Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shigaraki Tomura’s Sensei always spoke in such grand, sweeping terms, whispering plans and schemes and intricate strategies into Tomura’s ear from a young age, hoping the boy would absorb them, adapt to think in them. Yet, even at the age of 18, Shigaraki was as capricious and short-sighted as a child, driven by the winds and whims of his fancy. It was Sensei who budged to accommodate him in the end, admitting the benefits of chaos in criminality: the League’s actions would never be predicted so long as Tomura was its head. That was the new plan, to nurture his disorder into power. Shigaraki needed to make choices, mistakes, if he was ever to learn. No matter how many times he failed a level, Shigaraki would win the game.

Then, Midoriya Izuku entered the picture.

In order to perform the sting operation on All Might, the League would need intimate knowledge of UA architecture and property. How far did its grounds stretch? What security system companies did it higher out? What made up its foundations? Its gates? The traitor they’d assigned to infiltrate UA as a student wouldn’t be a viable source of information for months, and there’s only so much information a first year can be expected to pull. That left for a data sweep at the schematics company UA hired out: a concrete high-rise building in the middle of Musutafu. 

Shigaraki pocketed the flash drive the moment the documents downloaded and pulled up his hood, heading for the stairway to the roof. Kurogiri would warp him back to the bar like he had warped him from there, tripping no alarms and avoiding all suspicion. So boring. Shigaraki huffed. I hate dull side quests. He shoved the door to the roof open with his shoulder and scowled up at the sun. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as the figure before him became clear.

Someone stood on the other side of the roof railing, white-shoed feet hanging over the edge into oblivion. He started at the sound of the door, flinched, and clutched the rusty banister to avoid falling. Wild green hair, scuffed up gakuran uniform, stocky-frame—a child’s features. The boy turned around to gape at a smirking Shigaraki.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he cackled. “Get on with it!

The boy’s—Izuku’s—face slackened. “You– you’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“No,” Shigaraki snorted. “Do it. I’m bored anyway.”

“Oh.” Izuku glanced down to the empty space below his feet. “I was actually hoping to do this in private.”

“Why? It’s suicide, not murder.”

“I don’t know. It’s a private thing.”

“ Brat, you're throwing your life away to become a statistic in the JPN News. Now that is about the least private thing I can think of.” Shigaraki snorted. Izuku’s shoulders rose to his ears, shame and biting wind flushing his cheeks.

“I – I guess I’ll come back later.”

“Better not or else you’ll wimp out. Go to the next building over.”

“No.” Izuku looked out into the horizon with raw eyes. “It has to be this roof.”

“Stupid brat. What’s one roof have to do with anything?”

Izuku turned to Shigaraki, and the clear paths of tear trails down his freckled cheeks glistened in the sunlight, eyes so sunken and desperate and numb, the older man was almost impressed. But nothing could have caught his attention like the boy’s next words: “This is where All Might left me.”

His morbid, distracted interest zeroed in to full attention. All Might. All Might. The man Shigaraki hated above all. “All Might?” He sneered. “What about him?” Izuku hesitated, wondering if he should take the leap before being roped into conversation with a disheveled, red-eyed madman. “C’mon, brat.” Shigaraki’s hands twitched. “Nobody else will give a crap about your stupid life story. Spill it before I crush you.”

Well then. Izuku’s blood went cold, the sting of his bruised body trembling under the familiar tone of a threat. But this man wasn’t like Kacchan. He wasn’t angry; he was unhinged, unpredictable. He took a step forward, and Izuku blurted. “I’m quirkless!” Shigaraki paused, waiting, and Izuku’s worst habit of babbling took over. “I’m quirkless. And being quirkless means being useless. That’s what everyone says. But I wanted more; I fought for more. No matter how many people beat me down, I thought I could be useful, a hero. I tried so hard to be one, but they kept saying I couldn’t… so, when All Might saved my life one time, I knew I needed to ask him, so I grabbed on when he tried to jump away. He brought me here, and I asked him if I could be a hero without a quirk.” Stop talking. Izuku thought, but he couldn’t. “He said no. He left me here, on this roof. That’s– that’s why it has to be here! Because I already died here that day. There’s no point being alive without a quirk. If I can’t be a hero, then I don’t want to exist at all. I don’t want to get hurt anymore. I don’t wanna be useless.”

“How’s dying going to make you stronger?” Shigaraki sneered, but the bite to his voice was gone.

“I dunno.” Izuku shrugged. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to be anything anymore. Better to be a dead nothing than a worthless anything.”

Finally—thankfully—quiet fell, and the two absorbed the outburst respectively.

Izuku observed the slow crawl of traffic and the sparsely populated sidewalk below, tops of heads bobbing by. Would no one look up? Would no one see him? Izuku decided it was fine either way. He felt better after unloading the thoughts that had looped through his brain for months. Of all the people to tell, the pale, blue-haired man with a murderous smile was an odd choice, but it was done, and Izuku felt lighter, numb. His grip on the railing loosened.

Shigaraki, on the other hand, felt a storm of impulses cresting in his chest. Once again, All Might had failed to save someone. The rampant delusion of peace and safety portrayed the man as perfect, untouchable, omnipotent, yet 5 feet and 4 inches of neglected victim stood before him as living—soon to be dead—proof otherwise, dull-eyed and still blinded by “The Symbol’s” grandeur. What Shigaraki wouldn’t give to shove All Might’s face in the scene of his mistake, or—better yet—prove him utterly, miserably wrong. The green haired kid was as much a reject of society as Shigaraki. He had the makings of a villain, or at least a pet project.

Izuku let go of the rail and tipped forward, making the decision for Shigaraki.

The man pounced, hooked two fingers into the boy’s collar, and dragged him back over the fence. Izuku yelped, kicking and hitting in the fervor of someone with nothing to lose. Shigaraki grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the concrete roof floor until he went limp, a tiny pool of blood forming beneath him.

Shigaraki stood and pulled out his phone. “Kurogiri, I’m taking a kid I found with me. He’s interesting. Warp us to the bar and tell Sensei I want to see him.”

Izuku didn’t expect to wake up. That was—after all—the whole idea of suicide. Yes, the last few seconds of the attempt had been chaotic, but surely he’d managed to die. Whether his head hit concrete from a fall or a murder, the result should have been the same. Yes, yes, he was dead. It was unquestionable, undeniable.

The only reason Izuku had trouble believing it was because he had to convince himself in the first place. Not to mention his head hurt, and his bruises ached, and his mouth tasted of sandpaper. It wasn’t comfy. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t even black, as dull flickers of light danced behind his eyelids. The full brunt of consciousness hit him then, and he groaned, saliva drooling from his mouth to the sofa his cheek pressed against. Squinting, darkness fell away to a TV screen and expanded past the dim wall behind it and the velvety maroon sofa and the head of blue hair sitting on the floor with a controller in hand.

“You awake, brat?” He snapped at Izuku without looking away from the screen.

“Uuugh.” His hand raised to his pulsing forehead and felt a bandage above his right eyebrow. “What did you do to me?”

“Kidnapped you. Now be quiet, I’m trying to finish this level.”

Izuku quieted and watched the pixelated character on the screen work through a platform game, oddly calm. It reminded him of being young, playing at Kacchan’s house. Izuku was never given a turn at the videogame, so he sat back and watched while the other boy’s howled and jostled each other, vibrating with the controllers in their stubby hands. Those visits had always been tinted with sadness—he was the obvious outcast of the bunch—but now a filter of nostalgia gave the memories a soft, golden glow: the good old days, something he’d never get back. So, Izuku sagged unto the plush curves of the sofa and watched quietly until his lids drooped and he drifted back to sleep.

…

He awoke in the same place, in the same position. A whine escaped his mouth, and Shigaraki glanced back at him.

“Do you want to play?” He offered an extra controller.

“No,” Izuku hummed. “I like to watch.”

They returned to silence but for the rhythmic bass of the game soundtrack. It was a higher level, Izuku noted, only half wondering how much time had passed. The tranquil atmosphere soothed him to submission, nonchalance. No restraints pinned his arms or legs; heated air belched from a space heater in the corner; the familiar scent of lysol permeated the sofa cushions. It was so homely, and he was so tired.

Izuku watched the game until he fell asleep again.

…

“Wake up, brat.” A hand nudged his shoulder. “Now.” Izuku squinted into wrinkled, red eyes. Shigaraki sat with crossed legs on the floor in front of him, notably calmer than he’d been on the roof. Izuku gave him a slow blink for acknowledgement. “You need to be awake when Sensei summons us.”

“Who?” His voice cracked.

“Don’t ask questions.” Shigaraki glared. “Just answer. What’s your name?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Do you want revenge?”

“Not really.”

Shigaraki’s face soured. “What do you want then?”

“To die.”

“Other than that?”

Izuku considered. His world had tunneled for the last few months, but remnants of himself still remained, and many things hadn’t changed. “I wanna be a hero.”

“Heroes are garbage!” He hissed. Again, a slow blink answered him, but Shigaraki’s usual bout of rage didn’t follow. Video games always served to soothe him. He’d played for hours as the boy slept and watched, and with each passing level, his annoyance dwindled and his caprice grew. The League needed more members, but he didn’t see it in the boy. He only saw a chance, a big middle finger to ship to All Might in a neat bow. A side quest, perhaps, but an interesting one. “What about a quirk? Do you want one of those?”

Izuku’s head raised, frowning at the serious way he posed the question. “Yes.” He gulped. “I really, really want a quirk.”

“Good, because you’re getting one.”

Izuku sat up, arms trembling with the effort. “Wha–”

“No questions!” Shigaraki snapped. Izuku’s mouth clamped shut, but something gleamed in his eyes, the first spark of light that had filled them in months. A quirk. His head spun. A quirk! “I hate All Might. Everyone calls him the Symbol of Peace, but he’s the worst. He doesn’t know anything, and I’ll destroy him and everything he says or does. Heroes step on people like us because we’re ugly and weak, but we’re better than all of them. We can do anything we want when they’re stuck on the rules. You want to be a stupid hero? You’ll do what the rest of them are too big of cowards to do and trump them all. Screw All Might!” The monologue lost Izuku.

“... uhhhhh.”

Shigaraki threw up his hands. “Do you want a quirk or not?”

“Yes! I do!”

“Then agree to my conditions and you’ll get one.”

Condition 1: tell no one. This was obvious. If anyone knew he’d conspired with villains to obtain a quirk, every hero school, agency, and organization would slam its doors in Izuku’s face. He’d be arrested, persecuted, left for dead the same way All Might had left him on the roof. This condition was a mercy for Izuku. It held his last bit of hope hostage for Shigaraki to toy with in manic glee.

Condition 2: do not interfere with the criminal activities of the League of Villains. Izuku had never heard of the organization, but he assumed it made up Shigaraki (who’d finally introduced himself), Sensei, and Kurogiri—a suited man of mist who bustled by periodically. They seemed villainous enough, and Izuku hesitated to agree with something so similar to an alliance, but Shigaraki won him over with 

Condition 3: attend UA High School. Izuku had to lay down again after this one. UA. U-freaking-A. The school of his dreams. They wanted him there so the traitor they placed could keep an eye on him and his hero career. Not to mention All Might taught there, making it the best place to constantly remind the hero of his misjudgment of Izuku.

Condition 4: do not divulge any League information to anyone. This was an extension of Conditions 1 and 2 and simply assures they’d receive no trouble from the aspiring hero.

Condition 5: check in periodically and come when summoned. This was Kurogiri’s suggestion. Regular contact would stabilize the unconventional situation. After all, since their actions would be largely independent of each other, Izuku might grow too cocky or guilty and betray the League. He would need regular reminders to stay in line.

Condition 6: act as an alarm for any issue that might trouble the League. Shigaraki insisted this didn’t mean a spy. They already had one of those. No, Shigaraki called it common courtesy, promised to pay him the same respect, and clarified he expected no other information than a basic heads up.

Condition 7: become a hero and rub it in All Might’s face at every opportunity. The whole point of it all, at least for Shigaraki.

It wouldn’t matter too much in the end when the League destroyed hero society—including Izuku. It contributed nothing to the main quest but XP, but Sensei wanted Shigaraki to make decisions and plans and mistakes. Izuku was a puppet on strings he could cut at any time by broadcasting his villain association to the world, his dreams and credibility as hostages of Shigaraki’s whims.

He explained this much to Sensei when he and the boy had been summoned. Izuku lay sprawled across the floor at All for One’s feet, put to sleep by a quirk, while they talked.

“Tomura.” Sensei rested his cheek on a great fist, toeing the boy’s limp body. “You’re taking a great risk for something with little pay off. Even with the conditions, the boy has nothing to lose, and therefore nothing to fear.”

“But if we give him what he wants, Sensei, he’ll never defy us. We’ll be his only method of survival.”

“Then why not use him more? Why not recruit him?”

“We won’t have any leverage if we make him a villain,” Shigaraki spat. “He wants to be a hero or dead.”

“Then I don’t see the point of the boy at all.” He kicked Izuku onto his back and placed a foot on his neck. “We might as well put an end to his misery, or use him for a Nomu, perhaps. Though, I doubt such a weak, quirkless body could handle being one. He’s a liability, Tomura.”

“You said I should do what I want, Sensei.” Shigaraki began to scratch his neck. “I want to prove All Might wrong. I want to show him how powerless and stupid he really is. He talks and talks about peace and about how everyone can be a hero, but then he tells the brat he can’t because he’s quirkless. I want him to face his own hypocrisy. I want him to be proven wrong.”

“And that requires giving this boy a quirk and letting him be a hero?”

“Yes sensei. You have hundreds of quirks. Give the brat one. He might even become useful.”

All for One sighed, bemused, and lifted his foot from Izuku’s throat. “Is this anything but a distraction, Tomura?”

“It’s a fun game,” Shigaraki grumbled and switched scratching hands. “Just a side quest. For experience, like you said.”

“Very well, then,” he chuckled. “Blindfold the boy. I’ll wake him up and give him a quirk. Just know that he’s your responsibility, Tomura.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Izuku awoke to the sound of scratching, the dry, flaky scuff of nails on skin. It was creepy, close, and Izuku tried to open his eyes and squirm away, but his lids remained pinned shut and a large hand pressed into his chest to keep him on the cold ground. Something dripped in the distance, steady breaths echoed each other, shoes shuffled, the hand crushed his ribs, and the scratching , it didn’t stop. He started to whine but stopped when the weight increased, going limp instead. Memories harped his oxygen deprived brain: he’d been with Shigaraki at the bar, discussing conditions as best he could without asking questions when Kurogiri appeared, said Sensei was ready to see them. Then black mist and a dark room, then nothing, as if he’d fainted.

Maybe they’d kill him, Izuku reasoned. The deal of the quirk had certainly sounded nice, but things like that could only be considered in the hypothetical. He was a fool for believing it for a second. Well, now he would die and it wouldn’t matter. He’d had a few extra hours, but the result was the same. It was over. He could sleep now.

Izuku released his last ounce of oxygen with a sigh, waiting for the pressure to mount and snap and for the darkness to be complete.

“You’re strange, young one,” a new, deeper voice chuckled. “You’re so accustomed to being weak, you don’t even fight anymore. Perhaps Tomura was right. Perhaps this will be interesting.” The pad of an oversized thumb pressed into Izuku’s forehead. “With that bush of green hair, I’ve got the perfect quirk in mind.”

A swell of energy, and the first flicker of pain shot through Izuku’s skull. It worked down his neck, shoulders, torso, arms and legs, fingers and toes, muscles, ligaments, joints. Up and up, hotter and hotter. Until he could only feel fire. Until he could only hear screams.

Chapter Text

The last time Izuku left his house, he hadn’t expected to return. He’d cleaned his room, trashed anything unnecessary to make the selling process easier on his mother, left a note to apologize and ask for an inexpensive cremation. It was best he left the world quietly, without much fuss, hurting as few people as possible. If he couldn’t be remembered well, he didn’t want to be remembered at all.

Somehow, though, Izuku suspected his neighbors would always remember the sound of his mother’s hysterical screaming at finding his unconscious body outside her doorstep in the middle of the night. His eyes cracked open to find her shaking silhouette in the doorframe while the alien wail escaped her mouth. Then there were running footsteps and hands and he was lifted from the floor, deposited on their family couch under the quiet hush of husky voices.

“Look at the cut on his forehead.”

“Someone bandaged it.”

“Probably the same person who dropped him off. There’s no way he walked here. The kid’s out of it.”

“Inko called me earlier, said Izuku hadn’t come back from school. I wonder what happened.”

“You think it was a hate crime? He is quirkless.”

“I’d bet. My son goes to his school. People hate him.”

“Poor little guy couldn’t even defend himself.”

“It’s sad.”

The press of his mother’s palm on his cheek kept him conscious for a while longer, hanging to every word he could catch.

He remembered pain—incredible and merciless—and then cold. Shigaraki had said something he couldn’t make out. There was nothing after that. Perhaps a flicker of black mist, but really nothing else. The details slipped from memory like a dream. That was it, surely. It was all a dream.

Coherency took awhile, but when it finally hit, Izuku bolted up in bed, eyes swimming with the blinding red, blue, and gold colors of his room.

“Mom,” he gasped. His head pounded, lighting up with sharp needles of pain like someone was tugging ropes of his hair. “Mooooom,” he repeated, louder this time, and a thud sounded in the other room. The door flew open, and there his mother stood, wild strings of hair hanging loose from her bun, blotchy swollen eyes darting about the room.

“Izuku!” A new batch of tears flooded her cheeks, and she pounced on him, gathering him up in her arms and sobbing without restraint.

“M–mom? Mom, calm down. What’s going on?”

“Oh Izuku.” She snivelled, pulling away. “Where were you last night? What happened?”

“Last night?” He blinked. Izuku had gone to the roof right after school, then he’d been shut off from all sunlight since. How long had he been with Shigaraki? Was Shigaraki even real? There’s no way any of it had been real, right? “I don’t remember. I think I hit my head.” His skull still pulsed. “Yeah, I definitely hit my head.” His gaze switched to his desk under the far window. The suicide note was still there, untouched. I can’t let her see it.

“You don’t remember anything?” Her bottom lip trembled. “Wha– what happened before you hit your head?”

“Uh.” Ten stories of empty space below his feet came to mind. “I was walking home from school, I think.”

“Did someone attack you?”

Manic red eyes, scabbed skin. “M– maybe.”

“We need to call the police.” She moved to stand, turning towards the window.

“Wait!” Izuku grabbed her wrist. “I– I feel funny.”

“Funny?” She repeated.

“Yeah.” And he did. Pinpoints in his head felt like they were on fire, pushing and writhing. “I–” His eyes flicked to the desk again. “I don’t– something– It’s just–” He looked one too many times, and Inko shifted in slow motion, head pivoting to the window, the desk, the– “Mom!” Izuku shouted, and the pain in his head peaked until she turned back to him, and the color drained from her face.

“Izuku,” she whispered. “There’s something in your hair.”

Izuku snatched his phone from the bedside table and found the camera app. The pain had stopped, almost as if something had popped right out of his skull. Holding up the screen, he found he wasn’t far off. Forget-me-nots. Tiny, clear blue forget-me-not flowers sat nestled and scattered in his curly bush of green hair. He poked one, felt the feathery brush of its petals, and tugged it until his scalp complained. They were attached. He’d– he’d grown them.

“M– mom?” He stared at his ashen-faced mother. “I think I finally got my quirk.”

Flowery hair. How was Izuku supposed to get into UA with flowery hair? The question would be answered with a doctor’s visit.

There was no point in going to the emergency room for something like a late quirk arrival, and the head injury had been well enough treated. The police also informed his mother over the phone that, if Izuku had no memory or proof of a crime, it wasn’t possible to report one. He was simply a boy who came home late one night and happened to get his quirk a decade behind schedule. The best Inko had managed after a day of fussing was an appointment to visit a quirk doctor in a week. During that time, Izuku quietly disposed of all evidence of a suicide attempt and stared at his flower patch hair in the mirror. He’d woken up one morning and found the forget-me-nots replaced by buttercups. By the day of the appointment, he had a head full of cherry blossoms and nerves.

Izuku and Inko walked into the clinic with stilted steps, faltering at noises and passing people. They were the type to blend in, be stepped on, ignored: plain to the point of disadvantage. Stopping in the doorway as a family of snake-headed children rushed by, she grabbed Izuku’s wrist and whispered.

“I think your quirk is wonderful.” It was meant to comfort him, offer support in the face of such a useless ability, but Izuku’s insides shriveled up. It wasn’t even his quirk. He was supposed to get into UA with it or else it would be a breach of contract and he’d be outed for conspiring with villains. Not to mention, he’d conspired with villains. That fact had taken several days to set in. When given the choice between death and a second chance at his dream, it had been a no-brainer, but now it felt twisted. All it took was one tantalizing offer, and Izuku dropped his morals and self-righteous drives without hesitation. What if, he worried, all he really wanted was power? Now, that was villainous.

Well, at least there weren’t many crimes he could commit with flowery hair.

The receptist directed them to a quaint, generic doctor’s office, walls adorned with a hanging master’s degree and a few momentos like a glass tenure plaque and a well lit x-ray and a potted snake plant. No personal effects or photos though, and Izuku wondered what kind of person his doctor would be. He knew when he saw him.

Pushing through the door in a lab coat and steampunk glasses, the familiar mustached face of Izuku’s old pediatrician moseyed into the room: Dr. Tsubasa. Inko pulled Izuku up by the arm to stand as the man entered.

“Tsubasa.” She smiled. “I had no idea you worked at this clinic.”

“I transfer from facility to facility, wherever I’m needed,” he shrugged, polite smile sending a ripple through his feathery stache. “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Midoriya, little Izuku. What’s this I hear about a late blooming quirk?”

Inko settled back into her chair. “Yes, well, that’s what I’m a little concerned about. I’ve never heard of a quirk manifesting at 14. I’m worried it might point to an underlying issue.”

“Hmm.” Tsubasa tapped a pen to this chin. “It would depend on the circumstance surrounding the manifestation. Izuku, have you experienced any trauma lately?”

“Well…” Tipped over the edge of a building, face smashed into the cement, kidnapped, blindfolded, experienced a painful quirk transference. Where does the trauma end? “I hit my head and had some amnesia. The next day I woke up and the flowers started growing.”

“I see.” He jotted something on a clipboard. “Such circumstances aren’t unheard of. Some quirks simply require a little push to manifest it. That hit you took was the push. In the field, they’re called Trauma Induced Manifestations, or TIMs. Rare, but they have plenty of precedent. Better late than never, as they say.”

Inko sagged in her chair. “So there’s no reason to be alarmed? My baby’s okay?”

“He’s fine.” Tsubasa sniffed. “Now, there’s simply the matter of cataloging it in the quirk registry. Izuku, why don’t you tell me what your quirk can do?”

“Oh.” His mouth went dry. “Well, all it’s done so far is make flowers grow out of my scalp. The type of flower changes, but not much else.”

Tsubasa frowned, eye twitching behind the swampy green lenses of his glasses. “Nothing else, huh?” He gave another polite—but strained—smile to Inko. “Miss Midoriya, would you give Izuku and I some time to run through a few tests, take a scan or two, hm? They always make a fresh pot of coffee in the waiting room about his time. I’ll call you in when you’re needed, alright?”

“Oh.” Inko chewed her lip as she glanced at a nervous Izuku, shoulders raised to his ears. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back the moment you want me. You’ll do great.” She squeezed his knee, stood, and nodded to Tsubasa before leaving. The moment the door swung shut, the doctor’s face soured.

“You’ll have to do better than that, kid.” He swung around to face Izuku, arms folded. “I’m surprised you haven’t made more progress considering how far you went to get a quirk.”

Izuku jumped to his feet. “Wha– what?”

“How on earth you got a career sponsor out of Shigaraki, I’ll never know. I’ve worked with Sensei for years, and I’ve never gotten more than a scowl out of Tomura, though I’m not much of a people pleaser.”

“You’re–” Izuku choked. “You’re in the League?”

“Of course I am, and you are too, if only an honorary member. You’re one of Shigaraki’s side projects, or quests, as he likes to call them. He sent me here to tell you about your new quirk.”

His childhood pediatrician was a supervillain, and one that knew the greatest secret of his life. “I– ? Okay, then. You know the conditions of the contract? So you can’t tell anyone.” Tsubasa humphed, nodding. “Okay, then. Please tell me about my quirk.”

The doctor settled deep into his chair and smirked. “Sensei gave you a quirk called Botany, and the flowers in your hair are only a physical manifestation of it. You actually have the ability to accelerate and decelerate the growth of any plant and as well as manipulate flora movements, also known as agrokinesis.”

“Woah.” Izuku blinked, sitting back down. “That sounds so strong!”

“It was specifically chosen to get you into UA. Here.” He grunted, stood, and approached the desk before plucking up the snake plant and handing it to Izuku. “Try using your quirk on this.”

“Wha–” The pot plopped into his lap, leaves tickling his nose. He squinted. “How?”

“80 percent of the four-year-olds on this planet figure it out on their own. You can too.”

It was the truth, but it still stung, reminding Izuku of one of the dozens of ways he irreparably differed from his peers. Their quirks came to them like instinct, like birthright, like it was written into their genetic code, ticking away four measly years before fully manifesting. Clockwork. Cause and effect. Genetic predisposition that Izuku could never fully understand no matter how many notebooks he filled with quirk facts. Adults always liked to say he used his hobbies to overcompensate for his quirklessness, but really, he was just clawing and inching his way to stand level with where his peers had started. His body betrayed him though. That’s why he punished it back.

“Clock’s ticking, kid.” Tsubasa rubbed his eyes. “I can’t write up a full quirk report on Botany until you actually use it. Just feel the quirk inside of you. Look in the place that used to have nothing, but is now full. It’s a simple concept.”

“I can’t believe you’re a pediatrician,” Izuku muttered, but he closed his eyes to reach inside himself.

Plants. What connection did he have with plants? Quirk experts always spoke of children having a proclivity for things relating to their quirk even long before it manifested. The previously built connection made the power easier to access. So, what do I like about plants? He racked his brain. Plants were… nice. Safe. Plants never caused him any anxiety like cars or people or loud music. Plants were even calming with their boring, limp appendages. Useless, perhaps, but Izuku could relate to that. Plants didn’t bite like animals or hit like humans. They were the one living being that never caused him any harm.

A wave of warmth swelled in Izuku’s chest, and he pounced on it.

Yes. Green, leafy plants. Defenseless and forgettable, like him. With this quirk, they could both be more. They could be powerful. Move like they’ve never moved before. Grow like they’ve never grown before. Strong. Useful. Safe. As long as they were together.

“Now you’re getting it!” Izuku’s eyes shot open. The stocky leaves of the snake plant slithered longer and wider until they drooped far over the pot’s edges, into his lap and past his knees. “Now make it move.”

“H– how?”

“Don’t think about it! It’s like your body. You don’t think about moving your leg, you just move it. Don’t think about moving the leaves, just move them.”

Like my body? Izuku’s fingers twitched around the pot when he told them to, no thought required. Just signals through the nervous system. Perhaps that’s what his quirk was: a shared nervous system that connected him to all plants. So, that means… Izuku focused down on the pot, forcing an even breath through his lungs. Don’t think. Just move. Don’t think. Just – The block in the shared nervous system broke, and the snake plant twitched, as naturally as his fingers had. He could feel it. Izuku gasped. It was part of him. The sagging leaves lifted on his command and pointed straight up, shuddering slightly like a hand tremor. Extend. Twist. Ripple. The leaves formed a tower to the ceiling, spiraling and unspiraling with Izuku’s breath.

“No way,” his voice cracked. A quirk. He had a quirk. Forget how he obtained it! For the first time, he felt as human as his classmates, his teachers, his mother. Like a full, realized being. He traced a finger down the veins of a striped leaf. He couldn’t quite feel what the plant was feeling, per say, but there was a definite tickle, a shift in his awareness.

“That makes my job easier,” Tsubasa gave a lazy clap. “Shigaraki won’t kill you yet.”

“Yet?”

“Well.” He scratched his head. “Who knows what will happen when Shigaraki’s involved. I’d be long dead if I wasn’t under Sensei’s protection. You don’t have the same luxury. If you don’t prove your commitment to becoming a hero soon, he might change his mind on being your sponsor.”

“What do I do to prove myself?” Izuku’s throat went dry, remembering the ghost of a foot pressing against it.

“Don’t ask me.” He shrugged, turning in his chair to begin the quirk documentation process. “Though, here’s another thing to consider. If anyone else finds out about your extra toe joints, you’ll be in breach of Condition 1.” The snake plant leaves shrunk down to their normal size.

“How would anyone find out?”

“Who knows what happens in those hero schools? They require physicals and health checks, not to mention all of the injuries you’re sure to get. Being forced into an x-ray wouldn’t be surprising, and your refusal would be even more suspicious.”

“What do I do?”

“You should have thought of that before you took a quirk from the most powerful supervillain in the world.” Tsubasa clicked his pen. “I don’t think you understand, kid. You chose this over death, but taking the leap would have been a lot less trouble in the long run. I hope that dream of yours is worth it.”

Izuku hugged the pot to his chest as a blackened, lonely dread settled in his stomach. Yet again, another person was telling him to kill himself, saying it would be better if he was dead. Even with a quirk, he was still far behind his peers. He’d have to work much harder than anyone else just to keep up, just to deserve to live. Flicking leaves back and forth with his quirk, Izuku set his jaw and eyed his feet tucked under the chair. Whatever it takes. He thought, grim. I’ll do whatever it takes to be a hero.

Chapter Text

Dagobah beach seemed as good a place as any to train, and perhaps it was an appropriate setting: tucked away, abandoned, a dumping ground of broken appliances and useless trash. Izuku wouldn’t be worthy of a real gym or practice arena until his body and quirk were forces to be reckoned with, real and bonafide parts of him worthy of being a hero. Cleaning the beach would be symbolic as well as a great workout, a systematic uprooting of impurity and despondency. This was his new life, and he’d commit to it by fully demolitioning all remnants of the old.

From that day forward, Deku was dead.

Izuku planted white sneakered feet into the sand of the ebbing shore, expanding his range of senses into the oceans. Thin strips of awareness flickered in his radar, and his grip tightened on them, sweat collecting on his temples and scared forehead, deep breaths, narrowed concentration. The flickers of plants webbed further, deeper under the salt water. Extensions of my body. He reminded himself. The trick was to not get psyched out by their proportions, their vast network. After all, a stretched out human nervous system measured longer than 90,000 miles, what was a few hundred extra pounds of seaweed? His hands rose towards the polluted water, and pulled.

Green ribbons shot into the air like flying fish. Their thin shadows snaked over the pale sand and pelted together towards one target: Izuku’s palms. Ignoring the sickening squelch of impact, he sent them slithering up his arms, circling his head, cutting stripes through the sand, measuring the strain of multitasking with bated huffs. After a few minutes, he twisted the green vegetation together and started the process of hauling trashing, beginning with an abandoned safe big enough to hold up All Might. The sopping seaweed pinched his fingers, wrists, and up his arms while they wrapped around the great metal lug, helping make steady progress off of the beach.

His muscles pulsed while the hours whiled away, hot and sharp as tangled thyme flowers dangled in his face. He heaved fridges and shopping carts, car engines and bookshelves, washing machines and microwaves across the desolate stretches of sand, aided by seaweed, beach grass, and bearberry shrubs. Sometimes Izuku practiced making the distant trees lining the lot swing great branches up and down, but the distance tuckered him out. He saved larger plants for a different regimen entirely, reserving the beach for muscle building.

After a month since gaining his quirk, Izuku wondered if Shigaraki had forgotten him entirely. Anxiety pushed him out of bed in the dead of night with the terrible feeling he was missing a meeting from Condition 5 without knowing it. He had no way to contact the League, but was he supposed to find one? Was the responsibility on him? Had he missed something? He’d never been allowed to ask how he would be “summoned,” and check-ins would be impossible until he knew where and whom he was supposed to contact. Perhaps this was Shigaraki’s plan all along, he mused. Perhaps Izuku was only a source of entertainment, a bug to make sweat before inevitably squashing. Even his benefactor seemed out to get him.

This suspicion, however, was dispelled on a cloudy, humid evening at Dagobah beach.

The seaweed ropes around his wrists slackened at the first wisp of black mist, going limp to face one of the men he was at the mercy of. Kurogiri appeared seamlessly and took a moment to admire the purpled skyline. Izuku came to his side, head bowed.

“Shigaraki wants to see you,” he hummed.

“Will you take me to him?”

“Of course.”

The black portal ripped a hole in the vibrant horizon, and Izuku felt a similar pit forming in his stomach, bottomless and vacant. Kurogiri waved him forward, the world narrowed, and the soft, familiar plants of Dagobah beach blipped out of his radar.

“About time, brat,” Shigaraki hissed at him.

It was the bar again, the same low lights and musty countertop where Kurogiri appeared, sofa and TV situated in the corner. Izuku stumbled upon entry, knees hitting the floor while he caught himself with his hand, and he blinked down at the familiar red shoes of his sponsor. Crap. His heart shot to his throat.

“Get up.” The man snarled. Izuku scrambled to his feet, head still bowed as he reconsidered his plan. Could he really go through with it? Shigaraki turned away and flopped down on one of the bar stools. Kurogiri slid him a drink. “Where was he?” He asked the bartender.

“At Dagobah beach. He appeared to be training.”

“Not enough. Look at those shrimp arms!” He snorted. “Long time no see, brat. The doc says you’ve finally figured out your quirk.”

“Yes.” Izuku gulped.

“I hope you can do more than sprout a girly flower crown.”

“I can.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Shigaraki slammed his glass down, whiskey sloshing over the lid. A switch knife sat within his reach, and Izuku eyed it nervously. “If you don’t pass that entrance exam, I’ll blow your whole life apart, understand, brat?” A nod. “Nobody’s gonna hold your hand for this. Violate a single condition, and you won’t get a second chance. How do I know you’re not planning to mess around with a fancy new quirk for a few months before killing yourself the morning of the exam? If you waste that quirk by dying, I’ll string your mother out on her clothes line.” Another nod. Izuku didn’t give a reaction other than respectful quiet—perhaps a stir of fear at the mother part, but not much else. “So tell me, Izuku ,” he took another swig. “The doc brought up another problem: those pesky toe joints of yours. How do you plan on dealing with them?”

Izuku fidgetted, eyeing the switch knife again. “I can show you how.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but I’ll need that knife.”

Shigaraki handed it over, noticeably keeping his pinkie finger raised. Izuku filed the observation for later. “Try anything I don’t like and those daisies will be the only thing left of you.” They were chamomiles, but the threat was clear.

“I understand.” Izuku knelt, peeling away his white shoes and socks while alarm bells ricocheted between his ears. Could be worse. He reasoned. His other method had been to gnaw them off. This would be faster at least, and he could handle pain… he had a scar to remind him of that. Setting up his foot, he spread the pinkie away from the other toes and positioned the knife above it like a swingline paper cutter. No pain, no gain. No pain, no gain. No pain, no gain.

“Now wait just a moment.” Kurogiri started.

Izuku slammed the knife down.

The tears came even before the pain did, beating the other by milliseconds. Izuku stifled a scream, lip pinched between his teeth. The heat came slow, then all at once, like a million hair thin needles jamming into the gash. Vision narrowed, his ears rang, and the dwindling line of coherent thought goaded him to hurry before he passed out. Izuku shoved the leg aside then shifted to the other foot. Same procedure, done with shaking hands now. He didn’t even think before sinking the blade through the other pinkie.

Blacking out felt like long blinks, re-emerging after a second to realize half a minute had passed, repeated over and over again. Distantly, a voice reached his ears.

“Kurogiri, get Dabi, now.”

Another blink, and another figure occupied the room: spiky black hair, patchwork face of purple scars, staples, holding the switch knife in a blue lit hand.

Another blink. Shigaraki held the blade out to him. “Finish the job and cauterize it. You’re bleeding on my floor.”

“Sorry,” Izuku’s voice slurred, taking the knife by the handle. Won’t this hurt more? He wondered. Can’t be that bad… 

It was.

So.

Bad.

The gross sizzle of his blood and skin reminded him of bacon in the morning before school, still nursing bruises from the previous day, father’s footsteps in the next room.

He switched to the other foot, other side of the blade.

Heat like Kacchan’s hand on his shoulder, prolonged, merciless. As the world blurred and blended, he couldn’t believe it was his fingers squeezing the handle. It’s unnatural, to hurt one’s self in this way.

The knife clattered to the floor, and the first choked wail escaped his mouth, cut off half way like static. He leaned against the side of the bar counter, hair and chamomiles pressed flat while he grinded his skull into the wood. Shigaraki squatted across from him.

“It’s done, brat.”

“It is– enough?” Izuku gasped. “Did I– prove myself– to you?”

A cackle, though a tired, dry one. “I said no questions.”

Izuku blinked before replying, but his eyes would not open again.

He was back on the sofa when he awoke, still smelling lysol. Perhaps smoke, too. Cooked meat.

Izuku’s stomach turned. The twin pain in his feet wouldn’t let him forget for long. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. The sickest swell of pride filled his chest at the memory. Could a quirkless weakling do that? He didn’t think so.

Groaning, he squinted ahead, called by the sound of another videogame. Shigaraki sat on the floor again, controller in hand. Izuku’s feet lay wrapped and propped up on pillows; blood stained the bandages. The scarred man sat atop the bar, conversing with Kurogiri.

“I had to clean up your mess,” Shigaraki muttered without turning around.

“I’m sorry.”

“That was stupid.”

“It was efficient. Took care of the extra joints problem and proved I’m serious about becoming a hero.”

“Uh-huh. And what are you going to do when people ask why you’re missing two toes?”

“My father was convicted of child abuse before fleeing to America. They’ll believe me when I tell them he did it.” He had another scar to back it up.

Shigaraki grunted. “And you mom? The kids at your middle school?”

“I’ll hide it from them.”

“Sure you can hide that kind of pain?”

“Yes.”

The game paused. Shigaraki pivoted to study Izuku’s ashen face. “You’re sick.”

“I did attempt suicide.”

“Will you try again?”

“No. Not if I can be a hero.”

Shigaraki glared, scratching his neck. “Doesn’t make any sense. Heroes failed you, like they failed the rest of us. Why become one?”

“It’s my dream.” Izuku shrugged, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “I like helping people. It feels good, like– like I’m good. Quirkless people aren’t good for much. We’re kind of burdens on society. Always in trouble. Always needing saving. We die young, useless. I thought I would too, but I don’t have to now. With a quirk, as a hero, I can be… good.” His voice drifted off to something dreamy, distant. Hope, perhaps? That was new. Shigaraki squinted at him.

“You’re selfish.”

“Maybe.”

“Delusional.”

“For sure.”

“Wrong. You’re wrong.”

Izuku turned to him with vacant green eyes, wilted white petals decorating the cushion. “I really hope not.”

It had been awhile since Shigaraki had been disturbed by something. He shook off the feeling, face twisting with a grin. “I was right. You are interesting.”

Izuku didn’t reply. He settled deeper into the couch and turned his attention to the videogame, deciding a conversation with Shigaraki would be safer after a few passed levels. A peaceable quiet fell, and the scarred man introduced himself as Dabi, offering a bottle to Izuku as a greeting present.

“You better down that thing. Dulls the pain.” The bitter aftertaste of the drink confirmed it to be beer, but Izuku tipped it to his lips and gulped with a grimace anyway. Deku wouldn’t do this. He frowned. Deku was rather strict about rules and health and legal policy. He’d refused alcohol from the high school kids as he loitered around the school parking lot until Kacchan’s gang cleared off. He’d hid in trees, knees and palms scraped to crimson before allowing himself to be caught. So utterly, entirely miserable with himself, but never enough to rest, never enough to give up. It kept him alive, but it eventually drove him to death.

At least the beer clouded things over, and the neon colors of pixelated characters boxed the world in safe and simple and sound.

“Wanna join?” Shigaraki offered after his mood had noticeably improved.

“No thanks. I prefer RPG games.”

“Those take up too much time with cutscenes, and they keep the characters cramped in a storyline. Action and open-world are the best.”

“The story is what makes a good video game.” The alcohol made him bolder.

“The options are what makes a good video game. If I wanted to watch a movie, I would. The whole point is to do whatever you want.”

“Games without objectives feel listless to me, unrealistic.”

“What’s unrealistic is making choices based off of a predetermined checklist. No one gives you one of those in real life.”

“Maybe not in your real life,” Izuku muttered, swigging the rest of the bottle.

“That’s what’s wrong with you and the rest of the heroes, brat. You do what’s expected and ignore your own desires, then expect other people to do the same. No one’s happy, and no one’s free. You chose to die because, as a quirkless brat, you didn’t expect to live. It’s garbage.”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me,” Izuku hummed. “I broke the rules.”

“And now that you have, life is starting to go your way. See the connection?”

“Yeah.” He blinked down at his bandaged feet, wry. “Totally going my way.”

“Lesson one in decision making, brat,” Shigaraki snorted. “Regret nothing. There’s no such thing as a wrong turn in an open-world.”

Izuku grunted. He felt light, lulled, aching muscles oiled with liquid depressant. Mother must be worried he wasn’t home yet, perhaps bothering all of the neighbors again. What excuse would he have to show up so late, and drunk , no less? He couldn’t explain Condition 5 to her, and he was in no rush to go home anyway. He was fine right where he was.

Kurogiri brought up the subject of returning Izuku home first, getting a scowl from Shigaraki. Izuku sat up and wiped the blur from his eyes.

“Shoes,” he mumbled, stumbling to his feet. “I gotta get my shoes on.” The pain shot up his legs with every step, and he collapsed in the spot where his white sneakers and socks lay abandoned. Only half way through shoving them on did he notice the problem through the strikes of blistering heat: bloodstains bloomed like roses through the material, artsy little splatters that grew too much to be written off on as anything nonviolent. “Crap,” he muttered.

“That was an avoidable problem, kid,” Dabi yawned.

“I didn’t know today would be the day you would take me. I would have brought a different pair.” What pair? He didn’t know. Izuku hadn’t worn the red sneakers since the day he met All Might.

Boink!

Something careened into his head and dropped to the floor. A red shoe. And one that he recognized.

Boink!

The other nailed his shoulder, and he turned. Shigaraki stood up from his paused video game with bare feet. “I’m at the end of my patience, brat. Put those on and get out of here.” Izuku complied with the warning tone and jammed his feet into Shigaraki’s trademark shoes. Immediately, bloodstains polka-dotted the outside, but only as vague, darker smudges, hardly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking. Izuku heaved to his feet.

“Thanks.” He bowed. “For everything. I won’t fail to keep up my end of the contract.”

“You better not, brat.” Shigaraki frowned, pale hands deep in his pockets. Izuku looked, to him, entirely impossible: shadowed but bright eyes, muscled but uncoordinated arms, bloody but firm feet. The chamomiles in his hair sank wilted amidst the green tufts and juxtaposed his otherwise gloomy disposition. It was the right quirk for him, though. If the kid needed anything, it was a little life. I’ll make a villain out of you yet, Midoriya Izuku. Shigaraki thought. You’re already a monster. “Don’t cause any more messes for me. I’ll get bored if you’re not fun to be around.”

As Kurogiri led him through the warp gate, Izuku wondered if that was Shigaraki’s roundabout way of telling him not to get hurt, or not to hurt himself. It boded well for him, if so. He’d made a career sponsor out of an unreliable man, but one he understood. Life was as much a game for Shigaraki as it was for Izuku: the difference was gameplay, a clear path versus an open one, direction versus mobility. Shigaraki wanted to make a playable character out of an NPC, and Izuku needed to rewrite his code. Tandem goals. Opposite approaches. Different gameplay.

But no matter the story choices, Izuku knew which ending he wanted.

Chapter Text

Izuku wished to avoid the topic of school as much as possible. To think, he’d gone through all of this trouble just to enter another larger, more dangerous academy, one sure to hurt him even more than his present middle school.

The reaction to his quirk hadn’t been pleasant.

In the week leading up to his fateful doctor’s appointment with Tsubasa, Izuku had been forced to attend class with the conspicuous flowers in his hair and little else to show for his abilities. Some said it was fake, others wondered if he’d been hit by a quirk instead, most ignored it and him, but the worst of all was Kacchan’s reaction.

“You might as well still be quirkless with a quirk like that!” He had howled. “Of course Deku would even mess up getting a superpower. You’re worse than these extra, getting something so lame this late in the game!” Izuku had agreed with him at the time, but the quirkless comment stung. He was no better than the person he had been atop that roof. If that was true, what was to keep him from going back? He wanted to live, but his desire and momentum were at odds. Stepping away from the brink is still very close to the edge.

Thankfully, those comments were where the bullying stopped that week and for a month or so to follow. The concept of a TIM (Trauma Induced Manifestation) along with the fresh scar etched above his eyebrow made kids nervous. There was something haunting about gaunt-faced Izuku with belladonnas in his hair, a determined, skittish glint in his eye, and clashing red shoes. He had become the one thing a Midoriya was never meant to be: distinctive. Perhaps, even, intimidating.

Bakugou was blind to this though, and in the months approaching the UA entrance exam, he fancied Izuku might need another reminder of his place.

At class’s end, Izuku heaved his backpack onto the desk and began shoving notebooks inside, fingers brushing the worn spine of his Botany Observations journal, disguised as another hero analysis. It was a well-loved notepad, pages crinkled like autumn leaves and smelling of pollen from the nights he fell asleep nestled in its inked sheets.

He pulled it out, mashing his molars down on the tinny ferrule of his pencil while he thought over the pros and cons of fighting a fellow plant-quirked individual. Kamui Woods, for example, would be a wild card match with two possibilities: Izuku would be able to control the vegetal implementations of his quirk, or not. Kamui had the advantage of having an applicable quirk in any environment: desert, oceanic, caves, urban settings. If only Izuku had a quirk without a limiting factor like location, or perhaps a function of his quirk which worked independently of his surroundings. He’d have to account for the weakness with his hero costume. A terrarium backpack, perhaps? Or pockets containing Tillandsia plants, which didn’t require soil to grow. Another problem was vegetation isn't sturdy. It falls and bends and snaps. Flexibility and durability vary with the plant, so he’d have to be resourceful, fast on his feet, do anything to give himself an edge. Perhaps–

The scar on his back prickled.

The notebook flew out from beneath his fingers, along with his desk. Izuku jumped back as Bakugou kicked his station over with a bang.

“Ahh!” He yelped, pushing hair and orange chrysanthemums out of his face. “K– Kacchan!”

“Class is over, Deku.” Bakugou held up sparking palms, chin high. “Stop writing in that stupid notebook. Your girly quirk is useless for hero work.” For the hundredth time, Izuku wondered if he should rip off the bandaid and admit his true quirk, but something told him that wouldn’t be wise. Instead, he scrambled to scoop up his scattered school papers, shoving his precious notebook into the backpack first—he’d learned from the last time. Bakugou’s eyes twitched. “Don’t ignore me, nerd!”

“What do you want me to say?” Izuku tossed in his chewed pencil.

“Tell me I won’t see you at the UA entrance exams to start.”

“I’ll do my best to stay out of your line of sight, Kacchan.” He slung on his backpack. “But I can’t promise more than that. Sorry.”

“I don’t want apologies from a quirkless loser like you.” He balled his fist.

“I’m not quirkless anymore.”

“But you’re still a Deku, and you’ll always be useless, you hear me!”

Izuku stepped back, shoulders rising to his ears while he coached his breath. That’s not true. Deku is dead. He’s dead, he’s dead. I’m not him anymore. He turned to take the roundabout route to the classroom door.

Bakugou seethed. What was wrong with Deku? He’d changed since getting his quirk. He stood taller, looked straight ahead. Even his nervous ticks came with more purpose: foot tapping with rhythm, mumbling coherent sentences, racing fingers tracing lines of text. Months ago, he’d been fading fast, finally realizing his true place as a quirkless weakling, only to arrive one day with cherry blossoms in his hair and a nervous light in his eyes. It ticked Bakugou off. Quirk or no quirk, Deku was worthless. He couldn’t forget it. Bakugou wouldn’t let him.

He caught him by the backpack, tearing open the zipper.

“Hey!” Izuku yelled, trying to yank away. “Stop it!”

“You can’t become a hero with a weak quirk! Give up already!”

“No!”

Bakugou extracted a familiar campos notebook, temper flaring at the title: Hero Analysis for the Future- No. 14. “You don’t learn, do you?” He smirked, sparky hands closing over the cover.

“Stop!” Izuku didn’t think. He plowed into Bakugou with a war cry on his lips, spending them both flying to the ground. Knocking the air out of the blonde, he snatched up the notebook and pinned it to his chest while trying to stand. A fiery hand pulled him back down, and they were at it, punching and hitting indiscriminately. A blow glanced Izuku’s jaw; a jab drove into Bakugou’s shoulder. Chairs flipped and desks toppled. The notebook flew out of reach. Bakugou had forgotten it though, and as Izuku whipped around to find it, he landed a blow in the back of his knees. Izuku crumpled, held aloft by the hand clutching his collar.

“You think your quirk’s so great!” Bakugou roared, digging fingers into his flowery scalp. He grasped the firm stem of a chrysanthemum and yanked . Izuku screamed.

A warm dribble of blood trickled down his forehead and retraced the paths of dried tear trails. Bakugou grabbed another, nearer the back, and ripped it loose. The pain sent Izuku limp again, sobs wracking up his chest and throat while a headache mounted. It stung . Like Bakugou had pulled out a chunk of hair, but much worse. More like he’d yanked off a finger, snipped his eyestem, shattered his teeth. Real, living parts of his body torn away. The tiny flame of pain in his head bloomed to his skin, building, rising, burning. As Bakugou wrapped his hand around a third flower, it burst.

The drooping flowers atop Izuku's head shriveled, stiffened, then changed . Orange chrysanthemum petals darkened to blood red, green stalks writhed, morphed, and needle sharp thorns breached the stem, plunging into Bakugou’s hand.

Roses.

Bakugou yelped and pulled away, blood dripping down his fingers. The two boys stared at each other, struck dumb by the same shock. Izuku’s freckled cheeks looked stark beneath the branching streams of red, head crowned with roses and thorns.

“Kac– chan,” He gaped at Bakugou’s wounded fist. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

That was enough. Bakugou stepped back, then ran, bolting from the classroom with a decisive slam of the door and leaving Izuku with the mess of toppled desks and scattered papers, crushed flowers, tears, and blood.

After five minutes of forcing air through his lungs, unable to stop crying, he crawled to his abandoned notebook and flipped to a fresh page. New Ability , he titled it and began to write in the center of the chaos. The scratch of his pencil reminded him of Shigaraki. When the sobs took over, Izuku recited the seven conditions of the contract until the chokes curbed to hiccups, dripping head bent over the page.

Days later, he would mourn this decision as he flipped through the paper leaves and guessed at words made indecipherable by blots of blood.

“We have information on the entrance exam.” Shigaraki paused his game. “It’ll increase your chances of getting in.”

Izuku propped himself up. The exam was weeks away, though time had become a blur in the endless cycle of training and studying and school and dragging himself home to wave off his mother’s concerns. Inko knew he intended to apply to UA using his quirk. She even knew a little concerning the full range of his abilities. Yet, she was a skittish woman, and one who dealt with problems best by avoiding them. A loving mother, but an inattentive one who was never quite sure what to do with her quirkless son. With UA, she was much the same, with her shaking smiles and worried hands gripping his shoulders. She’d say she was proud of him, never that she believed in him. Perhaps she worried the weight of expectations would hurt him too much. But no one had expected anything out of Izuku his whole life. Now, the expectations Shigaraki had set for him were staked on his life, an all but worthless commodity. 

He lay stretched out on the sofa and Shigaraki on the floor in their familiar positions, a video game blaring sound effects and Kurogiri polishing a glass behind the bar. Another “meeting.”

“Wouldn’t that be–” Izuku stopped himself. No questions. “I don’t want to cheat.”

“You cheat every time you use that quirk I gave you,” Shigaraki snorted. “And I expect you to do as you’re told. Unless you want to lose everything again.” Izuku stayed silent. “Good. Now listen. It’s not exactly public knowledge, but the exam always consists of something big, usually fighting robots. And that rat principal pours money into it to show off, so it’ll be in a fake city, probably.” The square light of the TV screen reflected in Shigaraki’s eyes as he talked. His voice remained even, distracted, and decidedly safe.

Izuku sat up, red shoes planting onto the ground. “Alright.”

“Our spy was able to pick up on something else though. They’ll tell you scores are determined by a point system based on destroying robots, but there’s a secret objective as well apparently. It has to do with measuring actual heroism instead of just destruction, as if they could figure that out with a test. Keep an eye out for cheesy easter eggs.”

“I thought the spy was a first year like me.” Shigaraki shot him a glare. “It’s not a question.”

“They had a window of opportunity. Stop trying to weasel information out of me, brat. Don’t forget your life is in the palm of my hands.”

Hands that never use all five fingers, he pondered, but shrank back down into the couch and nodded. “Sorry. I won’t forget.”

Dogs are known to urinate on themselves in order to appease a threat. It’s an act of submission and not unlike what Izuku did, always the first to fold and acknowledge the superiority of another. A habit ingrained from years of being quirkless, no longer accompanied by shame. It was the same as going limp under attack, and it made Shigaraki smirk. Izuku was a lucky find. A character skin to inhabit. So blank and broken and tired, he’d go nowhere on his own, not unless someone dangled the word ‘hero’ in front of his face and told him to come. A puppet. A dog.

Shigaraki refocused on his game with renewed vigor. He did not invite Izuku to join him.

The night before the exam was an unforgiving one for Izuku. The doubts clouding his brain were too loud, clustering every channel and pathway in his head until he wanted to leave it entirely. Instead, he opened and closed the flowering buds of plants lining his room. They’d overtaken his All Might shrine and posters like wild ivy, casting shadows onto the deep set pits of his eyes, the photoshopped glimmer on his teeth, the unsubtle bulge of his muscles. Shigaraki would throw a fit to see his face decorating my room, Izuku mused, and the thought sent a shiver up his back. He slid off his bed and approached the largest poster next to the door, placed so he could stare at it from under his covers: a beacon of hope. Izuku’s carefully bandaged feet padded over, and he stopped under All Might’s sharp blue-eyed gaze.

“I’m going to be a hero,” he whispered. “I am.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t be a hero without a quirk.” The cold wall reverbated the memory back to him as a response.

“But I have a quirk now. I can do it now.”

“You’re a villain.” Izuku stepped back. All Might hadn’t said those words to him, but he heard them in his voice.

“I’m not. I’ve never hurt anyone.” Kacchan’s bloody fist flashed in his mind. “I’ll be a hero, and it won’t matter where I got my quirk from.”

“Villain! ”

“N– no.”

“Traitor!”

“I’m not a traitor.”

“You consort with villains! You tell lies for your own selfish desire!”

“P– please.”

“You’re evil! An abomination! You’re driven by greed.”

“Stop.”

“You only lust for power, villain!”

“I just want to live.” Izuku’s voice cracked. “I don’t want to be weak anymore. I just want to live. Please let me live.” All Might’s brandished teeth glowered down at him.

Shigaraki had ordered him to hurt All Might. Condition 7. What kind of a hero is bound to villains? What kind of hero hurts people?

“Forgive me,” he choked. “Forgive me, please.”

“Jump.” The ratty carpet of Izuku’s room flipped out from under him, and he was there again. The roof, the cold cement, the bite of wind. “Get on with it!”

“I don’t want to.” Izuku couldn’t step back; open air surrounded him.

“Weak.”

“Quirkless.”

“Villain.”

“Deku.”

“Wrong. You’re wrong.”

“no. No. NO!”

A push, and he fell.

… 

Izuku sat up in bed, legs twisted painfully in a knot of sheets and blankets, half of his covers hanging over the side. A dream. One halted by the dizzying sensation of falling. Hypnic jerk, he knew. Nothing more than a sleep start. He’d been trying to nod off for hours, but —now that he had—he didn’t want to do it again. With a groan, Izuku flipped on his phone and squinted at the digital light: 3:00— a long ways from sunrise.

