Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaminari was a traitor.

He’d been a traitor for as long as he could remember.

Kaminari tossed a week’s worth of dirty laundry into his duffle bag, the one that smelt like gym socks and regret. Only half of his attention was on packing—the rest was on his phone, scrolling through his messages in Class 2-A’s group chat, then in the one shared with his parents. Neither parent had sent messages since last night, a worryingly short period of time. Kaminari chewed on his lower lip, anxious. The last message from his mum expressed her undying love followed by an unnatural number of heart emojis.

He’d have to talk to her about that.

“Dude, get out of my drawers,” Kaminari said without looking over his shoulder.

Minoru Mineta let out a guilty shriek and slammed a drawer shut. “You’d tell me, right?”

“Tell you what?”

“If you had a secret stash or illicit items. Or magazines with voluptuous women in them?”

Kaminari snorted. “I’m not that kind of guy, Mineta. Unlike you, I’ve got class. Uh, do you have to be in here while I’m packing? I’m not sure I trust you…”

“I could help, y’know.”

“I’m only going home for the weekend, and I don’t want you to be sneaky and try to pack something incriminating. What if my mum finds it?!”

“Even if it’s just a weekend, doesn’t mean you should neglect the necessities. I got all the merchandise you could ever need.”

“What, drugs?”

“Nope. Even better. These are the goods.” Mineta climbed onto Kaminari’s bed—he made a mental note to wash the sheets later—and pulled out a plastic bag he’d dragged into his room earlier. He held it open to reveal the contents.

Kaminari took one look before shoving it back towards Mineta with a snort and a stifled laugh.

Kaminari considered the benefits of ratting Mineta out to Iida. He was good at ratting out, and Mineta was low on his list of ‘I’ll feel guilty about this later’ anyways. “No. Not in a million years. Not ever. And especially not when I’m going home and my mum is gonna be rummaging through my bag. She’ll murder me! She’ll think I’m going to some school with a sex dungeon!”

“Speaking of which—“

“Oh, God, I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“Do you think Midnight has a…” Mineta did a wiggle of the eyebrows. Kaminari suspected that Mineta thought it made him look attractive or seductive. To Kaminari, however, it looked like a dying caterpillar wiggling over his eye. “Secret office?”

Kaminari laughed. His phone pinged with an incoming text.

Well. Time to get to work. “Mineta, I’m your only friend, right?”

“I have lots of friends,” Mineta protected.

“And you want me to stay that way, right? So go away.”

“Wait—wait—wait! What about the secret office?!”

Kaminari seized the back of Mineta’s shirt and dragged him out to the hall, depositing him on his doorstep. “I don’t know, Mineta, why don’t you go find out? Tell me all about it on Monday, okay?”

He slammed the door shut and the smile slipped off his face like melting ice under the full glare of the sun.

Returning to his duffle bag, he threw the last of his belongings into a bag, then checked the new text on his phone from ‘Mum.’

Are you still coming home for the weekend?

He replied in the affirmative, knee bouncing anxiously up and down as he waited for a reply.

I’m cooking your favourite tonight. Have a safe trip and don’t get into any trouble. We love you so much.

Kaminari threw his phone into his bag.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he opened his dorm room and immediately slammed into the very plush body of Yaoyorozu. He stumbled back and only managed to avoid toppling right over by her quick reflexes as she snapped forward to grab the front of his shirt.

“Sorry!” Both he and Yaoyorozu exclaimed simultaneously.

“I was hoping to catch you before you left,” said Yaoyorozu. She held out a piece of paper with some familiar red markings on it. “I finished proofreading your English paragraph. Do you have time to go over it?”

“Ah, no, I have a train to catch,” said Kaminari. He took the paper and skimmed over it. There was a lot of red. “Can you give me the short version?”

“Well, as always your English is on point, it's just that your spelling is terrible."

“C’mon, my spellings not that bad.”

“You spelled ‘or’ as ‘o-h-r-e’…”

“Whoops. I guess I forgot how to spell it in the moment.”

“There’s only two letters in it!”

“And I forgot which order they went in! Hey, at least I’m making fewer of them, right? You’re a lifesaver, Yaoyorozu.”

Yaoyorozu sighed through her nose. “I admit that you are improving, but I’d really like to go over these mistakes.”

“Look, my mum’s gonna kill me if I don’t go home,” said Kaminari. “She already gets on my case every vacation worrying about when the villains are gonna try to kill us next. I need to soothe her a little.”

“Well…alright, but we’re going over this during lunch on Monday.”

“Yes, ma’am. Consider it a date.”

Kaminari hit the lights with his elbow on the way out and walked with Yaoyorozu down the hall.

“I saw Mineta barrel through here,” said Yaoyorozu. “He seemed occupied with something.”

“Oh, I guess he’s out looking for Midnight’s secret office like I suggested,” Kaminari laughed.

“‘Secret office?’ You’re not trying to kill him, are you?”

No yet. "Nah, I’m curious to see how far he’ll get before sustaining serious, life-altering injuries.”

“Hey, I’ve always wanted to ask this…How do you manage to get along with him?”

“With Mineta? Well, I gotta admit it’s a bit of a challenge sometimes and it’s kind of funny to see his ass get kicked. We kind of got this yin-yang thing going on, yeah. He’s like, the pervert and I’m the classy flirt.”

Yaoyorozu’s hand raised to delicately cover her mouth. “‘Classy flirt?’ I can think of a few girls who might refute that.”

“C’mon, you think I’m classy, right?”

“…Um…yes! Absolutely. The classiest. You know what would make you even more classy?”

“No, what?” Kaminari asked as they stopped by the elevator.

Yaoyorozu pushed his homework into his hands.

“If you would review your paragraph over the weekend and hand in a revised copy by Monday,” said Yaoyorozu.

Yaoyorozu entered the elevator with a sly smile. Kaminari was left with wounded pride and his homework.

“Okay, so, see you Monday?” Kaminari called after her.

His phone pinged with another message from ‘Mum’ and the elevator door closed before he could consider getting on.

Kaminari headed down the girls’ hall to Jirou’s room. The only way he knew she was there was the bass vibrating through the floor. He was glad he didn’t have a quirk that made him sensitive to vibrations. Tapping his head, he tried to place whatever song he was hearing, but it was cut short as her door opened and she stuck her head out.

“Hey, I’m heading home for the weekend,” said Kaminari.

Jirou stared at him for a solid three seconds before replying, “So?”

“I thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Another voice cut in. “Oh—Oh—Oh! I want to say bye! BYE, KAMINARI!”

He blinked, looking around. “Hagakure? Uh, where are you?”

“I’m right here, silly!” Jirou roughly moved to the side, and Hagakure’s floating clothes came out behind her.

"Oh, sorry," said Kaminari. "You should've invited me to your music-listening session. I could've made it electric!"

Jirou raised an ear jack threateningly. “Don’t even try to make puns. It’s not cute.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

Jirou slammed the door in his face.

When he got back to the elevator, he hit the call button. He half-expected Yaoyorozu to still be there with a smug look, but instead, he found Kouda and Tokoyami, standing quietly side-by-side.

“Oh!” Kaminari greeted them with a smile. “Hi, guys!”

Kouda waved. Tokoyami stood there.

The ride down to the first floor was done in complete silence. Kaminari whistled a tune on the way down.

“I’m heading home for the weekend,” said Kaminari. “I wonder what’s for dinner tonight. A chicken dinner, maybe.”

Kaminari’s hand went to cover his mouth.

“Shit, sorry, that was probably offensive! I’m so sorry.”

“Offensive?” Tokoyami looked at him questioningly. “Why would a ‘chicken dinner’ be offensive?”

“Well, because, Kouda is…” Kaminari gestured vaguely at Kouda. “And you…you have your whole…”

Kaminari indicated his head.

“Because you have a…” Kaminari’s hand lowered. “You know what, never mind.”

The silence persisted, and Kaminari was saved from a further bout of awkward by the elevator opening.

“Well, this is my floor, bye!” Kaminari hurried out onto the ground floor, and mercifully Kouda and Tokoyami didn’t follow.

When he reached the common room, he found several of his classmates set up in the kitchen area staring at a sheet of burnt cookies. Well, Satou and Shouji were looking at the burnt cookies—Aoyama was admiring his reflection in a toaster.

“So they were in for thirty minutes?” Satou was asking Shouji.

“Exactly thirty minutes,” Shouji confirmed.

“At what heat?”

“450 degrees.”

“Uh…I think that’s a little too hot. I told you 375 degrees.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

“Well, I guess that solves that mystery. Did you remember to add eggs this time at least?”

“…We were supposed to put eggs in?”

Satou facepalmed, and peering through his fingers, his expression brightened considerably upon catching sight of Kaminari, as if he was relieved to see a sane person with even a cursory knowledge of baking.

“How’s the baking lesson going?” Kaminari asked.

“It’s a work in progress,” said Shouji.

“Hey, man, don’t feel too bad about it,” Satou clapped him on the shoulder. “At least you actually finished baking something. Aoyama didn’t even get past the preparation stage.”

They all looked over to where Aoyama was flashing a smile at his reflection.

“I don’t need to know how to bake sweet treats,” said Aoyama. “Not when I am a sweet treat.”

“Oh, by the way, Kaminari, I made these for your parents,” said Satou. He reached over to a container filled with prepared cookies. Much to Kaminari's relief, it didn't look like Shouji or Aoyama had any involvement in their making.

“Geez, man, you didn’t have to do that,” said Kaminari.

“Ah, it’s no big deal. I’ve been baking stuff for everyone to take home to their families.”

“At this rate, you’re going to get the whole city addicted to your baking.” Kaminari pulled a cookie out of the container and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. As predicted, the delectable taste made him feel ascendent. “I should report you for bribing the authorities with delicious treats.”

“Really, it’s no big deal,” Satou smiled modestly. “Have a good visit, alright?”

“You bet. See you guys Monday!”

On his way out of the room, Kaminari passed Bakugou, who was on his way in. “Bye, Bakugou.”

“Out of my way, loser!” Bakugou yelled, shoving him roughly into the wall.

“Good talk, Bakugou.”

Bakugou yelled something vague and decidedly Bakugou-like after him. Kaminari checked the time on his phone and sprinted.

He was just at the end of the hall when he saw Tsu and Ojiro sitting side-by-side around the corner. Ojiro was sunk so low that he might disappear into the ground. His numb expression had the same texture of Shouji’s attempted cookies: brittle and burnt and fragile.

“Don’t worry about it, Monoma’s a jerk,” said Tsu. “And if I’m saying it, you know it’s true.”

Ojiro nodded numbly.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Kaminari immediately asked, kneeling by Ojiro.

“Monoma was giving him a hard time about his tail,” Tsu said bluntly. “Oh—sorry, I probably shouldn’t asked if I could say first.”

“It’s okay,” Ojiro sighed. “I know I shouldn’t be sensitive about it at this point." He met Kaminari's eye. "It’s hard to explain to non-mutants.”

“What did Monoma say?” Kaminari asked.

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” Ojiro admitted. “Just the usual that people like Shouji and I could never be real heroes because we look terrifying. Stuff like that doesn’t bother Shouji.”

“No, no—dude,” Kaminari clapped his shoulder. “Monoma’s a jerk. Your tail’s awesome. I wish I had a tail. I could pick up, like…anything with it. Do you know how cool that is?”

The brittle expression softened a little, and his smile was more normal. “Thanks, Kaminari.”

“That was surprisingly sensitive of you, Kaminari,” said Tsu.

“Hey, I can be sensitive,” Kaminari protested with a pout. “I’m a very sensitive person.”

“Last week, you asked Jirou if her ear lobes ever got tangled.”

“That was a legitimate question. Y’know, for science, or whatever.” Kaminari pushed off his knees and stood. “I've gotta catch my train. You gonna be okay, Ojiro?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said Ojiro. “It’s only Monoma being his usual self, after all.”

On his way down the front steps of the building, he ran into Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya clustered tougher on the front steps. Midoriya and Iida were doing push-ups, while Uraraka seemed to be counting.

“C’mon, guys, you got this,” Uraraka encouraged them. She looked up at Kaminari and waved. “Hey, heading out?”

“Yeah, gotta go see my parents,” said Kaminari. “Are you two competing or something?”

“I didn’t intend to make it a competition,” Midoriya confessed, gaze flicking out towards Iida.

“I’m pushing my limits!” Iida proclaimed. However, Kaminari’s appearance seemed to take priority, and Iida hopped to his feet, stretching his calves. “So you’re heading home? That's an unusual move for you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You never go home, not even on vacations," Iida pointed out.

“You know they work overseas a lot, so I better make the best of it while they're both here."

"Good! Hero studies are important, but not as important as spending quality time with your family. Remember to be back bright and early on Monday."

“Relax, Mr Class Representative, I got this,” Kaminari laughed and waved him off.

“Timeliness is no laughing matter, Kaminari. I expect you to be right on time, the same as everyone else.”

“Trust me, I don’t think that’s a problem. Even if I did try to miss, you’d just run me down.”

“I would. However, I would prefer not to exert myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Kaminari gave a mock salute. “See you guys.”

Midoriya grunted out what sounded like a farewell, and Uraraka waved enthusiastically as he set off to the main gate.

On his way down the path, he spotted Todoroki sitting quietly under a tree with a book, though his eyes were trained on Iida and Midoriya in what looked like an attempt to analyze what they were doing. Kaminari gave him an enthusiastic wave. In slow motion, Todoroki’s gaze strayed from Iida and Midoriya to settle on him with a befuddled squint, as if he was trying to place him. The wave Todoroki offered back was hesitant and unsure.

Better than nothing.

Kaminari didn’t meet up with his usual friend group until he was nearing the gates, sans Bakugou, of course. Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido were loitering by a bench. Kirishima was sitting on the back of bench, hands folded over his knees, and flashed a familiar smile as Kaminari approached.

“Hey, guess who I got to wave at me?” Kaminari asked. “Todoroki.”

“No way,” Sero laughed. “You’re lying. It’s a wonder Todoroki even notices anyone. At least Bakugou acknowledges the rest of us through insults.”

“Hey, waving is a huge improvement,” said Ashido. “With a little coaxing, maybe we can get him to join us for games tomorrow night.”

“Aw, I’m gonna miss all the fun,” Kaminari lamented. “I gotta get home to visit my parents.”

"Wow, really? You never go home."

"C'mon, Mina, I've said a million times that my parents work overseas a lot, though you wouldn't know it with the way my mum hovers all the time. You'd think UA was a school for delinquents."

“I’m sure Bakugou hasn’t given her a good impression with all the times he’d been on TV,” Ashido laughed. "Hey, you should have us over for dinner while they're in town so she knows that you're making good friends."

"She knows you're good. I've told them all about you."

"Yeah, but you should let us make a good impression in person."

“Don’t listen to her, Kaminari, she’s still trying to worm her way into your house,” said Sero.

“I am not!” Ashido protested in a telling way. “We’ve been to everyone’s houses except Kaminari's. You've gotta return the favour, already.”

Kaminari could list at least five good reasons why his friends visiting his house was a terrible idea, and that was just off the top of his head.

Fortunately, he was saved from having to make an excuse with a familiar ping from his phone. He checked it to find more desperate texts from a worried mother. “I gotta go, don’t want to miss my train. See you guys on Monday.”

“Bye, Kaminari!’

“Don't think this discussion about us visiting your house is over!"

“Stay safe and watch out for Villains!”

He laughed and gave them a thumbs-up. Nothing to it. He was an expert at watching out for Villains.

Kaminari knew the way home by heart, though the family had only moved there the previous year. He occupied himself on the train ride by checking his messages, idly scrolling through conversations he’d missed to see if there was anything relevant. Nothing except the usual teenage drama—and nothing that would infer information that might actually be useful

He was stopped on the platform by a man who mistook him for Bakugou, which he was quick to deny. In his line of business, it was best to maintain a facade between average and mediocrity. Placing too high or too low would cause suspicion, and he didn’t need people thinking he was a prodigy like Bakugou. 

Still, despite all the preparation he'd had, Kaminari didn’t think that he’d be capable of defeating some of the more capable heroes-in-training. What Midoriya lacked in precision, he made up for in determination—and even then, he was excellent at compensating. Bakugou was too well-rounded, and worse, his lack of restraint translated to quick and final battles. Kaminari figured that he stood a better chance against Todoroki, but even then, Todoroki was close to the top. All of these were points he’d reported, of course. If nothing else, his position was good for keeping tabs on the next generation of heroes—of logging their strengths and weaknesses early on.

Kaminari’s house was in an outlying district of the city where Pro-Heroes were less likely to patrol. The only crime in this area consisted of the rare domestic dispute, sometimes the occasional burglary. The house wasn’t anything special, just decidedly average, and selected for how mundane the neighbourhood was, and more importantly, how ordinary the people were. As he passed the houses, Kaminari catalogued the neighbours, from the divorced accountant who waited by the street every time his kids came to visit, to the elderly couple who had baked a cake to welcome them to the community. Kaminari envied their ignorance—there was a kind of freedom found in it. Ignorance didn’t always equate to stupidity.

He waved to the next-door neighbour as he headed up his front step, tripped on the porch, propped open the door, and kicked off his shoes at the genkan.

“I’m home!” Kaminari called.

“Good timing, the hamburgers just finished,” a chiming voice called from the kitchen.

“Were you followed?” a man's voice asked.

“Never am,” said Kaminari.

Footsteps. Kaminari’s shoe got stuck on his ankle and he kicked it off as a man peered around the corner. He was tall and broad-shouldered—possessed a smattering of receding dark hair, crow’s feet, and square glasses tipped at the end of his nose. Overall, he had the demeanour of a stern and much-hated professor.

“Are you sure?” The man asked.

“Have some faith in me,” Kaminari laughed. “Man, I’m starved. I hope these burgers aren’t flaming piles of garbage.”

“I’d prefer a report first.”

“Food first.”

The man grunted his disapproval and disappeared back around the corner.

Kaminari dropped his duffle bag and passed by strategically family photographs hanging on the wall. They went all out when it came to maintaining appearances, and it was especially evident in the photographs of Kaminari as a child smiling wide, of his mother and stepfather, of the framed acceptance letter from UA. Kaminari paused at a side table where a framed picture of him at age seven with his real father sat, both making finger guns at the camera. The actual Mr Kaminari had a strange and bright synergy that he conveyed even through still images.

Kaminari stared for a while before he lay the frame face-down on the table.

When he got to the kitchen, he found his stepfather reading a newspaper at the table. Even after his peak, All Might was still frontline news, though these days the headlines pertained less to epic battles and more about him eating a dumpling of some sort. A blonde, middle-aged woman leaned over the table with a practiced smile.

“Think fast!” the woman exclaimed.

Kaminari didn’t blink as the knife whisked past his ear and lodged into the wall beside him.

“Huh, so you didn’t make a steaming pile of garbage,” Kaminari said as he assessed the plate of hamburgers on the table.

“Aw, you could at least act terrified,” the woman scoffed.

“I can’t take you seriously when you look like that. Lose the disguise already, Himiko.”

Toga let out a long sigh, but sure enough, her skin melted away in thick globs to reveal her true form. Standing unashamedly naked in the middle of Kaminari’s kitchen, he didn’t bother looking up as he sat down and grabbed three burgers.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Toga giggled. She had chiming, manic laughter that made his veins run ice cold. “C’mon, Denki, have some fun with me.”

“Put some clothes on, Toga,” the man said from behind the paper. “I can’t swallow food when you’re naked.”

“Twice doesn’t mind when I’m naked,” said Toga.

“Which half of him?” The man snorted. “Put on some damn clothes. This isn’t a nudist colony.”

Toga laughed, but she somersaulted out of her chair and picked up her discarded clothes.

“Ease up,” Toga waved him off. “I made hamburgers and everything.”

Hokama put down the newspaper and sniffed suspiciously at the food. “How do I know you didn’t mix human blood into it?”

“I wouldn’t waste human blood on perfectly good food,” said Toga. “Not for you guys, anyway.”

Kaminari was too hungry to care where his food came from. Toga joined them at the table, playing with a knife and humming to herself. He watched from across the table as she repeatedly stabbed her food.

“So how’s the gang doing?” Toga chimed. “I wish I got to see more of them.”

“You see them practically every other week with the number of times you go after Midoriya.”

“Yeah, but that’s work. I want to see them for pleasure.”

“You should try to get on Midoriya’s level,” Hokama criticized Kaminari. “You’re useless if you can’t give us good information on him.”

“Midoriya this, Midoriya that, you guys are always worried about Midoriya,” said Kaminari. “I’d be more worried about the unassuming ones, like Sero or Kouda.”

“If they had any kind of actual promise, they would’ve displayed it by now. “

“Hey, don’t throw our baby brother to the wolves,” Toga waved her preferred knife at Hokama.

“C’mon, stop calling me that,” Kaminari whined. “I’m not your baby brother.”

“There’s no shame in adoption, Denki.”

“It is if I'm adopted by you guys,” Kaminari waved her off. “Hey, these aren’t terrible. Did you really make these?”

“I’m a good cook,” Toga grinned.

“I’m not doubting that—I'm only doubting what you put in them.”

“You too? It’s not like I’m a cannibal or anything.”

“Nah, you’re only a bloodsucking vampire. Nothing similar to a cannibal at all.”

Toga let out her familiar, manic giggle. She reached over the table and pinched his cheek. “You’re cute. I just want to cut you up into pieces!”

“That’s a nice thought,” Kaminari murmured. “So, is the rest of the PLF hiding up in my room or is it just you here, Himiko?”

“Sure, Tomura’s hiding in your closet,” Himiko winked at him. “Got a message from him, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he said…uh…” Himiko took her fork and scratched her head. “Um…we were supposed to go do something...”

“You’re incompetent,” said Hokama.

“Hey, at least I’m out there doing actual stuff!” Toga’s perpetual joviality faltered, and she leaned back in her chair with her feet on the table. She grabbed her knife and held it loosely in her hand, twirling it over and over again. “You get to hang around here and play house.”

“It’s more palatable with the kid in the dorms,” Hokama admitted.

Kaminari rolled his eyes and went back to eating; he was accustomed to being referred to in the third person where Hokama was involved. In some ways, it was preferable to the alternative.

“Oh, I remember now,” said Toga. “Hey, Hokama can you give us a lift later?”

“Take the train,” said Hokama.

“We need a ride.”

“A ride where?” Kaminari asked. “Where we going?”

“You’ll see,” said Toga. “It’s a friendly family outing. Orders from Tomura."

“Is this a job? You know I can’t risk being caught doing anything associated with the PLF.”

“Oh, relax, no one will care. It’ll be fun. We’re picking something up and I’ll be in disguise as your mum anyway.”

Skeptical, Kaminari clattered his fork against his glass. “What is it? A shiny new knife?”

“Well, it’d be great if that was the case,” Toga licked the blade of her knife. “You should eat up! You two will need your energy.”

“You’re weird, Himiko. But fine. We better not get back too late, I need my beauty rest.”

With a smooth motion of her arm, Toga sent the platter of hamburgers flying across the kitchen. She crawled onto the table on her hands and legs, towards Kaminari, raising her knife to tap his cheek. Kaminari was far too accustomed to Toga’s special brand of crazy to be phased by her actions, but it did remind him of their first meeting.

“Geez, what a perfectly good waste of good hamburgers,” Kaminari quipped.

“You’ll have all the beauty rest you need,” Toga smiled at him. “We can hang out together. We’re friends, after all. Best friends. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would’ve met Ochako or Tsu or Izuku. I really, really want to get to know all of them better. You can make it happen, right?”

Kaminari shrugged noncommittally.

Toga giggled. She traced his jawline with her knife. Kaminari stared straight ahead without a reaction.

He’d learned not to react.

Toga rolled around on the table while he finished his hamburger. Hokama let out a disapproving puff of breath and didn’t look out from behind his newspaper.

Kaminari checked his closet for Shigaraki before they left. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he wasn't there, but when he came back downstairs Hokama was in a not suspicious black trench coat and Toga was her disguise as Kaminari’s mother. The match wasn’t exact—Kaminari’s real mother was a little taller than whoever Toga was impersonating. He never bothered to ask where she got her blood from, but the resemblance was close enough.

“How do I look?” Toga asked with a flutter of her spider-like eyelashes.

“Convincing enough,” said Kaminari.

Twenty minutes later found Kaminari in the back of the family car, with Hokama behind the wheel and Toga admiring her reflection in the side-view mirror. This felt a little surreal. It wasn’t every day that Kaminari got to spend time with PLF members, not when there was such substantial risk involved. He’d had more contact with the League when it existed. If he was even seen close to them, or remotely suspected, then that jeopardized the spying operation at UA. Without him, they had no eyes in the school, and it would take significant risk and time in order to establish a new spy.

Kaminari leaned his forehead against the window, watching the quiet streets pass by. The only noise came from the muffled engine and Toga’s quiet humming as she played on her phone.

“Are we expecting any trouble?” Kaminari asked.

“Expect trouble?” Toga grinned. “I am trouble.”

“Point taken. Where are we going again?”

“No need to worry your pretty little head about it. The grown-ups got this.”

“Then why am I here?”

“It involves you.”

Sounded suspiciously like they expected to run into Pro Heroes. The realization made Kaminari feel twitchy, and not in a good way. As a spy, he’d developed something of a sixth sense for when danger was barreling towards them at the speed of Iida when he saw someone breaking a rule.

“If you’re going to say something, say it,” said Hokama.

“Got a bad feeling,” Kaminari shared.

“Heroes?”

“Not sure. Just got a bad feeling.”

“That’s nonspecific and unhelpful. If you don’t have anything concrete, keep your mouth shut.”

Kaminari sighed and leaned an elbow up on the armrest. “This is why I stay at the dorms every vacation.”

“Don’t talk to your stepfather like that,” Toga said shrilly.

“Not my stepfather,” said Kaminari. “If anyone knew my mum, they’d know that you’re not her type. Too old and too ugly.”

“Are you insulting that your mother has bad taste?! How dare you blaspheme my name like this!”

“Still not my mum, Himiko.”

“Geez, you’re right. I was so into character that I forgot.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Hokama snapped. “You should take this more seriously, Kaminari. Toga has the excuse of questionable sanity. You, insofar as I can tell, are of sound mind. We’re a happy family while we’re in public, so don’t forget it.”

“Feeling protective?” Kaminari asked.

“No. You just have a big mouth.”

“Do not! A big mouth would be a shitty trait for a spy, remember? There’s a reason Shigaraki picked me.”

“He only picked you because you were the only one in the right age bracket and with half a decent chance at getting into UA. You’re here because of convenience, nothing more. Don’t forget your place.”

“I think you’re jealous that Shigaraki picked me instead of you.”

“Why the hell would I want to go to the school full of wannabe Pro Hero brats? And at my age, too? Don’t overestimate your importance to Shigaraki. You’re a tool.”

Kaminari flopped back in his seat, rolling his eyes magnificently. Although he felt a tinge of familiar insecurity, he knew in his heart how important he was to Shigaraki. Hokama was a necessary evil, not only posing as his stepfather, but his liaison and handler between himself and the League, and then the PLF. He was a quiet presence whose role wasn’t much different from Kaminari’s—a spy who gathered and catalogued information, determining what was important and what was not. A grunt who did the busybody, technical work. The other members of the PLF weren’t capable of walking down streets in broad daylight, so Hokama was one of the many grunts in a network of grunting who took that role for them—though even by grunt standards, he was about a level above the usual.

Still, even though by now he was used to calling Hokama his ‘stepfather,’ it made his stomach do an odd twist, like he’d eaten something unsettling like snails or a sliver of a human heart.

It was a half-hour car ride before they reached their destination, even with largely unobstructed streets. Dark clouds settled over the city, making Kaminari’s nerves quiver. The threat of thunder and lightning was distant, but his hair stood up on end anyway, and he couldn’t be sure the exact source of it. Even though he was used to the constant, quiet prickle of anxiety in his life, this was a fresh breed he wasn’t accustomed to. Being in overt danger was a rarity even for him—he faced greater danger while at UA than being in proximity to the PLF, thus far.

When they arrived at their destination, it was in an unfamiliar part of the city Kaminari didn’t immediately recognize. The street was narrow and the buildings cramped. Across the street was an arcade where flashes of bright lights and entrancing screens lured in unsuspecting kids with promises of infernal distractions and shiny things.

“No,” said Hokama.

“Aw, c’mon!” Kaminari whined. “My real dad would’ve taken me to an arcade.”

“Let’s go.”

They left the car parked across from the arcade and walked down the street. It was busy and it was loud—exactly the type of place Kaminari liked. He thought vaguely that Kirishima would especially enjoy the atmosphere, so he made a note to memorize the place and bring the UA group here later on the pretence of a fun class outing.

Of course, if they just so happened to visit the arcade he’d seen on the way, that would be all the better for his cover. He was a normal teenage boy.

At the end of the street, Hokama reluctantly locked arm-in-arm with Toga and walked at a leisurely and nonchalant place. They were going somewhere, however they weren’t rushing for the sake of not attracting attention on the busy street. Kaminari lagged behind, distracted by a conveniently timed yatai selling some tempting ramen. While the burgers Toga had served hadn’t been horrible, they’d turned his stomach a little afterwards, and he was reminded that he was hungry again.

He let Hokama and Toga drift away and out of sight, then bought himself ramen, which he topped with a generous helping of egg. Kaminari settled on a chair and started scarfing down as fast as possible before Hokama could swoop in. Whatever they were here for, it could wait.

The street lights and the crowd and the flavour of ramen rolling over his tongue reminded Kaminari of better days. Well, not so much better, as before. Before was the vague and immeasurable time before the villains. Before Shigaraki, before Hokama, before Toga waltzed in through the front door. She’d actually fooled him the first time she’d come in, had Kaminari’s heart pounding and hair standing on edge as he thought he saw his mum standing in the hall. He hadn’t seen his real mum in five goddamn years, before Shigaraki put her and his father into hiding, to keep them conveniently out of the way of the League’s operations. For their safety. For Kaminari’s.

Before was the time where the Kaminari family had walked down streets like this one during too late hours, eating at different vendors with his parents, counting the paper lanterns strung across the street. Before was when Kaminari had been a child, seeing the streets at face value, overlooking the eager, exaggerated glee each time a hero patrolled through the area. Before was a strange time which Kaminari remembered in freeze-frame images, like photos from an album—never moving, almost unreal.

Blinking, Kaminari shook himself out of his gaze and he'd frozen in place with his chopsticks in the bowl and the man slouched next to him was giving him a odd look. He flashed a reassuring smile and went back to eating.

“Kaminari? Hey! Kaminari!”

Kaminari turned, expecting to see Hokama or Toga calling for him to get a move on. That wasn’t who he saw, however.

It was Kirishima, his scarlet hair unmistakable in the crowd, waving enthusiastically as he approached the stand.

“Hey, man, I thought that was you!” Kirishima said in a boisterous, excited tone as he approached.

Kaminari blinked stupidly, his reflexes slowed, his attention honing in as Kirishima got in his face. He focused on details he hadn’t noticed before—the genuine smile, the glowing eyes, the herolike quality of his presence. Kaminari was so wrapped up in the shock that Kirishima had to be here of all places that he barely noticed when the smile was replaced by a confused downward curl of his mouth.

“Yo, Earth to Kaminari,” Kirishima waved his hand in front of his face. “Anybody home?”

Kaminari shook himself out of his stupor. “Sorry, dude, you surprised me. What’re you doing here?”

“I'm shopping, eating food, stuff like that,” said Kirishima. 

Kaminari glanced around. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah, Ashido and Sero got caught up in a study group, and you know Bakugou. He goes to bed early even on weekends. I should be asking you that, though. I thought you went home.”

“Uh, I’m here with my parents,” Kaminari explained. “At least I was—they wandered off somewhere and I got hungry.”

“Really?! Does this mean I can finally meet them?”

“Why do you want to meet them so bad? They’re not interesting.”

“C’mon, let me meet them,” Kirishima whined. Uninvited, he borrowed Kaminari’s ramen bowl and scarfed down a few bites. Between the generous helping of noodles hanging out of his mouth, he added, “I let you meet my parents.”

“Look, your parents are great!” Kaminari said. “Your dad can crush beer cans against his head. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. My parents aren’t like that—they’re embarrassing!”

And also agents for the PLF. Kaminari kept that part to himself like he always did, although sometimes he did fantasize about seeing the look on Kirishima’s face if he told him outright.

“Everyone’s embarrassed by their parents,” Kirishima assured him.

“Not in the way I am,” Kaminari murmured.

Kaminari was contemplating how to steal his bowl back from Kirishima when he caught sight of Toga hovering in the crowd behind him. She peered around with a manic grin on her face that couldn't be disguised even if her face didn't look like her own. Catching sight of him, her eyes lit up with glee as they settled upon Kirishima and he saw her tentatively reach to her purse.

“BATHROOM!” Kaminari shouted. “I really, REALLY have to use the bathroom.”

“What—?” Kirishima said.

Kaminari didn’t give him time to see where he was going or even form a response. He bolted, grabbed Toga before she could pull out her knife, and hauled her into the cover of the crowd.

“Are you insane?” Kaminari hissed. “You can’t stab someone in a public place. People notice that!”

“Actually, I can stab someone in a public place, with great ease, and would have done so if you had not stopped me,” Toga giggled. “Was that Eijirou I saw?”

“Yeah, and if you don’t want him catching onto us, try to stay in character. Where’s Hokama?”

“He’s waiting. He told me to, and I quote, ‘find your ass.’”

Toga slapped Kaminari's ass, causing him to stumble forwards.

“Well, I found it!” she laughed.

“Don’t do that while you’re disguised as my mum, it’s creepy,” Kaminari snapped back at her in a harsh whisper. “I think Hokama was right. You are crazy.”

“You know it,” Toga winked. “Now c’mon, you can socialize later. We gotta get to the drop-off point.”

They retreated from the crowd, Toga leading him down into an alley into a deserted part of the neighbourhood. They met Hokama at the end of the alley, who gave Kaminari a curling, disapproving frown, but otherwise kept his opinion to himself.

They set off on a brisk, short walk into a darker street off the main thoroughfare, where they stepped into a final alley. In the company of the shadows, Kaminari felt chilled and relieved that they’d left Kirishima behind. There might be questions there later, but he always had answers for them.

“What were you doing?” Hokama asked Kaminari. “I told you to keep pace.”

“I was talking to Kirishima,” said Kaminari.

“Kirishima? Your classmate?”

“I only know one Kirishima.”

“What did you say to him? Did he see you leave?”

“Relax, we lost him.”

“Idiot.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask him to come, okay? He showed up out of nowhere.”

“You didn’t tell him that we were coming here, did you?”

“Of course not. I didn’t even know we were coming here.”

Hokama let out an annoyed huff and they waited out the remainder of the time in silence. Toga busied herself with knife play. Kaminari folded his arms and kept glancing nervously in either direction. There were framed on one side by complete darkness and on the other by the ominous glow of the street. Even if the were out of sight of security cameras and unwanted witnesses, Kaminari couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. It kept returning in sharp pinpricks, like someone running a sewing machine up his back. It jostled him with each stitch, leaving him aware and anxious.

He was about to suggest that they leave when a figure melted out of the darkness. Kaminari instinctively jumped, and Toga seized his shoulder in a vice grip to keep him steady as Dabi made his appearance.

"Geez!" Kaminari hissed. "Don't sneak up on us like that, Dabi."

“Hey, Dabi,” Toga greeted him like she would greet a classmate in the hall—casual, unabated, flirty, as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Fancy meeting you in this dark, creepy alley at this time of night.”

“Whatever.” Dabi held up a metal briefcase and shoved it into her arms. “Here. I’m not playing courier for you again.”

“Is that any way to treat your friend?” Toga asked. “So what’s your real name?”

“Not telling you.”

“Aw, c’mon! Just a hint?”

“No.” Dabi turned to Hokama. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “The burner phone you wanted.”

“We should get decoder rings already,” Kaminari suggested.

“Shut up, you’re making noise,” Dabi said, eyes not even flicking in Kaminari’s direction. “The only thing you’re good for is information. If you don’t want me to burn you to a crisp right now, close your mouth.”

“That’s not any way to speak to an ally,” said Kaminari. “You need to get that giant stick out of your ass.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. They strayed to the sky, then crawled down to settle on Kaminari, and he regretted opening his mouth. Dabi had always given him the fucking creeps.

“I’ll never understand why Shigaraki bothers to keep you around,” Dabi drawled. “You’re a security threat waiting to happen. If it was up to me, I’d kill you and get it over with.”

“Dude, c’mon, give me some credit,” said Kaminari.

Dabi loomed over him as a tall shadow loomed over every aspect of his life. Kaminari stared up at him unblinkingly, unsure what he was feeling at the moment, only that it was unpleasant. He had the rising urge to run, but experience kept him planted where he was.

In a languid, drawling, and casual voice, Dabi said, “Someday I’m gonna kill you.”

Dabi let the sentence hang there like a threatening anvil he held over Kaminari’s head. Nothing he hadn’t faced before, although he thought that Dabi was more likely to act on it than others had. He blinked owlishly up at Dabi, emotionless, and let the flight-or-fight pulse burning under his skin pass. Disinterested, Dabi walked back into the shadows without even biding a farewell to the others.

“At least he’s reliable,” said Hokama.

Toga propped open the case and peered inside, flashing a smile. "Well, that's everything we needed. Let's go! Maybe we can get take-out on the way back."

“Hey, wait, I want to know what’s in the case,” said Kaminari.

“We’ll get to that later, right now we don’t have the—“

Hokama arm shot out to cover Himiko's mouth. There was as a full-blown stop as Hokama focused on the entrance to the alley. Kaminari swivelled to see what he was looking at.

Standing at the entrance to the alley was Kirishima. Holding a ramen bowl. His jaw was slack, exposing his pointed teeth, and his furrowed brow betrayed that he’d far more than the PLF would be comfortable with. He hadn’t been there a second before, which meant he’d been eavesdropping, and eavesdropping meant spying, and spying meant problems for Kaminari.

“Uh…hey, Kaminari,” Kirishima said slowly. “You…left your ramen. I had to pay for it, so…”

Kaminari’s chest spasmed with some unnamed emotion—he’d never been able to articulate feelings, it was easier not to have them. He didn’t know what was rising in his chest, what made the electricity in his veins crackle in agitation, and a slight gasp leave his lips, but it was enough.

Denki Kaminari was a traitor. Up until that moment, he didn’t realize how much of a traitor he was. How he was on the opposite side of Kirishima and the rest of his class, how it would be a greater mercy to stab them while they slept than face them down in the heat of battle. While he’d been aware that people had gotten hurt because of his actions, that he was responsible for some truly terrible, atrocious, heinous, dangerous acts, it hadn’t been real until Kirishima said his name.

Kaminari had always followed his classmates into the fray. He would’ve followed them into hell for the sake of his orders, and only now did he realize that while they walked on the surface, Kaminari waded through neck-deep waters, where horrible claws protruded and pulled him down.

Chapter Text

For a suspended moment, Kaminari’s heart thundered in his ears. The pounding adrenaline made him feel like he was floating, like Uraraka had just slapped him with her quirk and he was being shot into space. At least if he was, he could float away from this conversation.

Kirishima blinked slowly at him, the scar above his right eye twisting with the movement of his eyebrow. Toga and Hokama were also still beside him. He realized that they were waiting for Kaminari, for his action, for he—the traitor who’d carefully built a relationship with Kirishima—to make the deciding move. Kaminari had spent so much time waiting for the cues of others that when it was time for him to be pushed into the spotlight, he froze with stage fright he didn't know he possessed.

Kaminari fashioned a smile that he hoped came across as reassuring rather than menacing.

“Hey, Kirishima!” Kaminari greeted him. “Sorry about leaving you back there. I’ll pay you back, okay? Thanks for covering for me.”

Kirishima’s gaze softened a little. The underlying tension still present was the result of unconscious instinct, not suspicion. “Why are you hanging around in a dark alley…?”

“We got lost,” said Kaminari. “Turns out that the arcade isn’t down this way.”

“How could you get lost? The lights and loud noises would kind of give it away, wouldn’t it?”

A shame Kirishima didn’t have the intelligence of Mineta. Mineta would’ve been easy to fool with a lie or distracted with a voluptuous woman. Kaminari wouldn’t have that kind of luck with Kirishima. 

“Let’s talk over here and I’ll explain everything, okay?” said Kaminari.

“Okay?” Kirishima frowned. He was clearly still trying to piece things together. That gave Kaminari precious seconds.

He escorted Kirishima off into the side street, out of sight of Hokama and Toga. There were still one too many people lingering around, so he took him to a quiet and deserted alley where they were crammed on both sides by towering walls. Kaminari kept his expression neutral.

“So…those people you were with,” said Kirishima the moment they were in cover. “Was that your mom and dad?”

“Stepdad,” Kaminari corrected him.

“Wait, what?”

Right. He hadn’t told them. He’d avoided all conversation about his family aside from critical information, and he’d never gotten into the cover story that his parents were divorced. Whenever he had meant to mention it, he'd backed out for one reason or another, and then months had past, and it would've been weird to mention it at that point, and the lie of omission had just continued until now.

Kaminari rubbed his forehead. Over a year of careful spy work, and now was he stumbling. He’d have to play it off. “Stepdad. My mom and dad are divorced. That’s my stepdad.”

“Since when are your parents divorced?”

“Since I was a kid? I dunno. Do you want to see the divorce papers with a stamp, signature, and date on it? Didn’t I ever mention this to you guys?”

“Um, no? Not ever? I guess I’m taken aback 'cuz you didn’t mention a divorce, let alone mention a stepdad.”

“Well, he’s kind of a pain. What’s the big deal?”

“I dunno, man, I find you in a weird, dark alley with your mom and stepdad looking like you just did a drug deal with someone? And you ran off in the middle of eating ramen?” Kirishima held up the ramen bowl as if that was irrefutable court-worthy evidence. Presenting Exhibit A, some unpaid-for ramen. “Don’t you think that anyone would find that a little strange?”

“We got turned around.” Kaminari rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, you remember the time I got lost while looking for your dorm room and I ended up stuck in a broom closet for five hours? Everyone in my family is like that. We’re are not known for their sense of direction.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” said Kirishima.

"What is this, twenty questions? I didn't invite you here, you know."

"Huh?"

"You." Kaminari jabbed at his chest. "I didn't invite you here. I don't even know what you're doing here. Of all the damn hang out places in the city, you picked this one. Were you following me or something?"

"Of course not," said Kirishima. His expression continued to pinch like someone was pinching it with increasing force. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

“Nothing’s gotten into me,” said Kaminari. “I just don’t know why you’re asking all these weird questions. There’s nothing going on.”

“I didn’t say anything was going on, but now you got me wondering.”

“Wondering what, exactly?”

“Wondering why you’re getting so defensive. You’re acting really weird, man. It's not like you."

Kaminari felt a strange, emotional pang in his chest. He was unsure what compelled him to say, “I thought you trusted me.”

In the strange silence, Kirishima went still and Kaminari lost the will to look at him and lie. His gaze wandered over his shoulder into the street, where a flickering light over a nearby shop buzzed on and off. Currents were shooting under Kaminari’s skin, making him jittery and unsettled like a loose lightning bolt.

It wasn’t every day that the habitually extroverted Kirishima was at a loss for words, but there was a first time for everything, and it was the first time Kaminari had seen Kirishima’s features clenched with such strong suspicion. Still, he didn’t have time to settle the fears. Kirishima had seen them—that much was true, but he didn’t have any evidence for anything aside from seeing Kaminari and his ‘family’ in an odd location.

“Why wouldn’t I trust you?” Kirishima asked. “Are you doing something that would make me think that I couldn’t?”

“Fucking hell, Kirishima, don’t go analyzing words or whatever!”

"Something's not right here," Kirishima finally concluded. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, if you're in trouble or something, you can tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," Kaminari smiled. "Everything's fine. Everything will be better once you go away."

“If you think I’m leaving without answers, you’re in for a—”

Kirishima choked. Kaminari’s gaze strayed, then laser-focused back on Kirishima again in a double-take. Kirishima’s entire face went slack and all semblance of coordination left him as he collapsed in a fleshy heap. At that moment, all Kaminari could focus on was the rattle of the ramen bowl as it fell and rolled away, creating a hollow, melodic dirge as the rim rolled against the pavement. The bowl only settled after wobbling side-to-side and finally stopping.

Kaminari didn't yelp, scream, sob, or cry. There was a pin sticking out of the back of Kirishima's head, and looking up, he saw the source of it. Hokama had made his move, arm still arched from where he'd thrown. Baring his wrist, Hokama pulled a second needle out from the position of the radial artery. It was then, no bigger than a knitting needle, and about as long as one too—except the points were unmistakable.

"I had that under control," Kaminari said evenly. "You didn't have to go and brain him."

"Yes, I could tell you had it under control from the way you were shouting," Hokama drawled. "He saw too much anyway.

Taishiro Hokama
Quirk: Lobotomy

He can pull needles out of his wrists! They aren’t just ordinary needles though, he can use them to probe your brain! Ouch! This villain is a literal headache to deal with!

Toga emerged from behind Hokama, smiling gleefully. "Wow! I've never seen your work before!"

Hokama wrenched himself away from her and stood over Kirishima, staring down like a coroner deciding where to make the first cut. Kirishima softly groaned, arms shifting.

Hokama knelt on Kirishima's back and inserted the second needle. The arm stilled.

"You can't kill him," Kaminari insisted. "You know that's stupid, right? Tomura will kill you."

"I'm not killing him, fool." Hokama manoeuvred the pins with the precision of a doctor. "I'll interfere with his short-term memories. He won't have any memory of today unless you make my hand slip."

Kaminari opened his mouth, then thought better of it and clenched his jaw instead. He needed to focus. From their vantage point, they had been able to avoid witnesses—though even if there had been an unfortunate soul watching, Toga probably would've made quirk work of them. Kaminari was halfway to panicking, and it was only through rigorous discipline that he kept his mouth shut. Questions pressed up against his lips—will he be alright, what are you doing, will he remember—and he only held back by sinking his teeth into his tongue. Hokama didn't like to be interrupted. Interruptions meant mistakes, mistakes meant more than a little memory loss for Kirishima, and a little more than memory loss for Kirishima meant a long tangent of regret and a lifetime of haunting. Kaminari kept still, terrified to move and trigger that mistake.

Hokama didn't even murmur like Kaminari thought a real person would do in his position. Then, apparently finding the right position, pressed one of the pins in a little deeper. Kirishima let out a vague whining noise that released when Hokama pulled back in a smooth motion. Even in the dim light, the glint of blood was visible. Kaminari watched a large droplet fall and land on the ground.

Pocketing the pin, Hokama grabbed Kaminari's arm and hauled him back down the alley. Toga was flushed.

"That...was the most exciting thing I've ever seen," Toga beamed. "I feel all tingly inside!"

"Keep it to yourself," said Hokama. "Let's get back to the car before anyone finds him."

Kaminari operated on instinct after that. He wasn’t sure where they were going, navigating only by the faint outlines of objects and houses and streets, but he was grateful for the suspension.

Kirishima here, Kirishima lying on the ground, bleeding, with a pin sticking out of his head. He didn’t know how to feel about it. Every emotion was numb, rolling through his head like loose change or his short attention span. Kaminari’s attention kept flitting from one point to another, and in every corner, he kept seeing Kirishima on the ground. Every part of him twitched with nervous energy. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to curl up on the ground. Going home and crawling into bed sounded appealing, but then he was afraid of what would happen in the morning. He both wanted to stay put and take Kirishima to the hospital, though those two actions were contradictions. He couldn’t do both—there had to be a choice there, and the choice had been made for him a long time ago.

And it wasn't like this was the first time a classmate had gotten hurt because of him. There had been so, so many times when Kaminari knew he was responsible for serious pain.

He just couldn't figure out why this time it hurt.

Kaminari turned over in bed to stare out the window. His bed was elevated in such a way that he could see out over the windowsill, although the view was nothing to be impressed by. Just the neighbour’s house and the top of the fence. Unable to sleep, Kaminari instead studied the gentle moonlight highlighting the furniture and decor in his room, which was not unlike his chosen decor back at UA. Sprinkled in were more arbitrary, personal touches like family photos, his preferred selection of classic English literature, trophies he’d won in elementary school, and a certificate he’d received in the third grade for being the Best Dressed. All ordinary, trivial things that nevertheless had an air of forced normalcy. While the trophies and memorabilia were authentic, Kaminari knew that if he had a choice, he wouldn’t be putting them on his wall.

The moonlight felt searing, ripping through him like long fingernails. He was in the midst of a post-adrenal rush, and the crash made his fingers feel numb and uncoordinated. Despite that, his hands couldn’t stop moving. He kept clenching, massaging, flicking, digging. Staying still was a prison. Moving kept him occupied. Despite that, he for some reason felt exhausted at the same time—he hadn't even had the energy to take off his street clothes before falling into bed.

Tension clawed its way up his back. Breathing was taking a lot of effort at the moment, despite it being an unconscious, natural function to keep the human body alive. It was like his mind was trying to fight that natural inclination. Thinking back, Kaminari realized that his day had been divided into two distinct parts. The lie—living at UA, travelling home. The truth—being with Hokama and Toga, Kirishima’s still body. He knew that Hokama had saved both his friendship and his identity, but he couldn’t bring himself to be grateful. Like the hormonal teenager he was at heart, Kaminari felt a kind of defiance towards feeling any inclination towards gratitude. Gratitude was dangerous, it meant he would be in debt to Hokama, and Hokama would want him to repay it.

Kaminari rolled over to stare at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? This was part of the job. This was to be expected. Exposure was a reality that the PLF constantly reminded him of, one that he had to be ready to react to.

He wasn’t sure at what point his life had become a contradiction. He wasn’t sure what was pulling at his rib cage in an effort to rip it open. If it did open, Kaminari felt as though they would find nothing, like his organs had been emptied and his chest cavity was hollow. Everything was a lie.

Kaminari rolled over again, grabbed his pillow, and smashed it over his head. He didn’t like to think about this stuff, it made him nauseous with guilt. Pretending that his parents were divorced and his mother was a nurse and Hokama was the stepfather that he hated couldn’t just be pretending. It had to be a reality for him, and reality didn’t work if he didn’t immerse himself—if he didn’t make himself believe it.

He wouldn’t let Shigaraki down. It was too important to Shigaraki for him to let him down now.

Still, for not the first time since he’d flopped in bed, he reached for his phone on the nightstand and scrolled through the group chat with his classmates. Nothing notable had happened in his absence, save for a notable lack of Kirishima. He weighed the possibility of what would happen if he sent a text his way, not that he’d be able to answer.

He was so focused on his phone that when the door creaked open, he bolted upright so fast that the phone went flying across the room.

He’d know that silhouette anywhere. Lanky, dramatic, commanding—and the distinct outline of several hands attached in places where hands didn’t belong.

“Tomura?” Kaminari blinked.

The figure said nothing, and for a moment Kaminari wondered whether he was dreaming. He only became convinced that this was happening when he saw Shigaraki’s shadow cast on the wall and he shifted forward in a janky, uncomfortable way like a zombie.

Shigaraki reached behind him and closed the door.

“You could’ve at least knocked,” Kaminari quipped.

Shigaraki continued to shuffle forwards until he was right by the side of his bed. He wasn’t the best smelling guy in the room, but he sure had a penchant for theatrics. Up close, Kaminari could see his eyes glinting out from between the fingers of the hand on his face.

“Or…y’know, say ‘hello,’” said Kaminari.

Shigaraki’s hand shot forward and grabbed Kaminari’s face. He was careful not to react—not reacting was something of second nature to him, and he took note of the middle finger hovering above his face. He peered out through Shigarkai’s fingers and looked him in the eyes.

They stayed like that for an extended second. Then, Shigaraki’s hand withdrew.

"…Just testing your reaction,” said Shigaraki.

“I didn’t know you were coming over,” said Kaminari.

“Hokama gave me a call. Told me all about your little adventure this evening. I wanted to check on you.”

“Yeah, of course he did. Well, I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. Let’s talk, Kaminari. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a one-on-one conversation.”

“We’re talking right now.”

Shigaraki scratched his cheek and sat down on the bed beside Kaminari.

“I think you need more hands-on experience with people, Tomura,” said Kaminari. “You see, it’s generally considered very rude to barge into someone’s room in the middle of the night.”

“I needed to make sure that you were alright.”

Kaminari’s chest spasmed with an indescribable emotion, but he swallowed it down to force it to stay in his chest, somewhere between his heart and his stomach. Truth be told, he’d half-expected this outcome since he’d been told that he was to come home for the weekend—the outcome where Shigaraki appeared. This was another part of his job, another consequence of being part of this strange motley crew of villains. Another hazard of being associated with Shigaraki, and one he was willing to endure. One that the weaker among them all dealt with at one point or another. Although Shigaraki's explosive anger was more tempered and focused these days, that didn’t make it all the more potent.

“You talking about Kirishima?" Kaminari hazarded. "What did Hokama tell you?”

“You’re not in trouble,” said Shigaraki.

“Okay,” Kaminari nodded rapidly, and for some reason kept nodding.

“Your identity came very close to being exposed. If Hokama hadn’t been there to deal with Kirishima, there could’ve been trouble. Were you upset when you encountered him?”

“I mean, we’ve worked so hard to keep my identity a secret at UA—if Hokama hadn’t been there—I would’ve had to…” Kaminari paused. “Well, I would’ve had to do something drastic.”

“Does that bother you?”

“If I had to do something to Kirishima, like kill him or kidnap him or whatever, it would raise questions at the school.”

“Hm.” Shigaraki scratched his cheek a second time. “I suppose my concerns were for nothing, then.”

“What concerns?”

Shigaraki scratched a little harder. Kaminari saw a flick of red from where his nails dug into his skin.

“What concerns?” Kaminari repeated.

“I’m worried about you,” said Shigaraki. “We’re building a new society, Kaminari. The only way we can do that is to tear down the existing one and build it up from scratch. What role do you think people like Kirishima would play in that society?”

“None.”

“Good. But I have to admit that there’s something that’s been bothering me lately. We have so little contact these days.”

“It’s deep cover. The whole idea is that my cover is deep and I can’t talk to people.”

“Hokama said you were emotional.”

“What?”

“When he dealt with Kirishima. He said you were emotional.”

Oh. That’s what this was about.

“Hokama’s a liar,” said Kaminari.

“So you’re denying it.”

“Of course I’m denying it!” Kaminari pushed off his knees to stand and paced the room, gesturing wildly. “Hokama hates me! Of course he’s telling lies about me. If I was emotional, it was only because I came so close to getting exposed.”

“Try to see it from my perspective,” Shigaraki went on. “You’re like a little brother to everyone in the Paranormal Liberation Front. We’re afraid that the heroes are going to take you away from your family. You have to understand that the heroes are lying to themselves. Their society is unsustainable as long as they exist and the Pro Heroes are so absorbed in inflating their own egos that they can’t see what’s right in front of them. Your so-called ‘friends’ at UA have bought into their propaganda and if they knew who you are, they would never accept you.”

Kaminari’s breath came in sharp gasps, the unvented emotions that had built up throughout the night threatening to break out.

“You’re getting emotional again,” Shigaraki said flatly.

“I’m not,” Kaminari denied. “I know how to do my job, Tomura.”

“A job? Is that how you see it?”

Kaminari looked up and met Shigaraki’s eyes through Father’s fingers.

“A job,” Shigaraki let out a long, shuddering breath. “I’m hurt, Kaminari.”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“Do you really see this as something so impersonal as a job? Something you can do from nine to five and then go home at the end of the day?”

“No, I don’t!”

“Are you just following orders, Kaminari? Because if you’re just following orders, well...I’ll be very disappointed.”

“I’m not,” Kaminari insisted. “I’m as dedicated as everyone else in the PLF.”

“Are you now?” Shigaraki seethed. “Dedication is so fragile...it can change at a moment’s notice. I don’t doubt that people such as Toga and Twice would turn their back on me in an instant if they grew tired of the League or if something else came along that benefited them. Don’t say you’re dedicated to the cause when that’s not true. If put in the right position, you’d abandon the League in an instant. Just remember that there will come a day when your friends will do the same to you. Maybe they’ll find out who you really are, or you’ll do something you don’t approve of, but there will come a time when they abandon you without question. I don’t want just your dedication, Kaminari—your dedication is meaningless to me, something you’ve constructed in your head. I want all of you. Your emotions, your silly concept of morality, your quirk, your words, your hair, your eyes, your hands...You belong to me.”

The swift and quiet rage bludgeoned him, pinned him to the spot, and made him feel restrained despite having full range of motion. Shigaraki reached forward and grabbed his wrist, careful to keep only three fingers and his thumb on him, index finger resting above the vein in his wrist.

“When you act, I’m speaking through you,” said Shigaraki. “Remember that when you’re standing close to Izuku Midoriya. I am you. And when you misbehave or get too attached, it hurts me. Society is meaningless. It needs to be broken down to be built again, and All Might, that school, Izuku Midoriya, and his trainee heroes, are just symptoms. Infected limbs need to be cut off. I’m the only one you can rely on.”

Kaminari realized that he was still nodding. He found it in himself to stop. Shigaraki’s hands were cold, like the sweat beading on Kaminari’s brow. Like wet sleet, like Todoroki’s glare, like the feeling when he’d seen Kirishima lying face-down on the pavement. Finally, Shigaraki released.

Kaminari’s breathing had been shallow throughout the whole, largely one-sided conversation, and he released it as Shigaraki’s hands snaked away from is. Bruises were forming on his hands. Of course, Shigaraki was right—he was always right. The first few months at UA had been nothing short of torture, constantly been bombarded not only by the presence of Pro Heroes but by being associated with teenagers who’d spent their lives worshipping them. He’d settled into the role quickly—how could he not when he’d been given such an important position?

“It’s easy to lose sight of your goal without the right determination,” Shigaraki assured him. “There have been times in the past when my beliefs have been challenged, but the important thing is that you keep reminding yourself why you’re at UA.”

Kaminari nodded again. He seemed to be doing a lot of nodding lately. He felt nauseous and weak, and the pangs of guilt stabbed quietly at his heart.

“Are you a hero, Kaminari?” Shigaraki asked.

Kaminari shook his head. The answer came with ease. Heroes didn’t let their friends get hurt.

“Say it.”

“I’m not a hero.”

“Good boy,” said Shigaraki. “I want you to keep telling yourself that.”

Shigaraki stood.

“Good talk. I’ll have Hokama keep a closer eye on you for a while to make sure you don’t slip. How about you come home every weekend from now on?”

“Geez, every weekend?”

“Why not? You have a lot of time to make up for. I want to make sure you don’t get lonely and forget what you’re doing.”

“I won’t forget,” Kaminari promised.

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Shigaraki patted Kaminari on the head. “Have a good night.”

Shigaraki left the room and shut the door behind him. Kaminari deflated and suddenly became aware of the weakness in his knees that caused him to sink to the floor.

He stayed like that for a long time, not moving until he felt confident that Shigaraki had left the premises. Shigaraki wouldn’t want him to move until he was gone because that was the type of person Shigaraki was, and Kaminari wasn’t one to disobey even unspoken orders.

When he was sure, he got up, slipped on his shoes, and crept to the door, cracking it open to let the light in the hall snake into his room.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he looked down to confirm whether Shigaraki was there and instead found Hokama standing with his arms tightly folded and shoulders tense. He couldn’t be sure that Shigaraki had even been there and not part of his wild imagination until he saw the tight look in Hokama’s eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if you were dead up there or not,” said Hokama.

“Wow,” Kaminari whistled. “And you were worried?”

“Of course not. I just don’t want to have to clean up the mess.”

“Thanks for the concern, man.” Kaminari sat down on the top step.“Not concern, never concerned. Just annoyed that Shigaraki is too soft on you.”

“Too soft on me? Are you for fucking real? What were you hoping for, a whipping?”

“I wouldn’t have been opposed. You’re unreliable and stupid. If it was me, I never would’ve sent you to UA.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t up to you. You’re not even an official part of the PLF, and you weren’t even an official part of the League—you’re just a fucking contact.”

“Official or not, I was recruited to be your handler. I’m handling you.”

“Now you’re just making it creepy. What’re you gonna do, ground me?”

“I’m thinking about it. For now, I’ll take your phone.”

Kaminari’s hand reflexively twitched as it went to obey the order. He stopped it in time—this wasn’t Shigaraki. He stood, tense, and ready to fight for it. “Why? You have your own phone to play games on.”

“Hand it over.”

“I need it to live!”

“If you want to live, you’ll give me the phone.”

Kaminari’s hand instinctively twitched a second time. Once more, it took a bit of effort to remind himself of where he was. “You know, back when Shigaraki first recruited you, he said that I could kill you if I had to.”

“You’d fail like that like you fail at everything, although it would just be like you to try to kill over something so innocuous,” said Hokama. “I’m not going to let you jeopardize the spying operation at UA. While you’re under this roof, your phone is forfeit so I can check it for photos and messages you haven’t already forwarded.”

“Are you kidding? Are you actually doubting me?”

“If Shigaraki can doubt you, so can I. Why are you fighting me? Is there something in that phone that you don’t want anyone associated with the PLF to see?”

“No, I just don’t trust you with my phone. It’s my phone.”

“That phone belongs to the PLF. Since I’m acting on their behalf, I have the right to take it away. Hand it over.”

Kaminari looked over Hokama’s shoulder to where a faked photograph of the wedding to Kaminari’s ‘mother’ was on the wall. In the photo, Hokama’s jaw was clenched with tooth-cracking force, and it was the same expression he was wearing now. The visceral emotional slap nearly made Kaminari tumble down the stairs, his fingers clenching protectively around his phone. In his case, the stereotype of the modern teenager unable to live without their phone was closer to reality than he cared to admit. Kaminari wasn’t looking at Hokama’s clenched jaw anymore—he was looking at the twitch of his arm, and the previously unseen wrinkles on his face cropping up like an unwashed sock.

Kaminari pressed his phone against his chest. It let out another ping. Hokama extended his hand. Kaminari teetered, his desperation coming in violent swells that drove over his sense of ration and reason and responsibility. Shigaraki had a particular stare. He saw it in everything, from the forced normalcy of his own house to the daring glint of Toga’s smile. She was daring him to defy, even craving it. Kaminari had never defied before, not even in times when it had been a more appropriate reaction if he’d seriously been questioning.

Kaminari drummed his fingers over his phone. He hadn’t been allowed to have one before UA, and now it was a lifeline to the outside world. His list of contacts, the group text between himself and Kirishima, Bakugou, Ashido, and Sero, the photos and selfies. The reasonable, logical part of himself knew that this gesture was temporary, that the phone would be returned to him when he left. However, he questioned whether that phone would still have photos of himself and his class afterward. Kaminari was used to not having personal property, but somehow along the way, the phone clutched in his sweaty hands had become a precious friend, something he held onto in the dead of night to text Sero along the way. The others would notice if he didn’t respond to texts for a full day.

And inexplicably, he wasn’t sure if he could stand not being able to respond to texts.

Kaminari crunched his shoulders close to his body, staring down at the phone.

He gave in to the reflexive twitched in his arm, walked down the remainder of the stairs, and held out his hand. And as Hokama reached for it, Kaminari sucker-punched him in the jaw.

Sparks flew. Kaminari hadn't meant to make the punch electrified, but in his heightened emotional state, nothing was in his control anymore. Hokama stumbled, pupils blown out and raging. The shock wasn't enough to bring him down, though enough to make him angry.

"You little—" Hokama seethed.

Hokama reacted. Large hands reached for Kaminari's face, and claw-like nails raked down his cheek. He scrambled, feet skidding across the wood floors, and delivered another shock to the chest. This one sent Hokama back, breath fluttering as his hands reached for his heart.

"Don't touch me again," Kaminari ordered him. "And you're not getting my phone. End of story."

Kaminari caught the movement of Hokama's wrist and ducked in time to avoid the pin hitting the wall.

"You're the one who attacked first!" Hokama argued.

Kaminari didn't stick around to see what would happen next. He raced up the stairs, electricity trailing behind him to deter pursuit. It was a good move—Hokama was fast on his tail. At the top, Kaminari slammed his hand against the wall and the lights flickered, then exploded out, biding him the split second he needed to sprint for the cover of his room.

Slamming the door behind him, Kaminari had become so accustomed to the privacy for his dorm room that his hand flicked to bolt the lock. No locks on this door, though there was a visible scar where one had been removed when they'd first moved in here. Kaminari settled for propping a chair against the doorknob.

“Fuck this,” Kaminari said to himself. He didn’t have to put up with this from Hokama.

He propped open his window and stuck his head out. This wasn’t the first time he’d snuck out, fortunately, so he was accustomed to the routine of jumping onto the roof, then the wall, then the yard. In a few simple movements, he bolted out of his yard and down the street, into the night.

Kaminari kept walking. He knew he was technically breaking some curfew law about teenagers wandering the streets at two in the morning, but it was better. It was better than sitting by Hokama and Toga, waiting for them to wake up and lecture him, and they wouldn’t be as kind about it as Aizawa would be. The rain pelting around him in a thick deluge purified Kaminari. The threat of lighting made his joints ache, but the threat wasn’t absolute, and he knew his limits.

He couldn’t be sure how or why, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Kirishima. He didn’t know why that was bothering so much when other incidents he’d had a part in had far more serious and far-reaching consequences. Bakugou’s kidnapping, Aizawa’s near-death experience, Midoriya’s many broken bones—all could attest to the actions the League had taken. Up until now, Kaminari had been unflappable, and now he was upset from the sight of Kirishima lying face down on the ground? It wasn’t like Kirishima would even remember this.

A fat raindrop landed on Kaminari’s hand with a thwack. He rubbed his nose with the back of his wet sleeve.

“Tomura’s gonna kill me,” Kaminari bemoaned quietly. And after a huge lecture, too.

It wasn’t...Kaminari’s fault, not exactly. Hokama was a frustrating old man. He didn’t exactly have the best team members to rely on, surely Shigaraki would understand that.

But there was that fear, coiling in his chest and strangling his throat. He shouldn’t have snuck out like that—there would be consequences for that action. Consequences meant delays. Delays meant not knowing where Kirishima was and how he was doing, not that he cared at all.

Kaminari checked his phone, which he'd held onto with white-knuckle strength since he'd left the house. To his dismay, the screen was cracked and didn't turn on. Busted. He must've shorted it out when he'd hit Hokama.

Sighing, Kaminari did what he was doing without consciously thinking about the kind of consequences this was going to happen later. He walked into an all-night internet cafe a safe enough distance from his house. It was dimly lit at this time of night, manned by a solitary worker whose head looked like a turnip, and a college student in the corner who looked exceedingly stressed as he stared at his computer screen.

“Hey, my phone's busted,” Kaminari lied to the employee. “Can I borrow your phone? I gotta call a ride home.”

It was hard to tell if the turnip-man was suspicious or not. Vegetables weren’t the best at emoting. But he indicated a dusty landline at the end of the counter and gave a slight nod.

Kaminari ran his fingers through his soaked hair and dialled Aizawa’s number. Memorization was key to his job and Aizawa’s number had been one of the first he’d committed to memory. He’d never imagined it using it for this, though.

What the hell was he doing?

The phone rang for an excruciatingly long period of time before it picked up. Then bumped against something. The noise of someone scrambling for the phone jostled the receiver.

“...Whoever this is, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up,” Aizawa grunted out.

Kaminari breathed. He really hadn’t through this one through. “Uh...Mr Aizawa?”

“...Kaminari?”

Kaminari heard the frown over the line.

“I’m—I’m sorry for calling at this time, I know you said not to call your number, ever, under any circumstances,” Kaminari spluttered out. The part of him that thought this had been a good idea retreated. The sense that this was a no good, terrible idea replaced it. The turnip man was staring. Kaminari whispered into the phone, “I’m sorry for calling. It’s nothing.”

Shuffling and the sound of a zipper. Aizawa must’ve been in his sleeping bag. “No, I’m up, I’m up. What’s going on?”

“I...” Kaminari sighed. “I had a fight with my...parents, I guess.”

Aizawa went quiet. After a long pause, he asked, “Kaminari, are you at home?”

“Kind of.”

“‘Kind of?’”

“I’m...kind of..." He peered around the cafe like he was in an illicit drug den. "not at home.”

Aizawa sighed. “Alright, where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“You—You don’t have—”

“It’s two in the morning. Do you want me to come pick you up or do you want me to call the police?”

Admittedly, the police did sound like the more tempting option, but he knew Aizawa was looking for one answer here. “I could do with a ride, yeah.”

Kaminari gave him the address of the internet cafe, bought a soda from the machine in the corner, and waited on a bench. Fortunately, the turnip man seemed to be willing to ignore him as he waited. Kaminari could only hope that no well-meaning bystander would come over and bother him. As much as Kaminari detested the silence of his own mind, he grudgingly admitted that he needed the time to himself, to mull over what he was going to say to Shigaraki, what he was going to say to Aizawa, what he was going to say to his friends. What did he even want? Why had he even called Aizawa? Picking a fight with Hokama had been exactly the kind of miscreant behaviour Shigaraki had cautioned him against.

He folded his arms on the table and rested his face in them. He should’ve called Shigaraki or Hokama—that would’ve been the protocol. He’d know what to say. But he knew better. No calls. No connection except through Hokama. No evidence. The need to talk was so overwhelming, he could feel words pressing against his lips in the effort to keep them contained. But he couldn’t. That was the trademark of a spy, and he had a job to do. Even if he had gone running to Aizawa instead of back home like he was supposed to, he was still acting as Shigaraki’s eyes and ears.

Kaminari inhaled. He was Shigaraki. Freaky hands and all. He had to remember that.

He kept chanting that to himself in the forty-five minutes it took for a beaten up old sedan to pull up on the curb outside. Kaminari was sure he dozed off once or twice, but sleeping on a bench wasn’t a good look. As he stepped outside, Kaminari was almost immediately drenched under the rainfall, and he darted across the street. At first, he wasn’t even sure that the beaten up sedan belonged to Aizawa, not until the window rolled down and a very sleep-deprived, unamused face looked back at him.

Desperate for shelter from the rain, Kaminari hurried to the passenger door, pulled it open, and tucked himself inside. He expected an immediate lecture from Aizawa. When he didn’t get one, he summoned the courage to look in the vague direction of his teacher, careful not to meet him in the eye.

“Your face is scratched,” Aizawa noted, indicating his cheek.

“Oh.” Kaminari raised his hand and lightly touched the scratch leftover from Hokama's attack. He'd forgotten all about that—the pain didn't even process. “Uh. That’s from the rain.”

“The rain...scratched you?”

“I have delicate skin.”

“...You’re getting my seats wet.”

Kaminari didn’t tell his teacher that the car interior smelt like cats and some other questionable substance. “Sorry, Mr Aizawa. Thank you for picking me up. Please don’t give me detention.”

Aizawa broke his gaze and stared straight out ahead into the rainfall. “I’m going to stop by your house and speak with your parents.”

“No!” Kaminari exclaimed. “I mean—it’s late. They’re probably asleep by now.”

“I need to inform them that you’re with me. You’re still a minor. Plus, I imagine you want to pick up your belongings.”

“I—I don’t need anything from—”

“You called me in the middle of the night and I don’t see any bags with you. You didn’t call from your usual number so I’m guessing you either left it at home or it's not working.”

Kaminari bit his lip and stared out into the rain pelting his window.

“You can wait in the car,” Aizawa told him. “I’ll handle it.”

Letting Aizawa walk right into his home where two members of the PLF were posing as his parents was a phenomenally terrible idea, or good, depending on your perspective. In his sleep-deprived, rain-soaked state, Kaminari couldn’t be sure where he fell on that scale, only that the results could be catastrophic. He’d been nervous enough when Aizawa and Toshinori had shown up on his doorstep to consult with his ‘parents’ about the dorm. He didn't want to see the outcome of Aizawa arriving alone in the middle of the night.

Aizawa kept his fingers planted on the steering wheel, watching the lights bleed into the wet pavement. In the passenger seat, Kaminari was unusually quiet, elbow resting on the windowsill, knuckles digging into the unblemished side of his face, head swivelled in such a way that it was impossible to catch his gaze. The crimefighting part of Aizawa’s brain took over, the part that made his senses tingle whenever his students were misbehaving, like when Midoriya was disobeying orders in the name of righteous justice or Mineta was invading the girls’ personal space.

Aizawa could count the number of times his students had called his personal number on one hand, and those times only happened under extremely specific circumstances.

One, the caller was usually Iida, either acting in his capacity as Class Representative or giving Aizawa a much-needed wake-up call when he overslept.

Two, a 1-A student was injured, sick, missing, or getting into some serious trouble. Most of them were about Midoriya, and the rest were typically about Kaminari. One time Kaminari had caused a school-wide blackout by accident and needed a serious scolding afterward—and a trip to Recovery Girl because he’d turned stupid. Another time he’d gotten struck by lighting, no serious damage that time around except for smelling like burnt hair for a few days. But this was the first time Kaminari had been the one to place the call. Having the second most accident-prone student in class call him didn’t exactly inspire a feeling of comfort, and meeting Kaminari’s mother and stepfather on his previous visit hadn’t exactly provided a good impression of his home life. Aizawa made a point not to meddle in his students’ home lives but the inescapable feeling of offness when it came to the Kaminaris had stuck with him in the year or so since he’d first met with them about the dorms.

Tonight only confirmed a few suspicions. It hadn’t been the only signs, Kaminari didn't normally go home during school vacations unless necessary, and the general knowledge within the class was that both his parents worked overseas. Kaminari didn't discuss his home life much, or averted his eyes whenever the topic came up. Small signs that individually didn't mean much, but altogether pointed to something larger.

As Aizawa pulled up on the curb next to the Kaminari house, Kaminari let out a sudden sneeze that sent sparks flying. The car radio flickered on and off.

“Don’t break my radio,” Aizawa told him.

“Yes, sir,” Kaminari sniffed.

“How long were you in the rain?”

“Before I called? An hour, maybe.”

Aizawa pulled out a packet of Kleenex and shoved it into Kaminari’s hands. “Stay in the car. I’ll leave the heat on. Don’t go on a joyride.”

"Yes, sir.” Kaminari blew his nose with unnecessary volume.

Great, just what he needed. Kaminari with a cold. Aizawa stepped out into the rain, kicked the car door shut, and tried his best not to look too pissed as he marched up to the front door. Easier said than done. Yamada reminded him on a daily basis that he suffered from a terrible affliction called ‘Resting Bitchface.’

The lights were already on when he knocked and it only took a second or two before the door swung open. Framed in the square of light was Hokama, unchanged from when Aizawa had last seen him. If Aizawa had ‘Resting Bitchface,’ he was sure that Hokama had an upgraded version of that.

Without waiting for an invitation, Aizawa shouldered his way inside.

“Hey—you can’t come in here!” Hokama protested.

“I picked my student up in the pouring rain at two in the morning,” Aizawa drawled. “So yes, I’m coming in.”

Aizawa scanned the entryway. Clean. Save for the prevailing sense of offness he noticed last time and scuff marks from shoes visible on the hardwood floors. Mrs Kaminari appeared in the kitchen door. He’d expected to find a mother sick with worry, but her face was clean, and a trace of a smile was just disappearing from her face, as if she was making a rapid effort to cover it up.

“How did Denki get those scratches on his face?” Aizawa immediately asked.

Mrs Kaminari stopped short.

“Is Denki alright?” Mrs Kaminari asked. Dodging the subject. Not a good sign. “His room was empty, I was just about to call the police.”

“He’s fine,” said Aizawa. “He’s waiting in my car. I came to get some of his things and take him back to the dorm.”

"Where is he? Can you ask him to come in?"

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now. I think everyone needs to calm down a little before trying to work this out. I’ve seen plenty of cases like this before.”

Mrs Kaminari wrung her hand on the hem of her shirt, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Instead of a sign of a nervous mother, the action seemed arbitrary, almost a rehearsed gesture. Disingenuous and cold.

“He’ll be fine,” Aizawa assured her. “He’s safer at the dorms than wandering the streets in the rain and I don’t think anyone wants any more arguments to fire up again. Now, can someone explain to me how he got those scratches?”

“I was going to confiscate his phone,” Hokama explained. “But if you think that anyone in this house hit him, think again. He slipped on his way back up the stairs.”

Aizawa frowned. “I see. Well, carpeted stairs are known for causing scratches. My mistake.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around at the family photos lining the wall. “Could you get his things for me? Clothes? His train pass?”

“No,” Hokama said. “Tell him that he needs to come inside, now. I told him that he was being disciplined.”

“Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Just get his stuff for me.”

Mrs Kaminari nodded absently and kept nodding, rubbing her eyes as she rounded the railing and headed up the stairs. Hokama gave Aizawa a silent and poisonous stare before heading after her.

Aizawa heard Hokama and Mrs Kaminari speaking in harsh whispers at the top of the stairs, then vanish into one of the neighbouring rooms. Good. A moment or two to investigate.

He rapidly looked around. It seemed too clean here, like a clinic—the scuff marks were the only blemish. Maybe it wasn't entirely odd, however when it came to Kaminari, who was habitually disorganized, it seemed odd that his house didn't have any of those traits. Aizawa noted the happy family photos mounted on the wall. He didn’t know anyone who placed this many happy family photos in view of the door, even the most ‘happy’ of families. It seemed a little tacky, but Mrs Kaminari seemed like the type. He stopped by a table where a dish filled with keys was sitting, and beside it, a photo frame lying face-down on the table. Flipping it upright, Aizawa found a photo of a very young Kaminari and a blond man with an identical grin. His biological father, presumably. It struck him as a little odd that a divorced woman would keep a picture of her old husband.

It was a little odd. Just a little. Aizawa turned and spotted a photograph of a toddler-aged Kaminari and his mother. He squinted. It was hard to tell, but Mrs Kaminari looked a little different in the photo than she did in real life. There was a close resemblance, of course, but she looked a little softer in the photo than she did in person. Maybe the years and the divorce had done something to her.

Setting the photo of Mr Kaminari and young Kaminari back upright so that Mr Kaminari could see the world, Aizawa returned to the stairs. He could still hear Hokama and Mrs Kaminari talking from the upper floor. His eyes roved over the stairs, looking for blood or signs of damage.

That's when he saw the hole.

Aizawa froze. He squinted and leaned in. There was a hole in the wall. It was maybe small enough to come from a hook to hang photographs from, but if so, it was an odd choice to hang one from, and there wasn't a picture there now. The hole was about three feet from the steps and the angle appeared to come from downwards. A bullet hole? But there was no lingering smell of gunpowder—he sniffed the hole just to make sure.

He was sure there was a joke about this.

Unfortunately, his investigation was cut short when he heard footsteps at the top of the landing and he moved back. Mrs Kaminari and Hokama came back down the stairs, one after the other. Mrs Kaminari was carrying a duffel bag.

“Here, this should be everything he needs for the week,” Mrs Kaminari sniffed.

“Why don’t you come out and speak to him?” Aizawa suggested. “I’m sure he can tell you himself that he’s fine.”

Hokama scowled all the way out to the car, pausing halfway down the walkway to stand in the rain and glare at Kaminari’s vague figure sitting in the passenger seat. Mrs Kaminari rushed on ahead.

“Honey?” Mrs Kaminari pulled open the car door. “Honey, come back inside. Please?”

Kaminari’s face was stony. Aizawa had never seen him so unreadable before. Normally Kaminari was a bright light, attracting all the energy in the room, but all of that evaporated with a single look at his mother.

“I should go back to school,” said Kaminari.

“Honey, please, your stepfather’s very sorry,” Mrs Kaminari pleaded. “I wanted to spend the weekend together.”

“Sorry.”

Kaminari did not, in fact, sound sorry. He turned his head defiantly from his mother in a move very unlike a boy looking at his devoted, tearful mother. It was almost as though she was a stranger to him, but Aizawa didn’t miss the tight clench of Kaminari’s jaw.

Quivering all over, Mrs Kaminari stepped away from the car. Teary-eyed, she turned on her heel and sprinted back into the house. It was the expected reaction from a woman thoroughly hurt by a badly-behaved, rebelling teenager, the slap-in-the-face show of austere emotion that should’ve left behind tightened heartstrings and teary eyes.

Aizawa, however, experienced none of those reactions. Hokama stared him down the whole way as he dropped back into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.

To Kaminari’s relief, Aizawa didn’t question him on the ride back to the school. There were no words exchanged between them from the time Aizawa got back into the driver’s seat, to the time he saw the gates of UA slide open, the sound of their opening muffled by the rain. Kaminari kept sneezing on the way back, periodically lighting up the radio, until the final time when it finally decided that dealing with Kaminari wasn’t worth its trouble and exploded in a flurry of black smoke. Aizawa simply stared at the now thoroughly dead radio without a word, and thankfully didn’t reprimand him for the trouble.

The long, thundering rain imprisoned Kaminari. The silence was immense. Alone, Kaminari waited for admonishment, waiting for a week’s detention or an early lesson or extra homework. He waited, tense, during the long ride back to UA like he was waiting outside the principal’s office for punishment. Kaminari thought that he feared the principal far less than he feared Aizawa. Aizawa had a death grip without having to move a muscle, save for the arbitrary motions to turn the wheel and step on the gas or brake. Instead of staring at the torrent out his window, Kaminari stared at the carpeted car floor between his feet. The car mats smelt like wet cats, rain, and bad life decisions.

It was only when Aizawa pulled into the UA parking lot, into his safe teacher-designated parking spot, that he turned off the car, and just sat there. Kaminari’s heart displaced itself to lodge in his throat.

Kaminari’s hand twitched to the door handle. “Th—Thanks for the ride Mr Aiz—”

“Hands down,” said Mr Aizawa.

“Yes, sir,” Kaminari immediately put his hands back on his lap and went back to staring at the floor.

“What did you fight about with your stepfather?” Aizawa asked.

“Um.” Kaminari thought hard and fast. What were things that stepchildren fought about with their step-parents? “Just stuff, y’know—cleaning my room, he hates Pro Heroes, he doesn’t approve of me going to UA, thinks I should be a doctor, stuff like that. I think he hates everything I do.” After listing off good enough reasons, Kaminari added almost as an afterthought a single truth, “Also, he’s a big giant prick.”

“Do you get along with your mother?”

“Yeah. I mean, sort of. Not so much anymore, not since she married this guy.”

“Look at me.”

“Do I really have to, sir? You kind of scare the crap out of me.”

“Just do it, Kaminari.”

Against all his better judgement, fearing that the lie would be uncovered if he so much as dared to look Aizawa in the eye, he did as he was told. Aizawa’s predisposition towards being fucking terrifying laced its presence all through his pale face. The inclination settled the most in his beady eyes. They weren’t red. They didn’t need to be red to see right through Kaminari, or so it felt. But Kaminari had been well trained and groomed, and he kept on the persona. He was Shigaraki—a mask, a facade, a fraud—and to Aizawa, all he had to be was a slightly nervous teenager.

“Did you really fall on the stairs or is there something else going on in that house that I need to know about?” Aizawa asked.

Kaminari frowned. “W—What? Oh...Oh, you think Hokama did this? Dude. Uh, sir. I wouldn’t let him beat me up, I swear. He’d just get shocked, anyway.”

“So the stairs did it.”

“The stairs did it.”

"The carpeted stairs."

"Carpet burn is a thing, sir."

“That’s the story you’re sticking with?”

“It’s the truth, Mr Aizawa.”

“Hm. I see.” Aizawa stared right ahead out of the windshield. “We never got contact information for your biological father, did we?”

“Uh...no. Haven’t heard from him since the divorce was finalized and he took off.”

“You don’t know how to contact him.”

“No.”

“…Alright. You can go to your dorm now. I have some other business to attend to.”

“Thank you, Mr—ow,” Kaminari reflexively tried to bow and ended up knocking his head on the car dashboard. “Thank you, Mr Aizawa. Please don’t give me detention”

“You’re my student,” said Aizawa. “Unfortunately, that also means you’re my responsibility. Stay out of trouble until Monday and I’ll overlook this incident.”

“Thank, you, Mr Aizawa,” Kaminari hopped out of the car as fast as he could. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not merciful!”

“Get to the dorm before I give you detention for being out after curfew.”

