry the same weight as meaningless small talk whenever they respond to Shinsou. Nothing was genuine. Not a single word. Shinsou even tenses up a little when his mother steps too close, and the same nervous energy is copied in his parents whenever they respond to him with plastic-fake smiles and meaningless words. Izuku makes a mental note of it. He’s known Aizawa’s civilian identity for around five months now, and it’s already clear the man is ready and willing to adopt any kid in a remotely unsafe situation.

To think Izuku only avoided such a fate by virtue of being legally dead. Wonders will never cease.

There’s also the uncomfortable fact that Izuku knows Shinsou’s dad partakes in a very shady business strategy and that Grasshopper is on Giran’s good side specifically for ruining that exact business a while ago. People’s careers aren’t linked to their ability to be a good parent. Exhibit A: Midoriya Hisashi, who Izuku has met in person twice but thinks the world of. The man rocks ‘absent father’ in a way the universe had never intended when it created the role.

Izuku arrives back at the dorms to see a family pushing floating boxes through the main entrance. The option to live on campus is new due to Izuku’s situation, and only students who live far away are taking it. Class 1-A has one participant.

Izuku stops by the door. “Uraraka-san?” he guesses from the roster, and the mother turns around. She’s got similar hair to her daughter, and the face-shape is close enough to the picture Izuku had seen to confirm this is a family member and not an intruder.

“You betchya!” Uraraka-san offers a hand to shake, and Izuku smiles charmingly, back on familiar ground. He can do connections and small talk all day, but he’s running low on spoons after today’s nonsense.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Izuku. I’ve got to get some work done but if y’all need help I’m on the third floor, end of the hall.”

“Oh, what a darlin,’ we’ll be fine.” The woman picks up a huge box like it weighs nothing. Her accent is strong. “Thanks for offerin’ t’ help.”

“No problem. Oh, you’ll want to avoid putting anything by the counter edge. I swear Aizawa is part cat because the man will tip things over the edge and just stare at it for a few seconds before he realizes.” He can’t wait until she realizes Aizawa doesn’t even have a cat quirk. Uraraka-san nods brightly and ushers him inside.

Izuku faceplants onto his bed once he’s inside his room. Today has contained too much social interaction and standing around. Is this high school? It’s terrible.

Izuku texts Dabi and Zoo’s group chat, because he’s been bored too long. It’s time to make his boredom everyone else’s problem, because that’s how justice works on this bitch of an earth. Luckily, Dabi is quick to offer a solution.

“I have like, so few spoons left,” Izuku informs Uraraka over dinner. He spent most of his energy making the tonkatsu.

“Spoons?”

“Like. The unit of mental and physical energy. I have so little left.”

“I’ve never heard of that.” Uraraka looks at her chopsticks doubtfully. “How much is a spoon?” She’s taller than him, but Izuku is self-aware enough to know this isn’t hard to achieve when he’s small enough to live in the air vents. She’s also confident in her cooking skills, so they’d agreed to rotate dinner-duty and order pizza on exam nights. Izuku took first turn, because he’s not about to make someone new cook.

“It takes like… maybe one spoon for me to tie my shoes,” Izuku explains. “Right now, I have just enough energy left to help steal Endeavor’s staplers.”

“Ha! Good one,” Uraraka tells him. She has no idea what he plans to do at around 11pm tonight.

“You ready?” Izuku checks the screen of his laptop (his real one, not the bugged one from UA) and adjusts his speaker. The Flame Hero’s agency is quiet, cameras looped with footage of the last five minutes. They’re about to lose so many staplers.

“You gotta do the hacker voice.” Dabi replies through the comms as he delicately chars the bee movie script into the ceiling. Izuku can kind of see the Hot Topic blob on screen, but Dabi is mostly out of the frame. “I refuse to move until you do the hacker voice.”

Izuku rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m in, staple man. Let’s get ourselves a years’ worth of office supplies.”

“Good. Here I am, haunting the first floor. Ready to wanders the halls like a stapler ghost seeking vengeance upon Endeavor from the mortal realm. Where are my kindred spirits?”

“Glad you’re self-aware.” Izuku flicks through the security feeds until he catches sight of a moving shadow. Dabi is good, but he’s far from perfect when it comes to stealth. He’s not Zookeeper.

“At least I’m over three feet tall,” Dabi snarks into his mic before he performs what’s either a really bad dance move or a swift recovery from tripping over a power cord. The security feed lights up white and blue for a second as Dabi panics, then goes dark before the smoke reaches any noticeable levels. Then again, Endeavor’s security system doesn’t take smoke into account, due to a certain somebody’s flaming beard.

Dabi flips off the nearest camera when Izuku laughs at his suffering. “Oh, shut up. Can’t hear myself think,” he snaps.

Izuku snorts and reaches for his tea mug. “Oh, Rude? Also, there’s a desk to your left.”

“I’m being polite. Now, where are my stapler children?” Dabi bumps into a desk in the darkness. He slides out the nearest drawer and sticks his whole hand in, clearly not caring where his fingerprints are going to be found. “Ooh, are these secrets? I see manila folders the hot-hot man definitely does not want my grubby little hands on.”

Izuku rolls his eyes. “Yes, but are there staplers?”

“Nah... Oh, look. It’s our first child.” Dabi holds up a newly discovered stapler to the security camera. “I’m naming her Jonathan.”

Chapter Text

“I heard someone stole all of Endeavors staplers last night.”

The girl sitting in the corner freezes, watching the conversation between a couple of their classmates. Hitoshi couldn’t care less, except apparently Endeavors son is in their class, and he likes to stay on top of drama so as to both avoid it like the plague and also know where best to watch it unfold from. It’s shaping up to be a great year. The students – a pink-haired girl, a guy with weird elbows, and one guy with a zigzag in his hair, continue talking even as Endeavor’s son himself strolls into the room.

Drama? This early? It must be Hitoshi’s birthday.

“I think I know who did it,” corner girl mumbles. Her eyes flick to a window set with the name ‘Izuku’ taped to it. Wait. Izuku? Like, the guy who is the only reason Hitoshi got in, Izuku?

Endeavor’s son looks up at this. He catches the glance, too. This just keeps getting better.

“Who? Is he here?” Zig-zag guy asks, completely unaware Endeavor’s son sits behind him. Hitoshi is enjoying the room’s rising tension. The day hasn’t started yet, and it’s already thick enough to cut with a knife. Highschool really does live up to the legend.

“Yeah, I met him in the dorms. He, uh. He made a joke about, um.”

Pink-hair zeroes in on this. “Name?”

“Izuku.” Corner girl looks like she’s dying, eyes frantically flicking between the oblivious classmates and Endeavor’s son behind them. “He… never told me his full name.”

“Mysterious,” Endeavor’s son whispers, scaring all three of the original gossipers. Hitoshi loves high school already.

A classmate with glasses bolts up from his seat. “Fifteen seconds until school starts,” he announces.

“Calm your shit, four-eyes,” the student in front of Izuku’s desk snaps back. “It’ll get here when it fucking gets here.”

“You!” Glasses rounds on the student. “Please remove your feet from the desk at once! This is highly unbefitting of a UA student and incredibly disrespectful to the upperclassmen to attend before us-“

“Fuck’s sake. It’s fine-“

The door slams open.

Hitoshi leans out of his seat slightly, trying to see who did it. There’s nobody.

“If you have time to chat, you have time to work.” A tired man rises from the ground, glaring each student into silence as though they’d each personally offended him on a spiritual level. It’s hard for Hitoshi to tell from this angle, but the yellow blob on the floor may be his sleeping bag. What a mood. “I expect a quicker response next time. I’m Aizawa, your homeroom teacher. We’ll be skipping orientation. There are uniforms in your lockers, so put them on and get to training field B in five minutes. Anyone late will run laps after school.”

“Sir!” Glasses raises his hand immediately. “One of our classmates is not here yet, how will they find us?”

“He’s busy. Your five minutes start now.” Aizawa leaves as the class surges towards their lockers. Hitoshi stays at his desk a moment longer, mind racing. He’s pretty sure that was Eraserhead, the idol of his entire childhood.

First impressions are nothing. Izuku has lived a life of dubious morality, been kidnapped so often it’s lost its thrill, and faked his death a couple times. He has no reason to be worried.

No reason except that he hasn’t gone to school in around half a decade now. That’s a long time for a teenager. Izuku has the names memorized, so he sets out to make the best impression he can. This plan goes awry immediately when Iida notices him and mutters something which sounds suspiciously like “who is this tiny lost child?”

Lost child? Tiny lost child? Izuku knows he’s short when his quirk isn’t active and sure, he’s wearing a Knuckleduster-themed sweatshirt and shorts, but it still feels like a slap to the face.

Tiny lost child?

Really?

Izuku huffs indignantly from behind Aizawa, trying not to exude too-grouchy vibes as the teacher corrals the class. He misses most of the announcement, only tuning in when Aizawa beckons him forward.

“-On another note, this is Izuku Midoriya. He’s been hired to assist in afternoon lessons but will be participating in morning classes as a student.”

Izuku raises a hand in a casual salute, lacking the spoons to step forward. “What’s up, I’ll be your student teacher. I’m recovering from a field injury – actually, today’s my halfway mark to full recovery - but anyway, I’ve got some combat experience and stuff, especially in hero morality and justice systems, so if you need help then… yeah. At your service. I operate mainly underground. Speaking of, if you don’t recognize me that’s fine. It means I’m doing something right. So please continue to remain blissfully ignorant of my semi-cursed existence.”

Now that Izuku thinks of it, his classmates/students/eventually-children-unless-Aizawa-adopts-them-first are going to be heroes. Izuku grins sheepishly. “Actually, please forget my name, face and identity once you graduate. Don’t ask about my quirk. Thanks in advance.”

He hasn’t said he’s a hero, but it’s certainly available for the class to assume. Hopefully he can get through this whole high school torture without having his cover blown wide open.

Satou raises his hand. “You’re our age,” he says hesitantly. “You can’t have had much experience.”

Izuku shrugs. “It’s not who you know that matters in my line of work, but who knows you. I got started early because of family drama.” Family drama. Ha. Understatement of the year. In the back of the group, Shinsou looks two seconds away from calling bullshit on every word Izuku has said to them so far.

Iida’s hand shoots into the air. “Sir! Are you by any chance related to the lawyer Midoriya Inko?”

Izuku winces at the quick connection and hastens to reassert he’s not a clone of his mother, all arguments by Dabi notwithstanding. “Yeah, but I’m legally dead, so please call me Izuku.”

This gets everyone’s attention much faster than Izuku had expected. It’s almost like they’ve never met anyone who faked their… oh. Yeah, Izuku feels like an idiot now. He’s also dropping a lot of not-so-subtle facts, and in the front row of the class, one particular student looks very disgruntled. Izuku can see the moment Bakugo’s two braincells connect the dots. It’s like watching a Pomeranian realize the dog treats are just an inch out of its reach. The teen inhales sharply, locks on to Izuku like a tracking missile, and explodes.

Aizawa steps forward, hair floating up, and Izuku shoots the other teacher a look.

Bakugo probably won’t hurt me, he tries to communicate by shaking his head. This needs to be dealt with early. Aizawa nods but keeps his quirk active. His patience is already thin – Izuku needs to deal with Bakugo fast or the lesson will move on without them.

“DEKU?! You FUCKING NERD, I thought you DIED!”

Izuku sidesteps the first punch easily, unused as he is to maneuvering crutches in combat. Even now, Bakugo goes for a strong right. His next swing is wide, giving Izuku time to sidestep again.

“You’re telegraphing,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk this out like intelligent highly dangerous teenagers.”

Bakugo holds out an open palm to Izuku’s face, clearly expecting an explosion. Izuku doesn’t blink. Instead, he watches with mild interest as Bakugo’s face contorts from anger to fear and finally rests in betrayal. “DEKU-“

“I erased your quirk,” Eraserhead interrupts, patience ending. Capture scarves spring to life, snapping around Bakugo and forcing him back. “Now. If there are no more interruptions, let’s get on with the lesson.” Aizawa proceeds to threaten expulsion. Izuku takes notes on the anxiety-inducing teaching style and thanks the universe he is not a student right now. He’d almost forgotten school was like this. What poor souls would willingly subject them to something so cruel as a high-stress environment during their developmental years? Oh, right. Literally everyone.

Izuku flashes the class a peace sign. He can tell they hate him already. Excellent.

Most students seem to pay no mind as Izuku doesn’t take part in the tests. He sits under a tree and scribbles in his notebook instead, cataloging first impressions and quirk-based data for future lessons. The class roster has been out for ages, and he’s made it a point to learn all he can about their quirks. Still, there’s combat abilities the official reports don’t include.

Kaminari has good reflexes, and Izuku makes a note to get him trained with some type of swords or batons to extend his range. The same style Grasshopper used would pair well. Shinsou doesn’t use his quirk, and Izuku signals Aizawa that he’ll deal with it. Quirk-related trauma is too tricky to deal with on day one, and it will be faster if a peer steps in. Shinsou is also a special case, because Izuku added him to the class roster and is technically responsible for making him a successful hero.

The coolest part of the day is when one student with a creation quirk displays explosive power similar to All Might’s.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Izuku has too many heroes and villains in his family to be okay with the unsaid connection. Having ties is great and all, until a parent’s enemy comes looking for hostages. Izuku should know. He searches the Yaoyorozu family name on his phone while the students test grip strength. She’s from a well-known family and takes after her father, so Izuku dismisses the quirk similarities as residual fanboy tendencies. There’s no way quirks could be passed on, or they’re related.

Freak mutations happen all the time. Izuku should know.

A shadow falls over his notebook and Izuku looks up with a nonchalant smile. “I hope you don’t plan to explode this notebook as well.” He still remembers his last day attending a school, all those years ago.

Bakugo huffs, hands clenched so tight they turn white. “As if.” He sits next to Izuku, watching the next round of students start their 50-meter. They have time for a nice, soulful discussion of their angsty pasts. “You disappeared,” he grits out, something between anger and sadness choking the words. It almost sounds like regret, but that can’t be right.

“I was kidnapped,” Izuku offers. It sounds lazy, like an excuse. Beside him Bakugo takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. He does it a couple times until he stops shaking. Is that… a breathing exercise? Someone’s been to therapy. Izuku can’t help the second of genuine happiness it sparks in his heart. They really have grown up.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Bakugo says once he’s done. “Does Auntie Inko know you’re alive or whatever?”

“Of course! I’m not going to fake my death without telling Mom.” Izuku scoffs, not noticing how Bakugo tenses beside him. “That’s impolite.”

“You asked her for permission to fake your fucking death?!” Ah, there’s the yelling.

“Yes? I’m not a delinquent.”

Bakugo snarls in frustration and mimes strangling someone. “It’s an offence! Illegal! I can’t even fucking pirate music or UA will hunt my ass down, and you went and faked your own death!? And they’re letting you teach?!”

“To be fair, it’s hardly the worse thing I’ve done,” Izuku offers. This does not help matters. Bakugo expresses it by screaming in wordless rage and stomping off to throw himself across the 50-meter test. Somebody’s learned how to re-direct his anger.

He comes back slightly singed but otherwise cooled down. “Does my mother know,” he snaps, and the tree shakes when he throws himself down at the roots next to Izuku.

Izuku shrugs. “I haven’t been in contact. After shit hit the fan, I got a few enemies.” Izuku holds up a hand, seeing how Bakugo might take this. “I know you can take care of yourself, but the other kids at our school would be targeted if the wrong people found out I wasn’t born ready to fight anyone and everyone.”

Bakugo grumbles at this. “Still should’ve told me,” he mutters, and Izuku shuffles closer tentatively. It’s awkward, but progress in this giant mess.

“Sorry. I was messed up pretty bad for a good long time. Spent a whole year recovering and another training before getting into my current line of work. By then it as too late to reconnect safely.”

“Fuck,” Bakugo breathes. He takes a moment before running his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Shit. Okay, yeah. Of all the fucking stupid-ass shit you’d pull when we were kids this lines right up. Alright. Figures you’d be the one doing illegal shit, those extras always fell for that teachers-pet act.”

Izuku doesn’t know if he should feel insulted or relieved. It wasn’t an act – he legitimately needed the teachers to like him in order to avoid bullies. “Bakugo?”

Bakugo inhales sharply. “De- Izuku. I gotta apologize, shit. I fucking- Ugh, this is bullshit. Just…”

Izuku waits patiently. They’ve gone years without talking. He can wait however many minutes it takes Bakugo to sort out his thoughts. In the back of his mind he knows there must have been something wrong between them, but he can’t remember much, can’t remember what caused Bakugo to blow up his notebook all those years ago and storm away without another word. It must be important if Bakugo is this worried, but Izuku can’t remember anything. The bigger trauma of being kidnapped kind of eclipsed any memories.

“Look,” Bakugo snarls eventually, gesturing as if he wants to strangle someone. “I fucked up really bad, and it’s my fault you were kidnapped, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t let you hang out back then. I…. Shit - I hope you can- oh for the love of All Might.”

Izuku watches as Bakugo pinches his nose, grumbles something unintelligible except for the word ‘motherfucker,’ and starts again. “Damnit. Sorry I told you all that shit, or whatever.”

What? Izuku freezes, mind racing. What did he tell me?

“Bakugo, I don’t remember anything.” Izuku hesitantly reaches over, placing a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder when his childhood friend doesn’t seem to believe it. “I remember we were childhood friends and you were a bit of a bully-“

He stops. Bakugo would have punched him by now. This is some hard-core character development and they haven’t talked in years. It’s honestly a little inspiring and makes Izuku want to get his own act together.

“Hey nerd, you gonna start talking anytime this century?”

Izuku shrugs. “Sorry, just had a thought. Anyway, I’m pretty sure whatever happened, I don’t remember it. Trauma takes up brain space, y’know? Some stuff happened after I went missing that took priority, so I promise you right now that if shit went down, I probably don’t remember it.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo spits before seeming to realize he’s speaking aloud. “It’s still my fault, whether you can remember the fucked-up stuff I said or not.”

They’re going in circles. Izuku scoots closer slightly, then elects to never move again when his back protests. “Look. Here’s the facts, the deets, the tragic backstory part one or whatever you want to call it: I was kidnapped because my father does some weird stuff in the underworld. Therefore, I’m somehow desirable for a knock-off Winter Soldier backstory, never mind the whole point of Winter Soldier is he ends up a hero despite getting powers he never wanted.”

It’s very impressive that Bakugo isn’t interrupting his rambling. Izuku is tempted to give him a gold star sticker after he’s done randomly spilling his metaphorical guts during gym class. Why is my life so weird?

“Then they kept me because Mom was out for blood, and they were afraid of getting sued into Mariana Trench. Some stuff happened, and maybe they did something to mess with my memory, but it doesn’t matter. In case you don’t remember, Mom decided to sue the Hero Safety Commission for not stopping the whole mess. Not you. It’s not your fault.”

Bakugo sniffs, morally insulted. “Bitch, what the fuck did I just say? It’s my own fucking fault.” Maybe he wasn’t listening.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Izuku hisses back. The class is starting to get antsy as their voices climb but he couldn’t care less. “It’s the fault of my kidnappers and they’re gone so it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Bakugo spits back. “Your shitty ass was declared dead-“

“Yeah, but I’m not dead anymore.”

Bakugo swears particularly violently at this. Perhaps that was not the most tactful way to put it.

Izuku scowls at the continuous outflow of curses strong enough to curdle milk. He speaks up the moment Bakugo pauses for air. “I know, but I’m alive, and we’ve only just reunited, and you seem like slightly less of an ass so can we just acknowledge life is different and start over?!”

Bakugo quiets at this. It’s testament to whatever has happened in the last five or so years that he hasn’t blown Izuku up yet. Wow, they’re having an intelligent discussion. Wonders will never cease.

“You want… to start over?” He says it like the concept of Izuku asking, let alone asking now, is completely foreign.

“Yes,” Izuku says. “As equals.”

Bakugo struggles with this for a moment before nodding roughly. “Fine. I-Izuku.”

“Deku is fine,” Izuku clarifies, “but I’m not calling you ‘Kacchan.’ It’s recognizable to some people you don’t need to meet.” Giran, Dabi, and Zoo to be exact.

“Deku.”

“Bakugo.” Izuku watches his childhood friend run to start pullups, holding his notebook tight. It’s not perfect, but the tension has lessened somewhat. It’s bearable.

That evening, Izuku leaves to do non-quirked vigilante stuff. He calls Zookeeper, since she seems to enjoy playing cabdriver so much. She arrives with not only a taxi, but also a large duffle bag in the back seat. Suspicious.

Izuku pokes it cautiously once he slides into the backseat. “Is that... my super suit?”

“Happy Birthday or whatever,” she grunts while starting up the car. “Giran got it done yesterday.”

Izuku hugs her from behind the driver’s seat and cries a little bit. She tells him not to get his tears all over the seats and guns the engine to the nearest safehouse so he can get changed. It’s a tiny one-room apartment, and Zookeeper lets the car idle while Izuku opens the bag.

The mask hasn’t changed- it’s his old spare. The familiarity is calming, even if he knows it’s smoke filtration isn’t as good as his original.

The suit is dark green like his old one. Giran’s re-enforced it and added what looks like bulletproof padding. The forearms are thick, hiding a lockpick set and a couple small throwing knives. He finds some more weapons in the bottom and slips them into what pockets he can find. Izuku makes sure it’s allows for his full range of motion and reaches for a black case.

Leg supports, the label reads. Inside, Izuku finds custom supports made to account for his quirk’s activation. They’re well-hidden, too, and allow his escrema rods to attach to the side. Most people will assume they’re heavy-duty holsters for his weapons, rather than medical support. Izuku equips them and is pleased to learn they camouflage into his suit seamlessly. They wrap up his hips and around his back, reinforcing his posture.

He tugs on the custom boots and gloves before doublechecking the belt’s compartments. It has all his usual: first aid kit, flashbangs, one glitter bomb, sleeping gas cannister, and extra oxygen for his mask. Izuku slips his burner phone into a pocket and stands.

The leg supports whirr slightly as they come to life. He still needs the crutches, but it adds support and eases the weight he puts on his lower back. He can probably manage about five full minutes of walking with minimal discomfort like this. Maybe even a few running steps without feeling like he’s dying. The feeling of walking easily for a few steps is like water in a desert; Izuku takes a second to collect himself, standing alone in the bunker. He can run again. Sure, it’s maybe three steps with incredibly advanced tech, but the fact remains that he can.

It’s… incredible.

Grasshopper steps outside and latches onto Zookeeper in a hug. “It’s amazing.”

“I’m not hugging Giran for you,” Zookeeper deadpans but she pats his head uneasily, so he counts it as a win. Today must be one of her bad days if she can’t return a hug. Grasshopper steps back slowly, watching for when she relaxes to know he’s out of her personal space bubble.

“Sorry. And nah, I’m hunting him down myself. How much does it cost?”

Zookeeper shrugs off the apology. “He said the knives and belt items were a gift but Dabi gave him a lifetime supply of staplers so it’s only around ten thousand yen. Now get your ass in the car, we’re burning moonlight.”

Grasshopper takes shotgun, messing with the voice modulator in his mask. Once he has it pitched right, he makes a couple phone calls and asks Zookeeper to drop him off in Naruhata. On the way he finds a laptop and starts typing. He puts his finished work on a USB drive. The finished product is easily slipped into the hollow hilt of a knife and a backup copy is placed in his belt. Fortune favors the cautious as well as the bold.

He’ll be in Detective Tsukauchi’s home turf, so paranoia is to be expected.

The detective and his sister have the same tendency to hoard knowledge without even trying. Grasshopper has yet to meet her, in or out of the mask. This makes him perhaps the only vigilante in Japan who hasn’t, and for good reason considering he’d noticed her contact pattern was a little too well organized. Over time, Makoto Tsukauchi had amassed a huge network of contacts in the vigilante community, stretching across Japan and including virtually every local unlicensed crime-fighter. Then, one year ago she’d published a paper on them and had been all but shut off from the group. Only around three locals remained in contact – the slider guy, one terrifying old man, and Pop☆Step.

Luckily, Izuku has the weirdest family tree in history. Pop☆Step is his second cousin. Networking, y’all.

Pop☆Step meets Grasshopper on a nondescript rooftop and pulls him into a hug tight enough he’s surprised he doesn’t make a squeaky toy noise or break a rib. At this rate people might figure out they’re related, which is something their second lives don’t need added. He’s too tired for that.

“We thought you died,” she says before he can react. “All the regular guys went quiet for a bit, you know.”

Grasshopper stiffens. He hadn’t heard anything from the vigilante community, but he’d assumed it was due to UA’s eyes on his communications. “I didn’t die. I’m sorry.”

“Dummy.” Pop☆Step punches his shoulder and bounces back with more altitude than should be normal. “Come on, Koichi can give us a ride.”

‘Giving a ride’ apparently means sitting with Pop☆Step on the Crawler’s back while he zooms through the streets on all fours. It’s a super cool quirk, albeit a little strange. Pop assures him this is completely normal. It is not normal. They’re going to break the poor guy in half, especially when Grasshopper’s leg supports weigh a metric shit-ton. His crutches are collapsible but still, dude. Take a break. How does he not have back problems?

“Dude, give me your spine,” he says as they turn a corner. A car honks at them. More phones appear in the streets around them and Pop raises a peace sign.

Koichi has to raise his voice over the wind. “What?”

“You do this? All day? And haven’t murdered your back? Give me your spine.”

“No?” Koichi flashes a smile to some cameras as he zooms past. “I need it to live. Actually, give me your fame. I’ve gotten my picture taken more times today than the rest of my whole career as the Crawler.”

“Suck it,” Grasshopper replies haughtily like a good role model. Koichi increases the pace out of spite. Pop☆Step falls off and bounces back. Life goes on.

Makoto Tsukauchi works in a brown office building that looks so boring it’s not worth remembering. Grasshopper hates it instantly. It would be better pink. Dabi has a thing about Hello Kitty, he should swing by with some spray paint and give the décor a facelift.

“That’s office buildings for you. If they were cute everyone would want one,” Pop☆Step says as she helps him through the high window. She glances down, an easy jump for either of their quirks six months ago, but Grasshopper is stuck hanging onto the fire escape for dear life. “Anyway, are you sure this is okay?”

“Breaking and entering? Do either of us look like someone on the right side of the law?”

Pop☆Step snorts and shoves him lovingly. “I mean after your injury. I could ask her. Koichi could-”

“It’s the Crawler! Stop using my name in public!”

“Koichi could ask her,” Pop says a little louder.

Grasshopper shakes his head, taking the still-collapsed crutches she hands over. “It has to be me. She deserves to know what she’s walking into. Thanks for getting me here, Pop.”

Pop☆Step nods, worrying her bottom lip. “I’m driving you home,” she tells him in a tone that allows for no argument. This is very concerning, because Pop is also in high school and barely of legal age to drive. He doesn’t trust her to keep from hiding silly string in his apartment, let alone drive.

She opens the window before bouncing away. It squeaks like it’s trying to sing opera. In other words, entirely too loudly. Grasshopper makes his way through and over to the nearest chair. It’s behind a desk and several boxes, but he doesn’t care- he’s already stretched his limits enough today, and a dull ache is drilling into his back. The room is messy, papers scattered everywhere without rhyme or reason. Somebody’s spilled at least three coffee cups in here to achieve the smell, and a car air freshener hangs from the coatrack like a pithy offering to the organization gods.

There aren’t any security cameras. Either she’s trusting or she deals with the illegal side of town. He’s willing to guess it’s both.

Grasshopper picks up a newspaper from the desk. The leading article is on mom’s current work in England. Supposedly she’s working with one of their activists, learning how to improve learning accommodations in Japan. The reporter advises readers to brace for a storm. Grasshopper props his feet up on the desk and begins to read.

He ends up waiting a good ten minutes.

The door opens and a dark-haired woman hurries into the office, talking hurriedly on her phone. She doesn’t notice him, instead busy with hanging up her coat without dropping her coffee or the phone. Grasshopper returns to the newspaper. Makoto Tsukauchi is taller than he expected, hair pulled back tight. She and the detective share the same trustworthy air. Still, she’s dangerous. Grasshopper’s heard the stories of how she wields knowledge like the self-defense weapons in her purse: rarely, efficiently, and seldom legally. He needs to make a good impression.

He waits politely until the call ends before turning the newspaper page, making sure to let it rustle noisily. Tsukauchi whips around, gun in hand.

Wow.

That’s new.

It’s also very panic inducing.

Grasshopper owes therapy a big one for helping him get over that panic trigger but damn. Ever heard of overkill self-defense? It’s called murder, and it doesn’t suit the Tsukauchi name.

“Firearms are illegal,” Grasshopper murmurs from the comfy desk chair. His voice doesn’t shake, but it’s a close thing.

Tsukauchi twitches the gun and Grasshopper’s heartrate spikes so sharply he almost doesn’t hear her reply. “So’s breaking and entering.”

Grasshopper shrugs at this, taking the opportunity to raise his hands. He’s all too aware the safety is off. He can’t dodge this. Is everything getting loud or is that just him? “I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just been a long day, and I thought it better to wait until you were done.”

Tsukauchi raises an eyebrow, taking his words with the same trust she would a month-old pizza. “Forgive me if I don’t believe somebody who is sitting in my chair when the room was locked from the outside.”

“Understandable. I can put my weapons on this desk if that would help?”

She gestures for him to get to it. Grasshopper narrates his actions as he begins removing the rods on his belt and adds three knives to the pile. He pulls out a set of brass knuckles, just to keep her from getting suspicious. There are more, but this is it for now. Trust is a two-way street, and they’re not on it yet. The gun doesn’t move.

“I’d really prefer any other weapon. Tazer, pepper spray, even a knife by my neck is better than a gun.”

Tsukauchi doesn’t move her weapon. “Got a problem?”

“Trauma, actually.”

Kidnapping’s a bitch, y’all.

Tsukauchi swears, reaching into her bag without moving the gun. Rude. “Gloves off, hands on the desk.”

Grasshopper complies, and she pulls out a stun gun that rests on his wrist. She doesn’t turn it on, but she’s a slight pressure away from zapping him. It puts Grasshopper in danger, but that’s preferable to staring down another barrel. The gun is returned to wherever she pulled it from. Grasshopper feels some of the tightness in his jaw loosen as it leaves his field of view.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone cosplaying a bug. Get to the point.” Tsukauchi shifts so the edge of her thumb presses into the back of Grasshopper’s hand. Clever of her to be subtle about it, but he already knows her Polygraph quirk activates on touch. “Are these all your weapons?”

Grasshopper hesitates before adding another few knives to the pile.

“All of them,” Tsukauchi snaps. She pales slightly as a can of pepper spray, the escrema sticks, a small packet of senbon, and the bottle of heavy acid he keeps in his boot. Smoke bombs and flash bangs aren’t weapons, right? Because he’s keeping his defensive stuff. Tsukauchi evaluates the pile before giinng him a judgemental look.

Yeesh. He forgot she worked with vigilantes for so long. The tiny sleeping gas compartment his mask holds is dropped on the table.

“I consider my quirk a weapon,” he adds bluntly, “But it’s not really something I can give.”

“Anything else?”

“Nah.”

Tsukauchi frowns. She’s being careful to stay just far enough away from the pile without looking like she’s avoiding it, which is good. She knows he still has the upperhand in this world of quirks and powers. He’s weaponized his ability. She’s used hers for almost exclusively information-gathering. This is as equal as they’re going to get in a meeting. When she motions for him to spit out his info, he knows it’s equally a threat and a request. What he says will determine which one she choses.

Grasshopper hesitates, then forges ahead. Tsukauchi seems hesitant to trust him (valid, considering he is breaking and entering) and he needs to keep this quick. “You’re good at organizing and leading people, and Pop☆Step believes you’re trustworthy. Vigilantes were willing to take directions from a civilian whose brother is on the police force. That doesn’t happen every day.”

Tsukauchi leans back slightly. Her expression is closed off with practiced ease. “Vigilantes don’t trust me anymore. If you’re going to pretend to be Grasshopper, at least do your research.”

“You think I’m a fake?” He should have seen this coming, in all honesty. Tsukauchi just raises an eyebrow and he realizes belatedly he would do the same in her position. “I’m not, but fine. Hear me out, then decide for yourself if I’m real. I’ll offer my super-duper top-secret identity and an insiders view to an underground revolution if you agree.”

“Agree?”

Grasshopper smiles grimly behind the mask. “I’m trying to change the system’s structure just a bit. Add in required mental health support, up the training in ceasefire situations, maybe do away with the ranking system since it’s causing people to shoot first and ask never. Thing is, there’s a whole group running around with my name on it.”

“The Grasshopper Movement. You want research on it? Try google.”

“I don’t need research.” Grasshopper leans forward, making sure she sees the fire in his eyes. “I need an oracle.”

There hasn’t been one in years. It’s an old role, one considered too dangerous to employ civilians as, but too close to the villains for heroes to perform well. As someone who has too much knowledge to be classed as either, and various degrees of renown from heroes, vigilantes, and some villains alike, Makoto is the ideal candidate. An oracle is a translator; an informant open to the public. He needs a steady presence making waves while he’s under surveillance at UA.

Tsukauchi stares at him before taking the stun gun back. She swears, paces the room, runs her hands over her head and swears again. Grasshopper waits. He knew she was smart, but she’s catching on much faster than expected. She’s also got a sailor’s mouth.

“You want me, who you’ve never met, to lead possibly the second or third largest activist group in Japan after the Quirkless Voices.” She returns, pressing the stun gun and edge of her palm back onto Grasshopper’s wrist. “Why?”

“Pop☆Step recommended you, which is surprisingly hard to achieve. Your work speaks for itself. From what I’ve seen – and from what people say, too - you have the passion and experience. Yes, I absolutely am asking you. There are very few people on this earth who can do this. Four, specifically.”

“Then ask them!”

“All Might built the system up, and he’s busy with maintaining public order. I don’t trust Nezdu as a rule, and Midoriya Inko is somewhere in Europe. You’re the fourth.”

Tsukauchi laughs but it’s too sharp for there to be any real humor. “You say it like they’re options.”

“They are. Part of my offer is how I know them.” That catches her attention, and Grasshopper sees the moment she realizes what information he’s willing to trade. She knows he’s telling the truth.

“You’re bartering safety and your own connections.” She gets it now.

“Yes.” Wait, that’s probably registering as a lie. Grasshopper hastens to clarify. “Most of them, anyway. Some are too close to the underworld to agree to this, but they’ll work to keep you from harm as well. Also, the deal’s off if you target All Might. He’ll risk himself, but I won’t help that fool drown.”

The office is silent but for the ticking of the wall clock. Grasshopper doesn’t move an inch. It’s Tsuakauchi’s move now.

“The Grasshopper movement would never accept me,” she hedges, and Grasshopper knows he’s won.

“Then I’ll disband them and start over. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I don’t want to lead something I’m not passionate about.”

“Pop☆Step says you went to their last rally, but sure. If you don’t wanna, then don’t lead. Feel free to leave once you find a member who’ll take your place. Right now, it’s doing more harm than good by wasting resources, and I need someone in the ranks they know has spoken to me recently. My offer stands.”

“My ability to be employed will take a hit,” Tsukauchi grumbles.

Grasshopper shrugs. “Midoriya Inko has offered you a position should you be fired. Really, you deserve better filing cabinets anyway.”

Tsukauchi wrinkles her nose. “And if I don’t agree with how you’re trying to make change?”

Oh, so now it’s the big questions. Grasshopper picks up a pen to poke one of his knives on the table. “There’s a USB drive attached to that one. Has my statement of beliefs and rough outlines of a plan. All the data is programed to erase itself three hours after it’s page is opened, so read fast.”

She takes it, finding the drive inside the handle. “You trust me with this?”

“What do you think?”

She shakes her head, and Izuku nods evenly. She’s smart. Good, he needs someone smart on this team. Dabi would tear apart anyone with less than three braincells, not that he could judge.

“Fine. Sure,” she snaps. “You will accept my conditions or no deal. First, the movement will do nothing illegal, and I will not communicate anything that implies as such. Second, the public does not know we know each other. I can deal with the movement leaders, but not official shit. Let’s keep rumors to a minimum, too. You will not even mention my name to anyone. Third, I can refuse any request you make of me. Fourth, myself and nobody around me is ever involved in your vigilante business. Fifth, I can back out or change these conditions at any time.”

“Sure.” She’s going to be fun to work with. “Four vigilantes know I’m here tonight. Pop☆Step and the Crawler gave the okay to call them by name. Also, your brother is already involved in my case, but I’ll keep the rest out of my illegal nonsense.”

“Good. Keep it to a bare minimum. Now prove to me you’re really Grasshopper and get out of my office.”

He checks the office one last time for security cameras and smiles cheerfully behind the mask. “Mind closing the blinds? We don’t want pictures of my beautiful face getting out.” He winces when Tsukauchi freezes for a moment, but she leans over and shuts the blinds with a quick tug. It’s a last show of trust.

Izuku slips off his hood first, allowing the green curls to be fully visible and recognizable. That’s no loss – everyone knows Grasshopper has green or black hair from the video anyway. The mask is harder, with its locks to keep police and villains alike from unmasking him. Once it’s off, Izuku offers a hand to Tsukauchi.

“Hello, I’m Grasshopper. I also go by Midoriya Izuku and look forward to working with you.”

Tsukauchi looks from his hand to his face, then to the newspaper on her desk. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope! ‘Tis I, the frenchiest fry. Here’s my plainclothes business card – I really would advise your discretion on this matter, by the way. Rest assured, I will not seek revenge if my identity is made public through an accident.” The ‘I won’t have to’ goes unsaid. Grasshopper has the public’s support after the smuggling ring incident and video. It’s the weirdest type of job insurance Izuku’s ever had.

The mask is slotted back into place. Grasshopper tugs up his hood, snapping clips together so it won’t fall with the wind. He starts putting his weapons away before Tsukauchi regains the power of speech and laughs hysterically.

“You’re just- just dropping that and running?”

“Well,” Grasshopper says after some internal debate. “That is my whole skillset. Besides, trust is a two-way street. I’ll appear wherever the Grasshopper movement is having meetings, but after that it’s your move. I hope I can trust you, in the future.” He collects the rest of his weapons, sans the one she still holds. “I’d advise narrowing down goals, but that’s your prerogative.”

Tsukauchi rolls her eyes. She’s recovering from her new knowledge awfully quickly, but considering her track record this likely isn’t the first identity she’s been given. “Likewise, and thanks. You chose me because of Pop☆Step?”

“She’s got good people-sense.” Grasshopper gets up, extending his crutches and making his way to the window. Tsukauchi swears again – she should really break that habit – and opens it.

“Shit, I totally forgot you were injured-“

“Good. That means I’m making new waves.” Grasshopper waves out the window, and Pop☆Step bounces up.

“Well?” she half-sings, eyes darting between them. “Sold your soul yet?”

Grasshopper’s toothy mask mimics the smile underneath it. “Meet the soon-to-be oracle of the Grasshopper Movement.”

Pop☆Step cheers, ignoring Tsukauchi’s scolding. Below them, Koichi shouts his congratulations.

Izuku slides open the window to 1A’s dorm common room, grunting with the effort. Tomorrow he’s going to coat this whole thing in vegetable oil or something. Finally, it’s open. He hoists himself up, scrambling through and falling gracelessly in onto the couch below it.

His back does not appreciate this. Izuku hisses, shifting in an attempt to lessen the feeling of having his nerves ripped out around the old injury. All other plans for tonight were cancelled because Izuku knows his limits, and they arrived with airhorns to lovingly tell him how stupid of an idea it was to climb through the window.

Ugh. He is in so much pain.

Izuku looks over, ready to pass out in the common room because he can, only to see Uraraka crouched over the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal. The spoon is halfway to her mouth and not moving. She isn’t even breathing as she watches him, eyes the size of saucers.

“Don’t tell Aizawa,” Izuku says immediately. She nods, already looking guilty and slowly slurps her cereal. She’s still watching him. It’s unnerving. Izuku doublechecks he’s in plainclothes and remembers his duffle bag of vigilante gear waiting outside.

Fuck. He has precisely two spoons of energy left. That’s not enough. He’s also going to be in so much trouble if that bag is found. Nezdu would have a field day.

Ughhhh.

This is going to look suspicious as all hell. Izuku pulls himself up to the window and reaches down as far as he can without inciting further pain.

He can’t reach the duffle bag. It’s not even close. His back hurts. Izuku hangs halfway out the window and struggles with the concept of going outside to get it before determining he just… can’t. People have limits. He’s found his.

The couch dips as Uraraka sits on it next to him. “What are you doing?” There’s no judgment at his decision to hang out of the window like laundry on a clothesline, swaying gently and stranded until some force changes its destiny….

…Okay, he’s definitely too tired to haul suspicious duffle bags through windows. Izuku clears his throat. “I’m trying to win an argument in my head. It’s not working.”

Uraraka laughs like this is somehow funny and pokes her head out of the window. “Is that yours?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

She squints at him, then reaches through the window and manages to snag the bag. Izuku knows he’s short, and therefore his arms are short, but this is just insulting.

With a bit of effort, she manages to wrap all five fingers around the handle. With help from her quirk, it’s easy to navigate the bag in through the window, and Izuku stuffs it under the couch before collapsing on the floor. He’s not moving for a week. Uraraka releases her quirk once it’s safely stowed.

“Thanks a ton,” Izuku tells her honestly. He’s very excited to black out and pretend Uraraka saw none of this. She, however, harbors no such frustrations or shame.

“What’s in the bag?” she asks as Izuku makes himself comfortable as can be with an aching back and no ice packs. He turns his head and grins as widely as possible.

“Secrets.”

Uraraka nods, accepting this easily. It’s probably early enough in the year that she assumes all heroes act like this in their time off. Izuku should not take advantage of this fact to cause maximum chaos. He should not. It will not help his inevitable clash with Nezdu if he is corrupting the students from day one. He’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Uraraka brings some instant ramen to where he’s collapsed on the couch, and Izuku returns the favor by teaching her how to grease windows for future stealth missions. It means he has to expend minimal energy and she picks up a useful life skill. Everybody wins.

“Don’t tell Aizawa,” he repeats after the window is prepared for further sneaking. “It’s my job to teach lazy tips like this, but class isn’t in session.”

Uraraka grins crookedly. “Pay me in ramen, coward.”

Chapter Text

Izuku leans back at his desk, seeking some form of comfort in the chair engineered to keep students awake and listening. He ends up placing both feet on the desk and an open book on his face to keep the early morning light out of his eyes. One of the things he hadn’t seen coming about the Year Of Health quirk is that being in pain takes energy. Not only that – it takes a lot of energy. Is he physically capable of walking a good ten feet without crutches? Yes. Can he? Hell no.

The classroom door slams open as the first student enters. Izuku hates that it’s so soon. He only just got comfortable. School doesn't start for almost an hour.

“Excuse me! Please remove your feet from the desk – this is an honorable institution and we must respect the people who used these desks before us.”

“Nah.” Izuku removes the book, smiling cheerfully up at Iida. “The desks are new. They get replaced multiple times each semester in the hero course.”

“We- really?”

“Yeah. We’re a bunch of teenagers training in the boring art of combat, so the school keeps a bunch of spares.” Izuku reaches back, tapping the label on Hitoshi’s desk. “Check for yourself.”

Iida glances over, confirming they are, indeed, new. “We should still respect the classroom. I notice you aren’t wearing a full uniform, as well.” He hesitates, eyes flicking from Izuku’s choice of rainbow leggings and shorts to the crutches collapsed under his desk. “Ah. Forgive me-“

“It’s fine. Some students can alter their uniform for gender or quirk-related changes.” Izuku learned long ago wearing pants he couldn’t shift his quirk in was practically asking for a panic attack, and Aizawa had given permission without much convincing. “So long as what they wear has a UA logo, it’s safe to assume Nezdu has approved it.” Izuku replaces the book. “Are you Ingenium’s brother?”

“I- Yes?” Iida sputters at the sudden question, but there’s still a note of pride.

Huh. So, Izuku was right. He may as well take the opportunity to figure out if Iida will want to take on similar training, or if he’ll forge his own path. “Good. He speaks highly of you, or at least he did when we last talked.”

“You met him?” Iida sits down in Sero’s seat.

“Couple years ago. Hopefully he won’t remember; I work masked.” There’s a pause where Izuku thinks the conversation is over, before-

“Do you think I have any hope of measuring up to him?”

Izuku removes the book, taking a good long look at Iida’s serious expression. They met yesterday, and it’s already a deep, soulful conversation? Either he sees Izuku as someone who can answer what nobody else can, or Iida is the type to lay out his feelings without preamble. Izuku isn’t sure which.

“Measuring up to others is a trap,” Izuku says quietly. “You can follow in their footsteps, but don’t think for a second ‘measuring up’ should be a goal. That’s giving yourself too many limits, too fast. Every human is incredibly unique. ‘Measuring up’ assumes we all start from the same place and have the same distance to cover.”

“You’re saying I can’t.”

“I’m saying the measuring system is different. Heroes can’t be ranked on a sliding scale. Eraserhead saves more people with far less damage than Endeavor, but who is higher ranked in popularity?”

Iida frowns. When he answers it’s slow, careful as though this were dangerous territory rather than just a little shaking up of priorities. Maybe to him, it is. “Endeavor.”

Izuku nods, settling back. “Take a good look at your goals. I believe you can surpass him, but which scale weighs that success? If you want to be a pale copy, that’s your choice, but why settle for limiting yourself?”

There’s a moment of quiet before Iida responds. “Thank you, Midoriya,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

“Call me Izuku. You’re not the only one living in someone else’s footsteps.”

“I know. That’s why I asked.”

Izuku snorts, caught off-guard. This class really will be interesting. 

Iida moves back to his desk with less of the pompousness than he did yesterday. Still, he hasn’t been on the field yet. There’s something marked about citizens. It’s as though by not truly grasping the political and psychological war of the underworld around them, they’re able to assume it doesn’t exist sometimes. There’s a different weight to their shoulders. Not lighter or heavier – just different.

“It’s going to be a long year,” Izuku tells him. “You’ll make it through.”

Hopefully Iida will remember that when the war between heroes and villains rises around him. Izuku doesn’t intend to let anyone in the class drown.

The door opens again, and Shinsou stumbles into the classroom. Izuku had marked his future mentee as a coffee person, but Shinsou is nearly an hour early, no coffee, disheveled uniform. Izuku doesn’t like the way Shinsou moves to his desk as though it’s a safe haven and passes out at it. The whole process – nervous mannerisms, wary eyes, exhausted steps - bears a striking resemblance to Dabi when Izuku first met him on the streets. That’s not good.

Izuku returns to his book. It could be a coincidence. He hasn’t been to school in a long time, so maybe that’s how people are in the first week.

More students file in. This is the first time many of them have had a chance to talk to Izuku, and more than a few step up to introduce themselves. Hero students are cut from a different cloth, and it shows. They had to push to get into UA. That same dedication and charisma will serve them well, but right now it’s preventing Izuku from getting a nap.

He still chats with them, enjoying the company of people his age. Besides, he likes forming connections to the extent that it’s second habit - it’s crucial to connect with people in order to build trust. Nobody’s listening to someone they’ve only ever disagreed with.

When Aizawa starts class, he almost looks relieved to see Izuku acting like a somewhat normal kid.

Izuku waits inside 1A’s classroom after a silent lunch with Todoroki. Nezdu had called his course “Practical Hero Morality,” which is really just a fancy way of saying Izuku can do whatever he wants. So of course, he’s going to make sure these children are safe, then ramble about whatever. Sounds fun.

“Welcome to hell,” Izuku starts once the bell rings. “In case you haven’t caught on, I’m referring to the hero industry.”

The class murmurs before Iida raises his hand hesitantly. “Are you… our teacher?”

“Yep! Nezdu is bribing me with this class. For thirty minutes twice a week after lunch, you’ll all be learning from me. Besides that, and the occasional co-teaching with All Might or Aizawa, I’m your classmate. I know it’s weird, so I’m taking our first class as an introductory.” Izuku surveys the room, taking in the disbelieving and nervous stares. “Ask questions as I go, okay?”

He waits for a general murmur of agreement before jumping up to sit on the teachers desk. He doesn’t bother collapsing his crutches, instead just tossing them behind the desk to rest on the chair.

“Now. Ground rules as to how I function at UA: fist, as a UA employee I’m a mandatory reporter. That means if I find out you’re getting super hurt by someone or consuming things you shouldn’t, I’m required to tell a teacher. We can work out who is told specifically, and you can ask I do or don’t tell specific teachers, but I’d like to be upfront as to how my job works.” 

Todoroki looks slightly uncomfortable the moment he mentions getting hurt. That’s a red flag. Izuku mentally files it away for later as he continues.

“Second, I don’t care what illegal nonsense you pull, and I’m not a mandatory reporter for that. On Thursday I’ll be teaching all you little cherubs how to pick locks and when it’s reasonable to do so; you’ll find my definition of legal and UA’s definition of ‘okay’ differ.”

“What’s your hero name,” Mina blurts out. She continues hastily when Izuku tilts his head in a silent question. “I’ve never met a hero willing to teach me to pick locks.”

Izuku hesitates, caught off guard. He’s not shocked that she’s asking so much as surprised that this is the reason. “Okay, yeah. That’s a very valid point. My identity is secret for your good – there are villains looking for a Midoriya Izuku, and even more are looking for my codename. These lives are kept separate to limit the size of targets on your backs. Speaking of, do not post about me online. Do not ever put photos of me online. I am legally dead; mentioning my name ends badly for everyone.”

“Harsh,” somebody mutters, but Izuku shrugs.

“Either I find it, or they find you. One ends in me attending nineteen funerals, and I’m not really a fan of dress pants or burying people I’d hoped would be friends. Are we clear?”

There is no response. At least he has their undivided attention. “Cool. Now. Buckle up because class is in session. For our first hands-on activity, y’all are gonna make a group chat. My number is on the board. I’m kind of a teacher, so I’m not offended if you don’t add me to the chat. What I do care about is that every one of you has my number saved, and that if any of you find yourself lost or kidnapped or arrested with one phone call, you use that number.”

Izuku crosses his arms at the continued silence. “We’re staying here until it’s done. Even if that means running into Aizawa’s class time.”

That gets them moving. It takes a solid ten minutes for a group chat to get up and running, though that’s mainly because Shinsou has been asleep this entire time with his eyes open what the fuck. Izuku wishes he had an eighth of that skill.

“Everyone done?” he asks when conversation begins to turn to the latest hero news and memes. “Good. Pair up with whoever’s next to you. We’ll be brainstorming this first class, so I know where y’all are at. This is gonna be common - list everything you can think of for a topic, and write it up here on the board when you’re done. I don’t give two shits how long it takes, but the more y’all add, the less I cover in class before moving on to practical skills. If you want to know the fun stuff, go into as much detail as you can on these exercises.” Izuku surveys the class as they scoot together. This is technically their last moment of innocence before Izuku starts really making them do some soul searching. 

Tough luck.

“Your topic for today is: What are some potential drawbacks for a society when their law enforcement and entertainment are the same industry? You have thirty minutes to get answers on the board. Go.” There’s silence in the class, so Izuku flops down in the teachers desk. It’s time for a nap… oh no, he’s turning into Aizawa.

They end up putting a good number of ideas on the board, though not many have considered the ways different social classes are impacted. Izuku considers his options for a lesson plan all through Aizawa’s homeroom and takes the first part of All Might’s class to brainstorm in the teachers’ lounge.

Izuku wanders back to class midway through All Might’s lesson. He didn’t mean to miss the first half of class, he just… couldn’t get up. On the upside, Aizawa hasn’t ever pushed him to be on time or fight through the pain that comes with your aunt trying to break your spine, but on the downside he’s late. Izuku pushes open the observation room’s door and steps in. The sound of his crutches is loud enough to ruin his sneaky approach, so that’s no fun.

“All Might,” Izuku says rather than give a full greeting.

All Might nods nervously and hands him an earpiece so he can listen in on what looks like a training exercise. The students are taking it seriously, and they’ve already been split into teams. That’s less work for Izuku. Goodie. All Might turns back to the screens, but he adjusts his stance slightly. It’s subtle, and Izuku doesn’t think many will notice, but he’s keeping Izuku in his line of sight.

Good to know Izuku isn’t trusted. The feeling is not mutual. Izuku trusts All Might to do his best as a Symbol of Peace, so the tension in the room is lower than it could have been. One of the students, Yaoyorozu, is picking up on the teacher drama at play. The rest are eagerly watching their student teacher like one might observe Mothman, were he your teacher and MIA for half of their classes.

“Bomb exercise, huh?” Izuku watches as Uraraka and Bakugo prepare to face off against Shinsou and Iida’s villain team. “Classic.”

“I thought it best to start out strong.”

“Hm. Depends how the rules were structured.” He read a research article on that last night before passing out. Izuku heard All Might is also working towards a teaching license – he should send the link. Wait. Is Izuku really going to pass around educational sources like a rare packet of free ramen? Is this being an adult? Ugh.

The match is a disaster. Bakugo gives up on communicating with Uraraka halfway through – Izuku is pleasantly surprised he tried at all – and she isn’t informed when he finds the bomb. Shinsou confronts him, but he’s reacting too slowly to win. Iida’s planning didn’t account for the structural damage, and Izuku ends up stepping in.

“Call off the match,” he tells All Might as Bakugo accidentally explodes a support column. “We’ve seen enough.”

All Might frowns. “One minute longer. I believe young Bakugo is beginning to see the merits of teamwork.” He’s not wrong, and it’s a good point, but Izuku is concerned for a different student.

“The building’s unstable. They aren’t trained for that.” There’s something else, too.

All Might calls off the match.

Izuku watches the four participants as they exit the training grounds, worrying his bottom lip. One student is doing so badly he may injure himself. Shinsou had multiple chances to catch Bakugo under his quirk, but was fighting his exhaustion at the same time and failed to keep control. Izuku saw his performance in Aizawa’s tests yesterday – today’s scores are far below average. 

Something is wrong.

“Do you want to give the speech?” Izuku mutters to All Might as everyone stumbles in. He glances over the expectant faces, cataloging Uraraka’s nervous anticipation, Iida’s frustration, Bakugo’s anger, and Shinou’s… well. ‘Exhaustion’ is the only thing that stands out about the way Shinsou is leaning heavily on the doorway as though ready to pass out. The class doesn’t notice, more due to Shinsou’s placement at the back than anything else.

All Might shakes his head and begins a rundown. Throughout it, Shinsou sinks lower and lower until Izuku is pretty sure he’s fallen asleep. That’s a big old red flag. Students shouldn’t be falling asleep in a practical class, let alone its first day.

Izuku can tell when All Might notices because of the abrupt pause, and swoops in before the hero can comment. He claps loudly to draw attention from the Number One before starting. “Right, as your TA I get to comment as well, so buckle up! Uraraka, I advise upping your hand to hand training. You have a talent for it that hasn’t been utilized. Bakugo, you did well in the first half but remember that keeping up communication with your teammates will allow you to set off bigger explosions without endangering anyone.”

Bakugo huffs. Was he too heavy on the criticism? Too bad, mistakes like that get people killed. 

Izuku pivots, nodding to the next two students as he speaks. “Iida, excellent work with the planning. We’ll need to practice adaptability when regulation doesn’t apply. Shinsou, good job opening up opportunities with your quirk, we’ll train it to stick later.” The last part lands on deaf ears, but Izuku can’t leave him out without risking the other students noticing. 

Izuku steps back, allowing All Might to do what he does best and take up attention. That’s fine. Izuku thrives in the shadows. He steps over to the class, choosing just the right path so a student who’s been watching him more than the board can intercept Izuku.

“You’re strangely mature,” Todoroki says suspiciously. He sounds like an edgy detective in one of those old noir films.

“Thanks, it’s the trauma.” Izuku leans back, subtly stepping on Shinsou’s foot. The teen startles awake. “Did your dad flip his shit over some staplers a couple nights ago?”

“So, what if he did?” Todoroki pauses, then stares at Izuku with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You didn’t.”

Izuku grins with all his teeth. “Sounds like I’ve succeeded in a small portion of my life goal to make him miserable. Shinsou, nice job today.” Izuku leaves for the door before it can turn into a conversation, which he most definitely is lacking spoons for. He also has to make another lesson plan after seeing this. Ugh.

The next day, Asui-san’s case is won. Izuku grins as he reads through a news report outside. UA’s back-campus lawn is warm, green, and filled with the smell of perfectly trimmed grass, perfect for lunchtime research on related cases. He’s chosen to sit outside for very simple reasons:

• Dabi gave him an unholy number of plastic grasshoppers
• There is now a plastic grasshopper in the bottom of each teacher’s coffee or tea or beverage of choice
• One of his coworkers (Present Mic) is very loud

And finally,

• His eardrums probably can’t be shattered from here. ‘Probably’ being the key word.

This wisdom has evidently been passed on to Shinsou, who plops down next to Izuku, shoves half a store-bought sandwich in his mouth, and keels over. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Shinsou announces mournfully. “You seem slightly relatable so let me know when lunch is over?”

Izuku made the correct choice naming Shinsou as his mentee. “I’ll try. You may have noticed I usually fail at the whole ‘arriving on time’ thing, but I can wake you up.”

“Thanks.” Aaaaand he’s out. 

Izuku waves over Todoroki, who seems perfectly content with slowly wandering around in search of a place to eat like a lost Sims character. “Join my small lunch club” Izuku calls. “We have no bribes to offer but excellent trees to sit under.”

“Sure.” Todoroki has barely sat down when an alarm screeches through UA’s campus. Izuku’s first assumption is that it’s Mic. But no, he recognizes this from teacher training. It’s worse.

“S’that a fire drill?” Shinsou sits up blearily.

Todoroki stands, peering across UA’s perfectly manicured lawns. “They’re shuttering the doors.”

“Intruder alarm. We’re stuck outside.” Izuku takes a bite from his lunch, ignoring the screeching and distant sounds of panicked students. “How tragic.”

“You don’t think it’s villains?” Shinsou asks. He settles back slightly so he’s behind the tree and out of sight from most of the courtyard. He’s more awake now than he was in practical lessons, but only by a bit. Izuku’s willing to bet it’s all adrenaline.

“You think I care? If villains find me that’s their problem.” Izuku’s anklet would have beeped by now from a teacher checking his location. The staff probably know exactly what it is, and they haven’t called him to fight or protect the students. It’s fine.

Todoroki nods along to this sage opinion while Shinsou glances between them. “How do I attain that level of ‘fuck you?’”

“Kidnapping,” Izuku says.

“Desensitization,” Todoroki adds at the same time.

Good to know they’re on the same page. Shinsou looks mildly concerned for a second before deciding it is copyrighted as None Of His Business and flopping against the tree again. Izuku is both amazed and concerned at his ability to sleep during a screeching alarm.

With Dr. Isha’s clearance to use only leg supports for short periods of time, Izuku decides it’s time to cause chaos. He starts by stopping by the Grasshopper Movement in costume.

“Hey,” Grasshopper says from the second-floor window. It’s a nice house, but they need to work on security. Activism can be dangerous, and some of the industries they’re facing aren’t above illegal action. Some of them probably have thumbprint-ID phones, like fools not aware it doesn’t even take hacking skill to bypass those. Not to mention this is a very good window for snipers. Zoo would love it.

“Another copycat,” an older woman sighs without looking up. “Go away, we told you to come back with proof of your legitimacy.”

“I don’t know if I should be insulted or pleased people think I’m worth copying.” Grasshopper slowly raises a leg, giving as close as he can to the ole razzle-dazzle with back pain and a tiny window frame. “Anyway, do these legs look like they belong to anyone else? They’re patented Gucci and only I can strut this stuff.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but no,” one man begins, before his buddy elbows him in the ribs.

“An illusion quirk could do that,” smart-friend says. Grasshopper rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. A knife thuds into the kitchen chopping board.

“I’d appreciate it if someone could bring that back. Back injuries hurt like hell.”

The older woman slowly looks up, re-assessing him. “You,” she states with all the exhaustion of someone who’s finally found a needle in a haystack but is just too tired to really care. 

Grasshopper barely stops himself from laughing at how the room quiets. He settles for pointing at himself innocently. “Me?”

“You’re real,” she announces, like this weren’t an obvious fact.

“Oh, really?” Grasshopper pats his arms and mask. “Am I? Do I exist as a corporeal being? The horror!”

“Definitely real,” Not-as-smart-friend says. He collects Grasshoppers throwing knife, inspecting the blade. “These are engraved.”

“They were a gift,” Grasshopper tells him, just to be polite. He can save the sass for when they talk shop. “So. I won’t ask how you got to be heads of this party bus, because that’s backstory stuff and vigilantes don’t touch that till level five friendship. But I am curious what your goals are. Logically, y’all should start by looking into what caused such a massive failing in our system. Why are civilians being hunted mistakenly? Why is the label of ‘villain’ passed around like a hot potato? Why are heroes reprimanded more for a drop in the ranking system than they are for a hundred civilian fatalities? The fact is, the society we live in has not fully adapted to quirks.”

“We know,” the woman grits out. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh goodie,” Grasshopper chirps. “What’ve you got?”

The silence is deafening.

“Not much,” she admits eventually.

“Cool.” He takes out a letter, tossing it to the ground. Tsukauchi Makoto wrote it. “I’ve talked with someone and asked for an oracle. She knows my stance on most matters and is damn good at getting shit done. I specifically tried to find a team player.”

They know what that means. “You expect us to work with her?!”

Grasshopper shrugs. “Your call. My name isn’t copyrighted, but if you want to keep using it then people are gonna have questions. You want to back it up, read that. If not, then go ahead and burn it right now. I’ll wait.”

Silence in the court. They need the Grasshopper name, and everyone knows it.

“’Aight, good luck and all that. Toodles.” The room practically explodes in confusion as Grasshopper salutes lazily, falling backwards out of view. 

Koichi offers a ride back to Pop☆Step’s place, which is technically his tiny rooftop apartment that’s morphed into Knuckleduster’s crash spot as well. Izuku knows this because his cousin is the type to obnoxiously crash on her besties couch and claim it as hers. Couch-crashing runs in the family.

It’s on the way that Izuku spots a ramen store, which in turn reminds him of Shinsou nearly falling asleep into his ramen that day, which leads to contemplating just what the fuck is up with Shinsou recently. Something is clearly wrong. 

Izuku ends up calling Zookeeper once he’s back. 

“Zookeeper,” she grunts. “You’re clear.” She always starts with if there are listening quirks nearby – they all do.

“Izuku, clear. Hey, not to arrange for a semi-assassin to check that my student is feeling properly loved and supported, but could you find a Shinsou for me? Hitoshi’s his first name, and he fell asleep during my class which should be impossible because it’s, you know, a class on sneaking into buildings and doing illegal shit legally.”

“Rest in pieces,” Zookeeper mutters. “Gimme a second.”

The line goes dead.

The Zooboomafoo ringtone goes off while Izuku is listening to Knuckleduster explain the proper way to slap Endeavor. None of them have experience doing so. Regardless, the explanation involves a small amount of mansplaining on proper form, two diagrams, and a demonstration utilizing a couch cushion.

“Excuse me,” Izuku announces, and Knuckleduster nods, turning back to his book as though nothing’s happened. “Izuku. I’m with the Naruhata gang.”

“So, I found your son,” Zookeeper starts before Izuku cuts her off.

“He’s not my son. We are literally the same age, you know this.”

“Well either way, come get yo mans. This child is sleeping in a karaoke café and his parents have kicked him out. From what I could find they did it the first day. I’m reporting them as we speak.”

Izuku feels like someone shoved a shard of ice through his chest. “They did what?” Koichi looks up in alarm from the kitchen, and Izuku waves absently as Zookeeper continues. Her voice is absent, nearly casual, but Izuku’s known her long enough to sense the anger under it.

“Kicked him out. Neighbors fell for my quality salesperson cover and mentioned some yelling about tuition costs, like that’s a reason to disown your son. Fuckers. I’m getting him to safety. This a UA problem or a safehouse problem? Because he’s not gonna trust a stranger offering a secondary location if he has any street smarts.”

“Well, shit. I guess Grasshopper’s got shit to do.”

“No,” Zookeeper says instantly. “I’ll get him. You’ve already moved around too much today so go ahead and sit tight.”

Izuku hums, already reaching for his mask. “I’m already out, it’s fine.”

“No. I know your self-sacrificing streak,” Zookeeper hisses before hanging up.

Knuckleduster’s phone starts ringing as Izuku casts around for his stuff. Where are his crutches? Pop☆Step better not have put Hello Kitty stickers on them. Dabi got her a whole pack recently and Izuku does not need that bullshit in his life.

“Hello?” Knuckleduster listens for a moment before meeting Izuku’s eyes. “Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” the vigilante promises, slowly locking the window behind him. That’s not terrifying at all.

Hitoshi wakes with a start when the door slides open. He’s usually not a light sleeper – his parents never used to enter his room while he was there – but changing up his location every night is messing with his ability to rest. He barely got an hour in last night. Besides, karaoke places are cheaper than hotels and the staff are used to people crashing overnight - they provide blankets for crying out loud – so nobody should be opening the door at 1am.

It’s a stranger.

Just like that, it’s panic time! Hitoshi can feel his body descending into numbness as his lungs try to jackhammer themselves out of his chest. Is the room spinning? Because it feels like it’s drifting away from him as reality splinters into something he just… can’t compute anymore. 

A woman with white hair and empty eyes closes the door behind her and drops a UA ID card on the table. She starts to speak, realizes Hitoshi looks like he’s about to throw up and dissolve into a nervous puddle simultaneously, and raises both hands to show she’s unarmed. “Grasshopper sent me,” she says, as this explains everything. “You okay?”

Hitoshi scrambles back, nearly falling off the karaoke couch in his haste to put some distance between them in the narrow room. “Who are you?” 

This is wrong; she’s an unknown, and an unknown is a threat because he can’t predict someone who breaks into karaoke rooms at one in the morning. The woman frowns, edging back so she’s as far away from him as possible. The space is appreciated, but not nearly enough to stop his head from feeling like a balloon ready to float away. 

“Kid, you need to breathe-“ she starts, but Hitoshi’s quirk snaps into action.

Gotchya. Hitoshi takes a moment to wheeze in relief. His quirk is safe, reliable. He knows his limits and knows that this woman isn’t breaking out of his hold anytime soon. He catches his breath before assessing the woman. He doesn’t see any weapons, and her black motorcycle jacket is too slim to hide anything under. He just needs to watch out for a quirk if she breaks free.

“Who are you?” he starts, more out of habit than any logical thought. He’d made a plan, known that he would have a panic attack if anyone came after him on the streets and that logic just… doesn’t work when trauma takes the wheel. He can barely remember the plan anymore, but his breathing is slowing down, at least.

“Zookeeper.” That’s… not helpful. Hitoshi takes a couple seconds to breathe.

Hitoshi tries again. “What is your real name?”

“Zookeeper,” the woman relies again, dull and empty. She’s been brainwashed before. Hitoshi can tell by how it takes only the barest effort to keep a hold of her. That’s good, at least. It means he’s got an advantage. Google shows no responses for a Zookeeper. Just zoo employees and red pandas. Hitoshi gives up and switches tactics.

“Did Grasshopper send you,” Hitoshi asks, because it sure as hell isn’t true. He can ask for basic personal information, but anything else is mostly limited to a yes/no range. It’ll take a lot of training for that to change.

“Yes.”

Hitoshi nearly breaks down again at that one. This implies that Grasshopper not only knows about him but also sent someone who is obviously a hitman to throw a UA ID card on the table and send him into a panic. There’s also the unfortunate fact that he was traced. Hitoshi has been very paranoid about leaving no tracks in case his parents somehow change their minds.

He concentrates and pushes his limits to ask a question. “Why?” It’s easier to get a response than he was expecting – whoever brainwashed her before left some serious mental scarring. It’s like the guys his dad ordered around, somewhat empty even when they’d break his control. She probably wasn’t meant to ever be released.

“He said you fell asleep in class,” Zookeeper replies hollowly. 

What the fuck? The number one vigilante in Japan, and possibly the world, sent… whoever this is after him because he fell asleep in class? Hitoshi cups his head in his hands and starts laughing hysterically. This might as well happen. His life is already so goddamn weird.

His control snaps abruptly as she jolts.

Hitoshi inches further away, but Zookeeper doesn’t do anything. Instead, she reaches for her phone, searching through the images and holding one up. That’s… that’s Izuku. His student teacher holds up a bored peace sign in the frame, other hand buried in the large grey cat on his lap. Someone who looks suspiciously like the number two vigilante Dabi is in the background. Zookeeper notes his suspicion and places the phone on the table where he can see it.

Hitoshi appreciates the gesture, because he is very uncomfortable with having a non-brainwashed stranger in his karaoke room.

“Izuku?” Hitoshi asks carefully, and Zookeeper nods.

She wrinkles her nose at something before crossing her arms. “He asked Grasshopper, who asked me. I can call him, if that would help.”

“If you don’t mind.” There is nothing he’d like more. Hitoshi has known Izuku for less than a week, but he already knows the class TA is honest and upfront. Izuku, he can trust.

Zookeeper texts first, then calls. It’s picked up immediately. “Zookeeper,” she announces quickly. “Speakerphone is on. Remember how you asked Grasshopper to find a lost child?”

“Izuku. Pop☆Step is listening- stop putting stickers on that! Also, he’s not my child,” Izuku’s voice adds. “Did you find him?”

“Yeah, he’s listening in.”

“Zoo, I love and support you so much-“

“Talk to him.”

There’s a squawk on the other end of the line before the phone is pushed across the table, speaker still on.

“Hey?” Hitoshi says, because he really doesn’t know how to feel about this. “Did you send out a hit on me?”

There’s a moment of silence before, “to be fair, I asked one person who is very trustworthy to make sure you were safe.”

In other words, he not only sent out a hit, he asked Grasshopper, who gets shit done and survived being dropkicked by Miriko. All Might would flinch at being drop kicked by Miriko. Izuku asked someone who is way too terrifying for their eternally exhausted TA to know. Then that person asked a hitman.

Who the fuck is Izuku?

“You asked Grasshopper.” Hitoshi isn’t expecting a response. He doesn’t get one. It just needs to be said to imply his full range of emotion is stuck on this one fact. By the door, Zookeeper seems to find something about this very amusing and is trying not to laugh or cry. It’s hard to tell which.

“I asked someone who I have and will trust with my life,” Izuku says finally, and Hitoshi knows when someone is weighing their words, can hear the same tone in Izuku’s voice. He’s hiding something, but it’s not a lie. “I can come meet you if that’s better.”

“He should rest,” Zookeeper mutters, and Hitoshi remembers abruptly that Izuku is injured and probably shouldn’t be moving around. The only option left is… going with this stranger.

“Why should I trust you?” Hitoshi asks Zookeeper, mindful of the way she slipped into the room effortlessly, and how that doesn’t happen without training. He knows caution, breathed it every day at home. This is no different.

“You shouldn’t,” she says, eyes glazing over.

“Excellent use of quirk,” Izuku murmurs from the phone. “Make sure there are no witnesses next time, but I’ll let it slide.”

Hitoshi hates how he nearly doesn’t question why Izuku is advising him how to get away with illegal quirk use. “You will take me to UA, and only UA,” he tells Zookeeper, who nods obediently before jerking out of his control again. He isn’t sure how she’s doing it until he notices a small device in the gloved hand. Is she electrocuting herself?

“Control is always uncertain; the truth is not,” she tells him. “Use your quirk and try again.”

“What?“ 

“Try again-”

This is the first time anyone has requested to be under his control, and Hitoshi finds it’s easier to activate his quirk. “What are you planning?”

“To take you to UA’s front entrance. Izuku will meet us there. Then I’m going to meet a weapons dealer downtown for tip he promised about-” 

Hitoshi releases his quirk and collects his bag. Whatever crimes are happening tonight, he’s not going to be an accomplice. Izuku says nothing from the phone, so Hitoshi can safely assume this is entirely normal. He hates this weird highschool life so much. He hesitates at the door before turning around sharply. Zookeeper is holding the phone, still on speakerphone. Part of Hitoshi wonders if they’re keeping the call up for his comfort, but the other part of him says the world isn’t that kind.

“Izuku?” he asks before he can regret it. “Could you come meet us here?”

“No problem,” Izuku says cheerfully, and staticy rustling clogs the call signal.

Zookeeper frowns before messing with the phone and leaning in close. “Pop, I know you’re listening,” she hisses and wow, Hitoshi is suddenly very glad he’s not going to be alone with her for long. He edges back just in case.

“Hello,” a bright voice chirps. Hitoshi would place it at their age, and feminine. “What’s up?”

“Izuku might try to jump out the window-“

“He is,” Pop interrupts, and Hitoshi begins to doubt everyone. “I think he keeps forgetting that’s not a thing he can do anymore.”

“Can you get him to the Karaoke place in Mustafu, got a big pink sign on the corner of Third Street?”

“Will do,” Pop chirps with such similarity to Izuku Hitoshi is left reeling. “Give us a few seconds to- IZUKU I SWEAR IF YOU TAKE ONE STEP OUT THAT DOOR, I WILL PUT THESE STICKERS ON YOUR LEG SUPPORTS, TOO.”

“YOU WOULDN’T-“

“TRY ME, BITCH- anyway, we’ll be there in a bit. I’ll keep the line open.”

Hitoshi retreats to the couch and pretends to open a phone game. He ends up watching Zookeeper out of the corner of his eye, but she just sets the phone on the table and amuses herself with calling up songs on the karaoke tablet.

She doesn’t sing, just listens to the tune. Hitoshi can’t help but feel relieved.

Chapter Text

“Zoo, what the fuck, Knuckleduster tackled me. He sat! On my gear! You know I’m injured!” Izuku yells, slamming open the door to the karaoke room and practically making Hitoshi jump out of his skin. The TA’s head snaps around to assess Hitoshi as if called by some ancient teacher instinct. Actually, that instinct is probably how Eraserhead’s still alive.

“You,” Izuku hisses. “If anyone hurts you again so help me, I will string them up by the docks for Scalebreath to find.”

Hitoshi leans back. “Thank you?”

Izuku seems to realize he’s intimidating, and snaps back to his usual nerdy TA self. “Also, is physical contact okay?”

Hitoshi need a moment to let that process. “What.”

“Physical contact.” Izuku sets his crutches aside and holds out both arms. He accidentally shows off the Dabi themed hoodie he’s wearing in the process. “Hugs. Embraces. Thank-goodness-you’re-not-dead greetings. I’m offering a hug, is that okay?”

It’s a blessing. Izuku’s hug is grounding, and he doesn’t judge when Hitoshi leans into it like it’s the last hug he’ll get for months. Hitoshi knows that it will be, once UA realizes what’s going on and kicks him out onto the streets. Tuition is too high, but Hitoshi isn’t allowed to work part-time for it according to school rules.

Izuku doesn’t judge. 

He pats Hitoshi’s back, meets his eyes when he steps back and promises, “it’s going to be okay.”

Then Izuku turns and ruins the heartfelt moment by tripping over something in the hallway. Zookeeper darts in, grabbing the back of Izuku’s collar before he face-plants on the floor due to the suspiciously body-sized black duffle bag.

What.

There’s something close to the shape of a head pressed against one end, and the two divots on the other resemble the toes of shoes a little too much. Izuku scoops up the bag with a grunt and slings it over his shoulder.

“Whatchya got there,” Hitoshi asks eventually.

Izuku’s eyes widen comically, focusing on Zookeeper for a second as if she might intervene and save him. “Only legal things,” Izuku, the worst liar in history, promises.

It’s definitely a dead body.

Leaving takes entirely too long, mostly because Izuku greets one of the employees like an old friend and gives tutoring advice before Zookeeper manages to drag him outside. Hitoshi follows hesitantly, figuring the more distance he has between them, the less association he’ll have with two people who are carrying a dead body in a duffle bag. You know, like a normal person.

They use the back entrance, where Zookeeper stomps past rubbish-filled dumpsters and splashes through a gasoline-soaked puddle to a motorcycle. Hitoshi feels an impending sense of doom.

She tosses a helmet to Izuku and practically shoves another helmet into Hitoshi’s hands. Izuku’s crutches are collapsed and stored where the helmets once were. The routine is familiar, and Hitoshi is faced with the uncomfortable realization that not only is Izuku apparently besties with Grasshopper, but he’s also friends with a probably-assassin and someone who he’s starting to suspect is Pop☆Step. He’s also going to ride a motorcycle with both his dead-body-carrying TA, and assassin, and a… dead body. 

What the fuck? 

Hitoshi finds himself between Izuku and Zookeeper, because Izuku refuses to let his dead-body-bag be carried by anyone else. Hitoshi hates this new high school life. He’s snapped back to reality when Zookeeper shoots him a glare.

“Road safety,” she grunts while tapping his unbuckled helmet, before proceeding to break multiple traffic laws and run every single red light. 