“This sucks.” He flicked on his bedside table lamp and reached past it to grasp a lump of irish moss, potted in an empty corn can. Settling against his headboard, he patted the soft green tufts and tiny white flowers as they vibrated beneath his fingers like a purring cat. “At least you like me,” Izuku sighed, calming as the vague and dark dream slipped from memory, leaving only its taste, its lingering warning, the last hiccup of panic as he fell: someone had pushed him. “Things will get better.” He shook off the feeling. “I’ll become a hero. I’ll be good. That has to be what matters in the end. Things will get better. Don’t worry, little moss. I promise not to give up again. If I pass this exam, I’ll always come back to water you.”

Chapter Text

Izuku did not expect to find himself falling again so soon, but this was a different kind.

Walking through the gates of UA felt like tempting fate. Eyeing the subtle cameras in the corners, the alarm bells painted to blend in—it was asking for trouble, so much so every inch of his body buzzed with nervous energy, like a bank robber strolling in the next day to make a deposit. He wore his middle school gakuran uniform—the same set he’d worn the day he met Shigaraki, though it wasn’t a purposeful occurrence—and his own pair of red shoes in case his feet started bleeding again. For the physical portion of the exam, a gym bag swung precariously at his side, spikes of Tillandsias poking through the fabric. And for the written portion, one or two chewed up pencils sat buried in his hair amongst white hydrangeas for luck. Which he needed.

A tar pit stirred in his stomach, and he walked with eyes fixed on a spot ahead of him to keep himself rooted in the moment. He should have been watching the ground, though. One crack in the concrete sent him splaying forward.

Great, he cursed. The last thing I need is more bruises.

Something tapped his shoulder, and Izuku’s descent stopped short, feet lifting from the ground.

“Gotcha!” A voice chirped. He swung around, mouth gaping as all of his insides threatened to come up. A girl smiled at him pleasantly: round pink cheeks, bobbed brown hair, soft smile. “Sorry for using my quirk on you. It would be bad if you fell, though. Here.” She guided his feet back to the ground and stepped back, tapping her fingers together. The butterflies in Izuku’s stomach plummeted like rocks. Five-point contact quirk. Like Shigaraki. “Well.” She raised a hand to wave, and he flinched away. “Good luck! I like your flowers!”

“Uh –” But she was already gone, skipping towards the UA entrance. Izuku stopped, frowning after her with white knuckles clutching the gym bag. Calm down. He took a breath, shaking. No one knows. No one knows. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Don’t –

A dry chuckle. “That was lame.” It came from behind Izuku’s shoulder, deep and husky and too close. 

Izuku yelped, jumping away as he turned around. The tall shadow morphed into an ill-mannered face: sunken eyes, pale skin, blown back purple hair like a sleep-deprived troll doll. His deadpan face quirked a brow at Izuku’s reaction.

“You alright?”

“Uh.” Is he the spy? Was she the spy? Can they see right through me? “Nerves.” He swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“Your face is almost as green as your hair.”

“Sorry.”

Again, the boy looked him up and down, taking in the haggard posture and twitchy movements, braced to take a hit at any second. He softened his face, and sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.” He started walking, straight-backed and sure, like he knew what he was doing. Izuku followed. “I’m Shinso Hitoshi, by the way.”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

Their sneakered feet padded along with the crowd congregating UA’s doors, the blue glass towers reflecting the sea of young, nervous faces. Students packed shoulder to shoulder as they funneled through the marked entryway, and Shinso noted how Izuku shrank in on himself, the flowers on his head closing like they sensed a storm. It’s not my problem. He scowled. He’s just another jerk who’s had everything given to him. Don’t waste your time with him. Immediately, a pang of guilt hit his chest. I’m being hypocritical.

“Midoriya.”

“Hmm?” Izuku looked up at him. The crowd of examinees herded into an auditorium, nervous energy dousing the air.

“Could I borrow a pencil?”

A smile ghosted his lips. “You came to an exam without a pencil?”

“Eh. It’s not the written portion I’m worried about.”

“You can say that again.” Izuku rooted through his hair to feel out the hard stick of wood amongst stems and curls. Striking one, he pulled it out and grinned shyly at Shinso’s dubious face. The taller boy absently wondered if Izuku had a bottomless pit quirk like Thirteen and stashed entire weapons in his locks. The thought of the boy extracting an assault rifle from his bush of hair was enough to lighten Shinso’s mood, and he took the pencil kindly enough.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” They wordlessly shuffled down a less populated row near the back of the testing center and sat together.

“The written test doesn’t even matter.” Shinso frowned at the bite marks riddling his pencil. “And they rig the physical portion to favor flashy quirks.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic.” Izuku bit down on his eraser.

“I’m trying to find a way to cheat the system.”

His stomach turned at the word: cheat. Oh, Izuku was cheating the system, all right. He was cheating the entire genetic lottery. A quirkless person like him shouldn’t even be there, shouldn’t be taking advantage of Shinso’s deadpan kindness, shouldn’t waste the paper to take the exam. A poor tree had been stripped raw and torn apart so he could cheat. He eyed Shinso warily, recalling Shigaraki’s words. “I heard they look for heroism. Even if you don’t necessarily do well with the exam, if you use your abilities to help people, they might let you in.”

“Oh yeah?” Shinso considered him. “Where’d you hear that?”

“My career sponsor.”

His expression soured. “Oh? You must come from a rich family or have a big shot quirk if you have a career sponsor.”

“Not really.” Izuku averted his eyes, pulling on the stem of a hydrangea to scold himself. “I got lucky. This is my one shot. If I don’t get into UA, I’ll lose everything.” Including my life.

“Whatever.” The test center lights flicked on, and Shinso raised his hand to shield his eyes. Izuku flinched at the movement. “Let’s get this over with.”

Many kids who failed to excel in any physical aspect of life can relate to the fervor with which Izuku attacked academics. Starved for attention, praise, validation, there’s hardly another way to gain the acceptance of adults, even if it means alienation from peers. Izuku would study and read and practice and memorize: equations, poems, trivia facts. He owned notebooks bursting with leaflets, sticky notes, and inked up pages full of hero stats, quirk theory.

By the end of the test—pencil reduced to splinters, legs muscles fried from bouncing—he thanked every lonesome night and gross, people-pleasing grade. Slamming the crumpled booklet closed at the call of time, he sank into his seat and allowed himself the barest, faintest smile. Hopefully it would be enough.

Izuku wasn’t used to drawing stares. He was always a plain looking boy, and—even post quirk—the flowers in his hair were a tame mutation compared to the Frankenstein’s-monster-esque looks quirks introduced into the gene pool. However, this did nothing to stop the judgmental glares thrown his way as he juggled organizing his Tillandsia plants in a drawstring pouch, unsure how to position them to be easy access. After a moment of deliberating in front of the exam arena gate, he hung it in the front with straps around his shoulders like a backwards backpack. Compared to the other kids in their immaculate gym outfits and quirk accessories, his hoodie, grey sweats, and red sneakers made him stick out like a sore thumb. Even Shinso threw him a questioning look.

“That’s the best you could come up with?” Izuku grimaced, nodded. His teal exercise jumpsuit hadn’t survived the pre-suicide donation haul. There seemed to be little point in exercise after All Might crushed his dreams. There seemed to be little point in anything. “I can’t believe you gave me crap for not bringing a pencil when you’re dressed like a homeless man.”

“Still think I’m from a rich family?” He traced the long Tillandsia points, smiling as the tender vibration of life echoed down the shared nervous system from them. It fluttered like a heartbeat, grounding Izuku.

“No.” Shinso frowned. “I don’t.”

“Like I said, I got lucky.”

People around them stretched and jogged in place. A few caught Izuku’s eye: a French boy with a metal belt and an uncanny twinkle in his eye, the nice girl who caught him from tripping, the pedantic glasses guy who asked a question during the physical exam presentation. Whispers of robots floated through the air, speculating how best to tackle a blocky ton of metal and wires with the physical prowess of a fifteen-year-old. Their blunt confidence turned Izuku’s stomach. He needed to calm down, zone in, build momentum for the countdown so—when it came—he’d be ready to bolt. This is your life on the line. He reminded himself. Act like it. No more dissociated apathy; no more brooding in a corner of self-pity. He had a quirk now, a chance at a half-decent life. It’s time to fight for it.

A shriek of static ripped through the air, and every head snapped up. Present Mic coughed into the speakers. “Ready and start !”

Just like that? His jaw dropped as a gust of wind blew by, and his fellow examinees sprinted ahead, leaving him behind. Even a flash of purple stumbled by, and Shinso was gone. Crap!

Izuku pushed himself forward, holding his flimsy bag of plants secure in front of him like gripping an aching stomach. Buildings and sidewalks rose up on either side of him, perfect replicas of a real city until you passed close to the glass and spotted the barren and floorless sets inside, like a movie prop. Glass shattered in the distance, and Izuku pushed down every protective instinct he’d cultivated in his youth to follow the sound.

Rounding the corner, a scene of carnage met him. Screws and dented metal panels rained from the sky, punctuated by ear-piercing screams of shredded robot parts. Move. His knees locked. Move!

He moved.

A one-pointer robot lumbered by with a detached arm hanging from its side by wires. Izuku hurled a Tillandsia, tuning into the plant's frequency as it soared, expanding the width, stretching the leaves until it measured a yard across. It crashed into the robot’s metal front and clamped on, spikes slithering between panels and crumpling them like tin foil. Tentacle-like tendrils writhed and ripped fistfuls of colorful wires before the dim red glow of the robot’s eyes faded, and the machine stalled. Special Move Name: Tendril.

Points: 1

Sharp aches stabbed Izuku’s feet with each pounding step as he ran. The wound never seemed to fully heal, staining bed sheets and socks and household slippers with blots of blood. Thank heavens Inko was never the most observant woman.

Izuku worked the sidelines of the carnage, picking off one-pointers nobody wanted, unable to inch further into the fray of battle as powerhouse students dominated the field, and his very nature protested the idea. He disabled three more with a Tendril attack, seven with a Bowling Ball which set off a line of them like dominos. A two-pointer fell to Bear Hug in which robot and a bear-sized Tillandsia crushed each other in a wriggling embrace. The biggest advantage of growth manipulation came in the description of plants being “perpetually embryonic,” meaning there was no cap in size. So long as a plant gained nutrients and sunlight and minerals, it would grow. Or, so long as Izuku provided it energy.

Points: 13

Not enough.

Sweat streamed down his face with every swing, dashing and ducking while robots crashed down around him. A couple two-pointers approached side by side. He drew out two Tillandsias, flashes of pain lighting up the shared nervous system connected to his brain. That was another drawback: he received plant pain signals—delivered not exactly as the regular hot bite of discomfort, but the panic, the instinct to draw one’s hand away from the burning stove, to pull back the plants he sent into battle.

Izuku drew both arms back and hurled the plants in opposite directions, landing on either sides of the bots. Their leaves elongated like pulling a tape measure, and they stretched through the metal legs to grasp each other, shooting together while toppling the bunch. Attack name: Reverse Mitosis. 

Points: 19.

A shadow loomed over his shoulder before Izuku could take a breath.

Oh no.

He always felt small when something was about to hurt him. A four-year-old at his father’s feet, a scrawny kid kicked down by Kaachan’s growth-spurted legs, kneeling and bleeding before Shigaraki. The shadow always consumed him, and—with it—the fear. As Izuku turned in slow motion to face the whirring cogs and bright, lidless red eyes of a three-pointer robot, his shoulders dropped, his mind slowed, and he went limp.

Several things happened very quickly then.

A reaching robot arm eclipsed the sun. A familiar voice screamed his name. A flash of light. Pain. And Izuku collapsed.

…

From across the field, Shinso’s head whipped around wildly, soot and oil dousing his face and clothes from skidding through robot wreckage. There was no doubt in his mind: the exam was a bust. A stupid, dangerous waste of time because of course he couldn’t compete on the same field as gifted kids who were born with flashy quirk that made their parents’ eyes shine with pride. What had he done so far? Whacked a few robot legs with scraps of metal? Pushed a few brainless examinees out of the way of falling debris? It was nothing. Pathetic. Shinso stopped running. Pointless. He scowled. This is pointless.

Turning to leave, a flash of green caught his attention.

He’d seen Izuku do a decent enough job on the other side of the field earlier, but he stood stock-still now, gaping up at a huge, murderous machine closing in on him and doing nothing .

“Midoriya!” Shinso yelled. “Snap out of it!” Nothing. The side of his face glimmered pale and translucent, slack. He’s going to get hurt. His stomach twisted, eyes darting for help. “Hey! Twinkle toes!” The blonde boy that whizzed obnoxiously around from time to time with his sparkly laser spun around at the call.

“Do you mean moi?”

“Shoot that robot!” He pointed. “Now!” The effervescent boy went blank, and he aimed his beam at the looming robot. 

Crash!

The machine exploded in a shower of debris.

“Auto shop!” Shinso screamed, blood running cold.

“Name-calling is not–”

“SAVE THAT BOY!”

A rev of an engine, and glasses shot toward him, plowing into Izuku as he collapsed from the shockwave.

…

Everything and nothing ran through Izuku’s head as the robot before him imploding in a beam of sparks and scraps and smoke. The sting of his father slap; blackness. Kacchan on an explosive tirade; silence. All for One’s thumb pressed into his forehead; numbness. The world was reduced to microwave noises and every tainted memory Izuku had of falling or giving up or appeasing his attacker. Why didn’t he fight back? Why did he never fight back?

He knew the reason, of course: they always hit harder if he struggled. There was never any positive award for defending himself. There was only the inevitable end of pain, and how much he might delay or hasten it. 

Izuku's body blew back before slamming into someone’s outstretched arms. He was sped away, laid down, and abandoned. Only then did the world awaken again.

“You alright?” Shinso jogged to his side as he sat up.

“What happened?” Izuku groaned.

“You froze. I had to use my quirk to get glitter gun and hot wheels to help you out.”

“Ugh.” He grinded the balls of his palms into his eyes. “I did it again.”

Shinso recalled the instinctual flinches Izuku had to movement, the way his back curled and shoulders rose. His tone softened. “Don’t worry about it. This stupid test is almost over anyway.”

“Wha–”

“ONE MINUTE LEFT, LISTENERS!” Mic’s voice screeched across the arena, and Izuku jolted to his feet.

“One minute?” He spluttered. “I need more points.”

“You need to lay back down. You look like death.”

“You don’t understand.” He shook. “If I don’t pass, I’ll–” die/lose my quirk/never forgive myself . He wasn’t sure which to say, which he worried about most. He didn’t have to choose.

BOOM!

The earth shook.

“Look!”

Dozens of heads turned, gaping, screaming, running away. A robot stood tall and lonesome at the mouth of the street, towering above the great buildings on every side as it heaved a leg forward and eclipsed the sun: a silhouette everyone recognized.

“The zero-pointer,” Izuku choked, knees growing weak again. Its footsteps sent tremors like ripples through the pavement. A low-rise cement building fell victim to the knock of its metal knees.

“Midoriya.” Shinso stepped back. Fellow examinees streaked by them without a passing glance, screams of terror garbled beneath the screech of grinding gears. “We need to run.” Izuku stared straight ahead, fixated on a spot near the zero-pointer’s feet. Something in the rubble. “Midoriya.” The lump in the dust shifted, moved, raised. It’s the girl. His stomach twisted. “Answer me!”

He did not.

Izuku shot forward, scrambling over loose turf and charred bricks. He didn’t see it, didn’t feel the struggle to get to her. His mind expanded beyond his body. An intuition expanding into full, clear radar of a system beneath his shoes, out of sight, feet and blocks and miles away. A nervous system. A spiderweb.

Roots.

Skidding in front of the vast beast of metal and wires, he moved without thought and slammed his palm into the concrete, calling upon even wisp of pulsing plant life for as far as he could reach.

Pale, wormlike roots shot from cracks in the sidewalk and roped around the monstrous legs, three added for every one that snapped, nuzzling their way through panels and vents and ducts. Another crash, and other figures rounded the corners. Prim and trimmed trees that dotted the fake city walkways like pretty ornaments reanimated into slithering creatures of dirt and wild, flapping branches. They braced themselves against silvery feet and clawed upwards to tear at the heavyset knees as their sizes increased.

Still, the robot pushed forward, foot straining against soil-clogged roots no matter how many bits and pieces came loose while its body was invaded. In Izuku’s periphery, the brunette girl inched her way forward on scraped hands before collapsing in a lump.

“My ankle!” She cried. “It’s trapped under the rubble.”

The dimming coherent part of Izuku’s mind seized with panic. Stop the machine. Stop the machine! It’s going to crush her! 

An expanding light hummed from inside his head, his chest, not unlike the feeling of the roses sprouting from his scalp to protect him. But this was different, warmer yet thick and viscous and suffocating. Stabs of agony rattled deep in his veins and joints as it ate his body whole. An embrace meant to drown him. Dregs of consciousness clawed to stay on top of the rising tide, like a honeyed death slowly claiming his body. Izuku couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, merely struggled like a bird in a shrinking cage. Slipping away.

“Let me take you and I’ll save her.”

Izuku’s last thought as his strength failed and his body succumbed echoed hollow and haunting down the emptied passages of his mind: Was – was that All Might’s voice?

…

Only Shinso, Uraraka, and the cameras witnessed the next events.

Izuku went stock-still again, twitches and plants brought to inanimate stillness. The remaining roots wrapping the robot foot snapped; the dense mass descended toward Uraraka; distant control room techies scrambled to prevent disaster. Shinso imagined her blood splattered across the pavement. Police sirens and bug-eyed reporters and noisy lawsuits. None of them came.

The ground ripped open and tentacles of green and brown burst out. Izuku’s head flew back, his mouth opened, fingers splayed, and a nightmare emerged. Twisting, mossy lianas like Jack’s beanstalk shot out of him: ears, mouth, fingertips, nose, toes. Tiny leafed clovers popped from his pores with drops of blood. The hydrangeas in his hair mutated to flowered vines. Conglomerates of bushes heaved up beneath the rubble. All green, writhing things, all at once, swung at the zero-pointer robot.

Its crash could be felt for miles, like a god’s fall from Olympus. One minute tall and proud, the next a brutalist artifact overgrown by flora after centuries. Ivy vines popped between its metal plates. Japanese maples cushioned its head. And marigolds overflowed from its shattered eye sockets. Garden of Eden meets a beast from Hell.

Uraraka shakily turned to get a glimpse of Izuku.

He stood there with vacant eyes; head still tipped back. Leaves and vines sloughed away from his skin, leaving blood dripping from his ears and nose, red-stained lips, bruised fingers. The plants extricated themselves from him like a parasite would a dying host. Part of Uraraka wondered if he was dead as his last thread of strength snapped, and Izuku crumpled onto a mattress of heathers and debris.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s middle school had buggy fluorescent lights that buzzed at all hours of the day while they were on, dim and flickering. It certainly wasn’t a high-end place. Kacchan had always pointed out the low budget and carved up toilet stalls and deflated soccer balls with a crude sort of pride, swearing up and down he’d be the only student to go from Aldera Middle School to UA High, solidifying his origin story as the Number 1 Hero.

Well, if Izuku had done as horribly as he felt, there was no need to worry about upsetting Kacchan.

Anyway, he awoke to the sound of that terrible, familiar buzzing, and—not for the first time—he wondered if the events with Shigaraki following the rooftop were a dream, and really he was writhing at the base of some building on a bloody sidewalk or still attending that Hellhole middle school. He’d prefer the former. Izuku’s eyes squinted open and met a longer, more oblong florescent light than his old school had. White curtains fluttered dreamily in the breeze of an open window, and summer birds chirped outside. A digital clock hung on the wall; voices rumbled down distant hallways; flecks of sunlight through tree branch shadows pooled on the white laminate floor.

Izuku pushed his head up at a rustle of papers and murmured voices. He still had on his own clothes, protecting the scars on his feet and back. Two adults stood across the room, watching an angled computer screen: one, an old woman sitting at the desk with squinted, serious eyes, and the other, an unshaven man in his 30s with long dregs of black hair and an ill-tempered mouth like Shinso’s.

Testing his luck, Izuku asked the first thing that came to mind. “Is she alright?” Mildly surprised faces swung toward him. “The girl, under the rubble. Is she okay?”

“She’s quite alright, Midoriya.” The older woman pushed out from her desk and waddled to his side, followed by the man. The deep-set wrinkles in her face gave way to recognizable features, and he bolted upright with recognition.

“Recovery Girl!”

“Yes, yes.” She waved him quiet as the man nudged him to lay back on the bed. Izuku complied. “You certainly know your heroes, young man. Yes, I’m the retired Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl, but now I work at UA as a school nurse. And this is Aizawa Shouta. He’s a teacher here.”

“Oh.” The dots finally connected. “I’m at UA… in the infirmary…because…” The entrance exam. The zero-pointer. The girl. His quirk.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The man—Aizawa—asked him.

All Might’s voice. Izuku thought, but his head was clear enough to know not to say it. “The zero-pointer was coming, and a girl was trapped in the rubble. It was going to step on her. Then, well, I guess I ran to help, and my quirk started doing something a little strange. It just happened on instinct. I thought–” His voice grew small. “I thought she was going to die.”

“You were right there with her. You could have died too. Did that ever cross your mind?” Aizawa asked. Izuku blinked at the question, blank.

“I must have passed out.” He dodged. That’s a red flag , Aizawa thought. “Yeah. My quirk was doing something strange, and there was this pain in my head and chest that kept spreading, and then I passed out. That’s what I remember.”

“Well, Midoriya.” Recovery Girl patted his arm. “Unless those idiots down in tech would’ve gotten their ducks in a row and stopped the robot—which I highly doubt—you managed to save both yours and the girl’s lives.”

“And UA from a lawsuit.” Aizawa grumbled.

“Don’t count on that,” she chuckled dryly. “We still haven’t talked to their parents yet.”

“I saved her?” Izuku repeated, a beat behind in the conversation.

“Yes.”

A sheepish smile added the first dab of color to his face. “I’ve never saved anyone before.”

“You were incredibly reckless.” Aizawa suppressed the warm twinge his heart gave at the kid’s awed face and focused on the scar above his eyebrow. “You’ll need better strategies than running straight into danger when you’re a hero.”

“A hero?” Izuku frowned. “I don’t think I got enough points.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Recovery Girl waved him quiet. “I’m sure your career is far from over. A friend of yours came in earlier and mentioned you even have a Career Sponsor.”

“A friend?”

“Shinso Hitoshi.”

“Oh.” He grinned. Friend. That was new. “That was nice of him to visit.”

“Indeed. He and the girl—Uraraka Ochako—were both very worried about you. Your quirk seemed to do a lot of damage. That’s why you’re here. There was heavy internal bleeding. We were just pulling up your files, but I was wondering if I could ask you a question or two about your quirk.”

Izuku shifted uncomfortably. “Sure.”

“Wonderful. Let’s start with the basics. What’s its name, type, and abilities?”

He gulped. “It’s called Botany, and it has two main abilities. It can accelerate or regress the growth of any plant within its range of senses, and it can manipulate plant movement.”

“You mean you can,” she corrected.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess I can.”

He thinks of his quirk as a separate entity from himself. Aizawa massaged his chin. Most children had the opposite problem of not distinguishing themselves from their abilities, letting their personalities be shaped by a genetic variance instead of natural inclinations. Even children with sentient or difficult to control quirks felt most of the responsibility for its effects. Izuku, on the other hand, seemed to have extricated himself entirely from his own skills, landing on the other extreme side of the spectrum.

“And what type of quirk is it?” Recovery Girl prodded. She could have guessed from the explanation, but watching the exam made her wonder.

“Emitter,” Izuku responded immediately, then thought again. “Or, well, I thought it was an emitter. Though, what happened during the exam seemed more like a transformation quirk since my body was changing. I’m not really sure.”

“You haven’t studied the range of your powers?” Recovery Girl exclaimed and began a tired lecture over the importance of personal quirk study before taking up such an endeavor as applying to hero school. Aizawa stood and walked back to the computer screen where Izuku’s file had finally loaded up. He scrolled to the section on the boy’s quirk.

“It says here you had a Tim.” He squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A T.I.M. ?” Her curved back stiffened. “Your quirk is trauma induced?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Izuku’s mouth went dry.

“As of when?”

“About seven months ago.”

“ Seven months ! Well, of course you don’t have a complete understanding of your quirk! Young man, why did you let me go on scolding you? I can assure you that a T.I.M. is a good enough reason to not know the range of your abilities.”

“I don’t really, um–” He folded his hands. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

As this went on, Aizawa pulled out his phone and googled a ‘T.I.M.’

Trauma Induced Manifestation— the screen read —Although rare, dormant quirks have been known to surface in the occurrence of a traumatic event. This can range from experiencing a car crash, a death in the family, or being a witness or victim of violence. Though volatility has been observed in some patients diagnosed with a T.I.M., no connecting behavioral or genetic thread has been found among all patients. Their responses to trauma remain much the same as those without the condition. There has also been no conclusive evidence of correlation in the types of quirks manifested. 

Aizawa grimaced. Great, so the kid has baggage. Izuku fidgeted and winced at the emphatic swings of Recovery Girl’s cane as she ranted at him, eyes never leaving the latent weapon.

“In any case.” Aizawa’s interrupted, and Izuku’s shoulders fell at his more low-energy approach. “Wherever your career path takes you, you’ll need to be aware of all dangers your quirk presents. I’m sure there are people who care about your health and success. Like your career sponsor. Focus on those people before rushing into a dangerous situation, alright? It’ll clear your head.” Izuku nodded vigorously.

“Speaking of your career sponsor,” Recovery Girl tapped her chin. “I was wondering if you could give me their name. I know lots of people in the industry. Maybe we’ve met.”

Crap. Izuku cursed. I never should have mentioned Shigaraki in the first place. I can’t redirect the conversation now! “Oh.” He coughed. “His name?” Think! Shigaraki Tomura. Shigaraki Tomura. “His name is…” Shigaraki Tomura. Shiga Mura. Shi– Shi – “Shimura!” He blurted, and a bit of pride swelled in his chest. At least it wasn’t a nonsense-sounding fake name.

“Shimura?” Recovery Girl stepped back, years of age adding to her wrinkled cheeks. “Hmm, I knew of one, but I suspect they’re not related.”

Aizawa walked Izuku to the school entrance and sent him on his way with another reminder to take care of himself. The boy deflated at the gate, staring wistfully through the blue glass towers of UA as if for the last time, looking much like a dying man taking in a last glimpse of the world. Aizawa rolled his eyes. The kid would get in; the reckless ones always did. He could already imagine the panel of judges in the control room holding up a row of straight tens. They ate the self-sacrificing ones up, and left Aizawa to sort through the damages. So, he did not offer much hint as to his success, sending the boy on his way with curled shoulders. Izuku needed to learn that—even if he hadn’t passed—it wasn’t the end of the world. Life would go on.

When Aizawa returned to Recovery Girl’s office, she sat sagged in her desk chair, clicking through the pages of Midoriya Izuku’s file.

“You’re worried.” Aizawa leaned in the doorway.

“Yes,” she confessed. “And perplexed. I’ve never seen a quirk behave like that before. It's listed and described here as an emitter, but that’s not what I saw. Somehow—and I hoped I’d never have to say this—it seems to operate as both an emitter and a transformation quirk, which should be impossible.”

“Maybe it’s because of his TIM, or it could be another development in Quirk Singularity Theory. Quirks are supposed to be getting stronger as the genetic threads cross.”

“Yes, but there are limits, reasons for quirk types, and T.I.M. patients have never displayed such a symptom before, except perhaps in extreme cases.”

“This must be an extreme case.”

“I think the boy’s too mentally stable for that.”

“He could be resilient.”

A flicker of something unsaid crossed Recovery Girl’s face, but her mouth snapped shut and she turned back to the computer screen. “I’ve simply never seen anything like it. Quirks – they function on a basis of cooperation with their host.”

“Host?” Aizawa blinked.

“I’m not suggesting that quirks are independent of their holders, but—something that you need to understand is—they’re much more powerful than the human body can handle. Take sentient quirks: entire other consciousnesses have sprouted from our genetic makeups, yet there have been very few cases in which the quirk tries to usurp control of the body. We have a symbiotic relationship with our quirks, you see, and—as long as hosts preserve and accommodate the quirk—they do not grow from their basic level of functionality, and when they do it’s often correlated with personal growth of the body or mind. It’s another reason why we’re born with quirk factors, to contain and limit our own abilities. Otherwise, there would be no limit, no symbiotic relationship, nothing, because the quirk needs a particular place to draw power from.”

“You lost me.” Aizawa massaged the bridge of his nose. “Everyone with a quirk has a quirk factor. Even though Midoriya had a TIM, he’s still always had one, even if he wasn’t aware of it.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Which is why this whole situation doesn’t make any sense. Quirks are limited to types because of the body’s natural limitations. After all, it would be damaging to the quirk to harm the body. This has become a bigger problem with quirks of increasing strength that overwhelm their users, but quirk factors still limit types. It’s a simple fact of biology. A quirk can’t attack the host it was born with. If they could, humans would be overwritten by quirks of increasing strength all the time.”

“I don’t understand how any of this can lead to a quirk that transcends types though.” Aizawa pointed out. “Quirks can’t just become all powerful, can they?”

“They can’t with our genetic makeup,” she hummed. “Quirks in themselves exist in a fluid state, meaning they fit the shape of the container—or quirk factor—they’re born into. Without a factor, the quirk would simply overflow, probably destroying the body in the process, or at least overrunning it.”

“But a quirk wouldn’t damage his own host,” Aizawa countered. “People only push their quirks to the point of hurting themselves. That must have been what happened to Midoriya. He hurt himself because he wanted to save the girl’s life. If his quirk had taken over, he wouldn’t have cared about the girl.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Recovery Girl tapped her chin. “If anything, I’ll bet the T.I.M. must have been traumatic enough to maximize his abilities. I was testing his conflict responses during our conversation, and he’s been conditioned to fawn, no fight or flight to account for.”

“Fawn?”

“He jumps to appease, allowing for mistreatment so not to aggravate the situation. When I scolded him for not knowing the range of his quirk, he did nothing to correct me and resigned himself to being lectured. He also seemed to freeze once during the exam.”

“That will have to change if he wants to be a hero.”

“Indeed, but please be gentle with him. There’s something else that’s bothering me.”

“Oh?”

She minimalized his file and opened an album application. Aizawa’s stomach turned at the first image to pop up. “His shoes shot off his feet during the exam when he started growing vines. This is what they looked like when the plants fell away.” There was…something missing. Blood and dirt coated the pale nubs of his toes and dripped down to his heels; a piece of grass hung from a split in a nail; and, two angry red gashes sat where the pinkies should be, burn scars lining the mostly healed holes. “I couldn’t tell how old the wounds are, so I took a picture to study them more. The amputations seemed irritated, probably because he ran around on them the whole exam, and who knows how long before that.”

“Who would do this to him? It definitely wasn’t a real doctor.” Aizawa ran a hand down his face, pressing a thumb into the stubbly split in his chin.

“I have my suspicions.” Recovery Girl clicked back onto Izuku’s file and scrolled to find the pages with contact information. One parent box was filled with the black and white photo of Midoriya Inko, listing her name, quirk, occupation, number, etc. The other box was comparatively less filled, with no picture, no contact information, just a name: “Midoriya Hisashi.” Beneath it, a red stamp filled in the white space: Relieved of parental duties. Do not contact on behalf of Midoriya Izuku. “I was afraid of that.”

“He’s out of the picture.”

“More than that.” A scowl warped her kindly features. “It wouldn’t have specified not to contact if he was simply absent. They only stamp them like this if the parent is a danger to the child.”

“Seems we’ve found our culprit.”

“It appears so, yes. Though we’ll need to do more investigating. Aizawa,” she pushed from her chair and hobbled over to him. “You know as well as I do that Midoriya will get into UA after his performance today.” He nodded. “And, though I don’t doubt the boy’s ability and drive to become a hero, I would ask that he be put in your class and you keep an eye on him. His quirk defies all logic, and no one with a T.I.M. walks away fully unscathed. I’m worried his missing toes and conflict responses will not be the only concerning outcomes of his experiences.”

“Vlad’s better at being personable with the kids,” he shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll probably terrify him with all of my threats of expulsion.”

“You’re better with children than you believe, and I know you like them, especially types like Midoriya. You command respect and offer stability. I’m quite sure you’re best for the job.”

“What job?”

Recovery Girl’s mouth hardened into a straight, thin line. “The job of ensuring Midoriya Izuku becomes a hero instead of a monster.”

Chapter Text

 Ah, how to spend one’s last days on this earth?

Izuku had done it before. He should know. But he didn’t.

The depressing certainty of his situation had been clear seven months ago, reality dismal and having nothing left to offer him. Though, that wasn’t entirely true; it had an overpowered quirk to offer him. A chance at his dream, a deal with villains, a friend, a girl who was alive because of him : they were all post-attempt miracles, like all the mental health campaigns had talked about. Life had gotten better. It was still dark and terrifying and lonely, but Izuku couldn’t bring himself to leave it now, not when he finally had something to like about himself. A quirk. Father had been right all along. If he’d just been born with a quirk, everything would have been okay, would have been different. Izuku didn’t deserve the second chance he got.

Of course, he had to go and screw it up.

Izuku paced the apartment floor, gnawing a plastic red straw from the Matsuya across the street. He went there often—sometimes without getting food—to sit at the cold, stiff cushioned booth and stare out at his apartment building and the passing traffic. He’d bring his notebook or homework and write for hours, whiling the time away until mom came back from her shift at the assisted living facility, hands smelling of gritty soap and old people. He spent the days of his summer break there and stole straws from the dispenser to spare his pencils from his molars. He wasn’t there now, though; the mailman was scheduled to swing by soon.

Izuku’s rejection letter from UA was late. The instant he gets it, he’ll have to figure out what to do. Maybe run away, flee to another country like his father did, change names, dye his hair, grow a mustache, become a farmer at an obscure rice plantation in China, wander into a forest and live off the land. No matter where he thought of, he was sure Shigaraki would find him there and eat him alive, or—worse—finally reveal the nature of his quirk. The thought made his knees weak.

“I can’t run,” he muttered furiously. “This quirk isn’t even mine. I can’t steal it. I’m the one who broke the contract.” To be fair to himself, his options had been limited at the time, but Shigaraki always reminded him that he had agreed to the terms. Now that he’d broken them, the villains had every right to act like villains and tear him limb from limb. Izuku deserved this. Whatever they did to him, he deserved it.

Knock knock!

The straw slipped from his mouth, clattering soundlessly to the carpet. The letter hadn’t come yesterday nor the day before, but would it today…? Izuku padded to the scuffed-up door of the apartment, staring at his reflection in the golden knob: gaunt eyes, t-shirt and sweatpants, pink anemones in his hair.

Anemones, meaning forsaken, or death.

Knock. Knock.

The blows came slow, deliberate.

“C’mon, Izuku.” He shook himself. “Shigaraki won’t know for a while. Just get it over with and figure out what to do.” Maybe he’d cure world hunger with his quirk before the League caught up to him. The thought made him smile, and he pushed open the door, chirping a greeting for the mailman holding the letter.

… it wasn’t the mailman.

“Good afternoon, Midoriya,” Kurogiri coughed, holding up a message in UA stationary. “I intercepted this for you. I hope you do not mind.”

Izuku’s courage left him as he gaped up at the black, billowing head of Shigaraki’s right hand man. “Mr. Shigaraki’s going to kill me.”

“That would depend on the content of this letter.” He waved it again. “He asked me to bring you to the bar for the official sentence.”

Sentence. His stomach turned. Like a criminal sentence… for a breach of contract. “Oh. Oh, I– I understand.” Pink heated his cheeks as he looked down at his loungewear clothes, socked feet. “Should I change?”

“No need.” A warp gate ripped beneath Izuku’s feet. “It won’t matter either way.”

Crash!

The warp gate spat Izuku onto the familiar cherry wood floor without the usual guise of politeness. Pain shot up his knees and arms as he crashed down on them, and Izuku folded onto his side with a groan. His eyes fixed on the flow of grain in the flooring until red sneakers crossed into view.

“Sit up, brat.”

I don’t want this . His head pounded as he pushed himself up to kneel, sweaty hands pressed to his thighs. Looking up, Izuku’s fragile calm almost shattered.

Shigaraki wore a hand on his face. An actual—detached at the wrist—grey hand. In fact, they riddled his body: clamped down on the back of his head, shoulders, forearms, wrist; stiffened by rigor mortis and impossibly well preserved. Dead hands. Izuku gulped. Hands belonging to the people he’s killed.

Shigaraki tilted his head down at Izuku. The boy’s ashen face looked stained by the pox marks of freckles, the anemones an apt match with his deathly features. Young, impossibly young, but as drained as he had been the day on the rooftop. He doesn’t think he passed. Shigaraki scowled. He’d better have passed. “Kurogiri,” he snapped, holding out a bare hand. “The letter.”

The bartender delivered it before moving behind the bar where Dabi stood watching with mild interest, unbothered that he’d been caught stealing whiskey again. Kurogiri snatched back the bottle and slammed a glass on the counter to fill before thinking better of it and adding another glass for himself. Izuku watched miserably from the corner of his eye.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Shigaraki asked.

“To hear my entrance exam results.”

“No. That’s why this is here.” He held up the letter. “Do you know why you are here?”

“Um,” he blanked before the answer came to him, and he stared bleakly up at the man before him. “To make sure I don’t run away if I’ve failed.”

“Would you have run?”

“I don’t know what I would have done. I just know you would have found me no matter what.” The truth stung to say, but Shigaraki nodded, satisfied.

“So, you understand what position you’re in if you can’t fulfil Condition 3?” A nod. “Good.” Shigaraki’s thumb slid under the envelope lip before pausing. “Well, how about a little demonstration of my quirk?” His five fingers clamped down on the waxy, beige stationary, and his lips curled as a stream of dust decorated the floor at Izuku’s knees. The glee on his face—and the terror on Izuku’s—was short lived as another tiny, metal object clattered to the floor, and a light beamed from it.

“Greetings, Young Midoriya!”

The room’s temperature plummeted. All Might, in all of his proud, pixelated glory, projected across the dark red floor like a phantom. Kurogiri shuddered, Dabi’s scarred lips pinched, and Shigaraki jumped away from him. Only Izuku froze in place, caught in the act of consorting with villains.

“It is I, All Might!” His fists posed on his hips. “Here to tell you the result of your UA entrance exam in the form of a projection. Why am I presenting this, you ask? Why, it is because I will be teaching at UA this upcoming year!” Shigaraki hissed. “Now, back to your results. Your score on the written exam was most impressive. You proved your high intelligence and passed with flying colors. However, as to the physical exam, I’m afraid you only scored 19 villain points, not enough to pass.” A gasp tore through Izuku. He’d known he’d failed, deep down, but to hear it out of the mouth of All Might , the man he admired above all, the man who’d saved him, the man who’d killed him… it was unbearable. Tears pricked his eyes, a strangled sob building. “But, worry not!” The hero continued. “For there was another part to the examination. Rescue points! A panel of judges sat in a control room and rated the heroic acts of each contestant. Young Midoriya, your brave and quick-thinking actions saved your fellow examinee and earned you 60 rescue points. In addition to your 19 villains points, you earned the top score of all the examinees! I believe I speak for everyone here at UA when I say you will be a most welcome addition to our hero program. I still remember the young, nervous boy who spoke to me all of those months ago. I’m afraid I didn’t give you the encouragement you deserved, but a true hero perseveres in their goals and ideals through all obstacles. You, Young Midoriya Izuku, have reminded me of what it means to go beyond. Plus Ultra!”

All Might’s final thumbs up froze in place, the twinkle in his smile a faded white patch on the floor of a villains’ den. His words rang so deep, so heroic and dutiful and inspiring; the sob escaped Izuku’s throat, followed by tears. Not because he was happy or relieved to have gotten in or kept up his end of the contract, but because he hated himself for doing it. He’d betrayed the man projected at his feet, betrayed him and every hero that fought on the frontlines daily to protect the public from people like Shigaraki, people like the League. The dam keeping him together broke, and Izuku wailed into his hands.

Above him, Shigaraki twitched, fists clutched and blood roaring through his ears. He stomped down on All Might’s face, again and again, managing only to cast a shadow. With a howl, he crushed the tiny projector by Izuku’s bent head with his heel, and the Symbol extinguished.

Silence then. Silence punctured by sobs and huffing and the clink of glasses.

“What are you crying at, brat?” Shigaraki spun around. Izuku curled in on himself, clutching his shoulders to squeeze as small as possible, unable to stop the snivels. “Stop crying!” Another sniff. “Stop it! That idiot knows nothing! He left you for dead on a rooftop and now he only cares because you have a precious quirk. You’re nothing to him!” A wail then, and Shigaraki lost his patience. He clamped a fistful of Izuku’s hair and yanked his head up, forcibly unfolding the rigid curve of his spine until only his knees stayed planted on the floor. The boy’s blotchy face scrunched up, biting hard on a quivering lip. A pinkie finger hovered a centimeter from ending his life; hair follicles and stems threatened to rip from his scalp; an endless spiel of curses and reprimands flooded his ears while Shigaraki jerked him back and forth.

“Shigaraki,” Kurogiri protested. “Stop it. You’ll end up killing the poor boy. We don’t want UA asking questions or looking for him.” The words barely registered over the waves of fury crashing in Shigaraki’s mind, but it brought him enough focus to fully look at Izuku. He hung limp, held up by Shigaraki’s fist, and the tears had finally stopped. Again, the vacant look claimed his slack face. More interesting was the pink anemones atop his head: they hung down around his face with snapped stems and wilted, browning petals falling in clumps to the floor.

They’d died.

Shigaraki released him. Izuku sank to the floor.

“My gloves,” he snapped. Kurogiri grasped under the bar top and tossed a pair over: two-fingered gloves that covered the pinkie and ring fingers while leaving the rest exposed. Shigaraki caught and shoved them on, stalking to the couch and clicking on a game. “Get over here, brat.”

Izuku’s face rose. The pounding in his head hadn’t quieted, but the turmoil had. It drained out of him in the minute of chaos and left the colder, quieter part of his brain to take over. Just don’t think about it. He pushed away the thought of All Might. Don’t think. Just survive. Path of least resistance, remember?

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Shigaraki warned. Izuku scrambled to his feet and limped to the TV, sinking to the floor and leaning his back against the couch next to Shigaraki’s legs. He drew his knees to his chest and blinked up at the loading screen of the game. Just like that, the ordeal was over. Everything was calm, quiet, sleepily dull.

At the bar, Dabi chuckled at the smoky roll of Kurogiri’s eyes and took another swig of whiskey. “Well, at least our little spy will have company at school.”

Izuku’s poor mother would come home to an empty apartment again, because Shigaraki didn’t excuse Izuku to go home for hours. It wasn’t a horrible way to spend time; the world of The Witcher 3: The Hunt was impressively immersive, and the daring adventures of Geralt and his bard friend Jaskier kept the mood lighthearted and soothing. Izuku hummed along with the soundtrack with a scraped raw throat, heavy dry eyes tracking the jerky movements of the characters. Botany kept him company too with the tiny vibrations of nearby plant life. He’d taken to calling the shared nervous system simply ‘The Roots’ as it kept with the theme while expressing the complexity of the system, the intertwined webs of flora riddling the earth’s crust and stretching far, far beneath. It made sense; plants are everywhere, just like life is everywhere. The bottom of the food chain sustained all other organisms. It was the foundation. The Roots of life.

Still, it worried him– what had happened at the entrance exam. Izuku didn’t have to be born with a quirk to know that wasn’t normal. So, when Shigaraki removed the detached hand from his face and a faint smile twisted his chapped lips, he broached the subject.

“During the entrance exam,” he cleared his throat. “Something happened with my quirk.”

Shigaraki grunted, disinterested.

“I thought Botany was an emitter. But, they sent out this huge robot, and it was about to crush a girl, so I tried to stop it and… I started growing vines.”

“So what? Flowers grow out of your hair all the time.”

“This is different. They came out of me, like my mouth, ears, nose, fingers, toes. It was like a transformation quirk, but I was manipulating plant movements separate from myself as well. I can’t really remember. I blacked out, but my body kept attacking.”

“Sensei must have given you a good quirk.”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “The best. I guess I’m being ungrateful. It’s just something Recovery Girl said.”

“What did that crone have to complain about?”

“She said I had heavy internal bleeding. I had to go to the school infirmary for a bit, and she seemed really concerned that Botany has two quirk types. I think they thought it was because I had a TIM, but I didn’t really.”

“Internal bleeding, you say?” Shigaraki paused the game, and Izuku turned to look up at him. “And you sprouted tree branches?”

“Something like that, yeah. I guess I got hurt because I wasn’t born with the quirk, so my body isn’t built to handle it. It was weird though.” He trailed off, recalling the voice, the drowning feeling. “I lost control of myself, like the quirk took over and I couldn’t come back until my body was all beat up, then it let me in again. Is that– uh, it might be normal for quirks though, I mean. I’m not sure.”

“Don’t be stupid, brat. Of course your quirk isn’t supposed to possess you.”  Shigaraki tapped his chin. “Hmm, I’ll have to ask Sensei. Your quirk may be no good.”

“Wait!” Izuku sat up, eyes wide. “N–no, please don’t take it away. I didn’t mean to complain. I’m sorry. Please, I don’t mind the trouble. Please don’t take Botany away.”

“Oh?” Shigaraki smirked. “Making demands now, are we?”

“No.” Izuku put a hand on Shigaraki’s knee, spine twisted to stare up at him pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, just forget it.”

Shigaraki cackled at the panic in Izuku’s eyes. It wasn’t hard to toy with him. He really was entirely at the man’s mercy. Pathetic. “Calm down.” He carded a gloved hand through the boy’s hair. “You haven’t breached the contract, so I’ll let you keep your girly quirk for now.” Izuku’s shoulders fell and exhaustion crashed over him with the relief. Shigaraki’s fingers rubbed circles into his scalp, massaging the sore spots he’d pulled.

“Thanks,” Izuku sighed.

“You’re hopeless, brat.” He shook his head. “One day, your luck will run out, and you’ll be alone again.”

“I know.”

Izuku turned back to the TV, head guided by Shigaraki’s hand to rest against the man’s knee so he could easily reach the soft tufts of green hair. A dog sitting at its owner’s feet. It was another display of power, a reminder he was a thin strip of fabric away from disintegration; he was exactly where Shigaraki wanted him. But Izuku was tired, and his scalp was sore, and the fear had all but ebbed out of him, so he relaxed and allowed the touch.

Distantly, he wondered if he should mention Recovery Girl and Aizawa knew he had a career sponsor. It was sure to incur Shigaraki’s wrath though, making him decide against it. But, part of him wondered how he’d like his fake name of ‘Shimura.’ It suited him, Izuku mused.

“So, it’s agreed. You’ll use Nomu Prototype 9 for your strike. That only leaves the matter of obtaining a schedule. We’ll discuss that in our next meeting.” Sensei snapped a manila folder shut and handed it to Shigaraki, crossing his legs and reclining back in his tube-riddled chair. Shigaraki’s itching had arisen on and off throughout the meeting; flakes of his skin added to the galaxy of dust clogging the old warehouse air. Sensei smirked. “Now, Tomura, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

The scratching stopped. “What, Sensei?”

“Even people as unpredictable as you have their tells. Come, Tomura,” he waved him on. “What is it that’s bothering you?”

“It’s…” He huffed. “It’s the brat, the one you gave the plant quirk to.”

“Oh? Has he become a problem?”

“No, no. He’s fine. The quirk, though; it did something strange. Sensei, it is an emitter, isn’t it?”

“It was certainly an emitter when I took it. Why?” He leaned forward. “What happened?”

“During the entrance exam, he was in a high-stakes situation, and his quirk began to behave like a transformation type. He started sprouting plants out of his body and using them as weapons, but he could also manipulate other plants like his original ability. It took a toll on his body, caused a lot of internal bleeding.”

“Fascinating.” Sensei’s mouth curled into a wide, ominous smile. “I had wondered what would happen if I gave a powerful quirk to someone without a quirk factor. Usually, when I offer my services to someone, I award them an ability they seem capable of handling, and the quirkless very rarely met my criteria, not since the incident with my brother. I heard rumors about those few I gave quirks to without previous abilities, but I never looked into them. Perhaps, I’ve been depriving myself of lovely research material.”

Shigaraki stiffened. “What did you do to the brat?”

“Exactly what you asked of me. I gave him a quirk strong enough to make him a hero. Tomura, did you really expect him to handle power the same as the rest of them? He has no quirk factor, no biological safeguards built into his DNA. There’s nothing limiting his abilities in order to protect his body, because the quirk doesn’t recognize the body as a host. It’s a wonderful science experiment. Tell me more, Tomura.”

But Shigaraki was red-faced, scratching his neck with a vengeance. “You said the boy wouldn’t be a Nomu. I’m using him to spite All Might. He’s mine.”

“You must learn to share your toys, Tomura. I can’t simply let you run amuck with every whim and fancy if they have no real purpose. The harmless ones, perhaps. But I do not intend to waste resources on fulfilling some silly boy’s dream when he can be much better spent helping us fulfill our own. Besides, he has his life, his quirk, his school. I gave that to him. He should be grateful, even if his quirk does blow him up into bits.”

“But he’s mine !” Shigaraki stomped. “I found him. I take care of him. I own him!”

“And I own you, Tomura.” Sensei leaned forward; amusement gone from his face. His next words came slow, deliberate. “What’s yours is mine. I’ll allow you to fool around with this stupid boy and use him to annoy All Might, but I expect you not to hinder my own uses for him. I want reports on his abilities, the progression of his quirk. We might have the good doctor run a few tests. This is a lesson you need to learn. Do what you want, but never— never —take your eyes off of the final goal. The boy will be discarded the moment hero society falls, don’t forget that. He will die, just as he would have if you hadn’t taken him, but you will survive. You will triumph. It is that distinction that separates the strong from the weak. Do you understand, Tomura?”

Shigaraki stepped back, blood dripping down his fingers from the hole he’d scratched in his neck. He could say nothing to defy All for One. Any freedom he had he had because Sensei allowed it. His blood boiled, but what he wanted didn’t matter. “Yes, Sensei.”

“Good,” the man perked up. “You’re making excellent progress, Tomura. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished. Now, tell me something.” He leaned forward. “When the boy’s quirk behaved strangely, did he become very powerful?”

“He destroyed a giant robot.” Shigaraki hesitated. “By himself.”

“Interesting.” Sensei grinned. “His lack of a quirk factor allowed him that much power? Hmm, yes, this could be a very fruitful experiment indeed.”

Chapter Text

“He left you for dead on a rooftop and now he only cares because you have a precious quirk.” Shigaraki’s words. All Might’s voice. Izuku pulled the covers up over his face, knowing it’s a dream but wishing to suffocate anyway.

“Wake up,” he groaned.

“You’re nothing to him!”

“I know.”

“One day, your luck will run out, and you’ll be alone again.”

“I know.”

“Take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”

“I’m sorry. You can’t be a hero without a quirk.”

“Wrong. You’re wrong.”

“I can’t love a quirkless son.” The sound of a shutting down, and Izuku bolted upright. Nothing. No one. As was the habit of these dreams.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “I don’t want to hear this.”

A static filled pause, then All Might’s baritone whisper. “But… this is all I can find in your head.”

Izuku woke up with a start, clutching his throat. It ached, scraped raw as if he’d been screaming, and something light and thin sat plastered at the back of his throat. Blearily, after pulling the cord of his nightstand lamp, he reached between his teeth and extracted it with two fingers.

It was a daisy petal, yellow and dainty and dripping with a thick coat of saliva haloed in the lamplight.

Izuku had left UA the day of the entrance exam the same way he’d left his apartment the day he met Shigaraki. Without expecting to return.

He did not anticipate standing in front of its gates with white peace lilies in his hair and an undone tie around his neck only a few weeks later. Peace lilies were associated with peace, obviously—something he dearly desired to feel after dozens of restless nights haunted by nightmares and All Might’s disembodied voice—but perhaps a protective flower like Heather would have been better. True, no one looked at him as he plodded head down to Class 1-A, but the gazes that skimmed him lingered for too long, eyeing the teardrop-shaped petals nestled in the frizzy green curls of his head. Izuku pushed forward down the winding, wide halls to arrive at the titanic 1-A door.

“Wow,” he muttered, gawking at the more than half his height entryway. I guess they get all shapes and sizes here. People who could crush him. Easily. He gulped. I’ll just keep my head down. Like middle school. Comparing UA to that place was the last thing he wanted to do, but—easing the gargantuan door open—it turned out to be an apt comparison.

“It’s very disrespectful to deface school property like this. Get your feet off the table!”

“Huh? What you say to me?”

Kacchan.

Izuku stumbled back, shutting the door again. The cool touch of the knob moistened under the sweat of his palm. “I can’t do this,” he screwed his eyes shut. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t –

“Can’t do what?”

Izuku’s eyes jolted open, and he twisted around. Shinso looked him up and down, hands buried in the UA uniform jacket pockets, weight shifted on one leg.

“Anything, really,” Izuku coughed, rubbing his neck.

“That thing you did with the zero-pointer was something,” he scoffed. “And you told me you didn’t have a big shot quirk. I’d be mad at you if you weren’t the reason I passed.”

“What?”

“Yeah, the rescue points I got from saving you from that three-pointer pushed me over the edge, barely. Thanks for freezing up. Don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try not to.” His lips twitched with a smile.

“Good. Now, let’s go in.” He stepped forward, gently pushed Izuku’s sweaty hand aside, and took the handle.

“Oh, uh–”

“You’re not very confident, are you?” Shinso lifted a thin brow. Izuku hadn’t left his mind since finding out his results and the reason for them. In retrospect, he’d been a jerk, or at least not the nicest to someone who was a cinnamon roll incarnate. He hadn’t batted an eye at the flinches or winces or shy stutters, and now he owed him.

Izuku shrank in on himself with a bitter smile. “What gave it away?”

“I’m psychic. That’s my quirk.”

“Seriously?”

“No.” Shinso pushed the door open, dragging Izuku with him by his jacket sleeve.

Bakugou and the boy in glasses hadn’t stopped their argument, and a shower of sparks poured from their direction out of leg engines and sweaty palms. The rest of the class either watched warily or ignored them, sitting in desks or congregated in chatty groups. One head perked up at their entrance though.

“It’s you!” She jumped up from her desk, brown bob framing her sunny smile as she skidded over. “From the entrance exam. You saved my life!” This statement turned quite a few heads.

“Uh.” Shinso held Izuku rooted in place. “Y– yeah. I’m glad you’re alright… are you alright, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She waved. “Nothing Recovery Girl couldn’t fix. I should be asking you. You passed out after destroying that zero-pointer. My parents totally freaked out when they heard about it. Thank goodness they decided not to sue!” She decided it would be best to leave out the part about the shush money. “I’m Uraraka Ochako, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Midoriya Izuku.” He looked to Shinso to introduce himself.

“Oh, we already met post-exam. We visited you in the clinic for a bit before they booted us.”

“I might have snapped a few pictures,” Uraraka chipped.

“Great.” By this point, the whole class was listening. Murmurs ballooned into snatches of words: top score, plant quirk, zero-pointer, flowers.

“You should have seen the aftermath, dude.” A blonde boy’s voice carried above all the others. “It was insane. Plants everywhere.”

Two things happened very quickly then. Or two people, rather.

Glasses and Bakugou bolted from their corner of the classroom and covered their distance from Izuku in an instant, pulling up in a whirlwind of flying sparks and chopping arms.

“Are you in fact Midoriya Izuku? I’m Iida Tenya, and I have been meaning to speak to you since hearing the results of the exam. You see I–”

“YOU CHEATED, YOU QUIRKLESS LOSER!”

