Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The word “useless” has clung to Izuku’s subconscious like a quiet gunshot. Like any reclaimed word, “Deku” is a weapon he’s made his own, taken from those who have used it to hurt him, but the weight has not changed. The handle, the sleeve of bullets, the trigger all press into his fingers like he’s picked a fight with gravity. Quiet whispers of middle school, of elementary school even, still linger and remind him of this burden, sometimes when he’s talking to Aizawa-sensei or Kacchan or when something about Quirkless people pops up on the news.  

But Izuku thinks its worst when he is asleep.  

And tonight, it’s the worst its ever felt.  

***

Izuku groans at the pressure constantly pressing at his temple. His back is stiff and creaky, and something mildly sharp is digging into his side. Still half asleep and eyes still closed, Izuku is able to tell his arms and legs are all tangled up, like he’s had a bad nightmare and lost a fight with his bedsheets.

However, Izuku is cold. Actually, too cold for someone who should be wrapped up in bedsheets. Flexing his fingers, Izuku reaches for his All Might inspired blanket.

Nothing.

This can’t be my bed, he thinks, and forces his eyes open.

He’s greeted to a pitch-black space that he discovers is much smaller than any place he’d normally sleep.

Izuku is no stranger to waking up in places other than his bed.

Todoroki has found him passed out in the common room of the 1-A dorm after a failed midnight snack. Izuku has slept at his desk doing homework, only to have Iida furiously bang on his door in an attempt to get him to class on time. And once, when Izuku was taking his physical training a bit too far, Kacchan had found him outside asleep and almost exploded his face off.

But by the way his legs are scrunched up to his waist and his neck is angled painfully, Izuku can tell he’s in none of these places. Having accustomed to the dim lighting, Izuku can see a sliver of white near the ground as if he is next to a door frame.

I’m in a closet? He thinks, his brain trying to catch up to what he was seeing.  

The last time he had been shoved into a closet was back in middle school. Izuku remembered standing next to the janitor’s mop for three long hours until some staff member finally found him. Explaining what had happened to his teachers hadn’t really helped.

 The memory makes Izuku wince, causing him to notice how uncomfortably dry his mouth feels. He yawns, or tries to, and that’s when he realizes something is incredibly wrong.

There is something made of cotton wedged inside his mouth. Immediately, Izuku moves to fish it out, but a metal clink, accompanied by sharp pain in his wrists, is unexpected.

Behind him, two thick metal cuffs encircle his wrists and are kept together by a chain maybe a foot long. His feet are cuffed too, but the chain is a bit longer from what Izuku can see in the dim light.

An awful feeling falls and festers in the pit of Izuku’s stomach.

I’ve been kidnapped? He thinks, trying desperately to remember.

Images were coming back to him, but they were practically useless. Vague figures flashed before him, a few distinct colors, the feeling of fingers digging into his skin. All were draped in black tar, sluggish and evading him.

Eyes wide, he reaches for his Quirk.

Nothing.

Nothing? He thinks furiously. He tries again.

His fingers tingle, as if he were close to the strength of One for All, but just out of his grasp.

Izuku fights back a whine of disappointment.

Ok, he thinks Ok, Izuku. This is bad.

He chuckles to himself, a little hysterical.

But you’re here. And you’ve gotta deal with it. Assess. Get information.

He kicks out and hits something solid, to get someone’s attention.

And it does. Comically quick, as if they were waiting for him to wake. The door to his little prison decides to open and the exposure leaves Izuku as a blinking mess.

“Ah, there’s the little hero!” says a man with a scratchy voice.

Izuku isn’t given any time to adjust before someone loops an arm under his and pulls him to his feet. Pins and needles prickle up Izuku’s legs from the awkward position he had just pulled from, and he falls into the person carrying him.

The man was large, like he was someone who knew how to eat well but still worked out, equal fat and muscle under his light brown skin. He had expressive brown eyes framed under chin length black hair. And although he had a full face of stubble, the man looked so young. Maybe a little older than Hawks… But not by much.