Kaminari took his suggestion and ran for it. He took shelter around the next corner and peered back to see what Aizawa was doing. He had to be suspicious—maybe his business involved Pro Hero work or checking up on student files or some other activity that could threaten his position. But when he looked back, he saw Aizawa crawl into the backseat of his car and huddle up in something yellow. Maybe he was too tired to make the trek back to his living quarters.

Kaminari let out a breath of relief and bolted back to the dorms. He wasn’t stopped on the way, the rain relentless against him, and by the time he got through the front doors, he was soaked again. At this time of night, the dorms were empty and everyone was safely tucked in their room, fast asleep and totally unaware of the hellish night Kaminari had had. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he took a step and his vision swam threateningly. Even the image of Kirishima lying in an alley somewhere was hazy, like it was just a dream. He was unconscious of his final trek upstairs to his dorm, and when he finally got in, he collapsed on his bed in a heap without bothering to change out of his wet clothes. Instead, he rolled back and forth to dry his hair against his pillow.

The next time he met Toga and Hokama probably wasn’t going to be the most pleasant experience in the world, but his sleep-deprived brain barely thought of that as he rolled over in bed and drifted off almost at once.

Chapter Text

When he woke up, it was to birds chirping and the sun shining. It was almost idyllic, if not for the shit storm that had been all of last night.

Kaminari lay half-curled on his side, broken phone still clutched in hand, contemplating his poor life decisions. His body ached. Ached in the same way that it did after hard training or emotional baggage weighing him down. He cranked his body upright, prodding the scratched side of his face. It had hurt little last night, but now that he’d gotten some rest, it was starting to sting. He probably needed a bandage for it.

He checked the time. Just past noon.

The fact that he couldn't hear distressed screaming in the dorm set Kaminari’s already fragile nerves on high alert, static pinpricks rolling up and down his arms. Kirishima was tough and Hokama was precise. He had to be okay, right? No one wanted to cause any unnecessary alarm and that was why they hadn’t told the students yet, at least to his knowledge. He could've very easily missed an alert.

Well, if they wouldn’t provide any updates, Kaminari would have to find out for himself—somehow. He could be sneaky about it.

First things first, his face. Kaminari’s cheek gave a throb. There would be questions from his classmates, but those were unavoidable.

He changed into a fresh set of clothes and headed to the kitchen where the first aid kit was, on high alert for any signs of his classmates. At this time of day, though, very few were in their rooms, likely using the free day to catch up on homework, do some extra training, or—for the less studious among them—hanging out with friends. Kaminari didn’t encounter anyone until he reached the main floor, and he was struck with the bustle of activity and chiming laughter.

They had no idea. They had no idea anything was wrong. Kaminari envied that ignorance.

Well, time to face the music. Kaminari practiced smiling in the metal of a doorknob.

About half of the class was in the common area having lunch, chatting animatedly with each other. For a moment, Kaminari thought he might be able to get away without attracting attention as he sidled across the wall to the cupboard with the first aid kit.

He dodged attention for all of one second when he knocked into Aoyama.

“Oh, excusez-moi,” Aoyama backed off. He stopped. The smile didn’t leave his face, but the concern was visible in his eyes. “Mon ami, what happened to your face? You have a most unsightly blemish.”

This got everyone else to look up from what they were doing.

“Hey, Kaminari!” Ashido exclaimed.

“What?” Sero looked up. “Hey, hey, look who it is! I thought you went home...?”

“Hey, guys,” Kaminari plastered on his best smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Had a change of plan and got back late last night. Sorry for not—”

“What the hell? You do have something on your face.”

“Hey, don’t drag me down because of my face. My face is fine.”

“It does not look fine,” Tokoyami said from where he was perched on the table in a definitely not-Iida-approved move. Kouda stood near him, gently petting his head, and nodded in agreement.

Kaminari liked to be the centre of attention, but not in the way his classmates suddenly crowded around him. Ashido and Sero got uncomfortably close, while Aoyama inspected the scratch while holding his chin.

“Don’t worry, a little foundation will coverup the scar,” said Aoyama. “I have some if you want to borrow.”

“Scar?” Kaminari startled. “It’s—It’s not deep enough to leave a scar, it’s just—”

“What’d you do, man?” Sero asked. “Did you turn dumb and fall over again?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened,” said Kaminari.

Sero frowned. A frown on Sero was a contradiction in itself, but there it was, plain as day. Kaminari’s chest seized as he realized that the lie hadn’t landed. Rather, it had tried to do an impressive somersault before rolling head-over-heels and coming to a jarring halt.

“What?” Kaminari asked. He reached into the cupboard and grabbed a large, square-shaped bandaid. “Relax, I’m going to see Recovery Girl as soon as possible.”

“Did you even get home last night?” Ashido pried. She stepped in and helped plaster the bandaid on his cheek like she was decorating him with a giant sticker. Her teasing smile didn’t meet her eyes.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean—sort of. I went to—my house. Then, I, uh, left. Then I went back to my house, and then I decided to come back here.”

“You’re being confusing, sweetie.”

And of course, because fate hated Kaminari just that much, Iida and Midoriya rounded the corner.

“Oh—hey, Kaminari,” Midoriya smiled easily at Kaminari, though it quickly morphed into a frown. “I thought you went home for the weekend.”

“Yeah, I went home, then I came back,” said Kaminari.

“What happened to your face?” Iida demanded. “Alright, who were you fighting with? You’re under obligation to answer quickly, chop, chop!”

“Geez, chill, I wasn’t fighting with anyone.”

“Lying only encourages curiosity,” said Tokoyami. “I think it would be in your best interests to tell the truth.”

“C’mon, guys, I’m not lying,” Kaminari brushed them off. “If you really want to know what happened, I fell down the stairs at home.”

“You fell down the stairs,” said Sero.

Kaminari sneezed. The lights flickered.

“Did you catch a cold?” Ashido asked.

“I was out in the rain for a bit,” said Kaminari.

“Out in the rain?” Sero frowned. Damn him and his common sense. “That’s not like you. What happened, exactly?”

Kaminari’s ribs ached with the angry flare boiling in his stomach. “I fell down the stairs and went for a walk in the rain. That’s it. Geez, I’m starved and I haven’t eaten in ages! What’s for lunch?”

Kaminari propped open the fridge and stuck his face in, hoping that would defuse the conversation. Instead, he felt Sero’s hand gently touch his shoulder and the weight of the room coming down with it.

“Sero,” said Kaminari. “Just drop it, okay?”

The pause was too long before Sero’s hand retracted. “Okay.”

Kaminari fumbled around in the fridge until his fingers came into contact with something edible—a huge, party-sized bottle of soda. Soda was fine for a meal, right? He was chugging it down, feeling eyes boring into the back of his head, when his dignity was saved by a sudden dip in temperature.

“Morning, class.”

“Morning, Mr Aizawa,” a few voices chimed back.

Kaminari took a few steady gulps, choked, coughed up some soda while Sero patted on his back, and finally managed to upright himself. Aizawa had shuffled into the room while no one had been looking, and his presence was especially grim as his eyes surveyed them. Aizawa didn’t need his quirk to make it seem like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Iida, gather the class, I have an announcement to make,” Aizawa ordered.

“Right away, sir,” Iida saluted and marched off like an army officer given a vital mission.

Aizawa’s gaze strayed to Kaminari. And lingered.

Kaminari gave him a lopsided smile. Then he sneezed. The lightbulb in the refrigerator flicked off.

“Go to Recovery Girl as soon as you can,” said Aizawa. “Everyone sit down.”

“What’s going on, Mr Aizawa?” Midoriya asked.

“I’ll get into it. Just sit down.”

Kaminari’s existential dread was back again, a constant presence in his life, like low grades and static electricity dancing across his skin, making him feel like he was a moulting butterfly. He joined the others with his fun-sized soda and kept chugging and hoping that this announcement would be done before he had to make a run to the washroom. The good news was that the impromptu class meeting had somewhat taken the attention off of him and the chill radiating after Aizawa made him somewhat forget about the sparks running through his veins.

Steadily, their other classmates started pouring in, some greeting the others, some asking Kaminari what he was doing back from home so soon, but all eventually settling down and asking one another what the announcement was about. Aizawa stood off to the side, staring down the class in an uncanny way they’d all become accustomed to, and Kaminari entertained the idea that this was a surprise training exercise when he knew that to not be the case.

He kept drinking his soda.

Bakugou was one of the last of their classmates to arrive, storming in with his usual over-compensating swagger that made him look like a chewed up Kong toy. After his usual grimace in Midoriya’s direction, he started to walk past the rest of his immediate ‘friend’ group when he noticed Kaminari.

“The hell happened to your face?” Bakugou asked.

“It’s nothing, just had a little too well-acquainted with the floor,” said Kaminari.

“You wanna fucking try that again or are you gonna fucking waste my time and make me guess who fucking beat you the fuck up?”

“Way too many fucks in that sentence, Bakugou,” Kaminari laughed it off. “No really, I did this to myself.”

Bakugou paused in the way he did when he was thinking something over. Douchebag just had to be one of the smartest kids in the class. “Tch. Whatever.”

Bakugou threw himself into the seat beside Ashido and propped his feet up on the table.

When Mineta trailed in, looking especially guilty, that made the last of their classmates assembled. Iida, of course, was right behind him.

“Don’t let me catch you in there again,” Iida was scowling at Mineta. Then, to the room at large, “Attention, class! Mr Aizawa has an announcement to make! Please give him your full attention!”

Iida zipped into the nearest chair and stared attentively at Aizawa with his hands folded. Never one for procedure, Aizawa simply let out a long sigh and stepped forward.

“Kirishima was found unconscious last night,” Aizawa reported. “We believe he was attacked.”

The fireworks. Kaminari pretended to choke on his drink. He pretended so well that he actually did choke and ended up doubled over the table, coughing out his lungs while the overhead lights flickered. Around him, there were gasps and chairs scraping as people started to stand.

“What?!” Sero exclaimed.

“Is Kirishima alright?” Shouji asked.

“How badly hurt is he?” Midoriya asked.

“One at a time,” Aizawa waved them down. “Fortunately, Kirishima is going to make—”

BANG.

Kaminari’s head whipped around, and he caught blurred images of Yaoyorozu with her hands over her mouth, of Sero’s eyes ballooned with unrestrained worry, of Midoriya half-standing out of his chair, but it was Bakugou who had made the noise. He’d startled right out of his chair and knocked it to the ground, rising with all the intensity of all the stars in the known universe. Rage was Bakugou’s default emotion, but it had never been like this. Never so quiet, never so dark, never so ready to maim.

A single word left Bakugou’s mouth. “Where.”

Aizawa sighed again. “Sit down, I’m getting to that.”

“Won’t ask again. Where.”

Aizawa absently scratched his forehead. “Kirishima is currently being treated by Recovery Girl. I’d tell you to stay where you are until I was done, but I know you’re not going to listen.”

Sure enough, Bakugou was halfway across the room partway through Aizawa’s sentence and gone by the end.

And with that, Kaminari couldn’t hold back anymore. This was his chance to get out of the room, because he couldn’t bring himself to listen to Aizawa’s explanation, not when he knew what happened.

“Bakugou?” Kaminari called. “Hey, Bakugou, wait!”

“I’m not done talking yet,” Aizawa drawled, but made no effort to stop Kaminari as he sprinted after Bakugou.

Relief. Kaminari felt nothing but relief as he sprinted fast and hard after Bakugou, racing out into the UA campus, watching Bakugou all but activate his quirk to make his journey across school grounds faster. When not weighed down by his equipment, Bakugou was impressively fast—and even when he was, he moved so quickly that there was no catching him. Kaminari was fuelled by something other than rage and determination, though. He was fuelled by the crushing guilt that had pressed against his ribcage since last night, desperate to know about Kirishima’s condition. Bakugou wasn’t the only one desperate. He prayed to every god that could possibly exist that Bakugou would never know that Kaminari was responsible for whatever state Kirishima was in.

Kaminari caught up to Bakugou as he shoved through a crowd of startled first year girls, who let out collective shrieks and admonishments. They slowed him down enough for Kaminari to catch up onto Bakugou’s heels.

“Dammit, stop following me, Dunce Head!” Bakugou screamed over his shoulder.

“I want to see Kirishima too!” Kaminari yelled.

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ALWAYS FOLLOWING ME?! YOU’RE WORSE THAN FUCKING DEKU!”

Knowing Midoriya and the others, it wouldn’t be long before they raced over to the infirmary as fast as possible. They might even let Aizawa finish talking. At this point, Kaminari didn’t even know if Recovery Girl would let them see Kirishima, but he didn’t care. All inclination towards rationality had evaporated. Nothing mattered except getting to Kirishima.

They arrived at the infirmary in the usual Bakugou fashion, by him kicking down the door and barging in. Recovery Girl was sitting at her desk and didn’t even look up as they entered.

“Behind curtain two, dear,” Recovery Girl said. “Try not to yell too loudly, he has a headache.”

“Fuck you!” Bakugou screamed at her.

“You can’t call an old lady that!” Kaminari protested.

Then, Kirishima’s voice warbled out. “...Is that you, Bakugou?”

Kaminari’s heart leapt, and then sank. He and Bakugou rushed past the first curtain—and there was Kirishima, propped up on pillows, head thoroughly bandaged, eyes slightly out of focus, but smiling all the same. The relief rumbled through the ground and up his body, making him feel weak-kneed. Kaminari had to plant one foot down to keep himself upright.

“What the fuck, Kirishima?!” Bakugou shouted. “Did you get fucking JUMPED?! What kind of a fucking Pro Hero are you supposed to be you spikey-haired moron?!”

“Well, I would’ve preferred a ‘Hey man, how you doing,’ but that works too,” Kirishima smiled faintly. Dark bags crinkled under his eyes.

“You’re fucking incompetent,” Bakugou seethed. Any more seething and his head would spontaneously explode.

Kaminari slapped Bakugou on the arm. “Calm down, man, but that’s no way to talk to someone in a hospital bed.”

“Did you just fucking touch me?!” Bakugou screamed.

Kaminari elected to ignore. He hurried to Kirishima’s bedside and resisted the urge to hug on sight.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kaminari asked. “What the fuck happened?”

“You see, Kaminari has a better bedside manner than you,” Kirishima smiled faintly. “I’m good, man. Just got a killer headache.” The smile faded, replaced by contemplation. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

“No,” said Kaminari. He sat on the edge of Kirishima’s bed. “What happened? Did you get beaten up?”

“Do I look like the type of guy who’d go and get beaten up?” Kirishima asked. “To be honest, I don’t really remember what happened. Or, much of anything that happened in the last day or so.”

“You were knocked out?”

“Ah, no, not really—at least, that’s what I’m told.”

“So what the fuck happened?” Bakugou demanded.

Kirishima’s eye twitched, though not from any particular emotion. If anything, Kaminari recognized the reflexive twitch of someone who’d had their brain probed. Kirishima blinked rapidly, as if to clear the sensation.

“Uh,” Kirishima said intelligibly. “I’m okay.”

Kaminari entertained the idea that Bakugou was going to shake Kirishima to his senses, but was saved from it by the very prompt arrival of a handful of their other classmates, all sprinting in a line, out of breath and clearly flushed from the jog over. Then a slower group arrived, Mineta taking up the rear, all trailing in in a long line to crowd the infirmary.

People started talking before Recovery Girl could even protest the presence of an entire class crowding around their classmates’ sick bed. Suddenly voices were shouting at once, overlapping each other, impossible to distinguish one from the other.

“Kirishima—”

“Oh my God, are you alright?”

“I can’t believe you got hurt—”

“We were so worried—”

“Mon ami, you look terrible!”

“I made flowers—well, they’re fake flowers but it’s the thought that counts—”

And just as Yaoyorozu was pulling a fake flower bundle out of her chest, Recovery Girl let out a shrill whistle to silence the crowd.

“That’s enough!” Recovery Girl shouted. “One at a time! If you can’t visit without overwhelming my patient, you’ll all wait outside! Is that clear?!”

Recovery Girl’s assertion was quick to silence the crowd. Everyone gave a collective and subdued “Yes Ma’am,” except for Bakugou, who just scoffed.

“Kirishima,” Midoriya stepped forward. “What happened? How did you get hurt?”

“I was just telling these two that I don’t remember exactly,” said Kirishima. “Uh, last thing I remember clearly is being here at school, actually. Then I was in an ambulance. From what they tell me, I was lying unconscious in the middle of the street with a bowl of ramen.”

“Oh my God, you had a food blackout,” Kaminari gasped. Jirou slapped him on the back of the head.

“Don’t talk, you’ll embarass the rest of us,” said Jirou.

“You were mugged?” said Shouji.

Kirishima’s gaze wandered. He blinked slowly at Shouji, then at the crowd gathered around his sick bed.

“Uh,” Kirishima said intelligibly. “I’m okay.”

Confused and concerned stares were shared all around. Kaminari remained seated on the edge of Kirishima’s sick bed, hoping that no one could see that he was digging crescent moons into his palms with his nails. Fortunately, Recovery Girl swooped in to unknowingly save him from possible detection by shepherding the class out to the hall.

“That’s enough, you can ask questions later,” Recovery Girl told them as they left. “You may visit in small groups later in the afternoon, but not before.”

While Recovery Girl was distracted with his classmates, Kaminari ducked back to Kirishima’s bedside. His slightly glazed and wandering expression managed to focus on him.

“Hey,” said Kirishima.

“Hey,” Kaminari echoed. “Do you want anything from your room? Like, do you have a comfort animal or something? Or maybe you just want to cuddle your punching bag?”

Kirishima laughed. “Wish I’d thought of that sooner. Thanks, but I should be out of here soon enough. They can’t really find anything wrong with me except for the headache. But hey! I’m excused from excessive physical training for the two weeks!”

“We could always use a class cheerleader.” Kaminari suddenly felt like he was going to burst into tears, but he hadn’t cried in at least four years. He slapped Kirishima on the arm instead. “Rest up—I’ll visit later with the others.”

Kaminari was never more relieved when he turned from the bed and left, passing Recovery Girl on the way. He didn’t like the way Recovery Girl was looking at him, but if she had anything to say, she kept it to herself as he left. Once outside, he quickly made an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom and let himself calm down in a toilet stall for a few minutes.

He only came out when Ashido barged into the boys’ bathroom.

Midoriya had spent most his life with a single-minded goal, and friends had never been a major factor in that equation. Bakugou had so thoroughly destroyed his self-esteem in elementary and middle school that friendship seemed an impossibility, a faint hope only ever existing on the edge of his vision.

Even into his second year at UA, friends were an oddity to him, such a strange source of warmth in his life that Midoriya was unaccustomed to caring enough about someone to feel worry when they were in the infirmary. Sure, he’d been in the hospital before too, and sometimes with his own classmates—but that had been different. Sometimes he’d felt the sting of regret at not being able to prevent their injuries. So the odd sensation of being in a room full of teenagers worried for their friend hang hot and heavy in the common room, and not in a fun way. The cheerful mood of the morning was gone. Midoriya was not being excluded, he was not being jeered for being emotional; he was not being ridiculed for being worried. They were united in that front, and the group accepted him for it.

Aizawa had returned to the class later to explain Kirishima’s injuries. He’d received two round wounds which had pierced his head, but fortunately hadn’t quite been enough to kill him. They weren’t bullet holes, but no one seemed to know what exactly had caused them. It seemed plausible that they from a quirk and the police were investigating. That was the extent that Aizawa revealed before leaving. The aftermath left them trembling, but assured that Kirishima would recover

Still, there was optimism. Kirishima would be all right. Midoriya took comfort in that.

“I’m glad Kirishima’s all right, but it gives me the creeps to know that whoever attacked him is still out there,” Uraraka expressed to the group. They were all gathered in and around the front doors of Heights Alliance, feeling the cool air of late spring settle their nerves.

“If it had been anyone else, they might not have been so lucky,” said Todoroki. “It is thanks to Kirishima’s fortitude that he survived an attack like that at all.”

“It’s weird that he doesn’t remember anything,” said Jirou. “Do you think that’s thanks to whatever quirk was used on him?”

“It must be,” Yaoyorozu agreed. “It’s natural to lose memories with head injuries, but the amount of memories he’s lost seems too precise for it to be anything other than a quirk. Maybe it’s one that can erase your memories of the last day or so?”

“Not gonna lie, I kind of want to go beat the shit out of the asshole did this,” said Sero.

“Like that would help at all,” Jirou snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on them either, but it’s better to let the police do their work. I’m not gonna jeopardize my license through vigilantism. Just be grateful that Kirishima wasn’t seriously hurt.”

“It was a bit of a strange injury to have, though,” said Yaoyorozu. “I wonder why his attacker didn’t kill him.”

“They might’ve been trying to capture him like the League captured Bakugou last year,” Shouji suggested.

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Tsu. “If that was the case, why didn’t they grab Kirishima when he was down? And it doesn’t seem typical of organized villains to panic and leave him there.”

“Geez, Tsu, way to be grim,” said Kaminari.

“Sorry,” Tsu shrugged. She didn’t look particularly sorry, but her brow turned upward in a show of empathy. “It’s just that I’m really thankful that his attacker didn’t hurt Kirishima more seriously. But it makes me wonder what exactly their plan was.”

“Does it matter? Whatever it was, they didn’t get away with it. It was probably just some random robbery Kirishima interrupted and that’s when they attacked them.”

“A random robbery that inflicts a serious injury on a UA student?” Todoroki said, eyebrow raised at Kaminari.

“Well, it could be,” said Kaminari. “…Couldn’t it?”

“Do you think he was targeted?” Ojiro asked.

“Perhaps,” said Todoroki. “It just seems a little too convenient to me. Too many odd incidents have happened to this class for it to not be a coincidence.”

“It is a little strange,” Midoriya agreed. “Our class seems to have run into a lot of trouble since we started at UA. I mean, more than is usual. From what I’ve heard from the faculty, there hasn’t been this many incidents happening to UA students, ever.”

“Well, All-Might only started teaching last year when we came to school,” Ashido pointed out.

“Yes, but we’re not the only class he’s teaching,” said Uraraka. “There’s plenty of other classes in the school that the PLF could target. Gosh, I wish they would focus on them for a change.”

It was then that Midoriya came to a sudden, heart-pounding, terrifying realization.

Oh. Oh, no. No.

Midoriya’s hand shot up to cover his mouth. Nausea that didn’t originate from his unsettled stomach coursed through his body, made him dizzy and disquieted. He saw the picture in his mind of Shigaraki stepping through that gate at the USJ, then a mental image of Kirishima lying face-down. With each flash came renewed force, the idea becoming reinforced with every detail, every mark jumping out at him. Someone had blocked their communications. The villains knew where they would be. Kirishima had been alone. Details. Details that looked at separately were like a delicate card tower, but together became a reinforced concrete building, immovable except for the determination of villains.

No, no, no, no, no. Midoriya repeated the ‘no,’ but it didn’t reduce the certainty. He was more certain by the end than he had at the beginning. His ears were ringing, and suddenly he realized that Jirou had grabbed his shoulder and jostled slightly.

“Hey, your heart rate just took a major jump,” Jirou was saying. “You’re not having a heart attack, are you?”

“There’s a traitor,” Midoriya said.

He hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but the sentence came anyway and had the expected reaction. Dead silence. From across the room, Bakugou’s brow knitted together, lips parting slightly as he soaked in a shared realization. For the others it would take explaining, but for Bakugou and for that special, not-so-friendly relationship Midoriya had with him, it didn’t.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sero said with a half-chuckle, half-gasp.

“There’s a traitor,” Midoriya slowly rose to his feet. “That explains everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Satou asked.

“It’s the only explanation,” Midoriya pressed on. Even if they discredited and laughed at him like so many people had in the past, he had to get it out. “How else could the Paranormal Liberation Front find us so many times? We already know they had a special interest in Bakugou, but—do you remember the training camp from last year?. That was a confidential location and they found us anyway.”

“Wait, the PLF?” Sero frowned at Midoriya. “You think the PLF had something to do with Kirishima’s attack?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe they don’t have a direct link to the attack, but doesn’t it seem plausible that they could have a connection to it? Like they sent someone to attack him while he was in that market? What if there’s someone who’s leaking information to villains?”

“I admit, it does seem odd,” Tokoyami conceded.

“Wait, no,” Uraraka put her hands up and shook them rapidly. “Wait, wait, wait, back up a little. You think there’s a...a traitor, Deku? Like...a mole, or something?”

“I think so, maybe,” Midoriya rethought his words. “Yes. Yes, I think there might be...someone like that. The idea just came to me all of a sudden. What if someone at UA is leaking information to the League of Villains?”

“Like...as an accomplice?” Ojiro asked.

“Yeah, or maybe even as an outright member of the League.”

“Midoriya, it’s in very poor taste to cast doubt on the fellow members of our student body and the faculty,” Iida scolded him. “I won’t tolerate it.”

“Just think about it!” Midoriya went on. He didn’t like the looks he was getting, but that was nothing new. He was used to being a punchline, and this was no different. Oddly, the only one not giving him that look was Bakugou, who had a characteristic scowl he wore whenever Midoriya was concerned, but not a doubtful one. “Only someone from the inside could’ve gotten past the school’s defences to get into USJ, plus know exactly how to block the communications to isolate us. And only a handful of people knew the exact location of the training camp. And think of everything that’s happened since then, all the stuff that’s gone down. It can’t be a coincidence”

“That’s crazy, Midoriya,” Kaminari warbled. He sat on the edge of his seat, fingers gripping the table with white-knuckle strength.

“Plus, we all knew about Kirishima’s was going to the market,” Midoriya went on. “What if the traitor leaked that information to the League and that’s why they showed up?”

“Hold on, Deku,” Uraraka interrupted. “You’re...You’re not only saying that there’s a traitor at UA...but—but the traitor is in this class?”

Midoriya lacked the will to counter her. To assure that there wasn’t a traitor in this room, that the friend group he’d amassed were trustworthy ones, that there wasn’t an accomplice standing here.

He didn’t. Not entirely. He wrenched on the steering wheel and took a sudden off ramp. “Possibly. I think it could just as likely be a teacher.”

“Midoriya, enough,” said Iida. “This is extremely disrespectful to suspect our classmates of any wrongdoing.”

“Idiots,” Bakugou grunted out. “Deku’s fucking right, y’know.”

That got heads turning.

“Not saying I like it, but Deku’s fucking right on this one,” Bakugou reiterated. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “There’s a fucking rat around here. Could be in this class or one of the faculty. Hell, maybe it’s even Aizawa or whatever. When the League fucking had me tied up because they knew they couldn’t deal with me any other way, it made fucking sense that someone was telling them about me. Telling them that I got the personality of a villain or whatever. They couldn’t have gotten that kind of fucking knowledge from watching a TV screen—someone told them about me. And when I find out fucking who, I’m gonna kill them.”

“That’s enough!” Iida slammed his hands on the table. “I will have no more discussion about this ludicrous and offensive theory! UA is the most prestigious academy in Japan and to have its name slandered like this is unthinkable. If there was a traitor, do you think that for a moment that the faculty wouldn’t be able to tell who has true intentions or not?”

Midoriya never liked to see Iida rattled, and he gripped his hands under the table, avoiding Iida’s gaze when it strayed accusingly in his direction. However, Iida cleared his throat, gathering himself.

“We shouldn’t be loitering around out here,” said Iida. “Everyone go about your business. I don’t want to hear about any other lies circulating in the rumour mill, understood? It’s in poor taste. Honestly, I expected better of you, Midoriya.”

“I’m...I’m sorry,” Midoriya apologized. “I really am...”

The apology was met with a reception colder than Todoroki on a bad day, and the group split up. Bakugou sauntered off, followed closely by Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari, the latter of which was looking pale and a little shaken. The others didn’t fair much better, and despite Iida’s warning, they all spoke in quiet whispers to one another.

As Midoriya reached the stairwell in the dorms, someone called his name, and he turned to find Uraraka hurrying after him.

“Deku!” She called. Midoriya had seen her at bad times, but she was especially rattled now, eyes wide, hands clasped together. “Do you...really think there’s a traitor?”

Midoriya closed his eyes. He opened them again. “I don’t want to suspect people. Please don’t think I want to suspect anyone, I really don’t. But it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

“So you don’t know for sure?”

“Well, no...”

Shouji appeared behind Uraraka, melting out of nowhere. “But you strongly suspect it.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I admire your strength.”

Uraraka and Midoriya looked at each other, and then Shouji questioningly.

“I know it must be a burdensome thing to suspect your friends of wrongdoing,” said Shouji. “But I’m also aware that you’re doing it not because you want to hurt anyone, but for the sake of the class. I admire that strength.”

“Thanks, Shouji,” Midoriya chanced a slight smile. If Shoji returned it, it didn’t show under the mask.

“If I might make a suggestion, though, there is one way you could confirm the theory,” said Shouji. “You could ask Mr Aizawa directly.”

Midoriya thought about Aizawa. Constant, intimidating, and terrifying. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Still. If the teachers really believe that there could be a traitor, either among themselves or the students, Aizawa would probably be the first to know.” Shouji shrugged. “That’s what I would do.”

Midoriya rubbed his arm, but the action didn’t heat the ice in his veins.

Kaminari slept restlessly and only in increments that night, trying to calm his nerves by hiding under his blankets. He’d expected a more sound sleep after being assured that Kirishima would recover. That wasn’t the case at all. He kept rolling over, static causing his sheets to cling to him. Pacing in the dark didn’t help—he paced from one end of his room to the other for close to half-an-hour. Even then, exhaustion didn’t drag him under the shelter of sleep, only aggravate it.

Midoriya figured it out. Of course it was Midoriya. Kaminari had lived knowing that eventually people would unravel the yarn, but he’d been careful. He’d survived first year, and thought that if he could get through second year, everything would be all right. Maybe if he’d gotten to third year, there would be questions—if he got to third year. But if Midoriya was right, that meant that the faculty must’ve figured it out after the first attack at the USJ. He would need to warn Shigaraki.

He would need to be calm about this. Bide his time until weekend. Maybe send a coded text message to Hokama. Play it cool. Be a spy.

When he finally slept, it was far too hard and he missed the first two warning knocks on his door from classmates telling him he would be late. On the third try, Sero—who had also overslept—burst right in and dragged him up. Kaminari could barely get his pants on before they were sprinting the five-minute walk to the main campus, skipping breakfast entirely. Kaminari settled for an energy bar he found at the bottom of his bag and it left his stomach turning.

“Dammit, I didn’t get any sleep last night!” Sero complained in between pants. “I can’t believe Midoriya sprang on a crazy conspiracy theory on us!”

“Yeah, same here,” Kaminari panted. “He could at least give us some warning next time.”

“Aw, man, I hope Mr Aizawa’s running late...”

It took about a year to get to homeroom, but the fates had decided to catch Kaminari a break and Aizawa had, indeed, been late. Kirishima wasn’t in class, though the mood was much lighter as Aizawa assured the class that he’d return by the end of the week.

The school day proceeded as normal, and as far as UA went, it was a day of distressed boredom. The tautness zinging through the air went unsaid, permeating throughout lessons. There wasn’t any note-passing, no talking in class, no misbehaving, no questions, not even a glance to one another. Whenever Kaminari tried to catch Jirou or Ashido’s eye, their expressions were tight, and Ashido’s compulsory smile was a little too tight around the edges. Judging from that and the dark bags under everyone’s eyes, Midoriya’s theory had permeated.

Not good news for Kaminari. He always had difficulty focusing in class, spending every free minute moving in his seat or fiddling with whatever was in his hand, but today his mind wandered far more than he cared to admit. Petting Ojiro’s tail in between note-taking did nothing to soothe his nerves like it usually did. Kaminari was a live wire, though for a very different reason than his classmates. Even during lunch, he couldn’t keep track of the unusually curt conversation in his friend circle. They were all wanderers, and not by choice.

During the afternoon, the only thing that could maintain Kaminari’s attention was the clock. Just a bit longer. After school, he could send a coded text to Toga to give her a head’s up, though hoping for good advice from her was a bit much to wish for. He absently pet Ojiro’s tail a little more than he normally would, though if Ojiro’s minded at all, he didn’t say. Kaminari was grateful that physical training wasn’t on the agenda for today; if put out in the field, he had the sense that he wouldn’t be able to focus on that, either.

So Midoriya had found out there was a traitor. So what? It’s not like they could confirm the theory. Kaminari was safe insofar as he could tell. As long as he didn’t panic, he’d be fine.

What if they did find out? Would he go to jail? They’d probably never speak to him again.

Kaminari wondered why the thought of no one in the class ever speaking to him again, not even Mineta, bothered him as much as it did. Why it made a sickening twist in his stomach that made him feel tingly all over, like small insects gnawing his insides.

Aizawa reappeared during the last period of the day, and even then, Kaminari couldn’t really remember what the subject was. Something about something or other. Although this was the time of the day where he and the less academically gifted among the student body lost focus, the attitude was contagious at that point.

And Aizawa missed nothing. He went silent during the middle of whatever lecture he was giving, scanned the class, and let out a sigh.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Aizawa sighed. “Okay, what’s the problem? And make it quick, I’m not this class’s therapist.”

Kaminari stopped petting Ojiro’s tail. Heads lifted from desks. Iida stiffened in his seat.

“Nothing is the problem, sir!” Iida barked out like a soldier. “Everything is perfectly normal!”

“Ashido and Kaminari haven’t passed notes even once, I haven’t had to chastise Mineta for staring at the female students, and Hagakure looks like she’s about to cry,” Aizawa said. “At least, I think she’s about to cry. Hard to tell.”

“You’re not wrong, sir,” Hagakure sniffed.

“So what’s the issue?” Aizawa asked. “You all visited Kirishima yesterday. He’ll be fine.”

“It’s not about Kirishima,” Midoriya spoke up. “Well, it is, it’s...uh...”

Midoriya peered around. Kaminari was one of the few who turned to look at Midoriya while he spoke, and he hadn’t seen him that nervous for a while.

“Mr Aizawa, I have a question,” said Midoriya. “Is there a traitor at UA?”

“Midoriya!” Iida exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Midoriya apologized. He turned his attention back to Aizawa. “Mr Aizawa? Is there?”

Aizawa blinked slowly, aloof. Kaminari glanced back and saw that Midoriya was staring Aizawa right back in his meddlesome, intense, mystery-solving way, hands clenching and unclenching. A light pink flush appeared over the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The reckless abandon in the question made the air feel jittery and not-there, and for a couple of eternities, there was no answer, only suspense.

Aizawa let out a generous sigh and blinked once again. “Okay, who told you? Was it All Might or Present Mic?”

“Neither,” said Midoriya. “I...I kind of figured it out on my own.”

“And then told the entire class. Of course you did.”

Kaminari double-checked Aizawa’s expression, concentrating on the disapproving downward curl of his lips, the beady, penetrating eyes, the unconscious hand flick. He remembered why criminals were so afraid of Aizawa.

“What I’m going to say doesn’t go past these walls,” said Aizawa. “You’re forbidden from discussing this with other students.”

The collective silence answered him.

“There isn’t any confirmation,” Aizawa went on. “But the faculty has suspected that there’s a traitor here at UA.”

“T—That’s not possible,” Iida said. Kaminari envied his optimism.

“I’m afraid it is,” Aizawa continued. “We’ve suspected ever since the USJ incident. However, we’re entertaining multiple theories as to how the PLF continue to target this class. The villains could very well be getting their information from another source.”

“But a spy is most likely,” said Midoriya. 

“That’s right, and if you hadn’t said anything, we would’ve been happy not to tell you kids about it,” said Aizawa. “The last thing the faculty wants to do is stoke fears, and, quite frankly, I’m not convinced that any of you have the capacity to be a traitor.”

“So they think it could be a student?” Tsu asked.

“Possibly, since many of the incidents have involved this class specifically.”

“Would one of us really do something like that?” Ojiro asked. “I mean, we could’ve been killed during any of those times!”

I can’t believe that...that one of us would do something like that!” said Uraraka.

“It’s just a possibility,” Aizawa reasserted control over the conversation. “However, since you were all moved into dorms, we haven’t detected any signs of suspicious activity from anyone in the class. Don’t go suspecting one another. The PLF could have another way of gathering information about the class through a particular quirk.”

The classroom mood wound so tight that Kaminari thought the rope might snap. There wasn’t even a Kirishima around to chastise the class for suspecting each other, and it was up to Kaminari to quell those fears.

“Well, I think we can all count Bakugou out as a traitor,” Kaminari piped up, forcing his cheerfulness. “He’s too much of a dick.”

“Say that again, Drooly—I’ll kick your ass!” Bakugou shouted.

“That’s probably right,” said Tsu. “It doesn’t make any sense for a spy to be so aggressive. A good spy would blend in with the crowd."

“FUCK YOU BOTH!”

“Sit down, Bakugou,” Aizawa demanded. He waited until Bakugou was back in his seat before continuing. “Here’s a piece of advice, and I’m only going to give it once, so listen up. Time and time again, this class has succeeded in trials that have made third years cry. Do you want to know why you all succeeded? It’s not because you’re individually competent. Far from it. Individually you’re all about as competent as All Might is as keeping out of the spotlight. The reason you succeeded was because of your trust in each other. I’ve been teaching for longer than I’d care to admit and I’ve never had a class come together in the way this one has.”

Aizawa’s expression remained rigid and unchanged like his tone.

“You want to get stronger as individuals?” Aizawa continued. “Continue fostering your relationship with each other. Want to get weaker? Let suspicion break you apart. That’s why you weren’t told about this. I suggest you all carry on like normal. If there is a traitor, they will make a mistake somewhere down the line, but don’t go carrying on looking for that moment.”

Aizawa examined the clock on the wall, then his class.

He sighed. “Why don’t we end early for the day? We only have half-an-hour left and I’m not really in the mood to be your therapist for that time. Remember, we have training tomorrow so check your gear before then. A good Pro Hero always makes sure that their gear is in order. Class dismissed.”

Ending class early was a new move for Aizawa, but not one that was protested as everyone gathered their book bags and filed out. Kaminari was relieved for the breather—the atmosphere in class had been a little too intense for his liking, like all eyes were on him despite suspicion of him being relatively low. At least, he hoped it was low.

Kaminari headed off with Sero and Bakugou to hover in the stairwell while the rest of their class broke off into their usual circles. He was relieved for the smaller audience; any more and he would feel a twinge of nerves starting to get to him.

“Geez, that was intense,” said Kaminari. 

“What a waste of time,” Bakugou scoffed. “Aizawa’s got it all backwards. I didn’t need anyone’s help to get to where I am now.”

“Dude, that’s what you’re fucking on? And not the whole, y’know, there’s a traitor running around?”

“Don’t get what the big deal is,” said Bakugou. “If there is one, they’re gonna trip up at some point and get themselves exposed.”

“You really think so?” asked Sero.

“Duh. I’m amazed they’ve stayed under the radar. If they’re responsible for all the shit we’ve dealt with, they aren’t exactly subtle. And when they fucking trip up, I’m gonna be there to punch their lights out.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Tch. Not Deku.”

“Woah, you really think so?”

“My luck isn’t that good. If Deku was the traitor, he was an idiot for suggesting there was a traitor in front of the whole class. No one was even talking about something like that before he brought it up. My bet’s on one of the goody-two-shoes, like Iida or maybe Uraraka.”

“But Iida’s from a huge family of Pro Heroes!” Kaminari pointed out.

“Exactly. If the PLF’s smart, they could use that against them since it isn’t exactly a secret who the Iidas are. That’s just one idea, though—there’s a huge list of suspects. Like I said, it’s anyone who’s not Deku.”

“And not you,” said Kaminari. “Like I said, you’re too angry.”

“I will fucking THROW you down these stairs!”

“Hey, we should go see Kirishima,” Sero suggested before Bakugou could act on the threat. “I bet he’ll want to hear all about this theory—he’ll get a good laugh out of it, if nothing else.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I was heading there anyway. If you’re gonna tag along, don’t get on my fucking nerves.”

“Hey, uh, I’ll meet you guys there,” said Kaminari. “I gotta take a leak.”

“Don’t fry your brain, moron,” Bakugou chastised them.

“I’m not gonna fry my brain by taking a leak!” Kaminari laughed. He stopped suddenly. “At least, I think so…”

“Fuckin’ gross. You’d find a way.”

Kaminari rushed off to the bathrooms. This was bad. Bad. Every part of him was screaming and the effort to hold it all in was crushing him from the inside out. 

Should he pack? Maybe not, maybe there was no time for that. Maybe Aizawa had already figured out that Kaminari was the mole and was on his way with half the faculty to arrest him. Or Bakugou! Bakugou was smart—much smarter than he acted. Kaminari wouldn’t show up at the infirmary, and he’d put the pieces together. He’d come flying across campus and blow him into the next eternity.

Without realizing what he was doing, Kaminari started pacing the bathroom. He checked the contents of his bag, but it was just school supplies—nothing that could sustain him for any length of time. His phone was still busted, he couldn’t go texting Shigaraki for help. Could he run back to the dorm and grab some basic supplies? No, this was dumb. Bakugou and the others were expecting him. He should skip packing altogether and just run for it before anyone figured it out!

When the bathroom door opened, Kaminari twirled on his ankle. One of the others. “I’ll be there in a minute, Ser—oh.”

It wasn’t Sero. Monoma, professional prick and with an all-knowing smile. And judging by the smug smile, the fact that he’d come into the bathroom when he had wasn’t a coincidence. Monoma had a way of making Kaminari more nervous than anyone in the League did.

“You’re not Sero,” said Kaminari.

“Ah, so the dumbest student in the whole hero course can associate names with faces,” said Monoma.

“I’m not dumb!” Kaminari protested.

“That’s not what your grades say,” Monoma smiled. “Don’t you think it’s something of a miracle that you haven’t been expelled yet? You’d think they’d at least transfer you to the General Education course.”

Well, he was doing a little too good of a job of acting the part of a fool, and a lot of it didn’t take a lot of effort. School had never been Kaminari’s strong suit. Still, the insult didn’t exactly feel nice. Even though he was an unrepentant spy, he still had feelings.

“You know, you’re not gonna be a very popular hero if you walk into bathrooms to harass random people,” said Kaminari. “Shouldn’t you still be in class?”

“I desperately needed a bathroom break, especially when I heard Class 1-A thundering through the hall half-an-hour before dismissal,” Kaminari shrugged. He advanced on Kaminari.

“Look, dude, I don’t want trouble,” said Kaminari, raising his hands.

“Trouble?” Monoma smiled eerily. “I’m not causing trouble. We’re just talking.”

“You give me the creeps!”

Monoma advanced slowly. Kaminari backed up until they were at the stalls, then, laying his hand flat against Kaminari’s chest, Monoma pushed him inside.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Kaminari exclaimed.

“We’re talking,” said Monoma.

“In a toilet stall?! Oh my God, you have a fetish for toilets. I knew you were a freak!”

Monoma laughed. “Is that what you think of me? I’m just curious why you were let out of class early.”

“Does it matter?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. Aizawa never lets your class go early. I just need to make sure you’re not trying to get ahead of 2-B.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with your imaginary ‘competition’ between our classes, Monoma. Can I go now? I have to go see Kirishima.”

“Ah! Yes, I heard about that. A shame about that.”

“Don’t lie, you’re not sorry at all.”

“Of course I’m sorry,” Monoma placated him, to no effect. “I’m sorry that Kirishima won’t be out of commission for longer.”

A flare of undigested anger flickered through Kaminari. He rapidly stood. “Don’t be such a jerk or I’ll tell Mr Aizawa. I gotta go now.”

Monoma held out his arms to block his path.

“If you don’t move, I’ll shock you,” Kaminari warned him.

“Shock me?” Monoma ever-growing, ever-present smile took up a good portion of his face. He looked like he would pull back the mask he wore to reveal that he was nothing but tooth underneath. Monoma raised his hand to reveal faint sparks of electricity dancing cleverly around his fingers. “You can try, but it won’t have much effect since I copied your quirk.”

”You—” Kaminari bristled. He’d forgotten about Monoma’s persistent and annoying quirk. Useful, though. He remembered using the word ‘useful’ when he’d reported to Shigaraki on him. “Look, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Oh!” Monoma beamed. “Did Aizawa tell you to keep quiet?”

“What? Yes. No! Don’t confuse me and twist my words around!”

“You’re doing a fine job at that all on your own. What did Aizawa tell your to keep quiet about? Something that will give you an advantage over our class?”

“I already said it has nothing to do with that!”

“So what is it? Extra training? Did they find Kirishima’s attacker? Is he permanently brain damaged?”

Monoma was uncomfortably close to Kaminari, pressing his chest up against him, pinning him to the wall of the stall. To say that this was something out of his nightmares was an understatement. Kaminari had nothing against Monoma’s looks—he was attractive enough. It was just that he had the unfathomable ability to be both pretty and disgusting at the same time.

And then, a terrible, horrible idea came to Kaminari.

He could tell Monoma about the traitor.

Kaminari was already feeling the heat about his activities. The class knew now, and they would be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour. However, Kaminari contemplated what would happen if the reality of a spy were to incidentally spread throughout the school, aided by Monoma. Monoma wouldn’t be able to keep quiet—he’d immediately start spreading it around. There were a few outcomes to that. The downside would be that there would be increased scrutiny, no doubt focused on 2-A. However, that scrutiny would be shared between all his classmates, and with students like Bakugou present in their midst, people would focus on them than they would be on 2-A’s dumbest student.

Kaminari committed to the idea before he had the chance to follow through. Time to play the idiot. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone about it.”

“Of course I won’t,” said Monoma. “You can trust me.”

Kaminari bit his lower lip in feigned indecision. Sighed. “So, uh, there’s a bit of a rumour going around in my class that there’s a spy.”

“A spy?” The smile left Monoma’s face. Whatever he’d expected, this likely wasn’t it. “A spy for who? For villains?”

“For the Paranormal Liberation Front, yeah,” said Kaminari. “Mr Aizawa just confirmed that the teachers think that there’s a spy somewhere in the school.”

“Do they have a suspect?”

“No, they’re looking everywhere,” Kaminari shrugged. Best to keep that part indistinct. “That’s what it’s about, okay? Now don’t go telling anyone.”

“I would never!” Monoma pulled away as they heard the bathroom door open “Whoops, I should get back to class.”

Monoma planted his hands firm on his chest and shoved him out of the toilet stall. Kaminari landed on the ground at the feet of whoever had just entered, and it was just his luck that he recognized Mineta’s too-shiny dress shoes. When Kaminari looked up, Mineta’s jaw was hanging somewhere near his knees, and Monoma was stepping over Kaminari.

“Thanks for the talk, Kaminari,” Monoma said. “I’ll see you around.”

Kaminari covered his face with his hands while Monoma strutted out.

It was too much for Kaminari to ask for Mineta to stay quiet—part of the reason why he’d chosen to become close to Mineta was because of his outrageously big mouth. Mineta didn’t disappoint as he knelt by Kaminari’s head.

Mineta cleared his throat. “So...was he any good?”

Chapter Text

“A traitor, huh?”

“You don’t sound surprised,” said Sero.

From his bed in the infirmary, Kirishima’s glazed expression cleared for a moment and he refocused. He took a generous bite of an energy bar and took far too long chewing and swallowing.

It was lunch hour, and Kaminari, Ashido, Sero, and Bakugou had taken time to visit him. He was more alert than he had been the other day and Kirishima’s voice had its positive lilt, but he still didn’t quite look like himself. The person sitting in the bed wasn’t familiar to Kaminari; he was misty and confused and even troubled.

“I dunno,” said Kirishima. “I mean, if Midoriya and Bakugou both say it’s true, then its gotta be, right? Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Kirishima took another bite of his energy bar.

“Hey, can you steal me something from the cafeteria, Bakugou?” Kirishima asked. “The food here sucks.”

“I’m Kaminari,” said Kaminari.

“Oh, oops. I knew that.”

Kaminari exchanged a confused stare with Ashido. It was more confused on Ashido’s part.

“Are you sure, man?” Kaminari offered a hesitant smile. “We can wear name tags if you’re having trouble.”

“No, no, I know who you are,” said Kirishima. “I got mixed up cos you’re both blond.”

“Don’t mistake me for Dunceface,” said Bakugou. “That’s just fucking insulting.”

“Maybe we should all dye our hair blond just to be extra confusing,” Ashido suggested.

“Try it and I’ll end you.”

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“You can lighten it by leaving.”

Ashido, Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima all burst out laughing, laughter that Bakugou didn’t share with them. He rolled his eyes, but Kaminari noted the impatient tap of his foot that he did whenever he was holding back.

Kaminari still had a job to do, though. As gently and casually as he could, he turned to Kirishima, “So you haven’t remembered who attacked you?”

Kirishima frowned. “Nope, my head’s empty.”

“Tch, that’s just great,” said Bakugou. “Any emptier and you’ll be like Kaminari. You couldn’t even try to remember anything useful.”

“Hey,” Kaminari whined.

“If you get any memories back, you better tell me first so I know who to pummel.”

Kirishima smiled. “You bet. I wouldn’t count on it, though. Everything’s like a stick of butter in my head, I can’t hold onto stuff before it slips away. It’s a bit better than it was, though.”

Kirishima’s gaze passed over Kaminari as he turned his head, and his left eye twitched in a janky, uncontrollable way suggesting the movement wasn’t voluntary. Kaminari knotted his hand into the sheets of the bed. Kirishima reached for a cup of water on the side table, but his fingers flopped uselessly around it and tipped it over. The liquid poured over the surface and cascaded to the ground, but he didn’t look anywhere except at his friend.

“Useless fuck,” Bakugou scolded him. “Get your shit together, you’re embarrassing us.”

“Whoops, my bad,” said Kirishima. “Yeah, it’s kind of a weird feeling. I’m all here but it’s like my brain itches or something.”

Kaminari grimaced. He knew that feeling. It had been a long time since he’d been on the receiving end of Hokama’s quirk, but the sensation never truly went away. Sometimes when stressed, he thought he could still feel an itch in his mind, as if Hokama had broken a needle off and left it there to torment him. Bakugou stormed away from the curtain with the cup.

“Hey, you need a back scratcher for your brain?” Kaminari suggested. “I’m sure if we ask around someone will have a quirk that can do that.”

“Scratching inner organs seems like a bad idea,” said Sero.

“I mean, if it helps Kirishima’s itch, it can’t go wrong.”

“How about we let Recovery Girl work her modern medicine before we rely on quirk science?”

“But isn’t Recovery Girl good at both?”

“So let’s just leave all that to her and not use Kirishima as a guinea pig.”

“Yeah, his brain’s been through enough,” said Ashido. She went to ruffle Kirishima’s hair, thought better of it, and awkwardly patted his shoulder.

Bakugou returned with a cup of water and roughly shoved it into Kirishima’s hands. “Don’t drop this one, dumbass. I’m not here to pick up your shit.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” said KIrishima.

“I’M BAKUGOU! And I’m going to eat before taking care of you eats up my whole lunch hour.”

Kaminari giggled, hand reflexively covering his mouth. “‘Eat up my whole lunch hour.’ Good one, Kacchan!”

“DIDN’T ASK YOU!”

They said their see-you-laters to Kirishima and Recovery Girl ushered them out. There was a collective sense of relief tying them together, though Kaminari couldn’t help but be out of step. If he turned off his mind and got back into character, he could even share in their collective anxiety—forget the sight of Kirishima lying prone on the pavement. Then the reality hit him with the force of Bakugou’s punches.

He steadied himself. It didn’t matter. Kirishima would be fine. Within a week or two, Kirishima would go about his life as if nothing had happened.

Shit didn’t eat the fan until they got to the cafeteria. Kaminari glimpsed Monoma sitting at a table with the other students in 2-B and his heart pounded with anticipation, but he felt more secure once he crunched himself between Tokoyami and Shouji. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida sat with them. The conversation was inane and not as tense as the previous day.

Kaminari rarely sat with this group, but he’d intentionally followed Midoriya and friends to where they’d sat by Tokoyami and Shoji. It wasn’t out of his routine, so he knew it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Unlike the other members of their class, who typically had a select few people they always sat with, Kaminari rotated. While he normally ate with Bakugou and friends, about twice a week he would eat with someone else to catch up on things. Everyone had their own little habits and variety remained integral to his work. Also, it was just a little more interesting to surround himself with diverse personalities. Lunches with Kouda were pleasantly quiet affairs, while Todoroki possessed a vague sense of quiet hostility. There was always someone to keep him entertained.

He hadn’t eaten with Midoriya and his friends for a while, so the timing was impeccable. Midoriya was the one who’d outed a traitor. Midoriya was the one with the big, dangerous ideas.

The conversation, however, was proving to be less fruitful than Kaminari hoped. They confined themselves to safe topics such as homework and families and the latest Pro Hero news. No talk of a traitor at all.

“Hey, Kaminari, how was Kirishima doing?” Uraraka asked halfway through the meal.

“Good,” said Kaminari. “I think he’s bored, though. I was thinking of getting him a get well soon card from the class.”

“That’s a great idea!” Uraraka agreed. “We can all sign it.”

“I agree, a card would uplift his spirits and show that the class supports him,” said Iida. “It would be a good way for us all to bond.”

Kaminari thought about it for a moment and poked at his sushi. “I’m gonna buy him a crab.”

That got heads turning. Uraraka outright giggled.

“Say that again?” said Shouji.

“Crabs,” said Kaminari. “I’ve been thinking. In the fish market, there’s all those crabs in tanks. I’ll buy him a pet crab. In fact, I’ll buy all the crabs and set them free in the ocean. Kirishima likes dangerous things like Bakugou, so I bet he’d love it and cheer him up!”

“Those crabs aren’t for you to rescue, Kaminari,” said Iida.

“Some heroes save people. Other heroes save crabs.”

“It would be easier to buy Kirishima a card.”

Kaminari paused. “If I start a crab fund, would you guys donate?”

Kaminari never found out if anyone would donate to his crab fund, because at that moment Itsuka Kendo blended out of the background. She stormed up and slammed her hands flat on the table.

“Hey, is it true?” Kendo asked.

“Is what true?” said Uraraka.

“This ‘traitor’ thing.’”

Kaminari blushed, even though this had been the expected result. Peering over at the 2-B table, he saw several students were looking in their direction. They must’ve sent Kendo over after a lot of prodding, and Monoma was among them. Kaminari plastered an expression of wide-eyed horror at him, feigning offense that Monoma revealed the secret. Monoma smiled a smile that extended far past what any human could hold on their face.

“How did you find out about that?” Midoriya asked.

“Monoma’s been talking about nothing else all day,” said Kendo. “He’s practically giddy. Says there’s a traitor in Class 2-A whose working with the Paranormal Liberation Front and leaking information.”

“Th—That was supposed to be a secret,” said Midoriya.

“Wait, so you’re telling me it’s true?”

“We don’t know for sure.”

“Let’s not discuss this—Mr Aizawa gave us explicit instructions not to discuss it under any circumstances,” said Iida.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Kendo pointed out. “Monoma’s been telling anyone who’ll listen. Half the school has to know about it by now. By the end of the day, I bet the other half's gonna be yakking about it.”

Everyone looked at each other nervously, wide-eyes and upturned eyebrows all around. Under the table, Kaminari knotted his fingers into his pant legs, hard enough to stretch the seams.

“Well, I thought you guys deserved a warning at least,” said Kendo. “I’m not sure if I believe it myself—you’ve all been cool in the past. Hard to picture any of you as a traitor, even Blasty over there.”

Heads turned to stare at Bakugou from the table he was sharing with Ashido and Sero. Bakugou noticed and gave the middle finger, glaring a razor-sharp glare right into Midoriya. In times past, Midoriya might’ve ducked under the table or averted his eyes. That was a long time ago, however, and now Midoriya met him with no malice, only acceptance of his dislike.

The moment Kendo went back to her table, Kaminari had a perfect view of her leaning in to speak to her classmates in rushed and hurried tones.

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised” Uraraka sighed. “It would’ve gotten out eventually.”

“You’re right,” Midoriya absently poked at his food with his chopsticks, brow furrowed. “Maybe this isn’t a bad thing.”

“What do you mean?” Shouji asked.

“With the whole school talking about it, it’s bound to make them nervous,” said Midoriya. “They could expose themselves.”

Kaminari snorted.

“Keep your mind out of the gutter or I’ll have you written up for impure thoughts,” said Iida.

“God forbid I commit a thoughtcrime,” Kaminari chuckled. “Hey, who’s on your list of suspects, Midoriya?”

“I don’t have one,” said Midoriya.

“Really? That’s not like you. You’re always scribbling away in that notebook.”

“W—Well, yeah, but—I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or anything...”

“So spill! Who do you most suspect?”

“You should not treat this like a game,” said Tokoyami. “I find no amusement in it when so much is at stake.”

“Okay, sorry,” Kaminari shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about it until the traitor makes a move, so why worry?”

“You’re not worried?” Uraraka asked.

“No, that’s not what I mean. If I worry about it too much, I’ll short circuit, so I’m not gonna think about it.”

The conversation after that was considerably subdued, and it left Kaminari hoping that Midoriya would offer some information. If he had fresh ideas, however, he didn’t share, and he spent the rest of his meal playing with his food to make it look like he was eating. Midoriya was too smart to share his suspicions, and safely steered the conversation to safer topics, much to Kaminari’s frustration. What a waste of time.

It gave Kaminari an idea, though.

After classes ended, Kaminari snuck over to the sports equipment shed. Access was unrestricted during the day and was similar to the physical education equipment at his old schools. Except that alongside the usual stuff, like basketballs and baseballs and all the balls in between, were tools better suited to UA. Everything from practice dummies to quick-resistent body armour to beaten-up leftover tech—things a well worn-out teacher might grab to use in an exercise.

Kaminari selected a wooden bat and stored it in the duffle bag he’d brought along, then checked around for anything else that might be useful. He chose a grappling gun and heat-sensitive goggles, equipment typically reserved for use during certain training exercises. They were just leftovers from the Support Department, though, so the quality wasn’t as nice as Kaminari would’ve liked. The goggles flickered a little when he tested them and the grappling gun had a noticeable delay before the hook shot out. Better than nothing. He didn’t want to risk another trip out to the shed if he could help so, so he had to make it worth it.

The goggles proved useful in making sure that there wasn’t anyone outside when he exited. His heart thundered in his ears during the walk. He’d never been this brazen before. It was one thing playing the spy and passing on information; it was another matter entirely to be steal PE equipment. It made his veins ignite with intrinsic energy, leaving him hyperaware and paranoid. Shigaraki dominated his thoughts—his eye peering out from between the fingers of the hand over his face, the smell of death he carried wherever he went.

He couldn’t mess this up.

Kaminari was just letting his guard down when he swung around the corner and almost slammed right into Mineta, who was pressed up at a familiar spot near the girls’ locker room. His abdomen tensed—he didn’t want to risk being caught here. But then Mineta spotted him and he knew it would be worse if he turned tail and fled, so he plastered a smile on his face.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Kaminari asked.

“Girls,” Mineta said as if it answered everything. There was a thick and unpromising globule visible at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to break into the girls’ locker room again. Didn’t you already get a detention for this last Tuesday?”

“I’m determined.”

Kaminari snorted and shook his head. “Hey, want to walk back to the dorms with me?”

“Why would I do that?” Mineta asked. “The locker room is here.”

“Why settle for looking through girls’ lockers? There’s actual girls outside.”

Mineta tapped his chin, considering, then followed.

Stepping out into the early summer sunlight, Kaminari led Mineta onto the path leading back to school. There were female students around, though not close enough for Mineta to ogle. With Mineta’s reputation, most girls knew to avoid him. Still, some alone time with him was a good opportunity to get a feel on the situation.

“Hey, about what you saw in the bathroom the other day…” Kaminari said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Mineta. “I mean, I don’t get it, but I get it.”

“What?”

“With you and your boyfriend. You’re dating Monoma, right?”

Heat rushed up Kaminari’s neck and settled in his cheeks. “What?! No! We’re not dating!”

“As I suspected. You’re in denial.”

“Denial?”

“Yeah, a classic case. Secret rendezvouses in bathrooms with your secret boyfriend.” Mineta inhaled deeply. “Denial.”

“I don’t have anything to deny,” said Kaminari, while having many things to deny. “That wasn’t my fault. It was Monoma who came in after me.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Mineta wiped the back of his thumb to remove the globule from his mouth. “This is your way of trying to ask advice from the Love Guru. Say no more, Kaminari. I got you covered. I have a pamphlet around here somewhere…”

“You have pamphlets?” Kaminari frowned as Mineta rummaged in his backpack. “I thought you knew how this stuff works.”

Mineta handed him a brochure. Kaminari expected it to be some lewd sex education thing, but not to his surprise, it actually was made by Mineta himself. A drawing of himself in his hero costume giving thumbs-up was on the front, complete with the title ‘GRAPE JUICE’S GUIDE TO FISHING.’

The pamphlet had nothing to do with fishing, as Kaminari learned as he flipped it open. Fortunately it didn’t contain any lewd photographs of his classmates, but he thought he recognized a porn star or two.

“Where did you print these?” Kaminari asked.

“The school library,” Mineta answered. “Very popular read, that one. I also have pamphlets on balancing a healthy relationship with schoolwork and how to get into your teacher’s good graces. Specifically Midnight’s good graces. Only Midnight.”

“I think I’ll stick with this for now,” Kaminari said, stuffing the evidence into his duffle bag. The dorm was visible nearby. “I’m glad you’re acting normal at least. Everyone else is all tense and weird from this traitor thing.”

“Who says I was gonna get in the girls’ locker room just for the novelty of it? I was gonna search for listening devices sewn into their panties.”

“Do you really think someone would put that in their underwear?”

“It’s the ideal spot.”

“Hm, I guess so, especially with you around.”

Mineta jutted out his lower lip like a petulant child denied his dessert. “Sure, you can try to tear down my dignity, but you can’t break my spirit. When I’m a rich and famous Pro Hero with oodles of hot babes flocking around me, you’ll be begging to work at my agency. You and Midoriya. You’re the only two who get it. We’ll be famous heroes together.”

“I was thinking of becoming an underground hero like Mr Aizawa,” said Kaminari. The confession came out before he could fully stop it, and he felt Mineta’s confused eyes stare up at him.

“Really?” Mineta asked. “I didn’t think you were the type. You won’t get any hot babes if no one knows who you are.”

“Maybe I like the idea of it,” Kaminari shrugged, playing it off with a smile. “It’d be like living out a spy movie or something. Haven’t you ever heard of James Bond girls?”

“Oh,” Mineta nodded understandingly. “Well…maybe that’s not too terrible. I just don’t want you turning out like Mr Aizawa.”

“What’s wrong with Mr Aizawa? He can clean up fine.”

“People look different on TV than they do in real life. Mr Aizawa is like that.”

“Huh.” Kaminari blinked absently, staring straight ahead. His mind wasn’t on this conversation. Any responses he came up with rehearsed.

“So you told Monoma about the traitor, right?” Mineta suddenly asked.

Kaminari stumbled and spluttered. “N—No! No I didn’t! Who told you that?!”

“C’mon, it’s kind of obvious. You were in the toilet with him.”

“I wasn’t in the toilet with him! He was in the toilet with me! You know I wouldn’t spread rumours like that, especially to Monoma.”

Mineta’s eyebrow hiked up his forehead, and the smile was all-knowing and frustrating. “You sure?”

Kaminari flushed red. He mouthed soundlessly, peering around for witnesses. “Look, it’s not my fault, okay? Monoma has a way of talking. He just talks and makes me talk, and I talk about things I don’t know I’m talking about! I swear I didn’t mean to spill. He tricked me with his Jedi mind trick.”

“It’s fine,” said Mineta. “Can’t say I would be able to resist a pretty face either. We all have our vices.”

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Pay me.”

“What?! You can’t blackmail me! We’re friends!”

“So I have to take advantage of this opportunity. You wouldn’t deny me an opportunity, would you?”

“Look, I’m broke—”

“More’s the pity,” Mineta sighed. “I’ll cut you a break this time, Kaminari. I’ll forget about this debt if you ever acquire a date, you hook me up with one of your date’s hot friends of the female gender.”

“…‘If’ I get a date…?”

“Do all that and I’ll consider it paid. Deal?”

“If I say ‘no,’ will you even listen?”

Too late. Mineta was already drooling over his imagined date over a hypothetical girl. He only shook himself out of it to check the time on his phone.

“Whoops, I gotta go,” said Mineta. “The third years should get back from the track soon. Wanna come?”

“You’re gonna get arrested someday,” said Kaminari. “And I got to buckle down and get some homework done.”

“You? Do homework? Unprompted?”

“Yeah, shocking, I know. The sad part is that even though I’ll try, I’m just going to be staring out the window the whole time.”

“You have fun with that.”

Mineta gave him a wave and headed back off to the gym. At this point, they’d arrived in the shadow of Heights Alliance and Kaminari let out the breath he’d been holding the whole time. He didn’t release the hold on his smile until Mineta turned the corner.

Finally.

Kaminari threw the duffle bag over his shoulder and tried to look casual. There weren’t any students around. The weather was overcast, and Kaminari didn’t cast a shadow as he rounded to the other side of Heights Alliance and entered through the back door. He used the heat-sensitive goggles to peer into the building and see through the walls for life, but at this time of day, no one was present. Just as he’d counted on.

Kaminari’s gut sank. Then he straightened himself out again. No take-backs now—Shigaraki was counting on him. Still, he acted fast, not wanting to risk discovery. He slipped on gloves and headed to Midoriya’s room on the second floor, all while listening for signs of movement in the other rooms.

He pulled out his preferred lock picks from the bag and set to work on the door. There weren’t any special security measures on them so it only took a moment or two before the it clicked into place and it opened. Kaminari was greeted with the eye-full of All Might memorabilia he’d first seen during the dorm tour over a year ago, every item meticulously and lovingly placed at the right position. This stuff meant a lot to Midoriya, but they were casualties of war. Kaminari trailed inside, hand gliding over the desk. He sighed. This felt all kinds of wrong. The only way he could affirm himself was the reminder he was Shigaraki’s hands, eyes, and ears. His body belonged to Shigaraki, not to himself. He was the instrument with which Shigaraki dismantled Pro Heroes.

Keeping this in mind, he smashed the bat into a photo of All Might.

It was a blur after that. Kaminari twisted his fingers around the handle and shattered every image he could see, brushing the figures off the desk to smash them on the floor, tearing down the posters, putting a hole in the wall. He ripped the curtains off and left them dangling from the broken hanger. With the bed, he sliced the pillow and the mattress with his pocket knife, then did the same to the All Might themed sheets. All Might. All Might everywhere—a constant reminder of everything Midoriya aspired to me. Poor, sweet, terrifyingly powerful Midoriya, indoctrinated by Pro Hero propaganda.

How long power twisted him like All For One?

How long until it destroyed him like All Might’s quirk had broken his body?

The thought of Midoriya suffering All Might’s fate made Kaminari’s stomach twist. It fuelled his hands, made the bat swing faster and harder and furiously.

Long after sufficient damage had been inflicted, Kaminari kept going. He ripped open the closet and pulled all the contents out onto the floor, smashing anything that looked remotely breakable. The All Might comic stash he tore up and scattered on the ground. A framed photo of Midoriya and his mother he broke with the bat and threw across the room. He smashed the balcony door until cracks crawled up the glass. Kaminari couldn’t tell why he was angry, but he was. Powerful, irrational rage coursed through him at every image of All Might, at every colour, at everything Midoriya aspired to be. He was Tomura Shigaraki—his eyes, his ears, his hands. And he wouldn’t let the Pro Heroes corrupt another kid like they’d corrupted Midoriya.

At the end, Kaminari came out of an adrenaline-fuelled haze and stared at the ground, weapon slack at his side, his shoulders heaving. The wood bat was splintered at the middle. Half of All Might’s photographed face smiled up at him.

Kaminari turned and examined the damage. In the emotional swirl, he’d forgotten what he’d really come here to get. The vandalism was a statement—the real goal had yet to be accomplished. He worried that Midoriya had taken it with him, but those fears evened out when he checked under the mattress and found a charred, well-loved notebook.

Kaminari pulled out the thirteenth journal, burnt to a crisp by a distinctly Bakugou-like force. He flipped to the latest page with trembling hands, and his stomach dropped as he saw the headline written in hesitant, neat lettering.

POSSIBLE TRAITORS

Midoriya had been thinking. Two columns listed the 2-A students on one side and the faculty on the other. Under those was a third, smaller list of other students and suspects. Midoriya had crossed out a few names, and on the next page, added explanations and notes for why he’d excluded them as possible traitors. Foremost among them was Bakugou, who Midoriya noted was too hostile. Monoma had also been ruled out for being too confrontational, though could be a possible accomplice. There were notes speculating on whether Aizawa was a traitor, before a conclusion that none of his actions or attitudes made it feasible.

There were others Midoriya had ruled out. Kouda was too quiet—a traitor would want to engage with their classmates. Mineta, for being too unlikeable. Iida, for his efforts in exacting revenge on Stain. Yaoyorozu had also hesitantly been ruled out because of her background—it was unlikely that someone from such a prestigious family would have contact with the PLF.

Midoriya really was thorough. The strange nausea haunting Kaminari for days now made his abdomen spasm.

Kaminari’s attention wandered to the window, heart pounding, and it took a lot of effort before he could refocus on the page. Aside from his list of unlikely traitors, there was an accompanying list of strong candidates. Curiously, Todoroki was not one of Midoriya’s rule-outs—the notes citing revenge against Endeavor as a strong motive. Midoriya had circled Ojiro’s name in a red pen and written ‘Too average?’ in the margin. Ojiro: one of the kindest, most patient people in the class, and Midoriya suspected him because he was uncommonly nice. Midoriya also singled out Uraraka, Tsu, Aoyama, Ashido, Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari. The circle around Uraraka’s name looked a little wobbly, like Midoriya hesitated to admit the possibility that one of his closest friends could be a traitor. With Bakugou’s four closest friends, a note read ‘Might be close to Bakugou?’ Good thinking on his part. Kaminari felt a strange pride in that.

Foremost among the suspects was Hagakure, whose name was circled several times in thick lines. There were strong reasons why Midoriya paid special attention to her: her quirk made her automatically suspicious, strange disappearances in the past, her go-getter attitude and popularity within the class.

It was great insight into what Midoriya’s thoughts. Kaminari wished that he’d never seen it.

“Sorry, Izuku,” Kaminari murmured, almost as an afterthought. He threw the bat on the floor and left with the notebook under his arm.

When Aizawa got the message, he didn’t waste time. He ran.

He’d been spending his downtime in Yamada’s quarters, ironically the only place he could find a moment of peace during the day, when the call came in. His sleeping bag went flying and so did Aizawa. Confused yelps and concerned stares followed him as he sprinted across campus, back to Heights Alliance where he should have been.

Aizawa didn’t stop until he was in the second floor hall. Nezu stood outside Midoriya’s room. Three of his students had gotten here ahead of him—more prompt than he’d been, that’s for sure. Aoyama, Kaminari, and Sero all had collective expressions of concern and worry. Aizawa heard Midnight’s voice from the end of the hall.

“God, would you look at this mess?” Midnight said loudly. “I’ve left bedrooms in less unreasonable states!”

“What’s going on?” Aizawa asked, skidding to a halt. He didn’t even pause to catch his breath, something he regretted as pain ballooned in his chest. “Is Midoriya alright? Where is he?”

“Take a moment to breathe, Aizawa,” Ness said easily. “I sent Mr Kouda to go find him.”

“What the hell happened?”

Aizawa stepped over the threshold, but the ‘what’ wasn’t hard to see. Midoriya’s room was trashed. A baseball bat still lay on the evidence, the bed torn up with distinctive knife marks, the contents of his drawers and closet strewn out, the broken All Might action figures crushed to pieces on the floor. Midnight stood in the middle, turning over a broken photo of Midoriya and his mother with the tip of her shoe.

“They got a little overenthusiastic,” Midnight picked up the bat by the handle, the broken end clinging to the rest by a small sliver of wood.

“Who discovered this?” Aizawa asked.

Midnight indicated Aoyama.

“It was horrible!” Aoyama exclaimed with his usual dramatic flair. “I was returning to my room when I discovered this atrocious mess. Midoriya’s room may not have been to my taste, but to think someone would destroy his vision. Terrible!”

“Kaminari and I heard him screaming,” Sero added. “Then we called you guys.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious around Heights Alliance?” Aizawa asked. “Any students who weren’t supposed to be there?”

“No, no one unusual,” Kaminari shrugged. “Do you know where Midoriya is? Is he okay?”

“Mon Dieu, I hope nothing has happened to him,” said Aoyama.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Aizawa assured them. “If Midoriya had been in a struggle, I think there would be a lot more...destruction involved. It looks like whoever did this just targeted his room.”

Aizawa rubbed his stubble absently. Still, this didn’t bode well.

“I want you three to gather the class and gave them meet me in the common room,” Aizawa instructed them. “No one leaves school grounds, got it? And if you see Midoriya, have him come straight up here.”

Kaminari sighed. “So much for an afternoon at the movies. Midoriya always finds some reason to kill the mood.”

The trio sprinted off in a hurry. In the silence they left behind, Aizawa tightened his jaw and surveyed the damage as if a second look at it would make it any less poignant. Even Midnight seemed to be at a loss for words, a rare occasion, as she examined a torn All Might poster and the hole left in its place.

Aizawa turned to Nezu. “The traitor?”

“That’s correct,” Nezu nodded. “We’ve had vandalism at this school in the best, and those have increased since we implemented the dorm system, but nothing quite to this extent.”

“Do we know how they got in?”

“The lock shows signs of tampering. I suspect they picked it.”

“They picked it?” Aizawa wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but picking a lock hadn’t been on his list of possibilities, though he couldn’t be sure why.

Aizawa was about to continue the line of questioning when they all heard rushing feet barreling towards them. Then, Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka skidded into sight.

Midoriya paled at the sight of his destroyed room, doe-like eyes drinking everything in, pupils dilated, shoulders spasming with some unnamed emotion. Uraraka’s hands shot up to cover her mouth and Iida let out an appropriate gasp. Nezu stepped aside as Midoriya walked forward in a trance, feet glancing over the debris littering the room. Aizawa gave him a moment to process the mess, watched him bend down and pick up the remains of an All Might comic book.

“W—What?” Midoriya stammered.

“I’m so sorry, Deku,” Uraraka said.

“What...What happened?” Midoriya asked. “When Sero said...Mr Aizawa, what happened?”

“Are you injured, Midoriya?” Aizawa asked. “Do you know anything about this?”

“N—No.” Midoriya shook his head. Then, stronger, “No, I was with Uraraka and Iida, I—I can’t believe this. How did...?”

“We were just trying to figure that out,” said Aizawa. “As far as we can tell, your room is the only one vandalized.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, lips parting in sudden realization. His head wiped around to Nezu, then Midnight, then back to the floor. His hands hovered indecisively, grasping at a thought he couldn’t process. The shock was still poignant, but Midoriya’s nerves had steeled, not softened.

“You think the traitor did this,” Midoriya realized.

Nezu smiled. “Your powers of perception never cease to amaze me. I guess our traitor is getting a little bolder after working quietly for so long. Yes, this destruction appears to be a statement and I believe it confirms our initial suspicions that the traitor is among your classmates.”

Aizawa had had fifteen years to steel his nerves and still it ached to hear the words coming out of Nezu’s mouth. Flash images of his students appeared before him with every rapid blink, sitting in class, training, growing, strengthening, renewing his faith in a new generation of heroes. Impossible. He held onto the word like an evangelical belief, refusing to release. Even though the suspicions around his students had been present before, he’d always thought it was a teacher. It was easy to suspect a teacher—they were Pro Heroes, and not immune to corruption. But a student with hope for the future? Impossible.

“I need you to tell me if there’s anything missing from this room, Mr Midoriya,” said Nezu.

“I...yes,” said Midoriya voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I can...I can look...”

“Are you sure, Deku?” Uraraka asked. She didn’t dare to set foot in the room, in Midoriya’s careful shrine to All Might.

“I’ll be fine,” Midoriya offered her an assuring, crooked smile. “They’re just things, right? A—And I have the real All Might to admire.”

The smile faded the moment he turned away from her. Midoriya started rummaging through the mess, Midnight watching attentively. Aizawa return to the hall with Iida and Uraraka.

“Were you with him all day?” Aizawa asked.

“Yeah, ever since class ended,” said Iida. You really think one of us did it?”

Aizawa chose to dodge that question like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix. “Iida, go downstairs and meet your classmates in the common room. I want you to ask everyone where they were since school ended. I’ll be down as soon as I can. Uraraka, go with him.”

“Yes, sir,” said Iida.

Uraraka hovered at the door, staring at Midoriya’s back. It was only when Iida placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed that they moved. When Midoriya returned to the hall, he was visibly pale.

“Well?” Aizawa asked.

“My notebook,” said Midoriya.

“Notebook? The one you’re always writing in?”

“Yes.”

Aizawa frowned. There wasn’t anyone associated with Class 2-A who didn’t know about Midoriya’s notebooks, a series of progressively detailed recounts of people Midoriya met, their quirks, strengths, weaknesses, backgrounds, down to the most meticulous details. It was a treasure trove for villains looking for inside information from someone so close to All Might.

That could be a problem.

The class gathered, but the mood was downcast as Midoriya joined them in the common room. It had taken a short amount of time for the class to gather there—frantic text messages had were sent, looks of shock and disbelief were shared all around, and everyone was dealing in their own way. Yaoyorozu paced incessantly, chewing on her thumbnail. Todoroki stood detached, thoughtful. Bakugou, however, remained oddly relaxed, sitting with his usual friend group on the couch with his leg outstretched, ignoring the quiet chatter all around him.

The whispers broke when Midoriya showed up, and questions hurtled at him faster than he could answer. Eventually he got the whole story out, though he had to give ab abridged account of the incident. He was still in the throes of shock himself and stammered over himself several times before his meaning became clear.

“I’m sorry, Izuku,” said Hagakure when he finished his story. “I know how much all that stuff means to you.”

“It’s alright,” said Midoriya. “Who needs that when I have the real All Might to admire?”

“Still, that was your altar to All Might,” Jirou pointed out. “It’s like if someone smashed all my instruments. It's just stuff, but it still means something to you.”

“Yeah…” Midoriya confirmed with a jerky movement of the head like a stuttering wind-up toy.

At the sound of footsteps, Midoriya stepped aside as Aizawa entered the common room. He’d seen Aizawa with cold eyes before, but never as frigid as they surveyed the twenty promising heroes-in-training. Aizawa’s jaw was set, his shoulders squared. This was business, and those eyes searched guilt.

Whatever he was looking for, Aizawa didn’t find it and his body when lax. Replacing his accusatory stare was frustration. Frustration that wound him tight, made him stiff and unrecognizable like an out of sync metronome.

“The spy for the Paranormal Liberation Front is in this room,” said Aizawa. He checked his watch. “I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day if the culprit wants to turn themselves in.”

“Mr Aizawa, is that it?” Iida stepped in, looking baffled that a lecture wasn’t coming along with it.

“The faculty’s looking into it,” said Aizawa. “I’ll question everyone in the next day or so, but I doubt that will yield any results.” As if in an afterthought, he focused on Midoriya. “Midoriya, I want you to room with someone until further notice. Any objections?”

“No, that’s fine,” Midoriya agreed. “Can I get some stuff out of my room?”

“Let Nezu and Midnight sort through everything first, then you can start cleaning up,” said Aizawa. “I need a nap.”

Aizawa staggered out, leaving a disbelieving silence in his wake, like an unsettling and far-reaching ripple.

“I was hoping he’d have more about it,” Ashido admitted.

“I guess he doesn’t want to share all the details about what or who the teachers are investigating,” said Ojiro. “Hey, this is a grim thought but…do you think the spy went there to hurt Midoriya?”

“If they did, they didn’t do a good job,” Tsu noted. “I feel like this was a message directed to Midoriya, actually. He’s the one who figured out there was a traitor.”

“Do you think the spy will turn themselves in?” Satou wondered.

“I doubt it,” said Yaoyorozu. “Although this is the first time they’d been so brazen about their activities. If they’ve just been passing on information until this point, they just escalated it. That seems a little strange.”

“It was a message,” Midoriya confirmed. Everyone turned to him. He’d never savoured the attention placed on him, but he always seemed to find himself in the centre of trouble no matter what. If he would be here, he might as well speak his mind. “But I don’t think it was just directed to me. It was directed to everyone. It seems like they were angry. All the damage in there was…it was excessive.”

“So you think they lost control of their temper?” Uraraka asked.

“Maybe. Or they just wanted to show that they have the power in this situation. They got away with it, at least for now. If the teachers had any immediate suspects, I think Aizawa would have questioned them right away.”

“I hope they don’t start going into people’s rooms,” Kaminari worried, wringing his hands. “I don’t know about you guys, but I got shit to hide.”

“Now’s not the time to worry about your secret porn collection,” Jirou sighed.

“What makes you think it’s a porn collection?! I’m not Mineta!”

“And I don’t hide my porn,” Mineta added unhelpfully.

Iida cleared his throat and asserted himself into the conversation. “Let’s leave the speculation and investigation to the faculty. They know what they’re doing. Mr Aizawa has already instructed us not to spread rumours, so in spite of the talk around UA, we’re all going to carry on as normal. Midoriya, you’ll room with me for now.”

“Room?” Midoriya repeated. “With you?”

“Is there someone else you would prefer? It must be someone of the same gender!”

“No, no, you’re fine. I’m fine rooming with you, if you’re sure.”

Midoriya had a great love for Iida. He was a trusted friend and a great class representative. He was on the bottom of his list of room mates he would ever want.

“Good! Then give the teachers time to finish searching your room and get some essentials. I’ll set up a bedroll in my room for you to use.”

“You can borrow mine,” said Todoroki. “I have a spare.”

“I would be most appreciative. Thank you, Todoroki. Class dismissed!”

The class dispersed, murmuring in small groups and casting suspicious and nervous glances at everyone around them. However, the anxiety was indirect from not knowing who the culprit was—and a tension permeated the air that hadn’t subsided in recent days. Midoriya suspected that it was only a matter of time before news of this incident spread to the rest of the student body.

Time to get to work. Midoriya didn’t plan to take this sitting down.

He scanned the room for his target and found him separating from the rest of the class to head down the hall. Midoriya slipped away before someone could intercept him and followed at a safe distance, pursuing himout onto the school grounds. Fortunately, he wasn’t making a huge effort to get away, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. Midoriya knew the look of Katsuki Bakugou deep in thought.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya called after him.

Bakugou stopped dead in his tracks, and the radiating fury that constantly rolled over him melted off his shoulders like a pool of lava as he turned in his direction. “What the FUCK do you want, Deku? Aren’t you a little old to be chasing me around?!”

“I need to ask you something,” said Midoriya.

“I got better things to do than to listen to your whining. Solve your own problems, Deku.”

“But you’re the only one I can trust right now!”

“YOU CAN’T TRUST ME FOR SHIT!”

Bakugou let out a vague, angry noise and tried his best to walk away. Midoriya didn’t give up, though. He hadn’t given up since he was a kid and it wasn’t changing now that it really mattered.

“I know I can trust you!” Midoriya asserted. “You’re the only one who I’m sure isn’t the traitor!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Bakugou demanded.

“You fought so hard against the League to escape when they kidnapped you, and they went to all that effort to get you. They’d never have an operation that big and risky to stage a kidnapping of their own traitor. Plus, you’re so dedicated to becoming a hero, it—it wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Of course I’m not!” Bakugou shouted. “That’s nothing special! You’re not the traitor either!”

Midoriya stopped in his tracks. “You know?”

“Yeah, I’m not that fucking lucky,” said Bakugou. “Go die.”

Midoriya took a moment to process this as Bakugou made a second attempt at an escape. Midoriya, however, was an expert at chasing Bakugou.

“Wait, I think we should work together!” Midoriya called after him and sprinted to cut off Bakugou path.

“You got two seconds to step aside before I fucking blast my way through you,” Bakugou warned him.

“We should team up,” Midoriya reiterated. “Since the two of us are sure that we’re both innocent, then logically we should—we should work together to find them.”