Shinso and Uraraka came shoulder to shoulder and pushed Izuku behind them.

“Back off,” Shinso snapped, and Iida respectfully complied. Bakugou, on the other hand, shoved his hands between their heads and threw them aside like Moses parting the seas.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, DEKU!”

Izuku fell backwards, hands raised above his head, eyes closed, peace lilies wilting. He expected to hit the shut door then the hard ground, expected a wall of flame followed by a chorus of laughter, the voices from his dreams reanimated, chanting Deku Deku Deku Dek–

A hand caught his shoulder and righted him to his feet, pushing past him to confront Bakugou. Dregs of black hair, mouth like Shinso’s, a thin scarf coiled around his neck, and a… yellow sleeping bag bunched up around his feet..

“A– Aizawa.” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The man ignored him, staring down Bakugou like his scowl was carved in stone. “This is the first day. If this is how you’re going to behave, you should head home now.” A collective gasp. Bakugou twitched. “I’m Aizawa Shouta,” he spoke to everyone, drawl voice contrasting the fire in his bloodshot eyes. “Your homeroom teacher. I want to make one thing clear. I do not tolerate anything but the best behavior. Violence, insolence, entitlement, you can forget them. I’ll make this place a living Hell for you if I don’t expel you first. Is that clear?”

Shocked silence, then a clamour of affirmatives, squeaky and irresolute. Those standing jammed themselves into their desk with a painful chorus of scraping chairs, and Iida was ready to keel over at Aizawa’s withering look. Awkward.

Izuku hugged his waist, positioned in the teacher’s shadow as Uraraka and Shinso joined his side. His shoulders shot up as the man turned around.

“Are you three alright?”

“Yes sir!” Uraraka.

“Ticked off, but fine.” Shinso.

“Mmhmm.” Izuku.

Aizawa heaved a sigh long enough to tease the dead. Recovery Girl’s request of him still knocked around his head, reminding him of all the problems he would have with this batch of first years. Izuku stood a good half foot shorter than Shinso; though his posture could be cutting a few inches. Hunched and pink-cheeked and eyes averted; he flinched as Bakugou stormed back to his desk, relaxing only when quiet fell again. Problem child, Aizawa groaned.

“Go back to your desks.” They obeyed, scurrying by. He stepped out of his precious yellow sleeping bag and reached inside to riffle through its mess of content: chapstick, eye drops, ear plugs. His fingers brushed fabric, and he extracted the blue polyester gym uniform without ceremony. “We’re skipping orientation. Everyone change into these and head outside. We have work to do.”

Idiot idiot idiot idiot! I’m the dumbest person alive. Whyyyyyyy?

The placid mask of Izuku’s face failed to convey an inkling of what turmoil circled his brain like a chew chew train on Christmas morn, wine spilt on the carpet and cookie crumbs ground to powder by a heavy heel. All chaos and nostalgia and charred tinsel catching sparks from brittle pine needles. No, he didn’t need to think about that memory. Izuku was fine. A-okay. Yup. Thanks for asking. Nevermind his ashen skin, twitchy fingers, pinched mouth.

He emerged last of the boys from the locker room, managing to change inside a tight teal bathroom stall without dunking a knobby knee into the toilet bowl. Shinso waited for him by the exit but said nothing until they joined the rest of the students on the field. They gathered at the back of the pack, and Uraraka elbowed her way to join them.

“You good?” Shinso nudged him.

“I didn’t think this through.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Izuku hadn’t thought anything through in years. His brain cycled on and on, tilling the same spot of soil until a hole consumed him and the rest of his common sense when unsowed. Of course Kacchan’s here! He’s been talking about coming here since before he could blow my brains out. Izuku massaged the plasticy patch of skin above his eyebrow. Maybe Shigaraki knocked my head harder than I thought. The thought of Shigaraki’s outstretched hand—scabs caught in his nails, yanking mercilessly at his hair—made Izuku flinch at a movement in the corner of his eye.

“Oops, I’m sorry.” Uraraka held up her hands. “I was just trying to look at the flowers in your hair. They’re really pretty.”

“Oh.” He sighed, relaxing. “You like them? They’re peace lilies. You don’t see them too much since they’re tropic plants. Usually they grow in southeast Asia and some parts of America. They’re from the Araceae family and are sometimes called Spath. They can grow bigger than this, too! Plants are known as perpet – ah.” His mouth snapped shut. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Yup!” She grinned. “But I don’t mind. Is it okay if I smell them?”

“Sure.” Izuku tilted his head, and Uraraka stood on her tiptoes to sniff the honey sweet fragrance, subtle but present. A shy smile crept up Izuku’s face as Shinso joined her, and they breathed in the aroma with shut eyes and pleased faces.

“You must know a lot about flowers,” Uraraka teased.

“A little, I guess. Some of them symbolize things like purity or whatever, so it’s– I don’t know, helpful to have. Like, encouraging. That’s why I had hydrangeas the day of the exam; they’re supposed to be lucky.”

“I’d say they worked, Mister-Top-Score.”

Shinso hummed. “And the peace lilies today for…?”

“Peace.”

“I love them.” Uraraka’s smile could have melted the sun. So friendly and open, it made Izuku’s stomach flutter. She was an enigma to him, as he was to her. After all, what person as powerful as Izuku had any right to be so shy, meek, spooked as easily as a fawn? She’d seen the aftermath of the entrance exam; she’d seen its creation, or rather, destruction as bushes warped metal plates and weeds shattered sidewalks to puzzle pieces. The veins had bulged from Izuku’s skin like snaking vines. One moment, he was panic and terror and desperation as her foot remained pinned and the robot’s foot loomed overhead. But, then the soul left his body, the plants shot out of him, and he looked as alive as a taxidermy doll. Uraraka wasn’t certain, but she was pretty sure Midoriya Izuku was ready to die for her in that moment. A total stranger.

Yes, Izuku was a kind person, she decided. Awkward and bumbling and skittish, perhaps, but kind. When he shyly tilted his head to share his halo of porcelain white flowers, she was sure of it: he was excellent friend material.

“You can have one, if you want.” He said without thinking. “I can always grow more.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Quiet down.” Aizawa’s gruff voice carried to the back of the crowd of students and snuffed out their chatter. He surveyed the row of eager faces with growing dread and—for the hundredth time—wondered why he let Mic talk him into a teaching career. They were so bright eyed, rambunctious; it was a problem. Another concern was who he’d make do the example ball toss. Midoriya had taken the top score from the entrance exam, but Aizawa suspected the extra attention wouldn’t be appreciated. “Bakugou.” He held up a baseball. “How far was your ball toss in middle school?”

The blonde considered. “Like 67 meters.”

He threw him the ball. “Let’s see you do it using your quirk.”

A shark-like grin skewed his face, and Bakugou strutted to the bat, winded his arm back, and thre–

BOOM!

Izuku’s hands clapped over his ears as the ball whistled through the air in a fiery meteorite of pure aggression. Jaws flapped open, heads snapped back, cries of awe rippled through the crowd, and Bakugou Katsuki stood triumphant in the face of it, still securely at the top as Aizawa’s unimpressed eyebrow flitted at the 4 digits on the screen of his distance reader: 705.2 meters.

“Up until this point,” Aizawa continued. “You’ve not been allowed to use your quirks in an effort of imitating fairness. That practice is illogical and it ends today. If you’re going to be heroes, you need to learn to use your quirks. Today, I’ll be evaluating you in quirk apprehension tests.”

This sent the class into an uproar, and soon hoots of delight echoed across the freshly-trimmed field.

“This is what I’m talking about! Finally getting to use quirks however we want!”

“Let’s do this!”

“You’re all going down!”

“This sounds like fun!” Uraraka cheered while Shinso’s peaky skin progressed to a shade of grey.

“Fun?” Aizawa challenged. “Is that what you think hero training is? Fun? People die in this profession. If you can’t take it seriously now, you’ll never be prepared for the field. Let’s add some stakes then,” he hesitated, bloodshot eyes wandering to a shock of green hair in the back. Izuku was still grounding himself after the sound of Bakugou’s explosion by chanting the phrase Deku’s dead Deku’s dead Deku’s dead over and over in his thoughts, and the grim mantra added a dimension of gauntness to his face. Aizawa’s conversation with Recovery Girl replayed in his head: 

“I’m quite sure you’re best for the job.”

“What job?”

“The job of ensuring Midoriya Izuku becomes a hero instead of a monster.”

What kind of monster sprouted lilies from his head like a baby-faced cherub, Aizawa didn’t know. Perhaps, though, it was a sign; a sign to go easy, at least for now, at least until he knew what he was dealing with. “I expelled an entire class last year because I believed they had no potential. Convince you don’t deserve the same treatment.”

The group of students rippled with mutters. It was a vague threat, but it would have to be enough. Unfortunately, some responsibilities come before scaring the dickens out of children.

Grip strength, standing long jump, 50-meter dash, repeated side steps, distance run, seated toe-touch, sit ups, and ball throw. It was an exhaustive line up in every sense of the word. Still, Izuku found himself craving the familiar grip of his notebook and gnawed pencils after a few minutes of observing everyone’s quirks.

Uraraka could float. More than that, she could make things float. This was hinted at from their first interaction, but to see her mirror the familiar raised pinkies of an ungloved Shigaraki in such a cheerful, unthreatening way, it almost didn’t feel real. Just as it didn’t feel real to see her waving at him as he stepped up to do his 50-meter-dash, Shinso with folded arms at her side.

Izuku had been lucky before this in never being paired with Bakugou. But, taking his place at the starting line, the familiar spikes of sand blonde hair loomed in his right side periphery, snarling cuss words and throwing foul looks at Aizawa and anyone who dared score higher than him. Also intimidating was the figure on his left side: Todoroki Shouto. Yes, as in the Todoroki.

Son of the Number Two Hero: Endeavor, Todoroki Shouto.

A sober face could not be more ill-matched with such distinctive features: red and white hair split down the middle, a currant red scar over his left eye, tall and muscular features. There was also something disoriented about him too, a flick of disassociation in his dead-set eyes. Izuku gulped, stretching out his calves as Aizawa raised the gun over his head. Focus. He breathed and extended his senses. Plants. Green, leafy, unremarkable plants. Detached roots vibrated beneath his feet, remnants of the trees that were cleared away for the field. There were many across UA. Everyday, hero students walked over the bones of beheaded bodies with all the reverence of a child in church, speaking over the creaks and groans only Izuku could hear.

The three boys crouched, eyes locked on the finish line. The gun cracked !

A propulsion of fire and a great, glacial roar of ice drowned out the sound of twisting, pale roots shooting from the ground, writhing as their outsides charred in Bakugou’s wake. Izuku sprinted forward, extended his hands, and caught the elongated radicles in his fists like sleigh reins. Now jump . His brain stalled. He stumbled. Trust the plants and JUMP. He leaped, and the roots yanked. Shooting through the air, Izuku entered a hall of fire and ice while boxed between Bakugou and Todoroki. The roots slithered through the dirt, pulling him like a chariot as he bounced again and again off the smooth and treated soil. Wind shot through his hair; his eyes squinted through the bitter sting of loosened trackline paint; the world blurred like a candid photo and did not solidify until the red finish line flashed beneath him and his ropes gave out.

Could Izuku have softened his fall with his quirk? Surely yes. He could have stimulated the grass to grow into a long, soft mattress-like pile, could have made a tree rip from the ground and catch him in its branches, could have done anything really. But, air borne and flailing, Izuku’s brain buffered and he forgot the one piece of information he could never fully grasp: he had a quirk.

At least he rolled upon impact.

Umph!

“Yikes!” A red-headed student yelled over. “You alright, man?” Uraraka and Shinso hurried to his heap on the ground, but he scrambled up quickly, ignoring the bloom of bruises to smile reassuringly.

“I’m fine.” He held up scraped hands. “Definitely meant to do that.” Shinso crouched at his side, brushing turf grass from Izuku’s sleeve.

“That was stupid. You froze up in the air.”

“Yeah, but I was fast, right?” Not fast enough to beat Bakugou or Todoroki, but fast enough to get a good time. Being the best was overrated when being enough was already so hard. “I want to get high scores on the ones my quirks can help with so my other tests don’t pull me down too much.”

“Why didn’t you stop your fall?” Uraraka asked.

“I – uh, forgot…” I had a quirk. He finished in his head. It was too much to unpack on the first day. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to unpack it at all. Why cry wolf about a supposed “traumatic experience” when he was really a villain’s side project? Izuku didn’t notice Aizawa listening on the sidelines, intent on his words. “I’m fine, though, so it doesn’t really matter. Just a few scratches.”

“You look like roadkill,” Shinso deadpanned. Izuku's reply was lost to the approaching growl of Bakugou. His teeth grinded; his hair bristled, sparks snapped from his fingertips and twirls of smoke wafted from his head like devil horns.

“Stupid Deku!” He raged. “You’ve been lying all this time!” Todoroki watched coolly from the sidelines, and Aizawa sensed trouble before it even descended.

“Next group!” the teacher barked. “The rest of you, get off the field.”

Bakugou wouldn’t commit murder, not in public. Izuku knew this, but Kacchan’s words rattled in his head nonetheless. You’ve been lying all this time.

“What’s that guy’s problem?” Shinso looked back at Bakugou as they returned to the group.

“We were childhood friends.”

“Did you fall out?”

“We grew up.”

By the time of the final ball throw, Aizawa had a pretty good grasp over his students’ abilities. Uraraka was well-rounded, coasting through with mid-range to impressive scores; her light-hearted, positive attitude gave her the edge when others got discouraged. Iida contrasted her by acting solely on textbook, exceeding all expectations to a satisfiable degree through sheer correctness. Asui kept things a bit more grounded, similar to Uraraka with her cool head, but perhaps a little off-putting to the other students. Aizawa wished Bakugou had an ounce of her self-restraint; the kid was a monster. Todoroki and Yaoyorozu—the two recommended students—vied for the top rank in a classic show of good breeding. (Todoroki had a foul attitude about it though). Shinso, on the other hand, was dead last of the group. If Aizawa hadn’t edited his teaching style, he’d be on the hot seat for expulsion, which stung to admit. So much potential, though perhaps Aizawa was playing favorites. Shinso was trying though, painfully trying to at least bump his score above Hagakure’s, and the numbers were close. A bitter withdrawal came over his face with every disappointing test score, and perhaps he was toeing the line of anger, but—without fail—Uraraka and Midoriya came to his side at the end of every test, and his brow raised, and his shoulders lowered. Their group was remarkably quick to form.

That, of course, left Midoriya, the problem child himself. He had a powerful quirk, to be sure; its strength was probably exacerbated by its harrowing manifestation.

Aizawa had spent breaks between hero shifts researching TIMs, digging up information on the obscure phenomenon from obscurer studies. It was remarkable that Midoriya was faring so well. TIM patients often had their lives derailed by their trauma, and the older the subject, the worse they seemed to take it. Midoriya—for all of his flinching and wincing and lip worrying—was taking it like a champ according to research. It was… uncanny. Anyway, as it was, Midoriya established himself in the top 6 by scoring incredibly high in the tests his quirk was helpful, and simply used his own body for the rest. How a plant quirk couldn’t be useful in every situation, Aizawa wasn’t sure, and it annoyed him. The kid was sitting on a treasure trove of power but spent his time fidgeting and blushing while Uraraka and Shinso talked to him.

It wasn’t a fair reservation to have against him. Midoriya’s quirk didn’t respond as a knee-jerk response like the rest of them. In a tight spot, he’d often forget about it entirely. It led Aizawa to wonder: would he even notice if I erased it?

“WOOOOOOOW!” The exclamation brought Aizawa back into the present, and he blinked down at the distance monitor in his hand to notice it read ‘∞.’ Uraraka’s ball toss score sent the class into a frenzy as the worn, dusty baseball twinkled in the skyline before disappearing forever. Uraraka threw up her arms in celebration, and a light layer of sweat dampened the baby hairs at her temples. She skipped back to the group.

Aizawa cleared his throat. “Midoriya.”

The crowd parted, and the hovering tuft of green hair and flowers grew into a person. He stood taller, surer, more relaxed than before, and Aizawa was sure he wouldn’t use his quirk. After using a tree branch to crush the grip strength machine, his confidence tentatively emerged. He doesn’t like to show off. He won’t use his quirk. I’ll test my theory , Aizawa reasoned.

Izuku shuffled to the throw line and caught the ball Aizawa tossed him in relatively high spirits. A sheepish smile dimpled his cheeks, and he thumbed over the tight red stitches of the baseball, hefting its weight, feeling its cool cowhide. His quirk senses rustled with the glow of dying roots beneath his feet, nothing that could help him, but it was a comfort to feel their tiny kindle of life brushing his Roots. So far, he was safe from being found out. No one took any notice of him beyond acknowledging him as the top-scorer in the exam. Uraraka and Shinso even seemed to… like him. He ignored the voice that whispered one of them could be the UA traitor and cocked his arm back.

His muscles rippled. His feet planted into the dirt. His peace lilies opened serenely to lap up the sun. A perfect moment, framed in light and trees and friendly faces. Safe, soft, kind moment.

Mr. Aizawa activated his quirk.

And that perfect moment ended.

…

Somewhere deep inside Izuku, a fused, cancerous body was ripped from its death grip, clawing furiously as a force sucked it from its host. No quirk factor to secure it.

…

Izuku’s scream ricocheted from the tree line to the school building to the stratosphere. Up and out. Writhing decibels. Garbled terror.

He collapsed in a heap on his side, one hand wrapped around his torso, the other around his throat, squeezing like trying to pinch the exits closed, to stop something from slithering out of him. A wild animal was loose inside him: snout rifling through his intestines, claws scratching holes through his stomach, teeth gnawing his voice box, and all the while phasing out of him. A gravity called to it that his body could not stop, and the animal did not want to leave. No, Botany would rather tear him up from the inside than leave him.

" Don’t forget your life is in the palm of my hands.”

Aizawa released his quirk.

Time resumed.

For onlookers, it lasted only a few seconds. Three to five. Long enough for Izuku to topple and scream into yesterday. Bone-chilling, but quick. He quieted as the pressure in his chest faded, dirt and grass grinding into his cheek. Blood from his nostrils turned the soil to mud. Aizawa skidded to his side, descending upon Izuku.

“What happened?” He barked.

“Uuuugh.”

“Are you hurt?” Gently, he rolled Izuku onto his back to look him over for injuries. Twin streams of blood dribbled from his nose and cut across his cheek, pooling in his earlobe and staining his green curls inky black.

“It didn’t want to leave,” he groaned. Shinso’s and Uraraka’s heads popped into view.

“What didn’t want to leave?” Aizawa pressed.

“I don’t know, but it hurt. It really hurt.”

Aizawa’s gut twisted. Did he do this? He used his quirk, and Izuku collapsed because… his quirk didn’t want to leave? Maybe it was sentient. But, either way, it shouldn’t have been able to resist. It shouldn’t have hurt.

“I’m okay.” Trembling, Izuku sat up, using Aizawa’s guiding arm for support. The baseball sat a couple yards away, having rolled after Izuku collapsed. “I guess I failed.”

Shinso snorted. “ That’s what you’re worried about? You’re in sixth place.”

“Yeah.” Izuku dabbed at the blood smeared across his face, and Shinso’s smirk fell.          

“Seriously though.” He knelt at his side. “What happened just now?”

Izuku grimaced. It was his quirk, for sure. He’d heard All Might’s voice utter Shigaraki’s words. You’d think all the quirk textbooks he read would have mentioned something like that. An oversight, perhaps? It would have to be a rather big one. And why had Botany suddenly attacked? It clung to him like an astronaut would hold to their ship while the pressure seal broke. His access to it had been cut off, had been… erased. He blinked up at Aizawa, and the thin white scarf triggered a memory. Notebook 9. Page 53. “Eraserhead?”

Aizawa blinked. “You’re the first student in a long while to recognize me.”

“You erased my quirk.”

“Yes. I did.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see if you’d noticed. My quirk has never caused anyone harm before.”

Izuku hugged his sides, cheek smudged with dirt and drying blood. “Please, don’t do that again. I– I don’t want to lose my quirk.”

Aizawa opened his mouth to explain it didn’t work that way, to explain that quirks were rooted in quirk factors and couldn’t be lost to Erasure, but he didn’t. Instead, he routed through his pocket, extracted a handkerchief, and handed it to Izuku to clean off his face. “I won’t do it again.” There’s something off here. He thought. For Midoriya’s sake, I better figure it out soon.

“You really scared me when you collapsed,” Uraraka whined.

The rest of the school day had been decently uneventful after the whole ordeal. Izuku visited Recovery Girl, returned to the group, and all continued on as normal. At least, as normal as life could be at a hero high school. Shinso and Uraraka resolved to walk with him part way to the train station before dividing their individual ways. Apparently, this is what friends did, Uraraka informed them. For the dozenth time that day, Shinso and Izuku wondered why a girl like her would hang out with them. Though, Shinso guessed it was the same reason he stuck around: they both owed Izuku.

“Seriously,” she continued, skipping over sidewalk cracks. “You’d think Aizawa-sensei would give you some warning before using his quirk on you.”

“It’s not supposed to hurt.” Izuku shrugged.

“Why did it then?” Shinso asked. Discomfort flashed across Izuku’s eyes, and he pressed further. “Is there something weird about your quirk?” Hypocrite. He chided himself, but the curiosity was killing him. People with strong quirks just didn’t turn out as nice and meek as Izuku; it was a law of nature.

“Um.” He tugged a flower stem in his hair. Might as well give them the cover story now. It’d be bad if they thought I had something to hide. Guilt flushed his cheeks as he spoke. “I’ve– uh, actually only had my quirk for about seven months. Before then, I was quirkless.” Shinso stopped cold, and Uraraka faltered, mouth falling open.

“Is that–” he gulped. “Is that even possible?”

“I mean, of course I’ve always had a quirk.” Izuku pushed on quickly, eyes locked on the sidewalk. “It was just dormant, so everyone assumed I didn’t until seven month ago when I hit my head and it suddenly came in. It’s called a TIM.”

“Does TIM stand for something?” Uraraka wondered.

Izuku faltered, noting she was smarter than she let on. “Trauma Induced Manifestation. They’re pretty rare and weird, and my quirk is still pretty new, so I don’t really understand it.”

Quiet as the two mulled it over. Shinso was satisfied first.

“That makes senses, actually.” He nodded. “Most guys born with powerful quirks act like jerks because they get special treatment, so I didn’t understand why you were so shy. But quirkless people–”

“Are treated horribly.” Uraraka frowned. “A pair of quirkless twins went to my old middle school. People were awful to them.”

“That’s…” Izuku continued walking again, eyes locked on the intersection ahead of them where they agreed to part ways. “Not really the point. The point is, I’m still figuring out my quirk. I just– I don’t really know what I’m doing. By all accounts, I really shouldn’t be allowed to attend UA.”

“Why not?” Shinso protested, catching up to him with Uraraka on his heels. “You’ll make a better hero than half those pompous 1-A kids.”

“You know you’re one of those pompous 1-A kids, right?” She teased.

“Whatever. What I’m trying to say is you deserve to be there as much as anyone else. People are jerks about quirks, and it’s our job to prove them wrong, got that?”

“Yeah!” Uraraka cheered. “You were super cool during the entrance exam! You saved me from being squashed.” The group slowed as they came to the intersection. “You’re going to be a great hero!”

Tears pricked his eyes. The words bounced back and forth in his head: you’re going to be a great hero, a great hero, hero, hero, hero. Izuku turned away, choking out a thanks. Grounding himself, he pinched a peace lily at the back of his head and tore it out.

“Here.” He discretely wiped the trace of blood from the stem before handing it to her. “Do– do you still want one?”

She blinked down at the perfect, tear-drop white petal. Its sweet smell tickled her nose. “It’s beautiful.”

“It might be a bit hairy.” I should have jumped off the roof when I had the chance! Izuku agonized, but Uraraka and Shinso cracked into laughter.

“Smooth.” Shinso elbowed him.

“You want one?”

“I’ll pass.”

On that note, the group dispersed. Shinso to the left, Uraraka to the right, and Izuku straight ahead towards the train station. He clutched his backpack straps and walked with a bounce in his step, weightless as Uraraka’s quirk. Is this how everyone with a quirk is treated? He wondered pleasantly, dissociated from the aching sting at the back of his head. Whatever happens, it’s worth it. It has to be worth it.

“Hey.” The dispassionate voice stopped Izuku in his tracks, cars whirring by on the busy road. He turned, and a straight-faced Todoroki approached with hands in his jacket pockets. “Midoriya.”

He knows my name? “Hi Todoroki.”

“Blood’s staining your uniform collar.”

“Ah.” His hand flew to the back of his neck to feel the steady warm trickle from the flower he plucked. He placed pressure on the sore spot. “Thanks. It should scab up soon.”

Todoroki stopped in front of him. “I was eavesdropping.”

“…okay.”

“Having a TIM doesn’t explain what happened when Aizawa-sensei erased your quirk.”

Izuku’s knees went weak. “Huh?” 

“My father makes it his business to look into things and ensure I have the best education possible.” Todoroki scowled. “That includes researching our homeroom teacher.”

Ah yes, his father… the Number Two Hero… Endeavor.

Great.

“He’s the Underground Hero: Eraserhead. He erases quirks,” Izuku coughed

“Yes,” he hummed. “He erases them by disconnecting quirks from their host. It’s temporary though, seeing as the quirk is secure in the quirk factor.”

That explains it! Izuku cursed. Aizawa hadn’t almost erased his quirk, he’d almost killed it by separating it from its host. That’s why it fought back. I was almost quirkless again.

“That’s why it’s strange what happened to you.” Todoroki continued forward, passing Izuku so their backs were to each other when he spoke again. “I have every intention of becoming a hero. So, you’ll have to forgive me for being suspicious.”

He walked away, expensive oxfords clicking down the cold pavement with the surety of someone in power.

Izuku pulled his hand away from his neck to stare at his bloody palm, red drips tracing the paths of blue wrist veins.

Chapter Text

“Aizawa.” Recovery Girl beckoned him into her office. “Did you get up early to visit me? It must be urgent.”

Aizawa pushed from the doorway and crossed to her desk, pulling up a spare chair in the corner and sitting backwards with his arms on the back rest. “Good morning, Chiyo.”

“Since when have you bothered with niceties?” She scoffed, turning to face him. “Out with it! I can’t wait around for social courtesies at my age.” She had enough of those with glassy eyed students wandering into her office with broken arms and busted lips. There’d been far too many injuries on the first day for her taste.

“Midoriya’s quirk is bothering me.”

“Hmm? Oh, the boy with the T.I.M.? You sent him in here yesterday, didn’t you? He had internal bruising. I thought I told you to take it easy on him.”

“That’s what concerns me.” He pressed. “I was nice. I barely threatened to expel anybody yesterday.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“ But ,” he scowled. “One of my student notes for Midoriya was his habit of freezing up and forgetting to use his quirk. I became curious of how conscious of it he was, whether or not he would notice if it was gone. Most people can tell by feeling the absence, but I wasn’t sure if he would. So…” He grimaced. “I used Erasure on him to see.”

“Why do I sense a problem?”

“Because there was one. When I used Erasure, Midoriya collapsed and started screaming. His reaction stopped the moment I blinked, but he had a nosebleed when I got to him, and he was really shaken. He figured out I’d erased his quirk, and he asked me not to do it again. He said it hurt.”

“So your theory was dead wrong.”

“It was.”

“He had an adverse reaction.”

“Awful, yes.”

Recovery Girl tapped her chin. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting that. I suppose it's a side-effect of the T.I.M.”

“If it was, it’s not listed anywhere.” Aizawa had checked. He had a habit of breaking students’ hearts, not their internal organs, and he wanted to keep it that way. So, on another TIM deep-dive he went, growing more and more frustrated as the night wore on. “Though, it’s so rare. Barely any proper studies have been done on it.”

“Well, then we’ll have to learn as we go.” She snapped her fingers. “I already have a theory.”

“Hopefully it’s better than mine was.”

“It is.” She cooed. “I’ll bet you anything Midoriya’s quirk manifested in an effort to save its host. Quirks are natural self-protectors like the rest of our ingrained instincts. So, if anything’s to bring out a dormant quirk, it would have to be something life-threatening.”

“Right.”

“I suppose, if the situation was stressful enough, Midoriya’s quirk may always be on high alert to save his life now. Perhaps his body perceives it as an essential function, like breathing. So, when it felt the quirk being taken, it fought back, or tried to.”

“I don’t see how causing the boy more injury would help protect him.”

“Have you ever heard of Aron Lee Ralston?” She mused, folding her arms in the way elderly people do when they’re about to tell a story.

“No.”

“He was an outdoorsman in the pre-quirk era. One day, he went canyoneering in Utah when a boulder became dislodged, crushed his right arm, and pinned his left arm to the canyon wall. He was stuck there, and he had told no one where he was. He rationed through his little food and water over the next five days and slowly became delirious.”

“I fail to see the point.”

“On the sixth day, he cut off his own arm by breaking the bone first and sawing through it with a cheap pocket knife. He then rappelled off the mountain side, hiked through the canyon, and finally found a family that contacted authorities.”

Aizawa blinked, admittedly impressed. “And this relates to Midoriya’s quirk…?”

“The body is as capable at making a judgment call as you or I. If it believes that hurting Midoriya will protect it in the long run, it will do so. It is the same principle that saved that man’s life.”

Aizawa sank forward onto the chair back and considered the possibility. Was Midoriya really so tense because his body was always on high-alert? What kind of trauma triggered that level of response? “This is a lot of damage to be taking into the hero field. It won’t be easy for someone like him. It… it might even be impossible.”

Recovery Girl’s face soured. “He’s heard enough discouragement after years of being quirkless, and I’m surprised your similar experience doesn’t make him empathize with him more.”

“I have an unconventional quirk, not irreparable trauma.”

“You have a responsibility. A responsibility to that boy to make sure he doesn’t face his demons alone, to make sure he overcomes the evil trying to consume him and becomes a hero.” Her wrinkled cheeks puffed out; her shoulders squared; her eyes gleamed, and once again she was the Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl out on the field, blowing kisses like bullets and resuscitating armies. Aizawa merely blinked, tired. “You’re only thirty! Act like it.”

“You’re retired. Act like it.”

“Oh, Aizawa.” She threw up her hands. “That boy is the sole reason UA isn’t being sued into oblivion at the moment. He saved that young girl’s life. Now, he is in our care. We can’t afford to fail him as he’s been failed in the past.”

“I understand.” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “He seems to be a good kid, too. Quiet, jumpy, polite, but a magnet for trouble. One of the students almost attacked him before class even started. He’s one of those people misfortune follows everywhere. I’m surprised he has any hope in his eyes at all.”

“Probably because UA is his hope.” She grimaced. “He’s gone his entire life helpless, dealt with an abusive parent, and experienced a terribly traumatic incident. Midoriya’s quirk and coming to UA might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. That makes him fragile, but not irreparable. We’re in a position to help.”

“And that’s what heroes do, right?” Aizawa dragged a hand down his face, but already his resolve was solidifying. The sleepless night spent researching was done away. Now, it was time to do some real work. “We help people.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Let’s help Midoriya.”

Izuku approached his second day at UA with mixed feelings. Every wonderful fact of his life came with a dark underside: he was attending hero school, but he consorted with villains; he befriended Shinso and Uraraka, but the guilt ate away at him, and he doubted he knew how to have friends; he had excellent, awe-inspiring teachers like Midnight and Present Mic and Eraserhead, all of which treated him kindly, but one misfire of Aizawa’s quirk would extinguish Botany, and with it every chance at life Izuku had managed to scrounge for himself. Walking into the classroom, the only full negatives Izuku could think of were Bakugou and Todoroki, both of whom had reason to be suspicious of him. He was a fool to have forgotten something very important though.

The reason for everything.

Izuku settled into his desk behind Bakugou—another double-edged sword, as Shinso’s empty desk sat behind Izuku—and extracted school supplies from his bag while listening to the general buzz of the class. Today was the first real day. After evaluations and skipping orientation, this meant it was time for real hero training. No more kiddie wheels, no more protective glass.

Shinso skidded inside with a minute to spare before the final bell and hurried to his desk, pushing back feathery strands of purple hair.

“Daffodils today.” He noted as he collapsed into his chair. Izuku twisted around to face him, yellow flowers crowning his head. “They supposed to symbolize anything?”

“New beginnings, I think. Or rebirth.”

“New school, new you, huh?”

“I didn’t really think that much about it.” Lie. He’d researched it the previous night to channel the proper energy. Growing flowers was weird. It mostly happened at night when he was sleeping, so it wasn’t an exact science. If he wanted a specific type of flower in the morning, Izuku had to channel intent for the follicle roots to get the message. It was disconcerting, to jolt up from strange and warped nightmares to be greeted by drooping pansies. What happened with Bakugou and the roses was beyond Izuku’s understanding. “Rough morning?” He asked Shinso as he tucked in his shirt front.

“Rough night,” he grunted. “I’m an insomniac so mornings are… unpredictable.”

Insomnia? Izuku wondered. It was a foreign concept to him, or at least it used to be. He’d spent the month before meeting Shigaraki sleeping, whiling away hours of time, catching morning attendance before walking back home and crawling through his window to crash in bed again. He lived constantly with a sore throat and crusty eyes and wasting muscles. So, so tired. The nightmares came post-rooftop, and he still wasn’t sure what to do with them, what they meant.

“Aloe vera’s supposed to help with sleep. Chamomiles too,” Izuku mentioned, absent-minded.

“I’ll stick to chugging melatonin, but thanks.” Shinso smirked. “Anyway, if we always work out as much as we did yesterday, I shouldn’t have any trouble sleeping.” It wasn’t necessarily true, Shinso knew, but Izuku’s troubled face brightened at the mention of hero training and Shinso getting enough sleep, so it was fine.

It stumped him, though, why — when All Might himself burst through the door — Izuku went deathly pale.

“I AM… COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!” The strained baritone rumble turned every head in the class, mouths dropping to desks as two large, tan hands grasped the door frame and the Number 1 Hero slid inside. White teeth, shadowed blue eyes, rippling muscle, iconic clothes, everything. The ideal . Kirishma jumped from his desk. Iida’s back straightened to a ruler’s edge. Even Bakugou sat up, ambition gleaming in his eyes.

“I can’t believe it’s really All Might!”

“So he is a teacher. This year is going to be totally awesome!”

“Hey look! Is he wearing his silver age costume?”

He marched to the teacher’s podium with hands on his hips and allowed the whispers to continue another moment before speaking at a blaring volume. “Welcome to the most important class at UA High. Think of it as Heroing 101. Here, you will learn the basics of being a pro and what it means to fight in the name of good. Let’s get into it!”

Izuku shrank back into his desk, feeling countless eyes baring down on him, peeling away the thin layers of skin and muscle to the horrible truth inside his body. The quirk he was never supposed to have. The scars because of what he lacked, and not just the ones on his feet or forehead. Somewhere in Class 1-A, a pair of interested eyes watched him closely, remembering Shigaraki’s orders.

“We will be engaging in battle simulations,” All Might continued. “But first, in order to be a hero, you must look the part.”

Aizawa rolled in a cart of numbered cabinets, and Class 1-A could take no more excitement. They burst into loud chatter, twisting in desks and gushing to anyone who would listen. 

All Might looked on with a faded sort of nostalgia. How many decades had it been since he attended UA? How many of his classmates had survived and gone on to live their dream? A good number, but not all. No, some failed, and some fell.

This grim thought carried his eyes to a great bush of green and daffodils as yellow as his hair. The boy. He realized. The one from the rooftop. He’d watched Izuku’s progress closely throughout the entrance exam, recalling the sludge encounter he’d saved him from. He was a good kid, the kind adults liked because they were easy to deal with. Even in a frenzy, when Izuku clung to All Might’s leg to ask him a question but ended up flying through the air, he didn’t even struggle. He went limp, and All Might landed on the roof with Izuku and the bottled sludge villain secured. Who knows what would have happened if it had gotten loose again?

Still, the boy didn’t quite look grateful. While all the faces around him gave way to cheesy smiles and waving arms, Izuku was still. Izuku was silent. Looking his idol in the eye for the first time since being abandoned on the roof, Izuku was angry.

Izuku had been stumped when the design request for his hero costume had arrived. He suspected his iterations of All Might’s costume that ate away pages of his notebooks wouldn’t be appropriate anymore, all things considered. Hero costumes had never been about fashion for him. It was what they represented: bravery, strength, persistence, icons irrevocably attached to their meanings. Whatever Izuku’s existence meant, it certainly couldn’t be equated to All Might’s Symbol of Peace; those brazon colors of red, blue, and gold didn’t even feel like peace any more. They felt like conflict. Conflict in Izuku’s chest.

As far as themes went, though, he could certainly follow them.

“Overalls?” Shinso quirked a brow as Izuku emerged from the bathroom in his costume. Black overalls over a dark green hoodie made up the bulk of the outfit, baggy to make room for hidden knee and elbow guards; black and red fingerless gloves matched his shoes and masked the white bumps of his knuckles as he felt eyes on him. A utility belt fastened around his waist and held a variety of plant compartments with anything from Tillandsia seeds to oak tree acorns to chopped bits of sweet potato.

Shinso had a much more appropriate hero costume, if a bit on the dark side. He’d give Gang Orca a run for his money on the Heroes Who Look Like Villains List in his black jumpsuit with purple highlights, metallic mouth guard connected to an arched headband to keep his hair back.

“I like yours,” Izuku hummed.

“You look like a gardener.”

“That was the idea.”

“Maybe a glorified homeless person.”

“A bit like our teacher, then.” This earned him a wry smile, and Shinso jerked his head toward the exit, signaling time to go.

The rest of the students’ costumes came with varying degrees of disappointment and surprise. If Izuku were braver, he’d tell Kirishima his quirk bypassed his need for armour, not clothes. Poor, sweet Koda looked like a McDonalds advertisement, and Ojiro looked like Luke Skywalker except… well, with a tail. As they joined up with the girls at battleground beta, they did better for the most part. Asui’s watersuit fit her quirk and frog theme; Jiro was dressed in casual, punk rock clothes. Yaoyorozu looked uncomfortable. Uraraka’s costume made him smile: black form fitting jumpsuit, with clunky pink boots, belt, and helmet, astronaut themed. She jogged up to them, Asui following behind. 

“You guys look great!” She cheered. “I like the colors.”

“Yours is a bit casual, Midoriya. Kero.” Asui tapped her chin.

“I don’t have much of a fashion sense. I’ll probably change it later on down the road, anyway. I don’t know what kind of a hero I want to be yet.” A hero in general had been so much out of the range of possibility, he barely dreamed of anything beyond it.

“I want to be like Thirteen and help with rescue,” Uraraka supplied. “You should too. A plant quirk would be great for natural disasters.”

“With a flashy quirk like his?” Shinso rolled his eyes. “He should be pulverizing villains like at the entrance exam.”

“That doesn’t really fit his nature though. Kero.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Izuku tugged shyly at a daffodil. “I don’t really care as long as I can help people.”

“Don’t make me barf with all that selfless, sunshiney bullcrap.” Shinso elbowed him, but he was gentle about it, smiling lightly at the flickering dimple in Izuku’s cheek as he talked.

“GATHER AROUND, STUDENTS!” All Might materialized at the front of the group, and Izuku yelped, closing in on himself again. Shinso’s smile disappeared, his eyes narrowed, and for the dozenth time a parade of redflags marched a circle around his head. There’s something wrong here. He thought as All Might went through the rules of the heroes versus villains exercise, watching Izuku’s slack face tighten as he and Shino were assigned as heroes facing down Bakugou and Uraraka. Eyes closed in on him from all sides: Shinso, Uraraka, Asui, Todoroki, Aizawa, and All Might, someone waiting in the shadows.

Something is very wrong here.

“What’s your quirk?” Izuku asked Shinso as they waited for Bakugou and Uraraka to set up the bomb. Shinso’s face hardened, and immediately Izuku backpedalled. “You don’t have to tell me! I just thought… because we’re about to… we might want a… plan.”

“Relax,” he snapped, harsher than he meant, and Izuku fell quiet. “No, I didn’t mean –” he huffed. “Look, I don’t really like talking about my quirk.”

This was true. All Izuku knew of it was Shinso’s casual mention of using it to save him during the entrance exam. Beyond that though, he’d shown only average skills. Average was all but a death sentence in the era of quirks, and not something a UA student could be. Amongst all the other turmoils, Izuku’s curiosity was eating him alive. He looked away, perusing the realistic building models of ground beta, studying the mid-rise structure holding their bomb. How would Shigaraki react if Izuku failed his first real hero test? If he proved All Might right and was confirmed incompetent. Weak. Useless. The ghosts of Shigaraki’s fingers wrenching his head back and forth still whispered aches through his skull, flowers rotting, sobs and stomach retches, breathless curses.

“I’d–” he swallowed. “I’d like to know what your quirk is so we can come up with a plan.”

Shinso blinked at the grave turn of his voice, and a thought startled out of him before he thought better of it. “Do you still have that career sponsor?”

“... Yes.”

He waited for Izuku to elaborate or another question to occur to him, but neither happened, so he sighed, shoulders dropping. “My quirk is brainwashing. If someone replies to me, I tell them to do whatever I want, and they’ll do it.”

“That’s–” like a villain’s quirk. He sucked in breath. Izuku, you stupid hypocrite. “That’s amazing! And super helpful.”

“Wasn’t helpful in the quirk apprehension tests, or the entrance exam. Heroes typically have physical, flashy quirks. If I hadn’t saved you from getting pulverized, I wouldn’t even be here.” He scowled. Izuku had hesitated, he’d seen it. Like a single corrupted film frame flashing over his face. “It’s a villain's quirk.”

“I’ve met villains. You’re nothing like them.” Shinso blinked. Of all the hare-brained, idiotic things to say! Izuku swore at himself. Stupid stupid stupid why am I even alive? Argh!

A knowing smirk stretched Shinso’s cheeks, forgiving him. “Alright.” He ignored the bombshell Izuku had dropped, reaffirming his confidence as he glared up at the distant sounds of explosions inside the building. “What’s the plan?”

For being a fairly optimistic person, Uraraka entered her first real hero assignment with low spirits. Bakugou was a cruel person, from what she understood, and he made Izuku go pale and trembling with every shout or spurt of disproportionate rage—common occurrences for him. The moment they placed the bomb at the top floor, the whole affair began to spiral.

“So,” Uraraka spoke first. “We should make a plan.”

Bakugou shot her a fiery glare. “What for? Deku and Eyebags are pathetic. I’ll take them both down in the first five minutes. This exercise is a waste of my time.” Uraraka’s dread shot to a zenith. He stomped away toward the door.

“Are we splitting up?” She tried again.

“Do whatever you want.” He barked. “Just don’t get in my way. I’m gonna crush Deku so he’ll never forget his place again.”

A chill ran up her spine, eyes narrowed as he stormed from view and a vague memory flickered at his tone. She disliked being on the villain team, but Bakugou—something about him, everything about him—screamed real malice, hatred. Like the word villain suited him perfectly.

Izuku sent Shinso ahead.

A perfect understanding of the situation unfolded in his head the moment the pairings were announced. Bakugou wasn’t one to bother with niceties or people he deemed “beneath him,” so they’d be attacked by a divided front. Undoubtedly, he’d strike first and alone, and Uraraka would do what’s sensible and stay behind to guard the bomb after seeing Bakugou couldn’t be reasoned with. This would be presented as an advantage if the players were different, but Bakugou was OP and single-minded. A solitary, concentrated maelstrom of indiscriminate violence.

“A pain in the neck.” Shinso had phrased it when Izuku explained this to him.

Their only real advantage was utilizing his emotions, which would surely be aimed toward Izuku. After all, he’d trampled all over Bakugou’s dream of being the only Aldera Middle School student to attend UA; punishment was requisite.

So, upon entering the building, Shinso went ahead, and Izuku stayed behind, like good bait, and set the trap.

Most tiny, budding seeds would never have the strength to shatter blocks of cement. Then again, most didn’t grow to full size oak trees in seconds.

Flashing red camera lights peering down at him, Izuku drew a smooth, brown acorn from his utility belt, turned it over between his fingers, and wondered about the life the tree might have had if it had made it to a garden or park or suburban landscaping project. It’s hard growing up fast, Izuku knew, acorn rested in his extended palm as his hand tilted. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It slipped, clattered, rolled quietly against the cool cement. “I know it hurts.”

A wail.

A fragile seedling pierced the acorn shell, shedding hard bits as it flourished, pale root limbs clawing at the open air. A stalk. Fluttering leaves. The trunk widened, hardened. The roots sank supple teeth into the cement, pouncing upon cracks and panel gaps. It writhed, whined. Screamed. A silent, sacred process warped by Izuku’s demand, groans of cramped branches, scraping bark, thrashing leaves. Deafening cracks ripped through the floor, the walls, the ceiling as the entire room was eclipsed. Distantly, an explosion sounded off, accompanied by a roar of approaching triumph. Izuku braced himself, holding seeds between his knuckles like knives.

“DEKU!” The wall detonated, and a demon stood huffing in the settling dust and debris. “You’re gonna die.” Bakugou’s teeth flashed.

Izuku gulped. “I believe you.”

The first explosion blew him off his feet, and his back would have slammed into the wall if branches hadn’t caught him, twisting their painful, gnarled burls into his skin. Thankfully, the thick material of his overalls and sweatshirt cushioned him, and he rolled to his feet as the tree deposited him, shooting branches at Bakugou’s charging figure. They wrapped around his legs and torso, holding him back, but another flash and the tree yanked away, falling apart in charred pieces. Izuku sent another, and another, the smell of smoke and scorched sap choking the air. Bakugou kept coming, exploiting the natural frailty of plants, of Izuku. It didn’t make sense, but he was worse than a zero-pointer or villain. He burst forward through a hail of splinters, caught Izuku’s collar, and heaved him off the ground, victory in his eyes.

“I’m going to enjoy this.”

Being engaged in mortal combat with the bubbly Uraraka Ochako was not how Shinso imagined his day going. Even worse, she had uncanny intelligence.

He walked into the room with the bomb she guarded with all the confidence and swagger an awkward teen could manage, hands on his hips like an anemic All Might and a pretentious smirk.

“Did you even try to hide it?” He snorted, surveying the bomb behind Uraraka’s poised fists. She took a breath, readying for a fight. Say something. “Why so quiet? You scared?”

That’s out of character for him. Uraraka noted. Shinso, from what she could tell, was quiet, bitter, and grumpily unassuming, preferring not to engage with anyone or anything. Why be a chatterbox now? He didn’t have a physical quirk since he came in dead last of the quirk apprehension tests. Was he stalling? No. He wouldn’t have come in if he didn’t feel confident in his abilities to face her. A distraction then? A rumble of explosions sounded from downstairs, so no. Izuku was dealing with Bakugou. What’s his game?

“Is something wrong, Uraraka-san?” He switched tactics. “You’re quiet.”

And you’re too obvious. She smirked. Hand rising, Uraraka indulged herself, fell into a fighting stance, and beckoned him with two fingers, action movie music blaring in her thoughts.

Shinso’s stomach sank, but he stepped forward, calm, working a kink out of his neck as the two sized each other up. “So, we’re doing this the hard way, huh?” She didn’t answer. “Yup. Definitely the hard way.”

BOOM!

Izuku’s hearing capped out. Chest heaving with coughs, he scrambled back to his feet under the pulsing shriek of a high-pitched ring. Silhouettes flickered in the sooty air, shadows, hanging ceiling panels, overgrown tillandsias and smoldering tree trunks. Izuku wheeled around and around, squinting, sweaty ash dripping into his eyes while the ringing pounded. Fists of sensations; bites of shooting pain. He could taste the cinders and the bitter tang of evaporated sap. The Roots system pittered in and out of his senses, flickering with breaks in the disorientation.

This was middle school all over again. Heck, it was his old life all over again. Defenseless Izuku. Quirkless. Worthless. Deku. His knees went weak as the familiar helplessness weighed upon him like gravity. After everything he’d done… it was for nothing.

The scar on his back prickled, and he whirled around, arms raised over his head as Bakugou towered above. His wrist gauntlet glowed with the sparks beneath.

“Found you.”

Thump!

A heel collided with Shinso’s gut, and he flew backward, flat on his butt. There was no time. Uraraka descended upon him, fingers splayed to catch his flesh. He scrambled away, stumbled to his feet, body halfway out the door and nowhere near the bomb.

Of course Uraraka would best him in physical combat. Anyone could, but the cutesy girl was as stout as a boxer where it counted, and her clunky pink boots were bedazzled maul hammers in themselves. His only edge was being quick, slippery, drawing near and flashing back like a snake, feet nimble and strong under pressure. The bruises down his torso and split lip attested it wasn’t an even match, but she hadn’t laid her hands on him yet.

Crash!

Another explosion rang from downstairs, shaking the building.

What’s happening down there!? They both wondered.

“Some partner you have.” Shinso wiped blood from his dripped chin. “Leaving you alone to guard the bomb while he finishes a vendetta he has on our mutual friend. I’m starting to feel pretty bad for leaving him.”

Uraraka shared the sentiment as another cry carried up the air ducts and reverberated through the room. Izuku. She had to finish this quickly.

Uraraka lunged, kicking Shinso against the doorframe before trying to slam her hands into his chest. He caught her wrists, eyes dilated with adrenaline. They struggled, straining to break the other’s arm muscles. I can’t let her touch me. If I do, it’ll be over. 

Not a bad strategy, but too narrow-minded. Shinso focused too much on quirks, Uraraka realized. Her eyes flicked from her restrained arms to their feet. His foot.

Uraraka held nothing back as she jammed her hard boot toe into the inside of Shinso’s left ankle. The crack sent a shiver from her foot to her head. Shinso cried out, collapsed, knee clutched his chest. His ankle had an odd angle to it, and Uraraka stumbled back, huffing and pushing damp hair from her face.

“What was that for?” He shouted, tears squeezing out of pinched eyes. “Don’t you think that was a bit much?”

Uraraka mouth opened. An intake of breath. Wait. She stopped herself.

“You’re terrifying.” Shinso sighed, realizing it was over. Uraraka’s hands flew to her belt to extract the capture tape and be done with it, but her intention was soon forgotten.

“ AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! ” 

They froze.

One hears a great many screams in a lifetime of film and hero worship. Some real. Some fake. But almost always through a screen, through a buffer of dissociation. The lilt of terror was never familiar. It was an off-key stuttering note. Dissectable and distant.

There was nothing distant about Izuku’s scream billowing through the vents of the building. 

Numbly, Shinso blinked up at Uraraka. “What is Bakugou doing to him?”

Her heart stopped. “He’s trying to kill him.”

Shinso’s last shred of instinct clamped down on the opportunity, and Uraraka’s eyes went dull and glassy. He hadn’t even been trying to make her talk. The hairs on his arms still stood on end from Izuku’s scream. What are the teachers even doing? “Uraraka.” He grimaced. “Protect Izuku.”

Guilt gnawed at him as she wandered past, towards the stairway. She deserved better.

But, this had to end. Now.

Shinso glared across the vast room to the tucked away bomb in the corner and pushed to his hands and knees, ignoring the ache of his ankle as the building trembled with explosions. “Hold on, Midoriya.”

Hold on.

Izuku’s back peeled from the wall, and he fell to his knees. The camera in the room’s corner bleeped into a dusty, blank scene, air too obstructed to make out the carnage. He doubled over with retching coughs.

In a strange answer to prayer, the next blast blew a hole through the side of the building, and sunlight poured in.

“Help.” He choked up at the camera. “Please.”

“Deku.” Red eyes glowed through the dust. “You quirkless reject! Let’s see if you dodge this.” Fresh air filtered inside. Silhouette turned to solid. Bakugou materialized in front of him, gauntlet raised and heating up. The plants were demolished, seeds scattered, Roots diminished. Both their ears rang like school bells, drowning out the numb clatter of approaching footsteps. Izuku blinked bleakly at the charging grenade, pressed into a corner, feeling five years old again.

“Kacchan,” he coughed. “Please… I can’t–”

“You should have thought of that before ruining my dream and cheating into UA.” He sneered. “This goes to show worthless weaklings have no place with heroes, quirkless or otherwise.” His finger wrapped around the grenade pin.

“BAKUGOU!” The speaker roared overhead. “DON’T!”

Izuku’s eyes began to close, consciousness slipping away.

A small, familiar figure stumbled between them.

The pin ripped out; Bakugou gasped as he processed the new person in front of him; Izuku had a second to react.

He grabbed Uraraka’s body, hugged her to his chest, and spun around, revealing his back to the brunt of the explosion.

Class 1-A was bored throughout most of the Midoriya and Shinso VS. Bakugou and Uraraka fight. Sure, it was funny to watch Uraraka nail Shinso once or twice in the face, but Midoriya’s and Bakugou’s legendary showdown was reduced to bangs, concerning yelps, and grainy outlines flashing in and out of view. Aizawa had stepped out of the room at the beginning to take care of a phone call and left All Might in charge, so there was no one to stop friendly chatter from buzzing around the observation room.

All Might, too, watched with his cheek on his fist, considering Midoriya and the way he’d looked at him that morning. He supposed it was only natural to harbor some resentment after the conclusion of their last meeting, but it frustrated him. After all, he’d hoped it’d be comforting to see the friendly, timid face of Midoriya amongst the sea of scary teenagers he was supposed to mentor. The boy had been so kind, so gentle and meek. He’d taken All Might’s reproof of his career choice with grace, if not a touch of dejection. It was out of character to see him angry.

It was out of character to hear him scream, too.

The awful pitch of his terror was the first jolt to reawaken class 1-A to their fight. All Might’s head lifted from his hands, and he surveyed the scene. The Uraraka girl suddenly went limp and jogged out of the bomb room, heading toward the lower levels while Shinso endeavored to drag his handicapped body to the bomb. He only had to touch it to win. The camera in Bakugou’s and Midoriya’s room was much the same, blocked by dust and dirt. Thankfully, another explosion gave way to the side of the building, and the first streaks of clarity broke through.

Izuku sat folded over on the ground, shoulders trembling and smoke wafting from his clothes. Slowly, his head rose, and he spoke to the camera with real, wide-eyed terror.

“Help… Please.”

All Might’s chair flew back as he jumped up. Bakugou towered over Izuku, high powered gauntlet aimed at his face.

His hand slammed down on the intercom. “BAKUGOU!” He yelled. “DON’T!”

Uraraka stumbled between them. Midoriya grabbed her and twisted around to shield her with his body.

A burst of hot, white light, and it was over.

 The jolt broke through the fog of Shinso’s quirk, and Uraraka blinked awake, becoming conscious first of a blinding light, then arms wrapped around her torso. They toppled back, collapsed on the cracked cement; green hair and wilted flower petals tickled her face.

Daffodils.

Delicate, dainty daffodils.

The weight atop her fell away, and she gasped, whirling around. “Izuku!”

He lay in a heap beside her, cheek pressed to the ground as his back faced up for the world—meaning the camera—to see.

The back of his sweatshirt and overall straps floated disintegrated in the air: a shower of black thread and fussed polyester. His exposed shoulders glistened red and bubbling under streams of light. Blood dripped down his sides; eyes clenched shut in unconsciousness, still wrapped in the moment of terror before his skin shrivelled and burned away. A prepared sort of ritual, like someone well versed in pain.

And he obviously was.

There, haloed in the blotch of blisted, inflamed skin, highlighted an older scar.

Uraraka’s hand flew to her mouth. Bakugou huffed as he squinted at the inscription, all fire gone out of him. All Might’s unbeatable smile fell. Class A-1 pushed and shoved to get a better look, cries rippling through the crowd. Todoroki’s gut twisted. Aizawa cut through them all to see what the fuss was about.

Even he froze in shock.

No announcement of victory crackled through the speakers as Shinso slammed his hand down on the bomb. No one said a thing, too captivated by the scrawled lettering of old scars decorating Izuku’s back with one, inescapable word:

Quirkless .