When they roll up to UA, Izuku hops just inside the gate and starts messing with the high-tech anklet he’s kept hidden under his baggy pants. It’s suspicious. Everything here is suspicious. Hitoshi is starting to lose track of all the questionable things he’s seen tonight.

Zookeeper stops just long enough for Hitoshi to also get off the motorcycle, and points a threatening finger at him. 

“You never saw me, you never met me. I will burn this whole city to the ground if my involvement is so much as hinted at,” she hisses. “There are people who can spill all their organs out at will and I will paralyze you and lay you in their intestines if you so much as breathe my name. Feel free to make sure I’m telling the truth.”

Hitoshi doesn’t need to. Izuku hugs the scary woman without taking his anklet from UA’s property, and she’s gone. He then tugs his Suspicious Duffle Bag safely into UA’s property line.

“You know Grasshopper,” Hitoshi tells Izuku as they begin the walk to the dorms, because he is still stuck on this fact. “And someone who I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist. Was that Pop on the phone, like Pop Step?” He convinces Izuku to let him lift half the bag, and it’s got the weight of a small body inside. Maybe his TA killed a kid.

Oh God, his TA killed a kid. 

“You gotta pronounce it Pop☆Step,” Izuku lectures, like this is the important thing and not the suspicious item they’re carrying into UA. Hitoshi is very annoyed that Izuku not only has a quirk for pronouncing emojis, but he’s also acting like this is something just anyone can do. “Come on, Uraraka’s making dinner tonight.” 

This clarifies nothing.

Izuku refuses Hitoshi’s offer to fully carry the Suspicious Bag instead of the ‘one handle each’ policy that’s giving Izuku trouble with his crutches. It only serves to further cement Hitoshi’s belief that there’s a body inside. UA wouldn’t allow a murderer on campus… right?

Izuku ends up opening a window rather than the door to sneak in to 1A’s dorms. There are so many suspicious things about tonight that Hitoshi almost doesn't consider it.

“They track who opens the front door,” he tells Hitoshi when asked. “And I don’t trust like that.” This culminates in Hitoshi helping Izuku scramble through a window into the common room, duffle bag in his arms the whole way. 

It’s on the way that Hitoshi notices the edge of a green tattoo on the back of Izuku’s neck, mostly covered by the hoodie. Izuku shimmies through the window before Hitohi can really see, but it’s enough to make out clouds. Only yakuza and foreigners have tattoos. The class had assumed Izuku was an underground hero. Hitoshi is starting to have doubts. Maybe an informant? A broker? 

Who the fuck?

Uraraka looks up from her tea and waves to them from the kitchen as if people drop through windows at ass-o’clock every day. Maybe she’s gotten used to it. Hitoshi does not want this to be his new normal.

“He knows Grasshopper,” Hitoshi tells Uraraka the moment they enter.

“I knew it,” she crows gleefully, which is the opposite reaction Hitoshi was expecting. “You know everyone. Do you know Thirteen?”

“He works at this school??” Izuku pulls a bar of chocolate from under the couch, nearly dropping one of his crutches in the process. “We all know him.”

“What about the number two vigilante?” Uraraka bounces in place. “Dabi?”

“He’s an ass,” Izuku grumbles before slapping a hand over his mouth. He warily looks between Hitoshi, who is still in shock from tonight’s ordeal; and Uraraka, who is taking in this information like an overzealous sponge, and grabs his suspicious bag. The elevators ding as he, his forbidden knowledge, and body-sized duffle bag beat a hasty retreat. 

Uraraka turns to the fridge, grabbing leftovers and shoving a plate in Hitoshi’s hands. “So, how’d you end up here?”

There’s a long response Hitoshi could give. A whole sob story. “I was living the stereotypical rebellious teenager life. He sent out a hit on me and told Grasshopper I fell asleep in class,” Hitoshi ends up saying. Uraraka cheers like Christmas is tomorrow and tells him to help himself to the okonomiyaki.

“We have the best teachers,” she says, heading upstairs with a mug of herbal tea. “Highschool is great.”

Yeah. Great. Hitoshi got informally disowned and then tracked down illegally. He’s not feeling too great.

Hitoshi starts looking through the leftovers Uraraka left out. He hasn’t eaten since lunch that day. Money was too limited, and he’d figured it would be better to get a meal over the weekend than waste change on convenience store sandwiches. Izuku doesn’t end up coming down for a 2am snack. 

Instead, Aizawa wanders in, and is refilling his mug of coffee (it’s 2am? how is he alive??) before he nods to Hitoshi. “Your room is on the third floor, end of the hall next to Izuku’s. He can help you get set up.”

Finally. A chance to sleep and forget this whole mess. Hitoshi makes his way up the stairs. Izuku waves from the end of the hall where he’s installing a mid-sized doggy door. Does nobody here sleep? Hitoshi’s used to being the only one up by now. It’s like… two in the morning. This isn’t natural or healthy for anyone under UA’s ungodly workload.

“Beans is too big for most cat doors because he’s a round old man full of snuggles and purrs,” Izuku says by way of explanation as to the doggy door. This explains nothing. “How are you holding up?”

“Good, I guess? Hasn’t really sunk in yet.” Hitoshi sits down to watch Izuku fiddle with a screwdriver. “Do you have a cat?”

“Yeah. Beans is at home but I’m starting to think the dorms need an emotional support animal. He’s like. So good. I adore him with my entire soul.”

“I will pay you like three ramen packets to meet this cat.”

“It’s a deal.” Izuku hums, moving on to the next screw while he bops along to whatever tune’s going through his head. “Sorry about tonight. I would have talked to you during school Monday, but knowing a friend is sleeping in a karaoke café all weekend kinda goes against my moral compass.”

“It’s good.” Hitoshi brings his knees up, trying not to think about the ‘friend’ comment and how long it’s been since he had one. “How’d you know?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know I was there?”

Izuku sits back, checking the cat door before realizing he forgot a screw. “I work with people on the streets all the time, Shinsou. Met a lot of kids in similar situations.” Izuku finishes his work but doesn’t pack up the tools, instead choosing to swat the cat door and watch it flap lazily. “There’s a look you start to recognize after a while.”

“Hitoshi,” he says, surprising even himself. “First names are fine.”

Izuku nods and begins packing up his supplies. “Hitoshi, I’m here to help you establish a domicile.”

“I own like, my backpack and a sweatshirt.”

“Cool. I’ve got extra blankets.” Izuku reaches up, unlocking his door and pushing it open while still sitting. “They’re on the dresser over there.”

Hitoshi steps into Izuku’s room cautiously. It’s… not what he’d expected. Very little is placed above shoulder height, and the bed built like a nest. There are no fewer than three vibrant rugs on the floor, all scattered and overlapping like Izuku couldn't get them to fit without moving furniture. A couple picture frames on the dask show Izuku and a woman who looks like him. There’s merchandise of vigilantes everywhere, and a painting of the Number Two vigilante decked out in extremely old-fashioned Hello Kitty merch. A horribly cheesy ‘get well soon’ card rests on the desk, decorated with grasshoppers but bearing no signatures. It must be from the Number One vigilante.

“You like vigilantes?” he asks instead.

“Pop keeps giving me shit,” Izuku grumbles from the hallway floor. He’s transitioned to laying on his back. “She thinks it’s funny.”

“Pop? As in Pop Step?”

Izuku is silent for an uncomfortably long time. Cool. Add that name to the now growing List Of Vigilantes Izuku Knows. A Grasshopper plushy sits atop a couple comforters, and Hitoshi pulls down a soft purple one.

He pauses, glancing over to where a single decoration hangs by the window. The kabuki-style rabbit mask’s smooth porcelain surface is painted in careful green swirls. It’s traditional, probably hand-crafted. All the other merchandise is recognizable (Hitoshi will deny going through that vigilante-worshipping phase after Grasshopper took out his father’s business) but this mask isn’t from any of the known ones.

“What’s the mask about?”

“Oh, that’s a gift from my dad.” Izuku’s expression hints heavily that this is a can of worms nobody wants opened, so Hitoshi shoulders the comforter and makes his way out to the hallway. Everything to do with Izuku seems either illegal or something close to it, and today has been enough of an emotional roller coaster without learning Izuku’s dad is a criminal or some equally weird shit.

Fuck it, he has a room to set up. 

It turns out Izuku’s idea of helping him ‘establish a domicile’ is sitting on the foot of Hitoshi’s new bed and telling him where to find stuff. 

“The teachers are trying to convince me that there's no food allowed in the teachers lounge,” Izuku says while Hitoshi tries to find his homework. It’s 2:30am. “Cementoss has a whole drawer dedicated to cookies, and I can’t have popcorn? Lies. If not for the laws of this land I would have slaughtered them all.” He flops onto his side.

“You wouldn’t,” Hitoshi says, before he remembers the suspicious bag in Izuku’s room.

“Debatable,” Izuku mutters. From anyone else it would be funny. Hearing Izuku say that is concerning. “By the way, don’t tell people I called in Grasshopper. I’m okay with you telling Uraraka, but I draw a line at the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

Hitoshi shrugs. “I won’t if you don’t spill my life story.”

Izuku pauses, sitting up on his elbows and causing Hitoshi’s new dorm-issue bed springs to squeak obnoxiously. “What? That’s- no?? That’s your story to tell, Hitoshi. I’m not sharing anything about tonight with a single soul, but nobody else should either.”

Hitoshi frowns, scooting back so he’s leaning against the bedpost closer to Izuku’s elbow. It has the added benefit of letting him avoid eye contact, which Hitoshi’s never been good at. “I know, just thought I’d make sure.”

Izuku stills, watching Hitoshi carefully. There’s no judgement in his expression, just realization and something Hitoshi can’t quite place.

“You deserve trust, and people who will return it,” the TA says eventually. “I won’t ask what you’ve gone through, and I know if either of us remember tonight past the sleep deprivation it will be a minor miracle, but I want you to know that you are deserving of feeling safe and trusted.” Izuku flops onto his side and grumbles, “I know better than to speak words that aren’t mine. This is your new chapter. Do yourself a favor and chose good characters to fill it with.”

Hitoshi doesn’t know what to think of that. 

“It’s not over,” he says, because that’s all he has been able to think about for days. “My family may want nothing to do with me, but they’re still my parents. I can’t change that.”

“You can, if you really, really want.” Izuku leaves the words there, to sit with them in the room’s silence as the sound of crickets and gentle breeze filter in from the window. It’s not suffocating, but the hidden realization makes a good attempt.

Hitoshi has wanted a different family for years now. It’s not to say that he hates his current one – he has a hard time shaking memories of back when they cared, before he got his quirk. It’s just that they’ve felt like strangers for most of his life now, never giving him time or attention unless he broke an unknown rule. The underlying implication that he’d be disowned after one wrong step hadn’t helped. Living has been like walking on eggshells for so long, that he’s beginning to doubt he knows how not to freeze up. He doesn't remember how normal families work. Now that the rules have been broken, the absence of constraints leaves him jittery and anxious.

“It feels weird,” he settles on. “I want to go play music without headphones and run the sink past midnight just because I can. Like, there’s no reason to, I just… wanna cut loose.” 

Izuku smiles, and it's as bright as the sun. “You want to commit acts of silly. Pure, unfiltered nonsense because you finally can without consequence. Freedom is funky like that. Your parents sound like they suck ass, no offence.” Izuku sounds like he’s gone through something similar before, but Hitoshi doesn’t doubt it. He knows now that his classmate lived a very sketchy life before Hitoshi even entered high school. Now, with Izuku flopped over his bed and smiling in the light of a borrowed desk lamp, he can tell that the cryptid of a TA’s face, shoulders, and arms are covered with dozens of scars. They’re faded, and thin enough to not be noticeable, but still a reminder that Hitoshi will likely never fully understand what Izuku has gone through.

“I know they’re my parents, but it stopped feeling like the truth a long time ago,” Hitoshi tells Izuku eventually. “If I could magically swap them for another set, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Izuku laughs, but there’s something calculating in his eyes now. “Wanna squad up with my fam and give Aizawa a heart attack?” It sounds like a joke. Definitely a joke. Izuku wouldn’t offer his whole family to someone he’s known a week.

If only I could. Hitoshi opts for dodging the question entirely rather than deal with the wistfulness nearly breaking his heart into tiny jagged pieces. “Please, leave my childhood idol alone.”

“Owo?” Izuku somehow makes it into a cursed sound. “What’s this?” It’s further confirmation that Izuku’s quirk is the ability to pronounce emojis. Hitoshi hates it. 

“Izuku,” he begins wearily, “I swear if you make that noise ever again I will feed you your own kneecaps-“

Izuku ignores the pithy threat with all the grace of someone who has heard much worse, and edges closer so his chin is close to Hitoshi’s shoulder. “Your childhood idol?” he crows gleefully.

Hitoshi glares until Izuku settles back, peering down at him mischievously from the bed like a small, playful dragon.

“Aizawa is a dad if I ever met one,” Izuku declares, which is a bold statement considering this is Eraserhead, the teacher who essentially threatened the class with expulsion seconds after meeting them.

Hitoshi is very suspicious.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. Maybe because every tiny detail about Izuku warrants a full investigation.

“I’ll take my chances with your family, thanks-“ he breaks off, realizing he should probably back that statement up with some sort of clarification. Today has shown him his TA is up to questionable things and possibly is a murderer. Then again, Hitoshi’s dad tried to be a mob boss so blood relations probably don’t determine character. “-Who I know nothing about, come to think of it.”

“Oh, they’re great. Mom makes the best Katsudon, and Dad’s always got wild advice about literally anything.” Izuku pulls out his phone, scrolling through before he shows Hitoshi a photo of him and a woman Hitoshi’s fairly certain he’s seen in the news before. “Mom’s a lawyer; she’s off in England teaching law stuff. Dad’s got a lot of businesses, so I don’t see him often. My aunts are both heroes, and my uncle works near the docks. They’re all weird in different ways, but that’s what makes it fun. I also haven’t seen them in months, but that’s more because I went ahead and landed myself a spot as Nezdu’s political pawn.”

Hitoshi frowns. “Political pawn?” 

There’s a lot that Izuku left unsaid – Izuku’s dad having multiple businesses sounds uncomfortably similar to how Hitoshi’s Da- No. How Mr. Shinsou had described his own line of work. Hitoshi’s- that man was tied to the arms trade. Izuku said his dad had multiple, and that doesn’t sit well with the tattoo he’d seen on Izuku’s neck. Hitoshi has some googling to do once Izuku leaves for the night.

Izuku scrolls through his phone, either unaware or ignoring Hitoshi’s internal conflict. “Unfortunately, my job’s mask has some name-brand recognition. Eraserhead’s the only underground hero on staff, and we worked together a bit more than the others, so he’s the one stuck watching me after this injury bullshit.” Izuku gets off the bed, collecting his crutches before Hitoshi can ask him what happened or what his job is. 

“Think about it,” Izuku says by the door without clarifying anything. “It might be nice, having a brother.”

Izuku wanders back to his own room before Hitoshi registers the implied meaning. Izuku was serious about offering a place in his family. Holy shit. Hitoshi is left wondering what in the world happened over the last two hours before he is struck by an equally devastating realization: Izuku’s family is definitely chaotic and terrifying and he’s probably landing himself in a lot of hot water just by agreeing, but he also really, really wants to have a place to call home. Even if it’s dangerous or illegal, he’d take it if it meant having a brother like Izuku. Normality is a doomed concept for him anyway.

“Izuku!” Hitoshi scrambles out of his room to see Izuku glance out of his own.

“Yeah?”

Hitoshi hesitates, knowing he’s likely getting into a whole world of trouble just by saying this. Still, the offer of a family – no matter how legally questionable Izuku’s may be – is something he’s only dreamed of for years. Better yet, a family he chooses for himself. “It would be nice. Having a brother.”

Izuku laughs. His smile is bright enough to light up the dim hallway. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Far away in one of Hosu’s forgotten mansion complexes, the second of Japan’s three prominent yakuza leaders snaps awake. 

“Izuku’s up to something,” he mutters out of half-suppressed fatherly instinct.

Midoriya Hisashi friezes, realizing he’d just spoken aloud and he’d just finished cleaning his room from another goddamned assassination attempt before passing out. After listening carefully to ensure there are no threats, he rises from his futon, finds the old green haori he favors, and collects his dragon mask.

The wolf-masked guard startles when Dragon wanders out of his room, pushing rice-paper doors open to greet the night air.

“Izuku’s done something,” he says conversationally. Most yakuza are deeply entrenched in their rankings, but if Dragon is considering these people his family then he’s damn well going to talk like it.

“...Sir?” the guard asks, caught off guard. It’s either Yuri or Kawamaru, but those twins are identical in even their speech patterns and Dragon honestly can’t tell when they’re masked like this. Not that he’ll ever admit it. Still, it’s like a test sent from fate and Dragon’s too stubborn to not throw hands with the universe. He’ll be friendly or so help him this whole place is burning down.

The guard tilts his head, entirely used to Dragon’s specific brand of nonsense. It runs in the family, apparently.

“My dad instincts are activating. Like I gotta take Izuku to a baseball game or some equally paternal activity.” Dragon pauses. “Yeah. Sportsball. That’s a game, right? The one with the baskets and the bases and the fucking… tennis rackets and soccers. They got points and shit.”

The guard stutters, then shrugs. “I-I guess? My kid likes volleyball, but he’s not so much into playing as the celebrity crush side. Collecting merch of some guy in like, Shirakawa. I don’t know if I should be proud or weirded out that he’s watching a team sharing me and my brother’s names.”

Shiro and Kawamaru both have sons of the same age. Fuck.

“Sportsball,” Dragon says knowingly, and the guard nods along. “That’s the one with the mascots, right?”

The guard pauses, unsure if Dragon is joking or not. “I think they all have mascots.”

“Exactly. Sportsball. It’s played with a ball, and uniforms, and mascots, and... sports. Sometimes one team gets points and even wins.” Dragon should not take amusement from how the guard is so clearly suffering but it’s just so damn funny. He looks like he’s experiencing stomach pains of increasing severity.

“Yeah,” the guard says miserably. “Izuku might like Sportsball.”

Dragon shrugs, pretending he didn’t just invent a sport. “Kids these days. At his age I was working my first job as a delivery man.”

For a second the air is calm, and Dragon admires the distant city lights as the guard struggles not to cry. They look like fireflies, coating the buildings merrily. It’s almost festival season, and Dragon will send half his Hoard into the city to keep community ties strong. They’ll help carry the float, and people will chant merrily in time as the procession winds itself closer to the temple where Dragon drank sake with every member of his Hoard, one by one. Nights like this remind him why he hasn’t given into the librarian fantasies and moved to Australia.

“A delivery man,” the guard repeats dryly once he’s recovered. “Right.”

“Of a sort.” A getaway sort. Dragon hums as he desperately tries to come up with a question that will tell him which twin this is. “Now that I think of it, I swear Izuku full-on skipped that sports-worship phase. I just hope he’s not in Tartarus…” Ah. Shit. The bastards better not have thrown my son in that hellhole. 

Dragon leaves silently through the complex’s halls. It’s an old layout from feudal times, but he’s always liked traditional architecture. Besides, Dragon needs an open-air base. Too many of their members joined with destructive quirks, and a fortress easily escaped is worth the trouble. Hosu knows him, knows the structured crime he brings is somehow safer than that idiot plague doctor’s kidnapping habits. After all, Dragon refuses to trade in human lives. His lifestyle may require choices, not all of them good, but that’s the one branch of the underworld he hasn’t touched since Izuku was taken the first time. It has served him well and kept his position secure in Hosu.

The lesser of two evils is preferable to an unstable power vacuum. 

Continuing that vein of thought, Dragon hasn’t seen news of Grasshopper since an old incident with Miriko. Getting injured is one thing, but he’d assumed that Izuku’s vigilante buddies would keep him out of jail. At minimum. Grasshopper is rumored to be dead, but Izuku’s faked his death enough that it’s just as likely to be February. Radio silence is expected after this kind of thing, but it’s been over six months. Izuku should have contacted him long ago. 

He finds Mayu and Tanaka going over inventory. Their falcon and wolf masks are on their belts, as is required when in the Dragon’s Nest. They mark a yakuza’s rank, with color denoting their jobs and tattoo matching it. Izuku is the only one with a quirk-made tattoo, so Tanaka’s inked arms stay that way even when he steps under the light.

“We need to find Grasshopper,” Dragon tells them without preamble. “He’s valuable, and we can’t let the police get him.”

“Dead or alive?” the Mayu asks bluntly. She fidgets with her falcon mask, likely hoping it’s not dead.

“Alive and unharmed. He has connections we need. Tell Izuku I’m looking for him if you must; he’ll be willing to pull strings. Ideally Grasshopper will see you looking around and stop by.”

Mayu frowns but holds her tongue. “Yes, sir.”

Tanaka slips on his own wolf mask, and Mayu follows a second later with her falcon one. They’re a good team with Mayu’s hacking quirk and Tanaka’s combat skill. Both have worked with Grasshopper before, so this is a good group to send out to retrieve Izuku. He walks them to the gate, going over the latest rumors regarding Grasshopper’s movements.

“Does your son know where to find Grasshopper?” Tanaka asks at the fortress gate. Nobody in the Dragon’s Hoard knows much about Izuku beyond his Rabbit rank and disputed position as inheritor. There are always rumors, but those seem to change with the seasons.

“Probably. He’ll pass it along, at the very least. Play nice, alright?”

Mayu laughs cheerily. “Sure. What could go wrong?”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi wakes up at noon to learn that Izuku has gone missing. 

Seeing as it’s a Saturday afternoon, he and Uraraka get a front row seat to watching all of UA’s staff systematically freak out. Aizawa has scoured the dorms from top to bottom, which included the air vents. Seeing their teacher discover a stash of gourmet chocolate behind the fridge was by far the highlight of Hitoshi’s day. Possibly because he and Uraraka have confiscated it for snacking purposes.

“I bet Izuku killed someone,” Uraraka whispers loudly to Hitoshi as they watch Ectoplasm’s clones dart across UA’s property in search of a certain missing cryptid TA. It’s been three hours by now.

Hitoshi can’t find evidence to the contrary.  “He had a duffle bag last night.”

Urarak nods sagely. “See? Definitely some degree of murder.”

“I haven’t killed. Probably. If I did, then it was in one building fire that was possibly my fault and therefore not first-degree,” Izuku says from behind them, pointedly ignoring Uraraka’s shriek of surprise and the flailing leap Hitoshi makes onto the couch. “I’m not Stain, guys.” 

He sets down a cat carrier and opens it so whatever’s inside can leave. Nobody moves. Hitoshi is deadly certain that whatever Izuku just said probably should go in a police report, but he also wants to know why there’s a cat carrier on the floor. So he stays.

A silver-grey whiskered nose appears, sniffs the air, and retreats.

“Is that… a cat?” Hitoshi’s latent cat lover instincts are activating. He needs to pet this cat. He needs to protect this cat. He cannot leave this cat in the hands of an owner who implied committing a degree of murder. Even if the cat’s owner may adopt him into some crime-ring family bullshit, Hitoshi is adopting this cat. He will drop-kick his way into Izuku’s life for this cat alone, criminal relations be damned.

The cat turns around in its carrier, and nearly causes the whole container to topple over because the cat is just that heavy. Hitoshi would kill for this cat and he hasn’t even seen it yet.

“Yeah, this is Beans.” Izuku drops his crutches and settles in beside a cardboard box – how did he get that and a carrier into the room without Hitoshi or Uraraka seeing – to start unpacking pet supplies. 

Uraraka takes a couple seconds to marvel at Izuku's magic appearing act before returning to the new excitement. “Beans?”

Izuku wiggles a hand. “Like toe beans.”

This is an amazing name. Hitoshi helps arrange the cat’s few belongings and carries bags of kitty litter to the bathroom corner Izuku picked out. Uraraka sets up the automatic food dispenser while Izuku packs away supplies and sets up the litter box.

“Do the teachers know you’re back,” she asks once they’re done and hanging out in the common room again. 

Izuku shrugs. “They’ll figure it out. Nezdu probably knows, but I don’t think he’ll tell them. He likes seeing his employees freak out like terrified ants.” He eyes the windows critically, before announcing, “come to think of it, I’m an employee. Huh.”

“RIP to you, but I’m different,” Hitoshi mumbles, and they let the matter drop. It takes another fifteen minutes for Aizawa to throw the door open and fly at Izuku, capture scarves snapping around the student teacher. Izuku looks mildly displeased.

“Problem child,” Aizawa growls as he approaches the TA. “What did you do?”

“Picked up my son.” Izuku gestures to the carrier with a slightly free hand. “I still need to get cat food for a hungered boi.”

Aizawa adjusts the scarves before bending down to peer into the carrier door. “This is the only exception,” the teacher decides upon viewing the cat. “I’ll pick up the cat food.”

Izuku positively beams. “He’s on a diet.”

“Good. He needs it,” Aizawa grunts before releasing Izuku from the scarves. Hitoshi feels insulted on the cat’s behalf and he hasn’t even seen it. Rude, much? Aizawa doesn’t seem to care, leaving with the brand of cat food scribbled on a sticky note.

Once free of the scarves, Izuku scoots closer to the carrier to coax the cat out. “Beans doesn’t like new places,” he tells Hitoshi. “He’s convinced that going outside is a death sentence.”

“Clearly this is an intelligent being.” Hitoshi edges closer on the floor until he catches sight of slitted green eyes in the carrier.

When Uraraka opens a can of tuna fish for lunch, Izuku asks her to drain the water into a bowl and sets it in the center of the room. Apparently the cat will never turn down food. They wait, each on their phones like sensible teenagers. Hitoshi only looks up when Uraraka gasps. A round grey and black tabby slowly pads out of the carrier to inspect the room warily. Hitoshi loves him immediately.

Beans is a truly rotund cat. The kind of cat who sits like a 13^th century baron that spoils his children rotten but recently exiled one for attempted murder of his cousin Gertrude and is considering how vast his estates are by the top window of his sprawling Manor. He sits like a king. Adding in the paws that point together ever-so-slightly, he looks like a feudal lord.

The cat cleans out the tuna water, determines the room is safe within a few minutes, and makes himself at home by settling down in a patch of sunlight like a slug.

Hitoshi cannot wrap his head around a cat who is physically too large to ‘loaf.’ Beans settles down on the floor, paws tucked in and tail straight out behind him, and refuses to loaf. Izuku mentions later that it’s because he’s too round to tuck the paws under his tummy. Hitoshi disagrees.

This is a cat who knows his worth. Who refuses to be picked up. Hitoshi tried and Beans tolerated it for a minute before expressing his displeasure with a single raspy, barking meow. By Beans standards, this is extreme dislike. Hitoshi loves the cat. He leaves his door slightly open that night, and sure enough, the next morning there is a full thirty pounds on his chest. He also learns that Beans has mastered the art of wheezy snoring while awake.

Hitoshi informs Izuku of this fact over waffles on Sunday. 

“You have the best cat,” he tells Izuku earnestly.

Izuku looks at Beans, who is hungrily watching a piece of lint with stunning green eyes. “You know... if you push him a little, he'll just sort of fall over and expect pats.”

Hitoshi is delighted by this knowledge. 

Touya looks up from his burning dinner to the sound of someone knocking on the apartment door. He’s half-tempted to leave them to it, crunch through the blackened crisps that were vegetables, and knock out, but seeing as both he and his housemate are wanted criminals and this building complex has more low-level thugs in its walls than it probably does maggots, it’s better that he’s here to deal with any trouble. The knocking continues as he finds a medical mask in case of police and shrugs on a beat-up jacket to hide his scarred arms. Dabi is recognizable. Touya is not.

Touya glances through the door’s spyhole, catching sight of a pressed suit and black mist. An employer, and well-paid if their clothes are indicator. They’re new if they’re here. That, or they’re desperate and seeking him specifically.

Touya yanks open the door, glaring at his visitor. “Spit it out.”

Misty guy straightens, the two yellow slits marking eyes narrowing patronizingly at Touya’s lack of manners. “Hello, we are gathering a force to kill the Symbol of Peace-“

“Gimme name, payment, and how you found this address.” Touya leans against the doorframe, seizing up the villain. He’ll take whatever information he can before deciding. Killing All Might is a fool’s errand, a pipe dream. Information is money, and this guy clearly isn’t used to recruitment if Touya has to coach him through the steps. This isn’t Touya’s business; this is Dabi’s work. The persona isn’t so much a mask to slip on, as a mindset to return to. 

Mist guy holds out a flyer. He’s definitely not used to this role, or acting on an idiot’s orders. Maybe both. “We are the League of Villains, and are-“

“League? Like baseball?” Dabi takes the flyer and examines it for baseball clipart. There is a discouraging lack of pictures. “I don’t play sportsball or whatever you’re selling.” He charcoals the paper’s edge just to make a point.

Mist-man wilts slightly. “Our… leader doesn’t play baseball. I believe it’s closer to the….” Mist-man trails off, abruptly realizing what he’s about to say sounds very, very stupid. “…Video game kind of ‘League.’”

“So, it’s Wii Fit,” Dabi drawls, enjoying the pain in Mist-man’s posture. “Got it.”

Mist-man swallows audibly. “Will you join our-“

“Quest? Does this face look like Maui on his way to Te Fiti? I’ll ask again, how’d you find me?”

Mist-man flickers taller in an attempt at intimidation. “We were informed that this building had several occupants who would be interested.”

Dabi knows better than to ask who spilled. It was an informant, probably low level if they didn’t come looking themselves. Maybe they just weren’t paid enough, which implies either these people are saving money for something big, or don’t see it as worth the pocket change. He leans against the door casually. 

“Depends on the pay.” Dabi raises an eyebrow and waits.

Mist-man hesitates, and Dabi knows in that instant they aren’t paying at all. They think he’ll go up against All Might for free. Bitch, in this economy? He grins lazily, eyeing mist-man for weaknesses and finding few without knowledge of his quirk. Analysis is Izuku’s thing, anyway.

Yeah, fuck this.

“You couldn’t afford me,” he tells mist-man with all the pampered, airy confidence of a millionaire’s firstborn. “And my roommate is dead, so he’s not helping anytime soon. Good luck recruiting for your Wii Fit club or whatever.” He shuts the door in mist-man’s face, locks it, and waits warily inside until steps recede to knock on the neighbor’s door. The man’s going from door to door.

Dabi sets the flyer aside and breathes out slowly, letting his mind switch back to Touya’s outlook. He deserves to be paid for that interaction alone.

Fuck Mondays.

Izuku’s alarm is too far away to turn off. It’s been going off for a full half hour, and Izuku’s been awake for two. He’s in bed from back pain. It just fucking hurts, man. Also, PTSD is a bitch so uh. Yeah, he’s exhausted. He needs to help today. It’s a class field trip to USJ, and he needs to hitchhike along and make sure nobody is killed. If only he could get out of bed.

Izuku manages to flop out of his bed before his back spasms. The spike of red-hot pain catches him off guard, and Izuku can’t stop the hiss of pain. “Fuck,” he spits. “Shit- ow.”

Somebody knocks on the door. Izuku can’t get up. Fuck. He wants to scream, but not only has he conditioned himself out of accepting his pain as a part of himself, and verbalizing his suffering, but he also doesn’t want whoever it is to worry.

“You good?” Hitoshi asks, voice muffled from the door. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right- ow, fuck.” Izuku bites down on his tongue as pain rolls through him again. There’s a threshold, he’s found over the years. After a point pain stops processing. He’s right on the edge now, and it’s flickering in and out.

It feels like someone’s trying to remove his spine piece by piece with superheated clamps. Izuku manages to grit out what he needs to say. “I’m fine,” he hisses through his teeth. “Tell Aizawa I’ll be a moment.”

“…Sure,” Hitoshi calls, before moving away. Izuku has no idea how much time passes before there’s a knock on the door and the sound of keys. Aizawa pushes open the door, Hitoshi hovering behind.

“Problem child,” the teacher says wearily, “It’s okay to take a break.”

“I can do it,” Izuku promises faintly from the floor, knowing full well he can’t. “I should be in class.”

Aizawa shakes his head and gently scoops Izuku up. He hisses when his back is bent, and the teacher is careful to set him back in bed slowly. “Rest,” Aizawa tells him, and shuts off the alarm. “It’s just a field trip.”

It’s a field trip with All Might teaching. Izuku knows there’s going to be an injury. 

Hitoshi watches the teacher leave before dropping a pop tart and bottle of pain meds on Izukus lap. “I’ll fill you in on class gossip over lunch,” he promises before leaving.

Ooooh, gossip.

Izuku didn’t know the class even had gossip. Maybe this ‘rest’ thing won’t be all bad.

Izuku starts the day by reaching out to Mom, finally on his own laptop and wifi. She spends the skype call worrying and telling him all about a gym on the crossroads of Genki Rd. and Ganbatte Street (and really, there’s an irony there) that has worked with vigilantes before. Supposedly it’s run by a friend of Ingenium’s. This isn’t impressive. Ingenium has almost as many connections as Izuku, but with a quarter of the drama. He is an outlier and should not be counted when considering drama-to-connection ratios.

“Maybe I can get UA to pay for it,” Izuku muses as he scrolls through the website. “I’ll talk to Dr. Isha.”

“I’ll take care of that, you need to focus on rest and tearing down society.” Mom laughs quietly. “That’s how your father and I met, you know. He was just out of prison and I was trying to sue the old Number One hero for tax evasion…”

Izuku rolls his eyes at the story he’s heard a thousand times. “And then you got married, had me, and divorced in mutual understanding because Dad decided to wreck the whole universe.”

“Lovingly,” Mom adds.

“Lovingly,” Izuku allows, glancing over to where his rabbit mask sits. None of the faculty have recognized it as related to Dad’s business, thank goodness. “I haven’t heard from him, actually.”

“Oh, there was some business recently. He couldn’t tell me – legality, you know. But I got the idea he’s been branching out.”

Izuku knows for a fact that his father’s business practices are ‘branching out’ in the same way Izuku’s entire lifestyle is ‘running from his problems.’ It’s not so much an untruth as a gross underestimation.

“I’ll ask Dr. Isha and Nezdu about transport to the gym,” he decides. “Also, I’m kind of starting to consider one of my classmates a friend and borderline brother-figure. Is that a problem?”

“I always wanted more kids,” Mom tells him cheerfully as she works on paperwork that will undoubtedly be somebody’s worst nightmare. “We had to break up just after you were born to keep me from being a witness, so-“

Izuku practically hisses when he can see the conversation going. “Mom! I’m not supposed to know about what Dad was doing, remember? The detective on Grasshopper’s case has a lie detection quirk!”

Mom laughs at her son’s offended expression. “Sorry, honey. Anyway, is my new son the tired one?”

“Yeah, purple hair.”

“I thought so, he seems to be a good friend. I hope he’s doing well.”

“There’s a field trip today. It sounds like a party.”

“Well. This is a party.” Hitoshi scans the wreckage that was the USJ zone. Somehow, one of his classmates had stalled the… Bird-Thing long enough for All Might to arrive. Yaomomo is terrifying. Hitoshi makes a mental note to avoid her during sparring at all cost.

The villains are gone now, retreated or captured. If anything, Hitoshi now knows he needs to get better at hand-to-hand. Supposedly Izuku would train him after recovering, but that’s too far in the future. He needs experience and skill now.

Seeing his teacher’s face nearly get bashed into the concrete only brought that point home further. Eraserhead avoided the worst of it - Yaomomo’s punch had shattered the fountain and redirected the villain’s attention just in time - but Eraserhead is still out cold, swamped by flashing lights and paramedics. Hitoshi hopes their teacher will be alright.

The class is herded off to the front gates for family to pick them up. Hitoshi is distracted from asking Snipe where they should go when Ingenium bolts through security.

“TENYA, YOU’RE ALIVE!” In less than a second the hero has scooped up Iida and wrapped him in a hug. “We are eating so much pizza tonight, you have no idea,” Ingenuim says into Iida’s hair.

“Nii-san, I’m fine-” Iida breaks off in a wheeze when Ingenium lifts him up and spins him around.

“Did you fight the villains?” Ingenuim sets Iida down and takes off his helmet, revealing a face that looks almost exactly like Hitoshi’s classmate. This explains so much and yet so little. They can’t be related. Hitoshi swears there are rumors of Ingenuim dating a vigilante, how is he related to Iida, the most strait-laced student of the class?

“You fought villains?!” Ingenium yells excitedly in response to whatever Iida said, distracting Hitoshi from his crisis.

Iida turns bright red and makes robotic shushing gestures. “The press is right there, Nii-san-”

“Oh my God, you’re a hero already,” Ingenium gushes before noticing the press outside the gate and grinning his billion-yen smile. “Wait until I tell mom-”

“No,” Iida says with dawning horror and Hitoshi can't help but snort. “Don’t you dare. Nii-san, don’t you dare-”

Ingenium inhales loudly, winks, and meets Iida’s mortified eyes dead on before bellowing for the class, the press, and God himself to hear, “WOW, MY LITTLE BROTHER ALREADY DEFEATED HIS FIRST VILLAIN! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU, TENYA IIDA OF CLASS 1A!”

The sound of camera shutters increases dramatically.

“I’m not licensed,” Iida says softly in horror. “I think - Nii-san, do you think I just committed a crime?”

“Awww. You’re already so responsible, go pose by the UA gates so I can get a picture-”

“We need to watch the class,” Iida grumbles. He’s halfway to the gate and also the reporters (who are willing to kill for an interview) before he catches himself. “You’re doing this to embarrass me, aren’t you?”

Ingenium laughs and drags his little brother into a headlock. “Payback for this weekend.”

“Shinsou-kun,” a soft voice calls, and Hitoshi looks down to see the principal right next to him. Goddamn.

“Sir?”

“Please follow me to the dorms. Uraraka-chan, if you’d join us?”

It’s soon enough after the break-in that he doesn't want to leave, but Hitoshi catches sight of Ingenium watching over the class and reminds himself the heroes can take care of it. Iida gives him a thumbs up before returning to watching over the class with righteous fury. Okay, maybe they are related.

Tsu gives Uraraka a slightly damp hug, and they’re on their way home.

Hitoshi realizes why the principal is escorting them as they near the dorms. Izuku is waiting at the entrance, leaning on the door frame like it took all his energy just to make it that far. Despite this, there’s rage in the air, heavy enough to darken the sky with oppressive murderous intent. Izuku’s mouth thins when the principal follows them up the steps, and Hitoshi is reminded of a nature documentary lecturing about how the most dangerous wild animals are the protective ones. Izuku looks ready to throw the closest person through a wall. Nezdu smiles, unconcerned even as Uraraka makes it up the steps, assures Izuku she’s all right, and slips inside.

“I started the tea kettle,” Izuku grits out, eyes never leaving Nezdu’s. “Hitoshi?”

“Uninjured.” Hitoshi is about to slip inside when Izuku stops him, meeting eyes for a split second before flicking back to the staring match with Nezdu. 

“Did they have a name,” Izuku asks quietly, and Hitoshi almost doesn't question why Izuku, a teacher, would be kept out of the loop. But he already sees Izuku as something close to a brother, and doesn't hesitate.

“The League of Villains,” he says, matching Izuku’s volume. “Leader was named Shigaraki. Warp villain named Kurogiri got them in.” 

Izuku’s nose wrinkles at the name, but he gathers Hitoshi in a kind of awkward half-hug before returning to glare at the principal. Hitoshi slips inside and just catches the words Izuku offers, serious and frigid unlike anything Hitoshi’s heard him say before.

“Let me out of UA for five hours. I’ll track them.”

Hitoshi pauses just inside in the living room, out of sight but close enough that he can still hear. The principal must know he’s there, because the voice that follows is too low for Hitoshi to catch. 

He does, however, hear the reply Izuku spits out. “You hired me, Nezdu. We’ve danced around this before, but I don’t need to be here. Either promise me right now there’s a zero percent chance the students will be attacked again before graduation, or accept that I’m going to do my jobs - both of them.”

“Your job,” Nezdu says, barely loud enough to catch, “is to teach.”

Hitoshi freezes. He’d known, abstractly, that Izuku was dangerous. The class had picked up on the easy way he’d talked with their teachers, like this wasn’t the first time they had worked together. Even when Izuku had left plenty unsaid about his family business and Iida had pulled aside the whole class to whisper ferociously just how prominent of a figure Midoriya Inko is, he’d never really come to terms with the concept of Izuku as a threatening force. The steel in Izuku’s reply to whatever Nezdu had said washes away any doubts.

“I protect. There’s a difference.”

Nezdu says something else, something that has Izuku snarling in a way no rational human should. There are two intelligent minds on the dormitory porch, but the monster is the human one.

“You hired a fucking bloodhound, Nezdu. Lose the leash.”

Nezdu must agree, because Izuku lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Once Aizawa’s back, then. I’ll find your little League. Thanks, kouchou-sensei.” The title is acidic, and Izuku closes the door, stumbles in, drops his crutches, and collapses on the floor. 

“Ow,” he says in monotone. Just like that the monster is gone, and their nerdy, bright TA is back.

“Mood,” Hitoshi offers with equally little emotion. Izuku makes a dying whale noise at his eavesdropping presence but otherwise doesn't respond.

Chapter Text

Aizawa returns from the hospital with minimal scarring under one eye and a fair number of bandages under his clothes. He’d avoided breaking any bones due to quick thinking on Yaomomo’s part, so the hospital released him sooner than expected and without casts. Izuku strongly suspects Aizawa checked himself out. Windows were likely involved.

Regardless, he’s back, so Izuku no longer has reason to stick around the dorms and keep an eye out for villains like the distrustful vigilante/TA he is. Aizawa gives him a rundown on the basics - League of Villains, three leaders, around fifty hired cannon fodder, main leader is Shigaraki Tomura, one leader known as ‘Nomu’ was captured. The third is Kurogiri, a familiar name from rumored illegal transport of ‘materials’ three years back. Izuku thanks him, shoulders his duffle bag, and leaves out the front door. His five hours start now. 

Half an hour later across the city, Izuku breaks into his own apartment to find Dabi duct taped to the ceiling like a starfish.

“Why?” Izuku asks quietly. “Why do I know you?”

“This is your fault for convincing me not to go villain.” Dabi then shrugs as much as he can when stuck to his own ceiling. It’s anyone’s guess how he got up there in the first place.

Izuku grunts wordlessly and faceplants into the couch. “I didn’t duct tape myself to the ceiling. What- How?”

“Determination and fortitude.” Blue flames dance around Dabi’s arm before cutting out when they singe the paint. He’s uncomfortably close to their (probably broken) smoke detector. “Also, some jerk is leaving people stuck to parking garage ceilings injected with quirk suppressors. I’m trying to figure this out for when my inevitable shitty luck has us meet.”

This is valid and not the reason Izuku was expecting. “You’re not just being edgy?” he asks the couch cushion.

“Bitch? I’m being responsible,” Dabi huffs. He’s probably glaring, but Izuku is too focused on melting into the couch. Good to know one of them makes good life decisions. Izuku rolls off the couch and lies on the floor, trying to find the energy to get his phone. He has contacts to find, informants to call, and a League to hunt down.

“You know anything about a League of Villains?” Izuku stares up at Dabi.

“The baseball idiots who can’t even come up with a half-decent name?” Dabi frowns, considering this. He chooses to rip and arm free of the duct tape before responding. Some of their ceiling paint comes with it, and for a second both of them consider how much of a pain that will be to fix. Their landlord won’t care, but come on. This is a house.

Dabi flaps his arm around and succeeds in further ensnaring himself in the duct tape. “Everyone does. They went around recruiting cannon fodder a couple days ago. I put their flyer on the table.”

Izuku hauls himself off the floor and casts about until he finds the flyer. Dabi has drawn a little baseball in the corner, and part of the edge is singed. ‘Join the League of Villains,’ it reads. ‘We shall cause the end of All Might together! Go down in history beside us!’ It’s almost painful to read. Izuku folds it up and returns to the couch. “They attacked UA.”

“What?” Dabi rips his other arm free and chills on the ceiling like a horizontal zombie. “I only heard some half-assed plan to kill All Might. Everyone has a half-assed plan to kill All Might, they weren’t special.”

“Wasn’t half-assed. Don’t spread this, but they got close.”

“Damn.” Dabi gets his torso free and begins melting away the tape on his pants. It looks tricky. “You dead?”

“Nope!” Izuku shoots him a peace sign for good measure.

Dabi shoots him a cheesy thumbs up back. “Cool. I did a check on them after one found our place - some misty guy was going door to door. Told him he couldn’t afford me and that you were dead. Rumor is they had two targets.”

Izuku squints up at the vigilante stuck to his ceiling. “Any idea who?”

“Nobody knows. Honesty, most are guessing it’s All Might and the mysterious student teacher. Unknown variables, you know? They got your face, kid. No names attached, but people know the student teacher is a green-haired kid with the height of a paperclip. Some people were talking about a ‘successor,’ so I’m guessing that the League is headed by a kid from one of the big names.”

“Charcoal man,” Izuku snarks automatically in response to the paperclip quip.

“Short-stack.” Dabi falls free of the ceiling, wincing when he sees the damage left behind from his starfish impersonation. “That’s gonna be hell to fix.”

“Aeon Mall had a sale on paint yesterday, it might still be going.” Izuku slowly gets up, spending way more of his energy budget than he can spare in the process. He needs more spoons. A good cry would help but there’s no time. “Seen my phone?”

“Your old one? It kept ringing after that first video, so I tossed it in your room. Figured you saw it last time Zoo snuck you out of UA.” Dabi takes to the couch for his own faceplant time, so Izuku has little excuse not to go find his phone. He finds it in his room (surprise!), plugs it in to charge, waits until it reaches a good 17%, and gets to work. All his old contacts are saved under whatever word popped into his head after seeing them the first time. 

One by one, he hits call and gives the same message: “I lived, bitch.”

Only five pick up, but that’s to be expected. Of them, the nosiest two have similar tips, which either means a wide-spread rumor or that there’s actual weight to it.

“There’s talk of a spy,” Curious tells him. “Honestly, I could care less. More importantly, what are you up to?” She isn’t very forthcoming on much else, so Izuku is equally vague in telling her what he’s up to. 

“I’m expanding my skillset,” he says airily when asked, and they leave it there.

Cloud is more helpful. Considering he can visit alternate timelines, Izuku is very concerned. “Oh, yeah. There’s definitely something up. Probably a traitor, not that it matters. Are the villains bugging you? Get it?”

Izuku gets the pun. It’s the first joke everyone tells him.

“Anyway, stay away from the shadowy big bad. That’s All Might, character-building level stuff. Probably connected to that quirk-stealing shit if your luck stays the same.” Cloud hangs up, explaining nothing. Cool.

Somebody might stab him in the back. His students are going to have even bigger targets on their own backs. This is fine.

This is not fine.

Izuku wants to cry, so he does. Dabi knocks on the door partway through and ends up reassuring him that the world isn’t all bad and that he can take care of the League while Izuku focuses on fucking up the system and healing. Halfway through a box of tissues Izuku starts to feel better, but he lets the tears run their course anyway.

“Here,” Dabi says once Izuku is done letting out his emotions. “I missed your birthday anyway.”

He passes over a fancy box the size of Izuku’s hand. Izuku half expects blackmail material on Endeavor or keys to the Hero Safety Commission.

Instead, he finds a bright pink key. It has a road safety charm and a Hello Kitty keychain attached. “You’re kidding.”

Dabi scoops him up. “Am not.”

Izuku goes limp out of habit, letting Dabi carry him to the parking garage like a sack of potatoes. The vigilante carries Izuku’s crutches in his free hand, so it looks like he’s kidnapping the teen. That’s fine. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I don’t have a license,” Izuku clarifies as they wander through the cars. “And anyone with eyes knows I’m not an adult.”

“I know. That’s why I got you this.” Dabi sets Izuku down so he can walk around a big van. Izuku points to it questioningly, and Dabi makes a ‘go around’ gesture. He’s filming.

Izuku finds the next space and freezes.

Calling it a car would be a mercy. Dabi has somehow found one of those Barbie cars for little kids and rigged it with an actual engine. Izuku can see the exhaust pipe. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals it can reach up to 80 mph. 

The seats are sparkly purple. The wheels are turquoise. 

“It’s to match how short you are,” Dabi tells him lovingly. Izuku punches him and snags the keys.

“You know what? Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.” Izuku crams himself into the front seat, ignoring how his chin has to rest on his knees to see the dash. There is no trunk space, so he collapses his crutches and stuffs them in the backseat. The cramped position hurts, but Izuku is always in pain these days. He’ll live.

There’s probably enough room left in the backseat for Dabi to sit, but the older vigilante elects to sit on the trunk with only his feet on the seat. Izuku accepts the sunglasses offered and waits until Dabi is gripping the back of the drivers seat for dear life.

Then he starts it up.

The engine revving is too deep for such a tiny car. Dabi nearly falls off laughing. Izuku honks the horn and is delighted to learn it sounds like a different barnyard animal each time. He cycles through dog, cow, and chickens before putting his new chariot into drive.

He pulls onto the streets. Dabi puts on his own sunglasses and reaches over Izuku’s shoulder to operate a tiny radio. It has three playlists. There’s the Barbie song mixed with a couple equally bad choices, a dramatic battle theme, and a loop of some really catchy German song which makes no sense. Dabi opts for the Barbie playlist. 

They make it a good five blocks and through two ABBA songs before spotting none other than Police Officer Sansa on meter maid duty, who knows exactly who Izuku is and why he shouldn’t be out of UA. Izuku honks his horn. It sounds like a duck.

Sansa’s fur poofs up before he sprints for his own car to give chase.

Izuku runs the next red light, reveling in the sound of Dabi screaming when they nearly get hit by a truck, and only notices the sound of sirens when approaching the mall. SuperTrouper continues to play.

Are they really doing this? Is Izuku’s first high-speed chase of high school going to be in a barbie car with a burnt chicken nugget?

Hell.

Fucking.

Yes.

Izuku revs the engine and weaves through the cars. Dabi is cackling. People are watching and Izuku barely registers the cameras. What? They’ve never seen a car chase between a random kid in a tiny car and the police?

Wait. A quick glance confirms that the older vigilante is in his very recognizable gear. Izuku’s gonna have to explain this one.

He’ll worry about it later.

“BEEP BEEP,” he yells, gunning it for the freeway. Sansa is hot on his tail. It’s time for Regret!

Izuku cuts off another car and zooms. He gets honked at by a red van and flips off the driver before making eye contact with the teenager in the passenger seat.

That’s… his student.

Dabi does not realize this and flips off the car as well. He’s never cared about his ranking as the number two vigilante, only about causing chaos. Kirishima nearly drops his phone in his haste to get evidence. Izuku waves and tries not to die of shame. 

“Hold on,” he tells Dabi, and slams his foot on the accelerator. Time to run from his problems. He takes the next exit and hits the backroads, pulling off into an alley. The car is small enough to hide behind a dumpster, and Dabi shoves him down and turns off the radio just before the police car passes, siren wailing.

“I had high expectations for that ride,” Dabi tells him once they’re in the clear, “And you blew past all of them.”

Izuku snorts. “Good. Come on, I wanna buy a stun gun.”

“Excellent choice of weapon. Now we’ll both be flashy.” Dabi pauses to pick at a piece of duct tape still stuck to his coat. “We should probably pick up some ceiling paint.”

“-news of a high speed chase downtown right now. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it appears famous vigilante Dabi was spotted on the freeway with a teenager. They were driving what appears to be a child’s toy car-“

Shota drops his mug when he sees who exactly is on the news. It doesn't shatter, but coffee spills over the floor along with Shota’s hope for a calm, uneventful semester. Shinsou looks up from his homework in annoyance, then confusion as the teacher shakily begins cleaning the mess. 

The news is replaying a slowed-down clip. Uraraka turns up the volume as they watch a tiny car barrel through the streets, run a red light, and zoom by. The driver’s face is clearly visible, though partially covered by dark sunglasses.

It’s definitely Izuku.

The news is more focused on Dabi, who lazily salutes the camera as they slide out of the frame in slow motion. There’s silence in the dorms until door opens and none other than Izuku steps through, duffle bag over one shoulder and crutches in hand.

“Oh,” he says as the newscaster tries and fails to keep her laughter under control. “I didn’t realize we were that noticeable.”

“You didn’t realize?” Shota asks in disbelief. “What part of evading police in a tiny car with a famous vigilante isn’t noticeable?”

Izuku’s face screws up at that. “We just wanted to go shopping.”

Shota puts his head in his hands. The school year has barely even started and Izuku has broken more laws today than Shota has in his entire career.

“Do you have a license? Wait, you’re underage.” He has the energy of a ten-year-old, which really doesn't help. Shota repeatedly assumes Izuku is barely in double digits because he's just... like that. Other heroes seem to have the opposite problem, which is probably the source of a whole lot of problems Shota has barely even begun to unpack.

“That’s why it was a mini car,” Izuku informs him. He seems to believe this is a reasonable excuse.

Shota pinches his nose. He beckons Izuku outside and sits down on the dorm steps. “Please tell me there was a reason for this,” he says once Izuku joins him.

“I had errands to run. Also asked around about your League; a friend offered to look into it.”

“Dabi?” Shota asks. He’s not expecting an answer and doesn’t get one.

“I want this incident to be lifted from my and Dabi’s record,” Izuku says quietly. “That’s the price.”

Seriously? The price of information is scrubbing Izuku’s record of a Barbie-car incident?

“I’ll talk to Nezdu.” Shota waits while Izuku double checks Shinsou and Uraraka can’t hear them.

“Two of my contacts implied a traitor at UA.” Izuku glances up to the door, where they both know a security camera watches for intruders. “Another mentioned the League was going door to door for the USJ bust.”

“Door to door? Really?”

“Yeah, like a salesman offering All Might’s death at 50% off.”

Shota heaves a sigh, pinching his nose again to ward off the incoming headache. “Thank you. Anything else?”

“… is there a parking space I can use on campus?” 

When Izuku steps back inside, armed with the knowledge that he can stow his car on campus so long as the students don’t ever find it, Uraraka cheers. He gives Hitoshi a high-five and collapses bonelessly on the floor. 

Uraraka scoots over and pokes him.

“What?”

“I’m coming next time.”

Izuku looks between her and Hitoshi, who is trying and failing to hide just how badly he wants to hit the streets in a tiny purple chaos car. 

“Next field trip, or if you can get a teacher to license a shopping day. With Eraser’s permission.”

Hitoshi shrugs. “That’s fair.”

Izuku’s phone vibrates and he opens Dabi’s chat to find two pictures: one of the monstrosity of a car at the gas station and Kirishima in the background holding up a peace sign, and a truly deep-fried meme of the car and neon text reading ‘buckle up or the Piano Man will find you.’

Izuku doesn’t want to know what is going on.

“Dude!” Kirishima practically vaults over a desk in homeroom the next day. Few members of the class have arrived yet, but Hitoshi and Izuku are both mimicking coma patients at their desks. “Dabi taught me to pump gas!”

Izuku wants to die. He’s picked up on Dabi having strong older-sibling energy but this is just a dad-level move from the meme man. 

“I’m insulted,” he tells Kirishima. “This is my class to adopt, Dabi can go get his own.”

“You can’t adopt us,” Hitoshi announces from his faceplanted position on his desk. “Aizawa says you’re ten whole years old.”

“I’m fifteen? You know this, we are literally the same age.”

“Still not old enough.”

Izuku’s head snaps around at the challenge. They literally just talked about this a few days ago. “You know what? I’m legally adopting you just to prove my point.”

Hitoshi looks up, eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would you still be okay with it?”

“Well yeah, but you literally can’t…” Hitoshi trails off as Izuku unlocks his phone and pulls up a contact. The name is VCM. It’s 9am. Given the time difference, she should be available.

“Your choice,” Izuku tells Hitoshi, dead serious. “Hit call and I’ll get it done. ‘No’ is an okay answer, but I’m not joking when I say the offer’s always open.”

Hitoshi sucks in a sharp breath. “I can’t, my parents will probably sue.”

“Dude,” Kirishima hisses. He steps closer, laying a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder. “Bro, I don’t think getting a lawyer is a problem here.”

“VCM,” Izuku says quietly so only Hitoshi and Kirishima will hear. “Very Chill Mom. I’m willing to share mine.”

Their corner of the classroom is quiet as more students file in. Kirishima steals Sero’s chair so he can sit next to Hitoshi, who is staring at the phone desperately. The screen is about to go dark when Hitoshi reaches out, clumsily hitting the call button and flinching back as though burned. He looks up at Izuku with wide eyes. Kirishima’s grip on Hitoshi’s shoulder tightens as Izuku holds the phone to his ear. It keeps ringing.

More of their classmates file in, some giving the three students an odd glance.

“Hey mom,” Izuku says once the phone picks up.

The classroom goes deathly quiet. Hitoshi looks like he might faint.

“Sweetie! Is everything all right?”

Izuku locks eyes with Hitoshi and gestures to the hallway, where they’ll be less likely to be eavesdropped on. Hitoshi follows him out while Izuku makes small talk and somehow navigates both crutches and holding a phone. “Yeah, I’m good! I got out a bit yesterday with a friend.”

“Yes, I saw that on the news. Be careful running red lights, dear. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Ah. He hadn’t considered that mom would see yesterday’s adventure. “Sorry,” Izuku says quietly. “I wasn’t watching the streetlights.”

“Hm. I’ll teach you to drive next time I’m in Japan. If you really need lessons before then, just give your dad a call, okay? Now, what’s got you calling me during school hours?”

Hitoshi leans against one of the hallway’s windows, which is unreasonably massive and also gives his friend a perfect view of nearby birds. Hitoshi tracks them, catlike in both his boredom and deceptively lazy slouch. Izuku turns back to his phone.

“If I theoretically wanted to adopt my classmates, could I?”

“How many?”

Izuku glances back into the classroom. Conversation has started back up, but it’s quieter. He lowers his voice. “One.”

“Well, do you mind if I talk to him?”

Izuku hands over the phone and writes out a teachers note. “Hallway pass,” he tells Hitoshi. “Do you want me to stay?”

Hitoshi takes the phone and note, shaking his head. Izuku watches for a moment as his friend numbly paces, listening to Mom. Maybe he should have been gentler about this. He dosn’t really expect Hitoshi to choose Izuku’s family - they both know it’s a veritable rollercoaster of crime and crime-fighting - but Izuku’s allowed to dream. He wants a brother, and if Hitoshi turns it down, at least he’ll have legal support from mom. Besides, not asking takes the choice away from Hitoshi and Mom has said she’s okay with adopting. It’s in her hands now, and Hitoshi asked for space.

Izuku steps back into the classroom, deflecting questions and rerouting attention to where Kaminari is retelling the story of how his twin nearly lit a table on fire once. Its entertaining, and takes up most of break. When Aizawa starts homeroom, he glances over at Hitoshi’s empty desk before raising an eyebrow at Izuku and carrying on. 

Minutes tick by, and Hitoshi doesn’t come back.

Izuku eventually leaves class. He tells Aizawa he’s going to Recovery Girl and steps out into the hallway. It takes a quick glance to see a maintenance closet door is slightly open. He can hear Hitoshi counting down from twenty shakily. It’s like a punch to the gut – he had no idea this would hurt his friend.

“Hey,” Izuku says at the door. “You okay? I’m sorry about-“

The door is thrown open and Izuku is knocked off his feet as Hitoshi wraps his arms around Izuku’s waist. They hit the floor in a heap and Izuku nearly blacks out from pain because his back DOES NOT LIKE THAT-

“Your mom’s the best,” Hitoshi rasps into Izuku’s shoulder. “And I have no idea what kind of shit your family gets up to, but I honestly thought you were joking-“

“I didn’t expect you to say yes this fast, but the offer has always been open,” Izuku says. He can feel tears beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes, matching the now-wet patch on his shoulder from Hitoshi. “You’re always welcome in my twisted legend of a life.”

Hitoshi draws in a shuddering breath. “It’s like… two hours since I woke up and we’re already crying in the club.”

Izuku huffs laugh at this, and bites back a wince when his back reminds him he’s lying in the hallway. Normally this would be fine, so why- Oh. One of his crutches is digging into his lower back. Izuku shifts, removing it and tossing it to the side. “I’m sorry,” he tells Hitoshi. “I wanted to invite you into the Midoriya family but not like this.”

“Do I have to be sketchy as all hell like the rest of you?” Hitoshi asks the floor. “Am I family with a mob boss?”

“Excuse you, my mother has done only legal things-“ Izuku breaks off remembering that she did fall in love with Midoriya Hisashi, who just so happens to be Dragon. “-Probably. And you’d be related to a couple mob bosses, but not by much since Mom and Dad divorced. I’ll explain when I know nobody’s listening in.”

Hiroshi grumbles, shoving his face further into the floor. “I hate this fucking family.”

“Wait until you meet Mom in person. She’s like the god of wholesomeness.”

“I know this, and I love her.”

Izuku laughs. He’d only slightly expected to actually get a brother when he’d pulled up Mom’s number. Mostly this was an attempt to get Hitoshi legal support if he wanted out of his old one. Now, collapsed in UA’s hallway halfway through homeroom, he’s glad he did.

“I’ve never had a sibling,” Izuku says. “I mean, I’ve got kind of older and younger sisters, and an older brother, but not legally. They’re more family by choice.”

“Surprise, bitch,” Hitoshi says seriously. “No more suspicious dead bodies.”

Izuku sputters. “I don’t kill? I literally have never taken a life except possibly one building fire started in self-defense, and they had time to evacuate anyway.”

Hitoshi gives him a suspicious look. “Sure.”

“Oh my gosh, I regret everything.  Hey, I just gotta know now though - are you sure? Because my dad is literally-”

“Dude.” Hitoshi sits up so he can properly give Izuku the full force of his most judgmental expression. “You’re stuck with me now. Don’t try to weasel out of this - you know those stray cats that make themselves at home in your house without asking?”

“No?”

“You literally have a cat; how do you not know this?” Hitoshi grumbles. “Whatever. That’s me. I am a tired cat fully intending to adopt itself into this family. I don’t care who figures out we’re gonna be brothers, because I’m proud to be a part of this family. Tell who you need to, just introduce me later.”

Izuku hesitates, recalling his list of relatives. The only civilians are his mom by technicality, and second cousins. “I’ll tell you about dad tonight,” he decides. “My uncle is Scalebreath, a smaller mob boss. Ryukyu is my Aunt, and since you’re only being adopted by me and Mom, Miriko is your aunt now because she’s Mom’s sister.”

Izuku throws open the door to 1A’s classroom. He surveys the expectant faces and turns to Aizawa. “This is war,” he tells the teacher seriously. “Who do you think can adopt more students by the end of the year, you or me?”

Aizawa sets down his lecture notes. “You’re too young to adopt anyone. I’d win by default.” 

Hitoshi leans over Izuku’s shoulder lazily, smirking. “Guess again. Midoriya-san said she’d get it legalized by Saturday. Or… Mom? She said I can call her Mom.”

Izuku revels in the sound of class 1A losing their collective shit.

Chapter Text

“So your dad is a yakuza,” Hitoshi says slowly once they’re upstairs after dinner. Izuku hums in acknowledgement as he takes the rabbit mask off his wall. He tosses it over for Hitoshi to inspect.

“Dad’s hilarious. He literally fainted when Mom proposed. Then he woke up and tried to show her that he had been carrying around a ring of his own, but when he took the ring out, it fell down the gutter.”

Hitoshi pauses to admire that series of unlucky events. “This man... is a high-ranking yakuza?”

“Then he panicked, looked in his pockets for anything he could use, and found a grenade. So, he offered up the pin. Mom thought it was sweet.”

“A grenade,” Hitoshi says slowly. “That’s… wow. Did it… y’know… explode?”

“Oh yeah. Big boom.” Izuku takes the rabbit mask back. “He remembered that grenades explode just in time, don’t worry. Chucked it in a dumpster, picked up Mom, and booked it. Mom says it was like having her own knight in shining armor.”

Hitoshi is quiet for a moment. “I need to meet him,” he eventually decides. “How the fuck is he keeping a mob together?”

“Charisma?” Izuku guesses. “Dunno. Hey, I’m gonna call him and tell him you’re adopted, that cool?” At Hitoshi’s nod, Izuku stuffs the rabbit mask under his shirt and onto the window ledge, fully aware Aizawa will realize he’s gone soon. That’s three minutes, give or take. Five minutes to UA’s entrance. It’s raining gently, so sound will be muffled a bit.

“Toodles.”

“Stay safe,” Hitoshi calls. “Uraraka said she was pirating Wonder Woman tonight so if you need anything I’ll be in the common room.”

Izuku nearly leaves before he realizes why that sounds strange. “Don’t you get expelled if you even pirate music?”

Hitoshi shrugs. “You’re our morality teacher.”

“You’re absolutely right. Pirate from the big companies and support artists directly. Wonder Woman is the property of Disney so fuck them. Pirate all their films. I hereby give faculty permission or whatever.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Hitoshi mutters as Izuku slips off the window ledge and into the night.

Grass squelches underfoot as Izuku makes his way to the edge of UA’s property. He shuts off his tracker and keeps to the shadows, though the crutches in mud are a headache Izuku never really expected to deal with. He absolutely does not fall. Twice.

Avoiding the security cameras gets him most of the way to the front of UA, and when Izuku gets to the gate, he’s pleasantly surprised to see it’s been left unlocked. Definitely Nezdu’s doing.

Izuku slips through the empty streets, disappears behind a nearby café, and hunkers down between a trash bag and dumpster. Izuku calls the number from memory. It takes two rings to pick up.

“Hey, guess who’s alive!”

“Zuzu?” Midoriya Hisashi’s voice is always rough, stained with the smoke he breathes every waking hour, but it’s especially so now. Izuku used to have his bedtime stories read over the phone by this voice. It’s been too long. The memories hit him like a truck. A very large truck, to be specific. Likely going 180 in a 60 zone.

“Hey, Dad.” Izuku grins miserably as his voice cracks from the nostalgia. “Congratulations, you have two whole children now.”

“Kiddo?” There’s a sound of rustling before Dad whispers, “I’ve been breaking into prisons looking for you.”

“What- No? Don’t do that?”

Awkward silence descends for a moment. Dad sounds a little ashamed when he mumbles, “I mean, it was kind of the best idea I had. Are you okay?”

Izuku had forgotten that his dad is peak competent dumbass yakuza. “Yeah, I’m recovering. Gimme like… half a year? Little more? I’ll be back on the streets soonish.”

“Thank goodness.” Static fizzles across the phone as Dad sighs. “Tell me at least a day before you fake your death. We’ve talked about this.”

“I didn’t. Fake my death, anyway. I didn’t want to get caught either.”

There’s silence, and Izuku scuffs his feet while Dad processes. “You didn’t… You didn’t plan the Miriko incident? Zuzu, what’s your status?”

“I don’t want news of this to get out-“

“I’ll keep it close to the ground.”

“Absolutely quiet.”

“Mum’s the word.” He’s so cheesy. Nobody even uses that phrase anymore. Izuku hunkers down by a dumpster, blending into the trash bags and shadows.

“Literally, tell nobody. I’m staying at UA. They got a tracker on me but I’m getting out and about.”

“Zuzu-“

“Dad, I’m okay.”

“This is Nezdu. You can’t beat his programming. Where have you gone with his tracker? Because it’s gonna take more than a little water to short it out. Fish tank trick won’t work.”

“I-I didn’t- Oh no. I went to my apartment twice, once with a quirk rerouting it’s signal.”

“You know what? I know we agreed I wouldn’t interfere with whatever vigilante stuff you and dumpster fire boy get up to, but this is legal shit. I’m your parent, I should be helping. That’s a father-son bonding thing, right? Helping you construct a containment breach?”

“You’re a criminal and I’m under surveillance. I’m not sure if there's anything you can do.”

“I live to be the best absent father ever. A disappointment to the title. Let’s see-” the clickety-clack of dad’s keyboard fills the call before Dad makes a soft victory ‘hell yeah’ like a hacker but nerdier. “I have a tech team near one of the safehouses in Mustafu. Do you remember Pen? Actually, wait. How mobile are you?”

“It’s fine-”

“Please. I couldn’t do anything during the Miriko Incident. Let me help with this.” Dad hesitates, and Izuku realizes he hasn’t talked to Dad in around half a year. That’s like, a whole new record. The last time they went this long without any updates was… kidnapping. Knowing Dad, he was probably pretty close to leaving the Dragon’s Nest to look for Izuku personally, which would have mobilized half the underworld. Izuku feels sorry for whatever attendant had to deal with a restless mob boss for six months. The man could talk nonsense for hours.

“...Okay. I’ll stop by tonight.”

“Good. I’m sending a team to Pen for Rabbit. Now what’s this about me having two sons? I’m pretty sure Inko and I are still keeping our vows, divorce be damned.”

Izuku snorts, remembering his conversation with Hitoshi in the hallway. “I’m adopting Hitoshi. He’s in my class.”

“Oh?! What’s he like? I need to know his favorite color so I can send the most embarrassing congratulatory card I can find. Gonna get me a voice-recorder one and sing happy birthday, maybe rent a goose to deliver it. Hey, Zuzu, you think I can rent a herd of geese? A flock?”

“I dunno, maybe. He likes purple, though.”

“Hm. Worst comes to worst I’ll raid the park and set them loose on campus with party hats. Nezdu will hate it. What’s my new son like?”

Izuku hums, searching for information he can give without saying anything that counts as actual intelligence. “He’s great, kinda tired all the time and likes cats. I’ll call you in a couple days? Monday?”

“Whenever works. I’ll try to answer.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes quiet for a moment as Dad types something. “Zuzu?”

“Hm?”

“Some small fries have been asking after you. Both identities, but I don’t think they know it’s the same kid, let alone that we’re related. They’re calling themselves the League of Villains and have been taking from two of my businesses. I can’t give more than that, but... stay safe, okay?” Knowing how Dad watches the distribution of information in his employees, this must be widespread. He’s breaking a contract by saying this.

“Do you know what they’re up to?”

“I’m sorry.” Either he can’t tell or doesn’t know. Both are valid answers in Dad’s line of work.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Be safe. Love ya, kiddo.”

“To the moon and back.”

Izuku hangs up the phone and makes his way back to the street. He needs to go to Pen. Since this is all about leaving a trail for Nezdu, Izuku opts for public transit. The mask is stuffed into a plastic bag he finds, hiding it just enough for the minimal human contact.

He puts on the mask in the shadows across from the meeting spot, away from prying eyes and security cameras.

Pen is a small, rickety house mostly dwarfed by surrounding trees. It’s in a neighborhood containing plenty of college students commuting to a University five miles south. Nobody questions anything in this neighborhood, so the house is used often for meetings between lower level yakuza. He barely has time to knock before the door swings open. 

The light from inside reflects on a traditional porcelain mask, orange swirls marking out a hawk’s features. The uniform’s color designates someone on intelligence or hacking, and from the animal Izuku can safely assume the woman is mid-ranking.

Izuku waves hesitantly. “Nice to meet you, Hawk.”

She shrugs. “Rabbit.” Beyond her in the house, a Wolf operative gives him a lazy two-fingered salute. They must have come from another job.

Hawk watches him carefully as he steps inside, living up to her rank. He collapses onto a chair just inside. Izuku tries not to react as Hawk bends down to inspect the tracking anklet, but old habits die hard and he ends up watching over her shoulder as she taps the anklet. Izuku tries to distract himself as sparks fly dangerously close to his skin. 

It must be a technological quirk, probably hardware and software. The other operative is broad-shouldered, with a sturdier build than human anatomy should allow for. Combat-oriented, probably. His mask is blue for smuggling and a wolf for rank, so Izuku’s willing to bet on a bodyguard. Wolf sees him looking and waves.

High ranking officers. Intelligence-gathering mission.

A minute passes before Hawk straightens up and claps him on the shoulder. “Dragon wants to meet you during internships. He says there’s a kid we can’t touch?”

“Yeah. He’s got purple hair and looks like a coffee addiction would only do him favors,” Izuku offers. He won’t spill Hitoshi’s identity. Choices like that aren’t his to make. “I’ll see if I can stop by in a few weeks? UA is doing internships so there will be less heroes to keep me from escaping.”

Hawk frowns, but helps him up from the chair. “We stopped seeing you around Hosu last year. Something happen?”

Izuku rattles his crutches together rather than answer immediately. “Nezdu happened.” It’s vague enough to mean anything, but from the sympathetic wince, she’s come to a conclusion.  Izuku almost feels bad about lying - anyone in Dad’s business is there because they had no other option. Still, Hawk and her partner offer to escort him to the bus line. 

Wolf ruffles his hair and asks, a little too casually, “how’s UA doing after the USJ incident?”

Izuku shrugs. “I’m worried for the students. They’re all essentially my children, given it’s my job to keep them alive and teach ‘morality,’ whatever that means. This is gonna play hell with my lesson plans.” He redirects conversation away, but the meaning remains: Class 1A is under his protection, and by extension should not be touched by the Dragon’s Hoard.

The request probably won’t be listened to because Izuku has all the power of a wet paper towel, but it’s worth a try.

Izuku takes off the mask and steps out of the house behind Wolf. It’s going to be a long night, and he hasn’t gone to check in at his apartment yet. Hawk will catch up - she’s likely erasing any evidence from the house that they were ever there.

Izuku’s next step catches the curb, sending him tumbling. He manages to avoid the worst, but his back does not appreciate it. Falling costs too many spoons. Izuku wants to cry. His crutches clatter onto the pavement, and Izuku takes a second to reflect on the fact that he could be inside right now, on a couch or in bed with a cup of tea and Tumbles to scroll through. He could be petting Beans right now. Wolf snickers at his suffering, because nothing is fair in the world.

“IZUKU?”

Shit.

Wolf’s head snaps up. Izuku rolls up into a crouch, fully expecting to be attacked. Nobody should know his name here- 

“Oh my gosh it’s him – IZUKU!”

Izuku tries not to cry when he sees Mina waving enthusiastically at him from across the street. Next to her, Kaminari is gripping his smoothie and staring at Izuku as though he’s just witnessed a murder. This is the last place his classmates/students should be. There are so many villains around, and zero heroes. They’re from! UA! Holy shit, they! Should! Know! Better!!!

Izuku might actually end up crying at this rate. Mina and Kaminari start across the street, only to be intercepted by a dark blur and snarl. Wolf straightens up. He stays stock still directly in front of Izuku’s students, cold street lights reflecting off his mask and the quirk-suppressing handgun he holds. Izuku does not know where he was keeping that weapon. He only knows that Wolf might shoot his students.

“Woah,” Mina says quietly. She doesn’t move much, but Izuku knows her quirk, knows that when she’s preparing heavy acid her hands shake slightly. Kaminari is frozen, eyes wide as he stares down the barrel.

“They’re friends,” Izuku says slowly. “Don’t shoot.” He starts to get up, and hisses when his back twinges in protest. “Please put the gun down.”

Wolf doesn’t move. Izuku doesn’t exist in the ranking, and therefore lacks the ability to give orders. In essence, he’s treated like a possession to be shipped where it needs to be shipped and protected from other entities. His opinions may as well not exist for how much Wolf and Hawk care.

Behind him, hinges creak as a door opens. Izuku doesn’t have to turn to know Hawk is training quirk suppressant guns at his own students. They won’t kill – Midoriya Hisashi likes to keep his name quiet to civilians, and hunting the people is hardly a subtle way to run a criminal empire.

“See, there’s this problem,” Wolf begins all too softly. “The last Izuku I knew is dead. Yelling his name all over town – I don’t know if that’ll help matters.”

“Wolf,” Izuku hisses. “They’re under my watch. They have my name as protection.”

“Then clearly you need to teach them better,” Wolf says, voice dropping into something dangerous. He doesn't flinch when Kaminari’s hand tightens around his smoothie.

“Hey, not cool! Izuku is a great-“

“Kami.” Izuku can’t afford full names here. “Words are power. Let me handle this.”

Kaminari nods slightly, gritting his teeth. Sparks fizz over his clothes, but it’s not intentional, just a nervous response. Mina’s eyes flick between Izuku and Wolf, occasionally darting over Izuku’s shoulder to where Hawk likely stands by the door.

Izuku stands up fully, trying to ignore the pain in his back. “Wolf, I’m responsible for these two. Anything happens to them, the heroes target me first.”

Izuku can see the exact moment Mina and Kaminari realize this is a villain, but he doesn't stop to reassure them - bigger threats should be dealt with first. “Let’s think this through. We let this end here, they run and tell others I existed in this area, nobody is surprised, we all go home happy. Alternatively, you shoot two children with big families who give their kids a curfew and there’s a manhunt. They’re civilians. You know the rules.”

“Better than you.” Wolf doesn’t need to move. His words remind Izuku just how powerless he is better than any expression could. “You’re not one of us.”

“I know.” The tattoo on his back says otherwise, but it’s of a rabbit. A defenseless rabbit, to be protected but not listened to. Izuku is a protected asset, not a superior. His words only have weight if he buys it. He sits high above in the moon, untouchable and unable to influence the Dragon’s Hoard.