Bakugou tried to walk around him. Midoriya, perhaps unwisely, stepped back into his path to block his way, spilling out words before Bakugou could punch or cut him off.

“We have a better shot at exposing them than the teachers,” MIdoriya went on. “We’re students—we’re equals with the traitor. They’ve gotten brazen by vandalizing my room, so I think they might do something more extreme. It could be our only chance to figure it out. If we don’t do it while they’re active, they could lie low for—for who knows how long. Maybe even until we graduate—maybe until we’re all Pro Heroes! The sooner we find their identity, the better it will be for everyone.”

“And what the fuck do you think you’d do if you caught them, huh?” Bakugou demanded. “Punch them to death? Rip their organs out? Take all the credit?”

“No, I’d never hurt them and I don’t even want the credit. I just want answers! I want to know why they’re doing this! I want to know why they’re working with the PLF, why they would do this to us.”

Bakugou tried to walk around him a second time. Midoriya intercepted.

“Cut me off again and it’s your head that’ll be off next,” Bakugou snapped. “You think I haven’t figured this all out for myself? Don’t fucking insult my intelligence. Whatever you think you have figured out, I figured out way before you did. I wouldn’t work with you if you were the last person on Earth. So fuck off and get the fuck out of my path.”

“But you would work with me if I was the last person you knew you could trust, because right now you don’t even trust Kirishima, do you?”

"Kirishima was attacked.”

“It could’ve been a staged attack to make him look innocent. You know that. You don’t trust him.”

“Who I do and don’t trust isn’t your fucking business. And lemme tell you, this traitor, whoever they are, they are just above where you fucking are on my personal hit list, Deku, so don’t act like you got the high ground here.”

Bakugou’s words lacked the familiar heat and his gaze focused on Midoriya’s neck, as if he was planning to lunge forward and strangle the life out of him. Still, Bakugou wasn’t hitting him, though his fist wound into a tight ball. There had to be some part of him that knew.

Midoriya rummaged in his backpack and pulled out something he’d taken from his room. Something the teachers hadn’t quite been paying attention to. Midoriya scanned the title of the pamphlet in his hand, titled ‘MINETA’S GUIDE TO FISHING,’ and handed it to Bakugou.

Bakugou held it between his pointer and thumb and let it fall open, teeth grinding.

“What the fuck is this,” said Bakuou.

“That was in my room,” said Midoriya.

“I don’t give a shit how horny you are!” Bakugou shoved the pamphlet into his chest. “Take it up with the pervert!”

“It’s not mine.”

That got Bakugou’s attention, evidenced only by a subtle twitch in his cheek.

“Why the fuck would the traitor leave porn in your room?” Bakugou demanded.

“I don’t think they meant to,” said Midoriya. “It could’ve fallen out of their pocket or a bag they were carrying. I know Mineta’s been passing these around.”

“Dumbass. Why didn’t you report this to Aizawa? You trying to hog all the glory for yourself?”

“I told you, I don’t want the glory. I want answers, and someone who’s the traitor’s equal has a better chance of uncovering the truth than the teachers. I can’t do that alone.”

Bakugou let out a scoff and a disagreeable puff of air, peering over his shoulder back in the dorm's direction, where right now the traitor mingled with their classmates. The lack of answers made Midoriya’s stomach twist with anxiety and he couldn’t be confident that Bakugou would put aside his feelings towards him because of this. He watched Bakugou wrestle with some unnamed emotion, the tension not clearing in his forehead.

Finally, Bakugou focused. His hand jerked forward to seize the front of his shirt, pulling him close enough for Midoriya to taste his fiery breath.

“This changes nothing between us,” said Bakugou. “You’re a fucking fraud trying to dismantle your betters. I was born to be great, you’re just an imposter who thinks just because you’re All Might’s favourite little termite that you have some sort of leverage against the rest of us. Don’t forget it.”

Midoriya nodded rapidly.

“You question your harem, I’ll question the losers who follow me around,” Bakugou stated. “Try not to be too obvious if you’re capable of that.”

“You mean your friends?” Midoriya asked.

“I know what I said, Deku!” Bakugou shoved. Midoriya tripped and fell onto his ass. “Meet me behind the dorms in two hours and you better find out something good. Don’t bother showing up if you’re gonna waste my time.”

“Sure,” Midoriya agreed. Safer to just go with the flow at this point and hope Bakugou didn’t decide that he wanted a rematch later on.

Bakugou finally got past Midoriya and walked further down the path.

“This changes nothing,” Bakugou repeated.

Well, change didn’t come overnight. Midoriya would take what he could get.

Chapter Text

Kaminari wondered what he should feel right now if he wasn’t the traitor. Disgust at the traitor for destroying Midoriya’s room. Fear for their future. Instead of that, he felt almost satisfied at the effect the vandalism. With that strange emotion came a strange cocktail that mixed guilt and contentment together in an unpalatable drink. Kaminari pinned his hands between his knees and watched his classmates, studying the emotion in the subtle creases of their faces, and imitating it as best as he could.

He sat on the front steps with Sero and Ashido. Normally they would joke around, but levity was a thing of the past. He’d never seen either of them wound up so tight before. Sero paced back and forth in front of them, while Ashido’s teeth sunk into her lower lip hard enough to leave indentations. It made Kaminari jolt like he’d missed a step and couldn’t regain his balance. This was the cost of Shigaraki’s approval and seeing it close-up was an experience he hadn’t fully prepared himself for. It was like looking at a painting that looked nice from a distance, but the closer he got, the more he noticed minute details like a flawed perspective and a muddy colour palette.

It felt different from how he thought it should be.

“Maybe it was just a random act,” Kaminari suggested. “I mean, not everyone in the school’s a big fan of us. They could’ve done it to get back at Midoriya for being an overachiever.”

Sero sighed. “I know you’re trying to make us feel better, Kaminari, but it really doesn’t seem that way to me. It’s too personal of an attack. And even if it had been someone else in the student body, someone would’ve noticed them going into a dorm that wasn't theirs.”

“That’s not so weird, is it? I mean, lots of people have friends who live in other dorms.”

“Well, yeah, but a dorm belonging to the hero course? Plus, I don’t know if you noticed, but we don’t exactly have a lot of friends outside the class.”

“Maybe it’s a ploy by the PLF,” said Kaminari. “Maybe they’re trying to make us not trust each other.”

“If that’s the case, then the PLF would still need someone on the inside working with them,” said Sero.

“Ugh, I hate it when you’re right,” Kaminari sighed. “Next thing you know, we’ll be searching for everyone’s diary keys.”

“I know you’re not gonna find Yaoyorozu’s,” said Ashido. “She literally pulls it out of her chest.”

She looked around with a wide smile which no one really met. Her smile faded and she slumped. It had been a long time since Kaminari had seen the group so depressed—not since Kirishima sustained injuries during the Shie Hassaikai raid last year.

It didn’t help when Bakugou suddenly showed up, hands in his pockets. Sero stopped his pacing. Bakugou surveyed the group.

Then, in his typical Bakugou manner, asked, “Okay, which one of you is the fucking traitor? I need to know so I can punch your lights out.”

“Dude, you can’t just ask!” Kaminari exclaimed.

“You suspect one of us?” Sero asked.

“Of course I fucking suspect you idiots!” Bakugou snapped. “Figures it’d be some shithead who clings to me would leak information to the Paranormal Liberation Front. Can’t say that they’re all bad considering they trashed fucking Deku’s room, but I got a personal score to settle with them. So which of you is it?” He honed in on Ashido like a hawk. “IT WAS YOU!”

"IT'S TRUE!" Ashido shouted dramatically, feigning sobbing into her arm. "I robbed your candy stash! It was all me!"

"Stop playing around!" Bakugou smacked the top of her head. "You know what I fucking mean!"

"I don't think you're gonna find out just by asking," said Sero.

"Yeah, also, wasn't me," said Ashido. "For the record."

Bakugou scoffed. There was a long beat where Bakugou stared up at the sky. “Follow up question: which one of you got a fucking pamphlet from Pervert?”

Kaminari frowned. That seemed like a very deliberate, specific question—and one that came out of nowhere, too.

"Oh, are you talking about the fishing one?" Ashido asked. "He slipped that thing under all the girls' doors just the other day."

"All the girls?" Bakugou's eyebrow arched. "Do you know if he handed them out to anyone else?"

"Um, I'm not sure. You'd have to ask him."

“Fucking perfect…I was looking for an excuse not to talk to him..."

“Why’re you asking about Mineta’s pamphlets all of a sudden?” Sero asked. “You’re not interested, are you?”

“Of course not, fucking Tape Face!” Bakugou smacked the back of Sero’s head so hard that he careened to the ground. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

That got Kaminari laughing so hard that tears flowed out of his eyes, and soon Ashido was laughing with him. Overflowing tension deflated like a balloon letting out air, funny floppy noises and all.

“Hey, it’s better than Mineta’s text messages, at least you can burn the pamphlets,” said Kaminari.

“Ah, that reminds me!” Ashido exclaimed, and the conversation hurdled back towards something normal. Kaminari tore his eyes away from Bakugou, who stood still and stoic and focused on something he couldn’t place. “Why haven't you answered my texts, Kaminari?"

“What texts?”

“I’ve been texting you all day, silly! Didn’t you see all the cute photos I sent?”

“Oh. Uh. I don’t have my phone.”

“Did you lose it again?”

“I must’ve left it at home,” Kaminari lied.

“That’s dumb,” said Sero. “Can your mum drop it off?”

“She’s busy,” Kaminari waved it off. “I’ll just grab it next time I’m there.”

“You’re joking, right? You can’t function without your phone. What if your parents' get called out of the country all of a sudden?"

“Hey, I’ve been getting by! Have some faith.”

“It’s probably better for a Pro Hero in training to have their phone with them. Maybe we can swing by your place and you can pick it up.”

That was a terrible idea. That was a no good, horrifying idea. Shigaraki would kill him. 

“We don’t have to do that,” Kaminari assured him.

“I kind of want to go shopping,” said Ashido. “We could grab his phone and go shopping. I need to relax.”

“Do you guys want to do that after school tomorrow?” Sero asked. “Kirishima should be out by then, so he can come too.”

“We can just go shopping,” Kaminari suggested. “I can live without my phone for a bit. I’m good.”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry,” Sero clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s basically on the way.”

Kaminari couldn’t begin to list all the reasons that was a bad idea. Instead of listing them, however, he painted a good enough smile on and conceded. He was like the painting that looked good from a distance, and he could only hope that he was a good enough actor that no one would notice the flaws if they got too close.

Or he could just keep people at a distance. That was always an option and he was beginning to regret he hadn’t done it sooner.

Kaminari was going to be sick. A stray charge nestled at the back of his throat and hung there through the whole train ride, leaving him jittery and awkward, like Cady Heron sitting across from Regina George. Keeping his composure was a well-practised skill Shigaraki wove into him, but the charge in his throat settled anyway and threatened to lash out with uncontrolled strength.

His heart fluttered between his ribs and he spent the train ride with his knee bouncing up and down. The others didn’t break the quiet on the train, occupying themselves by playing with their phones. Kirishima possessed newly-formed bags under his eyes, but the smile stayed the same. His leg jolted harder. Bakugou lifted his head, then Ashido followed his gaze, and then Sero. Sero reached out and put a hand on Kaminari's knee to put a stop to the incessant movement.

Twice he considered ‘accidentally’ getting the group to disembark at the incorrect stop, twice he retreated. Too much risk, too much attention, he was already at the centre. If he lied, they would find out, and there would be questions—impossible questions. He should’ve said that he broke it. Why hadn’t he said that he broke it?

Kaminari led the group off the right start and they started on the walk to his house, chattering along the way. Kaminari forced his laugh a little too much and the spark in his throat tried to escape. If the others noticed, they were polite enough to keep quiet. He was so indulged in keeping up appearances, he almost overshot his house, and didn’t notice until his gaze slid across the driveway and Hokama’s car wasn’t present.

The charge in his throat settled.

“This should only take a sec,” said Kaminari, heading up the front path. “Unless they hid my phone or something, who knows.”

“This is your house?” Ashido asked. “Hey, you said you lived in a treehouse with a slide! You liar!”

“I said I wanted to live in a treehouse with a slide, not that I currently did,” Kaminari clarified.

“Even if it’s not a treehouse, it’s not what I expected,” said Kirishima. He had a funny twitch in his left eye, like he knew there was something amiss but couldn’t correlate the feeling to what he saw. Kaminari got rid of the twitch by slapping him on the shoulder.

“Well, I’m not the one who bought it,” Kaminari smiled. “Believe me, when I’m a rich and famous Pro Hero, it’s treehouse time.”

“Idiot,” Bakugou let out a long sigh. “Just let us in so we’re not standing out in the open. The fewer people know that you losers hang around me, the better.”

“That’s harsh,” Kaminari sulked.

“Open the fucking door!”

Kaminari did so, his hands not shaking at all as he pushed open the door. The house was quiet, until the others filed in, talking over each other and taking in their surroundings with the expected ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs.’

“Aw, you were such a cute kid!” Ashido cooed over the family photos.

“You look dumber now than you did then,” said Bakugou.

“C’mon, play nice, Bakugou,” Kirishima nudged his shoulder. He pressed the ball of his palm into a spot above his left eyebrow.

Not even Kirishima’s twitch could dampen Kaminari’s mood. An empty house meant no risk.

“Your mum’s hot,” said Sero.

“Don’t you start!” Kaminari exclaimed.

“And you look just like her too,” said Ashido. “Except, y’know. Not as hot.”

“I thought we were friends!”

“Is that your dad?” Sero asked, pointing to the wedding photo.

“Uh, no. That’s my stepdad.”

The expected reaction. Sudden quiet, brows furrowing, heads turning, settling on him. Always on him.

“Stepdad?” Sero repeated, sounding the word out. “Wait. Since when do you have a stepdad?”

“Since forever,” said Kaminari. This conversation was becoming familiar, but at least this time he knew the dance steps. “My parents are divorced. Didn’t I mention this?”

“Um, no?” Ashido blinked. “Not ever?”

“Oh. Well, they’re divorced.”

“Hell of a way to find out. Why the secrecy?”

“It wasn’t exactly a secret—it just didn’t come up,” said Kaminari. “Uh, I’m gonna look in the kitchen for my phone. I know it’s around here somewhere…”

He left his friends to snoop and made his way to the kitchen. Kaminari was just glad to to escape from the unspoken questions, to settle in his own thoughts and reorient himself. The kitchen was bare except for the telltale signs that Hokama had been there—an empty coffee mug, an open newspaper, a pushed back chair. Kaminari seized the chair in a death grip and exhaled.

Then, a hand covered his mouth.

Kaminari flailed, trying to elbow his attacker, until he felt the hot breath in his ear and immediately knew it was Toga. She clung to him fast and tight in a bear hug until he stopped struggling, and in his efforts to get away, he glimpsed her reflection in the toaster. Although the face didn’t belong to Himiko Toga, the smile did.

“You brought your mother some presents?” Toga cooed into his ear. Under the disguise of his 'mother,' her voice was different, but her tone always gave her away. “I’m tingling with excitement.”

Kaminari wrenched his head away and hissed, “Don’t.”

“Why not? You brought them all the way here, didn’t you?” Toga flashed her knife, running the edge along his cheek. She twisted his arm behind his back, the bone straining and threatening to crack under the pressure. “You owe me after running away from home.”

“I’m sorry about that, okay?” Kaminari whispered. He glanced in the direction of his friends’ muffled voices. “Let go, you’re gonna blow my cover.”

The struggle was visible on Toga’s face as it pulled and contorted into strange shapes until she released him. Kaminari righted himself and managed to look normal just as the door swung open and in waltzed Ashido.

“I snuck up to your room, sorry,” Ashido said. “We really need to talk about getting you an interior dec—oh my God, is this your mum?! Finally! It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You must be Mina,” said Toga, tone immediately shifting to something welcoming and even. “Denki’s told me so much about his friends.”

“We’re not staying, Mum, I’m just here for my phone,” Kaminari interjected.

“Wow, your mum’s real?” Sero peered into the room.

Sero, Kirishima, and Ashido all forced themselves into the kitchen at the same time. While the others spoke to Toga, Bakugou looked at the family photos with such a flat, unreadable expression that he couldn’t discern if there was suspicion present or not.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all,” Toga smiled at them. “It’s perfect timing, really. I just got back from Kuwait two weeks ago.”

“Wow, all the way from Kuwait?” Ashido beamed. “That’s so cool. You’re so cool. Why didn’t you tell me your mum was cool?!”

“She’s my mum, it’s embarrassing,” Kaminari whined.

“Why don’t I make tea?” Toga offered.

“Mum, we’re just here for my phone.'“

“I’d love to sit down and chat with your friends for a bit. Don’t just grab your phone and run!”

“Yeah, you can’t leave your mum in the dust,” Kirishima agreed. “It’s not very manly to treat her like that. We’ll have tea.”

“We’re going shopping!” said Kaminari

“Shopping can wait, I want to talk,” said Ashido.

“Yeah, we let you meet our parents, let us meet yours,” Sero agreed.

Kaminari’s mouth flubbed uselessly as Toga herded them out. As his friends’ backs were turned to them, Toga looked back at Kaminari and lifted her skirt enough to show off the knife strapped to her thigh. She gave a coy smile and put a delicate finger to her lips. Kaminari blanched.

Kaminari steadied himself against the counter. Bloody floors, bloody walls, bloody Toga—three terrible things he was desperate to avoid. The spark in his throat returned with choking force.

“What’s with your mum?”

Kaminari yelped and swung around, realizing that Bakugou hadn’t followed the rest into the living room. He stood in the kitchen doorway, hands deep in his pockets.

“Nothing!” Kaminari exclaimed. “She’s just my mum.”

“This house is weird,” said Bakugou.

“Dude, c’mon—I live here. Don’t call it weird. You’ll hurt its feelings.”

Bakugou sniffed, nostrils flaring. Lingering cigarette smoke signalled Hokama’s presence.

“My stepdad smokes,” said Kaminari.

Bakugou ignored Kaminari and circled the kitchen, opening random drawers and cupboards to look inside. One hand never left his pocket.

“Don’t snoop, you’ll get me in trouble,” said Kaminari.

“Why’s everything so clean?” Bakugou asked. “It looks like a fucking hospital.”

“My stepdad’s a neat freak, so don’t mess anything up. Let’s go have tea and get it over with.”

Bakugou gave him a careful look and Kaminari managed to herd him into the living room with the others.

Some twenty minutes later, they all seated around the coffee table. Toga tugged Kaminari onto the small sofa beside her before he could grab a much safer place by Ashido. At least if she decided to stab someone he possessed the foreknowledge to grab her before she inflicted permanent injury. Hopefully. He didn’t always trust his reflexes to be quiet fast enough to keep up. Still, they were here, the tea was steaming, and no one was bleeding yet, so he would accept a small miracle.

Kaminari busied himself with tea while Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima chatted up his ‘mother.’ Toga was well-versed enough in Kaminari’s cover story to keep up with questions about his childhood and what he was like and how proud she was and amusing anecdotes that didn’t have a shred of truth to them. He didn’t remember much of his life before Shigaraki swooped into it except for vague images of what-was. In any case, it was easy to nod along to her stories and accept them as fact and what was important was that the others accepted it as well. While Bakugou stared suspiciously into his tea like he expected it to be poisoned, the others were at ease. Smiling, happy, normal, unsuspecting.

Kaminari didn’t end up touching his tea. He kept his hands pinned between his knees, careful to act normal, letting the tea grow cold on the coffee table in front of him.

Normal, except for the unexplainable tightness in is chest. He felt like an ancient force was squeezing his ribs, threatening to break them at the slightest trace of a slip up. He was out of control, spiralling towards a strange inevitability, and no matter how much he scrambled, it hurdled towards him with unbreakable force.

“So did Kaminari get his quirk from you or…?” Ashido asked as Kaminari tuned back into the conversation.

“No, I don’t have a quirk,” Toga explained. “The quirk’s all from his father.”

“Does Denki’s dad live in the city?”

“Oh no, I’m not sure where he is,” said Toga. “I couldn’t tell you where my ex-husband is now. He left when Denki was nine.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Toga assured her. “Now, I know you were the one who won the Sports Festival last year, right, Bakugou?”

Bakugou grunted.

“Sorry, he’s not sociable,” said Kirishima.

“Which is a nice way of saying he’s a jerk,” said Sero.

“That’s our Bakugou, always getting into trouble.”

Bakugou grunted. He put his feet up on the coffee table and didn’t move them even when Kirishima made an effort to remove them.

“So tell us about Kaminari’s stepdad,” said Ashido. “I saw the wedding photo in the hall. Congratulations, by the way! I mean, I know it was a while ago now, but congratulations anyway on getting married!”

“You’re so sweet, thank you,” said Toga. Toga managed to imitate Kaminari’s smile with perfect accuracy. A little too wide, a little too genuine. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant it. “A shame you didn’t come later in the day so you could meet my husband, although he isn’t much of a talker. A little bit like Bakugou here.”

Bakugou grunted.

“What's his name?” Ashido asked.

“Didn’t Denki tell you?” Toga asked in a syrupy sweet, this-isn’t-suspicious-at-all lilt. The hairs on the back of Kaminari’s neck bristled like he was sitting next to a predator about to pounce on helpless sheep.

“No, not exactly,” said Kirishima.

Kaminari saw the moment Bakugou stopped being quiet. Bakugou jerked his head a little to the left, teeth clamping down, and he rose to his feet. Kaminari shook his head, hoping to convey his desperation.

“Fuck this,” said Bakugou. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Toga was quite the actor. Her timing was impeccable. As if she’d received her cue, she feigned a startled gasp and her teacup clattered loudly on its saucer.

“Don’t swear at my mum, Bakugou,” Kaminari hissed.

“Your mum’s a weirdo, and to be fucking honest, I don’t fucking like her,” said Bakugou.

“Dude!”

“Don’t you fucking ‘dude’ me!”

“Bakugou, c’mon,” Kirishima abruptly stood and put a hand to his chest. “We talked about this.”

“Fuck this shit!” Bakugou exclaimed. “You plan was shit anyway, Shitty Hair. My plan’s better!”

“What plan?” Kaminari asked.

“No plan!” Ashido exclaimed. She leapt up and held Bakugou back. “It’s nothing! Bakugou’s just joking around!”

“Bakugou doesn’t joke,” said Kaminari. “Besides, his sense of humour involves chasing Deku around and punching things to death. The clues just don’t add up.”

“I’ll tell you what doesn’t add up,” said Bakugou. “This whole damn house doesn’t add up. It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here!”

“What are you getting at? What’s going on? You guys didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

“Why’s that your first thought?” Sero asked.

“I don’t know, I’m just throwing it out there!” Kaminari flailed his arms. “You guys are the ones who invited yourselves here! Look, you’re upsetting my mum!”

Toga had the decency to put on a rattled expression. Blown-out eyes, crinkled forehead like crunched up paper, watery eyes—the look of a woman confronted by five angry teenagers shouting in her living room and not knowing what to do about it. She reached out and seized his hand, her thumbnail digging hard into the palm and prepared to draw blood. To the outsider, it was the move of a worried mother. To him, it was a threat. Kaminari reeled himself back in.

“Can we just talk about this outside?” Kaminari asked.

“No, we’re not!” Bakugou yelled. “Something hasn’t been right in this house the whole time we’ve known you and I’m not fucking let you fucking run away from it again!”

Kaminari frowned. Ice prickled up his arm.

“What are you talking about?” Kaminari asked with a rattle in his voice. Traitor. They knew he was the traitor. They were about to accuse him and then his entire world would fall apart.

“Bakugou, you’re not helping,” Ashido hissed at him.

“Shut up!” Bakugou barked. “None of you idiots know how to deal with this! Just lemme get the truth out of him, I’ll get the answers!”

“What answers?!” Kaminari exclaimed. “What’s going on?!”

“We’re just worried, Kaminari,” said Sero. “I swear its nothing malicious like that. It’s just that after you came back to the dorms last weekend, we wanted to see what was going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, you came back looking like hell. And you’ve never talked about your family before, so we thought that maybe…uh…”

“You thought what?”

“That…maybe you were being beat up at home or something?” said Ashido.

Kaminari wasn’t sure what emotion went through him like a lingering, out-of-tune guitar chord. It couldn’t be relief because there was none; this wasn’t about the UA traitor, this was about them misreading a situation. Except they hadn’t totally misread. Somewhere along the line, in the effort to not draw attention, Kaminari had drawn attention. Because despite the training Shigaraki had supplied him with, despite the strict orders, it was impossible to stay in the hero course and not draw attention to yourself.

Incredulous that this was happening under his own roof, he looked from one face to the other, equal parts confused and mortified that he’d let it escalate. He didn’t want the concerned looks and the disapproving frowns thrown in his directions—he wanted smiles. Smiles meant that no one was looking at him in a negative light. Nobody knew what the real secret was.

“No!” Kaminari exclaimed. “God, no! I’m not being abused. I’m not some battered kid!”

Toga proved her impeccable timing by bursting into tears, bending far over so her long locks of golden hair fell to hide her face. Kaminari wondered if she was concealing a laugh.

“What the hell, guys?!” Kaminari exclaimed. He turned to his ‘mother,’ to tend to her, patting her back gently. “You can’t just try to sneak into my house and snoop. I mean, did it even occur to you to ask me first?”

Eyes averted from him as he searched for answers. Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck and Ashido’s teeth dug into her lower lip.

Sero wasn’t smiling anymore when he started, “Well, it’s just that in the hero classes—“

“I don’t give a damn what the hero classes say about what to do,” said Kaminari. “I’m not a victim. I thought you trusted me more than that.”

“It’s not that we didn’t trust you,” said Kirishima. “We were just really worried.”

“Worried enough to insist on coming into my house and trying to accuse my mum of something?” Kaminari glared at Bakugou. “Worried enough to talk to me about it first?”

“Sorry for caring, Dunce Face,” Bakugou snorted. “Didn’t think you were smart enough to even know if you were being fucking kicked around by your old lady or fake dad.”

“I know I’m not the smartest guy around, but I think I’d know if my parents were beating me up,” Kaminari seethed. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’d do this to me—I thought we were friends!”

“Idiot, as if I’d be friends with braindead loser!” Bakugou yelled. “God, I knew this was a goddamn stupid idea! This is what I get for listening to Shitty Hair!”

Bakugou stormed past Kaminari, and as he passed, he flicked him hard on the head.

“Kaminari, we’re really sorry,” Ashido apologized.

“It’s fine, just go,” said Kaminari. “I’ll get a ride back to school.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sero.

“I need to sit with my mum for a while.”

The others looked at each other reluctantly, then one by one they all hurried after Bakugou. He could hear Bakugou yelling outside their house, and gradually that faded into nothing, leaving behind Toga’s fake tears spilling onto her skirt.

“They’re gone, you can stop crying,” said Kaminari.

Toga lifted her head, and as he’d suspected, it had been cry-laughing disguised as crying. Her chiming, high-pitched, thoroughly out-of-control giggle hurdled around the room like an uncontrolled lighting bolt. Toga wiped a tear from her eye and her mucus-stained hand on her shirt.

“They’re so dumb!” Toga heaved. “I can’t believe how dumb they are! I can’t believe how dumb you are!”

“Hey, I’m not dumb!” Kaminari protested, knowing full well that he was dumb.

“Denki, Denki, Denki,” Toga clasped his face in her hands. “You’re so dumb. But at least you amused me for a bit. That’s the most fun I’ve had all day. Would’ve been more fun if someone had bled, though. You should’ve thrown something at least.”

“Not my style,” Kaminari shrugged. He settled on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table, feeling spent and drained. “Do you think Tomura will be mad when he finds out?”

“Nah, I’m sure he’ll get a chuckle out of it. Between you and me, he could use a few of those. He hasn’t quite been as fun ever since he decided that he’s a big serious capital-V Villain now. Or you could just not tell Tomura, y’know.”

“I can’t do that! He’ll find out!”

Toga sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d rat you out.”

Kaminari tugged at his shirt. He felt weak. “Can you call Tomura?”

“Wow, that eager to confess?” said Toga. She stuffed a cookie into Kaminari’s mouth.

“I want Tomura,” said Kaminari. He felt like a small child calling for his mother. It made his stomach churn that he was sure only Shigaraki could settle. With Shigaraki came strength, and with strength came his ability to pull off the impossible.

“There, there,” Toga pet his hair. “Tomura will sort you out, little brother. Just stay put, eat some cookies, and stare into space while I call him.”

Toga stabbed her knife into the coffee table and left the room. Moments later, he heard her singsong voice in the hall, fading, gone. Kaminari relaxed back into the couch and stared at the ceiling.

He couldn’t place words to how he was feeling. They were too jumbled up, too abstract, to name. Kaminari rubbed his eyes and forced himself to survey the room, and he glimpsed his reflection in the knife's blade. The knife was turned perfectly to reflect him. He wondered if Toga had done that on purpose. In the absence of his classmates, he lacked a mask, and he felt vulnerable and cold. He didn’t know who he was looking at.

Waiting for Tomura felt like waiting for the results from a questionable exam. Kaminari could only stay still for so long before he was fidgeting, and then standing, and then sitting again, and then pacing the room with his arms folded. In a few hours, it would be past curfew and he’d be expected back at the school dorms unless his ‘parents’ called it in.

When he heard the car pulling into the driveway, he froze, thinking Aizawa might’ve come looking for him. Kaminari peered out from behind the curtain like he was waiting for his drug dealer, and he didn’t have to squint to see that Hokama was behind the wheel, though he didn’t see any sign of Shigaraki. He resisted the urge to go barrelling into the open to greet them. He kept fidgeting, repeatedly digging his nails into the palm of his hand until the door swung open and there was Hokama.

“Tomura!” Kaminari exclaimed. He hurried into the hall to look for him and—his heart sank. No Shigaraki. Just Hokama and Toga. “Where’s Tomura?”

“What?” Hokama said. “Shigaraki’s busy. He doesn't have time for you.”

“You said you’d call Tomura,” said Kaminari.

“Must’ve dialed the wrong number,” Toga grinned.

“I need tea,” said Hokama, sidestepping Kaminari.

”Hokama—” Kaminari started.

“Tea.”

Hokama sighed and poured some cold tea from the teapot on the table.

“What the hell did you do this time?” Hokama asked. “Did you seriously let those Pro Hero brats into my house?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Kaminari.

“No, it’s never your fault, is it? You’re always trying to shift the damn blame.”

Hokama took the teacup and dumped it on Kaminari’s head. He instinctively flinched and his arms went rigid by his side like Hokama had scalded him.

“You’re lucky the tea was cold,” said Hokama. “Maybe I should get Toga to make up a fresh batch.”

Kaminari knew better than to respond, except with silence.

“Why would you bring them here?” said Hokama.

“I didn’t want to bring them here, they invited themselves,” Kaminari explained.

“The moment I let you out of my sight, you always get into trouble.”

“Hey, I did my best,” Kaminari insisted. “I even trashed Midoriya’s room!”

“You did what?”

“I trashed his room! Midoriya figured out there was a traitor and it got around the school. So I took a bat and messed up his room a bit. I even took that notebook he’s always carrying around.”

Kaminari reached into his messenger bag and pulled out Midoriya’s burnt and crusty notebook to show him. For a moment, Hokama was unreadable, and then fiddled with his glasses.

“You’re a fool,” said Hokama

“…What?” Kaminari said.

“You’re a fool. The whole idea of spying is not draw attention and that’s exactly what you’ve done. If you had left it, they would have forgotten about an alleged ‘traitor’ in days. Are you even capable of following orders? What did Shigaraki train you to do all those years? Have you absorbed anything he’s ever said?”

“It’s not like I got found out.”

“You could’ve ruined everything. Don’t you understand that? Everything. Shigaraki invested in you for six years and if you ruin this chance, the PLF isn’t getting another one!”

Kaminari’s heart pounded and the only thing he seemed to be capable of seeing were the tenseness in Hokama’s jaw.

“Why did you bring them to my house?” Hokama demanded.

“I—they invited themselves,” said Kaminari.

“Did you even try to talk them out of it?”

“I did!”

“You didn’t try hard enough. What exactly did you think it would accomplish if you brought them here?”

“We just came for my phone, that’s it!”

“You’re thinking of betraying Shigaraki, aren’t you?”

“No!” Kaminari denied. “No, I would never! I promise!”

“Words are cheap. After everything Shigaraki’s done for you, this is how you repay him?”

“I don’t see how any of that is your business! That’s between me and Shigaraki, not you!”

Hokama kneed Kaminari in the gut. The reflex to shock him was strong, but Kaminari suppressed the urge and fell to his knees in a heap, breaths coming out of him in ragged, sharp gasps. He held onto his abdomen, shoulders tense, pressing his forehead against the floor. Nothing had changed. He was still the little kid Shigaraki had taken under his wing. Although Shigaraki had been a kid himself, he’d always been taller, stronger, more determined, more focused, alight with a strange and wild intelligence Kaminari knew he could never possess. And like it or not, Hokama channelled him now.

When Kaminari chanced to look up, he saw Hokama’s back turned to him, his entire frame trembling with thinly suppressed rage.

“You’re a fool,” said Hokama. “I’ll be reporting this to Shigaraki, of course, so don’t think this is over. I’m sure he’ll remind you of your place.”

Kaminari went still and hauled himself upright.

Hokama rummaged in his pocket. It wasn’t until his third pocket that he pulled out an old-fashioned flip phone, which he recognized as the phone Dabi delivered to him the other day. He tossed it to Kaminari.

“Burner phone,” said Hokama. “A direct line of communication. Don’t lose it.”

“I don’t need babysitting,” Kaminari argued. He tossed the phone back, which Hokama caught between two fingers.

“Do you want to talk to Shigaraki or not? That phone can be a direct line of communication to him if you want it. I’m sure he’ll check in on you more often after I make my report. Don’t forget who your allies are, Kaminari. If those brats at UA find out who you are, they’ll turn you in to achieve their own fame and glory. Imagine the prestige a hero-in-training might get for unmasking a traitor. Do you really think they won’t turn you in for that?”

Kaminari thought about it. He jerked his head in a nod.

“Exactly,” said Hokama. He held the burner phone back out to him. “Last warning. Don’t make a fool of the PLF. And don’t make me look like a fool in front of Shigaraki. I’m getting paid good money to be your contact and I’m not jeopardizing that.”

This time, he knew better than to refuse.

He needed to fix this.

The mantra raced through Kaminari’s mind. Over the next few days, even with the school carrying on as normal, the undercurrent of the traitor kept appearing. It was whispered in halls and talked about in the cafeteria, and Kaminari kept seeing people throwing each other suspicious glances or suddenly walking in wide berths around one another, as if the traitor would be stupid enough to attack in full view of witnesses. Of course, the widest of berths and the sharpest of glances were directed to the 2-A class.

He started eating lunch with other members of the class rather than his usual friend group, and avoided them even after school. Except for Yaoyorozu’s study groups, he kept to himself, or hung out with students he normally didn’t. One afternoon, he spent two hours following Todoroki and attempting small talk. Another, he hid in Jirou's room and practised guitar with her until she kicked him out at curfew. Kaminari decided it would be better to limit his time with his friend group for the time being; it had been a close call. Too close. Perhaps a good reminder that he was never safe.

He could fix this. Just a simple diversion.

Everyone was on edge because there were no obvious suspects to who the traitor was. This was both good and bad for Kaminari. Good because he wasn’t being suspected. Bad because the resulting tension created nervous energy. With everyone questioning everything, it made it hard to get things done.

He would need to relieve their fears a little. He would need someone to pin it on.

And he knew who that someone was. After all, Midoriya had practically handed the answer to him.

Chapter Text

Midoriya wrung his hands, pacing in the empty common room. He checked the clock for not the first time that minute and resumed walking, sweat beading on the back of his neck like icy fingers jabbing his skin.

Bakugou was late.

He felt like he would shatter into countless shards if someone were to ask him why he was there. The truth would tumble out before he could grab it by the lapels and drag it back to order. The traitor stalked his thoughts, he’d teamed up with Bakugou, nothing was as he thought it was. And there were so, so many people he couldn’t trust. Even though he’d known where Uraraka and Iida were during the vandalism, he couldn’t rule them out. It wasn’t beyond possibility that the traitor had an accomplice or manipulated someone into doing the dirty work. While they stood safely in the shadows, the traitor could tug on strings, eliciting reactions from unsuspecting students.

Paranoia crept in and sunk its vicious fangs into him, ripping flesh, threatening resolve.

A door slammed. Voices appeared. Midoriya tensed and flopped into the nearest chair. Bakugou, Sero, Ashido, and Kirishima trailed around the corner, expressions haunted.

“Hey, what happened?” Midoriya asked.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a long story. I got a headache, I’m going to bed.”

Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima brushed passed Midoriya and down the hall.

“Did something happen?” Midoriya asked Bakugou.

“None of your damn business,” said Bakugou.

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been texting you for an hour.”

“Had some business to take care of, that’s all. What were you doing?”

Midoriya sensed he wouldn’t get much out of Bakugou. “I was cleaning my room.”

“Find anything else missing?”

“No, I think only the notebook was taken.”

“Okay. Let’s question Pervert before curfew.”

“What, now?”

“Do you have anything better to do?”

“No…It’s just that you’re not normally up this late unless you’re studying.”

“For fuck’s sake! Maybe I’m not tired, that’s all. Let’s just get this shitstorm over with.”

Midoriya trailed behind Bakugou, glancing back towards the exit and suddenly noticing the distinct lack of Kaminari. It was difficult to be a high school student and not have rumours trailing wherever you went—and where Kaminari was concerned, an undercurrent of whispering had recently cropped up. The latest gossip in a long history of gossip surrounding 2-A. Midoriya rushed to keep pace with Bakugou and caught up with him in the elevator, careful not to speak until the elevator doors closed.

“Is everything alright with Kaminari?” MIdoriya asked.

Bakugou looked at him sharply, expanding like a solar flare. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Everyone’s worried. Nobody liked the look of those scratches.”

“Last warning. Shut. Up.”

“Just tell me that he’s okay.”

Bakugou slammed his fist into the wall. “Didn’t I tell you to SHUT UP?! It’s none of your damn business!”

Midoriya clamped his mouth shut and decided not to press the issue. He’d ask Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima about it later—when Bakugou wasn’t around, when emotions weren’t raw and frayed like the edge of a freshly inflicted wound.

They stepped out on Midoriya’s floor and Bakugou stormed off ahead with hands deep in his pockets, past all the rooms to Mineta’s.

“Shouldn’t we talk about a strategy?” Midoriya asked.

“Yeah, sure,” said Bakugou. “Here’s the strategy. Stay the fuck out of my way.”

“What if Mineta’s the traitor? We don’t want to alert him.”

“If he is, he won’t be able to make a move without us knowing that it’s him. As far as I’m fucking concerned, I can handle him however I want.”

“But Kacchan—”

They arrived at Mineta’s door. Bakugou knocked politely, while anxiety prickled throughout Midoriya's body. For a suspended moment, he let himself believe that Bakugou would be reasonable.

The door cracked opened and they looked down to see Mineta’s face peering out.

Then, Bakugou kicked the door down.

“OH MY GOD, HE’S FINALLY GONE INSANE!” Mineta screeched, retreating.

Bakugou stepped over the busted down door and advanced on Mineta, who scurried into the back of his room like a rat cornered by an angry cat.

“Okay, Pervert, talk,” Bakugou demanded. He pulled out the pamphlet and shoved it into his face. “This is yours. Admit it!”

“H—Huh?!” Mineta squinted at the pamphlet. “Of course it’s mine, it’s got my face on it!”

“So you admit it’s yours!”

“That’s literally what I just said! Oh my God, I’m sorry, okay?! I’ll delete my hard drive, I swear!”

“I don’t give a FUCK what’s on your hard drive! Just tell us who you gave these to!”

“I mean, geez, if you want one you can just ask! I got plenty of copies!”

Midoriya sighed. Time to intervene. “We don’t want copies, Mineta. We just want to know who you gave these pamphlets to.”

“What?” Mineta asked. “I mean, I slipped them under all the girls’ doors days ago.”

“Just the girls?”

“Well, no, they’re not the only intended audience, I just give them to whoever needs them. I slipped one into Iida’s bag, I gave one to Kaminari, and I gave two to Todoroki—”

“Two?”

“Yup, I think he needs them,” Mineta flipped open the pamphlet and pointed to the inside. There was a condom taped inside. “Each pamphlet comes with a free condom and you know how everyone feels about Todoroki.”

“Fucking GROSS!” Bakugou dropped Mineta like he was spreading germs and wiped his hands on his shirt.

“I wouldn’t be a responsible Pro Hero if I didn’t look out for everyone’s interests,” Mineta said decisively. “I don’t think anyone wants any little Todoroki’s running around. I mean, competition is tough enough, isn’t it?”

Midoriya rubbed his forehead. “Is that all?”

“Not exactly. If you’re really curious, I’ve been leaving a few in some select places around campus, just in case.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, in places where certain activities are likely to occur. Broom closets, in bushes, in empty classrooms. Places like that.”

“So basically this is a waste of our fucking time,” said Bakugou. “I knew this was useless.”

“Uh, should I ask what this is about?” Mineta asked.

“No, goodbye.”

Bakugou grabbed the back of Midoriya’s shirt and dragged him to the hall.

“Thanks for the heads up!” Midoriya said before Bakugou dragged him around the corner.

They convened in Midoriya’s room next door. Bakugou stood in the middle, arms folded and shoulders stiff as if he was afraid of touching the walls. In the day or two since the vandalism, the distinct scars remained scattered around them. He could tell by the curl of Bakugou’s lip that he wasn’t worried about the damage, though.

“It wasn’t entirely useless,” said Midoriya. “It gives us an idea about where to start.”

“The pamphlet could’ve come from fucking anywhere if Pervert’s telling the truth,” said Bakugou.

“It gives us a place to start, though. If we can account for as many of those pamphlets as possible, then it could narrow down the pool of suspects. Mineta’s already narrowed down the list of likely suspects.”

“The girls, Iida, and Todoroki.”

“And Kaminari.”

Bakugou scowled. “And Kaminari. Could still be a giant-ass waste of time, though.”

Midoriya’s shoulders stiffened. Here was the moment—the moment Bakugou decided that enough was enough and he would back out of a hair-brained scheme driven by the flickering hope that they could reveal the traitor. Bakugou stood with his back to him, then turned around with a focus flame in his eyes.

“No way we can search all their rooms, especially the girls’, with people getting suspicious,” said Bakugou. “Might have to run the risk of acting directly.”

Midoriya brightened up. “Do you really mean it, Kacchan?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not doing this for you. We’re gonna have to be casual about it if we don’t want to alert the traitor. The traitor could’ve gotten a pamphlet from those hiding spot, so you should ask Pervert about all the places he remembers putting them.”

“Wait, me?”

“Yeah, you! You’re already contagious, so it’s not like you can get any sicker than you already are.”

“B—But—”

“And when you ask Four-Eyes and Icy Hot about the pamphlets, try to make it sound like you don’t give a fuck. Got it?”

“Wait, I’m questioning Four-Eyes—I mean, Iida and Todoroki?”

“Try not to be too obvious, Deku. I’ll ask Yaoyorozu and Jirou about the pamphlets next time there’s band practice, so leave them to me.”

“And Kaminari.”

“Huh?”

“And Kaminari. Don’t forget to ask him, too.”

“Oh, right. Sure, whatever. I’m going to bed.” Bakugou stomped off with defiant shoulders. Halfway to the door, he turned right back around and suddenly closed the distance between them, getting right up in his face so that his breath fell hot and heavy on Midoriya’s cheeks. “Don’t bug Kaminari.”

“I didn’t plan to?”

“Listen to what I’m fucking saying to you, Deku,” Bakugou scowled. “Don’t. Bother Kaminari. Let me ask Dunce Face the questions, alright?”

“Of course.”

Bakugou headed off again, grumbling as he went, leaving Midoriya and the confused silence behind.

Aizawa tapped his pen impatiently against the desk, leaning heavily against one hand and wishing against all odds that he could sleep. Sleep deprivation was a signature part of his character, but as of late it seemed he was getting even less than usual.

Across from him, the 2-A classroom was empty save for Sero. There was no indication of anxiety or deception. Just honest confusion and bewilderment. He kept looking for signs he was a traitor, but it was no different from any of his other students—and if the traitor was among them, they had unshakeable nerve. The pattern had repeated over the last few days as Aizawa gradually worked his way down the list of students, searching for someone ready to crack.

“So to sum it up, you don’t know anything, you don’t know who trashed Midoriya’s room or have any idea who caused it,” Aizawa concluded.

“That about sums it up, yeah,” said Sero.

“Not even a theory?”

“I don’t want to point fingers when I don’t know myself.”

“Alright.”

Aizawa tapped his pen a few more times.

“Can I go now?” Sero asked.

Aizawa sighed. “Fine.”

Sero rose to his feet, and was halfway to the door when he swung around on his heel.

“You thought of something?” Aizawa asked.

“I did, but not about this traitor thing,” said Sero. “Can I ask you something, Mr Aizawa? It’s about Kaminari.”

Aizawa blinked. He hadn’t forgotten about Kaminari’s situation, but the ordeal with Midoriya’s room had distracted him, like a small kitchen fire might be less distracting than an inferno engulfing an entire apartment building. Focusing on the inferno meant saving lives, but distracted for too long, and the kitchen fire might burn out of control.

“I know it’s none of my business,” said Sero. “But I was wondering if I could ask for your help as a Pro Hero.”

Aizawa folded his arms on the table.

“Well, it’s not just me asking. It’s me, Kirishima, Ashido, and Bakugou. I know it’s crazy, but hear me out. We were at Kaminari’s house yesterday cos we wanted to see what the deal was over there. And everything about that place felt off.”

“Has Kaminari confided in you about anything?” Aizawa asked.

“No,” Sero admitted. “That’s kind of the funny thing. He’s so open about everything else, but whenever it comes to his house, he just—shuts down. I mean, it’s always been like that so we assumed he was upset his parents worked overseas so much. All this weird stuff’s been going on with him lately. I know the traitor thing is important, too, but I’m worried about what could happen if we ignore Kaminari like I’ve been doing for a year.”

“What did you see, exactly?”

Sero scratched his chin. “More like what didn’t we see. I mean, did you know he has a stepdad? He never told any of us his parents were divorced. And his mum had some weird vibes to her. I mean, she seemed friendly, but like she was holding something back.”

Aizawa stared out the window. So it was obvious now. A secret Kaminari had been carrying for a year was coming out and it just had to be at the worst time.

Aizawa came to a conclusion. Well, he was planning to intervene anyway. “I’ll look into it.”

Sero brightened. “You will?”

“I’ll look into it,” Aizawa repeated. “Let me handle it. Just watch Kaminari for now and try not to let him do something stupid. You can go now.”

Sero left looking slightly more relieved, and Aizawa sat in the quiet. There were other students to question about the vandalism, but he let himself have a moment of pause. Just because the traitor business was his first priority, didn’t mean that he could ignore his basic duties as their teacher. He picked up his phone and dialled.

“Tsukauchi? It’s Eraserhead. I need you to run a background check on someone named Taishiro Hokama.”

Kaminari lay sleepless for two nights while he thought about his next move and plotted his move. Then, he waited for an opportunity.

The opportunity came during lunch hour at the cafeteria, when Kaminari found he didn’t have much of an appetite. He was the last member of 2-A to wander in. He was so distracted that he didn’t even look at what food he was taking or where he was walking, only sort-of, kind-of coming out of his daze when a firm hand grabbed his arm.

It was Kirishima, an unusually cautious smile plastered on his face.

“Hey, come sit with us,” said Kirishima. He gestured over his shoulder to Ashido, Sero, and Bakugou. Ashido and Sero waved hopefully. Bakugou slumped so far in his seat that the only part of his body above the table was his head.

“Ah…no thanks,” Kaminari shook his head. “I’m gonna sit with…”

He looked around at the surrounding tables. He spotted the rest of the girls sitting nearby.

“The girls!” Kaminari exclaimed. “I’m gonna sit with the girls.”

Kirishima deflated. “Hey…we’re really sorry about what happened, right?”

“What?” Kaminari looked up. Right. “Oh, yeah, I know. I’m just—I’ll make it up to you guys later. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Hey…Hey, I’m sorry. I really mean that.”

“I know,” said Kaminari, averting his gaze. The ugly demon he carried in his stomach twisted. “I’ll make it up to you guys later.”

He slipped out of Kirishima’s grasp.

He headed across the way and flopped into the seat next to Hagakure, letting out a long sigh. Hagakure was working on homework while eating, papers and an English textbook spread around her. Looking up, he realized that she and the other occupants at the table—Yaoyorozu, Tsu, Uraraka, and Jirou—were staring.

“Are you guys fighting?” Jirou asked. “You haven’t sat with them all week.”

“It’s nothing,” said Kaminari.

Uncomfortable silence radiated around the table. Kaminari glanced over his shoulder and accidentally caught Ashido’s eye. He looked away before he could give something away.

“Why are you eating ketchup for lunch?” Tsu asked.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that too,” said Yaoyorozu. “You should really have a balanced meal.”

Kaminari looked down at his tray to see what he’d picked up: a bottle of ketchup, an apple, and soda.

“Here, you can have my salad,” Uraraka offered.

“You should really drink some water,” said Yaoyorozu. “I got a spare bottle here.”

“Do you want my dessert?” Hagakure asked. “My mum sent me cookies.”Kaminari agreed to all of it. After food was traded and the awkward silence broke, Kaminari found that he had a tray filled with more acceptable and balanced diet. He sensed that the others hadn’t given him a choice in the matter.

“So what’s going on between you and the others?” Yaoyorozu asked once the girls appeared satisfied.

“Oh, we just had a misunderstanding,” Kaminari shrugged, feeling more at ease.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Uraraka asked.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.” Kaminari drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t really want to get into it.”

“That’s all right,” said Hagakure. “You guys can work through it. I mean, I feel like that if you can make friends with Bakugou, anything is possible.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kaminari agreed. “Thanks, Hagakure.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Hagakure. “Hey, Momo, I don’t really understand this question here. Can you help?”

“Sure, let’s see it,” said Yaoyorozu.

With Hagakure and Yaoyorozu distracted, Kaminari quickly peeked under the table. Hagakure had her book bag underneath—bright pink and with a large butterfly decal on the side. Right next to his leg. The clasps were unlatched, too, but there was no way he’d be able to touch it without someone asking what he was doing.

And then the stars aligned.

At that exact moment, Midoriya appeared—and he wasn’t alone, either. Eri trailed after him like she tended to, and wherever Eri went, she attracted attention at UA. Today, with her purple overalls and a large flower barrette, she commanded it.

“Eri, you look so nice today!” Yaoyorozu sprang from her seat and rushed over to greet the girl, followed by the others at the table. Including Hagakure.

It was a split second. That’s all it took for Kaminari to flip open Hagakure’s bag, slip Midoriya’s notebook in, and shut it again. Then, he followed the girls. There was barely any hesitation between the girls rising from their seat and Kaminari following—hardly a noticeable beat. As far as they knew, he was with them the whole time, and they all crowded around little Eri as she blinked owlishly at the sudden attention.

“Wow, I love your outfit, Eri,” said Uraraka, kneeling to her level.

Eri smiled softly.

“My sister was asking about you the other day, Eri,” said Tsu. She also bent down to Eri’s level. “She wants to know if you want to have another playdate sometime. If you want to.”

“I’d like that,” said Eri. “Satsuki’s a lot of fun to be with. I hope she likes me.”

“She does! You’re all she ever talks about.”

Kaminari looked over to Eri. In the time since her rescue, Eri’s smile had become more genuine by the day, and still she seemed in awe of the attention they laid on her despite the trauma of her past. In a way he could relate to what she’d been through, though he dismissed it just as it came up, let the demon swallow it whole and bury it deep.

When the bell called everyone back to class, Kaminari’s mind raced and made certain that he was the last ones back to the hall outside the classroom. There, just outside the door, he watched as his classmates settled in, attention trained on Hagakure. Her book bag was on her desk and she was talking to Jirou and Shouji. He calculated his next move from his vantage point.

“Hey, Dunce Face!”

Kaminari startled and flattened against the wall.

"Hey, Kacchan, what’s up?” Kaminari smiled. Then remembered he was angry at him. But the anger felt fleeting, almost impossibly inconsequential, compared to everything that had occurred since then.

“Don’t give me that,” Bakugou snapped. He shoved Kaminari’s shoulder. “The fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Oh no, you got a problem, Dunce Face. Four very big problems. Get your shit together and don’t ignore us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, geez! Just sit with us at lunch and stop moping around.”

“Okay, okay, I will!” said Kaminari. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—I needed some space.”

“Whatever. You got your space, time to move on.”

“Yeah.”

Kaminari glanced to the door. Through the window, he could still see Hagakure speaking to Jirou and Shouji. The other two were laughing at something she said.

“Hey, question,” Bakugou went on. “You got a pamphlet from Pervert, right?”

Kaminari’s sluggish brain ground hard like a clogged up clock. “Uh…pamphlet? Mineta’s pamphlet?”

“Yeah, Mineta’s pamphlet. He gave one to you, right?”

Kaminari had to think for a moment before he remembered the circumstances. That had been the day he’d destroyed Midoriya’s room. Right before the vandalism, actually. The thought made him queasy.

“Yeah, he did,” said Kaminari. “What about it?”

THWACK.

Bakugou took his fist and slammed it down on Kaminari’s head.

“OW, what was that for?!” Kaminari exclaimed.

“IDIOT!” Bakugou shouted. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything when I first asked?!”

“I forgot! I was kinda distracted cos Midoriya got his room trashed!”

“Next time, just fucking say something and don’t waste my time. What’d you do with it?”

“I dunno, I think I threw it away. It might still be in my room.”

“Go get it.”

“What, now?!”

“No, not now! I’m not letting you be late for class again, idiot. Right after school, I want that pamphlet.”

“If you’re really desperate, I mean, you can just ask him…”

“I don’t want HIS pamphlets. I want YOURS!”

“I mean, no problem,” Kaminari shrugged. “You’re acting weird today.”

“You’re one to fucking talk. Get the fuck in there.”

Bakugou grabbed Kaminari by the back of his neck and pushed him into the classroom.

Kaminari orientated himself. The conversation had put him off-balance—but he regained it with a combination of determination and stubbornness.

“Hey, you’re almost late,” Ojiro said upon noticing the two.

“I would’ve been if it wasn’t for Bakugou,” said Kaminari. He glanced to Hagakure’s book bag, then to Shouji. He needed to time this perfectly.

“You should try to time yourself better,” Shouji advised him.

He was working on it. “Oh, yeah? Well…what’s a tall guy like you doing in the front row?”

“I like to be close to the board.”

Kaminari laughed. “Think of poor Jirou, though! All she can see is your back. I mean, not that it’s a terrible sight. I mean, all those muscles…”

“Leave me out of this,” said Jirou.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t stare. Shouji’s got those broad shoulders.”

“And you’re going to have a big head if you don’t shut up.”

“Sorry, sorry—didn’t anything by it.” Kaminari took a few steps. Timed himself. “I just thought that—WOAH!”

Kaminari was impressed by his acting abilities. In his rush to get to his seat, his foot slid out from under him and he went careening back. In the midst of his fall, he instinctively jolted out and seized Shouji’s arm.

And then, he shocked him.

The contact was so brief, but brief was all Kaminari needed. He’d done this thousands of times during hero training, and what would just be a normal static shock for people was the equivalent of getting tased when Kaminari was involved. Shouji let out a surprised grunt and jolt, limbs jerking outward uncontrollably as the electricity surged through him in an instant bolt. And just like Kaminari timed, one limb extended fully, arms extending like a great bat descending from the darkened sky. And one limb landed squarely at Hagakure’s bag.

There was a great clattering as her bag went flying into the wall. Shouji fell sideways out of his chair, grunting and holding his stomach. Kaminari landed flat on his back on the ground. Bakugou, who was coming up behind him, didn’t even make an effort to pick him up.

“Watch it, Dunce Face!” Bakugou scolded him.

“Sorry!” Kaminari exclaimed. “Sorry, Shouji! I’m sorry! Did I shock you?”

“Just…Just a little,” Shouji grunted. “Ouch.”

“Are you alright, Shouji?” Midoriya asked.

“I’m fine,” said Shouji. “Fortunately it was just a small shock.”

“That looked like it hurt, though,” said Hagakure.

“Even small shocks from Kaminari are enough to floor anyone,” said Yaoyorozu. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m fine,” Shouji righted himself. Although his pupils looked a little uneven, he stood steady. He turned to Hagakure. “I’m sorry about your books. Let me help you pick them up.”

“It’s okay, I got them,” said Hagakure.

“STOP.” Bakugou suddenly shouted. “No one fucking move.”

Everyone instinctively obeyed—not because they were in the habit of obeying Bakugou’s order, but because of the unrestrained urgency in his tone. Kaminari was standing, but froze with one arm awkwardly resting on Shouji’s desk. And he had to keep himself from grinning like an idiot at the look on Bakugou’s face. Going pale, Bakugou focused on the pile of Hagakure’s books.

Kaminari pulled himself the rest of the way up to see what he was looking at, and sure enough, resting on top of the mess, in unmistakable contrast to Hagakure’s colourful notebooks and pens, was Midoriya’s notebook, crisp around the edges, but his all the same.

Chapter Text

As a hero and a Pro Hero, Aizawa detested this part of the job.

The conference room was ripe with tension. The scent of tea permeated the air, but no one was drinking. Only Nezu moved, sipping, although his expression was stoic. The only one standing was Aizawa himself, leaning against the desk and across from his student.

Tooru Hagakure sat on a chair in the middle of the room. It was hard to tell, but her energy and the rigidity of her movements suggested nervousness. Making eye contact with Hagakure was something of an impossibility, but Aizawa did his best to look where he thought they were.

“You understand how serious this is, Hagakure,” said Aizawa.

“I understand,” said Hagakure, voice shaking. “I swear to you, I don’t know where it came from.”

“It was in your bag,” said Aizawa. He peeled Midoriya’s notebook off the table and dangled it in front of her.

“I don’t know how it got there,” said Hagakure. “Please, I really don’t know.”

Aizawa drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. Something didn’t add up, but if he was misreading the situation, he had to keep up the pressure. He couldn’t let Hagakure know that he had his doubts. Securing her innocence or her guilt was pivotal, even if that meant harsh language had to be employed.

“You should confess,” Aizawa told her. “The incident at USJ was your doing.”

“No!” Hagakure exclaimed. “No, it wasn’t me!”

“You disappeared during the entire fight.”

“I was with Todoroki the whole time.”

“Todoroki can’t vouch for that—I have already spoken to him, and he confirmed that he didn’t have any interactions with you. You only reappeared when the fight was over.”

“I just—I’d never been in a real fight before, so I just disappeared. It was instinct. I swear I didn’t tip off the League to anything.”

“What about the incident at the camp?”

“I was knocked out by the gas. I don’t remember most of it.”

“How can we be sure it wasn’t intentional? Maybe you let yourself get knocked out so you wouldn’t have to fight your allies.”

“No, that’s not what happened!”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Then there’s Bakugou’s rescue. You weren’t at the hospital when the rescue plan formed. If the traitor had been in that room, why wouldn’t they inform the League?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Hagakure. “I know I wasn’t there, but I wouldn’t—I wasn’t—“

Hagakure hiccupped. Then, she started crying. Aizawa averted his gaze. If she was a traitor, she was a damn good actor. Everyone in the conference room let her cry for a while before Midnight stood up and handed her some Kleenex. She blew her nose loudly, hunched over in her chair so far that her forehead met her knees.

“It’s not me,” Hagakure sobbed. “It’s not me, I would never, ever do that to my friends. It’s not me. I worked so hard to get into UA. I want to be a hero so badly. I can’t—I would never work for the League. Please, Mr Aizawa, you have to believe me.”

Aizawa even out his face like a trowel smoothing over uneven concrete. His poker face was insurmountably eternal, but it still took a bit of effort to feign a non-reaction. A part of him desperately wanted to believe that none of his students would ever betray what UA stood for. Another part, the pragmatic side, grounded him. He knew the realities. The traitor had to be an adept liar to avoid detection, especially from Nezu and his insane intelligence. Either that, or the traitor knew better than to draw Nezu’s attention.

Hagakure fit the profile. Her quirk was perfect. She could smile psychotically or faking tears and no one would know the difference. Her actions were suspicious. Midoriya’s notebook was in her bag. All of it was so conveniently eyebrow-raising and it added up a little too well, like a difficult math problem where the solution came a little too quickly. Then he would just end up going over the work leading him to the answer again and again, searching for a misstep, certain of an logical fallacy. 

Aizawa peered over at Nezu, who nodded back.

“We’ll confiscate your student ID for now,” said Aizawa. “We’ll be contacting your parents as well to find out more information. You’re not to leave the campus. Ectoplasm, if you could create a clone to escort Miss Hagakure back to her room, I’d appreciate it.

“I understand,” Hagakure sniffed.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Hagakure,” said Nezu. “I hope you’re telling the truth, Miss Hagakure, but if you are not, I urge you to confess as soon as possible. Otherwise I can’t guarantee leniency.”

That just made Hagakure cry louder, whispering over and over again, “It’s not me. It’s not me.”

In a trail of thick smoke, Ectoplasm’s clone formed, and Hagakure shakily got to her feet and was escorted out. The tension in the room didn’t clear until after she left and Aizawa collapsed into his seat, spent. He was going to need a long nap after this.

“Opinions?” Nezu asked the room.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Snipe offered at once. “It’s too convenient. A spy wouldn’t be so sloppy.”

“Even Pro Heroes make rookie mistakes,” Yagi pointed out. “I’m not saying I believe she’s it, but I think it’s important to keep in mind that our traitor is most likely a teenager. They aren’t exactly known for their sound decision making.”

“Hagakure was caught with the journal and there’s circumstantial evidence pointing to her guilt,” said Vlad. “We’d be fools to not suspect her, but I admit that we need stronger proof.”

“Could someone have planted the notebook in her bag?” Cementoss asked.

“I questioned all the students in Class 2-A about their movements during the morning,” said Aizawa. “There could have been multiple opportunities for someone to plant it in her bag.”

“We’ll need to question her parents,” said Clementoss.

“That will be Aizawa’s responsibility,” said Nezu. “She’s his student. If we need to, we’ll call Detective Tsukauchi to do some more thorough investigating, but we need more cause first.”

Vlad hummed and folded his arms.

“Oh, don’t look so smug,” Yamada snapped.

“What?” Vlad said. “I’m just sitting here.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Yamada. He abruptly stood up. “You’re all smug because the traitor’s a 2-A student and not one of yours.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Vlad defended. “I was thinking that it was a shame that it was any UA student.”

“You’re the one always encouraging the students to compete! Are you happy now that you won?!”

“Don’t make assumptions,” Vlad scoffed. “There are no winners here.”

“Now, now, let’s not fight amongst ourselves,” said Nezu, back to his chipper self. “We have to present a united front to the students. I doubt we’ll be able to keep this quiet for long, so the other teachers will have to be briefed about what to expect.”

Yamada’s angry gaze settled on Vlad. It took too long for him to settle back down in his chair.

“We’ll question Hagakure more tomorrow,” Nezu announced. “Let’s take a break for now.”

Aizawa fled from the room faster than he’d ever bailed on a social situation before, feet moving too fast for Nezu to call him back. He couldn’t think. His mind ground together like stuck gears, crusted with age and experience. There was no coordination to his step, no destination. Aizawa found the first empty closet he could find, zipped himself up in his sleeping bag, and threw himself inside.

Alone in the blissful darkness, Aizawa’s thoughts settled somewhat as he did his best to enforce sleep. Of course, sleep didn’t come naturally—he was buzzing with thoughts and theories and realizations. The desperate need to see Hagakure past her invisibility left him scrambling for clues. He couldn’t discern her facial expression, see whether she was smiling or frowning or see the lie on her face. All of that was lost, and in the aftermath he was left twisting for any fragmentary manifestation of her true intent.

He thought he’d find sanctuary in the supply closet, alone with his thoughts, until he heard the door open and a bar of light intruded.

“Well, well, well.” Yamada’s sing-song voice filled the closet. “Hear this, listeners! I spy with my little eye, our favourite underground hero: Eraserhead! Tune in to the supply closet on the left to see it for yourself!”

“Not now, Hizashi,” Aizawa grunted. “Close the door.”

Yamada did so, humming to himself as he deposited himself on the ground next to Aizawa’s sleeping bag. “Hey, look—everything’s gonna be fine.”

“No, Hizashi, everything is not fine,” Aizawa sighed. He unzipped enough to stick his head out. “I have a traitor in my class, I’ve spent the last two hours trying to question an emotionally distraught teenage girl with no progress and worst of all, you interrupted my nap. Nothing is fine.”

“Hey, you’ve been through some tough times, you gotta go easy on yourself,” said Hizashi. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Wrong,” Aizawa countered. “I should know. I know these students better than anyone. I know their weaknesses and their strengths, I know Bakugou always goes to bed early so he can get up early enough to cram in some extra studying, I know Tokoyami likes waffles but not pancakes, I know Yaoyorozu’s favourite city to visit is Prague, and that Kaminari likes classic English literature, and that Hagakure’s favourite colour is pink and her favourite stuffed animal is a giant blue bear named Mr Snuggles. I should know.”

“You can’t know,” Yamada asserted. “Look, I bet this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be optimistic,” Aizawa snapped. “One of them is a traitor. I’m just not sure that Hagakure is it.”

Yamada frowned. “You think she’s being framed?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Aizawa conceded. “She didn’t crack in that whole two hours.”

“To be fair, a traitor’s gonna have better nerves than that. She’ll deny it until there’s concrete evidence.”

“Or until she’s pressured into giving a false confession.”

If she was even guilty of anything. Aizawa rubbed at his eyes.

“Will you be alright?” Yamada asked, unusually soft.

Aizawa zipped the sleeping bag back over his head.

Kaminari paced the length of the common room. Small discharges of electricity followed him where he went, but nothing beyond a spark, suggesting agitation and anxiety. Where was it coming form? He should be relieved. Relieved that Hagakure was now the centre of attention, that news about the notebook in her bag spread like wildfire around the school, that no one paid him a second glance. He should be relieved, and instead he was warped with tense energy.

Afternoon classes for 2-A had been cancelled while the teachers investigated. One-by-one, the students had been questioned. Kaminari had sat nervously in the teacher’s lounge, one knee jumping up and down, as Aizawa had asked him what had happened in the classroom, if Hagakure had been acting strangely, if he’d noticed anything odd lately. The lies came out easily. They were taking it a lot more seriously than Kaminari thought they would; he’d thought the presence of the notebook would only become a rumour, a mere suggestion of guilt, not an absolution. He hadn’t even imagined the teachers would take it so seriously.

It was foolish of him, probably. But the damage was done and he couldn’t take it back now.

Everyone was coping in their own way. Some had gone to bed, many deciding to share rooms for the night. The rest—Bakugou, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Midoriya, and Uraraka—gathered in the common room, waiting for news, Kaminari among them.

“Stop pacing before you wear a hole in the floor,” Jirou chastised him.

“I gotta!” Kaminari exclaimed. “I just gotta keep moving. I mean, did anyone notice anything about Hagakure? She’s so nice, I just can’t believe she’d do something like this.”

No one answered. It hadn’t been the first time someone asked. It hadn’t been the first time the question didn’t have an answer.

“Ugh, I should’ve known!” Kaminari exclaimed. “This is fucked up!”

“What makes you think you’d know anything, Dunce Face?” said Bakugou.

“Hey, I know things,” said Kaminari. “I know that this is fucked up, for example!”

“Don’t freak out until we know what’s going on,” said Jirou, eyeing the lights as a stray jolt of electricity jostled through his entire body. “Then you can freak out.”

“Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding,” Uraraka suggested.

“Tch, you’re deluded,” Bakugou barked. “Not really much of a misunderstanding when the evidence was in her fucking bag. And she’s every opportunity to sneak around like a good little spy.”

Kaminari chewed on his nail. Maybe he’d done too good of a job. A job so perfect that he kept mulling over the fine details, searching for the smallest crack, the slightest misstep. Left hyperaware, his body tensed so hard, he felt muscles threatening to rip from his bone like a raw piece of meat.

When they heard the front door opening and footsteps approached, everyone jumped to their feet and stood still—waiting. For Aizawa, to tell them that Hagakure was in jail, to tell them she was the traitor, the investigation was over. What Kaminari didn’t quite expect was Hagakure herself to come in.

“You,” Bakugou said. He sprang up and got in Hagakure’s face, shoving her up against the opposite wall. “You got a lot of nerve showing your face around here. So to speak.”

“I—” Hagakure started.

“No, don’t even fucking try to justify yourself,” Bakugou spat. “You stabbed us all in the back and then you think you can waltz in here and pretend like nothing happened? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“No!” Hagakure exclaimed. “No, it’s not what you think—“

“Shut up. Shut up, don’t even try!”

Kaminari’s chest seized, and in his desperation to rid himself of the sensation, he stepped between Bakugou and Hagakure. “Hey, lay off, Kacchan.”

“What, you think she’s innocent?!” Bakugou shouted. “You were right there! Don’t fucking tell me you didn’t see the notebook fall out of her bag!”

“No, I saw it, I just don’t—”

“That’s enough,” Yaoyorozu intervened. “This isn’t helping anything.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Ponytail!” Bakugou screamed.

“You don’t ask for anyone’s opinion!” Yaoyorozu screamed back. “So I’m telling you to keep yours to yourself!”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Bakugou shoved past Yaoyorozu and stormed off in a brewing black cloud.

In the howling silence, Hagakure’s shoulders relaxed. “Thanks, Momo.”

Yaoyorozu looked over her shoulder at Hagakure, uncertainty laced all over her like an ensnaring net. Her clenched hand drew up to settle near her heart, her eyebrows curling upwards. Yaoyorozu’s lips parted, as if she wanted to speak, but she held the words back and instead walked away.

“Momo?” Hagakure asked. “You don’t really think…?”

Yaoyorozu’s silence answered her as she left.

“You guys really think I did it?” Hagakure asked the assembled group.

Uraraka hesitated. “Well, it’s not that— it’s just that—” She stopped. Composed herself. “It’s just that it looks not so great.”

“I—I know that, but you have to know that I would never—ever—”

“Never say never,” said Jirou. Her face was stony. “So, all the jam sessions in my room. Was that just an excuse to spy on me or what?”

“No, of course not!” Hagakure insisted.

Jirou looked evenly at Hagakure. She sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I gotta think about this. Sorry.”

“Kyouka—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Jirou left as well. Hagakure lasted a grand total of ten seconds of bitter silence before she started sobbing and made the slow crawl to her room like a wounded animal dragging itself off the highway. Kaminari sank into the couch, interlacing his fingers and leaning his forehead against them in a show of what could easily be mistaken for distress. He was distressed—that, he couldn’t lie about. What he could lie about was the reason why

It was midnight. Everyone was sleep, he was out past curfew, and Kaminari stood in front of Hagakure’s door with a bag and determination.

What was he doing? He technically didn’t have to be there. There would always be ways to pry information out of Hagakure later, and at a more reasonable hour, and at a time that wouldn’t interfere with his spotty sleep schedule.

There was still a chance. He could turn around, run back to his room, go back to bed. But when he heard Hagakure crying through her bedroom door, when he saw the faint light visible in the crack underneath, it stirred him into action by an unknowable force. Kaminari tried to place its source, convincing himself that he was acting on the need to collect information, not out of concern.

He knocked.

The crying on the other side of the door stopped.

“Hagakure?” Kaminari said. “It’s Kaminari. Sorry it’s so late, but I brought you something.”

Pause.

The door cracked open and Hagakure’s bright pink pyjamas with bunnies on them peered out at him.

“Hey, I brought you a bento box,” said Kaminari. “It’s got rice cakes—I tried to make them look like cute bunnies because I know you like Kouda’s bunny so much, but it ended up looking a little lopsided and drunk. Sorry. Oh, but in case you don’t like them, I brought ice cream! Except it’s mint chocolate chip. Do you like mint chocolate chip? I don’t know if that’s a controversial ice cream flavour or not. My mum liked it though.” He paused, checking his phrasing. “I mean—my mum likes it. A lot. I brought you the bucket.”

Kaminari held up a bucket of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one hand and the sloppy bento box in the other.

Hagakure’s sleeve wiped across her forehead. “W—What?”

“Food!” said Kaminari “I brought you food.”

“Why…?”

Kaminari’s face fell. “If you don’t like it, I can grab whatever comfort food you want. Or if you just, like, want to be left alone, I can go?””

“No—No, it’s not that. Come in.”

Hagakure turned inside, sniffing miserably, and Kaminari elbowed his way inside. Hagakure’s room was only lit by a single lamp which didn’t spread all the way across the room, creating soft, contrasting shadows that settled like snowfall. Hagakure shuffled over to her bed and sat down.

“I’m not the traitor,” Hagakure warbled out into the quiet.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Kaminari said honestly.

“Aren’t you here to yell or—or to ask questions?” Hagakure asked.

“Nope,” Kaminari said, popping the ‘p.’ “Have some ice cream.”

He handed her the carton and a giant spoon and sat cross-legged on her bed beside her.

“It wasn’t me,” Hagakure sobbed. “I swear it’s not me. I don’t know how the notebook got in my bag.”

“Hey, you don’t have to justify anything, alright?” said Kaminari. “I believe in you.”

“Why?” Hagakure asked.

“You’re too nice for that,” said Kaminari.

Hagakure choked on her words and scooped a huge mouthful of ice cream that disappeared into thin air.

“I’m sorry about what Bakugou said,” Kaminari told her. “He’s not a bad person, just an asshole.”

“No, I don’t blame him,” Hagakure cried. “I don’t know how the notebook got in there.”

“You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

Hagakure spent the next few minutes eating her ice cream. Kaminari wondered if she wanted to be alone, but when she didn’t tell him to leave, he settled back on her bed with his arms folded behind his head.

Hagakure sniffed and wiped her sleeve across the general area where her head would be. He wasn’t making any progress here. Kaminari drummed his fingers on his knee and pulled some nail polish out of the bag.

“Hey, want to paint each other’s nails?” Kaminari asked. “I brought pink.”

Hagakure rubbed her invisible face with her sleeve. “B—But it’s midnight. Y—You should go to bed, you don’t have to—”

“Are you planning to go to sleep?”

“Not really…”

“So let’s paint nails! C’mon! You’re gonna have to help me with yours though, cuz I can’t see your fingers.”

It took a lot of finagling, but minutes later, Kaminari sat across from Hagakure on her bed, hot-pink nail polish brush held precariously. It took a few failed attempts before Hagakure came out of her daze long enough to guide his hand to where her index finger was, and after completing the first nail, he looked proudly at the pink spots now vaguely outlining where her hand was.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Hagakure said, the vestige of a laugh carrying on her voice.

“Hey, I’m an only child,” said Kaminari. “If I had a sister, I guarantee you I’d know how to do a killer pedicure.”

“Manicure. You mean a manicure. A pedicure is when you paint your toenails.”

“Wait, there’s two different words for it? Who came up with that?”

“People who know how to paint nails, probably.”

She wasn’t wrong. It took a team effort, by but the end, Kaminari saw five floating pink nails, along with spots from the failed attempts to find her nails. Hagakure flexed her fingers, outlining the delicate shape of her nails.

“Hey, that looks really nice,” said Hagakure. “I can’t wait to show—oh.” She stopped short. The nails drew up towards her chest. “I guess…I don’t know if I’ll have friends by tomorrow…”

“Of course you’ll have friends,” said Kaminari.

“Why would…Why would the spy do this? Do you think it’s my fault? Did I do something to hurt them?”

“No way. You’re great! Your quirk is awesome and you’re friends with everyone!”

“I thought I was…”

“They’re scared. They’ll come to their senses when this all blows over.”

“What if I get expelled?”

“They won’t expel you. I mean, what evidence do they have, really?”

“They have Midoriya’s notebook…”

“Well, yeah, but that could’ve fallen into your bag. Like, maybe Midoriya was reading it and he dropped it by accident and it fell into your bag, then Midoriya forgot about that whole thing. Then that means there’s no traitor and this was all just a huge misunderstanding. C’mon, let me do your other hand.”

Kaminari was happy to keep his hands busy will he worked on her other hand, careful to feel out the outline of her fingernail. With the practice done on her first hand, it was an easier task to do the second. It involved a lot less relying on the eye and a lot more feeling, and while he was feeling, he couldn’t help but notice how soft Hagakure’s hands were.

“Hey, can you like see yourself?” Kaminari asked. “I know you’re invisible to everyone, but can you see yourself from your perspective?”

“Yeah, I’m invisible all the time,” Hagakure said. Her voice sounded much more like herself. “I hope that if I can get more control of my quirk, I can turn myself visible, even if it’s just for short periods of time.”

“What was that like growing up?”

“I got by,” Hagakure shrugged. “I have pretty good spatial awareness. I guess I just developed a knack for it after I will. I got a sense of what I look like just by feeling my face.”

“Does it bother you at all, not seeing yourself?”

“A little when I was younger. But here at UA, everyone’s been so nice. They don’t see me as just an invisible girl.”

Kaminari went quiet. He finished the final nail. Ten slabs of pink stared back at him, dancing and flexing as Hagakure moved, admiring the work.

“I love it,” she said. “Hey, let me do your nails now. What colour do you want?”

“Uh…” Kaminari surveyed their limited options. “Black.”

Hagakure started on his nails. Kaminari sat stiffly, not sure why he felt nauseous all of a sudden. A nagging thought settled in his head and no matter how much he tried to focus on the glide of the brush across his nails, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Hey, Hagakure?” he asked. “Do you think the traitor is a bad person?”

The brush paused. Then resumed. “I don’t know. I wish I knew why they were doing this. I’m worried it’s something we did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there someone in the class that we’re not treating the way we should? Is it someone with a deep, secret grudge that they’ve been holding onto? Are they upset at us? I mean, I know Bakugou is hard to get along with even on a good day, but is there someone in class who’s hurting on the inside and no one noticed? So they thought they had to help the League?”

She finished his right hand and moved onto the left.

“I don’t know if they’re a bad person,” Hagakure concluded. “I just want to know why.”

“They gotta be a bad person if they’re framing you for this mess,” said Kaminari.

“I hope they’re not,” Hagakure whispered. “I hope it’s just some huge misunderstanding. I don’t even want it to be Mineta.”

“Wow, not even Mineta? Even I’d throw Mineta under the bus.”

Hagakure laughed, chiming and sweet. She finished up his hand and they spent a few minutes blowing on their nails to make them dry faster, then leaned back on her bed shoulder-to-shoulder to compare. Hagakure had done a much nicer job than him, but she was appreciative all the same, though Kaminari didn’t really digest anything she said. Her voice chimed like the wind until it all blended together.

The nausea in his stomach stung again.

It was well after two in the morning when Kaminari finally left, physically exhausted and knowing that he was going to sleep through at least a few classes tomorrow. Hagakure saw him to the door, bade him goodbye, and watched him head down the hall.

“Kaminari?” Hagakure said.

He turned back.

“Thanks…” she said.

Kaminari flashed a smile. “Anything for a friend.”

When he returned to his room, he wasn’t smiling anymore. He’d gone there to get information and he hadn’t even done what he’d gone there to do. He paced around in a circle, unable to think about crawling underneath the sheets. It was risky; if Iida heard him up or saw the light under his door, he’d chastise him for being up so late when it was a school night. But Kaminari couldn’t stop moving. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest like a burning ulcer.

Hagakure didn’t deserve this. What was he doing? Even Yaoyorozu had turned her back on her. What was he doing? The phrase repeated in his mind like a stuck record. What would happen if Hagakure got expelled or arrested on suspicion of aiding the League? How long until they uncovered the truth—if they uncovered the truth? They could very well believe the lie and not investigate further. It would mean the end of Hagakure’s hero career before it even gotten started. It would mean the end of Hagakure’s friendships. It would mean the end of Hagakure.

The nausea came back in full force. Bile rose in the back of his throat. Kaminari barely made it to his toilet in time. For a few minutes, he knelt in front of the toilet bowl, the smell of vomit stinging his nostrils. Just the smell was enough to make him puke a second time.

Dizzy, he kept leaning against the toilet in case he threw up again. He’d destroyed Hagakure and he couldn’t even blame the Paranormal Liberation Front for it.

Kaminari skipped breakfast the next morning and went straight to class, barely making it in time to beat the bell. Fortunately his tardiness wasn’t enough to draw attention, but Sero looked confused as Kaminari flopped into his desk.

“You okay?” Sero asked. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I’m good,” Kaminari said tensely. “Long night.”

“You sure? Cuz the last time you said that, I didn’t believe you either.”

“I’m good,” Kaminari smiled. “Thanks for asking, I appreciate it.”

Kaminari wasn’t the last to class, though. As everyone settled, a sudden hush descended as Hagakure entered the room and all eyes landed on her. For once, Hagakure didn’t seem pleased with the attention, going tense on the spot, clutching her book bag close to her chest.

Geez, this wasn’t helping his guilt. Kaminari waved at Hagakure.

“Love the nails, Hagakure!” Kaminari said to her.

Hagakure’s shoulders relaxed and she stood straight. “Thanks! Love yours, too!”

“Thanks, Hagakure!” Kaminari said with deliberate volume. “You’re such a great friend!”

Kaminari looked around. No one else responded to the interaction. No one moved from their seats. Eyes glanced from Kaminari to Hagakure, and despite his hopeful look to Ashido, she averted her gaze and didn’t look up again. Twisting in his seat to look behind him, Kirishima looked more defeated and sad than anything else, hands folded on his desk. So much for friendship.

Kaminari couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a school day so rough, and he wasn’t even the primary target. If anything, he slipped under the radar while people consciously turned away from Hagakure or gave her lingering stares or just avoided her. It was a painful sight to see a one gregarious high school girl shrink into herself like Hagakure did when gazes found their way to her. She had never been shy, but she was doing a good impression of an introvert from the way she flitted from attention.

She really was the Stealth Hero after all.

At lunch, Kaminari hid in a bathroom stall and pulled out his burner phone to call Shigaraki for a check-in. Shigaraki didn’t have much of a phone presence, limiting his answers to ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and ‘I told you so.’ As Kaminari recounted his actions concerning Hagakure and the way everyone was treating her, though, he was oddly quiet, even for him.

“You should do more,” Shigaraki said.

“Huh?” Kaminari frowned.

“You should do more to pin the blame on her. You’ve already laid the foundation fairly well. It would just take a little push to get her arrested.”

“You want me to—” Kaminari stopped and listened for signs of life before the toilet stall. He leaned in close to whisper into the receiver. “You want me to get Hagakure arrested?”

“You could. Or else make her disappear. Why not? It will bode better for you if you can pass under the radar.”

“Um, how should I do that?”

“You got this far on your own, so surely you have an idea.”

Kaminari thought carefully. He thought about Hagakure, who’d slunk into the classroom and stared down with intense suspicion and hurt.

“I…I don’t know if it’s a smart idea,” said Kaminari. “I mean, I’ve already put a lot on the line, if I push any more it could expose me, y’know?”

“And how soon until they figure out it was a ploy to divert attention? If new evidence doesn’t conveniently land in their laps, their attention could turn back to other suspects. Their attention will wane with time. Let me put it to you directly, Denki: do something about this girl. I want to see headline news about how the Invisible Girl is a traitor.”

That’s when it clicked with Kaminari. This wasn’t a suggestion. This wasn’t even an order. It was more than that to Shigaraki—it was the reason he was pushing so hard, why the situation with Hagakure felt unfinished and dry.

“You’re testing me,” Kaminari said as much before he could think about keeping the thought to himself.

“Now you’re understanding.”

“I thought we were past tests,” Kaminari asked with the slightest warble in his voice. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“You haven’t given me a lot of reasons to trust you lately, and after everything I’ve done for you, too. I’m the one who gave you the skills you need to survive in this pitiful world, and now you want to use it against me? You have to be truly ungrateful. If it hadn’t been for me, you would be one of the brainwashed masses tricked into joining the Pro Hero cult, but apparently you’re so weak that you can’t even attend their school without turning on me.”