“You alright?” the man asked, and Izuku blinked. His voice was so quiet despite his large frame, and Izuku immediately could tell that was not the voice he had heard call him a “little hero”.

Izuku turned his head, seeing a very different man leaning in the closet doorway. This guy had matted, blonde hair long enough to pull into a short ponytail. He was tall, taller than the man holding Izuku, and was all angles from his pale jawline to his collarbones.

“He can’t answer, dumbass,” the man says.

“Where do you want him, Shio?” asks the one holding Izuku.

The blonde, Shio, grins and gestures forward.

“I’ll lead the way.”

Izuku lets out an angry shout through his gag as he’s led forward, tripping over the short chain and the large hand holding his bicep.

Izuku is dragged through a fairly large room with at least a dozen or more beds taking up as much space as possible while still having room to walk.

“Joon, that bed there, yeah?” the blonde man says.

There’s a grunt of confirmation, and Izuku has no time to process his surroundings before he’s pushed onto said bed. His first instinct is to get up and go, but Joon, the dark-haired man, stops Izuku’s legs by grabbing the chain.

The other man, Shio, fishes out a key from his pocket and works to unlock the chain to then chain him to the bedpost.

Izuku’s eyebrows scrunch up. He’s pissed.

No access to his Quirk, his vision a scrambled mess, Izuku acts on instinct and kicks as hard as he can, hitting Shio square in the chest.

The man lets out a squawk before he grabs Izuku’s calves. Izuku just kicks again, feeling pride in his leg strength from all his training.

“Fucking stop it, would ya?” Shio yells.

No, Izuku thinks with a glare, I won’t stop it!

But when Joon tangles the chain to the metal bars of the bottom portion of the bed post and locks it, the battle is over. There are four hands against one very vulnerable Izuku.

It doesn’t stop Izuku from heaving his upper body forward and crashing his forehead into Shio’s.

Izuku hears the man yell “Fuck!” just as the momentum causes Izuku to topple off the bed and onto the concrete floor.

“Oh my,” Joon says softly, looking between Izuku and the blonde like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Aren’t you blessed with a Quirk, Joon?” snaps Shio. “How about you use it.”

Icy sweat drizzles down Izuku’s back despite his heavy, hot breaths into the soaked gag. As much as Izuku is obsessed with Quirks, he can stand to skip this demonstration.

Thankfully, Joon shakes his head. “He’s doing what any kidnapped person would do, Shio. Just let him have a breather.”

Shio’s next expletive is interrupted by a loud phone ring that erupts from his pocket.

“Fucking— ugh,” Shio fishes a burner phone out, checking the caller ID with squinted eyes, before slapping it to his ear. “What’s going on boss.”

Shio walks while he talks and walks away towards the back of the large room, the words not quite reaching Izuku. Wasting no time, Izuku scoots closer to the foot of the bed so he can eventually get on his feet. Staying stranded on the ground with limited mobility was not a place where Izuku wanted to be.

But before he can, a large shadow blocks out the overhead lights. Joon takes his place as the number one villain on Izuku’s radar as he towers over Izuku.

“It’s alright,” Joon says, his voice burly yet soft. “I want to take off your gag.”

Already ready in a position to kick, Izuku hesitates and considers.

No gag would be nice. Long term. Think long term.

With his chest still heaving, his back beginning to hurt from his fall onto the concrete, Izuku nods. Joon gives a small smile, flickering like candlelight before disappearing, and reaches for the gag’s firm knot. Izuku can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut, still jumpy on adrenaline and fear, but Joon’s hands are surprisingly gentle as they release his jaw from its cotton prison.

The relief of a fresh breath of air is immediate. Izuku tries not to cry, even though he kinda wants to.

Instead, Izuku squints and swallows, trying to rid the prickling, and honestly disgusting, taste that has occupied his mouth for the last few hours. It doesn’t really work, but it relieves the tension in his jaw, and the small freedom helps Izuku feel less small.