Hawks voice cuts through the air, all friendliness gone. “Then don’t waste your breath. Nothing you say matters here.” It’s true, unless he trades something they want.

“Then I’ll barter information. Put the gun down; let’s talk shop.”

Izuku waits. Eventually Wolf steps forwards. Kaminari’s hand goes to his pocket immediately and everyone tenses.

“Kami?” Izuku hurries around Wolf so he’s between the gun and his student. “Whatchya got there?”

Kaminari looks at his hand doubtfully. “Uh… A smoothie?”

Izuku has never truly known what secondhand embarrassment felt like before today. “In your pocket?”

“Oh, just a fifty-dollar bill in a silver money clip. Street smarts, y’know?”

This is Japan. Izuku’s pretty sure only American tourists walk around Japan with USD currency. Behind him, Hawk snorts, then starts laughing. Izuku turns to Wolf. “I honestly believe they could not hurt someone if they tried. Why don’t-“

“Why don’t you give me information, and we trade the students,” Wolf interrupts over Hawk’s giggles. “The boss wants Grasshopper’s location, so that’s the price. Otherwise, I take the kids to our docks and drop you off downtown.” 

“Secondary location,” Mina whispers in horror.

This is a very large mess. Izuku is half tempted to activate his quirk and yell ‘surprise!’ as loud as he can. The problem is that every single person here believes he is either a mysterious teacher or a quirkless informant for Grasshopper and his father.

UGH.

Izuku just wants everyone to go home for a cup of tea without being shot. He wants his cat.

“How about we do a good old circle trade? I’ll write down the best bet I have, everyone steps away, and you drive off into the sunrise. The kids go free, with their quirks intact.”

“What the fuck,” Kaminari asks. “Hey Izuku, what the absolute fuck do you mean by ‘quirks intact?’” He doesn’t get an answer. That’s information way above their clearance level, and Izuku doesn't want both Nezdu and higher ups of the Dragon’s Hoard all after his tail.

Wolf glances to Hawk before lowering his gun. “Circle trade, it is.”

A circle trade is only good for when there’s just the right level of trust between both parties. Izuku writes down a tip – essentially a place where Dabi can put in an edgy appearance and confirm Grasshopper isn’t taking visitors – and steps away. Across the street, Wolf stands a few feet from the students. Hawk has retreated to inside the house as per Dragon Hoard rules.

For every step Izuku takes to his right, so does Wolf to his. This way, they cross the street equally until both are by their goals. Izuku turns to Mina and Kaminari. 

“We will discuss how to handle these situations in class,” he hisses to them. “Get somewhere populated – and I mean very, very crowded. Or home. Now.”

“Are you a villain?” Mina asks abruptly, and Izuku shakes his head. 

“No. Now go.” Izuku makes sure they’re down the street before facing Wolf.

The yakuza member reads the slip of paper and nods to Hawk before melting into the shadows. Izuku leaves before any other words could be exchanged - this has been enough nonsense for one night.

“What was that?!” Mina explodes the moment Izuku steps into his class. He’d skipped morning classes in favor of explaining to Nezdu that this is why he’d asked to know which neighborhoods to avoid. Nezdu is still refusing to give Izuku a list.

The class seems to be of similar opinion.  Izuku ignores the outrage in favor of grabbing a piece of chalk. He writes ‘UNDERWORLD’ in big letters on the board, then sits on the teacher's desk.

“It appears I’ve neglected an important skill, which in hindsight may be why UA is having me teach. So, in all fairness, let’s start over.” Izuku closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them. “Hi. I’m Midoriya Izuku. I’ve dealt with the gray zone between Hero and Villain for most of my life. Starting today, you’ll learn the basics of survival when dealing with the criminal element of Japan.”

Several hands go up. Izuku notes who it is and continues. “I still will not tell you what I do or who I am. This includes last night. Those were not my people. They deal with a relative, and you’ve been told I got into the business early because of family drama. I will not be taking questions about that.”

Several hands go down.

“Let’s start with what to do if you stumble upon an information tradeoff. Ideally, you’ll be able to act like you saw nothing if one player is anyone you know to be trustworthy.” Is Izuku starting with something suspicious and letting them figure out their own opinions? Um, yeah?

Mina’s hand is still up.

“Mina.”

Mina practically vibrates in her seat. Her leg is bouncing at hyper speed. “Did you seriously trade Grasshopper for us?”

Izuku resists the temptation to cry. He needs to hug Beans for a full hour after this class. “Let’s go further into the basics. ‘Trading Grasshopper’ implies I gave enough for them to stand a definite chance at taking him. Also, past deals are valuable knowledge. This is a highschool, which is a gossip breeding ground. Y’all are getting jack shit outta me. Kaminari?”

“Was he actually going to shoot us?”

“They do what they need to. I was essentially merchandise that your presence threatened. From a hero's viewpoint, what they did was wrong and deserves arrest. From a villain standpoint, they were weak and didn’t go far enough. Last night they acted with cruelty or mercy from both sides of the coin. Jirou, question.”

“Ashido said they had guns. Is that normal?”

They had quirk suppressants, but both have the same basic appearance. Izuku makes a mental note to ask Eraserhead to explain. Izuku isn’t doing any lesson on guns for the sake of minimizing anxiety and trauma. He knows the difference enough that quirk suppressants don’t matter to his brain gremlins, but guns? No way.

“It’s not uncommon. We’ll get to that later. Iida.”

Iida hesitates, and that’s how Izuku knows the question’s going to be a big one. “Sir. How can we trust you after this?”

“You shouldn’t.” Izuku grins lazily. “Not if you want to make it as heroes. Some of the community is closer to the underworld than you think. Trust my morals and my drive, but never trust me needlessly. Heroes are only perfect in the public eye. I’m willing to bet at least one of the top ten is willing to attempt murder.” 

There’s silence in the classroom. “I trust All Might to carry the world on his shoulders and refuse to set it down. I trust Jeanist to prioritize lower-class civilians in a crisis. I trust Endeavor to seek number one, Miriku to be unpredictable, and Hawks to do whatever keeps his options open. I do not trust them blindly. Do not afford me the same. If you’re aiming to be an underground hero, we may work together in the future.”

Izuku leans forwards, knowing they’ll remember this. 

“The grey zone between Hero and Villain is complicated. You will have to see the world through both mindsets, and function without crossing over the line. That is what this class is for. Everyone, get a piece of paper and pen out now.” Izuku waits through the rustling paper. “You’re all going to write down the center of your moral compass right now. I will not see it. I do not care what it is. These words are a promise to yourself. Someday, you will come very close to drowning in the grey zone between hero and villain. It happens to everyone. This will be what you see, what governs the choice you will make. We will take the rest of the class to think of your promise. Once it’s done, tuck it away where you know you’ll find it, and you are free to leave.”

Hitoshi raises his hand, uncharacteristically serious. “...What’s yours?”

Izuku blinks, then takes out his phone. He cracks the case off of it and withdraws a dirty scrap of paper, hoarded away from shortly after his kidnapping days. “Nobody should be alone,” he reads off, and swallows back the memory of dirty walls and medical equipment. “Now, your time starts immediately.”

Izuku sits behind the teachers desk, and pulls out a stack of assignments he needs to grade. The class knows to ask questions at his desk if they need anything.

Mina approaches him after class. “What do we do if it happens again?” she asks, quieter than usual. Izuku looks up, noticing that most of the class has gathered. Her hands are shaking, and Kaminari is practically vibrating with restless energy behind her. Last night shouldn’t have been experienced by any students, and it happened to two underprepared first years. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that earlier,” Izuku sighs. “If you recognize me behind a mask of at my job, do not use my name. There are people looking for me. They will look for you, and hunt you as a way to find me by proxy. Midoriya Izuku is legally dead for a reason. My current ID is Akatani.”

Midoriya Izuku once trusted two strangers. That trust was kidnapped, forced to have a quirk, and shattered. Izuku will not let his class make the same mistake.

At the end of the school day, Izuku steps out of class to find a large flock of geese terrorizing the students. Each one has a cheap purple cone party hat attacked haphazardly to its head. They’re all evil. Izuku knows instinctively his dad probably went to a park and hand-picked the most aggressive, distrustful geese he could find. How he rounded them up and transported them to UA is anyone’s guess.

Hitoshi slides up to Izuku, warily eyeing a nearby goose. The goose eyes him right back, with beady, sinister eyes. 

“Your dad?” Hitoshi asks as the goose steps forward threateningly. Izuku makes a calculated decision that if the geese want to pick a fight with him then that’s their problem. He has two metal crutches and no fucks to give. Hitoshi, however, is still mortal. He steps behind Izuku as the goose hisses.

“Maybe.” Izuku idly watches another goose that’s busy engaging a group of second year business students in something resembling tug of war with their book bags. “Here’s your first lesson as a member of the family: we had nothing to do with any of this.”

Chapter Text

The support department is… strange. Izuku cleared this afternoon because he needs the services of a student, but the heavy doors make him hesitate. This place was made to be a crime scene. The walls are covered in first aid kits and fire extinguishers. Izuku spots no less than three chemical showers inside and fire blankets to match. Distantly, an explosion rocks the room. Izuku adjusts his duffle bag, suddenly very aware of its contents and the people in this room who would love nothing more than to get their hands on his gear.

Nobody can be involved in creating hero support items and be completely normal, as evidenced by the pink-haired girl that greets him at the door. She looks like someone attacked he with a bucket of grease, and doesn’t seem to notice the edge of her shirt is slightly smoldering. Her overalls display the name ‘Hatsume Mei, Class 1H.’

“Is Inazuma Kaminari around,” Izuku asks cautiously. 

Hatsume practically vibrates with energy. “Vice pres? Yeah, she’s in the back. What do you need? Jet packs? Laser gun? Bioengineered stability belt? Oh, I bet you have a mental quirk - I have an anti-telepathy headband you should totally try!”

“Hatsume, quit scaring off my customers,” another voice yells from the back. Inazuma Kaminari pushes her way through the wreckage of several machines half-dissembles. She looks exactly like her twin, but the hair is reversed and has been shaved on one side since Izuku last saw her. An experiment must have gone wrong.

Hatsume turns bright red. “Oho! My rival!”

“And I ain’t gonna be your rival if you scare off my customers.” Kaminari huffs. “Besides, what about the gear you were making for the Sports Fest? It ain’t gonna fix itself.”

Izuku has no idea how Kaminari does it, but Hatsume squeaks, jumps, and rushes back through the wreckage. Another explosion shakes the room, but none of the students look up. It must be normal here.

Izuku forces himself to focus. “Are you Kaminari-”

“Hell, no. Call me Inazuma.”

Izuku grins crookedly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Izuku, and I heard you’re interested in working for underground heroes.”

Inazuma nods slowly, but Izuku notes the spark of interest in her eyes. “They have the best stories. Why, you need something?”

“I also heard you branch out with commission work on occasion. The Crawler was wearing your arm guards a couple months back.”

Inazuma goes pale. “Who’s the Crawler?”

“Nice try,” Izuku says quietly. “You made the mistake of showing your quirk and hair color at the trade-off. As a practical morality teacher, I'm obligated to at least coach you through how not to die on the job.”

Inazuma relaxes slightly, and ushers him out into the hallway. Once she seems confident they won’t be overheard, she crosses her arms. “You’re not reporting me?”

“Have you been hurt doing this? No? Then I might have to take four years looking up if it breaks any rules - but I’m only doing that if I know you’re somewhat safe, or Aizawa will have both our heads.”

Inazuma snorts. “You want something. This is really shitty blackmail, y’know?”

“Do you really think we’d be talking here if I wanted to use this as blackmail?” Izuku waits for Inazuma to consider all the rumors she’s heard floating around school. Contrary to popular belief, Izuku is somewhat self-aware. Someone in the third year has been saying he’s a villain, while the second year gen ed students are convinced he’s secretly an interrogation expert. The support department’s theory seems to be closer to SDF or a kind of Black Ops, and Izuku isn’t above taking advantage of the gossip.

“Yeah, fine,” Inazuma sighs and leans her face directly against the wall. She looks exhausted. “Let’s talk somewhere else. Yui is working on an audio thing for one of the class 2B students and I don’t want to be tomorrow’s gossip.”

Izuku laughs and pats her on the shoulder. “Just wait until college. Come on, I have teacher things to do.”

“How are you a teacher?” Inazuma mutters as she follows him back to the support department. “Literally nobody believes you have a teaching certificate. How are you getting paid for this?”

“I’m fully licensed, thank you. Hey, Powerloader! I’m borrowing your student for a minute. We’ll be - uh.”

“Lawn. Right outside.” Inazuma stomps past and grabs her tool belt. She definitely suspects something is up.

“Yeah, we’ll be at the lawn. Talking about legal things.”

Inazuma looks ready to commit murder. Excellent. That’s the energy this department needs to bring into the new year. Power Loader waves them off with a caution that they need to be back in ten minutes. It’s plenty of time. 

Izuku shoulders his bag and leads the way to the lawn. When he settles against the school wall, Inazuma flops down across from him.

“I don’t believe that you’re not going to report me,” she announces.

This is fair.

“Hey, you’re not the only one with secrets.” Izuku crosses his arms. His back hurts from sitting like this. “The real question is, can I trust you to keep mine? I have gear that needs fixing, maybe even re-designing. Got a request for a new mask, if you can do it under the radar. I won't lie - I am known by the public. If my identity gets out to anyone, all of UA will have a massive target on their back. Class 1A’s experience at the USJ will be like a warmup round.”

Inazuma straightens up, and Izuku remembers her brother was involved in the USJ incident. She knows exactly how dangerous this is.

“My question,” Izuku says carefully as he tries to find a new, less troublesome way to sit, “is why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” Inazuma replies automatically. “Trust is earned, and we don’t know each other.”

It’s a response Izuku would give. He partially unzips the duffle bag and pulls out the mask, tossing it over.

Inazuma takes it cautiously. Izuku can tell when she realizes it, because her eyes widen to twice their size. Slowly, carefully, she inspects the Grasshopper mask as if it’s some work of art and not equipment designed to keep Izuku from breaking his jaw.

“Secret for secret,” Izuku tells her. “Now we’re even.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Inazuma whispers. She turns around the mask with shaking hands. “You work for Grasshopper?”

“Definitely, I’m running his errands,” Izuku offers.

“So, Grasshopper sucks at lying. Nice.”

He rolls his eyes when Inazuma shoots him an unimpressed look. “Fine, okay, I might have a dubious hobby. Anyway, I need a tech person since everyone seems to think I’m dead, and I also need a new mask because that one doesn't filter air very well. You in?”

“Yep,” Inazuma says instantly. “But you have to explain what the fuck you’re doing at UA and if the teachers know. My rate is minimum living wage for however long it takes, plus an upfront incidental.”

“Nezdu blackmailed me into teaching,” Izuku offers. “Also, can you work with car radios? My ride only has three playlists.”

Inazuma’s grin is terrifying. “If it's the barbie car I saw on the news, I’ll add an audio port for a ride, no cash needed.”

“If you wear a disguise, then we have a deal.”

Inazuma holds out a hand to shake. “I’ll be making the mask at home to keep this quiet. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

Izuku collapses back on the teacher’s lounge couch with his paperwork. His crutches clatter onto the floor, and Izuku eyes them before deciding to let gravity win this time. Aizawa told him to rest (HA!) but Izuku is stubborn. If he gets work done today, he might be able to clear his schedule for future bad pain days. Part of that work is figuring out how students can improve their quirks.

An hour later, Izuku is half-dead, but he’s made it through most of class 1A.

Yaomomo’s quirk is giving him trouble. It’s two separate, entirely unrelated aspects that don’t seem to fit together at all. At least Todoroki’s make sense. Her lineage is very public - part of being the heir to a large fortune - but there are no power-output quirks on either side. She should only have the creation aspect. It’s almost like two separate quirks.

That’s… wait. Two quirks?

Izuku grabs Yaomomo’s student file from the coffee table. He scans through her quirk analysis, prays that the dots connecting in his head are just a conspiracy theory, and flips back through his teaching notebook. He’d been keeping track of his student’s quirks (in code, he’s not an idiot) and the section on Yaomomo’s quirk…

It’s two quirks.

Izuku takes a couple deep breaths, forcing himself to keep from slamming his head down on the table. Of course, she has two quirks. It was all so obvious from day one, he wrote it off as a freak mutation. Never mind that those only show up late through experimentation-

Did somebody hurt on my student? Izuku slams the journal shut. 

“Feisty,” Midnight murmurs absentmindedly from her desk. “Got a date?”

“Yeah, my boot and somebody’s face.”

“Oooh, sounds fun. With cuffs?”

“Maybe,” Izuku grits back. Midnight rolls her eyes and goes back to her papers as Izuku finds phone. 1A is out at the training grounds with All Might doing Foundational Studies, but he’d already cancelled to get the mask done. Having time to find Yaomomo is an added benefit.

All Might picks up on the second ring. “Young Midoriya.”

“It’s Izuku. I need to talk to Yaomomo about her quirk, do you mind if I stop by?”

“Is something the matter?” All Might asks nervously. It’s interesting of him to ask, but Izuku understands his worry. They’re both protective of their students. Izuku takes a deep breath and keeps his voice professionally calm, unconcerned, and not like his student has two entire quirks. 

“Probably. I was just working through the class’s paperwork and found a discrepancy.”

“Oh, right. The paperwork. I’ll have young Yaoyorozu’s group ready to end their exercise early.”

“Thanks.” Izuku ends the call politely before taking a few seconds just to breathe. Somebody hurt his student. Somebody forced an extra quirk on his student. With a famous family business, she’s automatically a target. This is a very big can of worms Izuku does not enjoy opening.

Midnight shoots Izuku a concerned look as he puts away the folders. “Did someone mess with a kid?”

“I don’t know.” Izuku pauses from collecting his files. Midnight is famous for her concern over consent and defending victims of all kinds of trauma. It's kind of her message as a hero. “Do you have any teacher tips?”

Midnight straightens up. “Does Hound Dog know? School counselor is your go-to.”

“He will. She’s displayed signs of two quirks and thats - that’s not good.”

A thud from under Aizawa’s desk sounds suspiciously like he hit his head. “She’s what-”  

“Oh my God,” Midnight whispers. “Oh my fucking God - Shota what the fuck? How did we miss this?”

Izuku finishes with the files and collects his crutches while the other teachers start in on a bright new midlife crisis. “Yeah. That’s not comfy, you know?”

“I’m reporting this to Hound Dog. What are the aspects?” Aizawa claws his way out of his sleeping bag and into the light of day like a legend. The man looks ready to fight everything and everyone for his students. Izuku can relate.

“Creation is her original for sure. Not sure what the power enhancement is, but it was added later.” Izuku makes his way to the door, focusing so he doesn’t info dump more than necessary. “She’s been clever about combining them. Ingenious about it, actually. Mutation happened recently if my notes are right, which means she beat that trauma in under a year. That isn’t logically possible. It took me ages to get past my own quirk.”

“You think it’s trauma-induced,” Midnight summarizes as Aizawa bolts out the door.

“Has to be. Only way you get a quirk. No other methods successful to date-” Izuku breaks off, swallowing back bile. “Sorry. Yeah. She can’t be done processing that. There’s no possible way. Not to mention learning at UA with two quirks? That’s like learning two languages at once, along with UA’s renowned workload.”

“She’s a star student and class vice president,” Midnight says, horrified. “How is she functioning? How is she alive?”

“The short answer is she’s not,” Izuku grumbles. “I'm gonna see if we can work out accommodations for her quirk training. I know the law,” he adds when Midnight looks ready to lock him in the office. “You read the 20-page essay on trauma in students I turned in last month, I know that was your handwriting correcting it.”

“Good. Then you know any conversation about having two quirks has to be started by her.” Midnight meets Izuku’s eyes with barely-contained anger underneath. “Do you know how many teachers see a student in trouble and want to adopt them? Do you know how common that is?”

Izuku nods. “I’m starting to figure it out first and second-hand, yes.”

“So many teachers. Tsuruya-sensei actually went through with it when I was teaching at Ketsubutsu. Shota may actually adopt Todoroki by the end of the year, but you didn’t hear that from me. The laws are in place so we don’t end up with twenty kidnapped children at graduation. You need to mind your words, Izuku.” Midnight grits her teeth. “Be careful. If she really has a trauma-induced quirk, she must be barely keeping it together.”

Izuku knows better than to do a therapist’s job. He nods, resolute, and nearly leaves before what Midnight said catches up with him.  “Wait, back up. Aizawa’s trying to adopt-”

“There’s a betting pool.” Midnight shoos him away. “Go give Yaoyorozu extended deadlines and take a nap once the meeting is over. Those eyebags aren’t Gucci, kid.”

Once at the training grounds, Izuku waves to All Might to get the hero’s attention. The class is spread out in groups of three, running through an exercise on hostage situations. Good. The numbers favor him stealing a classmate.

All Might edges towards the door, still slightly cautious around Midoriya Inko’s son. He’s not good at hiding it, but the man tries and that’s what counts. “Young Midor- Ah. Izuku?”

“All Might. Do you mind if I steal Yaomomo for a minute?”

“Of course,” All Might hums. “Thank you for calling in advance. I had them switch groups for partner distribution.”

“Nice. I’ll try and wrap things up by passing period.”

All Might brightens at this and sets to redistributing the groups again. He moves stiffly, Izuku notes. Then again, their relationship has always been ‘tolerable coworkers’ at best. Maybe it would be better if All Might could remember their history. Maybe it wouldn’t. Izuku finds that he honestly does not care.

Yaomomo greets him warmly, before managing to get a few tips on hostage situations from him. Seeing as they have a fair distance to walk to be out of any listening quirks (Jirou and Shoji may not gossip, but they are both friends with people who are), Izuku gives a tiny crash course. It’s also a good day to be outside.

“It’s all about managing desperation,” he tells her as they reach the jogging trail. “Remember, they honestly don’t need to keep people alive no matter what you do. Stalling and sneaky plans are your friend. Psychology is the backup, not the main road.”

“All Might told us it’s the other way around.”

Izuku shrugs, waving Yaomomo to a bench. “All Might is also publicly viewed as an overpowered and charismatic ray of sunshine. Name one member of our class who fits that description. Anyway, I wanted to talk about quirk accommodation. I noticed you’ve been struggling.”

Yaomomo turns white. “You know I have two quirks.”

Ah, shit.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit, it’s time to lie- “No, I've never heard of that. What?”

“Izuku, has anyone told you that you’re not the best at lying?” Yaomomo frowns. “I’m sorry, that was rude-”

“No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to get accommodations straightened out, how did you know-” Izuku remembers that he’s been called out for bad lying twice already today. He doesn’t need a third. “Nevermind. Are you good to talk about it?”

Yaomomo nods. “All Might knows.”

Izuku chokes on air. “Wait, he does?”

“Izuku-“

“I might actually cry-“

“How did you know?” Yaomomo says seriously.

Izuku cradles his face in his hands. “I’ve been analyzing quirks since I learned to talk. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s taken this long. Can I ask a question? ...Do your parents know?”

She shakes her head slowly. That’s not good, because All Might knows but her parents don’t.

There’s one last adult who may be able to manage this, so Izuku peeks through the gap in his fingers and asks, “and Aizawa?”

Yaomomo shakes her head. Right, Aizawa hit his head on his desk when he found out.

Izuku presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and prays for internal strength. “Nezdu knows for sure, so I won’t ask. Recovery girl?”

“Yes,” Yaomomo snaps suddenly. “And you can’t tell anyone. I need it to be a secret.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I think you’re forgetting that quirks don’t just appear. I’m like, actually required to report this.”

“No, you aren’t.” Yaomomo leans back, the challenge clear in her expression. Izuku envies her strength. He couldn’t use his quirk for a while after he’d gotten it, too caught up in the memories of that dark time to realize his legs are, in fact, a part of his body. Yaomomo started using her quirk at the exams and hasn’t slowed down.

She never hesitated. He can’t imagine the mental fortitude that must take.

“I’m a mandatory reporter,” Izuku reminds her quietly. “I am legally required to report this. I can give it to Recovery Girl since she already knows, but it needs to happen. I don’t know how much I’m allowed to tell you of the internal processes going on, but someone hurt you, and that’s not okay.”

“Report what? You said at the beginning of the year that you were required to report us ingesting things we shouldn’t, and people hurting us. This is neither.” She thinks he doesn’t know. It’s a sensitive topic, but Izuku needed someone when he got out. Nobody can face their memories of developing a late quirk alone.

“Except that it is. There’s only one way you get a quirk past seven years old, and we both know it. Guess what? We’ve both lived it, too.”

Yaomomo’s eyes widen. “You got your quirk late?”

“Hella. So, don’t try the ‘freak mutation’ lie on me, because we both know people don’t just forget pain like that so easy.” Izuku pinches his nose, going through a mental list of the big-name criminals. She’s the daughter of some pretty wealthy people, and it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for kidnapping to turn into torture and blackmail. The press teams would cover it up, too.

He doesn’t realize the silence has stretched on until Yaomomo sighs. 

“It was a gift,” she tells him quietly. “I can’t say who from, but someone entrusted me with it, so that I could lead the world to peace. The world needs a symbol after All Might retires, and if I must be that person, then so be it.”

A gift?

Torture and human experimentation are not a gift. That’s some messed up shit.

“That’s a lot for one person to worry about,” Izuku manages. His face is smooth, expressionless, and very much not a representation of the panic he is actively attempting to shove into a too-small box.

“He chose me because he believed I could do it,” Yaomomo says. It’s the faint smile that really hits Izuku. She honestly believes this is the truth and is honored by it. “I promised I wouldn’t let him down.”

Yeah, no. That sounds like manipulation. Izuku’s been lucky enough to avoid that box on the trauma bingo sheet, not for the universe’s lack of trying.

“That’s not okay. You’re telling me that somebody offered you a stress-induced quirk that they believed would put the weight of world peace on your shoulders. Peace is fickle. It will fall, be fought for, and come back through the efforts of thousands. You cannot be responsible alone.” Izuku swears, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“…I think we’re talking about different things.” Yaomomo holds out an arm, watching as the glimmer of her quirk creates a Russian stacking doll. Izuku wonders if that’s all her original quirk was, and tries not to feel sick. “You called it stress-induced, but it doesn’t sound right.”

“Like an understatement?” 

Yaomomo shakes her head, rolling the doll between her hands. “Can I ask… You don’t need to answer. Never mind.”

Izuku shrugs with ease he does not feel. “I’m here to help. Go ahead.”

“How did you get your quirk?” Yaomomo looks apologetic immediately after.

Izuku sucks in a breath. He knew the conversation was dancing around the subject for both of them, but hearing it is like a punch to the gut. Still, if it will help her to know he honestly did go through the same thing, he’ll give the summary.

“Only way you can,” he whispers. “Inject the system with whatever they feel like, strap the subject to a chair and add water by the bucket. Voltage goes up, pulse goes down. Rinse, repeat, switch up the variables ‘till the magic combination appears and zip zap, we’re in business. Hit bingo, get a quirk, pass go, and collect 200 dollars of that good, sweet Monopoly money.”

“That’s-” The doll clatters to the floor as Yaomomo slaps a hand over her mouth. He sees the truth in her horrified expression more than hears what she says. She never went through it. There must be another way to get a quirk. 

“You didn’t,” he says, and the silence resting heavy around them is too loud. “Or you don’t remember. I’m sorry, hearing that probably didn’t help.”

“I remember, and it was very different. Izuku, are you-“ she cuts herself off, and Izuku appreciates it. He can’t deal with an ‘are you okay’ right now, with old memories swimming just below the surface. He nods anyway, and neither believes it.

“Is there anything I can do,” she settles on. It’s better.

“First, it’s my job to worry about students, not yours-”

Yaomomo snorts. “You’re a student, too. Class vice president here! Find a better excuse and try again.” Izuku would tell her the honest ‘no’ before he remembers she is capable of making any weapon she pleases. Including firearms.

“Fine. Then as a student to his vice president, I’d like to tell you that I’m not a fan of guns. Never have been, never will be. Sound of fireworks, too.”

Yaomomo gives him a sharp nod. “I’ll keep it under wraps,” she promises without needing to ask. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Are you okay?” he counters. “Gaining a quirk shouldn’t be possible. Hearing my shit didn’t help.”

“It is, and I’m fine.” Yaomomo grimaces. “I had to eat a hair, and that was it.”

Izuku lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Not human experimentation. Thank goodness. He has no idea how eating a hair grants a quirk but at this point in the day it’s believable. 

“How’d it taste?”

“Disgusting.” Yaomomo smiles, but it’s tight. “Recovery Girl knows what happened. So does All Might.”

“Good. I’ll send my report. Hound Dog has to be notified, so if you want to know the stuff I’m legally not allowed to say, go ask him. That includes who will be told throughout this mess.” Izuku offers a grin back, even though it’s a shadow of his usual efforts with bad memories welling up under his skin. “Hey, secret squad. Likewise, keep my angsty past quiet, okay? The class doesn’t need that in their lives, and it’s largely classified anyway. Definitely above All Might’s clearance level if that gives you any idea.”

Yaomomo picks up the Russian stacking doll while Izuku collects his crutches. “It’s a deal. I’m pretty sure my quirk is a state secret, so if you wouldn’t mind being discreet?”

Ah, shit. Midnight and Aizawa know about the two quirks, but not the hair-eating nonsense. Izuku needs to talk to Hound Dog.

“Talk to Hound Dog. I am the epitome of discreteness, but will be telling our amazing school counselor anyway.” Izuku shoos Yaomomo out of the room and wanders down the hall towards the class, thanking all that is good that his crutches hide how his hands shake. “I know all the secrets. Speaking of, do you think vigilantes should have a theme playlist?”

“Well, it depends on the persona, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, true.” Izuku hums, letting Yaomomo move the conversation on. She’s good at small talk, especially the subtle manipulation of topic. Izuku recognizes a fellow student of social power struggles when he sees one, and recognizes it for the upbringing it is. She’s set to inherit her parents fortune, so the heroics career must be entirely her own choice. It’s hard to step out from someone else’s shadow only to take on a whole new battle. Yaomomo is officially stuck in her destiny.

“Let me know if you need help,” he tells her as they arrive back at the training grounds. “The world’s too big for only one set of shoulders.”

“Likewise. I don’t know what you do, but don’t think we’re all fooled by the I’m-not-important act.” With that, Yaomomo pushes open the doors and leaves Izuku to wonder just how much she suspects.

She can’t know about Grasshopper – he’s taken care to keep his identity away from the students. They don’t need that kind of knowledge, or the associated target on their backs. Maybe she’s inferred something from his family ties. It’s public knowledge that Miriko is related to Mom, but that’s all from shortly after Izuku was kidnapped the first time and they were ripping the Hero Safety Commission apart by the seams. 

Izuku wanders back to UA’s dorms. He can feel old memories pushing at the back of his mind, a panic attack coming. Hopefully he can keep it at bay until the sun is down.

Chapter Text

Izuku makes it until the next morning.

His back has been an absolute nuisance lately, so he’s lying on the couch with a heating pack under his spine and wondering if the price of spine removal has changed on the black market. He’s too cheap to pay for anesthesia, though. That’d be on his tolerance alone. Ehn. Worth it.

Ochako and Hitoshi have been giving him worried looks, so Izuku rambles about Mr. Sherbet’s tragic backstory to keep them from stressing out. He knows he succeeds because Ochako looks doubtful that Mr. Sherbet is a sentient ice cream spirit who decided to cause warmth instead of chilliness and reincarnated as a blanket. Silence returns to the dorms.

It’s sweet of them to worry, but he’s gone through worse and come out swinging. This is fine.

Stabbing pain spikes again, forcing Izuku to clamp his teeth together in a hiss. He tastes iron- he must have bit his tongue. The feeling worsens, and Izuku tries to swallow the blood but he’s lying down. The taste of iron lingers in his mouth. He needs to get it out, needs water. He’s not there, it’s just a little blood, he’s not in the hospital or the lab- not back there drowning, trying to yell, they won’t hear him, they never hear him because he’s so cold but the taste of blood is so warm – washing back into his mouth, he can’t swallow, can’t breathe-

He gasps for air, he can breathe; he can move. He’s not lying on the cold ground with a sticky warm puddle under his fingers and numb, static legs - 

Izuku’s vision fills with starbursts of color. He thrashes, trying to shift his legs, feel them move into their second joints- he’s alive, he’s fine, he’s quirked, no thanks to the assholes who chained him, nearly drowning while bracing for the inevitable shock, heroes won’t care for the quirkless, won’t care for the innocent- legs won’t work NOBODY TO HEAR HIM SCREAM- the dull impact at his spine then nothing, nothing NOTHING-

He’s aware of someone talking and holding his hand distantly and tries to scramble away but it’s no good, the taste of iron in his mouth preludes lightning in his veins. He’s trapped again, cold ground underneath him, wet with his own blood and they’ll hurt the victims, NO-

The hand lets go, and a different voice starts filtering through.

“-zuku, you’re safe. You’re in the UA dorms right now. It’s okay. Nobody is going to hurt you. You’re on a couch right now.”

Izuku holds onto the voice, drawing quick, shaky breaths. The taste of blood is still in his mouth, only stronger now. The voice, which his mind eventually identifies as Aizawa’s, coaches him through taking deep breaths and Izuku begins to switch from flashback to dissociation.

He is in a room. Huh. That’s funky.

Aizawa is crouched next to the couch, and behind him Ochako and Hitoshi look way too panicked. Hitoshi is staring at Izuku’s legs instead of his face. Izuku is also fascinated by the fact that he has legs. It’s a very surprising fact. They even look weird- all bent at unnatural angles and covered in green scales.

That’s concerning, his mind notes mildly. Are those legs attached to me?

“Izuku, I think you just had a flashback. Do you know where you are?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku nods mutely. “Good, do you want water?”

Izuku nods again, before pain shoots back down his spine. It has the unfortunate effect of bringing him crashing down to reality. He takes one look at his legs- shifted into their dragon form in front of Hitoshi and Ochako- and shifts them back to normal with a grunt.

Hitoshi’s eyes are huge. Like a very startled owl.

Ochako hurries from the kitchen with a glass, which he gratefully accepts. He’s got too much blood in his mouth for comfort. Drinking while lying down is a horrible idea, and he ends up propping himself up to drink before settling back down.

“Sorry,” Izuku manages hoarsely. “Kinda forgot I was here.”

“I figured,” Aizawa mutters, shooing Ochako and Hitoshi back to the kitchen. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, especially since it’s about… law-breaking stuff.”

Aizawa nods, eyes flicking to the kitchen where Ochako and Hitoshi are pretending to make pancakes and not eavesdrop. They’re trying to be subtle and failing miserably.

“For someone who complains about heroes needing to take care of their health, you need to see a therapist,” Aizawa says.

“Ha. I should think about that,” Izuku mumbles, and he gets a disgruntled look in response. “Kidding. Sorry. I’ve already got one – don’t give me that look, I can take care of myself.”

“So you say. You’ve taken your meds?” 

“The new ones Dr. Akarui gave me? Couldn’t open it. Child-proof means Izuku-proof.”

“I’ll get them.” Aizawa sighs wearily and points to Ochako and Hitoshi. “You two. What just happened is related to classified information. No rumors. If I hear anyone in class talking, we will be having a conversation.” With that, the teacher disappears into the hallway.

Izuku snorts at Hitoshi’s expression. Somebody is visibly trying to hide their concern. Still, the ancient laws of childhood trauma tell him that showing weakness in a public space is Bad and Dangerous. Izuku needs to get to his room.

He shifts, half-standing and half-rolling so a crouch on the floor before biting back a hiss. That simple movement hurt, and also cost more spoons than Izuku could really spare. He ends up flopping the rest of the way onto the floor. The carpet gets in his mouth when he grits his teeth. 

“I deserve to be paid for this,” Izuku mutters. “The black market currently sells shoulders for around 5000 yen per, so a spine can’t be that far off. Mine has name-brand recognition. That’s gotta be worth at least double the regular rates at auction. Maybe they’ll even remove it free of charge.”

Hitoshi jumps, hurrying over. “Okay, that’s fucked up. Do you want me to brainwash you?”

“Won’t work,” Izuku grumbles into the carpet. He’s going to stay right here on the floor, and maybe someday the universe will listen and give him a break from this nonsense. The pain’s not at his limit, so he can deal. It’ll be fine, but boring. At least getting stabbed is exciting. What does this injury have? Endless suffering? No thanks.

“We can try?”

Izuku leans his head against the ground, wishing the hurt would just stop. “…Sure-“ 

It’s blissfully quiet. He didn’t realize the extent of the pain until it was gone. The world fades to a cotton-grey, and Izuku lets it go. Brainwashing quirks are the best. Hitoshi gives him another order, but it doesn’t quite filter through. Izuku doesn’t have the energy to care, instead content to float endlessly through the cotton in his brain.

Until his back feels like he’s being stabbed and Hitoshi’s connection snaps.

Ochako exchanges a nervous glance with Hitoshi once Izuku is brainwashed. He’s been out of it for most of the morning, and though she doesn't know what set off Izuku’s panic attack, she does know it had to be bad. If falling off the couch does that to him - and Ochako has seen him slam a door on his hand and shrug it off - then she has a pretty good idea of what today’s pain scale must be.

“Hold on,” she murmurs and drags over the orange blanket named Mr. Sherbet. Ochako is of the firm belief that few things in life are not made better by throwing comfort items and tea at problems. It won’t fix everything - sometimes it won’t fix anything at all - but it can help. Helping is enough. Ochako pulls a clump of cat fur from the blanket, waits until Hitoshi has re-positioned the heating pack on Izuku’s back, and tosses the blanket over him.

“If there’s a way to move for you to be more comfortable, do so,” Hitoshi orders.

Izuku stays still.

“What happened?”

“It means he can’t complete the instructions.” Hitoshi sits back. “He can’t move to get more comfortable, so….”

“Oh. So, there's nothing we can do?”

Hitoshi shrugs, and it feels damning. Ochako jumps when Izuku flinches, then hisses from underneath the blanket. One glance to Hitoshi confirms the brainwashing connection broke.

“Hey, Hitoshi,” Izuku says abruptly. “Your brainwashing held for longer than I expected. We gotta work on that in class.”

Ochako exchanges a look of horror with Hitoshi. There’s no logical reason for Izuku to be making lesson plans right now. He almost sounds comfortable. There’s no strained inflection, no way to tell he’s in pain besides a slight waver in his voice and the fine tremors along the blanket. That’s not normal, right?

“After you rest,” Hitoshi argues.

“Sure,” Izuku continues easily. “Maybe a person's condition during the brainwashing changes force required to break the connection? I gotta add that to my notes.”

“Later,” Aizawa decrees, reappearing with a glass of water. He uncaps Izuku’s pain medication for him and watches to make sure he takes it with water.

“You’re the ultimate dad. Except this time it’s not a pickle jar I can’t open.” Izuku mutters, and Hitoshi looks like he’s dying. Sure, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean Izuku has to say it.

“Do you want to rest here, on the couch, or upstairs,” Aizawa asks once Izuku has retreated back into the blanket.

“I’m fine,” Izuku says. “You have work to do.”

“My job is to ensure my students are healthy,” Aizawa counters. “Where do you want to rest?”

Izuku shifts under the blankets until he’s curled up. “... Upstairs, but I’m fine. I can walk, just give me a few minutes. Literally, it’s not as bad as being stabbed.”

Ochako feels like she just got punched. “You got stabbed?”

“Ehn. Shitty origin story later,” the Izuku-shaped blanket mound decrees. “If you figure out my name and don’t tell the rest of the class, then yes. I will tell you the lovely story of my first stabbing. Very romantic. Had a real fancy evening before we even got to that part.”

“Izuku,” Aizawa interrupts.

“I know. Look, just let me stay here,” the Izuku-mound says. “Let me have my autonomy free of this messed-up system we call heroics.”

Aizawa sighs. “Alright, but let us know if you need anything.”

“I’m fine,” Izuku repeats. “Go grade your papers. I know you gave a quiz yesterday, because half the class tried to get answers out of me. Go. And you two – there’s Animal Crossing to play. Go catch some bugs and fish. I can and will assign you that as homework.”

Ochako settles down on a distant common room couch to watch another episode of The Untamed. When she looks up from her phone an hour later, Izuku has disappeared. It figures he’d use his mysterious stealth training for something like this.

Swamped in blankets with Beans asleep by his side, Izuku scowls at his phone. His hands hurt while holding it. Back pain isn’t supposed to reach his hands, but Aizawa had called Dr. Akarui and found out that human health is funky like that.

Izuku wants to call bullshit. This is just the universe being spiteful. Yes, it’s a nuisance that could be worse if not for literally having a trained pain tolerance, but it still sucks.

“I’m gonna get lunch ready, got any requests?” Hitoshi grumbles from where he’s sprawled over Izuku’s floor with several cushions. Izuku doesn't remember Hitoshi leaving to pick them up. He does remember asking him to stick around as a grounding presence after Hitoshi had caught him in the hallway having a panic attack for the second time today. Trauma can fuck right off.

“Not really. Isn’t it my day to cook?”

Hitoshi shakes his head, already getting up. “My turn.”

Beans looks up at the door opening before burrowing deeper into Izuku’s side.

“He’s better at lying than me,” Izuku tells the cat. “I’m pretty sure I’m on for both lunch and dinner today.”

“What are you doing,” Ochako says when she sees Hitoshi enter the kitchen. “I’m cooking!”

“I thought we were taking shifts.” Hitoshi wanders over, eyeing the five brands of shouyu Ochako is trying to differentiate. “What are you making?”

“We don’t have a hot pot, but I thought that would be nice today. Nabemono, you know?”

Hitoshi shrugs, moving to wash his hands and grab cabbage from the fridge. “Winter food?”

“I've been wanting soup for a whole week. Ever since that reading on Monday about ‘Primordial Soup,’ I have thought about nothing but every single bowl of nabemono I have ever had in my life. So yeah, I’m making it for lunch. And yes, I’m putting salmon in it. Y’all can deal with it or make your own lunch.” That, and Ochako knows everyone is stressed with the upcoming Sports Festival enough that they’ll burn the kitchen down without a ridiculously easy recipe.

“We can double-team it?” Hitoshi offers, and Ochako nods. Cooking alone is no fun anyway.

The kitchen returns to a low hum of activity. The three dorm students cook together often enough for lunch that there’s no real need for conversation, though they have a missing member today. Ochako knows, objectively, Izuku has had rough days before. He’s missed classes and the USJ field trip, but he’s also strong as hell. He barely blinked after nearly getting crushed with a desk yesterday, and is intimidating enough that even All Might seems wary of him. It’s hard to tell what’s caused by the injury or his weird secret backstory.

Ochako’s missing something. She doesn’t know what, doesn’t know how the tattoo peeking out of his shirt connects to the glossy green scales she’d seen covering his legs and the weird click-click of his quirk transformation. She just knows her friend is having a rough day. One thought bothers her enough to voice it, because while she’s Izuku’s friend, Hitoshi is his new brother. He might know.

“His quirk is weird,” Ochako says over the half-peeled vegetables. “Physical mutation shouldn’t sound painful. That clicking sound was his bones, Hitoshi.”

“Yeah, that’s not- that’s not fantastic.” Hitoshi cracks eggs into a pan for a snack. “I don’t know of any quirks that hurt their user just by activating.”

“It’s cool, though. Green scales are wild. Do you think Aizawa Sensei knows?” Ochako asks.

“He does,” Aizawa says, and Ochako nearly drops the carrots in surprise. The teacher ducks out of the hallway, eyeing the discarded eggshells, mushrooms, and shoyu scattered around the kitchen. Ochako and Hitoshi freeze warily, watching him for any sign they’re in trouble for taking over a classmate’s cooking duty. 

Aizawa frowns, reaching for the coffee pot. “Isn’t it my day to cook?”

Ochako coughs back a laugh. Holy heck, they’re a hivemind.

“It’s Izuku’s turn,” Hitoshi says quietly. “So we, uh.”

“Oh.” Aizawa pauses thoughtfully, and his mug comes dangerously close to overflowing. “I have a meeting with Todoroki’s mother in an hour, are you three alright here while I’m gone?”

“Are parent-teacher meetings soon?” Ochako asks. She needs to let her parents know if so.

“No. This is hero-related.” Aizawa sips his coffee, makes a face at the taste, and wanders back out of the kitchen. “Midnight will be over in a few minutes. I have rounds to do, so remember the closest fire extinguisher is in the bottom sink cupboard. Shinsou, the noodles are burning.”

“Shit, how is that even possible?” Hitoshi swears, bats smoke aside, and winces when the fire alarm goes off. “SHIT-”

Ochako hurries to open the windows while Hitoshi fans the fire alarm. “Hito- wait, the water’s boiling over-”

“This is karma,” Izuku tells Beans mournfully as the fire alarm continues to wail downstairs. Beans pushes his head into Izuku’s hand, demanding more pats. The pats are given. Distantly, metal clatters and Hitoshi swears fluently. Beans appears to care about this for all of two seconds before returning to his life as the world’s most pampered cat.

“They’re going to burn the dorm down,” he tells Beans. “I bet they were making something on the stove and got distracted.”

Beans purrs rustily and Izuku clenches his teeth when his shoulder shifts the wrong way.

Someone starts cackling downstairs. It sounds like Midnight, so either Aizawa has called a friend over to witness the source of fire and his student’s failed cooking, or someone’s impersonating her. In this dorm, the odds are pretty even.

The smoke detector cuts out abruptly, and Izuku sighs in relief. Thank goodness. The pain medication has started to kick in, but it hasn’t eased everything, just brought the ever-present ache down to tolerable levels. He picks up his phone with hands that no longer ache quite so badly and looks up pictures of potatoes.

“This is you,” he tells his cat upon finding a stock photo of sweet potatoes. Beans hiccups in his purr and snuggles closer. “Yes. You are a round sweet potato and nobody can tell me differently. Maybe a carrot, though.” 

Beans twitches an ear.

“Your ears are orange like carrots, and I adore you to the depths of my soul,” Izuku explains. Beans starts to snore because he’s a quality cat who understands the importance of sleep for healthy living.

“The kitchen is only marginally burnt,” Hitoshi reports from the doorway, breaking Izuku out of his browsing. He just found a hoodie with sleeves in the ace pride flag colors. This is highly exciting because it looks cool as hell. There is literally nothing that can stop him from buying this hoodie and wearing it around town as Grasshopper. These would also be excellent bribery material for Hawks if they have his size with the trans flag. Especially because Hawks has very little mortal fear and therefore all the best information.

Ha HA it’s time for bad spending decisions!

Hitoshi pauses at the crazy grin Izuku can feel himself sporting. “You good?”

“Livin’ the dream.” Izuku says as Hitoshi barely manages the door with no hands. He's carrying two bowls of soup and it smells heavenly. “Come join me, O bearer of foodstuffs. Was everything all right downstairs?”

“Yeah, we were just... uh. Aizawa Sensei taught us how to use fire extinguishers. Anyway, Midnight is really good at shutting down grease fires.”

“Midnight? I thought Aizawa was on call for the next hour.” Izuku accepts the bowl from Hitoshi and slips Beans a piece of salmon that hasn’t fallen into the soup yet. “Thanks for the food.”

“He had a meeting with Todoroki’s mom.” Hitoshi looks up from his soup in alarm when Izuku chokes. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just- really? I gotta get my money in the betting pool, then.”

Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Betting pool?”

“Teachery things.” Izuku shifts his blankets, revealing Beans squished between him and his pillows. The cat blinks up at both of them before settling back to his nap. “There’s one on how long until y’all find out my business name. Apparently betting from the participants isn’t allowed.”

Hitoshi squints. “Are you okay?”

“No? Yes?”

“So just another Saturday. Let me see the world's best cat.”

At Izuku’s permission, Hitoshi settles in on Beans’s other side to shower the cat with love. Silence returns, and Izuku wonders distantly how silence can be loud. The thing about this pain is that it’s giving him a headache, but silence isn’t silent. It has a noise that drills into his skull. The only thing breaking it is the purring cat next to him, so Izuku burrows tired hands in the cat’s fur. Hitoshi scratches Beans under his chin, and the purr rises in a crescendo.

Izuku tries to settle back, finds that he can’t because of the pain, and ends up staring at the ceiling. This wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t have bones.

“Hey, Hitoshi?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wonder if someday we’ll be able to delete our skeletons?” 

“I'm gonna be honest with you. That’s something I have never, in my life, thought about.” Hitoshi sounds like he’s been thrown halfway through the stages of grief in the space of a single second. “Why would you say that with your human-words?”

“Because some skeletons deserve to be deleted.”

Hitoshi sets down his phone and joins Izuku in staring at the ceiling for a solid ten seconds before coming to terms with the fact that this is his new reality. “I cannot believe there are action figures of you, yet I have to hear this shit.”

Izuku freezes, eyeing Hitoshi, who should not know about his sick crime-fighting parkour tricks. Hitoshi has been acting just a bit weird since this morning, which had made sense in the context of witnessing Izuku fall off a couch. But this? This is a new flavor of weird. Hitoshi stares straight out the window. He looks paler than usual, though that could just be the light of his phone. It could also be fear, which is not an ideal emotion when Izuku isn’t aware of any villains nearby.

“Hitoshi? Gonna share with the class what that means?”

Hitoshi startles. Beside him, Beans stretches and shoves his head under Hitoshi’s frozen hand. “You’re not gonna like it. How many spoons do you have left?”

Izuku rolls his eyes and settles a hand on the cat, causing Beans to purr so hard he hiccups. “Enough for this nonsense,” he tells his brother. “Now spill.”

Hitoshi’s face screws up before he finally gestures to a Grasshopper poster on the wall. “So… you buy your own merch?”

No.

No???

“I’m not- that’s-“ Izuku wants to cry. He can’t lie, everyone knows he can’t lie for shit, this is horrible. “I have only legal hobbies,” he tells Hitoshi. It is devastatingly unconvincing.

“Sure,” Hitoshi says, eyes flicking between the poster of Grasshopper. It’s technically fanart, since vigilantes can’t sue for copyright and posing for pictures is asking the police to track them. Pop is an outlier rigging the system for personal profit who should not be counted.

“Vigilantes aren’t real,” Izuku tries desperately. “I heard they’re made up to scare kids into eating vegetables. Have you ever seen a Grasshopper? No? There’s your proof.”

“I’ve seen him,” Hitoshi tells Izuku blandly. “He’s a shockingly bad liar who is sitting in front of me, making a fool of himself.”

Izuku is too tired to swear, so he stares at the ceiling again, imagining finding out whatever sick trick of fate this is and demanding answers. “Why is my life like this? I have done nothing to prove I’m Grasshopper, why would you insult me like this?”

Hitoshi leans over the side of the bed and snags Izuku’s duffle bag. He unzips it slowly, well aware this is crossing a line Izuku had made clear wasn’t an option. Izuku doesn’t stop him. There’s a chance someone will eventually, and he's beginning to consider that this is, in fact, his brother, and that Hitoshi deserves to know exactly how dangerous Izuku’s life is. When Hitoshi takes out the Grasshopper mask with shaking hands, Izuku doesn’t stop him.

No takesies-backsies. 

“Okay,” Hitoshi says quietly. “So. I honestly kind of expected you to be keeping a dead body in there-”

Izuku whacks him weakly with a pillow and regrets everything when his back is stabbed by a thousand tiny super-heated evil knives. Beans wakes up when Izuku shifts, but doesn't move. His cat is the best cat, and Izuku thanks the stars that Beans somehow knows his owner is not good for jumping around right now. Are all cats like this? Or is it just because Beans is immortal and also the Best Cat Ever? 

“Ow,” Hitoshi monotones at the pillow attack. “This is a crime. Fratricide? Or homicide? Help, I don’t know the laws.”

“Homiecide,” Izuku snickers, only to be tapped very gently with a pillow. “Ow?”

“Rude,” Hitoshi snips. “Is there anything else I should know about your edgy past or is this the last thing?”

“Well…” Izuku hesitates, and Hitoshi’s jaw drops. 

“You’re kidding. What, is All Might my uncle?”

Izuku laughs, then gasps when it makes his back move. “Ow. No, it’s more angsty than that. One to ten, ten being super energized and one being on the edge of a breakdown, how are you doing right now?”

Hitoshi wrinkles his nose while he thinks. “Well I’m always a ten, but in terms of energy it’s a solid seven. These eyebags are Gucci and ensure I never reach anything above an eight. How are you?”

“Solid two, but I’m never above a five these days so we’re doing pretty good. Backstory stuff is heavy, so I can wait if you need to.” Izuku ducks at Hitoshi’s unimpressed look. “Fine. You know how Mom got famous, right?”

“She handed everyone’s asses to them in court and then made the Hero Safety Commission rewrite some protocols and laws? I’m assuming you were faking your death or some other dumbassery.”

Izuku lets Beans climb into his lap and moves his legs so Hitoshi can sit beside him. “Kind of. I was kidnapped after school back then.” He doesn't look at Hitoshi, instead running his fingers over Beans’ forehead and listening to the cat’s throaty purr. “Dad is a big name yakuza and I was quirkless. Lots of bad stuff happened and I don’t do so well in water anymore, or in labs... and anything that tastes like iron really gets me now. Like today. Anyway, I got a quirk and, uh. Yeah. Moral of the story is that my quirk isn’t natural.”

“Ah,” Hitoshi says blankly, and Izuku can very clearly see that his mind is the equivalent to a bluescreening computer. “I see.”

Izuku raises his hands in a kind of huzzah dance move. “Surprise,” he squeaks.

“Hold up.” Hitoshi looks very, very pale. “Gonna need a second to process this. I have hugs to give in the meantime, but give me a moment.”

“I can handle loose half-hugs, and take your time.” Izuku’s not so much aware of Hitoshi wrapping him in a hug as he is the memories he still hasn’t worked through twisting around his chest. Hitoshi squishes Bean’s face. Izuku can practically see the gears turning in his head before Hitoshi speaks up slowly. He’s still not fully present, still processing, and Izuku realizes this is a lot to dump on anyone at once.

“You don’t have to answer this but,” Hitoshi frowns, sorting out his words. “Are you implying your quirk was stress-induced? Because holy shit, we need to get you some ice cream.”

“You know about stress-induced quirks?” Izuku asks in surprise. He shifts to get more comfortable and ends up with Beans stretching across his lap. Hitoshi scoots back now that Beans has sworn his loyalty to someone else.

“I guess you do a lot of crime fighting, but Grasshopper took down my father. He uh, was into some shady stuff. I wasn’t supposed to hear but he mentioned how quirks can appear under the right lab conditions at one point. That was before you got him.”

“I remember him.”

Hitoshi blinks, surprised.

“I took him down as a favor,” Izuku says, because Hitoshi looks like he wants to know but is afraid to ask. “Somebody needed him gone. I stopped by, figured out what was going on, and ended it. You aren’t him. Don’t worry.”

“Did you know who I was when you recommended me?” Hitoshi asks abruptly.

“No. I found out when I saw him at uniform day, after your acceptance. And before you ask if I regretted taking you on as a student, I literally could not care about bloodlines less.” Izuku points to the rabbit mask by his window. “If anything, it just meant we were more similar than I thought.”

“That’s wild,” Hitoshi muses. “What are the chances we’d meet? Two kids of minor yakuza at UA. I wonder who would win if our dads fought.”

“Oh, Dad would annihilate him. One-hit kill, instant death by verbal and physical roasting,” Izuku promises. “He kicks ass. At least, I assume. I haven’t actually seen him kick ass because he’s doing mafia boss stuff.”

“What,” Hitoshi hisses. He hops onto the carpet and nearly trips before he starts pacing. “I thought your dad was just high ranking!”

“Yeah. The boss,” Izuku reminds him, completely forgetting that he may have forgotten to mention this crucial detail. From Hitoshi’s horrified expression, he absolutely did. That’s the thing about trauma: if gives you the memory space of a corn chip.

“Your dad’s a boss? Not just a high-ranking officer, but the actual head of the family? That makes you a member of Japan’s mob,” Hitoshi says, voice cracking. “Izuku, what the fuck?”

“So are you, technically.” 

This is apparently the wrong thing to say. Hitoshi makes a horrified noise and goes to hide in the closet. “Fuck this messed up family- Izuku, why do you have candles in here?” Something falls and Hitoshi yelps. “You have three boxes of electric candles? What-”

“Pop has hoarding issues,” Izuku explains. He leans over to properly peer upon Hitoshi’s first mid-life crisis and ignores the way his bones scream. “I asked for a couple to put around the room and she got me forty-five, I think? Fifteen per box. At least they’re lots of different sizes.”

“Forty-five,” Hitoshi confirms, stumbling back out of the closet to point at Izuku. “While I’m distracted from this nonsense, how about you explain how the fuck I am only just now learning an invite to the Family was that kind of invite.”

Izuku nods. “If you’re sure. So, my dad’s the kinda mob boss who’s keeping it up for the sake of his people. A lot of them don’t really have a place outside the Dragon’s Hoard-”

Hitoshi inhales sharply, bringing both hands up to his face. “Your dad is Dragon?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?”

Hitoshi screams a little bit in the back of his throat before tripping over a rug on his way to hide in the closet again. “You- you might have forgotten to tell me, yes.” His voice cracks when he continues, “you may have left out the fact that you’re from one of the three big crime families when offering to be my brother, and that the actual Dragon proposed with a grenade pin and forgot that those explode.”

Hitoshi scowls out of the closet. He looks ready to commit a degree of crime using the pithy multitude of electric candles, so Izuku takes a moment to reflect on what most people consider normal.

Shit.

“Ah,” Izuku says slowly.

“Dragon,” Hitoshi repeats, apparently still stuck on this fact. “Like, The Dragon of Hosu? You’re the heir? Oh my fucking-”

“He thinks the moon is actually crescent shaped, and just rotates a bit every month.”

Hitoshi makes a sound largely reminiscent of a tea kettle whistle and flops bonelessly to the floor. “All this and somehow it’s still a better family than the last one.”

“Hey, the Hoard is considered Japan’s most ethical yakuza family since quirks appeared,” Izuku offers. “People with villainous quirks are more likely to be fired, and a lot of them commit criminal offenses just to stay alive. One desperate petty crime later and a mark on their record, chances of getting hired go down the drain. Dad’s job is to keep them supported. I think he’d rather be a librarian - he really likes organization and responsibility.”

“Still a mob boss, and you’re his son.”

“I won’t take over,” Izuku clarifies. “Everyone knows Dad is trying to keep me out of the Hoard, but he’ll probably adopt someone else to do the job. It’s pretty smart, really. If anyone tried to kill him for leadership, I’d be appointed, which is the last thing anyone wants. I’d probably turn it into even more of a vigilante group.”

Hitoshi shoots him a disgruntled look and Izuku smiles apologetically. “Don’t worry, you’re not legally his son - only Mom’s - so they don’t have to know you even exist if that’s not your style. Dad knows already, though.”

“I hate this fucking family,” Hitoshi mumbles.

Izuku snorts. “We’re all menaces to society in completely different ways.”

“Exactly. Dragon’s a mob boss, Inko – Mom? I’m calling her ‘Mom.’ Mom’s a lawyer, and you’re a vigilante the whole world thinks is an adult because your quirk makes you taller somehow?”

“I gain around 20 centimeters, yeah. It’s called Dragon Legs – secondary bone structure and fireproof scales when I shift. A lot of people see ‘taller’ and assume ‘older’ like I don’t resemble Dabi’s cursed younger brother.”

“Does Dabi even have a younger brother?”

“Yeah. Me.” Izuku squishes Beans’s cheeks. “Anyone else trying to claim that spot can fight me. I’ll taze them. Twice.”

Chapter Text

Izuku screeches with joy, startling half the UA faculty in the teachers lounge. It’s worth it, because he found out his request for a schedule change was approved. Lunch Rush edges away from where Izuku is curled up on the faculty couch staring at the blessed email. He might frame it.

Nezdu has probably given him the gift as future bribery. That’s fine. Expected, actually. The Sports Festival preparations take all his other class time this week, but now he has the afternoon to do his last-minute prep with the students. They’re not ready for the Sports Festival; not ready for the publicity. They think they are. This is a lie built on massive egos and social conditioning. Izuku has one hour to shatter their world and get the party started.

One hour to tell them about the targets on their backs. Izuku finds his crutches and hauls ass to the classroom.

When his hour begins, Izuku sits on the teachers desk of his classroom with crossed arms. It’s Aoyama’s turn to play scribe - he’s started rotating turns writing on the whiteboard to save his back - but everyone else is strangely silent. They’re all nervous at the sudden schedule change.

It’s about to get worse. Izuku grins.

“So,” he starts. “Who’s watching the Sports Festival? Let’s make a list of who and what they’re looking for.”

Several hands shoot up. People are really here for the participation grade.

“Our families and future co-workers,” Iida starts when Izuku calls on him. “We must do our utmost to impress them!”

“Civilians,” Aoyama adds as he writes. Somehow, he’s getting the chalk to sparkle, which is unfairly cool. “They’re looking for our magnifique entertainment.”

“And to know who will protect the next generation,” Hagakure adds. “My parents always try to guess who will work in our neighborhood when the third years compete.”

Izuku nods. “Good. Who else? Come on, bonus points to whoever guesses the one I’m looking for.”

“Support companies are looking for potential clients,” Yaoyorozu suggests, and Shoji takes inspiration from that.

“Government workers. We need to measure up to their standards of conduct.”

“The hero safety commission,” Ojirou adds. “Scouting talent and troublemakers.” He ends with a bit of side eye towards Bakugo, who scoffs. Izuku moves the class on before a fight can break out. They can save that kind of behavior for in the Sports Festival matches.

“Who else?”

“Villains,” Bakugo says. “For weaknesses.”

Several students straighten up. Yaomomo nearly snaps her pen in half, and Hitoshi ducks his head. From there, silence reigns the room. 

Izuku waits a few seconds before uncrossing his arms. “Nice job, everyone. Bonus point go to Bakugo, because today we’re discussing the dangers of the Sports Festival. You all know the benefits of showing off. Time to discuss the detriments.”

Izuku nods to Aoyama to sit down before he continues.

“There are two groups you need to be careful of tomorrow. First, students from other heroic schools will be watching. During license exams, they’ll be familiar with your fighting style using data entirely from today. Second, villains. Bluntly put, your fighting styles aren’t fully formed. My advice is that if you have special moves, keep one in reserve. It is your choice how far to go in this event; how far you want to push yourself.” Izuku pauses, considering his words. “But as a technical member of the faculty, it’s my job to make sure you are all fully informed of this event. There’s nothing wrong with going all out, and equally nothing wrong with deceiving future opponents.”

Iida raises his hand. “That’s almost - well, it’s almost dishonorable, isn’t it?” He falters, but continues. “Appearing at an event where everyone else is trying their hardest, and only doing just enough. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Izuku smiles. “Like I said, it’s your choice. I just need everyone to be fully aware of what’s going on. You don’t have to decide now or tell me what conclusion you come to, but as someone partially responsible for your conduct as heroes, it had to be said.”

He leaves the rest of the hour as open time to consider how they want to approach the Sports Festival, and as a chance to ask questions. Kirishima pulls up a chair at Yaomomo’s desk where they discuss something in hushed voices, and Hitoshi uses the time to nap.

“Oi, nerd,” Bakugo says, joining Izuku’s perch on the teachers podium. “You just fucked up the whole competition. I was gonna fight everyone at their best until you said that.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow, waiting for Bakugo to get to the heart of what’s bothering him. This is his brand of teaching, so Bakugo gets to build a few communication skills. It’s like surprise free fries with a burger.

“I’d fight everyone here for some fries,” Izuku says. Wow, he didn’t realize he was this hungry until the metaphor hit.

Bakugo makes a frustrated noise before gritting out, “the point is, it’s not fucking fair anymore.”

“It’s on you to keep it fair, but I have to think about safety, too. There’s a difference between safety and equality,” Izuku says. “We’ll cover ethics after the events, but I’m making this choice based off of responsibility. I can’t hide this from everyone.”

Bakugo grumbles at this. “It’s still a shitty choice.”

“I know. Not an easy one, either. I think Midnight is on your side, and she’ll be the referee for First Year Events.”

Bakugo doesn’t sulk for the rest of the period, but it’s a close thing.

On the morning of the Sports Festival, Izuku is woken up bright and early to the sound of Mic busting down the door three floors below.

“SHOTA!!! RISE AND SHINE, MY FAITHFUL CO-HOST! I BOUGHT COFFEE FOR YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN- ack!”

Distantly, Izuku listens to the sweet music of capture scarves attempting to shut up an early-bird hero. Aizawa is doing the night-owl community a favor. Ochako’s the only one of them who ever wakes up before eight on a weekend, and the Sports Festival doesn’t require attendance until ten.

It’s 8:05 and too early for this shit.

Something falls in Hitoshi’s room.

Ha. Misery loves company. It sounds like Izuku isn’t the only one awake. His phone starts vibrating immediately.

DormSQUAD

CoffeeBitch: I cannot believe

CoffeeBitch: that the noise to wake me up

CoffeeBitch: is the news of coffee arriving

CoffeeBitch: that ruins the whole point??? let me sleep

AngryGreenTea: yo if im waking up this early there better be a soymilk venti green tea latte in the commonroom with a shot of peach flavoring

AngryGreenTea: also hito don’t @me i know it’s a soccer mom order but if you haven't tasted that goodness I hereby refuse all criticism

I hereby declare Mic owes us pancakes

AngryGreenTea: OR CUPCAKES

CoffeeBitch: ….coffeecake

AngryGreenTea: changing my vote to coffeecake

ehhhhh

but breakfast

AngryGreenTea: coffeecake SLAPS tho

CoffeeBitch: it can be breakfast

yea tru coffeecake it is

aaaaaa i dont want to get up

AngryGreenTea: mee toooo

CoffeeBitch: what if nobody shows up. what if there are no students, so we all get the day off

Wouldn’t work

what we have to do is forgery. Specifically an email from Nezdu canceling this shit

*****: Midoriya, please do not

CoffeeBitch: ?????????????

FUCK

HECKING

AngryGreenTea: WHOMST

NOBODY TYPE ANYTHING, ONE OF US GOT HACKED BY THE RAT

Izuku throws his phone down and lunges for his school computer. No way is he letting Nezdu get even one computer-virus-filled paw on his actual laptop. Distantly he can hear Hitoshi running through his morning routine. Sure enough, his brother knocks on the door after several minutes.

“It’s open,” Izuku calls, and Hitoshi stumbles in to faceplant on his rugs. His gym uniform is on inside-out. “Could you do me a favor? I need your and Ochako’s phones. Nezdu might have used a virus.”

“I hate this morning,” Hitoshi mumbles as he tosses Izuku his phone. “I hate it, I hate it-”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. Can I upgrade your security while I’m at it?”

Hitoshi shrugs and mumbles an affirmative as he wanders out, nearly hitting the doorpost on the way. Beans follows him, jumping down to the floor with a thunk. He probably thinks Hitoshi has food.

Izuku finds a program that allows UA’s principal backdoor access into his chats. Supposedly being a criminal makes this legal. Nezdu gets to see and reply to any message sent upon requesting access from the police, but he’s automatically notified if Izuku sends anything on a long list of keywords. ‘Forgery’ is one of them.

Izuku screams into his pillow and gets to work.

“This is an omen,” Ochako says as she kicks down Izukus door to give him her phone. “Somethings going to go horribly wrong today. Also, Mic got out of coffee cake duty because he’s a cheat and a liar.”

“He’s busy with three jobs,” Izuku mutters. Nezdu has caught on and is trying to hack his already-bugged computer. Izuku has no clue what he’s trying to accomplish but he’s too cranky to accept this at 8:15 in the morning. He will hack Nezdu back out of spite and groggy pettiness.

Ochako nods wisely. “So he has money with which to buy coffeecake.”

“Homemade is better. I’ll make some if yall are that desperate. The secret is to use sour cream.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, one of my informants shared her family recipe. If either of you place in the top ten it’s a deal.” Izuku flinches away from his computer when Ochako leans over it to give him her phone. “What? Oh, thanks. Y’all can start breakfast without me.”

“Break a leg,” Ochako yells as she leaves.

“I’ll beak Nezdu’s computer,” Izuku mutters. He needs a nap and the day’s only just begun.

Izuku falls out of the elevator a good half hour later to see Ochako and Hitoshi blearily pouring Fruit Loops in the kitchen. Aizawa and Present Mic are both gone. Interestingly, the carpet is strangely ruffled in a way that suggests someone was forcibly dragged out the front door and nearly clawed the carpet to pieces in an attempt to escape. Izuku notes that Aizawa left behind his capture scarf on the coatrack. One of the windows is cracked.

Huh.

“I’m heading out,” he decides, because his back hurts and if he doesn’t drive to the stadium now, he’ll never make it. Izuku grabs a powerbar and his keys. After a second, he takes the capture scarf, too. “Here are your phones - I didn’t touch anything but the chat function to burn Nezdu out. If my icon pops up with a laptop symbol beside it, don’t touch it. He’s boxed in but opening that will give him access again.”

Hitoshi pokes his phone suspiciously. “Why’d he hack us?”

“I’m a criminal. You're the family of a criminal. Ochako lives with a criminal.” Izuku nearly tips over Beans (nooooo, Beans, I’m so sorry), shrugs on a jacket, and waves. “Break a leg, not the laws.”

He stumbles out the door as Ochako whispers, “I knew it, I knew he’s done something illegal.”

“Has he ever not been?” Hitoshi asks, and Izuku cackles. The whole class will go through hell twice over by tonight.

This is the one day he can park his Barbie Car in plain sight. Izuku locks it, engaging the new security protocols Inazuma installed that will zap anyone attempting to hotwire his getaway car. Electricity defenses seem to be a shared interest of the Kaminari twins.

Cementoss meets him at the entrance, and they walk into the teacher’s viewing room together. Izuku tosses Aizawa’s capture scarf in a seat. He can sympathize with getting dragged out of bed by an early riser. Pop does the same after sleepovers.

The Sports Festival stadium stretches out beyond floor to ceiling windows, and Izuku flops onto the cushiest chair he can find with the intention of staying put for as long as humanly possible. He passes out for what must be an hour before other faculty start arriving.

Aizawa collapses in the chair next to his. “Don’t let Nezdu talk you into participating with the class,” he mutters, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“What?” Izuku keeps his voice low. “Is this a tip or just drama?”

“Neither. He wants 1A to overachieve. Good standing for the funding and support companies only happens when the school has top-grade students and quality facilities. The USJ incident is a huge black mark whenever 1A comes up in conversation.”

“Is this staff politics,” Izuku asks, slightly bewildered, and Aizawa looks too tired to express pity. The teacher settles for a disillusioned hope.

“Sure. Just don’t do it. He’s put the class in danger, and needs a shining example of overachieving. Do you really think he’ll let you, an experienced fighter, sit this out?”

“He wouldn’t risk it. Everyone here knows the target on my back,” Izuku says, but his stomach sinks at the realization. If he participates, it’s a gamble. Nezdu excels at stacking the deck.

“Nezdu cares for the greater good, not any one individual. He’d have any of us taken down if we were a potential threat to public safety.” Aizawa assesses the stadium like it’s a barricade. “He’d throw either of us under the bus for UA’s future.”

Izuku doesn’t have time to question that, because Nezdu starts the last Sports Festival Staff Meeting. Izuku shoots Aizawa questioning looks throughout it but gains no answers. When the meeting is dismissed, the underground hero slips away before Izuku can ask. It’s aggravating. Like having a tiny corn kernel stuck in his teeth that won’t go away. 

“Izuku-kun,” Nezdu says behind him, and Izuku grits his teeth. He should have left the meeting early. He should have run.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes! I was wondering if you were feeling healthy enough to moderate on the field. We may need hands on deck during the events.”

If Aizawa hadn’t warned him, Izuku would have thought about it. He would have left it at a ‘maybe,’ to keep his options open.

“I’m not risking the press,” Izuku says bluntly. “And before you ask, neither is Grasshopper. I’ll watch over 1A from the shadows like I was asked, but ultimately I am here today as a student teacher recovering from an injury in the field. Put your star players on display and leave me out of it.”

Nezdu’s teeth flash white in a smile. “Eraserhead talked to you first, then? I thought you were the type to think decisions through, Midoriya-kun.”

“I have already stated the dangers of placing me in front of a crowd.” Izuku carefully doesn’t rise to the bait of his last name. In a way, the semi-formal address a gift. Nezdu calls him by his first name when he wants something, a nice little heads-up. Izuku doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He just knows it’s creepy as all hell.

“Very well,” Nezdu chirps, pitter-pattering back to his seat. “Go watch over the class, then. And Midoriya-kun? Don’t forget the real enemy today.”

Izuku meets the principal’s eyes. “I won’t, if you keep the class safe.”

“Objectively, I think I’m stronger than you,” Shoto says as Izuku enters Class 1A’s waiting room. 

He leans against the door to watch apathetically as Shoto challenges Yaomomo. Normally he’d support his classmates, but this is literary irony. He can’t remember why, he just knows that deep in his soul, there’s something about them and their views on quirk ownership that seems hilariously similar. He’ll figure it out later.

“Okay.” Yaomomo looks Shoto up and down, and says, “I don’t particularly have the energy for this all day, but you do, so let’s settle it now.” She crosses to the other side of the table, carefully rolls up the sleeve of her sports festival uniform into a crisp fold, and holds out an arm. Izuku mentally takes notes on just how efficient she is at this.

Shoto stares. The class whispers, and Mina holds up her phone, ready to record.

“Arm wrestle me,” Yaomomo says. “Your emotional state is not my problem, but if it really matters to you, we can settle this now. That, or we go out there and strive to be our best. That’s my offer, take it or leave it.”

Shoto considers this before stepping back. “I want to beat you in the festival.”

“I want to win,” Yaomomo reminds him. “And so does anyone else in this stadium. I’ll say it again: this is not something I have the emotional capacity to deal with right now. Talk to someone else.”

“I can respect that,” Shoto says after a moment. Yaomomo nods before brushing past Izuku into the hallway. Izuku ducks after her a bit down the hallway. It’s empty except for the click of his crutches.

“You’re all right,” he clarifies once they’re far enough to not be overheard by anyone but Jirou, who likely knows better than to eavesdrop. 

Yaomomo nods. “Just learning to say no. Will you be around today?”

“Yeah, here to talk whenever. I’ll keep an eye on him, too.” Izuku looks down the hall as the sound of cheers increases. Civilians are arriving. “You can go on ahead of the class if you need space, I’ll just give my TA speech right now.”

He waits for Yaomomo to nod before continuing, “this kind of event is a rollercoaster for everyone involved. I’m here as the stabilizer. Hound Dog and I will be around all day, but Class 1A has been assigned to me specifically after the villain stuff. I’m like a discount hug machine because of the Handle With Care instructions. If you or anyone else gets too stressed, find one of us.”

“You’re guarding us,” Yaomomo realizes, and Izuku has to take a moment because, like, yeah. He didn’t expect anyone to figure it out, though.

“Don’t tell the others, okay? They’ll get paranoid. Anyway, I’ll get out of the way. Good luck in the events.” He starts down the hallway so Yaomomo can have her space, only for her to stop him.

“Wait,” she calls, something close to a threat in her voice. It’s the first time a student’s given that to him. Izuku looks back, reassessing her. Yaomomo is under the most pressure of anyone here, with an extra quirk that’s not her own. She’s smart, too. Intellect like that might even be close to Nezdu’s level. 

“Why are you here?” she asks. “I can’t figure out what someone like you gets out of working for UA.”

It’s another connection he’s not expecting. Izuku no longer doubts that she’ll figure his identity out before the year is up. The rest of the class is an entirely different matter. Ochako has a bit more of a clue, but nobody seems aware of his tracking anklet or the many, many signs of a vigilante lifestyle. Hopefully he can keep them in the dark forever.

“Everyone has a reason,” Izuku says, well aware he can’t lie for shit. “Who do you think I am?”

Yaomomo frowns. “Not a hero. Our class seems to think so, but there aren’t any at your age. You have to much experience to be an intern, but UA wouldn’t hire an informant or villain to teach. None of it adds up.”

“You’re thinking like a hero,” Izuku notes because he’s in teacher-mode and the opportunity to give a lesson is right there. “Try broadening that perspective. What does UA get out of hiring me?”

“Your name.”

“And how would they ensure I stay?” Izuku prompts.

“Motivation or force,” Yaomomo guesses, before her eyes widen. “You’re trapped on campus.”

“Maybe.” Izuku grins sharp and quick to cover his panic. He wasn’t expecting her to get that far. It’s time to shut this conversation down. “That’s all the hints I can give you. Knowledge can be dangerous, and I can’t stop you from putting the pieces together, but it is my duty to warn you. My identity will put anyone who knows it in danger. I won’t stop you from looking, but don’t share anything you find with the class. Talk to a teacher if you have concerns.”

“I’m going to be the next Symbol of Peace,” Yaomomo informs Izuku as he adjusts his crutches. “Whatever you do for a living, the target on my back is already there.”