Kaminari’s chest tightened with every one of Shigaraki’s words tearing into his flesh as if he was right there and his nails were clawing into him. “I wouldn’t.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I can believe you anymore.”

Kaminari breathed heavily into the phone, feeling spent as if Shigaraki was standing right in front of him. A Shigaraki filled with quiet anger was worse than a Shigaraki yelling and screaming at him.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Shigaraki jeered. “You know how I feel about crying. I should just cut you out while I still can.”

“I’m not,” Kaminari said truthfully. His eyes were dry no matter how desperately he wanted to shed tears. “I can do it.”

There was an eternal silence in which Kaminari heard nothing on the other end—not even Shigaraki breathing.

Finally, Shigaraki sighed. “You know I hate it when you beg. I can help you, Kaminari, but I can’t let another mistake slide. Do you understand that? I don’t want to make a difficult decision when it comes to you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

A measured pause answered him. “See that you don’t.”

Kaminari let out the breath he didn’t realize had gotten trapped in his lungs and slumped against the wall of the toilet stall.

He didn’t have long to get himself together again. He would be missed if he didn’t go to lunch, although he didn’t have much of an appetite. Kaminari fussed over his reflection in the mirror to make sure he didn’t look too rattled and headed out.

By the time he got his lunch tray, his classmates had settled into their tables. Class 2-A typically sat in clusters close together, however it only took a quick cursory glance to see that Hagakure was not among them. Kaminari was good at scanning quickly and without drawing too much attention to himself, so It only took a split second to see that she was sitting a good distance away from the group, off in the far corner.

His blood boiled. The call with Shigaraki already left him feeling down, but seeing Hagakure sitting alone made him ache. He made a beeline for the cluster of tables and locked eyes with Yaoyorozu.

“Why’s Hagakure sitting all by herself?” Kaminari asked.

Yaoyorozu sighed. “I told her she could sit with us, but she insisted on sitting alone.” She gestured for him to come closer and he leaned in. “Apparently the staff are going to have a meeting with her and her parents, so she’s not going to any classes this afternoon.”

Kaminari hesitantly took a seat next to Jirou and did his best to act normal, even if he wasn’t able to stomach most of his lunch.

Kaminari waited outside the main building for close to two hours after school, neglecting a full study session and an invitation from Kirishima to play video games. Hagakure hadn’t been answering texts from what he overheard from his classmates and he was determined—he was decisive that he wouldn’t move from that spot until he knew for certain.

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?”

Kaminari startled. He’d been so fixated on the building that he’d neglected to be aware of his surroundings and thus had completely missed when Aizawa approached from behind.

“Mr Aizawa!” Kaminari exclaimed. “I can explain.”

“According to Hound Dog, you’ve been here since school ended.”

“I’m waiting for Tooru.”

Aizawa’s expression flattened out. Well, flattened out more than it already was.

“I wouldn’t wait on her, Kaminari,” said Aizawa. “It could be a long while.”

“Are her parents here?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“They can back her up, right? They can say that she has nothing to do with the Paranormal Liberation Front?”

“We’re not talking about this, Kaminari. Stop waiting and go do some homework.”

“I can’t. I have to wait for Tooru. Shouldn’t you be with her? You’re her teacher.”

“I’m on a break.” His gaze held steady on Kaminari. “And to ask if you’ve spoken to your stepfather yet. He’s still waiting outside the gate.”

“What do you mean?”

Aizawa looked questioningly at him. “I texted you over an hour ago. Your stepfather is waiting outside the gate to speak to you.”

“Oh. Y’know, you could’ve just let my stepdad inside.”

Aizawa was still in all sense of the word. He broke his stare and looked off into the distance. “Parents aren’t allowed on school property.”

“That’s not a rule! You just made that up.”

“Fine. Parents I don’t like aren’t allowed on school property. Satisfied?”

Kaminari shouldered his backpack. “I should go see what he wants.”

Aizawa looked flatly at him. “I’ll tell him to leave if you ask.”

“Thanks, it’s alright. I can handle him.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“Um…One time Eri saw me sticking my fingers into a socket and asked if she should do that too, and in my panic I said ‘Sure!’ But I swear I lectured her about electrical safety afterwards.”

“That’s not what I was asking. Although…that does explain some things…”

Kaminari flushed pink. “I should—I should go see what my stepdad wants. Good talk, Mr Aizawa!”

He fled before Aizawa could think about calling him back, heading to the gates in a power walk with his head down.

The walls of UA had never made him feel safe for more than one reason. There were plenty of quirks that could get over them and the gate only kept out the basic riff-raff who didn’t have ID cards. The wall felt less like protection and more like a glorified privacy fence. If anyone really wanted to look over it, they could and the villains had definitely already done that thanks to him.

He found Hokama parked less than a block away, standing outside his car and smoking. He glanced up as Kaminari approached and gestured to the car with a jerk of his head. Kaminari sidled into the front passenger seat.

“About time,” Hokama said as he got behind the wheel and locked the doors. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

“I don’t have my phone, Hokama,” said Kaminari. “If you really need someone to yell at, call the burner phone.”

Hokama gave him a sharp and silencing glare. “I did.”

“Oh, oops…I must’ve left it on silent…”

“Useless as always.” Hokama reached behind the seat. “Here. I have a delivery from your ‘mother.’”

Hokama checked for onlookers and roughly shoved a metal case into Kaminari’s hand. The same one they had picked up from Dabi the night everything had gone to shit. Kaminari blinked stupidly at the electronic lock with a fingerprint sensor.

“When did she get my fingerprints?” Kaminari asked, though he already knew the answer.

Kaminari pressed his pointer finger on the scanner and it automatically unlocked.

Careful to crack the case open only a sliver, inside he found a steel tranquilizer gun resting comfortably in a foam bed. Surrounding it was the intended ammo: small vials continuing multicoloured liquid. He stared for a long while before it fully registered.

“What the hell is this?” Kaminari asked.

“Those are sedatives,” Hokama pointed to the upper row of vials, then to the bottom. “Those are quirk suppressants.”

“Quirk suppressants?”

“A parting gift from the Shie Hassaikai. Shigaraki’s been holding onto them since last year. We have ones that can permanently erase quirks, but fortunately both he and your ‘mother’ have the foresight to not trust you with them.”

“What exactly do they expect me to do with this stuff?”

“Do I look like Shigaraki’s messenger boy to you? Use your imagination.”

Kaminari looked down at the tranquilizer gun. He knew better than to take it out of the case and brandish it where everyone could see. This was a message—a sign about what he wanted him to do next. Instead of the gun, he took one of the sedative vials and rolled it between his fingers. The glass was cold to the touch like one of Shigaraki’s long fingers on the back of his neck, testing him, and it all came together.

He snapped the lid shut and shoved the case into his backpack.

“It's Thursday," said Kaminari.

"So you know your days."

"Tomura wants me to come home on weekends. I'll see you tomorrow after school."

Hokama sighed. “Well, I had riveting plans for the weekend, but what the hell. I can drop everything to babysit you."

“Gosh, you’re so salty all the time. You can go back to your mad science experiments later. Just...be there when I come home."

“Why?”

“Just be there.” 

“Fine. I’m leaving now.”

“Aren’t you going to walk me back to school?”

“Get out.”

Kaminari barely had time to tumble out of the passenger seat before it sped from the curb and pulled into traffic. He held his backpack close to his chest then looked up to stare at the outer wall of UA, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to protect him from the likes of Shigaraki if he didn’t give him what he was asking.

Chapter Text

Kaminari gazed into the mirror like Snow White staring a little too long at her reflection in the wishing well, contemplating her life decisions. Since when had he ever possessed any autonomy in his life? Any autonomous actions were arbitrary and practiced, and nothing had ever been his own. He’d only ever lived Shigaraki’s life. Shigaraki’s purpose. Shigaraki’s goals.

He checked the time. It was past four on Friday afternoon and he barely remembered class that day. Hagakure attended class with everyone, but her presence tightened the atmosphere. Kaminari had been the only one to sit with her at lunch. The rest just avoided her because of him.

He took a deep breath and left the safety of the bathroom.

Kaminari collected a few bags of snacks to ignore the slow-moving car crash happening around him. He found Bakugou, Ashido, Kirishima, and Sero lounging outside on the grass, although they didn’t look relaxed in the slightest. Sero’s smile was doing an odd flicker-twitch, like someone was shocking him whenever he had a happy thought. Bakugou’s lower lip jutted out so far it might detach from his head.

It was a bit of a sorry sight. Kaminari passed around drinks and tried not to look too emotionally constipated. In all fairness, none of the others looked any better than him, despite the differing reason.

“I bring peace offerings, in compliance with the Geneva Convention,” said Kaminari.

“Didn’t know the Geneva Convention covers snacks,” Sero quipped. Still, the tense smile that he’d been holding for days loosened a little.

“I added a new clause. Turns out I can be pretty persuasive—if the whole hero thing doesn’t work out, I should go into politics.”

“If you go into politics, the country’s fucking doomed,” said Bakugou. Still, he didn’t protest when offered a soda. “You’d fit right in with the rest of the idiots in the government.”

“Like the country would do any better with Prime Minister Blasty,” Kaminari teased.

Bakugou grabbed Kaminari’s face and shoved him over.

“Go die,” Bakugou snapped.

“Hey, Denki, how’s Hagakure doing?” Ashido asked.

Kaminari took pause. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bakugou snapped at Ashido. “Just leave her. Hopefully they’ll lock her up soon and we can have some quiet around here. All anyone does is complain about Hagakure this, Hagakure that. It’s driving me up the fucking wall.”

“Ease up, Hagakure’s a good guy,” said Kaminari.

“Yeah? And I guess she’s got you wrapped around her stupid invisible finger, huh? Did she take a note out of Shinsou’s book and brainwash you?”

“God, no, I just want you guys to be nice to her while I’m gone.”

“Going where?” Sero asked.

“Home for the weekend.”

“You’re going back?”

Kaminari sighed. “We talked about this, guys. My mum wants me to spend quality time with family, since the last attempt ended with Aizawa staring angrily at my parents and the attempt after that ended with her crying into tea.”

He didn’t miss the way Sero and Kirishima’s eyes locked, full of deep meaning and concern.

“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry,” Kaminari assured them.

Kaminari turned and was halfway back to Heights Alliance when a firm hand clapped his shoulder. He startled hard.

“Calm the fuck down,” Bakugou snapped.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” said Kaminari.

“I didn’t. Get your hearing checked. Just wanted to fucking remind you that you still owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“…The pamphlet, dumbass. Mineta’s pamphlet.”

“Oh, that. I, uh, I looked for it—I think I might’ve thrown it away.”

“Fucking typical.”

“I don’t keep a lot of Mineta’s propaganda, it makes me feel gross.”

“So you don’t have it.”

“No. Um…I have to go.”

“For the whole weekend?”

“For the whole weekend.”

“We changed band practice to Sunday afternoon.”

“Uh, what for?”

“Just worked out that way. Think you can get back for Sunday?”

“I mean, sure, I guess.”

“So don’t be late.”

“Since when have I been late?” Kaminari managed a smile.

Bakugou smacked the back of his head. “Don’t be late or I swear to God, I’m replacing you with a cardboard cut-out of your punched-in face!”

“Wow, will it be life-sized?”

Bakugou smacked him a final time and stalked off, fuming, and finally Kaminari’s throbbing heart stilled.

He gathered what few essentials he needed from his room; he wanted to spend as little time at home as possible after he did what he had to do. It was too risky to carry the case with all the ammo in it, so he loaded a round of the tranquilizer into the gun and kicked the case as far under his bed as possible. He tucked the gun into his belt, hidden under a sweater much too warm for the current weather. It was fine. He felt cold anyway.

Finally, he went to Hagakure’s room. He knocked twice with no answer, but he knew she couldn’t be anywhere else, so he whipped out his picks and forced the lock. When he entered, it was still, but he sensed eyes on him.

“Tooru?” Kaminari scanned the room. Nothing. Just silence.

He prepared for this, however. On a whim, he pulled a pillow off the floor, threw it at the bed, and Hagakure let out a startled squeak as it hit her.

“Hey, Tooru,” said Kaminari.

“How did you know I was here?” Tooru asked. “…How did you get in?”

“Through the door. I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out at my house for a while.”

“What?”

“Come hang out at my house,” Kaminari repeated.

“I can’t. I’m not supposed to leave school property—they took my student card…”

“You’re Invisible Girl. No one will see you if you take off your clothes. Just sneak out with me when I leave—walk right behind me or whatever.”

“I can’t, I’m in enough trouble already.”

“It’s not like you have to be gone all weekend, just, like the rest of the day or whatever. You’ve been in your room all day, it’s not like anyone’s gonna notice.”

“Denki, I can’t, it’s—do you know how much trouble I would get into?”

“It’s just an afternoon.”

“Someone will notice.”

“Do you have somewhere you have to be?”

“No.”

“Will someone show up to interrogate you again?”

“I don’t think so…”

“See? No one cares. You’ll be back before curfew. You just…” Kaminari struggled. He sat on Hagakure’s bed, watching the indent where he knew she sat. “Don’t you want a break? From everything? Even if it’s just a for a few hours?”

“I’ll get into a lot of trouble.”

“You won’t. I promise. I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

Hagakure was quiet for a long, long time. Then, her weight shifted and he heard the quiet pat of her feet touching the floor. He held out her hand and she snatched it like a desperate and starving dog, biting the hand that fed it. It took every ounce of repression he to swallow it down. The taste was so thick in his throat he felt like he was choking and the only thing that kept him steady was the warmth of Hagakure’s palm.

She didn’t let go of his hand as they headed out of Heights Alliance. He felt the tranquilizer gun digging into his back from where it tucked into his belt.

He didn’t want to go. He would do anything to stop what he was doing and he was just a helpless passenger in his body. But he had no choice, there was no autonomy. The consequences if he stopped would be worse. Stopping meant certain death, it meant a lifetime of being hunted by the Paranormal Liberation Front, it meant torture ostracisation, it meant Shigaraki’s disapproval. He had no choice.

On the way to the gate, Kaminari and Hagakure passed by Todoroki loitering on the pathway leading to the gate. He must’ve been waiting for Kaminari, because he saw the start of the conversation in his eyes before he even opened his mouth.

“Oh, hi,” Kaminari said. “Uh, I was just…”

Todoroki looked at him evenly, head tilting. The horrible scar that made girls find Todoroki mysterious and attractive just made Kaminari sick, and he could only look for so long, realizing just how much it bothered him. How much Todoroki hadn’t deserved whatever had caused it.

“You should probably talk to them,” said Todoroki.

“Talk to who about what now?” Kaminari asked.

“Bakugou and the others. I saw you talking to them.”

"I didn't see you."

"I didn't want to be seen."

"Look, it’s not a big deal.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

Kaminari scratched the back of his hand. “How much did you hear, exactly?”

“Enough.”

“...I don’t want to talk about it."

“You’re not obligated to,” said Todoroki. “Besides, even if you did try to discuss your personal life with me, rest assured that the advice I would give would be conveyed in an awkward and uncomfortable manner.”

Kaminari actually laughed. “So you do have a sense of humour.”

“I’m very funny,” Todoroki drawled in a flat, humourless voice.

“You sure are, but probably not in the way you think,” Kaminari patted his shoulder affectionately. Although his smile left his face quicker than he would’ve liked, the interaction did break the wall between them. Just a little. “Listen, you’re probably gonna be hearing some gossip about me and I want you to know that it isn’t true.”

“Why would I rely on high school gossip to get my information?” Todoroki asked. “I’ll make sure to remind people of that.”

Kaminari sighed. “Thanks, man. That makes my life a little easier.”

He traced circles with the tip of his foot, expecting Todoroki to leave and fully aware of Hagakure lingering by his shoulder. Todoroki had a way of vacating the room when he felt uncomfortable. When he didn’t, Kaminari tried to think normal thoughts. Things like raging hormones and studying and his social life—things that normal teenagers would think about.

“Hey, how are you, by the way?” Kaminari asked.

“What do you mean?” Todoroki asked.

“Um, you have the edgy loner thing going on. I mean you’ve gotten better at being not-edgy loner since last year, but could use some improvement.”

Todoroki was quiet in the way he did when he was deeply contemplating something. “I think it was good for me to fail.”

"Uh, fail what?"

"I was supposed to be at the top of the class. There was not supposed to be competition, I was supposed to be the best at what I do. I suppose I failed at that. However, I think it made me stronger, and I have come to believe that failure is good for the soul. It will make me a better hero."

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So I suppose you know all about being stronger.”

Kaminari smiled. “Hey, thanks.” He processed it. “Hey!”

Todoroki didn’t look like he was joking though. Not when he continued, “I think you have a knack for this work.”

“Tell that to my grades.”

“The grades don’t matter in the end,” said Todoroki. “They don’t indicate who will be an accomplished hero, only that they have the technical skills for the work. I think you will thrive once you’re not restricted by a classroom.”

Kaminari rubbed the back of his neck. Fraud. The word repeated in his mind like the incessant tap on the inside of his skull.

“What you did for Hagakure, what you are doing for her,” Todoroki went on. “It is kind. It is heroic.”

“That’s nothing, that’s just me sticking up for a friend,” said Kaminari. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s a traitor at all, but even if there is, I know it’s not Hagakure.”

“You’re having faith in her when others have lost it. That’s not insignificant.”

Kaminari furrowed his brow. “You don’t think it’s her, either.”

“Not particularly, no—I’m more suspicious of those who tend to be in the thick of things, such as Iida or perhaps even Midoriya. Ironically, Hagakure is not a deceptive person.”

“How do you know that’s not her deceiving everyone?”

“If that were the case, I think you would pick up on it.”

“Oh, I’m not sure that—”

“You have a talent, Kaminari. I know the ins and outs of hero work, but I’m not empathetic to the people, nor do I have the ability to develop the social skills needed for that. I don’t think you realize just how much of the backbone of this class you are. I know every person in Class 2-A, but there is a difference between knowing them and understanding them. Your concern and caring for everyone is so genuine that I would think that you have the most reliable insight on who the traitor could possibly be, so if you say it’s not Hagakure, I believe you.”

Kaminari imagined this scenario in which he wasn’t a traitor. In which he was a normal teenager living the dream of going to UA, aspiring to be a hero, who cared for his classmates. He was such a fraud in every which way, in a greater way than Endeavour being the Number One Hero. Todoroki meant to be encouraging, but in reality, under his mask, Kaminari felt like he was being crushed.

“That is why the others are so worried about you,” said Todoroki. “If you’re in trouble, then they want to be able to help in the same way that you’re able to help them.”

Kaminari sighed. He almost wished Hokama was his asshole stepfather. Then maybe that would make the story a reality, make him feel touched by their concern instead of mortified at being near-discovered.

“I appreciate it, I really do, but nothing’s going on,” Kaminari sighed. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding and no one seems to get it no matter how many times I try to say it.”

Todoroki contemplated that for a spell. “I understand. Sometimes people make well-meaning assumptions about my relationship with my father."

Todoroki stepped forwards, and lowered his voice so that only Kaminari could hear.

“You are not ready to talk about it,” said Todoroki. “That is understandable. When you are, I am here. I think you will find that this is something I can understand.”

Kaminari’s heart swelled with warm affection that migrated through his veins to warm his limbs. On impulse, he threw his arms over Todoroki’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Um…okay,” Todoroki said, entire body stiffening.

“You’re a pretty cool guy,” Kaminari laughed into his shoulder. “Get it?”

“…No?”

Kaminari clapped him on the back and released. “I, uh, gotta go home for the weekend. Hopefully when I get back, no one’ll make shit up like I was abducted by aliens or something.”

“I’ll be sure to shut him up if they do,” said Todoroki. “Be safe.”

“Don’t worry,” Kaminari gave him a thumbs up. “Since when have I ever been in an accident?”

“I believe it was last Tuesday.”

Kaminari laughed. He felt Hagakure’s hand tighten on his arm and he smiled, and he felt like he meant it.

It was shockingly easy to leave school grounds.

As he walked through the gates with Hagakure’s invisible hand in his, he realized just how easy it would’ve been for her to just leave, why people easily believed she was a spy. He wondered if Shigaraki made the right decision in choosing Kaminari as an infiltrator all those years ago. His quirk was flashy. Perhaps he hoped Kaminari would rise the ranks, though it became obvious early on he was eclipsed by the likes of Midoriya and Bakugou.

Hagakure wasn’t the most famous member of their class, but she certainly had potential. If her hero career survived the scrutiny, he wondered if there would come a time when governments would look for her to infiltrate for them. She wasn’t the strongest or the fastest. But as they sat on the train, as they walked through the streets, Kaminari couldn’t even hear her footsteps on the pavement. If not for her hand and her gentle voice assuring him she was there, he would’ve forgotten about her

Hagakure was the perfect spy. It was why he was framing her.

When they arrived at his house, Kaminari didn’t dare talk to her until the front door snapped shut and he kicked off his shoes on the gekkan. He didn’t hear any sign of Hokama.

“Uh, welcome to my house,” said Kaminari. “I know it’s not a tree house, but, like, someday.”

“I like it,” said Hagakure with a tight edge of politeness.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He didn’t know what he was saying. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Are you sure you want to be here?"

"What? Yeah, it's fine. Listen, what Todoroki said—can you just, kind of forget that that happened?

“If you want me to. Do you want a hug?”

“No,” he said. “…Yes”

Hagakure wrapped his arms around his shoulders, then he startled back.

“Uh, can you put on some clothes first?” he asked.

“Oh, whoops, sorry.”

Hagakure changed into some of his spare clothes, her lithe body wrapped in an oversized hoodie and shorts that went well past her knees. The hug happened in slow motion. This was the moment Shigaraki was counting on him for and after this there would be no going back. Hagakure pulled him close until their chests were flush together. Kaminari was ready to just stand there limply and let her squeeze.

Then, he put his arms around her and squeezed back as tight as he could.

Just this moment. Just this one moment he could have this and pretend everything had been real.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Hagakure asked.

This one moment where they clung together in the hall's quiet: Hagakure and the classmate who had framed her and put her through all the suspicion and gossip. A moment where they stood under a dim light, where Shigaraki couldn’t see him, where UA seemed far away and the reality was so distant that Kaminari could disentangle himself from the lies.

Just one moment.

That was as long as it lasted.

Kaminari reached into his belt and pulled out the tranquilizer gun while they were still hugging. Then, he put it right between her shoulder blades and squeezed the trigger.

Hagakure yelped and stumbled out of the hug, fumbling behind her to reach for the dart.

Kaminari didn’t need to discern Hagakure’s expression to know the meaning behind the intense silence.

”K—Kaminari?” Hagakure stammered. “What are you…?”

He didn’t answer. Kaminari kept his expression blank and devoid, the way Shigaraki had taught him to.

“…You’re the traitor,” Hagakure realized.

Kaminari counted the seconds. He got to five when Hagakure dropped like a dead weight on the ground.

Kaminari pulled out his burner phone and held it up to his ear. Under most circumstances, having Hokama on speed dial would be a foreboding sign.

The phone picked up on the first ring.

“It’s me, where the hell are you?” Kaminari demanded. “I told you to be at the house when I got here.”

“Calm down, work ran late,” said Hokama. “I only a block or two away.”

With a click, Hokama hung up.

Kaminari swore and threw the burner phone to the side. He didn’t want to manhandle Hagakure too much, not when this already felt like all kinds of wrong, so he dragged her into the living room and dropped her on the couch. Then, he grabbed rope Hokama kept under the kitchen sink and bound her hands and ankles.

Then the front door opened and in came Hokama.

Hokama came in and took in the scene in front of him, his expression curious. With deliberate slowness, Hokama lit a cigarette and took a long, contemplative drag out of it, eyes fixed straight ahead. He was like a wax figure in a museum: eerie and absolutely still, and despite the realistic creases on his face, he was still uncanny.

“You’re not useless after all,” said Hokama.

The next day, Kaminari sat in the passenger seat in Hokama’s car. Hokama drove sullenly through unfamiliar streets and hadn’t exchanged a word with him since they’d left. It was a testament to Hokama’s state of mind that he let Kaminari blast the radio without protest.

It was only when Hokama pulled into a seedy neighbourhood only traversed by the bravest of Pro Heros that he reached over and switched off the radio.

“Shigaraki’s not happy with you,” Hokama said.

Kaminari looked up.

“Just a warning,” Hokama added.

“Did he say why?” Kaminari asked. “I got Hagakure for him.”

“Does he need a reason? I’m not happy with you on a constant basis, so perhaps Shigaraki is finally seeing things my way.”

“Dude, you get paid to pretend to parent me and you barely even do that. You don’t have anything to complain about.”

Hokama’s hands tightened on the wheel. “If I had my way, I would’ve brought you under tighter control a long time ago.”

“Get off my case,” Kaminari waved him off. “If Shigaraki’s unhappy about something, that’s one thing, but you don’t get to sit there and lecture me like you’re calling the shots. You’re a contact—not an actual member of the PLF.”

“What makes you think you are?”

Kaminari didn’t have a retort. Hokama pulled the car into the driveway of an abandoned building with a high, concrete fence surrounding the property. As they pulled in, he saw Dabi out front, arms folded, gaze clouded over as he leaned back to stare at the sky. He only looked down when the car pulled up. The strange and feverish glare Dabi gave Kaminari didn’t lift when he passed him to enter the house.

Looking around, Kaminari could see that the place had fallen into disrepair. In the modern superhero world, these kinds of buildings weren’t all uncommon. Pro Heroes didn’t look good when they saved people from these houses, only when they rescued the daughters of rich entrepreneurs. This place was dirty—the kind of place he vaguely remembered coming from in the ‘Hazy Beforetime.’ At least, he thought that was probably the case. He didn’t remember any fancy houses or swimming pools, at least—just the warm embrace of his mother and his father showing him electricity tricks, the bolts dancing around his fingers like he’d reached into the sky and captured small fragments of lightning.

Shigaraki was lounging on a battered couch, one hand tapping up and down, staring at a beaten-up television tuned to the local news station.

“Hey, Tomura,” Kaminari waved.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” said Shigaraki. He pointed down the hall. “Hagakure’s in the basement if you want to see her.”

He didn’t. “Uh, maybe later. I didn’t come to see her, I don’t care about her.”

“Of course not. She’ll probably prove useful after we indoctrinate her, though it won’t be easy.”

Kaminari was quiet for a moment, then asked what he’d been desperate to ask. “Did you take her quirk?”

“Not yet. No sense ruining a perfectly good pawn when she may still have her uses, although it may not be so easy. It was easier with you, you were so young. She was thoroughly groomed by Hero culture. Regardless, she’ll make a valuable prisoner. Perhaps I will have her quirk studied if I decide not to take it for myself.”

“Studied?”

“Any scientist would kill for the opportunity. Imagine taking her quirk and being able to apply it to technology so that any member of my forces can turn invisible. Or…if that fails…she would make an affective nomu, don’t you think?”

Kaminari nodded, although his heart was throbbing in his throat. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to anymore.

“There’s something I want you to do for me,” said Shigaraki.

“Anything,” said Kaminari.

“The Shie Hassaikai girl, Eraserhead’s ward. You’re going to kidnap her.”

Record scratch. Slam on the breaks. Don’t past go. The two brain cells Kaminari had left struck together with the force of the Hadron Collider.

“You…what?” Kaminari blinked rapidly, got his senses back. He must’ve misheard. “Sorry, for a sec there, I thought you said you wanted to kidnap Eri.”

“I did.”

Shigaraki kept quiet, letting the instructions sink in. The silence was deliberate, though, as when Kaminari thought he might have imagined it, Shigaraki cut in.

“Is there a problem?” Shigaraki asked.

“W—Why do you want Eri?” Kaminari asked, though he already knew the reason. “We already got a member of the Hero course, I—I mean, if I kidnap everyone at UA, I think people would notice.”

“I’m sure getting Midoriya is beyond your abilities, but Eri’s a little girl, and with her power she’ll be far more useful to us. She’s still young enough that she can be groomed.”

Kaminari thought about Eri. Sweet, pure Eri, the little girl with the shy smile, who had been through countless traumas that lingered deep like a festering disease. Her entire life, she’d been a prop for villains and he had…he’d been just a little older than she was when Shigaraki had taken him.

“I don’t know if that would work,” said Kaminari. “I mean, Aizawa keeps a really close eye on her. I don’t think I could get away with it.”

“You got Hagakure.”

“Yeah, but she’s invisible! It was easier to get her than it would be to stuff a kid into a potato sack and carry them off.”

“Perhaps it could be your last act.”

“What?”

“I’m saying that you should take the girl and return to us. Problem solved.”

“But…then everyone would know that—”

“Now you’re catching on.”

“But you need me at UA.”

“I can think of better ways to use you. If you want to be some marginal use to the cause, then do as I say and get the girl.”

Kaminari’s fingers dug into his knees. He couldn’t. Could he? This was exactly the type of major opportunity Shigaraki had prepared him for, the type of opportunity worth risking his cover for. Already he felt so dangerously close to the edge. Perhaps Shigaraki intended for this the whole time.

And…And he couldn’t give it up so easily. He could still be useful at UA. In the back of his mind, the image of a shivering and frightened Eri held captive by the Paranormal Liberation Front flickered.

“No,” said Kaminari.

Shigaraki had been tapping his finger.

“You’re refusing?” Shigaraki asked.

“Um…yeah, I think,” Kaminari said. “I—I mean, we spent all those years working to get me into UA, I think—I think it would be kind of stupid to just give it up now, don’t you think?”

Shigaraki sighed. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way. Hokama?”

The prick was so subtle that Kaminari barely felt it, not until he hoped his mouth to speak and the prick became a throb and the throb became a migraine. His senses smeared together and it took him a split second to realize what had happened.

There was a needle sticking out of the side of his temple. Hokama was in the corner. He’d been there the whole time, lining up a shot.

Kaminari opened his mouth to ask ‘What the fuck.’ Instead, what came out was a moan. Then he was falling.

Ow.

Ow, ow, ow.

The blood vessels in Kaminari’s forehead pressed against his thoughts. He drifted in the void in a vast body of black water. The problems, the guilt, the spasms—all of it was nothing, just symptoms. His mind was a separate entity, pulled apart from his physical form, free of the imperfections that plagued his everyday thoughts.

He saw himself from a downward perspective sprawled on the floor, a red trickle lined down his face to create a small puddle on the floor. He flared his nostrils and he could smell the grime and mould on the tiles, so the separation wasn’t total. The acknowledgment severed his ability to stay out of his body and he plummeted into it, his lungs expanding with great effort.

Kaminari closed his eyes and pretended he was still in the void and not on the hard floor. When he tried to move his limbs, they were sluggish to respond, an ancient computer struggling to receive even the most basic of inputs. The nothing had been uncomplicated, easy. Now he was back to the complications of existence and wished that his mind hadn’t bothered to return.

Step. Step. Step.

Kaminari blinked blearily. What was that? Noise? What was noise anyway? If he concentrated, he felt sound vibrations worming into his inner ear, creating patterns and signals for him to interpret. Normally the process was smooth, automatic. Now the gears in his brain ground together to interpret the small synapses jumping back and forth. He scrunched his brow up and rolled onto his back to look up. The action send fresh throbs through his skull, but with a thick swallow he kept the nausea down.

Looking up, he saw intense eyes and a scarred face looking down at him.

He knew this face. Kaminari blinked rapidly, trying to place it.

Uh.

He knew this. He knew his name.

This was quiet, vaguely threatening guy with the scars and the stapled face that looked like the result of a tragic stapler-related accident.

Kaminari tried to form words. He need Shigaraki. He tried to say his name, but what came out instead was a very intelligible, “Buuh.”

“Shigaraki’s not here,” said Dabi. “Pretty sure he wants me to torture you.”

Kaminari stilled. Not surprising. Dabi pressed his foot against Kaminari’s head, the treads sinking into his skin as he rolled it back and forth.

“I know you’re kind of an idiot, so I’ll try to let you down easy,” said Dabi. “Shigaraki doesn’t care about you, only about what you can do for him. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be. Take it from me: living solely to live up to someone else’s exceptions isn’t a great mindset to have. Sooner or later, that will destroy you, so you should start thinking about living up to your own expectations rather than Shigaraki’s. You’ll have an easier time if you do.”

He removed his boot from Kaminari’s head and went to sit in a chair. Getting his bearings back, Kaminari slowly hauled himself upright, the blood trickling down the side of his face. They were in a quiet, dark place—probably below ground, judging by the moist smell. A single door, no windows. Just Dabi and a chair.

Kaminari could list extensive reasons why this was his own personal nightmare. He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“I noo tha—” Kaminari coughed and got his words together. “I know that.”

For the first time since Kaminari had first met in that dank little bar, Dabi looked surprised, though even then it only comprised a single eyebrow hiking slightly up his forehead.

“I don’t matter—Tomura’s already told me that thousands of times,” said Kaminari. “At least—At least I know that, which is—is more than can be said for you! I don’t even know what the hell you’re doing here. You’re not interested in Tomura’s goals, you’re not interested in anything except yourself. So don’t lecture me about living up to expectations! That’s the whole point! I don’t expect some guy with a few staples stuck in his face to understand anything about what we’re trying to do here!”

The surprise faded off of Dabi and he fixed him with a firm stare that melted through Kaminari’s barriers. He stood and advanced on Kaminari.

“Do you know?” Dabi asked idly. “You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t care.”

Kaminari held out his hands. “C’mon, man, let’s not do this.”

“It’s simple. You kidnap the Shie Hassaikai girl. You walk out of here.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I break your kneecaps.”

“People are gonna notice if I have broken kneecaps. They’ll figure out I’m a spy. They’ll say, ‘Oh look, there goes the teenager with broken kneecaps. You know who has broken kneecaps? Spies.’”

“That’s a risk Shigaraki seems to be willing to take,” Dabi mused. “If you want out without broken kneecaps, fight me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Because you’re weak?”

“No, because Tomura wouldn’t want me to. It’s just—let’s just talk it out. You can tell me boring stories or—or we can do math homework or something. That’s torturous enough, right?”

Dabi wasn’t giving up. Kaminari stood his ground for as long as he dared—not sure what the aim was here. Shigaraki always had a goal for him when he put him into these situations. To run, to submit, to fight—it could be anything.

“I’m not playing this game,” Kaminari decided.

He turned on his heel and took not two steps to the door before something hard crushed his ribs.

Kaminari lost the battle against the bile stinging his throat, the unwanted panic roving over him like a critical stare. Then he realized the roving sensation didn’t come from panic—it came from Dabi, staring at his curved back as he clutched his stomach and puked onto the tile. Liquid and chunks of something-or-other and a twinge of pink he hoped wasn’t blood came up.

“Kidnap the girl.”

Kaminari gasped uselessly, crouched on the floor, not caring that his forehead was in near-contact with the puddle of vomit. He shook his head uselessly like a broken bobblehead, neck jerking and screaming from the infinitesimal movement.

“No? Alright.”

Dabi swung an iron pipe and a white hot fissure split down Kaminari’s side. He wasn’t sure how Dabi expected him to answer, not when each breath ripped out of him. Something was bruised, if not broken, digging into him like a white hot poker. Well-worn reflexes kicked in and Kaminari exhaled with the strike, unclenching his muscles and going limp on the floor. He sprawled out, face-down like he was sunbathing at the beach.

The door opened.

“How is it going in here?” Shigaraki’s voice asked.

“It’s going,” said Dabi. He spat the next words out like he loathed to admit them, “He’s tougher than he looks.”

Shigaraki was silent. Then, “Let’s have a little break. Kaminari, go take Hagakure some food. There’s a tray in the kitchen.”

“Why do I have to get it?” Kaminari croaked. “I don’t want to see her.”

“Exactly. It’s a good time for you to catch up.”

Kaminari kept hunched over on the floor, unwilling to move. Dabi raised his foot to the side of his head, to which Kaminari vaguely waved and brushed him off.

“Stop, stop, I’m going,” Kaminari gasped out. He got onto one knee and pushed himself up despite the protesting throb in his back.

“Good boy,” said Shigaraki. “Wash your face first.”

Kaminari rubbed his sleeve across his face, and it came back bloody from his nose. He stumbled to the door. He was wading through lava to the end of the underworld, and there wasn’t anything waiting for him there except miserable ruin and the corpse of Tooru Hagakure. Fighting Shigaraki was an impossible task reserved for only the stupid or the courageous.

He staggered out into the hall. The hideout wasn’t exactly comfortable or shiny like some of Shigaraki’s other bases, but it served its purpose well enough. With an expansive underground facility underneath the main building, the soundproof walls could hide them from even the most sensitive of hearing quirks. At the end of the hall was a solid metal door leading to where Hagakure was held. Kaminari, however, stopped back up in the kitchen to wash his face as instructed and pick up the food tray. When he entered, it didn’t surprise him to find Toga sitting on the counter, playing with her preferred knife and a coy grin worn on her face like a favourite piece of statement jewellery.

“Hey, Denki,” Toga smiled. “I love the bloody look you’re going for.” She licked the tip of her knife. “I can make it bloodier if you want.”

Weakness was the symptom of a frail mind and he couldn’t give in. He moved to the sink and splashed water on his face. His reflection in the chrome toaster, he saw Dabi had been careful not to heavily bruise his face aside from his bloody nose. Mostly he just looked tired.

“Tomura says you’re the one who kidnapped Tooru,” said Toga.

“Yeah.”

“Nice work!

“I didn’t do anything. I just brought her to Hokama.”

“Please, it’s not like Hokama would’ve gotten into the school to snatch her—you did all that. I’m so proud of you!”

Kaminari turned away from the toaster, and as he turned, he gasped as he came face-to-face with Toga. In the split second it had taken for him to look away from her reflection, she’d ghosted across the room, her arms shooting out to pin him against the counter.

“Here I was, doubting you the whole time, but you really do have it in you to be a great villain,” Toga grinned. “You’re gonna go places. Maybe if you give me a bit of your blood, we can make magic together.”

Toga licked her lips, then backed off. She opened the basement door and held it open, flashing her a toothy grin filled with piranha-like teeth.

“Better get going before Tooru gets hungry.”

Great. Now he had to walk past Toga to get to the basement. His favourite thing. Still, Kaminari grabbed the tray and did his best to not let the fear show in his eyes as he marched back underground. The last he heard from Toga was her tinkling laugh.

Kaminari blinked rapidly in the dark, but shook off the dread causing his gut to sink. Toga was a distraction and he couldn’t let her interfere with what was important, although he did have half a mind to complain to Shigaraki. Maybe with a well-aimed scolding she’d start behaving herself instead of acting creepy all the time.

The basement hideout was divided into several sections comprising long, narrow corridors and scant lighting. Bulbs strung across the ceiling flickered, though he wasn’t sure if he was the cause or not. Every time the lights momentarily faded, he expected to find some gnarled nomu staring at him from the shadows. He shouldered his way into the . He stopped at the top. He was just a villain—and Shigaraki was testing him. He could do this.

Kaminari couldn’t be sure who built this part of the basement, but clearly it was constructed later than the main building, probably in complete secrecy. The walls were smooth to the touch and he trailed his fingers around them until he turned onto a landing. He saw a sizeable room divided into cells not much bigger than shower stalls. They were all concrete on three sides, while the door was made of thick glass. In the fourth cell, Hagakure sat on the ground, still in her borrowed clothes, the arms folded over her knees.

Kaminari didn’t have to see her eyes to know that they were on him when he slid the tray onto food delivery window. They stared at each.

“What the hell do you want?” Hagakure asked spicily. He’d never heard so much venom in her voice.

“Tomura says you have to eat,” said Kaminari. He swayed on the spot, blinking blearily. The temptation take a nap was a little more than appealing. “Or drink. Both? Probably both.”

“Go away.”

“C’mon, I can’t leave until you eat.”

“I don’t want to talk to you—I can’t even look at you right now. Just go away.”

Kaminari rubbed the back of his head. He glanced to the exit, wondering what Shigaraki would want him to do.

The ground looked comfy.

Kaminari lay face-down on the ground.

“What…are you doing?” Hagakure asked incredulously.

“Taking a nap,” said Kaminari. “Can’t leave until you eat so might as well catch some z’s.”

Neither he nor Hagakure made a move for a long while. Then, her sleeve flinched. She pulled the food tray out of the slot. While she only poked at the dry pancakes with her fork, she at least drank the water.

“Do you need more water?” Kaminari asked.

“What do you care?” Hagakure snapped.

“Tomura would care.”

“Shigaraki is literally a villain—the only thing he cares about is being evil.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Really? Really?! You’re a villain, too—of course you think that.”

“Tomura’s not as bad as people say he is, he’s just kind of a hardass.”

“You’re calling him Tomura! Do you know how creepy that is?!”

“But that’s his name…”

“I can’t talk to you right now, Kaminari, so just don’t. Whatever you want to convert me to, just don’t do it. I just hope that if the Paranormal Liberation Front kills me that something good comes out of it.”

“No, no, no, Tomura wouldn’t kill you. You’re too important to kill.”

“Don’t even start, Kaminari.”

“But—”

“I SAID DON’T START!”

Kaminari resisted the urge to shout back. His ribs weren’t having it. He kept his movements smooth and deliberate to not irritate them so much, even if the pain in his stomach wasn’t so easy to deal with.

“I had a guinea pig,” said Kaminari.

Hagakure sighed. “What did I say?”

“Tomura said it made me weak. He didn’t even have to use his quirk on it, he just threw it on the ground and broke its neck with his heel.”

Hagakure shifted uncomfortably on the spot, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

“You should think about that when Tomura talks to you,” said Kaminari.

Hagakure had barely touched her plate, but Kaminari didn’t think she was going to get anymore down. She slid it away from her and curled up against the wall.

“Why did you do it?” Hagakure asked.

“It wasn’t personal,” Kaminari shrugged. “I really mean that.”

“Nothing personal?! I let you into my room! You gave me ice cream!”

“Was the ice cream good?”

“Why is that a point of argument?! I don’t care about the ice cream! I want to know why!”

Kaminari shrugged. “You done eating?”

Hagakure shoved her tray violently through the slot so that it crashed on the floor.

“You eat it,” said Hagakure.

He sighed. “Nap’s over, I guess.”

Kaminari scooped up the discarded food onto the tray and left Hagakure sitting there in the dark.

Chapter Text

The beatings, when they began properly, were calculated. Dabi circled him like a hyena, probing for weakness. Although his hands radiated heat, there was no singe of blue fire, only the threat of one. Shigaraki must’ve told him not to leave marks beyond bruises and broken bones. Blood would draw questions. Blood would lure in Toga and Pro Heroes and questions Kaminari didn’t have excuses for.

Dabi held him down and searched for spots that would make him scream. He dug long, clawed fingers into his ulnar nerve until Kaminari begged for him to chop off his arm instead. He pressed the heel into the base of Kaminari’s spine until he wondered if that was spinal fluid collecting under his body. (It was urine.) He would twist at Kaminari’s ribs until he felt like he wrapped tight hands around his lungs, wringing all the oxygen out of them. After each infliction, Dasbi leaned in and whispered, “Kidnap the girl. Don’t you want to be useful to Shigaraki?”

Kaminari shook his head. He didn’t even remember what ‘girl’ Dabi was referring to. His distant memories of UA melted together like streetlights bleeding into wet pavement. Sometimes he lay in a stupor while Dabi beat him, and other times he squirmed to get away from the worst of the blows. Those times, Dabi would pin him down and kneel on his crushed ribs until he fainted.

And then he was both blind and deaf. He only saw shadows shaped by halos of light.

This was it. Dabi had blinded him. He was blind and deaf and no use to anyone, and just to see how extensive the damage was, he opened his mouth and let himself scream, only stopping when his throat became too raw to carry it on further.

Then the blackness pulled back, just a little, and he heard his heart throbbing in his ears. It sounded thready to him, though that might’ve just been the shock. He heard Dabi, though, and his voice was clear and crisp. Not even deafness saved him.

“Kidnap the girl,” Dabi said.

“I can’t,” he croaked.

“You still can’t see?”

How long had he been like this? How long had he been here? How long had Dabi had him? It could’ve been forty minutes or forty years and he just couldn’t tell.

“It’s called conversion disorder. Back in the old days they called it ‘hysterical blindness.’ Do you feel hysterical?”

“My back hurts.”

Dabi sighed. “Fine, I’ll let you pull yourself together.”

Kaminari dragged his leg across the ground. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Repeat. Ad infinitum. The movement distracted. It was something to keep him from thinking about the throbbing behind his eyes.

“Do you ever feel bad when you hurt people?” Kaminari asked in the quiet.

“…I don’t feel much of anything. Maybe that’s why I only do extremes.”

Kaminari blinked rapidly and in the fragments of light, he caught a shadow leaning over him.

“I stand by what I said,” said Dabi. “Someday I’m going to kill you.”

“But you haven’t yet,” Kaminari sang. The laughter seized in his dry throat.

“I’m counting the days. I’ve killed countless people, don’t think you’re anything except fuel.”

“So what’re you waiting for? For Tomura to give the order?”

“I’m waiting for you to get strong enough to fight back.”

“Why do you care? You’ve killed helpless people before.”

“It’d be a shame if someone with a quirk as powerful as yours to go down without a fight. You’re better than that.”

“So you do have a moral compass.”

“No, I just don’t like to be bored. Also, Shigaraki seems to have plans for you, and I’m not ready to jeopardize my arrangement with him. Not yet.”

Dabi’s breath blew into his ear and he flinched, his veins lighting up as if he’d set chosen that moment to set him alight.

“Shigaraki doesn’t deal with you because he doesn’t think you’re worth wasting his time on,” said Dabi. “If you mattered to him at all, he’d be correcting you himself instead of dumping all the grunt work on me.”

“I got Hagakure for him…”

“He doesn’t want her. What value does she have except as a scapegoat? Nobody cares about Hagakure.”

Dabi grabbed Kaminari by the ribs and twisted until he was screaming, his voice echoing loudly off the walls.

“I want you to be worth killing, but you aren’t. Shigaraki doesn’t think you’re worth that, even UA knows you’re not worth it. You’re at the bottom of your class. You might have a powerful quirk, but that’s the only thing you have going for you—even the guy with the animal quirk outclasses you consistently in every test you’ve ever taken. Every quirkless loser I’ve fried had more value than you.”

Dabi pressed his foot down on Kaminari’s throat.

“Do you know what gave them value? They had autonomy and minds of their own. You’re no better than a Nomu, worthless for anything except obeying simple commands. You’re just Shigaraki’s possession, something he can parade in front of Pro Heroes for bragging rights, something he’ll show to Midoriya to make him crack before he snaps his neck. You’re just a thing he can use to hurt other people.”

“How the hell would you know?” Kaminari asked. He meant for it to sound challenging, but his voice cracked and his confidence drained with it.

Kaminari’s vision sharpened and then came back not gradually, but all at once. Dabi was quiet for a long, long time, and his silence extended into infinity. Kaminari couldn’t read him from behind the patchwork of burnt skin pulled taut over his jawline. He couldn’t see if he was grinding his teeth together or if there was a subtle twitch—the scar tissue was too pronounced for that. What he saw was the sharp flare in his eyes.

And he knew. Dabi knew. Kaminari realized Dabi knew what it was like to be a possession rather than a person.

He was right, of course. Kaminari knew it and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Serving Shigaraki was a habit rather than about friendship. It had become about taking refuge in the known instead of venturing into rebellion.

“When you fight back,” said Dabi, “that’s when I’ll kill you. You’ll be worth it then.”

Dabi knotted his fingers in Kaminari’s hair and twisted.

“You’d be useless as a hero, so I’m telling you, this is the one way you can be helpful, the only way that your stupid, pointless life can have purpose. Kidnap the girl.”

“I can’t,” Kaminari croaked out.

Dabi sighed. “Then I guess you’re going to waste more of my time.”

The temporary blindness didn’t clear in force until later. When it did, Dabi was still in the room with him, silent and still. He stood in the corner with his arms folded, watching Kaminari vomit onto the tile. All that came up was stomach acid. He couldn’t remember the last time he had water; his throat felt raw, like an open wound. If the torture didn’t kill him, the dehydration would.

Starvation wasn’t a problem. Kaminari hadn’t felt hungry since the ramen bowl had spilt in the alley.

He squinted, and then he realized that there was someone in the room with them, and that was why Dabi stood in the corner.

Shigaraki loomed over him.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” Shigaraki asked.

“A….A day, maybe?” Kaminari asked.

“No. Months.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here for six months.”

“No. No, that’s not…” Kaminari struggled to orient his sense of time. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. He was still wearing the same clothes, Dabi hadn’t changed, he’d been here the whole time, he hadn’t even eaten.

“They’re not looking for you.”

“But…that doesn’t make sense. I’ve only been here for a day or so, I haven’t even had anything to eat.”

“You have been eating.”

Kaminari thought long and hard. He felt rather certain that he hadn’t eaten. Even though the room was windowless and scantily lit, his perception of time wasn’t so warped that he knew it couldn’t possibly be six months. It hadn’t even been long enough for him to be missed by anyone.

Shigaraki pulled a chair up and sat in it. He’d lost the childlike anger he’d once possessed, replaced by an intense ruthlessness more reminiscent of his master. In the rare times Kaminari had been in All for One’s presence, they had forbidden him to look directly at him, told he was unworthy to look. Maybe Shigaraki was usurping his place. Maybe Kaminari was unworthy to look at Shigaraki too.

But Shigaraki was here. Shigaraki was here to correct him and he was worthy of that.

“You’ve had rebellious thoughts,” said Shigaraki. “And after you assured me you were loyal.”

“It—…It—…It—…It was a mistake, I made a mistake.”

“You’re only saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear. You think it is the quickest way to get out of a situation you’ve perpetuated. When you told me that you weren’t a hero, did you forget what you meant by that?’

“You told me to say that.”

“I didn’t. You said it yourself. You know it’s true.”

Kaminari furrowed his brow. That couldn’t be right, could it? He didn’t remember it that way.

“But…you told me to say that,” said Kaminari.

“I did not. You said it, without prompting from me, because you know it’s true.”

“I don’t remember...”

“Then your reality is faulty. The only reality that matters is mine.” Shigaraki leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “They aren’t looking for you, Kaminari.”

“It’s just been a day or two…”

“It’s been six months and no one is looking for you. Everyone has forgotten you.”

“No, that’s—I mean, I know I’m a spy, but—…but—...people would notice if I up and disappeared. My—”

“Your friends? They aren’t your friends, they are a construct of the society they live in, and any affection you feel for them is just a part of your character. I told you to infiltrate UA and you did. I told you to get close to Bakugou and you did that as well. You’re fooling yourself if you think you have a lick of genuine feeling for them. The heroes are poisoning you, Kaminari, and poisoning so effectively that you don’t even realize how close you are to corruption. What are you to them except a warm body with a powerful quirk? You are that to them because I told you to be. I made you. I ripped out every diseased cell and I made you into what you are.”

Shigaraki paused, as though expecting Kaminari to intervene. However, his terse expression said interruption wasn’t allowed.

“Chaos means freedom. Achieving chaos means deconstruction. I’m deconstructing the world. The people in it, society, the heroes—all just obstacles in the grand scheme of things, and you want to swear servitude to the side that values you only because you went to a fancy school where you are ridiculed, where you’re simply another cog in an old, rusty machine. Anyone who lives in the hero society are facsimiles of the generations that came before them. When the heroes assaulted our hideout, did they think anything of throwing you into the line of fire?”

“I knew the risks…I—they needed my help…”

“You don’t know anything. When you were begging to go back to your ‘friends,’ did they let you? Or did they push a sixteen-year-old child into a full frontal assault? That’s the society we live in, Kaminari. A society where people are valued only for their quirks and their quirks alone.”

Shigaraki placed a careful hand on his shoulder, one finger extended to avoid touching him with all five.

“They will never care about you.”

“But—But you don’t care about me either!” Kaminari argued.

“I care about what you can do for me. This is about power. Isn’t that what it’s all about? You can’t possibly tell me you didn’t feel powerful when you lured Hagakure out of the safety of UA, that it didn’t satisfy you when you caused all that ruckus. You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t revel in chaos. You have that power. You have spent the last year revelling in it.”

“I didn’t like hurting Hagakure!”

“Lies. You enjoyed it. That’s what it’s all about, Kaminari, it’s about taking that power and never, ever releasing it. At least I don’t have the gall to lie to you about it like the Pro Heroes. Your only value is what power you seize: with your quirk, with your scheming, with the hold you have other people, with the chaos you create. Chaos is freedom. Live in it, enjoy it. Kidnap the girl and savour that power. Watch them fumble helplessly in the dark! You can make it hurt for them.”

“I—I can’t, she—Eri, she’s just a kid—”

“She’s a symbol held prisoner by Hero ideals.” He leaned close to speak into his ear. “If Heroes are so great, why haven’t they done anything to help you?”

Kaminari stared at the ground.

“I'm giving you a choice, Kaminari. You can choose to live in ignorance, to let the Heroes have power over you, or you can get Eri for me and retake it.”

Kaminari made a jerky movement. Shigaraki went on as if he'd argued against him.

“Or if that’s not enough motivation…you’ll leave me with no choice but to let Dabi keep torturing you. And if he isn’t persuasive, I could let Toga in here.”

He leaned in close enough for his hot and decaying breath skirt across Kaminari’s face.

“What evils do you think she’d inflict on you if I let her in?” Shigaraki asked. “That’s your choice.”

Kaminari’s chest seized and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. He fell backwards into an ocean of nothing and plummeted.

No choice. There was never a choice.

Kaminari sat quietly in the passenger seat of Hokama’s car. The radio wasn’t playing.

His ribs ached. Dabi had left a lot of bruises hidden under his school uniform, but the ribs were the worst, left him breathless and weak like he was being held underwater. Dabi and Shigaraki weren’t here, but their hands were the ones pinning him—them and the threat of Toga and the threat of chaos. He could endure pain. Pain was nothing. Pain was the shark circling his body, waiting for the right moment to gnaw on his bones and flush the ocean with his blood. And that time hadn’t come yet.

He was ashamed of how long it took him to realize Shigaraki had lied about him being tortured for six months. He should’ve known when Shigaraki said it what his intentions were. Keeping him off balance was part of the game they played. Kaminari had only been absent for the weekend. No one missed him. That part Shigaraki hadn’t lied about.

Hokama pulled up a block away from school, its soaring walls casting a long and still shadow over them. Kaminari spotted news van driving past, then another. They weren’t uncommon sights around UA, but typically they only appeared during and after groundbreaking events. His mind, still clumsy from the torture, tried piecing it together, but every attempt he made slipped away from him like he was trying to solve a puzzle while wearing thick gloves.

Hokama’s arm shot out to stop him. He showed him one of his needles.

“I will use these if you fail,” Hokama said. “I’ve taken you apart before. I will do it again.”

Kaminari just nodded.

“Don’t fail.”

“You could at least say ‘good luck,’” Kaminari drawled, struggling to keep the slur out of his words. He left the car and watched Hokama speed off.

The UA gate swarmed with reporters when he turned the corner, clustered together like a beehive. He wasn’t the only student just coming in after spending a weekend at home. Other arrivals hovered nearby, waiting for an opening to get in, while bold reporters stuck microphones in their faces.

He knew why this was happening, but everything felt foggy and when he did his best to sidle up to the gate unnoticed, a reporter caught his eye.

“Are you in the Hero course?” the reporter asked. “How does it feel knowing that a spy for the Paranormal Liberation Front was in your class?”

“Um, what?” Kaminari blinked.

Kaminari was saved from having to think of a response when the gate opened with a metallic thud and a hulking, hairy presence shadowed the reporters.

“I told you to STOP HARASSING STUDENTS!” Hound Dog screamed to the assembled crowd. “DISPERSE OR I’LL—” He descended to angry, unintelligible barking.

The reporters turned tail, pun intended, and bolted, while Hound Dog herded the stranded students into the safety of UA. His barking continued until the gate slammed shut behind them, his fur bristling with adrenaline.

“What’re you all staring at?!” Hound Dog barked at the students. “GO TO CLASS!”

Kaminari eagerly complied. Shigaraki had forced him to shower before returning him to school, but he didn’t want to risk Hound Dog picking up any fragmentary scent of Hagakure or a villain on his clothing.

It took him something close to an infinity to crawl to the 2-A classroom; every jostle sent fresh, fluttering pain through his body. It wrung his breath out of him like twisting tendons and he paused at the bottom of every flight of stairs to catch his breath. When he finally made it, it felt like like a victory. He gulped in as much air as he could without causing pen and walked in with a swagger—like he always did.

The moment he entered, the faint bristle of people talking hit him, and someone was in his face.

“Kaminari!” It was Kirishima. “Kaminari, have you heard from Hagakure?”

“Uh, no, I just got back?” Kaminari said.

“You haven’t texted her? Or called her? At all?”

“No. What’s going on?”

Yaoyorozu jumped in. “Hagakure’s missing.”

Kaminari had been prepared and it still caught him off-guard. Not all the panic that came out of his mouth was a lie, because he could still see her, crouched in a cell back at the hideout, awaiting her fate.

“Missing how?” Kaminari asked. “What do you mean, missing? Did you—Did you lose her while she was on a snack run or something?”

“Missing as in she’s gone. She’s been gone all weekend.”

“C’mon, don’t yank me around. She’s—She’s invisible, she’s probably around here somewhere.”

“The teachers searched all over school,” said Midoriya.

“Wanna bet she finally ran off to join her villain friends?” Bakugou asked.

“No,” Kaminari denied. “No, I don’t believe that. She can’t be missing. She must’ve gone home for a while to get away from, like, everyone.”

“She didn’t,” said Iida.

“Bullshit!”

“I’m as bummed about losing a warm body as you are, but there’s other fish in the sea,” said Mineta, although his expression was tight. “I mean, she was just a villain, right? A hot, invisible villain.”

“I don’t care about THAT!” Kaminari shouted at him. His acting impressed him, with the crack at the end of his voice. “What the hell are we all still doing here? Shouldn’t we be looking for her?”

A focused, professional voice cut in. “You will do no such thing.”

Kaminari swung on his heel fast enough to strain his ribs; he had to concentrate all his willpower to not let it show.

Aizawa forced everyone to their seats with a mere look, though Hagakure’s empty desk was too noticeable. Kaminari clung iron-tight to his desk.

“None of you are going looking for Hagakure,” said Aizawa. “Leave it to the professionals.”

“But Mr Aizawa—” Kaminari started.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see your hand up.”

“But—”

“I don’t see your hand up.”

Kaminari grit his teeth and shot his arm into the air. Yaoyorozu, however, beat him to it. Aizawa nodded in her direction.

“With all due respect, Mr Aizawa, but I think we could be helpful,” said Yaoyorozu. “We all have field experience now and—and Hagakure is…she’s one of us.”

“That’s precisely why the Pro Heroes don’t want you investigating. Even I’ve been barred from actively searching for her. We are too close to the situation. The proper authorities will investigate and I will keep you updated when we get new information.”

Kaminari waved his hand frantically. Midoriya glanced in his direction, then raised his own.

“Can I ask if they’re assuming she’s guilty?” Midoriya asked when Aizawa pointed at him.

“Nothing is being assumed,” said Aizawa. “An UA student is missing and it’s going to be investigated until we find out why she disappeared and where she disappeared to. I will tell you that she hasn’t been in contact with her family, which is highly concerning.”

Kaminari waved his arm. Aizawa deliberately roved his eyes over the class before they finally settled on him.

“Can we—” Kaminari said.

“No.”

“But she—”

“No.”

“Is there any—”

“No.”

“Can we at LEAST put up missing person posters?!”

Aizawa and the rest of the class stared at Kaminari for a long time.

“…What?” Kaminari asked. “How are people gonna know what Hagakure looks like without posters?”

Aizawa pinched his brow. “Just put your hand down.”

Kaminari did so, sulking. He felt a hand on his back and knew it was Kirishima, reaching over his desk to assure him.

“Your lessons are going to continue as normal,” said Aizawa. “The last time a student went missing—” His gaze flicked to Bakugou. “—certain members of your class responded in a dangerous and irresponsible manner, and the warning I gave you after the fact was serious. We will expel any students caught doing anything without explicit permission. Do not look for her. Report to a teacher immediately if you receive any communication from her. Focus on your lessons. Questions?”

No one had any.

“Good, now before your first class, let’s have a lecture about teamwork and trusting,” said Aizawa.

Kaminari folded his arms on his desk and rested his head in his arms. Aizawa didn’t snap at him to pay attention. He didn’t look up to see, but he couldn’t be the only one staring out a window or tuning out a canned lecture that had all the robotic and stiff edge of someone instructed by the principal to bring the class together.

He faded into nothing and the evil took over.

He couldn’t be sure how long the world stuttered and swayed, but it did. He attributed it to pain—Shigaraki had taught him to endure it and some busted ribs were at the low end of the spectrum compared to the full heat of Dabi’s torture. Kaminari smiled reassuringly at his classmates when they caught his eye, and let his expression fall when Hagakure was brought up. He was concerned, yes, but not in the same way the other were. The others didn’t know. They didn’t know that Shigaraki was probably torturing her.

And, sickeningly, peering out from behind his thoughts, Kaminari couldn’t help but be grateful that it was her instead of him.

The thought made Kaminari feel nauseous and dizzy. When he came out of his daze, he puked into the toilet during the first break. Then the world faded again and he was in the cafeteria, coming to as Bakugou’s firm hand slapped on his shoulder.

“Will you stop wandering, you numbskull, people are fucking staring,” Bakugou demanded.

“What?” said Kaminari.

“Just sit with us. You’ve circled the cafeteria two times already!”

Kaminari had no memory of circling the cafeteria, let alone most of the morning, but let Bakugou pull him to the group’s preferred table. He slid in next to Ashido and prayed that she wouldn’t give him an impromptu hug.

“…Is that what you’re eating?” Sero asked.

“…Huh?” Kaminari blinked stupidly. Looking down at his plate, he saw that he’d only gotten an apple and a bottle of relish.

“How are you holding up, sweetie?” Ashido asked. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Oh, I was up late,” said Kaminari. An easy excuse, and not entirely a lie. He took the relish and drenched the apple in it.

“Where the hell were you yesterday?” Bakugou asked.

“I was at home.”

“Band practice, moron. I told you it got changed to Sunday!”

“Shit, sorry, I forgot.”

“No fucking kidding! Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“I told you I lost my phone.”

“Didn’t you get it while you were at your house?” Ashido asked.

“I couldn’t find it. I’ll get a new one next weekend or something.”

“‘Or something.’” Bakugou scoffed. “I told you Sunday! How the hell do you forget something like that?!”

“Sorry, okay? I’ll make it up to you guys later. We can play Wonderwall!”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

Bakugou threw his sandwich at his face and it was enough to distract, enough to change the subject to band practice, forcibly steering it away from Hagakure with an unpracticed, sharp turn. He only ate two bites of the apple and spent the rest of the lunch period in anxious silence with his friends. No one bothered them.

Kaminari only slept on his side, though it was hard to get any peace when his mind buzzed and he felt like Dabi had stuck a knife between his ribs. So when he realized that it was hero training the next day, a great existential dread settled over him like an impending storm. Hero training meant physical activity, and physical activity meant running while pretending everything was fine, and pretending everything was fine was a lie. Nothing was fine and everyone knew it.

Something was missing and despite orders to the contrary, he saw his classmates checking corners where an invisible Hagakure might lurk. Kaminari did no such checking.

Normal. What about this was normal? Kaminari couldn’t remember having a normal life. It hadn’t even been normal before school started. Nothing was normal. What was the point of it?

Everything passed in snapshots that blinked in and out and in and out like stuttering CCTV footage.

Stutter.

Yaoyorozu was asking him to focus on his homework.

Stutter.

Yamada was leading the group in an English sing-along of ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

Stutter.

Ectoplasm was scolding him for looking out the window.

Stutter.

He was…

Where was he?

Kaminari blinked rapidly, getting his bearings. He was standing with his classmates wearing his PE uniform, though he couldn’t remember changing into it, at the edge of Ground Omega, a familiar spot to anyone in the Hero Course. It felt all kinds of wrong to be here without Hagakure.

Aizawa, however, showed no visible emotion as he surveyed the class. Eri stood close by him, clutching her toy. There to observe, maybe. She clung to Aizawa’s leg.

Aizawa was in the middle of a lecture. Kaminari forced himself to focus.

“Quirks are all well and good, but as you can tell from mine…” Aizawa’s hair raised up. “When you’re in a situation when the quirk is nullified, a good portion of this class becomes useless. Don’t become useless. There will be battles where you’re outnumbered and the odds are against you, so today we’re going to brush up on your hand-to-hand combat skills.”

That didn’t bode well. Kaminari’s ribs weren’t having it, and if he just couldn’t zap his enemies from a safe distance, he had no chance.

“You’ll split into two teams,” said Aizawa. “Mutant type quirks are naturally resistant to Erasure, so we’ll split the class based on that. Team A will have mutant type quirks, Team B will be everyone else with the aim is to incapacitate the other team. Those of you who are mutant type have leave to use your quirk to whatever extent you like, the other team is strictly barred from using them.”

“That seems horribly unbalanced,” said Yaoyorozu.

“That’s the point of the exercise: resilience in the face of being outnumbered and outgunned. Team B will get fifteen minutes to strategize. Team A will follow after that.”

Aizawa’s phone rang. He ignored it for three rings before he picked it up.

“I need to take this,” he announced. “No one move, I’ll be right back.”

Then he was out of hearing range, and the class was alone.

Tension rolled through the class like a herd of gazelle instinctively sensing a predator in the wings. If Kaminari had Bakugou’s quirk, he would sweat enough bombs to destroy the immediate area.

He felt a tug.

Kaminari startled hard, but it was just Eri tugging on his pant leg. He almost couldn’t look at her.

“Do you know where Tooru is?” Eri asked. “I’m asking everyone.”

Kaminari knelt down to her level. “Uh—no, sorry. None of us know where she is. We’re all very worried about her.”

“She’s nice to me…” Eri said softly. She tucked her hair behind her ear. Eri kept glancing at him like she was trying to read him, but afraid of getting caught.

“Don’t worry, okay?” said Kaminari. “Everything’s going to be fine. Tooru will be back before you know it.”

She gave a stiff nod and turned away.

He tried not to show that he was looking at Eri while the class prepared to head into the forest. Fortunately, spying had made him something of an expert of watching while pretending that he wasn’t. Eri stood close to Aizawa, and when she wasn’t near him, she gravitated towards Midoriya. That would be a problem. In a direct confrontation, he wouldn’t be able to deal with either of them.

Kaminari didn’t have time to think of a plan before Aizawa returned and sent Team B into the forest with, “You now have ten minutes.”

Kaminari tried to keep pace with Team B, he really did. He sucked in his lungs and paced himself between jabs of pain, he stepped light, he took breathers behind trees where he thought no one would notice, and then the group fanned out and he was alone.

He settled under a bush to catch his breath, for what good it would do him against Shouji and Jirou’s hearing. His breath came in shallow, pained gasps that barely got enough oxygen into his deprived body. Disgust roved over him—he was better than this. The best he could hope to do was to get the exercise over with quickly.

He tried to climb a tree. If he climbed a tree, he could hide in the branches and ambush whoever came through. Just as he found an acceptable climbing-tree, though, he realized he couldn’t do it. Still, he was stubborn. And stupid. It was a mixture of both that drove him to under the lowest hanging branch.

Kaminari didn’t even jump. He just had to reach up when he jolted, like the broken rib was digging at his organs. Vision whiting out, he stumbled to the side and to the ground. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from crying out, and despite the desperate need to breathe deeply, his body just wasn’t having it. He could only expand his chest so far before it exploded, ears ringing as unconsciousness loomed closer.

Whenever he closed his eyes, though, all he could think about was Shigaraki chiding him for his weakness. He bit down on his lip. He wouldn’t pass out here.

With his teammates nowhere in sight, the best course of action was to hide.

Maybe he could just…sit down…for a bit. Would they graded on this?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be here long enough for grades to matter.

The thought hit Kaminari hard and he settled against the nearest tree. He really was being pulled out of UA. That was a good thing, though. Shigaraki was right—this place was distracting, and it’s not like he enjoyed schoolwork. Any excuse to not do schoolwork was a good one. He’d gathered a lot of useful information in the last year, more than the League, then the Paranormal Liberation Front had gained in years of spying on the school from the outside.

It wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get to spend more time with Shigaraki. On the other hand, he’d also have to spend more time with Toga, which was a less desirable thought. She gave him the creeps.

And Eri would be there, too. And Hagakure. Shigaraki would recruit them and everything would be fine. Shigaraki promised him it would be. His chest heaved with the effort, catching before he could fully inhale and leaving him dizzy and disorientated. He was going to be sick; the nausea rolling through him in unstoppable waves.

Then, footsteps.

The mask slipped back on so easily—like it always had. Though his vision swam like looking through bottle glass, he looked out of the bushes.

In his rush and panic, his feet slipped and he went careening down the embankment. Dirt billowed up and whoever it was let out a startled cry as he plowed into them like a panicked bull in the full throes of the running of the bulls.

Kaminari coughed out the dust that went flying up, eyes stinging. The impact left him breathless—but instincts were taking over. He was sprawled on top of the person he’d run into, and he only had to see the shine of dark hair to know who it was.

“Kaminari, you DOLT!” Jirou yelled.

Kaminari grunted in a way that he hoped sounded apologetic rather than pained.

Jirou rolled out from under him and onto her feet, earlobes splayed.

“Hey, uh, I got a proposal for you!” said Kaminari. “Let’s team up! I know we’re on opposite teams, but maybe—maybe we’d get extra points for creativity if we bring down everyone else?”

He couldn’t fight like this. Kaminari knew it. Maybe Jirou saw it in his eyes. His best chance was to dodge. There was no running. He felt like he was standing outside his own body, his ribs knifing into his side.

Jirou’s ear lobes thrust at him like two angry hornets and he couldn’t take it. He’d taken too many blows and he couldn’t do it anymore. All he saw was Dabi hurtling at him, see Hokama threatening to needle his brain.

Kaminari let go.

Shigaraki had neglected him—left him in the care of Hokama and other guardians when he was younger, never teaching him how to do anything useful except infiltrate. Dodging was something Kaminari could do, though, something he didn’t do often enough in class. He was used to dodging everything: blows, attention, topics. The whole world was a loaded pistol. Dodging was his only means of survival beyond his quirk.

He slid to the side and grabbed her earlobes as they whisked past. Kaminari grit his teeth—the next part was going to hurt. With a violent tug, he sent Jirou flying into the bushes. His vision went wobbly, his hand clutching his side.

With his senses muffled, it was something of a miracle that he could hear Shouji barrelling towards him at all. Maybe he’d been there the whole time, ready to draw out whoever Jirou had run into. Maybe he’d heard the commotion from afar. All Kaminari knew was that he couldn’t let Shouji touch him or he’d faint for sure. In full-stride, Shouji rushed to him, a large, fleshy missile honed in on its target.

Kaminari couldn’t have willed himself to dodge Dabi, but this was a different matter. Funny thing about Shouji was that he was top heavy. The proportions would’ve been unattractive on anyone else but those shoulders. Shouji was beautiful when he fought, especially as he improved. He’d seen him and Ojirou duelling it out too many times to not pick up on patterns.

Kaminari extended his leg right when Shouji was in arm’s reach, the world slowing long enough for him to see the surprised arch of his eyebrow. Shouji fumbled over his leg. The forceful jerk of his hip joint rolling in its socket sent pain tap-dancing up his spine. But Shouji fell.

Shouji recovered with a roll just as Jirou pulled herself out of the bushes with fresh leaves stuck in her hair.

“C’mon, guys, let’s work together!” Kaminari said.

“Just hold still so I can tie you up,” Jirou snapped. “You can’t win.”

The thought of being tied up did not appeal to Kaminari. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“We’ll see about that!”

Jirou’s earlobes looped in a wide circle above him. So that was her game. Lasso him like a cowgirl. If he was at full strength, maybe he could slip under her, maybe he could run. But all he could think about was Jirou’s earlobes tightening around his chest and electricity surged through his body and—

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.”

“He’s breathing, he’s okay.”

Kaminari blinked blearily, vision evening out again.

“Are you with us, Kaminari?”

That wasn’t Jirou. Or Shouji. As darkness receded, he looked up through the overhanging tree branches, cut only by Aizawa leaning over him.

“Yup,” Kaminari gasped. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“Your heart stopped,” Aizawa said plainly.

Kaminari tried to process this information, ears ringing. He was leaning back against something warm and solid, and realized that Shouji was near-cradling him on the forest floor. Jirou was leaning over on her knees, brow knitted tight in concern, and God, he’d never seen her that pale before. She looked like she was the one whose heart had stopped.

“S’thorry, th’ay what?” Kaminari slurred.

“Your heart stopped, you asshole!” Jirou repeated. “You let out a bunch of electricity and your heart fucking stopped! Shouji and I could both hear it stop!”

“Fortunately it restarted after about five seconds,” said Shouji.

“The LONGEST five seconds of my life! What the FUCK were you thinking?! You weren’t supposed to use your quirk!”

“Wait, wait!” Kaminari gasped out. He grunted—his whole chest hurt, now. “I panicked, okay? Sorry…”

“Sorry? You fucking died!”

“I didn’t. I wasn’t—I wasn’t in any real trouble, my quirk would’ve just, uh, started it up again, which it did.”

“Wait, you did it on…on purpose?”

“Well, no, I didn’t know I could—…I could—…” The world slanted. “…Dizzy…”

“You’re injured,” Aizawa deduced.

“Am not…”

Aizawa reached for his chest.

His vision whited again. He saw Dabi. Smelt the lingering stench of burnt flesh.

“Wait, wait!” Kaminari gasped. He sat up so suddenly that his breath caught again and he would’ve fallen if Shouji wasn’t keeping such a firm grip.

“Might be a bruised or broken rib,” said Aizawa. “Did you two try CPR?”

“We didn’t even get a chance,” said Shouji. “It happened too fast.”

“I—when Jirou and I, when I fell into her, I think it happened then,” said Kaminari.

There was something odd in the way Aizawa looked at him, but just as quickly as it came, it left.

“You should know better,” said Aizawa. “It’s extremely dangerous to engage in physical activity with an injured rib.”

“Sorry, sir…”

Aizawa stood up.

“You two take him to Recovery Girl right away, I’ll be along as soon as I can,” said Aizawa. “Kaminari…we’re going to talk about this later.”

Kaminari waited until Aizawa was out of sight before he attempted to stand. He barely got to his knees when Shouji, without preamble, scooped him into his arms.

“So I just have to get hurt for someone with big, strong muscles to carry me around,” Kaminari joked, though the laughter made him ache all over.

“You can’t walk,” said Shouji.

“I can walk,” Kaminari lied. “I just wanted to be carried.”

“You can’t walk even on a good day,” Jirou countered.

Kaminari lost the will to protest when he saw the look on Jirou’s face, broken and concentrated, with a strange undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. Suspicion? Concern? Something. He couldn’t quite get a fix on it from the angle he was at. It was just nice not to have pressure on his ribs.

“You can probably go back to the exercise, Jirou,” said Kaminari 

“Like hell I will,” said Jirou. “Someone has to keep an eye on you, since you clearly can’t do it yourself.”

“Wow, you’re channelling Bakugou. Don’t worry, one make-out session with Recovery Girl and I’ll be good to go”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You should’ve said something the moment you got hurt,” said Shouji.

“I know, I know,” said Kaminari. “Mr Aizawa will chew me out for it later. He’ll give me detention for the rest of forever.”

“Maybe you won’t cause so much trouble in detention,” Jirou scowled, though her eyes were tender. They were so soft, like a light haze at sunrise. Fear punched into his gut. No one looked at him like that before UA.

He fantasized about saying he was the traitor. It was so easy. A few short words. He could condense it, force it out before he could overthink. He wouldn’t have to live a charade any more, though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when his life had become that. Had he ever been a real person, or just something Shigaraki had made up in order to get under the skin of Pro Heroes anywhere?

He did what a good spy did and swallowed it whole.

With a kiss and a stern look, pain bled out of Kaminari, and for the first time in days he felt all tension leave him. The bruises, the ribs, the evidence of torture, all gone in an instant, though it left him spent. He sagged on the bed as Recovery Girl drew back.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better,” he said.

“Good. Then the next time you get a rib injury, come see me straight away. I can only do so much before you get shipped off to the hospital.”

“I went to the Midoriya school of getting injured.”

“Very funny. You may rest here for a short while. Don’t even think about moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Recovery Girl rounded on Shouji and Jirou, who were sitting on the bed beside him, and wagged her finger threateningly.

“Don’t even think about stressing him,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Shouji and Jirou.

Jirou shifted to sit on the edge of Kaminari’s bed.

“Was your stupid healed?” Jirou asked.

“Nah, pretty sure I still only have one brain cell,” said Kaminari.

“Where did the other one go?”

Kaminari laughed and it felt good to do so without the rib ramming into his back, and fortunately the exhaustion made for a good excuse to rest against the pillow.

This was getting a little out of control, although to be fair, he didn’t feel that this slip-up was entirely his fault. Dabi shouldn’t have been so aggressive, but that was desperation. And maybe a part of him deserved the harsh reprimand—after all, there was a lot at stake.

Kaminari squeezed his eyes shut. He’d have to do it. He’d already known that he was going to do it, but now it was finalized. This really was the end, wasn’t it? Kidnap Eri, let his identity get exposed, escape UA, join the villains. A crippling emotional blow to the Pro Heroes and his classmates, and the culmination of everything the PLF had been working up to since he was first installed at UA. They could even turn Eri against the heroes—she’d be a great asset when she was older and had better control over her quirk. In an instant, she could dismantle any hero that came against her.

He could do this. He could do this. Just had to keep repeating that to himself. Shigaraki was counting on him. He could do this.

The curtain drew back with such violence that Kaminari let out a yelp. Suddenly, Aizawa was looming over him like a dark cloud.

“You two, out,” Aizawa pointed to Jirou and Shouji. They didn’t even protest, they just ran.

Kaminari’s blood ran hot and then cold. “Um, hey—”

“So how did you actually get hurt?” Aizawa asked.

“What do you mean? I fell out of a tree.”

“No you didn’t. Stop lying.”

“I’m not—”

Aizawa rubbed his forehead. “Kaminari, earlier you said you ran into Jirou.”

“Oh." Whoops. “Uh, I was—I was sore before that, when I tried to, like, climb a tree. Then I fell out of it.”

“Kaminari, all of the training areas have security cameras to observe the students when they’re practising. I was watching you the whole time. You didn’t even get in the tree—I don’t think you could.”

Kaminari shrank into the bed. No matter what he said, it would be crushed with a swift blow. There were so many lies, so many directions, so many things he could say, but his heart froze in his chest and ice water pumped into his veins. He was filled with dread that no matter what he said, Aizawa would catch him in the lie. Lies were no longer sufficient.

“Explain,” said Aizawa.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Kaminari.

“You can start by not lying. What. Happened.”

“Nothing happened. It’s not a big deal. I’m a hero-in-training, injuries happen all the time—”

“No. Injuries happen to Midoriya all the time. But lately it seems that whenever you go home, something terrible and unfortunate thing happens. Come to think of it, you barely went home at all last year.”

“It’s not what you think—“

“It’s not what I think?”

Kaminari clamped his mouth shut.

“It’s not what I think?!” Aizawa repeated. “You haven’t provided one believable excuse for this, Kaminari, not one. Tell me what is going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” said Kaminari. He narrowed his eyes. He let the mask slip. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I mean, you can’t prove anything. My parents are gonna deny it because it isn’t true, and I’m gonna deny it because it isn’t true, and there’s nothing wrong at my house. When I said I fell out of a tree, I meant I fell out of another tree that I was climbing over the weekend. That’s it.”

Kaminari immediately regretted the excuse. He should know better than to try to corner a Pro Hero.

“Detention,” said Aizawa.

“Aw, c’mon, man—I mean, sir! Sir Man. What I mean to say is—”

“Detention. This weekend. Every weekend. For the rest of the school year.”

“You can’t do that! That’s not fair!”

“I’m your teacher. I can do whatever I want.”

“But…But…”

Kaminari spluttered, searching for an excuse—a protest, a lie, anything. He floundered. All of Shigaraki’s training hadn’t prepared him for this inevitable moment where suspicions were at a height. If he fought too hard, Hagakure's disappearance wouldn't be enough of a cover to save him. Aizawa wasn't stupid, maybe he already suspected, maybe Jirou and Shouji suspected, maybe everyone suspected. Sweat followed the curve of his backbone and the fight was gone from him. He avoided Aizawa's eyes when he swung on his heel and left the infirmary.

Chapter Text

In space, planetary collisions didn’t have the cinematic flare Midoriya saw in movies. There was no shattering, sound-breaking wave of fire that consumed the planet, no sudden screams cut-off mid sentence, no absolute moment of destruction. Just the slow crawl of hellfire creeping over the planet surface like the mantle clawing its way from under the crust.

In retrospect, Midoriya would realize that the traitor was a slow-moving planet perfectly poised to destroy everything humanity had accomplished, all the cities they’d built, the hope they’d woven, all obliterated in a slow apocalypse.

Midoriya crouched on Heights’ Alliance doorstep, flipping through the notes in his journal. Like the analogy of the slow-moving apocalypse, the realization of the traitor’s identity remained a slow one. He had a list of suspects, in the beginning, a list he knew the traitor must’ve seen. In a way, Midoriya felt partially responsible for planting the seed in their mind to pin it all on Hagakure.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text and he looked down to find an all-capped message from Bakugou.

MEET ME OUTSIDE HAGAKURE’S ROOM. NOW.

In the elevator, on his way to meet Bakugou, his mind touched on every event of the last two weeks. There was no proof. Not exactly—just circumstantial evidence, odd behaviours blamed on stress, and a lot of suspicion.

So far, everything he knew was fragmentary images—a picture torn into thousands of pieces. Slowly, Midoriya pieced them together to reform the picture someone tried to destroy. However, no matter what the traitor did, there would always be an underlying reality, an absolute, irrevocable truth. Midoriya tasted the sweat and nausea on his tongue. He thought there would be satisfaction when he had a firm suspect. Now, he just felt sick with himself.

Because the reality was, if his suspicions were correct, then the traitor, their friend, had done this all to Hagakure and to them.

When he arrived outside Hagakure’s room, Bakugou was waiting, and the door was ajar.

“What did you want to talk about?” Midoriya asked. He glanced from the door, to Bakugou, and back. “Did you break the doorknob?”

“What?” said Bakugou. “Not like we’re gonna walk in on her changing.”

“Kacchan! This feels illegal!”

“As if you haven’t broken laws before. Shut up.”

Bakugou flicked on the lights and surveyed Hagakure’s room, pink enough to put Ashido to shame. Midoriya hovered over the doorstep and stepped over the threshold.

“What are we doing?” Midoriya hissed.

“Searching her room,” said Bakugou, shaking a teddy bear. “Bitch must’ve left some clues behind. She’s gotta have cameras in here or something.”

“Um, I don’t think she’d put cameras in her own room.”

Bakugou scoffed and tossed the toy to the side. “Help me look or get the fuck out.”

The room was clean, however, too clean for a traitor. There was no villain paraphernalia, no suspicious notes or papers lying around, and even when Midoriya flicked through her school notebooks, he only found lighthearted doodles and curly handwriting. Either the teachers had already searched the room and removed any incriminating evidence, or Hagakure was the cleanest spy in existence.

Midoriya’s eyes landed on Hagakure’s phone charger lying curled on her side table. “Do you see her phone anywhere?”

Bakugou dumped the contents of Hagakure’s backpack on the floor. There were several very pink notebooks, pens, and school supplies, but no phone. They searched other places where she might keep her phone, short of rummaging in her clothes drawer, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t in the room at all.

“She must’ve taken it with her?” Midoriya hedged.

“People would notice a phone floating around,” said Bakugou. “She probably ditched it.”

“I don’t see why she would. Her phone has all our numbers and text messages on it. I feel like that would be too important to a traitor to leave behind.”

“Then the teachers confiscated it.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. I think I remember Hagakure using it after she’d been under suspicion as the traitor.”

“Seriously? What if she’d been using it to contact the goddamn villains?”