Joon nods in approval, and Izuku’s mind races.

Reason with him, Izuku! He yells at himself.

“I—I don’t know why you took me,” Izuku says in a hushed, scratchy voice, wanting to keep the conversation between him and Joon, “But I’m sure there’s a different way we could— we could sort out whatever this is.”

He tries not to look too desperate, but he’s a little damn desperate, ok.

Joon’s face falls, as if there was an impossible situation in front of him he just couldn’t solve.

“Sorry Deku,” Joon says, and Izuku cringes at how loud his hero name is introduced, “I can’t help you there.”

That gets the attention of the blonde, who has pocketed his phone. He looks down at Izuku with faint disgust.

“Are you fraternizing with the hostage, Joon?” Shio accuses. “And you took his gag off?”

Joon wilts, despite the fact that he’s still much more muscular and broad than Shio.

“Just tell me why I’m here,” Izuku blurts. He’s not going to waste a moment while his mouth is free. “Just tell me why I’m here and— we can figure something out. Come to an agreement”

Shio seems to find this amusing. The blonde man saunters up to him, the grin still present, and leans over Izuku’s prone form. There’s a small bruise forming where Izuku hit him, but it didn’t seem to do much damage otherwise.

“We don’t want too much from you yet, little hero,” Shio says. “Just wanted to make sure the merchandise wasn’t too ruffled up. How’s your Quirk feel?”

Izuku blanches, but holds his body tightly, ready to pounce.

“Thought so,” the man’s grin stretches even further. “Joon, you’ve got the camera?”

“We’re doing this now?” Joon asks. “Thought we were going to wait.”

“Wait for what? Boss wants to get at least a few pictures to get them interested, so that when we call, they’ll be dying for more,” the man says. His smile drops. “Now go get it.”

Hostage then? Izuku concludes, his brows furrowing. A list of people he would be ransomed to fills his mind.

UA. All Might. Mom…

An ugly feeling creeps up Izuku’s throat. Whoever it is, he doesn’t want them to see him like… this. Tied up and with no Quirk, helpless.

Izuku is too busy with his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Shio until he grabs his bicep and wrenches him up.

“Ah-!” Izuku let’s out a startled yell, not even having a second to feel mortified before Shio pushed him back onto the bed.

The force was so great that he bounced once, the air in his lungs releasing an embarrassing wheeze. The chain connecting him to the foot of the bed snaps taunt and painful tension shoots up Izuku’s legs.

Izuku barely has a moment to adjust before Shio is on him. The man grounds his right knee into Izuku’s thigh, effectively keeping him in place, as his hands slide up Izuku’s neck and starts to squeeze. Eyes a bit wild, Izuku tries to keep his cool, tries to remember that these pictures will be sent to someone he loves, but the fingers are still pressing hard into his skin and shit, he’s losing air—

Click of the camera captures the moment of vulnerability. The man wrenches Izuku’s head to the side, fingers creeping up to his jaw. Flecks of something rust brown had been caught underneath the man’s fingernails, forcing a raw stench up Izuku’s nose. His face wrinkles in disgust.

Click. 

“Scared?” Shio asks, his voice breathy and low.

Izuku indulges this, now glaring at the man.

“N-No, you just stink,” he says bitingly. The stutter ruins his reply, but Izuku reconciles that it’s more from his sore throat than fear.

Joon lets out an incredulous huff, maybe trying to hide a laugh.

Shio’s smile drops. He finally lets go of Izuku’s neck, only to thread his fingers into Izuku’s green curls and yank him backwards into the bed. Trapped underneath his body, Izuku’s arms tingle.

Izuku has some incredible pain tolerance, but it’s the fact that his neck is now exposed and he can no longer see his attacker, that makes Izuku’s heart race.

Click.

“Hilarious, little hero,” Shio drawls.