She leaves abruptly, emotional energy likely gone. Izuku leans against the hallway for a second. He hadn’t meant to take her time when she was already stressed.

When he reenters the waiting room and gives his speech about stressful times and communication, Izuku tries not to let Yaomomo’s question bother him. Hopefully they’ll never know. Izuku didn’t sign up to put that kind of knowledge on their shoulders or draw extra rings around the targets on their backs.

Hopefully Nezdu understands this, too.

Chapter Text

Izuku knocks on the announcer booth door. Bakugo is giving the First-Year speech right about now, so Midnight is handling most of the audience’s attention and Aizawa can spare a moment. Hopefully. Izuku doesn't want to sit on this problem for too long.

Aizawa steps out and closes the door before meeting Izuku’s eyes. Something in his expression goes flat. “He asked you.”

“Yeah, Nezdu found me after the meeting. Thanks for the heads up.”

Aizawa grunts at this, leaning against the wall beside Izuku so he can see both hallway exits. Underground heroes and vigilantes have similar enough habits. 

Izuku double checks the hallway as well, confirming it’s empty. “I’m not here about that, though. Yaomomo said something.”

“About the quirks,” Aizawa guesses. “I’ve talked to Hound Dog and Nezdu; supposedly she’s being watched for a mental breakdown and the quirk source was vetted. They say we don’t need to worry about emotional strain.”

“Sounds like bullshit. They should have told you, at least.”

“Exactly.” Aizawa pauses before adding, “swear less with kids around today. Just… for my sake. I’ve already gotten a complaint about Bakugo and don’t have time for those emails.”

“Sorry. Bad habit from my night job.” 

Aizawa nods, moving on. “Hound Dog got a brief description of whatever happened, and apparently it’s over both of our clearance. They did say she has a mentor, someone who had the quirk first. Whoever it is has been doing a horrible job teaching her.”

“Oh, it’s so much worse,” Izuku says happily, and Aizawa looks up at the ceiling like maybe, if he concentrates hard enough, he can wake up from the nightmare that is Class 1A.

“I don’t want to know,” Aizawa says. “Tell me anyway.”

“She said she’s going to be the next Symbol of Peace. Not that she wants to be. She is going to be,” Izuku stresses. “She’s taking risks based on that, like the danger she’s in can’t increase any more. I’m guessing outside forces have set her on the path and are already working to ensure she gets that position.”

Aizawa looks like he’s in desperate need of coffee. “Please tell me this isn’t the Hero Commission engineering heroes again.”

“No?” Izuku hasn’t heard about them making any moves. “Wait- Again?!”

Aizawa cuts him off. “Ask your mother, she stopped them. I wouldn’t put it past the Commission to try and fill All Might’s shoes. They have a history of training kids too early.”

“So Yaomomo might have gotten her quirk from them and is attending UA as the next Symbol of Peace,” Izuku summarizes. He hates this, hates how familiar it feels. No kid needs to be trained this early - high school is already cutting it close. Something heavy between guilt and rage nestles in his chest. He never got that choice. Yaomomo thinks she did, but manipulation is hard to see from the inside.

“This is all guesswork,” Aizawa says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nothing we can ask about.”

“I want to do more,” Izuku manages. “Nobody needs that. Kids shouldn’t be trained that early.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it. Maybe it’s the way his voice cracks and chips though, or the crescents his nails cut into his palms, white knuckles scarred over from countless fights. He doesn't look up, but Aizawa’s gaze weighs heavy on his shoulders. Grasshopper started his work too early. Izuku stares at the floor like he can make it open up and swallow him.

Aizawa sighs. “They shouldn’t. Heroics or otherwise.”

Izuku snaps his head up to stare at Aizawa.

“It’s my job to help her reach her potential as a hero,” Aizawa says slowly, carefully. “But any other guidance is dependent on her reaching out for help. There are rules for dealing with trauma in students, and one is that I can’t say anything until she asks.”

“Students can help each other,” Izuku grumbles.

“They can. But it’s not your job to do this, especially as another minor in my care. That’s on me, and Hound Dog, as her teacher and the school counsellor.” Aizawa tucks his chin into his capture scarf. “Your job is to heal and grow.”

Izuku half-expects him to make the little growth gesture Dabi keeps sending him gifs of. They’re usually paired with news clips of the Grasshopper Movement. He does it for Aizawa, and gets a flat look for his troubles.

Izuku huffs, returning to the point. “I’ve done my growing. In the mask.”

“Maybe it’s time to grow out of it. Be a kid. The world won’t fall if you step away for a bit,” Aizawa suggests mildly, and Izuku wrinkles his whole face at the very idea. 

“I’m not a kid.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’ll break your knees, old man,” Izuku grouses, Aizawa has the nerve to roll his eyes before the audience’s cheering increases dramatically.

“Break’s over,” Aizawa says, already halfway to the Sound Booth door. “Go cheer for your friends. Hide your identity.”

Oh.

So that’s what he forgot today. 

Izuku shoves his hands in his pockets and curses his bad memory. He can’t be Grasshopper of Izuku today, and definitely can’t use the Rabbit mask in his room without accidentally pledging a whole yakuza’s alliance to UA. This sucks. The only other cover story he has ready is Akatani Mikumo, who doesn't have the connections to be around Class 1A.

Eh. He’ll figure it out as he goes.

It takes him an inordinate amount of time to hunt down anyone capable of making a spare mask, and Izuku is slightly low on spoons by the time he finds PowerLoader placing bets with his coworkers in the Tech Support Room. 

“Do you have a spare mask?” Izuku says awkwardly from the doorway, and Thirteen bursts out laughing.

“Yeah, kid-” PowerLoader smugly accepts the yen Snipe passes over. “I’ve got one.”

Snipe slides over while PowerLoader searches for the mask. “Gonna participate?”

“Not unless I’m bribed,” Izuku says, and Snipe looks like his birthday came early.

Snipe gives a full, authentic yeehaw right there in the tech support room. It’s so loud. So passionate. Izuku can physically feel Snipe putting his heart and soul into the call of the Wild West. If music from an old cowboy film were to start playing right this second, he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. This can’t be legal. There’s no way anyone should be allowed to do that in everyday conversation.

Does he think the cowboy hat excuses him?? Is it the boots?

Snipe was born in America, but Izuku’s pretty sure he’s from New York City. This information was gathered after All Might greeted Snipe by saying, “west coast, best coast” and Snipe looked like something had died in his coffee.

Does New York have cowboys?

Izuku doesn't know; he’s never been outside Japan. 

He’s so confused.

Thirteen ignores the cowboy exuberance in favor of fixating on one detail. “The bet is on until the end of the day. There’s still time.”

“You’re not changing your mind, right?” Snipe asks Izuku nonchalantly. 

Still recovering from the yeehaw, Izuku can only shake his head. Snipe straightens up, pleased with his luck.

“See? Y’all’re taking a fool's bet.”

“Y’all’re,” Izuku echoes in horror. He needs to get out of this conversation. He’s never been around Snipe in the morning, and is quickly discovering why. There are lethal levels of cowboy energy here. Grasshopper worked with Snipe on a case a while back. He spoke normally back then, or Grasshopper would have thrown him off the roof two hours into the stakeout. The Japanese language isn’t supposed to bend that far. Izuku’s got a bit of an accent from his work with international heroes, but this is just too much.

Maybe it’s an intimidation tactic?

Thirteen ignores his crisis, carefully edging around the equipment to impress their point upon Snipe at close range. 

“Do you know what that is,” Thirteen asks calmly, gesturing to the wall. 

“A clock,” Snipe drawls. “Ain’t got time for that.” He seems to find this funny. Izuku quietly resolves to get the man on a sugar high just to see if the accent gets worse.

“And there’s plenty of hours left in the day,” Thirteen finishes earnestly. “It’ll be fine.”

“My pockets will be ‘plenty fine’ once they’re filled with those winnings,” Snipe corrects. “My bet's as good as won. Izuku here don’t take no shit.”

Izuku nods because he’s not sure what’s going on and this sounds like a compliment.

“I’m sure you’ll make us proud,” Thirteen says, patting Izuku on the shoulder. Their mask eyes squint up like they’re smiling. It’s unbelievably wholesome. Izuku nods to this as well before he catches on.

It’s impossible to read Thirteen’s facial cues with the astronaut suit, and their tone was cheerful enough that he almost ignored the content of their words. 

He almost missed the threat.

“Found it,” PowerLoader calls before Izuku can respond.

A mask is shoved into Izuku’s hands. It’s really more of glorified goggles, but Izuku pulls up his hood and calls it good enough. He gives Thirteen and Snipe a suspicious look, thanks PowerLoader, and leaves as quickly as he can.

He manages to get down to 1A’s stands before the obstacle course is done. 

Izuku picks a seat in the front row, collapses his crutches, and stows them on the seat next to him. He has nineteen students to cheer for and only so many hours in the day. Most of the class are at the ropes, though the first few students have reached the minefield.

Bakugo takes the lead - no surprise there - but Yaomomo makes him fight for it. She ends up steering him into the mines near the end, just before Shoto dodges their scuffle and takes the lead. Yaomomo catches up and crosses just before him with Bakugo close on their heels, but it’s a photo finish.

Izuku squints up at the announcer booth. Shoto had twisted when passing both Yaomomo and Bakugo, bypassing them with a flip that was a bit too familiar. Eraserhead did the same twist-dodge combo when he and Grasshopper were investigating an arms deal together. Weird. Izuku makes a mental note to change his bet on Aizawa adopting Shoto and resumes his cheering.

Ochako bounces up to him once she crosses the finish line in fifteenth. “Izuku! Woah, that’s a mask-”

“I’m Akatani,” he hisses desperately. There are so many cameras around. That’s it, he’s giving another crash course on secret identities next week. Maybe drop a few hints that keeping secrets is the difference between getting crucial information and being distrusted by all your informants.

Ochako falters for only a second before her enthusiasm returns full-force. “Right. Akatani. Did you see that?!”

“I missed the first bit, sorry. Nice job with the ropes, though.” Izuku leans over the barrier to high-five her, mindful of the pinkie she tucks in. Hitoshi wanders over and gets a fist bump for his troubles. “Congrats, guys. Fifteenth and seventeenth, not bad.”

“Thought I was gonna lose my lungs,” Hitoshi admits, still a little out of breath. “Once this is over, you’re showing me more combat tricks. I know you have skills, edgy man. You made a mistake by giving a little training, because I'm invested now. Sharing is caring.”

Izuku nods. “We’ll start with stamina, so I hope you like jogging. Got a plan for the next round?”

“I’m going to wreck shop,” Ochako decides as Tenya jogs up and appears utterly unsurprised at this declaration. She’s been waiting to throw down for ages now. Izuku should really just give directions to the small gym Knuckleduster owns, but he’s terrified of what Ochako might become under his instruction. Actually, that’s an idea.

“Please do not wreck the second event,” Tenya tells Ochako. “Our future employers are watching.”

Maybe they’ll do the next round gladiator style. Izuku scans the crowd, noticing a student who’s edged closer to listen in. It’s a blonde kid from 1B, who isn’t half bad at stealth for a first year. The others don't notice.

“Get his ass,” Izuku says, tracking the kid out of the corner of his eye.

Ochako grins, giving away the potential she keeps carefully hidden behind pastel jackets and a bubbly personality. “We don’t know if it’ll be one-on-one fights. But yeah, I’ll kick ass.”

“That’s the goal.” Izuku waves when Shoto looks over from across the stadium. He gets a little wave back, subtle enough that Izuku nearly misses it. Their eavesdropper stares off into the crowd, searching fruitlessly for someone waving to a TA. Shoto’s already turned away.

That’s too clumsy of a move for a spy. The 1B kid needs stealth training like plants need water.

“Got any advice?” Hitoshi says, bringing Izuku’s focus back.

“I’ve gotta stop by the support department for a better mask, but stay together, guys. You have an advantage in not hesitating, but the others are starting to get over that. Midnight says Nezdu usually throws in a team-building thing.”

“Aren’t you breaking some sort of rule by telling us that?” Tenya asks suspiciously, and Izuku tilts his head.

“Dunno. Maybe. Call this teacher politics. Alternatively, I want to support you and have permission to do so.”

Ochako snickers. “You’re like some old hermit, leaning down from the sky to give horrible advice.”

Izuku nods wisely. “I am a benevolent committer of heresy. Be gay do crime.”

“That’s your advice?” Tenya asks, aghast. “I agree with the first part but crime? Really!? Aren’t you a hero?”

It was the best Izuku could come up with under pressure, but from the way Tenya is reacting Izuku may as well have disrespected his great grandmother. Was he expecting something profound? Izuku’s a teenager. He doesn't have that kind of wisdom. He has bad ideas and vigilante-justice habits.

“Just let him,” Hitoshi mutters to Tenya. “He drops weird nuggets of advice like some sort of cat with dead birds. Accept it and move on.”

“Chicken nuggets of wisdom,” Ochako whispers, which does nothing to improve Izuku’s self-image. He wishes he were cool enough to wander through life distributing chicken nuggets with wisdom stuck in them like fortune cookies. But no, he’s stuck here with a prison-grade tracking anklet and a Barbie car.

“I- What?” Tenya squints at him, then at Ochako, and back to Hitoshi. “Forgive me if this is rather upfront, but please do not encourage cheating.”

“It’s not cheating, it’s teacher advice,” Hitoshi argues, gesturing vaguely at Izuku, then to where a couple other students have approached Midnight for advice as well. From here it’s impossible to hear, but she seems to be answering questions readily. 

Ochako nods along. “Aizawa told us we’re encouraged to think outside the box, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. They said they’d let us know if we went too far. Besides, we all read the paperwork. This is within the rules,” Ochako adds, effectively ending the argument. “We’re just taking advantage of a resource.”

“I’d give the same advice to anyone who asked,” Izuku promises. “Other teachers would, too. Trust me, Nezdu’s meetings are pretty in-depth-”

They’re interrupted by Mic’s voice screeching across the stadium, directing attention to the scoreboard. Midnight displays the rankings and calls everyone to line up in a minute. 

Ochako sends him a thumbs up as Tenya drags them off to find their spots early. Once they’re out of hearing range, Izuku eyes the kid from 1B who’s been eavesdropping.

“Did you find what you need?”

The student smiles sheepishly, but his eyes are narrow like a wolf. He’s hungry for something, and that’s dangerous. Hunger that’s powerful and blistering to those in this student’s way.

“You caught me,” The student says, holding both hands up as if to say, oh well, at least I tried.

Uh huh. Izuku isn’t buying that. He forces his shoulders to relax - this guy hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just sneaky, and Izuku’s gotten used to UA’s upfront, charismatic side. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of scheming.

Izuku’s in no place to judge. Analysis is a big part of how he’s survived vigilante work so long.

“Got a plan?” Izuku asks, offering whatever advice this guy may need from the resident student teacher. The student brightens even more, though it gives him a slightly off-kilter look at this point.

“Of course. That was really good advice, by the way. Pity you’d waste it on 1A.” The kid holds out an open hand, offering either a high-five or a handshake. “Neito Monoma, from 1B.”

Izuku leans back. “Touch-activated quirk, huh?”

The kid’s smile slips away into something more calculating. “Maybe.”

“You need to work on stealth before that trick works. What’d you get? Memories, health, futures, skills, quirks-” 

Monoma’s eyes flick up, just a bit.

Gotchya.

“-Quirk stealing or copying through touch? Nice. You’ll do better with any of the kids out there.” Izuku tucks his hands into his elbows, declining the handshake. “I’d get a diverse team to aid that, high on mobility to access familiar quirks. Good luck.”

Monoma lowers his hand, slowly. “You’re Izuku, right? There are rumors about your quirk.”

“I’m sure there are,” Izuku says dismissively. Monoma can pry all he wants, but nothing will come of it.

“They say you’re related to Miriko,” Monoma hedges. This isn’t saying much. A simple google search will bring up old court cases where Midoriya Inko sued the Hero Commission for the death of her son. UA’s being careful with his name, but High Schools are like a petri dish for growing rumors.

“Huh,” Izuku says. “That’s honestly not the gossip I expected.”

Monoma glares at him. “Come on. UA wouldn’t hire you at this age without something seriously overpowered. Just a hint?”

“That’s a heavy assumption.” Izuku grins. “Maybe I’m quirkless.”

He can see Monoma mentally stumble over this idea, like a derailed train. He doesn't seem to be taking it well, which means it’s all the better Izuku is saying this. He needs to get used to the idea that quirks are not equal to a person’s worth, fast, if he wants a shot at making connections. Plenty of vigilantes hate their quirks. A couple don’t have any.

If he can’t adjust to that idea, the vigilante community will avoid passing information on to his agency. He’ll be fired in weeks.

“You couldn’t be,” Monoma says, drawing himself together as if he can fight against the very idea. 

Izuku sharpens his grin so it includes all his teeth. “Check my records,” he goads. “I dare you.”

Monoma shakes his head. Izuku waves as he leaves, then ducks back into the hallways. With little luck he’ll be back before the round is over to cheer them on. He’d stay, but this mask itches.

Luckily, the support department is nearby.

The support department has a whole wing for storing inventions and fixing materials used in the events. He checks each one methodically until running across a familiar (and easily bribable) face.

“Why do you need a mask? Besides the fact that that one sucks,” Inazuma asks when he finds her in the 1H tech room. Izuku really needs to get out there and support his classmates, but that requires being seen. 

Nobody needs that paperwork.

The department (sans Hatsume) keeps eyeing them through the smoke filtering up from her desk. Izuku can’t tell if it’s jealousy or curiosity. It’s really funny when he considers the rumors Monoma so helpfully reminded him of. Izuku did nothing for this reputation. 

Inazuma snaps her fingers under his nose, and Izuku flinches back to focus.

“Mask. Why?”

“Because Nezdu’s acting suspicious and if I watch from 1A’s viewing booth, my hyper secret identity will be exposed.” Izuku pauses and admits quietly, “I also want to look mysterious.”

“A mask won’t make you mysterious,” Inazuma informs him as she scrambles through the desk drawers. She grabs a piece of paper and scribbles something down. “Nothing can hide that much nerd energy.”

“I’m only kind of a nerd,” Izuku complains as Inazuma holds up a pair of goggles to his face. She frowns, grabs a swath of fabric, and starts measuring. Izuku edges over, wary of the eavesdropping students. The nearest one squints at him. She’s definitely wondering who Izuku is and why he’s paying Inazuma for gear.

“Can you code?” the student calls over from her desk.

“A little?”

“Welcome to the nerd squad. Grab some cake.” 

Izuku follows her gesture to the far wall where several cakes sit on a mercifully intact table. It looks like some kids birthday party, except that every last one is covered in roughly the same message: ‘I’m sorry for lighting your desk on fire.’ Some go into greater detail or list specifics, like disabling UA’s entire fire alarm system or trying to hide the evidence in the explosives bin. There’s a story here. Izuku isn’t sure he wants to know, but something cursed definitely happened in the support classroom, because there are a perfect 20 of them and Powerloader’s desk is half-charcoal.

“Um,” Izuku says intelligently. Even if his flight-or-flight instincts were forcibly suppressed, sometimes they show up at just the right moment and then disappear for another year.

“He told us to keep the cakes,” a passing student explains. They have patterns across their skin like messy watercolor paints, and short hair that sticks out at all angles. “Hey, wait, do you want a whole cake?”

“What.”

“Because my whole family is lactose intolerant and if I bring it home Mom will toss it out but that’s really good food-”

“Don’t toss it out,” Izuku says immediately because after living on very little with Dabi it hurts to waste food. “What? No. Wait, I don’t mean- I can’t carry a cake, sorry.”

The student stares right into Izuku’s soul before searching the other students around them. Everyone gets very quiet, very fast. All eyes focus on the student, except for Inazuma who freezes and ducks under her desk.

“Inazuma,” the watercolor-student calls finally. 

Inazuma’s head hits the underside of her desk, prompting a torrent of swears that slowly increase in vulgarity. The eavesdropping students rustle in excitement.

“You were working on leg supports, right? Around his size.”

What.

Inazuma glares at the watercolor student. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. It sounds more like an order to shut up.

“No, you definitely were,” the student says with faux thoughtfulness. Izuku wonders if they know exactly how much Inazuma appears to hate them right now. They’re either oblivious or actually enjoy baiting a human taser.

“An assignment,” Inazuma stresses, “from Nezdu.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I hate my boss,” Izuku whispers. 

Inazuma shoots him a commiserating look. “Same.”

“You don’t have a boss,” Izuku says.

“No, I have edgy people who trust me with secrets to get their car radio fixed.”

“Gentlemen, ladies, and those of us who know better,” The student interrupts. The support classroom goes deathly silent. “Please. Let us return to the matter at hand.”

Everyone is still enough Izuku swears he could hear a paperclip drop. He steps back, wary. People only get quiet if they know something is worth it. In a room filled with tiny geniuses who don’t blink at explosions, that’s worth paying attention to.

“Sure would hate for them to go to waste,” the student murmurs, sitting on the very edge of Inazuma’s workspace like the sleaziest car salesperson Izuku has ever seen. “All that tech. Unused after your hard work.”

“A travesty,” Inazuma deadpans. “Fuck off, Tsuru.”

Tsuru holds up both hands in a failed attempt at innocence. “Hey, I’m just saying. It’s all well and good for such carefully made tech to go to waste, especially when there’s a whole audience of support companies just waiting to offer internships. Opportunities like this don’t just happen every day, you know.”

Inazuma glares, then hauls a huge black case onto her workbench. She flips open the lid amidst cheers from the support class. Chatter returns to the room a Tsuru beams. 

Tsuru leaves, ignoring Inazuma’s glare with a lazy wave of their hand. “Thanks.”

Coming here was a mistake. Izuku apologizes for the trouble as Inazuma shoves the leg supports his way. She glares until he equips them, and seethes distantly at Tsuru until she’s sure they’re working.

“All this for a cake,” she mutters, returning to the work station.

“I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Izuku, if you apologize one more time, I’m changing your car playlists to actual radio stations.”

Izuku shuts his mouth and very carefully stands in the nearest corner. He will be small. He will be out of the way. And most importantly, he will be very quiet so Inazuma does not make good on that threat. 

“Thank you for the leg supports,” he whispers once Inazuma looks a bit less stressed.

“It was an assignment - already graded by PowerLoader, but don’t you dare wreck them.”

“I will not wreck them,” Izuku promises.

Tsuru returns to lure him out of the corner with a huge store-bought cake. It’s white with bright purple and orange frosting that clashes horribly but reads, “sorry for using the fire extinguisher on you.”  It’s accompanied by a messily drawn frowny face.

Izuku stares at the cake. Tsuru watches him process the implications of these words, stabs a plastic fork into the exact center, and hands the cake over. The single fork looks like an insult. A challenge. This whole experience has to be some sort of anxiety-induced hallucination. 

“Fire extinguisher,” Izuku reads dully.

“I panicked and forgot how they work. Turns out monoammonium phosphate, and whatever else is in those, is deployed from the other end,” they say. This is not an explanation. “I’m Tsuruya Kaku, by the way.”

“... Like a crane? Or the department store?”

Tsuruya shrugs. “You know that crane myth with the feathers woven in silk? Textiles are my specialty.”

“You used a fire extinguisher on PowerLoader,” Izuku repeats, just to make sure he’s understanding this correctly.

“Yeah. Hatsume and Hikari were arguing about the proper way to hold your arms when using one. I got fed up. Took it, pointed in the wrong direction just as PowerLoader Sensei stepped through the doors, and I figured out my mistake real fast.” Tsuruya stuffs their hands in their pockets and leans over Inazuma’s workstation. “Whatchya workin’ on?”

Izuku is quickly realizing Tsuruya is essentially the distrusted youngest sibling of the Support Department.

“Commission,” Inazuma snaps. “Izuku, I’m putting you in gold and white. No, stop, no complaining. You want to be unrecognizable, and this is a color palette people will find familiar after All Might’s Silver Age. Misdirection works. No black.” Inazuma pops open a box that turns out to be a massive sewing kit and starts stitching the fabric and goggles together. “I’m making the ends trail because it’ll also draw attention from your hair. Rush jobs are more aesthetically pleasing, but if you want to fight anyone today I’ll need at least an hour. Half that, with help.”

“No fighting, just identity protection,” Izuku promises. “I should have considered the press earlier, to be honest.”

“No worries, aesthetics are the easiest part to design. Five minutes at most, any longer and the design process is less effective.”

Another student springs up, forgetting she’s supposed to be eavesdropping. “LIES. All my stuff is carefully crafted to achieve maximum efficiency over 24 hours, minimum!”

“Does it matter?” Tsuruya asks, bored already. They seem incapable of being surprised. Izuku looks down at the cake to see a piece missing and glances back up to the new plastic fork Tsuruya is chewing on.

“You’re an ass,” Izuku tells them, before realizing he said that out loud with his people-words. Tsuruya seems to take it as the most flattering compliment they’ve ever received.

“Why, thank you.”

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“Nah, I engineered that shit outta my DNA by trial and error.”

Izuku doesn't have time to fully process that, because Inazuma tosses the goggles over and has him put them on. The trailing fabric is very noticeable. People will tug on it.

“I’ll look like a rabbit,” Izuku mutters. The look Inazuma throws him speaks volumes about her opinion on his quirk’s similarity to Miriko. 

“Second round is over,” a support student calls, passing the doorway. Chatter in the room increases, but Izuku freezes.

“It’s what,” Izuku whispers. “I was supposed to be there. I wanted to cheer them on, shit.”

He’d known getting a better mask would take a bit, but he hadn’t realized he’d miss the whole thing. He wanted to watch. Everyone had been making so much progress, but now he’ll only get to see that through HeroTube clips. Izuku tucks himself away on the Support Department floor near a desk. This is enough bad luck for today. Maybe if he sits still enough, he can successfully hide from all his problems. He has a sneaking suspicion this whole day will be a struggle to see even a singular event.

“Man, fate must hate you,” Tsuruya says with absolutely no sympathy. 

“It does,” Izuku whispers in horror. “I don’t even know what I did. Maybe it was the pranks? The staplers? Maybe it was the arson? What if this is all because I signed a contract with Nezdu-”

“One of these things is not like the others,"  Tsuruya sings under their breath.

Inazuma ignores his tragic breakdown and Tsuruya’s horrible singing. “Tsuru, can you work some magic?”

Izuku hauls himself off the ground at the chance to analyze a quirk. He’ll resume the breakdown later.

Tsuruya taps the fabric, and leisurely waits as color blooms out from under their fingertips. They tug the gold to the ends of the cloth and add green to the ends. After a second they pause, eye Izuku’s hair suspiciously, and darken the green.

“Same color as the green one in Sailor Moon. That’s the kind of iconic color coding we need in this house,” Tsuruya says, and wanders off like that kind of wisdom is easy to dispense. 

“At least I'll look good while missing out on cheering everyone on,” Izuku mutters. Inazuma shrugs. 

“Limited options when you’re already green-haired. White will lighten it up and with only bright accent colors, gold is the most distracting. Misdirection, you know? I don't want anyone to recognize your brand, so to speak,” Inazuma continues quietly as Izuku tries on the mask, “But is it really so bad if your civilian identity is seen? You’re kinda normal-looking, no offence.”

“None taken.”

Izuku smiles off the memories of a blank concrete room. There’s more than a few villains watching this, and Izuku won’t take any chances. His face is known as Dragon’s heir, and nothing good happens to anyone attached to him. Kidnapping is just the beginning of that horror laundry list.

“I have a mighty need to be mysterious,” he suggests lightly, and Inazuma rolls her eyes. 

“Go, shitty Tuxedo Mask. Take the cake and tell your friends how to beat each other up.”

BONUS:

“Hitoshi,” Ochako says immediately upon the declaration of cavalry battle, “team up with me.”

Hitoshi, because he knows what’s good for him and probably wants in on the ass-kicking Ochako is ready to let loose, agrees. He’s sensible like that. It’s a tiny part of why Ochako likes hanging out with him.

“We need firepower,” Hitoshi says as he reaches out and hooks an arm around Tenya’s shoulders. “Join us, honored engine-man.”

“Engine-man?” Tenya asks. “I- yes, I will join you, but that’s not my hero name.”

“It suits you.”

Tenya’s arm snap up with his reply. “I will take a name similar to my brother. It’s a time-honored tradition in my family to partake of one passed down from a retired member.”

Ochako ignores Hitoshi’s insistence on this nickname to stare out at their competition. It’s true. She and Tenya are mobility, and Hitoshi is more of a secret ace than a heavy hitter. If they’re targeted, they need to be able to hit back.

“Shoto,” Ochako realizes slowly. “Hitoshi, go get your lunch buddy.”

“He’s literally famous? Everyone wants to be on his team.”

“And he’s refusing them.” Ochako shoves Hitoshi to where their classmate is edging away from a student. “Go be friendly.”

“I’m the worst at being friendly,” Hitoshi complains, ignoring just how big of a lie this is. 

“As your friend I don't believe that,” Tenya says kindly. It’s just the kind of evidence Ochako needs, and she slings an arm across his unfairly tall shoulders in comradery. Tenya tilts to the side so it will be easier for her, because he’s perfect like that.

She grins at Hitoshi. “Yeah, friendly man. Go call your acquaintance.”

“You’re both horrible for my mysterious aesthetic,” Hitoshi tells them, but there’s no real complaint behind it. He waves across the arena. “Shoto!”

Shoto scowls at them before he realizes who’s asking. He hurries over.

As expected of Hitoshi. He may act like a loner, but Hitoshi’s surprisingly good at making friends in a relatable, oh-wow-we’re-both-so-tired kind of way. He’s only marginally mysterious for possibly knowing who Izuku is. 

“Friends,” she whispers to Hitoshi, who shoots her a poisonous glare. 

Shoto arrives to Hitoshi chasing Ochako for revenge. They dodge each other in circles around an increasingly exasperated Tenya, who watches them with his arms crossed like a parent completely done with his kid’s antics. No matter what he says, Tenya is the ultimate dad-friend.

“This is a team?” Shoto clarifies after a moment.

“A recruiting one,” Tenya says as Ochako kicks Hitoshi’s legs out from under him and brutally achieves hair-ruffles. Viciously. His hair is unfairly soft and feels like victory for all of the three seconds before Hitoshi squirms away and puts her in a headlock of his own.

“It’s open if you wanna join,” Hitoshi says. It’s oddly obtuse. Ochako nearly remarks on this before she puts two and two together. 

Shoto’s probably being pressured into teams because of his father. Hitoshi’s probably trying to be polite, and give him a way out. He definitely picked that up from Izuku’s weird habits.

“Sure. I’m just here to piss off my old man.” Shoto blinks dully up at the cheering crowd, but he seems stressed. Like the blankness in his eyes is a wall to hide behind. “Who’s the rider?”

“Hitoshi,” Ochako says before they can contest it. “He’s got the least stamina and we’re a team made for mobility.”

“I’ll be faster in front,” Tenya adds, and Hitoshi brightens. 

“Hey, if Ochako releases gravity from everyone but Tenya, does that allow for… you know… the zoom zoom?”

“The zoom zoom,” Shoto repeats, entirely deadpan, and Ochako nearly breaks down laughing. This team was such a mistake. Nobody gets anything done when Izuku is gone, because there’s no outer limit on how wild Hitoshi and Ochako can act.

“That may work,” Tenya says, and Ochako can physically hear him scraping together the dignity he has left after his quirk was dubbed ‘the zoom zoom.’ “Please be careful if we try it, I may not be able to complete the same sharp turns.”

Ochako imagines combining the speed she and Tenya can create together, as well as Shoto’s combat power. Hitoshi’s quirk thrives when he’s overlooked. If this goes well, they could be devastating.

“It’s settled, then. Shoto and I will take the back, and Tenya the front. They’ll probably attack my side, but that’s fine.” Ochako grins with all her teeth. Humans are made of blood and bone, born screaming for a reason. “I’ve been wanting a good fight.”

Ochako gets her wish. 

It takes all of three seconds for Monoma’s team to hit theirs, and Ochako lands an absolutely beautiful right uppercut. It belongs in a textbook.

Hitoshi yells something - she can’t catch it, but it sounds like a yo momma joke. Monoma curses, freezes, and Shoto ices the team to the ground as Hitoshi shouts directions. In seconds Monoma has yanked off the headband and thrown it over.

One down.

Hitoshi catches it, slips the headband around his neck, and braces himself on their shoulders for a quick escape. “We got one,” he says. “Oh my God, holy-”

“Run,” Ochako hisses, and Tenya’s engines roar to life. 

“Zoom zoom?” Shoto asks, and doesn't hide his tiny smile when their team collectively stumbles in shock.

“Not yet,” Tenya yells as another team draws closer.

Bakugo has his entire squad together. Kirishima is in front, Mina and Sero in the back. Kaminari must have left them to join up with Yaomomo and the support girl he was friends with.  When Ochako’s team skids past the Bakusquad, Ochako responds to the rude gesture Bakugou pulls by mirroring it back. It had been instinct. Automatic.

It is, in retrospect, not the best idea.

“MIND-FUCK IM GOING TO KILL YOU-”

Ochako laughs, blood pounding in her ears as she yells over her shoulder. “COME AND GET IT, BAKUGO!”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Tenya hisses desperately as they book it again. Teams startle out of their way, then lunge upon catching sight of Hitoshi’s headband. Ochako removes gravity from the others, hangs on to Tenya and shouts for Shoto to jump with her.

Tenya’s speed is much more effective without the other’s slowing him down.

“Why not? It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

“Surviving the round?” Tenya guesses and swerves before acid hits the ground. Mina cackles distantly. 

“Gravity,” Ochako warns, before releasing her quirk and glancing back. 

“I don’t know,” Shoto muses, not even out of breath. “Could be fun.”

Tenya mutters something disparaging Ochako doesn't catch but leaves Hitoshi cackling. 

“Better us than him,” he tells Tenya, and leans back. “Hear that, blasty boy?! We’re all lacking self-preservation instincts! What are you doing, chasing after a bunch of menaces to society?!”

Ochako thinks that this is hilarious because Izuku had admitted once at 3am that Bakugo still goes to bed at ten, while Hitoshi’s been adopted into what’s probably some form of illegality. He has no place to be handing out accusations.

“FUCK OFF-” Bakugo’s face goes slack and Hitoshi laughs so hard Ochako has to physically stop him from falling off their shoulders. They should be taking this seriously, or else Yaomomo will destoy their team on impact, but right now Ochako is having too much fun to care.

Gods, but they’re all horrible and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Don’t stop running,” Shoto orders as he throws out a hand. Ice crackles, reaching up in a thick wall between them that stalls Bakugo’s team.

“Could have gotten away with it,” Ochako says, but she lightens them again. “Shoto, jump-”

“They’ll snap him out of it,” Shoto says, but he supports Hitoshi and hangs onto Tenya for dear life. Engines flare to life with blistering heat. They practically fly over the ground. 

Tenya is fast. Even with a whole team hanging onto his shoulders for dear life, he’s quick enough to get them away,

When they skid to a stop, Shoto sets up another barrier of ice that leaves Ochako shivering.

It won’t be long before a team gets though. Yaomomo is both clever and unpredictable with strategy, but Bakugo’s team will likely opt for brute force. Ochako’s fine with facing either. She’s friendly enough that people assume the bubbly personality is less of a threat, which is their own mistake.

“We’ll be in close quarters,” Tenya mutters, but doesn’t argue as Shoto reinforces the ice.

“I like close quarters,” Ochako says stubbornly. There’s nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned brawl on live television, and the adrenaline has her itching for a close match. Explosions shake the ice, ever louder.

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you don’t fear anything,” Hitoshi points out, which is very rude of him. 

It's also untrue.

Ochako has lots of fears. She just wants to fight them for funsies.

Chapter Text

Izuku is enjoying himself immensely. The cake is unfairly good - cinnamon with cream cheese lemon frosting, though the design colors are the cheap sugary stuff. Izuku stabs it with his fork and mourns the rules of societal convention that prevent him from walking and eating at the same time in Japan. Mom really knows what she’s doing by traveling. She doesn't have to wait to eat cake.

His decently good mood lasts until the shouting from a meeting room becomes noticeable. It takes two steps to enter the room and slide up next to Endeavor, who quiets immediately upon noticing a weird teenager staring at him.

Izuku smiles sweetly in the direction of the hero even as he addresses his classmate. “Hey, Shoto? Mind running up to the 1A booth and telling them to quiet down?”

Endeavor bristles at this, flaming beard blooming in a threat that’s either instinctive or very subtly intentional. Given his quirk control, Izuku is inclined to believe it’s the latter disguised as the first. “Who gave you the right to order my son-”

Oho. 

Izuku hasn’t felt this level of instinctive dislike since meeting that birdbrain from Eight Precepts. There’s no reason for Endeavor to use his quirk in intimidating a complete stranger.

You, sir? Are very rude.

“It’s a request.” Izuku moves so Shoto can slip past him out the door, and Endeavor must either step back or risk burning an angry green child with his beard. “They exist, you know. Not everything has to be ordered or reported, especially not with kids. Back off. I have cake and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Shoto has a head start, but Izuku is determined to stall this man as long as he can.

Endeavor looks at Izuku like he’s someone who carpets his kitchen, and tries to push past Izuku to follow his son. Izuku is here for none of this nonsense. He steps to the side, forcing Endeavor to retreat or else… well. He’s holding a cake, and frosting is very fashionable these days. Especially on such a well-cleaned hero suit.

There’s a rumor he has it dry cleaned. 

No hero dry cleans a suit like that. It’s made for holding the blood in and shrapnel out. Going the extra step just for appearance makes Endeavor either a giant snob or filthy rich, and Dabi suspects it’s both. Izuku’s seen enough evidence to agree.

“Step. Back,” Endeavor growls. The room’s temperature rises incrementally.

“I would, but uh. Well. It’s just that…” Izuku smiles endearingly up at the Number Two hero, who's growing red at the clear stalling. “You’re a piece of shit.” 

He can see the exact moment Endeavor connects the dots.

It’s not like last year a certain vigilante said those words in that exact same voice after breaking into Endeavor’s agency and snooping through their documents. 

It’s also not like said vigilante had finished an investigation they’d reached a dead end on. 

Solving it in a day probably hadn’t helped matters. Izuku preens at the memory.

“Grasshopper.”

“Nobody will ever believe you,” Izuku says cheerfully, stabbing the cake. He knows this makes him look ridiculous and finds himself unable to care. What, is he not supposed to eat the cake?

“What are you doing here.”

“Mission,” Izuku chirps, and lets the silence stretch where any decent explanation would continue. Fuck Endeavor. He’s not under Nezdu’s employment, and has been getting a little too cocky in Grasshopper’s several-month absence.

“Who trained you,” Endeavor asks once it’s clear that line of conversation will remain dead for eternity. Something about the way he says it feels like ants under Izuku’s skin; like he wants to compliment whoever chose to throw a child into this kind of life that early. There’s a careful way to handle this, and it ends with a filed report on someone in the hero community who holds dangerous ideals. 

Reports like that need more evidence than Izuku has at the moment. For now, his hands are tied.

Also, Izuku might be feeling a bit tired and cranky after missing the entire second round. So he meets Endeavor’s eyes, tips his chin up, and pulls back the corners of his mouth to what should, technically, be a smile.

“None of your business,” Izuku says, even though he knows he’ll regret this later.

“There’s no way a child could achieve-”

“People assume a lot of things, like my age and experience. It’s the swearing. Or because I’m taller with the quirk.” Now that he thinks about it, maybe it’s the trauma. 

A lot of ‘old souls’ are just depressed. Grasshopper isn’t much different.

“I would like to congratulate your teacher, then. You conduct yourself well enough in the field,” Endeavor rumbles. It’s polite. Flattering, in a roundabout way. It's also aimed to get under Izuku’s skin and is very effective in a way most manipulation isn’t. Izuku’s cheer slips away, because that was… a bit much. The escalation is too sudden and leaves him on guard.

“I’ll pass it on,” Izuku says in the measured tones of someone who very much will not. “Do you have a reason to be here, Endeavor? Or is breaking school policy enough?”

Endeavor looks smug of all things. “No, I’m looking for my son, but finding a vigilante undercover at UA is-”

“You’re going back to the stands,” Izuku corrects. “Heroes aren’t allowed here, same as anyone else without Nezdu’s permission.”

“Which I have,” Endeavor says, as if Nezdu hadn’t gone over that very limited list several times over the past week until Izuku has it practically memorized. Nobody has access without a UA ID. Nobody. The lie is so bold Izuku has to take a moment to recover, and in that time Endeavor brushes past.

“What- No.” Izuku steps back into the hero’s path. “You don’t have access. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Endeavor looks at Izuku like he’s a particularly stubborn piece of lint. “If you don’t know why the Number Two hero would be here, do us both a favor and step aside.”

Which.

Wow.

That’s abusing his ranking for the sake of convenience. He could at least sneak in, or try to be subtle.

“I should report you to Nezdu,” Izuku muses, meeting Endeavor’s eyes to cover his back pain. He’s been standing a bit too long now. “He had me memorize the list of allowed personnel like a good guard dog, you know. It’s probably my duty to escort you out.”

At the subtle indicator of Izuku working for UA, Endeavor curls his lip into something between a snarl and a grimace. The hero has resources - more than Izuku, technically. A few careful words, and he can easily throw this whole mess to the press in seconds. It would harm his working relationship with all of UA’s staff, but that’s not too much of a problem for the Number Two hero. 

“The press are desperate for a scandal.” Endeavor looms closer, flamed beard reaching for Izuku hungrily. “That’s all it takes. One article, and your little UA scheme is over.”

He’s not wrong. Public appeal will be split, but either way Nezdu may have to let him go, and subsequently reopen his court case. Endeavor bought judges and juries before and could put Izuku in jail without dirtying his hands. This is a risk, a dance.

Izuku glares. “I don’t know what’s so important you’d trespass into UA’s restricted section, but stay away from Shoto and the other students.”

“Big words,” Endeavor rumbles, cruel amusement lighting his eyes. “I’m not the criminal here.”

Izuku tries not to bristle at the patronizing tone and underlying threat. “Like you have a leg to stand on there. Hawks called in a favor for you, but there’s still time to drop a tip about that bystander murder you covered up last month.”

“A vigilante using blackmail against a hero,” Endeavor says. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“That, and a criminal,” Endeavor corrects. “The press will care about your arrest more than my civilian casualty.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You assume heroes are safe from their judgement.” Izuku stands tall, aching back be damned. “Nothing sells better than the fall of a god, and you are anything but a perfect man.”

Endeavor looms. “Justice will have its way.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll use the law as an excuse to shut me up?” Izuku asks quietly. “Because the job of heroes is to protect. There are plenty of villains out there for you to focus on instead of an already-arrested vigilante.”

For a small eternity neither move. He can’t afford to show it, but Izuku is terrified of Endeavor. Trading barbed words with a hero who could burn him to a crisp in less than a second makes Izuku want to run, but he’ll be damned before he lets the hero corner Shoto.

Just as Izuku thinks he’ll be rooted to the spot, Endeavor huffs and pushes past Izuku.

Oho.

 No.

You, sir, are not done with this conversation.

“Support your son from the stands,” Izuku says, firmly enough he knows Endeavor heard it.

“He requires direction,” Endeavor says. He doesn't bother turning to face Izuku, and it burns that the hero is so powerful it’s not worth keeping Izuku in his sights. “More than this school must be providing if it is allowing a dangerous vigilante in its walls without alerting me. I can’t wait to see how the other parents will react to you learning alongside their students.”

Grasshopper has saved a couple of those parents, not that Endeavor knows it. One of them - Kirishima’s mother - was in the way of Endeavor’s Hellflame. Ah, the irony.

Izuku smiles sharp, like his mother and dangerous, like his father. “So, this is how you want to play it.”

Endeavor tilts his head just far enough for Izuku to catch sight of his expression. It’s unreadable, but then again Endeavor has never been one to express himself. No positive emotions allowed; toxic masculinity is much more important.

“Go ahead. Tell the world who I am, Endeavor. You don’t have my name. You have a wild theory and a-” Izuku stops. 

Theories. 

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh this better not be what I think it is. 

Izuku darts between Endeavor and the door. Rage burns Endeavor’s flames white-hot and hungry, but Izuku leans close to assess his facial structure for familiar traits. His hair is red, lighter than Shoto’s. The texture is familiar enough.

It might be a coincidence.

“-Are you related to a blue flame user?” Izuku asks.

Endeavor glares at Izuku murderously.  The room’s temperature rises subtly before he regains control of his flames.

Huh.

For someone regarded as having perfect control over his quirk, Endeavor might as well have flinched.

Well, It’s none of Izuku’s business. Dabi’s past is his own, and Izuku isn’t about to go digging. 

Not that Endeavor needs to know that.

“Looks like we’re both hiding from something,” Izuku bluffs, chewing the plastic fork thoughtfully. “You’re right about one thing, though. The world is ready to ruin one of us, and it’s not me. Focus on the real villains, Endeavor. Let me be the teacher your son deserves.”

Endeavor reddens further, though his flames stay under control this time. “If you so much as talk to my son-”

“What? You’ll start parenting him? Or fight me? Both are options I’m open to.”

“I’ll arrest you,” Endeavor clarifies, pressing closer. He crosses his arms to make himself even bigger, and knowing it’s an intimidation tactic won’t stop Izuku from taking a step back. 

Most people try not to meet Grasshopper in close combat, but Endeavor isn’t exactly ‘most people.’ To make the odds even worse, Inazuma never stated that these leg supports would allow Izuku to shift his quirk in them. If Endeavor tries to take him into custody right now, he’ll succeed. 

When a hero doesn't care about the health of his captured villains, that’s a lethal problem. The damage could be life-long if he survives it.

“Good luck with that. Nezdu wants me here,” Izuku manages through the pounding of his heart. It’s weak - claiming an allegiance that will definitely leverage any loyalty is dangerous on a good day.

Still.

It's the best shot he has at de-escalation.

Endeavor’s flames temper at the principal’s name. “I should have guessed.”

Izuku finds himself sliding back into a defensive stance, and decides that if this is where his instincts are going he might as well commit to it. Fuck Endeavor’s pride. He will use this cake if he has to.

Endeavor watches him like an amused hunter watching his prey squirm.

“I wish you a speedy recovery,” Endeavor says without sounding like that’s what he really means at all, and makes his way to a staircase. It leads to the hero section and reaches Nezdu’s office with keycard access, though Izuku doubts Endeavor would be stupid enough to argue with a super genius. The man is unfortunately clever with power dynamics.

“Can’t say it was a pleasure to see you,” Izuku spits before Endeavor gets to the stairwell. Call him petty, but he wants the last word.

“The feeling is mutual,” Endeavor growls over his shoulder because he delights in ruining Izuku’s day. 

Izuku doesn't let down his guard until the heavy footsteps fade completely. He’s shaking, and not just from the back pain. Endeavor wants to hide something. It’s subtle, but he could have taken Izuku’s whole identity down at the seams just then. 

Why didn’t he?

The answer isn’t coming anytime soon, and Izuku has been standing too long. UA’s halls echo with the buzz of audience chatter as he traces Shoto’s steps.

Izuku finds the 1A viewing section, which is lacking any Shotos. He checks that UA is still setting up for the matches. It’s still in progress, so he has time to rest before attempting a journey to wherever Shoto has gone. Izuku whistles as shrilly as he can with a large cake in his hands. Half the class jumps.

“Hi,” Izuku says. “Sorry I missed the second event. Everyone okay?”

“All accounted for,” Iida calls, and Izuku marvels at this ridiculously good luck. Most of UA’s Sports Festivals end up with more injuries by now. He’s been banking on at least a sprain, maybe even a concussion or two. Besides a couple bruises, everyone seems perfectly fine.

“Who knows where Shoto is?”

“He left for the waiting room,” Kirishima informs him. “Dude. What are you doing with a cake?”

“It’s a gift. I didn’t ask for details,” Izuku explains. this does not seem to put the class at ease. Izuku can’t really address that, because he catches sight of the matchups that Nezdu has posted.

[Round 1]

Sero Hanta vs. Todoroki Shoto

Iida Tenya vs. Hatsume Mei

Bakugo Katsuki vs. Uraraka Ochako

Kaminari Denki vs. Shiozaki Ibara

Yaoyorozu Momo vs. Monoma Neito

Ashido Mina vs. Shinsou Hitoshi

Tsunotori Pony vs. Kuroiro Shihai

Hagakure Toru vs. Kirishima Eijiro

“Oh hell no,” Izuku decides, staring at the board. “No way is that computer generated. God dammit Nezdu, why are you after me today? Shoto’s first?!”

“Yeah,” Ochako says. She and Hitoshi seem to be the only ones not giving the cake suspicious glances. Reminded of its existence, Izuku hacks off another piece with his fork and nearly melts because that’s good cake.

Izuku mentally reminds himself to bribe Tsuruya for the recipe.

“Okay.” Izuku says once he’s out of cake bliss. The class is staring at the cake’s design in horror, which is still legible. Izuku’s avoiding the sugary writing because that dye probably tastes nasty. “I’m gonna go find him for advice. Who’s fighting him?”

“Me,” Sero calls. “Got any advice for fighting our class Number One?”

“Oi!”

Izuku ignores Bakugo in favor of hopping over the rows of seats to get to Sero. Once there, he attempts to sit normally, finds that his back dislikes this, and crouches on the seat like a gargoyle. It’s hard on his ankles, but bending over eases the tension in his spine just a bit and lets him stabilize with his elbows.

Izuku eyes Sero once he’s settled. “What’s your strategy?”

Sero looks straight through Izuku like a man ready to pay for the mistake of applying to UA. “Survive.”

“Oh, same. Shoto’s gonna either go for a knockout in the top three seconds or make a show of it. What are his weaknesses?”

Sero presses both palms to his jaw and peeks out between his fingers. “He doesn't have any?”

“Bullshit,” Izuku says, merrily digging into the cake. He takes another bite, thinking. “His short-range is pretty good, though. What about his quirk? What can you do but he can’t?”

Sero grins a little sheepishly. “I mean, I can be an office supply?”

“Self-deprecation isn’t cool.” Izuku takes a bite of cake - so good - and gestures with the plastic fork. “Gimme stats. If this were a contest of your choosing, how would you win?”

“A race,” Sero realizes, lowering his hands. “You’re telling me to challenge him to a couple laps? Uh, I dunno if you noticed, but that’s a small ring.”

“Fights are rarely fair. On either side.” Izuku grins, just a bit. “Aizawa wins by tipping the scales in his favor. Surprise tactics and mobility. Interesting, huh?”

Sero frowns, before he gets up to squat on the chair, imitating Izuku. He even mimes eating the cake. “Think like Izuku-”

“My name is Akatani today.”

“Think like Akatani,” Sero mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am the weirdest teacher ever. A shitty Mr. Miyagi. I am suspicious as all hell and a secret hero.”

These are all lies. 

“Todoroki is absurdly powerful and I am but a mere tape dispenser with existential dread- OH.”

Izuku stuffs more cake into his face. “There it is.”

“Three seconds,” Sero realizes.

“Good luck,” Izuku tells him, stabbing the fork back into his cake and standing up on the seat. His back doesn't hurt quite as bad as it did before. “Which preparation room are you assigned?”

Armed with the knowledge Sero is in preparation room B, Izuku uses his superior intellect to deduce that Shoto is in room A. He arrives with cake and sass but halts in the doorway upon arrival. 

It’s… not good.

Shoto is staring at the table with too-wide eyes and an entirely blank expression. White knuckles nearly crack the cheap plastic chair, and shoulders are held too stiffly to be anything but practiced. Izuku shouldn’t have waited. He shouldn’t have talked to Sero for so long while Shoto was down here panicking.

Stop.

Breathe.

Regrets won’t save Shoto. Compartmentalize the anxiety for later and move on.

“Hey,” Izuku calls softly. “I’m coming in.”

Shoto stares at him, uncomprehending.

Izuku steps closer, careful to watch for anything that shows Shoto is uncomfortable. He starts to go around the table and sit in the chair next to his classmate, but that gets a flinch, so Izuku opts for across the table. He drags the plastic chair out as quietly as he can, and crouches in it. The cake is set aside and Izuku meets Shoto’s eyes.

“I need you to breathe,” Izuku says quietly. Shoto is looking right at him, but there's no focus.

Okay. 

Small steps.

“Breathe in with me, okay?” Izuku gestures with the slow inhale he takes. Shoto tries to match him, still staring through Izuku like he’s a ghost. That’s okay. Breathing is the goal now, nothing else. 

Shoto tries. It’s shaky and nearly stops partway through, but it shows he’s doing his best.

“Out,” Izuku says, pushing down with both hands. Shoto half-closes his eyes. He snaps up both hands to grip the table edge, and Izuku reaches halfway across. It’s an option. Nothing more, just the offer of comfort if Shoto needs that. 

“In.”

Two hands grip Izuku’s, one like ice and the other fever-warm. Shoto’s got too much control over his quirk to lose it easily, but with a match coming up this isn’t good. Right now, someone will get hurt if Shoto has to fight.

“Out,” Izuku says, and Shoto finally focuses on him. He matches the exhale after a second.

How long has this been happening? Izuku’s gotten wind of some unsavory details about Endeavor, but he never really put together how that affects Shoto. How many petty antagonistic remarks has Grasshopper made against Endeavor? How many of those has Shoto paid for?

Izuku mentally lists every swear he knows in Japanese, then branches out to other languages. 

He had a low opinion of Endeavor before, but now? He wouldn’t spit on the hero if he were ever actually burning.

“In.” Izuku tries to smile when the temperature in Shoto’s hands begins to even out. He doesn't sound as shakey anymore. The panic is not over yet, but they’re through the worst.

Izuku runs through a couple more cycles before Shoto lets go of his hands.

“Sorry,” Shoto mumbles, folding back into himself.

“Don’t be, this is my job.” Izuku huffs a bit of a laugh resettling in the chair. It’s so uncomfortable. Why do they put the cheap chairs in the waiting rooms? “Both of them, technically. I’m getting you water, hold on.”

“In my bag,” Shoto says, and Izuku hops up, finding the UA gym bag. He sets the water bottle in Shoto’s colder right hand. In the time it takes for Shoto to stare at it and process that that is actually water he should drink, Izuku texts Aizawa asking him to delay the first match or swap it out. He gets a bunch of question marks and a location inquiry in response.

Izuku sends his location entirely through emojis. Present Mic is there to translate. 

It’ll be fine.

“Izuku,” Shoto says, something unreadable in his voice. “Have you ever heard of quirk marriages?”

The facts connect in the back of Izuku’s mind, but he nods anyway. Sometimes talking helps. “I’m familiar with them. Dealt with a case a while back. They’re not as uncommon as people like to think.”

Shoto bows his head over his water bottle, gripping it so tightly the plastic nearly melts on one side and freezes on the other. He lets go before it can warp completely, swallows, and haltingly begins to speak.

Izuku listens, old horror putting a bitter taste on his mouth. He should have known. He should have looked deeper into Endeavor, but Dabi dragged him back all those years ago. There’s a strong ‘trust but verify’ mentality amongst vigilantes, but Izuku had listened when Dabi had asked him not to stir up old ghosts.

He should have checked.

No, that’s not right.

He couldn’t have gone behind Dabi’s back, but he should have done something.

In halting words, Shoto tells the story behind trembling hands and old scars. Listening feels like carving out a new piece of his heart, and Izuku hates the picture it paints. He hates how the analysis part of his mind chips in details like how Todoroki Rei probably tried to ice Shoto’s burn with her quirk. That’s the only way for boiling water to scar a kid with fire-resistant skin. 

Izuku hates himself for knowing that. With all that pain and rage at his own inability to help, Izuku can only imagine what Shoto must be going through.

“It sounds like Endeavor’s a shitty father as well as a shitty hero,” Izuku says quietly. “Apologies never make it better, but… I am sorry. You deserve better, and if you’ll let me, I’ll make sure Endeavor burns for this.”

“No need,” Shoto tells him bitterly. “It’s why I can only use my ice. Imagine how pissed he’ll be when I make it to the top without his quirk.”

“Not his. Yours,” Izuku says before he can stop himself. “And I think you’ll be a kind hero, Shoto. Without him.”

“Kind,” Shoto repeats like it’s a death sentence. It’s the first time Izuku’s seen a compliment be taken quite this badly ever since Pop called Zoo ‘huggable’ and the spy went into hiding for a full month.

“Gentle,” Izuku clarifies. He leans back in search of a more comfortable position, chewing on his bottom lip. “It’s never a bad thing to be.”

“He calls it a weakness.”

“Do you believe him?”

Shoto glares at the table, but slowly shakes his head.

Izuku pushes the chair back further, nearly topples over, and grabs the table in blind panic. His back does not appreciate this, and Izuku takes a quick moment to recenter himself through the dull ache. Luckily Shoto is lost in thought and doesn't seem to notice.

“Who do you want to be?” Izuku asks once he’s got his breath back, shifting so his back hurts a bit less and the chair is steadier.

Shoto shakes his head, pushing off the question. It’s possible he doesn't want to talk about it, but Izuku has a sinking suspicion that Shoto is putting off the question because he has no clue what kind of hero he wants to be. Maybe he doesn't want to be a hero at all, and Endeavor is pushing him into the role like an ill-fitting cookie-cutter mold.

Forcing your child into a career path isn’t technically illegal, but there are other laws that have been broken. The list starts with an illegal quirk marriage and ends with those mentions of too-rough training, which brings up all kinds of bad memories for Izuku. 

“Is there anyone who knows?” Izuku asks cautiously. He really, really hopes this isn't Shoto’s first time asking for help, because they’re going to have to have a discussion Izuku is not trained to give. He’s not a therapist, just a stressed vigilante trying really hard to keep his classmates alive after they graduate.

“Aizawa,” Shoto mutters and thank goodness it’s not a Yaomomo situation all over again.

“Okay. Okay,” Izuku says, trying to force his speeding mind to calm down, just a tiny bit. He has teachery laws to comply with here, but also this is a big abuse case his vigilante mind wants to tear into at the seams. Shoto doesn't need either of these. He needs a friend.

After this Izuku is going to be very careful about making Endeavor mad. Hopefully the conversation earlier today won’t be taken out on Shoto.

Oh.

Fuck.

FUCK.

“He’s training me to be a hero,” Shoto spits out. “So that he can live through me. I’m not allowed to be myself - and the worst part is that he’s succeeding. I’m only ‘Endeavor’s son.’”

“You’re not him,'' Izuku says through the panic he’s skillfully suppressing. “Trust me on this. You’ll never be him.”

“I’d rather die,” Shoto grits out. It’s very concerning, because normally when people their age say that it’s not half as serious and twice as dramatic. “But it’s all anyone ever sees.”

Izuku is laughably underprepared for this. He tries anyway.

“They’ll see you eventually. You’re here as your own hero, and learning to be that-”

“It won’t be enough,” Shoto snaps, frustration bubbling up as the table’s surface melts slightly under his hand. Frost creeps across one shoulder and is gone just as quickly. “I can’t use my fire. Ever. The second I do he wins, and I can’t do that. I can’t give him that satisfaction.”

Izuku nods, hating this new picture even more. “So you’ve only trained your ice.”

“I told him why, once,” Shoto mumbles. He reaches up to rub at the scar, catches himself, and pushes the hand through his hair instead. “He forgot by our next training practice. All he sees is teenage rebellion.”

“Nevermind that it's an entirely different type of rebellion,” Izuku murmurs. It took him a while to figure out that in a world trying to tear you down, sometimes the greatest act of rebellion is survival. Shoto’s not there yet - not with half of his quirk ignored - but maybe.

Maybe with a bit of help, he’ll figure it out.

Izuku brings his hands together, absently tapping scarred knuckles. If he’s reading this right, they probably train at least three twice a week. Probably every day, if Izuku’s being honest, but optimism might be useful right now. Otherwise he’ll punch a hero in public.

“I’m not a therapist,” Izuku says a bit helplessly. “I can’t fully help you with this, but I- I think maybe you shouldn’t measure your worth by something else. By someone else. Because when you do that, you're giving the power to them.”

“I can’t care about that,” Shoto whispers. He brings his feet up to the chair and rests his chin on his knees. “At this point I don’t really care about anything, so long as I’m not whatever perfect legacy he wants.”

There’s so much to unpack here, and Izuku is honestly reeling. He’s handled abuse cases before in the mask, but this is different. He’s known Shoto for a while, and considers him a close, if oddly distanced, friend. Knowing him makes it worse because the signs were there and Izuku missed it.

“What’s your life goal,” Izuku asks abruptly, switching tactics. It’s something his therapist asked him long ago, fresh out of kidnapping. Izuku narrows his eyes when Shoto makes an incredulous face. “Come on. You can’t be an absence of something. Humans aren’t made of empty spaces.”

“I want to be free of him,” Shoto spits. 

“That’s still an absence. Give me a positive. I want to do this, I want to be that, you know.”

“I want-” Shoto pauses, looking like his entire worldview was shattered. “Oh.”

It’s a difficult realization, but Izuku can’t tell from Shoto’s expression if it’s a good or bad one. There’s just shock, and a little bit of fear.

“Yeah?” Izuku prompts. 

Shoto ducks his head to stare through the table as if it were glass. “I don’t- I guess I don’t know?”

“Something to think about,” Izuku says quietly. He waits, because it looks like Shoto needs time to figure this out. He remembers being locked in the memories and stubborn drive to be the very best. He’d thought that being a perfect vigilante would mean nobody could get hurt like that ever again, that until he was anything but the best vigilante civilians were vulnerable. He’d clawed his way to strength as protection, and it had become his entire personality until Zoo had kicked his ass in training and made him call Dabi to get his hero complex sorted out. Dabi had said ‘fucking finally’ and sent him to a therapist. 

Shoto’s in a similar situation, albeit with entirely different motivators.

Rediscovering who you are is always difficult.

Shoto looks like a wreck. When he takes a deep breath and shoves a hand into his red hair, the movement is jerky as if controlled by puppet strings. It’s a carefully controlled nervous tic.

“You good?” Izuku asks once the silence starts to ring in his ears like white noise.

“Better,” Shoto admits, voice low and more contemplative than panicked. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Izuku says easily. “I’m required to report that Endeavor sucks, but I’ll pass it on to Aizawa since he already knows about…. all of this.”

“The dumpster fire,” Shoto fills in, finally smiling just a bit. Bonding over their mutual hatred of Shoto’s dad wasn’t his original goal, but Izuku’s not complaining. He’s been worried about bringing up that he hated Shoto’s parental figure ever since they met on the first day of school, but that’s no longer a concern. 

Izuku laughs, relieved at a thousand little details. “Exactly. Wanna hear about the time I got dared to paint his office windows pink?”

Shoto uncurls from the chair so fast it nearly tips over. “That was you?”

After making sure Shoto was okay with proceeding with the match, Izuku texts Aizawa an update on both his steadily increasing hatred of Endeavor and Shoto’s questionable ability to fight in the first match. 

He heads back up to the 1A booth and is promptly summoned by Hagakure.

“I’m not getting up for a year,” he tells Hagakure. She’s pulled out a pair of clear travel chopsticks and is helping him with the cake.

“That’s what you get for having a job,” she says, taking a huge piece of cake from the opposite side. Izuku isn’t sure when she eats it, but she freezes a second later. “Oh my gosh, what the- guys? Guys, you have to eat this cake. What flavor even is this?”

“Cinnamon,” Izuku guesses. “I didn’t ask.”

“It tastes like a warm hug but not in a bad way?” Hagakure twists around. “We need an expert. Sato! You know cake. Come be my taste tester.”

Sato rolls his eyes but switches places with Tokoyami so he can lean over the seatbacks and talk. “Yeah?”

Hagakure’s bracelets wave as she gestures to the cake frantically. “What flavor is this?”

“Cinnamon,” Izuku insists, though he’s less sure now that they’re asking.

Sato glances at it, then at Izuku. Somehow he fits an unspeakable level of judgement in two powerful eyebrows. That shouldn't be allowed. Izuku feels like he’s been read to filth and Sato hasn’t done anything except read the cake and stare directly into his soul. Hagakure snickers at his suffering and takes another piece of cake.

Sato props a chin up on his hand to better stare Izuku down. “You got hit. By a fire extinguisher?”

That’s a very weird question to ask someone. 

Izuku flounders, caught completely off-guard by the unrelated question. “I mean. Yeah, but not in the last year? I think? My memory’s pretty bad, actually. Hazard of the job.”

Behind them, Hitoshi turns his laugh into a cough. It’s not subtle.

“I don’t think fire extinguisher accidents are a part of heroics,” Sato says doubtfully.

“Fire extinguishers?” Ochako startles everyone by hopping over the seats to sit on Sato’s other side. “I guess they’re a good weapon. Blunt, heavy, maneuverable-”

“Is this really a discussion we’re having?” Sato asks, one eyebrow inching ever higher. “Not the cake message?”

Izuku looks down at the cake before the realization hits. “Oh. Guys, this isn’t my cake.”

“Yeah, I’d be worried if you made a cake as an apology to yourself,” Hagakure says, and Izuku really has to appreciate her opinion of him if she’s this dead set on him having been hit with a fire extinguisher and healing in time to attend the Sports Festival. Izuku wishes he had that kind of recovery speed.

“Wait, did you steal the apology cake?” Ochako asks, and Hitoshi breaks down in wheezing laughter behind her. 

Izuku gapes at her, speechless. This is a horrible maligning of his character. As if he would steal someone else’s apology cake. That shit is scared. Izuku’s expression must indicate at least a tiny degree of how scandalized he feels at the mere suggestion of this affront to his character, because Sato steps in.

“Wait, so someone hit someone else with a fire extinguisher, and you got the cake somehow.” Sato waits for Izuku to nod as he finds his student pass, and fiddles with the boxy keychain attached. When he folds it out, Izuku realizes they’re portable chopsticks with little lace patterns on the end.

It’s?

Oddly endearing??

Does everyone in that friend group have matching travel chopsticks?

Tokoyami also leans over with the edgiest pair of travel chopsticks Izuku has ever seen in his life. They’re decorated with black smoke designs. It’s rude to stare, but Izuku also feels like watching Tokoyami feed his sentient quirk cake with edgy chopsticks is a borderline out-of-body experience. Dark Shadow’s eyes squint up in happiness.

“I like it,” Dark Shadow garbles, and Izuku feels oddly blessed with this opinion.

“It’s chai tea cake,” Sato adds after a bite. “Who made it?”

Izuku lists off where he met Tsuruya - though short of chanting in front of a mirror with textiles around him and dramatic music, he has very little idea how to actually locate the student. Even that method of summoning them seems questionable at best, because Izuku doesn't know much about them besides their department and past lactose intolerance. Tsuruya doesn't seem like someone to accept a mortal form.

He wishes Sato good luck anyway.

Ochako nudges Hagakure while Izuku returns to the cake. “Come live at the dorms, we get a front seat to this nonsense all day.”

“Have they got cake? Ghosts?”

Ochako hums. “We might get coffeecake if this morning’s bet pays off, but I feel like the dorms haven't been around long enough to get any ghosts.”

“Then I’m gonna have to decline.” Hagakure gestures, though it’s anyone’s guess what she’s doing. “My house has both, so it’s gonna be hard to beat.”

“Sorry, but isn’t your family invisible?” Sato asks.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“How do you know it’s actually ghosts, and not someone moving stuff around?”

Hagakure shakes her head - or at least Izuku thinks she does. “Nah, I know a ghost when I see it. Besides, maybe the ghosts haunt people. You know, revenge for their murder or something.”

Izuku pauses at that unnerving thought.

Does.

Does he have ghosts?

“Nobody at UA has killed anyone,” Ochako says confidently, but Izuku barely hears it past the ringing in his ears. 

What about all the people he’s failed to save? What about that first kid in a crumbling building, the old couple in the way of a villain’s attack. What about the Water Hoses, who were on his patrol route right after he got captured. He’s never killed, never crossed the line all vigilantes are painfully aware of, but the circumstances of one building fire were never clear. Starvation, exhaustion, and the after effects of quirk experiments always kept his memories of that time a little hazy.

If he has ghosts, they’re from that building.

BONUS BACKGROUND: YEARS AGO, AN ABANDONED BUILDING IN THE KAMINO DISTRICT

The building is silent but for distant dripping water as it rains. Izuku can’t see it. He hasn’t seen the light of day in what’s probably well over a year, but somewhere between wrists rubbed raw and fading coherency, he feels like the sun is warming him again. It’s a hallucination that drowns him gently all too often. The chair he’s cuffed to is old splintered wood that’s long since been stained dark with blood and sweat, but when he concentrates he remembers the dining room table at home, with Mom’s laughter and Dad’s voice over the telephone. Warmth dancing under his skin may be signs of a fever, but it could just as easily be a blanket Mom dropped over his shoulders after a night analyzing quirks. He closes his eyes - dangerous, that, when opening them is a battle won less and less often - and tries to remember. 

The door creaks open as one of the guards checks on him. The hallway light slides across Izuku's face, and he barely manages to force stinging eyes open with equal parts gratitude and annoyance. Blood clumps his eyelashes together, crystalized with sweat. It scares him that one of these days he may not wake up. 

The guard ducks a head in just long enough to check he’s secure, and shuts the metal door. The lock turns, footsteps fade, and Izuku flexes his fingers experimentally. That was the third guard shift of the evening. There won't be any more for five hours.

“I-It’s time,” Izuku reminds himself hoarsely. The sound of his voice is an anchor to cling to, even as it breaks. “If I can breathe, I can f-fight.”

Hallucinations and half-dreamt memories are small comforts, but he can't give in to them yet. He hasn’t ever been allowed to for long, because as much as his captors want him pushed to his limits, they are very careful to keep their prize experiment alive. Izuku’s blood still has a bargaining power they seem reluctant to give up.

 It’s time for escape-attempt number..….. mnh. Something? He’s lost count, though that’s more due to the haze clouding his mind than any number of failed plans. 

Izuku coughs wearily, raw breath scraping through his lungs as he straightens up. The last several attempts prompted cuffs on both his hands and feet, then restraints on the chair while he’s not in the lab. Izuku chokes out a mirthless laugh at the useless precaution through bloodstained teeth. 

He’s an Usagiyama just as much as he is a Midoriya. Mom taught him to get out of these kinds of bonds long before they kidnapped him, and Dad made sure he knew how hired hands like guards worked. 

They keep trying to find new ways to keep him locked in this dirty concrete cell, but it’s still a situation he was practically trained for.

The cuffs are already loose from rubbing on clammy wrists, and Izuku forces both arms further behind his chair until his hands meet. Logically the forced movement should hurt, but to Izuku the cool fire in his muscles is tempered and familiar like an old friend. Aching limbs and splitting headaches don’t register as issues anymore. 

Dislocating his thumb to escape the cuffs without looking is hard from a technical standpoint, but not impossible. Izuku gingerly rolls his shoulders once they’re free, rubbing life back into his arms. It doesn't hurt as much as it should.

Nothing does, anymore.

Once free, the restraints on his ankles are easier to escape. There’s no need to lock these, according to the Doctor. Izuku practically falls off the chair, collapsing on the filthy concrete floor. His whole body shakes after being stuck in one position for so long, but Izuku forces himself to stagger upright.

The pain barely even processes, and he knows how easily a seconds rest can turn into an hour. One of his legs is stiff from last week, and he already knows the bone is barely healed. His arm isn’t much better. Izuku breathes through creaking lungs, shifts his shoulders to check the crooked bandages rubbing against his back, and steps towards the door.

His quirk – and wow is it weird to think a quirk could be his – won’t activate. They must have injected him with suppressants during today's lab time. He’d hit his pain limit early this morning, and it leaves him jittery even as his thoughts cloud over from any number of experiments this past week. They haven’t realized he has a quirk yet - suppressants are another trial to make him immune and one step closer to their vision of a perfect soldier - but Izuku can feel the new bone structure in his legs, knows what that means.

He leaves the chair behind, picking the door’s lock with metal he’d clawed from the lab in his last escape attempt. His hands keep slipping, but he has enough time to be cautious without security cameras in the room. 

It should hurt, he knows. But Izuku has begun to block out his pain nearly constantly. Hurt is an aged, distant concept, abstract and replaced with something between ‘cold’ and ‘hot.’ It’s both extremes at once, but hardly enough to steal his wavering focus.

Once the door is open, Izuku makes his way barefoot through the halls. It’s not much cleaner here than in the room. The procedure to induce a quirk is based on stress more than any exact chemical science, so there’s never been any reason to sanitize or even sweep the building. He times his path around the two people he knows are in the building, tracking their routes with the same pattern of echoing footsteps and door slamming that hasn’t changed in however long he’s been here.

Izuku doesn't know what date it is. He doesn't care. Getting out is the only thing that matters.

A few hiding spots and another picked lock later, Izuku pauses briefly when he hears music. He hasn’t heard music in at least six months.

Glitter and Gold echoes through the ventilation system, likely left behind by the newest guard. He doesn't know her well, only that she arrived last week. She’s only been his guard twice, but both times they exchanged meaningless words like he wasn’t an experiment and she was hired muscle. It’s more empathy than anyone else has shown, and Izuku clutches to the conversations like a lifeline. She put a hand on his shoulder when they met, and the mere notion of touch not aimed to harm left him breathless for days.

It’s proof he’s still human.

Izuku has begun to resign himself to being the perfect human weapon. If you can breathe, you can fight, they told him as electricity danced across pale skin. 

Do they know he will take them out first? Do they know the monster they are creating is warping itself in rebellion? Do they know he will become a dog, in hope of biting the hand that feeds him?

Nobody should be alone, the guard told him after smuggling in an extra water ration.

It’s true enough.

He exists, he’s here, and that has to count for something. Even if the world is rain and fire right now, even if every breath is ash upon his tongue, he can still stand. He can still look upon what happened, and say “I am here, I exist. You have not won yet, because I am still breathing. I am still fighting. If existing is resistance, I will fight until my throat is raw from screaming and my knuckles are broken. I exist. I am here. And I am human in all the ways you cannot control.”

That has to count for something.

Izuku takes one step, then another. He lets a rattling breath hiss out from between his teeth and locates the next door, fighting through the haze of his mind to recall instructions from the guard. She was strange, with blank eyes and white hair.

She saw him. 

He exists. He is here.

Yesterday something had activated the alarms - files went missing, or a location was spilled. The guard had leaned back against the doorway, and whispered instructions along with the codes to keypads Izuku had never managed to pass. Izuku knows her choice was probably fueled by spite and a ruthless employer, but he’ll take what he can get. At least the music tells him she got out.

Izuku creeps down the stairs, moving slowly and carefully so as not to let trembling legs fold underneath him. Injuries slow him down, no matter what Izuku does with the pain. His thoughts slow with the effort of continuing forward, and Izuku nearly steps in front of a security camera before spotting the flashing light on its underside. By the time he makes it to the ground floor, Izuku is leaning heavily on the wall to stay upright.

If he is breathing, he can fight.

The chorus rings as he slips out to the garage. He’d learned the kidnapper’s schedules through months of listening to the building noises and car engines. The van should be gone now, but the gas tank for emergencies is still around. The larger propane tank they use for heating sits nearby, and Izuku narrows his eyes maliciously. 

If they’re only going to heat one room Izuku’s not allowed in, then it’s only fair he heats the rest of the building. 

By force. 

Explosively. 

Kacchan would be proud.

Izuku knows the surrounding buildings are empty. They’d have to be, or someone would notice the screaming. He doesn’t regret grabbing a red container of fuel and splashing it around the room, making sure to coat the propane tank and generator. 

He doesn’t regret letting the gas trail behind him into the blessed light of day. 

He doesn’t regret flicking the lighter he’d found into the garage and stumbling away.

Izuku does regret leaving the scene. He’d disappeared with orange flames licking the sky and warming his back, and ran into Dabi.  

Ryukyu was the first hero on the scene. She could have gotten him back to Mom or Dad, had he known to ask. But then, Dabi would be a villain or worse, and Zoo would still be running from job to job without a life in between. Had Izuku stayed, maybe he would have gone back to a civilian lifestyle. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have become a vigilante.

Chapter Text

The matches are reordered. Izuku waves his thanks to the announcers booth because pep talk aside, Shoto is nowhere near capable of fighting right now. Sero screeches his happiness to the sky.

Hagakure hops up, shoulders square. “Guess I have to win a little earlier.”

“Man, I’ve been waiting for this.” Kirishima meets her with a fist bump at the exit from the stands. “Bring it.”

Izuku wishes them luck, but freezes when a hand grips his shoulder painfully tight. For a second he’s back on patrol and about to be ambushed, but the moment passes quickly. Right. He’s safe.

Izuku takes a measured breath and twists around to see Hitoshi trying very hard to resemble a curled up hedgehog. He’s got a hoodie over his sports uniform and has the hood drawn tight so only his nose pokes through, like the physical embodiment of ‘do not talk to me.’

“Whats up?” Izuku asks

Hitoshi squints an eye through his hoodie. “I’m next up.”