“Do you really think a spy would be clumsy enough to use their own phone?”

Bakugou grunted something that sounded like an agreement.

Midoriya surveyed her side table again as if her phone would materialize there, his eyes resting on a few nail polish bottles. He picked up a black one.

Kaminari had painted his nails black.

And still, still, he was paralyzed. It would be more merciful to wait until the traitor couldn’t run anymore, for the moment Midoriya was either proved right or wrong. He would spare Bakugou the agony. Or maybe he was more cowardly than he thought, maybe he feared the outpouring of emotion that would come with his suspicions. He wondered who was more of a traitor: the spy themself, or just Midoriya.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

Midoriya startled, realizing he’d been staring far too long at Bakugou.

“Sorry, I was thinking,” he said.

“Think quieter, it’s distracting.”

“I was thinking…”

“Did I ask what you were thinking?”

“…I was thinking I didn’t want it to be anybody.”

“Do you think this is your therapy session?” Bakugou asked. “Read my lips! I don’t care what you think!”

“What if Hagakure’s…What if she’s dead?” Midoriya pressed on because he had to say it. If he didn’t say it, Bakugou would be worse off. “What if something’s happened to her, something worse than her running away? If she’s…If she’s been hurt, or worse, do you realize that the real traitor is responsible for that?” His voice quivered. “I don’t want to do this.”

Bakugou let out a long, withering sigh, crossed the distance between them, and smacked Midoriya on the back of his head. “You idiot! If she’s dead, we’ll deal with it then. Until then, I don’t want to hear any more of your whiny, self-loathing bullshit! You really think any of that helps Hagakure?!”

“It could be too late,” said Midoriya.

“If you’re giving up now, I’m gonna throw you off the balcony. Use that head of yours and think.”

Midoriya couldn’t bring himself to be taken aback by Bakugou’s severe demeanour. If he’d been soft and comforting, he would’ve been more alarmed. But it had the opposite effect. It calmed him, made his mind focus razor-sharp on their goal, as he swallowed down his feelings, and turned his thoughts away from his suspicions.

He settled back on Hagakure’s bed and rubbed his face with his hands. “Hagakure was last seen on Friday, right?”

“Yeah,” said Bakugou.

“So she left that day. Let’s operate on the assumption she left school grounds.”

“Fine.”

“How would she get out?”

“Through the front gate, obviously. She does her little nudist act and waltzes right the fuck out.”

“What if someone took her?”

“People would notice if they were hauling a body out the gate, even if it was an invisible one. Guarantee that the teachers already looked at the security footage from the gate and looked for signs of someone suspicious dragging her out.

“Do you think she’d leave voluntarily?”

Bakugou grabbed a chair from the corner and sat backwards in it, facing Midoriya. “If she didn’t run away, someone could’ve lured her away, then snatched her up somewhere off school grounds.”

“So the traitor must’ve talked her into leaving.”

“Could be.”

“Did anyone in the class leave school grounds that day?”

“It was Friday. People were coming and going all day, some visiting their families, others just hanging out somewhere off campus. It’s not fucking unusual, Deku. Even if there was someone we could pinpoint as suspicious, the traitor could’ve sent other villains after her while they have an alibi here.”

Midoriya saw his chance. It was slim, but he had to take it.

“If the traitor talked Hagakure into leaving, she must’ve trusted them enough to listen,” said Midoriya.

“Fucking duh,” Bakugou barked over his shoulder. “She trusted lots of people.”

“Not necessarily. Trust works both ways and almost everyone avoided her after they suspected her of being the traitor.”

“So?”

“So, it makes sense that Hagakure wouldn’t trust others as much. It would make sense if the person who talked her into leaving had…If they were someone who’s been close to her after the fact.”

“So what?”

Midoriya wrung his hands. Now or never. “Kaminari’s been very defensive of Hagakure.”

He saw the tension jam up in Bakugou’s shoulder blade like someone had stuck an iron rod up his spine.

“You shut your mouth,” Bakugou barked.

“Kacchan…”

“You shut your mouth, Deku! Dunceface has enough of his stupid to deal with without dealing with yours on top of it.”

“Dunceface—I mean, Kaminari, has been in the centre of everything since this all started,” said Midoriya. “Don’t you think he’s been acting strange lately?”

“He’s always been strange.”

“Not like this, Kacchan, and you know it. His family—”

“That’s none of your business.”

“—Being so defensive of Hagakure—”

“He’s a shitty judge of character.”

“—And now today, with the accident during training, and him acting strange, it’s just…it’s not normal, Kacchan.”

“I TOLD YOU TO DROP IT!”

“I can’t! You know we have to look into this! Did you ask him about the pamphlet, at least?”

“The pamphlet’s not proof of anything! You heard the Pervert, he has them planted all over school!”

“Did Kaminari ever tell you where his was, though?”

“He threw it away! Like a lot of people do! It’s not proof!”

“…You’re right,” said Midoriya. “However, combined with the other circumstantial evidence, there’s—”

Midoriya didn’t get to finish what he was going to say. Because at that moment, Bakugou grabbed the edge of Hagakure’s desk and threw it across the room at him.

Midoriya had honed his reflexes to a fine edge, but he barely managed to avoid the edge of the desk crashing into the wall behind him with a tremendous crash that vibrated through the walls and floor.

“I WARNED YOU TO DROP IT!” Bakugou yelled.

Midoriya froze, like he was a kid again, and Bakugou was the aggressive bully who’d tracked him down. Their dynamic had changed since then. There was some sort of strange respect present these days. The hostility was back in full force, though. The intensity of Bakugou’s glare, the fire in his eyes—there was a new emotion Midoriya hadn’t expected from him, something he hadn’t even seen him display towards people he was supposed to rescue. Protectiveness.

Bakugou closed the distance between them and knotted his hands in Midoriya’s shirt.

“I warned you, Deku,” Bakugou snarled. “I warned you to drop it.”

Midoriya blinked at Bakugou. “I thought we were working together because we’re the only ones we could trust?”

Bakugou’s hands tightened. “You aren’t as smart as you think you are! I’m not gonna let you pick on someone who’s LITERALLY going through enough right now!”

Then, another voice, light and hesitant, sounded around the corner. “Uh…why are you in Hagakure’s room?”

Bakugou and Midoriya jumped apart. Uraraka peered around the corner, her enormous eyes darting between the two.

“I heard you shouting down the hall,” said Uraraka. “Did you break in?”

Bakugou stormed out. “Mind your own damn business!”

Uraraka wisely stood out of his way as he stormed down the hall, and after a moment, entered and looked around at the destruction Bakugou hall had left in his wake.

“What’s going on?” Uraraka asked. “Why are you in Hagakure’s room? Did Mr Aizawa say you could come in here?””

“It’s…It’s a long story,” said Midoriya.

“I got time. What’s going on?”

Midoriya hesitated. Even though he felt more certain now than ever that Uraraka wasn’t the person they were looking for, it didn’t hurt to err on the side of caution. Still, he and Bakugou were caught, and he realized Bakugou wouldn’t believe him unless they dangled evidence right in his face, unless Kaminari confessed.

So Midoriya felt more confident when he looked Uraraka in the eye and said, “I know who the real traitor is.”

Kaminari slept most of the day thanks to Recovery Girl’s treatment. He woke up off and on with visitors from his classmates, but mostly it was just Kirishima, Ashido, and Sero hanging out in his room.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again,” Jirou had told him seriously.

“I didn’t mean to,” Kaminari replied.

“Don’t care. Just don’t do it.”

Everyone said something along the same lines. Iida chastised him for half-an-hour about improper quirk usage. Kirishima kept giving him relieved, but encouraging smiles. He didn’t tell anyone about Aizawa’s detentions; he wouldn’t be here long enough for them to find out. Kaminari could do nothing but jolt from one state of existence to the next, knowing that inevitably, it would end, like all things did. Though he managed to smile and nod his way through his steady stream of visitors, he used the excuse of exhaustion more and more to keep them at bay, to lie on his bed and get rest he hadn't gotten in days.

Weakness crawled through Kaminari each time he closed his eyes. Shigaraki was right.The entire ‘friendships’ he’d built throughout the school year were fabrications. Terrible, snakelike lies that coiled and strangled any meaningful feelings conjured by one party or the other. Even the small, insignificant truths Kaminari managed, like laughing at Sero’s jokes or teasing Bakugou or even flirting with girls with Mineta. Those were lies on the principle that they were started by one. The circumstances, how truthful he’d been, didn’t matter because it had all been perpetuated by his lying.

It ached. It started small and gradually evolved into mind-numbing agony.

He wanted to pull out his veins and string himself up like a puppet. He wanted someone to ask. But every time someone got a fleeting impression that something was wrong, Kaminari explained it away. He’d done it so often it had become an instinct, as natural as lemmings diving off a cliff.

“You’re really quiet,” Sero finally said. It was sometime past curfew and he, Kirishima, and Ashido had stayed far too late.

“Tired,” Kaminari grunted out.

“Still? You’ve been sleeping all day.”

“What can I say? Making out with Recovery Girl does that to a guy.”

Ashido snorted. But silences were frequent these days, and it the silence came back too fast for anyone to stop it.

Kirishima had been on the floor, but pulled himself onto the bed to sit beside him.

“You’ve been having a rough go of it lately,” said Kirishima. “We need to talk about getting you a lucky charm.”

“I think Hagakure’s the one who needs a lucky charm,” said Kaminari.

“Hagakure’s strong, I’m sure she’s alright.”

“So now you care.”

Kirishima’s sigh was near-dismissive.

“C’mon, that’s not fair,” said Sero.

“No, you know what’s not fair?” Kaminari snapped. If these were his last days, he should get everything off his chest while he could, before it became a villain monologue as part of his tragic backstory. “What’s not fair is Hagakure’s reputation getting dragged everywhere. You know that—that even when she’s proven innocent, she’ll be lucky if she can have a proper career?I The stain’s gonna follow her around for the rest of her life!”

“Denki, we do care,” said Ashido.

“If you cared so much, why weren’t any of you there for her when all of this was going on?! Now it’s too late for anything!”

“And we feel shitty about it, trust me,” said Kirishima. “We’re gonna do what we can for Hagakure to make up for it, and believe me, when we see her again, I’m gonna say I’m sorry for everything.”

“You’re gonna say sorry?” Ashido frowned. “To a villain?”

“Hagakure isn’t a villain,” Kaminari snapped. Everyone’s hair stood on end and the lights flickered and Kirishima’s hand left his shoulder.

“Okay, she’s not!” Ashido said, hands shooting up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it…My mouth talked before my brain thought.”

“Maybe if people thought with their think buckets a little more, Hagakure wouldn’t’ve been dragged through the mud like she has,” said Kaminari. “The media’s out there right now shitting on her and—and—and they don’t even care that she’s innocent! Worse, half the class doesn’t even care! Nobody cares that she didn’t do any of this! Like, Bakugou I get because he’s got that massive stick up his ass, but the rest of you? I didn't think you were going to shun her like you did! One little rumour and suddenly this whole school turns on her, and now she’s missing and I’m hearing people say that she gets whatever she deserves! Like what the fuck?! Did you start feeling bad about it before or after she disappeared?”

He saw the moment the hurt registered on Kirishima’s face, his eyebrows upturning, his fists clenching. There was a deep crack from where the lightning had split Kirishima in two.

“Low blow, Kaminari,” Sero said.

Kaminari didn’t care. He felt too numbed to care about anything.

“Just…go,” said Kaminari. “I need to get some more sleep.”

He crawled onto his bed and sat with his back facing the room. There was a long pause and no one moved.

“I said go,” Kaminari snapped over his shoulder.

It was another long eternity before finally they filed out. Finally he was alone, and when Kaminari buried his face into his hands, no one could see.

He woke up with nightmares twice before he gave up on sleep altogether. He stared at the burner phone and debated calling Hokama and asking what they were doing with Hagakure. If they were torturing her, or starving her, or breaking her. Then he thought about what it would be like for someone to pick up the phone and he would hear Hagakure screaming on the other end, begging for mercy, being moulded into the perfect infiltrator. A perfect replacement for him.

When he didn’t sleep, he paced. He circled his room for a long while before it felt too claustrophobic and he stepped into the hall to pace the length. That lasted until Iida poked his head out of his room and barked at him to go to bed. Kaminari settled for sitting in the dark, watching the minutes crawl by.

The phone rang at midnight exactly, and he kept his voice hushed as he picked it up.

“It’s me.” Shigaraki. “I am checking on your progress.”

“…It’s the middle of the night,” said Kaminari. “What if I’d been asleep?”

“Are you going to get this done or not?’

“Yeah.”

“Then you have until the end of the week.”

“It’s—It’s a little last minute…”

“Stop dragging your feed and do it, or I’ll instruct Dabi to be a little harsher on Hagakure.”

Kaminari closed his eyes.

“Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah. I’ll get it done.”

“Good. It’s now Wednesday. You have two more days.”

The phone hung up with a click.

Kaminari nearly threw the phone across the room. The anxiety rose from moderate to unbearable. He felt the prickling in his fingertips before it crawled across his arms, flushing his entire upper body white hot. Then it settled to cold and his shallow breath came in uncontrolled gasps that pumped no air in and out of his body. His eyes twitched to focus on the clock, watch it tick from midnight to a minute past. The pain, purely in his own mind, was still potent. Still there. Always there. There was no escaping it, no escaping the gloom.

He couldn’t be alone. In his desperate haze, Kaminari pushed up and stepped out of his room, feather-quiet. His mind fleetingly went to Kirishima or Ashido or Sero or even Bakugou, but they were far away in every sense of the word. He couldn’t be around them, not because of this, because of what he’d done to Hagakure.

That was how he found himself knocking at Kouda’s door.

Kouda must not have been sleeping well, because it only took one light knock for the door to open Kouda blinked at him rapidly—Kaminari was not a usual visitor at his doorstep.

“Can I pet your rabbit?” Kaminari asked.

Kouda’s head tilted a little, his frown hesitant. He opened the door the full way and just stared.

“I really need to pet your rabbit,” said Kaminari. “Can’t stop thinking about how much I love rabbits.”

Kaminari had always liked Kouda’s room. It was quiet and comfortable, a good place to wind down, and not as busy as Kaminari’s room. He didn’t have as many possessions, and the most important one—his rabbit—was sitting alert on Kouda’s bed, both ears upright and twitching. It blinked up at Kaminari as he scratched its head.

“Cute!” Kaminari cooed. “I wish I had a pet. I used to have a guinea pig when I was a kid, but, uh…” The crack of its neck breaking. “He had to go conquer the planet and had no room for love in his heart.”

Kouda stood nearby, staring at Kaminari with a confused, unreadable expression. Then the confusion softened into something between pity and concern, and he settled on the ground next to him. The panic in his chest was settling, and Kaminari could feel his fingertips again.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Kaminari flashed him a reassuring smile. “I just really, really wanted to pet a bunny. Like, a desperate need. And Tokoyami’s probably asleep. I know he’s not a bunny but, like, I’ve always wanted to pet his head.”

Kaminari didn’t realize that he’d been unconsciously petting the rabbit cuddled in his lap until Kouda reached over and squeezed his shoulder. The contact left him winded.

“Kouda?” Kaminari said. “I...”

Toga would kill him.

Shigaraki would kill Hagakure.

He’d suffer a fate worse than death. Worse than what Shigaraki did to Overhaul. Worse than what he had planned for the world.

“About—…About—…About Hagakure,” Kaminari swallowed. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that he needed the pain in his chest to stop. “What if…”

God, this had been so stupid. The unease storming inside Kaminari left him fidgety and tense and it was impossible to stay still. His fingers kept dragging gently over the rabbit’s coat.

Why had he come to Kouda? Why hadn’t he gone to Todoroki, who had offered to listen? Or to Ashido or Kirishima or Sero, who were his closest friends? Or Bakugou, who would have the decency to punt him into oblivion? But he came to Kouda. His next door neighbour. He hadn’t hung around him often. Shigaraki called him inconsequential, not a threat. He wasn’t a threat because he preferred not to speak.

And if he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t tell.

“About Hagakure,” Kaminari started again. “Theoretically, if someone knew something, something important, but they couldn’t say anything, do you think they should? If someone knew something and they couldn’t say anything because the results could be bad for literally everyone, do you think they should say something? Like, if the bad thing was sort-of, kind-of life-threatening kind of bad. That kind of bad.”

Kouda just looked more confused by the second.

“Okay, stay with me here,” said Kaminari. “Okay. Let’s say…Kouda…I…” Why was it so hard to say? Finally, he whispered it out, and in the silence his voice filled every crevasse. “Do you think the traitor is a bad person, even if they had a good reason to do it?”

Kaminari found the courage to look. Kouda stared with silent intensity, his anxiety metamorphosing into a slow-dawning horror. The hand on Kaminari’s shoulder eased off.

“Do you think they’re a bad person?” Kaminari asked. “Even if they have the best possible reason for doing what they’re doing?”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kouda asked.

Kaminari tensed. Kouda wasn’t much for words and the fact that he’d used his voice sent chills through him.

“You’d have to be an idiot to just confess, wouldn’t you?” Kaminari asked, not sure who he was talking to. “You’d have to be the worst possible spy to do that. You’d have to be a fucking moron.”

Kouda mouthed words, but nothing came out. He shook his head and switched to sign language. “Maybe you should go.”

An unnamed emotion caused him to choke on the sob that bubbled in his throat. “Don’t! Please, not yet.”

Kaminari’s life had been a consistent parade of mistakes and lies, and now they were crashing on him. Kouda would call Aizawa, Aizawa would call Nezu, Nezu would call the police, the police would arrest him, he’d be questioned, disowned by his classmates, thrown into Tartarus or worse captured by the League, tortured, dead. Either way, dead. His own mortality pressed miserably against him at all sides like a persistent lover, luring him with sex appeal and the promise of momentary bliss. The problem about it being momentary was that it was just that: momentary. He’d gotten momentary relief from confessing to Kouda, from getting the weight off his shoulders, and then it had come back and crushed him anyway.

He pulled his legs up against his chest, folded his arms on his knees, and hid his face in them. At least he could do that and hide from Kouda—to hide from himself. He’d just signed his own death warrant, and maybe Kouda’s as well. How selfish could you get? Kaminari had been looking out for no one but himself for as long as he could remember and even before then. He’d taken advantage of Kouda’s quiet and gentle nature and destroyed it to satisfy his own curiosity.

He only became aware that Kouda had moved when he sensed his presence by his side and the subtle rustling of fabric.

“I’m sorry,” Kaminari said.

“Kaminari...” Kouda breathed, sounding winded and spent. “W—...Why?”

“I have to,” Kaminari answered. “I just have to.”

Rustling from his right. Then, a soft, winded, and spent voice. “Here...”

Kaminari peered out from his arms and saw Kouda pulling a blanket over his shoulders. God, he was too kind. He was too good to be a Pro Hero. Kouda gently touched his shoulder and turned him around, though as his hand eloquently moved to form words, Kaminari kept his focus on them and not on his eyes.

“It’s you?” Kouda signed.

Kaminari didn’t trust himself to speak. He signed back, “Yeah.”

“So the USJ incident? The camp? The villain attacks?”

“Yeah.”

“But your parents…?”

“I don’t know where they are,” Kaminari signed, saying what he’d refused to say since Shigaraki had taken him. “Too dangerous.”

“But your stepdad?”

“What, Hokama? He’s not my stepdad. Hokama’s my handler.”

“Kaminari!” Kouda gasped. His signing became more furious and poignant. “You are not an animal!”

“Kind of ironic coming from you, isn’t it?” Kaminari let out a choked laugh.

Kouda blinked mutely for a small eternity, large hands rubbing his face, and then migrating to Kaminari’s back where he rubbed in small circles.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Kouda asked. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s stupid. I don’t think you’d understand.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know why.”

Kaminari let his legs drop to lay flat before him. His signing moved furiously, clumsy from lack of use—he was used to interpreting them from Kouda, not making them himself. But the words wouldn’t come otherwise and this was the only way.

“I don’t know anymore,” he signed. “I was told to make friends with Bakugou and I did. It was all just pretend. At least, I thought it was pretend, but now I’m not so sure, Kouda. Lately I haven’t been pretending and that scares the fuck out of me. I guess I wanted to know what to felt like to tell anyone without any of the risk involved.”

Kouda knelt by him. “Hagakure?”

Kaminari hesitated.

“She doesn’t have anything to do with this, does she?”

Kaminari ran his fingers through his hair and they came back with static electricity.

“Where is she?”

“I can’t talk about Hagakure with you,” said Kaminari.

“Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me again.”

“…Kaminari, listen—if you go to Mr Aizawa, you can sort this all out,” said Kouda. “I’ll even come with you, if you want me to.”

“No, I can’t!” Kaminari cried. The lights flickered and a gentle spark rolled through his body. “They’ll send me to prison! I can’t...”

“But Kaminari—”

“I can’t.”

Kaminari tried to gather what little energy he had, but the electricity stored in him was blotted out in strange places, making him feel listless and weak. He could discharge and leave himself helpless, but he’d done so much hurting already without people even knowing that he was the one doing the hurt, that he didn’t know if he had it in him to inflict pain.

Kouda waited for a long time, for something to break the stalemate, for Kaminari to make his move. Kouda’s hand started moving in circles on his back again.

“Kaminari, I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Kouda signed. “I—I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I know you’re not a bad person. You’ve done so many good things.”

“Every good thing I’ve ever done I did to ingratiate myself to the heroes,” said Kaminari. “All of it, I did it all—for myself.”

“I don’t see what you had to gain from making friends with Kirishima or Sero or Ashido, or from walking in here and telling me all of this. You need to tell Mr Aizawa about this...”

“You can’t!”

“Kaminari—”

“You can’t tell him. You just can’t!”

Kouda looked around helplessly. He was clearly out of his league. “I don’t know what I should do! I feel like you should, though.”

“Do you know what would happen to me if I told anyone? Telling Aizawa, coming forward and all that, it would be worse than anything the villains would do to me.”

“Mr Aizawa would protect you.”

“Protect me?!” Kaminari shouted out. His caught himself and switched back to signing. “Are you crazy? There is no protecting me. You really think Aizawa would protect me after everything I’ve done?”

“Yes, I do.”

Kaminari caught himself in the nick of time. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect with the static electricity tingling through the air.

“Just report me,” Kaminari pleaded, hands still knotted in Kouda’s shirt, though without any of the intensity. “Just do it. Please.”

Make the hard decision for him. The guilt trickling through him indicated that this was just a way to escape from his problem, to selfishly put it in Kouda’s hands instead of his own. He released Kouda and sank to his knees onto the ground, hands curling around his stomach as painful pangs poked at his insides. He hunched over until his forehead almost met the carpet and for an eternity he hung there in suspension, waiting for the misery to be over, for someone to take the combined shame and guilt and destroy him with it. Kaminari didn’t even know who he guilty for betraying: Shigaraki or his classmates. The thought of Shigaraki’s disapproving eye twisted like a too-tight knot.

For a long while, he heard nothing from Kouda. He was just as paralyzed as he was and Kaminari refused to meet his eyes. He couldn’t bare it, it hurt too much. He didn’t know that emotional pain was capable of causing physical pain, but here he was, quivering like he’d just endured a long round of torture. Kouda shuffled. Paced the room. Came back to him. Paced again. Returned. Then, he knelt down beside him and his hand went for his back.

“Kaminari, please get off the floor,” Kouda begged. “Come sit on my bed.”

Kouda basically had to peel Kaminari off the ground like a rotten banana peel that had melted into the floor. Kaminari was careful to turn his head away from Kouda, to look at anything but. Then he was manoeuvred onto Kouda’s bed and he rolled onto his side to stare at the wall. He hoped that the blank wall would help clear his mind, but all he could see on it were stark images of the terrors that awaited him.

“You should really tell Aizawa,” Kaminari whispered. Suddenly he was very tired and very numb, like the overwhelming emotions had just become too much to the point where they evened out into a steady stupor. Suddenly he had his first clear thought all night. “But if you do, I’ll have to stop you.”

“What do you mean?” Kouda asked.

“It means I’ll have to hurt you. And…I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t have a choice.” Kaminari held his head in his hands. “If you tell someone, I’ll stop you. I...I should't have told you anything.”

Kouda was always quiet, but the quiet that overcame them was of a different caliber that edged into all the corners of the room. Kouda was afraid. Afraid of him. And the ballooning, existential ache in Kaminari’s chest had been alleviated by anything he’d done here.

Kouda eased onto the bed beside him, arms outstretched. Kaminari ducked away from his touch.

“Thanks for listening,” said Kaminari. “I should…”

“You can stay if you want to,” Kouda signed.

“I can’t.”

Kaminari made it as far as the door before he looked back over his shoulder, then swung on his heel to face him.

“Listen, some stuff’s gonna happen pretty soon,” said Kaminari. “Can you do me a favour?”

Kouda tilted his head.

“Make sure no one follows me.”

Kouda looked helplessly lost. Kaminari closed his eyes, sighed, then left Kouda in his room. And if Kouda called him back, he didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

The end, the moment Kaminari knew it was over, came not all at once. He’d expected a sudden implosion where he would be dragged into the night and committed to history, covered by an ash pile of tainted memories.

Instead, it was a slow-moving flood that uprooted homes and trees and debris, all swallowing him whole until he was drowning in mud. 

UA had become his prison as well as his refuge. Here, he was trapped with the illusion of freedom. He fantasized about disappearing into the city, somewhere heroes and villains alike couldn’t find him. But Shigaraki had his ways, and Kaminari knew first-hand the extent of his spy network, especially how it had expanded since PLF’s formation.

He opted to call in sick for school to bide time to come up with a plan. At least, that was the intention. Instead, he ended up hiding in bed like a child. Considering the circumstances, no one questioned him on his made-up illness. If nothing else, it could be blamed on stress and Hagakure and the injuries he’d sustained in training yesterday.

Hagakure’s absence was like a premalignant tumour that could turn cancerous at the slightest provocation, holding a live and too-authentic threat to them. Iida attempted to enforce a social media ban in the class group chat, but fragmentary news reports trickled through anyway. Hagakure’s disappearance was a hot topic throughout the whole school. Maybe it would remain that way for a while.

Kouda swung by during lunch hour. Kaminari regretted even cracking open the door at the first, quiet knock, and Kouda was there anyway, holding up what looked like homework.

Kaminari looked at the homework. Then at Kouda.

“I’m not gonna need that,” said Kaminari.

Kaminari went to close the door, but Kouda’s hand jerked out.

“You can talk to me,” Kouda signed.

He shut the door in his face without answering.

After school, he finally faced reality that he couldn’t hide in his room forever and headed down to the common room. He didn’t know what the plan was, or if he even expected to find anything. What he did find was Yaoyorozu, Tokoyami, and Kouda gathered around the kitchen area.

“How are you feeling?” Yaoyorozu asked upon noticing him.

“Better,” he said noncommittally.

“You know, you never got that English homework back to me.”

“What homework?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not really in the mood, Momo.”

Yaoyorozu looked like she wanted to press the issue, but the tension she carried released upon seeing his expression.

“Well, at least help me tell Tokoyami that there’s no such thing as spirits,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Isn’t Dark Shadow a spirit?” Kaminari asked.

“Dark Shadow is a quirk,” said Tokoyami. “And he was not what I was referring to.”

“Well, what were you referring to?”

“I was merely suggesting right that we could consult with the spirits for advice regarding Hagakure.”

“We’ve been expressly forbidden from doing anything,” said Yaoyorozu.

“I’m not suggesting that. I’m suggesting we ask questions.”

“The teachers won’t talk to us,” said Kaminari.

“Not the teachers. There are other forces at work in this world that may have the answers we seek.”

“What, like…National Geographic?”

“No, Kaminari, not like National Geographic,” Tokoyami sighed. He folded his hands on the table. “I’m suggesting we ask the spirits.”

“There’s no such thing as spirits,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Don’t let the ghosts hear you say that,” Dark Shadow piped up from under the table.

“Ghosts?!” Kaminari exclaimed. “Are you saying there're ghosts around here?”

“Spirits are everywhere,” said Tokoyami. “All we need is to use a conduit to reach them with.”

“Like what?”

“I have an ouija board. We could ask the spirits if they know anything about Hagakure.”

“Ouija boards are scientifically proven not to work,” said Yaoyorozu. “It’s just the ideomotor phenomenon at play.”

“The idea-what?” Kaminari asked.

“The ideomotor phenomenon. When you ‘use’ a ouija board, your subconscious answers the question using involuntarily motor movements that guide your hands. A ouija board can’t answer what happened to Hagakure. Not to mention Mr Aizawa has expressly forbidden us from trying to look for her.”

“This isn’t looking for her, this is asking the spirits for advice,” said Tokoyami.

“Which would be wonderful, if spirits weren’t real.”

“Keep your voice down!” Kaminari exclaimed. “What if the ghosts hear you?”

“We’re in the middle of the common room…”

“That’s when the ghosts get you!”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve gone ahead and put ideas into Kaminari’s head,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Spirits are real,” Tokoyami insisted.

“They are not.”

“Are too.”

“I respect all spiritual beliefs, but ouija boards don’t work.”

“…Is that a challenge?”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes narrowed. “Is this a thinly veiled attempt to get me to ‘summon a ghost’ with you?”

“What’s the harm in it?” Tokoyami asked. “Surely there’s no harm in just asking.”

Yaoyorozu sighed. “I will prove to you that ghosts aren’t real. If you insist, we can do this ‘summoning’ of yours, as long as we’re not up past curfew.”

“Ugh, you guys suck,” Kaminari sighed. “Now I have to go see the ghost.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” said Yaoyorozu.

“I can’t, not when you two are going. I’d feel left out.”

“What about you, Kouda?” Tokoyami asked. “Would you like to come?”

Kaminari’s veins went ice cold, but he concealed the sensation by drinking more soda. He felt the tension swarm from Kouda into him.

Finally, Kouda signed, “As long as they’re friendly ghosts.”

“Then we’re all in agreement,” Tokoyami concluded. “Let us meet at my room, an hour before curfew.”

Just when Kaminari thought his nerves had settled, he heard a ghostly howl, which sounded suspiciously like a ghost. Both he and Kouda yelped and ducked under the table.

“Not helping, Dark Shadow,” Tokoyami sighed.

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Kaminari propped open the metal case. There was a missing sedative vial, the one he’d used on Hagakure.

“Choose your weapon,” Kaminari sighed—there had only ever been one choice. He loaded the gun with a sedative, though he couldn’t be sure how it would interact with Eri’s quirk. His best hope was to knock her out quickly and get the hell out of UA before anyone got wise.

Attending a late-night séance was a good excuse to be out and about. After, he’d track down Eri, haul her over his shoulder, and waltz out through the front gates.

“This is a shitty plan,” Kaminari murmured. No one would ever let him get away with it, yet time was running out, and he was desperate.

And if he got caught, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst outcome.

Kaminari tucked the tranquilizer gun into his belt and pulled his shirt down to cover it. Despite the summer heat causing sweat to stick his shirt to his back, he pulled a hoodie on to properly hide it.

He stopped in the kitchen and got a drink of water. Truth was, he was scoping the area out. Almost everyone was getting ready for bed and others like Old Man Bakugou were already asleep. The lights in the common room were dimmed and the hallways were still, save for the occasional shuffling feet or rollover in bed. The only actual concern was staying under the radar of Hound Dog, and he could dodge that. Kaminari had memorized Hound Dog’s preferred patrol routes around the campus, as well as areas where the security robots lingered.

Kaminari leaned against the kitchen aisle and wrung his hands together, mentally mapping out his escape route. The thoughts came methodically, like the stroke of a practised artist, purely out of muscle memory, driving him forwards. The desperation and the panic still simmering in his gut seemed distant when he thought about concrete plans. Better not to think about anything else.

Having long become accustomed to sensing when someone was looking at him, Kaminari’s muscles tightened up at the familiar sensation roving up his spine. He slowly turned, half-expecting to see Aizawa or Bakugou or someone else he didn’t want to see.

Kaminari screeched, “GHOST!” and swung around to find not a ghost, but a small child peering from around the corner.

It was Eri.

Fate brought her here. Some karmic, untouchable force brought her to his doorstep, a sign from the ghosts in a collective effort to taunt him. She certainly looked like a ghost, pale skin, pale hair, and a paled expression despite the vividness of her eyes. For a long moment, he thought he might be in the throes of a hallucination, until Eri held her doll close to her chest and he realized she was too real to be anything but.

“God, you scared the heck out of me,” said Kaminari. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Eri was dressed in her pyjamas, although her eyes weren’t tired, clutching a doll to her chest. She had the telltale look of a kid who had endured serious trauma, trauma even the most hardened adult would have a tough time processing. Kaminari always thought she looked like the ghost of a girl that had been, although over time she’d slowly regained some of the lost humanity her captors had stripped from her.

“I had a nightmare,” Eri said. “I dreamt the dorm was on fire. I wanted to make sure it was okay.”

Kaminari ran his fingers through his hair.

“You should really go home,” said Kaminari. “Does Mr Aizawa know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Geez.” Kind of impressive for a little kid to trek from the Faculty Dorms to Heights Alliance. “Uh, you should—…you should go home. You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself. I have to go talk to ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Eri frowned.

“Yeah, I’m going to a séance.”

“What a séance?”

“It’s a tea party. For ghosts. With no tea. And it’s not a party.”

Kaminari glanced down the hall. Snatching her was possible, but they would miss him at the séance. Maybe he should go to that first, so he wouldn’t be missed, at least until morning. But then Eri would be out of sight and the opportunity might slip away. 

“Hey, why don’t you come with me?” said Kaminari. “I’ll take you to Momo. She’ll know what to do with you.”

“She’s upstairs?” Eri asked.

“Yeah.”

“…Can we take the stairs?”

“The stairs?”

“Yes. The stairs, not the elevator.”

“Sure, doesn’t matter to me.”

He kept his word and escorted Eri to the second floor, where they found Yaoyorozu waiting outside Tokoyami’s room. Her face went stony when she spotted Eri at his side, like he’d dragged home the most adorable stray dog and was begging to keep it.

“Eri, you should be at home,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Is it true you’re having a tea party for ghosts?” Eri asked.

Yaoyorozu glared at Kaminari.

“It wasn’t a lie!” said Kaminari.

“You brought her to a séance,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Hey, she was wandering around by herself. Was I supposed to leave her?”

“No, you should have taken her straight home.”

“I want to talk to the ghosts,” said Eri.

“Oh.” Yaoyorozu knelt by Eri. “That’s very forward thinking of you, however I think it would be better if we took you back to Mr Aizawa.”

“I want to talk to the dead people.”

“Um, it’s probably going to be too scary to you, I’d better—”

“I can handle scary. And you’ll be with me, right? If I get scared, you can protect me.”

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“Please? Please, please, please, please?” Eri hopped up and down.

“No, you’ll get nightmares. Let’s get you home.”

Yaoyorozu reached for Eri, but before she could so much as lay a hand on her, Tokoyami’s door pried open and Eri took her chance. She ducked under Yaoyorozu’s arm and bolted inside.

With Yaoyorozu busy trying to wrangle Eri, Kaminari stepped into Tokoyami’s room. It was a few degrees colder inside his dungeon than in the hall, and he’d already set up a ouija board in the middle of the room. Kouda huddled in a corner, looking nervously at Dark Shadow’s eyes floating somewhere near the ceiling. Meanwhile, on the bed, was someone who hadn’t been at the kitchen with them earlier: Kirishima, who raised his hand and a smile in greeting.

“Uh, hey,” said Kaminari. “What’re you doing here?”

“Kouda invited me,” said Kirishima. “Said we were going to talk to ghosts.”

Kaminari squinted at Kouda, who averted his gaze. No way that hadn’t been a deliberate and calculated move.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” said Kirishima.

“What?” Kaminari frowned. He’d already put that encounter behind him. “Oh, right. I’m sorry too.”

For Kirishima, ‘sorry’ was always enough. He didn’t need an explanation or details like Bakugou might, he didn’t need a sincere apology like Sero might, he didn’t need a make-up hug like Ashido might. He needed nothing. It was a kind of unknown, unconditional friendship unheard of in the PLF, even taboo. He just gave him a reassuring grin and carried on like nothing had ever happened in a way that made Kaminari feel like the world was tilting.

“It seems inadvisable to have her here,” Tokoyami said to Yaoyorozu. “What if Mr Aizawa finds out?”

“I won’t tell,” Eri assured them. “I want to see the ghosts.”

“You can’t ‘see’ ghosts,” Tokoyami sighed. “If she must be here, I won’t take responsibility for her.”

“Please let me stay,” Eri begged.

Yaoyorozu let out a withered sigh. “This seems like a mistake.”

Eri smiled brightly nonetheless, eyes twinkling.

They settled around the ouija board and Tokoyami set to work lighting candles around their circle. There was a candle behind each of them—six in total, enough to provide some scant lighting to keep the darkness at bay. Kaminari ended up wedged between Kouda and Eri, and across from Kirishima, though he did his best not to make eye contact.

“Are we sure the ghosts are good?” Kaminari asked.

“They won’t be if you don’t think negative thoughts,” Tokoyami sat cross-legged in front of the board, the candlelight highlighting the outline of his dark feathers. Kaminari couldn’t help but feel chilled as he set the planchette on the board. “Everyone put your hand on the planchette.”

“This seems pointless,” Yaoyorozu sighed.

“So you keep saying, and you’re here anyway.”

Yaoyorozu sighed disapprovingly, but that was the end of the argument.

They all folded their hands on the planchette. Kaminari was second to last. Then, Eri set her hand on top of his and she felt cold to the touch.

“Okay, before we begin, I have some ground rules,” said Tokoyami. “This needs to be a positive session, so clear any negative energies from your mind. Take a few deep breaths.”

“What’s the difference?” Kaminari asked.

“Negative energies may alter the reading.”

“What kind of unforeseen consequences? Oh my God, is someone gonna drop dead in the middle of it?!”

“That’s not how it works. The point is, just clear your mind and try to think happy thoughts. Now we move the planchette around the board to give it a chance to warm up.”

They did so. The only noise radiating out came from the planchette gliding across the board, the expecting silence, and the steady thud-thud-thud of Kaminari’s heart. This was just a parlour trick, right? Yaoyorozu was smart and didn’t believe it, so it couldn’t be accurate. It was just something some guy had invented one time and claimed could talk to spirits.

“Spirits, can you hear us?” Tokoyami asked.

It was a long few minutes of nothing, all eyes glued to the board.

Then, the planchette glided to ‘YES.’

“You’re pushing it,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Am not!” Several people said at once.

“Somebody is pushing it.”

“It’s the spirits,” said Tokoyami.

“It’s the ideomotor phenomenon, not spirits,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Fine. Let’s ask it an actual question.”

“Oh, let me!” Eri exclaimed. “Okay, um. Do you like apples?”

Kaminari stifled his smile as the planchette wandered the board before settling on ‘YES.’

“They must be nice ghosts if they like apples,” Eri concluded.

“Ghosts can’t eat,” said Yaoyorozu.

“You’ll offend the spirits,” Tokoyami hissed.

“There’s nothing to offend.”

“Maybe we should just ask the big question,” Kirishima suggested. “Y’know, give the Board Ghosts something to think about.”

“A piece of wood isn’t going to give us answers,” said Yaoyorozu.

“You said it doesn’t hurt to try,” Kaminari pointed out. “Let’s just try, okay? The sooner we do it, the sooner I can go hide under my covers for the rest of the night.”

Yaoyorozu sighed and made a show out of rolling her eyes, but she stilled. Kaminari looked around at each face, each hesitant to ask what was on all of their minds.

“Okay, I guess someone’s gotta ask,” Kaminari sighed. “Hey, board, is Hagakure a spy?”

He knew the answer to that already, and the planchette wandered over the board, wood dragging on wood. While everyone focused on the noise, Kaminari looked up and locked eyes with Kouda.

The look in Kouda’s face made anxiety tapdance up his spine and he realized why Kouda agreed to come. Kouda’s head dipped in an encouraging manner and glanced at the board, then back into his eyes.

Kaminari sunk his teeth into his lower lip, soft at first, and then hard enough to taste blood. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and he was too ashamed to watch Kouda. He instead focused on the ‘NO’ carved into the wooden board. All he could hear was the rough, clenching, grasping noise of the planchette crawling across the board.

Kaminari moved his arm, subtle at first, and then quick. The planchette locked on to ‘NO.’

The tension in the room reached its peak, six sets of shoulders clenching in suspense. A soaring sensation rose in Kaminari’s heart as if the revelation was new to him. Yaoyorozu’s skeptical eyes clamped shut as she steadied an emotion.

“This doesn’t make me believe,” Yaoyorozu warbled out.

“At least we know for sure,” said Tokoyami.

“We don’t know anything.”

“Let’s ask a follow up question,” Kirishima interjected. “Okay, spirits, I think we all want to know: is Hagakure okay? Is she safe, wherever she is?”

A fresh throb of anxiety stuttered in Kaminari’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut, cold sweat tracing down the back of his neck. The planchette wandered the board, and when Kaminari opened his eyes, he shifted his weight.

“You’re pushing it,” Yaoyorozu accused, her gaze sharply trained on Tokoyami.

“I’m not doing anything,” said Tokoyami.

Yaoyorozu’s reply, sharp or not, went quiet as the planchette stopped on ‘NO.’

“Can we stop now?” Kaminari asked. “This is creeping me out!”

“I’m sensing a lot of negative energies around this board which could alter the readings,” said Tokoyami, an unfamiliar vein of tight emotion present in his voice.

“Well, the board has a rotten sense of humour!”

“Spirits, we need to know,” Tokoyami pressed forward, silencing the group. “Who is the traitor?”

Inexplicably, Kaminari’s eyes wandered upwards and found Kirishima’s.

Kirishima was alight, but when they found each other, the light faded. All the silent tension between them bled into the table. Kirishima’s eye twitched.

The planchette went flying.

Yaoyorozu let out a startled gasp and Kouda actually screamed as it jerked out of all their hands and flew away from the board. With a clatter, it landed somewhere in the darkness. The move was so precipitous, so jarring, that it shook Kaminari out of whatever state he was trapped in. Kaminari reflectively screamed, and the lightbulbs flared far too bright before exploding around them.

In the flurry of activity and startled voices, voices overlapped each other. Then a flick, and an orb of light penetrated the darkness, casting a concentrated beam over the group. Yaoyorozu had pulled a flashlight out of her chest.

“Honestly, I have to do everything around here,” Yaoyorozu scoffed. “Anyone hurt?”

“That was exciting!” Eri exclaimed. “Again!”

“No, not again. Kaminari, what’ve I told you about breaking lightbulbs.”

“I’m sorry!” Kaminari apologized. “I got spooked! There was a ghost!”

“It wasn’t a ghost,” Tokoyami sighed. “I believe it may have been Dark Shadow pulling a prank.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Dark Shadow.

“Don’t lie, I know it was you.”

“Is it normal for you to argue with your own shadow?” Kirishima asked.

They all ushered out into the hall to stare into Tokoyami’s dark room. Kaminari was impressed with the level of control he maintained over Dark Shadow; if this had been last year, he would’ve easily lost control of him in the darkness, but Tokoyami simply waved Dark Shadow away with a hand.

“Can we do it again?” Eri asked.

“Absolutely not,” said Yaoyorozu.

“I’m sorry about the lights,” said Kaminari.

“It was a foreseeable consequence, do not worry yourself,” Tokoyami assured him.

“Well, that was all very exciting, but I think it’s time to send Eri back to Mr Aizawa,” said Yaoyorozu. “Kaminari, can you take her?”

“I can help with the lights,” Kaminari offered.

“You’re the one who burst all of them. I’m the one who can make replacement lightbulbs. Just take her back to Mr Aizawa and don’t wander off.”

Kaminari took a breath and avoided Kouda and Kirishima as he gently placed a hand on the back of Eri’s head to guide her down the hall. He kept his expression neutral save for a Kaminari-grade smile.

When they arrived at the elevator, Kaminari reached for the call button, but Eri had gone still.

“…Can we take the stairs?” she asked.

“Sure, I guess,” said Kaminari. “Don’t you like elevators?”

“I need a way to escape if I have to,” said Eri.

Without warning, a violent pain rose in his chest, and he stumbled into the side of the wall, his hand shooting up to prevent a collapse. Eri’s expression was blank and pensive. Kaminari couldn’t be certain of his own, as an uncomfortable heat radiated from his forehead to pump molten metal through his veins.

A small, dark room. Shigaraki. No escape. No escape—even if given the option to leave, he wouldn’t be able to walk out that door. He was back somewhere, in an incomprehensible nightmare, his surroundings melting together into nothing, before the light returned with violence.

Maybe he and Eri had some things in common.

“What’s wrong?” Eri asked.

“Uh…heartburn,” Kaminari squeaked out. “Let’s take the stairs. Listen, I gotta grab something from my room and then we’ll head right out, okay?”

“What is it?”

“Just something I’ve been meaning to take to Mr Aizawa. C’mon.”

On the way to his floor, it occurred to him that this was going to be the last time he would enter his room, the last time he would walk down his hallway, the last time he would leave the dorm. It was crashing down and he was just smiling away like nothing was wrong.

Everything was wrong. This was so wrong.

He didn’t collect his backpack—that would look too suspicious to anyone who intercepted them. Instead, he collected the metal case, and although Eri eyed it carefully when he came back out, her moon-like eyes weren’t filled with any suspicion.

She still asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s his…it’s a present, I’ve been meaning to give him,” said Kaminari.

“…Alright.”

The explanation satisfied Eri, or at least warded off her curiosity for the time being, and Kaminari used the hike back down the stairs to compose himself. Although the pain in his chest subsided, it left a tight heat coiled over his heart, a strangling knot that threatened to go constrict if he made the wrong move. By the time they reached ground level, fortunately, the sensation dimmed enough for him to focus on what he was doing, and he wiped the last of the sweat from his brow.

As they left Heights Alliance, Kaminari inhaled the night air and smelt rain on the horizon, maybe lightning by the way his fingers were tingling. At least it would do well enough to cover his scent from the likes of Hound Dog, maybe provide enough visual distraction for him—for them—to slip away.

As they headed out of the dorms and into the night, Kaminari kept a careful distance from Eri. The teacher’s dorms were situated slightly closer to the school entrance. With the falling twilight, all he had to do was make his move down a dark corner of the school grounds. The security patrols wouldn’t be out until much later in the night, and at this hour, most students hunkered down in anticipation of curfew.

One move. That’s all he needed. One move. One tranquilizer dart. Fortunately, Eri made the move for him as she took a path that was a convenient shortcut to the teachers’ living quarters.

“I like your doll,” said Kaminari.

Eri clutched her toy protectively. “Mr Aizawa gave him to me.”

“Did he? Mr Aizawa is great. I wish he would give me stuff aside from bad grades.”

He looked over his shoulder. No one was following. They were far enough from the buildings that he could…

He could…

He stumbled again, hand rising to rest on his forehead as the overwhelming, stabbing migraine that swelled through his skull made him suddenly unbalanced.

A lot of people had asked him if he was okay over the last few weeks.

Eri was not one of those people.

She stood away from him, staring at him with such impossible neutrality that it made him wonder whether there was a little girl under there at all.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” Eri asked.

Kaminari blinked and came to his senses. “I…huh?”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Eri repeated. “Haven’t you?”

The words shuddered through his chest. He laughed—or tried to. The noise that came out was breathless and huffy. “Yeah, Mr Aizawa’s always running us ragged. It’s not easy being a Pro Hero in training—if you ever decide to follow in our footsteps, you better make sure you’re ready for a lot of work.”

Kaminari’s sudden migraine cleared as suddenly as it started. He and Eri stood there, a metre apart, like there was a sudden understanding between them that hadn’t been present before.

Kaminari crouched down to be at her level.

“Hey, I got a question,” Kaminari said. “Like, you’ve seen a lot of bad things.”

Eri nodded.

“Do you still feel…normal?”

Her head tilted.

“I dunno, maybe that’s an abstract question for kid your age. I mean, you’ve been through so much crap, and then you came here to live at UA with Mr Aizawa, and I figure that’s the most normal your life’s ever been. You’ve done all sorts of things you probably never imagined you’d have—you’ve gone to school, you’ve had playdates, you wear nice clothes and play with dolls. Y’know, normal things that normal kids like to do.”

Eri nodded.

“But while you’re doing all that, do you ever still think about the things that happened to you?” Kaminari asked. “Does it haunt you, at all?”

“Like a ghost?” Eri asked.

“Well, sort of. These are like memories that—that you can’t forget. Things that you can’t forget happening.”

“There are lots of things I can’t forget,” Eri said thoughtfully. She played with the hair on her doll. “Sometimes I do things, and I don’t understand why I’m doing them, not until I think about…until I think about the place I lived before. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember I’m safe. Someone has to tell me I’m safe, or I forget.”

Oh, the irony in that statement. She was in no way, shape or form, safe, lest of all now—in the presence of a spy. Kaminari let that settle on him for a bit and stood up.

What was he doing? Who was he?

“Hey, uh, Eri,” Kaminari said. “You’re close enough to the building. Go on home, okay?”

Eri looked at the building next to them. “Maybe you should take me right to the door?”

“N—No, I mean, the door’s right around the corner,” Kaminari chuckled. “Go on, you’ll be fine. Mr Aizawa’s probably looking for you.”

“What about your thing?” Eri pointed to his case.

“Uh…I just remembered that this would make a better birthday gift for him,” said Kaminari. “Yeah, I’m gonna save it for his birthday. Don’t tell him or you’ll ruin the surprise, okay?”

“…Okay,” said Eri. She had that familiar downward curl faces kids wore when they sensed a lie. Eri took off a little too fast and ran a little too hard down the path, and he watched until she turned the corner.

That was it.

That was his death warrant running around the corner of the building.

He turned on his heel and walked back to the dorm.

Kaminari brought the ball of his fist to his forehead and pressed down hard. He’d just finished himself off. He’d had one job—one singular job—and he failed. It would be the final mistake and Shigaraki would have him killed for this and there was no denying the truth. Kaminari had failed at multiple levels and this was just the final blow.

When he went home for the weekend without Eri in tow, it would be the final time he’d walk out of the dorms, the final time he’d wave to his classmates, the final time he’d be seen as an innocent bystander. If Shigaraki didn’t expose him straight away for his sheer disobedience, he would have him killed the moment he crossed the threshold. All Kaminari could hope for was a quick death, and that Shigaraki wouldn’t have Dabi torture him for endless days or weeks or months before finishing the job. If he was lucky, Hokama wouldn’t probe his brain for information.

Kaminari wasn’t lucky, though. Hokama was going to stick those needles in his head and suck out anything useful from him.

Just outside the dorm, the disgust clawed its way up his esophagus like his body was trying to expel a demon. He set the case on the steps and with what little strength he had, Kaminari stumbled to the bushes and dumped the few contents of his stomach into it. Skipping meals was doing wonders for that—all that came out was liquid, but the demon didn’t come with it.

He wiped his mouth and hoped to God that was the last, wobbling his way into the dorm and into the common room.

Hearing quiet voices, Kaminari slowed so that he could get a sense for what waited him. Kirishima’s voice was unmistakable.

“You’re sure?”

Kaminari’s heart seized. He’d never heard Kirishima sound that serious before.

When he turned into the common room, the sight that met him made the knot in his heart start to constrict. Kirishima sat collapsed in a chair, his entire body jammed up and his fingers threaded through his hair. Kouda stood close, with look of an animal about to bolt.

“What’s going on?” Kaminari asked.

Kirishima and Kouda swung around, and he knew what they’d been talking about from the way Kirishima looked at him with such a raw look of betrayal.

“I’ll handle this,” Kirishima hissed to Kouda. He got up and smiled at him. “Hey, uh, where’s Eri?”

“Home, like she’s supposed to be,” said Kaminari. “What, you think I’d risk crossing Momo?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Kaminari’s gaze flicked to the exit and back. “Listen, I’m really tired and that whole thing with ghosts got me spooked, pun intended. Think I’ll just go sleep with the lights on. For, like, the rest of the school year.”

Kirishima blocked his path. “No, uh, we need to talk.”

“Why?” Kaminari asked.

“Is Eri alright?”

“Of course she is. She’s at home.”

“I mean, are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s where I took her.”

“So if I call Mr Aizawa and ask him if Eri’s there right now, he’s gonna say that she’s with him?”

“Sure is. Congrats, Kirishima, you’ve grasped the basic concept of object permanence.”

When Kirishima didn’t go on, Kaminari took a step, and then a hand shot out to grab his forearm with crushing tightness.

“Hey, careful,” said Kaminari. “I’m not Bakugou. I actually break.”

“Something’s not right,” Kirishima said.

Kaminari tensed.

“Something’s…something’s not right,” Kirishima repeated, more assertive. “Something hasn’t been right for a long time, and I can’t help but wonder, have I just…not seen it? Has it all been happening right under my nose? What happened with…Ugh, my fucking head hurts! It’s like there’s an itch I can’t scratch.”

“Want me to go get Recovery Girl?” Kaminari asked.

“No, no, you don’t get it—or—you do get it, but you’re faking it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Denki, I…” Kirishima finally released his arm and settled for wringing his hands. “Back up there, when we were using the ouija board, I looked at you, and…it was like I didn’t even know who you were. You didn’t look like the same person anymore. And no one else was looking, but I just saw you, and…”

Kaminari tilted his head. Kirishima looked to Kouda for encouragement, who nodded.

“It was like you were looking through everything,” said Kirishima.

Kaminari looked at Kouda, then back at Kirishima.

“Um, I don’t know what Kouda told you…” he took a step back.

“No, look—you’ve been acting strange lately—”

“You know I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“I feel like you know something, and what Kouda just told me—”

“Kouda doesn’t know anything.”

Kaminari took pause. He spared an I-trusted-you-not-to-talk glare at Kouda, which he knew was hypocritical, but his emotions came hard and fast.

“I can’t believe you,” Kaminari said. Then, he pumped a hurt warble into his voice and continued, “I can’t believe you, Kirishima. I can’t believe you’d think something like that about me. If I knew something, I’d tell Mr Aizawa right away. No—I’d do more than that, I’d be the first one going out to look for Hagakure.”

“Then tell me you had nothing to do with it,” said Kirishima.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?!” Kirishima slammed his fist on the table. Kaminari jolted. He’d heard Kirishima shout and yell and be angry before, but not towards him.

“I. Didn’t. Do. Anything. I don’t know what you want me to say!”

Kirishima quaked. “You were there when I was attacked.”

“What? Dude, I was one of the first to come running to your sickbed!”

“No, no, you were there,” Kirishima rubbed his forehead, his eye was twitching with more violence by the second. “I remember—I—it’s all fuzzy, but I saw your face—”

“You were imagining it. If it was fuzzy, then you gotta be wrong.”

“You…You did this. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Did WHAT?! I don’t even know what you’re accusing me of! I get that you’re pissed—I am too! I just don’t get why you’re pissed at me!”

“Oh my God, Kaminari, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Kirishima seized his arms. “What did you do?!”

“NOTHING!”

“Where’s Hagakure?” Kirishima clenched with bruising force, and there was none of the horror and realization there now—only raw concern.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Kaminari unleashed. He rammed his hand to Kirishima’s chest, right over his heart, just as Kirishima’s skin hardened and cracked over his arms. Even as the lights danced dangerously around them, and as Kirishima gritted his teeth against the sparks dancing throughout his body, he didn’t go down.

Kaminari stopped holding back. He planted his foot behind him and pushed against Kirishima even as the pain from Kirishima’s grip threatened to snap his arm.

“You’re not electricity-proof, Kirishima, stop it before I hurt you!” Kaminari strained.

“Admit what you did,” Kirishima demanded.

He shoved forward and Kirishima jostled, body tensing wildly as Kaminari poured all he could into him. Lightning danced between them, jolting out in harsh bolts that caused the lights above them to flicker. That was going to attract attention. He had to stop this before it got out of control.

With a final zap and a pop, Kirishima’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he went slack on the floor with a thud. Kaminari made no effort to stop it. He staggered and leaned against the table heavily, panting.

In the stillness, Kouda froze. It had taken less than a few seconds to incapacitate Kouda, and Kouda’s jaw hung somewhere near his ankles, his knees knocking together.

He saw Kouda take in a gulp of air. Before a word could get out, though, Kaminari pounced. Teeth scraped against his knuckles and hot blood poured over his skin. Kouda slipped back, his iron-tight grip seizing Kaminari’s hand to wrench him off. Kaminari drew back and kept hitting, feeling the weight draw down until he didn’t know which way was up, struggling in despite like Kouda was the sheep and Kaminari was the half-starved wolf holding his throat in a death grip.

They both went tumbling, Kaminari jolting electricity through Kouda that made a pained noise erupt from the back of his throat. It took far too long for his body to stop twitching and the noise to die to a low gurgle.

In the silence that followed, Kaminari heard the first pelt of raindrops hit the common room windows, and a momentary, stark white flash. The hairs on his arm stood erect.

The encounter had taken less than a minute, but the damage was done with Kouda and Kirishima unconscious on the surrounding ground. And he couldn’t be sure whether someone had overheard. He moved expeditiously—the best he could do was stall for time, but maybe it would be enough for him to figure out what he was going to do next.

Kaminari lacked physical strength, and hauling Kirishima and Kouda to the nearest hiding spot wasn’t a straightforward process. He chose the utility closet in the hall, a rarely ventured area, and large enough to lie both of them on the ground. To delay them further for when they woke up, he door down a curtain, blindfolded and tied them up with his best knots, then shoved a chair up under the doorknob. With luck, they wouldn’t be conscious until morning, as long as no one got any sudden urge to clean. The utility closet was next to the main hall, so it wasn’t immediately in sight, but anyone who did even a cursory search of Heights Alliance would figure it out.

It bought him time, but it wouldn’t be enough. Kaminari gave himself a minute to breathe through a panic attack, because a minute was all he could spare.

Midoriya decided to give Uraraka fifteen minutes.

If she wasn’t back in fifteen minutes, he’d go looking for her.

He didn’t know if it was the intense emotional atmosphere in the dorms that was setting him on edge, or the knowledge that the traitor was close and right under their fingertips. And underneath it all, in the undercurrent, was the overwhelming fear that there was a clue he’d misread. Kaminari was a prime suspect, yes, but there was also the possibility that he was wrong. Worse, there was the possibility that Kaminari was dangerous, and he’d knowingly let Uraraka go out there alone. An animal was most dangerous when it was cornered.

Midoriya knew she could handle herself, it didn’t stop him from worrying.

When he heard the quiet knock on his door, he was on it at once. Uraraka entered holding something to her chest.

“What happened?” Midoriya asked. He took in her expression. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” said Uraraka.

“Is he in his room?”

“The light was on, but I didn’t knock. I wanted to see if he was in there or not, so I went outside to see if I could see him from his window.”

“Did you?”

“Never got that far. I found this on the front steps.”

Uraraka was pale, then held out a metal briefcase. At first, Midoriya didn’t see what the fuss was about, not until he saw a rather advanced lock keeping it shut tight. Not something an average UA student would have.

Neither of them spoke. Uraraka set it on his desk and they both just stared at it, as if it would pop on and reveal all the answers.

“You think this is his?” Midoriya asked.

“I didn’t see him with it,” said Uraraka. “It was just on the steps.”

“Why would he—why would the traitor leave it? It seems…clumsy, to just leave it behind.”

“I don’t know. Can you open it?”

Midoriya wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

Midoriya grabbed both sides of the briefcase and wrenched. Thanks to his quirk, the two sides fell open like a book, and what was inside made him feel like he was sinking to the floor.

Neatly packed into small containers were several tranquilizer darts of varying colours and underneath it was an indent clearly intended for a missing pistol.

They were both thinking it. No one said it.

“What do we do?” Uraraka asked.

“We need to show this to Kacchan,” Midoriya decided.

“Shouldn’t we tell Mr Aizawa?”

Midoriya hesitated. “We can. Later.”

“…I’m right behind you.”

He and Uraraka stole into the hall and quietly navigated to Bakugou’s room, peering around corners as if they were infiltrating their own dorm. There was no telling if Kaminari, or the traitor, or whoever it was, had eyes and ears everywhere. Since Hagakure disappeared, the pervasive feeling of peril was inescapable and it was better to be cautious. No doubt the traitor was on high alert.

While Kaminari had missed class that day with the easy excuse of still recovering from his injuries from yesterday, Midoriya had his own suspicions about why he was absent.

When they arrived at Bakugou’s door, Midoriya knocked light enough that they could scarcely hear it. However, no one slept well these days, and Bakugou answered within a heartbeat.

Bakugou peered out through a crack and Midoriya opened the case so it was the first thing he saw. It was the only way to get him to open. The action had the intended effect: Bakugou’s expression went steely and he opened the door the rest of the way.

“Son of a bitch,” said Bakugou. “Get the fuck in here.”

He grabbed Midoriya and Uraraka and hauled them inside.

“Where’d you find that?” Bakugou demanded.

“I found it on the front steps of the dorm,” said Uraraka.

“Who left it?”

“I didn’t see.”

“Fucking useless! You’re no better than Deku.”

“We have to confront him,” said Midoriya.

Midoriya studied Bakugou’s face, studied the tight downward pull of his frown, the shuddered eyes, the fire ready to lash out at the slightest mention of Kaminari. Sure enough, it whipped out.

“We’re not doing shit,” said Bakugou. “She didn’t see him, she doesn’t have proof. I’m telling you to leave him alone. Not to mention if you got it wrong, then this could blow it out of the water. Kaminari has a big mouth, he’ll blab to the next person he sees, then the actual traitor’ll catch wind of it.”

“But Kacchan—”

“Confronting him directly isn’t a good idea,” Uraraka interjected. “I think we should lay a trap.”

“What, you mean you don’t want to go over and arrest Dunceface anymore?” Bakugou snapped bitterly.

“If Kaminari is the traitor, this can prove it. And if it’s not him, then it’ll lure the real traitor out.”

The tension in Bakugou receded and Midoriya saw where Uraraka was leading them.

“We can tell Mr Aizawa afterward and maybe we’ll get a whole lot of detention, but I think it’s worth having the chance to confront the traitor face-to-face, and prove once and for all who it is,” said Uraraka. “Only someone associated with villains would have something like…this.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but the tight clench of his jaw showed the moment he relented.

Midoriya locked eyes with Uraraka, and in them he saw an intensity he’d seen from her over and over again, blossoming as she’d come into her role as a Pro Hero. Maybe tonight, they’d finally be able to end it.

“You already have an idea?” said Midoriya.

“Sure do,” said Uraraka. She whipped out her phone. “But you’re gonna have to trust me and my hunch.”

URARAKA

Hey guys, I found this weird metal briefcase on the front steps to the dorms, does anyone know who it belongs to? I’ll keep it in my room for now, but if no one has any ideas I’ll just give it to Mr Aizawa in the morning. <3

Kaminari’s heart cinched. Dammit.

He lowered the phone and pressed his forehead against the wall with a dull thud.

Inhale.

Thud.

He laced his fingers through his hair. One deed—he did one good deed by letting Eri go and this was what he got for it. Of course, this was mostly the result of his own stupidity.

Thud.

His fingerprints were on that case, and if someone tried to open it to see what was inside, that was it. He was done. It’d be evidence. He’d be locked up. He didn’t know what scared him more: being arrested or facing Shigaraki’s wrath.

Thud.

He had to run while he could—he knew that, but where could he possibly go? He couldn’t go running back into the arms of the PLF after he’d fumbled so badly and he couldn’t go running into the night because someone would track him down and he couldn’t run anywhere anyway because he had no where to go.

Thud.

He could still cover his ass. Maybe buy himself just a little more time—an hour, a day, a week, a month. Enough to figure out what to do. Maybe he could appease Shigaraki some way, make up for this colossal failure on his part. Maybe he could forgive him if he brought him something just as good as Eri.

He came to himself.

Kaminari set an alarm on the phone and waited. Sleep didn’t come except in vague increments where he huddled in the dark, and when the alarm went off close to one in the morning. He stuffed it into his backpacker, grabbed his lock picks and snuck into the hall. Iida was a notoriously light sleeper, so he tiptoed the rest of the way down the corridor.

When he arrived at Uraraka’s room and listened at the door, everything was quiet. Her only immediate neighbour was Hagakure’s empty room, so he wasn’t too worried about witnesses, except for Uraraka inside.

He still had the tranquilizer gun, though that was a last resort. All he had to do was grab it and run. Kaminari picked the lock and stepped over the threshold without the door so much as creaking. It only took a cursory scan for his attention to land on the case sitting on her desk.

Fortunately, Uraraka’s form was still, her chest slowly expanding and contracting under the covers. Just take it and run. That’s all he had to do. Easy. He mapped out the steps in his head—there were no obstacles.

He crossed the room in a few silent steps and reached for the case, hands closing around the handle when he noticed the broke lock, and his breath hissed as he realized the mistake.

With perfect timing, the light flicked on.

Kaminari froze. There was no point in trying to run, he’d already fallen for it. Still, he turned his head towards the door to see Midoriya standing there, hand on the switch and his jaw tense. He could see the moment the realization and horror hit him, and then the moment when Kaminari saw Uraraka sit up in bed—fully clothed.

And he didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.

Chapter Text

He was alone.

Before, he might’ve been able to say that he had allies—even ones acquired through lies—but not now. Shigaraki was far away, and the trust his classmates had in him shattered in an instant.

He took a breath. Another. The silence pulled him like a black hole churning space around it, twisting everything into a halo of dying light, and Kaminari was just the passenger on the emblematic highway, racing faster and faster to the event horizon. He couldn’t scream because there was no screaming in space, he couldn’t run because his body was too heavy. There were many instances before now where he could’ve chosen to escape before the black hole pulled him in to certain death, where he could’ve stopped what he was doing and thought about it for a second. The irony was as cruel as it was clever.

Kaminari froze in place with his hand still on the case, adrenaline pumping into his veins and screaming at him to move.

“…Kaminari,” said Midoriya. Not a question, just a realization.

“Hey, uh, I know this looks bad, but I swear there’s an explanation,” said Kaminari.

Uraraka’s brow twitched in a way that suggested it baffled her Kaminari was even attempting a lie. Kaminari didn’t even know why he was trying.

“Kaminari,” Midoriya repeated, with more certainty. His eyes squeezed shut, his head turned. “I already knew.”

“What’re you talking about?” Kaminari asked. “What do you mean?”

Before Midoriya could answer, rapid footsteps sounded from the hall in rhythm with his heart, and he knew it was Bakugou before he even turned the corner.

“Who is it?” Bakugou demanded. “Did you catch—?”

Bakugou cut short when his eyes landed on Kaminari.

Bakugou blanched and blinked disbelievingly. He staggered, hand shooting out to brace himself against the door frame. Kaminari watched the reality settle in deep and hard and unprepared. His stomach twisted, a rattling noise reached his ears. Uraraka’s eyes darted to the source. Kaminari realized it was his arm, still holding the case, and his arm was trembling in tune with his body. The metal case jittered on the wood.

And then Bakugou’s anger relit, like everything until this point had been the steady hiss of a fuse and now the bomb was going off. Kaminari braced himself for an explosion that didn’t immediately come. Bakugou’s hands clenched so tightly that even at a medium distance, he saw his nails dig into his palm, his knuckles turning white.

Bakugou took a step. Kaminari panicked.

“Wait, it’s not what you think!”

Kaminari startled back as Bakugou went from a single step to five and then he was in his face. He scrambled onto the desk, kicking off papers and a lamp. The case crashed to scatter its contents across the floor.

“You sick little bitch,” Bakugou seethed.

“It’s not what you think!” Kaminari said.

“It’s not what I think?!” Bakugou seized Kaminari’s shirt and hauled him close. Flecks of spit pelted his skin. “YOU’RE LYING TO MY FACE?! I FUCKING DEFENDED YOU!”

“I swear to you—I swear there’s an explanation!”

“Oh, yeah?! Just what the fuck is that, huh?! You were going for a walk and you just HAPPENED to waltz right in here?!”

”No, I got curious, so—”

“ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL?! DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO FALL FOR THAT?!”

Bakugou’s visage encompassed all of Kaminari’s vision, making it impossible to see what was going on beyond it. 

The air tasted like sulfur, and in the moments before the explosion, Kaminari had the good sense to cover his face.

BANG.

Kaminari’s body tensed and curled in to protect himself from the worst of the blast. He couldn’t even breathe—when he opened his mouth, plaster filled it, and he was sure—for a heartbeat he was sure beyond sure that Bakugou had blasted him to pieces.

His ears still ringing, he heard a foggy voice scream, “MY WALL!”

Kaminari peered out from between his fingers. Bakugou still had an grip on his shirt, but his other arm was outstretched, away from Kaminari’s face.

Also, Uraraka’s wall was missing.

Kaminari could see into the empty rooms, all the way to Hagakure’s, though the damage seemed to stop there. Bakugou had held back. Plaster and debris rained down on them, and visible cracks lined the ceiling. Midoriya raced to stamp out a fire on her curtains, while Uraraka grabbed her hair.

“YOU BLEW OUT MY WALL?!” Uraraka yelled.

“You’re damn lucky it’s not his face!” Bakugou shouted. “Be fucking grateful!”

Kaminari heard the first stirrings of activity, then slamming doors and running footsteps descending on the area. Suddenly, he realized how long he’d been waiting for it to fall apart. It was the most horrible adrenaline rush he’d ever had, and he fought and kicked Bakugou in the face in his attempt to get away.

Outside, voices were shouting.

“What’s going on?”

“I heard shouting.”

“I heard an explosion.”

“It’s okay, everyone,” Midoriya was saying. “Everything’s alright. Nobody’s hurt.”

“Everyone step aside—I said, STEP ASIDE!” Iida shouted over the activity. He wrestled his way into the room and looked disbelievingly at the destruction, mouth opening and closing. “The…The wall…”

“Shut up about the wall!” Bakugou yelled.

“YOU BLEW A HOLE IN IT! SEVERAL HOLES IN SEVERAL WALLS! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE iN A SCHOOL ENVIRONMENT!”

“Get bent, Four-Eyes.” Bakugou roughly grabbed Kaminari’s arm and hauled him into full view, where the cluster of people were all gawking. “We set a little trap for our Heights Alliance traitor, and look who showed up.”

There was a stunned silence as those who had gathered took in the sight of Kaminari being dragged along.

“Kaminari?” Ashido said. “Is this some kind of joke, Bakugou?”

Bakugou wrenched his arm hard enough to nearly wrench it from its socket. Uraraka’s hands reflexively went to stop him, then she pulled back, afraid to touch Kaminari. Kaminari grabbed onto the edge of the desk.

“Bakugou—” Kaminari grit his teeth as Bakugou tugged. “Bakugou, you know me. You know I’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“Then why were you in here?”

“I can explain—”

“Then stop stalling and EXPLAIN!”

Bakugou pried Kaminari’s fingers off the desk and threw him into a chair so hard he almost tipped backwards. Their classmates followed inside like a thick cluster of remoras tailing after a great white shark. Cornered between them and the balcony, Kaminari was thoroughly stuck. His eyes wandered over the heads of the whispering students. Midoriya grabbed Iida’s arm and pulled him outside. Their lips moved and Iida stared sharply at Kaminari, but their voices were too low for him to make out words.

Seventeen students crowding their way into one dorm room wasn’t something Kaminari thought possible, but some of the others had sprinted out, presumably to wake up those who hadn’t come. Within minutes, those who hadn’t been present during the initial commotion trailed in.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Satou, the last to enter, asked when he arrived. “What happened to the wall?!”

Midoriya reentered without Iida. Iida, Kouda, and Kirishima’s absence were glaring to Kaminari, but the others didn’t look concerned, too wound in current events to note who was missing.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” said Midoriya. “Bakugou, Uraraka, and I suspected Hagakure wasn’t the traitor, so we set a trap with this case we found.” He gestured to the case and its scattered contents. “Kaminari not only showed up, but broke into Uraraka’s room to get it.”

“I didn’t break in,” Kaminari lied. “The door was unlocked.”

“You picked the lock, I saw you do it from the end of the hall.”

“That’s impossible, Kaminari can’t do that,” said Jirou. She knocked him on the head. “Does it look like this head can pick locks?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t covered in training at any point,” Sero pointed out.

“I saw him do it with my own eyes,” said Midoriya.

Heads turned to land on Kaminari. Heat rose up from his chest.

“Okay, I can—I can pick locks,” Kaminari admitted.

“When on Earth did you learn that?” Tokoyami asked.

“The internet. Get with it, Tokoyami.”

“But why hide it?” Aoyama asked.

“Think of all the snooping we’ve missed out on!” Mineta complained.

“Why would you pick the lock to Uraraka’s room just to look at a case?” Ojiro.

“Were you in dumb mode again—why wouldn’t you just knock?!” Jirou.

“I feel like breaking into rooms is unethical.” Shouji.

“If you were curious about it, why not ask about it in the morning?” Todoroki.

“OKAY, OKAY!” Kaminari shouted. He grabbed his hair and bent forward until he was perpendicular to the floor. This was one performance that relied on him selling it. “I’m sorry, okay?! I did something dumb! I don’t even know WHY I did it! Just ask one at a time!”

He huffed and electricity cascaded through his feet. Everyone stilled as their hair stood on end before settling back down.

“Alright, let’s have a calm discussion,” said Yaoyorozu. “Midoriya, you lead the conversation, since you seem to have a better grasp on what’s going on around here. I can’t say I appreciate you hiding this from the rest of us, though.”

“Who says you’re in charge here?” Bakugou demanded.

“I’m literally the Vice Class Representative elected by majority. If that isn’t a symbol of authority, why was I elected in the first place?”

“Shut you FUCKING mouth, Ponytail!”

“Either Midoriya leads this discussion or I’m calling Mr Aizawa now. This isn’t negotiable, these are my conditions.”

“You don’t want to do this for the class, you just want to fucking—”

“Kacchan, stop, please,” Midoriya begged. “Just stop.”

And amazingly. Amazingly. In a move that Kaminari had only seen Kirishima pull off, Midoriya calmed Bakugou down.

Bakugou let out a gruff snarl and leaned against the wall. 

His classmates gathered in a half-circle a safe distance from the chair he was in, grimaces of shock and skepticism and suspicion rolling into one. Kaminari felt spotlighted, and this time he wasn’t able to hide behind a lazy smile and a few rushed excuses. Still, he wrung his hands nervously and looked around in what he hoped came across as innocent.

“I swear to you, I’m not the traitor,” Kaminari said.

“There’s some things that don’t add up,” said Midoriya. “I want to believe you, I really do, but we need to go over them.”

Midoriya knelt down and caught Kaminari’s eye.

“The traitor didn’t make any bold moves until they vandalized my room. They were just a quiet presence before that, presumably just feeding information to Shigaraki. Weren’t you one of the first people on the scene?”

“I was with Sero. We were there after Aoyama sounded the alarm. Mr Aizawa already questioned everyone about this.”

Midoriya turned to Sero. “Was he with you the whole time after class?”

“Well…” Sero glanced at Kaminari. “Well, no, but he wasn’t the only one. Aoyama was alone when he found the room.”

“And I was questioned by Mr Aizawa,” said Aoyama.

“My room was vandalized sometime after classes ended,” Midoriya asked. “Where were you between the time when you were with Sero and after classes, Kaminari? Did anyone else see you?”

“I saw him when I was inspecting the door to the girls’ locker room,” said Mineta.

Mineta received various stares from around the room, but there were more important matters at hand, and aside from rolling his eyes, there was a quiet consensus that they would ignore his motivations.

“Yeah, I was checking my hero costume like Mr Aizawa told us to do,” said Kaminari. “I told Mr Aizawa this when he questioned us.”

“Wait, I didn’t see you come out of the boys’ locker room,” said Mineta. “You came from the other direction, around the corner.”

“You were facing the other way, Mineta, of course you didn’t see me.”

Mineta’s face twisted in confusion. “W—What? That doesn’t make any sense. I was facing towards the boys’ room.”

Kaminari’s chest cinched like a tightly drawn corset. But the lie had been told and now he had to run with it. “Why would you be facing the boys’ room? The girls’ room is right there! You were facing the other way!”

“Was not!”

“You were facing away from the boys’ locker room! You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying! You’re lying! You—”

He stopped.

“What is it?” Midoriya asked.

“Kaminari had a duffle bag with him,” said Mineta. “We met outside the lockers and walked back to the dorms. That would’ve been right around the time Midoriya’s room got vandalized…”

Eyes settled on Kaminari again. He swallowed and forced himself to continue, “I had a duffle bag, yeah, but we didn’t go to the dorms. We just walked outside the gym, then he said he was gonna watch the third years come back from track.”

Mineta’s features twisted in hurt and confusion.

“I don’t understand why he’s lying…” said Mineta.

“Wait,” Sero stepped in. “Wait. Wait, what about this whole thing with Hagakure? Midoriya’s notebook was in her bag.”

“It must’ve been planted there,” said Midoriya. “All it would take was a small distraction for someone to slip it in there.”

“Wasn’t Kaminari sitting next to her at lunch?” said Uraraka.

“Yeah, that’s right, he was at the table with us and Hagakure,” said Yaoyorozu.

“And then when we got back to the classroom, he shocked Shouji and knocked Hagakure’s bag over,” added Jirou.

They all looked at him.

“You had the chance to do it,” said Midoriya. “That whole thing where you shocked Shouji…you did all of that on purpose, didn’t you? So everyone would see the notebook?”

“That’s dumb,” Ashido snorted. “I’m sorry, I just can’t picture Denki doing something like that. It just doesn’t seem right. He’s not that smart.”

“That’s right, I’m not!” Kaminari agreed.

“I don’t like suspecting Hagakure—I really don’t, but this just doesn’t seem likely.” Ashido gestured at Kaminari like he was a sideshow attraction. “Besides, there was…you know, the whole thing at his house.”

“What thing?” Tsu asked.

“Y’know. The thing.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about, Mina.”

Sero sighed. “We went to his house not too long ago. Things got a little weird.”

“Yeah, you don’t stage things like weirdness,” said Ashido.

“Not unless you’re a really fucked up piece of shit,” growled Bakugou. “Did you fake all that, too? Does spying run in the family?”

“No, of course not!” Kaminari exclaimed.

“So, what, the whole thing where we were all worrying over your ass was for nothing? Did you fake all of that to get us off your tail?!”

“Why would I do that?!”

“Cuz we’d be a lot less likely to question someone we felt sorry for. Cuz you knew people would piece things together!”

“That’s just messed up!”

Bakugou grabbed either side of the chair and leaned in until his forehead was pressed against Kaminari’s. “That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

“Bakugou, I swear to you—”

“Keep swearing, extra. It’ll make it more satisfying when I punch your damn teeth out.”

“Fuck, FUCK, someone get him off me!” Kaminari shrieked.

Sero moved, but before he could reach them, Iida’s familiar voice shouted, “OUT OF THE WAY.”

Everyone parted as best as they could in the cramped space, and Iida stormed inside.

He was holding the grappling gun.

Kaminari blanched. He’d forgotten all about that. He’d intended to hold on to it for safekeeping, in case he needed to jump out a window. Now it was just another suspicious object in his possession.

Iida dropped it on the desk.

“Where did you get that?” Iida asked.

“Oh…I guess I forgot to return it to the gym equipment storage,” said Kaminari.

“You stole school property?”

“No, I was gonna return it, I was just—…I borrowed it. Lots of people borrow things without asking.”

“You’re supposed to sign these out.”

“Oops.”

“Kaminari!”

“That’s not proof of anything!”

“What would you even use it for?!”

Lies came easily to Kaminari. Lies came out even when he knew he was in a corner. “I was gonna use it to test out an idea for a new piece of equipment, okay? Ranged electrical taser! It’s a cool idea! I don’t think that—uh, Bakugou?”

Bakugou approached from his blind side and reached behind him. For a moment, Kaminari thought he was going to grope him, and then he pulled the tranquilizer gun out from his belt. Yaoyorozu audibly gasped.

“Still wanna keep lying, you two-faced piece of horseshit?” Bakugou asked.

Kaminari wrung his hands. He could feel his bones creaking under the pressure. He couldn’t speak.

“What’d you do to her, shitlord?” Bakugou growled out. “Did you kidnap or kill her?”

“I didn’t,” Kaminari denied. “I was there for Tooru when no one else was!”

“Probably because you fucking knew the truth. What, did you conscience kick in or were you just priming her for the kill?”

“Of course I wasn’t!” Kaminari’s voice cracked and it didn’t feel like it was part of the act. He didn’t even know what act he was putting on at the moment, only that it kept going like an actor reading his lines long after the audience had filed out of the theatre. “I would never, ever do something like that to anybody! I know it looks like I’ve done some shady things, but I swear I’m just really, really stupid! You guys know me! Besides, you were the ones who abandoned her!”

If no one had been buying it before, they certainly weren’t now. Kaminari looked around at everyone, but the eyes on him were blank.

“I’m not the traitor,” he denied. “I’m not a traitor. I know it looks fucking bad. I just made a dumb decision! When I saw the text message about the case, I got worried it might have something to do with Tooru and no one else has been looking out for her except me!”

Sero’s expression suddenly changed. His eyes narrowed.

“How could you see the text message?” Sero asked. “You lost your phone.”

Kaminari’s chest seized so violently that all the air sucked out of him. A deathly silence descended with crushing force in the room, and he realized that he was silent for far longer than was reasonable.

Uraraka had that quiet, fixated look that didn’t stray from Kaminari. “You saw the text on Hagakure’s phone, didn’t you?”

Kaminari looked up at him. “W—What?”

“I sent the message to everyone’s phones,” said Uraraka. Her eyes gently closed. “It was a long shot, but I figured that if someone had kidnapped Hagakure, the traitor or one of the villains might’ve taken her phone to monitor her group texts.” Her eyes opened again. “You have Tooru’s phone, don’t you?”

Bakugou dug around in Kaminari’s pocket—and pulled out a familiar pink phone.

Kaminari evened out his expression. He let the anguish, the shame, everything wash off of him. He hyper-fixated on the silence curling into the room like a terrible and ancient beast and every movement, sound, and heartbeat felt like unreal caricatures.

It had all ever been a joke, hadn’t it? Kaminari didn’t rise from his seat or protest his innocence—the time for that had come and gone. He let his expression even out into something flat and neutral.

“Kaminari,” Ashido breathed out. Beside her, Sero sank to his knees.

Kaminari stared straight ahead and only caught the hurt painting Mineta’s features out of the corner of his eye. Saw Tsu blink thoughtfully. Saw Yaoyorozu squeeze Aoyama’s shoulder. Saw Ojiro turn away to stare at the wall.

What could he say? What was there to say? The lie had been unravelling for a long time now. Bakugou trembled in a quiet, simmering rage that didn’t explode in his usual manner, a rage that made him powerful and volcanic.

“You fuck,” Bakugou seethed through his teeth. “You bitch. You fuck.”

Bakugou stormed forward and this time, Midoriya didn’t stop him. He lifted Kaminari off the chair and slammed him against the window. The force of the impact rattled through his bones.

“You’ve just been playing us this whole time?!” Bakugou screamed. “It was all a joke to you?! What kind of sick bastard do you have to be to do all that shit?! Did you get some sort of sick pleasure out of it or what?!”

Kaminari went slack, withstanding the storm. His spirit disconnected with his body and he could see everything from the third person.

“Kacchan…” Kaminari started.

Bakugou slapped him. It wasn’t a normal grade slap, either—it was a Bakugou-grade slap, one that left his cheek burning and bruised. Then he hit again. A third time. Fourth. With a flat of his palm, he kept hitting Kaminari, and Kaminari forced his arms up to protect himself from the worst of the damage as his back slid down the glass and Bakugou stayed above him, striking, again and again and again.

All Kaminari could see or hear or understand was that no one, not one, not Midoriya or Sero or Ashido, made a move to stop him. The rest of the class stood around in silent horror, paralyzed by the realizations. And each slap burnt the shame deeper and deeper into Kaminari and he realized he didn’t know who he was or where he belonged, but that he’d never belonged to the Pro Heroes. Each slap hit like a shotgun blast echoing across the Earth.

“Bakugou, stop it,” Iida finally stepped in.