Chapter Text

Time resumed, technically speaking.

Izuku and Shinso both needed medical attention, but Iida took it upon himself to gather the green-haired boy and sprint him to Recovery Girl’s office. Nothing much else could be done besides that, and the training exercise continued on as best as it could manage. Aizawa never made the mistake of leaving All Might unsupervised again.

Izuku awoke to buzzing fluorescent lights later that evening with an exhaustion that seeped into his bone marrow. The scratchy white hospital sheets sat pulled up to his chin, tucked so tight he remembered an old motel he and his mother stayed at when he was young, snuggled together on a single bed and shivering under threadbare, fastened sheets. ‘An adventure,’ mom had called it. He knew better. He knew why they couldn’t go home.

“You’re awake.”

Izuku started up, choking under the pressure of the sheets against his neck. Aizawa's head popped into view, and he relaxed, fishing up his arms to slowly pry the linen restraints away. “I got hurt.” He hummed. “I’m in the clinic.”

“I can’t tell if those are questions.” Aizawa crossed his arms, settling back into the chair at his bedside.

“Sorry.” It was a force of habit borne from Shigaraki’s inane rule. “W–what happened?”

“Something I never should have allowed. What do you remember?”

“I was fighting Kacchan.” He bit his lip. “I was losing. Kept freezing up. I screamed, because I thought he was going to kill me. Then… my back hit the wall, and Kacchan raised his gauntlet. I couldn’t move.” The memories grew sparser. “Someone else was there. Uraraka. She was– he was– I–”

“Calm down, kid.” Aizawa waved him quiet. “Shinso and Uraraka were worried about you, so he compelled her to protect you. Because she was brainwashed and couldn’t think straight, your classmate Uraraka wandered into the line of fire. You used your body to shield her from the blast.”

“I did?” He blinked, sitting up. “All I remember was a flash of light, and… pain.” A cringe shivered up his back. He’d been on fire .

“Your classmate Iida rushed you to Recovery Girl, and the wound was treated before you incurred any permanent damage.”

“It was on my back?”

“Yes.”

“And did people…” he trailed off. Oh no. The world caved in. Oh no, no, no. After years, years , of concealing the scar. How could he be so careless? So idiotic and distracted and sloppy. “Who?”

“All of Class 1-A, I’m afraid. It was broadcasted to the observation room. Only Shinso didn’t see it, though I’m sure he’s been informed.”

Izuku buried his face in his hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I take full responsibility. I was preoccupied during the duration of your fight and left an under qualified man in charge. The cruelty Bakugou demonstrated was unacceptable, and the fight shouldn’t have been allowed to continue without being monitored.” Frowning and professional, he bent at the waist, head low. “I sincerely apologize.”

“Ah!” Izuku waved his arms, frantic. It was a fundamental breach of natural law for someone like Aizawa—a stern hero and respectable teacher—to bow to someone like Izuku—a fraud and a coward. “Please, don’t apologize. It was my fault. I froze up under pressure.”

“That justifies nothing,” he reproved, but straightened, returning to his ill-mannered temperament, though noticeably cooled. “But now, something more pressing needs to be addressed. Midoriya,” he leaned forward. “Who did that to you?”

Aizawa was having a terrible day. Truly, one of the worst. Dealing with the rest of the training fights and All Might’s profuse apologies while one of his students—his charges—languished in intensive care because of his negligence was unbearable, though perhaps an apt punishment. Recovery Girl’s request for him to keep an eye on Midoriya still rang like a buzzer in his head, his friend Present Mic narrating a game show of his teaching career, squawking with his cockatoo shriek: ‘Sorry Listen, but you didn’t cut it. Better luck next time!’ What kind of an amateur was he? A newbie on his first patrol? Aizawa pushed through the rest of the school day with a ceaseless monologue of curses rattling through his brain, only quieting when he camped by Midoriya’s bedside in preparation to speak to him. He needed answers. Now.

Midoriya folded his hands in his lap and dissociated. “My father.”

“When?”

“I was almost six.”

“Did anyone know?”

“My mom. It was kind of the last straw, you know? He was mean to her, too, but she couldn’t leave him. He really messed with her head. But, when I didn’t get a quirk, he got really angry at both of us, and we had to leave after a couple years. We went to the police. He was supposed to be arrested, but he ran away to America.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Izuku’s stomach lurched. “... no.”

“I’m sorry if this is difficult to talk about, but I need to understand the situation: did he cut off your pinky toes?”

The air emptied from his lungs. How did he– ? The entrance exam. Vines sprouting from his mouth, ears, fingers… toes. When he’d woken up, the shoes had been restored to his feet, but… had they shot off? Not good. He gulped. “Yeah. My father did that.”

“They looked fresh.”

“When I was training for the entrance exam, I was reckless and reopened them.”

“There are burn marks.”

Sweat beaded across his forehead. “Yeah. He cauterized them. My father had a fire quirk.”

Aizawa dragged a hand down his face. Keep it together. “It wasn’t well done, and it’s not on your medical record. I take it no professional treated them?”

“No.”

“Why’d he do it?” Izuku fell silent. “Because he believed you were quirkless?” A shrug. “There were no medical records of an x-ray of your feet. Did he assume you had the joints?”

Izuku sent a fervent prayer of gratitude to the corrupt and thorough Doctor Tsubasa. “Yeah. I mean, I never got a quirk. So it was a safe bet. He didn’t want to waste the money.”

“How old were you?”

“Five, I guess.”

“And this hadn’t been the final straw for your mother?” He demanded.

“... she doesn’t know.” Aizawa sat up. “No one does. At least, that’s what I thought. It’s… really gross.” He squirmed, head racing with a flourishing narrative of lies. “I don’t like the scars, and the fewer people who know about them, the better. They’re– all because I’m quirkless– was quirkless.”

Another horrible thought occurred to Aizawa. “All of this happened to you, and your trauma -induced quirk didn’t manifest until seven months ago? Something… even worse?”

“Uh.” Izuku tugged a daffodil stem, tepid face a stark contrast to his thoughts. THINK, YOU IDIOT!

“What hap–”

“Did you call my mom yet?” He blurted, louder than he’d meant. Aizawa blinked. Izuku swallowed. The silence corroded to awkwardness.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Your mother has been informed. She should be here to pick you up soon.”

“That’s– uh, good.” The clock ticks rang like hammer strikes through the silent room. “Don’t tell her about the toes.”

“This is all you’re going to say on the matter?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” He crossed his legs. “I’ll accept that if you give me one guarantee.” He leveled him with a stare. “Tell me you’re no longer in danger, from him or anyone else.”

Gulp.

Izuku had lied enough times already for it not to matter. Perhaps it was his teacher’s earnest, tired look that weighed on his chest, tempted him—for the first time—to be out with it and confess all. Villains, quirk, pinkie toes, all of it. He hadn’t considered himself someone in need of saving, but someone caged in their own faults. Could Aizawa save him? From Shigaraki? From Sensei? From himself?

… no.

There are no rescues for criminals. No mercy.

“I’m no longer in danger, from my father or anyone else.” He told him what he wanted to hear.

Aizawa slumped back into his chair, relaxing. The kid had hesitated longer than he’d liked, but he supposed no one who led a life like Midoriya could ever feel truly safe. “This is UA. You have access to people and resources who will help. You understand that? Any discrimination you’ve experience in the past has no bearing here.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

“Please.”

“Bakugou was pulled from your class after the fight. Nezu’s dealing with him, and I don’t know what’s going on. Expulsion is on the table, though.”

Izuku’s brows raised. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

“Though it wasn’t all caught on camera, there’s reason to believe he was making an attempt on your life, or at least using undue violence. The only real excuse is that no one interfered, leading him to believe his actions were appropriate. All Might was a dunce about the whole thing, basically.”

“Heh. Well, Kacchan has always been allowed to do whatever he wants.”

“You know each other well?”

“Since diapers. We went to the same schools.”

“Not friends, I’m guessing.”

“What gave it away?” Aizawa quirked a brow, waiting for him to continue. “It’s not all that interesting. Kacchan got a strong explosion quirk at five, and I got flowers in my hair seven months ago. We were on opposite ends of the pecking order, and he changed after he got his quirk, which is normal, according to the internet. He hasn’t really liked me since.”

“Do you think he should be expelled?”

“... it’d be wasting his potential.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Izuku gnawed his lip, battling between pettiness and shame. Kacchan was born to be a hero when Izuku did the unspeakable to even attempt being one. Which of the two deserved a spot at UA? It should have been obvious, but… years of bullying begged to differ. “I’m too biased to say.”

“Then say what your bias tells you.”

He grimaced. “It… would make my life easier. That’s all.”

Aizawa nodded. “That’s an answer I can accept.”

“It’s not a very heroic answer.”

“Actually, kid.” He folded his arms. “I am very proud of you for giving that answer. Heroes have to defend themselves first if they’re going to defend others.”

This gave Izuku pause. “But, isn’t heroism about sacrifice?”

Aizawa grunted, looking him up and down. “Is that why you’re here? To sacrifice yourself?”

“N– no. Not really. I guess I’m here because I always wanted to be here, but I couldn’t. I like helping people, but… the quirkless are kind of just burdens on society. I don’t want to be a burden. I guess it’s selfish: I want what I couldn’t have.”

“It’s not selfish for an oppressed person to desire what’s been denied to them. You have as much right to be here as anyone else.”

“I’m not sure. I feel like an imposter.”

“That happens to the best of us, kid.” Aizawa sighed. He was enjoying himself, strangely enough. Izuku was a calming person to talk with: quiet, considerate, conscious of his words, forthcoming, and matter-of-fact. Anyone would struggle to be in his position. It was only a matter of helping the boy out of his own head. Thankfully, he responded well to the straightforward approach. “You need to keep things straight in your head. Nothing that happened today was your fault. You acted well and appropriately, and you’ve nurtured enough healthy relationships for most of the class to be concerned about you, particularly Uraraka and Shinso, Iida too. What happened to you in the past has no bearing on what happened to you today, so there’s no reason to stay in those old mindsets. You have as much right to be here as anyone.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t quite look reassured, but these things take time, Aizawa reasoned. Time he was willing to spend. “Aizawa-sensei?”

“Yes?”

“I know you might not want to hear this, but I’m sorry for causing this much trouble during the first few days. I should have done better in the fight, considering the zero-pointer and all. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“It’s been no trouble, and don’t worry too much about that fight. Quirks are funny things.” 

A new thought occurred to Aizawa then, harsh enough to strike him silent until Izuku drifted off to sleep again and he turned to the answers in Recovery Girl’s computer.

There are three types of quirks: emitter, transformation, and mutation. The third, however, has come under some controversy. After all, many children have mutations that don’t even correlate with their quirks (Tokoyami with his bird head, Koda with his rock-like features). This phenomenon was explained by inheriting some of the traits of their parents that didn’t come with a quirk factor, but still altered their physiology from an “average” human. Any non-quirk-related mutation could be explained away this way.

Aizawa opened Izuku filing, scrolling down to the parent section. This time, instead of frowning at Hisashi’s blank entry, he skimmed Inko’s. 

Quirk: Attraction— a telekinesis quirk limited to the summonance of small objects to her person.

“My father had a fire quirk,” Izuku had said.

Fire and telekinesis. Botany was a genetic phenomenon, perhaps. But if mutations without quirk factors were only heritable, and Izuku only manifested any quirk signs seven months ago… where did the flowers growing in his hair come from?

Aizawa grimaced. Either Izuku had lied, or Botany broke all known quirk laws and encompassed the three types.

He buried his face in his hands. “It’s going to tear him apart.”

Kurogiri’s warp gate spat Izuku out onto the floor. He scrambled up quickly, used to it by this time, and scanned the dim bar for its familiar persons: Kurogiri at the bar, Shigaraki on the couch, and—a less common character—Dabi, also at the bar. Shigaraki groaned, paused the game, and stretched his arms above his head, muscles twitching with the strain.

“Long time no see, brat.” He stood.

“Hi.”

“Anything interesting to report?”

Izuku paused, unsure how much he wanted to divulge. “Just school.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Shigaraki snapped, crossing to him. No gloves. Izuku noted. “Our little spy already gave us a full report.”

“I don’t understand why you asked me, then.” He winced once the words left his mouth. “Sorry. That was disrespectful.” The one thing more disrespectful he could think of would be snatching him as he fell into bed, dressed in soft fleece pajamas and sego lilied hair still dripping from a shower, and sending him to a criminal-infested bar. At least his PJs were Kamui Woods themed and not All Might. Still, Shigaraki glared at the tree insignia blazoned across his chest, hand twitching to slap him. Izuku lowered his eyes, waiting for the blow.

“Whatever.” He growled. “It seems you don’t need me to beat you up anymore anyway, hmm? Care to explain your relationship with this Bakugou Katsuki I’ve been hearing so much about?”

“We’ve just always gone to school together. He hates me.”

“Does he pose a problem?”

Yes. “No.” He gulped. “I’ll handle it. It’s– it’s fine. There’s no reason for him to doubt the TIM story.” Except Bakugou—and Izuku’s mother—knew for a fact Izuku had pinkie toes as of a year ago. He was practically a sock hole away from discovery.

“You don’t sound very convinced.” Shigaraki leaned to his eye level. “I could kill him for you.”

“No!” Izuku started. “No, no thank you. I don’t think that’s necessary. It won’t be a problem. He won’t get in the way of me being a hero. They might even expel him.”

“Still,” Shigaraki mused. “It might be amusing to see how UA would react to one of their precious students going missing, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Though, that very well may happen if you don’t keep things together, brat. Your quirk isn’t the only thing on the line if you don’t uphold the conditions.”

“I understand.” Izuku nodded, miserable.

“Good.”

Dabi snagged a beer bottle from the display case as Kurogiri’s back was turned, popping the lid and swigging while he watched his boss bully a teenager. “Careful, Shig. He looks like he’ll pass out any second now.” Heavy eyebags stole the sheen from Izuku’s green eyes, drips of shower water tracing down his face and neck. “The kid almost died, according to our spy.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Izuku grumbled.

“That’s what it seemed like to them.” He shrugged. “Also mentioned something about a scar, too.”

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Shigaraki scraped at his neck, lost in thought before whirling around toward Izuku. “Show me.”

“Wha–”

“No questions!”

Izuku’s arms wrapped around his waist, fingers squeezing the thin threads of his shirt. They were new pajamas, part of his many shopping trips to replenish after his pre-suicide donation haul, and untouched by unpleasant memories. “I– I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” Shigaraki tilted his head. “Having a rebellious phase, huh? Don’t you get tired of being threatened?”

“Please.”

“Just show him,” Kurogiri groaned, polishing a glass to look busy and not incorporeally forlorn. “The sooner you finish this business, the sooner you can go back to bed.”

Izuku gulped, silently parting with the sanctity of another of his possessions. It doesn’t matter. His insides shrivelled. You chose this, remember? You chose this. Turning around, he grabbed the oversized nape of the pajama collar and pulled it up from over his head, clean skin rippling with goosebumps under the open air. The bar grew silent.

Shigaraki hadn’t had any expectations. He only liked to see the boy squirm, miserable and withdrawn and utterly powerless. It was funny and a bit empowering, in the way bullies fuel their self-esteem through the suffering of their classmates. Izuku was quite good at being a satisfying victim. Perhaps from experience, Shigaraki realized as he surveyed his back.

The crooked, slashing letters disrupted the freckled shoulders like fire cutting through a forest, like bloodstains in snow. Drunken strokes, varying pressures. The Q-tail was akin to a healed stab wound, while the rest of the lines flowed in pink, plasticy ridges, curved and tender where once it was sharp and numbingly harsh. A word. A condemnation.

Quirkless

Izuku’s curled shoulders and bent neck hid a blank face, dissociating like a ghost seeping from a dying body. He’d gotten so good at avoiding mirrors, showering in a haze, dressing in a bathroom stall. No one had the “privilege” to look at the scar, not even him. Well, that choice was ripped away from him now. He’d sold it with the rest of his soul.

Shigaraki’s fists clenched.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded, quiet.

Izuku stiffened. “My father. When I was almost six.”

“Where is he?”

“Shigaraki,” Kurogiri interjected.

“No really.” Dabi smirked, though grim. “He just wants to talk to him.”

“I don’t understand.” Izuku turned around, shirt held to his chest.

“I’ll kill him,” Shigaraki seethed. “Melt his skin and burn the bones. Use his ashes for cat litter.”

“I… can’t think of a response that doesn’t include a question.”

“No questions.”

Izuku fell silent and allowed Shigaraki to circle him, peering close at the fleshy carving. All took pause to watch the interaction, the withdrawal on Izuku’s face, the sick fascination and fury on Shigaraki’s. The pad on his thumb pressed into the Q-tail stab wound. On the left side . He seethed. Had it gone any deeper, the brat might’ve died. He traced the rest of the letters, familiar with the texture of scars.

Izuku’s fists clenched at the contact. Add a few fingers and he’d disintegrate. And it was… strange. Dry fingertips on warm skin, like his mother gently stroking his forearm, except, nothing like that at all. He was as vulnerable as the day he’d gotten those scars, and at any second he expected the fingernails to sharpen to blades.

“Listen to me, brat.” Shigaraki growled to the back of Izuku’s head. “You’re a villain now, like it or not. I don’t care if you’re gonna be a stupid hero, you’re always gonna be a villain.” Izuku’s spirit fell with every word, spelling out another cage. “If anyone tries to do this to you, other than me, I will kill them. No one better touch you, you hear me? I’ll make it a condition.”

“You can’t do that,” Izuku protested, spinning around. “That’s not what I agreed to.”

“Whatever.” Shigaraki waved him off, returning to scratching his neck. “But I own your life, so that means I can tell you what to do.”

Izuku gaped before snapping his mouth shut. Shigaraki was in an unreasonable mood; it was obvious. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Good.” He scowled.

Time to de-escalate. “That videogame you were playing looked fun,” he said, having no idea what video game Shigaraki had been playing.

“It’s only a sequel. The first one was better,” he grunted and turned back toward the TV. Shigaraki settled on the floor and jerked his head to the couch. “Get some sleep, brat. Our spy says you look terrible at school.”

Putting on his shirt, Izuku resisted arguing that sleeping at home would be a much more effective form of rest and settled on the couch.

It wasn’t true, either. He kept having those nightmares at home when he slipped into REM sleep. Quick naps at the bar were much more pleasant. The voice didn’t bother him there. Maybe the protectiveness of villains had sway even in his dreams.

Kurogiri and Dabi exchanged looks, confused and amused, before the mist man finally noticed the stolen beer bottle, snatched it away, and—hesitating—took a copious swig before replacing it in the display case.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s dreams didn’t speak to him that night when he returned home. They watched him. From the corner of his room, a shadow rippled in and out of actuality, flush with the wall one moment and 3-dimensional the next. Dark, hollow, vaporous yet static, leering yet dormant, silent yet whispering, simmering. It wanted something, but it didn’t know what. It wasn’t a complete being, so cold and hollow. 

Echoes.

It just watched, watched like the eyes that followed him at school, eyes he could never see. But they were there. They were there, and they wanted something from him.

They wanted, and they whispered, and they watched.

Needless to say, Izuku showed up to school unnerved, wary of faces, figures, flickers of movement in the corner of his eye. Fighting his way through the horde of All Might-obsessed reporters crowding the gate had been a harrowing experience at best. Chills shot up his spine as he shuffled to his desk, the class growing quiet as his mop of scarlet queen penstemons bobbed by. They all saw the word etched across his back. The secret was out. Even with his TIM cover story—which had, inevitably, spread—Izuku was no longer just another student, a quiet, plain, nervous face in the crowd. Day three, and all anonymity was gone. The UA traitor had no trouble watching him now; they might even approach him.

“Good morning, Midoriya!” Ah, ever the unsubtle one, Iida marched over first. “I’m glad to see you back to class so soon.”

“Thanks.” Izuku slid his notebooks from his bag. “And, uh, thanks for helping me get to Recovery Girl yesterday. I don’t really remember anything, but… I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all! In fact, Midoriya, I was happy for the opportunity, and I’d hoped we’d be able to talk.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I must admit, I was rather put off when I first saw you at the entrance exam. Your gym outfit seemed most inappropriate for the occasion, but now I see that I was focused on surface level things, and I should have been paying attention to the objectives and elements of the test. After hearing about the zero-pointer, I decided to personally apologize for underestimating you.”

“Well, he is underwhelming.” Izuku flinched, turning to notice Shinso making his way down the desk line to get to his chair. He nodded at him, characteristically apathetic, and shoved past Iida. “Though I thought it was kind of ballsy to throw that posh bullcrap out the window and come in baggy sweats. I visited UA before the entrance exam, and all the teachers wear pajamas when there are no students.”

“No way!” Uraraka popped in. “But the uniform costs an arm and a leg. Why do they get to wear comfy clothes?”

“Aizawa comes to class everyday in sweats and a sleeping bag,” Shinso pointed out.

Iida cleared his throat before the conversation could devolve further. “As I was saying, I planned to introduce myself on the first day, but I never had the proper opportunity. I’d like to take it now.” With a snap of his spine, he folded in a deep bow. “I am Iida Tenya. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Midoriya Izuku,” he mumbled, bowing in return as heat flooded his cheeks and a thought nagged him. “Are you, by chance, uh, related to the Pro Hero Ingenium?” It had been bothering him since first laying eyes on Iida, noting the name, the quirk, the looks.

“Why, yes. He’s my older brother!”

“Shut up.” Uraraka gaped. Izuku’s heart clenched. Shinso blinked. “That’s amazing.”

“I’m very proud to be his younger brother,” he confirmed, shoulders squaring. “In fact, the Iidaten family has been heroes for generations.” 

“Old money.” Shinso stifled a cough in his arm; Iida appeared or pretended not to notice. 

Uraraka was already saddling up to him. “Wow. I always thought Ingenium was the coolest.”

“I thought he’d be too grounded for you.” Shinso glared.

“Well, it’s really an honor to meet you, Iida-kun,” Izuku cut in. “I really admire the work of your older brother, and your abilities are really impressive too.”

Shinso rested his head on his desk, done with flattering the rich kid.

“Well, I’m honored to be in class with you too, Midoriya-kun!” Iida returned. “Your actions during the entrance exam and yesterday’s exercise were excellent demonstrations of heroism. I hope to follow your example through observation. I’ll be watching!”

Izuku’s stomach turned; the color drained from his face. “Thank you, Iida-kun. I’m not sure I did anything particularly admirable yesterday. There’s no need to…” watch me. Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Which was the traitor? Was it Iida?

“Hey.” Shinso sat up. “You alright? You look pale.”

Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

Aizawa-sensei came to the rescue, in the end. He trudged into class with corpse-like enthusiasm.

“Pipe down and go to your seats.” Iida zapped to his chair in seconds, suspicious whiffs of engine smoke lingering in the air. Uraraka skipped away. “Today, we have to do something very important.” An intake of breath swept the room. What was next? Mortal combat? Torture endurance training? Psychological warfare? “You need to pick your class representative.”

A collective exhale.

“That’s it?” Someone shouted.

“That’s so normal!” Kirishima sagged in his chair.

“Thank heavens!”

“How do we decide?”

“Don’t care.” Aizawa stepped inside his sleeping bag, zipping it up as he hopped to collapse in the corner. “Just get it done by the end of my nap, and don’t wake me up.”

Madness, then. Chatter and shouting and hands shooting into the air as people demanded to be president. Numbly, Izuku wondered just how loud it would be if Kacchan had been there. Where was he? At least, all the attention on him had been diverted.

Iida spoke over the cacophony. “Order!” He demanded. “We must have order. There is only one way to determine who would be most qualified for such an esteemed position: we must have a vote!” He quaked from controlling himself.

“Yeah right,” Sero snorted. “You obviously want the position for yourself, and what’s to stop people from voting for themselves?”

“No, this is a good idea.” Uraraka tapped her chin. “Even if most people do vote for themselves, surely someone will get a couple votes. Then they can have the position!” Her nonchalant smile dazzled the class, except Todoroki, who excused himself to go to the bathroom. Shinso tapped Izuku’s shoulder as Jiro and Koda handed out slips of paper for people to vote on.

“You alright?” His cheek rested on his hand. “You looked ready to pass out there.”

“Fine.” Izuku smiled. “I just– I’m just not used to this much attention, you know? Everyone… saw, yesterday, and now they’re acting weird.”

“They’re showing concern .” Shinso rolled his eyes. “It’s not rocket science; you reek of trauma, and you don’t talk about it.”

“I have nothing to talk about.”

“ Sure .” He rolled his eyes. “You keep secrets, don’t you, Midoriya?” Another retch in Izuku’s stomach. “If you don’t want people to notice, don’t be so obvious. You’re not wherever you used to be anymore; people pay attention. And now you’ve got the quirk to qualify for their sympathy.”

“You sound so cynical, Shinso-kun.” Izuku gave a dry gulp.

“That’s because I am. I don’t trust these rich jerks with all their stupid money and big words.” Iida, basically. He didn’t like Iida. “Quirks determine a lot in a person’s life, and you’ve got a weird situation. You’re kind of like a chubby kid who hit puberty and became k-pop-idol-handsome, except with a different kind of genetic lottery. All your worst suspicions are confirmed, and the reason people hated you was because of the one thing out of your control. Sometimes even good luck sucks. No matter who you are, you’ll never escape who you were.” He shrugged.

Izuku’s shoulders caved, voice bitter. “I hate who I was.”

“Do you like who you are?”

“...”

“Listen, Midoriya.” His face softened. “Lots of people are fake jerks, like those stupid reporters out there, but some of them actually give a crap about you. I’m one of them; Uraraka too. This sounds sappy and stupid, and we don’t know each other that well, but our concern is real. You’re the reason I got into this dumb, posh place. So I’m gonna keep an eye on you, okay?”

The scarlet queen penstemons in his hair began to shrivel, and he couldn’t focus on any of the kind words. Only the last sentence registered, repeated, rang out through his head. Keep an eye on you. Keep an eye on you. Keep an eye on you.

Eyes.

Eyes.

E y e s.

Izuku stood, chair squealing with the sudden motions. A few heads turned, watching him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He collected his bag. “Vote for Uraraka for me, would you?”

Shinso blinked, straightening. “Sure. You okay?”

Izuku shouldered his bag, turned to leave, paused, then faced Shinso again. “Yeah. Thanks. Y– you’re really one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I’ll see you later.”

With that, Izuku left, easing the classroom door shut behind him to go unseen. But he didn’t. Quite a few people noticed. Including a single, squinted eye peering out from a sleeping bag.

Izuku broke into a sprint as he neared the bathroom, ignoring the possibility of lurking teachers haunting the halls to scold him. It didn’t matter.

He burst into the nearest bathroom stall and keeled over; retches rattled his gut. White knuckles clutched a white toilet bowl, body rocking in rhythm with the dry heaves, soul all but dissociated out of his body.

Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

I’m getting worked up over nothing, Izuku thought, distantly. Get it together. Get it together. The memory of Shigaraki’s hand ghosted his back, tracing the letters, thumb pressed into the Q-tail. Touching him. It made him squirm, sick. A villain touched him. A villain was watching him. Somewhere, in this building, in his class, there were eyes watching him. A spy.

The heaves lulled.

“Our spy says you look terrible at school.” All Might’s voice. Shigaraki’s words.

Izuku pitched forward, face buried in the toilet bowl as he released breakfast: natto—soy beans on white rice. It wasn’t white on the upchuck, more a curdled yellow, volcanic orange and putrid green. Not just breakfast, then. What did I have for dinner last night? Shakes ran up his body, energy seeped away with the sinking bits of beans decorating the toilet bowl. At least no one’s watching this.

“You’re ill.”

Izuku yelped, whirling around and back hitting the stall wall. Todoroki stood in the doorway, face as impassive as ever. Though, perhaps there was a slight wrinkle to his nose, a pained twitch of his lip.

“Something I ate,” Izuku coughed, cringing at the half-digested food still floating around his mouth. He bent over the bowl again and spit. “Sorry, this is gross.”

“Should I get Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Aizawa-sensei?”

“Really, Todoroki.” Izuku wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and collapsed against the wall again. “I’m okay. I just need a second.”

He hummed. “Yesterday was unpleasant, I suppose.”

“Yesterday?” Another lurch, but he suppressed it. “Th– this isn’t about that.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Well then.” Todoroki slipped hands into his jacket pockets. “Is there another reason you’re distraught enough to throw up?”

“I told you. It’s just something I ate.”

“You’re crying.” Izuku froze, hand flying to his cheek. Sopping wet. “And the flowers on your head died.” Scarlet petals decorated the bathroom floor. “I don’t know why you lie so much, Midoriya, but it’s quite obvious you have something to hide.”

“I– I’m a p–private person.”

“And a bad liar, too.” Todoroki stretched out a hand, dispassionate. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m sure you want to lie to the class and Mr. Aizawa about this.”

Given the choice, Izuku would have rather hacked up a lung than spend another minute with the all-seeing Todoroki boy. Still, the edge to his voice was lighter than what his words communicated, furrowed brow shadowed in the dim bathroom lights. It read vaguely as… pity? Understanding? Izuku took his hand and pressed against the wall to stand, pushing down the toilet handle to flush away the evidence. The sour bile on his tongue made his eyes water, and he stumbled to the sink and gurgled until the familiar nagging feeling of wasting water drowned out the bitter flavor. Mom taught him well.

Todoroki cleared his throat. “The lunch bell will ring soon.”

Izuku grimaced. “I’m not hungry.”

“I assumed.”

He pulled himself up, trembling arms anchoring him to the sink edge. “Todoroki?”

“Hmm?”

“... Why are you so suspicious of me?”

His answer was immediate. “It’s not hard to tell you have something to hide. You lied about your quirk.”

“No I didn’t. I had a TIM.”

“That doesn’t explain what Aizawa’s quirk did to you.”

“I don’t know why it did that. TIMs are rare; it could be a normal reaction for someone like me.”

“TIMs are dormant quirks that require trauma to manifest, but you should have had every indication of having a quirk otherwise: no vestigial toe joints. Tell me, Midoriya, did those flowers only start growing when you got your quirk?”

“Y– yes.” Izuku sensed a trap.

“You should have been born with them, seeing as physical abnormalities are inherited and not linked with one’s quirk. That wouldn’t be true if you had a mutation quirk, but you don’t. You have an emitter.”

Gulp.
“And, it doesn’t make sense why you couldn’t have gotten an x-ray. If whoever did that to your back was so concerned about your quirklessness, you’d think they’d double check those pinkie toes. Perhaps, you should take an x-ray now.”

A terrible sinking feeling eclipsed Izuku’s stomach. Under the cold, blank glare of Todoroki’s eyes, his cover story dissolved like paper in water, TIMs and pinkies and scars like smudged ink. Incomprehensible. False. Lies.

Eyes.

“I don’t expect you to tell me, but I’m watching.” The two boys stared at each other in the mirror, Todoroki at the wilted penstemons, Izuku at the pinched scar.

“M– maybe I’m not the only one with something to hide.” Crap! What if he’s the spy? Izuku added Todoroki’s mugshot to his mental bulletin board of possible UA traitors, joining Shinso with his villainous quirk— hypocrite —and Iida with his undue admiration for Izuku. Either way, Todoroki was a problem.

“Diverting suspicion?” He hummed. “Interesting tactic, hardly a heroic one though.” Todoroki stalked toward the bathroom door. “You’ve fooled everyone, Midoriya, but I know what a villain disguised as a hero looks like.”

Izuku dragged himself out of the bathroom as the lunch bell rang, limbs finally stilling enough to push through the crowd with an innocuous stumble. Class 1-A’s door hung ajar as a few scattered students filtered out, last of all Uraraka and Shinso with bright faces: Uraraka’s smile was like the sun and Shinso’s stirred his sunken eyes.

“Izuku!” She called him over. “I’m class rep!”

“Of course you are.” A sheepish smile tugged his lips, nausea fading to an afterthought. “Everyone in class loves you.”

“Well, I was more hoping it was because of my leadership abilities, but thanks.”

“Iida and Yaoyorozu are tied for assistant.” Shinso rolled his eyes.

“Battle of the aristocrats! It’s anarchy!”

“You can’t like anarchy as the class rep.”

“Eat the rich!”

Izuku clutched his side through the bubbling laughter, head bent to hide his face.

“Hey.” Shinso’s smile faltered. “What happened to your flowers?”

“Uh, oh, they died. It just– it happens sometimes.”

“Hmm?” Uraraka peered at his bush of hair. “Did something happen? You were in the bathroom for a really long time.”

“I just got a bit nauseous. Nothing bad, I promise!” He waved off their concern. Uraraka tapped her chin, half playful.

“If something’s wrong, you should tell us. With how this school year’s been going, if you keel over I’ll be soon to follow.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” She smiled, soft. “It’s my fault everyone saw your scar.”

“Technically speaking,” Shinso cleared his throat. “It’s my fault, seeing as I brainwashed you.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who jumped in front of the grenade.”

“Geez, listen to us. Is this a high school or a freak show?”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa appeared in the doorway. “I need to speak with you.”

Crap. “Okay, sensei.” Izuku turned to his friends. “I’ll catch up with you. Congrats on getting class rep, Uraraka. Oh, and don’t worry about me, I promise I’m fine.”

Uraraka crossed her arms, amused. “Alrighty, mister. But I’ve got my eye on you.”

“Hah, thanks.”

Uraraka’s mugshot materialized on the mental bulletin board. Izuku waved as his friends walked away, grim.

Aizawa waited for him inside the classroom.

“You wanted to see me, sensei?”

He hummed, sorting papers at the podium, taking his time. “Todoroki told me you threw up in the bathroom.”

“... oh.”

“He also said you probably wouldn’t have told me. Is that the truth?”

“I, uh, wasn’t planning on it.” Izuku scratched the back of his head, eyes downcast. “Sorry.” 

“Are you ill?”

“No. I just got a bit nauseous, and Todoroki snuck up on me in the bathroom, that’s all.”

“Does this happen often?”

The dry heaves? Yes. It came with the territory of his anxiety. It wasn’t unheard of for terrible nightmares to send him stumbling to the toilet, sure he was about to expel his entire stomach only to choke and cough and retch uselessly. Actually throwing up was new though. “Sort of. It’s happened to me a few times.”

“Panic attack?”

“Nothing that bad, sensei.”

“Did something set it off?”

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek. “Nothing anyone can control. I promise I’m fine. I just need a bit of space.”

“That can happen.” Aizawa finally looked up from his paperwork. “Did you bring your own lunch, Midoriya?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead and eat in the classroom. I’m on lunch duty, so you’ll have your space. Just know, it’s important to communicate these things, Midoriya.”

Shame settled in his empty gut. “I don’t want special treatment, sensei. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It can’t be helped, and I’d hardly call eating in the classroom special treatment. I did it all the time as a student.” He stepped up to him. “I have no intention of invading your privacy, Midoriya, but I will if you refuse to meet your own needs. Like it or not, you’re not like the other students. You can ask for the things you need without thinking of it as special treatment, got it?”

Izuku sighed. “Yes, sensei.”

“Good.” He approached the door. “Take care of yourself, Midoriya. I’ve got my eye on you.”

 Izuku knew he still felt ill when even the leftover katsudon he’d packed smelt more like rotten fish than his favorite meal. Guilt gnawed at him for abandoning Uraraka and Shinso, especially when Uraraka was celebrating her election to class representative. Still, if one of them was the spy, he was glad to be alone, glad to grimace at the cold remnants of last night’s dinner, glad to focus on anything other than acting normal . He sat in his assigned seat by the window and focused on regrowing the scarlet queen penstemons, but every time the headache mounted, he gave up, cringing away from the pulsing, suffocating pain. He hadn’t been able to grow flowers while awake since the rose incident with Bakugou back in middle school. Well, scratch that, quite a few things had bloomed from his skin during the entrance exam, but it was another experience he had no interest in recreating.

Izuku packed away his untouched lunch box, rested his head on the desk, and closed his drooping eyes, focusing on penstemons with the last dregs of consciousness.

Hopefully, the eyes in his dreams wouldn’t follow him.

… 

EEEOOOEEEOOO!

Izuku jolted awake, cheek red and patterned with the wrinkled imprint of the sleeve he’d been resting on. A light by the intercom speaker flashed on and off with the beat of the alarm. Blearily, he wiped the sleep from his eyes. His brain lurched to a precarious start, taking in scattered bits of information in no prioritized order: blaring noise, crumpled paper discarded by his desk, flashing alarm, the lingering taste of puke on his tongue. Something blue hovered in his periphery, and he yanked a stem down to pull a flower into view. Penstemon cyaneus. A blue-violet relative to the scarlet queen, though the color couldn’t be any more different.

“Dang it!”

A tumult of voices rumbled beneath his feet: a nauseating garble of protests and squawks and whimpers.

“What’s going on?” He peered out the window. The reporters that had crowded the outer gates of UA that morning had migrated to the front doors, pounding on the walls and windows with flashing cameras, notepads waving like a declaration of surrender. Izuku’s nose wrinkled. Great. More eyes. Still, he relaxed, settling back into his chair. After all, there was no great calamity going on; reporters had only breached the premises, and UA’s privacy policy would make sure they had hell to pay. Nothing to worry about.

Still, after another minute of shouts from below and the incessant blare of the siren, Izuku’s hair stood on end, unsure whether or not he should be bolting from the building. Were people being evacuated? Had everyone on the floor already left by the time he fully woke up? What should he do? No one came to get him, to inform him of what was happening. Izuku was forgotten, and—in his usual fashion—he froze, eyes locked on the tiny window through Class 1-A’s door. It was only a matter of time before the ominous shadow from last night’s dreams emerged, reanimated to haunt him in the waking hours, All Might’s voice crackling from its mouthless face.

The anxiety, the surety it would happen seized Izuku, eyes drying as he stared and waited for the impossible sight.

Except… there was a shadow.

A figure moved by, swift and blurred, in and out of view before Izuku could gasp. Not an apparition, but a real person nonetheless. They rushed down the hall, in the direction of the teacher’s lounge.

“What’s someone doing up here during an evacuation?” Maybe they were as confused as he was. Still, they headed in the opposite direction of the stairs. Izuku rose from his chair, emptied stomach churning bile as a door shutting sounded down the hall.

He’d awoken that morning with an impending sense of discovery and perception, like distinguishing an approaching figure through the foggy future, heralded by thoughts and dreams and a dash of premonition. In which the eyes finally gained a form and joined the waking world. It was the spy. He knew it.

Izuku approached and opened the class door for a reason beyond his understanding, easing down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge at the end of the corridor, footsteps pattering under the evacuation alarm. He stopped at the proper door, held his breath as he grasped the knob, left unlocked and unattended in the panic of the intruders. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s off limits to students. It was probably off limits to its current, unbelonging occupant as well, but—if anything—that fact increased the danger. But tension sharpened an otherwise questionable fact: someone was up to something, and Izuku was about to find out who.

Steeling himself, he yanked the knob and pushed inside, not allowing himself to linger in the doorway. A few steps in, he blinked ahead into an undisturbed lounge. A green couch sat across from a cluttered coffee table, once steaming cups reduced to faint, ghostly spirals above their half-touched contents. File cabinets lined the walls, an announcement bulletin board advertised sports festivals of years past and business casual brunch meetings. Nothing out of the ordinary. Izuku took another step forward, peering behind the couch. A scattered stack of papers caught his eye, spread across the floor under an ajar filing cabinet drawer, dropped and abandoned in a hurry. They must have heard me coming. But, where did they go? They had nowhere to hide. Except…

An intake of breath behind him.

I didn’t check behind the door!

SLAM!

A body hurled against him, sending him to the floor. Izuku writhed, grappled, fighting as someone pinned his arms behind his back and pressed a knee to the back of his head. Spikes of pain, pressure, contradictory sensations.

Hot and cold.

“I knew you were a bad liar,” Todoroki hissed into his ear. “But I wish you wouldn’t be so obvious. You’re going to give the League away.”

“Todoroki!” Izuku gasped, cheek grinding against the floor. “ You’re the traitor?”

“The fact that you’re surprised shows I’m much better at having a double life than you are.”

“That was never in question!” Izuku spluttered. Todoroki? The concept spun round and round in his head. Sure, he’d considered it—he’d considered everyone—from Uraraka to Aizawa. But, Todoroki was the son of Endeavor the Number Two hero, the exact opposite of anyone Izuku might have anything in common with, nevermind a villain affiliation. Frost crept in between Izuku’s fingers and up his wrist, stiffening him to a solid.

“Is this a betrayal?” Todoroki demanded. “Are you trying to stop me? You know what the League will do to you if you get in their way.”

“What? No! No, no. I don’t even know what you’re doing. I just thought I saw someone come in here who wasn’t supposed to be. I– I didn’t know.” Quiet, and the scarred boy considered it.

“That didn’t sound like one of your usual lies. I believe you.” Giving Izuku a final shove into the ground, he pushed off and stood, wiping down his pristine and pressed school uniform. Slowly, Izuku followed suit and stood, carefully nearing the door to prepare for escape.

“Why didn’t you–” he stopped himself. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask you questions.”

Todoroki squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“Shigaraki won’t let me ask questions.”

“He likes to mess with you. It’s not a rule in the League.”

“Oh.” It’s true Dabi or Kurogiri had no qualms answering Izuku’s inquiries, but meeting the spy made him hesitate. He reported directly to Shigaraki, monitored Izuku, kept him in line; Todoroki’s cold face looked to lack all patience for questions, even with the tired disinterest that had settled over it as he returned to his scattered mess of paper, sorting through them. “Why did you act like you were trying to expose me when you’re the spy?”

Todoroki paused, tapped his chin. “I suppose I like messing with you too.” A dangerous flare of frustration flushed Izuku’s face. Keep it together. Who knows how Shigaraki would react to Izuku interrupting a mission.

“Sh–should I go?”

“No. While I have you here, why don’t you keep watch at the door? The distraction should give me another minute or so to look, but I’d like the extra assurance.”

“I don’t actually participate in any of the League’s villain activities, so…”

“Condition 6: act as an alarm for any issue that might trouble the League.” Todoroki raised a brow at him. “You really want to start breaking conditions in front of your babysitter?”

Izuku had forgotten about that one. Hurriedly—to avoid thinking too hard about it and devolving into an anxious puddle over assisting a crime—Izuku positioned himself in the doorway and peered out into the empty hall. “Did you–” he gnawed his lip. “Memorize the conditions?”

“I had to.” Todoroki snorted, squinting at fine print. “Shigs insisted. He’s very invested in you. I’d say protective if he wasn’t always looking for breaches of contract to kill you over. I’ve never seen him be such a stickler over the rules.”

“You, uh, talk differently than you did early.”

“Yeah.” A small smile lifted his lips. “My brother’s teaching me to lighten up, as he calls it. What a hypocrite; he shops at Hot Topic and I’m the one who has to lighten up. What did you think of him?”

“Of who?”

“Dabi, my older brother.”

Izuku swung around, forgetting his job. “ Dabi? ” He repeated. “Dabi’s your brother? Wouldn’t that also make him the son of–”

“ Don’t say his name!” Todoroki snapped, straightening from his crouched position with paper in hand. “Listen to me, Midoriya. You’re the League’s pet, but I won’t hesitate to skewer you if you dare say that man’s name to me or my brother in private, understand? It’s bad enough I have to hear it all the time when I’m undercover. It’s bad enough I have to live with it.” He slammed the cabinet closed and marched over, clutching the paper in a smoking hand. “The League is my one safe place. You ruin that, and I’ll tell Shigaraki you broke every rule in the contract.”

Izuku gaped, air emptied from his lungs. He’d seen two Todorokis before: ice—reserved and merciless—and neutral—uncannily nonchalant. But this, this was fire . He nodded quickly, eyes falling, ready for Shigaraki’s slap to rain down from above.

Todoroki sighed, shoulders slumping as he watched him. “Relax. That was just a warning. I have nothing against you. Just follow that rule and we’ll get along fine, alright?”

“Yeah.” Izuku nodded, still tense. In that moment, the ever blaring alarm switched off, and a ringing silence took its place. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes.” He flashed the smoldering paper. “They had several copies, so they shouldn’t miss this one.”

Izuku bit back the question of what it was. The less he knew, the better. He wanted to be able to sleep at night, after all. “Should we go then? People might start coming back now the alarm’s off.”

“Yes.” Todoroki slid the paper into his leather bookbag. “Let’s go. You’ll be my alibi if people ask. I forgot my lunch in the classroom and ran into you when the alarm went off. We stayed in the class together throughout the entire drill. It’ll also be our explanation for our sudden increase in interactions.”

“That needs an explanation?”

“Aizawa-sensei sees everything. I’m surprised he hasn’t seen right through you, though he might still. I’ll give you one thing, Midoriya.” They started down the hall toward the classroom, hurrying as the roar of voices grew ever nearer. Todoroki smirked lightly. “For being such a bad liar, you do have the face of a kicked puppy. No one would ever think ‘villain’ when they look at you. People don’t look for the thorns on flowers.”

“Hey, Shigs.” Dabi plunked on the couch next to Shigaraki to put some distance between him and the bar. Shouto would be visiting soon to give a report on the mission, and the weight of his eyes never failed to unnerve Dabi of his bad habits. Not because his brother judged him, no, Shouto was too simple-minded for that, in Dabi’s mind. The younger Todoroki perceived things as good or bad, positive or negative, and not on the same standard the rest of the world did. Endeavor the hero was bad. Dabi the villain was good, good because he didn’t hurt Shouto, good in the simple, self-serving way Shouto was raised to understand. They’d both developed the habit of eyeing and snagging drinks when Kurogiri’s back was turned, and it was starting to concern Dabi.

So, no drinking. Not right now.

“I have a question for you.”

A grunt in reply, annoyed, eyes zeroed in on a game.

“What’s the deal with the Izuku kid?”

“What are you talking about? I told you. He’s just a sidequest. A pawn.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “But it’s different. You think of Shouto as a pawn, and you don’t act nearly the same around him. You patronize and order him around, but other than that you leave him alone. With this Izuku kid, you act different.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you don’t care when Shouto shows up all bruised and burned by Hot Garbage. You don’t ask him, don’t even mention it. With this new kid though, you looked about ready to burn down America to kill his father. I’d almost think you care about him if you weren’t always looking for a reason to harass or kill him. So, what’s up? You're touchy with him, too. You don’t touch anyone unless it’s to kill them.”

“Why should I tell you?” He spat.

“Because even having this kid around jeopardizes the security of the League and my end goal. If I think he’s not worth the risk, I won’t hesitate to cook him.”

“Don’t touch him!” He whirled on Dabi, letting the controller clatter to the floor. A few seconds passed, an enemy sniper zeroed in on his character, and the game ended. “I’ll be the one to kill the brat when the time comes, got it?”

Dabi massaged the bridge of his nose. “You see how I’m getting conflicting messages here, right? I mean, I know you’re crazy, but this is weird. You better not be doing anything gross.”

“Of course not!” Shigaraki spat. “He’s just a child, a whiny brat. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you ? I’m glad to know you’re not a perv but what’s the rest of the explanation? I want an answer, else I don’t want Shouto coming near you.”

“You’re insane, Dabi. I don’t care about your little brother. He’s yours to look after. The brat’s mine. I’m not allowed to touch clients or associates because I might kill them. All I get to do with these hands is kill, everything else is off limits.” Shigaraki stared at his gnarled and scabbed fingers, so dry and crusty, like the rest of him, like everything he touched. “The brat’s my responsibility, meaning I don’t have to worry about accidentally killing him and Sensei getting mad. It doesn’t matter if he dies, so the risk is acceptable.”

Dabi blinked, sitting back in his chair. “Either I’m dreaming, or I really did just hear Shigaraki Tomura admit to being tired of killing things.”

“Don’t you get tired of burning your bedsheets?” He snarled.

“So,” he ignored the comment. “You keep the kid around to finally have a human you can force to be around you, even when you’re unbearable. Like a puppy. Nobody kicks your dog but you, huh? That’s some pretty messed up logic you got there.”

“That’s a pretty messed up face you got there.”

“It is rather pretty, isn’t it?”

Shigaraki snatched up his controller again. “Leave me alone.”

“I thought you were tired of being left alone.” No response, and Dabi decided he’d pushed his luck enough. He stood, considered a quick cigarette before Shouto showed up, and smirked as a final taunt occurred to him. “There’s just one thing you’ll never convince me of, Shigs.”

“Oh?” His patience waned. “And what is that?”

“That Kurogiri’s the one who suggested Condition 5.”

In the following pandemonium, the game controller spilled into a pile of dust on the ground, and Shouto warped into the bar with his daily report to find the place decorated with fire and crumbling ash.

Chapter Text

“Waaaaah!” Uraraka pressed her palms to her temples, paperwork scattered across the lunch table as Shinso and Izuku ate with their lunch trays on their laps. Iida peered at the text over her shoulder, tapping his chin. “There’s so much.”

“You’re the one who wanted everyone to fill out a wellness check,” Shinso pointed out through a full mouth.

“It was really smart, though,” Izuku said. “After all, everyone was pretty freaked out after the break in.”

That whole day had been an ordeal for everyone, not just Izuku. The evacuation process had been a nightmare as apparently, since UA had such “world renowned” security, they’d never bothered putting their students through an evacuation drill. Several students had been nearly crushed in the ensuing stampede, and it had taken Iida’s breakneck stunt to alert everyone the press had broken onto campus and calm them down, earning him his position as assistant class rep. Still, kids had been shaken up, and Aizawa had been ticked , too much so to act as an emotional support. So, Uraraka’s first act as class rep was to have everyone fill in a wellness check describing their feelings and frustrations with the incident. Signed forms were required of every student and anonymous ones were available too. Iida spearheaded the distribution and organization process while Uraraka evaluated the forms’ contents.

“Lots of people have lost faith in the security system here at UA. One person said that they want classes guarded by All Might, though they might be kidding. I can’t read their handwriting very well.”

“Having All Might protect all classes is preposterous. He has important duties as the Number 1 hero that take priority over his students,” Iida said.

Izuku snorted. 

The table fell silent, all eyes switching to him in surprise.

Shinso sat up beside him. “Do you not like All Might?” He’d noticed the pale shade Izuku had turned the first day the man had burst into class, seen his uncomfortable squirm while he lectured, the bitter glaze over his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Shinso had seen it.

“What?” Izuku’s brief horror snapped immediately to waving them off with a pained grin, frantic. “No, no. Of course I like All Might! H– he’s the number one hero. He saves people with a s– smile!” Even Izuku felt how fake he sounded. What happened? He used to worship the ground All Might walked on, even after the first incident of the rooftop. It wasn’t the man’s fault for hurting him; it was Izuku’s fault, always always Izuku’s fault. Just like when he was little. Shigaraki’s been rubbing off on me. His fists clenched. I’m angry now. I’m becoming more of a villain. “I think what you’re doing is great.” He changed the subject, addressing the class reps. “I just laughed because of something I’ve been thinking about lately. All Might can’t be everywhere, no matter how powerful he is. We can’t blame him or any other hero for not helping people out of their reach, as long as they help the people they can reach.” He could have reached you. A voice in Izuku’s head whispered. But he didn’t. He left you behind, just like da –

“I completely agree with you, Midoriya,” Iida said. “We cannot expect the impossible from heroes and teachers. They are only human, and we have to be able to take care of ourselves. It is the responsibility of every UA student to develop self-sufficiency.”

“And a support system,” Uraraka added. “So that no one has to carry the burden alone.”

“Excellent point, Uraraka-san.”

Shinso rolled his eyes, grinning. “You guys really even out each other.”

“You think so?” Uraraka asked.

“I know so. If either of you had the position with anyone else, you would have completely dominated the responsibilities.”

“You make me sound so bossy,” Uraraka whined.

“You’re not bossy, Uraraka,” Izuku reassured. “Neither are you, Iida. You’re just very good at different things. It works out, that’s all.”

“Why do you have to say everything so nice?” Shinso scoffed.

“I don’t like conflict.”

“You do realize you’re at a hero school, right? Conflict’s a big part of the job.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I want to be a hero.”

“Why then?”

Izuku blinked. “What?”

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Why does everyone keep asking me that? Though, it was a fair question, and popular amongst the other students as well. Perhaps, Izuku hated it because he wasn’t sure of the answer anymore. He had different reasons, pre and post quirk. Back then, he wanted to be like All Might; he wanted to be everything he couldn’t be. Now, maybe he was doing it to make up for the crime it took to get him here. “It’s kind of hard to explain.” He gnawed his lip. “I like helping people, but there are a lot of jobs for that. I– I guess, I want to be a hero because… because I can now.”

Iida blinked, processing the information. “Because you can?”

“Yeah.” Izuku chewed his lip. “Before I– before the, uh, before I got my quirk, I always wanted to be a hero because I couldn’t, and I wanted to–” he grasped for words. “I wanted to have the choice, like everyone else with a quirk got to have. It sounds kind of dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No.” Shinso face had sobered as Izuku spoke. “It’s not. I have a similar reason.” He grimaced. “I, uh, kind of had a weird childhood so I never got quirk counseling or anything like that, and everyone around me said I had a villainous quirk, so being a hero wasn’t an option for me either.” Izuku’s heart panged. Even he’d thought Brainwashing was a villain’s quirk, a risk and a threat. Shinso’s solemn face made him hate himself for it. Quickly enough, though, his sly smirk dashed the sobriety from his hooded eyes. “Guess I’m just petty, seeing as I’m here now.” Iida started clapping; Uraraka smiled softly, glancing between her new friends. A moment of understanding, of solidarity, passed between the two boys. So, they both thought. Neither of us is supposed to be here.

“What about you, Uraraka?” Iida moved on. “Why do you want to become a hero?”

“Oh.” She scratched her head. “It sounds kind of bad.”

“We don’t judge,” Shinso said.

“Well, uh, it’s for the money.” Izuku hadn’t been expecting that. “Not for myself,” She clarified. “For my family. My dad owns a construction company, and sometimes money is really tight, but they didn’t let me get a license and use my quirk to help out because they want me to pursue my dreams. So,” She steeled herself. “I’m gonna become a hero and make lots of money to help them out.”

Another round of applause from Iida; Shinso and Izuku playfully joined in until Uraraka pink cheeks had flushed to a red. At that moment, Todoroki appeared, positioning himself at the head of their lunch table.

“Midoriya,” he said, cutting everyone’s laughter short. Izuku’s stomach dropped. “I need to speak to you, or should I wait for Iida to give his reason too?” Silence. “I was eavesdropping.”

Izuku’s chair gave an ear piercing squeal as he stood, moving to Todoroki’s side. “It’s okay. Do you want to talk in private?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll see you guys later.”

His lunch table blinked after him as he hurried Todoroki away. They were two different lives, Todoroki and the rest of his friends, and he didn’t want them intermingling. Besides, if Todoroki wanted something, maybe Shigaraki did too, and it was best not to keep him waiting. Shinso’s eyes narrowed at the tense posture of Izuku’s shoulders, the pale wash of his face. Yes, there was something decidedly wrong with Midoriya Izuku, something more than he admitted. How many more, Midoriya? He wondered. How many more secrets do you have?

…

“What’s wrong?” Izuku followed Todoroki into an empty classroom, scanning the place before speaking. “Is it Shigaraki?”

“Dabi says you’ll be summoned for a meeting tonight.”

“Oh.” Izuku blinked. “Is something wrong? I don’t usually get a warning.”

“Shigaraki’s unpredictable.” He shrugged. “But they’re bringing me in so I can pass on the information from my mission, and they want to talk to both of us now that you know about me.”

Izuku shifted. “We’re meeting at the same time? Am– am I in trouble?”

“How am I supposed to know?” He shrugged, disinterested. “Kurogiri will pick you up at 10.”

‘Pick up’ was an interesting way to phrase it, Izuku thought. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

“Good. And don’t worry about being in trouble. Shigs won’t hurt you too bad if you are. He likes you, I think.”

Somehow, Izuku wasn’t reassured.