Hitoshi’s voice is tight, almost strangled. Izuku only just got done dealing with one friend’s panic attack, so it figures the universe would throw another at the class. Shit luck is only reasonable when Izuku’s dealing with it - there’s no need for his brother to get caught in that crossfire.

“You are,” Izuku says, carefully measured. “Do you want to get out of the spotlights?”

Hitoshi hesitates, then nods, grip still firm on Izuku’s shoulder. Alright.

“I’ll keep your seats,” Ochako calls after them. “Go kill that stage fright.”

Izuku thanks her by putting the cake on her lap and bequeathing her a spoon with great ceremony. At the last second he hovers it over each shoulder and drones, “I dub thee sir Ochako the cake-bearer.”

“It’s an honor to serve our king All Might,” she tells him with equal ceremony.

“Partake,” he says, and begins the excruciating process of standing up.

He needs to sit. Better yet, he needs to lie down. These bones are tired and hurting and the crutches only help so much. At this point Izuku is half-hoping to molt into a full dragon like Aunt Ryu. Maybe if he hatches out of his own skeleton it’ll stop aching for a damn second.

Hitoshi helps him up, and they rattle up the stairs together. Izuku follows his brother and tries not to look like he’s stressing out. He’s seen enough on patrol to recognize Hitoshi’s fear as more than stage fright. Hopefully it’s something equally mundane, but Izuku hasn’t seen Hitoshi this unnerved since he walked into a karaoke room and found his soon-to-be-brother and Zoo sitting as far away from each other as possible.

Hitoshi speedwalks down the hallway and yanks open a closet door with single-minded focus. He trips over a dustpan in his haste to hide amongst the broomsticks. When Izuku knocks on the doorframe, he gestures him in impatiently.

“I’m here. You’re safe, in UA, and there’s nobody else around,” Izuku says as he settles down amidst the buckets and tucks his crutches up against the wall for later. He has to move a box of dirty washcloths aside to partially shut the door, but leaves it open a crack. There’s a rumor that Nezdu controls the closet locks. While Izuku doesn't believe a faculty member would trap students on school grounds, he also isn’t about to tempt fate anytime soon. The line between courage and idiocy is paper-thin.

“The- the lists.” Hitoshi ducks down to put his head between his knees in a recovery position. He’s started doing that since Izuku mentioned them in class.

Izuku nods, recalling the grounding exercise. “Can you tell me- Hitoshi? Can you tell me five things you see?”

They’ll get through this. Piece by piece if necessary, but Izuku isn’t about to let anyone fall apart today.

Toru squares her shoulders, entering the stadium across from Kirishima. She knows she’s not physically strong, not powerful enough to meet him head-on. Her hand-to-hand technique needs work, but she’s above average in athletics. Toru passed the entrance exam through hard work and years of track and field training, along with the useful fact that the robots weren’t equipped with heat vision.

Invisibility is considered a coward’s quirk. After all, what is a hero who can’t pose for pictures?

An underestimated one.

“Let’s rock the world,” Toru yells over the crowds, and Kirishima slams a reinforced fist into his hand before he realizes what she meant.

“Was- was that a joke?”

“Maybe.” Toru shrugs off her sports jacket. It’s her last visible layer. Her hero suit is lightweight and breathable enough to fight comfortably in, and after all the paperwork she had to fill out it better give her the edge she needs to win. Maybe the audience won’t see her literally, but they can see potential.

That’s all she needs.

“START,” Midnight calls, whip cracking. Toru tosses the jacket at Kirishima, counting on him tracking it as her position. He does, and slams an armored arm into the space where she stood a moment ago. 

Toru sprints to the side on light feet just as his arm extends. 

She clasps both hands, widens her stance, and drives an elbow into his stomach. It hits the equivalent of a human boulder.

Kirishima stumbles with the impact. Toru’s entire forearm goes numb.

There’s a second’s space of time for Toru to grit her teeth and back out of range so he can’t retaliate. Fine tremors run down her arm as her nerves fitz like television static.

“Why did I think that was a good idea?!” Toru whispers as she hops up and down in pain. “Ow, ow, ow-”

“Found you-” Kirishima tackles air to her left, and Toru slips away with quiet steps. She retreats to a corner of the arena where Kirishima won’t run into her. Just for fun, it’s the one behind him. Outside the arena, someone has spread a fine layer of chalk dust from the border to several meters away from the arena edge. If she steps out, it’ll shift and give away her position to Midnight and the cameras. 

There must have been accusations of cheating again.

After all, being born with the ability to cheat means that she must use it, right? Nobody ever considers that maybe Toru values privacy and honesty because she knows how easy it is to break.

Assholes.

Toru shakes her stinging arm and sits back on her heels to watch Kirishima. He’s waiting patiently in a ready stance, likely listening for the slightest scuff of her shoes. It’s to Toru’s advantage to make him wait. Ideally, he’ll get impatient. The problem with that strategy is that Kirishima has an ungodly amount of patience. Who else chooses Bakugo as a best friend? He can probably wait out their match time, and still be ready for her attack. Nobody else in their class could hold that, except for Kouda. Maybe Izuku, but Toru’s never seen him fight.

Kirishima tilts his head when Toru tosses a pebble to his left. He’s got good hearing and is making use of the open arena.

Clever.

If this is how Kirishima wants to play it, Toru is prepared to win. She rises on careful feet and circles him.

Invisibility is a quirk built of habits. Some quirks manifest at birth, and invisibility is possibly one of the worst for new parents to have a baby with, second only to teleportation. Habits like wearing squeaky shoes, bracelets, or hair clips to give away her location are all ways to fill seemingly unoccupied space. People look for a face, for posture and cues taken in subconsciously. These are habits.

Stealth is Toru’s habit. She wants to be seen as a hero with potential, and she’ll use everything at her disposal to make that dream come true.

“Boo,” she whispers, and steps aside when Kirishima swings wide. He tries for one more stike before falling back into theready position and waiting again. Distantly, Toru notes that the audience is getting restless. Their yelling is more cover for any sound she makes.

“Dude,” Kirishima says. “Are you riling them up on purpose?”

Toru nods even if Kirishima can’t see it, and slips directly behind him.

Humans have an interesting limitation on their ability to track sound. Two ears unable to point in multiple directions means that there is no way to tell if sound is coming from directly in front or behind a target. 

So theoretically, Kirishima should layer his quirk over his chest and arms. That gives her one shot. Her worst-case scenario is getting tackled. It would give him full knowledge of her position, and Toru’s strength is in her legs. Middle School track and field left her better at kicks than punches.

“On your left,” Toru calls as she slides behind him.

Kirishima spins, anticipating her attack. He’s too late.

Toru slams a roundhouse kick into his partially-unprotected side. Kirishima rocks with the impact, spins, and lashes out. Her shoulder takes the brunt of his jab. She grits her teeth against the litany of swears. The grunt is still audible.

Pain is temporary. 

Kirishima must figure out where she is from that and the last hit, because he slams into her. Concrete bites into her cheek as they go down. Toru tries to throw an elbow into his side but it’s too late. She can’t move without dislocating the shoulder Kirishima’s holding.

“You got me,” Toru says into the concrete. “I yield.”

They probably need her to admit it because nobody can actually see.

“HAGAKURE TORU YIELDS; KIRISHIMA EIJIROU MOVES ON TO THE NEXT ROUND!”

“How’d you know where I was,” Toru asks Kirishima as he helps her up. 

“Figured if I were invisible, I’d attack from behind.” He offers a crooked shark-tooth grin. “Are you alright, though? Couldn’t tell where I was punching.”

“It’s Gucci.” Toru collects her jacket and waves to the crowd once it’s on. Knowing the way reporters cover UA’s matches, they’ll be all up in arms about a boy tackling a girl like it’s not all sexist bullshit. She would have kicked his ass for anything less than a best effort. Now that she considers it, Kirishima would kick his own ass for going easy on anyone in their class. 

“Maybe I should hit the gym more,” she says over the cheers. Kirishima whips around like she just prophesied Crimson Riot’s return to heroics.

“Toru,” he says with near-tears in his eyes, “please join my weightlifting bros. Sato, Tetsu, Kendo, and I work out together, and it would be super manly-”

“Sure,” Toru says, and from the way Kirishima reacts she may as well have proclaimed herself the Queen of Manliness with a punching bag levitating behind her and choirs singing.

Hitoshi knows, logically, that there’s nothing to fear from performing in the Sports Festival. He’s gone over it with Inko a dozen times, who assures him his place in the family is secure and the documents have gone through. He’s discussed it with Izuku a bit, but less so when his brother is busier than he likes to pretend with a job, vigilante hobby, and whatever else he gets up to at UA. Hitoshi has triple-checked that his old emergency contacts are replaced with new ones in UA’s security, something Izuku did while talking him through the names. Miriko is on call, right after Inko.

He knows, logically, his old parents barely considered him a son. He knows they wanted him gone. That doesn't stop the fear that they’ll suddenly want him back, and even worse, the small part of him that remembers lighter days before he got his quirk and wishes they would happen again.

Even when Hitoshi logically knows what he’s started to consider ‘his old life’ can’t hurt him through the Sports Festival, logic never stopped fears like this before. Memories can be irrational. Aizawa had told him that when he’d been found panicking in a different closet before class.

“Three things you can touch,” Izuku’s voice says through the panic, and Hitoshi belatedly realizes he’s ended up in a closet again. 

“Floor, sweatshirt-” Hitoshi grunts, inspecting whatever it is he’s leaning against. “Broom?”

It’s always fucking closets. He’s not out yet- still testing those boundaries so soon after adoption from the Midoriyas, even if Grasshopper shows up at every pride event. Still, there’s a joke in here somewhere.

One more internalized rule to get rid of.

AAAAAAAHAHAHHAAAaaaaa-

“That’s a mop, but close enough. Take a breath,” Izuku reminds him again, perching on a pile of upended buckets. Hitoshi realizes he’s stopped using his lungs, and draws in air so fast it catches at his ribs and sticks in his throat.

Right.

Breathing.

That’s a thing that people do.

Hitoshi usually takes his panic slow and dizzying. It washes through him like cloying static and pulls him down slowly, with none of the abrupt symptoms in movies. Sweating, nausea, and shortness of breath aren’t symptoms he gets often. Instead, all the blood rushes to his head as if he stood up too fast, but it never fades quickly. Everything goes hot-and-cold, and the headache is killer. He learned early on to get down, get to somewhere dark and quiet where people wouldn’t find him and ask if he was gonna cost the family a hospital bill, too. Like their damn pride wasn’t enough.

Hitoshi knew today would be rough. 

He’s cut ties, and cycled though depression and denial in the first two days after being kicked out. It’s been a month now. Most of that time’s been spent swinging between rage and stubbornly suppressing every thought of the people he left behind. A month of slow dizzying static that Izuku actually notices and tries to help. 

Choking on air isn’t how it normally happens.

“Two things you can smell,” Izuku says. Cold hands grip his, and Hitoshi drags his thoughts back.

“Bleach and sweat,” he grumbles. “I’m good now. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Izuku says like he does this all day everyday. Maybe he does - Hitoshi isn’t sure what Grasshopper gets up to when he’s not breaking down the Hero Commission's doors. “Do you want to talk it out?”

“No,” Hitoshi decides, slumping back against the wall and elbowing a mop out of the way. He knows what’s going on in his head, and hashing out every problem right now won’t help. Besides, Izuku can fit so much trauma in his vigilante hoodies. Hitoshi’s not adding to that. Mom- Inko - he’s still not there yet, but right now she’s ‘Mom’ - set him up with a therapist recently.

Right now, there’s a Sports Festival to win.

“Thanks,” he adds as an afterthought. There’s no real need for an answer, but Izuku tips a shoulder as if sending the sentiment back. He’s good like that. Hitoshi leans back amongst the smells of cleaning products that literally bleach the air. The door lets in a sliver of light that falls between him and Izuku, dividing them into separate worlds.

They sit in silence until Hitoshi is ready to leave.

“Hey,” Izuku says once they’ve clattered out of the closet and back into bright hallway lights. “Whatever happens, I’m proud. So’s Mom.”

“Aw,” Hitoshi says, throwing a hand around Izuku’s shoulders to ruffle his hair. “Careful, people are gonna call favoritism.”

“Hey!”

Hitoshi laughs shakily. Maybe this day isn’t so bad.

Ochako has saved their seats and convinces Hitoshi to switch with Izuku and sit next to her. It’s probably so she can use his shoulder as a backrest and draw her legs up onto the empty chair, but Hitoshi’s not about to judge. Nobody in their class except Tenya can stand sitting with their feet on the ground, and even he starts fidgeting at the one-hour mark.

Izuku settles Hitoshi’s other side. Tenya has disappeared on a short jog to warm up, and Shoto in front of them.

“Momo’s up against that 1B kid,” Shoto tells them from the row in front. “Monoma, I think.”

Beside him, Izuku stiffens. “Monoma? Can’t he borrow quirks?”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi says suspiciously. Izuku’s staring up at the matchup board with the kind of horror best suited to select movie audiences. 

“Yaomomo’s quirk must be pretty hard to copy,” Ochako mutters as she passes the cake back to Izuku. He twists around a bit, hisses in discomfort, and waves until Satou notices and takes the cake in turn.

Ochako continues as she watches the cake tradeoff going on two seats away. “She’s got the creation element, and super strength. This is gonna be one badass brawl.”

“Huh,” Izuku says with more despair than Hitoshi thought could fit in a single human being. The way he’s desperately texting someone means either teachery or vigilante nonsense is afoot, so Hitoshi focuses on the stadium. Far below, Midnight has brought one hand up to her ear.

She gestures Monoma over, and starts saying something, and points at the healer bots already waiting in a corner. Even from the stands, Hitoshi can tell Monoma’s eyes are huge. Something must be wrong. Monoma shakes his head, says something with both hands up and a crooked smile, and clasps Midnight’s hand in thanks.

The gesture is too purposeful.

Quirk borrowing. 

Hitoshi’s familiar with the kind of tactics that come with conditional activation, and that was one if he’s ever seen it. Midnight waves the student off. She definitely knows what he did, but right now there’s no stopping the inevitable fallout without cancelling the match altogether.

Yaomomo steps up onto the stage to confer with Midnight and Monoma. Whatever they say seems to satisfy her.

“START,” Midnight roars.

Purple mist blooms out from Monoma instantly, covering the glimmer of Creation below. Midnight stands tall amongst the copy of her quirk, unaffected by the gas. She’s watching. Waiting.

“He won’t copy Yaomomo’s quirk,” Izuku whispers, looking up from his phone.

Shoto turns his head without fully looking away from the match. “That’s a good thing?”

“With her? Yeah. Yaomomo’s quirk came in late because she hadn’t built up enough muscle mass. All Might theorized that copying it without the necessary reserves could vaporize Monoma, so Nezdu’s allowed an early warning. Monoma’s making the call, but…”

“-But there’s no way anyone would vaporize themselves over a school festival,” Ochako finishes with a whistle. “Damn. I knew Yaomomo was badass, but this? That’s my whole life goal right there.”

Hitoshi watches Yaomomo burst out of the mist. She has a gas mask on and spear in hand, but what really stands out is the careful way she moves to keep her sightline as broad as possible. Monoma’s still hiding. Ambushes are his best shot in this.

Probably to keep distance, Hitoshi notes. She’s not taking chances with his quirk, but in terms of sheer power and combat practice Yaomomo’s one of the top students in our class. Unless Monoma has extra-curricular training to fall back on, he’s done.

“She’s going to win,” Hitoshi hears himself saying. Beside him, Izuku slumps down low in his seat and makes a rumbling hum of discontentment. It’s not clear if Izuku’s even aware he does that, but now that Hitoshi knows his brother’s backstory, he’s pretty sure that’s a dragon noise.

Wild.

Hitoshi watches the match with bated breath and apprehension creeping down the base of his neck. He sincerely does not want to fight Yaomomo. They’re set to meet in the finals unless one of them is taken out first, and with Shoto, Ochako, Bakugo and Tenya on the field that’s a very good chance. Unless he gives it everything he has and more, Hitoshi is out. Done. Finished because Class 1A is made of monsters, and Class 1B is completely unknown.

Monoma flies out of the mist from behind Yaomomo. For a brief, shining moment it looks like he’s going to win, and Hitoshi leans forwards in expectation.

Yaomomo spins, catching Monoma’s stomach with the middle of her spear and throwing him back. He rolls with the landing, gets back to his feet, and barely dodges the butt of her spear. Yaomomo strikes again, but Monoma catches the weapon and steps inside its range to close the distance.

It’s his first and last mistake.

Yaomomo flicks the spear across her back and out of his grasp as she strikes out with a sweeping kick. Maybe Monoma could have blocked it. Maybe he could have dodged, but the inhuman strength behind it parts the purple mist in two. Dust whips across the arena, forcing Hitoshi to close his eyes as something far below cracks in a sharp resounding boom. When the dust settles, Monoma is collapsed out of bounds and halfway across the greenspace. 

He’s unconscious.

“HEY,” Ochako shouts over Mic’s announcement and the audience’s screaming. “If I win against Bakugou and whoever’s in the match afterwards, I might get to fight her!”

“Do you want to?” Hitoshi asks. He’s starting to feel a little sick. Yaomomo ended the match with one kick. 

One kick, and it was over. He knows she can strike harder than that - he’s seen it in class. Someday Yaomomo will probably be unbeatable, and Hitoshi is abruptly aware of the distance between himself and the top of their class.

He has a long way to go before he can reach her level.

“How can you not,” Ochako throws back, like that distance is easily covered. “She’s strength incarnate. How else am I gonna know how strong I am?”

Shoto shrugs. “Just fight All Might?”

Ochako opens her mouth, closes it, and stops to consider that option. “You know what? That’s an idea.”

This is evidence that his friends are all horrible. Hitoshi idly wonders if there’s some sort of friend-swap he can get involved in to separate himself from both of them. Ochako and Shoto share one brain cell that only makes an appearance in the face of any greater force of chaos. It’s a courtesy. Until Izuku pulls his vigilante nonsense or something catastrophic happens, they’ll keep causing internal crises.

Now that Hitoshi thinks about it, Izuku’s been unusually quiet. 

He glances over to find Izuku staring intently down at the arena, with his fingers laced and tucked under his chin. Hitoshi considers letting him brood, but Shoto and Ochako are debating which of their classmates might survive against All Might and that’s not a conversation Hitoshi can risk getting dragged into.

Hitoshi clears his throat and nudges his brother. “Izu- Sorry. Akatani?”

“Sorry, I’m just thinking,” Izuku murmurs without taking his eyes off the arena. “Usually she doesn't miscalculate her force by that much.”

Hitoshi raises an eyebrow and glances down at the arena. Now that the mist has cleared, they can see the thin crack spitting the concrete rectangle in two. Yaomomo did that. One kick, and concrete split as an afterthought. Cementoss is smoothing it over as they watch.

“Monoma’s ribs are probably shattered,” Hitoshi says. That’s gonna hurt for a long time. If he’s lucky he’ll escape without a punctured lung.

“She didn’t land it. Probably just cracked a couple.” Izuku leans back, adjusting his posture until he seems to find a comfortable enough position. “Shiozaki and Kaminari next. Hitoshi?”

“Yeah,” he says as he gets up. His match against Mina is now on deck, which gives him ten minutes or so to run through his notes. Making psychological profiles is hard. Remembering them in combat is even harder.

Izuku catches his arm before he leaves and offers a smile that’s all teeth and danger. “You have what it takes,” he promises. “Give them hell.”

It catches him off guard, because Izuku is brutally honest in his assessments. He says what he means. Hitoshi nods once, squares his shoulders, and heads or the preparation rooms. He has a match to win.

Hitoshi’s courage lasts until he’s standing in the arena across from Mina, who seems to be taking the Sports Festival as a formal - but no less exciting - challenge. Bakugo, Ochako, Yaomomo, and Shoto all want to win with a desperate kind of passion that the rest of their class can’t match. It’s a divide between seeing the Sports Festival as a nationally televised school event, or something more.

Bakugo and Ochako are reaching for the stars, testing their strength against the immovable force that is heroics. They’re fueled by ambition. Meanwhile, Yaomomo and Shoto are trying to prove something to themselves and to whoever makes them reach beyond their limits in hopes of being seen. It’s not hard to tell. Reading people is a vital part of Hitoshi’s quirk.

So he steps onto the stage and falls into the ready stance Izuku has corrected day after day. It’s not perfect. Izuku can’t spar with his injury, and Hitoshi only does so well with verbal instructions. 

But it’s an edge.

Mina could verbally wreck a man and forget it even happened. She’s going to be on guard from the beginning, but if he doesn't ask questions immediately, it might surprise her enough to forget later in the match. She’s talkative. He’s going to have to beat her with supportive words and encouragement.

Fuck it. It's time to beat up his classmate with faith, trust, and pixie dust.

“Start,” Midnight yells, and Mina skates forwards on her acid. Hitoshi hauls ass and gets out of the way, because acid burns do not sound like fun.

He dodges another blast of acid and throws himself forward to intercept her attack. He grabs a reaching wrist, steps behind her, and pulls the arm up to stop her from breaking away. Mina shrieks as her back bends automatically to relieve the pressure. The acid she’s using hisses when it splatters the ground, and he spares a moment to be grateful that she’s able to make non-lethal corrosives.

He’s not practiced at this move, and Mina flicks her free hand. Acid seats through his pant leg and Hitoshi releases her in shock. It won’t scar, but the acid still burns. He stumbles when his leg almost gives out. She kicks him hard enough he feels something give way in his chest. It hurts like hell. The shock gives Mina time to catch her breath, carefully flicking a hand to scatter drops of acid on the pavement.

Hitoshi almost asks his question.

Almost.

But Mina is well aware of his abilities, and the only way he’ll win this is by getting her too caught up in the match to remember her self-imposed silence. They haven’t been fighting long enough.

Hitoshi kicks out, aiming for the back of her knee. If he can limit her mobility he’ll have won half the battle. 

“Woah,” Mina says, stepping out of range. “Sneaky!”

“Not so bad yourself,” Hitoshi says through the pain wrapping around his ribs. He can’t ask questions yet.

Not yet.

Hitoshi gets up and immediately dodges back when Mina strikes out with a flat palm. She can’t shoot acid, only generate a variety of types from her palms and feet, but a blunt hit will still put him out of commission. One hit will end the match.

One hit or one question.

Who lands it first?

Hitoshi tries to regain his footing and stumbles away from an arcing kick that trails corrosive liquid. He’s on the defensive against a quirk like this, but at the first opportunity he pivots, braces, and nearly clips her with a kick.

Mina cackles as they begin brawling in earnest.

Not yet.

Hitoshi gasps when a particularly close hit forces him to bend aching ribs. It brushes against his hair, and sizzling hisses right next to his ear. Mina follows it up with a swatting hand trailing acid that sizzles when it hits his uniformed shoulder and burns like hellfire against his skin.

He lashes out instinctively with a jab cross Kirishima taught him in class. He feels it land and breaks away. There’s fire in his shoulder and Mina’s eyes when she spits either blood or acid and laughs like a demon.

Now.

“Shit, are you okay?” Hitoshi wheezes as he tests his arm’s range of movement.

“Yeah, that was wild!” Mina says, too caught up in the fight to catch the trap. “Where’d you learn-”

Gotcha.

Hitoshi braces his hands on his knees and wheezes his relief into the dusty concrete. 

“Walk out of bounds,” he orders, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Mina moves slowly, robotically. Each step feels like it takes hours until she steps over the white line marking victory.

Hitoshi closes his eyes and straightens up as Mic announces his win. By some miracle, he’s won. Mina stumbles when his control lifts and instantly starts up her usual manic laughter.

BONUS: Sero vs. Todoroki

Three seconds.

It all comes down to three tiny seconds.

Sero takes a deep breath and blows it out, already bending his arms back to prepare his quirk. He just has to dodge. After that, he has absolutely no plan, because thinking about anything but the first move will get him stuck in a massive ice cube. 

Todoroki stares at him blankly from across the arena. He’s barely in a starting stance, though with a quirk like that Sero wonders briefly why he’d ever bother.

Fuck.

This is impossible.

Izuku advised ‘surprise tactics and mobility,’ but Izuku’s also a crazy bastard who taught them how to broker information trades with vigilantes and who the 3rd year support students swear is a reformed villain. Sero isn’t sure he should be taking notes from someone with those vibes.

“Whoever I hurt in my past life to deserve this, I am so very sorry,” Sero whispers miserably  as Midnight raises her hand. “I was probably a murderer. A serial baby murderer who stomped on dog’s tails in my free time and never washed my hands.”

“Are you ready?” Midnight asks. She’s trying and failing to hide the smile at Sero’s pain, which is just plain insulting.

“Yeah,” he wheezes brokenly. This is a mistake. He can’t bail out, but three tiny seconds is barely anything. Todoroki’s going to annihilate him. Sero can’t deal with that; he’s too pretty to die in one overpowered shot like a shonen manga character.

Midnight drops her hand. “START.” 

One.

Sero dodges to the left. Ice crackles across the arena in a blazing trail of frozen spires. The abrupt change in temperature echoes across the arena with an audible snap.

Two.

He aims both lines of tape, one at the arena corner and one at a the top of the fucking glacier Todoroki is making. It’s still growing, but Todoroki hasn’t moved from his fixed position. Only the arena tape sticks. Sero pulls on the line like his life depends on closing that distance.

Three.

Sero sees Todoroki begin to raise a hand out of the corner of his eye, and everything seems to slow down. In an instant, he’s aware of everything. The audience’s dull roar, from civilians to heroes and his own class, cheering him on. Midnight has retreated out of the arena, and Todoroki-

Sero can’t see his face well from the corner of his eye.

Then the ice hits him like a mountainside. Sero gasps as he’s knocked off-course and frozen in place mid-tumble by a chunk of ice bigger than Sero’s entire house. Todoroki leaves his face and right arm mercifully free.

Silence weighs down the air as the cheers abruptly stop.

“Bit much, don’cha think?” Sero calls out through chattering teeth. The words echo around the stadium, and someone coughs.

“...Sorry,” Todoroki says. That one word breaks whatever spell has been holding the audience back. As Todoroki defrosts the ice, Sero catches on to what the audience is chanting amidst applause and whistles.

“Don’t mind,” a thousand voices call. 

Through the din Todoroki says, "I miscalculated."

“Miscalculated,” Sero echoes as Todoroki thaws him out. “What kind of one-hit-instant-kill power is that?”

Todoroki shrugs and melts the last of the ice. It’s slippery and Sero’s limbs feel like jelly, so Todoroki has to support him as he descends the glacier. He made it most of the way to the other end of the arena, and when he considers the massive amounts of ice built up around them, Sero’s pretty satisfied with that. He made it four seconds into the match. 

That’s four whole seconds of potential for the watching heroes to pick up on.

Chapter Text

“Wow,” Izuku says to himself as Hatsume’s voice rings across the stadium with near-manic glee. "Is she actually using the match to advertise?”

Hitoshi doesn’t reply because he’s fallen asleep. For a moment Izuku considers waking him up, but Hitoshi has a match to win against either Tsunotori or Kurorio. Maybe the rest will help.

“Is anybody listening? No? I could say whatever I want right now,” Izuku realizes. He keeps his volume exactly the same as he adds, “the Heroics Commission once tried to trap me inside their headquarters’ vents. I found out my cat is immortal last year. Hawks and I once tried to roast marshmallows on his agency’s lighting rod-”

Two rows in front of him, Jirou spits out her entire soda. Oh, hey, so someone was listening. Yaomomo sighs like this happens every day, while Kaminari scrunches his face up into an entire new shape out of disgust.

Jirou stares off into the middle distance in mortification for a couple seconds before twisting around to glare at him. “Hey Izuku? Quick question: what the absolute fuck.”

“Nobody will ever believe you,” Izuku whispers. He catches the empty soda can she throws at him. “Hey! And my name is Akatani today.”

“You know HAWKS!?”

Kaminari whips around to level accusing eyes at this new information. “Wait, really?”

Izuku tosses the can back and is saved from replying by Mic’s announcement. That was lucky, because Izuku was ready to lie and studies have shown he's abysmal at it. Small victories.

Incidentally, Tenya won.

If Nezdu really is rigging the matches - and Izuku’s not one for sucker bets against a certified genius - then there had to have been a reason Tenya wasn't placed against Kirishima or Hagakure. Hatsume is unpredictable at best and a nightmare at worst, which is a horrible combination with Tenya’s current lack of adaptability. Maybe it was a lesson?

When Tenya reappears in the stands and weathers the class’s condolences, Izuku offers the empty seat next to him. The crowd’s roar as Tsunotori squares off against Kurorio in the arena fails to wake Hitoshi.

“Next round,” he promises as Tenya sits down. “Tournament’s not over yet.”

“I should have been better.” It’s unspoken that his brother is watching, an ever-larger shadow Tenya is intent on chasing. 

“Ingenium’s a pretty good judge of character. I think he’ll know you did your best,” Izuku says evenly. It’s not what Tenya wants to hear. Judging by the way his eyebrows pinch together, Tenya doesn’t believe his best is good enough right now.

It is, though.

From what he’s seen, Hatsume would enter a cage match against Nezdu for a single support internship. She’s not someone Izuku would want to challenge. No, that’s someone you respect and avoid owing favors.

Izuku can’t voice any of this, because his phone buzzes. Only a few people from before his arrest know that number, so Izuku unlocks it suspiciously. He relaxes when the message is from Qwerty, Hosu’s primary vigilante.

Tenya looks away politely. He’s probably the only person in this class besides maybe Bakugo that Izuku trusts not to read over his shoulder.

QWERTY

Q: hi sorry i know ur undercover or something but its important

Q: knife stab spine

Q: how help?

Izuku nearly chokes on air, because Qwerty is like the gremlin baby of the vigilantes, who deals with purse snatchers and petty theft at most. They shouldn’t be getting stabbed. They should be bribing Knuckleduster and communing with the pigeons. Grasshopper was planning to teach them enough to not die, but then he’d gotten himself captured, bribed, and blackmailed into UA. 

If anyone hurt Qwerty, Grasshopper will take preventative measures and hunt the attacker down with every dirty trick he knows. It’s not revenge. Okay- maybe a tiny bit of revenge. But better Izuku does it than Dabi, who would take the sorry bastard down with his goddamn kitchen knife. 

QWERTY

who stabbed u

call the emergency line

Q: done. ingenium got stabbed and there is so much blood

youre safe?

Q: ye but i am mildly panicking

Its gonna be ok

pulse? And is he conscious

Q: i cant tell

Q: he’s also paralyzed from a quirk?

Q: idk, he lost a LOT of blood and I can’t make out what he’s saying

fuck

is the knife still in him

Q: uh

Q: I think he used it to stab the villain but they left before i got here

oh my god hes an idiot

Q: ingenium is so cool

no no wait how did i forget hes a dumbass

but the knife is not in him?

Q: no

Q: i can put it back?

NO

NO DO NOT

Q: AAAAAA OK

YOU WILL BE STABBING HIM

Q: I DIDN’T DO IT

OH THANK GOD

Q: SORRY

its ok sorry i panicked

is his armor still intact?

if you have to move him to check then Do Not

Q: its got a big hole from being stabbed and a little scratch on the chestplate? His leg looks pretty bad

Q: oh and his helmet is missing

good, he needs to breathe freely

ok i need you to use your quirk for this

Q: oh no

Q: no no nononono

Q: no i need you to talk me through this and im using my quirk as a phone

Q: i need support bc this is my first DYING HERO and i am mildly stressed

you can do it

and i’ll be right here if anything goes wrong

Q: DYING!! HERO!!!

The other option is you remove the armor to stop the bleeding with first aid but that might move him

we dont want that bc spine injuries are way too delicate for us to fix

I can talk you through it but still

Q: you have teacher vibes mr. bug-man

haha yes a teacher. wow why would you think that??

Q: YOU’RE A TEACHER????

Qwerty i need you to focus

Q: ok i just

Q: i need to swear bc this is a lot of news and a DYING HERO so can i uh

ok 2 seconds to panic

Q: f

go on

Q: FUCK

Oh BIG mood

Q: ok what do i do?

his armor has an interface by the neck. I need you to trigger the emergency medical protocols

it should have gone off but if he’s lost that much blood we can assume it’s been broken

Q: aaaaaaa ok uh

Q: it takes a lotta energy to mimic more than one device at a time so i'm gonna be offline for a bit

ok hang in there

we all believe in you and know youre capable of this

Ill be here until I hear you’re okay

Apparently im like a shitty Mr. Miyagi so listen... young grasshopper... you must believe in yourself

Q: sorry i have an alert for when you make terrible bug puns what

Q: oh

Q: ill try???

young grasshopper, how goes it

Q: WAIT I FORGOT THE PARENTHESIS

honestly hats off to you for coding

i can handle security systems but like. that’s it

Q: thank you??? it’s my entire quirk

Q: im physically made of code, everyone knows this

Q: ok he’s stable

still a skill that ppl would kill to have

extra impressive bc ur a baby

Q: IM NOT A BABY

 but Dabis latent brother instincts activate whenever he sees u?

Q: AT LEAST IM NOT A BUG

 u wanna say that to my face

Q: YEAH I’LL TAKE YOU DOWN

lol

Q: KNEECAPS GO FIRST

alas i have none

Peace offering of the greasiest fast food Dragon’s money can buy?

Q: hmmm

Q: chIKIN

Q: NUGGIES

Q: I accept ingredience

Q: oh the ambulance is here

get to the rooftops and report on his condition from there

they’re not allowed to approach u without a hero within a few blocks and Enigma is off shift on afternoons. Nightcrawler won’t be out till 10

Q: thank!

lmk when you’re done

“Everything okay?” Tenya asks beside him, and Izuku nearly drops his phone.

Shit.

Izuku could tell him. Tenya has every right to know his brother got stabbed - in the spine, and possibly paralyzed, which is a scenario Izuku is uncomfortably familiar with. Additionally, Izuku is his friend, or at least likes to consider them as such. He doesn't even remember when they switched to first names, just that it happened organically.

Withholding this information feels like a betrayal.

“No,” he says eventually, and Tenya’s eyes snap to the stadium as he scans for threats. “I just received bad news. About something relevant to both of us, but I don’t know for sure. And I will tell you, I promise, just… give me a while to confirm it.”

“...Izuku?” Tenya asks. He sounds lost, and maybe two seconds from figuring it out, so Izuku shakes his head. If Tenya asks, Izuku will tell him. But for now, Tenya’s performance in his next match determines internships, which in turn will help define his career.

“Focus on your match. I’ll explain after that.” Izuku is confident Ingenium will survive that long. Qwerty only really listens to people when they’re panicking, and they were confident at the end of their conversation. Ingenium will survive.

Tenya turns back to the arena with a straight shoulders, even as his voice wavers. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You guys look like someone died,” Shoto says directly behind Izuku. He then proceeds to forsake the easily accessible stairs, instead climbing over two whole rows of chairs to sit not beside either Tenya or Hitoshi like a normal person, but instead directly in front of them. Tenya snaps into lecture mode.

Well.

That’s one way to break the tension.

Izuku settles back to watch Ochako’s match and pretends he isn’t hyper-aware of his silent phone.

Ochako never really had a rival. She had friends before UA - that’s never been hard - but she’s never had the competition she wanted either. Nobody else was aiming for hero in their career counseling or willing to pick up an exercise routine with her. Ochako likes tackling challenges with friends, but she’d done her best. It was barely enough. The exams were stomach-turning in more ways than one.

But she’d gotten an acceptance letter and that’s one step closer to her goal.

So she laughs and packs her bags. Her mother effortlessly loads heavy suitcases into the back of her father’s company car, and they play music all the way to UA. She’d been told it would just be her, the on-duty teacher, and a student teacher. 

That had been enough to make her nervous, but later that evening Izuku made dinner and admitted he was planning on stealing Endeavor’s staplers. Hitoshi joined not long afterwards, and Tenya had marched over to their friend group and made himself at home. Tsu has grown close as well, though their friendship is closer, woven with steel thread in a way the others aren’t yet.

But that’s not the friendly competition Ochako needs.

She knows people think she’s soft. They see round cheeks and wide eyes and ignore the blood and sweat that got her into UA. Her quirk isn’t powerful without direction and strategy. She wants to fight, because there’s only so long anyone can stand being mistaken for a fraction of their personality. There are two choices: conform to those expectations, or burn them to the ground.

Ochako’s always wanted to be dangerous.

It’s a part of her. Closely contained frustration is stamped down out of age-old habit. But Ochako isn’t going to win this Sports Festival by only fighting as half of herself. 

Ochako brushes off the warnings, the platitudes, and steps out into harsh arena lights with even harsher fire in her blood. The audience doesn't’ think she’ll win - doesn't believe someone like her can beat such a ruthless opponent. Unfortunately for anyone betting on a quick match, Ochako’s excited precisely because she knows her opponent won’t give in.

She meets Bakugo’s eyes and thinks of the competition she needs to be better, stronger. She meets Bakugo’s eyes and thinks, maybe.

One voice rises above the others, calling for her to decline the match.

“NOT A CHANCE IN HELL,” Bakugo roars back, and Ochako grits her teeth. It’s nice of him, but she can fight her own battles. He’ll learn that soon enough.

Midnight doesn’t comment, just raises her whip as Ochako and Bakugo face each other. The fighting stance is familiar. She hasn’t been practicing long, but the gyms Ochako has visited have drilled enough basics in that she’s steady, confident. 

The arena quiets in anticipation, waiting for Midnight to start the match.

“Give them blood, you two,” the heroine mutters, just loud enough to hear. 

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” she says. Bakugo grins like a wolf. It’s possible she imagines the way Midnight’s mouth tugs back into a smile every bit as bloodthirsty as her own.

“START,” Midnight roars, and steps back. Ochako dodges Bakugo’s explosion, moving forward rather than back like she would have a month ago.

She isn’t fast enough to grab Bakugo’s wrist. His other hand flashes out, explosion pushing them apart, but the defensive move feels like a victory even as Ochako is knocked back. She rolls with it, comes up on all fours, and laughs.

Bakugo stares for a second before he’s smiling too.

“Never took you for a brawler, Pink-Cheeks,” he taunts.

“That’s your mistake.” Ochako launches herself forward, dodging a smaller explosion. The month of training helps her close the distance, and Ochako nearly grabs his wrist this time before she’s pushed back again. She skids to a stop and is off again.

Ochako knows physics instinctively. She’s not good with numbers, can’t detangle the equations, but she’s good with predicting how things move after using her quirk for so long. It’s a skill born of observation, and Ochako has noticed something interesting. Bakugo needs to change the position of his hands to attack. He changes the direction of his explosions with his wrists and shifts weight with his shoulders, which gives Ochako two distinct points to target on each side.

She may be wrong. She may also be right.

Ochako’s feeling lucky today.

Bakugo catches onto her goal after the fourth try, and switches the pattern. When he blasts her away the next time, he follows. Ochako rolls to the side and kicks out in the opening between explosions.

It’s messy, but enough that he stumbles.

Ochako gets to her feet and meets his eyes. Bakugo holds off on the explosions this time. The arena is cratered from the force of their match. The ground is free of debris. Ochako knows if he looks up her backup plan is out the window, and she has to draw his fire to keep him from noticing. That’s fun enough.

They circle each other warily.

He’s figured out she’s a bigger threat now, though Ochako has the pleasure of knowing exactly why. Bakugo fights because he has a goal, but Ochako fights for the thrill. Theoretically that makes her more prone to risks.

Ochako makes the first move.

She barely gets two steps before the explosion hits. Ochako skids back, spares a mournful thought for the state of her sneakers, and throws herself back at Bakugo. She shrugs off her jacket, sets it floating as a decoy, and runs before a blast consumes it. 

Bakugo swears when she rams into him from the side, but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from gripping his wrist with five fingers as they fall. Ochako throws an elbow into his stomach as they go and takes a small, popping explosion to the cheek. They hit the ground, and Ochako’s shoulder drives the breath out of Bakugo’s lungs.

Victory tastes like warm copper from the inside of her cheek. 

Bakugo wheezes a swear, free hand flicking up before she can stop it. The explosion blasts her back a couple paces. Her hand is still around Bakugo’s wrist, so he’s dragged after her. He attempts to correct course with an explosion, and nearly throws them both out of the ring. Ochako hits the ground with her feet, then knees, and puts all her strength into tossing a still-weightless Bakugo out of the arena.

Explosions pop, and he hits the ground right next to the border. This is as close as he’ll get to the edge.

Bakugo is too good to underestimate her again.

Ochako stands up, forcing herself to sprint towards him.

“Release,” she breathes between steps, and rocks hail down. Bakugo’s eyes flick up, then to her. He pulls up both hands in a blast.

The force is greater than she expected, and Ochako is thrown back.

She’s pushed him so far he’s stopped spitting curses. With a little luck and elbow grease, she’ll push him right out of the ring. Ochako grits her teeth and presses on.

She forces herself up and sprints again. Bakugo meets her halfway, explosions adding force to his hits. Close combat is good, because Ochako can see the strain on his face even though he’s snarling at every blocked hit. 

She lands a kick, but leaves herself open for a split second too long. That’s all Bakugo needs. An explosion hits her side, and Ochako stumbles. She grabs his wrist, re-directs an explosion off to the left, and throws her weight down in an attempt to get him off-balance. He goes with it, twists free, and catches her with another detonation. 

Ochako struggles to her feet, slipping into a ready stance just as Bakugo prepares for another blast-

“URARAKA OCHAKO IS OUT OF BOUNDS. BAKUGO KATSUKI IS THE WINNER!”

Ochako stares at the white line under her foot. Her heel sticks out over the edge by a centimeter at most.

“We weren’t DONE,” Bakugo screams hoarsely at the announcing booth, and Ochako realizes abruptly she must have removed gravity from him in the last scuffle. He’s floating steadily higher. She releases her quirk, and he saves himself from falling clumsily with a controlled blast. She helps him up and winces when her blistering ribs burn with the movement.

“Next year,” Midnight tells them over the roar of the crowd, but Bakugo doesn't seem to hear it.

Ochako’s knees sting, and she’s pretty sure there’s blood in her mouth from biting her cheek. Her arms are scraped up, too.

“Oi,” Bakugo calls impatiently, waving a hand in front of her face.

Ochako stares at him.

“You good? That burn probably hurts like a bitch.” He slaps her hand away from her face. “Don’t touch it, dumbass.”

“They stopped the match over a centimeter,” Ochako realizes as he tugs her down the steps. The crowd’s roar has reached high enough levels that Bakugo has her repeat it before he can hear.

“And a fucking half,” Bakugo spits once she’s screamed the words into his ear. “Shitty ending, right when it was getting good.”

Ochako cackles, ignoring tight skin that stretches across the burn on her cheek. “I would have won.”

“In your dreams.” Bakugo crosses his arms, flinches, and recrosses them gingerly. “Recovery Girl’s gonna kick our asses.”

Ochako winces at this. At least the match was a good one.

Izuku stares at the wreckage left behind from Ochako and Bakugo’s match. He’d known she was good. With a little practice and some training - especially the style Knuckleduster teaches - she could be a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t realize she had the strategic mind to match.

He texts Knuckleduster as they wait for the arena to be cleared. This is a bad idea. A horrible, terrible idea, because there’s no way introducing his friend to a vigilante won’t end badly. Alas, the need to support his classmates compels him.

Tenya left for the preparation rooms partway through Ochako’s hell match, and Shoto has migrated up to their row in his place. Ochako collapses into her empty seat next to Hitoshi, somehow waking him up when Mina counting explosions at maximum volume three seats away had failed. It’s impressive. Someday Izuku wants to be able to pass out that easily.

“We agreed to spar after class,” she tells them cheerfully, and Hitoshi visibly shudders. Nobody except maybe Kirishima lacks enough fear to spar with Bakugo in their free time. That’s like asking to be an explosion test dummy, even with teacher surveillance.

“I maintain that you don’t have mortal limits,” Hitoshi says, voicing what they’re all thinking. Ochako grins like a fox in a hen house. It suits her, horrifyingly enough.

“Okay, that’s it,” Izuku decides. “So. You’re terrifying enough already, but would you, possibly - please know I am experiencing so much fear - want to get trained by one of the people who taught me?”

Ochako squeaks and claps both hands over her mouth. “Really?”

Hitoshi looks slightly awed as if he’s only just realizing what she could do with real combat training. Shoto’s expression is more apprehensive and calculating. It’s fully warranted. Ochako could reach the top ten if she works hard enough, and maybe even top three with the right press team. That kid with the intangibility quirk from third year might make it difficult, though. Bakugo and Yaomomo are in the running, too.

“I refuse to to regret this,” Izuku says, “so just... promise me you won’t go digging into how we know each other. He’s- well. You’ll meet him and figure it out, probably.”

“Absolutely,” Ochako says, steel and stars in her eyes. She’s going to break the world someday, and Izuku hopes he’ll be around to see it. He shakes off the thought and pats his pockets until he finds his wallet, and draws out the worn business card.

“Here,” he says, passing it to Ochako who reads it curiously. Hitoshi peers over her shoulder. 

“Oguro’s Gym?” Hitoshi asks. Shoto subtly starts typing on his phone, likely searching the name. That’s not necessarily a good thing, but anything from a basic internet search is a cover story. 

“It’s run by an ex-hero I know,” Izuku says. “Tell him Hops sent you.”

It won’t be free, no matter what that old man says. Izuku will pay for Ochako’s lessons if it takes breaking in and stuffing the money into Knuckleduster’s cash register like a reverse-robbery. It’s fine. Oguro already knows Izuku’s doing this, and won’t spill his identity to Ochako. Anyone around for more than a year knows better, and Knuckleduster is one of the most experienced vigilantes out there with a full seven years or so under his belt. He’s a good teacher, too.

“Hops,” Ochako repeats thoughtfully. Shoto doesn't seem to hear them, instead scrolling through something on his phone. That’s just as well - ‘Hops’ is uncomfortably close to his name, and Izuku would like to limit the number of people who hear it.

“A nickname, to match my aunt,” Izuku says vaguely, and hopes the mention of the Rabbit Hero is enough to distract them. Ochako nods and pockets the card.

“O’Clock,” Shoto says, holding up the wiki page on his phone. “I thought his name was familiar. He’s-”

“Retired, yeah.”

“Presumed dead,” Shoto corrects, expression completely unreadable. “MIA.”

Izuku shuts his mouth with a click. He had no idea. Knuckleduster’s business is his own, and they’re treading very close to a line that can’t be crossed. Identities are always closely guarded amongst vigilanties, and even closer is the story of what led them to this life. Nobody asks. Nobody tells. Most importantly, nobody researches each other without permission.

“Then that’s his business,” Izuku says. “If he hasn’t told me, I don’t want to know.”

“That’s an odd way to look at it.” Ochako slips the card into her pocket. “I kind of want to know who I’m learning from.”

“A knucklehead,” Izuku tells them, inwardly applauding his own clever joke. Alas, nobody will ever know. “But he’s a loyal one who knows his stuff. Fights like a reckless brawler, finds ruthlessly efficient solutions. Don’t ask about his quirk or his backstory, it’s impolite.”

“Suspicious,” Shoto says as Izuku collects his crutches. Maybe the leg supports are enough, but if he uses both there’s a chance to walk almost completely pain free for once this year, and that’s the sort of sweet justice Izuku needs in his life.

“So just another day at UA.” Ochako props her feet up on the chair in front of her. Tokoyami makes a disgusted noise and pushes her shoes away from his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll watch Tenya’s match from the arena edge.” Izuku hops up a row of chairs and nearly trips over his own feet like a fool. “See y’all later. Don’t pry into Oguro’s life!”

“I will respect your weird friend’s boundaries,” Ochako promises. Shoto nods beside her.

Izuku misses most of Tenya and Kirishima’s match.

Instead, he calls who he can and texts several contacts in Hosu. Ever the hero, Nightcrawler curses him out and threatens to lock him in a cage with a rabid bear if he steps foot in the city again. Equally characteristically, Enigma doesn't pick up. Neither are any help. Izuku closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and texts Dad to call him before spamming Qwerty’s number with bug jokes. Out in the arena’s bright lights, the stadium shakes as crowds of civilians and heroes alike cheer on the match. Whatever the outcome is, Izuku hopes Tensei will be alive to hear it.

QWERTY

hey

hey Q

what do you call a grasshopper that cant jump

A WALK IN THE PARK

ks;djffjha;lk I MADE THAT UP BY MYSELF

hold on i have so many of these

guess what a villain told me once

stop BUGGING me

Q: I WILL BLOCK YOU

UR ALIVE

Q: I AM?

Q: and youve told me that joke so many times pls get new material

hey everybody’s a cricket

Q: I

Q: where are you? Not because I’m gonna short out your lights. just for curiosity’s sake :)

UA sports fest :)

Q: oh that one was actually funny

haha yea h

Q: whAT

Q: PICS OR IT DIDNT HAPPEN

Trade u for info on if Ingenium’s ok

Q: deal. gimme

[Image sent]

Q: are you backstage???

Izuku finishes the conversation with a couple evasions and makes another call. The crowd’s dull roar increases dramatically as Present Mic’s voice rings out.

A victor has been decided.

Tenya marches back in with smoke staining his gym uniform and purpose in the thin line of his mouth. Izuku can’t meet his eyes, not after receiving news from Qwerty that Ingenium was taken into the hospital. It had taken a bit of information trading from there and a bribe of very expensive coffee, but he’d found a member of Dragon’s Hoard undercover at the hospital willing to confirm that Ingenium is stable.

Izuku hates being the one to give this kind of news. Vigilantes do it less than heroes, but they still have their share of failures.

“Izuku,” Tenya begins. “I know you enjoy being mysterious, but if you don’t mind sharing whatever it is-”

“I got news from Hosu,” Izuku interrupts. Tenya’s arms go slack from the gesturing, and devastation breaks over his face plain as day. There’s still hope, but it’s tampered down. Both of them know exactly why Tenya specifically would need his attention on Hosu. Dread lowers Tenya’s voice to a rasp.

“What happened?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Your brother is stable, from what I’ve heard. He’ll live. Go be with your family, Tenya. I’ll take care of the papers for early dismissal.”

Tenya stares straight through Izuku, so he telegraphs as he hesitantly tugs his friend into a hug. Tenya doesn’t hug him back, and Izuku steps back.

“He needs you,” Izuku says, because he’s familiar with the lack of light in Tenya’s eyes, and knows that it needs a direction to focus. “Go.”

Izuku leans against the wall, listening to Tenya’s rapidly receding footsteps. 

It takes a second to text Aizawa and Midnight that Tenya’s dropping out due to a possible family emergency. He has so much paperwork to do now, and all the forms are way upstairs in the faculty observation booth. That’s too far. The complex string of emojis Midnight sends back translates to concern and support for both Tenya and Izuku’s decision to fill out the forms later. Aizawa leaves him on read because he’s rude like that. 

No, wait, he’s sent a single question mark. 

Way to go, Aizawa. 

That’s 10/10 communication skills right there.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you excuse an absence,” a familiar voice says, and Yaomomo steps out of the shadows. She assesses the direction Tenya went before considering Izuku again. “You were involved.”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Izuku shrugs, then shakes his head. “Both. Your match is next?”

“I’ve done all I can,” Yaomomo says simply. She tilts her head to the side, studying him with eyes too sharp for a first-year, and Izuku is instantly on guard. She has the same calculating look as Nezdu. “You said you were around for advice?”

Pushing through the worry over Ingenium, Izuku says, “vines, right? What are you thinking?”

“I have a few ideas but can’t decide on one. If you could reframe the scenario, I would appreciate it.” Yaomomo stands tall, more like a soldier at ease than a student. It’s an eerie reminder that she’s likely being trained outside of school as well. Maybe tutors? Her family is well-known, and her records state that she and Shoto both attended a junior high schooling program made for future heroes.

Or was it whoever gave her that quirk?

“Okay, give me a moment.” Izuku chances a glance into the arena. They’re still sweeping it in preparation for the next match. “What can you do that would be her worst-case scenario?”

Yaomomo doesn't hesitate. “Bombs.”

Yeah, that makes sense-

Wait.

Did she just say bombs?

There’s no way Yaomomo is planning to blow up such a small space while she’s in it. That’s asking for major injuries, and Shiozaki’s quirk does not provide any perfect defense strategies. Plus, Yaomomo is deadly in close combat with superstrength alone. Why would she bring explosives into an already fair match?

Izuku gives a polite little smile that covers up his internal screaming. “I’m sorry, I thought you said bombs. What?”

“I did. Bombs,” Yaomomo repeats, like it’s actually an option and not a death wish for everyone involved. “I’ve been learning how to make them since I was little. Flash grenades were my first complex quirk use, and after that my parents made sure that if I was intent on this path, I’d do it safely. They added an extra class on demolition to my education. Fire, maybe?”

Izuku nearly asks what parent would let their six-year-old make bombs before he realizes she’s returned to discussing the match. “...Fire and blades would make things difficult for her, yeah.”

“Maybe both,” Yaomomo muses, eyes on the ring and hope in the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Shiozaki is strategic enough to give me a run for it. I wanted to talk to her before the match, but- well. I’ve always wanted a rival.”

Izuku debates telling her that Shiozaki walked straight into a wall once when she saw Yaomomo in the hallway, but ultimately decides that this is none of his business. 

“Alright. Live your rival dreams and win that match. Super strength will be a difficult match for immobilization, though.” Izuku tucks his chin behind a fist as he thinks. Yaomomo has potential to be a hero on All Might’s level. She has a very good chance of making the top ranking between her strength, intelligence, and generosity. Whoever gave her that second quirk chose well. 

“I can’t count on only that,” Yaomomo explains. “I’ve worked out that diluting my strength across my body allows for less internal damage, but if she corners me, I may end up breaking my own bones to get out.”

Oh, ouch. Izuku would take that risk because he could care less about pithy things like his skeleton in the face of potential friendship matches, but anyone else? Horrible idea. Terrible. Avoid at all costs.

“Then keep from being cornered,” he says instead of voicing these thoughts. “If you have ground, defend it from all sides. If it is overtaken, run. Use that speed.”

“She’ll immobilize me,” Yaomomo predicts idly.

“Really? In her shoes I’d try to herd you out of the ring.”

“Hm. I’m not given to bets, but would you care to make a wager?”

Fuck it.

“Sure,” Izuku decides, and takes the hand she offers to shake on it. When her grip tightens, he belatedly realizes Yaomomo is very likely the smartest person in their class. This is a trap. It’s very carefully made one, and he walked right into it. He can’t leave with Yaomomo’s quirk-strong grip on his hand, but can’t stay when she’s picking up on clues he hasn’t meant to leave around.

“If she goes for immobilization, you tell me what your quirk is,” Yaomomo says, icily calm. That’s dangerous information, and she knows it perfectly well. “What do you want?”

One look at the fire in her eyes tells Izuku that leaving without a wager is not an option. This is a security risk. A whole catastrophe waiting to collapse right under their noses.

UGH.

His best shot is to ask for something that’s an equal security risk and hope she’ll call it off. The problem is that any information given to him will be scrutinized and counted as a leak. That’s the downside of being a known criminal. Still. This is an opportunity.

“Tell Aizawa Sensei who gave you that quirk,” he decides, ignoring Yaomomo’s scowl. There’s no way she’ll do it. “And I’m only agreeing if the winning party has a meeting right afterwards with Nezdu.”

Yaomomo glances out at the arena for barely a second. “Deal.”

Ooh, Izuku hates his terrible luck sometimes.

They shake on it. It's been a long time since Izuku has fallen into a trap this badly, especially when the odds are out of his control. 

Yaomomo thanks him politely and leaves, off to break bones or whatever else counts as a proposition of rivalry to Shiozaki. Izuku tucks a slightly bruised hand into his pocket and tries not to think about the cost of losing.

Sighing from the bottom of his miserably exhausted heart, Izuku retreats down the hallway until he finds a quiet section far away from the roaring crowds and booming announcements. He slides down to sit against the hallway wall and pulls up his hood. Today has used less energy than expected, and Izuku could probably handle a fight if anything goes wrong, but he's still low on spoons. 

Izuku leans back against the cool hallway wall. He needs to rest, just for a bit. In five minutes he’ll be a responsible TA again.

Meditation has never worked for him in the traditional sense, but taking the time to process everything - from back pain to the dull thrum of distant crowds - might help regain spoons faster than a nap. So he clears his mind and starts sorting through the ache in his bones and tension in his spine.

Izuku jumps slightly when his phone rings. The caller ID is blocked, but he answers anyway, because sometimes you gotta be stupid to get the good information. 

“Hello?”

“Are ya winning, son?” a voice asks, rough with dried smoke but achingly familiar. Izuku nearly drops his phone.

“Dad!?”

“Just wanted to check in – is that one kid with the muscle mass of a pretzel stick the new son Inko was telling me about?”

“Hey, he’s got at least two pretzels worth of muscle. Be nice.” Izuku sits up, checking the hallway to make sure he’s not being evesdropped on. “I’d call him exhausted, slightly self-deprecating, and oddly loyal to every cat he sees.”

“Did you see him in the first round? That kid got him with the acid and he kept going like it was nothing! I’ve half a mind to give him a rank in the Dragon’s Hoard.”

“I- what?” Izuku can’t be hearing this right. There’s no way his father, a known mob boss, wants to give a heroics student a rank. That- that doesn't make any sort of sense, and will get everyone involved in so much trouble. Izuku’s technically already in a glorified house arrest and even he doesn't want to deal with that.

“You know what his last name is?” Dad asks, abruptly dead serious. “I knew Shinsou - the elder, anyway. He got power hungry fast. The moment he figures out his kid is a promising heroics student - and one with Inko’s name as backing - he’ll come calling. Inko’s nearly done with her end of things, but this is yakuza business. He won’t listen to the law.”

“And offering a rank stakes a claim in the underworld,” Izuku summarizes, the pit in his stomach sinking ever lower. “He’s a heroics student, Dad. Offering a rank to a hero jeopardizes their whole career, and I won’t step in the way of Hitoshi’s dreams like that.”

“Names are safety. You know this,” Dad says. He’s right, but that just makes this situation worse. Izuku is perfectly aware that he’d be locked up for illegal quirk use if not for the blood he carries. Mom’s name is keeping him safe right now. If pressed, he may have to use Dad’s as well. But Izuku willingly chose a life in the grey zone between hero and villain, while Hitoshi had already drawn his alliances when they met. It’s different.

“I’m not a hero,” Izuku says. “Hitoshi will be. A rank could ruin him.”

“Going without could do that just as easily. Inko adopting him puts Hitoshi in the running for heir if anything happens to you. So clarifying I don’t want a hero running things sorts out all these wriggly little politics with a neat bow.”

It can’t be that easy. Dad has to know this, so there must be something else going on in Hosu for him to get antsy.

“You think this class is in danger,” Izuku guesses. Static brushes through the call as Dad sighs. 

“I can’t say.” The phone crackles as Dad sets it down on something crunchy. Izuku chooses to believe it’s crumpled paper and not snack packaging. “I love and support you both, and I’ll do what I can on this end. But that might not be a lot.”

That’s a ‘yes, you are in danger but I can’t admit it without causing problems on a ridiculously large scale’ if Izuku’s ever heard one. Some families have normal conversations. What do they talk about? School? Volleyball?

That’s a sport, right?

“I want a vacation,” Izuku says abruptly.

“Oh, same. I filled my high school’s second floor with cows as a senior prank but your uncle did the same thing with crocodiles in the basement and it didn’t end well. Anyway, find your people and it’ll work out. Eyes on the horizon.” Dad pauses, idly tapping either wood or his phone case. “Sounds like you need a hug. Come to Hosu, and bring your brother.”

Izuku stares blankly at the hallway lights. 

“Like… face-to-face?” He hasn’t seen Dad in years. Dragon is notorious for never stepping outside of his ‘cave,’ and any move he makes is always tracked by hero and villain alike. Izuku’s only met him twice to keep the target on his back small. 

Meeting Dragon would be akin to nose diving into the underworld for Hitoshi. It’s a strong start, but only if he can take the accompanying trouble.

“If he’s willing, yes.” Dad quiets slightly, and Izuku hears the rustle as he gets up to pace. “If he wants to stay away from my side of the family then I understand. His future is his own to decide, and it’s my job to support that in whatever form it takes. I never got that choice.”

“I know,” Izuku says, quieter. Dad was shoved into the role of ‘villain’ as soon as his quirk manifested. He’s worked hard to keep Izuku out of Hosu.

It’s entirely Hitoshi’s choice.

“I’ll ask him,” he promises. The stadium shakes around him with the force of a thousand cheering voices. “Internship week if so?”

“Sounds good. Make sure you rest up, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Kick UA’s butt and I’ll double your allowance for a month,” Dad adds like a true petty mob boss out to mortify the local heroes. “And I’ll take care of that group running around in your name. They’re getting into hot water with the Hero Commission.”

“Thanks, but I already have someone working on that. It’s not like UA will ask me to participate, though.”

“Ehn. Nezdu will probably do something terrible and not-fun for everyone. He was like that when we fought.” This, sir, is playing with fire. Now the universe will definitely make something happen and we all know whose fault that will be. Dad’s line dissolves into static as the last few words are muffled. “Alright, I gotta run. Love you, stay safe.”

“To the moon and back,” Izuku says.

“To the moon and back.” The dial tone washes through, ending their conversation. Not a second later, Nezdu’s voice chirps through the intercom, calling Izuku to his office.

“No,” Izuku whispers, outraged. Dad jinxed him. “No- what? No, this can’t be allowed. This is- I refuse. Zero star reviews. I’m not fighting in that arena.”

Suffice to say, Izuku is not unimpressed. 

He remains unimpressed while Nezdu explains that since Izuku is a month over halfway through recovery and Endeavor has offered a frankly obscene amount of funding to the school if Izuku participates, they’re changing up the matches.

Izuku will participate in the finals.

He hates it. 

Dad was right. 

Actually, this is morbidly hilarious considering Dad might destroy the school once he sees Izuku kick ass and break his back in the final.

“This is bribery,” Izuku snarls, slamming a hand onto Nezdu’s desk to enforce the word. “This is taking advantage of an injury to do me lasting harm physically and mentally. He’s a fucking adult and should know better.” They both see what's happening for what it is, but someone has to actually say the words so it’s on record and Izuku can say ‘I told you so’ once everything has gone to shit.

“Nevertheless, we must.” Nezdu laces his paws under his nose. His expression is unreadable. “UA has lacked public funding and approval ever since the USJ. If it will keep our students safe, any action is worth the cost.”

The cost being Izuku’s spine. The school is playing with his ability to stand up for three seconds without feeling even more like death incarnate. Nezdu’s logic is coldly utilitarian. Even though Izuku's heard rumors, this is his first time dealing with such a blatant sacrifice of personnel. Nezdu would put Izuku six feet under in a second if it would save the class.

Izuku crosses his arms so he won’t make any one of the rude gestures he so desperately wants to express. “Any action is worth it for the good of the whole, huh?”

It’s a dirty phrase, all too often used to justify needless waste. This deal is revenge constructed by Endeavor, and Nezdu is just sitting there, letting lines be crossed like this is a game of hopscotch. There will be hell to pay.

When Izuku is out being a masked dumbass who fights crime and avoids hospitals, that’s a risk he chooses to take. Endeavor forcing him into a match is wrong, even if Izuku would take the same combat and security risks for his students in a heartbeat. He’s tempted to refuse before he remembers his classmates’s positions at UA. If UA needs funding later and Endeavor’s offer comes to light, the school may be criticized for not taking it. Support will diminish. The school may also be forced to let class 1A go specifically due to their contact with villains. They deserve UA’s education. Some don’t have backup plans for if the school drops them.

Ochako and Kaminari have both told him they’re becoming heroes to support their families.

Fuck. 

He can’t back out. 

Nezdu meets his eyes. The equal frustration there is a pleasant surprise because it means Endeavor just made another dangerous enemy. It’s the first time they’re in full agreement about a bad decision since Izuku stepped foot into UA. Endeavor will pay. If the hero is forcing Izuku and UA to play this game, they will burn him in revenge. 

“Okay,” Izuku forces through gritted teeth, “but we acknowledge that this is suspicious, and I get a functional disguise, fake ID, and weapons.”

Nezdu bares his own teeth in what’s almost a wince but looks more like a snarl. “Powerloader has everything ready, I’ll send it through.”

Izuku stands, bows, and leaves. He shuts the principal’s door behind him and leans against it. This isn’t good. It’s not fair, either, but Izuku’s less surprised about that. 

“I want to go home,” Izuku whispers to the empty hallway. He doesn't even know if home is his apartment with Dabi, the dorms with Hitoshi, wherever Mom is, or even Hosu with Dad.

This is going to hurt.

Chapter Text

The preparation room is empty when Izuku arrives to inspect the gear from PowerLoader.

Awesome.

Inazuma made most of his weaponry, and Izuku spares a thought for what assignment PowerLoader threw at his class to justify this. He’d suspected Nedzu’s involvement with the reinforced leg braces from Inazuma earlier, but at this point the principal is essentially saying he knows about her ties to Grasshopper. It might be a warning to her, or a threat to him. Nezdu’s hard to read.

Not for the first time, Izuku regrets his job. Everything was so much easier when he could run from, and/or punch his problems before burning off stress by antagonizing Endeavor. Arson helps, too.

Izuku’s therapist says that’s Dabi’s influence.

Izuku finishes double-checking the practice knives, shoves the gear aside, and starts selecting an outfit specifically for Endeavor’s temper. His options are glitter, All Might merchandise, or a white sweatshirt on which he can write ‘FUCK ENDEAVOR’ on the back. That last one might be a bit too pointed.

Izuku straps on the arm gaurds as he thinks.

Hmmmm.

Choices, choices.

Fuck it, he’ll combine all three. Where’s the glitter glue Pop sent?

“Hey, kid.”

“Busy,” Izuku tells the voice behind him. He’s going to wear this All Might hoodie and he’s going to get on Endeavor's nerves by doing it if it’s the last thing he accomplishes on this earth. Maybe he’ll get a laugh out of Shoto, too. Where did those knives get to-

“Kid!”

Izuku spins around at the sharp voice. “I’m sorry, what-“

He breaks off at the sight of his aunt waving from just inside the doorway. She’s in a light jacket and jeans, blending into the civilian crowd well.

“Aunt Rumi?”

“Ignoring people is rude,” she tells him roughly, and Izuku doesn’t miss the purposefully relaxed posture with both hands visible. No weapons in sight. “Doing okay? They wouldn’t let me check in and the police have been a pain in my ass-“

Izuku tackles her in a hug. It’s a bad idea to startle any hero, but Aunt Rumi is used to dealing with civilians. Besides, this reunion has been waiting for a long time. It’s been well over half a year since he’s seen her, and even that wasn’t on the best of terms. He’s glad she’s ok.

Strong arms wrap around him as Aunt Rumi laughs in disbelief. “Well, shit. You’re awfully quick to forgive.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Izuku returns, scared to look up. Miruko had every right to strike back against Grasshopper in that raid, and Aunt Rumi had no need to forgive him for faking his death. But she’s here. That has to count for something.

When he steps back, Aunt Rumi ruffles his hair just like she used to before-

Well. 

He was quirkless, last time they actually talked. Those days feel like a whole lifetime away.

“I’m sorry,” she says simply. Aunt Rumi has never been good at voicing mushy things like her emotions, but Izuku hears the words anyway. Sorry for hurting you, sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. The apology doesn't sit right. Izuku was the one to disappear without a word and keep the truth of his survival quiet, despite knowing the guilt and grief would drag behind Aunt Rumi’s heels for months, or more likely, years. He should be asking her forgiveness, not the other way around.

He can only imagine what it must have been like to realize only after she’d crushed his back. She deserved to know.

But Izuku had frozen the spread of information from the beginning. Every single member of his birth family who has found out he’s alive did so through their own investigation. Pop is the exception.

“I’m the sorry one,” Izuku says. “About- everything.”

“Still apologizing when you did nothing wrong.” Aunt Rumi grumbles. “Don’t let the world walk over you, Usagiyama.”

“No shit?”

The shaken look on Aunt Rumi’s face is something Izuku plans on treasuring for the rest of his life. She pales, outraged, and slaps both hands over Izuku’s mouth.

“Don’t swear with my sister’s baby-face.” she hisses, looking around desperately as if Bakugo is going to pop up from the floorboards and cuss them both out like a sailor. “Who taught you that word?”

“I don’t know?” Izuku offers, still muffled by the hand attempting to hold forbidden words back.

“You don’t know- fuck, Inko is going to kill me.”

Izuku snickers, batting away her hands. He missed this. Aunt Rumi gives him an assessing look as if trying to divine the past few years of suffering from his expression alone.

“Is UA really treating you alright? They’re a bunch of overworked heroes trying to keep their students alive, and I’m assuming nobody’s been idiot enough to challenge you to a fight.” The worry in her voice bleeds through the attempts at bluster, and Izuku has to make a conscious effort not to let the guilt curling in his stomach show on his face.

“Don’t worry,’” Izuku says with forced cheerfulness. “I gotta go beat up my students even though we’re all legally children and the whole world will soon know I’m recovering from an injury.”

Aunt Rumi takes a minute to absorb how momentously bad this idea is, especially when it’s subtly asking Dragon to declare war against UA. Izuku can see the exact moment she realizes her agency isn’t connected to UA at all and decides to watch this shitshow from the sidelines, because she raises an eyebrow, nods with pursed lips like an art critic, and locks eyes with Izuku. 

“I’ll have to buy popcorn,” she drawls.

“Exactly. By the way, how’d you get down here?” Izuku gestures around the preparation room. It’s very clearly restricted access. “This is actual illegality that I'm required to stop now? UA somehow trusted me with a job and that will never stop being weird.”

Aunt Rumi twirls Lunch Rush’s keycard around a finger. “I’m an Usagiyama. We do what we want. So are you, which is why I’m guessing whoever proposed this knew what they were doing. It takes one hell of a wolf to catch rabbits like us.”

Izuku huffs, tightening an arm guard over his jacket. He’s still got to prepare for the match and Aunt Rumi doesn't look like she’s about to wander away before he can escort her back upstairs to the audience. That’s polite of her. Someday Izuku will have a normal conversation with a family member who isn’t Pop or Hitoshi, but today is not that day.

As if to prove his point, Aunt Rumi taps out an irregular pattern against the wall as she steps further into the room.

“Endeavor,” Izuku says in answer to both the spoken and coded questions. “He knows I’m Grasshopper, but that’s it.”

“Dumbass,” Aunt Rumi mutters, leaning against a locker with crossed arms. “Why the fuck is he setting up UA for war with Japan’s third largest yakuza group?”

“Revenge,” Izuku says, not bothering to look up from his preparations to look like All Might: Electric Boogaloo. “I’m gonna make some calls, do some damage control.”

“You’ll have to redirect blame on Endeavor for it to work,” Aunt Rumi says slowly. She taps a finger to her chin, more patterns Izuku almost misses. “I might not be able to allow that, as a hero to a criminal.”

“But you aren’t here as a hero.” Izuku pauses his preparations, evaluating Aunt Rumi. She has a duty to uphold the law and prevent Izuku from contacting criminal forces while he’s technically held hostage by the school. They both know Aunt Rumi does what she wants and goes where she pleases, though. She watches him equally carefully, ears flicking. 

“Aunt Rumi is here, not Miriko,” Izuku says.

It’s a subtle difference, but telling. Most heroes are in costume today, but Izuku’s aunt has made a conscious decision to visit him in civilian clothes. Anyone else may call that a coincidence, but Izuku and Aunt Rumi share Usagiyama blood and training. They know better.

“...I couldn’t come as a hero,” Aunt Rumi admits after a second of struggle. “I broke your back, kid. And I thought it was the right thing to do until I found out who was under that mask. I thought excessive force against a kid was okay.”

“And I let you think I died years ago,” Izuku says, tucking a knife under the arm guard. “We both messed up pretty badly. But I don’t think life is about failing, because that ruins the point of trying to be a good person. I want to be better than my mistakes, and you probably do, too. So. Let’s do better next time.”

Aunt Rumi grimaces. “I should have guessed it was you from the reports on Grasshopper. Pretty words always were Inko’s thing.”

“Mom says the lawlessness is from Dad.”

“Hm,” Aunt Rumi says neutrally, and somehow packs a whole dumpster's worth of emotions over the yakuza boss in that one sound. “Well. It would be a shame if I were to pass by section F of the audience, row 26. It would be terrible if you found out Ryukyu is in the audience there, third seat to the north.” 

Izuku smiles wide and says, “it would be absolutely horrible if someone told her it was me fighting down there.” 

“She wouldn’t be able to get that to her brother at all,” Aunt Rumi agrees. She doesn’t specify which brother, and that’s okay. Once one knows the other will hear soon enough, especially if it involves a grudge against Endeavor. The Midoriya family is hardly subtle on that front. Usagiyamas are stealthy. Meanwhile, Midoriyas tend to kick down each other’s doors in the middle of the night for a brawl.

“Such a shame,” Izuku says mildly. “I wonder if a hero might tell her about their mutually shared nephew she spotted by the vending machine at the east exit that’s conveniently accessible to heroes but not civilians.”

“Oh, wow. I hope it doesn’t happen.” Aunt Rumi checks her wrist for a non-existent watch. “You have half an hour before your match, right?”

Izuku does the math and doesn’t bother to keep back the excitement in his voice. “Yeah!”

“Might want to get some water before your match,” Aunt Rumi says mischievously. “My nephew tells me the east exit has a conveniently placed vending machine.”

Izuku tucks the last of the gear back into his bag and throws it over his shoulder. “I better hurry, then.”

Aunt Rumi barks out a laugh before racing off. Izuku tracks her footsteps disappearing towards the audience levels. He counts to thirty under his breath before following her out of the preparation rooms at a sedate pace. Rushing takes too many spoons.

He steps out of the stadium and locates the vending machine with time to spare. 

Izuku sits beside it, pulling on the last of his gear. There are some gloves with metal plating on the inside and what’s definitely delicate tech in the palm, along with a couple more blunted knives he equips. Izuku fiddles with the mechanisms while he waits.

“Izuku!” Aunt Ryu literally swoops down to meet him, wings shrinking as she lands. “You dropped off the grid? What kind of bullshit-”

“Sorry-” he manages before Aunt Ryu scoops him up in a hug. She transforms back into a dragon and takes to the skies while pushing Izuku over her shoulder so he can sit between her wings. They used to do this all the time since she found out he was alive two years ago. The stadium shrinks away as they gain altitude, and Izuku’s ears pop.

“Spill,” she tells him once they’re high enough listening quirks are out of range. “And find me during internships so we can catch up more. I busted Scalebreath’s nasty mancave to find you and all he gave me were rumors of you ‘expanding your skillset.’ What does that even mean?”

Izuku grins, remembering when he’d called some of his chattier informants after the USJ. That was the excuse he gave Curious. “It means I was right not to trust someone. I’m fighting in the next match, and Dad’s gonna see it as an act of war.”

Aunt Ryu hesitates, gliding amongst the clouds. The air is thin at this altitude, but it’s never bothered Izuku. 

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, that’s a bad idea,” Aunt Ryu says. “Aren’t you injured? What is Nezdu thinking?”

“Probably that he’ll get money from Endeavor, and Endeavor’s doing it because he thinks I’m Grasshopper and wants revenge for something.” Izuku reaches up, watching with interest as his hand trails through a low-lying cloud.  “No idea what I did to make him mad.”

“Izuku,” Aunt Ryu sighs, sounding exasperated to the furthest depths of her soul. “There are compilations of Grasshopper pranking Endeavor. I heard you stole all his staplers recently.”

“Did I?” Izuku pauses, tries to remember, and settles for smiling as brightly as he can to hide his confusion. He does not remember being involved in that. Trauma has given him a cornchip’s worth of memory space, so it’s very possible that happened.

“Yes.” Aunt Ryu twists her head to look back at him, and Izuku feels very judged. He’s also worried about her flight path without sight.

“I thought Dabi did.”

Aunt Ryu snorts and looks back to the sky. “Dabi publicly declared it was a joint effort with Grasshopper. The news freaked out, and we had to work overtime because you happen to have a strong villain following and they took it as permission to deface Endeavor’s residence and agency. Number Two hates your guts.”

“Oh.” Izuku only regrets that if it got Shoto in trouble. Other than that... “Sounds like more of a ‘him problem’ and less of a ‘me problem,’ don’t you think?”

“No?” Aunt Ryu begins her descent. “I won’t do anything about the match – that’s out of my paygrade as an independent agency – but I’ll try and contact brother dearest. Somebody’s got to do damage control before he finds out. You deal with your uncle, though. I can’t contact two villains in a week, even if it’s to stop a war.”

Izuku grins into the stinging wind as Aunt Ryu sets her wings. It increases as she dives landwards, stinging his eyes and whipping through his hair. “Thanks, Aunt Ryu.”

“Thank me by visiting more often. Internships are coming up, aren’t they?” Aunt Ryu lands with a thump and ducks so Izuku can safely climb down. 