“You fucking USED us!” Bakugou shouted. “You could’ve killed us! DID YOU EVER GET A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING?!”

“Bakugou, enough!”

“I didn’t need you! I didn’t come here to make friends! I never asked you to fucking follow me around like a lap dog!”

The hardest one hit and Kaminari followed through with the motion and ended up on the ground. Iida stepped forward and grabbed Bakugou’s arm.

“Bakugou, that’s not helping,” said Iida. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Bakugou snapped. “Don’t WHAT?! Don’t you fucking dare. You’re not the one he’s been fucking following around for a year! You’re not the one he’s fucking ATTACKED!”

Panting, Bakugou loomed over Kaminari.

“You know, you’re giving us shit for ‘abandoning’ Hagakure, but you know who put her in that position?” said Bakugou. “You did. Whatever you did to her, that’s your fault, not ours.”

Kaminari looked away. He could see himself in third person, looking down at the scene in a bizarre out-of-body experience, while being aware of every sense. The heat of Bakugou’s breath, the fire in his eyes, the taste of sweat on his tongue.

“We trusted you! She trusted you—and that doesn’t count for anything?! LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M YELLING AT YOU!”

Kaminari didn’t look. His gaze panned across the class behind him, all thrown into various states of shock. Sero knelt on the floor, watery eyes trembling and staring at his hands. Tears tracked down Ashido’s cheeks. Around her, his classmates—his friends—hung limp as if the Pendulum was hopelessly descending on them and they couldn’t do anything except hope that the bisection was a quick death.

He looked up the length of Bakugou’s arm, his fingers wound tight into his collar and keeping him pressed firm against the window. At first, Kaminari thought that he was the one quaking. Quaking with his own guilt, shuddering, vibrating, shrieking, all the things he feared he was, but it wasn’t him—it was Bakugou. Bakugou’s head bowed so that he could only see the top of his messy, unnamable blond hair, but he was shaking so hard that the world shook with him.

“I trusted you,” Bakugou warbled.

For the eternity it took for anyone to move or speak, Kaminari felt like someone had taken a photograph and trapped him inside the image. He saw Mineta turn away with inconsolable emotions, saw Bakugou go to the wall and lean his head on his forearm against it, saw Midoriya move to ghost a hand across his back and Bakugou didn’t even go to push him away. He saw Aoyama stand with his back to him, saw Satou sitting at a table with his face in his hands, saw Hagakure’s phone shaking in Yaoyorozu’s hands.

Emotions swirled within him. Guilt, yes. Crushing disappointment, yes. Shame, yes.

And he felt powerful.

That’s when he understood what it was like to be a villain, what it was like to be Shigaraki. All these reactions were because of a transgression he’d committed, a reaction he’d created.

He’d made this situation. He’d made it all.

And the best part was he hadn’t even needed Shigaraki’s help.

He understood Tomura. He understood him in a way he’d never understood heroes.

And it was time to go.

Kaminari pushed off the ground and leaned against the glass, catching his breath. The adrenaline had been pumping hard through him the whole time, and now it was igniting.

The grappling hook was still in arm’s reach on the desk. He snatched it.

“Wait, what’re you doing?” Midoriya asked.

Kaminari reached behind him and fumbled with the door handle. He stepped into the rain outside.

“Oh no, you don’t get to run away after all this!” Bakugou screamed, but that was all he got to do as Kaminari stopped holding back.

The room lit up in acid yellow. Electricity danced through the floor and paralyzed everyone nearby, the lights flickering overhead. They’d all been on the receiving end of his quirk at one point or another. They knew the feeling. This time, however, he was holding back under the pretence of friendship. He let the energy roll out in waves for as long as he could without overloading.

Bakugou, who the closest, caught his attention. He saw the smoke rising from his palms, and he knew he didn’t need to move to use his quirk.

Thinking fast, Kaminari shot the grappling gun in his direction. In his panic, he misaimed, and the hook sliced a long gash down Bakugou’s arm before lodging in the wall. Now or never. Kaminari tipped back over the railing and fell.

Someone screamed, but he didn’t know who it was from. He kept a firm grip on the grappling gun as he plummeted two stories. Even though it stopped him from dying, he still hit the ground hard enough to push the wind out of his lungs.

Then, above him, everything went suddenly quiet. He hauled himself up and started running.

When Midoriya woke up, his face felt cold and voices warbled in and out like unfocused dreams. Then everything came back in force and he rolled onto his elbows to hoist himself up before he could fully regain consciousness.

“Easy, Midoriya, don’t get up too quickly.” It was Iida.

Midoriya normally would’ve been happy to lie on the ground and rest, but not today. As he stood, he looked around to see that his classmates weren’t much better off than he was. Several were still on the ground from the violent shock Kaminari had given them, tended to by a wobbly Yaoyorozu.

“He’s gone?” Midoriya asked.

“Long gone,” said Iida. “We’ve been out for a while.”

Iida didn’t even finish his sentence before Midoriya hauled himself up and noticed Bakugou’s absence almost at once. He hurdled into the hall, down the stairs, and reached the common room, not sure what he was hoping to find, and to his great relief saw Bakugou pacing restlessly.

“Stupid shit,” Bakugou was seething. “Stupid fucking piece of dipshit.”

“What are you going to do?” Midoriya asked.

“What’dya mean what am I going to do?”

“You look like you’re going to do something.”

“Damn straight I am. If he thinks I’m gonna let him just run off into the night, he’s got another thing coming. Oh, no. Oh no.”

“But Kacchan—”

BANG.

Bakugou’s head shot up. He 

BANG.

Both Midoriya and Bakugou sprinted down the hall towards the noise.

CRASH.

The door to the utility closet opened and out flopped Kirishima.

Midoriya and Bakugou rushed to Kirishima’s side, but he didn’t need any help. His quirk was already receding from his skin and strips of fabric were scattered around him from where he’d torn them off.

“What the FUCK?!” Bakugou screamed. “Did you get jumped AGAIN?!”

“Kaminari’s the traitor!” KIrishima blurted out.

“We know, you moron,” Bakugou kicked Kirishima in the shin. “I can’t believe he got the drop on you.”

“You know? What happened?”

“How long were you in there, Kirishima?” Midoriya asked.

“Not just me. Someone better go grab Recovery Girl, Kouda’s pretty banged up.”

Midoriya and Bakugou rushed into the utility room and found Kouda conscious, but tied up and bleeding on the ground. Midoriya ripped off the bindings in one go, noting the complexities of the knots Kaminari had used to tie him up.

“Goddamit, Kaminari,” Bakugou hissed out through his teeth. Then, he slapped the back of Kirishima’s head. “What kind of a Pro Hero are you if you can’t handle one guy?!”

“Kaminari’s hard to deal with,” said Kirishima.

“He’s not even that smart.”

“He outsmart all of us.”

“He got lucky.”

“Where is he now?” Kirishima asked. “What happened?”

Midoriya briefly explained the trap to lure the traitor out. While he explained, they hauled Kouda out to the common room and maneuvered him onto the couch.

Once Kouda was settled, Bakugou grunted out a familiar, pissy little noise that made the hair on Midoriya’s arm stand on end. He clenched his fists and started marching.

“Where are you going?” Midoriya asked.

“After the little twerp,” said Bakugou. “Asshole thinks he can just run away from the consequences? I’m gonna grab his ass and drag it back here so I can beat him up properly.”

Kouda’s hands raised, and he signed, “Don’t hurt him.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna hurt him. I’m gonna kill him.”

“You can’t!”

“Watch me!”

“Something’s not right, it’s not Kaminari’s fault.”

“Not his fault?! He literally just attacked the whole class and that’s somehow not his fault?! Where the hell do you get off saying it’s not his damn fault?!”

Kouda hesitated. “He told me.”

Bakugou squinted at him.

“He told me yesterday.”

“He told you yesterday. And you didn’t tell anyone else.”

“He was upset.”

“I don’t give a fuck if it was ‘upset!’ You know he was probably faking all that, right?”

“I don’t see why he would—”

“No, no, no, no, no. Shut up. You shut up.”

Bakugou rounded on his heel and started storming off, but not back upstairs. He was heading out of the dorm.

MIdoriya broke into a sprint and caught up with him near the front doors, with Kirishima right on his tail.

“I’m coming with you,” said Kirishima.

“Fuck no, you’re useless. You already got jumped twice, you think I’m gonna have time to babysit you while I’m trying to wrangle him?”

“I’ll come too,” said Midoriya.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE! NO ONE IS COMING!”

“We’re not letting you go alone.”

“I’d like to see you keep up!”

Bakugou bolted. With a single blast from his hands, he vanished into the storm in a dramatic blast of yellow and red.

He and Kirishima only paused for a second longer. He studied Kirishima’s strained and upset face, then they raced after Bakugou, into the night, and after the traitor.

If they had been anyone else, if they hadn’t been heros-in-training, there would’ve been no chance for them to make quick progress after Kaminari, if Bakugou was even right and he’d gone to his house. Midoriya didn’t know if that was a likely possibility. But a full first year of UA training had equipped them with the skills to quickly traverse the city at a speed. And this time, laws be damned—they were on a mission.

Kirishima lacked Bakugou and Midoriya’s raw speed, so Midoriya ended up piggy-backing Kirishima across the rooftops. Kaminari had gotten a decent head start by knocking the whole class unconscious, though, and he knew that even with speed, they weren’t going to beat him to his house. If he’d even gone there. Midoriya tried not to think about how many Pro Hero regulations they were breaking at the moment.

Some things, he felt, were just more important than obeying the law.

He and Kirishima caught up with Bakugou at the end of Kaminari’s street. Bakugou looked like a predator: violent but poised, smoke billowing from between his fingers.

Kirishima quickly hopped off Midoriya’s back and rushed up.

“Bakugou, you can’t hurt him,” Kirishima said.

“Watch me,” Bakugou snapped.

“This is Kaminari we’re talking about.”

“Is he?” Bakugou rounded on him. “Why’s everyone acting like this is still the Kaminari we knew? Everything he’s ever done and said was a complete lie, so whatever your opinions were of him before, you better drop that real fucking fast because the bitch we’re gonna deal with isn’t the same.”

Bakugou stormed off down the street, quietly but quickly. Kirishima looked back hopelessly at Midoriya.

“Is it wrong to hope he’s being blackmailed?” Kirishima asked.

“I don’t think we’ll know for sure until we talk to him,” said Midoriya.

“I don’t know if he even will talk. Just help me hold Bakugou down until we get some answers.”

Midoriya took up the rear as they hurried to keep pace with Bakugou. Midoriya honestly wasn’t sure if that was where they would find him. It stood to reason that Kaminari would have gone to the Paranormal Liberation Front and there was no logistical reason for him to go there. But he knew that Bakugou wasn’t going to stop—and neither would the others. For their protection, and for the sake of his own curiosity, he was gripped with the desire to just know.

Midoriya had never been to Kaminari’s place and chased after Kirishima and Bakugou until they stopped in front of a house. From the end of the front path, he could see that the door was ajar, although the windows were dark.

Wide eyes looked at each other in the dark. Talking about confronting Kaminari like he was an ordinary villain made Midoriya’s heart cinch.

“Kacchan, don’t do anything hasty,” Midoriya urged as he and Kirishima took the first few steps.

“Shut up,” Bakugou snapped.

“I want to know what you’re planning on doing.”

“What do you think?”

“We won’t let you do something you’re gonna regret,” said Kirishima.

“I won’t regret it.”

“Bakugou, let me go in first.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re useless!”

“But—”

Bakugou rushed forward before he could stop him and kicked open the ajar door.

Both Kirishima and Midoriya rushed in after him, although Midoriya couldn’t stop thinking about what a terrible plan this was. When they entered, Kaminari stood at a side table in the hall, staring at a photograph that he quickly turned down as they entered. He didn’t possess the appearance of someone preparing to run. If anything, he was frozen like the Thinker, a bronze figure forever pondering an impossible conundrum. 

“Kaminari?” Midoriya said.

Nothing. Midoriya looked to Bakugou, wondering if he was just hallucinating.

“We don’t want to fight,” said Midoriya.

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!” Bakugou roared. 

He shoved past Midoriya, and didn’t get much further than that before Midoriya tasted metal.

He opened his mouth to scream a warning that never got out.

The electricity shot through his body. His body froze, his eyes blew out. He wanted to release the pain but the burning vibrations rose higher and higher, and he got a frozen image of Kaminari standing above them, watching them struggle against the full power of his quirk. Midoriya was sure his teeth were melting in his head and his vision glazed over.

The ground met him.

Hokama waited behind the house, going through two cigarettes before he heard the jolt and the street lights popped out. He peered back over his shoulder, but movement caught his eye, and he swung around to see Dabi just melting out of the darkness.

“I heard something exciting was happening,” said Dabi.

“Did Shigaraki send you?” Hokama asked.

“Shigaraki doesn’t ‘send’ me anywhere.”

Hokama scoffed, crushed his cigarette under his heel and reentered.

The lights were out, but Kaminari’s figure was all too clear, as were the three unconscious bodies at his feet.

“All done?” Hokama asked. “Good. At least this wasn’t a total loss.”

Hokama pulled a needle from his wrist and went up to Midoriya first—the obvious threat. Midoriya’s eyes were twitching and half-open as Hokama lined the tip near his hairline and pressed. A choking, confused noise warbled out of his throat. Then, stillness.

He repeated the process on the other two. When he was done, he rubbed his neck, and finally noticed a thin trail of drool running down Kaminari's chin.

“You’re still useless most of the time,” said Hokama. “But today you weren’t totally useless. Since you’re stupid, I can say that without repercussions. If only your stupidity was part of your spying game...”

Kaminari gave a lopsided grin and a thumbs-up. “Whey.”

Hokama sighed and rolled his eyes. He turned to Dabi who came up behind him. As he passed Kaminari, Dabi flicked him in the forehead and Kaminari uselessly laughed.

Dabi surveyed the hall, the heroes on the floor, then blue flames erupted from his fingers.

Chapter Text

Ouchie. Big hurt. Brain go brrrr.

Big words go in brain, tiny. Hair! Pretty hair. Pretty...pet? No pet.

“Yoo hoo! Denki! Anyone in there? Earth to Denki, Earth calling Denki! Denki, Denki, Denki!”

Big okay! Thumbs-up.

“You know, if I was a bad person, I could do all sorts of evil things to you while you’re helpless.”

Whey! Hand touchy. Face squish. Swoop. Zwoop. Doopity!

“Good thing I’m not a bad person!”

When he woke up, he lay on his side with something warm draped over him. The thing moved, and he realized Himiko was lounging over his body.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” she chimed.

Kaminari shoved her off and she hit the floor with a yell and a thud. He blinked out the last of his stupid and surveyed the dim room he was in. Equipped with only the necessities—bed, a small wardrobe, and a single lightbulb swinging from the ceiling—it reeked of utilitarianism and secrecy, the kind of place villains went to hide.

Himiko somersaulted back to her feet and did a little dance. “Guess who’s on the news!” 

“What happened?” Kaminari slurred.

“You’re famous! I need your autograph, pronto! And maybe some of your blood if you’re willing to give it up now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Toga grabbed his head between her hands. For a split second, he thought she was trying to break his neck, but then she directed him to a television across the room.

There were several photographs displayed on screen. Bakugou, Midoriya, Kirishima, Kaminari, and an empty space intended to be Hagakure. A large ‘Breaking News’ banner displayed on the bottom of the screen read, ‘UA STUDENTS MISSING.’

“The news hasn’t outed you as a traitor,” Himiko said casually. “Probably don’t want the villains to stab yet!”

“Oh,” said Kaminari.

He sat there and tried to digest the information, but the pill was hard to swallow. It didn’t even register. His identity was compromised the moment he’d walked into Uraraka’s room. The result had always been inevitable, like an unstable cliff teetering on the edge of disaster before its edges cascaded into a rock slide. A destructive, natural force that obliterated everything in his path. Kaminari always thought he would face this moment screaming, and here he was. Calm. Cathartic. Resigned? He was shocked by how little he felt, how distant it all was.

This was it. This had always been the intended result, the culmination of his infiltration of UA. This was the intended end of a story Tomura wrote the moment they’d met.

“Where’s Tomura now?” Kaminari asked.

“He’s around,” said Toga, twirling Kaminari’s hair. “He left something for you, unless you want to walk around in these gross old clothes. When’s the last time you showered?”

“Um…” Kaminari thought about it. “Monday, probably.”

“Ew, no wonder. Go clean yourself up, huh?”

Himiko skipped out and Kaminari spent a few minutes clearing his brain fog, not willing to accept reality quite yet. His breathes came shallow and quick.

He dragged his attention to a pile of clothes left on the wardrobe. It was an outside suitable for a proper, professional villain: all black, fingerless leather gloves, a corseted vest with lacing up the back, a choker. Even running his fingers over the embroidered pattern on the vest, it felt like a mirrored version of his Pro Hero uniform, the identity he’d abandoned.

He felt nothing.

He felt like he inhaled ice, and before he could stop it, his chest spasmed and his eyes watered.

Kaminari stopped the dread before it overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath. Another. Closed his eyes. The water cleared. Then, he did as he was told.

He spent a long time in the shower in an adjacent bathroom before he pulled on the fresh set of clothes and stared in the mirror. His face remained bruised from Bakugou’s slapping spree, but it was the only flaw in an otherwise impeccable example of a young villain.

Although the anxiety still simmered under the surface, his brain was clear, his thoughts were lucid, and he felt halfway to ordinary, to the way he should be. The lie was over. He was free.

He could never go back.

Fully dressed, he tried to put on a swagger he thought looked villain-y and left his room. He barely made it down the hall when Himiko rounded the corner with a massive smile.

“Denki!” Himiko finger-gunned him.

“Himiko!” Kaminari mirrored her. “How’s it going?”

“I was just trying to visit Izuku, but Tomura kicked me out! I had to find other ways to entertain myself.”

A visceral, unstoppable reaction tore through Kaminari. His joints locked, heat rushed up his neck and settled in his forehead. His eyes throbbed. “What.”

“Tomura kicked me out!”

“…Midoriya’s here?”

“Sure, they’re all here. Guess Tomura wants to keep them close for now until he decides what to do with his new toys. I haven’t seem him this happy in a long time! Even Taishiro’s impressed. It probably won’t be long before people in the PLF start asking for your autograph and everyone, and I mean everyone, is gonna want to shake the hand of the guy who captured Izuku and Katsuki! Oh, and I guess the other guy, too. Hey, what’s with the face?”

Kaminari cleared the leftover emotion and ignored the question. “Is Tomura still down there?”

“Sure is. He said to go talk to him when you were up and running. C’mon, I’ll show you the way!”

She grabbed his hand, and her fingers slid right out of his. Her hand was wet, however Kaminari saw nothing on them.

“Did you know Tooru’s blood is invisible?” Himiko smiled.

She seized his other hand to drag him along. Kaminari rubbed the invisible blood off on his pants.

Kaminari hadn’t been in a lot of the PLF’s new facilities, and this one definitely wasn’t familiar. Walls were constructed out of solid cement with few bells and whistles. He couldn’t even hear if there was traffic outside or see any windows.

“Where are we?” Kaminari asked.

“A bunker Tomura threw together in the event he ever caught Izuku,” said Himiko. “Personally, I kind of would have had something more public and dramatic. It’s so dark and dreary here. I’m sure down the line Tomura will do something with more vavoom.”

“Are you sure this place can hold Midoriya?”

“Please, Tomura’s nothing if not a professional.” She leaned in and hissed into his ear. “He kidnapped an architect of Tartarus and forced him to build this All-Might proof bunker. Did you know that back in the day, All-Might used to help test out defences for Tartarus? Talk about being prepared, but I guess they have to be when the fun police lock up all the guys with the cool quirks.”

“Yeah.”

They reached the top of a metal staircase descending further into darkness, with Tomura’s wispy, sinister voice carrying from below. Kaminari wondered just how deep the pit went.

He resisted Himiko’s pull, only relenting when he remembered that reluctance could be interpreted as weakness, and only taking the first step when Himiko flashed a toothy grin. They moved past a thick, iron door before they entered a control room, with a large window looking into an interior hall with several holding cells.

Tomura stood at the control panel, arms folded and glaring through the glass. He and Midoriya were having a staring contest.

Kaminari tried not to look into the cells—he really did. It was frightening seeing Midoriya, Kirishima, and Bakugou again with all secrets bared, the three of them locked in cells with glass doors. The only part of Midoriya’s body fully exposed was his head—the rest was strapped in a restraint chair with thick metal bands and both hands and feet locked inside cuffs that completely encompassed them. In the cell to the right, Bakugou had received similar treatment, in addition to being gagged with a muzzle. Kirishima was the only one not restrained. He was punching the glass wall to his cell to no effect, pausing when he spotted Kaminari and his eyes ballooned wide.

“You should kill them while you have the chance.”

Kaminari turned and spotted Hokama loitering in the corner, going through a cigarette.

“You should mind your place,” said Tomura. “Midoriya is my business, not yours.”

“Kiss and make up, guys, the man of the hour is here!” Himiko announced.

“I told you to get out,” Tomura snapped.

“Aw, c’mon! Just let me do something fun for once.”

“Out.”

Himiko made a dramatic sigh and swung around to leave. Kaminari turned to follow.

“Kaminari, stay.”

Kaminari was nothing if not obedient. Himiko’s hand slipped out of his.

Tomura closed the distance. Although Midoriya and the others couldn’t possibly overhear them through the glass, their eyes deepened with disgust and shock.

“You did well,” said Tomura.

“I know,” said Kaminari.

“But I would like to know why you did not bring me what I asked for.”

“Eri’s hard to get to, lots of people watch out for her so I couldn’t get close.”

Tomura leaned in and hissed, “Lie to me again and I’ll do a little worse than handing you over to Dabi.”

Kaminari nodded and hi heart didn’t slow down until Tomura drew away.

“So what’s the plan with—…I mean, what’re you going to do with them?” Kaminari asked. “Are you sure it’s safe to leave them in cells with glass doors?”

“It’s quirk-proof, resistant to most types of damage,” said Tomura. “For now, we need to lie low. Eraserhead is going on a one-man rampage against every villain known to be associated with us, and he’s not the only one. UA is on lockdown and a task force is being assembled to locate their lost students. We need to hold them here until I’m ready to make a move. I want you to stay here with the others and keep watch.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me somewhere else?”

“You’re supposedly a kidnapped student, at least to the public. I’d like for you to remain that way for now.”

“But all the heroes involved have to know I’m, like…not hero material by now.”

“I want you here. I think you’ll be a good example for Bakugou, Midoriya, and…the other one.”

“Kirishima.”

“Yes, the forgettable one. Regardless, I think it’s time we made first contact.” He opened the door leading into the inner hall. “Shall we?”

“…You want me to come?”

Every nerve quaked. Tomura focused on him and he wanted to squirm out from under it and bolt for the door. He swallowed the lump in his throat and entered first.

Tomura walked down the line of cells, past Kirishima and Bakugou, past their hard stares, tracing Kaminari as they went by, and didn’t stop until he was at Midoriya, the focus of all his hatred for Pro Heroes. Neither spoke for such a long time that Kaminari wondered if he could slip out while they were occupied.

“Do you remember when we first met, Midoriya?” Tomura asked.

“I’ve never forgotten,” said Midoriya. His eyes flicked to Kaminari and back to Tomura.

“And you never will, for as long as your mind remains yours, for however long I allow it.”

“What are you planning to do with us? Take our quirks?”

“I don’t need your power, Midoriya, not when I have my own. My intention is to either destroy your mind until you’re an empty shell or indoctrinate you until you go raving mad and incinerate the world. We both know you have the potential. Why not turn a shining beacon of the heroes into something that can destroy them?”

“I won’t let you.”

“Eventually you will, you just don’t know it yet. A similar fate awaits Bakugou, though perhaps it will take much longer to break him. You may have a powerful quirk, but your mind is sensitive and malleable—easier to burn away. Bakugou’s strength of character will be a greater challenge.”

“And Kirishima?”

“Who? Oh, him. I’ll probably just kill him when he’s exhausted his usefulness as leverage against you two.”

“If you do, I swear I’ll spend every last waking moment of my life until you’ve paid for it.”

“At least then you’ll have a motivation.”

Midoriya glared at Kaminari, his voice trembling. “You can’t possibly be okay with that. Kirishima’s one of your best friends!”

“Don’t speak to Kaminari,” said Tomura. “He was never yours or anyone else’s friend. Anything he’s ever said or done has been on my behalf. Every word, every action, every lie—told as if I was the one attending UA. He’s a proxy, nothing more. Speak to Kaminari and you’re speaking to me.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Then think of it this way, Midoriya. What are you but a proxy of All Might? Do you think you would be who you are now without him? Do you think you would be anything without the gifts he’s given you, all done out of a desire for someone to carry on his legacy? What would your identity be if All Might never existed?”

He leaned in close to the glass.

“You’d be a nobody,” said Tomura. “You’d be a no-name without direction or meaning, inconsequential to me, inconsequential to the world. I gave Kaminari direction. At least I don’t lie to him or myself about how we got here.”

Kaminari saw Midoriya breathing steadily through his nose. Although sweat glistened on his brow, his eyes were calm.

“You know you can’t hold us here forever,” said Midoriya.

“Fortunately, I won’t have to,” said Tomura. He turned on his heel.

He beckoned to Kaminari, and like a good dog he followed.

“Kaminari, you can’t possibly believe what he’s saying,” Midoriya said.

Kaminari’s heel caught on a nonexistent crack. His legs felt like someone had replaced his blood with cement, slowly turning him into a dismal example of modern art. Tomura gestured and he kept wading through the weight holding him down—there was no other option.

“Kaminari? Kaminari!”

He followed Tomura back to the control room, where Hokama was still working on his cigarette.

“I don’t want you touching Midoriya or Bakugou’s minds,” said Tomura. “You can have as much fun with the other one as you want.”

“It’d be easier to control them if you let me work,” said Hokama.

“I need their minds intact and your methods are notoriously unreliable—powerful, but unreliable. I won’t have you experimenting with two of my best assets. The last time I let you do that, I ended up saddled with an unstable halfwit who overloads at the slightest use of his quirk.”

“You can’t possibly think those restraints will hold forever. They will get out. If not on their own accord, then by the dozens of Pro Heroes scouring the city for them.”

“Leave the Pro Heroes to me. All you have to do is stay here and stand guard until it’s safe to move Bakugou and Midoriya to a more secure location. I already have people working on a more permanent arrangement for them.”

Hokama rolled his eyes. “I swear, your obsession with them gets more grating by the day. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to check on Hagakure. You might see her as disposable, but with my techniques I think I can turn her into something more usable.”

Hokama left the control room with his hands in his pockets, looking thoughtful but disinterested in Tomura. Tomura scratched the side of his face.

“…What’s going to happen to me?” Kaminari asked.

“Hm?” Tomura looked at him as if he was a dead fly curling its legs after being cooked in the sun. “You’ll stand guard until I get back.”

“No, I mean after that.”

“You’ll do whatever I tell you to do.”

“Maybe I could help with Bakugou and Midoriya?”

“They’d only take advantage of you.”

“I know them better than anyone. I can—”

“They’d use any leftover sentiments you might have for them to escape their situation. Besides, now that the secret’s out, I can think of better ways to apply your quirk on a more massive scale, even with its significant drawbacks.”

Kaminari looked through the glass and locked eyes with Kirishima, whose eyes were darting between them like a nervous gazelle. Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he was clearly trying to piece together fragments from Kaminari’s lips.

Tomura took Kaminari by the chin and moved his head. From between the fingers, Kaminari saw a single eye. There was no light in it, only a void where humanity should be. Struck with the sudden and irresistible urge to look away, Tomura held too tight and his hold was too strong.

“They would only hurt you,” said Tomura. “And if they escape this place, then you’re going to be held responsible. Do not speak to them. Do not look at them. All you have to do is make sure they stay put.”

He released Kaminari.

“Now, I have some Pro Heroes to go take care of.”

Automatically, Kaminari went to follow, but before he could pursue, the door slammed shut in front of him, and he heard an audible click.

Kaminari tried the handle.

It didn’t budge.

“Tomura?” said Kaminari. “Uh, you locked the door. Can you let me out?”

Nothing.

“Tomura!”

He tugged and tugged to no avail and knew to give up when he felt the others gawking. Desperately clawing at a door wasn’t a good look for a villain. Tomura probably hadn’t even realized that the door locked behind him, right?

“Kaminari?” Kirishima said through the intercom system. Kaminari looked sharply at him. “You gotta let us out.”

Kaminari went to the control panel and threw himself into the chair. There was an old portable television in the corner, not good for anything except a few channels, but when he turned it on, he got a grainy picture of the news. He switched it over to cartoons.

“Kaminari, we’re friends!” said Kirishima. “Let us out.”

Kaminari held out his pointer finger.

“Don’t you dare mute me—”

He hit mute and Kirishima went silent, save for the muffled pounding on his cell door. Kaminari turned up the sound to ignore it and he could turn it all off, letting his thoughts fade to the background, comfortably hidden under the drone of the television.

When he took a nap, head dangling over the back of the chair and softly snoring, it was the best sleep he’d had in weeks—void of the nightmares and insomnia that had plagued him since that night in the alley. Kirishima sat on the ground with his arms folded, accepting his predicament, and Kaminari likewise accepted the contempt directed his way.

Bakugou, however, was a different story on a different planet in a different language. Kaminari’s heart hopped into his throat. Bakugou was leveraging his head against the chains and restraints on his shoulders to work away at the leather straps.

“Seriously,” Kaminari said. He hit the microphone button. “Hey, don’t break the equipment. What if I have to pay for it?”

Bakugou pointedly ignored him, and with the snap, the last leather strap came loose. Bakugou’s shoulders heaved, then he spat the mouthpiece out at Kaminari. It bounced against the cell door.

“Seriously?!” Kaminari said.

“So you can talk,” Bakugou snarled. “If you’re so worried, come in here and put it back in.”

“Pass. I like my fingers the way they are.”

“Kaminari—” Kirishima started.

“Shh, I’m watching TV,” Kaminari indicated the television. “I need to see if this coyote catches the road runner.”

“…He doesn’t.”

“Aw, geez! Spoilers! This is why people don’t like heroes.”

“Hate to break it to you, pissface, but you’ve spent more time around heroes than villains,” Bakugou snarled. Bitterness clung to each syllable.

Kaminari tried to resist answering. Tomura’s warnings rang fresh in his hand, his body shaking violently like he was standing right next to the church bell at midnight.

But he was alone with them, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You really don’t know me as well as you think you do,” said Kaminari.

“You fucking trained to be one!” Bakugou barked.

“Trying to watch TV here.”

“I defended you!”

“We all make mistakes.”

Bakugou slammed his forehead against the glass, hands tugging desperately at the cuffs and chains.

“Why did you do this?” Midoriya asked. “How long have you been working with the villains?”

“Since always,” said Kaminari.

“Since when? I want a time frame.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

Kaminari shrugged. “A long time, I guess.”

“So why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you do this?”

“Tomura said to.”

“It’s that simple to you?”

“Simple enough, yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that? You’re okay with this?”

“Look, I get that you’re trying to find some sort of reason, that you can’t figure out that I have a simple reason for doing all of this, but it really doesn’t matter, and it actually is all that simple. Resistance is futile and all that shit.”

“So was everything a lie?” Kirishima asked, voice creaking with inculpable hurt. “All of it?”

“Enough of it.”

“I’m trying to figure out how you got away with all this,” said Bakugou. “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Hey, I’m a good liar!”

“Really? Cuz all the bullshit that came out of your mouth back at the dorm was just that: a load of bullshit.”

“I’m sometimes a pretty good liar.”

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit. I can smell lies from miles away! I would’ve figured you out a lot sooner!”

Kaminari looked him right in the eye and said, “I am a 400 foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched. “…Fine, you get a pass this time, but I know intellectually you’re full of bullshit.”

Kaminari couldn’t help but feel a little smug, but when he looked around for approval, he found he was the only one on his side.

“You’re actually sick,” said Bakugou. “At least Shigaraki’s transparent about what he wants, but you’re just a fucking rat. I can’t believe your only motivation is ‘because Shigaraki said to.’”

“What do you want it to be?”

“An actual reason for doing what you did!”

“I gave you a reason.”

“You gave an excuse. Stop hiding behind Shigaraki’s skirt and maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

Bakugou was unbridled in every sense of the world, like a hurricane trapped in a four by four cell, and despite Tomura’s assurance, he didn’t feel any safer with quirk-proof glass separating them. Moreover, the effort it took to look him in the eye made his willpower buckle and an unpleasant prickle thrum through his body.

No one wanted to be the target of Bakugou’s anger. Kaminari didn’t want it. He wanted to deflect it with a broken shield he’d carried with him from the start, and he tightened his muscles, preparing for the emotional blow Bakugou dug into him. Kaminari had moved past fear—he’d been afraid for so long that the emotion had become a steady chill in his gut. Now he just felt hypothermic from the cold.

“You keep trying to justify everything you’ve done by saying that Shigaraki told you to do it, but that doesn’t make you less responsible, Kaminari,” said Midoriya. “You’re still responsible for all the distress you’ve caused and that makes you a villain, which means we’re sworn to fight against you. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not about what I want,” said Kaminari, folding his arms behind his head. “Tomura’s more important and I’m okay with someone doing the big brain stuff for me.”

Midoriya stared hard at Kaminari. “Did you kill Hagakure?”

Kaminari knew he should’ve felt hurt at the insinuation—but the truth was that a what-if part of him wished he’d ended Hagakure’s life when he’d had the chance. It would’ve been a mercy.

“She’s alive,” said Kaminari. “You really thought she was dead?”

“What else were we supposed to think?” Bakugou snapped. “Where is she? We want to see her.”

“She’s here, she’s just…uh…she’s busy doing invisible things. In fact, she’s in this room right now.”

“She better be in one piece or everything you did to her, I’m gonna do to you.”

“We want to see her,” said Kirishima.

“Um, you can’t, because she’s invisible.”

“Tell us she’s okay, then.”

“I can’t talk about her with you guys.”

“Who says you make the rules here?” Bakugou yelled. “You owe us!”

“Do not! Look, nothing I did was personal, I was just doing what I had to do.”

“So kidnapping and framing Hagakure was part of the job?” Midoriya asked. “Guilt-tripping everyone for alienating her was part of the job?”

“I needed to get it done.”

“And part of that was hurting her.”

Kaminari slammed his hands against the console and surged to his feet. “You really don’t know as much as you think you do, Midoriya. Someone had to take the heat off of me, Hagakure was the clear choice. You said so in your notebook that Hagakure was a strong suspect!”

“I didn’t go out and make everyone hate her because I was trying to cover up my own actions!”

Kaminari stormed into the interior hall like a mobile storm, then slammed his fist against the release button to open Midoriya’s cell. Midoriya stiffened and tensed back like a toothless cobra, his eyes hyper fixated on Kaminari and refusing to break the glare, his upper lip twitching.

“Take that back,” Kaminari demanded.

“You know it’s true,” said Midoriya.

“I said take it back!”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s not true! I had to do what I had to do to get the heat off of me!”

“No one was looking at you before you vandalized my room, no one was even thinking of you before you made Hagakure a target. We all saw you spending time with her afterwards. I figure that the only reason you did that was because you liked to see her suffering.”

Kaminari coiled back and punched him.

Given that it was Midoriya, who was used to taking punches, it felt like he was slamming his fist right into a brick wall. Midoriya saw the strike coming long before fist met face, turning with the strike, not even blinking.

Kaminari, however, ended up holding his now-bruised knuckles, biting hard on his tongue from crying out.

“Geez, do you have a metal plate installed in your head?!” Kaminari said, voice strung out.

In the cell next over, Bakugou laughed. “Did he break his hand?”

“NO, I did NOT!” Kaminari protested, blowing on the bruises.

“Kaminari,” Midoriya said. “Do the right thing and let us go.”

Kaminari glared back. “If I let you go, we all die.”

Tinkling laughter filled the hall. “If you let Izuku go, then I’ll never get to have my fun!”

Kaminari blanched and shoved his bruised hand into his pocket. First, he saw the locked door now hanging open through the viewing window, then he saw Himiko almost right behind him, grinning. He hadn't even heard her sneak in.

“Hey,” Kaminari locked his tone into something neutral and non-confrontational. “It’s about time. I’ve been stuck in here since forever.”

“Aw, well, I was glad I was able to come to your rescue, little brother,” Himiko pinched his cheeks.

“Little brother?” Kirishima repeated.

“We’re not related,” said Kaminari.

“He’s adopted,” said Himiko. “Oh, ho, ho! And Tomura’s not here. That means I can have some alone time with my favourite boy.”

“Ew. Just get out of the cell so I can close the door.”

“Why?” Himiko lounged against Midoriya and his restraints, draping her arm affectionately around his shoulder. Midoriya leaned his head as far away from her as he could.

“Tomura said you couldn’t be in here.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is.” She produced her preferred knife and pressed the tip to Midoriya’s cheek. Kaminari saw the skin bend and resist the point, but no scarlet emerged. “I’m gonna get his blood, anyway. Why shouldn’t I have it now?”

“Tomura said—”

“‘Tomura this, Tomura that.’ Tomura says a lot of things. How about you stop taking everything he says as orders and start thinking of them as more like…strongly worded suggestions?”

“I said NO!”

Kaminari grabbed Himiko’s wrist and gave her a good shock. She yelped, and in the split second before her senses returned to her, he wrenched her out of the cell and shoved her against the opposite wall. He sealed Midoriya’s cell shut.

Himiko blinked to clear her senses—he should’ve gone stronger. Why hadn’t he knocked her out? Then, her grin crept back up, her pink tongue running over her teeth.

“Wow. If you were jealous, you only had to say so. I mean, I’ve been so occupied with Izuku, I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten about the boy who made it all possible.” Her tone swung with mock concern, and it was one swing away from flying over the bar.

“I’m not jealous, I just want you to leave them alone.”

Himiko never stopped smiling. He wanted it to falter, to show some humanity, to frown, to twist, to hate. She just looked happy.

She snatched his wrists and pulled their bodies flush, their teeth gnashing together as Kaminari saw what was coming. Her warm lips tasted like ash and blood. Her spider-like fingers reached for the laces in the corseted vest, and with practiced fingers she gave them a good tug, squeezing the air out of his body. Kaminari gasped and her tongue found its way inside his gaping mouth, desperately trying to grab air that didn’t come.

“Hey, knock that off!” Kirishima yelled. His voice sounded so tight and Kaminari caught a blurred image of him clawing at the glass, looking afraid—Kirishima shouldn’t look afraid.

Himiko grabbed Kaminari by the waist and slammed him against the window, her tongue running over his gums and softly gnawing at his lower lip.

“HEY!” Midoriya cut in.

Himiko parted from Kaminari, breathless, licking her lips. She smiled and swivelled her head to beam at Midoriya, like she’d just captured the attention of a jilted lover.

“Stop it!” Midoriya demanded.

“Don’t be upset, Izuku,” Himiko cooed. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“You leave him alone.”

“Eh? It’s just a kiss.”

“I said, leave him alone.”

Himiko gave a final yank to the laces. She whispered, “Until later, then.”

Kaminari gasped for air, and finally, the pressure on his chest lifted. He fumbled against the wall to keep himself upright, unwilling to endure the further shame of collapsing. He could still taste her in his mouth—metallic, like blood. Himiko made a show of licking her long fingers.

“Now scoot,” said Himiko. “I want my alone time with Izuku.”

Kaminari swayed, suddenly dizzy.

“Go,” Midoriya said. “It’s alright. I can handle Toga.”

Kaminari looked in his direction, unsure if he’d imagined Midoriya saying or if it was the last vestiges of his sanity giving him permission to run. Midoriya looked certain, however. He found strength in it.

When Himiko’s attention turned, he bolted.

The resonance of the metal stairs as he ran up them echoed hard against his eardrums and it was not enough, it was never enough, to drown out Himiko’s voice singing up from below. He’d left her alone with Midoriya and the others, and he’d just fled from the scene like a coward.

Kaminari debated returning to his room and hiding from Himiko, but ended up pacing in the hall outside, where he knew Hagakure had to be. He couldn’t stop thinking about the small stain of invisible blood on his pants, thinking about how Himiko had smiled at him. He needed to see, to make sure Hagakure was still alive, but he held back, his finger hovering over the trigger and afraid to pull.

He went back to the shower and dunked his head under the stream of water to get rid of Himiko’s smell, spitting into the drain to get rid of the taste. It didn’t cleanse the thought of Hagakure from his mind. He’d been away from her for a few days. He’d thought she’d been with Hokama, but Himiko…

Himiko was always present and Kaminari no longer knew who was the bigger threat.

He gathered his courage. He had to know, even if Hagakure hated him. It was better to know—then at least he could begin to accept the reality.

Kaminari found a cramped mess hall in another room, though it was only stocked with nonperishable food and coffee. He crammed a couple of energy bars in his pockets, then returned to Hagakure's room, checked for witnesses, and cracked open the door. Hagakure lay flat on a metal slab, her head propped up and secured with several metal clamps. She was still wearing the borrowed clothes he’d last seen her in, but it wasn’t the floating fashion that gave away where she was: it was the subtle ripple waving through the air, like hot air bouncing off of concrete. Several of Hokama’s pins were floating in the general area of her head.

They were deep. Deep enough to hit the brainstem.

Kaminari leaned outside and gagged. When he entered, the only noise was Hagakure’s breath gently shuddering out of her throat.

A needle was inserted into her arm, hooked up to a machine and an apparently empty bag. Kaminari gingerly approached, so light that Hagakure didn’t even stir—if she was even conscious. He poked at the bag and felt fluid move inside, though visually he couldn’t detect anything.

Her blood. For Himiko.

The room was fully equipped with other medical equipment: a tray of surgical tools lay near a sink and cabinet against one wall, and a glaring, florescent light spotlighted her.

He came to her side and just stared for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then back at her.

“It’s me,” Kaminari whispered.

“Get me out,” she pleaded. “Get me out. Get me out.”

“I can’t. But…But I can…”

Kaminari picked a pin that seemed to be lodged in her cerebellum and pulled as gently as he could. It slid out. Hagakure let out a relieved groan, her breathing evening out. Kaminari tossed the pin to the side.

“How did you…?” Hagakure whispered.

“Are you thirsty?” asked Kaminari.

“…Please.”

Kaminari fetched a cup of water from the sink and helped her sip it. Her entire body was still locked hard, like someone had replaced her bones with metal pipes.

“Please get me out,” Hagakure begged.

“I can’t, I’ll get in trouble,” said Kaminari.

“They’re going to kill me.”

“They won’t.”

“I don’t want to die—”

“Hey—you’re gonna be fine. Hokama’s not gonna kill you, nobody is.”

“Like I can trust you after you did this.”

“I told you, it wasn’t anything personal, it’s just work.” He glanced around. “Listen, I need to ask: has Himiko been in here? Has she hurt you?”

“She cut me…”

“Did she hurt you in any other way?”

“She said things, but that’s it.”

“Good. Good.” A bit of cutting was all Kaminari could hope for—much better than the alternative. “Are you hungry? Have they been giving you food?”

“Go away.”

“I’m trying to help. Are you hungry?”

Hagakure didn’t answer.

“Look, I understand you can’t trust me, I just want to know if they’ve been feeding you.”

Finally, with a warble, “Not a lot.”

Kaminari unhooked the restraints and propped her upright, shoving an energy bar into her unsteady hands. Hagakure wavered for a moment, the needles hovering in her skull like a crown of thorns. He grabbed her shoulders to make sure she stayed upright.

“I need to keep watch for Hokama,” said Kaminari. He moved to the door and peered into the empty hallway while Hagakure took her first tentative bite.

He listened to the sound of her chewing and swallowing and bleeding. God, she needed a hospital. Kaminari fantasized what it would be like for him to stop being such a damn coward and take her out of here, to put her in a taxi on her way to the nearest doctor for some treatment, maybe even directly to UA where Recovery Girl could kiss-and-make-better all her injuries.

If Hagakure was lucky, maybe the villains would decide to ransom her and Kirishima. He knew Bakugou and Midoriya were already lost to Tomura’s machinations, but there was the possibility that the other two might make it out with their sanity intact. Maybe a little trauma, but with sanity.

Kaminari roused himself from the fantasy. What was he thinking? No way he could betray Tomura after he’d gone to hell and back for him. Feeding Hagakure was one thing, setting her loose was another. All the same, when he looked back at her, the temptation was overwhelming.

Sensing her eyes on him, he turned back and pretended to still be looking for Hokama.

“Kaminari?”

Kaminari was at her side in an instant. He prepared to endure any question—a plea to free her, anger, disgust. What he wasn’t prepared for was her hand taking his.

“Is this what they do to you?” Hagakure asked.

Kaminari felt like someone had ripped away his life. His expression must’ve answered her, because Hagakure took his face in her hands.

“Kaminari…” she said tenderly.

“I have to tie you back up,” said Kaminari.

“Can you stay a bit longer?”

“I can’t, but—…I’ll…Okay. Okay, I’ll stay a minute.”

He didn’t know what to say or do to comfort her, nor could he stand to look in the general area of her head, so he settled for staring at the opposite wall. He adjusted the overhead light so it didn’t shine directly in her eyes.

“How did this happen?” Hagakure asked.

He kept quiet.

“How did this happen? How did you get tangled up with villains? Has it…Have you always been…?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Didn’t stop you from coming in here. I almost expected to never see you again.”

“We’ll probably be seeing each other a lot. Tomura wants Hokama to turn you into a, uh, spy, which means we’ll be working together in the future.”

She let out a breathless noise.

“It won’t be so bad. I know this isn’t the best first impression, but once you get past the everything, you’ll see we’re making a big difference out there.”

“Killing people isn’t making a difference, it’s just murder.”

“I’ve never killed anyone in this line of work. I’m not like a secret assassin or something. A lot of villains are really only villains in name only.”

“When did they turn you?”

“They never did, I’ve worked for Tomura since the beginning.”

“Toga said that you were her brother…”

He laughed. “Yeah, she’s kind of crazy like that—we’re not related. If Himiko really was my sister, I’d be fucked in more ways than one.”

“How do you know Shigaraki?”

“Um…I just do.”

“When did you meet him?”

“It was a long time ago, before he sent me to infiltrate UA. Anyway, the point is with your quirk, you’re a pretty good asset to the PLF. Tomura wouldn’t dare have you killed even if you’re not his priority like Midoriya is.”

“…Midoriya…”

“Oh, lots of stuff happened while you were in here. Kirishima, Bakugou, and Midoriya are here too.”

“…What?”

“But it’s okay! It just means we all get to keep working together.”

“I don’t want to work for Shigaraki.”

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“He kills people.”

“…He’s troubled?”

“How can you sit there and defend him after he’s hurt so many people, including people in our class?”

“He’s not doing it for shits and giggles, he’s doing it to help society.”

“It isn’t worth helping society if it means making other people suffer, if it means ending the lives of innocent people. I thought you cared about people—I thought you cared about us.”

“I do, but I gotta trust Tomura’s master plan. He’s the brains of the operation. I’m just the guy who follows orders.”

“Even orders that hurt people?”

“If I have to.”

Hagakure squeezed his hand. “Even ones that hurt you?”

He looked down at his hands, at the chipped black nail polish and the bruises.

“Look, you don’t get it yet and that’s okay, but soon you’ll understand.” His voice did a tight, strangling noise as if someone tightened a noose around him mid-sentence. “You’ll understand. Just try to relax and let Hokama do his thing.”

“I’m not going to lie here and let—”

Hagakure reached over, but Kaminari gave her a quick shock. She yelped, and in the moment before she could regain control, he shoved her wrists back in the restraint.

“It’ll only hurt for a little bit, then you’ll see,” said Kaminari.

“Don’t leave me here,” Hagakure demanded.

Kaminari backed out, fight or flight instincts kicking in like a harsh injection of adrenaline. Hagakure screamed—not in pain, but grief and rage and frustration coiled into one and he could only shut it out with the quick snap of the door.

He walked away from Hagakure’s room as fast as he could, but he didn’t make it down the hall before he came face-to-face with Hokama.

Hokama scrutinized him carefully. “Shigaraki told you not to talk to her.”

“That’s none of your damn business,” Kaminari snapped.

“Irritable, aren’t we?”

“How long until you’re done with her brain?”

“Each brain is different, so I suggest you don’t wait up. Move along before I put you on the table instead.”

Hagakure was still screaming when Hokama entered the room, but this time, her screams shifted from frustration to fear like Saharan sand dunes waving with the wind.

Kaminari ended up in the kitchen area of the bunker, altering between pacing back and forth, gorging on the scant food in the refrigerator, and watching cartoons on the television. Every so often, he flicked it to the news, but he was always quick to flick back if he caught even the barest glimpse of news relating to him or his former classmates. Enough to get the idea that the heroes were doing everything within their power to search for them, while villains were pushing back all over the city.

The heroes had the training and the skills—Kaminari knew that first hand, however villains had numbers and sympathizers on their side. The PLF was organized and, moreover, bound together through common purpose and determination. So long as Tomura sufficiently motivated his forces through his presence and fear, they wouldn’t be backing down so easily.

This was wrong.

This was so wrong.

He knew it intellectually, he knew it morally, but his body locked up whenever he so much as fantasized about what he could do. The facility wasn’t well guarded—Tomura was fully trusting him, Himiko, and Hokama to keep the fort locked down.

Panic advanced and receded at a steady heartbeat-speed paced, ebbing and flowing. He could do anything but this was Tomura’s turf and Tomura still ruled every corner. Kaminari felt piercing eyes on him. The thought of more disappointment in his eyes made his stomach contract until he had to swallow down the sick. His heart rate pitched up and down, hands clamming up, sweat beading. Kaminari kept removing and putting back on the vest, tightening up and losing the laces like a fidgeting patient who couldn’t keep still.

What did it matter? He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to UA, he couldn’t go back to pretending. He didn’t know what was worse: the truth or the lie.

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t be here while they tortured his friends, and he as sure as hell wasn’t brave enough to do anything about it. Maybe if he ran, he could extend his life for a little while longer, maybe he could disappear into the city and no one would care to look for him because they’d be too busy looking for the actual victims.

Victims. That’s what he’d turned Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, and especially Hagakure into. He’d taken them apart, broken them down—just like Tomura had done to him when he was nine years old and screaming for his parents.

A memory slammed into him, too fast and hard for him to resist. There was red everywhere. Tomura stood in the middle of it, smiling.

Kaminari was running. He needed to get out. He couldn’t watch it all happen again. He had to escape. He couldn’t do it.

He ran past Hagakure’s room. He ran down a hall leading to an exit sign. It took him a few panicked heartbeats until he found a promising staircase, and at the top, daylight.

Turning the corner, he stopped in his tracks.

Dabi stood at the top of the stairs.

Kaminari’s foot rested on the bottom step, prepared to launch himself to freedom, like a loaded bullet about to discharge. Dabi looked down at him with an emphatic stare and piercing eyes, the staples glinting in the light.

“Shigaraki says you stay,” said Dabi.

“I was just getting some fresh air,” Kaminari said defensively.

“He says you stay. Turn around and go back inside.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“…Think you can get a shot off before I burn your face? I guess the question is, which of us is faster.”

Kaminari was trembling again. He held tight onto the railing to stop himself from showing it. He took a step back, but Dabi drew closer until he was on the step right in front of him, adding to the height he used to tower over him. His power was absolute and decisive. Kaminari’s body hummed with excess energy that had nowhere to go.

“Turn around,” Dabi ordered.

Dabi couldn’t order him around. Only Tomura ordered him around. Kaminari said that to himself in his head, then realized he’d turned on his heel and faced the swallowing black of the hallway.

“Walk.”

Kaminari read through the script in his mind, full of you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do and you’re-not-Tomura, things he’d said to Hokama and Dabi and Himiko and other villains countlessly in the past. But before he could say anything, he was already back inside the bunker.

He hurried back to the mess hall, each lightbulb flickering as went past. Alone, he circled the tables and chairs a few times, chewing on his nail.

Do something. Do something. His head was screaming at him. Do something. Midoriya was alone with Himiko, Hagakue was alone with Hokama, he was alone with himself.

There was a landline in the back of the room. Kaminari stared at it for a long while.

He picked it up, hung up. Paced the room again. Grabbed it a second time.

He could’ve called the police or Aizawa. He called Sero instead, aching for familiarity.

It rang twice before it picked up, and he could instantly hear the bustle of overlapping voices in the background, some familiar, some not. Kaminari covered his eyes with five fingers and pressed his eyes back into their sockets. Then, the fingers covered his lips—God, he could still taste Himiko.

“Hello?” Sero said.

Kaminari’s voice felt thick in his throat. He mouthed uselessly into the receiver, trying to think of something to say.

“Hello?”

He fumbled. “Sero.”

“…Fuck. Holy shit. Fuck.”

“It’s me.”

“Fuck. Of course it’s you. Of course it is. Okay, where—guys, GUYS! Shut up, it’s Kaminari—where are you right now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaminari realized. He could be anywhere.

“Is this a ransom call? The cops have been hoping for a ransom call.”

“No. No, there’s no ransom.”

“Fuck. Kaminari, go outside, look at the nearest street sign, and tell me where they are right now, or so help me God, I’ll strangle you myself.”

Kaminari didn’t know what he’d expected out of calling Sero and suddenly he realized that he’d never had friends before coming to UA. Before, they’d been just a distant illusion of normalcy. If he’d had friends in his Before-Tomura life, they were so far removed that they were strangers. Himiko pretended to be his friend to gain her own means, and Tomura—he didn’t know what Tomura was.

Sero and the others had always been nothing but kind towards him, their looks were soft, their touches gentle. Now Sero spoke with the fast-talking urgency of a salesperson with a biting disregard for his customer’s wellbeing, wanting nothing more than information.

Kaminari couldn’t hold back. He’d done years and years of holding back and the sob that choked out of his throat didn’t sound human. It clawed at the back of his throat like a monster trying to escape his body, causing him to choke and splutter. His teeth gnashed together to hold it in and he felt hot liquid roll down the curve of his cheek and over the fingers pressed tight over his mouth.

Sero’s breath hitched. He breathed out.

“Are you okay?” Sero asked.

Kaminari composed himself and swallowed down. It felt like swallowing rocks.

“C’mon, man, you gotta talk to me. What’s going on? Where’s the others?”

“They’re…” Kaminari’s voice hitched on each syllable as each word crawled naked over a barbed wire fence of his teeth. “They’re…They’re here. Tomura doesn’t want to hurt them.”

“‘Tomura?’ Holy shit…Look, Shigaraki doesn’t have anyone’s best interests at heart, you have to tell us where they are before someone gets hurt. Did he put you up to this?”

“No…”

“Do you know what you did? The Pros are tearing up the city looking for you. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I think I messed up.”

“God, that’s the understatement of the century, holy shit. I can’t believe you.”

“I know sorry doesn’t make up for anything…”

“Damn straight it doesn’t.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I thought we were helping.”

“Really? Because villain attacks, kidnappings, assaults, and injuries sure as hell sounds like people getting hurt to me—and that’s not even counting this whole mess!” Sero’s voice cracked. “Look, if you’re doing this just to mock us or make fun of us, whatever. Just put one of the others on the line so we know they’re alive.”

“They’re alive, you just have to…” He couldn’t ask them to trust him. “They’re alive. Sero…Sero, I think—…But…”

Sero stayed quiet. All of the background noise on the phone had gone silent, and he could picture Class 2-A gathered around his phone, listening as close as they could, hanging onto his every word.

“I’m scared,” Kaminari admitted. “You don’t know what they could do to me…I don’t do what Tomura wants me to do. I don’t know, my mind’s all confused and I’m not even stupid right now.”

“You’re confused? How cut and dry can you get? You lied, Kaminari. You knew it was wrong to lie and you did it anyway. And—And not only did you lie, but you kept lying! How am I supposed to trust anything you say?! The only—and I mean the only—chance you have at making things right is telling us where they are right now.”

It stung a lot. Kaminari felt like he’d swallowed a broken jar full of angry hornets that buzzed through his body, made him weak-kneed and terrified. If he moved, he risked angering the hornets, but he forced words out anyway.

“I don’t know where I am…they won’t let me leave.”

“They won’t let you leave.”

“They won’t let me leave.”

“Goddamit, Kaminari.” Kaminari heard the peripheral terror in Sero’s voice. “Okay. Okay. Are the others there with you?”

“They’re in the cells, downstairs.”

“Okay. I need you to go let them out. Can you do that?”

Kaminari sensed the eyes on him before he turned. And when he did, he saw a shadow darkening his doorway.

Tomura was covered in fresh blood, decorating his body like he was fresh from painting.

“Conversation’s over,” said Tomura. “Say your goodbyes and hang up the phone.”

Kaminari looked at the phone. “Goodbye, Sero.”

He hung up. Tomura took a single step inside, and shut the door behind him.

Chapter Text

When Kaminari’s friends at UA breathed, they emitted a blinding, vivacious light. It stole his breath away, made him like the freed prisoner in Plato’s Cave who experienced the world for the first time, only to turn back and find himself dissatisfied with the shadows on the wall.

Tomura was the fire casting the shadows, keeping him distracted with vague images and impressions rather than the too-stark but beautiful, intoxicating reality.

He knew what was coming and held out the phone to Tomura, who dissolved it with a delicate touch.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Tomura.

“Okay,” said Kaminari.

Tomura casually circled the mess hall, pushing chairs out of his way with his knees. He picked up a plastic fork from the table, examined it, and tossed it aside.

“Whose blood is that?” Kaminari asked.

“A Pro Hero who crossed my path,” said Tomura.

Kaminari’s chest constricted like a tightening drawstring bag and wondered if it was anyone he knew.

“How did you get here, Kaminari?” Tomura asked.

“I walked in.”

“What made you decide to walk in here and pick up that phone?”

“I don’t know. I just felt like I had to.”

Tomura found a plastic knife to match the fork. He dangled it in front of his face as if trying to decipher a peculiar art piece, before tossing it aside to join its mate on the floor.

He rummaged in the cupboards until he found a glass cup, which he filled with water at the sink, and took a long, indulgent drink. When he finished, he leaned against the wall—a wretched, languid, detestable monster of a man dominating the air in the room despite only taking up a small space.

The silence extended well past the comfort limit, sluggish and petrifying, and Kaminari became overcome with the instinctual need to apologize, to create an excuse that would satisfy Tomura or else to crawl under the table and hide his face until someone spoke. The unending wait began. The wait for words, the wait for consequences, the wait to learn whether he was going to leave this room alive. Kaminari studied the corners and pictured the murder scene. The police would come in and wonder where he was. No one would ever know. The evidence would be gone. Seventeen years of human experience, gone in an instant.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” said Tomura.

Cramping pain clenched inside him and he hurried to do what he was told, stripping his feet as if he was Moses before the burning bush. His bare feet tingled mildly on the concrete floor.

Tomura tossed the glass against the wall, and the shards tinkled to the ground. Kaminari didn’t flinch—better the glass hit something inanimate than him.

“Go stand over there,” Tomura gestured to the wall.

Kaminari glanced at the glass and took a few steps.

“No. Like this.”

Kaminari gasped as Tomura took him by the shoulders and guided him to the glass shards. He thought about resisting, of pressing his weight back into Tomura, but he didn’t, teeth gnashing as sharp, shooting pain rocketed up both his legs as the tender parts of his foot stepped on glass. Something crunched, then burrowed under his skin like insects, wringing out an earsplitting cry from his throat. His hands braced against the wall to put as little weight as he could on his feet, though it did nothing to help.

Blood ran warm on the ground beneath him, pooling out in an uneven puddle.

“I want you to stand here until I tell you to move,” said Tomura.

“This really hurts, Tomura,” Kaminari said, hoarse and shaky.

It felt like an eternity. It was just a moment of terse and ostracizing silence on Tomura’s part. “Well, maybe you’ll learn something this time. I’ll be back eventually.”

His footsteps drew away.

“Tomura?” Kaminari said. “Tomura, hold up!”

Tomura didn’t stop and the door caught the latch with a definitive click.

Kaminari didn’t move.

Aizawa surveyed his collection of increasingly strong liquor. Tempting.

So tempting.

His muscles knotted with tension like a hit of adrenaline before a marathon, and he opened and closed the cabinet twice before he shut it for good. Remaining alert was more important and his head needed to stay clear. Aizawa resolved to get shit-faced after it was over, after his students were safe and tucked into their beds. After he sorted out Denki Kaminari.

To replace drinking, Aizawa instead did a quick breathing exercise.

And then Yamada smashed down his door.

The lock went flying off and almost hit him in the head. Aizawa didn’t blink at Yamada’s entrance, but he frowned at the door lock now lodged in his wall.

“LUCY, I’M HOME!” Yamada yelled.

“Stop breaking the door—that’s the third one this month,” said Aizawa.

“Only when the door stops stopping my RADICAL entrances!”

“The door is the only barrier between me and the rest of the world. Let’s keep it that way.”

Yamada laughed, looped his arm over Aizawa’s shoulder, and turned him away from the liquor cabinet. “Nemuri called, by the way.”

“Has she found anything on her end?”

“Not yet, and she needs to go off shift to get some sleep, something you should’ve been doing, by the way. How many cups of coffee are you on?”

“I lost count at nineteen.”

“Wow, that doesn’t even break your record! You’re handling this better than I thought you would.”

Aizawa breathed out through his nose and left his apartment, with Yamada trailing after him into the warm evening air. The storm that had rolled in and away with the disappearance of his students left behind an eerie calm over the city, and the sun’s thin glow was rapidly dimming. Aizawa didn’t like how fast night was coming and it had been nearly nineteen hours since his students were last seen, not counting Hagakure.

“The Pussycats joined the search an hour ago,” Yamada reported.

“Where the hell have they been?” Aizawa demanded. “They’re probably our best chance at finding them and the critical twenty-four-hour period is almost up.”

“They got tied up searching for a bus full of Canadians. They came as fast as they could.”

“If they were looking for Canadians, they should’ve gone to Canada,” he said with a bitter edge.

“Well, I mean, their bus was hanging off of a cliff in the middle of nowhere, but I’m sure they’ll head back to Canada as soon as they can. You know how it is, Shouta—we can’t just stop all emergencies because of the kids, and we already have every available agency working on this. Did you hear about the murders?”

Aizawa’s step nearly faltered. “Murders?”

“Two dead Pro Heroes, west of here. Nobody we knew personally, but a lot of agencies are centring the search in that area. It’s pretty chaotic out there.”

Aizawa sighed. “All the more reason to stop by Heights Alliance and make sure my students aren’t violating the lockdown.”

He half-hoped Yamada would stop following him and get back to the search, however he seemed determined to tagalong for the walk. Except for police and staff, the campus was deserted and all students were under order to remain in their dorms until further notice. Hagakure going missing had been treated as an isolated incident, however a mass disappearance was another crisis altogether. He remembered they implemented the dorm system for student safety. Still, it hadn’t accounted for the enduring, never-ending calamity that was adolescence: where most emergencies were benign and boring, interspersed with moments of urgency and fear.

As much as he wanted to wallow in self-doubt, Aizawa’s senses were hyper alert. Nineteen hours since they were last seen and even longer since Hagakure’s vanishing. Since she’d disappeared, Aizawa had searched for her as aggressively as he could, however Nezu had been strict with him this time. Told him to leave it to others. Told him he would take care of it. Told him to trust other Pro Heroes to do the hard work. At times, he’d felt as helpless and restricted as his students did, and it was all he could do to put on an ill-fitting disguise of confidence.

With the mass disappearance, with the realization of who their real traitor was, Nezu dropped any attempt to keep Aizawa out of it. However, Kaminari’s loyalties were a closely guarded secret for the moment, known only to UA staff and a few high-ranking police members. Aizawa spent most of the day tracking down any known associates of the Paranormal Liberation Front, but none had talked, and left the impression that they didn’t know Kaminari was the traitor.

He wondered how closely the secret was guarded within the Paranormal Liberation Front.

He hadn’t forgotten about all the suspicious and troubling indications about Kaminari’s home life, and it was hard to tell where the lie was drawn. Aizawa wouldn’t know until he found them.

He and Yamada made it to Heights Alliance and found Uraraka standing pacing impatiently in the front hall.

“Sup, Little Listener!” Yamada bellowed and ruffled her hair. “Don’t you worry! All the Pros are out there looking for your classmates.”

“How is everyone here?” Aizawa asked.

“Well—” Uraraka started.

CRASH.

Uraraka winced. “I guess they’re fighting again…”

Aizawa, Yamada, and Uraraka bolted to the common room, where the rest of the class was clustered together. Todoroki, Kouda, and Ojiro were in the centre of it.

“You can’t be mad at Kouda,” said Ojiro. “He was just doing what he thought was right.”

“He harboured a traitor,” said Todoroki. “He should’ve told someone as soon as he learned about it.”

“Shouto’s got a point,” said Asui. “I mean, why wouldn’t you tell someone?

“Kaminari literally threatened him!” Ojiro pointed out.

“He didn’t follow up on it, though, and there were plenty of chances for Kouda to come forward.”

“He’s partially responsible for this and he’s not the only one!” Todoroki snapped. He pointed accusingly at Sero and Ashido. “Why wouldn’t the two of you figure this out sooner?! You were close to Kaminari!”

“Hey, he tricked me too, y’know!” Ashido countered.

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“Is not!”

Raised voices overlapped each other and Aizawa glimpsed movement as Ashido and Sero advanced against Todoroki. Ashido raised a fist.

“OH, SNAP!” Yamada yelled. “Students fighting in the dorms! Someone better place some bets or grab a teacher! Oh—wait a tic, I’m the teacher now. NO FIGHTING IN THE DORMS, YEAAAAAAH!”

His quirk had the intended effect as sound waves blasted through the common room, shoving furniture over and flipping unsecured objects onto the ground. The students cowered and covered their ears, and when the waves died down, the tempers had settled.

“I thought I told you kids to not let the traitor divide you,” Aizawa scolded them. “If I catch anyone else throwing hands, you can wait out the rest of the lockdown confined to your rooms.”

The tension ricochetted throughout the room. Ashido and Sero scowled at Todoroki, but nothing else came of it.

“Now, has anyone had any other calls from Kaminari or one of the other missing students?” Aizawa asked.

They answered him with a resounding silence. Even though it had been the expected answer, Aizawa still felt disappointed.

“You all need to stop fighting and pinning blame,” said Aizawa. “I need to put all my focus into finding the missing students, not holding your hands and telling you everything’s going to be alright. You’re supposed to be Pro Heroes in training. Act like it.”

“But Mr Aizawa—” Yaoyorozu said.

“Shut up. Pro Heroes should have resiliency. If you wallow in despair every time a fellow Pro gets injured on the job, you’re going to forget to take care of your basic needs, so you become useless when an emergency happens. Has anyone in here even slept or ate properly since this all started? You’d be useless if you were called in to search.”

“Cut us a break, our friends are missing,” said Satou.

“I’m sorry, Mr Aizawa!” Iida bowed repeatedly like a dehydrated drinking bird, desperate to quench an insatiable thirst. “It’s my fault! I failed in my duties as class representative to remind my classmates to behave responsibility!”

“Then do better,” Aizawa snapped. “You’re supposed to be professionals, for God’s sake, so start acting like it. I’m going to set an early curfew—I expect you all to stop loitering around here and be in bed at that time.”

“No.”

Aizawa looked around, and it took him a moment to realize it had been Yaoyorozu who had spoken.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Respectfully, no,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Yaoyorozu, that’s a teacher!” Iida exclaimed.

“I don’t care! I want to help search and I know you want to as well, Iida!”

Iida gasped, scandalized.

“I’ve already explained why that’s not a good idea,” said Aizawa.

“These are our classmates who are in trouble,” said Yaoyorozu. “We have our provisional licenses! We can help search!”

“You’ll do no such thing—”

“We’re tired of sitting around doing nothing,” Ashido asserted, emboldened by Yaoyorozu’s gall to question him. “We sat around and did nothing when Hagakure went missing! I don’t want to go through that again when we can do something about it!”

“You’re all in enough trouble. You all may be angry at Kouda for not immediately reporting Kaminari, however you all did the same thing when confronted with the truth.

Yaoyorozu looked at her classmates. They all nodded encouragingly at her.

“We’ll accept whatever punishment you choose to inflict on us after they’re found, Mr Aizawa,” said Yaoyorozu. “We’re even willing to accept expulsion.”

Aizawa’s eyes thinned.

“Please, Mr Aizawa. Give us the chance!”

“Yeah, please!” Uraraka begged.

“My quirk’s perfect for searching,” said Jirou. “We can do it.”

“And I can use mine to search long distances,” said Tokoyami.

Kouda signed, “I can have every bird in the city on the lookout.”

Aizawa scanned the faces of his students and saw himself.

He saw Shirakumo and saw all the things he could’ve—hadn’t—done to help him when he’d needed it the most. He wanted nothing more than to hide his class away at Heights Alliance like a protective hen. So many other times, he’d let them get into the line of fire for the sake of of strengthening them, but with a quarter of his class missing, his priorities shifted.

Aizawa let his emotions get the better of him. He’d taken autonomy away from his students, intending to protect them, and instead worsening their anxiety and distress.

“If you join the search, you do what I tell you to do,” said Aizawa. “And you all get detention for a month for not immediately reporting that you identified the traitor. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” everyone said.

“First, go get something to eat and drink so you’re not collapsing on the job. After that, change into your hero costumes and we’ll regroup at the UA gates in half-an-hour to form a search plan.”

The students scattered, some tripping over each other in their hurry to grab a quick snack from the fridge.

“One more thing,” Aizawa said loudly.

They all froze on command.

“We’re searching for the five students: Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, Hagakure, and Kaminari,” said Aizawa. “I know you all have some mixed feelings about Kaminari, but there’s ample reason to believe he might be in immediate danger. Set aside your personal feelings once you change into your costumes. Part of being a hero is saving people who you might not want to rescue. I expect professionalism, nothing less.”

He left before he could gauge reactions.

He was at the front door to Heights Alliance when Yamada caught up to him.

“You were a little hard on them,” said Yamada.

“They’re kids,” said Aizawa. “The students need me to be tough on them. If I’m tough on them, that means I’m confident that the missing students will be recovered alive and well. It means I’m not afraid. If I let them know how scared I am, then they’ll crumble.”

He tried his best to suppress the shiver making its way up his arm.

“I won’t let this turn into another Oboro situation,” he said, quiet and soft so that it was only for Yamada’s ears.

Yamada put his hand on Aizawa’s shoulder and squeezed. “It won’t be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Kaminari was sick.

He was ill with the unending torment. It would’ve been better if he’d been standing on knives—if that was the case, he would be in such a constant stream of agony that he’d have no thoughts. For long hours, he stood motionless, save for the occasional shift in his weight to find a spot to ease the discomfort. However, there was never a spot he could find to relieve him. Even the concrete hurt—the jagged, minuscule spots where it jutted up dug into his tender flesh like fingernails irritating his wounds.

Each noise punched out of his lungs, and his chest throbbed with each reverberation and variation of gasps, yells, swears, and heaves he produced. Air was weightless, yet in his body it transmuted to an overbearing load that threatened to crack the foundation at its deepest roots. When his knees ached, and then his upper thighs, and then his torso, the desire to collapse grew stronger and stronger—but he didn’t. Tomura told him not to. All the same, Kaminari counted through mounting physical cues like the steady ache during exercise that grew more and more desperate as time dragged. Burning joints? Yes. Thirst? Definitely. Sanity? Slipping.

In his delirium, he heard noises like the door slamming against the wall, except the door remained shut like always. He heard Aizawa calling his name, only to realize it was the echo of his own strained breath in the claustrophobic room. He heard a steady click, like a cricket growing louder and louder and—it ended. He heard music not too dissimilar to Jirou’s. He heard small, chastising voices: why did you do this? What were you thinking?

The only sign of the slow passage of time came from the clock on the microwave. Kaminari watched it steadily count up—taunting him with the illusion that it’d be over soon, only for the clock to reset and count again. His wits came in impossible peaks and deep valleys, moments when he was lucid and felt every glass grind against his veins, and others where it was just a mindless, undying torture.

Despite awareness coming in waves, Kaminari was conscious of every time someone entered, hoping and praying it was Tomura to relieve him of his vigil. It was usually just Hokama, inviting himself into the mess hall to get some coffee, sometimes ignoring Kaminari, other times staring for a moment. One time, he had the nerve to take a smoke break while just looking at him.

However, they never exchanged words. They’d never been much for casual conversation. Kaminari kept his hands off the wall when Hokama was there, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of that small weakness, and Hokama would study him in a knife-like way. Eventually, he would leave.

Kaminari’s feet, obviously, hurt first, then every hour another part of his body tingled, followed by a pain of its own. His body bargained with itself to determine where to focus the worst of it: the feet, with the glass in it, or the everywhere else. By the time hour eight came and went, pain forced him to rest his knees against the wall to hold his own weight. By hour twelve, Kaminari couldn’t help but fumble a few times, one or both legs momentarily giving away, before he corrected himself and said it was for the better.

He was in pain, strung out from thirst like a stressed camel on the last leg of a long journey across the desert, and his willpower faded. Still, Tomura didn’t come.

Kaminari felt halfway on the brink of fainting when the door swung open with a loud bang. An arm corded around his chest and he leaned back, and the warm body lifted him to relieve his weight sinking into the floor.

“Guess who?” Himiko sang.

“You’re not Tomura,” Kaminari complained.

“Nope! Although I bet if I get some of his blood, I can pretend to be him for a time, know what I’m saying?”

“What’s going on out there?”

“Relax, you’re not missing anything interesting, just a bunch of Pro Heroes running around trying to find you guys. Well, we got some guys causing trouble in return, but don’t worry! We’ll leave some for you.”

“Why are you here?”

“Cuz I wanted to check up on my favourite little brother. I was just trying to think about what Tomura was gonna do to you and I can't figure it out. I’ve tried asking him, but he dodges the subject every time, and I can’t help but think that he doesn’t trust me with it. I mean, I thought he might make you a nomu, but every nomu ever made has kind of died horribly, and he’s gotta have bigger plans for you, am I right?”

Kaminari sighed and wondered if the actual torture was listening to Himiko talk. Still, she was holding some of his weight and he didn’t want to piss her off.

He changed his mind when Himiko showed him her knife.

“Maybe we can pass the time together,” said Himiko.

Before he could elbow her in the face, the door swung open and Himiko suddenly released, letting him land with his full weight on the glass. This time, Kaminari screamed. His left knee finally folded and he ended up on the ground.

“Stand straight, Kaminari,” said Tomura. “Toga, I thought I told you not to bother him.”

“I wasn’t bothering him,” said Himiko.

“Just get downstairs.”

Himiko stuck her tongue out and skipped away.

It took sheer willpower for Kaminari to correct his posture despite feeling on the verge of blacking out. Feeling nauseous, he finally gave up and cried quietly, biting hard into his tongue to stop himself from making noise.

Tomura stood by and just watched for a while like Hokama had, never chastising him for shedding tears like he had in the past. Kaminari’s ears rang in the laboured silence.

“You can sit down now,” Tomura said.

Kaminari collapsed. Unable to control the direction of his descent, his forehead knocked against the wall before he ended up flat on his ass, scooting away from the wall to lean awkwardly against the leg of the table. Tomura sat next to him with a tender air and pulled Kaminari’s feet into his lap to examine them. He pinched a large shard between his index finger and thumb and liberated it, allowing fresh blood to gush out. Kaminari couldn’t keep still—Tomura ended up keeping his ankle in a crushing grip while he dug aggressively into the wounds to extract glass piece-by-piece.

The gesture was almost-not-quite intimate, as close as Tomura ever allowed Kaminari to get. He hushed Kaminari and he surrendered, let his willpower disintegrate, let the relief fall over him.

“I’m sorry about the phone call, I really am,” Kaminari gasped out.

“As you should be,” said Tomura. “Heroes will always let you down. Be grateful that I stopped you before you did anything foolish.”

“I can make it up to you.”

“We will see if you’re able to.” Tomura extracted a shard easily three inches long. He tucked it into his pocket like it was a souvenir.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“I need to teach you some things, but I meant what I said. I’m not going to kill you.”

“I think Hokama thinks you should.”

“He’s a pragmatic person. Believe it or not, I’ve become sentimental towards you. We’ve been through a lot together since I took you under my wing and I still think you have value.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.”

“That usefulness, of course, extends to not just to practical applications. I think I have some good long-term plans for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your quirk is broken,” said Tomura. His voice came out slow and gravelly. “But, if paired with the right person, you might produce children that aren’t tainted.”

Kaminari’s heart picked up speed like it was racing to an inevitability.

Tomura laughed, a choppy, high-pitched noise that matched the rhythm of his heart. “If Endeavor can do it, why can’t I? Isn’t it ironic that heroes thought of it first?” He flicked away a last piece of glass. “Congratulations, Denki. You’re getting married.”

His shoulders stooped. Kaminari failed to keep it in and he cried openly, the bubble of repressed noise he’d been holding back popping and coming out. Tomura looked empty. He didn’t care.

Tomura stood, fresh blood coating his pants, and ordered, “Put your shoes and socks back on.”

“But I can’t—”

“Do it.”

Kaminari trembled on the ground and pulled his discarded shoes close, while Tomura rapped on the table with his dry knuckles. As gentle as Tomura had been pulling the glass out, Kaminari was free-bleeding all over the floor, and he spent some time holding his wounds through the socks. Embedded shards remained in the cuts—they ground together like raw sandpaper against his skin, finding new, undamaged flesh to rip through and burrow under.

Tomura nudged him with his foot and he slowly worked his shoes back on. When he didn’t get up on his own, Tomura seized him by his shirt and hauled him up, forcing him to carry a portion of his weight. The agony peaked in a high crest when he took a step, then faded when his foot lifted, and Tomura barely gave him a moment before they were moving.

Kaminari didn’t try to run. Running was useless—not when Tomura held so much power over him, not when his will was so absolute and his presence so unerring, not when he couldn’t stand without help. Tomura held tight onto Kaminari’s shoulder with one finger raised, ready to press down and obliterate his existence. He walked like he was heading to his execution.

He kept thinking the moment would never come when they would arrive at their destination. A ghastly nausea overcame him, and his knees wobbled like a jellyfish stranded on a beach. When his leg buckled inward, Tomura seized him by the other arm to keep him aloft. Their bond’s gradation had reached its deciding moment: there was no nuance of friendship, no affection—it had been a falsity. They were as they should be. Kaminari had only ever been one of his toys.

He hadn’t stopped crying since Tomura wrenched him away from the mess hall despite his best attempts to suck them in. At the top of the metal stairs leading into the basement, Kaminari sank to the floor, one part resisting, another part unable to carry his own weight.

“Dry your face,” said Tomura. Even if they weren’t bonded in the way he thought they were, Kaminari was familiar enough with Tomura to know when he was on the verge of a threat. “You look like a fool.”

Kaminari scrubbed. Tomura shoved him to the top of the staircase and he clenched the railing, terrified of what he would find below.

“I will kick you down if you make me.”

Kaminari dragged his toes against the metal, trying to find the best way to distribute his weight. His blood felt like the shards had travelled through his veins. At the lightest touch from Tomura’s gaunt fingers, he took a step, then a second, then he realized he needed to keep the momentum up or he would end up falling, anyway.

When they reached the bottom, Tomura grabbed Kaminari to steady his balance and dragged him to the inner hall. He kept his eyes fixated on the floor, afraid of what he would see if he looked up. Either way, he was relieved when Tomura pushed him into a chair.

A pair of house shoes worn only by Heights Alliance residents appeared at the edge of his vision and his entire body jolted with the sudden injection of hope. It was Midoriya. Midoriya had escaped—Midoriya was smiling right in front of him. Kaminari’s cheeks twitched to almost-not-quite meet the smile—and then he crashed as the adrenaline leeched out of him.

It wasn’t Midoriya. It was Himiko wearing Midoriya’s face.

Kaminari saw all the cells from where he sat. Bakugou stared ahead, stoic and unbothered, though in a forced and stilted manner as if he was an awful actor struggling to follow a simple cue. Kirishima knelt on the ground, knotting his fingers through his hair.

Their eyes momentarily locked, and Kirishima’s expression shifted from unfiltered fear to worry. His lips mouthed, “Are you okay?”

Kaminari’s entire face felt puffy from the tears and he knew it had to show. At the end of the hall, his attention landed on Midoriya and his stomach did an odd twist-and-wring. Midoriya’s face was smeared in blood. Deep lashes were visible on his forehead, cheeks, and neck, his scleras contrasting with the red. They were lucid and undeterred.

“Are you alright?” Kaminari asked him.

“I’m fine,” said Midoriya. “Are you?”

Kaminari opened and closed his mouth, but couldn’t think of a response to satisfy either of them.

“I thought I told you I wanted them unspoiled,” Tomura snapped at Himiko.

“God, you’re so dramatic,” said Himiko. The body she wore did a distinctive, affronted wiggle that definitely wasn’t part of its natural body language. “It’s just a few cuts. It’s not like I cut off anything important.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Shut up, I look amazing.”

“Fucking vampire,” said Bakugou.

“She can’t help who she is,” Tomura said with calm ease. “Just like you can’t help being a proxy of All Might, Midoriya.”

“I’m not All Might’s proxy,” Midoriya denied.

“You really are, though. Everyone in this room—in the world—is the product of circumstances set in motion long before any of us were born, circumstances that began when the first quirk appeared.” He turned to Kaminari. “Kaminari, do you have free will?”

Kaminari didn’t answer. He looked breathlessly at the floor.

“Kaminari.”

He shook his head.

“No, you don’t have free will? Or no, you don’t want to answer?”

He shook his head harder.

Tomura raised his hand. Himiko sliced him in an even stroke and Kaminari jerked harder than any electric shock he could deliver. The slice cut right above his clavicle, but trust Himiko to be so precise as to miss a major vein. He startled out of the chair. Firm hands hoisted him back into it and Midoriya—no, Himiko—no, Midoriya plopped themselves into his lap, partly to hold him down, partly to have an ample view of the fresh cut.

“The fuck is your problem?” Bakugou snapped from the safety of his cell. “Just zap ‘em!”

“He won’t,” said Tomura. “You don’t have the will, Kaminari. All this bundle of power contained in one person and you can’t even fight.”

In a fleeting rush of adrenaline, Kaminari shoved Himiko off his lap. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t get angry with her. She’s just doing what she’s meant to do. Every part of our lives has come together to this moment. We were always meant to meet. You were always meant to obey me.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” he said in a strangled voice.

“You were always meant to think that, but that doesn’t make you any less of a villain than I am.”

Kirishima cut in, “He’s not a villain. Kaminari’s a good person.”

“You still think he’s your friend,” said Tomura.

“I think you’re a fucking madman who’s been torturing him and messing with his head. Y’know, I swore I’d never, ever kill someone as a hero, but I have room in my moral code to make an exception for someone like you.”

“Such is your providence, though I doubt the likes of you can kill me.”

“Watch me.”

“You’re wasting your time, declaring your dedication to a villain like Kaminari.”

“He’s not a villain.”

“It’s his fate.”

“He can choose otherwise!”

“There is no choice. An unstoppable cycle of cause and effect governs everything.” He leaned on the arms of Kaminari’s chair, forcing him to look into his face. “You can only pick heroics if you could make that decision, but we both know you’re not capable of it. What’s waiting for you if you crawl back to the heroes?”

Kaminari couldn’t speak.

“Answer me.” His hand rested on Kaminari’s wrist.

“I go to jail,” he said, picking apart the syllables.

“Do you want to go to jail?”

He shook his head, steeped head-high in nervous tension.

“So you would prefer to be a villain.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“…I don’t want to—”

“It’s because you don’t have a choice. You would rather be a villain than imprisoned, a so-called ‘decision’ you’ve made based on your morals, your personality, your beliefs, your fears. You believe anything is better than jail. To you, there is no choice but to avoid the thing that you fear more than you fear being a villain. You couldn’t have picked otherwise. There is no free will.”

He did a sharp gesture to Himiko and drew back from Kaminari. His arm bruised, but he would accept it.

“Oh, God, finally!” Himiko wailed like she teetered on the edge of climax.