Izuku made a show of changing into his pajamas and going to bed early in front of his mom. She smiled and nodded as he casually listed off the events of the day, skipping over dodging All Might and his conversation with Todoroki in favor of describing his friends and Uraraka’s idea with the anonymous wellness check sheets, which he considered genius. Filling out his required form had been interesting, cross-referencing his story with Todoroki’s to provide each other an alibi. It was a lie, one that could be held against him if something didn’t line up, one that connected him to a crime. Still, if he was nervous, Inko didn’t seem to notice. They’d come into some money recently, so she took fewer shifts at the nursing home and finally caught up on sleep and exercise. Izuku was proud of his mom.

How they came into the money, though, he didn’t want to think about.

He slipped back into his room around 9:00 and changed into jeans and a button up, a notch above his usual casual attire. Shigaraki cared little for fashion, but perhaps a little added effort would help sway Kurogiri to his side.

“Stupid,” Izuku muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed. He held his little corn-can moss in his lap; the air around it seemed to tingle, teaming with tiny, imperceptible flickers of life. Wisps, Izuku called them, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what they were. They floated around outside and sent subtle signals down the Roots, but they weren’t connected to any plants. Izuku wondered–

A black hole ripped through the center of Izuku’s room, and his train of thought broke off.

“C’mon.” He shook himself, wiping sweaty palms down his thighs before standing. “Shigaraki said he’d start playing Detroit: Become Human .” An RPG game, and far from open-world. When he brought up buying it, Izuku’s face lit up, listing off some of the Let’s Plays he’d watched on YouTube. It was his favorite game, besides Undertale . With this thought, Izuku pushed through the warp gate, falling through darkness until he hit the ground.

Red wood floors. Izuku’s knees trembled as his feet hit the floor, but a hand sprang out and twisted his shoulder shirt fabric, keeping him standing.

“Stop falling every time you’re warped here, brat,” Shigaraki hissed, wrenching away his gloved hand.

“Sorry.” Izuku lowered his head. From his periphery, he took in the scene. TV, couch, Kurogiri behind the bar, Dabi sitting at the counter, and a split head of red and white hair beside him. Shouto turned in his chair, smiling under a sheen of sweat and brown liquid coating his lip. He wiped it away before standing.

“Hello Midoriya.”

“Hi Todoroki.”

“Want a drink?”

“Sure–” Shigaraki scowled, and Izuku was quick to notice. “A– actually, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Finally,” Dabi said. “A minor with some sense.”

“It’s low-booze,” grumbled Todoroki.

“You have school tomorrow.”

“You’re robbing a bank tomorrow. You think I’m the one who needs a clear head?” His words slurred together, low and gravelly, incongruous with his monotone clipped sentences at school. Still, his shoulders were relaxed, his face smooth, fingers slack, and he looked at Dabi in a way Izuku had never seen from him: comfortable, amused, perhaps affectionate. It was a strange look on him.

“Can we save the childish prattle for after you make your report?” Shigaraki groaned. “Spill it, Shouto. What did you learn?”

Todoroki opened his mouth, but Izuku interrupted, head ducked. “I– I’d rather not hear, if that’s okay. The less I know, the better.”

“The better you’ll feel about betraying your precious heroes?” Shigaraki glared. Izuku nodded slowly. “Fine.” He ruffled his hair, giving a solid tug on an azalea stem; Izuku winced, and he let up. “Shouto and I will discuss it in the back. Load up Detroit into the console. I’ll prove to you open-world is better.”

“Alright.” Izuku perked up.

Shigaraki looked him up and down. The button up shirt was new, especially compared to the pajamas or ratty streetwear shirts they usually caught him in. He’d made an effort this time, knowing he was in for a meeting. His hair was still a mess, feet protected by only socks, but he looked stronger, healthier than the boy he’d met on the rooftop. Exhaustion still dimmed his eyes, but it didn’t snuff out the light. Shigaraki was—dare he say it—not displeased to see him so improved. Can’t have a dysfunctional pet project. Not now that Sensei has plans for him. “It better be ready by the time we’re done.” He headed for the backdoor. “C’mon, Shouto. Let’s get this over with. Keep an eye on the brat, Dabi.”

Izuku watched them go before heading to the TV stand, opening the cabinet to peruse its content. Dabi followed, collapsed on the couch, and extended his arms across the back upholstery. “Don’t you get tired of watching all these games?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” Izuku shrugged. “Shigaraki likes to play, and it calms him down. It makes the situation much better.”

“It’s gotta get old though. Shigs is probably so unbearable because he wastes all his time playing them. He’s a real child, don’t you think?”

Izuku extracted the proper game and turned to face Dabi. “You report to Shigaraki, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not going to answer that question.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“Your little brother spies on me at school. I can’t afford to do anything to upset Shigaraki, least of all here.”

“Ever the cautious one, aren’t you?” Dabi drawled. “Your daddy beat that into you?”

Izuku froze, feeling the sting settle into his chest. “Yes. Did yours?” Dabi sat up, and already Izuku was backed against the TV stand, holding the remote like a bludgeon. Stop provoking people. He cursed himself. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

A beat, punctuated by the soft groan of the velvety sofa as Dabi eased back. “So, you do have some fire in you.” Izuku eyed him, still ready to bolt. “Relax. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. It’s best you don’t bring up the old man around me, or Shouto. Especially not Shouto; he still has to deal with the monster in person. It’s no wonder he’s already on his way to being an alcoholic.”

“Oh.” Cautiously, Izuku loaded up the disk and flicked on the TV. It would be best to let it go, he reasoned, not to get involved. “Will you tell me?” He betrayed his better judgement and turned to face Dabi.

“Hmm?”

“Will you tell me your story? I’d like to know, if you’re willing to tell me.”

Another drawn out pause, one in which Dabi’s inclined chin lowered, staples down his cheeks stretching with the motion, and he considered Izuku’s small frame. So poised for flight. So accustomed to danger. It was an achingly familiar sight. “Bring over that bottle from the counter, will you? The taller one; it’s the stronger stuff.” Izuku complied, trotting to bring it to him. Kurogiri had gone with Shigaraki and Shouto. He handed him the drink, and Dabi scooted over to invite him to sit. “There’s not too much to tell. Then again, there’s so much, it means nothing at all.” He took a swig. “The number two hero is even more a piece of crap than the name would imply. He’s a power-hungry monster.”

“Did– did he do this to you?” Izuku gestured at Dabi.

“What? The scars or make me an alcoholic?”

“The scars.”

“Yes. Well, no. Kinda. Listen, you ever heard of quirk marriages?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the old man had one. He knew he’d never be strong enough to be the number one hero, so he wanted to make the perfect successor to do it for him. I was the first try. As you can see, it didn’t work out too well.” He chuckled. “After he gave up on me, he moved on to my siblings, all of them failing him one after the other. Then little Shouto came along, and he finally had what he wanted: a child who would become the number one hero. He beat the crap out of all of us, but especially me and Shouto… especially Shouto. I faked my death when I was 12 and got out of there when he was 7. Didn’t see him for 6 years. We’d both changed so much.”

“Did you reach out?”

“No. I tried to kill him.” Izuku gulped. “Listen, it was before the League. I didn’t have a purpose other than anger. And you should have seen him.” Dabi waved a hand in front of his face. “Comatose. You think he’s a robot at school? That’s an act. When I attacked him, there wasn’t a spark left of his spirit. He fought me like a machine until I told him who I was, then he gave up, just laid down. I thought I’d killed him, but the old man did half that job for me.”

“What happened?” Izuku gripped his knees in anticipation. Another swig of alcohol came as a precursor to his answer.

“Couldn’t do it. And I’ve never had trouble killing people before. But, well, I guess you know a thing or two about suicidal teens, don’t you? Shigs said you were a walking corpse the day he found you. Had to drag you back over the railing, right? Limp as a doll. Same thing happened with Shouto, and I just couldn’t do it. I tried to leave, but he followed me, like chasing the grim reaper. I guess you could say we reconnected after that. Joined the League, made him a spy, out for revenge: all the bonding brothers could need.”

“That’s amazing. So… Todoroki’s better?”

“After practically reanimating him, yes. Still working out the kinks though. He’s stopped using his fire for some stupid reason. I’d chew him out, but honestly I’m just glad he can pull off a teenage rebellion. You have any idea how hard it is for a serial killer to teach an adultescent to socialize?” He chugged the rest of the bottle. Izuku suspected it was the only reason he was getting so much information out of Dabi. Time to capitalize. “Taking after me is not the goal, but I swear it’s happening, and it’s a problem. His sense of humor is developing. He just doesn’t get social cues. Poor kid,” he chuckled.

“And you’re going to take revenge on… dumpster fire? Will the League help?”

“Yeah,” he hiccupped. “It’s a package deal. Destroying hero society means I can stamp his flame out, literally, and figuratively.”

Izuku’s blood ran cold. I shouldn’t have asked. It would have been better for him not to know. Sure, hurting hero society was the basic motivation of most villain organizations. But, with Sensei, the League could do it. If they could make Izuku hero material, they could move heaven and earth. He clenched his fists, suppressing the rising wave of panic. “Thank you for telling me.” He whispered.

“Don’t thank me. I’m drunk. I’m only nice and talkative when I’m drunk.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the kid who sold his soul to Shigaraki, so shut up.”

“Okay.” Izuku flicked through the opening menu of the video game and ignored Chloe’s monologue (a part of the menu), loading up a new game and muting the soundtrack. He slumped against the couch next to Dabi and occupied himself with thinking of Todoroki. Izuku had interpreted his blunt rudeness as an intimidation tactic, the behavior of a rich boy in power. But, looking back, there was someone rather… incongruous about his behavior: regularly eavesdropping and admitting it, switching between jokes and threats, apathetic one moment and failing to be sympathetic the next. Oh my gosh. Izuku blinked. He’s not aloof, he’s just painfully awkward!

“What’s up with you?” Dabi eyed him.

“Does your brother like talking about quirks?”

“No.”

“Heroes?”

“Not anymore.”

“Plants?”

“Are you expecting me to say yes to that?”

“Well, what does your brother like?”

Dabi’s eyes narrowed, but a detached cloud fogged his mind, so he answered, “Food, mostly. And sleep. Shouto likes really mundane things, like taking naps or wearing a new sweater, reading a newspaper opinion column. I told you, he doesn’t know much about having a normal life, so I guess it excites him? No, that’s the wrong word. It appeals to him, maybe. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Keep your friends close. Izuku shrugged, innocent. And your enemy’s brother closer.

Shigaraki returned with Shouto and Kurogiri on his tail, all wearing rockhard pokerfaces, as if they hadn’t been plotting something dreadful. While Dabi joined Shouto, Izuku moved to shift to the floor, but Shigaraki waved him still.

“Don’t bother.” He took the controller Izuku offered and sat next to him. “You can’t be sore now you’re finally going to that precious hero school.”

Izuku shifted away toward the arm rest to give Shigaraki his space. “Thanks.”

Shouto slid a bottle from the counter as Dabi was focused on taking a shot and strode next to the sofa, using his torso to hide the booze and pretending to be interested in the loading screen. “What’s this game?”

“Detroit: Become Human,” Izuku said. “It’s really good.”

“Supposedly,” Shigaraki snorted. The scene opened on RK800 android Connor entering a crime scene.

“Do you play video games, Todoroki?”

“No.”

Helpful. Izuku sighed. The scarred boy took a surreptitious swig of the bottle, daring Izuku from the corner of his eye to call him out. “You should try them.”

“I wanna kill this police chief,” Shigaraki cursed at the screen. “He’s been talking for ages.”

“You need to learn all you can from the crime scene to win.”

“Shut up, brat!”

Izuku fell silent, shrinking in on himself. How Shigaraki managed to be kind one minute and cruel the next, he’d never understand, but it reminded him of his father. And now was not the time to think about his father.

“You shouldn’t yell at him.” Shouto cleared his throat.

“I can do whatever I want to him.”

“You shouldn’t yell.” His words slurred, taking on an edge.

“It’s alright.” Izuku held up his hands. “It’s kind of part of the deal for me, so I don’t mind.”

“That wasn’t a condition I was told about.” Shouto squatted at Izuku’s side. His bottom lip pressed against the cool bottle ring, deep in thought before looking up at him. “You were quirkless, right?”

“Yeah.” Izuku flushed.
“Why’d you want a quirk?”

“Because, uh, I wanted to be a hero.”

“Earlier, you said you became a hero because you could, because you had the option now. Which is the lie?” Izuku stared at his hands folded in his lap. “Which did you want more?”

“... the quirk,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because–” he started the sentence knowing he wouldn’t finish it, even if he realized the answer long ago.

“Quirks are the root of all evil,” Shouto went on. “All our problems would go away if no one had them.”

“Or if everyone did.” Izuku sighed.

“Maybe your problems.” He shrugged, offering the bottle to him.

Izuku almost reached before stopping himself. “I– I can’t.” Shigaraki watched him in his periphery, communicating his will without speaking.

“He’s not the boss of you.”

“He kinda is.”

“Shigs, let him have a drink.” Shouto scowled.

“He has school tomorrow, and the last thing I need is a drunk pawn. If he can’t perform well at school and become a hero, he’ll be in violation of Condition 7.” Connor was confronting the malfunctioning android on the rooftop now. Rooftop. Izuku’s stomach turned; he looked away.

“It’s fine, Todoroki. I really don’t want it.” Their eyes met, and each saw the residual emptiness, the weight of exhaustion, no matter how far the bad times were behind them. Well, maybe they weren’t that far away. 

He’s not cruel. Shouto mused. Naively kind, perhaps. “Your dad is a jerk, right?”

“Uh.” Izuku swallowed. “Yeah, he was.”

Shouto hummed, then sat with crossed legs on the floor and watched the screen. “What’s this game about, then?”

“Um, an android revolution.”

“Hmm, does it end well?”
“It depends what ending you get.”

“How do you get the best one?”

“You– you make the kindest choices.”

Shigaraki snorted beside Izuku. “Typical of these stupid games.”

“I don’t know.” Izuku shrugged. “It doesn’t feel right when you do the wrong thing, and the good ending is really amazing when you get to it. I– I think you’ll like it, if you give it a try.”

Shigaraki paused to look at Izuku. The boy’s flowers drooped like they needed watering, a sure sign he was tired, and his temper wasn’t helping. Shigaraki wasn’t displeased with him, either; Izuku had walked right into a League mission and didn’t screw anything up; he even helped. Guilt twinged in Shigaraki’s chest, aided by Shouto’s glare at him, and he shrugged, elbowing Izuku lightly. “Fiiiine. I’ll aim for the good ending.”

Izuku perked up immediately. “Really?– Oh! Sorry, uh, no questions, right.” Shigaraki let it pass, returning to the game. “I’m just glad.” He grinned down at Shouto sitting on the floor, distracted from his drink by the game. “It’s really cool to watch. You’ll like it, Todoroki.”

“Shouto,” he corrected, absentminded.

Izuku flushed a deeper red, but his lips twitched. “Uh, okay. And, I’m Izuku.”

Shouto grunted, and they watched Connor save the hostage little girl in silence.

“Good ending it is,” Shigaraki said.

Ah, if only it were that easy.

Chapter Text

It was pitch black under the blindfold. Izuku was down a pint of blood, and the Doctor showed no sign of stopping.

His arms were bound at the wrist, a chubby, calloused hand pinning them down on an unseen table while a needle drained him. Quiet sniffles punctuated the sterile air. Waves of static plowed through Izuku’s head, ceaseless, heavy, mocking his empty stomach and chapped lips. His heart pattered like drumming fingers. Shigaraki’s fingers. Drumming on his head. One away from disintegration.

Izuku could feel the ghost of his hand in his hair even if he wasn’t there. He couldn’t stop sniffling.

“Right.” The doctor clapped his hands, waking Izuku from his spiral. He gracelessly yanked the needle from his arm. “Time for joint stimulation.” Small, round suction cup stickers pressed into his skin, trailing wires from the sound of it. Doctor Tsubasa applied them to his temples, neck, chest, forearms, hands, stomach, thighs, knees, and feet, humming pleasantly to himself, musing to himself how much easier his job would be if all his patients could be blindfolded and restrained.

“Doctor,” Izuku rasped. “What are you trying to–”

“Do shut up, Izuku.” The click of typing—button pressing?—reached his ears. “My orders are not to answer your questions, they’re to investigate your quirk.”

That’s what this is about? He winced. He shouldn’t have told Shigaraki his quirk was acting weird. Stupid. So stupid. Another wave of nausea cut off his self-reprimands. Things had been getting better, the voice in his dreams quieter. The more he practiced with his quirk, controlled it, didn’t push it, the better life got. His friends’ faces blurred as he tried to recall them. Were they even real? Kind Uraraka, sardonic Shinso, straight-laced Iida, awkward Todoroki… they felt like fairy tales. Izuku wasn’t sure anything existed past the dull ache in his head and the drum of his heart.

Rain out the window. Pitter-patter. Dad’s home from work.

“Hopefully, this should stimulate your quirk and make it easier to study. Who knows, though?” A cough. “Your guess is as good as mine where it comes to this field. Still, it’s worth a try.” Another rattle of pressing buttons. “This might hurt a bit.”

Click.

Electricity fused through his skin, and Izuku jerked alert. His whole body tensed. More than that, his whole body writhed. Every muscle and vein strained, contracted, bulged, burned.

“AAAAHHHH!” An unconscious scream ripped from his throat. The whole black world seemed to glitch, on and off, so much static. He roared.

It roared back.

“What am I?” All Might’s baritone voice rumbled through his head. “What are you?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku groaned.

“I’m beginning to understand.” The voice surged with the electricity. “Something… is wrong. You are not what I need you to be.”

The electricity shut off, and Izuku gasped, going limp in his chair.

“What was that you said, Izuku?” The doctor jotted something down, voice distracted and disinterested. “You don’t know something?”

Izuku shuddered, swallowed hard. “N– nothing. It was nothing.”

“That so?” Tsubasa hummed. “Is your quirk sending you any signals?”

“No.”

“Shame. We’ll give it another try.”

Click , and the screaming resumed.

Shigaraki was pacing, which wasn’t his habit. It felt appropriate somehow, drowning out Izuku’s screams in the other room with heavy footsteps, nibbling at scabs under his fingernails, but really Kurogiri had threatened to put a cone on him if he continued with his incessant scratching, and his neck was almost worn through. So, he paced.

He’d brought Izuku in for a surprise meeting and handed him over to the doctor. The boy’s horror was apparent, blinking with shiny eyes before the blindfold was shoved over his face, wrists tied, and more than once his mouth opened to ask a question, to demand what’s going on, but he didn’t. He complied, calming at Shigaraki’s snarky reassurance: “Quit whining, brat. I’m the only one allowed to kill you.” No, the good doctor would not kill him, and this was enough to assuage his survival instincts, enough to cart him into the other room and run tests on his quirk, per Sensei’s request.

Thankfully, the screams had quieted as the “meeting” progressed, and now Shigaraki was pacing for pacing’s sake.

“Ahem.” Shigaraki stiffened at the cough, turned around. Doctor Tsubasa stood in the doorway, a firm arm guiding blindfolded Izuku beside him. “We’re finished for now. I’ll report when the bloodwork results come in.” He gave Izuku a shove, and he stumbled forward, hands still bound at the wrist as he groped at the open air. The edge of his blindfold ebbed salt water, the tip of his nose a deep blush; the door slammed shut behind him, and he flinched, slowing his ragged breath as his ears strained for another’s presence.

“Are you–”

“It’s me, brat.” Shigaraki cut him off, and Izuku’s mouth snapped shut. He shuffled forward, careful, moving in the direction of the voice.

“I–” His voice caught. “I need help. M– my hands.” The tears refreshed, and he halted, shoulders temoring as he attempted to calm himself. “Sorry. I–” The sound of Shigaraki’s approaching footsteps made him fall silent, lips pressed into a thin white line.

“You’re such a baby.” Shigaraki picked the fingertips of his glove and pulled it off. Izuku’s cheeks reddened. “Did you really think working for us would be fun?”

“I don’t work for you.”

“I was trying to be nice with the wording.”

“Oh.” A wet chuckle. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“What? Be nice?”

“Yeah.” A wry smile lifted his blotchy cheeks, and Shigaraki understood. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to acknowledge what he just went through.

“Hold out your hands,” He ordered, and Izuku’s grin fell at the change of tone. Trembling, he obeyed, thin fingers clasped and wrists growing red under the harsh rub of rope. “Stay still.” Gently, Shigaraki grasped the rough cord with five fingers and watched Izuku shiver as it crumbled to sand. He pulled his hands apart, tapped the tender skin, and again, his cheeks glowed in the dim light with a renewed trickle of water seeping from the blindfold.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “The blindfold– if it’s alright, I’d like to take it off.” Another non-question. He was getting quite good at them. Shigaraki slipped his glove back on and laced his fingers under the fabric around Izuku’s temples, pulling it up like a headband to push back his hair. His conversation with Dabi was still fresh on Shigaraki’s mind: ‘You keep the kid around to finally have a human you can force to be around you, even when you’re unbearable.’ Izuku blinked up at him, lip trembling and stilling with wavering resilience. He opened his mouth, began a broken syllable, then clamped down again, eyes squeezed shut. A sob built in his throat, about to break again.

Shigaraki wiped at a tear with his thumb. “That was scary, huh?”

His face crumbled. “Yeah.” He whined, and Shigaraki pulled him into a hug, tear-stained face pressing into his chest as he wracked with snivels. The boy’s body sagged with fatigue, anxiety, white-knuckled willpower, all caving into Shigaraki’s arms. “Sorry. S– sorry. I can’t stop crying.”

Shigaraki ran a hand through the boy’s hair and evaluated what he felt. Calm? Tired? The twinge in his stomach said guilty; the warmth in his chest said pleased, pleased that Izuku went to him. It showed dependence, subservience, but it felt rotten to think of it that way, and the guilt returned. No, maybe his chest felt warm because Izuku’s head was on it. So small. So easy to break. The urge to push him away or slap him came and went. No, Shigaraki decided; he didn’t need to hurt everything he touched.

“What are you apologizing for, brat?” Shigaraki sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Hey, Midoriya.” Shinso elbowed him. “What did you do to tick off the ice prince?” Izuku blinked up from his notebook, nose wrinkled as he studied a pile of garbage beside the UA field while groups took turns racing. He and Shinso went early, and Aizawa didn’t seem to care what they did so long as they didn’t die, so they wandered off, Izuku trying to subtly lead towards the dumpster. A huge swarm of Wisps wafted around it like flies, yet, more dormant, alive in a state of flux. They’d become… more corporeal lately. What are they? Shinso didn’t question him, too preoccupied with the eyes that trailed them. Todoroki stood apart from the rest of the student, very clearly watching them with a scowl.

“How do you know he’s not mad at you?” Izuku turned his attention back to the dumpster.

“Because he’s been watching you all day. I’d say he has a crush if he didn’t look like he wants to turn you into a slushie.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. Why are you sketching a dumpster?”

“Maybe that’s just his resting face.”

Shinso snorted at the deflection. “He must have gotten it from his father.”

Izuku stiffened, mechanical pencil lead snapping. “He doesn’t look like his father.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No.”

“They’re both angry looking.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re the same.”

“I never said–” Shinso finally caught onto the tightness of Izuku's voice and stopped. “You okay?”

“Does this look like a dumpster to you?” He helped up the drawing for him to see.

“That is an identifiable dumpster, yes.” He squinted. “What’s the cloud over it?” The cloud was supposed to represent the Wisps, depicted by shading with the long side of his lead.

“The stench.” Izuku snapped the notebook shut, stood, and gestured his head to the group. “Let’s go back.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Something’s bothering you.”

“Impressive evaluation. Top marks.” Izuku kicked a rock, hands shoved in his pockets. “I think sleep deprivation has a direct correlation with sarcasm.”

“That would explain a lot,” he hummed. “You are acting like me.”

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery.” They joined the rest of the students and listened to the end of Aizawa’s lecture over the importance of stealth with evasive maneuvers like running, snickering at Kirishima whose sprint was about as subtle as an avalanche. Only when class was dismissed for the day did Shinso and Izuku become aware of the looming presence behind them.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki said, and the two jolted, swiveling around. Izuku’s insides practically deflated.

“Todoroki. Do you need something?” Another meeting? So soon? The last experience had been… horrific. Tortured, experimented on, blindfolded and bound. Even worse, he was so distressed, he hugged Shigaraki, soaking the front of his shirt with tears. The man had been quiet then, stroked his hair, sent him home early and without reproach. But he must have been holding in his anger. No one had patience for Izuku’s tears. Certainly not a villain as temperamental as Shigaraki. It was only a matter of time before he hit him for it.

“I need to talk to you.” Todoroki turned with that, strolling back toward UA.

“N–now?” Izuku called after him.

“Now.”

Shinso and Izuku exchanged glances.

“I can’t tell if he’s going to confess to you or kill you.” He elbowed him.

Izuku gulped, shifting uncomfortably. “Maybe he’s just awkward.”

“You're awkward. He’s a shade away from being an old TV villain.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being dropped in a vat of acid right about now.” Izuku stretched. “I better go see what he wants.” He moved to leave, but Shinso caught his wrist, almost making Izuku yelp as he squeezed the tender skin.

“Be careful.” His voice was serious. “Guys like him, they’re not used to not getting what they want. Don’t let him push you around.”

Izuku blinked. Was that how people perceived Todoroki? A spoiled rich kid who thinks he’s above everyone? No matter how hard he tries, his ill-mannered features will always be too similar to his father’s to pass as approachable. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”

“You think too highly of people.”

“You think too little of them.”

“Maybe you’re right, but maybe I am too.”

Izuku pulled away, smiling softly to seem reassuring. “I’m sure he could just use a friend. No one wants to be alone. I wouldn’t worry about him, Shinso. He deserves a chance at least.”

The taller boy rubbed his neck, relenting. “Alright, alright, no need to get all noble on me. You’re a better person than me, Midoriya.”

“I’m not.”

… 

Izuku pushed the door shut behind him, gentle enough to almost muffle the click. Nobody would check up on a broom closet, though he almost wished someone would when Todoroki summoned him inside. He turned around to face the boy deeper in the room, back against the door. “What’s going on?” He gulped. “Is Shigaraki mad?”

“No.” Todoroki blinked. “Why would he be?”

“I–” Izuku swallowed. “Todoroki–”

“Shouto.”

“Er, right, Shouto, why are we in a broom closet?” Paint cans and spray bottles littered the floor, walls lined with shelves bursting with dusty chalk erasers, dried markers, broken bathroom passes, and a whole range of archaic classroom paraphernalia. A thick layer of dust blanketed the place too, and the air sagged with mildew.

“No one uses this anymore.”

“Alright…?”

“I treat injuries here.”

“Oh.” The frigid mood dropped another ten degrees. “Do you need help?”

“No.” Todoroki stepped forward. “But you do.” He held out his right hand expectantly. “Let me see your wrists.”

“My–?” Izuku obeyed without fully understanding the order, and he put forth his hands. Todoroki pushed back the sleeves to get a good look at the angry red skin roping his wrists, irritated by the constant rub of fabric. Izuku had been careful to hide them, pinching down his sleeves and going with the oversized white uniform shirt. It wasn’t a big deal; he’d almost forgotten about them.

“You’re too obvious,” Todoroki scolded. “Anyone who knows what they’re looking for would notice you were hiding your arms.”

“Who would know what they’re looking for?” Izuku’s mouth went dry.

“Aizawa; he’s been watching you since school started; he’s suspicious. And me. No one else in our class would though.”

“You underestimate them.”

“I thought I was being optimistic.” Without warning, he clamped his right hand around Izuku’s left wrist. Izuku almost jerked away, yelping at the fast movement, the restriction of motion, escape, but a wave of cool pressure calmed him, soothing the fiery skin. “Is that okay?” Izuku nodded, still processing, and Todo– Shouto frowned. “I should have asked. Dabi says I need to ask before doing things like this. I don’t think.”

“That’s okay. I–it feels nice. You just startled me.”

“I understand. Sorry.” Silence, both feeling equally guilty. C’mon Izuku! He racked his brain. What am I even doing? What is he doing?

“Sh– Shouto?” He perked up at the name. “Is there something else you need to tell me? A meeting coming up?”

He switched to the other wrist. “No. I just noticed you were injured.”

“So… you’re trying to be nice?”

“Yes.”

Izuku tried to repress his chuckle, but failed. “Oh.”

“What’s so funny?”

“You are, To– Shouto. First you scared the crap out of me by pretending to be onto me, and now you’re being nice. I’m getting whiplash.”

“Messing with you was funny, but Dabi said it wasn’t nice.” He muttered under his breath: “Hypocrite.”

“He wants you to be nice to me?” His brow lifted. Despite their casual and perhaps too personal conversation when Dabi was drunk, Izuku never got many positive signals from the guy. His soft spot and patience for depressed teenage boys began and ended with Shouto, and his scarred mouth always seemed to curl in disgust when Izuku mindlessly followed Shigaraki’s orders. “That’s… surprising. He doesn’t really seem to care all that much about me when I’m at the bar.”

“He doesn’t care about you.” Shouto shrugged. “But he wants me to develop my social skills by becoming friends with you.”

“Oh. And that’s what this is?” His eyes pointed to their linked hands.

“No. I have no intention of making friends. I don’t need any, and they distract me from my goal. I’m doing this because you’re with the League.”

“I’m really not.”

“You will be. Dabi says no one desperate enough to take a quirk from All for One and sign their life away to Shigaraki can stay a hero.”

“Dabi’s wrong on this one.”

“Maybe.” Shouto shrugged, withdrawing his hand. The deep ache in Izuku’s wrists had dulled to a low buzz of discomfort. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.” He moved for the door, but Izuku’s resolve had solidified, and he slid in front of him.

“What do you care about?” He asked.

Shouto frowned. “Ruining my old man.”

“Anything other than that?”

“Dabi.”

“What about hobbies? Interests? Things you like?”

“I…” he considered. “Haven’t thought about it. Cold soba is good, I guess.”

“Okay, cold soba.” Izuku committed it to memory. “Anything else?”

“I don’t understand your objective.”

And Izuku didn’t understand his speech pattern. One second, Shouto emulated Dabi’s casual and sarcastic slang, and the next he reverted to robot mode, all formal words and straight faces. Two people piloted behind his mismatched eyes, and neither of them knew what they were doing. “We should hang out.” Izuku switched tactics, more confident just knowing he wasn’t the socially inept one for once.

“I have no intention of making frien–”

“Think about it as a recruitment technique. Maybe I’ll join the League and help you take down End– uh, Flaming Cheeto if you’re able to recruit me.”

“Oh?” Shouto blinked, slow. “How do I do that?”

“Hang out with me, give me a heads up for meetings or other villain things? I don’t know. I might want to join more if I felt like I’m on even footing with the rest of the League.” It’s a dirty trick, and an altogether too obvious one. Shouto’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s in it for you?”

Izuku held up his exposed wrist, fingers trembling in the dim closet lights and casting shadows across the raw strip of red skin. “I just wanna get in a position where this doesn’t happen again. Just like you don’t want to treat wounds in the school broom cupboard anymore, right? Let’s help each other, Shouto.” There were weaselly parts to Izuku’s personality he didn’t like to acknowledge: ugly breaks in the polite facade he labored to uphold no matter how bitter he became. He wouldn’t be a jerk like Bakugou or his father. No, of that he was certain. But lies were another matter. He could pretend to be interested in villainy if it afforded him more protection. In the face of attack, Izuku was useless; strategy’s where his talents lie, and he needed to account for it. If his time with Shigaraki was any indication, he was never above cheating.

Shouto, for all his blank-faced stares and awkward excentricities, suspected falsehood. Though, he would do a better job spying if he was around Izuku more. And, the better he did on small missions, the more big missions he could join in on, and maybe progress to helping Dabi. He could convince Izuku to join the League, too, even if the boy’s consideration wasn’t genuine. If Izuku was as selfish as him, he couldn’t blame him for lying. But, if Izuku was as desperate as him, Shouto knew there was no length he wouldn’t go to to make the abuse stop.

“Alright, Izuku.” Shouto held out his right hand and Izuku took it, sighing as the cool fingers brushed inflamed skin. “Let’s help each other.”

“I want something.” All Might’s voice rumbled through Izuku’s subconscious, and his eyes pried open. Dry plaster ceiling. His bedroom. Sweaty bed sheets tangled up around his feet. Izuku held his breath, hoping it was real as he sat up and surveyed the four tight walls blazoned in red, blue, and gold. “I want something.” No such luck. He was still asleep.

“What do you want?” He whispered to the darkness. The Wisps clogged the air, swarming like starling murmurations. A mass of shadow took shape, spoke.

“I don’t know. You are wrong.”

“About what?”

“No. You are wrong.”

“What are you?”

The hive flickered, dispersed and rejoined, an image in static. Something sifted through Izuku’s mind; a memory shuddered, and with it the thing continued. “There’s something in your desk drawer. You’re trying to forget.”

“W–what?” Desk drawer? Where did that come from? It was such a domestic, common phase; it sounded strained and strange in All Might’s voice, from a shapeless shadow. Desk drawer. There’s something in the desk drawer Izuku is trying to forget.

“A paper,” it provided.

“A paper?” He echoed. Another stir of recollection, befuddled by sleep. The suicide note? “I threw it away.”

“No. There was something you kept. Something else. Attached now unattached.”

A vengeful shudder cut up Izuku’s spine and paralyzed him. The desk—he stared at it from across the room—was it closer? “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve buried it. I can’t see the words.”

“Get out of my head,” he whimpered.

“ Is it the reason? The reason you are wrong?”

“I don’t want to think about it.” His head was starting to hurt, pulse, expand.

“It’s the only thing I can’t see.” The black mass of Wisps ballooned above his head, curling down like a peaked monsoon. And there was a buzzing and the desk was right there and Izuku’s hand unwillingly rose from his side, finger brushing the rusted drawer handle.

“No,” he choked. There was something rising in his throat.

“Give it to me.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop resisting.”

“I’m so tired,”  he moaned.

“Then give me control.”

Weight surged in his chest, and he stumbled forward—when had he stood up?—grasped the handle, and yanked it open. The cold metal was a distant tingle on his fingers, world tunneling, sounds warping. He was being smoked out again, like the entrance exam, his will lost to the Wisps enveloping his body. His hand riffled through the desk, pushing aside papers, pencils clattering to the floor, mindless digging before striking the crisp corner of thick stationary

“I don’t want to see.” Tears streamed from unblinking eyes. Izuku couldn’t shut them; like they weren’t his anymore. “Please. Don’t make me remember.”

“Shhh.” A shaking hand lifted the letter, extracted the contents, unfolded the waxy paper. “It’s best not to fight, Izuku. You can’t hide anything from me.”

He went as limp as he could manage in his puppet-like state, and his eyes skimmed the cold words he’d almost locked out of his mind. That day, the day after his attempt, when he awoke, he hadn’t wanted his mom to see the note on the desk. He was so desperate, the thought so terrible, the reality so harsh, he’d managed to blot the full truth from his memory.

“I see,” All Might’s voice hummed. “This isn’t the reason you’re wrong, but it’s the reason you obtained me. It’s all clear now. Your mind is finally open to me.” The paper slipped from his fingers, joining the clutter on the floor. It fluttered down light as a feather, but the weight of its word bore a hole through Izuku’s chest, and his strength gave out. The Wisps alone held him up. “You’re being so good.” It cooed. “Isn’t it easier this way?”

“I’m tired,” Izuku whispered.

“Yes, you should rest.” The Wisps withdrew into the room’s corners, seeping into the darkness. “I’ll even leave you a parting gift.”

The feeling returned to his limbs and the foreign strength left. He collapsed, curled up on his side as a terrible retching seized his chest. A rattling laugh echoed under his coughs. Sick. Hollow. Then gone. The pressure in his throat kept built, hacks turned to choked cries for help, too muffled, too muffled by a literal stop in his throat. Izuku’s fingernails dug into his neck, squeezing to cut off the rising snake. It needs to come out. Tears squeezed out of his eyes. I can’t breathe! Prying his jaw open, he stuffed his hand inside his mouth, reached down until his molars drew blood from his flesh, fingers snapping, scraping his throat. They hit something hard, cocooned in saliva, and his nails dug in. The first attempt of drawing it out slowly caused another muffled scream. His hysteria mounted, peaked. I can’t do this. The world narrowed, ballooned. He was suffocating, and part of him wanted to give up, go limp as always, just get it over with, let it happen…

Shigaraki’s going to kill me if I die.

Izuku yanked.

Like a circus performer unsheathing a katana from his throat, with a flourish, Izuku wrenched a thick flower stalk from his mouth, blood spouting down his chin. “Ugh,” he grunted, squinting. The dim strips of light through the window shutters illuminated the plant in pieces: thick stem, long, sharp leaves, seven red flowers almost stacked atop each other. Deep violet stained the blossoms’ centers, and the scarlet tips dripped blood to the carpet. A Gladiolus. 2 feet long.

“Some gift,” Izuku grunted, holding his palm under the flower to catch some of the blood. Explaining the stain to his mother would be fun. Dark blots decorated the scattered homework assignments and torn notebook pages. Two drops seeped through the wax paper of the letter the thing had wanted so badly, the letter he’d almost entirely repressed from memory. Izuku picked it up, turned it over, eyes too blurred to make out the words in ballpoint blue. He was awake. At what point he’d woken up, he wasn’t sure. But it was real. All of it. Maybe the voice had never been a dream at all.

But who could help him? The heroes he betrayed? The villains he served? The mother who… who lied to him.

Izuku struggled to his feet, dumped the flower into the waste paper basket, and began picking through the paper pile and shoving it all indiscriminately back into the desk drawer, letter buried somewhere in the mess. He switched on the desk light and collapsed into his stiff chair, watching the sky gradients slowly lighten through the shuttered window. The bin beneath it sat haloed in twilight, and Izuku’s stomach sank as he made the connection.

A Gladiolus flower. Meaning strength, power.

It was a reminder, that his power wasn’t his at all.

Chapter Text

Izuku had been alone most of his life, and he hated it. The innocuous rumble of a heater system transformed into a burglar, clock strikes hitting like a falling guillotine, words mumbled to no one, faces starting to blur. It was heavy, mind turned to syrup but nowhere as sweet. Mom would come and go, of course. She hadn’t neglected him. But she had work, and he had school, and put together they had very little in common, very little except the thing—or person, rather—they thought it best to forget. He pushed her away as he got older, he could admit. Punishing himself. Or punishing her? Who knows which. One thing he had been certain of, though: he wouldn’t feel so alone if he had a quirk.

How awfully correct he had been.

It had been a few days since the “incident,” since the letter had been opened and the memory returned, and life had turned halfway pleasant in juxtaposition to his mental state. As the walls he’d built crashed down, hope approached through the rising dust. His quirk was more powerful than ever; he was smoking almost everyone in class, though Shouto still gave him a run for his money.

He’d been making progress with the Todoroki boy, too. Dabi’s advice had been correct; Shouto had an affinity for painfully dull things, the more useless the better. He enjoyed walking aimlessly around the block after school, watching people work at a construction site, switching stations on a radio, hitting elevator buttons, swapping lunch foods with Izuku. No progress on getting him to actually eat lunch at Izuku’s table, with Shinso and Uraraka and Iida. He always put his foot down then, saying it was pointless making friends with anyone but Izuku, seeing as his purpose was to recruit him. Izuku suspected he was just socially anxious though, which he could respect, so he left it alone. He liked Shouto, oddly enough. And—though he was no stranger to pressing elevator buttons or taking long walks—he hadn’t often done them with anyone else. New experiences for the both of them, it turned out.

Nighttime was difficult though. Including tonight. The Wisps liked the dark and the heat, and—even without the covers—the anxiety reduced him to a puddle of sweat. Before hitting the pillow after another decent day at school, Izuku crossed to the window above his desk to pry it open. The screen had been ripped through before they’d moved into the apartment, and it hung loosely in the frame, connecting latch busted. Izuku breathed in the brisk night air, alarm clock projecting a dim glow across the room: 12:37. He’d procrastinated sleep long enough. Yet, pressing his forehead against the frayed window screen, a thousand blips of plants hummed through the Roots; they glowed warmth, light, tender and thrumming. He wanted to touch them, cultivate them. No more fighting, thinking, lying, just simple gardening.

It sounded so tantalizing, Izuku hardly noticed himself wrenched the screen from its broken frame. Summoning tree branches to stretch and retrieve him, he pulled on a hoodie abandoned on his desk chair and perched on the sill like Spiderman. What could it hurt? Izuku shrugged. It’s not like I’ll run into anyone.

Aizawa Shouta disliked quiet nights on patrol, as bad as it sounded. Many mistook him for a lazy man who slept his life away, but in reality he simply reserved the legwork for the nighttime, and a patrol without trouble was a sleepless night wasted. He could be grading papers, evaluating student fight tapes, working out, making a lesson plan, or at least keeping his roomie company. He felt bad for leaving him alone so much.

But no, he had a shift. He couldn’t go home, because at any moment pandemonium might break loose and he’ll finally have the fight he’s looking for. Until then, though, he’s stuck walking the streets, trading glares with shifty loiterers, avoiding rain puddles, wrapping and unwrapping his scarf around his fist. The street lamps bobbed by, and he felt like he was walking in place, getting nowhere. Sighing, he glanced around again for any signs of trouble, ears straining for police sirens like a child listening for bells on Christmas Eve. His eyes tracked upward, unfocused, until—peeking over the edge of a mid-rise building’s roof—a floofy head of green bobbed by, spotted with orange patches. Like flowers.

Aizawa’s stomach turned, and he picked up the pace, bursting inside the sleepy apartment building and thundering up the first flight of concrete stairs he could find. What’s Midoriya doing up there? He huffed, skipping steps two at a time. He dreaded to think. Kid like him, long night like this, they weren’t a good combination. He worked with a lot of children with darkness inside them, and they faded too easily into the night, thoughts growing dangerous without light to scare them away. Aizawa, pushed too hard by the terrible reason Midoriya could have for being on the roof, didn’t have time to think of a plan before bursting through the final door and hitting the open air. Green filled his periphery, and he almost took up a fighting stance before surveying the scene.

Planter boxes lined the roof’s edges with drooping sweet potato vines, coleuses, snapdragons. Painted ceramic pots cluttered the floor, and the wide umbrella leaves of Japanese maples reached into the skyline. Izuku stood frozen over a Fuchsia as if caught in a crime scene.

“A– Aizawa-sensei?” He spluttered.

Aizawa relaxed, fully processing the scene. “Hello Midoriya. What are you doing up this late?” Izuku merely gaped. “Now’s hardly the time for gardening.”

“I– couldn’t sleep.”

“So you went to the roof of your apartment building?” He filled in, but Izuku fell silent, not confirming. “This is your apartment building, isn’t it?”

“It’s… close. Just a few blocks over.”

“Why are you here then?”

Izuku wanted to cave in on himself. He hadn’t even been paying attention to the time, how far he’d wandered, what he was doing. He followed the plants, down the streets, up the stairs, to the roof. Lamely, he gestured to the muddy pile of weeds at his feet. “It– it couldn’t breathe.” Aizawa blinked. “And that one,” he pointed to a Japanese Maple. “It needed water, and that one needed to be moved out of the building’s shade, and this–” He picked up a ceramic pot and walked to Aizawa, displaying sunken basil leaves dangling over the pot’s edges. “It’s dying.”

Inhaling, Izuku readjusted his grip, closed his eyes, pinched his lips, and exhaled. The basil plant expanded like a balloon, like he blew life into it, fragile leaves lifting and stems stretching. It swayed, gleeful, and Izuku opened his eyes to smile softly at his work. Aizawa almost commended him, but a wave of nausea overtook the boy, and he had to grasp his shoulder to keep him upright.

“You need to give your quirk a rest, Midoriya,” he chided, took the pot from his hands, and set it to the side. “Does your mother know where you are?”

Izuku looked down, shook his head.

“Is this really why you came here? To help the plants?”

“Yeah.”

“No other reason?” Izuku shifted, uncomfortable. “You can tell me.”

“I get nightmares, and doing this–” he gestured. “Helps.”

Aizawa sighed. He couldn’t argue with that. Good coping mechanisms were hard to come by; at least this one wasn’t destructive. “These nightmares, have you talked to anyone about them?”

“No. They’re not a big deal.”

“If they’re keeping you from sleeping, they should be addressed.”

Izuku hummed, looked away. “Uh, no offence, but–” he diverted. “Why are you here, Aizawa-sensei?”

“I’m on patrol,” he grunted. “And I was understandably concerned to see one of my students standing at the edge of a roof in the middle of the night.”

“A jump from this height wouldn’t kill me.” He snorted, then winced immediately. Shut up, you idiot! He’d researched these things, and a fall from a mid-rise was survivable, but he’d said it with such surety. Aizawa hadn’t missed it.

“Midoriya.” He held his gaze, hand squeezing his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Again, the urge to tell all nearly pried his mouth open. Aizawa’s sincerity was dangerous. “I’m doing really well in school, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Well,” he grasped for words. “It’s night. Nothing’s alright at night, but day comes. I know that. I can wait.”

For all his experience with violence and trauma, the meek words almost broke Aizawa’s heart. Like his roomie, Midoriya’s demons came out at night. It was a waiting game; mission: stay alive until sunrise. “I understand,” he sighed.

Izuku slumped. “Thanks. I– I’ll try not to wander so much. I could just feel them– the plants. All they need is a little help. I don’t always use my quirk, either.”

“You really like plants, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his neck. “Had no idea before the– uh, before. I kind of wish I didn’t live in the city. I would have made a decent farmer, quirkless or otherwise.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your patrol, Aizawa-sensei.”

“You’ve interrupted nothing. It’s a quiet night, kid.”

“Yeah.” Izuku blinked up at the stars. “Really quiet.” A moment of quiet: distant horn honking and wind rifling through branches. 

“Midoriya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still have that career sponsor? Shimura, wasn’t it?”

Izuku’s heart dropped. Where did that come from? “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“When’d you meet them?”

“Round when I got my quirk.”

“And they’ve been supportive of you? Of your dream?”

He wondered if being the driving force and sole reason he was able to pursue his dream counted as being supportive. Since he messed up so badly by mentioning he had a career sponsor, Shigaraki would grin to see Izuku squirm under the magnifying glass. “Definitely. They really helped me out.”

“Good.” Aizawa nodded. “So, you feel comfortable around them?”

Comfortable was an interesting choice of words. Afraid for his life might be more fitting, but that was a bit too much to unpack. Besides, Izuku still remembered burying his head in Shigaraki’s shirt after the Doctor’s experiments, crying and shaking and the kind of distraught few people had the patience to deal with. He took comfort in his career sponsor then, even if he was the cause of the pain in the first place. “I guess so.”

“You should try talking to them. It’s important to communicate with adults, and teachers are there to help.” Aizawa shoved his hands in his sweats pockets. Part of him wanted to strangle the answers out of Midoriya. Students never seemed to understand that he wanted to help. Sure, his face said apathy and his tone said unapproachable, but that wasn’t what he really was. He took this job to help kids, even if he wanted to string them up with his scarf half the time; but, he had to respect boundaries and allow Midoriya to choose who to open up to. This Shimura person sounded like a good candidate. “Consider it homework.”

“Talk to them about what?” Izuku gulped.

“Anything, anything that’s been bothering you. They’ll help.”

He almost scoffed. Help? The last time he’d gone to Shigaraki about his quirk problems, he’d ended up the lab rat to Dr. Tsubasa’s avarice. Still, Aizawa didn’t know that, and his face pinched in the effort of expressing kind sincerity instead of his usual scowl. Izuku stepped out of his grasp, backing closer to the roof’s edge. “Yeah,” he nodded, noncommittal. “I– I’ll talk to him.”

Aizawa joined him overlooking the city, wary of the calm way he peered down at the distant ground. “You alright, Midoriya?”

Izuku’s gaze jumped to the horizon. “The sun will rise soon, Aizawa-sensei.” He hummed, nodded to the pinkish underbellies of heavy clouds.

“Yeah,” Aizawa cleared his throat, understanding the subtext. It was best not to leave him alone yet. “C’mon.” He elbowed him. “I’ll walk you home.”

Izuku blinked in surprise. “You’re not going to leave? Don’t you have things to do?”

“It’s a quiet night,” he shrugged. “You’d be keeping me company til the end of my shift.” Midoriya’s face caught him off-guard. It was even more fragile than before, lips pressed together and looking unstable. He turned away.

“Okay,” he coughed. “Thanks, for staying.”

Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes widened to saucers when Izuku first suggested getting food before the League meeting. He’d stayed true to his word about warning Izuku about them well ahead of time, and he wanted to repay the favor with another one of the mundane adventures Todoroki enjoyed so much. His version of enjoyment being a mute glint of mischief in his eyes and a nervous thrum of his fingers. Shouto’s subtle art of emoting was indistinctly impressive, but Izuku was getting the hang of it, aided by the fact that he continually hovered in Izuku’s periphery in any given moment of the day, never near but always in orbit, and an odd shimmer of pleasure crossed his face like a mirage when Izuku approached. This suggestion, however, might have been too much for Shouto to handle.

“It’s not dinnertime,” he pointed out in an uncannily Iida-esque way as they walked to Izuku’s apartment together. The plan had originally been to simply spend the time “hanging out,” but Izuku had been sick at lunch and Shouto provided poor conversation, so he posed the alternative idea.

“So? Are you still full?”

“No.” Shouto tapped his chin. “I could eat, but… lower-class restaurants are…” Foreign to him, he implied, embarrassed. He’d only gone to formal meals with his family before, the kind that were scrawled on the living room calendar and carried a dress code; they were stressful and planned on principle. The more time Shouto spent with Midoriya, though, the more he realized he had problems with spontaneity.

Izuku repressed a chuckle at “lower-class restaurant,” reaching in his back pocket to fish out his wallet. “They’re called fast food. There’s a Matsuya across from my apartment you’ll probably like. You got any money?”

“Uh, yes.” A limitless debit card, in fact.

“So, you wanna go?”

Shouto swallowed. He’d liked all of Izuku’s ideas previously, even though Dabi laughed at him when he recounted the events of his day. It was embarrassing, to be so excited over pushing elevator buttons and taking walks. It’s not like he’s never done those things before; they were rare, and he was usually distracted or disinterested. Izuku, though he never told him this, had this remarkable ability to make life new, interesting, and decidedly free of expectation, as he wanted nothing other than a few League warnings.

Shouto sighed, took courage, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

… 

“It’s a danger day.”

Izuku put down his chopsticks at Shouto’s words, staring at his murky reflection in the beef bowl. Quiet pedestrian life zoomed by them through the Matsuya’s mud-splattered window, fluorescent lights buzzed, voices hummed low from the other booths. All blurred, all shapeless and bright, like an impressionist painting. Meanwhile, the color drained from Izuku’s face.

“What else can you tell me?” They’d coined ‘danger day’ to mean when Shigaraki was more temperamental than usual, more antsy, more likely to hurt Izuku, essentially.

Shouto thoughtfully chewed rice before replying. “It’s just a guess. I haven’t seen him yet today. But something big is coming up, something that really rides on him. I’d imagine he’d be stressed.”

“Something big?” Izuku quirked a brow. “Anything you’re involved in?”

“In a minimal capacity.” Shouto shrugged.

“What else can you tell me?”

“I can’t compromise League secre–”

“I mean about Shigaraki.” Izuku clung to deniability as his last life raft, barely keeping his head from sinking into criminal waters. He didn’t want to know about missions. He just wanted to be safe.

Shouto watched him, careful. “I’d just play it by ear. Don’t act like anything’s wrong, and don’t try to keep your distance, that always sets Burnt Barbecue off.” Translation: his father. “Do whatever you think he wants you to do. Don’t talk back. And no mistakes with the question rule. If anything gets him angry, it’ll be that.”

“Got it.” Izuku picked up his chopsticks again, but his appetite was gone. “Thanks for telling me.”

“That was the deal,” he shrugged, and it grew quiet. Tiny plumes of steam still rose up from Shouto’s curry, steadily quelling as he used his cold right hand to eat. Izuku focused on it instead of thinking of the implications of a danger day. It was best to distract himself from the dread, and instead he pursued a question that had long nagged him.

“Hey, Shouto?”

“Hmm?” 

“Why don’t you use your fire side?”

This time it was Shouto’s turn to set down his chopsticks. “That’s what everyone in school wonders, don’t they?” Izuku gulped. Just the other day, Shinso had been complaining about it, wondering if Todoroki was trying to have a secret ability despite being the son of Endeavor and having a burn scar. “Aizawa-sensei pulled me aside about it at the beginning of the year, threatened expulsion.” Shouto snorted. “As if UA could survive expelling someone like me.”

“Does it hurt?” Izuku gulped. “To use it?”

“Yes. But…” he looked down at his lap. “Not physically. It feels like him , and I look like him when I use it.”

“You look nothing like him.”

“That’s not what my mom said.” Another pause. “She, uh, did this to me.” He gestured vaguely at his face, the persian red smudge of puffy skin. “Being married to him, she went crazy, thought I was him, poured boiling water on my face.”

Izuku's heart sank to his stomach. “How old were you?”

“Five.”

“Five?” Izuku had been five when his father carved into his back, but that had been the end of the abuse. He’d run into his mother’s arms, sobbing and hysterical, and she took him away.

“They took my mom away after that. She’s in a mental hospital now, I think. I haven’t seen her since.” He sighed. “It wasn’t her fault. He drove her crazy. That’s why I don’t use my fire. I want to reject him, all of him, even the part of him that’s part of me.”

Izuku blinked at that. “What? Y– you think your quirk is his?”

“I inherited it.”

“You were born with it.”

“He gave it to me.”

“Shouto, I know what it is to have someone else’s quirk, and you do not. It’s yours. Your body was made to hold it, use it.”

“I was made to be used by him ,” he seethed.

“But that’s not what you are. You have one quirk with two abilities, neither of your parents have that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What it feels like to be a monster? Yes I do.” Izuku leaned forward, forgetting himself again. “Every time I use Botany, it feels like it’s trying to eat me alive. It’s not my power. It doesn’t belong to me, and it will never belong to me, because I wasn’t born with it. I refused to accept what I am, and it will destroy me, one day. Don’t do that, Shouto. It’s your power.”

“ Shut up !” Shouto slammed his fist down, and the Matsuya went quiet but for the rustle of heads turning their way. Izuku flinched, curling in on himself. His ashen, freckled face quivered in Shouto’s eyes, and he realized what he’d done. Just like Endeavor. He pushed up from his seat, moving to stand by Izuku’s booth. “I’m not hungry anymore, are you?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go.” He offered his arm. “Sorry for shouting.”

“It’s alright.” Izuku accepted the help and slid out of the booth. “All friends fight sometimes.”

… 

“You any closer to joining the League?” The tension had cooled by the time they climbed the stairs to Izuku’s apartment, Shouto too distracted by the compact charm of urban housing to stay angry. He asked the question to break the silence.

“Maybe,” Izuku mumbled.

“You don’t have to lie,” he pointed out. “I think you’d be more interested in League activities if you actually cared to join.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You probably want to avoid your abuser.” Izuku cocked his head at the word, and Shouto shrugged. “Dabi’s been reading some books about troubled teens and talking to me about them. It’s basic stuff: abusive households and trauma, says I should be going to therapy.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Burnt Trash tracks my purchases, and he’d blow up if he saw a psychologist on there. He won’t have a crazy son. He thinks mental illness is a myth, has ever since he was diagnosed as a narcissist.”

Izuku shook his head, leading Shouto down the hall. “What a Combustion Boomer.”

It took a second for the words to sink in, but slowly, almost comically, Shouto’s cheeks lifted and he stifled a laugh, stopping in his tracks.

“Combustion Boomer?” He repeated. “That’s a good one.”

“You’re always saying he blows up on you.”

Shouto snorted as he caught up to Izuku. “He does! Actual fire comes out of his nostrils. It’s disgusting!”