“Yep!”

“Visit my agency,” she tells him, and takes off again. Izuku waves until she’s out of sight, and turns towards the arena.

It’s time to sacrifice his spine for Nezdu’s money gods. 

UGH.

“Watch out for the charge strength,” Inazuma reminds him as they wait just outside the field entrance. She’s working with the leg supports, adjusting something in the last minute. Izuku’s not completely sure how she managed to make it resistant to outside electric currents in under an hour, but he suspects her quirk was involved. Nobody understands electricity better than a Kaminari, and Inazuma is vice president of her Support Department class.

“I’ll keep the gloves away from them just in case,” Izuku promises, eyeing the crowds waiting for his entrance. The mask covers only his eyes in All Might’s red and gold, completely different from his usual attire. Fighting in this will feel weird. The mechanical leg supports are white and chrome, and supposedly the students are advised not to target them in case metal ends up inside him as well as outside. They’re training to be heroes. Mistakes like that do nobody any good.

“Thank you,” Izuku tells her again. “This is really well made, and I am paying you even if it’s technically school work.”

“Powerloader said to consider it work study, so technically I’m already getting paid. So thank you, Mr. Grasshopper, for the present and future profit this advertising will get me.” Inazuma finishes and starts packing away her tools. “Keeping everything in All Might’s colors should keep them from connecting you to Grasshopper, but if this goes public ....”

“You had no idea who I was,” Izuku finishes. “Seriously, though. Thanks. You didn’t have to go this far - I appreciate it.”

“Hey, I’m in this to impress the internship scouts.” Inazuma gives a sloppy salute and steps back. “The support companies know my name is attached, so go kick ass and make my gear look good. Maybe I’ll even get a job. Actually, yeah. New goal: I want to buy a whole pack of wolves by the end of the year.”

Midnight stakes the stage, and the crowd cheers in anticipation. 

“Preferably big ones,” Inazuma says thoughtfully. “So please. Show off and pay my tuition. You probably missed it, but that brainwasher kid is tricky-”

Izuku certainly hopes so, since Hitoshi’s been asking him for training advice since the Sports Festival was announced weeks ago.

“-and the other two are powerhouses. Make my gear look good.”

“Sure. Let’s get you some wolves,” Izuku says, and steps into the stadium. 

Izuku flinches as the cheers hit him like a truck and spotlights burn through his eyes. He has a couple blunted knives as well as the electrified gloves that Inazuma made. So long as he fights, UA gets Endeavor’s approval. It doesn't matter what quirk he pretends to have or what weapons he uses. 

Mic’s voice booms out over the stadium. “ALLLLLLLL RIGHT, EVERYBODY IT’S TIME FOR THE FINAL MATCH! AS YOU ALL KNOW, WE LIKE TO KEEP THINGS NEW AND EXCITING- AND THIS YEAR WE’VE RECEIVED A REQUEST THAT’S SURE TO PUT ON A SHOW!”

“I can’t believe we’re allowing this,” Aizawa cuts in.

Midnight shoots him a sympathetic look as Mic continues trying to talk up the event by introducing the three figures making their way out of the stadium entrance.

“JUST A RECAP HERE: THAT’S TODOROKI SHOTO - DUAL WIELDER OF FIRE AND ICE, YAOYOROZU MOMO WHO DISPLAYED EXPLOSIVE POWER AND POTENTIAL, AND SHINSOU HITOSHI - THE DARK HORSE!” More cheers. The three students meet him at the center as Mic continues his intro. “THIS MATCH IS MADE TO SIMULATE A VILLAIN BATTLE. IT LOOKS LIKE DEKU HAS BEEN CHOSEN TO OPPOSE THEM!”

“For some reason,” Aizawa adds, and Izuku winces at the dangerous edge to his voice. It’s hard to make out when Aizawa always sounds like something died in his coffee, but the students notice. Hitoshi in particular looks like he’s dealing with several new emotions.

Mic and Aizawa probably haven’t been told the details of Endeavor’s involvement yet. Nezdu knows they’d object outright.

Mic’s voice turns slightly manic as he takes control of the stadium again. “UA’S FIRST STUDENT TEACHER IS SURE TO GIVE THESE THREE A CHALLENGE!”

Izuku gets into a ready position, pointedly ignoring Mic’s continued anecdotes. Three against one isn’t bad odds with his experience and training, but Izuku is injured. He needs to take out one of the students in the first few seconds, or else it will risk dragging on and increasing injury. He also wants to keep his quirk inactive and identity under wraps.

Izuku is slow to anger, but it’s not impossible. Putting him in this position is pressing those limits until they nearly break.

This is going to hurt like hell.

Shoto mirrors his focus, and after a second the other two follow. This is an interesting power mix. Of the three, Hitoshi has the least to lose with a bronze medal. After all, Shoto may be in danger from the high expectations of his father if he doesn't make at least top two, and Yaomomo has been fighting a little too desperately today. Someone is pressuring her, and Izuku’s not messing with that until he knows she’s safe. He’ll target Hitoshi first. Yaoyorozu second, unless Shoto presents an opportunity.

The gloves feel clunky, but Izuku closes his fists, activating the circuits in them. Electricity is his friend today. 

It’s time to taze some children.

“START,” Midnight roars, and Izuku launches himself forward. 

Even without his quirk, he’s unnaturally fast, and surprise is his greatest asset. Izuku shocks Shoto as he passes. He nearly gets Yaomomo before twisting away from the sword she calls up. From there it’s a simple sidestep to set himself up for Hitoshi’s punch. It brushes past his ear and Izuku grabs the arm, spinning with it so Hitoshi’s momentum helps Izuku throw him off the stage. Hitoshi lands on the grass, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Yaomomo’s sword hits the ground where Izuku was a second earlier.

There’s a moment of shocked silence where Izuku moves back to the center of the arena. 

Dull noise crashes down from the crowd as Izuku rolls his shoulders to test his range of movement. His back didn’t take much strain from that. So far, luck is on Izuku’s side.

“S-SHINSOU HITOSHI IS OUT OF BOUNDS! HEY, WHAT WAS THAT? FIGHT A LITTLE SLOWER SO THE REST OF US CAN SEE!”

“He’s an ethics TA,” Aizawa drones. “The students don’t know his attack pattern or abilities, and taking advantage to press the first move is perfectly logical. What isn’t logical is-”

“IT LOOKS LIKE TODOROKI AND YAOYOROZU ARE CAUTIOUS NOW!”

Mic really has it rough.

Yaomomo is regarding him warily. For her, this is an endurance match - she’ll make a better showing for the heroes attending if Shoto is off the playing field, but he can practically see her calculations rewriting themselves based on the news that Izuku isn’t reliant on his quirk in a fight. He hasn’t shown it, and that’s making her nervous. 

“You... can fight?” Shoto wheezes while picking himself off the ground, looking a little worse for wear. Fine tremors run up his arms. He’s the biggest threat right now - ice will hamper Izuku’s ability to move. New plan. He needs to take out Shoto next.

“Kinda, yeah.” Izuku launches himself forward again, narrowly avoiding the ice that shoots up. The edge catches his knee, but pain is easily shut down. He gets close and strikes out. Shoto dodges the worst of it, but that small contact is enough for a shock.

Shoto collapses again.

Izuku spins, ready for the next attack.

Yaomomo nearly gets him, sword slashing down with red-gold power dancing across her arms. Izuku barely dodges the first swing, and twists out of the way of the second strike only for his back to spasm.

Of all the times-

Izuku turns the collapse into a roll, throwing himself away from Yaomomo’s third attack that almost clips him, and rams his shoulder into Shoto’s stomach just as he’s getting back up. Flames inch up the side of his sweatshirt before Shoto remembers his edgy backstory and kicks Izuku in the side. Yaomomo retreats, wary now that Shoto’s shown he doesn’t care about friendly fire. Izuku still keeps an eye on her, and nearly gets a shoulder dislocated by Shoto for his distraction.

Instinctively, Izuku punches back.

Frost almost encases Izuku’s hand when it connects, but he is used to separating pain from movement. It’s reflexive at this point. Besides, five more minutes of this won’t kill him, and if he’s breathing he can fight.

Yaomomo’s punch shatters concrete and nearly tosses them both out of the arena. Bruises bloom up her arm. Izuku jabs a hand into one of the cracks spiderwebbing through the ground and rolls to his feet.

If he’s breathing, he can fight.

Shoto sends ice after him. Izuku moves, faster than he has any right to be. The distance between them disappears in a second. Shoto blocks the punch with ice on his arms.

Ow.

Not fire, though.

If Izuku is breathing, he can damn well fight.

He slams a kick into Yaomomo’s stomach and ducks Shoto’s attempt to punch his throat, what the fuck. An attempt to shock Yaomomo fizzles out at the insulated handle of her blade.

She retreats instead of attacking

Why is Shoto using dirty tricks while still holding back? Yaomomo’s been keeping her distance except for big, earth-shaking midrange attacks when she’s very clearly a close-range expert. Izuku’s strategy to keep close to Shoto and force her away with friendly fire shouldn’t work. They’re both smarter than this.

Izuku needs to snap them out of it.

“Come on, guys,” Izuku snaps as he catches another kick by grabbing Shoto’s ankle.

He ducks Yaomomo’s slashing attack from behind, throws his weight under Shoto’s leg, sending Shoto crashing onto his back with the force. Yaomomo takes his place, sword backed up by her mysterious second quirk as she slams it down where Izuku was a second before. The concrete shatters with the sword.

Huh.

That could have been his bones.

“You need to trust yourself,” Izuku yells at Yaomomo through the ringing in his ears. He ducks a punch and feels the air behind him practically explode. “You’re here on your own merit, so stop dragging your feet and fight me with everything you have!”

She startles, giving Izuku a chance to flip her and buy a second to breathe. So of course, he uses that precious second to whirl around and find Shoto.

“It’s nobody else’s quirk,” Izuku says. Shoto flinches so badly the frost on his clothes crackle. It’s just enough warning for Izuku to scramble away before he’s encased in ice. Yaomomo scrambles up and slams her weight into the ice, shattering it right in Izuku’s face.

It’s their first team move this whole match.

“Tell that to the world,” Shoto spits, and Yaomomo glances at him for a second before deciding this is definitely not her problem to deal with.

Izuku dodges the next wave of ice from Shoto. It’s followed with a desperate attack from both of them. Shoto’s off-guard now, playing dirty and telegraphing his hits. Yaomomo matches it, but she’s still hesitant, following Shoto’s lead rather than making her own chances.

Izuku twists Shoto’s arm and shoulder so he’s sent crashing into Yaomomo before she can fire.

“Both of you need to get serious,” Izuku snaps, and for a second Yaomomo and Shoto freeze. “Trust yourself.”

“It’s not mine,” Shoto says. “All anyone ever sees-”

“Do I look like I’m fighting someone else?” Izuku meets Shoto’s eyes, and then Yaomomo’s. He doesn't know as much about her quirk, or where she got it, but she already seems to consider it hers. This will be what decides the match.

“I’m trying,” Yaomomo snaps back. She steps back into an unfamiliar stance and glares at him with clear frustration.

“Both of you need to lean into your abilities,” Izuku snarls as he tugs two practice daggers from their sheaths. “I’m not fighting half of either of you - this is a two on one fight! So why am I winning?”

He sweeps out with a blade that Yaomomo blocks. The next one forces her to stumble into Shoto or else get hit. Izuku waits as they scramble up.

“Get out of your heads,” Izuku rumbles through the phantom dragon-fire in his chest. “Both of you have full ownership of your quirks. You're smart, competent heroes-in-training who got here on your own power. I’m a single injured teenager. Make me run.”

Shoto meets Izuku’s eyes, and lets the flames consume him. Yaomomo moves back a pace because of the heat, but there’s a calculating glint in her eyes that makes Izuku more wary than any overpowered quirk. A fire-proof cape swirls into existence from her shoulders and sparks with energy. 

Izuku can’t fight big firepower from far away.

A knife nicks Shoto’s left arm, and the flames flicker as his concentration breaks. After being tazed a couple times, maintaining control of that many flames requires more focus than Shoto can likely spare.

Izuku sprints towards Yaomomo. He’s fast enough to take out one opponent before they recover mentally, and needs to do so before messing up his back any more than it already is. Yaomomo sees his strategy and closes the distance, but the third time’s the charm - Izuku ducks her attack and changes his direction.

Shoto is already within reach.

Shoto’s eyes widen and ice crawls up Izuku’s ankle. Dragon scales itch as they slot out of his skin reflexively, concealed by his shoe and pants.

Izuku shocks Shoto and follows it up with a haymaker that has him collapsing. Yomomo’s sword rips open his sleeve but does not land. He spins and strikes out blindly. The hit lands, and Yaomomo gets shocked for the first time.

Shoto tries to get up, but Izuku has a threatening knife under his nose. He holds another knife behind him, sparking with electricity as a warning in case Yaomomo attacks him from behind.

“...I yield,” Shoto rasps.

“TODOROKI SHOTO WITHDRAWS FROM THE MATCH!”

The remaining flames die down and Shoto meets Izuku’s eyes, still winded. “Thanks.”

Izuku shrugs. His fight isn’t over. One stomp with more force than necessary shatters the ice around his shoe. Dragon scales recede once it’s gone.

Shoto slips out of the ring as Izuku flips his knife to a reverse-grip and faces Yaomomo. 

Partway-activations aren’t how his quirk is meant to be used, but he doesn't have much of a choice against Yaomomo. She’s still learning control, and Izuku doesn't want broken bones from any mistakes.

Izuku grits his teeth as scales slot out under the fabric of his pants. He drops his posture slightly, hoping nobody will notice the marginal increase in height. This is maybe five percent of the transformation. Balancing it requires fine control. Every step burns like he's wading through coals and hellfire when he refuses to fully transform, but Izuku isn’t risking any notable changes on national television.

Pain is easy to pack up and push away. 

If he can breathe, he can fight.

Izuku’s grin is wide and feral as he tosses and catches a knife. “Let’s do this like civilized folks, yes?”

Yaomomo grimaces and summons a wakizashi. Good choice - Izuku is agile enough to get around a shield. She needs to go all out on attacks for this to work. He may be tired, and barely standing, but he’s also got no regard for his mortal limits in a three-on-one fight. 

She’s wary.

“You haven’t used a quirk,” she observes as they circle each other. “Care to share with the class?”

“Knowledge is power,” Izuku says cheerfully as Inazuma’s gear works miracles to keep him upright. He owes her a whole multi-pack of oreos for this. Maybe even another ride in the barbie car if his identity survives today.

Yaomomo strikes without warning. 

Izuku dances out of the way before his knee buckles under the stain of a misused quirk. He stumbles, catching Yaomomo’s swing from the right blade with his knife. One twist has it splitting the concrete with her superstrength. Izuku kicks up at her other sword, putting just a bit of his quirk behind the force. It misses.

She spins back and meets him with a low kick that sparks with gold and red. Rather than dodging, Izuku plants his feet and braces. Her strength is equal to his own. When it lands, concrete cracks around him, but Izuku stays standing.

She isn’t expecting it, and Izuku strikes at her swordhand again in the split second of surprise. The blade clatters to the edge of the ring.

Izuku grabs the wrist of her now-empty sword hand, steps inside her guard, and ducks a high-power punch before twisting his weight and sending them both crashing to the ground. It hurts like hell but gives Izuku time to slam a dulled blade into the broken concrete by her jaw.

Yaomomo’s eyes flick to the blade, then up, assessing Izuku’s exhaustion. 

“I forfeit.”

Izuku rolls away and melts into a little puddle of misery on the ground while Mic announces the rankings. The roar of the crowd masks the sound of scales retreating. His back and legs feel like they’re being slowly charcoaled by Endeavor. Agony is once again packed away, and Izuku forces his breathing to even out through willpower and experience.

He can’t stand up, but he’s also not unconscious so who’s the real winner?

“Izuku?” Yaomomo bends over him anxiously. Hitoshi hovers nearby with Shoto behind him.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Izuku takes stock of his throbbing back and burning knee and decides that even if he’s had worse, not being able to stand up is probably a bad sign. “I’m doing great.”

The disbelief on their faces is probably visible from outer space.

Hitoshi waves over a pair of UA’s helper robots while Izuku carefully tugs off his electric gloves. That was a pretty good win, all things considered. 

It could have gone worse.

Recovery Girl takes one look at Izuku lying miserably on the cot and hands him a laminated paper. It says ‘rate your pain,’ followed by description and smiley faces.

“Oh, I know these,” Izuku says as he passes it back with shaking hands. “I’m a six. Not in the personality-type way, but in the ‘I can’t move but can probably do my homework mentally’ way.”

“That is, by definition, a seven or higher.” Recovery Girl sighs, likely used to teenagers who have no regard for their personal wellbeing in the face of helping friends through needless violence. 

She has him take off the hoodie and his shirt to assess exactly how badly he messed up his back, and Izuku only hesitates for a moment. He’s careful to wear clothes that cover his shoulders in case the tattoo on his back shows up. It was applied with a quirk, and is only visible in shadows roughly as dark as the lighting he got it in. The heroes either haven’t seen it yet or are allowing a yakuza to attend the school. Izuku knows which one’s more likely, and hospitals are well lit.

The nurse’s office is bright. He ditches the shirt.

“I’m giving you something to dull the pain,” Recovery Girl says once she’s done making sure he didn’t permanently mess up his skeleton. “We’ll let it kick in before I use my quirk.”

Izuku gets very distracted by the fraying edge of the shirt she hands him and completely misses whatever she says next. It’s fine. He squints at an IV he does not remember getting and decides that whatever she said probably wasn’t important, anyway.

Izuku has the sudden suspicion he jinxed himself again.

Also that he’s been drugged.

“Wow,” Izuku whispers sadly. “If I didn’t have ADHD and a swiss cheese body I would be so unbelievably powerful.”

“Oh, same,” Hitoshi tells him from the chair by Izuku’s cot, which Izuku also very much does not remember getting into. He does not remember putting his shirt back on either. Izuku shifts and discovers that he is propped up against three whole pillows. 

That’s a whole wealth of riches right there.

The fact that he didn’t see his brother come in either proves his ADHD point or confirms that Izuku can’t think with this much pain in his bones. Hitoshi scrolls through his phone. When he looks up Izuku sees that the right side of his hair has been trimmed down to half its length.

“When did that happen?” Izuku asks. He’d been a bit too busy not dying during the match to notice.

“Oh. Mina nearly got me in our match.” Hitoshi reaches up to tug on the cropped hair self-consciously. “She offered to give me an undercut to make up for her ‘disregard of the Geneva Convention’ or something. It’s not really my style but honestly? This is the last time our class will be on the news for a bit. I’ll have time to grow it out.”

It suits him.

Izuku says as much and nearly mentions Dabi’s hidden talent at haircuts and dye before he realizes that’s probably not information he should share with this many heroes around. He eyes the medical equipment critically.

Whatever Recover Girl put him on must be strong.

“So,” Izuku says, because his brain is full of static.

“So,” Hitoshi agrees. “I think our class rioted midway through the fight.”

Izuku makes a tiny dying sound as his soul exits his body. The class saw him fight. They’re going to have so many questions and he’s going to lie horribly. After that they’re going to call him out brutally and Izuku really can’t handle that right now.

Hitoshi laughs at his suffering and returns to watching a video of Kirby on the phone.

“They’re going to kill me,” Izuku mourns. “I understand Aizawa now. Retirement or a coma really are the only ways to deal with our class.”

Recovery Girl has left, so now it’s just Izuku, his misery, and his uncaring brother who is only interested in watching what now sounds like Yaomomo and Shiozaki’s fight that someone layered the ‘mmm whatchya say’ music over.

Hitoshi wrinkles his nose. “Uh huh. You’re famous now, wanna see?”

“Put it on my tombstone,” Izuku creaks. “Along with the Barbie car gif and the Grasshopper ‘gay distrust’ reaction. One more identity to make into a meme and the power trio will be complete.”

Hitoshi looks up in concern. “Are you alright? Because that doesn't sound like you’re alright.”

“Endeavor just paid UA roughly three years’ worth of his salary to have me break my back on national television. I’m doing great.”

Hitoshi goes quiet. “...Inko- Mom’s gonna kill him.”

“I haven’t told her yet,” Izuku admits. “She’d take down UA and that’s counterintuitive, y’know?”

“I’m gonna call her.”

Izuku needs a full five seconds to process that. Hitoshi takes the opportunity to stand up, probably to find somewhere without security cameras so he can talk to Mom without worrying about keeping secrets.

At this point Izuku can’t stop Hitoshi and isn’t thinking clearly anyway. It’s probably for the best.

Izuku grabs Hitoshi’s wrist before he can fully leave. “Before I forget, we’ve got family stuff to take care of over internships. Also, can you find Shoto? I need to tell him things.”

“Things,” Hitoshi repeats.

“Teachery things. Very official. Definitely not me meddling in a desperate last bid in the adoption war before Aizawa does something unpredictable.”

Hitoshi gives him a judgmental look but leaves without comment. Success. Izuku’s gonna be a great evil genius. He has a strategy and it will only probably fail.

He has no clue how much time passes before Shoto is awkwardly poking him.

Izuku opens the eyes he does not remember closing and beams up at his new friend. They switched to first names right before the Sports Festival and Izuku has so many hugs to give once he can comprehend moving again. Shoto is sitting down, which is absolutely bonkers-wild because Izuku has no memory of him getting there.

“Did you teleport,” Izuku asks.

Shoto gives him a weird look. “No?”

“Huh,” Izuku says. Then, “Whatever Recovery Girl gave me is making it very hard to think, but I do remember that I may have to fight your dad eventually.”

“Okay. Good luck?” Shoto’s face does something complicated. “Hitoshi said you wanted to see me.”

“Oh! Yeah! Come stay at the dorms for a bit if you want. Endeavor’s a bastard on a good day and someday I’ll steal all his toes.”

“His toes.”

“Maybe I’ll leave him just one, to keep him on his toes-” Izuku stops, noticing the flaw in this logic. “Wait.”

“That would be difficult,” Shoto agrees with the air of someone who is delighting in the topic of conversation but has no idea how to express this.

“I’ll leave him two toes,” Izuku only halfway-jokes. “But his kneecaps are on thin fucking ice.”

“What about elbows?”

“Psh. Elbows. Dabi wants those. He says I’m too short as if he doesn't have the approximate height and build of a giant pretzel stick.”

“Dabi.”

“He’s my brother.” Izuku will fight anyone who says otherwise. Probably not Shoto, who looks like he just won the vigilante stalker’s lottery. “You can’t have him, or I’ll taze you.”

“You already tazed me. Twice, I think. Maybe three times. It was all kind of a blur.”

“Oh. Really? Because that was rude and I should apologize but I don’t know why I did so I’m not gonna. Yet. Actually, no, that’s a lie. I’m sorry. Anyway, finders keepers. There are plenty of siblings to go around.” Izuku blinks, realizing he’s fallen into his old muttering habit. That hasn’t happened in ages. It’s probably the crash after suppressing his pain for a whole match mixed with whatever is in the IV.

“I’ll take one of yours?” Shoto offers. He sounds very confused about it. Wait, Izuku solves cases, he can figure out what’s going on right now. How hard can it be?

Okay, Shoto already knows Hitoshi, but Eri’s super well hidden. Izuku hasn’t heard from her in ages. Damn witness protection, getting involved in the foster system. Dabi and Zoo like their privacy and Himiko-

Hm.

“They’re all secret,” Izuku decides. “You won’t find them.”

“You have secret siblings,” Shoto says slowly, sounding the words out as if this were some new exciting fact and not Izuku’s weird life.

Izuku squints at the chair his sweatshirt is on. Why did he wear an All Might hoodie? They don’t get along at all.

“Multiple secret siblings?”

Shoto’s ever sounded that excited in all the short time they’ve known each other.

“Yeah,” Izuku pauses. There’s Dabi, Zoo, Hitoshi - Did he count Dabi? That’s uh. Four, right? Maybe counting Himiko, but that’s a whole mess Izuku does a very good job of not thinking about. And Eri’s his sibling no matter what family she’s with because he promised her, so that's…. Hm.

“I lost count,” Izuku realizes sadly. “I feel like I shouldn’t be this out of it?”

“No, this is expected,” Shoto says, eyeing the label of whatever Recovery Girl gave him. She’d explained it, but karma sniped Izuku by distracting him at just the right moment. “Ah. Yeah, maybe don’t ask.”

“Having actual facilities like this is luxury so I’m gonna trust you on this one.” 

“Luxury?”

“I’d never been in a hospital before this year,” Izuku says, completely forgetting he was born in one. He starts fiddling with the shirt he does not remember putting back on. “Always took care of the bullets with DIY and bribery.”

Shoto looks like his brain is one big error message. Izuku can relate. Stalling out randomly is the bread and butter of heroics life.

“You’ve been shot?”

Izuku thinks of bleach-cleaned buildings and a room full of discarded toys. He thinks of assassins and blood-debts to be paid, of being a perpetual thorn in the Heroics Commission’s side. The price of being born the son of two powerful figures on either side of the law has dangerous consequences marked in a patchwork of scars he hides under the UA uniform. He does not want to class to find out about those dark years.

Suffering does not build character. That’s a cold lie Izuku wants no part in.

He does not notice Ochako saying hello and sitting down beside Shoto.

Memories are easy to drown in like this.

Bang bang.

“Chisaki put my sister’s blood in bullets,” he says automatically. He can’t focus on the words, because if he does, he’ll throw up. “Knocks out a quirk factor for maybe five minutes if you survive, you know, the whole gun thing. Was fuckin’ wild.”

Shoto flinches and Izuku realizes what he just admitted.

FUCK.

“Izuku,” Ochako says, and the tempered steel in her voice reminds him of Dabi when he finds out Izuku targeted Endeavor alone again. “Who is Chisaki?”

Izuku shuts his mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”

Eri wanted to move on, to have a shot at as close to a normal life as they could find for her. Every vigilante involved in her rescue had agreed to lock away the memories and wipe any record of the four-year-old victim from existence. Disappearing is easy.

Izuku will hold these memories in his heart and keep them there. He’d pay that price all over again in an instant.

Two bullets.

One for him.

One for-

For-

“Can we talk about something else?” Izuku says through the many memories he’s trying to shove away.

Ochako takes a deep breath. “Alright. Yeah, okay. Let's talk about- Uh.”

“Ice cream,” Shoto creaks, staring directly past the wall into the void. That’s where one of Izuku’s informants lives, not that anyone ever believes him. Someday he’ll convince Cloud to take him into the void so he can scream in it for a solid hour. 

Will it break his lungs and possibly also his entire brain? Probably. 

But Izuku deserves a little existential dread. 

As a treat.

“YES.” Ochako latches onto the new subject quickly. “Ice cream. So many opinions. I like matcha or strawberry. Guys? Ice cream?”

“I can’t get brain-freeze,” Shoto blurts out, which, wow. The sheer hubris that must inspire alone must be positively unreal.

Ochako whips around to stare at him with empty eyes. “Huh,” she says, and there are emotions Izuku is too out of it to fathom in her voice. Like she’s just found out leather bucket hats exsist.

Izuku has always just bit down on his popsicles because sure, maybe his body is a temple or whatever, but it’s also a crumbling one that’s got a leaky roof and is probably haunted if Toru is right about UA having ghosts.

He snickers at the thought and promptly loses consciousness.

“Okay,” Ochako says when she leaves the room.  They’d talked about something - ice cream, maybe - but she’s still internally screaming over those horrifying details. How is Izuku sane? Actually, how is he alive? There’s no way that’s all true. There’s no fucking way-

“I need to sit down,” Shoto wheezes next to her.

“Okay,” Ochako repeats, maybe a little hysterically. God, what must Izuku’s life be like? How does he even function? “His sister’s blood was in a bullet that shot him and disabled his quirk-”

“I know,” Shoto tells her miserably, one hand buried in the red side of his hair. He slides down next to a janitor’s closet and buries his face in his knees. “I can’t deal with this.”

Ochako opens her mouth to agree when Hitoshi wanders around the corner. “Hey, is Izuku still in there- woah, what’s up? Guys?”

Ochako reaches out to gently grab Hitoshi's shoulders and look him in the eye. “Your brother,” she says, desperation chipping into her voice, “needs so much therapy.”

“He’s? Yeah? That’s kind of a given?” Hitoshi removes her hands from his shoulders and sighs when he begins to drift upwards. Ochako absentmindedly releases her quirk as she wonders what kind of job Izuku must have to be involved in for all of… that.

“He’s very out of it right now. Also, how many siblings do you have?” Shoto asks out of nowhere, and Ochako’s attention sharpens when Hitoshi’s expression shuts down completely. He glares at Shoto with single minded focus.

“One. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Woah, wait wait wait wait-

“You know what he does,” Ochako realizes. 

Hitoshi’s laser-eyes snap right back over to Ochako. “Do you?”

“No-”

“Oh, thank All Might, Eraserhead, and every other hero in this school. Hell, thank Lunch Rush.” Hitoshi drops the death glare and takes a deep breath to center himself. With that, he sits next to Shoto and tugs Ochako down to join their little triangle of confusion.

They should start a club.

“Did you know he got shot,” Shoto asks his knees, and Hitoshi goes deathly pale. Shoto does not raise his head to see it. No, he’s in the recovery position and determined to stick with it. 

Good for you, Shoto. 

Ochako wishes she knew how to deal with her panic half as productively.

Hitoshi scratches above his ear in a failing attempt to look like he’s not deeply unsettled. “I mean. Maybe. He never told me but- Yeah.”

“This can’t be real,” Ochako whispers.

 Shoto sounds completely unaffected, which does not line up with his body language at all. “Did you know his quirk was knocked out-”

“Oh,” Hitoshi says very, very quietly. His eyes flick between the door to the nurse’s office, Ochako, Shoto, and down the hall. Shoto still has his head down and misses the hint that Hitoshi is currently holding himself together with paperclips and the false hope that it’s not that bad. 

Shoto continues, oblivious to Hitoshi’s crisis. “And whoever fired it-”

“Chisaki,” Ochako remembers, and Hitoshi’s mouth thins as his eyes go ice-cold. It’s an expression she’s only seen from him a few times, once in class with Izuku discussing the yakuza system, and the other on one of his first nights in the dorm. Like someone’s walking over his grave and Hitoshi will claw his way up through churned-up earth just to drag the bastard down with him. Horror, fear and the reluctant teeth of a cornered animal are all wrapped up behind Hitoshi’s carefully neutral expression.

Whoever Chisaki is, Hitoshi’s not a fan.

“Don’t mess with this,” Hitoshi says quietly. It’s kind of amazing that he’s hearing all this and not descending into panic. “I’ll ask him once he’s thinking in sentences again, but stay out of it.”

Shoto looks up, panic completely gone but for the imprint of his jeans on one cheek. “Villain?”

Hitoshi nods. Whatever he’s decided to tell them isn’t the full truth - Ochako’s not an idiot. She watches Hitoshi’s eyes dart to the door Izuku’s passed out behind and knows loyalty when she sees it.

“Damn,” Ochako hisses between her teeth. “Okay, did he have a habit of putting blood in bullets?”

Hitoshi’s eyes widen, knuckles white from where he’s now gripping his knees. “Blood? In bullets? What kind of monster-”

“You’re shocked?!” Ochako whisper-shouts. She cannot deal with this.

“Yes,” Hitoshi hisses back, gesturing frantically. “He’s like - like an onion of trauma. A broccoli onion that needs so much therapy, for All Might’s sake. I figured the main bit out, asked, and it’s so much worse than I thought. Every time I think that’s everything he just- casually mentions some shit. This green bean can fit so much panic in him.”

“He got shot,” Shoto repeats. “Wait, if his sister can disable quirks, does that mean he’s related to Aizawa Sensei?”

Hitoshi and Ochako exchange a wary glance.

“What if he’s Aizawa Sensei’s secret love child?” Shoto asks, and Ochako watches as something in both her friends break for entirely different reasons. Shoto looks like he just found the truth of the universe in a roadside porta potty, while Hitoshi is but a husk of his former self. She can literally see the life in his eyes shriveling up like a prune.

A small, miserable, anxious prune.

Facinating.

“I’m done,” Hitoshi decides, expression peaceful as he fully checks out of this harsh reality. He half-crawls, half-staggers to the closet door, wrenches it open, and stumbles inside to hide amongst the shadows and toilet cleaner.

That’s a very effective coping strategy. 

Ochako’s tempted to take notes.

Chapter Text

Denki has spent the last week listening to his friends recite Sports Festival memes and discuss the many, many questions they all have after that last match.

It’s like watching the fuse burn down on a stick of dynamite, but there’s a million yen taped to the back of his shirt that may or may not get burned off, and he can’t stop it, and everyone’s screaming, and things are on fire.

Nobody’s having a good time.

Except Denki.

And Mina.

They thrive on chaos.

But nobody else is living their best life.

On the bright side, Class 1A has been now elevated to local urban legends in the eyes of other UA students. This is due entirely to the noxious combination of a villain attack, overpowered showing at the Sports Festival, and having the weirdest TA on the face of the earth. Shiozaki from 1B has hit the gym every day and has inserted herself neatly into Yaomomo and Jirou’s little group. Of all the powerhouses to reach the podium, one even has a mental quirk, which results in even more foot traffic past the door. Hitoshi has buried his nose in a coffee mug and scorned all congratulations on his unexpectedly high rank. Meanwhile, Izuku is conspicuously absent. Throughout the day students stop by to stare into their classroom or, in Monoma’s case, stroll past every five minutes very slowly. He keeps glaring.

And like, dude. Stop. 

Katsuki’s going to kill you.

It’s no good, because the person he’s looking for is missing due to injuries (understandable) and refusing to explain what the fresh hell happened last week (less understandable). Denki is pretty sure Aizawa Sensei would find this whole situation hilarious if he had the mental and emotional energy to care at all. Maybe he does and is just very sneaky about it. 

They’d tried to get answers. Tsu raised her hand as his favorite student - or at least the one he almost died for, which still qualifies her for this - and had gotten a blank stare when she asked him about Izuku’s combat experience.

“Classified,” was all he’d said, and that was that. Class had begun.

“Fuck off and ask four-eyes,” Katsuki says when he’s dragged into a group huddle during lunch. This stroke of genius does not go unappreciated. If anyone can get answers about their TA, it’s the overcommitted class president. 

“Katsuki,” Mina says, awe dripping from her words with sarcasm on its heels. “Did you just… help us?”

“Eat shit.”

She gasps. “You did!”

“So. It is possible,” Sero marvels. “I’m so proud of you-”

Denki ducks the explosions out of habit.

They go looking for Iida with extreme unwarranted confidence until Uraraka tells them that Iida’s missing due to a family emergency. So they ask Uraraka to find out instead and report back.

(“Like cowards,” Katsuki says later. These are bold words when it was his idea.)

She turns them down with a firm kind of kindness that speaks of experience in customer service. Denki wishes he could be that ironclad when working at the electronic store.

If smiles could kill, yeesh.

The next link in the class chain of command is Yaomomo, class vice-president. She tucks a hand under her chin and thinks about it, before explaining that she isn’t sure digging into their classmate’s business as to the mystery of why he’s trending on Twitter is good or reasonable.

Denki knows how to spot a lie. Yaomomo’s hiding something. 

Todoroki tells them about his working theory on secret lovechildren. This is not the classified backstory they're looking for, though it does make Sero turn his eyes skyward while Mina laughs so hard she nearly blacks out. Todoroki, bless him, remains insistent. If asking Izuku how he turned into a badass overnight doesn't work out, Denki will be back for more details.

But only then.

In the interest of furthering a recently made friendship, Denki asks Hitoshi. Success is minimal. Bribery by way of coffee from a cute little café right outside the school garners advice. The Bakusquad clusters around Hitoshi’s desk during homeroom as he chugs the entire cup.

He sets it down with a rough exhale like they’re in some sort of western movie, leaning against the bar and asking a cowboy for help-

Denki shakes his head and refocuses.

“If you have questions for my brother,” Hitoshi says sagely, “ask him yourself.”

He then passes out at his desk, cardboard cup still in hand. It’s kind of impressive how little the caffeine affects him. Denki’s tempted to take notes.

The Bakusquad reconvenes.

“Okay, here’s an idea,” Mina says once they’re all perched around desks and sitting incorrectly on chairs. Denki’s attention is snapped away from Katsuki’s attempt to vandalize Eijirou's notebook with the angriest reminder to hydrate in existence. “Full frontal attack.”

Everyone takes a moment to consider this before Sero enacts his veto power as the only stable member of their hivemind.

“We cannot attack Izuku,” he decrees. “That is asking for expulsion. The only way we’d win is by breaking his back in two like a glowstick- Mina, don’t you dare. The guilt will hit us right before Shinsou does.” When this fails to convince them, he adds, “And if we lose, you know Izuku’s not going to hold back. I’m pretty sure his settings are ‘murder’ and ‘nerd’ and that’s it. No middle ground.”

“Wait,” Eijirou says.

No. 

No, dude, don’t do this to us- 

“Mina has a point.”

Katsuki cracks his knuckles. “Alright. Tell him to eat shit and d-”

“Why not just ask Izuku,” Eijirou interrupts.

Uncomfortable glances are exchanged. Nobody’s really sure how Eijirou thinks any one of them can survive that kind of conversation. 

Because….

Well.

Here’s the thing: Izuku is dangerous.

Denki knows this because All Might flinches whenever their average-looking TA steps into the room. All Might. Everyone knows Izuku has to be some level of stealthy - there’s no way he’s a heavy hitter like Yaomomo, Katsuki, or Todoroki, because he looks exhausted and sticks to the shadows out of habit. He clocks every exit when he enters a room. Izuku is injured and recovering, yes, but Denki has seen him only once outside of UA’s walls, surrounded by villains and still perfectly calm. That was informant work, something darker and more morally complicated than the daylight hero Denki is trying to be. Add in the way Izuku moves with a subtle, confident economy of motion and it paints a picture made of red flags.

Eijirou reads people on a personal level – how they feel and what motivates them. Mina reads social circles, like how people react and bond together in groups. Sero reads situations at large, which leaves him as their voice of reason. Katsuki works with tactics and books enough for the rest of them. Meanwhile, Denki is smart in a way that has very little to do with textbooks and numbers. His parents are sidekicks to heroes with enemies, and their store is filled with very stealable electronics.

He reads threats.

The point is simple:

Asking Izuku what he does point-blank feels a little like walking straight into a hurricane rather than watching it from the safety of your porch.

Bad idea.

The Bakusquad takes a day to think on it.

They’re all doomed to some hellish incoming karmic retribution simply because Mina and Katsuki are allowed within three meters of each other. Denki knows this because when they reconvene the next day, his luck spirals downwards fast.

The after-school conversation that elects Denki to ask the question goes like this:

They’re all in the classroom on their cleaning rotation when Katsuki says, “Fuck off, I’ll do it since you’re all a bunch of cowards.”

Then everyone tackles him. 

Yeah, that’s about it. 

Mina appoints Kaminari because he’s at the top of the dogpile and also closest to the door. She screams instructions he only half-listens to, but the point is clear. In the spare frantic seconds bought by a four-person wrestling match, Danki slips past them and into the hallway.

He runs for his life.

Denki makes it halfway across UA’s lawns before something explodes several floors up in UA’s skyscraper of a main building. Smoke poofs out an open window, visibly thick and choking all the way from Denki’s spot on the carefully trimmed grass.

Why are all his friends like this?

The UA dorms loom over him. Imposing architecture looks on as he gasps for breath on the steps, gathering his jittery nerves. Now that he’s here, Denki has no idea how to start this conversation. 

He knocks, then panics a little more in the following silence.

The door squeaks open and Ochako stares at him pityingly. “I thought you’d get Tsu to ask him.”

Tsu.

They’re all idiots. 

They should have asked Tsu, she’s great with people. Wow. Denki makes to retreat and find their local treefrog, only for Ochako to snag his arm.

“No use dragging this out,” she sings with an admirable amount of obnoxious cheer, and hauls him into the dorms. The door shuts with a click, sealing his fate.

No going back now.

Ochako directs him up the stairs and to the room with a cat door installed.

He gets lost immediately.

It really shouldn’t be possible, but Denki’s not exactly great with directions. Also, his brain was trying to play the Wii Music backwards in an attempt to cover internal screaming when Ochako told him which floor and room was Izuku’s. He does remember that there are rooms for thirty students. One floor of the dorm has ten rooms for girls, the next has ten for boys, and the top floor has no assigned gender because Nezdu said “fuck your human gender roles.”

Thirty rooms.

Three floors.

And he gets lost by the second stair.

Argh.

He ends up wandering through each floor in search of a cat door. There’s no sign of life until the third floor. He passes an open door and tries, really hard not to look in because privacy is a thing and Denki has a twin. Respect is a big thing in his house. He carries on.

“Denki?” Hitoshi calls, and Denki backtracks to the door. Hitoshi is at his desk with a computer playing a BOTW stream while several textbooks adorned with sticky notes leave the entire surface in chaos. He has so many highlighters, and his entire room is decked in shades of purple. There’s very little clutter beyond an instant coffee mix and electric kettle.

“Hey, man. Do you know where Izuku is? Uraraka let me in, but I may have messed up the directions.”

Hitoshi jabs a thumb at the wall. “Next door. Are you asking him?”

“Behold,” Denki says with a miserable little pose that’s entirely in hopes of getting Hitoshi to laugh. “Ritual sacrifice.”

There’s no need to clarify which question when it’s what their entire class has been tiptoeing around for days on end. After all, not a single one of them could think of a polite way ask Izuku the gentle and reasonable question of, “hey. What was that?” Agonizing over this on his way across the lawns yielded no insight beyond that Denki can’t rush into this. Maybe he can somehow ease into the subject?

“Good luck,” Hitoshi says through a poorly muffled snicker. 

Denki leaves with a purposefully sloppy salute and steels his nerves. Here goes nothing. The door by Hitoshi’s does not have a cat door. That’s a dog door.

How big does a cat have to be for cat doors to stop working? 

“Door’s open,” Izuku’s voice calls when he knocks. “I’m sorry, did Beans- oh. What’s up, Kaminari?”

Denki can’t respond, because Izuku’s room is a lot, in the exact same way that one dude Howl’s room in the magic castle movie is cluttered but somehow still works. There are so many rugs; why does Izuku have three rugs? Vigilante plushies, posters, and even a Grasshopper blanket are scattered around, along with half a string of fairy lights taped to the wall. The other half of the string was never put up. It lies forgotten and abandoned in a corner.

Izuku himself is leaning against the wall behind his bed, computer on his lap and not one, but two phones beside him with the roundest cat Denki has ever seen in his life. A veritable chonky lad. This would be acceptable on its own, but Izuku’s sweatpants clearly say ‘JWEATS: JEANS SWEATS’ on the side while his t-shirt says ‘DENIM JACKET.’

Overall, it’s a look.

Denki spares a moment to be grateful that Aoyama and Katsuki aren’t here to be disgusted wardrobe critics. Something tells him it would end with a fight, and based on the outcome of the Sports Festival he knows exactly who would win.

Everyone remembers exactly how that went down.

Denki winces as Present Mic and Aizawa announce the final match’s lineup. He can hear Class 1B speculating about why the matches were changed over the dull roar of dissatisfaction that rolls across the stadium.

“Izuku’s injured,” Sero says lowly. “They can’t be expecting him to fight three people at once. That’s not- why are they doing this?”

“Aizawa Sensei sounds pissed off,” Jirou adds from his other side. She’s very blatantly rooting for Yaomomo, but every member of their class is subtly hoping Izuku survives this. It’s not Denki’s business, but he notices when Izuku’s seat is empty at least once a week. He avoids standing when he teaches.

Who’s letting this happen?

“Maybe it’s a secret battle royale instead of three on one?” Mina says. “You know; kick names, take ass! Or it’s a secret teamwork test because there’s no way Yaomomo won’t win with one shot-”

“START!”

If Denki blinked he’d have missed it. 

Izuku blurs across the arena. Todoroki hits the ground stunned, Yaomomo’s opening attack misses entirely, and Shinsou is tossed out of bounds.

What.

Izuku straightens up with a casual roll of his shoulders and strides to the center of the arena like he didn’t just thoroughly rewrite everything Denki thought he knew.

WHAT.

There’s no way their nerdy TA who looks half-dead four days out of five pulled a stunt like that. No way. Denki stays rooted to the spot, dimly aware of Jirou’s bruising grip on his arm and Sero’s choked-off wheeze.

“So that’s why our class is cursed,” Tokoyami breathes, and the spell is broken. The stands explode with noise.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Katsuki roars. The sentiment is echoed around the arena, but Denki can’t hear past 1A’s booth. Tsu and Kouda are the only ones not yelling. Instead, they’re sitting together in the corner, still frozen from shock.

Class 1A might be close to rioting. Just a smidge.

Hagakure in particular is having the time of her life if the repeated whispered mantra, “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-” is any indicator, but Denki refuses to look away from the arena in case he misses anything else. He didn’t know humans could move that fast without a quirk.

Izuku says something to Todoroki before attacking out of nowhere and tasing him again. He did it just as he was getting up, too. Denki has pretty good reflexes and vision - a side effect of having lightning in his veins - but he can’t track the next few moves.

“Okay,” Jirou says in much the way one might say ‘this is fine’ in a burning building. Down in the arena, Yaomomo’s punch to the concrete nearly blows the other two out of the competition. Todoroki stops himself with ice, and Izuku catches himself on the broken concrete. “So I’ll be the first to say it: this shouldn’t be a fair match against the recommended students. Shinsou’s quirk is mental, I get that, but Momo is badass as fuck.”

“And Todoroki’s kinda overpowered,” Denki adds. He shrugs in the face of Katsuki’s insulted scoff. “Why are you booing me? I’m right.”

Apparently Izuku feels the same, because from the looks of it he’s started to lecture Todoroki and Yaomomo mid-fight.

Huh.

Denki kind of gets why he’s the TA now.

“Kaminari?” Izuku prompts, dragging Denki back to the unfortunate reality where his TA is a king of fashion disasters. “You okay?

Denki shakes himself and blurts out, “how can you fight?”

“I- What?”

Oh, shit.

Was that rude? 

Denki replays the words in his head, winces, and rephrases. “Sorry. I just mean- How did you do that in the final match? Yaomomo and Todoroki together could probably annihilate the whole class, and Hitoshi’s not a slacker at spars either. Just. Y’know. How are you alive?”

“Spite,” Izuku says instantly.

Thats fair.

“But you can’t stand?” Denki says, only to immediately feel like slapping himself. Great job, Denki. Really competing with Katsuki for the ‘jerk of the year’ award. “Shit, uh. I mean- I just- we thought you didn’t fight. Yet. At all.”

Izuku frowns. “You… you guys thought I couldn’t defend myself? If this is about my medical stuff, sorry but that’s classified and also kind of personal, so uh. Kindly fuck off.”

“No, no not that, I’m not- That’s your business. Look, I’m not saying this right.” Denki holds up both hands and tries to start over. “How do you kick ass so effectively?”

“...Find an ass that needs kicking and a pair of good boots? I don’t know. Instructions are in the name.” That’s not the answer Denki wanted, but it’s also not technically wrong. Izuku pauses and adds, “Why? Did someone hurt you? Do you need adopting? Come hold Beans so I can fight them.”

At this point Denki realizes that he’s still standing awkwardly in the doorway. He shuffles in and squints warily at several ‘sorry-for-arresting-you’ cards on Izuku's desk. There’s a little bunny drawn on one. Another has Best Jeanist’s signature in bold letters.

Izuku gently rolls his cat up in blankets and holds out the visibly displeased bundle for Denki to take. There’s only so many ways to respond to that, so he takes the purrito and tries not to drop the wrapped fabric when it’s heavier than expected.

Denki stares down at the cat.

The cat stares back with extremely green eyes.

Why did he have to be the one to do this?

“I don’t need adopting?” Denki squeaks.

“Oh, well. If you change your mind...” Izuku trails off meaningfully, and it’s impossible to tell if he’s joking. “One classmate down, eighteen to go.”

“Gotta catch ‘em all,” Denki says automatically. “But I gotta know, was that a quirk?”

“Kind of. It’s not exactly like my aunt’s,” Izuku says, reaching over to scratch the cat’s cheek. Denki is about to ask what that means when the cat abruptly stretches its legs out of the blanket and wiggles all eighteen toes in the air. It then makes the single handedly most god-awful snorting noise Denki has ever heard in his fifteen years of life.

Izuku coos and squishes its cheeks.

Kaminari leaves after losing a round of Smash to Ochako and winning against Hitoshi. Izuku hears about this through the dorm’s group chat, but he honestly could not be bothered to get up.

Turns out, fighting is not something he’s ready to do yet.

The doctors were predictably right all along. Fascinating. Now, if only someone - not to name names, Nezdu and Endeavor - had thought about that before sticking Izuku in a modern gladiatorial ring for bribery and revenge.

Izuku really would be reminding himself that he’s an idiot for fighting in the third round, but right now he does not have the energy to be self-deprecating. Everything hurts. Sitting up made his arms shake like a newborn fawn, made worse by the dull pain that gets stronger around his back and legs. He shouldn’t have fought. 

Who let him do that?

So many people are texting him with concern and requesting he check in, but Izuku can barely type. His hands aren’t shaking, but something’s making his coordination terrible. 

Aizawa knocks on his door to reiterate that Izuku will not be welcome in class for another two days at least.

That’s what he thinks.

Izuku, however, has the means and motivation to hack UA’s database for the lesson plans, and the time to complete his homework. Distractions are carrying the full weight of Izuku’s sanity at this point. He doesn't know where he’d be without white noise, articles on Asui-san’s recent case and an email from Hawks that’s only calm on the surface.

“I saw the Sports Festival,” Mom tells him over a video call later that day. There’s an undercurrent of anger to her voice that Izuku hasn’t heard in a long time. She buries it under the worry well.

Anyone listening in - and neither of them are fool enough to think this conversation is not being monitored - won’t hear it. She’s clever. Unpredictable where people least expect it. Midoriya Inko was long-used to codes and cold cases before she ever met a man made of shadows and dragon fire.

“What did you think of the matches?”

“Some promising students,” Mom notes. Her fingers drum out an irregular pattern on the wood. “Hitoshi looked like he was having fun, especially against the girl with an acid quirk. Ashido?”

“She’s hard not to get along with.” Izuku props his chin on his hand, carefully tapping a response back against his cheek. “Hitoshi was nervous about going up against our class’s top three.”

“Bakugo, Yaoyorozu, and Todoroki,” Mom guesses. She won’t use the cipher too often when each use makes it easier to crack. “How are they?”

“Learning. Growing. Probably training too hard outside of school.” Izuku tips his head to the side, carefully selecting his words and masking it with boredom. “They have amazing quirks, don’t they?”

Mom’s eyes sharpen even as she smiles, sunshine-warmth masking clever-sharp thoughts. “Very. Don’t worry about others too much, Izuku. It’s okay to relax and enjoy these highschool years. Sometimes adults would feel more comfortable if they were handling tricky things like that.”

She lifts her right hand as she speaks, flicking it up as if adjusting her hair. That’s not even a cipher, just a blatant JSL name sign tied to the Number Two hero.

She wants Nezdu to know that one.

Why would she want him to know she’s going after Endeavor? Does she want him to investigate-

Oh.

Oh, shit, she’s proposing collaboration.

“Do you have any new cases?” Izuku asks, knowing anyone listening in will think he’s dodging the answer. He may have to hold off on hunting a certain hero if Mom’s already involved.

“A couple.” Mom smiles, and the expression is deceptively soft and happy. It’s different from her honest smile. This one is made of sheep's clothing that wolves hide in. It’s dangerous, and Endeavor has caught her attention.

“Can I help?”

Midoriya Inko, best known for nearly taking out the Heroics Commission once and fully capable of doing it again, smiles sharp and quick. The pattern tapped against her desk is in direct contrast with her words. “Sorry, honey. Not this time.”

They talk about small, unimportant things after that. When the call ends, Izuku naps. 

He has things to do after dark.

The first chance he gets after dusk falls, Izuku slips out of the dorms. Every step aches, and an exhaustion headache builds across his temples, but this is important. If Izuku gets dragged down by Endeavor, he needs to prepare. Nobody should target him so soon, but still. It’s a worst case scenario.

Those kinds of situations gave Izuku a quirk. They took Himiko.

He slips away into the city.

Makoto does not pull a weapon on him when she sees Grasshopper sitting at her desk. The blinds are pulled, security cameras all facing away from this office, and lights are off. He flips through the papers left out on the desk - all printed articles on quirk regulation and discrimination, careful to separate pages with his gloves. The mask makes reading easy, at least. Inazuma really outdid herself with the goggles.

“You need to stop doing this, Hops.” Makoto drops her purse haphazardly by the desk and slumps against a wall. “I’m going to put a bell on that mask if gremlin children keep breaking into my workplace.”

Grasshopper chooses to see this as a promising sign of lasting friendship. “You adore me.”

“I tolerate you at best.” Makoto drags over a chair, and shoos Grasshopper out of her very plush office chair, relegating him to the cold plastic one. He carries the articles with him out of spite. “So why were you in UA’s Sports Festival?”

“Bribery. Politics. I took a risk and it backfired.”

Makoto’s mouth twists into a thin, displeased line. “I won’t ask you if you’re safe. That’s not any answer I think I’ll like.”

Grasshopper inclines his head in thanks.

“What can you tell me?” Makoto asks. Sometimes Grasshopper forgets her experience at these kinds of delicate balancing acts, but the cunning look in her eyes is a stark reminder.

“Heroes and villains are stirring things up,” Grasshopper says, memorizing the title of an article Hitoshi would probably like to read. “There’s a very good chance someone’s going to begin dragging my name through the mud, so we need to talk about a certain name of a group that really should be labeled more appropriately.”

“You’re ending our deal.”

Grasshopper hesitates, which ends up being an answer.

“But the movement’s been doing just fine with your name-”

“I’m tied to the yakuza, Makoto.”

Makoto freezes.

“The HPSC hasn’t said anything, but leaders of things like this need to be transparent. They need to stay on the pedestal they’re painted on, an angel or a martyr, take your pick. Credibility is key. They need to stay in their niche, and messengers like you can’t go to a less risk-adverse career.” Grasshopper turns a page of the article. “How many of those rules will my legal name shatter?”

She doesn’t need to answer that. They both know how easily everything can fall apart if Izuku has ties to the criminal underworld that stretch even half as far as he’s implied. Grasshopper lives firmly in the grey, but all rebels break rules. His image has been lightened by the masses. Staining it red again will be all too easy. 

Izuku can handle Endeavor targeting him as a side effect of whatever Mom’s planning. She won’t let him, but that call was a warning to be aware, be alert.

He is an Usagiyama.

Cunning lies in the shadows.

“Someone’s threatening you.” Makoto clasps both hands and tucks them under her chin, visibly thinking through where they go from here. “I’ll stay with the movement, maybe change its name into something closer to our goals. But you knew I’d do that, didn’t you?”

“It’s why I asked you to be an oracle,” Grasshopper admits freely. “You’re stubborn, and once you commit to a project you see it through.”

“Damn,” Makoto mutters. She sounds a bit self-deprecating when she adds, “That’s a kind way to put it.”

She’s sold out vigilantes before, all to complete her Master’s degree by publishing a paper on them. Regret always weighs heavier than pride. Grasshopper tries to sound apologetic when he replies.

“You were too good to keep out of this game. Naruhata’s vigilantes were right to keep tabs on you.” Grasshopper shrugs, going back to his reading. “And the movement…. Their cause was never about a vigilante. It’s about something bigger, something brighter, and I hope that by the time my case goes to court, it’s made the future just a little bit more livable.”

“It’s already changing things,” Makoto points out. “Did you see the results of the strike downtown? Between that and the legal case Nakamura won, we might get the HPSC to require mandatory psych evaluations every half-year or so.”

“Which case?”

“There’s this lawyer - Asui - she’s tearing things up. I don’t really get it, but now there’s a precedent for heroes to be ordered psych evals every six months for the rest of their career-”

Makoto cuts off.

“Asui,” she says, realization knitting the shape of the name together slowly. “Wasn’t one of the UA kids…?”

“Was she?” Grasshopper asks guiltlessly. He props his chin up in a hand and tries to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth through the mask. “Huh.”

Makoto’s eyebrows bunch together judgmentally. “Hops.”

“That’s such a weird coincidence-”

“Hops-”

“Not that I could say anything, because if either of us tell anyone what you’ve figured out there’s going to be a whole mess for her to deal with and everyone will loose so much progress-”

“Oh my gods.”

“Also, what are the chances that Asui would have a kid at UA? It really is a small world after all-”

“Hops, if you sing I will personally throw you back out the window.”

Grasshopper stops. Sits up. Considers how many spoons it would take to walk to the window on his own. 

“Really?”

Makoto makes a disgusted noise and slumps low in her chair, phone mere inches from her face in a clear message that she’s now unavailable. Grasshopper huffs a laugh and returns to the papers. 

The silence sits for a bit.

Grasshopper’s going to miss this. ‘This’ being crawling into the office at horribly late hours to read whatever information Makoto’s left lying around, and sending vaguely ominous texts as they plot ways to kick the current heroics system in the metaphorical ribs.

He hasn’t really been around much, always felt a little awkward about a movement built in his honor when he’s not dead, but it’s time for it to move on. To make the changes they need without borrowing names from some guy masquerading as an exalted figurehead. That accident was painted in glitz and glamor, and even now the media’s response makes Izuku's skin crawl, and Grasshopper feels cornered.

Enough time has passed for Grasshopper to safely cut ties. This is a good excuse, if he’s being honest with himself.

But he’s not.

So it’s not, and this is just a practical and tactical move.

He drops the papers back on Makoto’s desk and hauls the window back open. Chilled night air drifts into the room, made of damp streetlight and the cigarette smoke from some distant stranger.

“...Thanks,” Grasshopper says from his crouched position on the windowsill. “You were a good oracle.”

“I’ll make a better revolutionary,” Makoto says lightly. “Go on, Hops. We can take care of ourselves, but don’t think I’m above calling in what you owe me for this.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Grasshopper chirps, and ducks out into the night.

Bonus:

“I just talked with Nezdu,” Shota says during the first sunny afternoon after the Sports Festival. Hizashi makes an assenting noise as he steps out of his recording room. The large apartment they share is blessedly quiet in comparison to the dorms. It likely won’t be for long, if the paperwork spread across their low table goes through and the trials are a success.

For two days a week, Midnight covers his dorm duty. That’s two evenings where he doesn’t have to worry about three children, one of which is a problem child fully aware of how to incite a massive headache out of spite. That’s bad enough without adding in his brother, who Shota just knows will be dragged into the vigilante mess eventually, and Uraraka, who seems incapable of experiencing fear. It’s a very bad combination.

With school canceled for the rest of the week after the sports festival, this is his last full day to prepare paperwork for adopting a kid. He’s been at it since breakfast. Hizashi wanders through the kitchen, making coffee. He’s probably adding cinnamon sugar to the beans in an attempt to dethrone the sacred drink.

“What’s the news?” Hizashi calls.

“Remember Izuku’s surprise match yesterday?”

Hizashi nods, handing him a mug before dragging over a cushion and settling down across the table. Shota absently moves his computer to the side in case they switch to sign. “It was weird. Kind of forced, if you ask me. Grasshopper definitely wasn’t having a good time, and I should have been given more time to work with him on a cover story. People have noticed that ‘Deku’ isn’t a registered hero name. He was trending on Twitter for a while and it’s a bit late for a coverup.”

“That grant was a bribe.” Shota pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. “Nezdu just sent a transcript of his meeting with Endeavor.”

“...Recording without consent is against the law in all prefectures,” Hizashi says suspiciously. “Heroes can get around it in missions, but Nezdu doesn't have that excuse.”

“He wrote it from memory.”

Hizashi rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. After a second he shakes out the messy bun and ties it all back up. Shota slides the transcript papers across. He goes back to his laptop as Hizashi reads through the meeting twice. Once for the basics, then again to sort out the hidden conversation within the meeting.

“Endeavor knows,” Hizashi realizes. “Or at least he suspects you’re trying to get Todoroki out of that house.”

Shota shrugs. It’s a possibility he’s considered, one of many. 

“So having Grasshopper fight was a cover?” Hizashi drops the papers as the implications hit. “He had an injured student fight? As a cover for bribing us to stop Shoto’s defense?”

“And Nezdu ripped him off,” Shota says. “UA’s mission is to raise heroes of tomorrow. There’s nothing Endeavor can do to stop us at this point, and proceedings will begin soon.”

Hizashi laughs, a little haphazardly as he leans on his knuckles. “Good, because Todoroki told me today that he’s already packed. I think Natsuo is going to leave those prank car air fresheners in the house? The ones that smell like farts.”

“Where?”

“Behind the fridge. He had a whole bag of them.”

Shota weighs this and deems it morally acceptable. 

A notification catches his attention as Hizashi settles down at the table. It’s a sunny, lazy afternoon with birdsong filtering through the open window. 

Comfort is rare for underground heroes. Constant patrols and frequent ambushes make PTSD common. Most dislike surprises. A few of his coworkers change apartments frequently to keep away from villains seeking revenge, like Shota did until working at UA added security measures he’d previously only dreamed of. Now he’s safer than ever with a shared apartment with Hizashi in the complex that houses most of UA’s faculty and staff.

For the first time, Shota has the chance to make this kind of change, put down these kinds of roots. 

When Todoroki had admitted his home situation after showing up with bruised ribs and burnt homework, they’d sat down and worked out options. Two days later, Todoroki Fuyumi had contacted him and bluntly explained that though she wanted to provide for both her brothers after court, finances would not allow for Todoroki to continue studying at UA. Shota and Hizashi had walked into a meeting with Nezdu and the Todoroki siblings ready to fight tooth and nail for Todoroki Shoto’s continued pursuit of his chosen career. Somehow, they’d left as potential adoptive parents.

Or, Shota had. They’re not married. 

Yet.

They’ve talked about it more and more, so. Someday. All either of them are waiting on is a proposal.

Hizashi taps the table and signs.

“Do you think we’re rushing?” Hizashi asks. Shota blinks at him before saving his file and closing the laptop. This isn’t idle business anymore. Worries are like weeds for Hizashi - he needs to talk them out, explore the fallacies out loud before trimming them back. Shota signs back slowly.

“Adoption?”

“Not that - not entirely. I just thought we’d be married before kids.” Hizashi props his chin on the table, grinning in the way he saves for quiet afternoons. It’s disgustingly endearing and has Shota staring out the window to avoid saying something sappy and illogical.

“I did too,” Shota settles on out loud. “But we both felt this was the right decision.”

Hizashi half-shuts his eyes and hums. He can reach a low note that makes the air feel like a livewire, and Shota will deny that the sound relaxes him after years of hearing it. Comfort is always bought in familiarity.

“Aren’t you worried,” Hizashi signs after a moment.

Shota frowns and leans back. He knows what Hizashi is really thinking about.

Parenting is hard. Neither of them have any experience beyond teaching classes of children that will ultimately go home to their own support networks, no matter how strong. It’s a whole different set of challenges. Teaching does not automatically mean they have the skills to raise a child. Those take work, practice, and patience.

So, Shota signs the only reply he has.

“I’m terrified,” he admits with short, blunt signs. “But we’ll be terrified together. I’m okay with that.”

“Only you would say that with a straight face,” Hizashi replies with a laugh.

“Communication is logical.”

Hizashi brightens and leaps up to rattle around the kitchen. Whatever he’s looking for must not be there. Footsteps patter off to their room, then the recording studio, and finally back to the kitchen. Shota waits until the sink cupboard has been opened the third time before clearing his throat.

“If you’re looking for the memories box, I put it in the closet.”

“EXCELLENT,” Hizashi yells distantly. “Irony. Can you imagine Oboro seeing us now? He said you were the disaster gay, he was the distinguished gay, and I was the functional one.”

“Oboro wore crocs and you still put spices on your coffee beans. We were all the disaster gays,” Shota mutters into his coffee, only to find the mug already drained. Figures. He stands up, pops his back, and nearly trips over his laptop’s charging cord on the way to the coffee pot.

“FOUND IT,” Hizashi calls as Shota pours the new cup. He barely gets three steps into the living room when Hizashi darts out of the hallway sideways like some sort of manic crab. 

Shota blinks, caught unawares.

Oh no. 

Silly mode has activated. When Hizashi gets this much energy they inevitably start watching both Mama Mia movies against Shota’s will. Last time the day ended with Hizashi illogically charming Shota into a lesson on knife tricks that led to him figuring out a murder case and not sleeping for a week. Hizashi stabbed himself in the thigh somewhere in that time. Spectacularly bad decisions are inbound.

Oh shit, they’re going to be the worst influences as parents.

“Hey. Hey, Shota.” Hizashi scuttles closer, practically vibrating with excitement and pent up energy. “I have a surprise,” he says ominously. 

Shota edges back, immediately on guard. “A surprise.”

This better not be a prank again.

“Yep!” Hizashi says before offering a closed fist, and for a second he looks like a golden retriever. Ridiculous. Shota edges back another step, still wary.

“Does this surprise involve spending any amount of energy watching musicals?” he asks cautiously. Hizashi hums, and the fact that he doesn’t immediately reply is incredibly concerning.

“Mmmmmmaybe,” Hizashi sings. “It’s scary, like standing on the edge of a cliff, and everyone said there’d be a choir singin’ and sparkles in the air, but really all you need is somebody crazy enough to jump off the cliff with you.”

Shota raises an eyebrow. 

Sunlight arches through their living room windows, catching Hizashi’s mischievous expression. He’s always full of bright laughter and energy, always thinking two layers deeper than anyone seems to give him credit for. Shota doesn’t like surprises. Ever since reacting badly to a 17^th birthday party that ended in accidentally throwing Nemuri out a second-floor window, his friends have known better. Hizashi still finds ways to surprise him anyway, never setting off the defenses drilled into his mind.

Oboro was the only other one who could.

Two people in the whole world have his unthinking trust, one here and the other buried six feet under.

Shota sighs and holds out an open hand.

“Close your eyes,” Hizashi tells him, because he’s a showman to the very core. Shota rolls his eyes fondly before he does.

“It better not be our taxes,” Shota mutters. There’s a second of rustling before Hizashi places something small into his hand before clasping their palms together. 

Oh. 

Suspicion sparks in the back of Shota’s mind, just for a moment. He might know what this is.

“Okay,” Hizashi says, almost nervously, and Shota sneakily squints opens an eye. It’s in time to see Hizashi take a quiet, steadying breath, and Shota shuts his eyes again, confident. The spark of an idea kindles, growing into something that feels like hope.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

Shota looks down at their clasped hands and shifts so the object inside is dumped out as he links their fingers. He catches the ring before it can hit the ground. There’s no shock, no crowd cheering or camera flashes. Nobody kneels. They’d discussed getting married on and off for ages - ever since high school, when Oboro declared he was wearing crocs to their wedding. They joked about it. Then talked over possibilities after going pro. Actually proposing was one of those things Hizashi squirreled away close to his heart. Beyond the agreement that public proposals were absolutely off the table, they’d let it be.

Shota grumbles at the fact that Hizashi pulled out a ring first and reaches into his pocket. “Hold something for me?”

Hizashi tilts his head, bird-like. Like a cockatoo. Shota huffs a laugh and holds up the ring he’s been hanging onto for the past few months.

“So… is that a yes?’ Hizashi squeaks.

Shota can’t help it; he barks a full laugh at this. “Do you really think I’d be carrying that around if it weren’t?”

“Oh,” Hizashi says with so much wonder that Shota almost doesn’t believe they’ve been discussing this for what feels like ages. Shota slips the ring on, and then does the honors for his partner.

“If we’re going for metaphors? Yes. I will jump off this cliff with you.”

Hizashi’s eyes widen before he whoops with joy, tugging Shota into a tight hug. He hadn’t known what to expect from a proposal, hadn’t really considered it past a ring and an idle few thoughts. It feels like flying, like falling. Sometimes, surprises feel like the edge of a cliff and clasped hands. Shota tucks his chin over Hizashi’s shoulder and grins.

It feels like two people stepping into the unknown together.

“Crocs at the wedding,” Hizashi whispers directly into his ear. 

Somewhere, Oboro’s spirit is cackling. Shota’s half convinced if he looks out the windows the clouds will spell ‘WEAR THE CROCS.’

Shota heaves a sigh. “If no pictures are taken and minimal witnesses are present, yes. You get one half hour of me wearing crocs to our gods-damned wedding.”

Chapter Text

Yaomomo is waiting for Izuku when he returns to UA. He’d only missed morning classes because Aizawa looked like he might actually retire on the spot if Izuku showed up bright and early, so really there shouldn’t be much reason for her to know he’s arriving late unless someone from the dorms spilled. And it’s not like the class has been talking… about… him…

Oh no.

Well, Izuku has always been lauded for his lack of self-preservation. It's time to live up to his reputation.

“Good you see you back,” Yaomomo says with a bright smile like she hasn’t chosen to spend her lunch break waiting for him outside the school.

Suspicious.

“…Thanks,” Izuku hazards. From what he’s seen, she isn’t one to waste time needlessly. This feels like a trap. She leads him into the building, and Izuku follows because he is mortal and given to the whims of his own curiosity. Also this is where he usually goes.

Now if only he knew what kind of trap she’s springing.

“Have you chosen an internship placement yet?”

“I’ve selected three possible placements,” Yaomomo says. “At the moment Sir Nighteye’s agency has not granted my request for late admission to their intern program, but I’m giving them until tonight.”

She’s so competent, it’s kind of scary.

Izuku knows that in her place he’d just take any offers given. Then again, he’d probably make some kind of terrifying showing in the Sports Festival and cry if even one offer came through, so maybe that’s just him.

“Did you see my match against Shiozaki?” Yaomomo asks, far too casually as they reach the elevators. For a moment Izuku has no idea why she’s asking, but then the memory of their bet hits him like a sack of bricks. If Shiozaki attempted to immobilize Yaomomo, Izuku would tell her his quirk. If not, she’d tell Aizawa about hers. Whoever lost would also meet with Nezdu.

So that’s the trap.

She knows he’d run.

“I saw the recording,” he says apologetically. “Sorry. Something came up and I had to deal with it.”

“She tried to immobilize me.” Yaomomo follows him into the elevator, punches in Nezdu’s floor number, and leans back against the interior railing expectantly. “I hate to be a bother, but we did make a bet.”

He’s not getting out of this.

“Dragon Legs,” Izuku reluctantly admits after the elevator has started to move, which is decent protection against any listening quirks in the building. Yaomomo crosses her arms as she stares at him thoughtfully.

“It’s an A-class secret, so I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself,” Izuku adds quietly. “I’ll have to report that you have this information, anyway.”

“Of course. How's it work?”

Izuku tips his head from side to side, considering his options. Explaining was never really part of the promise, but ending this poorly instills distrust in teammates. He stalls as long as he can before speaking.

“Transformation-Mutation mix.” Izuku notices her confusion and adds, “Secondary appearance of strength, fire-resistant scales, and claws, but without it there’s still a boost in my strength and speed. My bones are also hollow and harder to break than they should be. I used that in the final match.”

There are other things UA doesn’t know about. Izuku’s never seen a licensed quirk expert, so not only is it not on file but he has no clue if hoarding vigilante merch happens for any explainable reason. At least, beyond his brain seeing Pop’s latest gift and going “yes, good, here's some happiness.” More likely to be a quirk-thing are the fireproof insides. Biting a lit candle wasn’t the best way to find out, but hot damn if it didn’t happen.

It’s fine. 

He’s fine. 

Everyone lived and his housemates now have blackmail to explain exactly why staying up two days straight to research a string of oddly similar crime scenes is a bad idea.

“Is it-” Yaomomo breaks off her sentence as the elevator dings. She looks frustrated, and Izuku understands that she wanted more information than this.

Izuku gathers his crutches as if to follow her out, but pushes a button to close the doors once she’s stepped through. From her expression when she turns around, she expected as much.

“Enjoy your meeting with Nezdu,” Izuku says as apologetically as he can. He’s given her much less useful information than she wanted, after all.

Yaomomo inclines her head slightly. “I will.”

How can something so polite sound like a threat?

The doors slide shut, carrying Izuku back down to Recovery Girl’s floor before he can ask what that means. Izuku leans back against the elevator wall and wonders just how many cards Nezdu will put into play with this new development. Yaomomo is smarter than he thought.

She’s dangerous.

Izuku can’t wait to work with her once she’s licensed.

Yaomomo sends him a calculating look when he enters homeroom half an hour later. It’s understandable that she’s frustrated, but their classmates are funneling into the room and both of them have secrets to keep. She’ll have to wait to talk, and the longer Izuku can put this off, the less stress he’ll have.

Theoretically, anyway.

Maybe he can push it until after internships, and something earth-shattering will happen in the meantime to make her forget it?

Izuku takes two steps through the door before Ojiro is in front of him demanding to know where he’s trained. With that, everyone else is up and asking him to explain how, exactly, he fought and survived the final match.

Which.

Izuku isn’t sure how to feel about that. Yeah, he’s in pain constantly and shouldn't have had to fight, but he’s perfectly capable of it. The surprise that he could gets under his nerves. They don’t mean it badly, but it still feels like an unintentional insult.

So he deflects the questions until Kirishima calls for them to back off. Izuku shoots him a grateful look and receives a cheery thumbs up in response.

It’s right in time, too. Izuku’s barely in his seat before the door slams open and Aizawa strides through. Silence drops over the class.

“Today we’re doing something a little different,” he says, ignoring the class’s rising stress as Midnight follows him into the room.

Izuku sits up.

He hasn’t checked the class schedule, so this is just as much of a surprise.

“Hero names,” Aizawa announces, passing out whiteboards and markers while Midnight watches from the front of the classroom. “Midnight will be taking this class, so run your suggestions by her.” 

He then steps into his sleeping bag and attempts to hibernate.

Izuku stares down at his whiteboard. Everytime he sees Aizawa’s special catnap ability he's impressed. How does someone with the paranoid life of an underground hero still fall asleep in public spaces? Izuku can’t even nap in the common room without Hitoshi or Ochako around to watch his back.

Tsu gets up to announce her name and Izuku starts doodling rabbits.

The class filters through. Froppy is an excellent name to start them off. Yaomomo introduces herself as Creati and Tokoyami chooses Tsukuyomi. It’s fairly quick once they get going, though there is a bit of discussion over Aoyama and Mina’s names.

“Alien Queen will make your viewers think of the horror movie,” Midnight points out. Mina glances down at her whiteboard doubtfully.

“Yeah, but it’s an old movie. Not everyone thinks of it anymore,” she says. “Can I take it for a trial run?”

Midnight hesitates, then shakes her head. “Let's leave that as a last-ditch option, and look for another one in the meantime.”

Izuku catches Mina’s eye on the way back to her desk and tears off a scrap of notebook paper. That franchise dates back to the pre-quirk era. It’s stuck around through a couple of remakes that everyone agrees are never as good as the original, and one truly awful TV series that came out the same year as the first quirk’s discovery. If Mina wants to take the name, she’s going to have to work hard at it.

Internships might be a good test run, but she’d need to talk it out with Midnight and maybe another faculty member to get full support.

He jots down the basics of how to get it done, slips the note to Sero, and continues doodling as Bakugo haggles over his name. The class is going to be alright. He tips his chair back and starts working on a drawing of a little dragon curled up next to a rabbit. They kind of remind him of Mom and Dad.

“Okay!” Midnight says just as he finishes the drawing. “Now we just have Shinsou, Iida, Todoroki and Izuku to give their names!”

“WHAT,” Izuku shrieks, nearly falling backwards off his chair and crashing into Hitoshi’s desk. He saves himself by desperately flailing and catching the end of his desk just in time. The class is silent.

Midnight blinks. “Would you rather keep your Sports Festival name?”

“I- No?!? I already have a perfectly good name that’s very classified?” Izuku looks around at the rest of the class, who all seem way too interested in this new information. “I’m not Deku. I’m Izuku. There’s one person who gets to call me that and he’s in this class.”

Midnight’s surprise lasts for a half-second at most before she covers it up. If she was expecting Izuku to take a hero name, then there’s an issue in an otherwise perfect system. This smells like a plot. Izuku can’t see Aizawa’s reaction, but the tension in the classroom has skyrocketed. He’s listening.

Midnight shrugs with faux confusion. “I see. Nezdu-”

Izuku fucking knew it.

“-must have something else planned. Moving on,” Midnight says, and Izuku has to admire the way she pushes past any questions the class has and commands their full attention. “Shinsou, Iida, and Todoroki, have you found your hero name?”

Hitoshi sighs and pushes to his feet. He knocks a hand against Izuku’s shoulder as he passes, and Izuku abruptly realizes that Hitoshi is also moving the lesson along. He has the best brother.

“Mindblank.”

Izuku watches Tenya stare at his whiteboard like it’s personally insulted his family.