Himiko seized both of Kaminari’s wrists and dragged him to Midoriya’s cell, each force step like he was being dragged over rusty nails. Kaminari couldn’t tell which of them was more terrified, but at least Midoriya was better at hiding it. Kaminari couldn’t. It had all overflowed too much.

Himiko stood behind Kaminari, puppeteering him as if he was her personal toy. She forced her bloody knife into his hand and folded her hand overtop, squeezing hard to stop him from dropping it.

“If I told you to hurt Midoriya, you would have no choice but to do it,” said Tomura.

“What?!” Kaminari squeaked. “I’m not gonna torture someone.” He wasn’t going to torture a friend.

“This is the result of you attempting to defy me, which is the result of you kidnapping your classmates, which is the result of your ineptitude, which is the result of your complete and utter inability to do anything right. An unbroken, never-ending chain put into motion with no autonomy of its own—a machine that will never stop. You’re meant to do this.”

“I thought the Paranormal Liberation Front was all about fighting for freedom!”

“It’s about fighting for the illusion of free will. You see, people tend to get upset when you tell them there isn’t any, I let them believe it, because they can’t help but fight for something that they think is real. If you’re so certain you have a choice, Kaminari, then electrocute Himiko and run.”

He shivered as a slice of chilled air hit the back of his neck. Electricity crackled in his gut and had no where to go. Something inside of him had turned off—his mind, his willpower, everything—he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to hurt Midoriya, either.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he croaked, feeling like his organs were vibrating inside his body.

Though it was difficult to tell through the blood, Midoriya smiled. By reflex, Kaminari balked, certain Midoriya’s mind had snapped or that it contained a sarcastic, condescending edge. When he looked a second time, he realized it was the kind he only ever saw on the faces of caring people. A no-holds-barred, everything-is-going-to-be-okay smile, all soft around the edges and warm in his eyes. Despite the immediate peril, Kaminari’s body steadied.

The tension leapt back up again when Himiko rested her chin on his shoulder. Midoriya’s smile disappeared; he was truly fighting now, arching his head as the knife drew closer and closer to his unprotected face. Himiko took Kaminari’s other hand and pressed it hard against Midoriya’s jaw, steadying him. Her giggles interspersed with sharp gasps for air to make room for more giggling. Otherwise, there was no talking, no noise—not from Tomura, not from Kirishima, not from Bakugou. They knew what was coming and the atmosphere braced for it.

Midoriya was clammy and tense. Sweat dripped over Kaminari’s fingers and Himiko had to press harder and harder to keep him still until he was sure he was going to break Midoriya’s jaw. Midoriya didn’t start screaming until Himiko forced Kaminari to sink the knife into the tender pink corner of his eye. There was a sharp gasp of “Midoriya!”He couldn’t tell who said it.

Skin tore. A swift jerk. Blood splattered on his face.

Midoriya’s eye came out in a bloody heap, bounced off of Kaminari’s hand, and landed with a splat on the ground.

Midoriya’s head settled back on the edge of the chair, his one remaining eye twitching to the ceiling and catching onto any slight motion from him or Himiko. His lips parted and closed and parted again. The other, now-empty socket spurted large swathes of crimson that melted down his face.

And over and over and over, Kaminari kept saying, “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…”

“Souvenir!” Himiko declared. She reached down for the bloody eye.

“No,” said Tomura. “Kaminari, pick it up and give it to Toga.”

Himiko released Kaminari and he slumped to his knees. He couldn’t see the concrete. Blood was everywhere, spreading like a cancer to every corner of the cell. It dripped down the legs of Midoriya’s restraint chair. It soaked the front of Kaminari’s body and both his hands. It covered the eyeball staring up at him, a nerve strand and loose flesh attached to it. Kaminari didn’t know a human body could contain so much red.

Intense nausea lurched through Kaminari, and he wanted to puke. Feelings and thoughts came in too-vivid images instead of words, his body—previously rife with anxiety—settled into numbness. His fingers fumbled for the eyeball. It was slippery with the blood on his fingers, then he scooped it into his palm.

Kaminari held it over his shoulder, and Himiko plucked it from his hand. The sight of a whole Midoriya holding his doppelgänger’s eye was a sight that made his stomach leap in response. Himiko’s grin was the most evil look he’d ever seen on another human before. His stomach remembered he was nauseous and he coughed up stomach acid and nothing else.

“Mine!” Himiko declared. “Check it out, Izuku! Oh, wait, I think he’s going into shock. Maybe I should stop the bleeding?”

“Do what you have to make sure he doesn’t die,” said Tomura.

Himiko licked at Midoriya’s eye socket, while Kaminari slowly stood up and walked out of the cell. His feet were leaden—but they held his weight and the pain was an indistinct sensation removed from his body, like he was feeling the afterimage of someone else’s pain rather than his own.

Kirishima and Bakugou both leaned as close as they could to their cell doors, surveying him and the blood—with two very different reactions. Kirishima’s lips were pale. Bakugou fidgeted in his cuffs.

“What the fuck did you do?” said Bakugou. There was a cinched edge in his voice that almost sounded like concern. Almost. Kaminari knew instinctually that the concern wasn’t meant for him. For just a moment he pretended it was, that Bakugou could be worried for him, that he deserved to be worried over.

Tomura opened Bakugou’s cell next, eyes gleaming with a predatory glee. He handed Himiko’s discarded knife back to Kaminari.

“Don’t do this,” Kirishima begged. Kaminari blinked, thinking he was talking to him. But he wasn’t. Kirishima was focused only on Tomura like he was the one who had hurt Midoriya.

“I’m not,” said Tomura. “He is.”

“Listen, I’ll do whatever you want if you just—”

“There’s nothing you can offer me. I can’t even torture you because of your quirk.”

“I’m begging you—”

“Begging?”

“Yes, begging!” Kirishima got on his hands and knees. “I’m begging you not to make him do this!”

“You’re a loyal friend. It’s a shame your faith is misplaced.”

Tomura kicked Kaminari inside the cell.

“Go on,” said Tomura. “I left the training wheels on for Midoriya. Now you have to do it yourself. Make him hurt.”

“I can’t,” Kaminari said.

“Use your imagination. Cut off his hands, perhaps. He’s not a threat if he can’t use his quirk.”

“I fucking dare you,” Bakugou growled.

Kaminari could barely hold the knife, let alone picture sawing through skin and muscles and veins and bone. He wanted a proper hero to crash through the ceiling, but Midoriya, Bakugou, and Kirishima were the heroes, and no one knew they were here, and they were just lost faces adrift in the ocean. Tomura was the current: an ancient force of the sea who couldn’t be resisted no matter how hard Kaminari tried to tread water. It terrified him how much he couldn’t disobey Tomura. How long had it been like this and he hadn’t noticed?

It took both hands for Kaminari to hold the knife steady, and it still didn’t stop him from quivering. Bakugou pressed his forehead against the tip until a bead of red appeared, while his eyes were void and black. The blood droplet trailed between his eyes and dripped from his nose. Sweat shone on him in a thin, glimmering sheet.

Kaminari had seen the look on his face back at the dorms. This was different. This was the type of hatred he only reserved for villains, and still there was a depth to it, a reference to all the damage and betrayal Kaminari inflicted. To Bakugou, it didn’t matter if they’d forced Kaminari. His hands had cut, so he was the one responsible.

Restraints held Bakugou’s knees down, but his ankles were exposed. Kaminari knelt and squeezed his knee. Bakugou spat on him and the globule hit squarely on his cheek.

“Go to hell,” he growled.

Kaminari sliced through both of Bakugou’s Achilles Tendons’ in a fell swoop, like a maestro at the end of a passionate performance.

“YOU STUPID BITCH!” Bakugou screamed.

The restraints snapped and Bakugou kneed Kaminari in the chin. His head snapped like an overextended elastic band and he felt like Bakugou had struck him hard enough to slam his brain against his skull. He teetered back. Tomura projected into him, pumping him with oxygenated air to fuel the desperate need to survive. It was him or Bakugou, and he was too damn scared of dying to turn back now. Kaminari lunged forward to drive the knife into his neck. Bakugou slammed his cuffed hands into the side of Kaminari’s head, caught his neck between his arm like a noose, and pulled.

Kaminari was almost sitting in Bakugou’s lap, and in a definitely-not-sexy way too. His firm, muscular arm crushed his windpipe. He caught a whiff of a distinctive, overpowering musk of sweat before he stopped breathing.

He unleashed a mild electrical bolt, freezing Bakugou. He heard the gnash of Bakugou’s teeth clamping shut, however his grip on Kaminari only tightened. Whatever happened, Bakugou wanted to take them both down. Kaminari coiled at being trapped in the jowls of the apex predator in front of him and, in his desperate, mindless haze, was ready to sacrifice everything to take a single breath.

He didn’t even realize he’d stabbed Bakugou until the blood gushed out and immersed them both. Kaminari struck a second time and slipped out at the slightest hint of weakness in Bakugou’s arm. Staggering back to assess the damage, Kaminari saw that he’d stabbed Bakugou in his upper arm twice, close to where it met his rotator cuff. A steady crimson puddle grew at Bakugou’s feet.

“You IDIOT!” Bakugou yelled. His tone fluctuated with disbelief. His pallor was turning ashen. “You fucking STABBED ME?!”

“You’ll live,” said Tomura. “Probably.”

“YOU WON’T BE WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE!”

“Unlikely.”

Tomura closed the cell door.

The hall was looking more and more like a pending murder scene. Everything Kaminari touched smeared with red, trailing in large arches from Midoriya’s cell to Bakugou’s, and then out to him. Kirishima sat facing the rear wall with his face in his hands.

Himiko emerged from Midoriya’s cell with blood trailing down her chin. Her vampiric gaze settled on Kaminari. Despite knowing the futility of it all, Kaminari backed away.

He was weak, though, and tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and cumbersome, and Himiko chased him down laughing. He swung around at the last minute to flee, only for her to swoop him up in a crushing bear hug from behind.

“Don’t be upset, Denki,” said Himiko. “You’re going to be a great villain.”

“I don’t want to be,” he sobbed.

“Still not paying attention? Tomura says you don’t have a choice.”

Tomura passed Himiko the knife. She arched it back.

Kaminari screamed, certain she was about to kill him off for good. When the strike hit his head, he was sure it was the blade—he was sure it lodged into his brain and he was dead or dying. He fell to the ground with Himiko straddling his back as she struck him over and over and over and over—

His hearing greyed out, but he wasn’t dead. There was blood on the ground, though not enough to kill him. Kaminari realized she’d been using the blunt handle and beating it into his skull to force him down, and the whole time she laughed. Her laughter was a broken music box, maniacal and out-of-control and pitching far too high and fast for the music to be discernible.

She slid the knife into the laces of his vest and he thought—that was it; he was going to be eviscerated on the floor and that would be the end. Instead, she cut them in a fell swoop and hiked up his shirt to expose his lower back.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to,” said Himiko.

She carved.

Kaminari clawed at the ground and tried to crawl, but Himiko shushed him and pressed her knee into his back, crushing his diaphragm.

“Hold still, Denki, you don’t want me to make a mistake.”

Kaminari didn’t want her to be satisfied, but he couldn’t help but give Himiko the pleasure of watching him squirm. There was no controlling his reactions anymore. A spikelike pressure drove white-hot agony up his body and settled in his jaw. The pain kept and held tight, his muscles caving under the pressure of the knife. The agony exploded and measured out over him like heat dissipating over a large surface.

Her cuts stayed measured and precise, not wild and frenzied like they had been on Midoriya. On Midoriya, she’d been a predator stripping meat off the bone in the throes of uncontrollable hunger. On him, she was a butcher, methodically carving at the lines where his muscles knit together. She’d turned him into a slab and when she was done she would dispose of the useless parts she didn’t want to eat.

But when he concentrated more on the direction of the slices in between the peeks of the pain, he came to an even more horrifying realization.

Himiko Toga was carving her name into him.

It was a violation so beyond anything else done to him that Kaminari felt his brain falter and shut down. The tears ceased, his body stopped jerking, and he lay there and took it until Himiko finished. She twirled her knife and admired her handiwork, planting a kiss to the back of his head.

“Good boy,” she said.

When he heard knocking on glass, Kaminari didn’t react. Hokama’s voice crackled through the intercome.

“I have a problem,” said Hokama.

“We know, they know, the world knows, Taishiro,” said Himiko.

“Don’t start with me. The police have raided my workplace. Do something about it.”

Tomura scratched the side of his neck. “Why should I?”

“Because I keep some very sensitive documents there that you don’t want to get leaked. Unless you want the police to have a full list of people I’ve had contact with.”

Tomura let out a deep, unbothered sigh. “Well, I suppose we have some time. This may be a good opportunity to let our new recruits here think about consequences. Toga, put Kaminari in the chair. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Do I have to leave?” Himiko pouted.

“If you’re going to waltz around looking like Midoriya, you may as well put it to some good use. Be a dear and go cause a bit of trouble for me, would you? I’ll handle the police.”

Himiko let out a relaxed, post-coitus breath that would’ve disturbed Kaminari on a deep, visceral level if he could think at the moment. She straightened Kaminari’s shirt and propped him up in the chair like he was a wax figure which had fallen over. Tomura leaned in close to Kaminari, his breath hot against his skin.

“Remember what I told you, Kaminari,” said Tomura. “There is no free will. You will not move from this spot for any reason. You can’t choose otherwise. Nod if you understand.”

Kaminari nodded.

Himiko admired her Midoriya disguise in her reflection as she skipped out, shortly followed by Tomura. Tomura walked past Midoriya, unconscious with his eye socket roughly bandaged. Past Bakugou, grey and shaky, with blood at his ankles and running down his arm. Past Kirishima, who faced the back wall.

And Kaminari…

The floor capsized from under him. He didn’t lose consciousness—it would’ve been too easy to faint. It was much worse, worse than sinking into oblivion. One-by-one, perception faded away from him. First his vision. Then his hearing, which greyed out into a low, steady hum. His body no longer moved or responded.

Kaminari faded, and he wondered if he’d ever be real again.

Chapter Text

Aizawa crushed a charred and blackened wood slab to disperse the runaway anxiety ricochetting through his body, but it did nothing to quell it. Instead, he just pushed the rubble around with his feet, and no matter how hard he tried to clear a space, it was everywhere and absolute.

With Tokoyami at his side, Aizawa hid his emotions with tender care. Out of all of his students, he’d chosen Tokoyami—one of the more emotionally intelligent of the lot—to accompany him in the search, while the rest searched other parts of the city. Aizawa watched Tokoyami tiptoe over the gutted corpse of the Kaminari house. Aizawa couldn’t distinguish which part of the house was quick, only able to see the blackened bones of the structure. The upper floor had sunk into the lower, and there was nothing left–no evidence Kaminari had ever lived there. Dabi had obliterated any chance of gathering evidence.

Aizawa pushed aside debris with his foot and spotted something untouched by the fire. Inside a broken picture frame was the photograph of Kaminari and his father, crisp at the edges but otherwise untouched. He pulled it out to have a closer look, fresh from the realization that the grinning child in the photo would grow up to be the UA traitor. 

His phone rang, and he pocketed the photograph before picking up halfway through the second ring.

“This is Eraserhead,” he said.

“It’s Tsukauchi.”

“Do you have a lead?”

“No, but Taishiro Hokama’s background check just got back.”

Tension erupted between Aizawa’s eyes and he massaged his forehead to clear it. “You know, it would’ve been nice if that had been done last week.”

“It wasn’t a priority, though if I’d known about the things we’d find, I would’ve been a lot more concerned for your student.”

“What did you find?”

“No criminal history per se, but Hokama was a suspect in a disappearance. The guy who ‘disappeared’ turned up a few weeks later and said he’d been on a bender, but he had some odd injuries that pointed back to Hokama.”

“What injuries?”

“Two small holes in his forehead, like bullet wounds without a projectile. The victim claimed he didn’t know Hokama and the details of his brief disappearance seemed vague. However, there wasn’t any evidence of a serious crime being committed—the victim seemed disorientated and confused, spent a few days in hospital, and released.”

Freeze frame images of the Kaminari house the night Kaminari had called him flashed in Aizawa’s mind. The hole in the wall. Kirishima’s symptoms after his attack. Things that aligned like the perfect missing pieces of a puzzle Aizawa forgot to finish.

“Hokama’s financial records also don’t align with the salary from his job,” Tsukauchi continued. “He’s been wired large sums of money on a monthly basis for the last few years from an unknown bank account. We’ve frozen all his assets and we raided his workplace an hour ago.”

“I take it he wasn’t there,” said Aizawa.

“Plenty of strange equipment, but no signs of your students. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Have you found out anything about Kaminari?”

“We need more time to gather more information about that. His school and medical records seem legitimate, and even the Kaminari family register didn’t turn up anything suspicious, except for frequent moves and switching schools. I’ll be honest, Eraserhead, I really don’t think Denki Kaminari is his real name. This is a professional job, so I can only assume Shigaraki had his identity and records completely forged long before he even applied to UA.”

“You really think they went to all that trouble for one kid?”

“With UA’s rigorous screening process for prospective students, it makes sense to me that Shigaraki would be meticulous about it. Long story short, nothing so far indicates where they could’ve taken the hostages.”

Aizawa sighed. He’d been hoping for more. It told him more about Kaminari, but not about where his students might be. “Thanks for the updates. Keep me in the loop.”

He hung up, and Aizawa resisted the urge to chuck the phone across the ruins of the Kaminari house. Useless. Before he could act on the uncontrollable urge to destroy something, Tokoyami reappeared on his side, and his teacher mask slipped back into place.

“Anything?” Aizawa asked.

“No,” said Tokoyami.

Aizawa kicked around the rubble. “Dabi was pretty thorough at destroying any potential evidence. I haven’t any seen any traces of human remains though, so I think we can count ourselves lucky.”

“You really think they would kill them?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t rule anything out at this point. I think Shigaraki is motivated to keep them alive, but Kaminari is too unpredictable. Anything could’ve happened in this house and it’s all been destroyed.”

Tokoyami surveyed the surrounding ruin, as if piecing together the imagined horrors in his mind. Aizawa saw him thinking deep, saw him squeeze his eyes shut to block out whatever worst-case-scenario was toying with him, then he saw Tokoyami’s shoulders relax as he let the feeling go.

Try as he might to keep the candle burning, the light flickered at the slightest draft of the biting wind. Aizawa had a prevailing and deep-rooted sense of doom that soon they’d been finding bodies.

He was glad he’d brought Tokoyami with him while his classmates searched different parts of the city. Both he and Tokoyami were adept at disappearing into the shadows, and he had the sense that the shadows were where his students were being hidden. More importantly, Tokoyami obeyed. The others often had ingrained senses of rebellion and disorder when pushed. Tokoyami was a reliable shadow that never left his side despite shifting with the movement of the sun—and he needed that reliability to settle his own nerves.

Aizawa could never let an inkling of it creep out, but he was worried. Midoriya and Bakugou were difficult to contain, so the lack of activity on their part suggested that they were being held in an extremely secure place or Shigaraki had moved them out of the city. It was hard to forget about Bakugou’s kidnapping in the previous year, so it made sense that Shigaraki would’ve learnt lessons since then, maybe prepared a space beforehand to hold his favourite archrival.

Worse, he was hyperaware that they could only keep a sustained search up for a few days at most—and the critical twenty-four-hour period had passed an hour ago. They needed something concrete, something—

“Eraserhead!”

Aizawa turned to a frantic police officer, scrambling under the police tape.

“Izuku Midoriya just showed up,” the officer reported.

“Where?” Aizawa demanded.

“The police van over there—he just walked up—”

Aizawa and Tokoyami bolted for the police van parked on the side of the road, lights flaring and blinding them in the night. The lights distracted him, blurred his vision, and muddled his senses together.

It all cleared when they round the van and Midoriya was just standing there.

Blood drenched him. There was barely an inch that wasn’t gratuitously covered. Aizawa’s stomach twisted, but it only took a cursory scan for him to determine that he was uninjured.

“Mr Aiz—” Midoriya started. 

“Are you hurt?” Aizawa asked, seizing his shoulders. “Where are the others?”

“I’m okay,” Midoriya said with glassy eyes. “I’m just really relieved to see you.”

“Midoriya, where are the others?”

“I don’t know. I had to leave—I couldn’t look back—there was blood everywhere. He was torturing us.”

Aizawa blinked disbelievingly.

“Kaminari was torturing us,” said Midoriya. “The others were pretty badly injured when I left—I almost went back for them, but I just can’t—” His voice warbled and died out. “There was blood everywhere.”

“Okay, stay calm. I’m sure if we retrace your steps, we can figure it out. You need to tell me everything that happened. Why the hell would you go after Kaminari in the first place?”

“I thought I could talk him into coming back, but he just shocked us and then—” Midoriya paused, shivering all over. “Kaminari killed Hagakure.”

Aizawa’s body wound tight. Killed. The word caused the blunted nerve endings in his body to ignite with despair. The feeling in his body left and he drummed his fingers on Midoriya’s shoulders to steady himself. He didn’t want this for them. He hadn’t. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.

“Are you sure?” Aizawa asked. Despite the fear strumming through him, his voice stayed steady.

“I’m sure,” said Midoriya. “I don’t know if she killed Bakugou or not, but I—”

Aizawa opened his eyes.

Himiko Toga’s disguise melted off, and so too did the easy lies that spilled from between her teeth. Beside him, Tokoyami startled back, and the police officer reached for his weapon. Toga, however, was faster than Aizawa could reach for his scarf in his split second of hesitation and shock. And he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself for his complacency as Himiko summoned a knife from Aizawa-didn’t-want-to-know and slashed it across the officer’s neck.

Aizawa knew the officer was dead before his body curled to the ground. Dark Shadow moved to protect him anyway, and Toga flipped back to avoid Aizawa’s initial attempt to coil her in his capture weapon. She landed in the middle of the street, under the glare of a streetlight, fully and unashamedly naked, her milk-white body coloured by the cycling lights on the police car.

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red Blue.

“What gave me away?” she asked coyly, voice songlike.

“I’ve never heard Midoriya call Bakugou anything other than ‘Kacchan,’” said Aizawa.

Her lips twitched up in bemusement—just a brief flicker of a too-human emotion that made her look animated and unreal. Toga twirled her knife.

“You’re too late, you know,” she said. Her songlike voice dropped an octave.

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. The lights made it difficult to follow her movements, distracting Aizawa long enough for her to hold up a round object she held in front of her right eye.

It was a bloody eyeball.

“Hey, riddle me this,” said Toga. “How much of your students do you think you’ll find?”

Both he and Tokoyami lashed out like perfectly synchronized solar flares. Toga shouldn’t have stood a chance. However, what she lacked in strength, she made up for in dexterity. She didn’t so much as dodge as she seemed to phase through their strikes, pointed toes gliding across the ground as she wound her way both through Dark Shadow and Aizawa’s binding cloth.

Two against one. She couldn’t fight a fight she had no chance of winning without the element of surprise, and Aizawa saw cold logic cross over her eyes as she drank everything in. Her pride wasn’t such that she couldn’t run from a fight. For someone so singularly focused on bloodletting, she did it all with a methodical and unstoppable logic. Toga’s gaze dragged from Aizawa, to Tokoyami, then away, like they were nothing to her, and she somersaulted over the hood of the police car, taking off between two buildings.

“YOU BITCH!” Tokoyami—or was it Dark Shadow—screamed.

Aizawa had never seen Tokoyami engorged with such unfettered rage. It smothered all light, creating a void where he knew Tokoyami had to be, although he couldn’t see as Dark Shadow flocked around him and he took off.

“Dammit!” Aizawa hissed.

Aizawa bolted, throwing out his scarf to catapult himself onto the rooftops. His best chance was to overtake them, and fortunately his experience kept him one step ahead of Tokoyami. Aizawa swung from perch to perch, after Toga’s white figure skirting between obstacles. It took him a moment or two to spot Dark Shadow snapping at her ankles—the only thing that showed his presence in the night was a streak of yellow where his eyes were.

Toga bolted into an alley, deftly flipping over obstacles. Then, Dark Shadow slammed into her.

Aizawa landed ahead of the fight. Toga unleashed a pained cry, Dark Shadow’s raking into her shoulder. There was light in the alley, but Dark Shadow absorbed all of it. He could barely see his student under the cloud of acrimony he assaulted Toga with. Throat tight from emotion, Aizawa threw out his scarf, caught Toga’s midsection, and yanked her clean out of Dark Shadow’s grasp before he could maul her like an animal.

Just because he didn’t want Tokoyami to kill Toga, though, didn’t mean he had to be gentle. Aizawa slammed her roughly into a wall. Like a petal in the wind, Toga adjusted. Her toothpick-like leg twisted the binding cloth around her calf, then she vaulted off the wall. The movement took less time than it took to breath, but Aizawa saw in slow-motion how the movement travelled all the way down his scarf and twisted him right off of his feet. His skull cracked painfully against the pavement, then Toga pulled harder by her ankle.

The scarf closed tight around his neck, wringing air out of him.

Dark Shadow let out an inhuman screech and seized Toga in his talons. The tension on Aizawa’s neck only took a moment, and it took all his instincts to bounce back as quickly as he did, in time to see Toga deliver a hard back kick to Tokoyami’s exposed abdomen. The force forced him to stumble back under a round circle of light coming from an overhead lamp. From his position on the ground, Aizawa shot out the other end of his scarf, ensnaring Toga’s legs. He kept wrapping, her body disappearing into the scarf like she was a poisonous caterpillar cocooning itself for its metamorphosis. With a last tug, completely immobile, he sent her to the ground.

From the circle of light, Tokoyami regained his balance and stepped back into the darkness, where Dark Shadow freshly flared around him. A shadowy claw launched out and constricted around Toga’s throat, squeezing an inhuman, choking noise out of her.

“Let’s see how you like it,” Tokoyami hissed from under the mantle of Dark Shadow.

“Don’t!” Aizawa ordered.

Tokoyami’s shoulders heaved. Aizawa could read his emotions working all the way up through his spine like a disease.

“Tsukuyomi, I got her,” said Aizawa. “Let her go now.”

Dark Shadow’s yellow eyes blinked once. Then, the claw retracted from Toga in slow movement.

Aizawa pulled Toga towards him, tightening the scarf. She struggled and twisted her body around enough for her to flash a toothy and mocking grin at Aizawa.

“You know what you are?” Toga smiled at Aizawa. “A goddamn cop in a costume. That’s all you are.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t follow the same rules that they do,” said Aizawa. “You’re going to end up in the back of a police car no matter what. Just tell me where my students are and save me the trouble.”

“You’re just wasting your time. Every minute you spend dealing with me is another moment Izuku and friends lose another galleon of blood. You’re gonna spend every second of the rest of your life wishing you’d gotten there sooner.”

“I don’t have time for your theatrics. Just talk.”

“Make me.”

It was a dare. 

Aizawa resisted falling for the bait. But he was scarred, permanently marked and tainted, and what was one more? Toga wouldn’t be the first villain he’d roughed up in the name of justice and the police never, ever questioned a bloody criminal deposited at their feet.

He let his inhibitions go.

Dark Shadow’s presence had died around Tokoyami, and when Aizawa turned to him, he just saw a teenager standing there in a state of shock. He was sure Tokoyami had a few scars too, but they weren’t as pronounced and not as deep as the one Aizawa carried.

“I need to ask a favour of you,” said Aizawa, taking his shoulder.

“Anything,” said Tokoyami.

“Wait for me at the end of the alley. And whatever you see; whatever you hear…I want you to forget it.”

Tokoyami took a step back, looking like someone had sucker-punched him.

“I know I’m asking for a lot,” said Aizawa. “If you refuse, I’ll understand.”

Tokoyami looked at Toga, his gaze locking onto the blood smears on the ground from where he’d clawed her shoulder. The streetlight flickered.

“I’d like to stay,” said Tokoyami.

“No,” Aizawa refused. “This is something I’ll take responsibility for. This isn’t something I ever want you to do. The sooner we find them, the better condition they’ll be in, and it will take too long to use…traditional methods to get her to talk.”

Tokoyami’s fingers knotted in his cloak. He took a step back, fear flickering across his features like a weak fire. When he turned and walked away, he didn’t look back over his shoulder.

“Make sure she hurts,” Tokoyami said.

Then, he was gone.

Aizawa composed himself, hating that he was exposing Tokoyami to a cruel, ugly side of hero work no one ever talked about. There were parts about being a hero, about being an underground hero especially, that never came up in the media, that couldn’t be glamorized, that couldn’t be excused. Things Aizawa had done that made him sit awake at night and hate himself for teaching a new generation of students, setting them on a path that would irreparably damage them, and the best he could do was to hope to minimize the damage by teaching them to do better.

Not tonight, though.

Not tonight.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Toga teased. “Is this what you do to all villains you meet, Eraserhead? Or am I just a special case?”

Aizawa composed himself and stared down at Toga. He would never, ever admit it to his students, or to Yamada, or to himself, that this was one part the need to find his missing pupils and one part the need to make Toga feel the same pain she’d inflicted.

Toga’s grin faltered.

Midoriya perceived noise first.

A rattle, like a kettle rattling on the stove, the water boiling and then overflowing. Subtle at first, then louder and louder until it reached a crescendo, and then—

The ringing cut into silence.

Silence.

Everything was quiet.

Midoriya’s neck arched against the back of his chair, every fragment of muscle locking up.

He was here. He was still alive. He could hear words and he could understand them. Word by blessed word, the noise pieced together to become comprehensible.

“Bakugou? Bakugou, c’mon, keep talking to me.”

“Shut up, I’m tryin’ to—fucking—FUCK! Goddammit, I liked this shirt. You hear that, Dunceface?! You owe me a shirt!”

“I can’t believe you tied those with your teeth.”

“Fuck you, I have great dental care!”

Midoriya’s mind balked, and he felt like he was tipping backwards when, in reality, he was terrified and still. The migraine pounded him in waves like aggressive wind gusts slamming against a window pain—easing for a moment, then hitting, then easing. His heart forced a painful throb of blood through his veins.

His vision was fuzzy around the edges, but the world shuddered back into focus. He was still in his cell, restrained and vulnerable. Midoriya’s head lulled loosely from side-to-side and, at first, all he saw was red. Red everywhere. A large smear of blood dragged out into the hall.

This was…

This wasn’t UA.

In the hall, he saw a figure sitting in a chair and he realized it was Kaminari, unrestrained but still like the ominous centre of a hurricane. His eyes were grey and blank like a storm seen from a distance.

“Kacchan?” Midoriya said weakly, words scraping against his dry tongue.

“Oh, you lived,” Bakugou growled. “You can’t even die properly.”

“Midoriya, are you alright?” Kirishima asked.

Midoriya let the words run rampant in his mind. Are. You. Alright. He knew the meaning. He couldn’t think of a way to reply.

“Midoriya?”

“H—Huh? Right…I’m…”

“Are you hurt?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Okay, just try to take it easy. Bakugou’s trying to blast the cuffs off.”

“I need more time,” Bakugou said. “The cuffs contain the explosions, but I can force them off eventually, as long as those asswipes don’t come back. Getting through the cell door is another problem, so as long as I’m busy with this, you better start thinking of something, Deku!”

Something came back to Midoriya, clouded by disorientation and memories painted with shock and pain. He remembered the indistinct thuds and sounds of struggle from the next cell over, while Toga leaned in close and her breath was hot on his face.

“Are you hurt, Kacchan?” Midoriya asked.

“I’m fucking brilliant!” Bakugou snapped. “Lay off!”

Midoriya knew Bakugou better than anyone—and he knew the sound of discomfort in him: gnawing pain that trembled soft in his voice, only eclipsed by the irritation used to disguise it. Exhaustion overcame Midoriya before he could problem-solve his way out of the cell. He saw the problem and he knew it was there, but all he could see was Kaminari. Everything else was too small to be consequential.

Blood soaked Kaminari’s entire front. Midoriya didn’t see any physical injuries, however it was hard to tell through the dark clothing. Kaminari was blank and unresponsive, like a porcelain doll with an unpainted face.

“Kaminari?” Midoriya said.

“Forget it, Deku, he’s checked out,” said Bakugou.

Shellshock. Combat stress reaction, if he wanted to be technical about it. He’d only ever seen it in his classmates’ faces after difficult battles or in photographs of soldiers coming back from war. Midoriya had never looked too closely on those occasions, too afraid of seeing his reflection. Kaminari was on full display, though, and his placement was too conspicuous for it to be anything other than deliberate. It was a message from Shigaraki to all of them, like Kaminari was just a prop to show his power, saying, ‘This is what I can do.’

“…We need to get out of here before they get back.” Kirishima said.

“We had the chance to get out,” said Bakugou. “Comatose over there ruined it.”

“Bakugou, c’mon.”

“No. No! He had the chance to put both of them down and stop all of this, and he didn’t. He had every chance—he has one of the most powerful quirks in the class and he did nothing. He knew where Hagakure was this last week and he said nothing.”

“He couldn’t choose otherwise,” Kirishima said.

“Don’t you go quoting Jazz Hands to me—”

“You saw the look on his face, Bakugou. I’m never going to forget the way he looked at Shigaraki—he was fucking terrified of him. You just can’t fake that kind of fear.”

“Shigaraki wasn’t twisting his arm when he was at UA.”

“He told Kouda.”

“Kaminari’s an idiot, but he’s not THAT much of an idiot. He had to know Kouda wouldn’t rat him out to the teachers.”

“Kouda told me. You didn’t see how worried he was over the whole thing. He told me thought Kaminari was in trouble and that he was being forced to do all this shit, and he was right about all of it.”

“Has everyone here lost their mind or have you forgotten about all the shit Kaminari’s responsible for? He doesn’t get pass because he was being ‘forced.’ Dunceface stabbed me, did whatever he did to Deku, kidnapped and did who-knows-what to Hagakure, and they would’ve done the same to you if this had gone on. He didn’t just rat us out to the villains, he—” Bakugou’s breath went brittle, just for a moment. “If this is just a small inkling of what Shigaraki gets Kaminari to do, I think you should imagine what kind of condition Hagakure is in. Kaminari brought us here specifically to be tortured, knowing that that was what was gonna happen. I want you to think long and hard about that before you defend him.”

The memories bristled.

Then they returned.

Realization slammed into Midoriya’s gut like a boxer throwing their full upper-body strength into the strike. He glimpsed his reflection in the glass cell door, and saw the cloth hastily tied over his eye, coated in blood so dark it almost looked black. The world silenced in absolution—like the quiet preceding death—and his chest constricted tight and he was gasping for breath and he saw the distinctive finger-sized spaces in the blood from where Himiko caressed his cheek—

Himiko and Kaminari and the knife—

Blinding, all-consuming agony—

Blood everywhere and down his front and down the hall and on Kaminari—

Midoriya started screaming. It clawed out of his body with sharp talons and the split-second thought that he should be brave and swallow it down didn’t even have time to manifest before his horror projected outwards. He’d never heard a scream so horrible and it was his.

The world didn’t just pull away from him—it wrenched. His chest buckled and he thrashed, mad with horror, against the restraints. He vaguely heard Bakugou and Kirishima screaming back at him and he thought it was the world answering him. Midoriya thrust his body left and right, left and right, left and right, and finally the chair gave way from the floor and he tipped sideways. His head collided painfully with the side of the cell, knocking his senses and the scream loose so that it finally died away into nothing.

He blacked out for just a moment, and then his chair was lying on the floor, and he was still looking at his dim reflection in the glass. Wide-eyed and pale, he looked like a poor, knock-off rendition of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

“Midoriya?!” Kirishima yelled. “Midoriya, talk to us! Midoriya?!”

Midoriya gulped in a too-large bubble of air.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, Deku!” Bakugou snapped. “Keep yourself together. I’m not gonna fucking carry you out of here.”

Midoriya’s interaction with the world felt like a precarious subject, but he tried to listen. Take deep breaths. He gulped in again and forced his chest muscles to loosen enough for him to breathe properly. It was a long eternity before he formed the air into words.

“You really do care,” Midoriya said hazily.

“Shut your mouth!” Bakugou barked back. “Apparently you fucking need it!”

“Midoriya, are you okay?” Kirishima asked. “What happened?”

“I was…” Midoriya stared at his one-eyed doppelgänger in the glass. He didn’t know how to explain this. “I was just in shock. I’m sorry for alarming you.”

“Please don’t apologize. God, I thought you were dying for a second there.”

“I don’t plan to die here.” Midoriya relaxed his head against the bloody floor. Whatever strength he had left, he had to conserve for escape. “I’m really glad you two are here with me. If anyone can get out of here, it’s the three of us.”

“I’m not sure how much help I am in this situation,” said Kirishima. 

“I think…I think Kacchan doesn’t want to say it, but we’re pretty hurt. We need your help most of all.”

Hauntingly, Bakugou didn’t deny it, aside from a sharp intake of breath.

“But we’ll be okay,” said Midoriya. “We just have to stay strong for a little longer.”

“Get bent,” said Bakugou.

Midoriya smiled to himself. It was good to hear Bakugou hurling insults; it meant that he was going to be okay no matter the severity of his wounds.

“I never thanked you for trusting me, Kacchan,” said Midoriya, “when we were looking into the traitor.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou snapped.

“I wish you guys had let me help,” said Kirishima. “I feel like it would’ve been a lot less of a shock when I heard the story from Kouda.”

“I suspected you, idiot. Don’t be so surprised I didn’t go pouring my heart out to you.”

“Wow, you really thought I was evil?”

“Your dumb hair could poke an eye out. Of course I thought you were a damn villain.”

“That’s harsh!”

“Bite me.”

Kirishima just laughed, like everything Bakugou said was a great inside joke between them. It was the type of closeness Midoriya wished Bakugou would let him have with them, but he mused that even when he got close, it would never be the same easy friendship Kirishima had forged with him. His and Bakugou’s friendship was an eternal struggle—the chill would never be completely thawed.

“Feeling a little better, Midoriya?” Kirishima asked after a long while.

“I’d rather get out of here before I focus on recovering,” said Midoriya. He didn’t have the heart to tell them about his eye—not yet. He was still in denial himself. Grappling with the permanentness of it all was an impossible, earth-shattering consequence he couldn’t deal with, not when they were in such immediate danger.

Midoriya traced the blood trail to where it ended, where Kaminari sat in a daze. His blond hair matted with dried blood, his body curled and hunched, like an exposed prey animal waiting for the killing blow.

Midoriya took a breath and said, “I think Kaminari might be our best bet.”

“I told you, he checked out a long time ago,” said Bakugou.

Midoriya surveyed Kaminari’s condition. He’d seen Kaminari look bad before, but this was a whole other level.

He had to try. He had no other choice. They either reached out, or they would die here.

He said softly, “Kaminari?”

He didn’t react to his name. Midoriya may as well have not spoken at all.

“Kaminari,” he said more firmly.

Kaminari’s blood-crusted fingernails dug into the armrests. He dragged them, leaving behind long marks in the wood. One limb at a time, his body, first from the shoulders, then radiating down his body. Unseeing eyes constricted into thin pricks of black. 

“Denki, it’s Izuku!” Midoriya yelled. “WAKE UP!”

Red, red…

You can’t…Midoriya…

All that is left.

…Just stop…

Wake up.

Kaminari wondered if he’d come into the world broken.

So much of his life was a blending, repeating rhythm of subjugation and lying and what-will-Tomura-think-of-me and will-everything-get-worse.

He wondered if he was broken before Tomura ever found him, or if Tomura had done the breaking after years and years of control, ripping apart limb-by-limb like a curious child pulling the legs off of a flailing spider.

Snippets of the world came back to him, and he resisted it. It was better for Tomura if he sat here and took his punishment, but his body fought against him, dragging him back to awareness while he dug his nails into the ground. Moving his body, even in small increments, exhausted him entirely, and even though he couldn’t shake off the sense of danger, he had no energy to flee, even if he entertained the desire to do so. He clawed harder at the armrest. If he kept still and quiet, he couldn’t get into trouble.

“Kaminari?”

It wasn’t Tomura, so Kaminari couldn’t answer. He just gasped and cried, trying to fall back into nothing.

He didn’t want to feel anymore.

A sense of overwhelming terror and doom swept over him. Shaking uncontrollably, he had to hold the armrests with an iron tight grip to keep himself upright in the chair.

“Don’t,” Kaminari said. “Don’t talk. I can’t talk to you. I can’t.”

“Kaminari, they’re not here. You need to calm down.”

“SHUT UP!” Kaminari shouted.

Kaminari’s mouth gaped but couldn’t breathe. He slouched forward, pressing his palms over his ears. The ringing in his ears swelled into a cacophony. He slouched forward, pressing his palms over his ears. Anxiety dampened the control he had over his body, prickling at his senses like he was being wrung under a sewing machine.

The ringing slowed into pained silence. His skin felt like was tightening over his bones, then finally, the tension gave enough for him to breathe.

“Kaminari?” The tenderness in the voice skewered through Kaminari’s heart. “It’s Midoriya. Are you okay?”

Kaminari let the question hang. Unbelievably, he laughed, and he didn’t know where the laughter came from, but it sounded broken.

“Midoriya, that’s a stupid question,” Kaminari said, voice writhing and forced.

Kaminari’s bangs hung over his eyes, but he peered out to see Midoriya. He could only look for a split second before he could no longer digest the blood and the clumsy bandage over his face. Simply put, Midoriya looked awful: exhausted and beaten, like laundry left out for too long. Bakugou was only marginally better, fighting against the cuffs, chest rising and falling, and as pale as could be.

Everyone was silent for something between an eternity and forever, and Kaminari realized they were waiting for his permission to speak.

He swallowed. “I’m sorry about your room.”

Midoriya tilted his head, at a loss.

“I’m sorry about your room. I’m really sorry. I think I wanted to impress Tomura.” Kaminari’s breath shuddered. “But he didn’t even care.”

“You’re that convinced that he would?” Midoriya asked, tiptoeing around every word.

“…I don’t know what I thought.”

They all stayed quiet and breathless.

“Kaminari?” Midoriya continued. “Could you let us out?”

Kaminari shook his head.

“Nothing’s stopping you,” Bakugou jumped in. “The villains aren’t here. The button’s right in front of you. Just fucking do it.”

“Tomura knows I can’t—that’s why he left me here,” said Kaminari. “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re so sorry, then do something!”

“I told you I can’t! Tomura knows that—and he…he…”

Kaminari was ashamed of how long it took for him to realize, but the realization came in soft waves rather than all at once. Things that he hadn’t noticed until Midoriya’s words suddenly jumped out at him in lucid detail: Tomura decorated in blood, all the torture, the years of deconstructing his identity, his missing parents.

“He kidnapped me,” Kaminari realized.

Kidnapped. The word echoed against the walls and came back to him. Kidnapped. He’d been kidnapped as a goddamn kid. He’d been a part of horror stories and urban legends people told about kids being taken from the safety of their beds and spirited away into the night. Why hadn’t he known this? Had he even thought about it?

Nine years old and screaming for his parents.

“You…didn’t know?” Kirishima asked.

“…Maybe I did. I just didn’t think about it until now.” Kaminari took a steadying breath that did nothing to satiate his need for oxygen. “All for One wanted to infiltrate UA, so he thought about sending Tomura. But Tomura was too…he was…Well, he was Tomura, it just wouldn’t work. He wanted Tomura to prove himself, so he gave him the assignment of looking for a kid to do it on his behalf.”

“So they found you.”

Kaminari swallowed and nodded. “Tomura looked through school records, looking for someone with a flashy quirk that might be good for a hero. I don’t think my parents were even villains—I just—I don’t remember a lot.”

Images poured into his mind. Blood everywhere. Tomura grinning. His teeth were yellow.

“I remember…I think I was nine. Or…or was I eight? Fuck, I don’t even know how old I am. I remember hearing a noise in the middle of the night, so I got up and…and my dad’s arm was lying at the bottom of the stairs. There was blood everywhere.”

The processing silence went on. How could he have forgotten that when it had showed up in his nightmares so often?

“Shigaraki would’ve only been thirteen or fourteen,” said Midoriya. “Are you sure?”

Kaminari slammed his fists on the armrests, causing Kirishima to jolt in the corner of his vision. “I know what I saw! You think I’d fucking forget my dad’s disembodied arm while Tomura LAUGHED about it?!”

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t doubting you. I just wanted to be sure. I’m sorry.”

Kaminari focused on his breathing, though he felt close to passing out from the stress.

“Tomura left me with guardians—villains who got me ready to infiltrate UA,” Kaminari continued. “They sent me to school and kept making me change schools a few times a year so I couldn’t get settled. But…But I kept running away. I think I even got to the police station a few times; they didn’t listen, they thought I was pulling a prank. I always got dragged back.”

Bakugou’s cuffs clattered as he loudly knocked them against his chair.

“All for One told Tomura that he’d fucked up, said that Tomura shouldn’t’ve killed my parents how he did. By the time I got into middle school, All for One was sick of trying to keep me under control and Tomura couldn’t handle me, so he hired Hokama to keep me in line. After Hokama came in, it…all of a sudden, it became really, really hard to think about running. I couldn’t.”

“I can’t believe you know All for One,” Midoriya said disbelievingly.

“I didn’t,” said Kaminari. “He never talked to me directly. Whenever he showed up, Tomura would tell me to stand in the corner and not look, but one time…I just wanted to see what All for One looked like, what everyone was afraid of, so I tried and—and…” His voice twisted and died out.

He finally raised his head. Bakugou was opposite of him. His jaw closed, lips tight. His eyes shifted past Kaminari as if he couldn’t quite make eye contact, afraid of what he would see.

“I can’t help you,” Kaminari said. “I really want to. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

It had been so still for such a long time that when Kirishima moved and pressed his hand flat against the glass, Kaminari startled hard enough to jostle the chair.

“I forgive you,” said Kirishima.

Kaminari shook his head.

“Kouda believes in you, Kaminari,” Kirishima persisted. “I believe in you too, and I’m not just saying that.”

“When you got attacked—I was there and I didn’t do anything to stop it,” Kaminari admitted.

“From what I’ve seen here, I got the feeling that you felt like you didn’t have much of a choice.”

Kaminari asked whisper-quiet, “You really mean it?”

“Of course I mean it! Lying is unmanly. Besides, with all the time we spent together, it couldn’t have all been a lie. No one’s that good of a liar.'”

Kaminari was quiet for a long while. He closed his eyes and he jerked his head in a vague motion between nodding and shaking his head. Kaminari couldn’t give Kirishima an answer, no matter how desperately he wanted to refute it. Bakugou still wasn’t looking.

“I forgive you, too,” Midoriya finally said. “I know things look bleak right now, but there’s still so much good inside you.”

“It’s not that simple. You guys don’t realize what—” Kaminari sank back. “Things can’t go back to the way they were. I can’t go back to UA. I don’t think you realize this, but I can’t go to jail. I’ve been a prisoner for as long as I can remember, so I just can’t…if I go to jail, it’s over.”

“I promise we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“We’ll protect you,” said Kirishima. “Whatever we have to do, we’ll do it.”

“You guys act like it’s just easy to put a stop to everything. It’s not.”

He heard metal creak, and Kaminari looked over his shoulder in time to see Hokama enter the inner control room. His vulture-like eyes rested on each face before he held open the door leading to the hallway, staring down Kaminari. He lurked in the doorway like an abomination from the deep, waiting for the right moment to drag a hapless ship down to the depths.

“Shigaraki warned you about talking to them,” said Hokama.

Hokama didn’t let Kaminari reply. He seized Kaminari by the back of his shirt and just dragged him like a slab of meat across the concrete.

”Kaminari—” Kirishima said.

“It’s okay,” said Kaminari. “It’s better this way.”

“Kaminari, WAIT!”

The door shut behind them, and he couldn’t hear Kirishima screaming in protest anymore.

Hokama dragged Kaminari through the bunker, back up the stairs, and into the mess hall he was now intimately familiar with. The glass shards were still in the corner where he’d held his who-knows-how-long vigil. Hokama’s grip was clenching and unrelenting, and he threw Kaminari onto the table, knocking over loose condiments and cutlery left behind.

Kaminari blinked to gain his senses back, lying on his back and his head dangling over the edge of the table. The world was upside down, and Hokama stared at him for a moment before heading over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Shigaraki told you about his plans for you?” Hokama asked.

“Yes,” said Kaminari.

“He thinks it would be easier on you if I worked on your mind.”

“You mean make me forget?”

“Unfortunately, no. I think you would be better off that way, but Shigaraki wants you to remember your lesson. Plus, I’ve already interfered with your synapses enough that if I tried to do any modifications to your long-term memories, the risk of brain damage would be too great. Something less invasive should do the trick.”

Hokama rolled up Kaminari’s sleeve and produced a large syringe.

“What’s that?” Kaminari asked, though he didn’t move to stop him.

“Morphine,” said Hokama. “Unless you would prefer to be writhing in pain while I’m working.”

Kaminari paused. Then he laughed. “Wow, it’s almost like you’re being nice to me. I bet you didn’t offer Hagakure any morphine.”

“You have an interesting idea of what ‘being nice’ looks like. Just lie there and let it take effect.”

He injected Kaminari without anymore preamble, then stepped away to lie out tools on the kitchen counter. Kaminari really was just a piece of meat to him. At least Hagakure had the luxury of a room with a vague air resembling a surgical room, and he was just his next meal that Hokama was going to cut apart piece by piece. Kaminari wondered how much of him would be left. Even if he kept his memories, there was no guarantee he’d see them in the same way, if they would be painted with nostalgia.

“This is really it, huh?” Kaminari said quietly.

“What’s it?” Hokama asked, though his intonation had all the markers of disinterest.

“I’m gonna be a real villain after this.”

“That’s the hope.”

“Can you promise me?”

“I don’t make guarantees. I told Shigaraki that when he first brought you to me.”

Kaminari stared at Hokama’s back. “What was I like before?”

“Does it matter?” Hokama pulled a needle out of his wrist. Then a second.

“Hey, this might be the last time I care about shit like this. Humour me?”

Hokama sighed and checked his watch. “You were a bratty and angry child who fought Shigaraki at every turn. I’m sure that if I hadn’t been brought in to fix you, All for One would’ve had you destroyed.”

Hokama returned to Kaminari’s side and placed his thumb right over his eye, pulling back the lid.

“Now hold still unless you want to turn into a drooling vegetable.”

Kaminari’s body stilled, overcome with exhaustion. He should feel relieved. He was going to be cleansed of everything; this was baptism to burn away the rotten parts left behind by his contact with the heroes. He’d be what Tomura wanted him to be.

As the throbbing pain in his feet and his back and his everything dulled away, something else shifted. It came together like small sparks gradually merging into a great light, a nuclear reaction cascading out of control, going faster and faster and faster until there was no hope of putting an end to it. Hokama moved so mechanically in the gloom that he couldn’t be human and Kaminari wondered why he’d fallen for the delicate illusion before.

He didn’t want this.

The thought was so novel and new to him that Kaminari felt fresh vibrations go through his body. He waited for the trembling to stop and it didn’t—just chattered on like wind-up teeth.

“What was that?” Hokama said, needle stilling. Kaminari saw it linger just inches from his eye.

Kaminari had spoken out loud. He tried on the sentence again for size. “I said I don’t want this.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you do—you want to be helpful to your precious ‘Tomura,’ right?”

Kaminari seized Hokama by the wrist with a strength he didn’t know he still had. He sat upright. “It’s not really about me, though. I mean, what kind of fucking life is this? Tomura took everything from me, and the only time I’ve ever been happy…the only time I was ever happy was at UA. Why the hell am I sitting here like this?”

He looked at his hands. He counted his heartbeats. Tomura. Another. Hokama. Again. Morphine. Another, UA. Again, Kirishima. Another, his dad’s arm, again, blood, another, his mum hugging him, again, Himiko’s ashy kiss, Tomura, marriage, again, Midoriya, another, Bakugou, again, blood, morphine, Hokama. Another, again. Hagakure. Her hand on his. Get her out. Get them out. His heart jittered and stuttered and spluttered like a failing engine, marching onwards to its inevitable failure.

Kaminari’s eyes opened and he saw the world for the first time.

The pain in his feet felt distant, though he couldn’t be sure how much of it was morphine and how much of it was just raw adrenaline coursing powerfully through his body. He swung around to face Hokama, who pulled his wrist away from Kaminari, crow’s feet deepening as he set his jaw.

Kaminari made his choice.

FAN ART BY THE LOVELY BlueGhostCat, IT'S AMAZING AND I LOVE IT.

Chapter Text

Electricity travelled at the speed of light.

It was one of the first things Kaminari had learnt about his quirk.

Hokama couldn’t outpace the electrical surge Kaminari shot into the ground. He froze on the spot, a pained grunt breaking between his teeth.

This was Kaminari’s chance. His chance for a monologue, and he’d already blown it, too dazed from the events of the last day to come up with something coherent, filled with a crushing and broken rage hotter than anything he’d ever felt before. Rage towards Hokama, for taking away a part of himself he couldn’t get back. Rage to Himiko, for the kiss and the threats. Rage to Tomura, for letting it all happen.

Deep inside of him, he grappled with profound betrayal, even if Tomura had always made his motivations clear. Tomura never cared, but even that felt like a betrayal of sorts. Tomura took him from his family, his life. He should’ve at least cared. The could’ve-should’ve-life played out in Kaminari’s head. He could’ve been a hero if it hadn’t been for Tomura. He should’ve escaped while the opening was there. Looking back, Kaminari saw many moments where the opportunity was present and it never occurred to him to fight.

It was because of Hokama. He’d changed who he was.

And he wouldn’t let him get away with it.

Kaminari didn’t use enough electricity to knock Hokama unconscious—he didn’t want that for him. He didn’t deserve the kindness of instant unconsciousness. He advanced on Hokama and grabbed him. One hand he placed on his exposed neck. The other on his face. Then, the pained grunt behind Hokama’s teeth turned into a scream.

“YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

Hokama’s eyes ballooned out of his head, his irises turning grey and empty. Lichtenberg figures erupted over the spots where Kaminari’s hands contacted his raw flesh. He didn’t stop pumping as much electricity as he could, even when the rancid stench of burning flesh reached his nostrils.

Hokama froze, helpless to do anything but look at his attacker straight in the eye and take it, before his eyes rolled back to expose his scleras. In the back of his head, Kaminari felt the world become less distinct and distant and pulling away—

No. Not now. He couldn’t go stupid now.

He felt dim from the everything of the last twenty-four hours, but he wouldn’t go stupid now.

Something inside became a runaway effect and he couldn’t let go of Hokama’s face even when he had the conscious thought of letting him fall. They were attached together as electricity coiled through every single strand of his veins. He felt every blood vessel burst, cascading through him like a series of lightbulbs popping one after the other.

Even if he wanted to stop, he didn’t think he could. Something warm trickled out of his nostril. Hokama’s mouth opened in a gaping scream and he felt like he was falling into it.

The lights popped.

The world plunged into darkness.

Hokama hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Kaminari’s senses muddled within an encroaching fog.

He staggered to the side and hit the wall with his shoulder, wheezing. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Just when he needed his senses the most, when time jittered forward at a neck-cracking pace he couldn’t keep up with, falling into comforting oblivion was a death sentence.

Kaminari spent a long time motionless, still. Hokama was down? He breathed in the rancid smell of coppery blood.

Had he…did he bite his tongue? No, his nose was bleeding. Why was it bleeding?

He took a step, toes knocking against a mushy person-or-other on the ground. He knelt down and felt around them, fingers feeling out the face shape. Hokama was on the ground. Maybe he was napping. Kaminari stepped over him. It was so dark. Kaminari held his hands close together and tried to generate electricity between them. However, he could only produce a small spark between his thumb and index finger. The weak glow barely travelled far enough to light up his immediate surroundings.

Feeling along the wall, Kaminari found the door and stepped into the hall. He had to find someone. He could find Haga…Hag…Kuhaga…Disappear Girl.

Big brain. Think big brain.

Kaminari inhaled and tried to count backwards from a hundred. He walked up and down the full length of the hallway twice before he stumbled into the adjoining hall leading to Disappear Girl’s room.

It took two tries to get orientated towards the door, and a further three to remember how to use a doorknob. The light from his hands didn’t quite reach far enough into the room to see much, though he could hear steady breathing. He took two steps and his body knocked into the restraint chair, and in it, Hagakure’s body.

Kaminari staggered forwards and bit, hard, on his tongue, hoping it would reignite his dulled senses. A fast-paced, urgent sting encroached in every corner. His clumsy fingers fumbled with the restraints and got one loose.

“Whey,” he whispered. “I mean, Hagakure?”

Hagakure gasped a few times, fingers clawing at his sleeve.

He soon saw why.

The light glinted off of a dozen pins lodged in her skull, like her invisible head was Hokama’s latest failed knitting project. Kaminari forced his hand steady and started extracting them with surgeon-like precision. Each pin dropped to the ground with soft clinks, one after the other, in a soft chorus muted by the rushing blood in his ears.

As the last one came out, Kaminari pushed a hand behind her back and got her limp body upright. Hagakure groaned.

“Hagakure, you have to get up,” said Kaminari.

“…’Minari?” she slurred.

“Get up. Can you walk?”

“What’s happening…”

“You have to get up, please! I don’t know if I can carry you.”

Hagakure fumbled for her head.

“They’re out,” said Kaminari. “Please, you have to get up.”

Hagakure’s muscles tensed up and she dangled her legs over the chair’s edge.

“What’s happening…?” she repeated.

Kaminari threw her arm over his shoulder and tugged, but the moment even a fraction of her weight came on him, a pained cry ripped out of his throat. Hagakure tensed beside him, alert.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Kaminari didn’t answer—he had to move Hagakure before someone came back. Mind fumbling in fresh panic, he ignored the stabbing pain shaking throughout his entire body and dragged her to his room, propping her up on the edge of the bed.

“You need to stay here until I get back,” said Kaminari.

“What are you doing?” Hagakure asked.

“Please don’t move. Lock the door when I leave and don’t answer it until I get back.”

“Kaminari—”

He couldn’t stand to be in her presence, not after what he’d done. The door wouldn’t protect her from any determined villain, but it was at least an obstacle to slow them down.

Kaminari didn’t waste time ruminating on what the hell he was doing or how long until the villains noticed. He couldn’t escape the lingering fear that Shigaraki was out there, sensing that he was disobeying orders, and if Shigaraki knew, it wouldn’t be long until the roof came down on their heads. He didn’t care if the bunker was All Might proof or not. It hadn’t tangled with Shigaraki having a tantrum.

In the tar-coloured darkness, beyond his halo of protective light, he moved swiftly through the shadows. At the top of the stairs, he heard voices from below, and hot tension worked its way through his body. After everything, it didn’t even seem certain whether the others would accept his help—but he’d make them, if he had to.

He hurried down, and on the last few steps, something hard ground into his foot and he slipped with a sharp cry, ending up flat at the bottom of the stairs. It didn’t slow him down—there was no time. Kaminari launched himself back up and returned to the cells, first seeing Kirishima’s pale face framed by the shadows.

“What happened?” Kirishima asked.

“I had to—” Kaminari fumbled for a response. “I had to shock him. I couldn’t—it happened so fast. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Several things happened within a few seconds. Kirishima’s wide-eyed confusion and shock. His ribs squeezing his heart. The all-too familiar sensation that he was being watched. Overhead, the lights flickered and reignited like long-dead flames.

Then, he saw Hokama’s reflection in the glass a split second before his large fingers knotted into his hair.

“You little piece of shit.”

Kaminari jolted backwards and tried to pour electricity back into Hokama, but all that came out were sparks not enough to deliver the smallest static shock. Hokama slammed his head into the glass.

“I’m a fugitive because of you, and you want to throw it all away for the heroes?!” Hokama yelled. “Time and time again, I covered for you! I took the heat when Shigaraki was pissed at you! And you want to make that all amount to NOTHING?!”

Kaminari cried out as Hokama shoved him into the wall. He stumbled, senses swinging wildly as he tried to orient. Kirishima bashed on the cell door, panicked. Bakugou grit his teeth and with a faint bang and rising smoke, the cuffs fell off his hands, but he was still locked behind the glass wall. Midoriya was helpless to do anything but watch.

He felt like Hokama was pushing him again and again into a revolving door, and he couldn’t escape—he couldn’t escape—he couldn’t—

“I told him YEARS ago that you were a lost cause!!” Hokama yelled. “He should put you down, I told him! I told him that if he really wanted my help, there’d have to be a big enough kickback to make it worth my while! And now you want to waste the whole time I’ve spent mopping up after you. For what? A crisis of conscience?! NOW?! What makes you think the heroes want you any more than Shigaraki does?!”

Hokama hooked his arm around Kaminari’s neck, holding a pin with the other. Kaminari’s hand shot up to try to stop the slow descent towards his head, determined to hold on to his sense of self in the face of losing everything. Kaminari bit hard into Hokama’s exposed hand, but it didn’t stop him—the adrenaline surged too powerfully through both of them, and it was all he could do to hang on.

“I’m done,” said Hokama. “I’d rather see you turned into a husk. At least then you’ll be out of my hair!”

Hokama let out a sudden cry. The pressure around Kaminari’s neck slackened and he crashed to the ground.

Kaminari rounded, prepared to fight. He didn’t need to worry about defending himself. Hokama’s body jolted in shock, a hand ghosting to his shoulder.

One of his own pins was sticking out of it, a growing pool of red seeping through his shirt. Kaminari struggled to piece together what was happening, how it was happening. Where had the pin come from? Then he remembered the ones he’d pulled out of Hagakure’s head, discarded on the floor. One of them now lodged right into their owner’s flesh.

“What the hell—?” Hokama looked around fruitlessly, then back at Kaminari. “You let her out?!”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Hagakure’s voice yelled. It was the most beautiful sound Kaminari had ever heard.

Hokama rounded towards the origin of her voice, helpless against an enemy he couldn’t see. His body jerked as Hagakure struck. But she was weak, and Kaminari saw her footprints appear on the bloody floor, and Hokama was smart enough to notice too. Kaminari didn’t even know how she’d got all the way down here, on what he could only assume was determination and fear.

Hokama’s arms closed around the space where Hagakure was, and he flung her to the ground. Large brushstrokes appeared in the blood. A crimson handprint slid across the wall, a macabre horror scene playing out right before his eyes at an unbelievable, too-fast pace. He was going to kill her.

He looked around in a wild haze. Kaminari felt an electrical pinprick through his veins, too weak to do anything. There was a pin lying at his feet. Hokama must’ve dropped it when Hagakure attacked him.

They struggled near him and Hagakure let out a terrible noise as he found her mouth and nose, closing his hands around both. Kaminari scooped the pin off the ground. Things happened in a terrifying freeze-frame sequence. He saw the pin sticking out of Hokama’s shoulder.

He didn’t aim for the shoulder.

The pin drove into the back of Hokama’s head. Wet noise gurgled out of his throat and his grip loosened on Hagakure enough for her to slip out.

Stunned, Kaminari wasn’t sure what had happened or how it had come to this. Silence descended. The commotion ended all at once as Hokama fumbled behind his head. After a long moment, Kaminari reasserted his grip on the pin and yanked with all his might. He felt the sickening boney crunch and Hokama crumpled.

He and Hagakure met eyes over Hokama’s body—at least, he thought they did. Something unspoken exchanged between them, something intense and strange. This was what he had to do, the only way he could be free. Even if Shigaraki killed Kaminari, if Hokama was dead first, his mind would still be his.

Adrenaline scorched his veins, made him feel like he was on fire. Kaminari drove the pin into his back, then struck again and again, thrusting back in a long arc to pull the blood out of his body. He held his breath, unable to take the raw stench of him murdering another human, even if Hokama had only ever been an approximation of one. The blood that came out of him was human enough, and so were his actions, so evil and cruel and damaging. Shigaraki may have given the orders, but Hokama was the instrument he used to do the damage. Hokama destroyed the person he’d been.

So, he destroyed Hokama on the dirty, bloody concrete in a bunker, somewhere under the streets, while his former friends looked on and did not try to stop him.

“Kaminari!” Hagakure called out. “Kaminari, you got him! It’s okay! You got him!”

Kaminari didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until Hagakure coiled her arms around his upper body, holding his breath inside his lungs. The pin slipped out of his hands and clattered next to Hokama.

“It’s okay,” Hagakure soothed him. “You got him.”

Kaminari’s knees wobbled. Hagakure held tight to steady his fall. The liquid adrenaline pulsing through him reached a peak. He felt he was being ripped away from his body. The only thing that anchored him was Hagakure settling her weight over him, fingers laced around his chest and just holding while he gasped for oxygen.

When his breathing evened out, his oxygen-deprived brain struggled to think, but he managed enough to stagger to his feet. He staggered to Kirishima’s cell door and hit its release button.

Kirishima surged out. Kaminari ducked away from his grasp before he could touch him. He opened Bakugou and Midoriya’s cells next, refusing to look at their faces.

“Hagakure?” Kirishima said.

“I’m okay,” said Hagakure. “I’m so tired. Help Midoriya and Bakugou.”

Kaminari released Midoriya from his restraints while Kirishima went to Bakugou. Midoriya was so pale that he was sure that he would have to carry him out himself, but when he was free, Midoriya just leaned his weight against the wall. Kaminari kept a safe distance away.

“I’m sorry,” said Kaminari. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Midoriya.

Midoriya left the cell without looking him in the face.

In the cell next door, Kirishima was surveying Bakugou’s many, many injuries with a critical eye.

“Can you walk?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugou grunted, “I can—”

Bakugou stood. Then he keeled sideways.

Kirishima swore as he caught Bakugou by the upper body and guided him to the ground. They were all at Bakugou’s side at once, and it occurred to Kaminari that this was the first time the others were seeing just how badly Bakugou was injured. Just how badly he had hurt him. Somehow, Bakugou had hiked up his shirt in a way that it pressed against the wound on his shoulders, but his rushed patch job did little to stop the source of the problem, to say nothing about his ankles.

Kirishima folded two hands together and pressed them, hard, to his shoulder, while Midoriya acted fast and ripped off part of his shirt to tie around Bakugou’s ankles. Hagakure shouldered past Kaminari to help, scooping up Bakugou’s legs from behind the knees.

“I think he’s losing too much blood,” said Kirishima. “Kaminari, come put pressure on this.”

Kaminari swayed on the spot, ears ringing.

“Kaminari, come help!”

Instructions. He could do something with instructions. He stepped over Midoriya and Hagakure crowding the entrance to the cell and folded his hands overtop of Kirishima’s, helping him press hard.

In the unsteady silence, Kirishima looked up, and did a double take at Midoriya. “Holy shit. What the hell?!”

“I’m okay,” said Midoriya.

“That doesn’t look okay!”

“I can walk out of here. That’s what’s important.”

Kaminari was infinitely grateful that the others were holding it together better than he was, and even more infinitely grateful for the mandatory first aid course. Kirishima worked fast—hiking off his shirt and tearing it to stripes to tie tight around Bakugou’s ankles and shoulder. He applied tourniquets further up both his legs just in case, and some colour returned to Bakugou’s face, enough for him to open his eyes and lock them with Kaminari.

Bakugou shoved Kaminari off with his one good limb, bolting upright so fast that Midoriya and Kirishima had to spring to steady him before he fell over again. The adrenaline was rapidly pulsing through the air, pumping up to a paralyzing crescendo that made him feel like the world was moving in slow motion despite the others moving so fast. Kaminari saw Kirishima throw Bakugou’s good arm over his shoulder, saw Midoriya cling to Hagakure to keep her upright. When it was clear she’d spent all her energy, Midoriya then scooped her over her shoulder.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Kirishima. “Kaminari, let’s get a move on.”

Kaminari couldn’t move. He stayed crouched on the cell floor where Bakugou had fallen, tracing crusted patches of blood on the floor. “I’m not going.”

“What are you talking about?” Kirishima asked. “We can’t stay here.”

“I…I changed my mind!” Kaminari’s voice pitched high with anxiety.

“Goddamnit.” Kirishima passed Bakugou over to Midoriya and hurried to Kaminari. “Kaminari, I’m not letting you change your mind about this. We’re going. Now.”

Kirishima seized Kaminari’s hand and tugged. Although he had the strength to rip him off the ground, he didn’t—like he was too afraid of breaking Kaminari if he pulled too hard. Kaminari kept planted on the ground.

“Kaminari, don’t be difficult!”

“Holy shit, let’s just go already!” Bakugou yelled.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“WHY?!”

“Cuz this is wrong and you know it and if you don’t man up and do the right thing, I’ll never speak to you again!”

Bakugou’s teeth clenched hard—hard enough to break bone and make Kaminari’s jaw ache just by looking at him. He turned defiantly to avoid looking at Kaminari. His tone set.

“You heard him,” said Bakugou, rolling like distant thunder. “Get up.”

Finally, Bakugou looked at him. His gaze was fiery.

“You leave with us so I can be pissed at you back at UA, not in this shit hole,” said Bakugou. “Put your feet on the ground and move.”

Kaminari’s instincts hummed inside his chest cavity, prickling through his bones. He knew leaving would destroy everything. Hokama, the man he’d just murdered, lay sprawled on the ground with his classmates’ feet tiptoeing around him, a subject no one wanted to address. How long would he go to prison for that? How long would he face Tartarus for kidnapping his former friends? For hurting Midoriya? For hurting Bakugou? For hurting Hagakure? Not even accounting for the amount of trauma he’d piled on them.

If there was one thing he knew about, it was trauma. Maybe he hadn’t recognized it before, but with his senses so acute in the moment, he felt scar tissue stretched tight over his soul. Kaminari wondered why he’d never noticed it before.

“So that’s it?” Bakugou yelled when he didn’t respond. “You wanna be all buddy-buddy with the villains after all?”

“Tomura wouldn’t want me to go,” said Kaminari. “You guys should go, but he’d want me to—to stay here.”

“Fuck that guy!”

“I have to wait—”

“Kaminari, I’ll promise you whatever you want if you just come with us,” said Kirishima. “Please!”

Then, Midoriya set both Hagakure and Bakugou on the ground. Hagakure was now limp—unconscious? That was his fault too. Midoriya got up behind Kaminari, hooked his hands under his arms, and hoisted him up with no effort.

“It’s alright,” said Midoriya, voice gentle. “You can leave with us.”

Kaminari finally took a breath. “You don’t know how dangerous this is.”

“We’ll take the chance.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“We’ll help you.”

Kirishima held tight to Kaminari’s hands, their fingers laced tight together like he might phase away if he thought about letting go for even a moment. He stood, swaying, for a long time, before he took his first step.

The world went foggy. Midoriya hoisted Hagakure’s limp body over his shoulder, then awkwardly supported Bakugou as they quietly, literally limped out of the basement. The silence descended so suddenly that Kaminari heard a breathless, rattling noise coming out of Hokama’s throat in the corner. It was all he could hear, and he didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Kirishima tugged him forwards, walking backwards around and over the obstacles in their path. Around Hokama’s body. Through the doorway. Through the control room.

He didn’t realize they were going up the stairs until he felt the metal jostle underneath his feet. He tripped twice. Both times, Kirishima caught him before he could face-plant and kept hauling him up, refusing to release his grip.

“I feel like I should really go back…” Kaminari said once they reached the top of the stairs.

“Then don’t stop moving,” said Kirishima. “C’mon, show us the way out of here.”

Kaminari almost retorted that the bunker’s layout wasn’t complicated, but then an unsettling realization settled in with him and he let go of Kirishima’s hands.

“Oh, shit, I forgot about Dabi,” he said.

“Dabi?” Midoriya said over his shoulder.

But Kaminari was already taking the lead, overcome with an instinct more powerful than his pity party: the need to get his classmates out of here before something worse happened to them. He led them further down the hall, hoping and praying there was still a chance for them to get out, and maybe Dabi had taken off to cause mayhem like the other villains.

Luck wasn’t on his side. Kaminari shoved the others through the first gaping and stood his ground as he heard footsteps coming towards them from the dark hall.

Kaminari stood his ground as blue flames erupted around Dabi’s hands, not ten yards ahead of him. He realized he must’ve been a predator in wait for them to come this way, how his classmates would’ve walked right into Dabi’s jaws if he hadn’t been here to shove them out of firing range.

They stood looking at each other. Dabi looked Kaminari up and down and smiled. Blue flames danced around his arms, first in small wisps, and then in large bursts that grew larger and larger. Kaminari had never seen Dabi look normal when he smiled. He looked almost maniacally gleeful at seeing Kaminari in the hall.

“I can explain,” said Kaminari.

“Don’t bother,” Dabi said, the fire coiling around his fingers like snakes. He watched them cast harsh blue light on the walls. “You know…you blacked out half the city.”

“N—No, that wasn’t me,” Kaminari denied. “Must’ve been some other guy with an electric quirk. I swear they’re more common than you think—”

Kaminari’s breath stilled in his chest. He glanced at the others standing to the side. Their eyes looked so bright at the bundle of electricity he cradled in his hand.

He stood a step back. Dabi took a step forward.

Nothing mattered except getting the others out alive. If he kept running his mouth off, they might have a chance.

“Take one step closer and I’ll kill you,” said Kaminari. He let the electricity dance in small volts around his body, careful to keep it contained. A warning—nothing more.

Dabi stopped in his tracks, cocking his head. In confusion? No. Amusement.

“You want to kill me?” Dabi asked.

“No,” said Kaminari, voice unsteady. “But…But I’ll do it if I have to.” Now that he knew he could kill, it seemed less terrifying, almost a necessity.

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

He looked Dabi square in the eye. “You should’ve seen what I did to Hokama.”

Dabi’s brow hiked halfway up his forehead, then he threw his chin back and laughed. “Remember when I said you weren’t worth killing yet? Well, you are now.”

Dabi took a step and the world slowed.

Kaminari saw everything in vibrant, intense colours. Dabi swung his arm back, coiling it in white-hot flames. Kaminari could feel the heat from where he was several yards away. He didn’t have to do any complicated mental calculations to know that his classmates were in his firing range. One shot, and he’d bring Dabi down—and also have four unconscious former friends to try to drag out of here alone. Would Bakugou and Hagakure even survive a severe shock to the system?

Maybe this was their chance, though. Kaminari would be cremated and turned to ash in the bunker—without Shigaraki’s help, even. His only hope was getting in close to Dabi and touching him, and he couldn’t even do that when Dabi had flames dancing around him. In his peripheral vision, Midoriya extended his arm, prepared to fight, and he saw Kirishima lower Bakugou to the ground so he could activate his quirk. He tasted metal in his mouth.

Kaminari had nothing. He didn’t have his pointers, he didn’t have strength. He didn’t have Kirishima’s unbreakable skin and he wasn’t burn proof. He could only cover his body with electricity, useless to him since the moment his quirk manifested. A hazard. A danger. A shield he used to keep others away in every sense of the term.

Shutting off his brain, Kaminari held up his hands together, index fingers pointed out to form a gun. Sparks of lightning built up around his hands. He pointed them at Dabi.

The lightning bolt that exploded out of his body was an uncontrolled jet of yellow that bounced off of the walls. Lightning moved at the speed of light. One moment it was there. It moved like a pair of giant hands, pushing the darkness aside. He couldn’t control the direction. He did his best to aim for Dabi. It missed anyway, skirting just past his side. A searing, white-hot heat shoved its way down Kaminari’s throat.

Dabi’s scleras were wide, pupils constricting to fully expose the startled rage. The bolt threw Kaminari off his feet. A burning sensation ripped up his arms, although Dabi’s flames hadn’t yet touched them, he could see a thousand flaming hands reach out towards him.

To his left, Midoriya crouched tiger-like, fingers sinking clean through the concrete like it was made of sand. He let out a terrible yell. The air rattled and he realized Midoriya was hurtling towards Dabi at an impossible speed only rivalled by the lightning bolt.

The floor lifted.

Kaminari felt it rise from under him, towards the ceiling, a jaw of solid concrete about to chew him up. He saw the bright centre where Dabi and Midoriya disappeared like the sun sinking beneath the horizon. Creeping destruction cascaded from the epicentre sputtered in his chest, forcing air out of his lungs, and squeezing hard enough that he couldn’t inhale. Pain stuttered up his chest. Tap, tap, tap—then hit hard in his jaw as he flipped over his feet.

Blackness settled over him. For a moment, Kaminari thought he’d lost consciousness, but the burn in his fingers was too lucid for it to be a dream. Two muffled explosions in his ears, a grunt.

He tumbled into something hard. He couldn’t distinguish where he was. The mental map he’d made of the bunker lit up in flames like the books in Fahrenheit 451, small lighthouses of knowledge gone in an instant. He wondered if he was on fire too and his nerve endings had been burnt away, so he couldn’t feel the pain.

“Get up. Hey! Get the fuck up!”

A rough hand seized his shoulder and pulled him upright. He blinked away oblivion, and there was Bakugou, sprawled awkwardly beside him.

Kaminari’s blood churned in his veins. “Hagakure?” He spat out her name, and his mouth flooded with dust, suddenly desperate to know she was okay. “Hagakure?!”

“I got her, she’s right beside me,” said Bakugou. “Hey, Spiky Hair, you can move now.”

Kirishima stood above Kaminari, his skin a choppy mess of rocklike formations, carefully shielding Kaminari from the worst of the damage. He realized Kirishima was the only reason he was alive. The corridor was torn apart, thick concrete shredded like paper. He looked up and saw a hole above them, and beyond it, he saw stars.

The ground beneath them shifted again. Midoriya was fighting Dabi, and neither of them were holding back. All Kaminari could see of the conflict were bright flashes of flaming light. What he couldn’t see, he felt shaking through the ground.

When the stars blacked out, Kaminari’s heart shifted and he thought they were going to be buried. Instead, an inky presence descended from above, illuminated by the sparks still dancing around Kaminari’s body.

“Tokoyami?” Kirishima exclaimed, incredulous.

Black Shadow unfurled from Tokoyami to reveal him standing there in his hero costume, and Aizawa rappelled down from the heavens and landed by them.

“Mr Aizawa!” said Kirishima.

“Are you hurt?” Tokoyami asked.

“What the hell do you think, dipshit?” Bakugou barked.

“How did you find us?” asked Kirishima.

“Later.” Aizawa crouched over Hagakure, fumbling for her neck to feel for a pulse. Kaminari opened to mouth to ask how he could see her. Then he saw that she was covered in fine white dust and dirt, enough to outline her otherwise invisible form. “Tokoyami, get them out. I’m going after Midoriya.”

Aizawa didn’t explain himself. He threw a long stretch of binding cloth out and pulled himself out of the hole.

“Other Pro Heroes are on their way,” said Tokoyami. He glanced at Hagakure and Bakugou. “…And ambulances.”

Kirishima was already scooping Hagakure in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, while Tokoyami picked up a very ornery Bakugou, who was looking off into the distance while explosions mounted.

“I can still fight!” Bakugou yelled. “I’m not letting Deku get this all to himself!”

“Bakugou, you can’t walk,” Kirishima said.

“Watch me!”

“Come on, I think you need an ambulance,” said Tokoyami.

“I’m not hurt.”

“The paramedics can determine that. I am not taking no for an answer.”

Kirishima puffed out his breath, wild with emotion. He tore himself away from the lingering smell of sulfur in the air and scrambled up the rubble out to the darkened city above.

Tokoyami watched Kirishima climb up, then finally, he turned to Kaminari.

He nearly fled from his gaze, adrenaline still coursing hot in his veins.

“Hi,” said Kaminari.

“…Hello,” Tokoyami said. The stare made him want to run. “You look…extremely horrible.”

“Adverbs. My worst enemy.”

Kaminari had to be pulled out of the rubble. His whole body felt unsteady, its existence nebulous. Around him, the city was firing up.

Events started happening in quick succession. Tokoyami yanked him from the semi-collapsed bunker, and he saw a towering wall of a ruined building emerge from the blackness of the night, hovering like a gravestone. Midoriya and Dabi’s clash had toppled the buildings on top of the bunker. He hoped they were empty, though he couldn’t see anything beyond the rush of lights and noise and throngs of people descending on them. The Pros had come, and with them came first responders in a flurry of whizzing noise that drowned everything.

In the distance, he saw flashes of blue interspersed with a deep shock wave that ripped through the air in intervals. He saw costumed people rushing towards the commotion, which travelled further and further down the street. One moment, Tokoyami was at his side, the next he was gone, lost in the crowd, off to deal with something more important than him.

The sediment of adrenaline started to settle in his stomach, no longer churned up. Around him, his senses were descending deeper into the unreachable space between his heart and his ribcage. His hands started to tingle.

In the thick whirl of police sirens and noise and panicked Pro Heroes, Kaminari stood still. His vision clouded over, fight-or-flight kicking in—subtle at first, then pounding hard like he was biting into raw adrenaline. There were ambulances and police cars and just throngs and throngs of people in uniforms of all types. People who wore costumes and badges and panic. There were too many people around him, too many who were better than he was. The slight self-pitying nag started quiet then grew louder in a slow storm.

Kaminari heard his name called—twice. Kaminari. That wasn’t his name. It belonged to someone else, the person Tomura made him into. A person Tomura made from clay he used to puppet around. He was still his puppet.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around.

He looked through the helmet of Hanta Sero. His reflection was very pale, so pale that he could only see the whiteness of his skin. Kaminari’s gaze strayed and he saw several of his classmates emerging from the crowd, looking anxious and horrified. They had names, but he couldn’t assign them to faces. Kaminari became conscientious that he must’ve been standing in one spot for a long time.

“Kaminari, where’s the others?” Sero demanded, voice finally reaching a pitch that he could hear.

Kaminari looked blankly at him.

Flickers of frustration intermingled with the hot intensity of worry passed over Sero. He clung to Kaminari’s shoulders, as if afraid he was going to bolt.

“There!” someone shouted, pointing somewhere to the right of them. “Kirishima’s being loaded into that ambulance!”

His classmates took off sprinting. Sero gave Kaminari with a hard gaze, free of charge.

“Kaminari, stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t move from this spot, I’ll be right back.”

Don’t move. Kaminari reeled. Before he could respond to the command, Sero pulled away and sprinted towards an overwhelming gush of neon lights mounted on an ambulance. If Kirishima was in the mess, he couldn’t see him. Evidentaly, his classmates could see somehing he couldn’t.

A second explosion rocked overhead, louder and rougher than the first. A strained, panicked cry pierced overhead from somewhere in the crowd, and Kaminari turned just in time to see the stars blot out from the sky. At first, he thought the city lights had reignited. Then, a distant flash highlighted skyscrapers on the horizon.

Tomura. Hokama had told him about his workplace being raided. Tomura had told him he would take care of it.

Kaminari wondered how many lives were being snuffed out.

Because of him.

Guilt skewered his guts, his eyes burnt with unshed tears.

His feet moved long before anyone could stop him. The surrounding heroes were too panicked and occupied with the surrounding destruction. It was easy for Kaminari to step back from the crowd, into the nearest blank space in the city.

It was shockingly easy to disappear from the crowd of heroes and emergency responders, but no one seemed to be looking for him. He’d been standing and on his feet. Perhaps that was a good enough indication that he was ‘okay.’ Either way, the chaos gave him enough time to slip away.

Kaminari didn’t know where he was going, but he just walked. He walked until his entire sense of self became muted—a distant tide pool long separated from the receding shoreline. Around him, the city was quiet aside from the distant commotions, and what foot traffic he saw consisted of panicked people too in a rush to look at him. In the distance, a black plume enveloped the sky. He felt as crushed as if he was the one who’d caused it. He might as well have.

When the weight became too much, he found a quiet street rendered black by the blackout and sank down onto the curb, his breath coming in deep pants that pierced through his whole body. Kaminari wondered if he’d broken a rib somewhere along the line or if it was just spiking anxiety. Looking down at his hands, he saw faint electrical burns from where the bolt of lightning had jolted out of his body, his veins traced with dark blue lines that ran up both his arms.

Kaminari couldn’t be sure what he was waiting for. Then, the answer came to him, like it always did.

He caught a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye, swinging his head in time to see a black figure standing under the spotlight before it died out again.

“Tomura,” he said at once.

It was his worst nightmare visualizing himself. He could handle Dabi, but he wasn’t so sure about Tomura—especially since he’d gotten more and more powerful. Tomura’s existence was a steady escalation of extremes and they weren’t even at the pinnacle.