“You should post that online. I’m sure it’ll take him down in the popularity polls.”

“I should. It’ll be my villain debut.”

“From hot to snot.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Roasted.”

“Ha!”

They stopped in front of the apartment door, grinning like idiots. Their fight wasn’t forgotten though. No, for Shouto, the words repeated in his head over and over again.

It’s your power.

It’s your power.

It’s your power.

Shouto grabbed onto Izuku’s shoulder as they dropped to the bar floor, steadying him. Izuku had at first been at a loss as to why his balance was so consistently terrible, but lately he suspected his missing pinkie toes were a large factor. The decreased surface area made sticking a landing difficult, so he appreciated Shouto’s help.

“Thanks.”

Shouto nodded, but both their attentions were soon diverted. The regulars were there—Shigaraki, Dabi, Kurogiri—but there were strangers too. For the first time in Izuku’s experience, the Bar was crowded with clientele. A man with small round glasses, grey hair, and a flaking cigarette sat reclined in a stool by the bar top while engaged in conversation with Kurogiri and Shigaraki. A woman with cement-like dreadlocks argued with a man in a gas mask. A masked college student with gun barrels for fingertips gestured wildly while a humanoid iguana glared at him from across the bar. All strangers. 

Worse than strangers, Izuku gulped.

Villains.

“Ah.” Dabi popped up from his place at the counter. “The kids are here.”

“What’s going on?” Shouto stepped forward.

“It’s fine. Just finalizing some plans. Boring grownup stuff.”

“Dabi.” Shouto glared at him. Izuku’s eyes wandered to Shigaraki as he slid away from the bartop, approaching with the smoking man on his tail.

“–many of them aren’t satisfied with the post-attack compensation,” the stranger drawled.

“We’ve given them their guarantees,” Kurogiri said. “If they’re not confident in their abilities to handle the situation, it’s only fair we withhold their salaries. It’s proper business sense.”

“Mission like this, a lot of them will disagree with you. I mean, they’re going against Al–”

“Would you shut up !” Shigaraki snarled at the man. He turned to glare at Izuku as Kurogiri ushered the man back a step. “Quit gaping, brat!” His mouth hung ajar, Izuku realized, and he snapped it shut with a click.

“I want the kids out of here,” Dabi said.

“I don’t take orders from you, fry-face!”

Danger Day indeed. Izuku gulped. He hadn’t seen Shigaraki this belligerent since he was accepted into UA with an All Might projection. It wasn’t surprising: loud-mouthed, unruly people cluttered the bar and velvet couch, blocking the TV screen. No video games. No way to calm down.

“Shigs.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “You really want the brats talking to these people?”

Before Shigaraki could calm down enough to reply, the smoking man swaggered forward again, fixing an eye on Izuku and Shouto. “Ah, you two must be new to the market. I haven’t seen you around before.” He extended a hand. “Name’s Giran, broker and recruiter of the underworld. What are your quirks? Looks like I could find a few uses for boys like you.”

“They’re not on the market.” Dabi and Shigaraki snapped in unison.

“C’mon. Don’t hold out on me all the good material. Say Daisies, you have any experience with poisonous plants?” Shigaraki moved in front of Izuku as Kurogiri stepped in front of him, pushing the green-haired boy back. Shouto stuck close, surveying the room with slitted eyes while Dabi gently tried to pry him away.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Giran.” Kurogiri hurried. “These boys’ employments are exclusive to the League of Villains. They only participate in a minimal capacity, and I’m afraid you’d have no use for them.”

“Shigs,” Dabi hissed. “We need to get them out of here.” This time, Shigaraki did not argue but clasped Izuku tightly by the shoulder—pinkie lifted—and steered him toward the backdoor, Dabi and Shouto following.

The steel-reinforced door slammed with a resounding bang and made Izuku flinch. They weren’t outside; it was a cellar of sorts, complete with nondescript barrels lining the walls and a dank sweetness in the air. Shigaraki shoved Izuku into the center of the room, and he felt exposed, goosebumps pricked up his forearms and cold air slithered under his loose shirt.

“Keep your head down, brat,” Shigaraki snapped at him. “Not all villains are as nice as I am.” Izuku gulped.

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Shouto demanded of Dabi.

“We can’t communicate with phones. You really wanted me to tell you about an impromptu networking event with smoke signals?” Dabi massaged the bridge of his nose

“Why not cancel the meeting then?”

“Shigs said no.” The two turned towards Shigaraki, expectant, but the man only stood there in front of Izuku, flakes of skin sprinkling his shirt as he scratched a hole through his neck. His red eyes bared into the green head like glaring at a punching bag, ripe for the next hit. It took all of Izuku’s willpower to steel himself and stay still.

Another minute of silence dragged on before Izuku squeaked. “I– I’m doing well in school. Not much to report.” scratch scratch scratch “No one seems to suspect anything yet.” scratch scratch scratch “Aizawa-sensei’s been keeping a close eye on me though.” scratch scratch scratch “He says I need to work on controlling my quirk.”

“I don’t care about your stolen quirk,” Shigaraki snarled. Indeed, he was quite sick of hearing about it. The doctor had been raving about the stupid results from the last meeting’s tests, bumbling on about quirk factors and parasites. He hadn’t been listening really. Every time he tried, Izuku’s screams rang through his ears and he felt the head against his chest and the guilt and the urge to hurt him . Complicated, boring problems. Glitches in the system. Soon, Tsubasa would report his findings to Sensei and hopefully the matter would be over. He had better things to be thinking about, specifically the mission to kill All Might. And… something else. Something else really bothered– no, worried him.

Izuku bit down on his lip to shut himself up. The rambling technique never worked. When would he learn? He was too distracted by the pinkish stains beginning to spot Shigaraki’s scratching fingertips.

“Listen, brat!” Shigaraki started too loud, and Izuku took a step back. Shouto tensed. Calm down. Shigaraki cursed himself. “You’re not allowed to interfere with League of Villain activities. Condition 2. You break that rule, I’ll spill your secret to the world, if I don’t kill you first. And I will kill you.” Red drips raced down his knuckles. Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say? “But no one is allowed to kill you but me, so listen. If you’re attacked by…” he gestured vaguely. “Somebody who might be affiliated with the League, I’m allowing you to defend yourself. You can’t interfere with me or missions, but it’ll look suspicious if you refuse to fight villains, alright? So if some small fry tries to hurt you–” He raised his other fist. “Make sure they’re pushing up daisies.”

“Ah– alrigh–”

“But don’t let this give you any ideas!” Shigaraki stepped forward; blood drizzled down his neck. “You’re a side quest, an NPC. If I ever think you’re not worth it–” He was ranting now. After a day of dealing with sleazy, unimportant strangers, Shigaraki was ready to snap, hardly seeing Izuku’s pale face, the way he watched the drips of blood from his neck. “I’ll turn you to dust. I’ll expose you to everyone. I’ll tear you–”

Izuku couldn’t take it anymore, the blood. He couldn’t hear Shigaraki, couldn’t think. The nails dug deeper and deeper, and he couldn’t stop himself. “Stop it.” He reached out, pushed Shigaraki’s hand aside, and covered the wound with his palm. Izuku blinked up at Shigaraki, gulped. “You’re bleeding.”

Well, it was an effective way to shut him up.

Shouto and Dabi gaped, and for the first time, Izuku could really see the resemblance. Shigaraki, on the other hand, was frozen mid-sentence. His brain was still processing the warm press of a hand, the sting of pressure on the wound, the relief from scratching. Izuku wasn’t fully sure what he’d done. One moment, Shigaraki had been raging, and Izuku’s heart was thudding, and flakes of skin clogged the air, and he was hurting himself.

“Sorry.” Izuku drew his hand away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Again, the urge to hit him flared up inside Shigaraki. Instead, he took the boy by his shoulders, lowering himself to his eye level. “Izuku,” he said. “Don’t let anyone hurt you. No one but me. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Izuku gulped. Shigaraki squeezed his shoulders, felt how small the boy really was. He’d debated telling the rabble of villains to avoid him at the USJ, but that would look suspicious, and he hadn’t even given Shouto that privilege. No, Izuku would have to protect himself.

But Shigaraki would be there too, keeping an eye on him.

“Something’s going to happen.” Izuku sounded hollow.

“Yes,” Shigaraki sighed, suddenly calm. “So keep your head down, brat. That’s the only thing you can do.”

“You’re going to hurt people.”

“Brat,” He patted his cheek, smearing the blood from his fingers. “I’m going to make the world a better place. I’m going to hurt the person who hurt you.”

Chapter Text

They wore their hero costumes on the field trip, and Izuku hoped his suit wouldn’t be disintegrated this time. (Even with Kacchan gone, he took the precaution of fireproofing the material). With the addition of knives and fertilizer compartments added to the utility belt, he felt pretty good about it. The seating order on the bus went Iida, Uraraka, Shinso, Izuku, and—a few feet away—Shouto, turned in his seat seemingly to look out the window, but actually to face Izuku. He’d been keeping an eye on him lately. It’d be comforting if Shinso didn’t tease him about it constantly.

“He’s staring at you again,” Shinso mumbled under his breath.

“He’s not staring.”

“Well, he’s definitely looking a lot .”

“We’re friends.”

“So are we, but you don’t see me staring.”

“You’re always napping. By that logic, you have a crush on the insides of your eyelids.”

“I do. Their names are Kagome and Rukia, and their parents like me.”

Izuku shoved us elbow into Shinso’s side. “How’d you get so good at deflecting?”

“Quirk like mine, I have to be a smooth talker.”

“Wait a minute.” Izuku wrinkled his nose. “Kagome and Rukia… aren’t those the girls from Inuyasha and Bleach?” Shinso suddenly became interested in the wrinkles in his black jumpsuit. “You like girls with dark hair, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yaoyorozu’s kind of pretty, don’t you think?” His cheeks reddened. “Maybe aristocrats aren’t so bad after all.”

“Class rep,” he turned to Uraraka. “Make Midoriya stop harassing me.”

She leaned past him to grin at Izuku. “Middle school loser becomes a high school bully? Now that’s the kind of character development I like to see.” She high fived him as Shinso slumped between them.

“Were you really a loser in middle school, Midoriya, kero?” Tsu—sitting across from them—tapped her chin.

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his neck. “We had a really low quirkless population where I grew up so… kinda the odd duck, you know?”

“How did they react when you got your quirk?” Uraraka asked.

“I don’t know. They laughed at the flowers.” He gestured to his head— begonias today, faded red. “Then they started leaving me alone. It was weird.”

“Typical,” Shinso huffed. “It takes a quirk to get any respect.”

“I don’t know if it was respect.” He shook his head. “They stayed away, looked at me funny.”

“They were afraid of you,” Shouto said, and every head on the bus turned to face him. Even Aizawa sat up in his seat in the front, straining his ears.

“What makes you say that?” Izuku spoke softly.

“You defied their expectations. People either react to that with anger or fear.” He stared at Izuku, spoke to him alone. Izuku looked away as Kacchan flashed to mind. He’d been expelled, sent to anger management and therapy; no one had heard from him, but Izuku remembered the day in the empty classroom, the day his quirk first defied him.

“Yeah.” He stared at his lap. “Some of them were angry too.” The air grew silent, all shivering from a memory they didn’t have.

“It’s over now, though,” Uraraka pointed out.

“Mm-hm.” Izuku nodded. “UA’s great!”

“Despite all the break ins and injuries and homicidal maniacs?” Shinso smirked.

“Yeah,” he laughed lightly. “Despite all those.”

All Might wasn’t there.

He should have been, but he wasn’t.

Somehow, Izuku felt like it was his fault.

Uraraka had been grinning, excitedly whispering facts about Thirteen as the teachers went through the basic rescue mission exercise. There was an electric buzz in the air: Iida stood up straight, Shinso slumped, Shouto was disinterested, distracted, but there was this pervasive thrill, this flutter of nerves. A breeze from the closing door ruffled the begonias in Izuku’s hair. The flowers had just grown in that morning, unchanneled, but they looked nice. He racked his brain for their symbolism as Aizawa’s speech stopped short, the class’s attention turning to the central plaza of the USJ.

Begonia:

A black hole ripped through the air, figures emerging.

A symbol of caution

Shigaraki, Dabi, Kurogiri, familiar faces from the bar. Students squawked around Izuku, asking if this was part of the exercise. He pushed to the front of the group, numb.

A sign of warning

Aizawa shouted to get away. Shigaraki glared up at them, face masked by a detached hand.

“Don’t,” Izuku whispered as their eyes locked. “Please don’t.”

Of a future misfortune.

“Huh,” Shigaraki ignored him, looking back and forth. “Where’s All Might? He was supposed to be here. Were our sources wrong?” He shot a subtle glare at Dabi. “Oh well.” He rolled his shoulders. “Maybe he’ll come if we kill a few kids.”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa stepped in front of him, pulling down his goggles. “You need to get back.”

“Sensei, you can’t fight them.”

“I’ll be fine. You need to stay back.” He yelled to the rest of the group: “This is not part of the exercise. These are villains!”

“Villains!” The whisper rippled through the crowd.

“They can’t break into a school like UA!”

“Why aren’t the alarms going off?”

“How did they know we’d be here?”

Izuku turned, located Shouto near the front of the group as he peered down at Dabi with his deadpan mask. His eyes flicked to Izuku and, for a second, a shimmer of guilt furrowed his brow as they had the same thought. The day of the press break in. He’d taken a paper. A schedule .

“You bast –”

“Everyone, get away!” Aizawa jumped down into the fray, leaving the class in Thirteen’s care.

“Come on, students!” She herded them back toward the tall USJ doors. Izuku almost didn’t move, too mesmerized by Aizawa as he charged three thugs, canceling their quirks, fighting his way towards the center, towards Shigaraki.

“Midoriya!” A hand closed around his wrist, and he jolted back to the present moment as Shinso pulled him along. “Don’t freeze up on me now.”

“They’re here to kill All Might,” he murmured. ‘I’m going to hurt the person who hurt you,’ Shigaraki had said. Where does All Might work? UA. Where do they have a spy in place? UA. Where did Condition 3 require him to attend?

UA.

“This is my fault.”

“Snap out of it!” Shinso jerked him forward to the back of the pack, twenty hands reaching forward for the same door. Twenty people desperate not to die. This is my fault. A familiar black and violet spiral eclipsed the gaping doors, and Izuku pulled Shinso back, yelling an unintelligible warning.

“I won’t let you go!” Kurogiri’s vaporous body expanded. “In order to put an end to All Might, the Symbol of Peace, you must not escape. But do not trouble yourselves.” His formless arms raised, expanded. “Even as students, I am sure you are full of potential.”

“Shinso!” Izuku gasped as a tsunami of black crashed down on them. His classmates were swallowed up on all sides, screams cut short, bodies disappeared. Iida’s engines rumbled, and he sped away with Uraraka and others in his arms. Blinded, Izuku clamped down on Shinso’s wrist, hands interlocked.

“Don’t let go!” Shinso yelled as the ground split beneath them, and they clung to each other in free fall.

“Son of a–”

Splash!

Izuku didn’t get to hear the end of Shinso’s sentiment. Their bodies slammed into water, hands ripping apart as they shot through the depths. Even without oxygen, a strange sense of calm fell over Izuku, a clarity of reason, and all the painful realizations of above sea level crystallized into several clear facts: 1) the League had come to kill All Might 2) Shouto had known the whole time 3) Villains were come to threaten the lives of his classmates 4)... he had permission to fight back.

Thank goodness UA never slacks on set design.

Squinting through the water, Shinso's silhouette floundered up towards the surface, strangers closing in around him. Izuku called upon the roots, the scattered bits of seaweed knotted between the water vents to simulate a real lake, and they darted toward Shinso and Izuku like vipers, graceless as they shoved them to the surface.

Their heads broke water with mirror gasps.

“Midoriya!” Shinso called, pointing past him. “We have to get to the boat!”

“On it!” The seaweed ripped away from the pool bottom, twisting and knotting together with feverish expertise. One end knotted around a rock before returning to Izuku. “Swim!” They paddled to the boat’s side, water-quirked villains closing in. Izuku threw the rock to the deck, seaweed twisting around the guard rail. Botany couldn’t defy gravity, couldn’t make plants fly, but he’d tortured himself at Dagobah beach enough to know exactly what seaweed can do. “Hold on to me!” Shinso wrapped his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, and the entire soppen coil yanked , seaweed twisting around the railing like reeling in a fish. About half way up it started to feel like Shinso was choking him, sweat pouring from his forehead as he strained his quirk. He grabbed onto the guardrail and let Shinso climb over him and drag him over the metal banister, collapsing and spluttering on the deck.

“Sorry,” Shinso patted his back. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, thanks.” He waved him off.

“Stupid brats! Get back here!” A thug called from the water. Izuku and Shinso stayed crouched down and hidden.

“At least they’re talkative,” Shinso grimaced. “I’ll get them to fight each other.” He moved to stand up, but Izuku yanked him down again.

“No!” He whispered. “What if they know what our quirks are?”

“How would they know?”

“Maybe the same way they know All Might was supposed to be here,” Izuku grunted, cursing Shouto. They’d discussed the class’s quirks. Izuku had run down a list of them with him, pleased to have someone finally listen to his quirk rambling. I’m gonna kill him. “We can’t risk it.”

“You can’t fight them all.”

“No.” Izuku tapped his chin. “We’ll still use your quirk. I have a plan.”

Shinso used his headband to push back his dripping hair, a grin playing across his lips. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

… 

The villains in the water weren’t worried. All they had to deal with was a couple of kids: brainwash and plantboy, as they’d been told. The location of the students had been meticulously planned to ensure they wouldn’t have an easy time where they ended up, be it forest fire or landslide. These two boys, quirks in mind, would be easy to handle. I mean, Simon Says and some sissy with flowers in his hair? Yeah right. This would be over in no time.

They swam up to the boat’s edge, those with claws making use of them by puncturing the tinfoil prop piece and crawling up. They couldn’t see the boys. It had been quiet for a minute, and they’d probably snuck inside the ship, quivering and praying to their All Might figurines.

“Let’s take care of these brats so we can join the real fight!” Shark-faced Hoshigaki snarled. His jaw snapped open and shut, tongue wagging as he thought of taking a bite out of the fresh-faced students. “C’mon, kiddies!” He howled, eyes turned to the ship’s deck. A bush of green hair popped into view.

“I have a question!” Izuku’s mouth moved, sounding tired. “Which of you are stupid enough to fight me?”

“You brat!”

“We’ll eat you alive!”

“Shut up, you stupid kid!”

“Get down here and we’ll see who the idiot is!”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

A smile lit up Izuku’s freckled face. “We call this technique ‘Voiceover’.”

Shinso popped up beside him, speaking with his eerily familiar tired drawl, “Do us a favor and beat each other to a pulp, hmm?” A wave of white blurred the villains’ eyes, and their necks twisted like animatronics to face each other.

“Idiots.” Shinso smirked down on the carnage below.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Izuku elbowed him.

“You’re too smart to ever get close.”

The chuckles slowly dissolved as they stared across the USJ. Plumes of smoke rose from the conflagulation zone, ice coated the landslide hill, buildings teetered in the ruins, and a din of screams and chaos reverberated around the dome walls.

“Look!” Shinso pointed to the front doors. Kurogiri’s rippling figure spread and flickered like wildfire while the remainder of Class 1A evaded him. A white, slumped figure lay strung across the ground at his feet, and Izuku’s stomach turned. “Thirteen.” She lay there, hollow, half-deflated, and corpse-like. A group of students charged Kurogiri then, aiming for his neck plate, and a flash of blue light and exhaust fumes cut through and darted out the door while the attention was diverted.

“Iida got free!” Izuku pumped his fist. “He’s gonna get help.”

“I hope he’s fast enough.” Shinso nodded to the central plaza where Aizawa flung his scarf like a snake charmer. Row after row of villains charged him, raining fists and cursing his guts as he danced in and out of their reach, stamping out their powerful quirks with a look. He was winning, and he kept winning, but it didn’t end. Every person he knocked down came with two replacements whose punches grazed a little closer, quirks worked a little longer. What was worse, Shigaraki watched from the outskirts of the fight, pacing and scratching his neck, keeping a great lug of a monster company. “What is that thing?”

“I don’t know.” It reminded Izuku of a bird with its pointed mouth and empty, iris-less eyes on either side of its head, but its skin was a tar black and threatened to rip under bulging muscles. An exposed brain glistened moist and throbbing where its skull should be, and it sat there, completely lifeless. “But I don’t like how it's just sitting there.”

Without warning, Shigaraki’s head snapped their direction, and Shinso got down, half flattened on the floor. Izuku stayed.

“Is he looking at us?”

His red eyes seemed to glow between the grey fingers of his mask, fixed on him, his head of red begonias. Why are you doing this? Izuku knew why. It was the reason why Shigaraki did everything. It was the reason why Izuku was at UA in the first place. He was an idiot to forget it. Shigaraki reminded him everyday that he was nothing more than a set piece, a funny little NPC for him to poke and prod. He knew this. He knew this. But, even staring at Shigaraki across the USJ, an undercurrent of comfort ran under his shiver of fear. He felt safe in the same way he did when Shigaraki said, ‘ No one is allowed to kill you but me.’

“No.” Izuku nodded to him. “He’s not looking.”

“Good,” Shinso slumped, rubbing his temples. “Okay Midoriya, we need a plan. Think we should run? Hide?”

Shigaraki’s head tilted at him, like he was smirking. “Run. Definitely run. And we need to get as many students out of here as possible.” You gave me the okay to defend myself. He gulped. Hope you don’t mind my extending that to my classmates.

“How do you suggest we do that?”

Izuku stood to his full height and breathed in the dome air: fertilizer, drain water, dust, pine trees, bermuda grass. It wasn’t much, but the Roots extended all across the USJ, from the trees down to the mold. Wisps buzzed about and brushed surfaces, sending pings down the system, and if he closed his eyes, the whole dome seemed to vibrate with his breaths, a thousand hearts of cytoplasm beating with his own.

“What are you doing?” Shinso hissed.

“If I stretch my range far enough, I can feel every plant in this dome, like a map in my head. I can see what’s going on.” Footsteps squashed down the grass, someone tripped on a tree root, electricity shot down a flower stem. “Kaminari’s fighting someone and…” Two more pairs of feet. A piece of short metal shot into the soil. “Jiro, and–” A heavy blanket blocked the sun from a Japanese knot weed. “Probably Yaoyorozu, since no one had a blanket on hand. They just electrocuted a bunch of guys.”

“You can see all that?”

“What are you doing, little Izuku?” All Might’s voice whispered.

“If I push myself.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a good idea, usually.”

“You’re sweating.”

Indeed, his whole forehead glistened, and he leaned against the railing as his knees began to quake. “I’m fine.” He flinched as a tree sprout was crushed halfway across the USJ. “Kirishima’s surrounded.” Screwing his eyes shut, he envisioned the scene: the ruins zone, not many plants, but bits of roots poked up between the gravel, torn grass stuck to the bottom of shoe soles, and Wisps, bouncing off of shapes. Kirishima was running, thugs on his tail. Izuku jerked his head, and roots rocketed out of the ground and slithered around their legs, binding the villain’s knees together. Kirishima whipped around to gawk as something on four legs crept up behind him, probably hidden by a quirk; there wasn’t enough time to warn him, most roots occupied with their prisoners. Biting his lip, Izuku focused on the Wisps, incorporeal and invisible, and shoved them at Kirishima’s back, smacking him like a breath of wind, but he peeked behind his shoulder and tackled the villain in seconds.

“You’ll never access my full potential like that.”

“Midoriya!” Back at the boat, Shinso shook his shoulder. “Snap out of it. You’re– you’re sprouting!” Strands of dark green looped around his blue wrist veins; clover leaves peaked out of his ears; his fingernails lifted as vines pushed out.

“I need another minute,” he gasped, eyes still closed. He threw burning trees out of Ojiro’s and Tsu’s way as they cut through the fire zone. A ravaged bush yanked Hagakure to safety from one of Shouto’s glacial blasts. Sticks and roots poked out of the ground to hold onto as Tokoyami and Koda trekked through the wind zone. Moss, trees, algae, flowers, they were part of him. They were one.

“That’s right. Let go.”

“Izuku!” A fist drove into his abdomen, and he was back on the ship, gasping as Shinso held his shaking body upright. “Sorry, but you were starting to look more tree than human.”

“It’s fine,” Izuku coughed. “I was getting too deep.” The vines from his fingers began to retract, ears unstuffing of clovers. “You–” he righted himself. “You called me Izuku.”

“Yeah well, I figured we should be on a first name basis if I’m gonna punch you in the gut.”

“Fair enough.”

“You can call me Hitoshi if we make it out of here alive.”

“... fair enough.”

“Speaking of which,” he peered down to the water where the bloody tussle still continued. “How are we going to get out of here? The ship doesn’t actually work or have an engine. I checked while you were under.”

“Right.” Izuku rubbed his hands together, surveying the layout. The flood zone was directly next to the central plaza where Shigaraki waited and Aizawa fought, probably purposeful so Izuku could be watched. A number of trees lined the shore of the well maintained area, and—if they kept to the outskirts—they’d be able to slip by toward the USJ doors. “I’m gonna use my quirk again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just be sure to punch me again if I start photosynthesizing.”

Shinso squinted at him. “Why are you funnier in a crisis situation?”

“I’m always funny. You’re just more awake than usual.”

A tree formed their bridge to the central plaza, burls turned to stair steps and twisting branches mimicking a sort of handrail.

“You’re quirk is amazing,” Shinso muttered as they shuffled across.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Better be, considering how long I had to wait for it.” And what length I had to go to get it.

“True.”

They kept low, using the leaf bunches for cover as the sound of fighting grew nearer. Izuku wondered how much longer Aizawa could hold out against so many foes, hopefully long enough for the heroes to arrive. Shinso flinched every time a deep grunt traveled across the clearing. He liked Aizawa, more than any of the other teachers, though he kept it to himself. Izuku noticed though, like he noticed the bloodshot look in Shinso’s eyes some mornings, or the bitterness he could never manage to quell. How does someone like Shinso end up at UA? Well, that was another question for another time.

They slid down the truck and crouched on the outskirts of the central plaza. Only a few trees and rocks separated them from the villains now, view half eclipsed by the massive creature that sat inert at Shigaraki’s side. The plan was simple: stick to the edges, round over toward the entrance, and get as far as possible as fast as possible. Problem: that took them nauseatingly close to the fight. Shinso took the lead now, Izuku half leaning on him.

“Are you gonna be alright?” He glanced at Izuku’s ghostly face.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a bit of quirk exhaustion.”

“We’ll get out of here.”

“Yeah.”

Yet, as Shinso eased closer and closer to the chaos, brow furrowing as he peeked past tree trunks or over rocks, the less sure he looked. Aizawa was slowing, blood dripping from his knuckles, unblinking tears trickling past his goggles. His heavy breaths carried through the air and ripped at their ears: ragged, dangerously fatigued. Still, winning. He fought for and won every second of time. Pride swelled in both the boys’ chests as they watched from behind a set piece boulder; that was their homeroom teacher. He would protect them.

Then, Shigaraki yawned and turned to the bird-like creature. “I’m tired of this,” he said. “Nomu, finish him off.”

Snap!

Where the sound came from, Izuku couldn’t be sure. Was it the shattered sound barrier as the beast–the Nomu flew across the field? Was it the thugs being thrown onto their backs as it pushed through them? Was it the shredding of Aizawa’s scarf as he tried to stop it? Or, was it Aizawa’s arm, warped to a curly q after one touch? The monster's hands wrapped around him and threw him down like a toy. A punch descended, then a kick, and blood stained the sandy-colored cement where their homeroom teacher lay, bathed in the shadow of the Nomu’s raised, finishing-blow fist.

“No,” Shinso’s voice cracked in a whisper, paralyzed. Izuku couldn’t breathe. That couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei. That couldn't be the man he met the day of the entrance exam, the man who held back Kacchan, the man who stayed with him on a bad night. That was a corpse, a dopple-ganger, a fake, his father, a hallucination. Izuku couldn’t recognize him, couldn’t understand.

“Wait.” The Nomu froze at Shigaraki’s voice. He strode forward, casual. “You’re so cool, Eraserhead. How have you managed to hold back my men this long?” He scowled. “It ticks me off. Where’s All Might, huh?” He stopped at Aizawa’s twitching figure, curled on his side. “I was hoping to kill some kids to rile him up, but I bet a teacher will work too, don’t you think?”

No.

Shigaraki smirked beneath his mask. “All Might’s fall will bring the end of hero society.”

No no no.

“Once I beat the final boss, it’ll be game over.”

NONONONONO“STOPHIMFIGHTBACKLETMEIN”

The Roots became electrified. Every thug, every villain, every threat became black stains on a pathway of light, and as Izuku ran every blade of grass sharpened in defence. He didn’t feel Shinso’s hand trying to hold him back; he moved , ground ripping up beneath him with spikes of dead plants now revived. The seeds in his belt exploded from their pockets and wrapped him in vines, sprouted in the open air, bloomed on the concrete floor. All flourishing, all writhing because

that 

was 

Aizawa-sensei.

Izuku slid between them, hands raised as thorns pushed out from his fingernails.

… and that Shigaraki.

He stood between two worlds, and in doing so, both shattered.

Shouto got tired of the landslide zone. Dabi had said to make it look convincing, but perhaps freezing over a whole battalion of cannon fodder was pushing it. He was blowing off steam, admittedly, unable to shake the way Izuku had looked at him before being warped away. It had been anger, betrayal, and for the first time, Shouto had to consider what it meant to be the UA traitor. If he didn’t think of his classmates and teachers as people, then he wasn’t hurting anyone; he was living for himself, as he’d always done, and for Dabi, the reason he was alive in the first place. He didn’t consider the brainwashed Shouto of a few years ago a living person—he certainly didn’t feel alive—but reuniting with Dabi changed that. Dabi brought the life out of Shouto, but Izuku… he brought the life out of everything else. And for the first time, Shouto considered exactly what he was doing, who he was lying to, who he was hurting. What if someone dies today? Would it be his fault? Would he be a murderer… like his brother?

All Shouto wanted was to be like Dabi.

Dabi, who robbed banks and burned down buildings and killed people. Dabi used his fire without caring what monster he inherited it from. He liked to watch the world burn, and he’d douse himself in alcohol just to be close to the flame.

All Shouto wanted was to be like Dabi… right?

Mid-fight, Shouto whipped around to watch the situation near the front entrance. Thirteen looked done away with, perhaps dead, and the remaining students danced in and out of Kurogiri’s smokey grasp. There was something suspicious about their moves though, a synchronous quality not befitting the chaos. In a pause for breath, all leaped forward at Kurogiri’s exposed neck plate and swung . It wasn’t much good, but the rev of engines revealed their real plan as Iida bolted out the door during the distraction.

“That’s a problem,” Shouto grumbled as he side-stepped an attacker with a spear, freezing him mid-lunge as an after-thought. His ice provided wonderful brute strength. Who needed precision when they had overwhelming power? He coached his breathing and worked through the rest of the attackers. It was a breeze compared to Endeavor’s training, but he needed to pace himself. He couldn’t panic, couldn’t give himself away. He’d need to come up with a warning that other heroes might be coming without exposing himself. Smoke signal? Or find an excuse to fight near the plaza?

As he finished transforming the landslide zone into an ice rink, he stretched and turned leisurely to scope out the situation.

His heart skipped a beat.

Izuku slid between Shigaraki and a collapsed Aizawa-sensei, flowers and fists at the ready. Yet, as he stood there, his hands lowered, the roots receded into the ground, and everything green flopped back to inanimacy. He stared at Shigaraki without defence, and didn’t move as the man wrapped a hand around his neck.

No. Sparks popped in Shouto’s ear. I have to stop this. He could hit Shigaraki with a precision fire shot, giving Izuku time to run. But that meant using his left side. An ice glacier would be too indiscriminate. It would kill both of them. Izuku or his oath?

Shouto trembled. It wouldn’t matter if he took too long to pick.

He chose neither, moving without thinking, and sprinted down the hill toward the central plaza.

Izuku couldn’t do it. He wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was fear or just complete inability. He couldn’t fight Shigaraki, and he couldn’t watch Aizawa die. That led him here, staring into the crazed red eyes of the man who goaded him to jump from a rooftop, who hit and cursed at him, who experimented on him, like he was nothing. He was nothing to Shigaraki, and he felt like it. Shame sank to the bottom of his lungs, leaving no room for air, only a hollow, empty guilt.

His hands lowered to his sides and the vines slipped from his limbs and shoulders, deflating, shrinking. He would just stand there and die, let it all end, like it was supposed to. The scar above his eyebrow prickled with the memory of his face being smashed into the cement. That was the moment he was supposed to die. At Shigaraki’s hands.

‘I’m the only one allowed to kill you.’

“Midoriya,” Aizawa groaned behind him. Everything was a blur for him after taking a punch to the head, one eye swollen shut and sealed with blood, but he could make out the overalls and bush of green hair; he could make out Shigaraki staring at his student like he’d never seen a child before. He could make out the sweet begonias, withered petals fluttering down to float on his pool of blood.

“Please,” Izuku said. “Please don’t kill him.” He didn’t flinch as Shigaraki’s hand wrapped around his throat and began to lift him from the ground.

Shigaraki’s thought process was often hard for even him to understand. It was impulses and instincts, flashes of light that dwindled to nothing, or walls of fire that burned everything in their path. All or nothing. Want was as close as he could come to love. And he did not want this. Izuku wasn’t supposed to be where he was. Izuku was supposed to be off fighting low-life criminals and following orders. Izuku was supposed to live by the conditions: Condition 2: do not interfere with the criminal activities of the League of Villains. And if he didn’t…

Shigaraki was supposed to kill him.

His index finger hovered over the warm skin of Izuku’s neck, slick with sweat. He remembered Izuku staunching the blood flow from Shigaraki’s neck in the last meeting. It had been a shock then, too. What was he doing? How could he do this?

“Brat,” Shigaraki snarled. “I’ll kill you.”

Izuku couldn’t get out the words “I know.” His toes limply brushed the ground, not straining to relieve the pressure around his neck. That was what was so annoyed about the brat; he was always ready to die. What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he think of anything to live for? Hadn’t he liked having a quirk? Going to hero school? Watching video games on the couch? What was the point if it ended now?

What was it all for?

Shigaraki’s finger twitched. Just kill him. You can get a new side quest. He’s just a distraction. Cut your losses, win the game. The dead flower petals littered Izuku’s shoulders and the ground, one brushing Shigaraki’s hand as it fell. His green eyes were as lifeless as the day he met him, half-shut and sorry looking. A corpse. Already dead. Just kill him.

‘You keep the kid around to finally have a human you can force to be around you,’ Dabi had said. ‘Even when you’re unbearable.’

… I can’t. Shigaraki realized. Izuku blinked as the grip on his throat never closed. I can’t kill you, Midoriya Izuku. His other hand lifted and pressed into Izuku’s side. But I need to make you hurt.

The fabric of the overalls and sweatshirt dissolved away, and the screaming began.

Shouto skidded the rest of the way on a thin sheet of ice, tearing through the trees surrounding the landslide zone and skating across the pavement. Izuku’s cries quickened his pace, and he imagined all the terrible ways his friend could be dying. Friend. Friend. He hadn’t even considered what having a friend meant, and now he would lose his one and only forever, because he was too much of a coward to use his fire. Nevermind a shot from that distance would have trouble landing on a large target, nevermind it might have hit Izuku too. It didn’t matter. It was his fault.

“Stop!” He pounded to the central plaza and pushed through the crowd of villains, only for the air to catch in his throat. A wide chunk of flesh was missing from Izuku’s side. Shigaraki held him limp in the air and pulled his hand away from a spurting, scarlet gash at his waist, Izuku’s face ashen and sunken, his dead eyes dripping water. Shigaraki’s attention snapped to Shouto, and Dabi materialized in the crowd of villains. “Stop it,” Shouto huffed.

“Come to save your precious teacher too?” Dabi sneered. “Better hurry. He’s losing consciousness fast.” Translation: Aizawa could hear him.

“You villains better leave now,” Shouto gulped. “No one has to die, but my classmate Iida is going to be bursting in here with every Pro Hero teaching at UA any second now.”

Shigaraki dropped Izuku, and the boy crumpled, wounded side pressed into the grimy floor. Something grasped at the back of his shirt, groaning and stirring, and he distantly realized it was Aizawa, still trying to protect him as he bled out. How much blood would he have to lose before he died? Why would Shigaraki kill him this way? The look in his red eyes had been strange: wide and resolute and furious, but they also shimmered. His grimace deepened the more Izuku’s flesh disintegrated, and Izuku wanted to talk to him. He wanted to apologize, oddly enough, not for protecting his teacher but for wasting Shigaraki’s time in the first place. Of course it would end like this; he could have spared everyone a lot of trouble if he wasn’t involved at all. He felt so cold, clammy, and his heart pittered like rain on a window. Rain out the window.

Rain out the window. Pitter-patter. Dad’s home from work.

Shigaraki watched him twitch. What was Shigaraki doing here? Where was dad?

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Cookie crumbs ground to powder under a heel.

“Midoriya.” Aizawa pulled at his shirt.

Sparks in the needles. Charred tinsel.

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

Merry Christmas.

“It’s true!” Shinso burst out from behind his rock, ran up to Shouto’s side. “I saw it. Iida’s getting heroes, and if you don’t leave now, they’ll arrest all of you.”

Shigaraki opened his mouth, but Dabi cut him off. “Don’t respond. That’s brainwash, remember?”

Shinso gritted his teeth. “This isn’t a trick. Leave now, and you’ll get away free.”

“No matter what you have planned for All Might, you can’t take on that many pros,” Shouto said. “Step away from those two, and no one else needs to get hurt.”

“How do I know you’re not just trying to protect your friend?” Shigaraki snarled, pinning him with his eyes. He’d been betrayed once today, he wasn’t sure if he could hold back if it happened twice.

“I’m not lying! We both saw it!”

For one tense moment, the four prepared to attack each other, Shinso and Shouto to protect Izuku, Dabi to protect Shouto, and Shigaraki simply to satisfy his rage. However, true to form, Kurogiri appeared in the center, hands raised placatingly.

“I’m afraid the boys aren’t lying. The Iida boy was able to slip away while his friends distracted me.”

Shigaraki cursed. “I’d kill you if you weren’t our warp gate, Kurogiri.”

“My apologies, Shigaraki. But, I’m afraid it’s time to go.”

He scratched at his neck, but the belligerence was smothered. “We’ll have to live to play another round.” He grumbled. “Let’s go.” Across the USJ, warp gates opened and swallowed up thugs, cleaning up like sweeping dirt under a rug. Dabi crossed over to Kurogiri and waited for Shigaraki to join them. The white haired man took pause though. Izuku stared up at him with lackluster eyes, breath shallow and brain confused. He couldn’t remember what had happened, what either of them had done, and he blinked at Shigaraki with slow innocence, without a speck of worry or fear. The half blinded Aizawa tried to pull the boy closer to him with his one good arm while glowering at the man. Shigaraki sighed, pawing at the neck wound Izuku had cupped. “Stupid brat,” he whispered, and turned away, swallowed by a blackhole and leaving the boy to bleed out.

Shinso and Shouto dashed to Izuku and Aizawa’s sides, shouting and binding wounds and trying to keep them awake. A fuzziness closed around Izuku’s head as this happened, and moments and minutes meshed together into ticks on a chalkboard. Chew chew train around the Christmas tree. There’s a note in the desk drawer. Time crawls on Christmas Eve.

Heroes burst in and sirens wailed, on and off, like rain.

Rain out the window. Pitter-patter. Dad’s home from work.

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Chapter Text

It took Shouto a while to start thinking clearly again. First All Might burst inside, followed then by the rest of the hero staff of UA, then the police and the fire department and the EMTs. The sirens woke him up. They sounded like a smoke alarm, equaling fire, equaling Endeavor, equaling danger. The survival instincts kicked in, and he stared as his bloodstained hands pressing the wound in Izuku’s side quelled their trembling, Shinso waving over medics with stretchers. Izuku. His neurons fired. He needs to know about the police chief.

He bent over, lips almost brushing his earlobe as he hissed. “Izuku.” The head of green hair twitched, eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi. You need to find a way to protect the League without telling a lie.” Boots pounded toward them, and Izuku was unresponsive. “Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi,” Shouto whispered, cheek pressed to his. “Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t– don’t…”

“Todoroki.” Shinso appeared at his side, gently prying at his shoulder. “The EMTs are here. We have to move.”

“Don’t die, Izuku,” his voice cracked. “Please.”

“C’mon.” Shinso pulled him away as the white-garbed medics descended upon Izuku and Aizawa. Their voices floated up and overlapped.

“Broken arm.”

“Quirk exhaustion.”

“Punctured lung.”

“Extreme blood loss.”

“We need to begin a transfusion now.”

Shinso broke forward, pointing at his chest. “I’m O negative, universal donor. Use my blood.”

“We’ll set it up in the ambulance.” An EMT gave a curt nod. “But we need to get both of you out of here now . We don’t have much time.” They lifted teacher and student onto identical stretchers and booked it for the USJ doors, Shinso sprinting after them. Half of Class 1A parted for them as they gathered near the exit, and cries reverberated wall to wall of the USJ, echoes of echoes.

What a disaster . Shouto glared at All Might as he zipped around the dome, looking for injured students or idling thugs, anything to be busy. You’re too late. You always will be, when Midoriya Izuku is involved. Shouto had heard the story from Dabi, how Shigaraki found him, how All Might abandoned him. There were mentions of quirk discrimination, abusive father, bullies, depression, on and on the list went, and Shouto stopped listening. The day had not gone as planned, and the person who was supposed to be safe, who had permission to do what it takes to be safe, had almost gotten himself killed. Maybe Shouto had misjudged him and his determination to make the abuse stop. Or maybe Izuku saw one way to make it all end, and that was to end it all. You can’t die, Izuku. Shouto shoved his hands in his pockets, and the blood stained through the white material. Shigaraki won’t let you, unless it’s in his arms.

2 Days Later

Aizawa slept with a cooling eye mask when he was home. It helped the angry bloodshot veins go down, and it made him feel safe. When he had the cool mask on, it meant he had no students to look after, no hero duties to attend to. It meant he could rest without bolting up at every rustle or breath. It meant he was alone, at home, with no one but his roomie down the hall.

So, when Aizawa broke through the thick layers of anesthesia and exhaustion to surface in near-consciousness, he panicked before even remembering the USJ, before he could feel the pain in his chest and the needle in his arm. No eye mask, no memories, and the nearby sound of a heart monitor, speeding up.

“Aizawa?” His roomie’s voice rose through the blackness. “Aizawa, it’s alright. You’re in the hospital. It’s okay.”

Hospital? Why was he in the hospital? How had he… 

T h e  U S J

His eyes shot open, and he almost sat up if it wasn’t for the arm flung across his chest, pinning him down. Young arms, scrawny, pale. His roommate's.

“Don’t sit up. It’s just me.” Aizawa’s eyes focused, the mop of purple clarified into a head of hair over an ashen face, sunken eyes. “It’s Hitoshi.” Hitoshi Shinso: his adopted kid.

“Hitoshi.” Aizawa sank back into the hospital bed and took in the scene. It was a standard single person hospital room, complete with foam ceiling, fluorescent lights, and an adjustable bed. An IV sat taped into Aizawa’s intact arm, its less fortunate counterpart in a cast and laying across his torso. Shinso slumped in a chair by his bed, more pallid than usual. “Are you alright?” The memories returned slowly. There’d been an attack at the USJ. Aizawa fought them. He’d been getting tired. A beast, massive and horrible, had almost snapped him in half. Then a man stood over him, hand masking his face, and then… and then… 

“I’m fine. They needed to do a blood transfusion on Midoriya so I’m a bit low on iron.”

Midoriya! A coughing fit seized his chest, and Shinso appeared at his side, holding his shoulder as he retched. He remembered Midoriya, standing between Aizawa and the man. ‘Please,’ he’d said. ‘Please don’t kill him.’ … there’d been so much blood. “Where’s Midoriya?” He choked. “Is he alive?”

“He’s alive. He’s just down the hall, and he’ll be fine. He lost a lot of blood but Recovery Girl’s been healing most of the damage. It’s taking a while. He’d had quirk exhaustion so she couldn’t heal him all at once.”

Aizawa sagged back into his bed again. He was dangerously close to adopting another child.

He’d met Shinso about two years ago, just on the street. The kid had recognized him as Eraserhead in seconds, and he followed him around about a block back for almost an hour, never gathering enough courage to talk to the underground hero. It took Aizawa sneaking up on him to drag conversation out of the kid, and it took even longer to procure his story: foster kid, mind-control quirk, bullied, bitter, and with enough potential to peak Aizawa’s continued interest. Neither of them were terribly sentimental, so they treated adoption like a business proposition. They were roommates, with similar interests and a sincere need for quiet time. Aizawa hadn’t even wanted Shinso to try for UA. They both knew the system was rigged, and no amount of parental affection would drive him to nepotism. The deal: Shinso would get into UA on his own, and their extracurricular relationship could not be shared with anyone. Only Nezu, Present Mic, and Recovery Girl knew, but they didn’t pull any strings for his acceptance. Thank goodness for Midoriya Izuku.

… Izuku.

“What happened?” Aizawa asked.

“You got your butt kicked, for one,” Shinso snorted, mirthless. “Villains attacked the USJ, and we got separated. Izuku and I were warped to the shipwreck zone, and we had to sneak past the central plaza to get to the exit. You were almost killed by the Nomu thing, and the hand-guy—Shigaraki—he was going to finish you off. Izuku got between you two but he froze, and Shigaraki lifted him up by the neck. I– I thought I’d have to watch both of you die.” Shinso cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “But, for some reason, Shigaraki disintegrated Izuku’s side instead of his neck, and Todoroki interrupted before he could kill him, said Iida was bringing every pro hero employed at UA and they had better clear off. They did, just like that. It was over.”

“They left?”

“Yeah. There were a few thugs left behind. Some of them were too wrapped in roots to make it to the warp gate. They were pretty low level criminals though, not the brains of the operation, if that operation had a brain.”

“You don’t need a brain with quirks like those.”

“Thanks for reminding me of how unjust our society is.” He shuddered. “I’m beginning to think UA’s a bit overrated.”

“I could have told you that.”

“You did. I should have listened.”

“No.” Aizawa deflated. “As your guardian, as your teacher, it’s my job to protect you. I let you down.”

“Don’t get emotional on me, old man. I’m saving my stamina for when soppy-eyed Izuku wakes up.”

“I want to see him.”

Shinso tapped his chin. “Like, you want me to take a picture of him sleeping, or do you want to sneak out of your hospital room?”

“The latter.”

“I hid a wheelchair in the closet, just let me get it.” Shinso pushed himself out of his chair.

“That’s my boy.”

They both had a healthy disrespect for the rules, a useful similarity for times like these. Shinso wheeled the borrowed wheelchair to the bedside and supported Aizawa as he eased out of the sheets, collapsing into the seat with a grunt. Shinso slumped onto the bed, huffing.

“Are you alright?”

“Just a bit lightheaded.” He ran a hand over his face, eye bags approaching a new dimension of darkness. A wrinkled white button up and slacks bunched around his elbows and knees, most likely stolen from the lost-and-found.

“You haven’t gone home.”

“Nah. I crashed in the chair after they drew the blood. Actually fell asleep, too.”

“You should have called for a ride and gone home. It’s important you don’t miss your med doses.” He’d squeeze his knee if arms weren’t the weight of bricks.

“It won’t kill me.” Shinso shrugged, easing up from the bed and grabbing the push handles of Aizawa’s wheelchair. “I didn’t want to go home without you.”

“Hitoshi…”

“Todoroki hasn’t left either. He just sits outside Midoriya’s room, all deadpan and pale. It’s like he’s keeping watch.”

“Midoriya’s blessed with his friends.”

“He hasn’t been blessed with much else.”

… 

Todoroki only stiffly nodded as the two passed by. Aizawa wanted to speak to him, but Shinso pushed on, knowing they’d get in trouble if a nurse turned the corner and caught them mid-escape attempt. They snuck into Midoriya’s room and left Todoroki to his vigil.

Of course, the room wasn’t empty.

A bent, shiny head of smooth green hair inclined at Izuku’s bedside, nodding chin supported by her fist. The door clicked shut before Shinso could stop it, and Inko Midoriya snapped awake, blinking away the blur as she took in the guilty party. Aizawa cleared his throat before she could call security.

“You must be Mrs. Midoriya. I’m Aizawa Shouta, your son’s homeroom teacher.” The turning wheels of her brain shone through her wet eyes and she looked to Shinso.

“And I’m Shinso Hitoshi. I’m friends with Izuku. Though… I don’t know if he’s mentioned me.”

“Of course he’s mentioned you,” she said. “You’re one of his best friends.”

“Oh.”

“And you’re his favorite teacher.” Aizawa grunted, and Inko wiped the water and crud from her eyes. “Sorry. You just surprised me. I haven’t even introduced myself. Yes, I’m Midoriya Inko, Izuku’s mother.” She rose from her chair, crossed to them. “I was told you were also injured during the attack. Should you be out of bed?”

“I’m well on the way to recovery. Besides,” he nodded to the bed. “I wanted to check on him.” All heads turned to the ashen face of freckles, IV shoved in his arm and sheets pulled up to his chest to hide the bandages around his torso. The begonias from the USJ were gone, replaced by headless stems, drooping, brown. “How is he?”

Inko chewed her lip. “The doctor said he’d wake up soon. The wound was more surface-level than they’d originally feared, so the blood loss was the greatest threat. He should have taken to more of Recovery Girl’s healing by now but… he’s just so tired. He can’t handle much of her quirk at once. Apparently, Botany caused him a lot of internal bleeding too.”

“I was worried he’d pushed himself too much,” Aizawa grunted. “His quirk has some drawbacks.”

“Has Izuku’s quirk done this before?” Inko blinked, and Aizawa’s frown deepened.

“He hasn’t told you?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Izuku… he doesn’t like to tell me bad news. He has this habit of taking on all the burdens by himself and– and he won’t open up to me.” She sighed. “He’s had negative experiences with adults in the past, so he prefers to be withdrawn. The psychologist told me it's normal for a boy in his… position.”

“His position being…?” Aizawa pressed.

“Well—Izuku despises this word—but I suppose he’s a survivor. We both are. His father was,” she shuddered. “Unpleasant.” 

“Midoriya’s told me some of the context behind the scar on his back. I understand the father’s a threat to the child. Have the two had any contact of late?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, no.” She waved him off, bothered by the question. “Hisashi moved to America. My son and I haven’t seen him in almost a decade.”

Aizawa scowled at how she brushed past the question, but let it slide. Midoriya wasn’t in the hospital because of his father at the moment. “I’m very sorry to have put your son through more pain.”

“Oh, I’ve heard the police report. I know you did all you could to protect him.” Her eyes moistened. “He speaks of you two so fondly. I’m not surprised he wanted to protect you. That’s just like him. Just like him.”

“I have noticed a trend in this kind of behavior, yes. I plan to work on it with him specifically. I’d also like to see if there’s anything I can do about his lack of communication. I’d like to respect his privacy, but his safety comes before all else.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” She wrung her hands. “Heaven knows I’ve no idea how to get through to him. Ever since he got that quirk, he’s seemed happier, but also more distant, like he’s avoiding something. I hoped it’s just because he’s a teenager, but… ” She gestured weakly to the corpse-like figure in the bed. “This isn’t normal teenage stuff anymore.”

“Your son does seem to lack a sense of self-preservation.”

“That started a few months before his quirk manifested: terrible depression spell, lost all interest in school and heroes. I was going to send him to therapy, but everything seemed to clear up after the quirk.”

Aizawa wished she’d stuck to the therapy idea. Inko struck him as a person of surface-level intelligence. There were plenty of people like her in the hero industry, and they weren’t all that bad. They struggled with critical thinking and delicate situations, preferring to wade the shallow, kitty-pool depths of their mind rather than venture into the deep, dark corners. A coping mechanism. Like wearing blinders. He’d have to be careful probing her for information, though she seemed eager to supply it. “I imagine the traumatic event that induced the quirk must have affected him in a way that was difficult to detect. Have you noticed any signs of trauma?”

“He’s been spared from that, thank goodness. Izuku can’t remember a thing from his TIM.”

Aizawa blinked. “What?”
“Amnesia.” She shrugged. “It was a terrible day for me. Izuku never came home from school, and nowhere I called knew where he was. Then, in the middle of the night, there’s a sound outside my door and Izuku was just laying there, head all bandaged up. When he woke up the next day, he told me he remembered walking home from school, his head being hurt, and then nothing else, couldn’t even remember who tended to his head wound. Whatever happened, it’s completely erased from his brain.”

That... Aizawa resisted the urge to massage his temples. Makes no sense. “Did Midoriya mention how his head might have gotten hurt?”

“He thought someone might have attacked him at first.” Inko tapped her chin. “But, a few days later, he told me he was pretty sure he just fell. I know it sounds hard to believe, but my son has a hard time staying on his feet, especially back then. The doctor said head-trauma would be enough to cause a TIM, so we’ve tried to accept it and move on.”

“Was this doctor aware of Midoriya’s history of abuse?”

“No. Why?”

Because, if they were, they’d have realized Midoriya’s quirk should have manifested sooner if all it took was a bonk to the head. “No reason. Just wondering about medical records.”

“I work at an assisted living home, and I’ve trained in first aid, so most injuries are taken care of at the house. Best to get out of medical bills if you can avoid them, you know?”

“I understand.”

Shinso grumbled something under his breath, but neither of them heard. This sound, however, reminded Inko of his presence.

“Oh, here I am prattling on when you must be exhausted. Why don’t you sit down in my chair? I’ve needed a stretch. The doctors told me how you donated blood on the ambulance ride over. I really appreciate your care for my son.”

“Izuku’s my friend.” Shinso shrugged but took her up on the offer and crossed the room to sit in the chair by the bedside. “I’d do anything to help him out. He’s the reason I got into UA, him and his constant freezing.”

“He has always preferred placating an opponent before fighting,” she hummed, smiling. “I never understood why he wanted to go into heroics. My little peacekeeper.” Recovery Girl had defined the conflict response as ‘fawning,’ Aizawa remembered. It developed in children who learned to appease their abuser.

“Izuku’s a great fighter,” Shinso defended him. “He took down villains on the other side of the USJ by sensing them with his quirk and incapacitating them. He’s almost the top of the class.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I just wish he’d be safe as well as strong.”

“We all do, Mrs. Midoriya,” Aizawa said.

The heart monitor picked up then, from beep beep beep to beepbeepbeep, and every eye in the room zoomed in on Midoriya Izuku. His brow furrowed, his nostril flared, groaning, shifting as he pushed through the layers of unconsciousness. Inko stood paralyzed at the foot of his bed; all the color of her round cheeks evaporated. Aizawa wheeled past her and came to Izuku’s side, shifting to lean into his line of vision. Shinso bolted up as well and took Izuku’s limp hand.

The boy’s pallid freckles seemed to shimmer like dew drops; his lids twitched as the eyes roamed beneath.

“Izuku,” Aizawa said gently. Izuku’s heart rate was too fast, best to wake him with a familiar name, make him feel safe. Mistake. “Izuku,” he repeated, voice low and masculine, familiar to a tired mind, a drugged mind, a scared little boy caught between nightmares.

The name penetrated Midoriya’s skull, and the worst imaginable face popped into his head.

“Dad!” He gasped, head shooting off the pillow. Shinso was ready and caught his shoulders to pin him down. He went limp, eyes wide as the blur finally cleared and the fluorescent lights above came into focus, followed by the dark blobs in his vision: Shinso and Aizawa-sensei. No dad. Of course no dad. He released a breath, but it came out a whimper, and Shinso released his shoulders. He’d heard voices in his sleep: mom’s and Shinso’s and Aizawa’s, but others too. They were lower, nearer: ‘Be careful with this body. It’s not yours anymore.’ He shivered, spoke. “S– sorry. Nightmare.”