He can’t see Shio, can’t read his expression, but a small sound escapes Izuku as something metal and sharp lines up with his Adam’s apple.

Click.

“Not everyone is as blessed as you are. Powerful quirk, soft features, a desire to save people,” Shio continues. He trails the knife up Izuku’s jaw, keeps just enough pressure to make Izuku uncomfortable.

Not my eyes, Izuku thinks, instinctively squeezing them shut. Please not my eyes.

Shio stops at his temple.

Click.

“Fortunately, for people like us, we can capitalize off of that,” Shio says, ripping the knife forward. Izuku startles so badly his chains go taunt once more, Shio’s knee digging harder into his thighs.

But there was no pain. Confused, Izuku opens his eyes, expecting blood, but just sees a lock of his forest green hair in Shio’s left hand, the knife in his right.

Joon, holding a fairly nice camera, procures a Ziplock out of his pocket and hands it to Shio. His hair is stored away.

“What are you doing?” Izuku struggles to speak.

“Gotta prove that we have you, yeah?” Shio explains. “People don’t just believe photos anymore, with Photoshop and all.”

Finally, Shio gets off of him and turns to Joon. They ignore Izuku as he sits up, shaking slightly from the rough handling.

“Let’s get this ready to send. Boss wants the next part in two days.”

“Are you delivering it? Or me?” Joon asks.

Shio looks at Izuku again, and then grins. Izuku withers a bit.

“I can handle the little shit for now,” he says.

Joon frowns.

“Can we still… Can we get him to try—” Joon starts and stops, as if his confidence was fading.

Shio waves his hands like he can wave away Joon’s problems.

“Yeah, yeah, we can do that tomorrow,” Shio promises. “Just give him a day to calm down, he’s a little too jumpy now.”

Shio rubs his forehead, a bruise now clearly forming.

“You wanna grab a beer before the meeting?”

“Sure.”

They turn to leave, as if they hadn’t just rattled Izuku’s world. Izuku is shaking, ever so slightly, on the tiny, lumpy mattress they had placed him on. But he glares at their backs, trying not to show his mix of emotions.

“Do us a favor little hero and stay put?” Shio says when he reaches the door. He grins again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

His two kidnappers leave the large, deserted room with a bang of the door and Izuku finally breathes.

He wants to trace his neck, to make sure he’s not actually bleeding, but his hands are still trapped behind his back. He wants to reach out to the bed post to see if he can break free, but his Quirk still feels absent from the place he has grown used to.

It makes him feel incredibly small.

He should start scheming a way to get out of here, but the thought of doing anything but sitting here sounds exhausting.

 So, he scoots close to his knees, burying his head into legs, and lets out a wet sob.

I’m going to figure my way out of here, he thinks.

I can come up with a plan and be useful with this time alone.  

But right now, with his skin still tingling from his kidnapper’s rough hands, he sits and tries not to imagine the loaded gun in his brain.

Chapter Text

Midoriya Izuku is a crier.

He had always been an emotional boy, ever since he was young. But he thought it was actually pretty relieving. Have a cry, take a deep breath, and deal with the situation with a clear mind.

And that’s what Izuku did, still chained to the bed.

He wipes his eyes on his shoulder and starts to kick the post while looking around the room, finally ready to take in his surroundings.

King of multitasking, Uraraka would say.

It was a large room, maybe even slightly larger than 1A’s homeroom, and Izuku would have believed it were an old classroom if there weren’t about a dozen beds shoved inside the space. Old children’s drawings were tacked along the wall that had once been painted pastel blue, only for time to wither it down to a sad grey. Each bed looked like it had been used by a unique child, as different handwriting graced either little posters the kids had handmade, or the wall itself. The windows had been boarded up, to Izuku’s dismay, but his kidnappers had left the fluorescent lights on overhead and he could still see.

A thin layer of dust had settled all over everything, which Izuku just made more pronounced by the plume of dirt he was disturbing. Each kick to the bedpost had him coughing, and he was growing exhausted. