Chapter Text
Because I wanted to help people.
Why were the words so sharp. Barbed and coiled and sparking like a livewire.
Because I wanted to make a difference.
His ribs swelled with breath that was not his, squeezed out sound that was.
Because I wanted to prove them all wrong.
There was an awful, bitter taste to the truth, all the more acrid for how it jumped and clambered up his throat, dragging bile along with it.
Unpleasant would be an understatement. He now understood why Confession’s victims looked so haggard upon capture—he could not imagine choking on old wounds for a full twenty minutes.
At least they had some confirmation on Confession’s quirk. Definitely compulsion, although Shouta suspected it was a little more complicated than a simple “truth serum”.
“Oh, wow. You look awful.”
“Thank you, Nakamura-san.” He should’ve just come in through the window, never mind the lingering nausea. Instead he was subject to Nakamura’s scathing scrutiny, the clack of knitting needles doing nothing to distract her as he passed through the lobby.
“Don’t you have work in a few hours?”
“My schedule isn’t your concern.”
“And thank god for that, or I’d have ulcers by now.” The clack, clack, clack ceased, and Shouta bit back a sigh at the creak of a shifting chair. He paused by the stairway but did not turn, unwilling to jostle his aching head.
“Aizawa Shouta.” Oh great, she was fullnaming him, that boded well. “I understand that you are allergic to a healthy work-life balance, but despite your insistence of the contrary you cannot, in fact, do everything you set your mind to.”
“Inspiring.”
“You have just added another responsibility to your already overflowing plate. Make room, or you’ll drop the whole thing.”
Despite himself, Shouta shot a glare over his shoulder. Nakamura sat, unruffled, in her rocking chair, colorful yarn draped over her lap as she met his gaze over small, wire-rimmed glasses.
“I can’t help but notice that you’re awake,” he bit out.
“I haven’t lost my head and decided to adopt,” she shot back, adding in a low mutter, “despite what the adult toddlers constantly running underfoot might suggest.”
“I have not adopted—”
“Wardship, then? Even worse.” Nakamura’s eyes grew impossibly sharper, keen enough to match her needles. “How are you supposed to mind a ward in this state?”
“There is no state. I am fine.”
“Lies don’t suite you, Shouta.”
Despite himself, he winced. The nausea doubled its efforts and the taste of bile somehow intensified.
He hadn’t meant to say it. And that was not to say he had intended to lie—it was as if the truth had not occurred to him until the words were ringing in his ears.
Even if, when he heard them, he recognized their shape. How they lingered at the fringes of his sight and lurked beneath the surface of his thoughts, a ripple that still bumped against the things he chose to see.
Shouta’s mouth pressed into a line, and he turned away from Nakamura’s ever-narrowing eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter, Nakamura. I need sleep.”
“No. You need a reality check.” She sighed, and the clack, clack, clack started up anew. “But never mind me. Just an old lady talking nonsense.”
Shouta started up the stairs with a huff. He stumbled at the last landing, hissing between gritted teeth as he righted himself against a rail.
Okay. So maybe—maybe—Nakamura had a point, however insufferable its delivery. But it wasn’t as if he could’ve expected the night to progress as it had. Despite Confession’s obvious suspicions, Shouta really hadn’t been looking for the kid.
Or at least… not intentionally. The possibility might have crossed his mind. But he hadn’t been looking—
A spike drove through his head, just between the eyes, and Shouta fumbled for the ibuprofen that should have been at his belt, before remembering where he left his first aid kit.
Fine. Fine. He’d been through far worse. This was a rather mild discomfort, in comparison—but Shouta had to wonder how much worse it could become. Confession had only teased a one-sentence answer from him, and already he felt like shit. It was possible that any more would leave him near incapacitated.
The thought did not sit well with him.
After an intolerable effort, Shouta finally collapsed in bed, ignoring Hizashi’s confused grumble and the questioning arm flung over his shoulder. Unconsciousness hit him harder than any villain, and Shouta welcomed the chance to sleep off the unpleasant effects of this quirk.
His dreams were scattered, but the panicked flutter of his heart chased him into the waking world. Though he could not remember the specifics, he could have sworn that he was being watched.
Because this is the only way I can be worth something.
It pressed at his temples as eagerly as his exhaustion. As the Eye, all the more voracious for last night’s table scraps.
Izuku wished he could call it a lie. That was the thing about the truth—more often than not, it stung twice as harshly and did half as much good as any falsehood. And yet.
At least Eraserhead looked as tired as Izuku felt. There wasn’t room for conversation during the short trip to school, despite Yamada’s best efforts. Still, Yamada seemed content with Izuku’s quiet, short replies and Eraserhead’s terse, one-word answers, talking enough to fill the space for both of them.
It should have been a relief.
The Lonely twisted it to something heavy, and it was an effort not to drag his feet through the rest of the day.
He was lucky, he supposed as his mind wandered away from their math lesson, that a ripple of the Stranger through his jaw was enough to divert any passing suspicion. Lucky too that Eraserhead was as fearful of the truth as he was eager to sniff it out.
Izuku might have laughed, if even the thought didn’t give him such a splitting headache. If he were lucky, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. The Web was beyond him, now, a thousand tiny legs scuttling through his lungs as thread tugged him to a tune he didn’t know.
Stranger, Spiral, Dark—all fears that did not come easily to him, especially ensconced in his Confession mask. They were antithetical to truth, to the white-hot gaze of the Eye and the static hiss of his tape recorder.
They would not hold. To rely on them would be a mistake, and Izuku had already made enough of those to last a lifetime.
Last night, though. Last night, that had not been the Stranger. The scrabbling heat behind his forehead spoke to that, the Eye pressing up against his skull—and still, Eraserhead had not seen him.
But he had seen something.
Was that the key? Not to blind him, but to draw his gaze to some other terrible truth?
It was… tempting. His eyes watered, and he blinked away those eager, voyeuristic tears, a scowl tugging at his lip. Of course it was tempting—the Eye, for all of its knowledge, was a simple creature. It only wanted to drink its insatiable full.
Sudden, bustling movement startled him from his reverie, and Izuku sought out the clock as his classmates all began to rise from their seats at once. He’d completely missed that lesson—the equations scrawled across the blackboard were familiar, but for the life of him Izuku couldn’t figure out what they were for.
Judging by Ectoplasm-sensei’s unimpressed gaze, that fact hadn’t gone unnoticed. Izuku winced, hastily gathering up his books before their math teacher decided he wanted to do more than glare at him from across the room.
“Izuku!” Fuck, he almost fell from his chair, pencil leaping from his hand and clattering against the ground. Renaru watched it bounce, then roll beneath the radiator. “Hm. I’m… sorry?”
“Wh- no! No, it’s fine, I just- it slipped.”
“Yeah, I could see that. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you, that’s my bad.”
Izuku waved his hands with a grimace. “No, no, no, I should’ve been paying more attention! I wasn’t even—”
“This is painful.” A dry voice, cutting through the rush of his thoughts, and Izuku felt his shoulders inch towards his ears as he met Shinsou’s scowl. “You’re giving me second-hand embarrassment—just pick up the damn pencil.”
“Uh- right. Yep. Good idea, Shinsou-san!”
Shinsou only huffed, shoving one final textbook into his bag before hefting it over his shoulder and out of the classroom. Renaru watched him go with a raised brow.
“What’s his problem?”
“Oh, um. He just doesn’t like me very much, I think.”
“Huh? What, because of that stupid exercise?” Renaru crossed her arms with a snort. “Alright. Sure.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m serious,” Izuku added nervously at the look she shot him. “He has his reasons, and- well. I don’t want to- it’s not like he has to like me. Okay? It’s really fine.”
Renaru stared at him for longer than was comfortable, but before she could put to words whatever was rattling around behind those glasses, Uraraka blessedly bounced over to his desk, dragging a stern-faced Iida behind her.
“Oh my god, Arakawa! Iida was just saying how his brother knows your parents, and they hang out like, all the time—which is so cool! You know Ingenium! You’re like, famous or something!”
That seemed to shake Renaru from whatever track her mind had been travelling. She blinked rapidly, fiddling with her glasses and managing a flustered laugh.
“Oh! He, uh, told you that, huh?”
“I didn’t mean to, I only said—” Iida reined in his tone with a strangled sigh. “Uraraka-san was requesting my assistance as vice-president to help arrange a 1-A gathering. I… mentioned that we were… acquainted through my brother, so I would easily be able to get ahold of you.”
“His brother Ingenium,” Uraraka added, bouncing on the balls of her feet so aggressively that Izuku feared she might topple over. “You’re family friends with a celebrity.”
“Well- I wouldn’t exactly call Tensei a celebrity—”
Uraraka gasped. “You’re on first name basis?!”
Renaru opened her mouth, closed it, then pulled her glasses from her face and began furiously cleaning them with her shirt. Iida frowned.
“Ren- Arakawa-san, you should really clean your glasses with a microfiber wipe, you’re going to scratch—”
“Not a word, Tenya.”
Uraraka looked as if she might faint. Personally, Izuku wasn’t sure what had her so excited. He was interested in Ingenium having close ties to a couple of underground heroes, but unless Uraraka had developed a sudden and unexpected passion for hero gossip, this didn’t seem squeal-worthy.
“Oh my god, okay, okay—this is so cool! Arakawa, are your parents heroes or something?”
The glare Renaru had fixed on Iida was dry enough to start a drought. For his part, Iida had found something particularly interesting on the blackboard.
There was something floating in the air.
“Hey, um. Uraraka-san?”
“We have to train together- huh?”
A thread. Small, delicate, catching the harsh overheads where it twisted.
Izuku coughed to clear the cobwebs. “Hey um. That idea sounds… kind of nice? Meeting up with people, I mean.”
Uraraka positively beamed, and Izuku had to fight not to squint in the face of it.
“Really? It does?”
“Yeah!” He kept much of the waver from his tone, pulling the thread taught. “But, um. Does it have to be everyone all at once? Just- I don’t want to leave anyone out or anything, but maybe just for now, I’m, uh…”
“Oh! Oh. Oh, yeah, I totally didn’t even think of that, I mean, that would be pretty overwhelming, huh…”
“It’s alright! I appreciate the thought. Maybe we could just have, um, a small dinner?” Izuku glanced at Renaru. “I don’t know if your parents would be okay with hosting again, or…”
“Ugh. Uh, I mean- I can ask!” Renaru added hastily at Uraraka’s falling expression.
“Well, I could maybe host—”
“I don’t think Shinsou would appreciate that,” cut in Izuku as gently as he could manage, but Uraraka crossed her arms and blew out a puff of air that ruffled her bangs.
Still, she could only hold on to that anger for so long, and she let her arms fall to her sides with a sigh. “That’s… probably fair. Why does everything always have to be so complicated.”
Iida brightened. “If all we’re in need of is a house, then I could ask my parents if they would be amenable. I’m sure they’d agree, especially if it were a small get-together.”
There. Grasp it, tug it, feel the feeble flutter at the other end. Izuku matched his excitement, then let his expression fell. “Oh, um. I’m not sure if Eraserhead-sensei would, um… maybe if Ingenium-san was there? I just- I’m still technically a ward, they’d probably feel better if there was a hero around, but- I don’t want to volunteer him or anything, I can- maybe it would be better if I just didn’t—”
“I’m sure my brother would be happy to attend, especially if it’s to keep someone safe!” Iida settled his glasses on his face with a slight smile, shoulders impossibly straightening as he lifted his chin. “I admit that I don’t know much of your situation, Akatani-san, but if a hero’s presence would be a comfort, then Ingenium will be more than enough!”
Izuku gave him a shaky but relieved smile. “That would be really great, Iida. Thank you.”
“Of course! Now, we must finalize food and the guest list…”
He let the three of them chatter on about logistics—it was enough effort to keep himself from choking on spiderlegs, skittering down his back and leaving shudders in their wake.
At least they kept the guilt at bay. There was only so much he could focus on at a time.
“Oh! I nearly forgot—Akatani-san!”
They were almost at the school gates—Izuku hadn’t had the heart to tell them he would have to turn back for the teacher’s lounge anyway, the Lonely dragging him along with the ebb and flow of his own self-loathing.
When he turned, Iida was already digging through his bag, quickly pulling out a small stack of books and pamphlets and thrusting them towards Izuku.
“Here! You mentioned before that you sometimes struggle to get a good night’s sleep, and as I’ve said countless times, a healthy sleep schedule is one of the cornerstones of a well-functioning hero.”
“These.” Izuku blinked down at the books, hands twitching at his sides. “Me? These are- you’re giving these. To me.”
“Well… yes! I’m sorry—did I not make that clear?”
Izuku winced, but Iida seemed genuinely apologetic, glancing between his still-outstretched hands and… whatever it was that writhed across Izuku’s face.
“These were quite helpful to me when I had trouble sleeping. Some of them also come with a code for audiobooks and recordings that you can listen to if you find it difficult to clear your thoughts at night.”
A scream fluttered in Izuku’s throat. Raw and wordless, raking bloody claws across the soft flesh of his insides—and he wanted to grab Iida, wanted desperately to wrap his hands in the front of his uniform and shake, to flash his teeth and bare his claws and tell him with all but words, look. Look at this thing who will take and take and take and give nothing in return, look at what skin hides, look look look
Izuku smiled, and took the books. The scream could not reach his tongue—snared on a spider’s web, nothing but a lump to be swallowed down and left to molder.
He thanked Iida. He did not know what words he used, but the scuttle of silk told him that they would serve. What, he did not know—but they would serve.