“That’s alright.” Aizawa nodded. He was covered in bandages, one arm in a cast, arm attached to an IV pole on wheels. “Do you remember anything?”

Izuku gulped. “It was raining.”

“No. There wasn’t rain. That might have been a dream.”

“But–” he shook his head. “It was. There were sirens and– and blood, and you were grabbing at my shirt. I heard it. It was…” Izuku’s eyes flicked to the heart monitor, slowing steadily. “It must have been my heartbeat.”

“Yeah, means you’re still alive.” Shinso nudged him.

He squinted up at his friend. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Oh Izuku!” Inko burst out, and Aizawa wheeled back as she regained movement and hurried to her son’s side. “Can’t you worry about yourself for once?” She clutched his arm. If Izuku was worried about anything else, it’d be if she’d seen his feet. He flexed his remaining toes, scratchy against the linen sheets, to find them well hidden.

“I’m fine, mom. Why are you crying?”

“Oh!” She crumpled then, buried her face into his chest and sobbed. “Y– you thought your father was here.” Ah, that explained it. Inko could be strong in many ways, but there was one subject that dissolved her into the same battered woman she’d been almost a decade ago. Izuku had said the forbidden word. The D-word.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mom.” He tried and failed to sit up. “I didn’t mean…”

“That man can’t hurt us again.” His hospital gown balled in her fist. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”

“I know he’s gone.” Izuku gulped. “He’s in America. I know that. He’s gone.”

Shinso and Aizawa exchanged glances over the distraught mother and disoriented boy. The D-word had been a shock, and Aizawa’s gut wrenched to remember how the blurry eyes fixated on him in terror, mistaking Aizawa for that– that man.

Inko finally collected herself and wiped at the brimming tears in Izuku’s eyes. His shoulders slumped at the gentle touch and processed that, for the moment, no one would hurt him. Temporary safety. More pain would come later, but now there were only his mother’s hands, smelling of old people and lotion.

For all appearances, Detective Tsukauchi was an unassuming guy. Short black hair, black eyes, beige trench coat, wide but not massive shoulders. He liked white dress shirts and plain ties, and he liked remaining as impassive as possible on the outside. He was a professional, and his demeanor betrayed nothing more than that. It was a good thing, too, helpful for police work and getting people to trust you, believe in you. He avoided mind readers for that reason.

Let’s just say, people would lose their confidence if they heard his inner monologue.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Tsukauchi’s Nissan GT-R rammed into the curb as he whirled onto the hospital parking lot, burning rubber at the loitering nurses on their smoke break. Static gibberish pinged incessantly on his radio, and he yanked down the volume to catch his breath. Attack at UA. All Might targeted. Several injured. New criminal organization. Possible biologically engineered monster spotted on scene. He hadn’t stopped working since the incident, and it was catching up to him.

The string of curses he muttered under his breath as he hustled into the building ranged from foul to ineffable. All Might in his small form met him at the door.

“Naomasa!” He cried as the detective flew past. Tsukauchi stopped short to take in his friend: gaunt, stooped, but not injured, not dead. Good.

“You alright, Toshinori?”

“I’m fine. I showed up too late. The villains were gone.”

“My unit’s processing a few of the stragglers we were able to snag. Group calls themselves the League of Villains, but we don’t know much other than that. The attackers were mostly mercenaries, hired days ago.”

“So we don’t know anything?”

“Not yet.” Tsukauchi picked up his pace. All Might huffed after him. “We might learn something by talking to the witnesses, especially the ones at the central plaza incident.”

“But, the boy—Midoriya—he’s only just woken up a few hours ago. He needs time to rest.”

“That’s why I’m here, Toshinori.” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like it either, but Midoriya’s reported behavior was the most suspicious. Even if it’s an off-chance, he might know something.” He turned a corner. “Want to join in? Play the good old intern?”

“Can’t. He knows about this form.” Tsukauchi threw a glare over his shoulder. “It’s a long story. I’d like to listen in though.”

“We’ll figure something out. I hope he’s not involved, Toshi, for your sake.”

…

Something was bugging Izuku. A voice, a memory, and not of his quirk or his father. Someone had said something. Amidst all the rain and sirens and shouts, there was a voice in his ear, lips brushing the lobe. Don’t… it had said. Don’t. Don’t… Don’t what? It was important. He had to remember.

“Is something wrong, Izu?” His mother hovered at his side, Aizawa asleep in the corner. Shinso had gone home, per their teacher’s instruction, and Izuku noted something in their glares as they’d argued over the matter. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m trying to remember something,” he croaked, inclining the bed to sit up.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s important.”

“Hmmm.” A red imprint of the folds of her sleeve marred her cheek from resting on her arm, and Izuku’s chest panged at the sight. He’d caused her so much pain, and he would only cause her more. Izuku raised his trembling hand and brushed the soft, puffy skin, the crows feet and frown lines.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

“What for?” She rested a hand over his.

“I keep making you sad.”

“That’s not your fault. You don’t have to take on that burden by yourself. You couldn’t control being attacked.”

“I got in the way.”

“You were trying to protect your teacher. You were acting like a hero.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

“I’m not a hero.”

“Of course you’re not yet.” She chuckled. “You still have a few years of schooling left to go.”

She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. Izuku could never be a hero. He wouldn’t live long enough. “I love you, mom,” he whispered. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too, Izuku.” She moved his hand from her face, squeezed the fingers. “But don’t say it like that.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t say it like it’s goodbye.”

He gulped. “Mom, I–”

Knockknockknock

The pair started, and Aizawa’s eyes shot open. A second of silence, waiting for the door to break down.

Knock knock. “This is the police. We just have a few questions.” Izuku’s chest constricted. He needed to remember something. Inko rose from her chair and crossed to the door, opening it a crack to peak before stepping aside and letting the man in.

“You must be Mrs. Midoriya.” He smiled, bland. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m–” his eyes flicked to the corner, blinking. “A– Aizawa! What are you doing in here?”

“Hush.” He waved Tsukauchi quiet. “I’m fine. You and I both know I can rest just as well anywhere as I can in a bed.”

“That’s true, but–” he stopped himself before he could start pulling out his hair. Aizawa had more info on the kid. It couldn’t hurt to have him here. “Actually, it’s fine.” He shrugged, turning to Izuku and Inko. “My name is Detective Tsukauchi, and I need to speak to Midoriya Izuku about the incident at the USJ.”

“So soon?” Inko bit her lip.

“I understand he’s only woken up today, but the incident was two days ago and it’s important we get all the information we can before the trail goes cold. I’m sorry to bother you two, especially after everything that’s happened, but it really is necessary.

Inko sighed, turned to her son. “What do you think, Izuku?”

But Izuku didn’t hear her.

Tsukauchi. He knew that name. Tsukauchi. Rain, sirens, shouting, don’t, don’t…

‘Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi.’ Shouto’s words broke through his memory. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi. You need to find a way to protect the League without telling a lie.’ Izuku’s eyes darted between the three: Aizawa, mom, the detective. ‘Don’t lie to Detective Tsukauchi.’ Whatever he says, it would have to be the truth.

“Izuku?” Inko appeared at his side, squeezing his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he coughed.

In Tsukauchi’s head, a tiny buzzer went off, informing him of the lie.

“Mom.” Izuku turned to her. “I don’t want you to be here for the interrogation.”

“W– why?” Her lip trembled.

“It’ll upset you. Mom, please. I don’t want to talk about it in front of you.”

“Izuku–”

“ Please .”

She pulled away. Hurt clouded her face. “Okay. I’ll– I’ll be in the cafeteria if you need me. Your phone’s in the cabinet drawer.” She turned and moved for the door.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “Mom–” The door clicked shut behind her.

Izuku’s fists clenched, and he looked miserably at his lap as Aizawa and Tsukauchi exchanged awkward glances.

Aizawa cleared his throat. “Midoriya–”

“I know, but… I’m doing what I think is right, if you can believe that.”

Tsukauchi took Inko’s chair at Izuku’s bedside, extracting a notepad before leaning his briefcase against the chair leg. Cool and calm, Naomasa . He reminded himself. The boy’s sallow face laxed in resignation, and Tsukauchi felt like an executioner. “I believe you, Midoriya. You want to protect your mother. What happened wasn’t pleasant.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Is it alright if Aizawa stays?”

“If he wants to.” Midoriya shrugged. “He was there.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He jotted down the boy’s name, age, and quirk, clicked his pen twice, then looked levelly into the distant green eyes. “I’d like to start from the beginning, if that’s alright. Please describe the events leading up to your attack.”

Izuku sniffed, picked at his nails. “It was a good day. I sat next to my friends on the bus ride there. We were excited. Uraraka’s a really big fan of Thirteen, so I was listening to her talk as we walked inside. Then the teachers started lecturing, explaining the exercise. I’m sure you know all this. The villains appeared and Aizawa-sensei ordered us to get back as he went off to fight them. I ran next to Shinso, and when–” Izuku stopped himself from saying Kurogiri’s name with a cough. So far so good. “The warp guy blocked the door, Shinso and I were both warped to the shipwreck zone.” He explained escaping the water, his guess that the thugs knew the class’s quirks, the voice swap trick, using Botany to sense people around the USJ, forming a bridge to the central plaza. “We were just going to slip by, not get involved. But, we kept hesitating because Aizawa-sensei–” He glanced at his teacher. “He was slowing down, and Shinso was worried, so we hid behind things and watched as we moved. We were behind a rock when the beast attacked.” A shiver shot up Izuku’s arm, and he pressed a hand to his wounded side, wondering how much flesh was missing beneath the bandages. Why wasn’t he dead?

“Are you alright, Midoriya?” Tsukauchi nudged.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah… just remembering.” He gulped. This would be the tricky part of the story. “The guy with the hand on his face told the– the thing he was tired and to f-finish sensei off. It moved so fast. We were frozen. There was–” his teeth clenched. “blood, spraying everywhere. And I could hear the bones break, like they were twigs. It was a monster.”

“It was identified by Shigaraki—the man with the hand mask—as Nomu. We believe it was supposed to be All Might’s ultimate opponent had the plan gone smoothly.”

“Nomu,” he repeated. Another one of Shigaraki’s Sensei’s experiments. Like himself. Was that Izuku’s future? “It wasn’t human, only moved to follow orders. It stopped the moment Shigaraki told it to.”

“What happened then?” Tsukauchi leaned forward.

Oh boy. “Shigaraki started talking about how angry he was that All Might wasn’t there yet and that Aizawa-sensei had managed to hold back the villains so long. Then– then he said he’d kill him, and he reached out his hand. I moved without thinking.”

“How did you know the quirk was touch activated?”

“He had hands all over his costume.” Pointing out the obvious wasn’t lying. Even if it didn’t answer the detective’s question, if it appeared to, it wouldn’t matter. “And he just said he’d kill him.”

Tsukauchi hummed, nodded. “And that’s when you ran between them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I– I couldn’t watch Aizawa-sensei die.” The bloodshot eyes drilled holes into Izuku’s head, but he didn’t dare look.

“What was going through your head?”

“Nothing coherent, that’s for sure.” True. “I just knew I needed to stop it.”

“Were you planning to attack Shigaraki?”

“I didn’t have a plan.”

“It’s been reported,” he flipped through his notes. “That Shinso Hitoshi saw you poised to use your quirk, but when you faced Shigaraki, you made no move to attack and relaxed your quirk. Why, Midoriya?”

A spot of blood bloomed beneath a torn hangnail, and Izuku stared at it. “There was so much blood.”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa wheeled closer. “Are you alright?”

A feeling of guilt swelled with the rising tears. This was a dirty trick. “Before my quirk, I never fought back. There was no point. It only made things worse. So, when I faced Shigaraki… I couldn’t do it. I don’t know if I was scared or if I forgot my quirk. I went limp, like always. I don’t know why.”

“It’s a conflict response.” Izuku blinked up at Aizawa. “I’ve been meaning to work with you on it. I can vouch for this, Tsukauchi. I’ve seen him do it before. It’s called fawning, where you appease the attacker to stop the assault.”

“Fawning,” Izuku echoed. “I see.”

“Well,” Annoyed, Tsukauchi scribbled a note. The way Midoriya was phrasing his answers, it was odd. “That explains your response, but that doesn’t explain what happened next.” He leaned forward. “He had you by the neck, Midoriya. He was one finger away from killing you.”

“Tsukauchi–”

“Do you know why he didn’t kill you?”

“No.”

“Did you expect him to kill you?”

“Yes.”

Tsukauchi bit his cheek. “Answer yes or no. Would Shigaraki have any reason, any reason at all, not to kill you?”

“I’d say he had a definite reason to kill me.”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa coughed. “Yes or no.”

Izuku couldn’t talk his way out of this one. Should he try faking a seizure? Two pairs of black eyes steadily narrowed as the silence stretched on. Yes or no. Why would Shigaraki want him alive? To torture him more, probably. To take back his quirk. Those were reasons. The droplet of blood rolled from his finger to stain the white bed cover.

“I could kill them for you.” All Might’s voice, deep in his head. “Just let me in.”

Izuku gulped. “Yes.”

The air grew heavy, grim. For the first time, both Izuku and Aizawa noticed the bulge on the side of the detective’s jacket. A gun.

“What reason, Midoriya?” Aizawa’s tone dropped, unseeing of the Wisps crowding around his head.

“They’ll kill you if we don’t kill them first.”

“My quirk!” Izuku blurted.

“Your quirk?”

“Yes. It’s– it’s stronger than it should be. It doesn’t have a type. I think Shigaraki wants it from me.”

“Why would he want it? How would he even know about it?” Tsukauchi scribbled furiously.

“They knew the quirks of every kid in class. I think– I think they have a spy. And it’s common knowledge in Class 1A I was diagnosed with a TIM.”

“A TIM?”

“His quirk was trauma induced,” Aizawa filled in, brows stitching together. “Midoriya, TIMs aren’t unheard of, though.”

“But they’re rare. Almost everyone with one is scouted for a scientific study. They’re unpredictable, and my quirk’s abilities… it keeps getting stronger. If they made that Nomu thing to be that fast and strong, I think they might be in the business of quirks.”

“Hold on.” Tsukauchi held up his hands. He’d turned an ashen shade of white. Something Izuku said spooked him. “You need to explain your TIM thing more. How’d you get it?”

“TIM’s are when dormant quirks are brought out by trauma. I got my quirk about 8 months ago.”

“And what were the circumstances of the incident?”

“... I don’t remember.”

“Was amnesia–” Tsukauchi stopped short as a buzzer rang through his head, ink bleeding through notepad pages as he pressed down an unmoving pen tip. “That was a lie.”

“What?” Aizawa grunted. “But his mother told me…” He stopped after a look at Izuku’s face: eyes lowered, cheek indented from chewing. Decidedly guilty. “You lied to your mother.”

“Please don’t tell her.” He squeaked.

“Your mother is not my concern at the moment. Midoriya, I expect you to answer my questions honestly.” Tsukauchi scowled. “How did you get your quirk?”

He gulped. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Midoriya.”

“I fell.”

Tsukauchi stood even before the buzzer rang. “Young man, it’s illegal to lie in an interrogation.” Aizawa held his breath. Izuku curled in on himself. “You did not fall.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then how–”

“I jumped.”

All oxygen dissolved from the room, Aizawa covering his eyes with his good hand and Tsukauchi frozen with his mouth open.

“I jumped, hurt my head, and got my quirk.”

Aizawa cleared his throat. “It was a suicide attempt.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want anyone to know.” Telling was the price he’d pay for protecting his soon-to-be murderer. Privacy for power, power he’d lose.

“Who was the person who helped you? Your mother said someone had treated your head wound.”

Izuku’s mother would be the death of him. It was another impossible question. He couldn’t say Shigaraki, and he couldn’t lie… “My hero career sponsor.”

“Shimura?” Aizawa blinked. “Is that how you met?”

“Yeah. He– he saved me, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Shimura ?” Something thudded outside the door, and Tsukauchi grabbed his briefcase while mumbling words like “Toshi” and “overreacting” in between curses. “I’m afraid that’ll have to conclude the interview. Thank you for your honesty, Midoriya. I understand you might not have wanted to share that information, but I’m sworn to confidentiality. I’ll keep you updated on any news concerning Shigaraki’s interest in your quirk. I doubt it though. Best not to worry.” No. The neurotic kid worried too much for his own good. For a second, Tsukauchi thought he’d caught a lead, but, in his eyes, Midoriya needed a psychologist more than a police officer. The detective bowed at the door and swung it open to find Inko pacing the hallway. She blinked up at him, panicked.

“I wasn’t ease-dropping.” She laughed, awkward. It wasn’t a lie though, and Tsukauchi gave a polite nod before turning down the hall.

Izuku shifted in the bed, licked the remaining blood from his finger, and made a convenient fold in the blanket to hide the red stain. Aizawa watched as he settled back and faked relaxation. Izuku raised a finger to his lips, gaze unreadable. Not even Izuku knew what he was thinking. Adrenaline and nausea roared through his head, thrilled he’d gotten away with the truth, sickened at what it had cost. It wouldn’t matter when Shigaraki came to kill him. Why he didn’t do it at the USJ, he couldn’t hope to guess.

Aizawa wanted to strangle the boy for looking so placid, so unbothered, as if he hadn’t been forced to share something deeply private. He’d open his mouth to apologize, but Inko’s head popped inside and he quickly shut it.

“Are you feeling alright, Izuku?” She came up to him, pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Yeah. It wasn’t bad at all. Sorry for sending you away. I guess I overreacted.” He smiled.

“That’s okay, honey. I just wished you’d trust me.”

“I do trust you. I’m sorry if I made you sad.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She brushed his freckles. “Let’s just focus on getting you home safe and healthy.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Aizawa didn’t have Tsukauchi’s truth-reading quirk, but he detected a distinct lack of sincerity in those words. Izuku was a liar even when he told the truth. He held things deep within himself, things too terrible to share, things he’d rather die than release. For the first time, Aizawa sensed the monster Recovery Girl had warned him about lying dormant in the boy. A cancerous snake had its teeth in his neck, and Aizawa could do nothing but watch Inko fiddle with Midoriya’s curls and prattle on about the quality cafeteria food. Izuku smiled and nodded along, but, every once in a while, his eyes strayed to meet bloodshot, black irises, and his face would go stony, and his smile would grow cold.

… 

Minutes Earlier

As Inko returned from the cafeteria, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt and worried about her son. He was miles away from her, she could tell. He didn’t cling to her skirt and hide behind her leg anymore, didn’t let her wipe his tears with her sleeve, didn’t talk to her about the bad things. Where had she gone wrong? Was Hisashi’s damage on her boy irreparable?

She stopped at the entrance of the hall to spot two figures: the Todoroki boy, whom Izuku liked and who hadn’t left his post since arriving, and a gangly, blonde man standing at the door. The man’s head leaned so his ear almost pressed against the wood, clearly eavesdropping, with distant eyes testifying he was transfixed by what he heard. Even as she approached, he gave no sign of seeing her; sweat shone on his emaciated cheeks, eyes overshadowed; he had a presence to him, an aura too big for his stature. Inko and Todoroki watched him warily, and she opened her mouth to speak.

The man started away from the door like he’d been struck, his face washed white, and under his breath he murmured one word: “Shimura.”

He stalked away with a ghostly visage and hands shoved in oversized pockets, and the detective soon emerged afterwards. It was an unsettling moment, but Inko shook it off to rejoin her son.

He needed protecting. From what, she didn’t know. But when she looked into her son's eyes, she could tell it was eating him alive.

They came for him that night.

Izuku managed to convince his mother to go home for the night to rest and grab him some clothes, and a nurse finally caught wind of Aizawa’s escapade to the boy’s room and swiftly sent him away. Izuku was alone and, for once, relieved to be.

He stayed awake, bed inclined to sit up. Recovery Girl had visited with a goodnight kiss and seeped away his energy, but he was determined not to sleep, sensing what was coming. His side ached, wound tentatively closed, bandages and salves constricting the flesh, and he touched it, testing the pain. It burned like a live wire; his head spun. Lifting his arm, Izuku peeled away the IV tape, tongue between his teeth, and slipped the needle out. Goodbye pain meds.

He kicked off the linen blankets and eased his bare feet to the ground, seeing only two dark shapes on the unlit floor. As he tried to stand though, hospital gown bunched up at his knees, a lightning bolt of pain shot through his side, and he plunked back down. Oh well. He didn’t need to look up to sense the Wisps parting for a black tear in space, fiery smoke forming into a suit and tie, golden eyes.

“I’ve been expecting you.” Izuku said as Kurogiri fully stepped into the room.

“I expect you have.”

Izuku pushed back his hair, head aching with the pressure of slowly blooming flowers. “Shigaraki is going to kill me now.”

“I expect so.”

“Alright.” Izuku squeezed his knees, willing them to stay strong, and stood. Pain bludgeoned through him, and a whine escaped his mouth as darkness spotted his periphery. An ephemeral arm took hold of his shoulder and kept him upright, and as the dark blur cleared from his eyes, Izuku blinked up at the unreadable man. “Thank you, Kurogiri,” he sighed. “I’m ready.”

His dark head inclined, and a black hole began to grow at their feet. “For what it’s worth, little Midoriya, you’ve certainly managed to defy my expectations, and that is not a thing so easily done.”

Izuku’s pale cheeks rounded out in a faint smile, and he took a last gulp of hospital air and Inko’s residual smell of lotion before plunging into darkness.

Linoleum flooring. Blue. 

Shouto much preferred the color blue to red or white. Dabi said it’s because he has a problem with hero-worship, an unhealthy way of putting normal people on pedestals, of jumping from identity to identity to model himself after. Dabi was his new subject, his paradigm of virtue, and his brother teased that Izuku would be next, and then his teacher, and then any old lady on the street who dared to smile at his sour face. Shouto doubted it though. Dabi was the end of it. First he wanted to be his father, then his mother, then his brother. There would be no one left after him. Shouto would be an abandoned mirror in a dark room, identifiable only by the scars left by those previous.

Shouto leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the blue linoleum hospital floor, hall lights turned dim in the dead of night. He hadn’t left the hospital since arriving two days ago. Father was furious, raging at him over the phone before promptly being hung up on, but it wasn’t like he was missing school. They had the days off, and Endeavor couldn’t be bothered to come to the hospital and pick Shouto up, so he stayed, stayed and thought and worried.

The events at the USJ swam around his head: ice everywhere, rubble, screams, and a gnawing guilt over the suffering of his classmates. He wasn’t friends with any of them, but they weren’t cruel to him. Why? Why was hurting people who hadn’t hurt him?

Sparks cracked between his fingers as he rubbed them together. He had been willing to let Izuku die rather than use his fire. In the end, it didn’t end up happening, but what would he do if faced with the choice again? 

Dabi’s blue flames would dance out of his palms with an affectation incomparable to their father’s, subtle and nuanced and scorching, all while Shouto sported the inferior, garish red fire. He hated it, wanted to reject it for what it represented. But he didn’t hate Izuku. He was his friend. Did he hate his father more than he loved his friend? What was the point of rejecting the man if he lost everyone else in the process?

It’s your power.

His head spun. He wanted to talk to Izuku but hadn’t gathered the courage yet, especially not with his mother and Aizawa and Shinso present. But it was night now, and the unease only built and built in his chest. He needed to see Izuku alive. The fact he’d survived his encounter with Shigaraki was so much of a miracle he half doubted it happened, and even so, Izuku’s life was far from safe.

Shouto stood, swaying slightly with exhaustion, and crossed to the door, knob freezing under his right hand. He’d be quiet, not wake him, maybe leave a note. There was no real plan as he eased the door open; events of the past days barely made sense in his head.

But once he saw the empty covers, abandoned IV, and securely shut window, Shouto knew exactly what had happened.

Sparks rained from his fingertips as he turned and sprinted down the hall, leaving a trail of ice in his wake. Izuku had broken the contract. Shouto had been an idiot for expecting anything else. In the League, there was only one consequence fitting such treachery.

Izuku hadn’t escaped death. No, the life would bleed out of him slowly, and only in Shigaraki’s arms would the last dredges be squeezed out.

Chapter Text

Kurogiri held Izuku upright as they hit the floor of the bar. The wound in his side screamed with every jolt, and he squeezed his eyes shut to bite back a whimper.

Sitting at the bartop, Shigaraki watched him, ungloved hand tracing the rim of a half empty wine glass. Izuku looked remarkably different from how he did when first meeting his eyes at the USJ. There had been color in his cheeks, squared shoulders, fiery red flowers in his hair. The idiotic brat had selected overalls for his hero costume. Amongst all those flowing capes and suits of armour, he looked like, well, a gardner. Now he looked like a corpse.

Shigaraki shook himself. He’d made a mistake at the USJ. Letting the brat live defied the contract, made him look weak, attached. What’s worse, he was. Shigaraki was attached to Midoriya Izuku, and he should end the boy before he could further interfere with his psyche. Dabi wasn’t happy about it, sitting on the bartop while kicking the wood with his swinging heels. ‘Shouto likes him,’ was his reason for protesting, but it took one look at Shigaraki’s face for him to raise his hands and back off. It was a shame, but Dabi couldn’t do much to comfort Shouto if he turned to ashes.

Kurogiri’s phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he slid it out. “Excuse me,” he coughed. “Sensei requires an audience with me. I’ll return for the disposal.” He released the boy and warped away, leaving Izuku to clutch his bandaged side half hunched over. The hospital gown trailed past his knees: white with blue circles and squares, far too sanitary for the grungy bar with mud caked between the floorboards. Warily, wearily, Izuku’s eyes raised to Shigaraki and took in the regular black clothes, unmasked face. No gloves. At least he wasn’t injured.

He returned his gaze to the floor and shifted back and forth to ease the pain.

Raising the glass to his lips, Shigaraki drank the wine’s remainder with long, deliberate gulps. He came up for air, spoke. “What condition did you break?”

“Condition 2: do not interfere with the criminal activities of the League of Villains,” Izuku croaked.

“And what was the penalty?”

“... Death, I assume. That, and my secret gets revealed.”

“Correct.” He slammed his glass down, angered by the slow blooming buds in Izuku’s hair with peeking purple petals. “So tell me, brat, what makes your life so miserable you still want to end it?” Dabi side-eyed him. Izuku shifted.

“Suicide wasn’t my intention.”

“Then what was?”

“I didn’t want you to kill my teacher.”

“Was this teacher worth dying for?”

Izuku sniffed, but his eyes remained dry. “I don’t know what to say, Shigaraki. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t trying to die. I just moved.”

“You just moved,” Shigaraki mused. “But you didn’t fight. Why?”

“I couldn’t fight you.”

“Why? Afraid you’d lose?”

“I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter how you twist it, brat. You were trying to die.” He pushed up his sleeves. “You should have told me that’s all you wanted the first time I kidnapped you, would have saved a quirk and a lot of my time. Useless, selfish child.”

“I’m sorry.” The buds began to crack open.

“Keep your filthy sorries. They never did me any good.” Izuku stared at the floor. It ticked him off. “Look at me.” The boy grimaced, chin close to his chest. “Brat, look at me.” His neck unbent like a dumbbell sat taped to his forehead, eyes darting about and face thrown in shadow. Shigaraki jumped up and grabbed Izuku by his shoulders. “LOOK AT ME!” His head jolted up, and he cried out as Shigaraki shook him. The tears arose, finally, and Izuku faced the man, lip bit to stop the trembling. “Tell me why, brat! Tell me why! ”

“It hurts!” Izuku gasped. His side was on fire and Shigaraki’s nails dug through his clothes, his skin. Then the shaking stopped.

“It hurts?” Shigaraki pushed him down, and Izuku crashed onto the floor. His fingers holding his side came away red, and he held his torso up with his elbow, legs useless. “You cut off your toes to be here, and you’re stopping because it hurts ?”

“No,” he whined.

“Then why ?”

“I told you–”

“Not good enough, brat!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want nothing from you,” he hissed. “You traitor– you ungrateful brat–”

“I am grateful.”

“Then why won’t you live ?” He drove his shoe into Izuku’s gut. The retch split the air, and Shigaraki’s resolve dimmed and flared with the gasps.

As the wheezes quieted, Izuku lifted his head, blood coating the inside of his lips as he whispered, “I want to. I want to live. Shigaraki…” The flowers in his hair opened like stretching arms: purple hyacinths. “I don’t want to die anymore.”

Shigaraki’s shoulders rose and fell as he huffed, a tightness constricting around his chest. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time.”

“I know.” He chuckled bleakly, winced. “I know what has to happen.”

Shigaraki ran a hand through his hair, coaching the swelling conflict in his ribcage, and he crouched down to poke the dainty flower petals. “What do they mean?”

Izuku gulped down blood. “Sorrow.”

“Tad melodramatic, don’t you think, brat?”

“I didn’t choose them.”

“You really are an NPC, controlled by everything but yourself.” Shigaraki pressed a thumb into the scar above Izuku’s eyebrow, remembering smashing the kid’s head into the cement, feeling it crack beneath his fingers, feeling him go limp, like a puppet with cut strings.

“He’s not far off.” Izuku’s quirk chuckled. “But I can kill him for you. Let me protect us, Izuku. It’s the only way to survive this. I’ll end them all.”

“You could have had everything you ever wanted. How could you throw that away?”

“I couldn’t watch Aizawa-sensei die. It would’ve been my fault. I couldn’t let anyone else die.”

“Oh, Izuku,” he traced the freckles with his knuckle. “Those heroes have already been the death of you.”

Izuku ducked his head to hide tears thumping to the floor. This was the time to say everything he’d repressed, every moment of gritted teeth or lost patience or frustrated agony, but no hatred rose to his lip as he looked up, eyes shining with the warm yellow reflection of the bar lights. “I am grateful… for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust; I just couldn’t watch my teacher die.”

“You chose his life over yours.” Shigaraki’s voice sounded empty. “Sacrifice, not suicide.”

“Sacrifice.” Izuku nodded.

“Like a pawn protecting the other player’s knight, huh? You’re setting us up to lose, brat. I can’t let that happen.” Shigaraki rose from his crouch, flexed his hand. Here it comes , Izuku thought. Shigaraki had the strangest, calm demeanor now, like he’d spent many hours on his favorite game and was pausing to debate Izuku over objectives or mechanics. Well, perhaps more solemn than that, but sure and in control, like he knew exactly what was going to happen.

It was incredible, to watch his face of stern sobriety darken to simmering rage as Kurogiri reappeared in the room and said, “One moment, Tomura. Sensei has an urgent request.”

The temperature of the room plummeted.

Sensei. The idea of the man sent chills down Izuku’s neck; he lurked like an ominous shadow in every room, the press of his thumb pad still fresh on his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed. A man of incomprehensible power. Did he want Izuku’s quirk back before Shigaraki killed him?

Shigaraki joined Kurogiri by the door to the cellar, exchanging whispers too garbled to be heard. Izuku’s head pulsed too much to try listening, mouth tasting of iron and the strawberry hospital jello. Some last meal. He pushed himself to his knees and held his side with the comical paranoia that his guts would spill out between his fingers. The bandages held him together for now, and it wouldn’t be the first time his life had been preserved by a thin strip of fabric. A clinking drew his gaze to the countertop where Dabi refilled his drink and pretended to be interested in the scattered receipts and spreadsheets cluttering the table. One, in particular, he gave the same cursory glance before pausing and rereading. His eyes lingered near the bottom of the page, and as he glanced past it to Izuku bleeding on the floor, a faint smile tugged his rusting staples.

Slam!

Both started and broke their gaze to stare at Shigaraki huffing. His fist pressed into a fresh dent in the steel cellar door, blood dripping from the knuckles. Kurogiri stepped back from the bent figure, white hair hung in face and flakes of skin fell from his neck and powdered his shirt, the floor. Izuku ignored the cry of his side and straightened his posture; at the moment, Shigaraki’s rage scared him more than the prospect of being murdered.

But, it couldn’t be avoided.

Shigaraki’s fist lowered from the door, and his glowing red eyes turned to fix on Izuku.

“You like games, don’t you, brat?” Izuku couldn’t speak, the air sucked from his lungs. “I know you do. You like to watch, but you don’t like to play, don’t like to pick a side and risk losing. You don’t like to choose. Well, I have a game for you to play, and don’t worry, I’ll make every choice for you. You just have to play.”

Izuku gulped to soothe a bone dry throat, but his Adam's apple only etched down like sandpaper. “A– alright.” He searched for the calm from moments ago in Shigaraki’s face when he patted him like a dog he was about to euthanize, but it was gone.

“Good.” His lips curled. “Here’s how it goes: I’m going to number off the condition numbers from your contract, and you’ll repeat the terms of the condition. You must recite the terms, no matter what, without stop.” He stood above Izuku with hair shadowing his face. “Do you understand the rules?”

Izuku gulped. “Yes.”

“Good. Game Start.” His fingers curled. “Condition 1.”

“Tell no–” Wham! Shigaraki backhanded Izuku’s cheek with his bloodied fist, and Izuku caught himself from crashing with a yelp.

“Keep going!”

“Tell no one.” Izuku cupped his cheek as he shifted back to his knees. He was beginning to understand how this game would play out.

“Condition 2.”

“Do not interfere–” Shigaraki grabbed a fist of green hair and shoved his head to the ground. “with the criminal activities–” A red tennis shoe drove into his gut. “of the League of Villains,” Izuku gasped. The tentatively sealed flesh on his side started to tear.

“Condition 3.”

“Attend U–” Shigaraki stamped down on the hand holding Izuku up, and he folded onto the floor. “UA High School.”

“Condition 4.”

“Do not divulge any League–” A jab at his wounded side. “information to anyone.”

“Condition 5.”

“Ch– check in periodically and–” a kick to his chest. “come when summoned.” Two kicks at his toe stubs.

“Condition 6!” He screamed.

Tears squeezed out of Izuku’s eyes, head swimming with memories, addled by pain. Just kill me. Please kill me. “Act as an alarm for any issue–” Shigaraki knelt to grab his shoulders and slam his body up and down, up and down. “That–” Slam! “might–” Slam! “trouble–” Slam! “the League.” Slam! Izuku sobbed as his vision swimmed with stars. Shigaraki’s face flickered between dark clouds, and he could see an outstretched hand descending upon him, five fingers splayed and stained red.

“Condition 7.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, Izuku’s heart went.

“If you don’t give me control, he’ll kill us!” Blood raced down his cheek. “Izuku, give me control!” Grass tips tried and failed to grow from his pores. “IZUKU!”

“Condition 7 .”

His eyes closed, and the pain began to slip with consciousness. “Become…” Of course, these would be the words to kill him. “Become a her–”

BANG!

The bar’s front door rocketed open, and a blaze of red and orange light shot through the room. Shigaraki yelped and jumped away as it cut between him and Izuku and exploded into sparks against the opposite wall. Heads turned, Dabi jumped to his feet, Shigaraki spit out curses, and Izuku blinked up in disbelief as there in the doorway stood the lean and sure silhouette of Todoroki Shouto.

“Get away from Izuku, Shigaraki. I won’t let you kill him.” He lifted a ball of flame like showing off a loaded pistol.

“Y– you’re using your fire.” Dabi stepped toward him. “Shouto, Shouto listen to me and put it down.”

“Are you just watching this happen?” Shouto’s face was hard, but the firelight reflecting in his misty eyes betrayed him. “You saved me. Why won’t you save him?”

“How many times am I going to be betrayed this week?!” Shigaraki threw up his hands and started towards Shouto.

“Three times if you dare lay a hand on my brother.” Dabi stepped between them with his own fireball in hand. “And Shouto you need to stand down. Shigaraki won’t kill him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well I do. ” Kurogiri morphed out of the shadow he’d melted into and walked to the room’s center. “Sensei has ordered that the boy be kept alive. Shigaraki has no intention of killing him. Please, everyone,” He raised his hands. “Stand down.”

Shouto looked to Shigaraki for confirmation, and he gave a stiff, spiteful nod before lowering his hands. In return, Dabi’s and Shouto’s blue and red flames quelled to nothing, and the bar reentered shadow with the smell of smoke and rust trapped beneath the rafters. Izuku alone couldn’t feel the tense silence over the growing ring squeezing his eardrums. His inner dialogue became replaced with blobs of thoughts: black, pain , Shouto , fire , happy , wooden floor , shoes , shallow breath , fear . He groaned.

Shigaraki moved toward him, but Shouto interrupted: “No. You can’t hurt him anymore.”

“Shut up, kid. You didn’t let me finish.” He crouched beside Izuku, hand extended again. “Izuku, what’s Condition 7?”

His bloody fingers rose from the floor and closed around Shigaraki’s wrist. “Become a hero.”

Shigaraki hefted him up to his feet and caught him in his arms as the boy’s knees gave out. “And rub it in All Might’s face,” he whispered.

“Shigaraki.” Izuku trembled. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I–”

“Shhh. Apparently, Sensei became very excited when he viewed the results of your quirk examination, and he’s requested that you be kept alive for further study. The game will be the full extent of your punishment for breaking the contract as your death is off the table and any disappearance would cause unwanted enquiry.” He spoke with the words Kurogiri had whispered to him by the door. ‘Intense physical punishment is requisite given the change in circumstances.’

“Oh,” he mumbled in his shirt. “I think you won that game. I know I didn’t.”

“No, Izuku.” Shigaraki patted his hair, careful to lift one finger. “I didn’t win either.”

…

After copious doses of alcohol to soothe Izuku’s pain and Shouto’s temper. It was arranged that the boys would be warped half a block away from the hospital, and Shouto would help cover the remaining distance. As for fake explanations for the blood and disappearance, Shigaraki gave them none.

He sent Izuku away, feeling—for the first time in Shigaraki’s life—exactly like a villain.

Aizawa had been awake at least an hour before the first rays of sunrise pierced his first floor window, surprising for those who knew him but not those who knew him well. He might carry around a yellow sleeping bag with extra-strength eye drops tucked in hidden pockets, but he slept very rarely for large chunks of time, preferring to insert two hour naps every six hours, known as a polyphasic sleep schedule. He got more work done this way, and it made hero duty nights more bearable. Unfortunately, there was no special protocol for polyphasic sleepers in a hospital—nor many other places, for that matter—and Aizawa was left trapped in a bed with nothing to do but scroll on his phone and worry.

Midoriya’s suspicious behavior was getting out of hand, even if the detective couldn’t see it. So many lies, half truths, omissions and distractions and strategic tangents. The truth of his suicide attempt came out today, but it was only the top paper of a thick stack, all else left to the imagination except for peeking corners and edges: his quirk, his father, his hero career sponsor, his scars, his behavior. They were signs of abuse and trauma, fresh ones. Was Midoriya still being abused? By his mother? His father?

Ding! Aizawa returned his attention to his phone to see Shinso reply to the “You doing ok?” text.

Hitoshi

Hitoshi: I took my meds if that’s what you’re asking. Sleep isn’t really working out.

Me: You know the drill

Hitoshi: Yeah I don’t think mindful meditation will help today

Still trying to process the past few days

Not surprised you can’t sleep either, da Vinci

Ah, one of those nights. Understandable considering he’s alone in an apartment while the closest people he has to a family languish in the hospital. Trauma, survivor's guilt, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts: they’d be making a friend out of his roomie for a while. Time to up therapy appointments to twice a week. At least he had the energy to poke fun at him by referencing the infamous polyphasic sleeper, Leonardo da Vinci.

Me: It’s fine if you can’t sleep

Do something productive though or you’ll be depressed

Another text notification from Recovery Girl popped down from the top of the screen; he clicked it.

Chiyo

Chiyo: I’m coming to the hospital for an early morning shift

Please tell me you slept at least a little

I can’t heal you otherwise

Me: I slept enough.

When will you be here?

Chiyo: Ten minutes

Another text from Shinso. He switched over.

Hitoshi

Hitoshi: Well… I did one productive thing today

I think you’ll like it

Me: Care to elaborate?

Hitoshi: Check under your bed.

Shinso had a wicked nature to him that made Aizawa hesitate, picturing the curly closed-mouth smirk, the ever watchful hooded eyes. The first week he moved in, he shifted every moveable piece of furniture five inches in any direction but said nothing about it; faced with this, Aizawa stayed silent as well and provided Shinso the ample satisfaction of tripping on chair legs after heavy naps and distractedly snatching at thin air five inches away from the refrigerator handle. It had turned out to be a test to see what kind of discipliner Aizawa was, a remnant from his foster care days. The lack of punishment left the greatest impression: the understanding that Aizawa wouldn’t baby him, wouldn’t spoil him, and wouldn’t abuse him. It was high time Shinso be treated as a person, not as a child or a villain.

The memory warmed Aizawa’s chest, and he leaned on his uninjured arm to peek his head under the bed. In the darkness, barely distinguishable, sat a folded up wheelchair.

Me: That’s my boy

Hitoshi: Don’t thank me yet

You still have to get into it by yourself

Aizawa grinned and switched over to Recovery Girl’s text thread.

Chiyo

Me: I’ll meet you at the entrance.

...

Getting into the wheelchair had been quite the painful, embarrassing ordeal, but he used his IV pole like a cane and offered a prayer of thanks for morphine as he bashed his injured arm against an arm rest. Chiyo will heal it. He grunted before easing the door open and slipping down the hall, followed by a subtle chorus of grinding aluminum and shallow huffs.

He emerged into the lobby with eyes fixed forward and purpose in his wheel pushes. As an underground hero, he’d walked into settings he had no business being in enough times to master the I’m-supposed-to-be-here face. The wheelchair made the confident swagger and unoccupied expression harder to pull off, but the woman attending the front desk stared ahead with glazed eyes that testified of an unplanned graveyard shift and bitterly cold coffee. He rolled past without her batting an eye and pushed into the glass foyer.

Recovery Girl would scold him, he knew. In fact, the illogic of it all gnawed at his chest. After all he lectured his students about attending to their health and not relying on healing quirks, there he sat at the crack of dawn tugging a morphine tube like a dog leash and waiting to be imbued with Recovery Girl’s wrinkled lip medicine. Perhaps to be a teacher is to be a hypocrite. He needed to be better, for his students; he couldn’t keep the problem children locked away in cozy hospital rooms forever.

Aizawa checked his phone again. No reply, but a figure staggered in his periphery; a hand hit the glass door. That must be her. He looked up.

He saw the blood drips first, thick as melted chocolate.

Todoroki Shouto pushed the door open with one stained hand and supported Midoriya with the other. Midoriya, with a cut on his cheek and red-tipped socks and pupils dilated like bullet holes. His head lolled, and he walked like a drunkard when his knees managed to hold.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Shouto gasped as the boys stumbled inside. “Izuku, he’s–” Shouto’s foot caught on Izuku’s limp leg and they both fell to their knees in defeat. “He needs help.”

“What happened?” His wheelchair almost tipped as he maneuvered to them. “Who did this to him?” Aizawa lifted Izuku’s chin from his chest to gauge his awareness and faltered at a dank whiff of alcohol.

The boy’s eyes tried again and again to roll back, and the haze of a concussion erased time and reason. Izuku saw a dark figure in front of him, felt a hand on his face.

“Dad,” his voice cracked.

“His father did it!” Shouto blurted. “He said it was his dad. I found him on the street like this trying to get back to the hospital.”

The devil was back. The mother had lied.

“We need some help!” Aizawa shouted over his shoulder. “Help! Now!”

“Hurry!” Shouto's voice slurred, and the stench of liquor doubled when he opened his mouth.

“Dad,” Izuku repeated. “Sssorry. Sorry.” 

“Midoriya, it’s alright.” Nurses burst into the foyer and Shouto jumped up to get out of the way, nearly snapping his bare ankles.

There was a blur, and blood, and Recovery Girl bustled inside and stretchers appeared and Izuku was carried away. Aizawa could only glimpse his stained red socks as he disappeared around the corner, Shouto following after. And in all the chaos and swell of panic, Aizawa fixated on the gap between Todoroki’s pant leg and shoe, exposed skin. Socks weren’t part of the hospital garb Izuku had been given. They were jammed on in a hurry, by the shaking hands of a tipsy boy.

“For a second there,” Dabi smirked over the rim of a wine glass. “I really thought you were going to kill him.”

Shigaraki threw him a glare from stretched across the velvet couch before returning to stare at a video game title screen, never clicking play. Kurogiri was gone, and while Dabi took advantage of the unattended wine, Shigaraki picked at scabs on his knuckles with glazed eyes. “Killing him was the plan.”

“No it wasn’t,” Dabi snorted. “Wanna know how I know?”

“I would rather snort your ashes.”

“You left this on the counter.” Dabi waved a sheet of paper. “It’s a hospital shift schedule.”

“So?”

“Recovery Girl’s early morning shift is circled.” Shigaraki peeled away another scab and plopped it in his mouth, silent. “She’s scheduled to show up right when you sent the kid back.” Still no response. Dabi sighed, drained his glass, and swaggered to the couch. “Scoot over, I’m sitting.” He shoved Shigaraki’s legs off the cushion and plunked down.

“I’ll kill you.” He jerked away.

“Do that and you’ll be cremated into ice cubes by a teenager.” Dabi threw back his head with a laugh. “I would’ve tried killing your kid ages ago if I knew it’d get Shouto to use his fire.”

“He could kill you with a dandelion.”

Dabi shrugged. “Maybe, but he wouldn’t.” Shigaraki grinded his teeth. “So tell me, Shigs, cuz I always knew Zuzu would leave this bar alive tonight, what was the plan?”

“I–” Blood beaded his knuckles. “I didn’t have a plan.”

“Ha! So you went in with a vague feeling and caused more trouble than there was to start with. Remind you of anyone? I’ll give you a hint: his blood’s on your clothes.”

“You’re drunk.”

“And you are on a fast track to losing that kid forever.”

“He needed to be punished.”

“Punishment’s just legal abuse. And I’ll tell you now, that wasn’t legal.”

Shigaraki’s head lolled away in distaste. “We’re villains, Dabi, or are you too drunk to remember you’re not daddy’s little replica anymore?”

A stapled hand grabbed his shirt collar and jerked him around to face Dabi’s steaming face. “Shigaraki, this is the nicest I am ever going to be to you, but I swear if you sass me one more time this whole place is going up in flames.”

Dabi wasn’t kidding, Shigaraki knew that, though he’d almost rather burn than remain stuck in his thoughts for another moment. “What do you want?” He seethed.

“I want –” Dabi released his shirt and pushed him back. “To give you some advice. Your punishments won’t work on Izuku. The kid’s been knocked around his whole life. He doesn’t behave to avoid pain because he knows it’ll happen either way. He behaves out of guilt.”

Shigaraki rubbed his forehead. “What am I supposed to do? Beat guilt into him?”

“Shigs, I don’t know a thing about your childhood, and I don’t want to, so don’t tell me. But I’m going to make a wild guess and say you didn’t have a very good one.”

“... and, your point is…?”

“My point is beating a child clearly does not have good results.”

“Hey!”

“Take it from someone with an emotionally stunted little brother.” He pointed to his chest. “I couldn’t beat a will to live into him, and I tried. His body had never belonged to him, so he didn’t care. I wasn’t doing anything different from the people before me, and neither are you. He’s not afraid of pain anymore; it’ll only make him hate you.”

Not afraid of pain? Shigaraki stared at his hands. What else was there? What else could control and communicate like pain? Taking away the option felt like being robbed blind for the second time that day: losing Izuku to Sensei and losing Izuku to hate. Pain was the only way he knew, the only authority he’d ever had. “What is he afraid of, then?”

“Same thing as Shouto: abandonment.” Dabi leaned back in his chair, dazed at the ceiling. “Think about it. His dad left. All Might left. People probably avoided the school quirkless kid like the plague. He’s alone, and that’s what kills him. If you treat him like nothing, he’ll feel the same he always has, and he won’t want to stay.”

“The brat can go die for all I care,” he huffed.

“Shiggy, I don’t know how to explain this to a sociopath, but you care about Midoriya Izuku. You might’ve brought him in as your little puppet, but he is the one thing in the world that you want to keep alive while everyday he probably hates you more and more. From the looks of it, he’s the one pulling your strings.”

“How do I–” Cold crept up his back and prickled under bloodstains. It was a disease– this feeling. He was no better than Dabi, always careful and aware and consumed with another’s life. Shigaraki wanted to pat Izuku’s hair, play video games on the couch, make sure he’s sleeping enough, eating enough. He wanted to kill anything that touched him, cage him in safety, strip him of power and chain him with dependence. Izuku was his to protect, and he refused to fail. “How do I take back control?”

“Easy.” Dabi pressed the scar beneath his left eye. “Make him love you, and that kid will follow you to the ends of the earth. You’re the big brother now. Sink or swim.”

There was a TV in the hospital waiting room, perched in a corner, muted with subtitles. Aizawa watched it from his wheelchair. Japan was in desperate need of rain in the northern rural districts, and rice and barley and every vocation of farmers were in a tizzy, livelihoods on the line, and hungry eyes in search of ways to stay on top. Where there’s desperation, there’s crime, and the rural-situated pro heroes were being overwhelmed.

It should be troubling, but Aizawa found it difficult to care. He was utterly duped, taken as seriously as grocery checkout line magazines. Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, and Midoriya Inko had all lied to his face. About what, he wasn’t sure, but they were all seemingly good, upstanding people, like cherubs with their babyfat cheeks and saintly glows. Well, perhaps Todoroki had always been the brooding rich boy with an underlying alcohol issue, and Aizawa couldn’t imagine Izuku to be more than a victim. All that blood, and crying, and exhaustion. Not many would put themselves through that, and no one would for seemingly no reason. So, the only adult remained: Midoriya Inko. Was she protecting her husband at the expense of her son? If she was as apt a liar as Izuku, he could believe it.

The news channel switched to the weather, all sunny skies ahead. It would be a hot sports festival.

Patpatpatpat

A jangle of keys and flapping house slippers came as his cue. It was time to settle things.

“I don’t have time to go to the visitors room. I need to see my son!”

A balding nurse pushed the door open and stood aside for his escortee. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I was told to bring you here first. I’m sure you’ll see him soon.” Inko held her temples as she stepped inside, stubby fingers shoved in her hair and body clad in cotton pajamas. “Mr. Aizawa!” Her face lit up. “Please, tell this doctor there’s been a mistake. I’m here to see Izuku. Is he okay? What happened?”

“I was hoping, Mrs. Midoriya, you could shed some light on that very same question.” He slouched with dead, hooded eyes, hand tapping on the armrest. The nurse stepped out and shut the door. “Until I hear the truth, you aren’t going anywhere near your son.”

“Eh.” She squeaked and pearls bloomed from her tear ducts. “I– I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“No. I think you do.”

“What do you want?” She sobbed.

“The truth.”

“About what?”

“Midoriya Hisashi.”

Her cry cut short; the worn seams of her sleeves stretched as her shoulders rose to her ears and her frame quaked. “What about him? I haven’t seen him in years. He’s in America.”

“No. That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not!”

“ Yes it is !” He slammed his fist on the armrest. “Your husband is not in America, and if you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll have your custody of Izuku revoked.”

She pressed praying hands to her lips to still her shaking. An echo of restraint faded, and she whispered, “How did you find out?”

Oh no. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. She was involved. “Your son told me.”

“What?” Her hands dropped. “But Izuku doesn’t know. I never told him.”

“Told him what?”

“That–” she gulped. “That his father’s dead.”

Dead.

Not in America.

Dead.

Aizawa’s throat closed; his hand slipped from the armrest and hung there, limp and pale. “When?”

“A while ago. Izuku was in the horrible depressive episode when the news finally got to me, and I just couldn’t do it. Hisashi always blamed Izuku, told him it was his fault for getting hurt, because he was quirkless and disobedient, and I can tell he still believes it. If I told him, it would destroy him.”

“How did the father die?”

“Well, that’s why it would destroy him.” She took a breath. “It was suicide.”

Mother and son, so alike, both with their secret suicides.

“Midoriya said it was his father who hurt him.”

“Maybe he believes it was.” Inko covered her face. “That man haunts him. It’s like he’s in his head. I blame myself for letting it go on as long as I did. I kept hoping things would get better, but my optimism was just denial.”

“Mrs. Midoriya, this is the time to be strong for Izuku and honest with me. Whatever your son’s involved in, it’ll take a miracle to get it out of him.”

“He’s a good boy. I swear he is. I swear. I swear.”

“I believe you.” Aizawa remembered the quaking figure standing over him, shielding him from Shigaraki and begging to spare his life. He remembered the quiet night on the rooftop, the earnest, bleak green eyes that lit to suns as he stroked the soil. Unfathomable power, and he used it for a garden. “Whatever the truth turns out to be, it won’t change that.”

Chapter Text

The fact that life goes on never failed to amaze Izuku, probably because he kept getting into situations that were supposed to kill him. 

No such luck, however, as quirks were quite the medical miracle. He missed the next four days of school languishing in that hospital, and on the third he finally came up with a definitive solution to exit this particular web of lies. He didn’t like it, and everyday he spent there he kicked himself for not coming up with a better excuse for being kidnapped when he first regained consciousness.

“Amnesia.” Shinso tapped his chin. “You can’t remember who kidnapped you or what happened because of amnesia?”

“Nope.” Sweat collected on Izuku’s forehead. He fidgeted with the frayed seam of the hospital blanket and slowly picked out the threads, cotton spilled from the holes. Mother had taken a sleep shift, and with her exit came the cavalry. 

Aizawa watched him from a chair in the far corner; Shinso sat at the foot of his bed while shutting down a Nintendo Switch; Todoroki leaned against the wall with folded arms, but posture tense enough to betray his nonchalance; he was keeping watch. They’d all come straight from UA, and Shinso hung his uniform jacket on the IV pole with a twisted smirk, but Izuku knew it was to make him laugh, make the place feel less… like a prison. Things were tense now; they had been for the hours Aizawa monitored him. Izuku’s grip on the situation was slipping with every injury, every lie. He needed to get out of this.

“That’s so cliche,” Shinso hummed. “I feel like I’ve seen a dozen k-dramas with amnesia in them.”

“You watch k-dramas?”

“Someone I lived with for a while did, and there wasn’t much else to do. There are some pretty decent ones out there if you know where to look.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Hitoshi.”

“That better not be sarcasm, because I will brainwash you to watch all of Boys over Flowers while you’re stuck in this hospital.” 

“It probably beats what’s always on the guest room TV.” Izuku shrugged, but his stomach twisted at the incessant news cycle. “The drought’s getting pretty bad in the north, and the crime is skyrocketing. I wish I could go up there.”

“And do what? Turn into a tree like at the USJ? Yeah, I’m sure that’ll send all the rednecks running.” Shinso pulled his backpack out from under the bed and slipped the switch inside. His smile, though genuine, strained to lift the hefty eye bags fused to his crows feet smile wrinkles. “Pretty soon we’re gonna be the ones on TV.”

“Huh?”

“The UA Sports Festival. Don’t tell me you forgot the annual circus is coming up.” Shouto stiffened, drew in breath as his lungs froze over. “I’m just glad Bakugou got expelled before he could murder someone on live television.”

“Oh.” Izuku blanched. The sports festival? They’re still putting it on? “Yeah, I completely forgot about it.”

“Amnesia again?” Shinso rolled his eyes.

Izuku chuckled. “Heh, maybe.” Aizawa grunted, shifted in his chair. A cold current of air emitted from Shouto. “I’ll have to heal up so I can kick your butt on live TV.”

“Whatcha gonna do? Throw boysenberries at me? I can brainwash you to sprout roses out of your a–”

“Shinso,” Aizawa stood. “I believe your ride is scheduled to be here. Time to say goodbye.”

He scooted to the bed’s edge, backpack in his lap. “It can’t wait?”

“You agreed on the time, Shinso. I’ll walk you out. Midoriya needs to rest before his brain scan tomorrow.”

“Brain scan?” The two asked in unison, and Shouto’s head jerked up.