What does Nezdu get to gain by putting Izuku in the line for a heroics license? Ideally that would be a good thing, but right now there’s no way for Izuku to become a hero under the current Heroics Commission. He’s explicitly here until graduation. Acquiring even a provisional license is a loophole that will get him arrested on suspicion of involvement with previous cases. He’ll be expelled at best.

Nezdu benefits from Izuku attending UA, so why would he do that?

He puzzles over it through the next class and all the way up until it’s time for him to teach. No answers present themselves, which is unspeakably rude of his brain and also the universe at large.

“Right, today we’re reviewing ethics,” Izuku announces once everyone is sitting down. He has two classes before internships start. Two classes to throw an ethics textbook at Tenya’s head so he dosn’t pull some stupid stunt in Hosu.

“Who can name an ethical theory?” Izuku points to the first hand he sees. “Ochako.” 

The class is used to his teaching style enough to know that the sooner they get done with this, the more time they’ll have for fun stuff later. 

“Nihilism?”

“That’s the good stuff. My personal favorite: nothing matters. Aoyama?”

“Monsieur Kant!”

“Excellent. Kantian ethics are very black and white, and believe in a kind of categorical imperative. What else? Yaomomo?”

“Utilitarianism.”

“Oof, nice. The pursuit of a net positive good.” Izuku waits a second for any other hands before continuing. “Sure, let’s work with those. You’re all studying ethics with Aizawa, and technically it’s not my job or business what he does in his class, but I am making it my mission to be very annoying and petty, so buckle up. Who can tell me what these have in common? You’re all taking Aizawa’s course; make him proud.”

“Sensei says they’re all a load of bullshit,” Bakugo barks out from the back, and Izuku grins. 

“Exactly! What else? There are no wrong answers, but bonus points to anyone who can guess why I’m bringing it up.”

“They each search for the correct answer to what is right and wrong,” Hagakure says.

“Oh, close!” Izuku scans the expectant faces.

“They’re made by crusty-ass white men,” Jiro calls from the back.

“Points to Jiro! Yes, most ethics our heroics system is built on are inherently coming from a structure of racism, classism, sexism, and all sorts of nasty stuff that takes a lot of time to unpack. Aizawa probably has lesson plans for that, so I’m going to get straight to the point.”

Izuku hops off the desk, wandering amongst the class. This is rare. He usually avoids spending the spoons to move around, but the way everyone is immediately on edge is worth it today.

It’s a nice little shot of adrenaline to keep them awake while he rambles.

Is he going to lecture?

Tenya’s learning style is largely auditory, so just this once, Izuku’s going to skew his tactics for a particular member of the class.

Yeah, alright, he’s going to lecture.

He pauses by Hitoshi’s desk. “We are taught, increasingly, to make our decisions as heroes based on ‘justice.’ It’s an old ideal, and one that seems grand and noble at first glance. Nezdu agrees with this, for example - he acts only for the greater good. If Sir Nighteye told him one of the people in this room would someday succeed in becoming a top villain, he would immediately try to monitor or interrogate them. Depending on how much he trusts the information, he could take things a step further. Stain operates by the same logic. This is pretty much just straight Utilitarianism.”

Izuku leans on Yaomomo’s desk and waits for the murmurs to settle down before continuing.

“How about Endeavor? He seems mostly Kantian - a categorical imperative, though he seems to have a slightly different view of humanity than Kant did. Kant believes that humans are deserving of respect because they are rational beings. This does not take loyalty or relationships into account. I personally have the most issues with this outlook.”

Izuku stops by Bakugo’s desk. “Shigaraki is likely a nihilist. So is Present Mic, if I’m reading him right. Plenty of heroes are. Others help just because they can, because they want to, and it’s not any deeper than that. But all of these systems discuss ‘justice.’ They're not for me.”

Izuku stops in front of Shoto’s desk.

“As heroes, you will be paid for ‘justice,’ you will be ranked by ‘justice,’ and you will be trained by ‘justice.’ Many heroes across the rankings enact that ideal, but are not kind. They do not care. And there’s nothing wrong with that! Everyone has a different reason for being a hero. We can talk about the discussions about this later, and maybe dissect it, but I want to bring up a new outlook.”

Tenya does not meet Izuku’s eyes when he steps in front of his desk, so Izuku sits on the edge and forces his student and friend to pay attention out of sheer annoying willpower.

Izuku was wasted as an only child.

Thank goodness Hitoshi’s here now – Izuku has no clue who he’s supposed to bother with all this youngest-sibling energy. Who’s going to put up with him? Because yeah, Dabi’s his older-brother-figure, but there’s only so many times Izuku can put up with the smoke alarm going off because someone sneezed.

He refocuses.

“Care Ethics requires us to think deeper, about the lasting effects of our actions. Humans form bonds. It’s what we do. If any of us were to, say, meet a villain and consider taking their life out of revenge-” Izuku pointedly ignores Tenya flinching back so violently his pen drops to the floor with a clatter. “-Then we need to consider the people around us. How are they affected by your actions? As living, breathing, emotional humans, we create bonds, friendships, and relationships. Be careful with your risks during internships. How are you affected beyond the immediate?”

Tenya looks away pointedly, closing off from the world. It’s not the best response, but Izuku wasn’t expecting anything more. Today’s about taking a sledgehammer to his worldview. Next class will be about helping him pick up the pieces.

“I do not have a degree,” Izuku says as he returns to the teachers desk. “For all you know I could be lying about all these definitions and I couldn’t prove you wrong, mainly because I am lazy and only studied these for a couple weeks past what I needed for a teaching certificate. But I can say that ‘heroics’ is more than a job description. It’s a service, and one that requires support from each other in order to maintain public safety. Don’t forget that. Depend on your teams while in the field. They’ll take care of you so long as you allow it.”

Izuku glances up at the clock. “Okay, that’s enough of me talking. I’ve got cards and it’s time to learn how to cheat at poker.”

Class goes fairly quickly after that.

Izuku learned to play and cheat when he was tiny. Usagiyama child-rearing at it’s finest.

Ochako picks it up the fastest, followed by Aoyama and Shoji. Hagakure’s quirk puts her at a slight disadvantage, so Izuku asks to be dealt into her round and shows her how to trim a deck for her own use. Hitoshi already knew a couple ways to cheat, which somehow this surprises people. 

Sato hands out cupcakes. He knows Izuku could not care less if there’s eating in this classroom.

“I’m going to crush 1B at lunch tomorrow,” Hagakure tells Izuku when they finish personalizing a deck. “Arai - you know, from Management - runs an underground snack and gambling ring that’s school-wide.”

“Good for her,” Jiro says as she peels her cupcake wrapper off. Sato starts dealing, Kouda watching from one side and Shoji on the other. If he can slip cards past both of them, Izuku figures that’s good enough. Ojiro completes their circle on the far side.

“I feel like this isn’t normal for a high school,” Sato says as he starts shuffling the deck. Two cards are slipped up his sleeve, and Izuku reaches over to fix it so they won’t fall out so easily. 

“Curl your thumb a bit more?” Izuku suggests, and Sato passes over the deck so Izuku can show him. It’s passed back, re-shuffled, and this time there’s no visible tell until he tries to put the deck back. Everyone pointedly ignores the card that nearly slides out of his sleeve on accident.

“What’s weird?” Hagakure splits the deck, leaving the card she trimmed on top. “Learning poker in class?”

“Not exactly normal,” Shoji agrees as Sato deals out the cards.

“Normal,” Jiro says dryly. “In this class? The class that ran into villains on our first field trip, has the world's angriest gremlin Pomeranian, and Yaomomo, who is basically a goddess? That class? Normal?”

Sato shrugs. “You know what I meant. It’s not really a common skill.”

"None of what we learn are common skills," Jiro points out. "But yeah, I guess I can see your point. Cheating's not exactly useful to heroics. I get the lockpicking and bartering and stuff, but..."

“You’ll need to know it if you want to go undercover,” Izuku says. “Not every villain knows how to play, yeah, but it helps. Plus, it’s the universal game for long-term missions. Stakeouts prefer games with a little less eye contact, though. Consider this useful for future team-building.”

Jiro squints at him. "That's kind of a weak excuse."

Izuku shrugs.

He's trying to be a terrible role model. Just, the absolute worst. Hopefully someday he'll get a prize for it along with the innate bragging rights.

"Stakeouts seem pretty exciting, though." Ojiro glances over as he collects his cards. “You’ve been on those?”

“A few. Snipe has this awful drink that’s singlehandedly the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. He brings a whole flask of it. Powerade, Mountain Dew, and Pepsi with protein powder mixed in. I think he warms it on the stove in his agency beforehand.”

Izuku’s classmates take a moment to absorb this new knowledge and check their cards.

“That’s disgusting,” Sato declares for all of them. “Never speak to me of this again.”

Sure.

Izuku can do that.

When they wrap up class and pass packs of cards to the front, Izuku raises his voice just a bit to call, “Shoto, mind waiting for me right outside? Tenya, stay behind. I have questions about both of your placements.”

Backpacks rustle and Sero manages to toss a ball of paper into the recycling from the far side of the classroom while Izuku sits on the teacher’s desk. Yaomomo gives him a long look before allowing a short nod. She leaves without looking back, and Izuku has never felt more lost than he does in the face of this new mystery. 

She nodded.

What.

What does that mean? 

Are they done agonizing over his quirk? Did she learn something from Nezdu? Is she done trying to uncover Izuku’s deep, dark criminal past? Or is this a sign that she’s found something suspicious and is going to make his life even more unnecessarily complicated? 

Izuku’s so confused.

He sits in his misery and waits until Tenya is the last one in the room before speaking. “You know what I’m going to ask?”

“I think you misunderstand,” Tenya says, cold and assured in all the wrong ways. “I’m not going to Hosu for revenge.”

Izuku frowns, fidgeting with his crutches. “It won’t save you. You can light it all up in flames-” like I did, “-but it won’t matter. It won’t bring the closure you want.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not seeking revenge or closure. Hosu is merely the best place to test my skills.” Tenya bows respectfully and collects his notebooks. “Thank you for today’s class, Izuku.”

He’s cold.

Factual.

Like the kind of ice that lies in sheets across windshields and car doors, welding them shut but all the more brittle for it. Izuku would rather see his friend thaw than shatter. There are better ways to break.

“Tenya,” Izuku calls before his classmate reaches the door. “If I were to visit Ingenium and tell him, would it stop you?”

“You wouldn’t,” Tenya says, a challenge clear in his voice. Izuku abruptly realizes Tenya is in a worse mental state than he expected. “Because he’s never worked with a Midoriya Izuku - I asked. You’d have to approach him in costume or ask a teacher to help you toe the line with confidential internship placings. Or else ask him to lie to me.”

“I have my ways.”

“Maybe, but he doesn't lie. Not to me.” Tenya tilts his head, classroom light glaring off his glasses. “I’d know your masked name.”

“Tenya-”

“Goodbye, Izuku.”

The door closes, and Izuku is left behind. He wasn’t expecting Tenya to call his bluff, wasn’t expecting the tiny flaw in his logic to be ripped open. Tenya will make a good hero, but he could make an equally terrifying villain. 

Izuku can’t condone murder.

“What was that?” Shoto asks as Izuku steps out of the classroom.

“A very delicate confrontation I might have messed up. Come on.” Izuku leads him through the twisting hallways until he finds a storage room nobody bothers to check. 

He sits on a desk shoved in amongst the bookcases and boxes. This will be an interesting and difficult conversation. After standing for a lesson, there’s no way Izuku isn’t sitting for this. No way. He’d like to keep the back pain at somewhat manageable levels.

“We won’t be overheard here.”

“Suspicious,” Shoto notes, shutting the door behind them. “Go on.”

What is he thinking-

No, Izuku’s probably better off not knowing. 

“Okay, so this is a long story and I need you to bear with me. First, are you going to be okay over internships?” Izuku pauses, notes that Shoto looks like a very startled owl, and adds, “I know where you’re placed and while I don’t like that logic, it’s also not my choice. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just having me follow around for the PR.” Shoto sets his bag against a stack of cardboard boxes. His expression is expectant, like there’s some deeper truth to this discussion that he’s waiting for Izuku to reveal. Right now, Izuku can’t afford to make mistakes. What he’s about to bring up isn’t something he’s saying as a student or as a teacher, because both of those positions ultimately answer to the Heroics Commission. Grasshopper needs Shoto’s opinion.

Izuku shrugs and fiddles with his crutches. “I’ll be around if you need me. But- Um. I need your thoughts on something-”

“Secret lovechildren,” Shoto agrees with complete and total confidence, which is very far from where Izuku was going. 

The indignant squawk Izuku makes has him clapping both hands over his face and wishing that if there is a god at this point, that they just take him now. Let him sink into the floor and be done.

Holy shit.

“No?” Izuku wheezes so hard his eyes water.

“Ah,” Shoto says with palpable disappointment. “Well, if you change your mind-”

“Shoto, I’m crying. These are real Gucci tears coming out of my face right now.”

“-I’ll be listening.” Shoto crosses his heart and mimes zipping his lips shut. Izuku wipes his eyes and wonders at how cruel the world can be.

“It’s- I swear, it’s not that. Never that. Why would you even think…? Actually, let’s just move on.” Izuku inhales, exhales, and meets Shoto’s eyes steadily. There’s a lot of anger deep in his heart for Endeavor, but he can’t act on it without talking to Shoto and Dabi. They both have probably-unrelated personal grudges that Izuku doesn't fully understand. “I promised a friend not to get involved with Endeavor’s career, but sooner or later he’ll be taken down.”

Not because of the Sports Festival.

Izuku can excuse getting himself hurt. He draws the line at anyone else, and Endeavor has proved himself ready to harm anyone in his way for spite alone. He’s angry for Shoto. For Dabi. For all the injuries and casualties of collateral damage brought on by villain fights and careless hellflame. Homes and livelihoods have burned down.

“Taken down,” Shoto repeats, tucking shaking hands into his pockets to hide them. Izuku considers it and nods.

“His actions will have consequences,” Izuku swears. The anger makes his voice soft in that dangerous way Mom taught him years ago. “But ultimately, pursuing this isn’t my choice to make.”

That’s the thing about abusers.

It’s not clean, it’s not easy, and it’s certainly not a one-time decision followed by a happily ever after. Scars linger.

Shoto leans back against a bookshelf and meets Izuku’s eyes steadily. The air in the room is thick like molasses, pressing in on Izuku’s lungs and nearly strangling him under the tension. If Shoto chooses to leave right now, Izuku won’t think any less of him. He’d be right to do so. But here in this room washed gold and soft orange through the pulled blinds and layers of dust, Izuku wants to dig up painful secrets he has no right to hold.

Shoto gets to decide.

It’s his life.

His choice.

Shoto dips his head in a nod, catching a sliver of light that shines from between the window blinds and wall. “I’m listening.”

“There are options,” Izuku says slowly, wondering how much to say when it’s unclear how much Shoto wants to hear. From the small frown, he’s underestimating his friend.

“Options?”

“I found something that will probably let me end Endeavor’s career, and deal major damage to a group of people who want me taken down as a bonus,” Izuku admits reluctantly, swinging his legs off the desk. The sound of his heels drumming against it echoes around the storage room. “It will corner him. He’ll be mad. Insulted, probably. But I don’t know what he’ll do with that frustration.”

I don’t know if it will be turned on you. I don’t know who he’ll lash out at.

Shoto shifts back so the light stops hitting his eyes as he thinks.

“He’ll patrol,” Shoto says, so quietly Izuku almost misses it. “We spar in scheduled blocks, Mondays and Thursdays with hand-to-hand, all other days are on quirked maneuvers. Wednesday is a rest day, because his agency has a meeting that always runs to late evening. If you have something to do, he should get the news Tuesday. After dinner, preferably between eleven and midnight.”

Izuku laces his fingers and tucks them under his chin. He knows what Shoto is suggesting, but this isn’t about minimizing harm done to his friend. It’s about eliminating a possible threat. If there’s the slightest chance that Endeavor will take it out on Shoto, Izuku won’t spread evidence of the Hero Commission lining his pockets. 

That’s something he’ll never be willing to do.

“As your TA, I want to see justice done.” Izuku says quietly, burying the danger to Endeavor under kindness. “But as a friend, this isn’t an option. I won’t-”

“Whatever it is,” Shoto interrupts, “Do it. Please.”

Izuku shuts his mouth. The surprise must be painted clear on his face because Shoto snorts and leans against a wall. 

“I am not going to be a great hero,” Shoto says, almost too quietly for anywhere but this dusty storage room that is now filled with secrets along with cardboard boxes. “But I would like to be my own hero, even if the person I'm becoming won’t be perfect.”

There is so much Izuku wants to say to that.

He wants to tell Shoto that Endeavor’s vision of a hero is inherently a great one, but not necessarily a good one. That there is more to Shoto than the people who try to shape him, and that selfishness is a healthy thing to possess. Izuku wants to tell his friend that he is so unbelievably proud of him for distancing himself even this much from Endeavor.

But saying that would be cruel when Izuku isn’t sure it wouldn’t be too much. He's not sure if telling Shoto what he thinks would push him back into old habits. Too much positivity can come off as false.

“I like the hero you’re becoming,” Izuku says instead, and means that even if Shoto sees himself as flawed, he is still Izuku’s friend. No take-backs.

Shoto shrugs. “My father has tried very hard to change that.”

Every once in a while, Izuku experiences absolute loathing. It’s usually brought about by one common emotion, something he’s been told runs in the family. Dragons are protective. Midoriya Inko is, quite literally, a household name due to a famously successful revenge plot that partially reconfigured the HPSC.

Izuku learned from the best.

He’s also getting a headache from this conversation.

“I hate him,” Izuku admits, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know he’s your father and it’s really none of my business, but… yeesh.”

Shoto shrugs and says, “do you know how much he gets away with? I went to Aizawa because I twisted an arm, spilled ink over my backpack, and couldn’t replace the homework in time. Sensei saw through me.”

“That really is his entire night and day job,” Izuku agrees faintly. He helps teach how to recognize the exact warning signs Shoto has been giving off every day. Late patrols and long years helping civilians have taught Izuku how to recognize the very red flags Shoto has been presenting since day one. He’s taken too long to follow up. That’s Izuku’s failing; his fault.

Aizawa caught it, though.

Built trust.

Intervened.

“I’m leaving,” Shoto tells Izuku flatly. Whatever he’s feeling about it isn’t easy to read. “I’m not supposed to say when, but the Tuesday of internships is your best bet.”

Aizawa must be making a move around then. This sounds like a very careful operation that’s probably airtight if none of Izuku’s informants have caught it. Eraserhead is good at that. If the hero needed Izuku’s help with anything, he would have asked long ago. 

“Well, I’m still holding off in case it messes with your plans,” Izuku decides. 

Shoto shakes his head. “Nothing can stop me at this point. I’ll couch-surf before I return to that mess. Fuyumi’s offered her guest room if anything goes south.”

“Oh, that’s luxury. You’re gonna be fine,” Izuku says automatically. “Hey, but count me in that backup number. If anything happens - that includes Endeavor pulling rank, I’m not scared of him - find me. I have a couple safehouses, take your pick.”

Shoto stares. “What?”

“If you need a place to crash off the grid,” Izuku says, already thinking of what safehouses are secure for a UA student. “Just don’t judge my mask if you find it.”

Bonus:

Hitoshi packs his bags for internships and tries not to eye Izuku suspiciously. He’s dropped by to sprawl across Hitoshi’s floor and generally make a nuisance of himself, but there’s worry underlining the careless gestures and winding, rambling thoughts.

It’s quiet, save for the story Izuku is telling about the underground hero Hitoshi will intern with.

Nightcrawler.

Hitoshi had no idea that underground heroes were like this. He’d known vigilantes were disasters to a fault - they’re chaotic and prone to fits of dumbassery that would put a hallucinating honey badger to shame, but underground heroes are cut from an entirely different cloth.

They’re kind of distrustful, unwilling parents. That’s the only way Hitoshi can describe it.

Nightcrawler had accepted his internship request with the email equivalent of a shrug and pat on the back. Izuku had gone starry eyed when Hitoshi had first mentioned the offer, and nostalgically informed him that Nightcrawler hates vigilantes.

That’s right.

He hates them. Wholeheartedly.

Nightcrawler notoriously scoffs and waves threatening handcuffs at all the terrible illegal not-heroes around him, and yet somehow the two other vigilantes Hitoshi had asked through Izuku’s sketchier phone seem to positively adore him with a single-minded devotion. Over last night’s particularly memorable midnight snack, Izuku had informed Hitoshi that he would gladly put his life in this man’s hands. They all would. 

And yet, and yet, the man hates their guts. It’s a give-and-take kind of situation, where they give information and take as much of Nightcrawler’s time as they want. Which is to say, all of it.

Hitoshi had been sold right then and there, but he’d checked his other internship offers just in case. 

None of them had the same networks across Japan, which is exactly the skill Hitoshi wants to gain during this trip. He could go through life building on Grasshopper’s contacts, but Hitoshi wants to be his own hero. He won’t ask Izuku for that, though in Hosu the line could end up blurred.

For this reason, Hitoshi finds himself packing his bag for Hosu and waving to Izuku from the UA gates. The train to Hosu is uneventful with a strangely quiet Tenya, not that Hitoshi can focus.

Internships await.

Chapter Text

On the first day of freedom where his classmates are out doing internship things, Izuku is stuck with Aizawa watching his every move. This will not stand. He has things to break, places to scout, and school campuses to leave for a whole afternoon of errands verging on chaos. Most of these are even things he's supposed to be doing, which Izuku personally thinks is very impressive.

He can be functional human.

Take that, Giran.

Dusting off the old skills of politely arguing his case earn a permission slip from Nezdu. With a full hour to prep, Izuku returns to the dorms, plasters shippu on his back as a terrible pain hack, and downs a dose of medication before meeting his escort at the front steps. If he's productive today, he can crash from the exhaustion tomorrow and maybe the next day. It'll be great.

Nothing about this can possibly go wrong.

Izuku stares out the car window as he thinks that. He's being escorted by a sidekick to Ryukyu’s agency, which will then escort him to his PT appointment. Minimal walking. Ideal.

Or it was, until he jinxed himself.

Is Ryukyu going to toss him off a building again?

Hm.

Probably not.

Izuku likes his aunt. She understands his choice to blur the line between hero and villain was less of a choice and more making the best of repetitively bad circumstances, and is one of the heroes close enough to the underground to know that whatever nonsense Izuku may pull, there are bigger fish to fry. She's also unfortunately just as given to roughhousing and defenestration as Aunt Rumi.

Maybe his spine won't snap like a dry twig?

Izuku barely sets foot in her agency before he’s wrapped in a surprisingly careful hug. Aunt Ryu ruffles his hair to make up for the lack of rib-cracking and Izuku nearly breaks down.

He hasn't felt truly safe in a long time, but for a second he gets… close.

Very close.

“Tell me everything,” she says from somewhere over his left ear. “You won the match!”

“You know us. Gotta overachieve,” Izuku manages once he can breathe without feeling like he'll burst into tears. He earns suspicious looks from more than a few passing interns. “Dango?”

“Absolutely.” Aunt Ryu spins around to her front desk, and Izuku waits patiently as she clears a couple hours with her assistant. Beside him, Neijire slides up.

“You’re from class 1-A, the morality instructor, right?”

"I'm only a student teacher,” Izuku grumbles. He doesn't know much about the third years, though they're licensed to run patrols and support on raids. They're experienced enough to ask questions and confident enough to accept incomplete answers. Izuku doesn't know Neijire beyond a reputation for curiosity. It makes him nervous.

Nervous enough to change the conversation.

“You intern for Ryukyu?”

“Right now, yeah.” Nejire switches from fidgeting with her hair to tapping a foot, sharp eyes flicking across Izuku’s face. “What’s your quirk,” she asks abruptly and Izuku thanks everything he knows that he’s been fielding this question since day one on the streets.

“It’s dragon-related, but that’s all you’re getting. So, I never heard that you were at Ryukyu’s-“

“Are you related?” Nejire bounces up and down with increasing speed as she glances from Ryukyu to Izuku in excitement. She’s sharp, and Izuku is budgeting spoons too closely to deal with this particular lie.

“Nope.”

“ALRIGHT,” Ryukyu roars abruptly from the front desk. “LISTEN UP! My nephew and I are gonna take five, and I’m trusting every one of you to keep this place in one piece while I’m out. Tsuki, go to the med bay already. Carrion, I don’t want to hear about any lightbulbs broken or incidents when I get back. Label that drink so nobody gets food poisoning again. Aou, drop that report on my desk and don’t let anyone touch it ‘till I’m back. Everyone else, go to Lilypad if you need help, understand?!”

Nejire leans closer as the chorus of assurances rings out. “Soooooooooooo… nephew?”

“Shut,” Izuku hisses urgently, though it does little in the face of Neijire’s curiosity. She’s like a bloodhound for whatever captures her passing interest, and Izuku’s lineage just made the list. Unfortunately, it’s very, very classified.

“Like, nephew-nephew?"

Are there different kinds of nephews? Izuku zones out for a moment as he tries to puzzle that out. Maybe it's some sort of hierarchy, in which case Izuku is probably losing on account of faking his death so many times. Hitoshi is winning this race and he isn't even trying.

Neijire has moved on to questioning him by the time Izuku drags his thoughts back down to earth. "-Because some of the first years swear you’re related to Midoriya Inko, but Tamaki thinks you were birthed in a horror-movie-style summoning ritual.”

“I’m not- what?” Izuku mentally trips over that. “You think I was born from dark magic? Do you even know what dark magic is? Because I am very concerned by that mental image. They don't even have unions.”

Nejire nods enthusiastically. “I know right?! And I saw a movie. They’ve got robes and stuff, and ponder mystical orbs. Oh! And Tamaki swears you have the same cryptic energy. He ate a Ring Pop once, which is basically the source of all magic, so that pretty much decides it for me."

“I don't think that's how this works?” Izuku squints at her. “At least compare me to Mothman or something cooler.”

“Izuku is my favorite dragon hatchling,” Aunt Ryu announces as she approaches from behind them. Izuku saw her coming, but Neijire’s startles. “Neijire, remember agency rules?” 

Everyone knows Ryukyu’s opinions on blood relations. She has to be careful, with two mob bosses for brothers.

“Yep! Not my business.”  Nejire bows quickly and waves to Izuku as she skips away. “Bye, Mr. Izuku!” 

She says it in English, which strips it of any residual coolness the title might have.

“Mr. Izuku,” Aunt Ryu repeats dryly. “Very professional and completely ditches my family name. I like it.”

Izuku makes a sound vaguely reminiscent of dying whales. “Please can we just get dango and end my suffering?”

“Yeah, kiddo.” Aunt Ryu scoops him up and steps outside before activating her quirk. Civilians step back as though people spontaneously turn into dragons every day, and Ryukyu's wings spread.

Air thins as they fly above the skyline.

"I'm not your only nephew," Izuku says. Did she not know about Hitoshi or lie to Neijire?

Ryukyu falters. "I'm sorry, what?"

Whoops.

They end up buying dango from a small corner store, and Izuku suggests the usual skyscraper rooftop as a snacking location. It’s nice and quiet, and they won’t be overheard if the conversation turns to legal matters. 

It always does.

“I need a report copy of the robbery case your agency did with Endeavor around March last year, and your testimony on Endeavor’s character,” Izuku admits during a lull in the conversation. “He’s hurt one of my friends.”

“Sounds like Inko’s work. Why not pass this off to someone else?” Aunt Ryu knows exactly why he can't sit still - she grew up second in line for a yakuza empire until she changed her name and attended UA. Heirs never get a normal childhood. Neither do runaways.

“It’s my turn to cause trouble,” Izuku says, kicking his legs off the side of the building. 

They’re set to watch the sunset, and the sky silvery-grey in the late afternoon. Both of their quirks are strong enough to survive a fall from this height, though Izuku’s method may damage the concrete. It’s safe. 

Aunt Ryu hums deeper than human vocal cords can reach. It sounds like question-worry-caution to Izuku’s ears. 

He rumbles back, a low sound shaped into defend-hurry-protect.

“Heroics system is messed up,” Izuku says simply.

If he can take down Endeavor, the Commission will be under scrutiny for all the offences they let slide. Things will start to change.

“You know the system won’t be completely fixed, right?” Aunt Ryu looks out across the city she’s sworn to protect. “You’ll fail.”

“I know. Why do you save people even though there will be other victims you can’t reach?”

Aunt Ryu hums, picking her sharp teeth with a dango stick while she considers her answer. "Necessity. My brothers. They were doing a lot of bad, so I figured a bit of good would even us out.”

“And me?” Izuku says, then squeaks when Aunt Ryu ruffles his hair. “Come on, am I that bad?”

“You’re a menace,” she tells him gleefully. “A worthy opponent and adorable nephew. I can’t figure out why you do it.”

“I don’t need a reason.” Izuku sobers, looking down at the streets below. Civilians mill through the crowd on their way home, each living a unique life he knows nothing about. “Just because I’m not going to fix everything entirely, doesn’t mean I can stop trying.”

“Moral obligation,” Aunt Ryu mumbles, biting into another stick of dango and gesturing with the leftover stick. “That’s the word.”

“Yeah, that! I need to try even if it’s futile. And it won’t be – every little effort matters. I want to be able to say yeah, it failed, but I saved that one person, and that matters to them. Even if I didn’t succeed, I tried.” Izuku selects a red bean dango. “It’s the effort that makes the result.”

“Sounds directionless if you ask me.” Aunt Ryu doesn’t mean it to be mean, and he knows it. She’s been driven by grief and an imaginary debt to society for so long, it must be near impossible to consider the need to help as a deep enough instinct on its own. It doesn't make her a different hero, no matter how that new vigilante would put it. Her actions have the same effect.

“Nah, I have a goal. It’s just kind of vague.” Izuku stands up, cracking his back. “I should head to the gym and get some exercises done before the day’s over. Mind dropping me off?”

Aunt Ryu snorts, wings already extending. “Sure. Oguro’s gym?”

“Shrike’s, actually.”

"I hear their PT is better," Aunt Ryu agrees.

Izuku makes a face. Oguro's physical therapy is fine. The real issue is how quickly he'd kick out most heroes.

Dragon wings stretch over the rooftop, and Izuku settles into the familiar spot on her back. Wingbeats audibly carve through the sky as they take off. Flying is a luxury Izuku rarely gets, and he lifts both hands to touch the clouds as they rise. Gold flashes on the horizon, painting buildings that face towards the sunset against the pale blue city.

“All Might has nothing on flying,” Izuku mutters, and Ryukyu laughs. It rumbles low like thunder.

“That’s why Hawks is in the top three,” Ryukyu tells him. “Fuck Endeavor, though.”

“I didn’t know you disliked him,” Izuku says as wind whips through his hair and stings his cheeks.

“He’s an ass,” Ryukyu allows. “But an important one. All Might’s workload is only manageable because he’s around, you know. Still a prick.”

Shit.

Izuku hadn’t thought of that angle.

It’s good he’s holding off on his plans to completely wreck Endeavor’s life. Worst comes to worst, he was planning to hand the information to Gentle or Curious and let them figure out something to do with it. Curious is the more uncontrollable of the two, but Gentle would make the exact kind of media splash that Izuku now has to be wary of.

He puzzles over the problem and finishes his physical therapy and workout at Shrike’s by sunset. 

It gives him a lovely view of the street back to UA, and an even lovelier view of the black van that rolls up next to him. 

He doesn’t remember being kidnapped, only thinking that sleeping quirks suck. 

No offence to Midnight.

Izuku snaps into wakefulness. There is no easy transition – it never is after unconsciousness. Old training keeps him perfectly still, just a light change in his breathing pattern. His captors either don’t notice or don't comment, so Izuku stays still. He strains his senses, seeking any kind of knowledge as to where he is.

The air is musty, a slight salt tang to it that places them either in the industrial district or by the docks so long as they haven’t switched cities altogether. From the muffled discussion going on to his right, there are people in another room or a fair distance away. By the echo he’ll bet it's all one room. Big spaces are rare. Izuku moves his hands slightly on the next inhale, subtly enough to be discounted if nobody’s watching.

He’s tied to a chair. Izuku waits until he’s picked up a pattern to the voices. 

One yells ‘GO FISH!’ and Izuku takes the chance to open one eye very slightly and peer through his eyelashes.

He’s in the middle of an empty warehouse. 

Rich orange-gold sunlight filters through windows to bounce off the opposite warehouse wall, marking it as nearly evening. Izuku’s willing to bet around nine or so. He was out for an hour, and kidnapped. Again. Whoever did it has to have a reason for a warehouse. It’s kind of smart, to remove everything inside it he could jump on, assuming they know about his night job. Maybe his kidnappers have a quirk that requires space?

Izuku glances over to see three men playing cards on the floor. No visible weapons or quirks. Scratch that – one shifts, revealing a USB port behind one ear. Tech-based. Maybe. One other sits taller, but Izuku can tell the easy slant of his shoulders is all bluster, giving away nerves. That’s the leader of their group, whether formally or not doesn’t matter, because the other two keep their body language pointed towards him. Leader, or he's a card-cheat. The last one is chewing on his fingernails, a nervous tic. The two faces he can see have cheap masks that cover their eyes. They’re also all built like they go to the gym. Functional muscle isn’t proportioned like that, and when one drops the cards his reflexes are slower than they should be.

They aren’t confident.

Good.

Lack of confidence means something can go wrong - Izuku just has to make sure their misfortune benefits him.

Easier said than done.

Izuku keeps his eyes open just enough without giving away that he’s up for the sake of tracking movement. A tech-quirk, a space-oriented one if the criminals have any reason for the empty warehouse, and an unknown. Maybe one has a sleep-inducing quirk as well. Likelihood of martial arts training is low but he’s not sure yet.

He needs more information than this.

Or he could just run while they’re unprepared and see how far he gets before his back gives out.

Well… it’s a better option than dying. They used a car, so a teleportation quirk is unlikely.

Izuku activates his quirk, fully intending to break his ties and run. He does not count on the activation to fail due to a combination of pain up his spine and restraints on his legs. Izuku gasps, buckling in the chair as his spine arches in an attempt to rid itself of the pain. This, in turn, pulls on the restraints and gives some very bad memories of being tied up a reason to surface, and Izuku flips smoothly into a flashback as the three villains rise with a shout.

The taste of metal floods his mouth and Izuku has no idea if it’s real or if he’s back there, water rising around him but he’s weighed down, tied down so he can’t get out, can’t run before the next charge sends sparks through the water-

“Oh shit,” someone mutters and Izuku reacts on instinct but he can’t lash out, can’t when he’s tied down and his legs won't move, liquid sloshes ever-higher up to his chin-

“-What am I supposed to do, we can’t kill our own kidnapping victim-“

Yes, they can. Why would they doubt it? 

Izuku focuses on this thought, focuses on the sounds around him, the people shouting and fear in their voices.

They shouldn’t be afraid. Captors of vigilantes rarely are – they know the world of hurt they’re signing up for and do it anyway, because nobody will come looking for a masked, unregistered opponent. That’s why vigilantes form groups in their cities, and watch over their own. It will take more than logic to shake off this panic attack, but Izuku can feel that the flashback is over. He starts on a breathing exercise, keeping his eyes on the ceiling rather than the restraints.

At least the voices around him have quieted. Small mercies. Izuku needs his mental fortitude if he’s going to keep secrets through the next bit, so this kind of silence is more of a calm before the storm than anything else. Still, it’s an old pattern he’s used to. 

Izuku switches to another, slower breathing exercise for a solid minute. When nobody interrupts him, he takes another thirty-second count before collecting his thoughts. Kidnappers are never this kind.

Something’s wrong.

“Kinda rude, donchya think,” he manages through the mess of hazy thoughts. Whatever knocked him out is slurring his voice, but his mind seems fast enough. Delayed physical recovery, then. That’d be useful in torture, if Izuku weren’t already trained out of screaming. “Kidnapping an injured civilian on his way home from the gym. Y’all couldn’t even wait ‘till I had dinner.”

“Sorry,” one of the guys says, and Izuku knows his head is messing with him because it almost sounds genuine.

“If you’re sorry, then don’t fucking kidnap people,” Izuku rasps. He has to close his eyes to manage the vertigo pressing against his temples.

His wrists and back hurt.

“We kind of couldn’t not,” another voice mutters. “I didn’t think Grasshopper was working with UA but... you know… like, aren’t they the enemy?”

Izuku’s breath stutters.

“Grasshopper is missing from action,” he tells them miserably, keeping his eyes closed in a gamble to further his point. “You think taking me will get to him?” 

It’s been a while since anyone thought they’d found his identity. At least he’s got a whole kidnapping playdate to prove he’s not quirked.

Wait.

He tried to use his quirk. 

SHIT. 

“You better cooperate,” a low voice growls. Someone ‘oohs’ in the background and gives a whispered congratulations for sounding scary. Either they’re playing around or clueless. Izuku squints and finds the man he’d marked at the leader attempting a very good threatening pose. It’s almost intimidating, but Izuku’s mind is starting to catalogue all the rookie mistakes he’s seen.

“Or what, you’ll kidnap me?” asks Izuku, the child who is currently kidnapped. His mind is starting to clear, bit by bit.

“Absolutely,” Nail-chewer tells him, deadly serious. “It’s not fun.”

“I can’t imagine,” Izuku mutters. The guy with a tech quirk crosses his arms and tries to look imposing, but it comes off as pouting and is mostly ruined by the fact that his glasses clash horribly with the mask they’re awkwardly perched on. It has the unfortunate effect of snapping Izuku fully back to clarity as his subconscious divorces the current ridiculous situation from a ‘kidnapping’ entirely. There’s a chance they’re just hiding their endgame or following a villain mastermind, but Izuku’s starting to doubt it.

The ringleader cuts straight to the point. “We’re going to kill All Might. And you’re going to help.” It is, bluntly speaking, the oldest recruitment catchline in the book, and most people serious about their villainy won’t use it for fear of sounding cliché.

Izuku stares at the three entry-level villains before him. “You’re kidding. Right? This is a joke? What, tell the worst idea of the century, get 25% off a T-shit and admittance to a Stand-Up Comedy Club?”

They shift uncomfortably.

“Oh no,” Izuku whispers. “You’re serious. You think- you honestly think a half-dead vigilante will save your souls? Oh, you poor fools. Just- just do us all a favor and run. I’m being tracked anyway, just save yourselves and fuckin’ run for it-“

“You’re being tracked?” Glasses-man interrupts. Izuku barks out a laugh at this. They’re so woefully new to the whole villain process. It’s not even kidnapping at this point. They haven’t tried to inflict injury (they’ve been very respectful of his boundaries, which Izuku appreciates) or brought out any common methods. This is just a chair, a leaky warehouse, and three masks. They didn’t even use proper ties.

What a bunch of amateurs. Izuku could do better in his sleep.

...Unless it’s a psychological game?

No.

No, they wouldn’t be this obvious.

“…So about that villainy,” the leader starts.

“I think I’ll give a hard pass,” Izuku says, just to see what they’ll do.

“Oh. Okay,” Nail-chewer says weakly. “Well, do you mind just keeping quiet about all this…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Izuku nods enthusiastically, wondering if he’ll spontaneously become a good liar. “Totally.”

The ringleader abruptly pulls the other two away for a whispered conversation. There’s a lot of nodding, suspicious glances in Izuku’s direction, and Nail-chewer has started to chew his fingernails again. That’ll leave a lovely DNA trace for the police. Izuku wants to cry. He’d nearly reached a year without getting kidnapped even once and it’s broken like this.

They come to an agreement, leering at Izuku with renewed dramatic flair. He gives it full points for enthusiasm and a zero for execution.

“You’ll keep quiet or we’ll make you keep quiet,” Nail-chewer says proudly, as though it’s the coolest line he’s ever said. The ringleader offers him a subtle high-five. It kind of makes Izuku feel bad about all the testing of their patience he’s about to do.

“So?”

The question catches them off guard. Glasses-man frowns. “So... you shouldn’t tell on us?”

He doesn't seem very sure of himself.

“Why?” Izuku asks. “Besides honor or whatever, but I really don’t care about that. Why is it worth my time?”

“Or we’ll…” Nail-chewer hesitates, uncomfortable with his words. “I’m not sure, actually. Kill you?”

Izuku knows in this instant not one of these improv-villains have ever considered killing anyone other than All Might. Even that was probably an impulse decision.

“You gotta say it like you mean it,” the ringleader mutters. “We talked about confidence, man.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Why don’t we try again,” Izuku offers, lounging in his chair like it's comfortable and not ruining his back. “From the ‘keep quiet’ bit? It was pretty good.”

“Really?” Nail-chewer brightens at this. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay, uh…. Right.” 

It shouldn’t be endearing the way they all take a few seconds to get into character. They’re trying so hard.

“Keep quiet or we’ll make you keep quiet,” Nail-chewer repeats, putting his entire heart and soul into the line. The ringleader gives whispered encouragement.

“Yeah,” Glasses-man echoes before falling silent, apparently out of witty remarks.

“Or what,” Izuku hisses in his edgiest impersonation of a spy movie villain, just because they’re working hard and deserve some sort of reward.

“Or we’ll… we’ll…”

“Kill you!” Ringleader interrupts desperately. “Yeah, we’ll kill you! But we’ll kidnap you first!”

“Oh no. Kidnapping.” Izuku looks at the ties securing his wrists to the chair, aware they’ve already checked that one off the list. “That sounds terrible.”

“It is,” Nail-chewer pipes up. “Definitely.”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Izuku shifts uncomfortably. “Could I have a pillow or something? My back hurts.”

“Oh, shit, sorry about that-“

Izuku has a split second where they release his restraints to reactivate the tracker in his anklet. It beeps, but instead of looking at the prison-grade accessory on Izuku’s leg, all three check their phones. 

They then get into an argument over whose phone beeped, then about whether it’s better to leave your phone on silent or sound during interrogations. Izuku, who is still untied and had no idea he was being interrogated or that they brought their phones with them, has to look away with secondhand embarrassment. They’ve known he’s been tracked for how long now and haven’t done anything?

He doesn’t protest when they tie his arms to the chair again out of pity. Cooperating is a gift of generosity at this point.

Finally, the ringleader wins their argument by re-asserting the importance of receiving news notifications so they can tell if the heroes are planning an ambush. There are more holes in that logic than there are in a colander. Izuku wants to cry. Every single one of his classmates are smarter than this, and Shoto tried to make popcorn by dropping a whole stick of butter in a bag of frozen corn and lighting it on fire last week.

Glasses reties Izuku to the chair. He's very apologetic about it, which is nice but doesn’t negate the fact that Izuku is technically kidnapped in an undisclosed location. Thus, Izuku thinks he’s entitled to be as judgmental as he wants, so long as it pushes back the panic.

“Are you guys getting paid for this?” Izuku asks abruptly, because only that or a new level of boredom could cause this.

“Not telling,” the ringleader says.

He’s not loud enough to drown out Nail-chewer and Glasses-man grumbling, “No.”

“Cool. Just wondering for insurance stuff.”

“There’s kidnapping insurance?” Glasses sits down, cross-legged like a kid waiting for storytime. After a moment, the other two follow suit. Izuku resigns himself to teaching his own kidnappers how to be proper villains.

“Not legally. But you can work stuff out with contacts – most vigilantes do, actually.”

“I didn’t,” Nail-chewer mutters in the tone of someone who could have saved a great deal of money but is only realizing it too late. The other two nod with a similar air of regret.

Ringleader looks years older. “Never too early to start preparing for the future.”

“Or retirement,” Glasses-man adds, completely missing the fact that villains don’t actually retire that often. They usually swap careers and manage to get out of the cycle that prevents employment into new fields, get successful enough to become supervillains, or get caught. The only S-Class villain to escape the public eye and retire was, well…

…Destro.

Izuku choses to agree rather than press this flaw.

“How's it work?” Glasses-man asks, and Izuku resigns himself to giving lessons on insurance to his kidnappers.

This isn’t the weirdest thing he’s ever done, but it’s still pretty high up there.

“Normal insurance is essentially a bet that you'll break your car, or go to the hospital, right? Same principle. If you win the bet, you receive money you bet on getting kidnapped or whatever. Groups in my line of work sometimes get together and have a cash pool we share if anyone-”

He’s interrupted by the warehouse door slamming open. There, framed in light and backed by Eraserhead and Present Mic, is Tsukauchi. The detective looks desperate. Considering what could have happened if any of these three had an actual plan, it’s understandable.

What follows is the quickest villain takedown Izuku has ever seen.

Ringleader turns to Nail-chewer and Glasses-man in bewilderment as Eraserhead checks his cuffs. “How did they find us?”

Izuku, who is very blatantly wearing a tracking anklet, blinks slowly. “Did you turn off your phone location?”

“Oh. Do they use that?”

Izuku really does cry this time.

“Look,” Naomasa tells him after he’s been brought to the police station and interviewed, “You can’t keep sneaking off.”

“Okay, but consider: I was at Ryukyu’s agency. I had an escort. Then I was at PT, which UA approved. The only time I wasn’t watched was a one-block walk to the agency that was going to escort me back to UA, which Nezdu gave me permission to take because it supposedly aligned with a hero patrol route. This was very well planned for a bunch of amateurs.” Izuku fiddles with the table edge. “Also, what’s the press gonna know?”

“Story is that they got the wrong student. Are you listening?”

Izuku hums an agreement, absentmindedly watching one of the kidnappers try to steal a stapler right in front of the entire police department. Glasses-man stuffs it up his shirtsleeve and proceeds to earnestly inform Sansa he’s never seen a stapler, ever, in his life. The stapler drops onto the floor midway through. Glasses-man does not notice.

Sansa puts his hands - paws? – to his face and appears to regret his career choice.

“That one hacked your records and schedule at UA,” Naomasa tells him. “He’s got a quirk for it, but that’s the only way they managed to get past Nezdu’s firewalls. Apparently, they bragged that they found a link between Grasshopper and UA to a few of their buddies, but nobody believed them.”

Izuku’s about to ask how nobody would take them seriously until he remembers the last hour or so.

Huh. 

His entire identity is in their hands. This is the opposite of an ideal situation. 

He settles for eyeing them through the glass and grumbling, “they can still spill.”

Tsukauchi watches him for a second before leaning back. “Nezdu sounded happy over the phone.”

“Nezdu’s always happy when his employees suffer.”

“But not when UA does. This counts as a risk, and he’s not putting in any calls.”

He wouldn’t. Nezdu benefits from the public leaning UA has ties to the Number One Vigilante, not to mention the good press from working with Midoriya Inko’s son. If Izuku wants this quiet, he’ll have to do it himself. Normally that would be showing up as Mikumo and convincing people that Midoriya Izuku didn’t exist, but he doesn't have that kind of option anymore. The only remaining choice is to hope the red tape around his case was good for something.

That red tape won't keep away the rumors that Grasshopper is working at UA. Nezdu might even encourage it. After a student was kidnapped?

‘The wrong student?’

That’s very suspect wording. Tsukauchi knows just as well as Izuku what’s going to happen, but it sounds like he’s playing catch-up with why Nezdu does anything. 

“I need a vacation,” he tells the detective as Glasses-man tries to shove a paperweight down his shirt. It falls through to the floor and stubs his toe. Nail-chewer shoots him a genuine look of encouragement.

“You and me both, kid. Speaking of which, my sister has been reading up on a certain Grasshopper recently.” 

Izuku has never been so aware of his ears turning red. He knows he is a terrible liar. Against a trained detective who also has a lie detecting quirk, Izuku might as well be an open book. Tsukauchi, a man with years of interrogation experience and training, does not miss Izuku’s many, many tells.

It’s like noticing a billboard blocking the roadway: failing to do so would be more concerning than the alternative.

“You’re working with her,” the detective says flatly. “Right?”

“No.”

Not anymore.

“Not now, then. But you were earlier.”

“No,” Izuku says again. It’s a big lie.

“…Right.”

“I promise. Is Makoto your sister?”

Tsukauchi winces as his quirk does the equivalent of shouting ‘LIE’ in his head at top volume. “I never shared her name.”

“Lucky guess?”

Tsukauchi winces again. “Hops, you know what my quirk is.”

“No, I don’t,” Izuku insists in a panic, wishing words would stop coming out of his mouth. “I have never met you before.”

Tsukauchi looks from the lying gremlin in front of him to the three novice villains outside the room as though reassessing his options. “Has anyone told you that hearing this is painful?”

“No. Yes. Dad, maybe.”

“Ah. I’ve decided I like this man. He and I? We understand each other,” Tsukauchi says, which is objectively hilarious because Izuku’s pretty sure Tsukauchi has no idea his dad is a supervillain.

“Really?” Izuku says, and manages to sound like he’s not dying.

“If he’s told you that, then at least he has an ounce of common sense,” Tsukauchi says wearily. “And at this point that bar is low.”

It takes all of Izuku’s self-control to keep from telling Tsukauchi he’s talking about one of the most wanted criminals in Japan. Dad is lethally intelligent only when dealing with his yakuza empire. In all other matters he has the cognitive function of a particularly drunk snail. He thinks bamboo is the earth’s hair.

“I think you’re the first person to accuse my father of possessing that.” 

Tsukauchi raises an eyebrow. Caught between letting the police force believe Izuku’s father has a logical bone in his body and speaking the painful truth, Izuku has only one option.

“He thinks cheese is cow snot.”

Tsukauchi mentally stumbles over this. “Okay, so he has some faults-”

“He also believes fruit salad is pretentious salsa.”

The detective stares off into the distance before grabbing one of the folders and dragging it over in hope of figuring out just who this legend of a man is. Izuku watches. He wasn’t expecting his distraction to work quite so well, but on the other hand Dad is odd on the best of days.

“What does your father do for a living,” Tsukauchi asks, and Izuku shrugs.

“He’s in a leadership position, but I don’t really know many of the details. I hear he’s very charismatic.”

“Charismatic.”

“Like a raccoon,” Izuku elaborates helpfully. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”

As in, not a bad person. Kind of. He’s definitely a Bad Guy, as in a villain, but Izuku isn’t talking about that. 

Semantics.

Lie detection has a very interesting relationship with linguistics and lying through omission. Izuku has been testing the limits of Tsukauchi’s quirk for years.

Technically, Izuku did nothing wrong. Maybe that's what makes Aizawa take mercy and give Izuku a ride to the dorms.

Izuku barely makes it inside his room before his civilian phone starts ringing with the Purple Song from a kids Learning Colors soundtrack. Izuku does not know what Pancake Manor is. He just knows the song kind of slaps.

“Izuku. Clear.”

“Hitoshi, same – did you know someone at UA got kidnapped?”

“Really?” Izuku squeaks. “I had absolutely no idea because I was doing dorm things today. In the dorm. At UA. Which has dorms. Anyway, do you know who it was?”

“Was it you?”

Izuku digs deep into his soul for a convincing lie. “Me? Never. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.”

“...Dude.”

“Haha, kidnapping am I right?” Izuku wants cry. When will his mouth stop saying things?

Hitoshi makes a dying whale noise. “Izuku, please. You’re killing your brother. He’s perishing from secondhand embarrassment.”

“Don’t remind me. Moving on, how’s the criminal underworld? Did they lose three idiots recently?”

“Besides you?” Okay, that was both painful and deserved.

“Rude. Moving on again, and this time it'll stick! Stay away from the northeast side of town, I haven’t checked in on it in nearly a year now.”

“Cool, thanks for the tip. Anywhere else I should check out?”

“You know what? I’ll stop by. You’re with our local wildlife tamer, right?”

“Is that what you guys call him? ”

“Pop started it.”

“Somehow this fits with what you’ve told me about her. You know, he doesn’t really hate you guys. I think it’s just the paperwork he has a problem with.”

“I adore him.”

“I think if he sees you in Hosu he’ll have a minor breakdown.”

Well, now Izuku has to go. “Is that a challenge?”

“No. Don’t you have to recover from… whatever it is you just did?” Hitoshi hesitates before adding, “Speaking of your weird hobbies, why doesn’t anyone else here have a bunny mask?”

“I- Excuse you, I am a Rabbit,” Izuku says, scandalized. He waits for Hitoshi’s laughter to fade away before adding, “It marks me as an heir. You can tell Nightcrawler you’re friends with Rabbit. This is a part of your life too, and the yakuza in Hosu know not to hurt a hero that looks like you.”

Hitoshi goes quiet long enough that Izuku pulls away his phone to check the call hasn’t dropped.

“...That’s your secret to spill.”

“Maybe. You know the risks, and this is a part of being a Midoriya. Family rules - what you do with forbidden knowledge is your responsibility. If you do run into anyone, welcome to the underworld. It sucks.”

Hitoshi’s smile is audible through the connection. “Sounds like a party.”

“A terrible one,” Izuku agrees as he brings up his website. He needs to do a bit of research with the Endeavor issue while everyone’s away. Tomorrow he can head down to Hosu, check in with Hitoshi, and sleep over at Dad’s place while running some recon on Stain for a few days. He’ll be out of the city by Thursday. Nezdu implied he doesn’t care so long as it works out in his favor like some fort of trickster overlord, and Mom said it’s a decently safe risk to take on the legal side of things. Izuku’s always occupied grey areas, anyway.

Sorry, Tsukauchi.

One more containment breach to go.

He sends two emails, one to Nezdu and the other to Nightcrawler.

Permission granted, Nezdu replies within the minute. Five days for Stain.

Nightcrawler looks more costume than man, with feathered hair and a mental control quirk Hitoshi has heard could really be the ability to possess souls. It’s the closest quirk any hero has to brainwashing.

But quirks aren’t the only reason Hitoshi is interning here.

On the first day they’d found a building, shaking from a villain fight within. Nightcrawler had huffed and paced around the street before throwing up his hands in resignation. He’d then told Hitoshi to stay outside or so help him, before disappearing into the mass of shuddering plaster. 

It was highly entertaining.

Nightcrawler dragged out a vigilante by their ear like a displeased member of the local PTA. Hitoshi had belatedly recognized the squirming pile of limbs as Qwerty. They're… small.

Tiny, actually. 

"Are you nine?" Hitoshi asked before he could stop himself.

Qwerty blew him a raspberry and only apologized when Nightcrawler bribed them with chicken nuggets. It was unclear where the chicken nuggets were summoned from. They just kind of appeared.

Hitoshi, who is very familiar with just how uncooperative vigilantes can be, was suitably impressed by getting an apology at all. Nightcrawler had checked that 'the local headache' was okay and lectured them until Qwerty had danced forwards, gave Nightcrawler a hug, dodged the handcuffs, and sprinted for cover. 

Like it was easy.

Routine.

Nightcrawler had stomped over to the alleyway they’d disappeared into to screech, “I HAVE PAPERWORK BECAUSE OF YOU MENACES.”

There had been a neat little line of energy drinks on Nightcrawler’s desk the next day. He’d chugged them all, lined the cans up, and had Hitoshi practice bowling with a rubber band ball for a half hour. It lasted until Qwerty was sighted midtown, and Nightcrawler was off again with Hitoshi at his heels to witness the inevitable fallout.

It’s fascinating. 

Like a train wreck in slow motion that just kept going.

If not captivating, it’s horrifying enough that he can’t look away. 

“Stop bringing me energy drinks like dead birds,” Nightcrawler calls up at Qwerty when they find the small vigilante on a streetlight. Qwerty exudes rampant pride from their gargoyle perch.

“Packedge,” Qwerty diagnoses with absolutely no respect for the hero or the language they are speaking.

Hitoshi ducks closer to Nightcrawler, because Qwertys mask resembles what a digitized old god may have looked like and he’s a little unnerved. “Are all vigilantes like this?”

Nightcrawler glances over. “What, menaces?”

“I mean, yeah, but also-”

“Littol creature,” Qwerty says, swaying to some tune only they can hear atop the streetlight.

“-Whatever that means.”

“Gremlins,” Nightcrawler says like a curse. “Disgusting little-”

“Friends,” Qwerty finishes.

Nightcrawler looks like he swallowed a lemon. “No.”

“FRIENDS.”

“Menaces,” Nightcrawler hisses back. Qwerty flattens themself to the light pole and makes an insulted beeping noise.

Hitoshi comes to the horrifying realization that he might be the most responsible person present. Good gods. Who allowed this to happen?

“I don’t understand,” Hitoshi says. When both hero and vigilante look over in confusion, Hitoshi waves his arms to encompass the entire situation. “Vigilantes?”

“There’s this one thing they all have in common,” Nightcrawler says with an air of resigned wisdom. “Hoarders, the lot of them. Stendhal collected knives until he disappeared, but only from anyone he took down. Trophy hunter. It messed with all our evidence. Grasshopper had a thing about fish and cat food while he was active, don’t ask me why. Pop takes the weirdest stuff so long as it’s new and in bulk; I bought information on a whole drug ring with a hundred electric candles just last month. Qwerty is into junk food-”

“INGREDIENCE,” Qwerty screeches, scaring Hitoshi halfway to hell and back again. Nightcrawler stares up at the empty sky with emptier eyes, seeking the part of his self-respect that had long-since withered up and died in Hosu’s gutters.

He turns around and just.

Leaves.

Walks away from a crime scene for a little bit to find the will to finish his shift. Hitoshi follows because he’s supposed to stay in his mentor’s sightline without orders to do otherwise.

This internship is off to a great start.

Hitoshi regrets nothing. The city has six cat cafes, the agency has free coffee, and the hero he’s working under is highly relatable.

This is the man who is constantly tuned into the goings-on of Hosu. His entire job is to track rivalries and heavy hitters like a reluctant bloodhound, mapping out the very pulse of the nation’s backstreets. He listens to subtle shifts in Japan’s criminal element from a city known for storm grates stained red and yakuza that walk openly masked in the streets past dusk. No other city has villains that travel so blatantly.

And, best of all, Nightcrawler hates it.

Hosu is many things, but it is not kind. Not in the way that matters to people like Tenya and Ochako. Izuku’s morality is a lost cause despite 1A’s belief. It’s nobody’s fault - Grasshopper has simply existed in the grey zone between hero and villain for too long. Even if he is a good person under the illegal quirk use and ties to the mob, Izuku will never really be a part of the light. Both brothers have accepted that.

Hitoshi discovers that his own loyalties are a little skewed when he first sees the porcelain masks milling amongst the crowds and realizes the familiarity holds only positive associations. That’s not supposed to be a hero’s reaction. But Hitoshi looks at them and is reminded of the rabbit mask on Izuku’s wall. He knows, intellectually, that they’re yakuza. He also knows that these people swore allegiance to Midoriya Hisashi, a man who would burn the world down for his family. It’s… a weird thought.

Conflicting.

“They recognize you,” Nightcrawler says suspiciously as they patrol later. He’s not wrong either - one member even offered a quick, slight nod after accidentally bumping into Hitoshi on the crowded street. It wasn’t respect, but… acknowledgement.

From yakuza, even that much is damning.

“Must be my quirk,” Hitoshi evades, and Nightcrawler’s mouth tugs down in sympathy. It’s not pitying - Nightcrawler likely went through something similar. Quirks do not make their wielders, despite the opinions of nearly everyone Hitoshi knew before arriving at UA and meeting Izuku.

He’ll be a hero, though. He’ll prove quirks don’t make their wielders villains, and that’s what matters. 

(Eraserhead was the hero Hitoshi looked up to as a kid. He still wants to be that example, that hope, because heroes aren’t around forever and some kid will need that. He’s smart and observant enough to know that patterns repeat themselves, and stubborn enough to take a step towards public acceptance of this impossible idea called quirk equality.)

So Hitoshi leans into the internship, half out of the need to build a network, and half out of morbid curiosity over the walking contradiction that is Nightcrawler. The hero even has a notebook specifically so people can steal it, write in tips, and return it to his belt pouch when they think he isn’t paying attention. That notebook is perfectly blank every time, while Nightcrawlers pockets are full of little ripped-out slips of paper.

The whole ensemble of a man speaks of experience and an air of exasperated apathy Hitoshi can only dream of matching.

Over the next few days, Hitoshi slowly learns that working with contacts is something of a game involving antagonism, bribes, and a weird form of trust. Nightcrawler eyes the masked members of the Dragon Hoard Yakuza as if he is restrained by nothing but laws and paperwork from attacking each and every last one. A couple of them croon back sweet nothings and sarcastically profess their undying loyalty.

“They’re horrible,” Nightcrawler explains as a wolf-masked member of the yakuza shoves a note into his back pocket. Nightcrawler refuses to react. He just crosses his arms in the lecture mode Hitoshi has become familiar with. “Despicable. A disgrace to the laws keeping society from breaking down at the seams.”

“We love you too,” someone calls from the crowd. Hitoshi doesn’t recognize them, but Nightcrawler closes his eyes as if praying for retirement and stands like that for a whole fifteen seconds.

This man.

He’s like a sarcastic Aizawa but all the parental urges are directed at Hosu’s criminal population. Hitoshi gets the frankly unnerving impression he’s looking at his future self.

“You haven’t tried very hard to arrest them,” Hitoshi points out, because it needs saying.

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna. Underground heroes are allowed to have contacts, though I’m sure Eraserhead will drill you on that protocol later.” Nightcrawler glances down the street at the massive temple they’re watching. “We tried, once. There was a law against informants, the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. They made the arrests - a couple heroes apologized even while hunting down people like it wasn’t adding insult to injury - and there was just… silence. Nothing. No tip offs, no arrests except for patrols and a couple of strikes at the Hoard. Not even a phone call. The police took care of petty crime, but even that started to get weird. Then it went to shit just as I signed on.”

“Vigilantes took it into their own hands,” Hitoshi guesses. Nightcrawler laughs mirthlessly.

“I wish. Hosu only had one vigilante back then, and Yuio was more sidewalk, ‘I’ll help you get home from the bar,’ ‘purse-snatchers’ level.” Nightcrawler hesitates before adding, “rumor is, that was Qwerty’s mother. She.... Uh. She was arrested during an information tradeoff and died in custody.”

What.

Nightcrawler steps back into the shadows, and Hitoshi knows by now to follow him up ledges and drainage pipes. The hero ends up hauling Hitoshi past the last piece onto a rooftop. 

From here, Hosu’s temple is just barely visible. The bright red shrine gates peak out of maple leaves, lit from below. Paper shide hang from the gates and mark it as holy. The temple is old, older than most of Hosu, and Hitoshi’s been told by hero and villain alike that it’s a neutral zone, one of only two in Japan. Every day at his internship, Hitoshi has come to understand that Hosu is complicated. He’s not sure if he likes it yet.

Hitoshi swings his legs over the edge of the building, enjoying the dizzying height but confident in his safety with the hero so close. “So if the heroes and vigilantes weren't taking down villains...?”

Nightcrawler settles down half a meter away, watching the street below like a river of light. “People went missing, and nobody had a clue what was happening. Took us years to figure it out. Turns out there was a new group in town who kidnapped the local yakuza heir.”

Hitoshi abruptly feels a little lightheaded. Hosu’s yakuza has been the Dragon’s Hoard since before quirks. Nightcrawler’s on the younger side for heroes, and Hitoshi can connect the dots. 

Dragon’s heir was captured.

Izuku was captured.

“What happened,” he asks, and his voice doesn't shake but it certainly tries. His brother was captured, experimented on, and though Hitoshi’s never asked for the full story he knows how it goes. It’s the kind of story that ends with a mask and nightmares that don’t stay away in the morning. The kind of story that takes a bright kid and turns him into someone who acts a little too old for his age, beating bloody knuckles against the brutality of a stubborn world. Izuku never explained precisely why he’s a vigilante, but he shouldn’t have to.

Hitoshi always was good at reading between the lines.

“Crime rates went up, tourism went down, and a whole lot of people started getting nervous for all the right reasons. We found out later the heir had died,” Nightcrawler admits, and Hitoshi’s heart stutters even as the hero continues. “It sparked a war with the new group, because Dragon is damn protective when it comes to his people. Eventually some new people like Qwerty, Rabbit, and Dabi popped up, filling in the broken communication lines. The laws have been revised, since.”

“The group that did that. Are they...?” Hitoshi can’t bring himself to finish.

“Ashes in the wind.” Nightcrawler draws his knees up and rests his knuckles on the ledge as he sits like a gargoyle, watching the crowded street far below them. Red lantern light and neon signs reflect on his face. “Dead and gone. Dragon got there before we ever could.”

It’s weird to hear about his adoptive father secondhand like this. From a hero, who by all means should be after Midoriya Hisashi for any number of crimes beginning with the yakuza and ending, apparently, with the murder of Izuku’s kidnappers.

Midoriya Hisashi is a murderer.

Hm. 

Hitoshi’s not sure how to feel about that, since his last father had just as much blood on his hands. What’s more, he can’t wander up to someone and ask for opinions without either admitting who’s in his family or looking suspicious as all hell. Hitoshi likes to think he’s smart enough to avoid those kinds of mistakes. It’s a nice little character trait. A quirk of his personality, if you will. Asking a yakuza member about their boss sounds like a bad move.

“What do you think about him,” Hitoshi asks quietly and not at all suspiciously. “Dragon.”

“He’s a supervillain,” Nightcrawler tells him bluntly. If he’s wondering why Hitoshi is asking, he doesn't pry. It’s a vigilante trait, though if the hero realizes is anyone’s guess. “Dragon’s Hoard members are usually wanted for murder, larceny, smuggling, fighting and gambling rings - things like that. The current Dragon has changed some of their structure. Given the chance to put him behind bars I absolutely would. Maybe he’s got a grudge against child snatchers, but that doesn't change what he’s done.”

“A bad person who occasionally does good things,” Hitoshi muses, and Nightcrawler snorts, lazy eyes tracking movement far below.

“I’m starting to think it’s the other way around.”

That’s the harder one to deal with.

Hitoshi hums noncommittally because he’s not sure what else to say. This is only his third night of internships. He has time to think.

“What do the masks mean?”

Nightcrawler sighs like he’s used to the question and points out a civilian far below. “They’re supposedly not all yakuza. I got an audience with a high-ranking member once, and they had me hold a purple one the whole time. Color denotes jobs. That mask’s white on black, so it’s a security position. We don’t have the full ranking plotted out, but Foxes seem lower-level.”

“What about Rabbits?” Hitoshi prompts. He eyes a group of casually dressed adults gathering around a vending machine. They all have masks resting just inside their jackets, noticeable enough to be seen but not enough to draw attention. They’re all white on black, Wolves or Tigers.

“There’s only one, so far as we know. My best guess is they’re for a member’s kids or some sort of protected asset.” Nightcrawler frowns at the people at the vending machine, leaning out. “That group is concerning. High-ranking, too many at once. All bodyguards.” 

His eyes go wide in realization before he ducks suddenly, pulling Hitoshi away from the roof edge with him.

“What-”

“We need to go,” Nightcrawler snaps, suddenly tense. “You don’t have a license and aren’t authorized for combat.”

“Combat?” Hitoshi whisper-yells back, even as he allows Nightcrawler to pull him to his feet. The hero shakes his head.

“There’s only ever that many security members if Dragon is around. Come on-”

Hitoshi follows his mentor as they scramble down off the roof. 

Nightcrawler glances back before taking off through Hosu’s crowded backstreets. They’re lit in neon colors that reflect off wet asphalt. Signs and commercials flash overhead as Nightcrawler slips through the crowds with well-trained grace. He glances back periodically to ensure Hitoshi’s following, only for a skirmish to break out ahead of them.

“I’ll wait here,” Hitoshi promises when Nightcrawler makes a stressed noise in the back of his throat.

Nightcrawler grimaces, checks the argument involving what looks like a water manipulation quirk, and shakes his head. Civilians scream when a storefront is cracked apart under a tidal wave.

“Not safe enough. Get to the rooftops and wait for me there,” he orders sharply. “You have your emergency flare and tracker? Yes? Good. Do you feel capable of observing from there?”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Hitoshi is left alone in the crowd. It takes a moment to find a way up - Hosu has a weirdly high number of dark alleys, but one has a fire escape that looks reasonable.

He jumps, fails to catch the railing, and falls back down. On the way he slips and ends up collapsed on his back like an utter fool.

Hitoshi is extremely grateful nobody saw that.

“Shinsou?!”

Nevermind, he’s just going to cry now.

“I’m gay,” Hitoshi whispers in hopes that the earth will open up and take him to the American CW’s Supernatural Super Hell, which is really preferable to turning around and seeing anyone recognizable behind him. Alas, it does not happen. Footsteps move closer, into hearing range.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m tired,” Hitoshi says with feeling.

Nasty alleyway gravel crunches behind him and whoever it is pats his back sympathetically.

“Hi tired,” the deep voice says. “I’m Dad.” 

The world freezes in place for a second. The voice is somewhat familiar, rough from smoke and so low it rumbles dangerously close to inhuman. That’s not one of Hitoshi’s classmates.

That’s the newly-adoptive father he’s never met before. 

Hitoshi scrambles onto his feet and steps back towards the street, abruptly aware of the civilians passing outside the alley as he, a hero intern, stands before Hosu’s resident mob boss. Dragon looks like a living youkai in a green haori and an ornate dragon mask covering his nose and mouth. 

His recently acquired father.

The mob boss.

….Fuck.

“If you’re heading back, the agency is that way,” Dragon says, awkwardly pointing in the direction Hitoshi came from. “But if you’re after Grasshopper, he’s on his way from vandalizing Endeavor’s car-” he points in another direction, “-and making me proud.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Dragon brightens. “Oh! Congratulations on the Sports Festival! Did you like my geese?”

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi says before he can think better of it. Shadows twist behind Dragon, and Hitoshi abruptly realizes there are two other yakuza members in the alleyway. Black masks with delicate white designs mimicking a tiger and snake cover their faces. 

“Geese,” Dragon prompts.

“I- yeah, yeah they were-” Hitoshi winces when his voice cracks. “Cool?”

“Cool,” Dragon repeats. He turns to the bodyguards and points at himself. “Hear that, guys? I’m a cool dad.”

Hitoshi has known this man for only a few minutes and he’s already embarrassed.

The snake yakuza makes a faint wheezing noise. “Good for you?”

“Thanks!” Dragon chirps. He pulls the guard over and starts rustling through the bag they’re carrying. Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed it, but to be fair, he’s in a poorly lit alleyway.

He also just accidentally met his newest paternal guardian, so that’s also doing something to his ability to concentrate.

“I’m going to get that on a bumper sticker,” Dragon says as he sticks a whole arm into the bag and starts rustling around. “Zuzu’s the best, but he skipped right over the personalized Father’s Day gifts phase, and I really want a mug. You know who has a mug? Overhaul. The worst father on the face of the earth has a mug, and I don’t. He probably bought it for himself, the sick-”

“So you’re not a tie guy?” Hitoshi asks on impulse. 

Dragon’s focus snaps up from the bag and zeroes in on Hitoshi.

“Oh my gods,” one of the guards whispers. “I think he’s gonna cry-”

“You’d buy me a tie?” Dragon warbles near-reverently.

“...Sure?” Offering gifts to a supervillain is, bluntly speaking, not Hitoshi’s most thought-out moment. Izuku is the worst influence.

Dragon beams. Sparks burst from the mask. His eyes scrunch up and match Izuku’s perfectly, like he’s swallowed the sun and all the warmth is trying to escape. “Really?!”

Well, now Hitoshi has to.

...Is he crying?

“Y-yeah.” Hitoshi takes a step back as Dragon wipes at his face and returns to the bag he’s looting with renewed enthusiasm. “Uh- Are you alright?”

Dragon pulls something vaguely resembling a flat shoebox out of the bag with a triumphant shout. The mystery box is presented to the hazy night sky in victory, witnessed by two apathetic guards and a half-terrified, half-incredulous Hitoshi.

This is the most surreal meeting Hitoshi’s ever had.

“I’m doing great!” Dragon holds out the box. “Have a housewarming present.”

“House-warming,” Hitoshi repeats dully. He takes the wooden box when Dragon shakes it at him. It’s roughly a hand-width wide, and twice as long. The lacquered wood is cold to the touch, and completely blank. A red ribbon is tied around it.

“Happy birthday,” Dragon tells him cheerfully, fully cementing Hitoshi’s belief that he hit his head on the concrete and this is a fever dream. “You’re my son now.”

Behind him, the snake yakuza spins around and slams their entire face into the alley wall in vain hopes of knocking themselves out and escaping this cursed conversation. The wall cracks. The mask does not. Hitoshi can relate. The tiger yakuza reaches over and hesitantly pats her friend’s shoulder.

“I was already your son?” It’s also nowhere close to his birthday.

“Yeah, but now that I’ve met you this feels more official.” Dragon pats the box with great ceremony. “Partake, my child.”

Oh no, he’s like Izuku but somehow worse.

“...Thank you?” Hitoshi takes a second to absorb the absurdity of this entire situation. “Are you sure you want to be seen talking with a hero intern?”

“Nobody’s going to see me unless someone here actively tries to be noticed.” Dragon shrugs one shoulder at the Tiger guard in an explanation that clarifies noting. “Besides, you’re my son now. I’m allowed to support you. The choice you have to make is if you want that support.”

Tension shifts.

People pass behind the hero in training, backlit in streetlights and stop lights, red hands lit on sidewalks and commuters rushing down the sidewalk. Busy shoes from all walks of life scuff across concrete behind him. Dragon stands in the darkness of the shadow Hitoshi casts. His hands are tucked into his sleeves.

Despite it all, this man is one of the most dangerous villains in Japan.

Hitoshi doesn’t know him.

He only knows of him, and his experience in Hosu suggests that this isn’t enough to make a decision on. Nothing makes sense in this city.

“I don’t know,” Hitoshi says.

He feels like he’s falling, sometimes.

Like there are memories high above him, and no matter how far Hitoshi plummets, he can’t get far enough from those discordant echoes of a house that was once safe. UA is a new start in more ways than one, but it’s still new. Fresh. Uneasy and unsettled. There hasn’t been time for dust to gather in the corners of his dorm room, and even now Hitoshi’s important belongings can be easily shoved in a backpack just in case.

This question isn’t something he can answer.

Not yet.

“That’s okay. Where are you going?” Dragon asks through the silence that yawns, jagged and gaping, between them. Hitoshi gets the feeling he’s talking about something bigger than one patrol route within an internship, but he can’t ask, so he brushes the thought aside.

“I’m supposed to get to the roof,” Hitoshi says as he shakes the box gently. It rattles. Something hard is inside it -plastic? Wood? Maybe ceramic or glass, but nobody flinched or scolded him, so that’s out.

Metal scrapes, and Hitoshi looks back up to Dragon knocking a drainage pipe.

“Then climb.”

Hitoshi watches Nightcrawler finish dissolving the situation and wonders why he didn’t call for backup when he met a mob boss in a deserted alley. Rubber heels drum against the edge of the roof, right-left-right.

He should have called it in.

Every lesson he’s learned, every order from heroes and class attended, points to the action he should have taken but didn’t.

Why didn’t he?

Hitoshi has no emotional attachment to Dragon. He’s never met Izuku’s father before today, never claimed to have any sort of alliance or interest in speaking with the Midoriya family villains. If he had, nobody would blame him for it. There is black, there is white, and there is the grey in which Hitoshi searches for answers in the milling crowds below him as he thinks of puzzle pieces scattered across the roadside like gravel. 

Breadcrumbs of memories are like the Hello Kitty stickers on Izuku’s crutches. The pale pink designs overlap each other, and one near the handle has started to peel up.

Memories like the way Inko’s voice goes soft over the phone sometimes when she cups her hand against the bottom and forgets the microphone is in the corner.

Like smoke curling up from a Dragon mask. The box that’s still unopened and tucked under Hitoshi’s arm digs into his side.

A blank notebook in Nightcrawler’s belt pouch, scraps of paper tucked away with secrets folded amongst pocket lint.

“Mindblank.”

Hitoshi startles, flinching back from Nightcrawler and nearly dropping the box.

The hero catches it, subtly inspecting the wood seam before handing the gift back. “What’s this?”

Uh.

“Gift,” Hitoshi says automatically.

Nightcrawler retracts his hand as if burned. “Please tell me it’s not from Qwerty. They put a dead rat on my doorstep after we first met and it still haunts me.”

Hitoshi grimaces. Dragon probably wouldn’t give him one of those in a box. Probably. Actually, considering he doesn’t know anything about his brand new paternal parental figure besides the descriptors of Dumb, Dangerous, and Dad, this is a bold claim.

Izuku might, and Dragon seems to act like Izuku but worse.

Oh no.

He rattles the box.

“It doesn’t sound like a rat,” Hitoshi reasons cautiously, but Nightcrawler is already backing away as if the polished wood hides a bomb.

“You know what? I’m going to let you worry about that. Let’s call it an investigative assignment. We can finish patrol and you can open it in a nice, contained room with a biohazard box at the ready. Vigilantes are the worst.” Nightcrawler signals him to follow as he adds, “The only gifts they’re capable of giving are problems and headaches.”

…That sounds accurate.

Hitoshi makes it to the edge of the roof before a voice stops him, modulated and famously familiar. “You’re so mean to us.”

Nightcrawler looks over his shoulder, and the poor lighting make it feel like something out of a terrible spy movie as Hitoshi copies him.