Tomura’s stringy hair fell in greasy locks over his face. Framed in the flickering light overhead, he was unerring. The light cut out and he city plunged back into darkness.

On the next flash, Tomura was right in front of him.

Kaminari yelped and jolted out electricity. It did nothing against Tomura. The nightmare played out in his head and he wondered if it was even real, if any of it had ever been real. Things he’d been so certain of in the past flickered, the illusion stripping away piece-by-piece. Tomura waded through the localized electric storm Kaminari cloaked himself with, unerring.

His body refused to move. He realized with an aching terror that he couldn’t fight Tomura. Tomura wasn’t a person to him anymore—he was an object both precious and reviled, something he couldn’t bear to destroy no matter how much it pained him to look at him.

Tomura didn’t attack.

They stood together in the alley, facing each other, neither moving, the city ominous around them like an enclosed space. Kaminari knew that there was open air all around them. The darkness locked them together, impossibly close. Liquid anxiety throbbed through his veins and poisoned his muscles, locking him up and preventing his escape.

Tomura stood and stared at him. Then, he moved the hand covering his face and held it at his side. Kaminari couldn’t remember the last time he’d come face-to-face with him. And Tomura looked old, heaving a sigh that loosened the perpetual tightness in his shoulders.

“Search is a useful quirk,” said Tomura. “The hero who once owned it underestimated its depths, never unlocking its true potential.”

“Is this the part where you kill me?” Kaminari asked.

“Of course not. Don’t be dramatic.”

Tomura peeled something red and slimy off his shoulder and flicked it away. Kaminari looked away.

“I mean, you did kind of torture me,” said Kaminari. “So killing me seems like the next logical step.”

Tomura ignored him, and with a slight gesture of his hand, Kaminari knew it was time to stand.

He gripped the edge of the curb, resisting the pull, but he was powerless to stop his body from following Tomura to the end of the street. There, an idling taxi was waiting for them, and a white-faced middle-aged man turned to look to them with terrified eyes.

“You took a taxi here?” Kaminari asked, amused at the thought of Tomura sitting in a taxi like a regular commuter. The taxi driver’s hands wrung the wheel.

Tomura propped open the door. Kaminari climbed inside without question, shoving himself as close to the far door as he could as Tomura slipped in beside him, pinning him down.

“Kaminari, this is Rokuda,” said Tomura. “I told him I’d kill his wife and children if he didn’t wait for me. Say hello.”

“…Hi,” said Kaminari.

The taxi driver, white-faced, gave a curt nod in the rearview mirror. It was the face of a man who knew he wasn’t going to survive the night.

“Take us to UA,” Tomura instructed the driver.

Kaminari’s body seized up as he watched the curb pull away from him. He debated the merit of tumbling out of a movie vehicle.

The silence trembled out like an plucked guitar string, loud at first, and then fading. Kaminari wanted to ask so many things: why were they going to UA, how many people had Tomura killed that night, was Kaminari going to live long enough to see daylight, could he release the taxi driver so he didn’t have another body to the count. The silence said it for him.

Tomura folded his hands over his knee as the city rumbled past them outside.

“Am I gonna die?” Kaminari asked. “At least tell me that.”

“I said you wouldn’t,” said Tomura. “I’ve done everything for you, Kaminari, but evidently you don’t want help. You picked the heroes over me.”

“You tortured me! And you made me torture my classmates!”

“I didn’t tell you to torture anyone, Denki,” said Tomura. “You have the instinct of a villain. You knew the right thing to do was to make them pay.”

Kaminari squeezed his eyes closed. That didn’t sound right. Tomura had told him to do that, hadn’t he? Suddenly, he felt a lot less certain.

“You will never find forgiveness with them after what you’ve done,” Tomura continued. He shuffled closer and slung his arm around Kaminari’s shoulder. “One evil act constitutes a lifetime of ostracism for the heroes. However, I don’t care, and neither does the Paranormal Liberation Front. We represent companionship and purpose. The heroes have only ever confused you.”

“I’m not confused,” Kaminari said with more force than he intended. Tomura’s arm was limp, the smell of death emanating.

Suddenly bold, Kaminari heaved a breath. He twisted towards Tomura, fury exploding out from deep within, a dormant volcano Tomura awoke.

“You’re not giving me a choice, you’ve never given me a choice about anything!” Kaminari yelled. “God, you think you can dangle some goddamn title in my face like you’ll be giving me any actual freedom?! If I go with you, I’ll spend the rest of my damn life as your slave. I’d rather grovel at the heroes’ feet and hope that they can get me as far away from you as possible. I hope Izuku kills you someday. I know I can’t. I bet he can, though. I hope he kills you and I hope he makes you suffer for everything you ever did to me and everyone else you’ve ever hurt! I hope Izuku turns into a monster for just one moment in his life so he can make you feel something!”

Tomura didn’t even blink. “Are you done your temper tantrum?”

Kaminari felt gutted. “You don’t even care.” His eyes swelled with tears. “Y’know, I gotta wonder—what horrible, sick thing was done to you to make you like this? You say I’m confused, but I’ve never been so sure that you’ve only ever lied to me about everything and I was dumb enough to fall for it every time.”

“Denki, I am trying to help you,” said Tomura. His words were reassuring, but his tone was frigid. “You really want Midoriya to be your white knight? You think he would be after you mutilated him?”

“You made me. You made me.”

“You’re blaming me for something you did? You should feel lucky I even came to get you. I could’ve left you for the heroes to pick up and I’m even letting you choose. I’m tired of you, Denki. I’m tired of trying to save you and continually being cast aside for the heroes.”

“I hate you,” Kaminari warbled out. “I hate you more than I’ve hated anything in my entire life. There’s your goddamn answer.”

Tomura looked bored. He wrapped his arm around Kaminari’s shoulder and held it there for the rest of the car ride, which was tense for the rest of the way. He couldn’t be sure how long it took, riding through the darkness of the city. They may as well have been riding through a dark tunnel to an unknown destination, like a drive through purgatory where he knew just outside was nothing but an eternal suffering. Still, Tomura kept his arm around him, like they were old friends. The contact made Kaminari’s skin flash cold with anxiety.

They pulled up outside the UA gates after sometime. Maybe it was an hour. Maybe it was a few minutes. Time was a construct Kaminari could no longer measure. Tomura reached past Kaminari and opened the door for him.

“If you step out of this car, I’m not coming back for you,” said Tomura.

Kaminari stared out into the night, against the buildings framed in the brightening horizon. The sun was rising. He hadn’t slept in almost two days and everything felt hazy and disorientating, like he wasn’t here, like nothing had happened, like he was still standing on glass in the dark and underground, like Tomura’s hand wasn’t draped over his shoulder.

He was shaking when he ducked away from Tomura’s arm and put his foot on the pavement. The first step was agony; the morphine was wearing off. Then he gritted his teeth and forced himself to support enough of his own weight to step outside. When he looked back, Tomura was flat and devoid of anything humanizing, without even the slightest hint of disappointment present on his face. Kaminari stepped away from the car.

Tomura shut the door behind him, and the taxi pulled away from the curb. Kaminari almost ran after it. He wasn’t sure he had the physical ability, but he had every confidence that if he’d called, Tomura would’ve stopped the car and let him crawl back inside. He didn’t, though. He waited until the taxi pulled around the corner, leaving him at the gates of UA, and he couldn’t help but feel the mildest pang of abandonment deep in his gut.

Nearby, a streetlight flickered on.

MORE FAN ART BY BlueGhostCat, THANKS SO MUCH YOU ARE AWESOME

Chapter Text

He could’ve walked away.

Kaminari could do it. He could disappear into a cold crack in the sidewalk, become a whisper of a rumour of a fragment of a story. He could become an urban legend future UA students talked about: the traitor who helped Tomura dismantle the hero hierarchy. Kaminari wanted to turn back to the beginning, to reread the first chapter in his story over and over, so that it would never get to the part where everything had gone to hell.

When he reentered campus, he realized it wouldn’t be possible. Things were different, and UA, despite being the same as it always was, felt different. He saw in the encroaching main building, which looked imposing instead of a beacon of hope. There wasn’t anyone around except a security bot staring from behind a tree. Kaminari waved at it—the Pro Heroes would be here soon.

Until they did, he really, really needed to sit down.

He stood just inside the gate, debating what to do and where to go. He could go back to the dorms, the only place he’d ever felt safe, or to the principal’s office, which felt slightly more appropriate. Kaminari’s feet were screaming at him though, and he knew a trip to Recovery Girl’s office was overdo. It killed him a little that he was doing what Shigaraki had said he’d do.

There was no trouble getting into the main building, which felt like a security oversight until he remembered that no villain should be able to get past the front gate. The halls were so empty that he thought the Rapture had whisked everyone away, and he was the lone sinner let on Earth.

Finally, he made it to the nurse’s office.

Empty. Not surprising. He considered calling for help, but it would break the illuson. Instead, he kicked off his shoes and bloody socks, and sat on the bed to wait.

It occurred to him that he was going to live.

Sure, he was hurt, and maybe the mental scars ached more than the physical ones. But he was going to live.

He didn’t know what came next.

The sudden uncertainty made his stomach take a suicidal plunge. What happened next? He thought about Tartarus. He thought about being a prisoner again. Maybe he should’ve run while he still had the chance: run from the heroes, run from Tomura. He looked at his grimy fingers, the ones that had done the hurting. Blood had dried black under his fingernails. There was still a piece of Tomura inside of him, whispering illicit instructions—a creeping, invisible cancer he hadn’t known he had until Tomura made him symptomatic.

He was going to live.

Sure, someone might come out of the shadows and eviscerate him. But here, for now, he was going to live. His heart was still beating, he felt sweat on his brow, and he felt tight all over.

Kaminari realized he’d fully anticipated dying until it crashed into him and his stomach dropped out of his body. He was small. Tomura paused Kaminari’s life when he’d kidnapped him and it was now restarting. In under a minute, he went from a nine (or was it eight?) year old screaming for Mum to a seventeen (or was it sixteen?) year old feeling desperately alone.

When the door to the office swung open, he almost missed it. Almost missed Yamada let out a strangled yell and take a startled step back, hand going up in a near-defensive posture. He was on guard, unsure if Kaminari was a threat or not.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” said Kaminari, voice coming out swift before Yamada could break in. “I—I didn’t want to go anywhere else. Tomura left me here. He left me!”

Yamada stood still, his visage becoming fuzzy as Kaminari fought tears. Slow, slow, steady, the hero pulled his glasses off and stepped over the threshold.

The air pounded with tension. Thud, thud, thud. Kaminari didn’t run. He held his face in his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Yamada’s boots through his fingers. Then, a muttered series of swears and Yamada fumbled for his phone.

“Shouta, it’s me,” Present Mic said. “I found him—at the nurse’s office back here at UA…No, Shouta, I don’t know how. Just get back here quick, I’m so out of my league. And bring Recovery Girl. Please.”

He hung up. A weight sank down on the bed next to Kaminari and Kaminari unfurled his hands from his face to settle them on his lap, folded tight to stop them from shaking.

“How, uh, bad are you hurt?” Yamada asked. “Do you need to go to a hospital?”

“No, no, I can’t go there,” said Kaminari. “He’ll find me.”

“Who will?”

He didn’t answer.

“Well, shit. Okay, uh, we’ll just chill out here then.”

Kaminari took some shaky breaths. “Is everyone alive?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say they’re okay—shut up, Hizashi! They’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. Just hang loose, okay? Do you need water or something? Maybe a bandaid? You’re bleeding all over the place and I’m sure Recovery Girl would appreciate a clean office.”

Kaminari agreed to the water, and no to the bandaid. The moment Yamada tried to get close to look at his feet or his face or any other injuries he couldn’t remember getting, he startled away until he was perched about as far away as he could get without melting into the wall.

To his credit, Yamada tried his hardest. He tried talking to Kaminari. He didn’t answer. Normally they had a lot to talk about; Tomura had encouraged him to get close to Yamada and his perpetual loudmouth. Even away from Tomura’s hovering influence, Yamada was one of his favourite teachers. Now they stood a room’s length away from each other with nothing to say, the air stale and too warm.

He didn’t know how long it was. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe half-an-hour. Kaminari sat still, ignoring the creeping feeling that the clinic reminded him too much of sharp needles and low voices. A rapid succession of anxieties shot machine-gun fire into his head, and then it broke when Recovery Girl and Aizawa charged into the room.

Aizawa, for lack of a better word, looked awful. Shadows hung like banners under his bloodshot eyes. His uniform was torn in places, his stance unmistakably stiff. He was probably bruised and beat-up. Kaminari hadn’t even seen how the fight with Dabi ended. Recovery Girl closed the distance between them, ignoring Kaminari went he tried to shirk into the wall.

For a long moment, Aizawa seemed at a loss for what to say. He advanced, then stopped, taking in Kaminari’s appearance. The bloody footprints on the floor, the bruises on his face.

Then, all the tension, all the worry sewn into his body broke. The sight of Kaminari popped the seams and he slumped his shoulder against the wall.

“We’ve been looking for you for hours,” Aizawa said, voice crackling and tripping the edges, a desperate butterfly-like sound trying to escape an encroaching net. He rubbed his eyes. “Where were you? Why did you leave the scene? I’ve been out of my mind with…” He stopped. “Everyone has been very concerned.”

“Don’t interrogate him right now, Eraserhead,” Recovery Girl said, each word sharp off her tongue.

“But—”

“He’s injured. Fortunately, I provide better medical care than most hospitals. You two, out!”

“But—”

"This child," Recovery Girl spat, “has been through enough. If you’d kept better watch of him, he would’ve gotten treatment sooner. If I don’t see your backs in the next five seconds and let me do my job, you can forget seeing him at all!”

“But—”

“ONE!”

Kaminari didn’t think there was anything in the world that could make Yamada and Aizawa turn tail and run. Recovery Girl proved him wrong.

From then, it was a blur. Under any other circumstances and at any other time, he would’ve been embarrassed by Recovery Girl’s inspection. He saw in her eyes how she catalogued his injuries, keeping her directions clear and short. “Does this hurt?” and “Roll over” and “Try not to move.” The first order of business was to plant a kiss on his forehead, however the only thing it did was dull the pain a little. She hummed under her breath.

“Your body is too tired for my quirk to be effective,” Recovery Girl determined. “We’ll have to try again later.”

Under her doctor’s mantle, the only moment her demeanour broke was when he saw the characters carved into his back and spent a too-long while examining them in dead silence.

After she finished disinfecting and bandaging the cuts, she turned away and he heard her hiss, “That wicked, wicked girl.”

He felt little from having his injuries prodded. He might’ve been in shock, but it was hard to tell where the physical shock ended and the emotional shock began. Kaminari was a woodcarver’s failed canvas, a lifeless, empty block they tried to create into a masterpiece, only to mutilate and destroy his skin.

Recovery Girl injected him with something. it fleetingly occurred to him he should fear that needle. He wanted to fear it. He just…He couldn’t think. The best he could do was pull his arm back, then Recovery Girl said something gentle to him and it must’ve been reassuring, because he stilled. The vague pain skewering his body dulled somewhat.

He should’ve been embarrassed as Recovery Girl redressed him in hospital-worthy light blue pyjamas, should’ve insisted he wasn’t that far gone yet. But like everything else, embarrassment was the smallest of his problems at the moment. At least he no longer felt the blood was soaking through him. Recovery Girl spent another long while examining the garments, though he couldn’t read expressions through the back of her head.

Awareness came back in increments. First, he started regaining feeling in his body, then he sucked in a few shuddering breaths and he could feel again.

Recovery Girl had…moved. When had she moved? She was right in front of him. He felt a pinch on his arm and looked down to see that she’d put an IV in him at some point and propped his bandaged feet on a pillow.

“You look thin,” Recovery Girl noted. “Have you been eating?”

Kaminari opened and closed his mouth like a gaping whale shark.

“That would be a no. I’ll send someone to get some food from the cafeteria.”

The door to the nurse’s office swung open and Kaminari jolted. Aizawa marched into the office, and he wasn’t alone. With him was Nezu and Detective Tsukauchi.

“Absolutely not, I will not allow it!” Recovery Girl yelled.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” said Tsukauchi, the consummate professional. Where his voice wasn’t curt, it was cold. “I know it’s unkind, but it’s necessary. We need an interview while the memories are still fresh.”

“And what are you hoping to accomplish here? To determine that Tomura Shigaraki is a lunatic? Everyone already knows that!”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Aizawa perched at Kaminari’s bedside, achingly gentle. Not a good sign. Kaminari hated it when teachers berated him for sleeping in class or turning in late assignments or general just-being-Kaminari things. Now he longed for it.

“Good evening, Mr Kaminari,” said Nezu. “How are you feeling?”

“…Evening?”

“Yes, you arrived here quite early this morning. It is now evening.”

“Geez, I wish time passed this fast in class!” Kaminari tried to joke. It tasted bitter in his mouth. He gnawed on his thumbnail, then asked, “How many people are dead?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” said Aizawa.

“Are the others okay?”

“Kirishima didn’t have any serious injuries and was released from the hospital not too long ago. Bakugou and Midoriya should undergo surgery soon.”

“Will they be okay?”

“After treatment, yes.”

“And Hagakure?”

“Hagakure is in intensive care. She’s badly injured.”

Kaminari let out sharp breath through his nostrils and held his face in his hands. “Is she gonna die?”

“They’re giving her the best care they can, and Recovery Girl will monitor her condition. Her quirk isn’t very effective on any of them at the moment, though that should change as they get proper rest.”

“What about Dabi? Midoriya was fighting him—”

“It wasn’t a very long fight. Dabi fled the scene rather quickly after so many Pro Heroes showed up on the scene.” Aizawa moved closer. “Kaminari, we need to know everything that’s happened. The others filled in some details, but we need your account.”

“I shouldn’t talk,” said Kaminari. “I already did so many things I shouldn’t have. If I talk, Tomura’ll just use it as an excuse to…he’ll…”

“Kaminari, how do you know Shigaraki?”

Kaminari clutched his arms over his chest and refusing to meet anyone in the eye. He was acutely aware of Tsukauchi’s attention trained on him and he couldn’t even bring himself to be angry about it. After all, like everyone else, Tsukauchi wanted answers, and Kaminari had never had so much power while feeling so powerless.

He dug the balls of his palms into his eyes.

“Can I talk to Kirishima?” Kaminari asked.

Aizawa and Tsukauchi glanced at each other. Tsukauchi nodded.

“If we let Kirishima in here, will you talk to us?” Aizawa asked.

“Yeah,” said Kaminari.

“If Kirishima doesn’t want to see you, I’m not going to make him. Do you understand?”

He nodded. Even the hope of seeing Kirishima was enough, even if he hated him afterwards or already did, at least maybe this way he could get some closure.

It occurred to him that Kirishima must not have been far, because Aizawa returned far quicker than he would have if he’d trekked all the way back to the dorms. He heard Kirishima’s loud footsteps coming down the hall, charge into the infirmary, and pull back the curtain to fully behold Kaminari.

Kirishima looked a lot better than he had in the bunker. Colour had returned to his face, and his eyes no longer possessed the wild panic of an animal trying to survive. His usual spiky hairstyle had drooped to frame his face. He saw Kirishima catalogue the scene in his mind, attention finally resting on his feet.

“Shit, what happened?!” Kirishima exclaimed. He sat by Kaminari and gripped his knee tight. “Your feet! Kaminari, what happened to your feet? Holy shit. Were they like this the whole time? Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve carried you!”

“You were helping Bakugou and Hagakure, and Midoriya was barely holding it together,” said Kaminari.

“I would’ve made it work.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, geez.”

Kirishima sat with Kaminari. He took his hand, running his calloused fingers over Kaminari’s knuckles.

“How’d you get back to the school?” Kirishima asked. “I doubt you got far on those.”

Kaminari shifted his shoulders.

“You can tell me. It’s okay.”

Kaminari gulped air. “Tomura brought me here. He left me here. I mean, he made me pick, and I picked the heroes. I hope the cab driver’s okay…He said he was gonna kill him!”

“Kill a cab driver? What are you talking about?”

“He brought me in a cab, he took the cab driver hostage. He said he was…He said he was gonna kill him.” 

Kirishima blinked, confusion, bewilderment, and shock vying for dominance on his face. He pressed his lips together until they turned white, then sandwiched Kaminari’s hand with both of his.

“I think…I think you need to tell them everything,” said Kirishima.

“Tomura wouldn’t want me to,” said Kaminari.

“His wants are really that important to you?”

“I mean…I mean, no, but also yes. It’s hard to explain.”

“I think it’ll be worse if you keep it all a secret between you and him. Please, I want to know everything.”

Kaminari couldn’t meet Kirishima in the eye, couldn’t face the fact that Tsukauchi was in the corner, hanging onto his every word, and taking notes. He refused to look at Nezu or Aizawa, who were also quiet and off to the side, letting Kirishima dominate the room.

And when it came to Kirishima, it was easy to give in.

He told Kirishima everything.

He told them whatever he remembered about his life before his kidnapping, things that came back to him in sudden, vivid memories. He was an only child, but he couldn’t remember his name, or his parents’ names. He didn’t know where he’d lived, exactly how old he’d been when he’d met Tomura, when he’d been kidnapped. There were some details so indistinct in his head that Kaminari wondered how much he was making up and how much was fact.

He told them about his dad’s arm at the bottom of the stairs and everything he could remember about his life since then. About the training, his many, many guardians, the schools, running away, and then about Hokama. How he used to fight Tomura until his fingers bled, and then when Hokama came, he didn’t fight anymore.

Then, he told them about UA. About how delighted Tomura had been that All Might was going to be a teacher at the school the year that Kaminari infiltrated. How he’d fallen so deeply into his role that he didn’t know how much of it he was lying about. How living at UA was the first true taste of freedom since Tomura had taken him. After that, Kaminari let the silence hang, knowing that he would have to get into the details about how he’d come to frame Hagakure, the fallout, and his role in his classmates’ kidnapping. Kaminari left nothing out. After so many years of staying silent, suddenly it had all overflowed and there wasn’t anything holding him back anymore.

Kirishima was right. Tomura would try to kill him, harm him, torture him no matter what, so he may as well spite him and reveal as much as he could, while he could. There was no telling if he could tomorrow.

For the large part, everyone in the room was silent, letting Kaminari speak as if afraid that interrupting him would cause him to clam up again. Only Kirishima wore his emotions on his face, gasping at times, squeezing Kaminari’s hand at others, asking gentle follow-up questions when appropriate. But for the large part, Kirishima just let Kaminari direct the flow of the story, never refuting or deflecting or blaming at any point, just holding on like Kaminari was the reckless pilot and Kirishima was the hapless passenger who was just praying they would land soon.

The part of the whole adventure that left Kaminari feeling the most ill was the part about Eri. About what he had put her through. And he knew she was relevant to the story, and he didn’t want to say it while Aizawa was there, and he couldn’t leave it by the roadside. If he was going to be honest, he had to be honest about the whole thing.

“Please don’t be mad,” Kaminari said to Aizawa. “I was supposed to kidnap Eri.”

Kirishima’s hand tightened around Kaminari’s. “So…instead of us, you were supposed to get her?”

“I had a chance when we did the séance, but...I couldn’t do it, when it came down to it.” He stared at his fingers knotted in the sheet. “I didn’t want to put her through what I’ve been through. She was like me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aizawa rubbed a hand over his face, but to Kaminari’s surprise, he didn’t look angry. Just sad.

When he was done, he didn’t feel any lighter than he had before, only relieved that the lies were over. Kaminari finally looked up and dared to lock eyes with Aizawa. He’d never been easy to read, but what struck him was the profound sadness that resonated back at him. A type of familiar sadness that made him think Aizawa had at least some inkling of the things he’d been through. Tsukauchi was still in the corner, looking spent and exhausted.

“I’m going to jail, aren’t I?” Kaminari asked him.

Tsukauchi looked taken aback at being addressed, but being the model police officer, he recovered laser-fast. “That hasn’t been decided yet. This is an unusual case, to put it lightly.”

“What happens now?”

“I’ll let you recover for a while. I may have to reinterview you later depending on where other inquiries lead, but regardless, this is likely going to be a very, very long investigation.”

“Sorry.”

Tsukauchi sighed. “Eraserhead, Nezu, let’s talk in the hall.”

He left with Aizawa and Nezu. When they were out of sight, Kaminari sank back into the pillow.

“Man, I screwed up bad,” said Kaminari with a sardonic laugh.

“Kaminari, they kidnapped you,” Kirishima pointed out. “You were a fucking kid.”

“Not for all of it.”

“Hey, I think anyone would turn out a little messed up after spending so much time with Shigaraki and Hokama.”

“Fuck, I’m so going to jail for Hokama.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Kaminari, I really think that counted as self-defense. I mean, he was gonna kill Hagakure. You saved her life.”

“And she’s still hurt really bad. If I hadn't put her there, she wouldn't have been in that situation.

“She’s strong and she’s got Recovery Girl looking out for her. She’s going to be okay.”

Aizawa reentered the clinic, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked close to collapsing, but refocused on seeing Kaminari lying in bed.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” said Aizawa. “Kaminari—”

Aizawa stopped himself. He lowered himself onto the bed beside him.

“Kaminari,” he began again, a little more gently, “You’re not under arrest. However, we have to put you under twenty-four hour guard for your own safety. Nezu is putting Hound Dog in charge of your security, and I think you should consider talking to him about…all of this.”

Hound Dog-the-terrifying-school-counsellor was such a deliberate choice, and the reasons were obvious. Kaminari had no intention of repeating the story ever again. He wanted to keep it locked away, close to his heart, where he could protect it with a ribcage of repression.

“Can I go back to Heights Alliance?” Kaminari asked.

“You want to go back?” said Aizawa. “Why?”

“Cuz I don’t wanna be here,” said Kaminari. “No offence, Recovery Girl.”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” said Recovery Girl. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “It may do him some good to rest in a familiar environment. I’ll approve it, but he’s not to have any stress, and that goes for you too, Kirishima. And for goodness sake, will someone please make sure he eats and stays hydrated?”

“Kaminari’s room is off limits due to the police investigation,” said Aizawa. “Take him to the second floor on the girls’ side. None of them have rooms on that level.”

Kaminari was eager to go anywhere that wasn’t Recovery Girl’s clinic. The scrutiny was crushing enough, and he wanted to disappear into a place that was familiar and safe—or at least, had been safe in the past.

Recovery Girl gave him care instructions that he didn’t listen to while taking out the IV and checking over his bandages. Meanwhile, Aizawa pulled Kirishima aside and Kaminari had to carefully tune out from Recovery Girl to listen in on them.

“Do not let him out of your sight, not for a moment,” Aizawa hissed. “Do you understand?”

Kirishima nodded, though he was so white that Kaminari wondered if the words even registered. There were so much meaning behind Aizawa’s words that Kaminari couldn’t keep up with them all, and for once he wasn’t obligated to care.

Kirishima swung Kaminari’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him into his arms. He instinctively flailed and fought against him, but Kirishima’s strength won out.

“Hey, you’re not walking on those feet,” Kirishima said with forced levity. “Let me carry you for a bit, okay?”

Even with Kirishima carrying him, it took a long time to get back to the dorms, and Kaminari didn’t have any idea of how much time had passed since they’d returned until he looked into blotty black sky and realized it was nighttime again. Had a whole day passed without him noticing? He couldn’t even tell time anymore without it being unreliable.

Hound Dog met up with them halfway to the dorms, a hulking and startling presence even when his demeanour was subdued. It was late, and campus was quiet except for security robots on their scheduled patrols. Kaminari wanted to get out of the hospital-grade pyjamas Recovery Girl had given him. They were an itchy layer of skin he wanted to scratch off and peel away to reveal the raw skin underneath.

“I dunno if we can get you into your room to get you some clothes, so you can borrow some of mine,” said Kirishima when he complained about the pyjamas.

“Wow, you really are marriage material,” Kaminari joked. “You’re carrying me over the threshold, giving me clothes, cleaning up my messes…Look, we even bought a dog together.”

Hound Dog grunted out an annoyed breath.

“No offence,” said Kaminari. Then, he caught Kirishima’s look and he was smiling. “What?”

“Well, it’s just…kinda a relief that you’re still you,” said Kirishima.

“Eh, I wasn’t exactly the type of villain to throw my head back and go mwah-ha-ha-ha! I mean, I guess I could’ve done it after the mask came off…Dammit, I kinda missed my chance with that, didn’t I? Lame!”

Hound Dog left them at the front doors of Heights Alliance, muttering something about setting up a patrol around the dorms. Kaminari had already taken note of the security bots discreetly following them. Following him. He knew Nezu wasn’t going to take any risks with him from now on, even if he could fry most of his security defences with one shot of his quirk. The principal probably had a contingency plan for that.

When they went over the threshold, there was no time to stop it, no time to prepare. They passed through the common room and it was still, a mausoleum to better times. Normally, Kaminari was used to hearing the slightest movements and rustling, from feet pounding on the upper floors, to a loud wake-up call from Bakugou. Tonight, there was nothing.

“Where is everyone?” Kaminari asked.

“Some are asleep, but I think almost everyone is still at the hospital, keeping the others company,” said Kirishima.

“Really?…It was that bad, huh.”

“Bad enough. Look, don’t worry about that right now. The others are gonna be fine, and they got Recovery Girl looking after them. That’s a hell of a lot more than we had in that bunker.”

Kirishima took him straight up to one of the vacant rooms, where he set Kaminari on the edge of the bed like he was something fragile, then fetched fresh clothes from his room. Kirishima’s clothes didn’t quite fit. The red sweatshirt he sank into was too loose around the chest, however it was much more comfortable than the vague hospital-smell of the pyjamas.

While Kaminari changed, Kirishima fetched him some water, and returned carrying a bottle of pills.

“What’s up with that?” Kaminari asked.

“Don’t say ‘no’ yet, but they’re sleeping pills,” said Kirishima. “Recovery Girl told me to offer them to you.”

“Pass. I think I’m gonna develop an aversion to modern medicine at this rate.”

Kaminari lay back and let Kirishima pull the covers over him.

“I’m even getting tucked in?!” Kaminari exclaimed. “This is great. Can we do this all the time?”

“Want a bedtime story too?” Kirishima asked, and he didn’t even sound sarcastic. He really meant it. Kaminari felt like if he’d asked, Kirishima would’ve read any story to him.

“No, just don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t. I know you’re probably not ready to talk about a lot of stuff yet, and that’s fine, but I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Okay.” Kaminari curled up under the sheets and shut his eyes, sinking into the darkness. Just a little bit. “Hey, Kirishima?”

“Yeah?”

“Are Sero and Ashido super mad?”

Kirishima didn’t answer for a moment. Kaminari almost opened his eyes to see if he was still there, then Kirishima’s fingers ran through his hair. The touch was so achingly gentle, he almost didn’t feel it.

“They’re a bit upset,” said Kirishima. “They’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

“Seems like a hard thing to get over.”

“Once they hear the story, they’ll realize just how screwed up this whole situation actually is and forgive you, I promise.”

Kaminari seized Kirishima’s wrist. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Uh, what?”

He took both hands and grabbed Kirishima’s wrist as hard as he could.

“You can’t tell anyone,” said Kaminari. “Not about my crappy life, not about what happened in the bunker. And especially…especially not about what Himiko did, about the kiss and the…You just can’t tell anyone. Please!”

“Kaminari, I’m not! But people are gonna find out no matter what.”

“The Pros won’t flaunt all the details of an investigation to the public, and they especially won’t talk about how they let a traitor into UA. At the very least, they’ll try to keep all the details under wraps.”

“Kaminari, listen, if the others hear the whole story, they’re gonna forgive you.”

“You think being kidnapped and tortured by Tomura is a point of pride for me?! I don’t want people to know that! It was bad enough lying in a hospital bed with Recovery Girl prodding at me. You think I want that? You think I want people to pity me?”

“Isn’t that better than being seen as a villain?”

“At least if people see me as a villain, they won’t think I’m weak.”

“Kaminari…” Kirishima inhaled and exhaled deeply, composing himself. “I think you should think about telling Sero and Ashido, even if you don’t want to share it with anyone else. That said, they’re not gonna hear about it from me.”

“Make sure Bakugou, Midoriya, and Hagakure swear, too.”

“It’s that important to you?”

“It’s everything. My life sucks as it is. I don’t know need the universe to know just how bad it is.”

Kaminari didn’t answer. The thought of having to repeat the story was daunting. It had been hard enough getting it out once, getting it out a second time would be the equivalent of swallowing rusty nails. Tsukauchi would be back, maybe with freshly pressed uniforms and a set of handcuffs next time.

“Um, Kirishima?” said Kaminari. “This probably isn’t very manly, but could you…?”

Kirishima smiled. “It’s not unmanly, believe me.”

Kirishima crawled onto the bed with him and didn’t even give him time to get settled before he seized him around the waist and rested his head in his lap. He couldn’t be comfortable, half-propped up against the wall and Kaminari held tight to him. However, he kept stroking his hair and Kaminari noticed a small tremble working its way through Kirishima’s body, like he was fighting every muscle to stay as still as possible.

When Kaminari fell asleep, he mercifully didn’t dream.

“Why is he here?”

Kaminari’s eyes sprang open. The voice wasn’t directed at him, however he sprang awake as if it was.

The afterhaze of sleep gone, he saw Yaoyorozu in the doorway, and Kirishima stood in her way, looking frozen. She wasn’t alone, either. Sero loomed just over her shoulder, pale and shaken like a melting wax candle.

“Why is he here?!” Yaoyorozu demanded again.

“Because he’s been through hell and I think he’s been punished enough,” said Kirishima. “And because I want him here, and because Mr Aizawa said it was okay.”

“Did you even see Midoriya?! He’s missing his eye! What the hell happened?!”

“Kaminari didn’t do that!” Kirishima lied. Kaminari clamped his hands over his mouth to stop his scream.

“Hagakure’s really badly hurt. Do you even know how badly she’s hurt?!”

“Of course I know, Momo.”

“Then why don’t you care?!”

“I CARE! Okay?! You have no idea what we’ve been through!”

“Then explain it!”

“I can’t. Momo, I’m as tired as hell and I don’t want to fight about this right now. Do you know how long it took for Kaminari to fall—?” Kirishima turned and saw Kaminari staring at him. “And you woke him up! Geez!”

“Let me talk to him—” Momo tried to muscle her way through, but Kirishima was an immovable force.

“You’re not getting in,” said Kirishima. “I’ve had to spend the last two days watching my friends get tortured and almost die, and I’m tired. Believe me, I get how you feel—I felt the same way for a while—but there’s a lot of things you don’t know, and I’m just asking…I’m just asking you to not make any rash judgments. I’ll hash this out with you later as much as you want, but I won’t let you do it like this.”

Yaoyorozu looked lost. Her voice was contrarian, but the fight was leaving far faster than she could muster the energy to prop it up. When she ran, it was in a flurry of suppressed tears.

Sero lingered behind her, looking shellshocked.

“If it’s just Sero, you can let him in,” said Kaminari, aching for something familiar.

Kirishima hesitated, but did as instructed. Sero ran his fingers through his hair, shuffling from foot to foot as he did a kind of side-shuffle over to the bed. When he was close enough, they made eye contact, like two crushing teenagers stealing gazes during class time. A spark ignited in Sero’s eyes. It was realization.

Sero was so tall that when he got to his knees beside the bed, he was still at the perfect height to pull Kaminari into a body-crushing hug.

“You okay?” Sero asked.

“That’s kind of a redundant question,” Kaminari said into his shoulder. He knotted his hand tight in Sero’s shirt.

“I was gonna come back for you. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry I ran off.”

Sero broke off the hug, and just looked at him.

“Um, this is the part where you should be mad,” said Kaminari.

“I won’t lie to you, I was pretty pissed,” Sero admitted.

“You’re not anymore?”

“I’m just confused and tired. I mean, I thought Midoriya looked rough, but you look worse, so that makes it hard to be angry.”

Kaminari actually laughed. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Wow,” he warbled out with a faint smile. “I’m being slandered.”

“I’d like to know what happened, but I’ll let you rest.”

Kaminari remembered what he’d made Kirishima promise, about not telling others, but one look at Sero and he knew that his conviction would crumble for him—and Ashido, most likely. She wasn’t at his bedside now which was telling enough, but maybe there was hope there.

He woke up he-didn’t-know-how-long later to a dark room. Kaminari’s panic peeked at feeling alone, and then he heard Kirishima and Sero’s voices from nearby. The bunker was gone. Surrounding him was the familiarity of Heights Alliance. It had been the only safe place he could remember, and the only place where he could remember getting a good night’s sleep.

Kaminari settled under the sheets. His various aches and pains seemed less significant, but he kept still anyway. Sero and Kirishima were out on the balcony, the door ajar, though he could only see the back of Kirishima’s bright red head. Sero was sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him and staring out into the night.

“…She’s pretty mad,” said Sero.

“Is she still with Bakugou?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah, he’s been champing at the bit. Wants to get out of hospital as soon as possible, despite recovering from surgery.”

“So she’s not coming?”

“I think she just needs a bit more time.”

Ashido. It could only be Ashido they were talking about.

“How much has Bakugou said about what happened?” Kirishima asked.

“He said everything was Kaminari’s fault, but he didn’t get any more specific than that. Midoriya’s been quiet about it all, too. Have you all taken vows of silence or something?”

“Uh, not exactly. I called them. Asked them not to talk to anyone about what happened.”

“What for?”

“Kaminari doesn’t want us to.”

“Why not?”

“He just doesn’t.” Kirishima’s breath shuddered in and out. “Look, I can’t say why, I can’t say how—not yet—but Kaminari hasn’t had a lot of…control over things. If he doesn’t want anyone to say what happened, then I won’t, at least, and it looks like Midoriya and Bakugou are on board with it.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea. Everyone else in the class is wondering just why this happened, how it happened.”

“I know. They’ll just have to be patient. I know Kaminari’s gonna change his mind, but I’m not gonna make him tell all before he’s ready. Mr Aizawa said he’s gonna have Hound Dog do counselling with him, so maybe that’ll help.”

Sero was quiet for a while. His eyes had a distant far-off stare. When he glanced in Kaminari’s direction, he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” said Sero. “We should’ve gone to Mr Aizawa sooner.”

“We didn’t know how bad it was,” Kirishima comforted him. “And Kaminari’s here now, he’s got us.”

“What if they arrest him?”

“I won’t let them, not after what I’ve seen.”

It was quiet for a long, long time. Kaminari tasted hot suspense in the air.

“Toga,” Kirishima suddenly said.

“What?” Sero asked.

“Toga’s still out there. We need to keep her away from Kaminari.”

Kaminari could see Sero trying to un-puzzle the puzzle in his mind. He gave up after a while.

“Didn’t Tokoyami tell you about what happened to her?” Sero asked. “Toga’s in a coma.”

Kaminari couldn’t move. Fear fluttered through him, then relief, then confusion, then fear again.

“She’s in…” Kirishima started. “She’s in a coma. Himiko Toga’s in a coma. That’s what you said?”

“Yeah, apparently she resisted arrest when Aizawa tried to grab her and there was some epic battle. Tokoyami was there for the whole thing. The point is, she’s not really in a condition to…go near anybody.”

Kaminari tried to picture Himiko lying comatose in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and with a tube shoved down her throat. He stifled his smile by shoving his face into his pillow.

“What does Toga have to do with this?” Sero asked. “I thought that maybe Kaminari’s stepdad did all—”

“We just have to make sure she stays away from him,” said Kirishima. “And Shigaraki, too, though I think Midoriya’s gonna have that one covered.”

“…Kirishima, are you alright?”

Kaminari listened to Kirishima’s breath shudder and tremble. He couldn’t even feel guilty about it anymore. There was just so much he already carried that it all blended together in a vague pattern.

“You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve seen in the last few days,” said Kirishima. “It doesn’t feel real. I’m not hurt though, so I guess I should count myself lucky.”

“I mean, I’m glad you’re not hurt, but it’s okay to not be okay emotionally.”

That seemed to be the sentence that broke Kirishima. Kaminari felt he was intruding on something private and pulled the covers up over his head.

Kaminari was laid up for three days, and they converted the vacant room into his own personal hospital room. Kirishima dragged in a television and game console, where they spent his every waking moment gaming and clicking away from news channels. Recovery Girl visited almost hourly at first, then cut back to a few times a day, then once a day. Each kiss barely smoothed out his injuries, only easing the pain and staunching the worst of the bleeding, and even when her quirk managed to stitch his cuts, he saw that they weren’t fading all the way.

“I’m sorry, there will be scarring,” Recovery Girl told him.

“I guess Midoriya and I can start a club then,” Kaminari joked. No one laughed.

All Kaminari could see were thin lines crisscrossing his skin in a patchwork pattern, including ones that wrote out Himiko’s name on his back. He was going to be carrying those around for a while, it seemed.

When Kirishima and Sero weren’t distracting him, Kaminari was on edge and hyper-vigilant. He felt that he was being watched at all times, that his skin prickled and vibrated, that he was still standing on glass shards. And despite being in the safety of the dorm, he couldn’t erase the truth that he was, in part, a prisoner. He was never alone, and when he looked outside, he always saw a security bot not too far away, or Hound Dog patrolling the grounds, chasing away curious students. The lockdown ended the day after he settled down in the dorm and classes would resume the next week.

Kirishima and Sero were his connections to the outside, relaying brief updates on how the others were doing. Bakugou and Midoriya were due to be released from the hospital soon. Hagakure was looking at a longer stay at the hospital and Kaminari wondered if she would ever be the same again after Hokama’s maltreatment.

He knew he wasn’t.

Aside from Kirishima and Sero, he was visited only by adults. Hound Dog discussed security with him, but he knew it was a veiled excuse to get him to talk. Nezu and Tsukauchi came by once or twice to ask follow up interview questions, or have him recount parts of the story again. They were probing for inconsistencies, but he was done lying about his villain origin story, anyway. The lie had become stale on his tongue. Aizawa was the most frequent visitor, however. He kept tabs on Kaminari, asked how he was doing, was always present when Tsukauchi wanted an interview.

He felt the energy pulsing hard through Heights Alliance as his classmates returned from the hospital. Every presence seemed to swell through the walls, bringing with them a parade of trauma and questions he couldn’t answer. The dorm had become a heart engorged with blood, and he was the blocked artery about to cause a heart attack. Fortunately, no one expected anything from him except to stay in his room, and Sero and Kirishima kept away visitors, bringing him all his food straight to him.

Kaminari wondered that if he asked, if he would even be allowed to leave.

“Kaminari?”

He slowly dragged his gaze across the room and settled it on Kirishima.

“I think I spaced out,” said Kaminari. “What was the question?”

“I didn’t ask one, I just wanted to make sure you were still here,” said Kirishima. “You’ve been doing that a lot.”

“What, spacing out? That’s not exactly new for me.”

“It doesn’t really look like your usual brand of spacing out,” said Sero. He was folding Kaminari’s—or rather, Kirishima’s—clothes. Why was he folding his clothes and when had he started doing that?

“You haven’t talked to Hound Dog yet,” Kirishima noted.

“Hound Dog is a big giant hairy man with teeth,” said Kaminari. “He doesn’t make me feel at ease. Now if Professor Midnight wanted to talk…”

“Midnight isn’t the school counsellor.”

“Maybe she should be, I think she could get a lot of repressed teenage boys to open up.”

The bedroom door swung open, and to no one’s surprise, Aizawa walked straight in without knocking. He looked only mildly more rested than he had on previous visits, though the strain of the situation was wearing on him. Kaminari saw thin hairline cracks in his teacher and, with just a enough pressure, Aizawa might break.

Aizawa surveyed the three of them, gaze landing on Kaminari. “That’ll have to do.”

“A lot of folks have that response to me,” Kaminari quipped.

“I meant what you’re wearing. Get up, we have to get going.”

“Uh, going where?” Kaminari asked. His muscles constricted under his skin, preparing him for the moment where he had to bolt.

“You can walk now, so the principal and some of the faculty are having a meeting to discuss some things.”

Kaminari felt like melting off the bed.

“You couldn’t have given a warning about that?” Kirishima asked.

“Scheduling a meeting would just stress him out,” said Aizawa.

“So you’re doing it now?!”

“Yes. Kaminari, get up.”

“I think I should go with him,” said Kirishima.

“No. Kaminari only.”

Kaminari’s breath fluttered in his chest. His feet ached when he stood, but he held his own weight. He moved fast away from Kirishima before he could turn back and throw himself behind him.

“Don’t worry,” Kaminari smiled through his teeth and waved off a few finger guns. “I’ll be back. Just gotta smooth-talk the teachers into not expelling me, right?”

Neither of them smiled back.

Aizawa escorted him out of Heights Alliance’s rear exit and back across campus, taking large loops around groups of students scattered across the campus. They were keeping him away from them, away from anyone aside from a small trusted group. Kaminari briefly wondered if he would’ve been better off making an ill-fated run for it while he’d had the chance standing outside UA just a week before, when Shigaraki had abandoned him.

They didn’t talk. Kaminari’s heart pounded too hard for him to think about anything except concentrating all his willpower into not dropping down with anxiety. Aizawa walked almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him, indicating which directions he should go with a slight judge of the shoulders and a stern look.

The halls of the main building were empty, and Aizawa led him right up to the conference hall where the faculty held their big-important meetings, a fact Kaminari only knew because he’d spent one or two times listening outside the door. He didn’t have any reason to hide the fact, but the shame still stung, and he stopped himself before he could tell on himself.

When they were almost at the door, Aizawa stopped him.

“Eri wanted me to give this to you,” Aizawa said. He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a folded card.

When Kaminari opened it, it was a crayon drawing of a large flower, and in the middle was what appeared to be a depiction of Eri, waving at him. She’d clumsily written ‘GET WELL SOON’ across the top.

“I think she’s got a future as an artist,” Kaminari said with a slight smile. He let it fall away. “I’m sorry.”

Aizawa didn't answer. He let him speak, waiting.

“I know you’re mad about everything and I did some really shitty things and I almost—what I almost did to Eri, God! What was I thinking?”

“Kaminari—”

“I am so sorry! I know I gotta apologize to Eri too, but she doesn’t even know, and you’ve basically adopted her—”

“Kaminari—”

“I know sorry doesn’t erase any of it, I just—I’m really sorry—”

“Kaminari, you need to breathe.”

Kaminari wasn’t aware that they’d stopped. Wasn’t aware that Aizawa was holding him steady by the shoulders, that he’d stopped breathing, that his veins was thread tangling together to create an impossible knot.

He’d never seen Aizawa so gentle. Kaminari took a breath just from the shock of Aizawa looking so clear-eyed.

“You gave me one of the biggest scares of my life,” said Aizawa. "I’m not angry at you.”

“I did a lot of crappy things,” Kaminari said quietly.

“I think this situation is a little more complicated than you being ‘villainous.’ You shouldn’t have done the things you did. However, you were also afraid for your life, and Shigaraki had a huge influence on you. Just because you did some bad things, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help or compassion.”

Kaminari looked out the window, across the campus, back towards Heights Alliance.

“They will understand in time,” Aizawa assured him.

“They might not.”

“You have people in your corner. Kirishima and Midoriya have given everyone quite the earful these last few days about you.”

“…Midoriya’s done that?”

“Yes. He’s shut down anyone who says anything remotely negative. From what I understand, Detective Tsukauchi got quite the lecture from him.”

“I would’ve paid to see that," Kaminari said. He felt breathless. "Midoriya really didn't have to do that..."

They turned to the door to the conference hall. Aizawa clasped his shoulder, hard, but affirming.

“When we go in there, don’t be afraid,” said Aizawa. “I’m with you no matter what.”

Once again, more fan art by BlueGhostCat! It's amazing and I love it!

Chapter Text

Kaminari wobbled over the threshold, his heartbeat thrumming so loud that he couldn’t hear the muted hellos thrown in his direction. Only Aizawa’s grip kept him planted on the ground, otherwise he might’ve tumbled down. A small thought went off like a shotgun in his head—Aizawa wasn’t just there for support, he was there to stop him from bolting. And bolting became a very tangible threat when he saw Tsukauchi.

He’d expected the conference room to be filled with the UA staff, all circling him with judgment and contempt and threat, so he had to curb his expectations in rapidfire succession when it was just Tsukauchi and Nezu.

“I can’t do this,” he hissed to Aizawa.

“Kaminari—no, hold on, it’s okay,” said Aizawa. “I’m right here with you, remember? We are going to face this together. I promise you that everything will be alright.”

Black spots popped in his vision before he slammed back into his body, the air flexing around him and squeezing his ribcage. Kaminari could smell his own fear in the air. He forced himself to take a breath and the black spots shrank away.

“Don’t leave my side,” Kaminari pled in a whisper. He felt like a child for asking. Aizawa fell in tune with him anyway.

He and Aizawa took seats in adjoining chairs in the centre of the room. Aizawa let go of his shoulder, but his presence was always there.

“How are you feeling, Mr Kaminari?” Nezu asked.

Nezu wasn’t one for soft empathy. Kaminari had pegged the principal the moment he’d met him. Nezu was all hard edges, the sharp corner of a chipped stone, and only he could ask how someone was doing with a smile and sound so distant.

“I feel like crap,” Kaminari admitted.

Nezu held his stare. He pointed to a kettle sitting on the desk. “Tea?”

“I think my stomach would hate me if I put something in it.”

“As you wish,” said Nezu. “How much have Mr Kirishima and Mr Sero kept you informed about the current situation?”

“They haven’t said much.”

“Well, then I have good news and bad news. The good news is that Midoriya, Bakugou, and Hagakure are expected to recover, although Miss Hagakure is looking at an extended period of rehabilitation.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Kaminari asked.

“She has partial paralysis on the left side of her body. Recovery Girl believes she will regain function in time.”

“Will she still be able to become a Hero?”

“I don’t see why not, albeit with a tainted public image. Even though she’s exonerated as the UA traitor, the stigma attached to this incident won’t disappear. Humans remember these kinds of things.”

“Is that the bad news?”

“No,” said Tsukauchi. “The bad news is that the night that you were all recovered from the bunker, Shigaraki and other villains associated with him killed twenty-four people, mostly police officers investigating Hokama’s office. That cab driver you mentioned also seems to have disappeared. Honestly, considering what Shigaraki is capable of, I think we should count ourselves lucky that the body count isn’t higher.”

Kaminari let out the energy in his body by exhaling through his nose. He clamped his hands between his knees and tried to stay still.

“Toga was captured, so it wasn’t a complete loss,” said Tsukauchi. “Society will be much safer with her off the streets.”

“All those cops dying was probably my fault too, huh?” Kaminari asked.

“Blame isn’t relevant,” said Tsukauchi. “Everyone wanted to rescue the missing UA students, and we’ve accounted for all of them. When you’re a cop in this society, you go in understanding the risks involved.”

“Bet they didn’t expect Tomura to swoop in and kill them.”

“Shigaraki is a villain. It’s just what he does.” Tsukauchi glanced at Nezu, who nodded, then back at Kaminari. “I’ve been doing some investigating, trying to figure out who you are.”

“Found anything good?” Kaminari forced a smile that no one returned. “Hey, am I, like, the long-lost son of a billionaire or something? That’d be cool.”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a bit like you just appeared out of nowhere. I won’t give up on your case, though. I’m sure you’d like to know what your real name is.”

Kaminari tensed up. “I’d rather I didn’t know, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and Shigaraki gave me the name, but I’m just Kaminari now. I can’t identify with whatever my name was before, it just wouldn’t feel right. You don’t just call yourself Denki Kaminari for however long it’s been and then change your name.”

“That’s up to you,” said Tsukauchi. “It’s still important that we determine where you came from.”

Kaminari gave a half-hearted, don’t-care shrug. He mused that a part of him hoped that Tsukauchi didn’t find out who he was.

Tsukauchi continued, “Kaminari, I’ve been authorized to offer you a deal.”

Tsukauchi was a fisherman’s net drawing him in. Despite his breathless struggles, he couldn’t untangle himself, couldn’t worm his way away from anything that so much as resembled hope.

“You’ve committed several crimes,” said Tsukauchi. “However, there are a few aggravating circumstances that complicate your case. For one, you are still a minor, and they kidnapped you at a young age. At the very least, we believe they coerced you into doing a lot of the crimes you committed. The primary witness have also refused to testify against you.”

“Witnesses?” Kaminari said disbelievingly.

“Midoriya, Kirishima, Bakugou, and Hagakure have all sworn up and down that you were kidnapped alongside them and refuse to discuss anything else about what happened in that bunker. They won’t back up your story at all.”

Kaminari stared at the wall to the left of Nezu’s head, who was just smiling serenely like always, disguising the fact that he was studying him for a reaction by sipping tea.

“Bakugou,” Kaminari repeated. “Even Bakugou?”

“Even Bakugou,” Tsukauchi nodded.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Depends on how you view it, to be honest. Legally, it makes it harder to pin a lot of the major crimes you claim you committed on you.”

“Midoriya’s missing his damn eye. Bakugou and Hagakure were tortured. Isn’t that proof?”

“Bakugou says that Shigaraki inflicted his injuries.”

“And Midoriya’s eye?”

“He says he fell on a fork.”

“What?” Kaminari snorted through his nose. His hands shot up to cover his mouth. “Why would they say all that?”

“They’re trying to protect you,” said Tsukauchi. “However, there’s still a lot of evidence that points to you, so I’m afraid it’s just delaying the inevitable.”

“So I’m going to jail,” said Kaminari.

“That’s where the deal comes in.” Tsukauchi fingered through a file on the desk. Kaminari could only imagine what it said. “It’s been difficult for us to get information on the internal workings of the Paranormal Liberation Front. Members, activities, crimes, et cetera. They’re a lot more organized than the League of Villains was.”

“But you already have spies in there. I just…I mean, it seems kind of obvious, right? Shigaraki has a lot of agents, so it makes sense that the Heroes would have someone on the inside.”

Tsukauchi squinted at him. “That’s above my pay grade. Regardless, even if there is, we can use as many witnesses and accounts as we can get.”

Tsukauchi pulled up a chair and sat close to Kaminari, looking him in the eye.

“We’re willing to put you on probation and house arrest, in exchange for information about the Paranormal Liberation Front,” said Tsukauchi.

“What if I don’t know anything useful?”

“I think you know more ‘useful’ things than you’re aware of. Your existence is proof that Shigaraki will stoop to force children to be his spies. Hokama was an agent that no one knew about and we’re eager to get more information about his activities.”

“Hokama’s dead. What’s the point?”

“There could be other crimes and victims out there that he could have connections to. Disappearances, unsolved murders, other people who don’t even know that Hokama turned them into sleeper agents. Not to mention that your closeness to Shigaraki is a bit exceptional. Shigaraki may have a lot of allies, but I don’t think there’s anyone else quite like you.”

Kaminari stared at his hands. Talking with Tsukauchi was a bit like a game of fast-paced chess. “Probation and house arrest.”

“Yes.”

“For kidnapping and all the other stuff?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have a house.”

“About that,” said Aizawa. “I’ll be acting as your legal guardian.”

“You’re adopting me?” Kaminari furrowed his brow.

“I’m keeping you out of trouble, the same as I’ve always done. Your legal address will be the same as mine.”

“The same as yours.” Things were happening fast. He felt like he was on a quiz show and everyone was hitting him with rapid-fire questions he didn’t know the answer to, so he helplessly echoed the questions back. Things were quiet and he realized his audience was waiting for him to answer, to get a question wrong.

“That brings us to another matter,” said Nezu. “Mr Kaminari, many of your crimes were committed while you were a student here at UA. I will be honest: there was quite a bit of talk amongst the faculty about whether to expel you—”

Nezu never finished his sentence because the conference room door burst open.

Kaminari bolted up with a shriek, adrenaline surging hard until he saw it was just Kirishima. Kirishima was on a mission. He looked straight past Kaminari, past Aizawa, past Tsukauchi, and marched up to Nezu, slamming a piece of paper down on the desk.

“You can’t expel Kaminari!” he shouted.

“Kirishima, this is a private meeting,” said Aizawa.

“I don’t care!” Kirishima yelled. “I gotta say my piece.”

Kaminari heard footsteps behind them and several familiar faces appeared in the doorway, all sweaty and flushed like they were fresh from a marathon sprint. They were members of his class: Sero, sharp in focus, eyes clear and concentrated; Kouda, hunched shoulders and wrung hands; Uraraka, tightly clenched like she was preparing to leap into battle; Ojiro, all nerves; and Todoroki, all business.

They were a small army about to charge into a losing battle, but none of them retreated. After a moment’s pause, they entered as a group, supporting each other. He felt for sure that the support didn’t extend to him until they clustered around him, and Kaminari did an awkward shuffle-dance to duck out of arm’s reach. Without preamble, Kouda put an arm around his shoulder and just held it there. The others drew tight ranks around him, like he was something important. The air solidified around him, a barricade made of warm bodies and a sense of firm union, dense like corals clustered together on a reef.

“You’re all interrupting a private meeting,” Aizawa said, though it didn’t sound like he was trying very hard to stop the intrusion.

“We don’t care,” said Uraraka. “We got something to say.”

“I’ll allow it,” said Nezu. “Do continue.”

Kirishima caught his breath, and with nods from the others, went on. “We got a list; it’s got our names on it. If you expel Kaminari, we quit.”

“You’ll drop out of UA,” said Nezu.

“Yeah, and we mean it, too. Kaminari wants to be a hero. He could be a great Hero, if given the chance.”

“How do you know he wants to be a Hero? Did you ask?”

Kirishima looked over his shoulder at Kaminari.

Kaminari never thought of the future. The future was too distant to be reached, something he’d never get to see, something Tomura would drag away from him as he reached out to it. Even if he had graduated, there was always the understanding that everything, always, every day, would be for Tomura.

Now he was by himself and prison was apparently not going to happen and he didn’t know what came next.

The best time of his life, the time when he’d been the most free, had been with his classmates, working towards a collective goal to becoming Heroes. The others had bled with passion, with a desire to change the world, and as much as Kaminari hated Heroes for never rescuing him, there was nothing else in his path. He could be with his classmates with the Hero path. The path that put him parallel to his friends was the one he wanted.

Kaminari had betrayed UA. He would never be a rich and famous idol like All Might. He’d always be hated and known as the UA traitor. He’d go through life with a target on his back. If he didn’t become a Hero, maybe he could disappear somewhere in the world and erk out a quiet existence. Becoming a Hero was the greatest risk he could take. The familiar panicked haze blowtorched his bones and he had a knee-jerk moment of panic like he’d gotten his fingers caught in a door.

“Yeah,” he heard himself saying. “I want to be a Hero. I want to stay here at UA.”

Nezu never broke and he continued to not disappoint. He was creepy that way. He watched his students crowd underneath him, but Kaminari thought he saw a flicker of satisfied pride present in his glimmering eyes.

“If Heroes can turn their back on someone like Kaminari, then we don’t want to be Heroes,” said Kirishima.

“I’ll still be a Hero,” Todoroki announced. “I’ll just transfer to one of UA’s competing schools and rob UA of the prestige of training the future Number One.”

“You really need to sort out your priorities, Todoroki,” Uraraka hissed at him.

“I’m being honest,” Todoroki hissed back.

“Are you absolutely sure this is the route you want to take?” Nezu asked.

“This feels more important than becoming Heroes,” said Ojiro.

“We don’t abandon friends,” Sero agreed.

Nezu sipped his tea. Finally, he put down his cup. “Well, you’ll all be relieved to hear that we’ve decided not to expel Kaminari, as I was about to tell him before you all rushed in.”

Kaminari was suddenly very glad for Kouda’s arm around his shoulder. It kept him from falling right over and face planting into the ground.

“However, since you have violated several school policies, you will be suspended for a month,” said Nezu. His voice contained an edge of glee; it really sounded like he was enjoying the whole situation far more than a principal should. “I’m sure Mr Aizawa will work hard to keep up with your training in that period, though. We can’t afford to get sloppy now, can we?”

“You’re also forbidden from using social media or having your own phone for the foreseeable future,” said Tsukauchi.

“So I don’t talk to strangers online?” Kaminari asked.

“The Heroes also want to control how much information is released to the media. It’s in your interests, as well as everyone else’s.”

Kaminari stood there for a moment, stunned.

“You are choosing a very difficult path for yourself, however,” said Nezu. “It’s public knowledge that you’re the traitor and other students may not receive you warmly.”

Then, he let out a half-assed laugh, fingers knotting through his hair. “Is this real life? Am I dreaming?”

No one could answer him. Maybe they all existed in the same dream, because he could scarcely believe that he was getting off of kidnapping with a slap on the wrist.

“I think we’re done for now,” said Aizawa. “Why don’t you take Kaminari back to the dorms?”

It was the cue they’d all been waiting for, the one Kaminari didn’t know he’d wanted until his classmates herded him to the doorway, like he was stuck in a flock of sheep. Protected by them, he couldn’t lock eyes with Tsukauchi to get a final read on his way out and he felt the same way he’d felt when they’d escaped the bunker, like he was walking out with no survival plan in place.

No one spoke until the conference hall was well behind them and they were out of the main building, on the path to Heights Alliance. Then, all at once they exhaled a collective breath.

“I thought I was gonna pass out for a minute there,” said Uraraka. “I thought we were in real trouble for sure.”

“Thanks for coming, guys,” said Kirishima. “You really didn’t have to.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” said Ojiro. “I’m sorry no one else would sign your petition, Kirishima.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think Midoriya and Hagakure would’ve signed it if they were here, and I would’ve strong-armed Bakugou into doing it, too.”

They stopped outside Heights Alliance and Kaminari started pacing. The others watched with careful eyes, and he realized that they were waiting for him to say something, that there was still distance between them.

Kaminari spent a minute or two making a few false starts on speaking. He ran his fingers through his hair. They came back static-y.

“Why did you guys do that?” Kaminari asked. “Did everyone forget about all the stuff I lied about?”

“So you’re admitting that you lied,” said Todoroki.

“Holy shit, of course I was lying!”

“Kaminari, look,” Ojiro stepped in with a much gentler approach. “A lot of things have happened. I’m still not sure what’s going on and I can’t speak for everyone here, but here’s how I see it. Midoriya, Kirishima, Kouda, and Hagakure all said that you needed a second chance and I trust their judgment.”

“That’s it? It’s that simple?”

“Well, it’s not simple,” said Uraraka. “Hagakure said that you saved their lives.”

It felt like a contradiction, like saving their lives was something another person had done. He was the person who had put them in danger; he was the person who pulled them from flames while he was also on fire. They were two different people.

“We wouldn’t have gotten out of there without you,” Kirishima insisted.

“You wouldn’t have been there to begin with if it hadn’t been for me,” Kaminari pointed out.

“Yeah, you kinda messed up, but you also fixed it.”

“I believe in giving everyone another chance,” said Uraraka. “I feel like we’ve only seen your worst for a long time, so I want to see what you’re like when you’re at your best.”

The ground transfixed Kaminari for a while, then he looked at Todoroki.

“What about you?” he asked.

Todoroki crossed his arms and shrugged. “Let’s just say that my life has also been complicated.”

“Takes one to know one,” Kaminari muttered. Then, “So Kirishima and the others just convinced you all that I was worth the trouble?”

“Well, I was a little impressed by the bounty, so I suppose that influenced my decision. Villains wouldn’t put a bounty on just anyone.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Todoroki,” Sero sighed. “I asked you not to bring that up.”

“…Sorry, I forgot,” said Todoroki.

“What bounty?” Kaminari asked.

“Well, after you came back, the Paranormal Liberation Front put a bounty on you and distributed it all across social media,” Todoroki explained. “7000 yen for your capture or death.”

“Wow, only 7000? I feel a little insulted, to be honest.”

“I thought Shigaraki let you go,” said Kirishima.

“He did, he just…” Kaminari rubbed his forehead. “Tomura’s just playing a game with me, I think. He knows having a bounty on my head will stress me out more than if he just lets me slide under the radar.”

“Wait, you think he put out a bounty…just to mess with you?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally something he’d do,” Kaminari laughed.

Everyone aside from Kirishima was looking at him in a way he couldn’t quite place. In a way that was odd and concerned and very-much-weirded-out by Kaminari addressing Tomura by his first name and talking about him like he was an old friend.

He rubbed his face to avoid eye contact. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about this. I can’t.”

Overwhelmed, Kaminari raced for the dorms. Confused emotions convulsed through him, and he couldn’t place whether it was fear or anger. Maybe both. He was so consumed that when he passed through the common area and saw it crowded with people, he didn’t feel the dread he knew he should’ve felt.

It was the first time he’d come face-to-face with the entire class since the night he’d broken into Uraraka’s room. Most of them hadn’t signed Kirishima’s don’t-expel-Kaminari petition, hadn’t stood up for him, and it surprised him he wanted to be angry about it.

Scanning the room, his eyes locked with Ashido. Hers skirted away and she turned from him.

Footsteps caught up to him, and Kirishima and the others emerged at his shoulder. The silence prickled on the back of his neck.

“So, guess what?” Kirishima said with forced cheer. “Kaminari’s not getting expelled! That’s good news, right?”

Iida’s voice was pointed. “He should’ve been.”

“Iida, c’mon—”

“No, you come on!” Iida snapped. He glared at Kaminari. “You broke more school policies than I can even count, and that’s not even close to the worst thing you did. And now the school’s just letting you walk back in here like nothing happened?”

“Nobody’s explained anything to us,” said Yaoyorozu. “You need to understand, Kirishima. We don’t know what’s going on. We don’t know what happened to you guys, we don’t know—” She took a reflexive breath, like she was drowning in cold water. “Forgive us if we’re all less than thrilled about having a known traitor around us, someone who’s been lying to all of us for more than a year!”

“You don’t know the full story,” said Kirishima.

“Then explain it, already!” Ashido shouted.

“I don’t think we’re being unreasonable,” said Tokoyami.

“Yeah, you made me look like an ass in front of everyone!” Mineta yelled. He hopped off his chair and jabbed at Kaminari’s knees. “You owe us an explanation!”

Kirishima looked at everyone, then at Kaminari. Kaminari watched the way sunlight reflected off the windows.

“That’s what I thought,” said Yaoyorozu.

All the adrenaline in the room was crushing. Kaminari caught a look of his reflection in the window.

Kaminari hadn’t looked in a mirror since he’d come back to UA. His reflection didn’t look real. He’d only ever reflected Shigaraki: his eyes and ears, his hands, his will. If Shigaraki walked in and told him to do something, he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t be able to obey. Suddenly, Kaminari didn’t know who he was without him.

“I’m sorry,” he said to his reflection, though he meant it for his class.

The tension in the room reached a mountain-high peak. From where he was leaning by the sink, Satou said, “No offence, Kaminari, but I think it might be a little late for ‘I’m sorry.’”

Anger spiked hot through him and burst through the flimsy common-sense streak he still had. Kaminari seized the nearest chair and thrust it into his reflection in the window.

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!” Kaminari screamed.

The chair hit the glass. One moment, the window had been whole, complete. Then a star of cracked glass radiated out, touching the corners, enveloping his reflection. He couldn’t see himself anymore.

Kaminari was a live wire, uncontrolled and ungrounded. When he faced the class again, he wasn’t afraid.

“You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to,” said Kaminari. He searched the room. He found Ashido again, staring wide-eyed at him, and pretended he was talking directly to her. “There’s things I just can’t talk about right now and I asked Kirishima, Hagakure, Midoriya, and Bakugou not to talk to anyone.”

Jirou glared at him, and then Kirishima. “Why would you cover for him?”

“They’re not covering for me,” Kaminari cut in before Kirishima could answer. “They’re being respectful to me even though they don’t have to. That’s more…That’s more than I’ve ever gotten before, so don’t take that away from me before I’m ready.”

His voice slipped on the end. Jirou looked equal parts confused and sad and heated and cold. He saw her eyes back down, which was a first—coming from her. Kaminari felt he was walking on hot coals and desperately trying to reach the finish before he got third-degree burns.

Silence extended into an eternity. And when he couldn’t take it anymore, when words of forgiveness and reassurance didn’t come, Kaminari peeled himself off of the ground and kept running. When he got to the stairwell, his strength gave out and he huddled down on the steps to compose himself, shaking all over and wondering if he should’ve crawled back into the taxi with Tomura.

He was there for a while when Kirishima came in, flanked by Sero and, to his surprise, Ashido. Faint traces of anger were still in her eyes, but they were softer now.

“Remember what I said about you telling Sero and Ashido?” Kirishima asked, sitting on the steps next to Kaminari. “I think now’s a good time to do it.”

“Why?” Kaminari asked.

“So we can support you, dumbass. You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

Kaminari wrung his hands around the vertical posts on the handrail and stared into eternity.

“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what happened.”

Kaminari ached all over when he woke up and he wondered if he was imagining the chest pain he felt until he gasped for breath and it melted throughout his body.

He stared at the Crimson Riot poster plastered on the ceiling. It was hard not to think of Kirishima when he thought of Crimson Riot, hard not to see Crimson Riot as the imposter and Kirishima as the genuine article. It was hard not to feel judged with the two-dimensional hero staring down at him.

Kaminari rolled over on the cot to see Kirishima pulling on his pants at the other side of the room. He had the frazzled look of a student late for class, even though there was more than enough time for him to get ready. His cell phone was pinned between his ear and his shoulder.

“Yeah, I can ask Jirou to bring it to you tonight,” said Kirishima. “Do you want the big one?…The big one, okay…Well, if the nurses have a problem with a giant stuffed bear, they can deal with it. I think you should get an even bigger one that fills the whole room just to get on their nerves.”

Kirishima locked eyes with Kaminari.

“Oh, he’s awake. Do you want to talk to him?”

 Kirishima gave him the phone and he saw the name on the display. It was Hagakure. Kaminari hesitated, but then Kirishima was shoving the phone into his hands anyway and he didn’t have a choice.

“Hey, Tooru,” said Kaminari.

“I was worried about you,” Hagakure sounded as chipper as ever, albeit with her voice mildly slurred. “How are you doing?”

Kaminari reeled from the question, then composed himself. “You’re the one in hospital. I should ask you that.”

“I’m fine. I’m trying to talk them into releasing me. Sure, I can’t move my arm or leg, but I think I could still get around okay. Do you think they’ll let me ride a scooter to school? I think I could get around on a scooter.”

Kaminari pressed the flat of his palm on his forehead.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Kirishima filled me in on things. You’re under house arrest now?”

“Pretty much.” He rubbed his eyes. “Look, there’s some stuff I want to tell you.”

“About Hokama?”

“Yeah, and a bunch of other stuff I think you deserve to know about. Not sure if I want to do it over the phone, it’s more like something I should say in person.”

“Let’s talk when I get out of the hospital. We can have another secret meeting at midnight and I’ll bring the ice cream.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up before she could answer.

“Did you just hang up on her?” Kirishima asked, incredulous.

“I’m sorry, I panicked!” Kaminari tossed Kirishima and put his face in his hands.

“Why? It’s just Hagakure.” Kirishima let out a long sigh. “Nevermind, I’ll smooth it over with her. You better keep that counselling session with Hound Dog today.”

“Not like I have anything better to do.”

“And since you don’t have anything better to do, you can come to breakfast.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“Wasn’t asking! Recovery Girl wants you to actually, y’know, remember to eat.”

Kaminari shrieked as Kirishima grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him up. Looks like he didn’t have a choice but to face the day.

For the time being, Kaminari had moved into Kirishima’s room. He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to his old room, which was alive with too many bad memories of late-night calls with Shigaraki and frantic pacing at midnight. Most importantly, he didn’t want to be alone. The extrovert inside of him craved human contact and Kirishima was the most likely to tolerate him giving recent events.

It was the first day back at class and also the first day of Kaminari’s house arrest. He was relieved that Tsukauchi was persuaded to let him serve it at the dorms rather than Aizawa’s apartment; his teacher wouldn’t make for a good roommate, and he needed the contact with Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido.

Kaminari didn’t bother changing out of his sleep clothes, not when he fully intended to lie down and stare at the ceiling for the whole day.

They met up with Sero and Ashido at the end of the hall, both of them already dressed in their school uniforms.

“Wow, you actually left Kirishima’s room!” Ashido said with levity so forced he thought she had a gun pointed at her back.

“It’s a nice day to work on my agoraphobia,” said Kaminari.

“Here, I made something for you. You better like it, cuz I worked hard on it, and I watched, like, two whole tutorials.”

Ashido pulled out a crocheted blindingly pink flaphat with cat ears. Without waiting for permission—because since when did Ashido wait?—she shoved it on top of Kaminari’s head hard enough to pull it over his eyes.

“Since when do you crochet?” Kaminari asked.

“Since I put my mind to it,” said Ashido. “Do you like it?”

Kaminari settled the hat in a comfortable position, playing with the braided ties. They were long enough to reach his waist and the hat was a little too large and the ears were lopsided. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten such a great present. “It’s soft. I like it.”

“Good, because I never want to crochet again. Nobody told me I needed math to crochet! If I wanted to do math, I’d stay awake during math class.”

“I feel you, Mina,” Kaminari nodded sagely. “I feel you.”

“There’s people down in the common room if we’re gonna eat,” said Sero. “You sure you’re okay with that, Kaminari?”

Kaminari clenched and unclenched his hands. “Sure.”

“And once again, I don’t believe you.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Sero and Kirishima closed in on both sides and they headed downstairs, Ashido skipping and rambling about her deep hatred for math on their way. No one seemed to listen too closely to her. Maybe they also had the sense, like Kaminari did, that Ashido was determined to talk about anything that wasn’t the events of the last few weeks.

Voices rushed down the hall when they reached the ground level, swarming every corner. He felt like with every step, Tomura was in sync, his memory strangling him and his long fingers clasped tight around his ankles to drag him back.

The voices bounced around the dorm and then tripped over into a silence. Satou was aggressively making waffles, but paused when Kaminari’s entourage appeared around the corner, and everyone else turned in their seats to just stare. Kaminari wanted to flee back to the safety of Kirishima’s room.

“Hey, come sit here!” Ojiro suddenly called out.

Of course, Ojiro had to sit at a table on the far, far end of the room. That meant walking past everyone’s eyes. Kaminari solved the problem by putting up a hand to cover his face and walking very, very fast.

He threw himself into the seat next to Ojiro and looked up to see Tsu and Mineta sitting opposite of him. After a long pause, Tsu moved to a different table and Mineta trailed behind her.

“Do you want any waffles?” Ojiro asked.

“Good, how are you?” Kaminari asked and immediately regretted opening his mouth.

“Extra waffles, then.”

Kaminari narrowed his vision of the other students by cupping his hands around his head, blocking them all out like blinders.

“I should’ve stayed in the room,” Kaminari said.

“I’m proud of you for coming out,” said Kirishima.

“Yeah, besides, you would’ve missed out on Satou’s cooking,” said Sero.

Despite himself, Kaminari looked over to Satou, who was hovering near the waffle maker. The smell of burning batter filled the air, and Satou frantically went back to cooking.

Kaminari really did his best to ignore the weighty whispers around him. Someone put food on his plate and shoved it under his nose. Ashido was still talking about how much she hated math in an unnecessarily loud voice.

It wasn’t like Kaminari to stay out of the conversation around the dinner table; he always threw himself right into everything. However, he kept quiet, acutely aware of the eyes on the back of his neck. He still felt Tomura’s teeth piercing his skin, and didn’t realize that he’d been staring at his food for five minutes instead of eating until Sero nudged him in the shoulder.

Kaminari wanted to stay still for an eternity. He wanted to become a statue of chiselled stone, unmovable, to become a constant in the background of everyone’s lives. A figurehead that everyone saw and no one thought about. He ate his way mechanically through his waffles, ears ringing the whole time and fighting the urge to bolt. Everything in him wanted to, but the weight of his stone feet was too heavy.

He felt Bakugou’s approach before anyone else did. Bakugou rolled in on a thundercloud on crutches. The air froze. Kaminari waited and for the second time, the room’s silence slammed into him.

Bakugou found him from across the room and locked in. No one dared stop him as he wobbled his way over to where Kaminari sat, and he wisely set down his utensils before someone got hurt. Bakugou loomed over him, a low rumble vibrating through his whole body.

“Hey, Kacchan,” said Kaminari.

Bakugou slapped the flat of his palm on the back of Kaminari’s head and his neck snapped like he was a dinky Sedan colliding with Bakugou’s semi-truck. Several voices erupted at once. Then Bakugou whirled him around, fingers wound tight in his shirt, and brought their faces close together.

“Bakugou, don’t!” Kirishima pled.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Bakugou. He growled at Kaminari, spittle pelting his face. “Listen up. Anyone else here gets hurt because of you, I’m gonna do a lot worse than giving you a stern warning. I’m gonna rip your spine out of your body and jump rope with it.”

“You can’t hurt me,” said Kaminari. He felt calm, almost serene. Threats meant nothing if they didn’t come from Tomura. “I’ve had worse.”

Iida stepped in, fortunately much quicker than he had back in Uraraka’s room. He shoved his hands between them and shoved them apart.

“No fighting in the common room!” Iida demanded. “Class starts soon. Everyone finish up and get a move on.”

Bakugou scowled at Kaminari, then hobbled away, scowling.

“Believe it or not, this is an improvement over how he was a few days ago,” said Kirishima.

“Don’t worry, I believe it,” Kaminari smiled. “You guys better go catch up with him before he falls over on those crutches.”

Sero grinned at him, all soft and supportive, and filed out with the crowd leaving the common room. Ashido hugged him and playfully pulled his hat over his eyes before taking off, too. And then it was just Kirishima left by his side, the one constant in his life.

“You sure you gonna be okay?” Kirishima asked. “I can ask Aizawa if he can give me the day off.”

“Dude, you’re not suspended with me,” said Kaminari. “Go to class. And try to pay attention, I’m gonna need all the help I can get with the make-up work Mr Aizawa’s gonna lay on me.”

“Only if you promise to pay attention when Hound Dog has that counselling session with you. I’ve had one already, Kaminari. It helps.”

Kaminari shuffled and stared at his feet, like they had all the answers. “We’ll see.”

Then, Kirishima pat his shoulder and ran to catch up with the others. It was impossibly quiet and he was alone.

Kaminari collapsed back into the chair, hands over his face. He wanted to sink back into bed and never talk to anyone again. If this was what it was going to be like in Heights Alliance, he didn’t want to think about the world on the outside. At least here, he could pull blinds and lock doors and hide behind Kirishima. Out there, there was no protective filter to keep him safe, no shield he could wear to block out the bullets.

He was thinking about how much effort it was going to take just to walk back upstairs to Kirishima’s room when a shadow extended on the table.

Midoriya stood there, framed by sunlight streaming through the windows in long golden waterfalls. Half his face was bandaged in white. Smouldering afterimages of Himiko popped up in his vision. Was it Himiko or was it Midoriya?

He couldn’t look, he couldn’t look, he couldn’t—

“Kaminari, don’t go!”

Kaminari hadn’t realized that he was running until he was fighting with a doorhandle leading into a closet. Midoriya caught up with him—he knew it was Midoriya because Himiko couldn’t feign worry. His hand wrapped tight around the handle and he couldn’t let go, joints glued into place.

Midoriya’s mangled face and flesh transfixed him. It was almost hypnotic. He could still see all the red and didn’t know how Midoriya was standing in front of him, not only alive, but looking concerned.

“I’m sorry,” said Kaminari. “I’m so sorry—”

Midoriya smiled sadly. He pried Kaminari’s fingers off of the handle and held them in his hands.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Midoriya. “I was worried you wouldn’t be.”

Kaminari couldn’t breathe. His hands were sweaty, but Midoriya held them anyway.

“…Please don’t pass out.”

“I thought you were still in the hospital,” said Kaminari.

“I just got out yesterday.”

“Aren’t you going to be late for class?”

“It can wait. I’m sure Mr Aizawa will understand.”

Kaminari’s heart rate finally evened out, and Midoriya released his hands.

“Feeling better?”

“A little, yeah,” he gasped out. “Sorry, I’ve been super jumpy lately. Can’t figure out why!”

“Yeah, same,” Midoriya admitted. “How are you doing? Is everyone treating you alright?”

“I mean…does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

Kaminari lost the will to keep standing and they sat side-by-side in the corridor, the silence hanging between them.

“How long are you…?” Midoriya began.

“Ninety days in house arrest, then I’m on probation until I’m twenty,” Kaminari answered. “I’m lucky they let me serve house arrest in the dorms; I really didn’t want to live with Mr Aizawa for ninety days. He’d probably make me do homework and go to bed on time.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Midoriya, it could be a lot worse. I’m okay with this. And hey, three years is gonna go by really fast.” He fingered his hat ties, weaving them between his fingers and holding on. “I told Sero and Ashido, well, everything.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Well, Sero’s hard to get a read on, but I think he’s just rolling with things. Mina won’t admit that she’s taking things hard.”

“Are they still angry?”

“No. No, I think once they…well, once they heard, it’s hard to be angry at a guy with a tragic backstory like me. It just hasn’t really sunk in that I’m free yet. I wish it hadn’t cost half the friendships that ever meant something to me.”

“You still have the other half,” Midoriya assured him. “I’m happy for you; I’m glad you don’t have to lie anymore.”

“Everyone’s pissed off. I don’t know if Bakugou will ever talk to me again. How’d you guys even get him to agree to keep quiet about my whole baggage?”

“Honestly, I didn’t really have to. He didn’t put up much of a fight on that end. I would try to avoid him for a while, though; he holds grudges.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Midoriya scooted a little closer. “Kirishima said that you wanted to be a hero.”

“It’s more like, I don’t know what else to do with my life. I mean, maybe I can stop what happened to me from happening to some other kid. Maybe that’s worth it. I remember hoping some Hero would come rescue me, but I was…I was…” His voice trembled in his throat and he couldn’t stop. “He took a needle and I remember feeling it under my eyelid. I thought my eye was gonna pop out. There was so much pressure, there was blood running down my face, right here, and…and then a crack…”

Midoriya squeezed his forearm.

“…Everything just dampened out after that. God, it’s so hard to think sometimes! It’s like trying to see through a blizzard.” He tugged hard on the hat ties. “I was there for a while and I disappeared. Tomura was the one thing in my life that I could see clearly.”

To say Midoriya looked concerned was an understatement. Kaminari tried hard to find himself in the blizzard and drag himself to the shallow parts of the snow.

“I’m sorry,” said Kaminari. “I didn’t really want to do anything Tomura wanted to do. I was desperate, I think.”

“I understand,” said Midoriya, and he meant it.

“He made me mutilate you. You shouldn’t be okay with that.”

“Well, it just means I get to have an iconic eyepatch for my hero costume,” Midoriya shrugged. “Do you think it’d be too tacky to have one with All-Might’s face on it?”

Kaminari tried to laugh, he really did. His attempted laughter buckled under its own weight.

“You know…” Midoriya started. “I’m still recovering from everything. Want to hang out today?”

“You should really go to class,” said Kaminari. “I told Kirishima to go.”

“Yeah, but my…I’m still sore, from everything, and the painkillers make me lightheaded.”

Kaminari almost pointed out that Midoriya had gone to school with injuries nearly as bad or worse than his eye. Midoriya had that glint, though, that glint he got whenever he wanted to rescue someone, and Kaminari realized he was the one that needed rescuing.

When he nodded, Midoriya’s smile blossomed wide. It was worth it just for that. “Great! Let me change and we’ll find something to do. Be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kaminari sang.

After Midoriya left, Kaminari went to the window and stared into the courtyard. He wasn’t really looking, though. The trees, the light, the dorms—they were just a backdrop. What he really looked at was his sallow reflection and how small he looked, how small Tomura made him feel.

He thought about the inescapable pressure in his head, ebbing and flowing like Hokama’s ghost was prodding it. But he wasn’t. It was just a memory, a phantom sensation left over from ripping off the limb of his old life.

He thought about how he hated the ways people. Kirishima looked at him with pity. Bakugou chose anger. Nezu always looked right through him and Midoriya used gentleness. He wished he knew how Hagakure would look at him from now on. The mask was off, lying in shards at his feet, and it stung whenever he took a step into the future.

He thought about how the future filled him with enough existential anxiety to make his skin crawl.

Mostly, Kaminari thought about how good it felt to be free.

THE END

Art by BlueGhostCat!