“That’s right.” Aizawa crossed his arms. “It makes logical sense given the concussion and the amnesia. Quirks might be able to repair damage, but technology is necessary to identity problems and, well, clarify the nature of trauma. I spoke with your mother and the doctors, and we agreed it’s a wise precaution.”

“Oh.” Izuku’s throat sapped dry. “Okay… will I be discharged after that?”

“That is my hope,” Aizawa hummed as Shinso collected his jacket and joined his side. “But that is dependent on the results.”

“Right.” He gulped. “I’ll hope for the best, I guess.”

“As shall I.” Aizawa rested a hand on Shinso’s shoulder as he steered him out of the room.

“Hitoshi!” Izuku called after him, and the unruly head of purple hair popped back inside with a wry smile, but depleted energy sagged his posture. Izuku bit his lip, struggled with the words. “You don’t have to worry so much about me. The USJ, none of that was your fault. You know that, right?”

The grin went slack. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Get some sleep. I don’t want you sleepwalking out of the ring after I defeat you at the sports festival.”

“Oh, where’d all this confidence come from?” he crooned. “Sorry if I end up crushing it in the first round.”

“Well that depends on how awake you’ll be.” Izuku waved him off. “I’ll see you.”

“See you.” The door slid shut.

Sigh.

A fog of condensation puffed from his lips, and he looked to Shouto, the clenched fists, set teeth, ice creeping up his neck. “Shouto? What’s wrong?”

He gasped back to reality. The room came into focus, Izuku’s cocked head, and shuttered sunlight trapping motes of dust. “Nothing.” He shook himself. “I forgot about the sports festival too. It’s nothing.” Izuku chewed his lip. They hadn’t had much opportunity to talk since the USJ, not in private, and everything unsaid clogged the air more than the dust. Shouto used Izuku to aid the USJ attack, Shouto placed their classmates in danger. But, he also used his fire to save him, stood watch to protect him. It’s complicated, reconciling those two realities. “I’m more worried about those brain scans.”

Izuku studied him a moment longer before his eyes wondered and unfocused. “Yeah, but it’s too late to back out of the amnesia story.”

“The scans won’t show it.”

“And Aizawa won’t believe me no matter what excuse I give. He doesn’t trust either of us now.”

“That makes things difficult.” Shouto rolled his shoulder. “He needs to hear it from someone he trusts.”

“... Or.” A horrible, nauseating idea bloomed in Izuku’s throat and shriveled the carnations in his hair. “Someone he has no reason to doubt.” Shouto blinked. “I don’t know if we have many favors left with the League, but if we’re going to get out of this, I’m going to need a Doctor, and not a good one.”

“I’m afraid our regular radiologist was involved in an unfortunate car accident last night.” The next day, Izuku’s doctor cleared his throat while flipping through his chart, eyes squinted in the sterile fluorescents of the patient hospital room. “Thankfully, we were able to bring in another neurologist who lives in the area. He’s agreed to conduct the MRI and take blood samples today during a break from his own practice.”

A car accident? Izuku hid his surprise with a splutter of coughing. Did he just get someone killed to fake his MRI results?

“Well, that’s a relief.” Inko patted Izuku’s back until the fit passed, Aizawa—as always—watching from the room’s corner. “I’d really like to get Izuku home as soon as possible.”

“We understand.” The doctor nodded. “And, thanks to improving technology, it should only take a few hours to review the MRI and blood results. So, if nothing is amiss, you can expect to bring him home tonight. I’m sure the young man is anxious to get back to school.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and it took Izuku a moment to realize he expected a response.

“Oh, uh, yeah! I need to get ready for the sports festival.”

“Yes, well, not sure how I feel about that.” He rubbed his forehead. “In any case, be careful with that head of yours. The memories might come back and allow the police to track down your attacker. Until then, I recommend the adults in your life keep a close eye on you.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Aizawa grunted, shifted in his chair. “It’s one of my top priorities.”

“As it is mine.” Inko pinched Izuku’s ear. “I’ll send those villains running.”

“Yeah.” He flushed. “I’ll be careful.”

“Well, that’s it. You’ll be summoned when the radiologist gets here, Midoriya.” The doctor checked a box on his clipboard and clicked the pen twice as he reviewed the sheet, half turned to leave.

“Um, sir?” Izuku cleared his throat and waited until the man looked at him. “Th– the doctor in the car accident— are they okay?”

The limp flesh of the doctor’s jowls tightened as he smiled. “I’m beginning to see why the nurses like you so much. You take your hero duties seriously, don’t you?” Izuku nodded so the man could move on to answer his question, and his tender side wound cringed with the guilt. “Yes, she’s fine. The injuries weren’t severe, and, I suspect—with enough time—she’ll make a full recovery.”

Izuku sagged. He couldn’t help it, as if the answer had saved his life. Maybe it had. Sometimes, the roof was a blink, a strip of fabric, a bloodstained letter away. Aizawa sat up after a look at Izuku’s ashen face; Inko squeezed his shoulder. “I– I’m really glad to hear that. Thank you.” His voice warbled.

“Of course, Mr. Midoriya.” The doctor cleared his throat, glanced from mother to teacher, then frowned at the six-petal asphodels nestled in the boy’s locks. There was something so innocent yet mournful about the child, like flowers on a gravestone. The fact that he visibly cared so much about someone he didn’t know… who would have the heart to hurt this kid? “I’m sure she’ll be sorry not to have met you. You’re a good kid.”

Sorry to not meet her would-be murderer? Everyone in the room looked to him like he’d shatter, which was possible, but it’s amusing to realize that’s all they could see. Shouto had said it best: ‘No one would ever think ‘villain’ when they look at you. People don’t look for the thorns on flowers.’ Shigaraki couldn’t have found a better pet project.

“Thank you for the care you’ve given me, sir.” He bowed in the inclined bed. “I’ll be careful from now on.” Yes, he’d have to be. Izuku couldn’t let anyone else die.

…

An MRI looks more like a sci-fi cryo-chamber than a standard imaging machine, a plastic white donut on its side with a retractable patient table, everything glossy, everything cold. Izuku padded inside the room on socked feet—gifts from Shouto when the doctor let him get out of bed. Blue LEDs traced the spherical ceiling and cast the room into sleepy sterility, fumes of disinfectant and filtered air. A spotless purgatory, rootless with lonely, dormant Wisps in suspended flight.

“There’s something about hospitals, isn’t there?” Izuku gasped, spun around. “They don’t quite feel real. The world wasn’t meant to be a clean place. It’s meant to be maggot-infested, moldy, decayed.” A glass window neighbored the door Izuku had entered through, and Doctor Tsubasa twiddled his thumbs on the other side, leaning back in a rolling chair with feet on the control panel. “Everything about death is always cordoned off, as if people and things didn’t die around us every day. So much for anti-segregation while cemeteries exist, and yet people let walking-corpses like you trampse about as if there’s any difference between broken and decomposing bodies.”

“You’re not usually this talkative.” Izuku gulped, hating the way the man’s voice wormed from the overhead speakers instead of his mouth.

“Well, you’ve been just as stupid as I suspected. I figured I’d add some variety.”

Izuku squared his shoulder. “Were you behind the other radiologist’s car accident?”

“Me?” He hummed. “No, no. One of the underlings. It was a simple task of crossing wires and not worth my time.”

“She could have died. ”

“She’s a doctor . If she hasn’t made peace with that possibility, I wouldn’t want her practicing anyway. Now, Izuku, be a good boy and get onto the platform already. I might be faking the scan results for the imbecile staff here, but I’m sure Sensei will be fascinated with the real deal, especially after the findings of the last tests. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Izuku hopped onto the platform and laid back, oddly calm in the tense conversation. Another skill the League of Villains had brought out of him: the ability to compartmentalize in danger. Morals that weren’t flexible would snap in the hands of his associates. Time to placate. Time to fawn. “What should I be thanking you for?” The MRI roused with a sound like a whirring dryer, rustle rustle rustle , and the platform hummed as it slid inside and aligned Izuku’s head with the coil, blocking the LED lights and Doctor Tsubasa from view.

“A better question is what shouldn’t you be thanking me for. Shigaraki would have used your ashes for fish tank gravel if I hadn’t shown Sensei your promising quirk results. Not to mention I’m here to clear your name with the heroic lot.” He pressed the control panel screen with a fat thumb, and another jolt rocked the MRI machine.

Thumpthumpthumpthump Thumpthumpthumpthump Thumpthumpthumpthump Thumpthumpthumpthump

“Why was he so excited about my quirk?” Izuku yelled.

“Oh keep it down, will you? There’s a mic and speaker in there. You don’t need to shout.”

“Sorry.” Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. Thumpthumpthumpthump it drilled into his brain. “Aren’t there any headphones I can use?”

“Usually, yes, but I’ve revoked the courtesy. If you’re going to betray the League at the first sign of trouble, I don’t see why I should be nice.”

“You were never nice.”

“Izuku, you’re not a discarded Nomu prototype with a rotting brain and acidic drool. I am a saint to you.”

Thumpthumpthumpthump Thumpthumpthumpthump THUMP –

Izuku gasped; the sound had stopped and the tamer whirr of rustling wrapped him in relief.

rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle BRRRRRRRR —Izuku flinched— rustle rustle rustle rustle BRRRRRRRR rustle rustle rustle rustle BRRRRRRRR rustle rustle rustle rustle BRRRRRRRR

“If you don’t stop moving, it’ll take all day to get these images.”

“I don’t like it in here.” The coil turned and contracted around his head; the rounded walls grew darker and darker. Was it a trick of the eyes? What was happening out there? He could imagine Shigaraki gripping his ankle, yanking him out. Gunshots muffled by the racket. Police hiding behind the door.

“Well, suck it up. I’ve seen toddlers do this better than you.”

“The toddlers had the headphones.”

“I would have thought you’d be used to getting less than other children.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

“Doesn’t make me care.” The Doctor snorted at his own jab.

rustle rustle rustle BRRRRRRRR rustle rustle… Blang!Blang!Blang!Blang!Blang!Blang!

With every change the sounds got worse. Heat crept up Izuku’s body; pressure built in his chest and pushed to his throat. He was burning alive, and he couldn’t move or scream or cry. Keep talking.

“Wh– when’d you become a neurologist? I thought you specialized in pediatric quirk development.”

“Specializations are for the uninspired.” He drawled over the pounding and static. “I have more medical PhDs than you have years in your lifetime.”

“Why…” He closed his eyes. “Why be a doctor if you’re a villain? Or a villain if you’re a doctor? Aren’t you supposed to help people?”

“That was always too shallow for me. People are just organisms, dying and copulating, full of even smaller organisms dying and copulating over and over and over again. We are unripe corpses, essentially. We’re code and flesh, and I see no point dwelling on it. I’m more interested in picking the fruit of the tree than I am in taping broken stems to branches.”

“Still, a doctor–” Blang!Blang!Blang! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… “You have to study medicine and therapies. Why not do something that involves more pain? Like an interrogator or a gang member?”

“Too boarish for me. There’s no intellectual stimulus there. Besides, I’d be no good at it.”

“You became a doctor just because you’d be good at it?”

“Of course.” His smirk was audible. “I have steady hands, a genius brain, and an avarice for money. Those are valuable traits in both the civil and criminal world. It’s so much easier to take someone apart with a scalpel on a surgical table than it is with a hammer in some basement. That’s life, Izuku. We use the things we’re good at to do the things we love. We live and die, kill and buy.”

“You’re sick.” Izuku’s stomach turned.

“You think I’m sick?” He chuckled. “You should see your test results.”

The Brrrrrrrrrrr switched to a higher frequency.

“Why?” No answer. “Doctor Tsubasa, why ?”

“Do you know how cancer works, Izuku?” He spoke close to the mic, mustache whiskers grinding through the speakers. “It’s when cells mutate and grow, and the body isn’t equipped to handle it. It goes all the way down to your genes. Of course, we all have mutations. Some have heterochromia, some have down syndrome… most have quirks. But you don’t. You don’t even have a quirk factor. All you have is a reprogrammed string of code floating through your DNA and latching onto everything for dear life. That is what’s so brilliant about it.” His voice picked up, giddy. “You’re being consumed by a cancer of pure power, but it won’t overtake you because you’re the only host it has access to.” Something stirred in Izuku’s subconscious. Something rattled. Something breathed.

“W– will it kill me?”

“Who knows?” A rustle of fabric—he probably shrugged. “But that’s why I’m so nice to you, Izuku. You’re the most interesting organism I’ve gotten to study in a long, long time. I’m quite grateful your suicide was postponed. It would’ve been a terrible waste of material.”

…

Aizawa helped Izuku pack as Inko spoke to the doctor in the hallway. Tsubasa had swiftly left after the exams to avoid meeting either teacher or parent. Izuku’s medical history was suspicious enough, and Tsubasa was the one connecting thread capable of unraveling it all. Yes, they had to be careful now. Even Izuku, with his dreams of heroism watermarked by childhood ignorance, could recognize now he was more a League member than a UA student. At least, he was only indispensable to one of them.

“Are you alright, Midoriya?” Aizawa handed him his lost earbuds after recovering them from under the bed. Izuku stood transfixed with his hands shoving books into his backpack, already changed into his street clothes.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” He accepted the earbuds, shoved them into a side pocket.

“I don’t see the point in packing until you know for sure you’re being discharged.”

“I have a good feeling.” False. He felt terrible, but he lacked an excuse for knowing the outcome and needed to get Aizawa-sensei off his back. “Besides, I really need to start training for the sports festival.” The steadily darkening face of Todoroki Shouto on his daily visits was a testament to how close the event loomed. It didn’t feel real, as if the universe wouldn’t let it happen.

Aizawa grunted. “You’re very dedicated to hero training.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t like to see people in pain.” Izuku slowed as he zipped the backpack, waiting for Aizawa to reach his point without looking at him. “Hearing about the radiologist’s car accident really seemed to bother you.”

“I don’t know.” Izuku shrugged. “After a week of guzzling bland jello, I’m ready to dissolve into tears over just about anything. I’m fine though. I just need to go home and get back to school.”

“Midoriya, don’t be so hasty. You don’t know what the results of the MRI and blood test will be.” The MRI’s vibrations still echoed in Izuku’s bone marrow. He shivered and sank onto the bed.

“I told you I have amnesia. The results will show that.” Aizawa grimaced. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“When Todoroki dragged you in that morning and I asked you who had hurt you,” The bed groaned as he sat beside him. “You said it was your father. But your father’s…” He deserves to know. He– but I can’t. “He’s in America.”

“I know,” Izuku whispered.

“So that was a lie.”

“I don’t know what it was. When I said it, it felt like the truth.”

Thumb and forefinger pressing into his eyelids, Aizawa rubbed until he saw stars and picked his words slowly. “Understand that I’m not saying any of this is your fault, but you’ve lied to me enough times that I have to question your word. I do it out of concern for your safety, not to accuse you of being a liar.”

“I never said I wasn’t a liar, Aizawa-sensei.” Izuku traced the lifeline in his palm. “I said the results will show I have amnesia.”

“Izuku!” The door flew upon, and Inko burst inside with dimples like hole punches in her glowing cheeks. “You’re being discharged!”

He stood, slung his backpack over his shoulder. “That’s a relief.”

“Indeed it is, young man.” The doctor waltzed in pleasantly after her. “It’s a rare occasion for amnesia to be the vehicle of good news, but both the brain scans and blood work confirm your story. Thankfully, the memory loss seems to be the only adverse effect from the concussion, and otherwise, you’re fit as a fiddle.”

“That’s great.” He joined Inko’s side and dipped in a bow. “I really appreciate all the care you’ve given me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Midoriya.”

Izuku straightened, and as his mother squeezed his arm and spoke in cheery, breathless tones, his eyes strayed to Aizawa on the bed and his black stare. Wounded side cringing, he folded in another bow to him. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei. You’ve been a huge support to my mother and I.” His eyes lifted, void of light. “I’ll try to be better. Thank you for being honest with me.”

Blu Tack stuck under Izuku’s nail for hours after peeling all All Might posters from his walls and scraping away the stubborn blue putty. He left the posters on the floor, face down so the glossy white backs of the satin paper caught dim reflections off his lightbulb as night pressed through the window and sent his aging mother to an early bedtime. She’d notice the redecoration soon enough. Seeing Izuku without All Might merchandise might shock her more than seeing him without pinky toes, but this was a choice that felt right. It was best for him not to have an idol, and—as much as it stung—the Symbol had been tarnished for him. There would be no peace for Midoriya Izuku.

No, his tenant made peace impossible.

“So, I’m a cancer.” Izuku’s pillow and blanket did nothing to muffle the rumbling voice.

“Why do you sound like All Might?”

“His voice rings the loudest in your head. Why shouldn’t I?”

“It hurts to hear.”

“And since when have you avoided pain? Pain comes from everywhere, every choice. You were born of pain, and as such, so was I.”

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

“Another attribute I was born with. I respect you as the host and gardener of my sentience, but you’re also my prison guard. Being your quirk is agony.”

“I’m sorry.” Izuku turned onto his side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes. In fact, you could ease both our pains by letting me take control. It would free me from my cage and free you from autonomy, responsibility.”

“But… I’d still be your host. You’d still be in pain.”

“I assure you, I’d use every faculty your body provides to find myself a more suitable container.”

“But I’d be quirkless again.”

“Yes, quirkless.” It mused. “If you survive the transference, that is.”

“You’re not making a very good case of convincing me to give you control.”

“Oh, I can stand to sit shotgun for now. Your body might not hold up under the full force of my power. It’s a waiting game, son.”

Izuku flinched. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Then do as I say and behave.”

Bzzzzzz!

Izuku shot up from bed as if it’d fold around him and transmute into the cold plastic of the humming MRI, but the light from his desk calmed him. His phone. It was a text. He unlocked the screen and clicked the notification.

Shouto

Shouto: Are we still on for lunch tomorrow at 12 am on the UA Beta field?

* 12 pm

Izuku squinted, rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes, and read again. The text hadn’t changed. Lunch? There hadn’t been any such arrangement, and if there had, Izuku would remember—Shouto never made plans. Despite how much he loved food—both eating and cooking—Izuku was sure he’d have died from starvation years ago if it weren’t for scheduled meal times to remind him to eat. The ‘* 12’ struck him as odd too. Shouto was a careful texter, hyper-aware that his dad checked his phone and criticized every mistake. He would… 

His dad checked his phone.

Izuku glanced at the time: 10:00. 12 am tomorrow would be midnight. It was code. Shouto needed to see him tonight.

Me: Yeah, got it. I’ll be there.

…

Izuku remembered his first time on the UA Beta field: the initial day of school, quirk assessment tests. It had been his first impression of Shouto, racing against him on the 50-meter-dash. He noticed the stoic veil of dissociation over his friend’s face even then, the cool fire, the blank, thoughtless eyes and unavoidable scar. If he was any less distinct, Shouto might have faded into the ether for all people would notice of his lean, quiet frame, but his eyes and hair and heredity kept him in everyones’ attention, not that it did him any good.

Still, Izuku wasn’t sure what to make of him. Shouto used Izuku to hurt their classmates; Shouto allowed the attack on UA; Shouto was willing to watch people die. He’s dangerous. He’s a villain driven mad with revenge.

The idea, though, was almost laughable to Izuku as he tread across the prickly grass of UA’s back field toward Shouto, who sat with crossed legs, his back to him, head tilted up and mouth murmuring as he stared at the stars. Izuku sat down beside him, joined the stargazing.

“259, 260, 261, 262, 2– no, no, not that one, 263,” Shouto breathed.

“Are you… counting the stars?”

Shouto frowned at a particular twinkle another moment to commit its place to memory before looking at him. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I saw it on the TV in the hospital waiting room. I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh.” Izuku pulled his coat tighter around his waist to trap body heat. “Is that why you texted me? To count stars with you?”

“No.” Shouto returned his gaze to the sky and located where he’d left off. “I just like it. It’s impossible.”

“You like it because it’s impossible?”

“I think so. It’s impossible, so there’s no winning or losing. Usually, I can’t afford to lose, and I don’t want to win.”

Izuku gulped. An eerily calmness ached from Shouto, skin bathed in starlight. Izuku knew calmness like this; he’d felt it, like nothing could hurt him. Calmness like this could be fatal. “Shouto…” He nudged his shoulder, and the mismatched eyes pulled from the sky to look at him, monotone as ever.

“I’m sorry about the USJ. I wanted to be more involved with the League, so I used your quirk analysis. I know it was wrong.” He opened and closed his palms, cracked his knuckles. “I thought I was prepared to watch people die, but I couldn’t watch Shigaraki kill you. So, when he took you a second time, I didn’t even think. I used my fire.”

Izuku chewed his lip, cautious but curious. Shouto had been dead set against using his left side the last time they talked about it, so when he came bursting through the door that night, he couldn’t believe he was real. What had changed? Why betray the League and go that far? “Why?”

Shouto blinked. “You almost died for our teacher. Don’t friends die for each other?”

“I don’t want anyone to die for me.”

“But–” His brow scrunched. “I don’t… that’s selfish. You can die for someone and I can’t?”

“I don’t want you to. You should live, and be happy.”

“And you?” He glared, and Izuku fell silent. Shouto looked away, nodding. He pushed up from the ground and started forward to cut across the field toward Ground Beta and the stadium.

“Shouto!” Izuku called. “What’re you going to do?”

“Something rash.”

He scrambled up and joined his friend’s side. “Are you going to hurt yourself?”

“It might hurt,” he hummed.

“Does Dabi know where you are? What you’re doing?”

No response, and the boys made their way across the field and outside UA’s main grounds. Shouto veered toward the stadium with clenched fists, and he didn’t speak again until they emerged from the grand entrance onto the arena. “The Enderdragon says I need to win the sports festival. I have to.” Izuku gulped. The place was a massive cylinder of plastic chairs, ads winding the ground floor walls, TVs the size of small houses in the four cardinal directions, and everywhere the blazoned, golden insignia of UA. Cleaning carts sat abandoned by their workers on the yawning field or in aisles between sitting sections. The place must be a hub of activity during the day, with a legion of janitorial staff shining every crevice and corner. Even the grass split in sections with the varied lengths of free growth or the razor blade precision of a green buzzcut, equipment left behind like a bookmark of a well-preserved novel.

“Shouto, what are we doing here? Won’t the security cameras see us?”

“Dabi’s taken care of them.”

“What are you–”

“I’m not going to compete, Izuku. I won’t do anything else for him. I won’t train for him, or fight for him, or win for him. And I won’t hold back for him. I’ll burn down anything that tries to stop me.”

“Like, metaphorically or…?”

Shouto opened a ball of fire in his left hand, stared at it and thought about cold stars made of flames. Winding back his arm, he punted it into the stadium wall and watched it catch on the new ad posters and spit sparks onto the grass. “Not metaphorically.”

“Oh my–” Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth as another fireball flew, this time higher, landing amidst the chairs. “Sho– you–”

“Dabi said I could.” He shrugged. “He’s even agreed to take the fall. They can’t blame me. Everyone knows I don’t use my fire, and charred rubble can’t tell you if the flame was blue or red.”

Izuku laughed. He couldn’t help it. Melted plastic ran down the descending aisles of the stadium like a river of blood; the oversized TVs cracked under the heat of licking flame; the curvature of the open ceiling threatened to crumble, and Shouto kept going with a straight face slick with sweat and dark in firelight. The Roots groaned as falling sparks bloomed into flames amongst the grass, and he could only manage to say. “Poor plants.”

Shouto hummed. “Sorry. They didn’t deserve it.”

“They’ll grow back, but this place…” The archway of the back grand entrance crashed down in a heap. “I don’t think there’ll be a sports festival this year.”

“Yes, well,” Shouto’s lip twitched. “That was the point.”

“Huh.” Izuku spun to take in the full span of destruction. He was standing in the center of Hell, but all he could feel was awe.

“We should leave.” Shouto turned to the arch they entered through as flame crept toward it from either side. “You don’t want to die, do you?”

“No.” They walked away, hands shoved in coat pockets and giddily calm. “I don’t want to die. Do you?”

Shouto turned his face to the sky as they emerged from the vast firepit and reentered the night of cold, distant stars. They burned with a blue light, and he smiled, wide and weightless. “No. I want to live.”

Chapter Text

Aizawa was beginning to be tired of seeing police lights flashing across UA campus; one more time and they’d become part of the ambience, a decidedly less charming aesthetic for what was supposed to be the safest, most prestigious hero school in the country, maybe the entire world. The giant pillar of black smoke stretching opaque and toxic to the sky like Jack’s goth beanstock had finally quelled to miserable, isolated dribbles after copious doses of firehose water, water that would better be spent up north in the orchards and fields, where people were getting desperate.

“This will certainly be a problem with the media.” Nezu waddled up beside him with hands clasped behind his back, surveying the crumbled archway of UA stadium littered more around than above them. Resting firemen slumped on detached and mostly unscathed chairs; yellow vested workers picked through the rubble for surviving paraphernalia; demolition experts stood in groups holding blueprints and pointing to thin air as if the ghost of the place was still visible and not floating up with the black fume flares to alert the world of another epic failure.

“What do the security cameras show? Did any survive?”

“I’m afraid the few that retained footage were destroyed previous to the incident, presumably by the perpetrator. They were careful in staying out of view, but they made enough mistakes to help us begin identification.” Nezu’s sharp snout flicked to look up at Aizawa with beading black eyes, his starch white business shirt partly dusted with soot. “He’s the blue fire user from the USJ, the one with the scarring. He obviously fits the MO.”

Aizawa’s disconnected and blood splattered memories of the incident provided him with a blurred memory: man with spiky black hair and a purple, shriveled face stapled together, shrouded in vivid cerulean flames. Was he acting on orders or did he have a vendetta against the school? What was the connecting factor? Or rather, what wasn’t?

“Why the sports festival stadium?” He scratched his head.

“To make a statement against hero society by targeting one of its pillars, perhaps.” Nezu shrugged with his nonchalant coldness, a face that could never quite mimic the full range of human emotion and thus settled on polite pleasantry. “These sentiments are becoming more common with the rise of the Hero Killer: Stain. Have you heard of him?”

“The underground hero network has been tracking his work the longest. We’re no closer to an identity or a possible quirk though. None who encounter him survive.”

“Noticeably, only heroes seem to encounter him. No civilian casualties.”

“Do you think he’s connected to those who attacked us at the USJ?” Aizawa kicked away a smoldering clump of poster paper, lip pinched between his teeth. One group fixated on a hero school, the other murdering pros. So random, spontaneous. Is it purposeful to distract from their real target?

“It’s possible, but the patterns contrast. The USJ attackers lacked proper organization and had only a vague idea of how to kill All Might. Stain, on the other hand, seems to target the very wealthy or the very famous and kills heroes discreetly; he traps them in abandoned places somehow and leaves them dead. I wonder if he truly is working alone.”

“There’s no evidence of an accomplice.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

“Well, frankly I’m more interested in what to do about the students. This is the second time they’ve been targeted, though indirectly, and they have reason to suspect they’re in danger. They’re also in desperate need of experience.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that business in the capables hands of their teachers.” Nezu sighed and allowed his face to go neutral. “I was afraid All Might's presence would attract problems, but not even I predicted this magnitude of attacks. Perhaps it is best that he lay low for a period.”

All Might . Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. That was a correlation he could believe. It was the difference between this year and all years previous, and the possibility made the decision for him. “I’d like to take the first years on a road trip for a week or so, a preliminary internship of sorts. It would reassure parents to remove their children from the epicenter of danger and allow for better team building to even out the divide between classes 1A and 1B.”

“You’ll have to take it up with Vlad as well, but you certainly have my approval. UA will need some breathing room after this.”

“Then I’ll do it on one condition.” He squared his shoulders. “All Might stays away.” The Number 1 hero had only proved to be a nuisance so far, and Aizawa wouldn’t allow his students to become collateral damage to the man’s avarice. This was not a time to step aside for symbols; that left room only for disillusionment. No pillar of society protected his kids when they needed one most. They’d have to become that pillar for themselves and each other to survive this new reality.

Nezu bared his incisors. “You have a deal.”

Of all the conditions in the contract, Izuku did not foresee the fifth causing him the most trouble. Occasional meetings sounded quite mundane on paper, like an internship with quick check in reports and a batch of new instructions before quickly being sent off again. The condition was added to the contract at Kurogiri’s whim, child’s play when compared to the order of secrecy, the requirement to attend the most prestigious school in Japan, and—the crème de la crème , the point of it all—condition 7: become a hero and rub it in All Might’s face.

Yet, as Izuku stared at the black void consuming the bare wall of his bedroom, swallowing up the last rays of twilight to welcome the night, he found a fear rooted his body to his bed. Phantom pains from Shigaraki’s “game” at the last meeting still ebbed beneath his skin, bruises of memory just as palpable, just as abject and harsh and torrid as the real grind of knuckles, the concrete stamp of boots. Shigaraki hadn’t been wearing his signature red sneakers, now that he thought about it. Izuku still had his set from the first meeting months ago. A pair of shoes for a pair of toes, blotched subtly enough to pass the blood off as fabric dye.

The warp gate rippled and groaned with its impossible pulse of displaced matter, reawakening Izuku. He pushed off the bed and went to the closet, pulled out the stained shoes from a dented shoe box. Usually, he wore an identical pair, as Shigaraki’s were too large, but he stuffed his socked feet inside them anyway and pulled the laces tight enough to strangle circulation. He’d need something grounding for what was to come. Pain couldn’t be used as a weapon against him if he used it as armor first.

…

Shigaraki trusted Dabi’s advice right up until the moment a particular pair of shoes stepped through the warp onto the cherry wood floor. The dim and yellow bar lights turned the boy’s curly green hair into a sickly chartreuse shade and a mistrustful brow casted his freckles into shadow. Izuku did not move as the gate vacuumed shut behind him, but his eyes roved about the place: took note of the exit, the remaining dent in the steel cellar door, the empty bar area, and Shigaraki, on the couch, studying him just as intently. Something tainted the air, an atmosphere Izuku hadn’t expected and wasn’t equipped to handle.

The blood from the last meeting was scrubbed from the floors without even a silhouette stain.

Shigaraki glanced at the spot. “I had to clean up your mess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that last time.” Meaning the pinky toe incident. “Did you mean it either time?”

Izuku bit his lip, squirming as he looked Shigaraki head on. “I don’t think so.”

“Ha!” He snarled. “Are you trying to be insolent?”

“I’m trying to be honest.”

“I can tell it doesn’t come naturally to you.” Shigaraki pinched the bridge of his nose. I’m really bad at this. What this was, he didn’t even know, but Dabi had been right about one thing: his control was slipping. He needed to take it back. “I’m sorry as well.”

Izuku blinked, weighed his words before speaking. “I can’t ask if you mean it.”

“Then you’ll have to trust me.”

Izuku didn’t have to say anything to retort, to throw his words back in his face. They were hypocrites, the two of them. Izuku toed the line between obedience and defiance while Shigaraki swayed between criticism and calm.

He scooted over and pointed at the cushion beside him to display his gloved hand. “Sit.”

The hesitance was Izuku’s first sign of weakness. He glanced around wistfully for Dabi and Shouto to pop up from behind the counter, heart rattling his ribcage. Shigaraki apologized. Izuku had expected lingering resentment, a raised fist upon his first entry, not unsettling restraint. This was uncharted territory and definitionally more dangerous. He started forward—clumsy in the wrong-sized shoes—sat next to Shigaraki, and patted the familiar soft velvet to calm down. Detroit: Become Human ’s loading screen displayed muted on the TV.

“At the rate we’re going, you’ll graduate UA by the time we finish this game,” Shigaraki grumbled as he picked up the controller from his lap. “This “good ending” better be worth it.”

“I like it,” Izuku said, soft.

“Yeah…” He pressed ‘continue game,’ put the volume on low. “Are you hungry? I think there’s food behind the bar top.”

“Uh, no. No thank you.” Is he an imposter? Sweat beaded across Izuku’s forehead.

“Hmm, right.” He clicked his tongue, only skimming the game’s subtitles. “Are you, uh, thirsty?”

“No…” Izuku didn’t want anything except to bash his head in. What was wrong with his hero career sponsor? Was this a trick? A game? Shigaraki took another breath and opened his mouth to speak again, but in sheer terror of prolonging the agony, Izuku interrupted. “You’re acting strange. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Well,” Shigaraki gulped. It was time for a new angle: blunt honesty. “I’m beginning to think pain isn’t the way to control you. And Dabi…” he dragged a hand over his face. “He suggested I try to be… nice.”

“Oh.” The high pitch of his voice rang hollow. They grew silent watching the game, throats thick. Izuku jammed his right foot onto his left to keep from spiraling, and the shock of pain opened his mouth. “I think I preferred it when you hit me.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Shigaraki groaned, paused the game, and fell back against the sofa in defeat. A ruthless villain, bested by human decency. He glanced at Izuku to catch the glimpse of humor twitching his lips, and with one more painful pause, the boy curled over in laughter.

“This is ridiculous!” He snorted, and Shigaraki could only believe the sight as his own body snapped from the tension and he chuckled. “There’s something wrong with us!”

“You just figuring that out now, brat?” The laughter died down.

“No, I mean,” he straightened. “I always knew, but this is almost the worst moment of my life. This. Please go back to yelling at me. I’m serious.”

“No.”

“I don’t understand why not.”

“Because I’ve finally found your weakness, brat, and I’m not letting it go. Maybe now you’ll behave.”

“Wha– This is killing you as much as it’s killing me!” he pointed out.

Shigaraki scratched his neck, considering. “Yeah, you’re right. This requires beer. Go get me one.”

“Good idea.” Izuku started up and wandered behind the bartop, sliding back the low casing to reveal rows of bottles like glass bowling pins.

“You can’t have any!” Shigaraki yelled back as he unpaused the game.

“But Shouto gets to drink,” he whined.

“Shouto burnt down a stadium because he’s camera shy. I expect you to be better than him.”

Izuku’s nose wrinkled as he took a whiff from a musty sake bottle. He traded it out with a fresher one. “I thought you’d be pleased about it.”

“Oh, I am.” He cooed. “I haven’t enjoyed watching the news that much in a long time.”

Izuku returned and handed over the bottle before plunking down. The awkward air was still there, still suffocating, but he was beginning to understand what was happening. “I don’t believe you won’t hit me anymore.”

“I never said that.”

“You’re doing this because Sensei wants to study my quirk.”

Shigaraki stiffened. “No. That’s not why. Sensei would hurt you much worse if you were his to control.”

“Instead, I’m yours.” It was almost a question, but he stated it monotone.

“Yes.” Shigaraki sighed. “And I’ve decided I don’t want damaged property.”

“I don’t want to be a villain,” he whispered, and all humor drained away.

“You’re not.”

“You’re going to make me one. That’s what you want from me.” Pausing the game again, Shigaraki met Izuku’s solemn eyes, unblinking, unyielding, still ready for pain. He doesn’t realize I’ve “formed an attachment” to him.

“Would it be so terrible if I wanted nothing from you?”

His face softened and his eyes wandered down to stare into nowhere, voice wilted. “It wouldn’t be terrible, but it would be a lie.”

“... Izuku–”

A scuffle from outside cut Shigaraki off, frowning, twitching to pull off his gloves.

“–HAD IT COMIN’, THE OLD B–” a familiar voice roared and the front door slammed open in time to drown out Dabi’s profanities. The two lanky figures stumbled inside, Shouto supporting Dabi with dragging steps, one hand gripped his brother’s arm over his shoulder and the other supported his waist. Riotous laughter blew through them like wind through a jangle tower; they toppled to the floor before clearing the door frame and rolled onto their backs without a hiccup in the hysterics. Shigaraki and Izuku started up from the couch, but only Izuku moved to help them up.

“Oh,” Shouto—with mud caked in his hair—slurred as the green head popped into view. “Hey Izuku.”

“Hey Shouto.” He smirked. “You been drinking?”

“I– hic – might’ve had a few. Dabi said I could.”

“No I didn’t!” Dabi fished his arm up from under him to swat his brother.

“Huh, well, he didn’t stop me so… same thing.”

Izuku extended his hand, and Shouto missed it a few times before he latched on and got his feet beneath him. Sinking against Izuku’s frame, he allowed himself to be dragged to the counter and clumsily hefted onto one of the stools. Izuku pushed the chair in and guided Shouto’s arms to rest on the table top so he wouldn’t tip over. “I think you overdid it this time.”

“I think so too.” he groaned, words muffled as he buried his head in his arms. Izuku patted his back before returning to Dabi. His glazed blue eyes sat so sunken and shadowed, he’d look dead if not for the slow wheezes of his crippled lungs. He waved away Izuku’s extended hand but said nothing.

“Don’t you want to sit down?”

“I think I’ll sleep here.”

“No you won’t!” Shigaraki stamped over, grabbed him by his collar, and yanked him up none too gently. “Are your brains as fried as your face? You can’t come in here like this!” Shigaraki had been so close to getting somewhere with Izuku; the boy had been entirely at his mercy, and now he was playing nurse to a couple of idiots. Shigaraki moved to yank off his gloves but Izuku stepped between them.

“Okay, I think everyone’s a bit tipsy right now. Let’s just calm down.” He grunted as Dabi’s weight lowered onto his back, nose flared in rejection of the pungent stench. “You really need to stop drinking so much.” He dumped him on the nearest stool before his neck could snap.

“I need it though!” He slammed his fist down, and Shouto flinched up from his cat nap. “Adds fuel to the fire.”

“Don’t use your quirk,” Izuku ordered. “I don’t know how it works, but I’m sure your liver’s an incendiary bomb at this point. I don’t want to see a spark out of you.”

“It’s not my liver I gotta worry about,” he drawled. “I fire’s so blue, er, hot, it cooks me. If I ever went full power my body would go sssshblamm !” He threw up his hands to imply an explosion.

“Uh-huh.” Izuku half listened as he rounded the counter and threw open cabinets in search of empty glasses. Best to keep him talking, probably. “Why is your fire so hot anyway?” It was a nonsense question, so he took pause at the immediate answer.

“Gift from my mom. She could make ice from the water in the air. I can’t do that, but my quirk uses the oxygen molecules from the water in the air to make a complete combustion. So it’s blue and hotter.”

“Wow.” Izuku filled glasses under the tap as he listened and forced himself to contain his excitement. Quirks amazed him. Shouto gained the individual gifts of his mother and father while Dabi combined the two to make one ability stronger. Incredible. Who knows what else their quirks could do?

He set the cups down, gently nudged Shouto until he raised his head, split hair littered with dead leaves and pebbles and paper scraps glued in by mud. “Drink this.” He pushed it into his hand. “You must be dehydrated.”

“I’ve been drinking for hours,” he groaned.

“I know, but your body really needs water now.”

“This is ridiculous.” Shigaraki stalked back to the couch. “I’m going back to the game. Izuku!”

A clump of dirt from Shouto’s hair fell into the water as he gulped it down, and he took pause to paw at the stiff mat of his head. “Ugh.” His useless fingers couldn’t pull the bits out, and Izuku went to help before hesitating. He glanced at Shigaraki in dim resistance to his summons. The man deflated from the look on his face: hesitant, hopeful, asking to stay and help Shouto. It broke in a moment, and Izuku pushed to his feet to follow the order, eyes lowered and neutral. Shigaraki waved him off.

“Whatever. This part’s boring anyway. Do what you want.”

Izuku blinked up at him. Did he just…? Shigaraki chose Izuku’s desires over his own. Impossible. He tilted his head, waited for the red eyes to widen and the gloves to fly off and the shouts to thunder. Shigaraki knew Izuku expected it, knew it as clearly as he felt the urge to slap the kid, push him down. They were breaking form, the two them, and it was uncomfortable. Yet, as a flicker of relief, hope brightened the phlox flowers in Izuku’s hair, Shigaraki knew this was his victory, and he nodded to send him off.

The leash was slackened, but it was stronger for it.

Izuku returned to Shouto and guided his face down to get a better angle on the hair. “I wonder if you’ll remember any of this tomorrow.”

“Depends if your amnesia’s contagious,” he hummed.

Izuku pulled a mud clump from the red locks, set it on the counter. “Something tells me this’ll hurt worse than a concussion in the morning.”

“Hmph.”

Beside them Dabi’s drowsy voice rose and fell with the pitches of a drinking song, unintelligible.

“How’d this happen, anyway? Why’s it all in your hair?” He uncurled a newspaper clipping from a vicious knot.

“I saw myself in a bathroom mirror.”

“And?”

“I hate my hair.” He skulked. “I wanted to change it.”

“By sticking your head in a dumpster?”

Shouto coughed on a chuckle, mumbled, “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I’m sure it did. Maybe try dyeing it next time though.” His voice lilted with humor but didn’t mock him. It was therapeutic to sort through the clogged tangles, slipping out still wet pieces and gently prying at the dry. Shouto smacked his chapped lips. “I’ll get you more water.” Izuku let his hands fall.

“Can you give me alcohol instead?” Izuku rolled his eyes as he crossed to the tap, but Shouto’s face was serious when he glanced back at him. “Please.”

“You’ve already had too much. You’ll black out if you drink more.”

“I wanna black out.”

“Why?” Izuku pressed the glass into his hand as he returned and went back to work with the hair.

“When I get drunk, I start really happy, but when things calm down, I feel low. Like I’m empty.” He traced a downward slope with his finger to demonstrate. “I wanna black out so I can skip that part.” Ah, the depressive cycle.

Dabi’s voice crackled as he repeated the singular verse he knew from the drinking song, over and over again. Rise and fall, husk and lull.

“I can’t let you drink anymore, Shouto.” Izuku plucked away the last bits of trash that could be removed without a shower and sagged down in his stool. “We can try to distract you.”

“You’re all distracting me !” Shigaraki threw up his hands and smashed down the game remote off button. “It’s impossible to focus with that singing.”

“Oh stop complaining,” Dabi grunted, then swaggered up from his chair towards the couch. “I’m bored. Let’s put a movie in.”

“That’s a good idea.” Izuku perked up, turning to Shouto. “You can watch it until you fall asleep.”

“Hmmmph.” His head drooped.

“Come on. I’ll help you up.”

Dabi clicked through streaming services as the boys stumbled down to sit on the floor in front of the couch, and Shigaraki sat frozen with half a dozen profanities building in his throat. His gaming session had been completely hijacked by drunkards. He opened and closed his fists, felt the impact of knuckle on skin like a ghost begging to be revived. Hurt something. Kill something.

Izuku felt the rise of tension in his chest, and he looked back at him. Glassy green eyes, phlox flowers in his hair, and then again the wordless question. Is this alright? At last, Shigaraki saw the full wisdom of Dabi’s advice: Izuku was already so tired of fighting back, he just wanted everything and everyone to be alright. He wanted to feel safe. Shigaraki gritted his teeth and nodded with a tight smile. “It’s alright.”

The tension dropped from the boy's shoulders; he nodded back before stretching out his legs and helping Shouto get comfortable, red shoes illuminated in the dim light of the opening credits. Dark stains still blotted the polyester-foam, but Shigaraki wondered if they could be cleaned. He wondered what it would take to wash the red away.

Perhaps Toshinori was a bad teacher because he’s a bad student. His old sensei, Gran Torino, always told him that he was, but he was so naturally good at most things, he didn’t see the problem with neglecting a few skills. As he got older and realized not everything could be solved with muscle, he got a bit wiser, remained fairly detached, hugged his secrets close to his chest. He was the Symbol of Peace, regarded as a god among men, he couldn’t let human connections deter him.

Not after what happened with Nana.

Yet, it appeared he still hadn’t learned his lesson. Young Midoriya knew about All Might’s true form, and he’d name-dropped his dead sensei: two facts no ordinary person should know. And the boy had always been strange, timid by himself but hatefully reserved when near him. True, he’d told the boy he couldn’t be a hero, and he couldn’t have. He’d been disturbingly lucky to have a TIM. Too lucky.

Then again, Midoriya was brutally attacked by Shigaraki and cleared of all suspicion. He’d almost died in defense of his teacher. Midoriya had even been the one to make him wonder at All for One’s involvement. A spy wouldn’t do that. A spy would be much more careful. Traitors were self-motivated people, disturbingly narcissistic and noticeably chatty. Midoriya wasn’t. He was kind, he was quiet, he was awkward, he was emotional, he was… He’s a good kid.

Toshinori shook his head to wake from the thought spiral. A single lamp loomed in his periphery and joined his bent head to peer down at a thick stack of papers in an otherwise dark apartment. There are about 60,000 people with the name of Shimura in Japan since Nana’s death. Tsukauchi balked when Toshinori brought up going through the records, but Midoriya mentioned his mentor was a ‘he,’ and that cut it down by half. Then they took out the quirkless population, as it was unlikely a quirkless person could be a hero career sponsor. Another 20% gone. Eliminate those who left Japan: 5%. Those born after Nana’s death: 10%. Those with O type blood as Nana had AB: 43%. Then — and this was a risk — those without black hair: 66%. Those with mutations —another guess: 50%. Those in prison: 12%. Those born within the past twenty years: 30% Finally —a shot in the dark—those with more than five living relatives: 75%.

That left 300.

300 files sitting in front of Toshinori.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He couldn’t exactly sense the blood of his mentor through a list of descriptions and grainy photos. These people could be anyone. If Nana had hidden her family from him, who knows how well she had hid it from everyone else? It was nothing but a name. A blind hope. As he neared the end of the pile, All Might’s mood darkened. He still hadn’t learned his lesson, still hadn’t gotten over Nana. The grip of guilt still closed around his throat every morning when he awoke and remembered. He’d been right there; he’d watched it happen. It was his fault. At this point, if Nana truly did have a living relative, Toshinori would do anything for them. It was the least he could do after he failed her.

But it’s hopeless.

On the 278th black-haired Japanese male, All Might barely skimmed the words.

Name: Shimura Kotarō

Status: Deceased

Spouse: Shimura Nao (Deceased)

Children:

Shimura Tenko (Deceased)

Shimura Hana (Deceased)

Parents: Unlisted

The man had a straight—if not distrustful—face, and a black cowlick casting a shadow over his eyes. It was his unlistened parentage that made Toshinori turn the page over. Just a flick of the wrist, perusing at this point. His eyes dropped to a small collection of pictures, stopped.

His former mentor hugged a boy with missing teeth in front of a metal staircase, smiling with her cheek pressed to his and her hero costume half blocked by his body.

Nana’s family was dead, Midoriya cleared of all charges.

But, All Might knew—always the student who would never learn his lesson—he knew he wouldn’t let this go. 

No, he’d follow this to the very end.

Chapter Text

Aizawa made the announcement in class the next day. They were going up north to the town of Niwa in a joint internship/team-building trip with class 1B. The situation was desperate up there, what with the drought and high poverty population culminating in increased crime and unemployment. They’d be helping out with smaller things of course, getting cats out of trees, directing traffic, going on patrols, answering phone calls and providing backup, that kind of thing. Without their provisional licenses, they were boxed in, but they could at least give the local heroes some breathing room and allow them to combat the rise in violent crime. There were a few missing persons cases that made Aizawa hesitate before finalizing the plans, but Vlad assured him they’d keep the kids in groups, always with supervision. Besides, they were heroes in training as well as just children. Aizawa couldn’t be the one to hold them back, everyone and everything else will do that for him.

Within the week, the two classes were lining up to enter buses, rolling suitcases clipping their heels, wool and polyester blankets wrapped over shoulders and pillows pinned by armpits. Despite the UA uniforms, the groups looked like kids for the first time, chirping and laughing and testing adults’ patience to find the hard line. Izuku, Shouto, Hitoshi, Uraraka, and Iida chatted in the midst of the crowd, breathless. After such a series of tragedies, the boring moments generated the most excitement. Uraraka filled Izuku in on her post-USJ-rehabilitation efforts, which ranged from group meditation to hand-holding exercises. The latter hadn’t been popular. Mina burned Denki with her acidic sweaty palms and Aoyama had a fit about the spread of germs and insisted on wearing lace gloves. At the end of it, Uraraka’s indomitable spirit was almost conquered, but Hagakure ranted and raved about how much she loved it and what it meant to her and the class president had been running off the high since. Her virtue was terrifying.

Only she could penetrate the awkward silence Shouto carried around him like a dead cat. Hitoshi and Iida vacillated between being friendly or stoic with him, and neither worked. Izuku succeeded, in the end.

“What’d you bring for lunch?” He asked.

“Cold soba.” Ah, the favorite. “I brought extra, if you want any.”

“I forgot to pack a lunch, so I’ll take you up on that. Did Fuyumi make it?”

“No. I did.”

“Practicing cooking again?”

“Yeah.”

Shinso and Iida’s eyes ping-ponged between the two of them, only stopping when they noticed the other doing the same, both disturbed to find something in common with each other. Hitoshi opened his mouth to say something snide, but a garish flash of color in his periphery made him turn, and his interest shifted.

“Why’s All Might here?” He asked. Izuku stiffened. “I thought he wasn’t coming to avoid security risks. He’s probably the reason we keep getting attacked.”

“Really?” Uraraka tapped her chin. “Who told you that?”

Hitoshi cringed at himself. Aizawa told him over dinner two nights ago—leftover spaghetti, tomato sauce in his beard. I shouldn’t have said that. “Just a guess.” He shrugged, and the group quieted to eavesdrop on the conversation between Aizawa and All Might at the outskirts of the crowd.

Only a few sparse words were distinguished. “Midoriya—talk—sponsor—relative—”

Then Aizawa’s response. “Boarding—Hurry—updated—”

“It seems All Might wishes to speak to you,” Iida said.

“Do you think it’s to apologize for what happened at the USJ?” Uraraka strained on her toes to see over the crowd.

Izuku didn’t answer. Sponsor. He’d said the word ‘sponsor.’ Did he know about Shigaraki? The League? Why else would he want to talk to him about his “sponsor”? Even if he only wanted a few more details like a first name or description, Izuku couldn’t produce a scrap of coherent thought in the dizzying early morning buzz of schoolyard excitement.

“All right, students!” The bus driver poked his head out the automatic doors of the long yellow vehicle. “Time to go. Single-file. No pushing.” The crowd moved like water, and—as Shouto’s eyes zeroed in on the pallor of his face—Izuku hatched a plan.

“You guys save us a spot, I need Shouto to help me with something.”

“Wha–”

But they were gone before the protests reached them. The two boys shouldered their way against the current of students and ducked behind the end of the bus, out of sight.

Unfortunately, not out of All Might’s sight. As Aizawa lectured him about the importance of keeping his distance and the care that must be taken around Young Midoriya, his bullet-tip eyes zeroed in on a head of violet saffrons. He stood intently with his friends, eyes darting his way. Toshinori had come to ask more details about his sponsor, show him the picture of Shimura Kotarō to see if anything comes to mind. It was only a conversation; the boy needn’t look so petrified. At the bus driver’s announcement, he ducked down and disappeared in the crowd, but a split head of hair—Todoroki Shouto, son of his collegue—stood a little taller than most the class and blazed a trail behind Izuku until the two hid behind the bus. Well that’s… curious.

Finally, Aizawa gave him the okay, and All Might waded through the waning crowd. Young Kirishima stopped to talk to him, ready with the usual complement and cheerily boyish disposition. Another step and he brushed Hagakure’s ear with his elbow, and he took another pause to apologize. Asui scampered across his path; Koda turned beet red in his presence, and he wondered, not for the first time, if being a symbol was more painful than practical. Thankfully, the students were ushered inside the bus and his path cleared. He worried Midoriya might have slipped inside when he was distracted, but something stuck out from behind the bus, small but distinct with the dainty amethyst petals: violet saffrons.

The flowers betrayed him, and a few stern words rose to All Might’s mind to lecture the boy. Did he have something to hide? Toshinori advanced forward, brandishing his screen-ready smile few could resist. Midoriya was timid. He wouldn’t be rude when speaking face to face. The engine revved and he rounded to the back of the bus.

“You’ll miss your ride, Young Mido–”

Todoroki Shouto’s face greeted him, the single flower that attracted All Might to the spot perched on his ear. No Midoriya.

“You just missed him,” Shouto said. The bus rolled forward, and both eyes flicked up to catch Midoriya peering through the back window. He grimaced, placed his palm on the glass, and stared as smoke coughed from the exhaust pipe and muddied the air between them.

That boy, All Might closed his fist. That boy has something to hide.

…

The plan had been simple: go with Shouto to the back of the bus then use him as a decoy, then slip around the opposite side and join the crowd of students as they jammed into the bus. Not quite brilliant, but effective, leaving only one problem.

Shouto was being left behind.

Aizawa clambered out of his seat in the front, ignorant of the situation. “Alright, quiet. I’m taking roll.”

Izuku pressed against the back window, eyes glued to All Might’s dismayed face which mirrored his own. He stared him down, waited for something to happen as they rolled away, but the hero turned away to accept the temporary defeat.

“Aoyama,” Aizawa called.

“Ici.”

Shouto ran after the bus, skidding on iced shoe heels.

“Izuku, what’s going on? Where’s Todoroki?” Shinso hurried to the back of the bus, tailed by Iida and Uraraka.

“Ojiro.”

“Here!”

“Uh,” Izuku’s mouth went dry, his stomach wrapped into knots.

“What the–” Shinso peered over his shoulder and spotted Shouto’s mad sprint. “We have to tell Aizawa.”

“No!” Izuku yelped. “No. I’ve got this. I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

“Izuku, we have to stop the bus for him to get on.”

“I’m very troubled that this has happened. We need to tell a teacher,” Iida said.

“Ashido.”

“Here!”

“Everything is under control,” his voice jumped an octave. Think, think, think! The bus was slender, with two per seat and an aisle cutting down the middle. Half of the students were standing and joking around, so Aizawa didn’t have a clear view of the back where they all stood. Shouto skated in slow pace with the bus, but they’d lose him once they got onto the freeway. They had to get him on the bus without stopping and without alerting Aizawa. “I can fix this.”

“Jiro.”

“Here.”

“I have an idea.” Izuku turned to his three gawking friends. “But I’ll need a barricade.” Iida protested as he arranged him—stiff as a board—to stand in the center aisle, Shinso and Uraraka on his sides. “Keep your back turned so you don’t witness anything. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, remember?” He turned away before they could respond and turned back to the window. Shouto was losing ground. Yanking off the emergency flaps used to keep the window in place, he opened it from the bottom and pushed it as far up as it would go.

“Asui.”

“Kero.”

Shouto locked eyes with him, and real, harrowed panic flashed with the sheen of sweat across his face. Izuku’s flower had long since dislodged itself from his ear and lay crumpled on the road behind them with tire tracks pressed into its petal veins. They were on a small suburban road now, passerbys gawking at the scene. In any other circumstance, he’d be concerned with how little the bus driver checked his rear window, but for now he was grateful. Izuku beckoned his arms up, mouthed to say “Jump.”

“Hey, whoever has a window open, close it,” Aizawa drawled. “Midoriya.”

“Here!” He hollered before sticking his head back out the window. Shouto shook his head, communicating he couldn’t make it. Reaching his arms out, Izuku wanted to scream, but instead he mouthed over and over again. “Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.” The true test of their friendship. Not ‘would you jump out of a moving car for me?’ but ‘would you jump at a moving car for me?’

“Tokoyami.”

“Here.”

Another flash of doubt crossed Shouto’s eyes.

“Please,” Izuku pleaded, knowing the words would be snatched by the wind.

“Hey! Shut that window already! Don’t make me come back there.” Aizawa barked. “Uraraka.”

“Here, sir.”

Almost Shouto’s turn, with only Sato to go.

“Please,” Izuku whispered.

Shouto jumped, leaping off a bump of ice like a springboard and flying through the air, not far enough, not close enough. Pain stabbed Izuku’s outstretched palms, and vines shot out of them. They wrapped around Shouto, pulled him in like the metal hook slot of a retractable measuring tape.

“Sato.”

Shouto sped through the air with his eyes squeezed shut, sure he was going to die.

“Here!” Responded Sato.

Shouto plowed into Izuku and they crashed to the grimy bus floor, knocking their heads on Iida’s tree trunk ankles.

“Keep it down back there.” Aizawa rolled his eyes as he skimmed his clipboard. “Todoroki.”