Grasshopper sits at the building’s edge across from where they just were, shoulders weighed down with new exhaustion. Hitoshi knows this is Izuku now, but he’s only ever seen that costume through the lens of an undefeatable vigilante, the best of the best who held the highest civilian’s arrest rate for consecutive years before being taken out. Now the vigilante seems painfully human. Mortal.

Nightcrawler slips between Hitoshi and Grasshopper. “You’re supposed to be recovering somewhere in Mustafu. Can’t vigilantes keep a schedule just once-?”

“Neither can any of the villains that stop by, but I visit Hosu at least once a year. By all accounts, I’m early,” Grasshopper reasons, confident despite the many, many holes in this logic. He’s like the swiss cheese of discount lawyers. “Besides, I wanted to formally meet your intern.”

“What,” Hitoshi says.

Izuku sucks at lying.

How is he keeping up a cover story? 

“Happy birthday,” Grasshopper tells him, ignoring Nightcrawler’s palm smacking his forehead and the fact that Hitoshi’s birthday is still a fair ways off. It’s exactly like Dragon. How nobody figures out that they’re related, Hitoshi will never know. “Nightcrawler and I go way back-”

“We really don’t.”

“-So when I dropped a tip to make internships a little safer for my favorite stray cat that made itself a place in my life, he agreed instantly.”

“My agency had to bring in multiple higher ups and a representative from the Hero Commission for a three-hour conference call to take down a crime ring. The paperwork got me an overtime bonus that breaks all records at an agency filled with chronic overachievers. I didn’t sleep for days,” Nightcrawler translates.

“And it was very nice of you,” Grasshopper finishes. “Anyway-”

“It’s a miracle you were not drowned at birth,” Nightcrawler says blandly.

“-He loves us all.”

“I detest your very existence.”

Hitoshi watches the exchange go back and forth like a tennis match. Grasshopper coos at Nightcrawler, who appears to be torn between hiding behind Hitoshi and protecting him from the masked vigilante. It’s absurdly entertaining. The hero steps back, then forward, then back again like he can’t make up his mind.

“I would trust you with my firstborn,” Grasshopper tells Nightcrawler, and Hitoshi can tell it’s the complete truth. 

“Please, no. I’m going to have nightmares now.” Nightcrawler shivers at the very idea. “Please don’t even train anyone, the world doesn't need more sentient headaches.”

“Awww, do you hear that, Hitoshi? I’ve graduated from ‘nuisance.’ Maybe someday I’ll be a monstrosity.”

Nightcrawler makes a disgusted noise like he found fresh bird poop in his shoe.

“There are ranks?” Hitoshi asks with morbid fascination. This internship really is the gift that just keeps on giving.

“Qwerty’s a menace, and for folks like me that's some kind of pipe dream,” Grasshopper informs his brother.

“Qwerty's five years old,” Nightcrawler says exhaustedly. 

This is news to Hitoshi. “What?”

“They're at least twelve,” Grasshopper assures him, which really does not help Hitoshi’s mind playing Qwertys last villain fight on loop. A twelve-year-old can’t be the main vigilante of Hosu. That's just asking for serious maiming before reaching high school. There’s also the small problem where Qwerty has been active for years. They were on the streets before Grasshopper. 

Hitoshi knows he’s young, but to Nightcrawler, they probably seemed like a larval-stage human back then. The lecturing from that first day makes so much more sense if Nightcrawler's introduction to vigilantes was, what- a seven years old?

“Twelve is old enough to give me ulcers,” Nightcrawler complains. “If not for my quirk, I would be going silver-haired by now, Grasshopper. Silver.”

“And it would suit you perfectly-”

“Shut up,” Nightcrawler practically begs. “I don’t want to hear it-”

“-So you’re welcome!” Grasshopper beams at Nightcrawler behind the mask, basking in the affronted noise the hero makes.

“Are you guys friends?” Hitoshi asks cautiously, because this conversation is confusing as all hell.

Grasshopper brightens just as Nightcrawler groans.

"Friends! You hear that, we're friends, Nightcrawler, for realsies-"

"No."

“But you care about us," Grasshopper points out.

“And every day I wonder why."

“I adore-” Grasshopper cuts off, bracing himself. Nightcrawler’s hand wraps around the back of Hitoshi’s costume and tugs him back behind the hero seconds before something hurtles down from the sky onto the roof. Something cracks.

It might be the roof.

Hitoshi squints around his mentor at the entire mob boss who has arrived to wrap Grasshopper in a hug.

“I am so proud of you,” Dragon announces with his tiny green son tucked into a hug from behind, so the vigilante’s arms are stuck straight out like that old long cat meme. The resemblance is uncanny. Grasshopper’s feet aren’t touching the ground. “Endeavor’s car straight-up exploded. Hops, you’re my favorite vigilante-”

“Rabbit,” Grasshopper interrupts. He seems content to wait as his father lifts him up proudly, thereby accidentally reenacting a scene from Lion King.

“Rabbit is my favorite vigilante, and so are you-” Dragon finally deigns to notice Nightcrawler’s arm in front of Hitoshi like he’s a kid in a quickly stopped vehicle. “Oh. You.”

“Mob Boss,” Nightcrawler greets.

Dragon returns with the same intonation, “Third-Favorite Hero.”

Oh, so Hitoshi’s not surviving this, is he?

Grasshopper finally seems to sense incoming disaster and squirms out of his father’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I left, but then I realized I gave a gift but forgot to put instructions in the box, so I doubled back! Then Endeavor's car exploded and I figured you should know that nobody was hurt.” Dragon locks eyes with Hitoshi for a moment before he goes back to staring Nightcrawler down. "The potatoes are a little overcooked. Very crunchy."

Did he eat them?

That's so gross.

“A box,” Nightcrawler repeats slowly.

Hitoshi considers the box in question. There is a noticeable lack of instructions.

Grasshopper makes grabby hands at the box, and Nightcrawler glances over at Hitoshi for some sort of signal. It’s not really clear what he’s asking, so he compromises by handing his mentor what is quickly becoming the most mysterious object Hitoshi has ever encountered. The box is then handed to Grasshopper, who tucks it casually under one arm and retreats back to sit on the edge of the roof.

What.

Box taken care of, Nightcrawler slips between Dragon and Hitoshi. Danger snaps into his posture with fluid practice. “You don’t hurt children. Let him go free.”

Dragon’s eyes go wide. “I- No? Who the fuck would hurt kids? I’m not out to hurt anyone.” Dragon looks over his shoulder for reassurance. “Hey, I’m not evil, am I?”

“You’re not,” Grasshopper promises. “It’s because of the yakuza.”

“The what?”

“The- you know, the crime family you’re in charge of?” Grasshopper waves to all of Hosu. “This is considered Dragon’s prefecture by the underground. You’re literally a supervillain.”

“Oh,” Dragon says, a little quieter. He tucks his hands into his haori sleeves and sighs. Smoke pours out of the fanged mask with his exhale, thick and choking with embers that float over the streets behind them. “I keep forgetting that.”

Hearing this man was a dumbass and seeing it in person are entirely different things. He has to be the worst possible opponent. There’s no other explanation for his reputation as a feared supervillain. Nightcrawler looks like he wants to cry from both stress and exasperation.

Grasshopper tilts his head, and Hitoshi looks from one fanged, green mask to another. They’re different - Dragon’s is carved wood and steel, closer to a snarling oni, while Grasshopper’s is more modern, but there’s a resemblance. Small enough to be mistaken as coincidence, but Izuku probably modeled his mask after his father.

“What are you even doing here?” Grasshopper hisses to Dragon, tugging on the edge of his haori like a little kid.

“Aww, are you embarrassed about knowing me? That’s okay, I found out today that my son is going to get me a ‘worlds best dad’ tie, and I plan on living off this emotional high for weeks.”

“He’s really not-”

“Not Rabbit,” Dragon says. “The other son. Cat.”

Grasshopper makes a betrayed noise in the back of his throat.

“Cat,” Hitoshi repeats hollowly. Nightcrawler has frozen in place. “Why Cat?”

“Kitten?” Dragon corrects, unsure.

“That’s worse. Go back,” Hitoshi says, and watches Dragon make an I-told-you-so gesture that’s only a little justified.

“What.” Nightcrawler reaches out absently, blindly searching for Hitoshi’s shoulder while his eyes stay locked on the yakuza boss. Dragon wiggles his fingers in a cute little wave that is probably meant to be endearing but just looks weirdly threatening. Nightcrawler’s eye twitches.

“Surprise?” Hitoshi offers. Nightcrawler uses his voice to locate him, iron-clad grip locking around his arm. The man looks shaken to his very core. Nightcrawler eyes them all, finds his phone, and texts someone.

“Oh, that’s my cue,” Dragon says, stepping back so his heels poke out over the building edge. “Not that this wasn’t a pleasure, Nightcrawler, but I really ought to be going before daylight heroes get here and violence happens.”

“Stay away from Mindblank.” Nightcrawler’s free hand twitches back to his belt. Hitoshi has no clue what weapon is there, but this is a hero who allows the entire criminal underworld to rifle through his pockets. It’s probably not a conventional one.

Dragon crosses his arms, tucking both hands into haori sleeves. “I believe in letting the kids set up their own playdates. You’ll find my style of support is very hands-off. Absent father extraordinaire. Rabbit and Grasshopper have really taken control of all this, so I’m just here as a poor, misguided chaperone.”

“I don’t see Rabbit here.”

“For good reason,” Dragon says. “I’m not about to put both myself and my heir in front of heroes.”

“Rabbit is your heir?!”

“Whoops.”

“I thought you knew?” Grasshopper whispers. “I could have sworn I told you.”

“You didn’t,” Nightcrawler hisses back. Hitoshi shuffles in place and wonders if being a hero means he’ll go through the number of emotions Nightcrawler does nightly.

“Oh. Well, nothing for it now. If a hero hurts him,” Dragon says cheerfully, “I will burn this country down to its foundations.”

It sounds more like a promise than a threat. Nightcrawler’s hand tightens on Hitoshi’s shoulder before he shifts back between mob boss and intern. Dragon meets the hero’s challenge steadily. Smoke curls out between tusk-like oni teeth with every breath. Dragon's hair is unruly like Izuku’s, though darker and more purposefully untamed. At that length it would be easy to grab in a fight, but the liability looks more like a taunt.

Hitoshi is abruptly very sure Dragon has earned the ability to flaunt untouchability like a banner.

“Oooh, the adults are fighting,” Grasshopper sings mockingly from his perch. Hitoshi resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. That is a textbook case of aggravating the situation that Izuku personally told the class not to do. 

Why?

Why is his brother like this?

“Hops, I will throw you off this roof,” Nightcrawler tells the vigilante. He flinches back when Dragon’s mask releases a breath of embers. “Metaphorically.”

“Oh. That was a joke?” Dragon asks with the air of someone metaphorically throwing aside a large rock. “Interesting. Well, I’d best be off. Hops, be careful. Nightcrawler, it’s been a pleasure to see you again. And Mindblank-”

Hitoshi finds himself meeting the eyes of an incredibly dangerous man. 

“-remember to keep climbing.”

“Thank you,” Hitoshi hears himself saying. Nightcrawler glances at him out of the corner of his eye but quickly refocuses on Dragon.

“Toodles,” the mob boss says, and wiggles his fingers childishly again at Nightcrawler as he tips over the building edge. Grasshopper leans back to watch the alley he’s above and winces when metal screeches below.

“You good?” he calls. “Yeah? Okay, just- be careful, that looked like it hurt. Got your tetanus shot? Oh, thank goodness.”

“Do you have your tetanus shot?” Dragon yells distantly. Grasshopper raises a thumbs-up. “Alright, be safe and have fun!”

 Nightcrawler shudders.

"I can feel you glaring," Grasshopper says as he tracks his father far below. Dragon must really be gone, because the vigilante turns around and plops down to sit on the roof rather than the ledge. He drums his fingers on the wooden box in his lap. "Even villains need vaccinations, you know."

“Grasshopper,” Nightcrawler says, and his voice is different than it was earlier this week. Colder, not quite anger but very far from welcoming. “Tell me right now why I shouldn't turn you in for colluding with a mob boss.”

“We already knew Hitoshi would meet him eventually,” Grasshopper says far too easily. He stretches out warped legs Hitoshi now knows to be that of a dragon.

“I did not,” Nightcrawler says shortly. He pauses. “Mindblank. Are you related to Dragon?”

That’s a weighted question.

Choices and loyalty in a delicate act that requires clever balance amidst shifting currents.

Hitoshi hesitates a second too long, and his mentor takes it as an answer.

“I won’t ask,” Nightcrawler murmurs. He tilts his head to the side, steps closer to the vigilante with loose hands at his sides, and says, “You’re not being very convincing, Hops.”

“This is Dragon’s city just as much as it is yours. When I called and traded information for tonight, you could have sent out a team to track me. You could have taken down Dragon.”

“I almost did.” Nightcrawler rocks back on his heels. "But he had backup, and I'm not a hero who would risk that kind of collateral damage."

“Please, the whole world knows I’m half-dead at best right now. Your intern could probably stall me long enough for another hero to arrive. And with your quirk Dragon - well, his physical self - would have walked into a cell, no questions asked. But you didn't even use your comms. Not even a distress signal. One alert text was the bare minimum of your duty.” Grasshopper tilts his head and leans forwards. “So why didn’t you?”

Hitoshi steps out from behind Nightcrawler. Whatever’s going on, he wants to see this.

“Do you know who ratted out the dirty cops in Hosu?” Nightcrawler abruptly asks them. Hitoshi remembers that scandal. The house had been silent for weeks, because a few of those cops had been paid off by the aspiring yakuza boss named ‘Shinsou.’

“It was Qwerty,” Hitoshi says. That was their first move as a vigilante.

The following week, Hitoshi couldn’t leave out of the front door. His window was next to a low roof.

Luckily.

“Good memory,” Nightcrawler says. “I can’t protect a vigilante, even if they are a kid. Right now if Dragon is removed, Scalebreath takes control. He’ll assimilate them into the group running Mustafu’s piers and warehouses. The other option is an heir nobody wants to talk about, and take it from me, that’s a bad sign. Rabbit isn't a leader. If he's in control, I give it one month before violence reaches the streets. Maybe two. We already have a Hero Killer loose, so you do the math. I just need to know, is Dragon for or against Stain?”

“You think diverting resources to monitor that aftermath would give Stain a chance to kill or worse, encourage copycat killers who follow his doctrine,” Grasshopper summarizes. “Ah.”

“That’s… bad,” Hitoshi says slowly. 

Nightcrawler sighs. “So you understand why I’m a bit wary about seeing you, Hops, recently back from the dead, and Rabbit, a known member of the yakuza and apparently the heir?”

“I do,” Grasshopper promises. “And now I know.”

“Good. So, for or against?”

“Intel will cost you.”

Nightcrawler heaves a beleaguered sigh and melts back into the mentor Hitoshi has grown to respect. “Why am I not surprised?”

Grasshopper hopes Hitoshi is enjoying internships.

He's with the most trustworthy hero besides maybe Eraserhead, with the main difference of being much easier to antagonize than their local teacher.

Eraserhead at least has experience getting twenty teenagers to follow instructions.

What does Nightcrawler have? 

Bribes?

Psh.

Yeah, Grasshopper was convinced to spill everything he knew about Stain, along with Giran's recent return to the business, but it was worth it.

...Right?

He stares down at the bags of cat food that will keep Beans fed for the next three months and wonders if Nightcrawler actually knows what he's doing. It took entirely too much effort to drag these into the safehouse. His back hurts.

"You better be worth it," Grasshopper tells the cat food, and stomps off to change.

He needs to find a time to move these to Mustafu, not to mention track down whatever Tenya is up to. Getting in contact with the local names took most of his spoons, so he spent all of today resting. Visiting Hitoshi and Nightcrawler was more of a whim due to being in the same neighborhood if Izuku's being honest. 

At least he told them he was coming in advance. That's downright polite.

Izuku fiddles with his Rabbit mask as rain pours down the windows. He received it years ago, in a wooden box the day after his first errand was completed. 

Hitoshi was holding a box.

Cat, Dad said. My son.

The same box sits heavy in Izuku’s duffle bag, packed away with the Grasshopper costume and scattered files from his informants in Hosu. It’ll be easier for Izuku to smuggle the box into UA than it will be for Hitoshi with his internship under a paranoid hero.

Dad’s the best absent father in the world, but he knew exactly what he was doing by running into Hitoshi during a patrol.

That was a threat to Nightcrawler.

If I can get to him, so can anyone else, he was saying. Protect your intern better.

Engines drone as the rain fades into a fine mist. Rabbit tugs the mask on and grabs his duffle bag.

Zoo meets him in front of the safehouse in an unfairly cool motorcycle jacket that’s definitely hiding kevlar. From the push broom strapped to her back, she’s ready for combat. They need to get out of Hosu tonight, because Dad’s been getting antsy about another group and the Hero Killer’s rumored to be on the streets. As vigilantes, Grasshopper and Zookeeper are targets. Rabbit is less well-known, so the mask will stay nearby until they’re past city limits.

“Multiple Nomu and Stain spotted downtown,” Zoo mutters as he climbs onto the motorcycle and pulls on a helmet. The mask is stored in his duffle bag. “We can head east and circle around back to Mustafu.”

Stain and Nomu mean an alliance.

The League of Wii Fit has made a move.

Finally.

“Sounds good to me.” Izuku wraps his arms around her for stability and checks his bag as the engine starts up. She takes the backstreets in a winding route that avoids traffic cameras.

There are no yakuza on the streets tonight. Whatever’s in the city limits, Dad must not want his group associated with it or the heroes in pursuit. It’s a risk. Silence could be mistaken for activity, and with Rabbit missing after tonight, Nightcrawler may assume another heir’s been killed. That’s drama nobody needs. They’ll probably send out a Fox to deal with it. 

Streetlights pass by and Izuku wonders when he’ll see Dad again.

He’s startled out of those thoughts when his phone vibrates. Checking it while they’re moving isn’t really a good idea, but with the city on high alert he’s not about to ignore notifications. The light from his screen reflects off the helmet’s visor as Izuku checks the message from an informant he’d reconnected with yesterday. 

“Oh my God,” Izuku whispers in horror. Zoo reaches for her broom, battle-ready in an instant.

“What’s up?”

“Tenya, why? That's how interns get themselves killed.” Izuku types out a reply with one hand. “He was just spotted breaking away from his supervisor. Do we have time to go back?”

Zoo shakes her head. “I need out of this city before the heroes do their next sweep. It’s too risky.”

Izuku tucks his phone away. It’s different for Zoo, who lives completely off the grid. If she ever hears her original name, the memories she’s running from will crash in on her until she’s drowning all over again. He can’t ask her to stay in a city on high alert. That isn’t fair of him.

But Tenya needs help.

“I can’t leave him,” Izuku says to the back of Zoos jacket. She slows down, turns onto an empty street and stops in the shadows. 

The silence is cloying.

She doesn't speak for long seconds that feel like hours and years. When the words do come, they’re flat. Factual.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day,” she tells him without turning her head. Izuku keeps his eyes fixed on the back of her helmet.

“I know.”

Zoo shakes her head. When she takes a long breath, Izuku remembers the lesson he taught before internships. Risks impact a hero’s friends and family. Nobody’s really alone, and vigilantes aren’t any different. Zoo and Dabi taught him that. Himiko did too, through example. She and Zoo were always closer friends than they liked to let on.

“Whose information?”

“Rapt, from Naruhata. I asked him to keep an eye out for interns acting strangely while he was here.” Izuku hadn’t asked why the reformed villain was in Hosu, and Rapt hadn’t offered it up. He’d been more focused on Grasshopper’s supposed past with Onomura Pharma Corp.

Zoo taps the motorcycle handle as she muses this over. 

“I can drop you off,” Zoo says as if the words are being dragged out of her by force. “But I can’t stay with this many heroes around.”

“I know,” Izuku says again, but what he means is thank you.

Zoo has been tied to Japan’s darkness longer than Izuku’s had a quirk. After building and losing so many families, she likely doesn't want anything resembling another goodbye from him. Just in case.

Streetlights flash overhead, droned out by the motorcycle engine’s droning roar. Hosu is a city built of winding streets, dark undercities with bright nightlife, but Zoo sticks to the forgotten quiet roads, away from where heroes battle Nomu. Dust and ash choke the sky, lit from below by the city of a thousand cracks to slip through.

She stops on one of these quiet roads.

Izuku hops off Zookeeper’s motorcycle, handing her the helmet. The alley entrance is just ten feet down the street.

“Thanks.”

“I’m getting out of the city. Good luck.” With that, she revs the engine and zooms away. Izuku doesn’t blame her for the quick exit – any situation crawling with heroes and villains is unfavorable to Zookeeper. She excels in subterfuge, not direct contact.

Izuku grips his crutches and heads to the alleyway. He arrives just as Tenya’s yell pierces the air.

That… that’s Stain. That’s Stain with his sword two inches away from Tenya’s throat, what the fuck.

“Stain,” Izuku calls as loudly as he dares. “I thought you only hunted false heroes.”

Everyone freezes. Izuku takes the chance to make his way towards them. He can probably manage against Stain in a fight and stall for a bit, but winning a straight fight? Alone? Not happening. He’s not recovered enough for that. At most he can deal for two minutes without these crutches. Recovery is slow. Just because Izuku can walk unassisted doesn’t mean he should.

Tenya breaks the silence first. “Izuku?”

“This is such a bad situation,” Izuku mutters under his breath. “Do me a favor and avoid the vigilante path, Tenya. You’re not suited to it.”

“Oh,” Stain says eerily. “You’re him.”

Izuku squints. “That’s my preferred pronoun, yes.”

“Tokyo, two years ago,” Stain says, which is just the right level of cryptic for Izuku to understand. He’d done a big case with several other vigilantes back then. In a mask. Well, this is a new record for figuring out Grasshopper’s identity. What, five seconds? 

Wow.

That's so impressive it's almost insulting.

Tenya doesn’t pick up on it, thank goodness. “’Who?”

He seems fine, besides a pretty badly hurt arm and the serial killer. He’s also not moving. This must be a paralysis quirk, and there’s only one person remotely like Stain in the underworld. Izuku hasn’t seen Sthendal since Stain appeared. He’d assumed the older vigilante had been killed or arrested and left his patrol route to Knuckleduster. The quirks match, too.

“You know… him. I can’t kill him. It’s you, right?” Stain adds, which is beautifully unspecific.

“In the flesh.” Izuku grins back with all his teeth. This is officially business, which means Izuku has to project both student-teacher calmness and Grasshopper control. This is fine. “Don’t go spilling all my secrets, old man. Tonight’s like a class reunion, huh?”

Stain’s sword isn’t moving. “Thought you died.”

“You’re one to talk. Stain? Really? I could think of better names for whatever this new nonsense is.” Izuku glances at Tenya, who’s still staring up at Stain with venom in his eyes. “Mind stepping away from my student?”

“He needs to die, Hops.”

“Hops?” Tenya asks, and Izuku hisses slightly. He cannot have his cover blown wide open now, not when Grasshopper isn’t fully back in public and there are three-day-old rumors of UA’s ties to the vigilante. Izuku evaluates Stain carefully. The ex-vigilante hasn’t moved, but that’s not to say that he won't.

“Just a nickname,” he says lightly, hoping Stain will understand the truce he’s offering. "It's a trend.”

That is a very big lie. People use their real names all the time.

Stain watches him, debating the promise Izuku is extending to this old comrade. Finally, he gives the slightest hint of a nod.

No secrets spilled, no digging into pasts without permission. It’s an old unspoken agreement in the line of work they used to uphold. Now Izuku’s stuck playing student teacher, and Stehndal has crossed into villainy. Opposite sides of the same coin. The truce still holds, though Izuku isn’t confident about their old alliance.

“Cool.” Izuku moves closer, feigning casual steps. The crutches clacking on the ground and faint whir of his leg supports are the only other noise as he steps right up to Stain and Tenya. 

“You can’t kill him,” Izuku says gently once he’s close enough. He looks into Stains masked eyes, searching for the mercy he once knew existed. The alleyway smells like blood. “He’ll do good in the world. I’m willing to vouch for him.”

“You’re a bleeding heart,” Stain snarls back, but the blade is retracted fractionally. “You’d vouch for anyone if they show one remotely redeemable trait.”

“Maybe. But he’s a kid, Stain. We used to-“

The blade moves back. Izuku rewords his point hastily. “We both know killing kids is wrong. It’s a twisted, messed up world, but we can at least agree on that, right?”

The fact that Stain doesn’t respond immediately is worrying. It should be instant. 

Silence drags on and on. Tenya is watching them both warily now. He knows Izuku had ties with Stain, and that’s going to be a whole headache to sort out, but right now… the silence from Tenya is good. One less variable to account for. There’s ragged breathing down the alleyway – Stain must have another victim paralyzed, still alive. A quick glance shows the patterned coat of Pro-Hero Native. Izuku is going to have to watch his words.  

“He came for revenge,” Stain says eventually, as though asking Izuku to understand whatever logic applies to killing minors. This is not the answer Izuku wants to hear. The Hero Killer steps back, but it’s not to give Tenya space. It’s to step into the familiar stance Izuku has only fought once before.

He’s decided Izuku is the barrier, and Tenya the goal. They will both die if Stain decides to stop talking and take combat seriously. Izuku knows this. Stain knows this. Tenya is likely figuring it out very quickly, if his continued silence is any indicator.

“He made a mistake. Kids do that, you know.” Izuku steps around Tenya, carefully placing himself between the student and Hero Killer. He can’t do much right now. If Stain decides to attack, Izuku has his words, phone, two crutches, an injured back, and a tazer. These are very bad odds. “He will be a good hero, Stain.”

His old acquaintance snarls at this. “No hero should be motivated by revenge. Their ideals should be pure and good, instead of spreading their rot across Japan. Heroes should be noble, willing to save for the act itself rather than a ranking system. It’s their job to heal and save, not seek retribution.”

“Really?” Izuku looks at Native. “Your last five victims weren’t acting in vengeance. Native isn’t. He’s been working on representation for the Ainu community in Hokkaido.”

“He’s saving people for publicity. The press shouldn’t matter to a hero, only the act of doing good. They’re commercializing suffering.”

“Publicity to do an even greater good.” Izuku takes a step forward and is pleasantly surprised when Stain moves back. That small movement indicates that Izuku still has weight in this situation. Good. “Even if he weren’t, even if Tenya continues to be motivated by revenge, they’re still saving people. They’re still working to make the world a little bit better, even if their true intention isn’t perfect. The family Native saved last week is alive. The people Tenya will save will be truly grateful, because they won’t care in that moment why he’s doing it.”

Izuku bumps the back of his heel on Tenya’s armor, pulling out his phone behind his back and sending his location to the last five contacts in his phone. Hopefully one is a vigilante or Eraserhead. “And he won’t be motivated by revenge. Let me teach him, Stain. Let him live.”

Stain laughs. 

It’s hoarse and full of rage scraping the inside of his lungs raw, and Izuku can hear the betrayal in it. They were never close, but Grasshopper has worked with Stehndal on occasion. It will never happen again. Not after tonight. Izuku is burning that bridge, hoping the light of its fire will show Tenya the way home. 

Stain knows this, too. There’s steel in his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. “You’ve fallen blind to the evil rooting through their system. Even after they broke you down, how can you stand on their side? Don’t you see the corruption, the glory-seeking that got civilians hurt? That took Grasshopper?”

That crosses a line.

“I see the flaws,” Izuku spits back. “It took my legs. You know what that means - my quirk was literally crushed under a hero’s boot, of course I saw it. But you know what? Every hero involved honestly thought they were enacting justice that night.”

“And yet you work for them now. You work for something that took your name, Hops. You know what that means.” You gave them Grasshopper, Stain doesn’t say. You gave UA a bomb to manipulate as they please. Midoriya Izuku gave them his mother’s protection and his father’s forgiveness. And now, Grasshopper has given them the vigilante community, wrapped up in a bow.

The worst part is, Izuku can’t address it with Native here. “I am trying to make the world better any way I can. That will never be through death. The heroes today are doing good whether you like it or not, Stain. Every act, no matter why they do it or how big it is, still means the world to someone out there. Any impact is a good impact.”

“We’ll never agree.”

“Maybe.” Izuku nods to where Tenya still lies on the ground. “But I’m going to keep arguing for the sake of anyone listening.”

Stain scoffs, then raise his blade. “Enough.”

Izuku shrugs. Then everything goes to shit. 

The tracker on his anklet beeps as it’s reactivated. Stain sees it. Tenya sees it. They all know what it is. 

Stain reacts first, slashing down with his sword. Izuku is able to catch it with the crutches. Agony blooms across his back, lightning-fast with twice the burn.

“They’ve chained you like a dog,” Stain snarls, drawing back.

“Oh, rude?” Izuku leans on his left crutch, grinning through the pain as every nerve in his body informs him that he’s being incredibly stupid. “Surprise, ‘Stain.’ I do what I want.”

His spine feels like it’s been crushed all over again. He can’t fight so soon after the Sports Festival’s damage. There’s nothing but experience and his words between him and Stain. Luckily, it looks like he’s off the kill list. Unluckily, it seems that Tenya isn’t. 

Stain attacks again, and Izuku drops the crutches. He just barely manages to grip Stains sword arm and step inside his guard. Nobody wants to face Grasshopper in close combat. 

Stain retreats instinctively. He glowers when Izuku does not follow. “Why aren’t you using your quirk?”

Izuku stares at Stain, then at his discarded crutches, then back at Stain. “Really? Are you seriously asking me why I, someone very clearly lacking in a full range of motion, am not fighting you?”

Stain snarls, dissatisfied with this answer.

“Fine. It’s a recognizable quirk, alright?!” Izuku snaps, gesturing vaguely around them. “There are witnesses!”

“Not for long,” Stain rumbles, looming closer. Izuku hears Tenya’s breathing pick up. 

“That’s- no? Even ignoring your whole new murder thing, that’s horrible logic?”

These are terrible odds. Izuku isn’t supposed to go more than a couple minutes without crutches. Sure, two-thirds of the way through recovery sounds pretty good on paper, but Izuku needed to heal from fighting in the Sports Festival and getting kidnapped again. There’s no way to calculate this.

He’d rather lose his identity and health than let Tenya die. It’s not even a choice.

Izuku steps into his ready position, and Stain retreats again. This isn’t a place for Grasshopper. 

Yet.

“Bring out the quirk,” Stain goads, drawing another sword.

“Don’t make me,” Izuku warns him. It falls dead and empty in the alley’s too-large silence, and Tenya’s breathing hitches. He hasn’t activated his quirk, but Dragon Legs still reinforces his bones and muscles without activation. 

Izuku breathes in, finds the pain, and shuts it down with the exhale.

There is nothing good about forcibly heightened pain tolerances. Nothing valued, and if Izuku could refuse one thing those first kidnappers gave him, it would be this. Not the quirk. Not the trauma or desensitization towards violence and torture. Not the anxiety, depression, PTSD, or whatever else is rattling around in his head. Not even the weatherwise ache in his knees.

He’ll use it for real combat. Just this once.

Except it’s never stayed ‘just this once.’

Stain moves first.

Izuku dodges the swing, grabbing the wrist and turning so his weight is fixed between Stain’s arm and ribs. He rotates and slams Stain into the alley wall. Stain narrowly manages to brace himself in time, and slashes low for Izuku’s legs as he reorients. Izuku is forced out of range.

His back seizes up, and Izuku nearly crashes to the alley ground. 

Shit.

He stumbles but keeps upright. Stain notices the weakness and attacks again. From there it’s a familiar rhythm - punch, dodge, block, kick, twist - until Stain gets a lucky hit to Izuku’s ribs. In revenge, Izuku nails Stain in the jaw. His back takes this as permission to feel like it’s breaking, and Izuku crashes to the ground.

“Ow,” Izuku hisses.

Of all the inconvenient bad luck-

Stain kicks Izuku in the side just as he tries to get up, kindly with the sole rather than the spikes. Izuku rolls out of the way of the second kick, forces his way to his feet, and puts all his weight into the shoulder he slams into Stain. It’s a clear last-ditch move.

Stain throws Izuku to the ground and clips a blade across his cheek almost lazily. “Nice sparring with you, Hops-”

“No,” Izuku rasps, struggling to get up. Stain’s quirk activates, locking Izuku’s joints in place. He hates it.

“-But it’s time to face the music.” Stain is standing over Tenya now, and there’s nothing Izuku can do.

Flames burst down the alleyway.

No.

No no no, Izuku doesn't want any of his classmates here, not now with a killer mere paces away and blood already spilled. Shoto is at risk twice over with his ties to Endeavor, who fought Stedhal twice and nearly crippled him the second time around. This is bad.

When Izuku blinks spots away from his eyes, Stain has been forced back so he’s standing over Izuku. There’s fury painted across his face, and the malice practically dripping off those swords is very different from the man Izuku once fought beside.

“Izuku,” Shoto calls as he steps into the alley, framed in cold streetlights. His shadow stretches all the way to Tenya’s feet.  “Can you give more than a location next time?”

“Izuku?” Stain rasps, because today really can’t get any worse. “Did some hero come up with that while they were pulling your leash, Hops?”

“You called yourself Tarou once,” Izuku groans into the disgusting alley pavement. “So fuck off. Leave me to rot in peace.”

Stain ignores him, which is starting to unnerve Izuku. He pauses long enough to flick a hand, and a knife sinks into the ground behind Izuku’s neck. It pins the fabric of his jacket to the ground. It’s more of a warning than anything else, but removing it will take precious time and tell Stain when he’s free.

After all, Stendhal knew Grasshopper’s blood type.

"Don't let him drink your blood," Izuku calls. 

Shoto's guard stays up, but Izuku could swear he whispers, "vampire, I knew it," under his breath.

This does not deter the serial killer.

Stain raises his swords, shifts a foot back, and throws himself forward too fast to track. Shoto flinches back, barely escaping the first flashing blade.

The second falls, coated with ice, and Shoto freezes the alley in a rush of biting cold. It wards Stain back, and Izuku can see the calculations his old acquaintance runs on risk assessment with four conscious opponents.

"This isn't your fight," Tenya wheezes in the lull. Shoto ignores him. "You should- run-"

"Tenya," Shoto says tonelessly. "Stop talking."

Its hard to tell, but Izuku is pretty sure Tenya is straining against the paralysis. "Don't-"

Stain chooses violence.

It's very on brand. 

Ice cracks through the space he just occupied as Stain jumps up over Shoto's attack, kicking off the alley wall and descending like a wrathful spirit from above. Shoto's side bursts into flames, warding him off, but a knife cuts into his shoulder. It clatters to the ground when blistering heat forces Stain to drop it. Ice welds the bloody blade to the ground.

Stain lands, twists, and throws another knife before Shoto can attack. It forces him back, defenses up, as the knife clatters back towards Izuku. 

If he can just move enough to grab it-

Metal shrieks as it crumples under ice. Izuku's attention turns back to the fight just in time to see Stain draw blood with a gash to Shoto's side.

His interference won't be in time.

How long ago was Tenya paralyzed? And if he joins this fight, will he help or hinder? Izuku is pretty sure none of them are surviving now that Stain has gotten serious. 

But at least they might take this man down with them.

"Tenya," Izuku grits out. "You want to fight?"

Chrome armor reflects blue-red sparks and ice. Wide eyes lock onto Izuku.

Tenya is shattering himself today. Will he pick up the pieces? 

No.

He won't.

Not without a final nudge in the right direction, harsh as it may be.

"Then either shut up or get up," Izuku snarls with dragon-fire certainty, "And be a hero."

Stain launches himself forward, sword sweeping out under Shoto's guard. Fire blooms, too-slow, not enough-

Engines roar as Tenya kicks out. Stain is forced back, and Tenya hits ice hard enough to crack the brick beyond it.

"Nice," Izuku says into the cold and nasty ground. Now two of them will die on their feet, which is a way cooler forensics report than 'paralyzed and skewered.'

Stain looks like he's considering kicking him again. "Hops, I will kill you."

"You can try, murder-man."

The upside to baiting a serial killer while paralyzed is that Stain can't kill him while Tenya and Shoto are doing their level best to knock him out. The downside is that Stain starts getting rid of his frustration by playing with his opponents.

Izuku glares at the throwing knife. It's so close.

If he can just move a little-

His fingers twitch.

Stain makes a choked off noise and Izuku looks up to see the Hero Killer bleeding from the mouth. Tenya attacks low and fast, sweeping up with a roundhouse kick that Stain tries to bury a knife in. It rips open armor, only for Shoto to lash out with fire unfurling from his palm. The knife melts into slag as Stain discards it. Molten liquid splatters and sizzles across jagged ice.

Izuku needs to move.

Ice crackles, Frost skittering across the ground to stop just short of Izuku. It melts as fire roars overhead and metal screeches against armor. Tenya's pained inhale cuts through the air like jagged glass.

Straining against the wall of his limits is oh so painful, but Izuku grits his teeth and tries.

He has to.

So he will.

Tenya has a knife buried in his arm and Shoto is bleeding from a scratch on his cheek by the time Izuku looks up.

Izuku breaks through the paralysis all at once. He grabs the throwing knife, twists to rip out the one behind his neck, and freezes when Stain faces his way for a split second. Free of watching eyes, Izuku hauls himself halfway up into a marginally steady position, and tracks the combat for an opening. Standing up right now is risky, but he can do this much.

Stain attacks, viper-fast. Shoto throws up a barrier of ice desperately, launching Tenya up with the same structure. Stain kicks off the towering ice to meet him with a feint like he used to in the vigilante days-

Izuku throws the knife in that second. It sinks deep into Stain’s shoulder.

Tenya's kick slams into Stain's ribs. The Hero Killer is thrown back against the alley wall. He crumples onto a platform of ice, unconscious.

Silence settles heavy in the alleyway, broken by Tenya's shaky exhale as he approaches cautiously to tie up the villain. Capture and restrain.

Standard protocol.

Shoto is visibly shaking. Izuku lets himself collapse back onto the pavement and wheeze brokenly.

They did it.

Holy shit.

“You can throw knives?” Shoto asks as he limps over. Izuku stares up at him. They survived. Both of his students are here and alive. Of all the miracles in the world, this is the last one he’d expect to actually happen.

He can't breathe.

Somewhere between Stain falling unconscious and the relief crashing over him with jittery adrenaline, Izuku stopped suppressing his pain. It’s agony. Everything hurts, and if someone tells him to get up, Izuku’s fairly certain he’ll start crying. His palms are sweaty and his arms feel like lead. They’re shaking. His back is protesting every breath. It creaks and burns like hellfire.

Yeah, this is the edge of a panic attack.

“I was taught by the best,” Izuku gasps, remembering blonde hair and a fanged smile. “As nice as this is, I gotta run before the police get here, so-”

“No,” Tenya decides, because this is apparently the moment he decides to follow the law again. “We are all waiting for the police.”

“Come on,” Izuku wheezes through the jackhammering in his chest. “Why not become a vigilante? Live life on the run, enacting whatever justice you feel like without those pesky rules holding you back... that sounds like a dream. It’ll be miserable. Let’s do it.”

Shoto gives Izuku a sharp look from where he’s kicking Stain’s many knives under a dumpster. 

Tenya sits down and curls up by the wall. Maybe Izuku is pushing a little too hard, but if his identity is ever made, Izuku doesn't want Tenya to doubt any advice given today. He can’t speak as a hero. That’s not his place. If providing an example of what not to be is the only option, Izuku will take it to ensure his friend’s safety. 

He also selfishly wants to get away before the police see him at this crime scene, but at this point his tracker is active. Moving will just get him in more trouble. It’ll also hurt.

“I nearly got you all killed,” Tenya says into his knees. Shoto sits down next to him.

“Yep,” Izuku says. “Nearly got yourself killed, too. Wanna unpack that?”

“I do not particularly want to,” Tenya informs the world at large, carefully enunciating every word. “But I should.”

"Yeah?"

Tenya looks away. "Maybe I'm not suited to being a hero."

Oh, shit.

"Why?" Izuku asks carefully.

"None of what I've done today has been heroic-"

"You saved my life," Shoto interrupts. He's not even technically wrong.

"Besides that!" Tenya gestures like he's trying to do his classic hand-chop but the knife stuck in his arm is making it difficult. Izuku wants to package him in bubble wrap. What if it hit a tendon? Or an artery-

Ooh, Izuku hates his brain for pointing that out.

Tenya gestures again, thankfully with his uninjured hand. "I tracked and engaged a villain in combat! Without supervision!"

It says something about their career choice that Tenya will probably only get in trouble for that last fact.

"Are you willing to do better?" Izuku asks. “Even what that’s the last possible thing you want?”

Tenya goes quiet.

Izuku peels himself off the damp concrete and checks over his work. There's a knife stuck up Stain's sleeve and another in his boots, but Tenya caught most of them. He drags them away before checking the many, many injuries Stain left behind.

"I think I can do better," Tenya says as Izuku worries about the knife stuck in his arm.

He seems very calm about that.

"Then do better," Izuku says as he checks through his pockets. He has a lockpick set but no Band-Aids. No bandages, no disinfectant, nothing. The medics will be here, but there is a knife in his arm-

"Is it that easy?" Tenya asks, and Izuku refocuses to find his classmate searching for answers with hope hiding under fear and guilt.

"Heroes save people," Izuku tells him as he turns his attention back to the sluggishly bleeding injury. "Nobody cares why. So long as the job gets done, so long as you never stop trying to improve… It's okay. We all fall. But you gotta get back up."

Tenya looks away.

Sirens wail in the distance, ever closer as footsteps hurry closer. 

Shoto returns with a freshly-unparalyzed Native just in time for Izuku to melt into the shadows behind a dumpster. He really doesn't want to deal with heroes.

But running will get him in even more trouble at this point. They're close enough that he wouldn't escape.

Metal rattles and Izuku glances down at one of Stain's discarded knives.

He really shouldn't.

Stealing from a crime scene is the worst idea.

"Where's Izuku?" Tenya asks.

The knife is so well made, though. It'd be wasted in an evidence locker. Toga wishes she had the time to upkeep serrated edges this nice.

"The green kid?" Native makes the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Izuku peers around the side of the dumpster and accidentally makes direct eye contact with Shoto while reaching for a knife.

...He's never going to live this down is he?

Shoto leans against the dumpster, further sheltering Izuku from searching eyes.

Endeavor is first on the scene, followed closely by Gran Torino. Izuku stays out of sight until the older hero passes him, mostly because Endeavor might take this chance to roast Izuku like an Olive Garden potato.

"Hey," Izuku says, and ducks the kick that lashes out. "Ow, my back."

Gran Torino squints at him. "Any reason you're lurking behind a dumpster?

"Endeavor might try to charcoal me."

It's very telling that Gran Torino's automatic response is to sigh. "He does that. Get out here, brat."

"I didn't even use a quirk," Izuku tells the hero as he shimmies out of his little trash gremlin hiding spot, realizing it's true only after he says it. That's convenient. During the fight, he really couldn't have cared less.

Gran Torino makes the single handedly most old-man noise Izuku has ever heard. It's like a combined grunt and groan. Two for one deal.

Izuku weathers through the first round of questioning by a hero intern. 

He gets just to the part where she looks up his name and goes pale at all the red tape before talons the size of Izuku's hand carve into his shoulder. The earth drops out from under him.

Flying is so comforting that Izuku takes an extra few seconds to recognize the new shoulder wound, let alone that they're above the building line.

Wingbeats pummel air into submission, battering Izuku's ears as he drags his eyes away from the disappearing ground and to the Nomu. Someone wants him.

Well.

They'll have to get in line.

Talons dig gouge deeper into his shoulder, and Izuku reaches for a weapon on instinct.

Luckily, he's still got a knife up his sleeve.

The cool plastic grip bites into his hand. Izuku wraps one hand around the Nomu's ankle, boxes away his pain, and kicks out to lever himself up enough to sink the blade between bone.

Unholy shrieking drills into Izuku's ears, grating against the snarl dragged up from his chest. Talons bite harsher into his shoulder, and he stabs again until they release.

Izuku is thrown into free fall.

The sky has never harmed him, only brought comfort out of cold lonely emptiness and familiar skylines crafted out of streetlights and neon signs. Far below, heroes watch with faces tilted up and away from the Hero Killer breaking free.

Time inches by.

Wind rushes past his ears and Izuku twists midair, throwing his weight back until he's hurtling to the ground feet-first. His quirk activates out of habit, and it's all he can do to hold back from a full transformation. 

Teeth grit, Izuku shatters concrete with the force of his landing. Agony races up his spine until Dragon Legs is shoved back into its inert state and the fragile peace snaps.

Ow.

Molten iron sears down his back, turning trembling legs to jello and darkness eating away at his vision. One knee bites into concrete, then his side. The world spins.

"None of you," Stain rumbles from what feels like Izuku's left but is logically above him, "Are heroes."

Izuku laughs so hard he promptly blacks out.

Chapter Text

Shoto stares at his hands.

Red-white lights flash over him as the ambulance doors close. Tenya's silence is just as shell-shocked.

In his mind's eye, he watches a Nomu lift his friend high above the rooftops. Steel flashes in Izuku's hand he slams the blade into the Nomu's leg once, twice-!

It lets go-

Izuku shouldn't have survived that fall.

He'd twisted it the air, suspended like an acrobat, and Shoto had watched with his heart rising up his throat to catch in his teeth. He'd felt the rising fear like static in his nerves, the awareness of heroes shifting as they collectively realized Izuku was going to crash.

The old man had moved forward, and Endeavor had stopped him.

Held an arm in his way and stalled the old hero for a precious second.

Stain had darted forward instead, and the irony hadn't been lost on Shoto that a villain was doing the saving for them. He'd jumped to the Nomu, killed it as it fell.

Concrete had shattered in a crater around Izuku when he landed. Physics shouldn't have worked like that, shouldn't have cracked pavement with percussive force. It's another mark towards a resilience-enhancement quirk. He'd still fallen over.

The Nomu and Stain hit the ground a second later.

None of you are heroes.

Izuku laughed. Laughed like they were old friends and Stain had just said the funniest inside joke until they both passed out. Stain where he was standing, and Izuku collapsed at his feet.

Shoto stares at his hands.

He doesn't feel like a hero.

But then, he never wanted to be one anyway.

He sits in the memory of walking into an alley and finding his classmates with a serial killer.

Tenya had taken a hit for him in the fight.

It happens in combat. They’ve both grown up around heroes and know full well the risks – Tenya was a familiar sight at glittery events with uncomfortable clothing and camera flashes. He seemed to have parents who wanted him out of the spotlight as opposed to Shoto’s father, but they still knew each other before UA. Tenya’s been training with family members for a long time, but Shoto knows their respective schedules sat on opposite ends of a spectrum. Shoto’s training cared about results before wishes, whereas Tenya’s was the opposite. He got to pace himself.

It’s not a jealousy thing.

Just the facts of life.

It kind of makes sense that the first time Shoto would choose to fight a villain – not self-defense or because it’s what his father wants – but really, truly choose to fight because he wanted to-

-It would be for one of his first friends.

UA is teaching him a lot, it seems.

Izuku wakes up and aches.

That's mostly all he does in the unfortunately standard white hospital room, besides glare at his new shiny bracelets, pick the locks on his shiny bracelets, and limp to Shoto and Tenya's room to collapse on a chair, sans shiny bracelets.

Everything hurts.

Considering Izuku did all of that while apparently out of his mind due to both pain and pain medication, he thinks he deserves a little understanding. Shoto, despite having no idea what's going on, agrees.

This is why Shoto is the best.

Well.

That, and-

"I'm the hand crusher," Shoto says, staring at his closed fists. Izuku, who is lying across the foot of his bed in hopes of discovering one blissful moment in which his back doesn’t feel like it’s caught in a trash compactor, exchanges a look with Tenya. He is visibly trying to withhold laughter.

Izuku wrinkles his nose. That seems to do it. Tenya snorts, then breaks down laughing.

"That would be such a sick hero name," Izuku says, mostly because he is very unfocused.

So many ceiling tiles.

Where do they buy them?

“I am,” Shoto insists as Tenya slowly runs out of mirth. “I hurt you.”

“Incorrect. I hurt myself,” Tenya says immediately, completely missing that neither of these are good options nor calming to hear. “You are not a- a hand crusher.”

“Best wrestling title,” Izuku mutters. It really is multi-purpose. If words were those hardware multitools, Hand-Crusher is the kind of title that can be used everywhere. School club introductions, arm wrestling tournaments, work parties with intimidating bosses, it can handle all of those situations and more. He could make a whole commercial for it here and now. Izuku is a little jealous. “Could you imagine? You could be named after a bug. Hand Crusher is such a score.”

Shoto and Tenya look at him.

"…Speaking of hero names," Tenya says, and it's weird how cautious he sounds. That's not right. Izuku hopes Tenya knows it's always okay to talk about his hopes and dreams. "Stain knew you."

"Stain," Izuku scoffs derisively, and rolls over. His lower back protests this until he flops onto his stomach, which makes his whole back hurt, but crucially, this time it hurts slightly less. Small victories. Shoto tosses a blanket over him, because sometimes there is justice in life.

"Izuku," Tenya says, though to be completely honest Izuku is too busy wondering if he can rip out his spine and replace it with a massive fuzzy worm on a string or anything else that's less troublesome. "Were you a villain or a vigilante?"

HA!

Ow, no, don’t laugh. Bad idea. Why does everything hurt?

He wants to iron out his bones.

Like a Hi-Chew melting in the microwave.

Or soup.

Man, Izuku wishes he were a soup. That’s both an honor and the dream right there.

"Mnmph," Izuku tells the blankets. He wants to stay like this forever. It's so cozy. Even his face is comfortable, even if it's hard to breathe through the cotton.

"I think he means 'no,'" Shoto offers.

"I see."

Izuku has forgotten the question he was asked.

Oh well.

Probably wasn't important.

Shoto and Tenya keep talking, though they mercifully allow Izuku to pursue his new hobby of melting into fabric. It’s very sweet of them. They even lower their voices, which drives what Izuku wasn’t aware was a headache down to manageable levels. He can almost think straight again.

Heh.

Straight.

This Aro-Ace has no time for that. That’s for… like…

He actually can’t think of a single confirmed straight hero right now, which Izuku personally decides to take as a sign that the HPSC is full of shit for making Hawks go through all that. Not that he can think of any names at all at the moment.

"I owe you an apology," Tenya is saying to Shoto when he tunes back in. "Both of you, but I'll wait to speak with Izuku when he's-"

He pauses.

Izuku feels increasingly awkward about moving and breaking up the narrative tension here. He stays face-planted into the blanket like a slug.

Man, he should have been born a slug. That's the life. They don't have to worry about paying rent-

"Coherent," Shoto fills in.

"Yes."

"I am very coherent," Izuku tells the blanket. It comes out muffled to the point of illegibility. Shoto pats his shoulder a little condescendingly. It's like a hug but there's emotional constipation, so Izuku thinks it's reasonable that the gesture is making something in his chest go warm and goopy.

Like chocolate.

Oooh, that's a thought. Now he's hungry.

"But I do owe that apology. It was wrong of me to be so caught up in my own worries that I would put you both in danger. I shall endeavor to fix this mistake."

Shoto and Tenya keep talking about something - heroic ideals? Whatever. Izuku is completely here for critical thinking skills, though.

An alarm goes off in the distance, followed by a stampede of footsteps past the door.

"Oh, I know this one!" Izuku exclaims, accidentally making Tenya jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you-"

"Are you okay?" Tenya asks. Izuku props himself up on his elbows and shifts his head just enough to frown at his classmate. Tenya is wrapped in bandages, scrapes drawing lines across a bruise on his cheek. His arm is heavily wrapped. What-

Izuku remembers several things all at once.

Mostly Stain.

So that’s why they’re in a hospital: rude ex-coworker pointed pointy objects at them and gave terrible career advice. Then another failed kidnapping. Izuku needs to start keeping a tally of all the people who try that at this point. He takes a moment to mentally review the series of events, starting with the memory of streetlights on wet asphalt when Izuku got news of Tenya’s revenge quest. He follows that memory right up until he blacked out.

Wow.

What an absolute shitshow.

More importantly: Tenya. Asking if Izuku is okay after having Tenya’s own entire life crumble between a Sports Festival and one of Hosu’s nasty alleyways really is a sign that some healthy self-reflection could do wonders right about now.

"I should ask you that? You had a whole knife in your arm."

"I deserved it," Tenya points out, which is very weird and not at all a good outlook on knives in arms. Izuku makes a properly distressed noise in the back of his throat and collapses back onto his face when he tries to gesture. Figuring this is a sign from the universe, Izuku stays down, though he does wave an arm around until Shoto takes his hand with his non-mummified one.

Everything hurts again, but he’s with friends so it’s worth it.

Izuku is faintly aware of Tenya asking him, "What alarm is this?" but he's far more concerned with wriggling into a more comfortable position so he can hold both his classmate's hands.

Unfairly, Tenya is across the room. Izuku can't stretch his arm that far. Stretchy-noodle-limbs would be such a convenient quirk.

Alas.

"Izuku." Tenya looks worried. Unacceptable. "What alarm is this?"

Izuku cocks his head to listen, watches feet patter outside, and chirps, "containment breach!"

Shoto twitches.

“Oh,” Tenya says, and goes very quiet. “Izuku… are you- please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you supposed to be here?”

With his friends? “Yes.”

Tenya goes quiet again. This would be worrying, but Izuku really can’t judge much of anything at the moment and is therefore taking his cues from Shoto, who is staring placidly out the window. So. It’s probably fine.

Izuku finds he has energy to flop, starfish-style, across Shoto’s legs, and returns to his nap as whatever is in his IV slowly stops making his brain feel like jelly. His friends discuss everything from music to the noisy air conditioner to Best Jeanist’s new yoga pants merchandise phase while they wait.

The cycle continues in an upwards spiral that clears Izuku’s mind until Sansa pulls open the door and freezes halfway through entering. "You."

Why is Tenya looking at him like that?

Izuku points to himself to clarify who they’re all talking about. Not kind enough to confirm anything, Sansa pulls out his radio, closing the door as he goes. Slitted eyes watch them through the door window as he says something into it.

“We,” Tenya says quietly, “are in so much trouble.”

“We engaged in vigilante activities,” Izuku reminds him. This does not seem to help matters.

Tenya stews in his angst until his supervisor steps into the room, followed by a man Izuku has seen only through a screen and paper.

The police force chief is one of those incredibly tall people who have the kind of luck to reach the height of living trees, like All Might or Endeavor. His dog-mutation quirk lends an air of exhaustion. He uses every last bit of this and the height to radiate quiet disapproval that Izuku really could not care less about.

Well, that’s a lie.

Izuku cares about disapproval from people in power when it reaches into the realm of consequences and actions. He cares when they use the power they have to either mess with him or mess with anyone who can’t hit back just to feel a little more in control of their lives. They can spend however much energy they want annoying themselves, though. That’s on their shoulders.

The Police Chief informs them that there has not yet been an official statement about who took down Stain.

He is going to question them.

Here’s the thing about power: it comes from many different sources. Not all of these sources are valued equally in the eyes of movers and shakers of the world. For example, the power Izuku has rediscovered and reclaimed in his own worth matters roughly as much as dumpster scum to the HPSC. Whereas the attention he’s attracted is still a dumpster, but this one is critically different in that it’s on fire. Explosively. In other words, much more important and a light show as well.

With the police, power is greased palms that never point in the right direction.

Power enables abuse.

Izuku sits through questioning when they separate him from the students, and wonders at the difference between Hosu and the coastal side of Mustafu. Here, most of the police are paid off by the heroics commission, especially when they have a chief in the room. Izuku’s uncle is paid off by the fishing industry.

One is decidedly more lethal.

It’s not the HPSC.

But that’s not Izuku’s battle to fight. People who try to constantly combat every problem in the world burn out faster than a box of lit matchsticks. He will follow the directions of experts and focus on what he can do here.

The questioning goes as well as it can, given the circumstances. There’s just one issue beyond the puns: the elephant in the room is very bug shaped. Izuku struggles not to fall into his vigilante persona. It takes conscious effort to stay in a fully civilian mindset. Being snarky right now won’t solve anything. It’ll put Tenya and Shoto in a tough spot at best, and land a heap of trouble at both his parent’s doorsteps at worst. That's inexcusable. Izuku shoves Grasshopper’s running commentary to the very back of his mind.

No matter the puns, he cannot comment.

Just.

Don’t.

Izuku.

The chief sighs as Izuku tunes back in. “You could take a bow-wow-wow, but it would be a – and forgive the word choice – a stain on your records.” 

Really? Of all the wordplay, that’s the one he apologizes for?

“It was the right thing to do,” Shoto snaps. “I’m not ashamed of my actions.” Props to Shoto for being willing to throw hands with the Chief within two seconds of being called out. That takes guts. Not smart, but still.

There is a fine line between bravery and idiocy. Izuku likes that line. He likes to balance on it and wave from the tightrope as good decisions pass by.

“I think we’re barking up the wrong tree,” Izuku interrupts more for the sake of the pun than to say anything worthwhile. “There are plenty of people we could ask to take credit.”

The police chief nods. “We will likely end up throwing Endeavor a bone.”

“He’ll hate it,” Shoto says instantly. “I like this plan.”

Izuku nods. “If Shoto’s in, then so am I. Tenya?”

Tenya nods halfheartedly, hand tracing the bandages on his arm. “I agree.”

The chief of police claps his hands together. “I expect secrecy from all of you considering this. Your hero records will be damaged if it gets out. Midoriya, if paw-sible I’d appreciate a word.”

Izuku shrugs. 

He’s then transferred to a pair of quirk suppressing cuffs (really? In front of his friends?) and a wheelchair the officer pushes. He is not allowed to touch the wheels. Izuku hates it. He rattles his cuffs as loudly as possible out of spite and gets no reaction.

Izuku waits until they’re in a quiet room before leaning back. “So, what could you want little old me for?”

“Midoriya.” The Chief crosses his arms. “You went rogue in Hosu. I cannot have a criminal unleashed on the streets.”

“I was there with permission from my supervisor – Nezdu signed off. You have the digital copy. A civilian was in danger, and I acted accordingly in self-defense.” Izuku bares his teeth. “I’m saying nothing else without a lawyer.”

The Chief stares Izuku down with unyielding fortitude. “Your tracking anklet has gone offline multiple times. You’re straying from the agreement. Understand there will be consequences if you continue in this manner.”

“Lawyer,” Izuku says.

The Chief heaves a sigh and signals Tsukauchi.

Oh, they’re not going to call anyone? Not even his parental unit?

“Are you still active as Grasshopper?” Tsukauchi asks abruptly, and Izuku raises an eyebrow.

“Lawyer. And my back is crushed. You saw it today: I physically cannot fight without ending up in a hospital. Seriously, when would I sleep?”

All truth. Grasshopper has been around organizing mild amounts of chaos, but not much outright crime-fighting. Tsukauchi Makoto was an oracle, which the detective probably already knows. The rest of his friends are a different matter. Izuku isn’t responsible for what Dabi does, and Zoo is committing a crime at all times just by existing off the grid.

He politely refuses his way through the rest of the questioning. It is in no way fun or comfortable, but Izuku knows his rights. The Chief is subtly frustrated with this. Tsukauchi gives the air of someone who is trying not to participate beyond what he’s forced to do. Tough luck to him.

Get a better job, Izuku thinks. Then again, Tsukauchi handles all of All Might’s cases. If he retires, the S-class villain Dad wants desperately to fight will get a dirty cop to be All Might’s point of contact on the forces. Izuku takes a second to imagine how that would go.

…Yikes.

Tsukauchi says his goodbyes to the Chief before walking back to the room with Izuku. The detective continues to push his chair. Izuku makes sure to voice his displeasure at this fact.

“It’s procedure,” Tsukauchi explains when he finishes a rant on how handcuffs are really messing with his fashion sensibilities. “We’re in a hospital, and you’re technically a suspect.”

“That’s not new,” Izuku argues as the door to his and the other two student’s room opens. “Besides, what am I going to do? Throw myself out a window?”

“Izuku, I didn’t just read your files, I wrote a good portion.”

“So?” Izuku does not need to be reminded of three years ago when he jumped out of a window in full vigilante gear just to avoid being questioned.

Tsukauchi sighs but refuses to rise to the bait. It’s probably for the best.

After visitor hours, Tenya sits in the hospital room he shares with Izuku and Shoto. Outside, lights have naturally dimmed in the evening, so their room is illuminated by yellow light pouring in from under the door. At least one of his classmates is asleep. Possibly both. Tenya has no such luxury due to the memories caught on replay.

He is… stressed.

Yes, that’s a good word for it.

Tenya went into that alley fully prepared to risk his life, or so he’d thought. He’d stared down a villain and felt confident in his choice. Justified. He brought engines to a sword fight and believed he could win despite Tensei’s superior experience falling short. The villain needed to be caught. Tenya had been ready to wager anything for that outcome right up until he realized it meant nothing without intention. Luck would not see him through that alleyway of blood and death balanced on the blade of a knife. Not justice, either.

Tenya wanted revenge for his brother, but what would Tensei want for him?

Not villainy.

Not murder.

Either shut up or get up, and be a hero.

So he fought beside Shoto as a friend, a classmate, and hopefully as fellow future comrades. This shame is a weight Tenya would have to carry for all his years if he had stopped Shoto from pursuing the noble path of heroics. It is a dishonor that stains himself, his family, and the institution of UA. He will have to learn: first to make up for it to everyone he has hurt, and then to forgive himself.

Tenya is well-practiced at studying.

He will learn.

That resolve provides little comfort. Tenya has yet to speak with Tensei about his foolish choices, though his parents have both called. Shoto was nearly suspended because of Tenya’s selfish actions, and Izuku-

Well.

To be completely honest, Tenya hasn’t the faintest clue what’s going on with Izuku.

He is trying very hard not to think about the way Izuku approached the man who nearly killed his brother as if the two were old friends. Izuku is all of fifteen or so years old, sixteen at most. That is far too young for serial killers to consider anyone their equal. Tenya knows this because if he is too young to shadow his parents at work even in the office, then Izuku is certainly in the same situation for whatever that was.

The memory of that fight makes Tenya shiver.

The police had asked about every detail. Every moment, every attack. Tenya and Shoto had used their quirks, but at least there had been no moment in which he could concretely say Izuku had used his. The officer to interview him had asked about it several times, as if testing to see if his answer would change, so Tenya had been careful. He’d poured enthusiasm into his praise for Izuku’s choice to follow the law, and hoped it would allow at least one of the friends he’d dragged into this escape unjust punishment.

The fault for this event lies with Tenya alone.

He had exited that alley determined to take responsibility.

But just when he had thought it was over, that he could pay for his mistakes, a dark shape had swooped past so quickly he hadn’t even begun to react. It had risen above the skyline. Flown away, before Tenya had realized it was carrying someone.

Metal had flashed, quick and brutal.  There was one clear strike, two-

Izuku had fallen.

From that height, Tenya remembers thinking in frozen fear, he won’t survive.

Most of the heroes had been watching Stain at that moment, but Tenya’s eyes were on Izuku. Waiting for another force against villainy to be ripped from the ranks of heroes.

Izuku twisted like a circus acrobat as he plummeted. He’d hit earth in the classic movie-landing heroics students are all warned against doing for how it hurts knees. The concrete had cracked in a small crater around him.

Stain killed that Nomu, and Izuku had laughed.

He’d collapsed onto his side in that crater of his own making, the one he shouldn’t have survived.

Tenya is reminded of a moment in the Sports Festival. Yaomomo had kicked Izuku in their spar with the same force she’d shattered the ground with before, and Izuku had just braced himself. Easily. He had nearly walked away from that fight, too.

A ringing phone interrupts his thoughts.

A phone is ringing. Izuku sits up in his new bed abruptly, eyes zeroed in on the closet where all their belongings are sitting.

It’s the Rick Astley ringtone. That’s his burner phone, and there’s probably a police officer right outside. Zoo’s contact information is on that phone under a different code name. If she gets caught, her entire mental state is going to go downhill faster than a car with cut brakes. Then there’s all the favors he’d lose. The ties he’d have to cut. Virtually every cop in this city is paid off by either the HPSC or the shadow of the underworld that nobody likes talking about. No way can Izuku let that phone fall into corrupted hands.

Izuku spots Shoto watching, and signals to him. He points to the bag, mimes a phone, and then himself. This can work.

Shoto frowns, not understanding. Izuku is partway through repeating the gestures when the ringtone ends.

Ugh.

Izuku mimes walking over to the bag, finding something, and points to himself with as over-exaggerated gestures his cuffs will allow. Shoto’s mouth forms a little ‘o’ in his moment of realization before he gets up and finds the phone. It starts ringing again as he inspects it, nearly startling Shoto into dropping the burner.

That’s fine.

It’s made to be thrown down stairs.

Shoto doesn’t hand it to Izuku. No, that would mean something is going well in Izuku’s life, which can’t happen until the end of time. Shoto looks at the contact reading ‘meme-man’ with a truly terrible neon piece of bacon contact photo, and does the exact opposite of the right thing.

He answers the phone, presses it to his ear, and drawls, “are you the meme-man?”

Izuku wants to cry. He would pay good money to see Dabi’s face right now. There’s a long period of silence, then the faint sound of Dabi wheezing so hard he might be dying on the other side of the call. Shoto nods at whatever the burnt vigilante gasps out.

“You don’t sound like a meme,” Shoto informs Dabi innocently. “You sound like a bastard.”

Izuku has to clap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing. The cuffs stop him from managing it, so he ends up letting out a strangled tea-kettle noise. What did Dabi say to that?

“Oh, I’m Shoto Todoroki.”

Izuku can practically hear the awkward response before Shoto adjusts the phone, humming in agreement. “I know my dad’s a dumpster fire, but what are you?”

Izuku has never felt so alive as he does in this moment. The stars have aligned. It’s been years since anyone new took Dabi’s feet out from under him, and Izuku can’t even see his friend’s reactions. Unbelievable. Tenya has woken up to look insulted on a personal level at the number of societal conventions Shoto is electing to ignore. From the hysterical laughter he can barely hear, Dabi is taking this equally well.

“I’ll tell him.” Shoto covers the phone’s speaker and turns to Izuku. “Your co-worker says to call him next time you want to fight Stain because he wants to meet him.”

“Shoto, can I please have the phone?”

“No. I’m having fun,” Shoto deadpans. “He won’t tell me his name.”

“That’s- of course? He literally just met you? Tell him Stain went off the deep end.”

Shoto repeats the message before adding, “I don’t care about Stain, but you should know he was very rude to us.”

Like you’re being right now? Izuku motions for the phone and is pleasantly surprised when Shoto passes it over.

“Izuku,” he announces. “Shoto is still listening in.”

“Hi. Is this hell? I feel like this is hell,” Dabi tells him. “Also, I’ve wanted to meet Stain for years and you go ahead and take him down? Dude. I don’t target your yakuza; you don’t target my celebrity crush. Bro code.”

“He tried to kill my friends!” Izuku ignores Tenya putting a hand on his chest and whispering ‘friends?’ softly. “That crosses a line? I feel like it crosses a line.”

“He tries to kill everyone’s friends, you aren’t special.”

“What, do you expect me to just ignore a crazy man who wants to drink my blood like a Twilight remake? I have a teaching license, and I’m pretty sure that breaks a rule somewhere.”

“Don’t the rules say you can’t be friends with your students?”

“I’m a student teacher. Fuck that rule in particular.” Izuku waves off Tenya’s gasp of outrage. “Don’t take that tone of gasp with me Tenya, you’re arrested for breaking a law.”

“So are you,” Shoto observes as he retreats to his own hospital bed.

“I’m arrested for a separate investigation, so technically that’s not true?” Izuku tips his head to the side and mentally runs through Mom’s lessons. “Stain attacked me first and I didn’t use a quirk. Self-defense. No court would find fault unless they plant evidence, and we’re in Hosu, so that’s not happening.”

“Good place to be,” Dabi agrees. “You know, you could probably get out of the UA deal right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if your old man’s watching the place. Hop out the window, make it to a street corner, and sell out any of UA’s security codes for safe passage to him. You’re his kid, Hops. That matters.”

“You know why I can’t.” Izuku picks at the cuffs and thinks of all the responsibility he’s running to and from. Openly relying on his dad puts him in line as inheritor of a yakuza empire. Besides, selling UA secrets won’t endanger only him. He may face villains on a regular basis, but the full-time UA students shouldn’t.

“Gotta have some quality friends if they’re turning you this soft.”

“I’m not turning anything,” Izuku grumbles. “In case you haven’t noticed, I literally have a reputation as a bleeding heart. None of this is new.”

“Sure. Give it time, and then you’ll be invested in your kid’s-“

“We’re the same age? That’s so weird, what the fuck. They’re not ‘my kids.’”

“Yeah, that’s what I used to say about you.” Dabi yawns. “Anyway, do me a favor and look out for Todoroki. Is he still listening?”

Izuku checks and finds that Shoto is across the room, staring at his hands dramatically like the edgy emotionally repressed teen he is. “No?”

“Alright, then. Don’t spill this, but he used to be family. Maybe still is. Keep an eye out for the little nerd, yeah?”

Izuku feels the world spin around him. “He’s? What-“

“Don’t.” This is… a revelation. “I’ll explain at the apartment, whenever you’re free, okay? Later, broccoli boy.”

“Taro man,” Izuku says automatically, and hangs up so he can have a proper existential crisis.

Dabi and Shoto used to be family.

Relatives.

Okay, this is not what Izuku was expecting to learn when he woke up, but he also wasn’t expecting to fight Stain today so it all evens out. It’s poor form for vigilantes to pry into each other’s edgy backstories, but Izuku’s mind comes to several conclusions before he can reign it back in.

How the fuck were they related? 

Endeavor has a wife in hospital care, and three? Four? Children. Izuku isn’t sure because his oldest went missing… Right about when Izuku found Touya on the streets planning to go villain. The dates line up. Dabi has expressed he’d like to shove a cactus down his father’s throat on multiple occasions and mentioned having siblings. The outrageously strong older brother instincts are very hard to ignore, especially when Izuku is the only person Dabi can direct those brother instincts at.

Suspicious.

Dabi was already trained in his quirk with hero-grade skill. It lines up with Endeavor’s personality, too. The quirks match, and Izuku knows Dabi’s hair is dyed. The universe is being very rude to Izuku’s friend. Nobody deserves that level of angst in their backstory, and this is considering that Dabi’s been stuck in his angsty teen phase for a good long time.

Stop.

Don’t think about it.

Not his business.

Shoto likely has no clue.

Izuku can’t tell him.

“What?” Shoto says, and Izuku realizes he’s been staring.

“You called a vigilante a bastard,” he says quietly, and Tenya’s head snaps around.

“That was a vigilante?!”

It’s Dabi’s choice when to tell his story. Izuku can understand that. He’ll wait for the truth to come out on Dabi’s terms, but that doesn’t mean he has to sit here and let Shoto spew such legendary takes and do nothing. Izuku just witnessed Shoto roasting his brother a second time and not even realizing it. That must have burned.

There are so many ironic moments in the past now. Izuku can’t even talk about them to anyone nearby without giving Shoto an existential crisis and betraying quite a bit of trust. 

“I meant it,” Shoto says, ignoring the fact that Tenya is staring at them like Izuku just killed All Might while Shoto cheered. “He has bastard energy.”

“You have the exact same vibes,” Izuku points out.

How did he ever miss this?

They’re so similar.

“Maybe he’s my cousin,” Shoto says.

Izuku closes his eyes and pretends to spontaneously fall unconscious. He does not want to even process that.

Returning to the dorms is a relief. The rest of the class are still out at their internships, except for Shoto and Tenya who are doing community service for their serial killer-hunting choices. Izuku is too, but he really isn’t supposed to be outside UA so his project is assigned by Nezdu personally. It’s terrible. Lots of paperwork.

Technically, Izuku had permission to be there and only used his quirk in self-defense, so his situation is ironclad from a legal standpoint. All this paperwork is so the prissy old people in charge of the HPSC have one less thing to complain about.

Yes, he is very sorry for fighting Stain.

No, he will not do it again.

Even if Izuku sees classmates in mortal danger. He swears he won’t, really, just don’t ask him to sign anything about it, please and thank you.

Hah.

Every afternoon, Izuku gets back to the empty dorm and flops onto his back. Ironing out his spine takes precious time best also used for tracking the leaked footage of Stain’s fun little speech. Beans usually wanders over and complains about not being cuddled. It’s the worst injustice. Izuku scrolls through the class chat as he scrubs a hand behind silky cat ears.

The recent video of Stain that is spreading across platforms like a particularly vicious mold makes them look similar enough already. It is sheer luck that Izuku, Shoto, and Tenya are in not one single frame. He goes through occasionally just to keep his anxiety at bay, and breathes a sigh of relief.

One upside to the whole mess is that everyone and their mother now knows that Grasshopper is somehow tied to UA. Izuku watches the class chat speculate if Grasshopper has a day job and distantly marvels at the irony of it all. There’s a big old target on UA now. This is going to be a mess.

Izuku gives it two months before the underworld starts targeting students. Maybe he can spread some rumors about hiding out in Osaka or something and throw them off.

…Maybe not Osaka. That’s just cliché.

Hopefully all the press from the heroic debut season starting in a few weeks will drown out the vigilante fixation fad that’s starting up. Izuku knows he's strong enough to deal with most threats pointed in his general direction so long as there isn't anyone around to be caught in the collateral. Not all threats, though. He is only one teenager.

Mortal.

Breakable.

Trying his best, yes, but Izuku is fallible in too many ways.

Stendhal was a good vigilante before he vanished. Their paths crossed rarely. Vigilantes tend to concentrate their efforts in loose borders of their choice. Groups crop up occasionally and cover more ground, like the Naruhata squad and Grasshopper’s well-known team up with Dabi in Mustafu’s city limits. Grasshopper branched out more than others because of the range his quirk grants, so they worked together on a few cases. 

He has, at top speed, crossed Japan in a day just to race Hawks. There was some light friendly sabotage. Izuku thinks he won anyway. His range as a vigilante was one step short of monstrous. In all honestly, that's the only reason he knows so many heroes.

Stendhal’s vigilante patrol route deviated across Honshu several times, always for less than a month, but inevitably returning to a little ten-block rectangle where people called the name of a vigilante if they needed help. Whoever he was outside the mask had mobility or belonged to a social class expected to travel. Izuku tried not to think about it and failed. The vigilante’s age would have been fresh out of college or a career that didn’t work out. In Japan, early twenties can be mobile years, which flies under the radar as far as taking trains around the country goes. Tickets become needles in haystacks. Traveling could have been related to interviews or short gigs.

Yasumi Street was Stendhal’s undisputed home base, though.

Any criminal to rule Stain’s old streets gets a big boost to their name recognition. With its old vigilante in custody, Yasumi Street just became the hottest new black market real estate this side of Tokyo. The week after Stain’s arrest, everyone from the pettiest thieves to the local yakuza looked to the streets and thought, ‘what if….’

What if.

It’s a headache of a question.

When Grasshopper went missing, the other vigilantes knew to crack down on his patrol route, just as Grasshopper did when Stendhal dropped off the earth a while back. He’d do the same for any of the vigilantes. For now, Yasumi Street is a no-man’s land and Izuku respects that.

He’ll stay away, lest anyone think Grasshopper agrees with Stain’s ideals. He and Stain are already being compared enough as it is. Any more similarities and this fallout would turn unbearably messy by way of assassination contracts.

Izuku will hear later that Knuckleduster climbed the biggest billboard to sit over the disputed street every night that week, lit from below like a ghoul as he watched over city asphalt. Izuku suspects Knuckleduster didn’t use a quirk to climb it. Adding that to a certain discussion he knows underground heroes are having right now, Knuckleduster is never arrested for illegal quirk use. All his fights start with someone else punching first.

He stays up there for another week before he disappears, and Dabi takes over patrolling. The message is clear.

This is claimed. This is taken. Let the blood be washed away.

Izuku is aware of his limits. He finds them when he thinks back over the fight and tries to envision what he’d do differently. Limits find him just as often in the form of a heating pad he stuffs under his back for a second’s respite. They trace his path with every step.

The dorms are so quiet.

Izuku stares up at his dorm room ceiling from his bed. If he takes a shower, will he have enough energy to go eat dinner?

"I am so tired of this," Izuku whispers in his quiet room with nobody but the notebooks and fairy lights to hear him. Sometimes breathing is screaming but sometimes it is joy, and Izuku is so very ready to have more days that feel like endlessly deep waves breaking over rocky shores. Chaotic and capable. He is ready to feel limitless for any number of precious seconds he can scrounge up. They will be imperfect, but his. His to run in, his to heal in, and his to break in. Pain is a mark of impermanence. It is transient. Bearable.

He takes a moment to lie in the glory of knowing that there are an incalculable infinity of stars in the sky.

Then he gets up and goes downstairs.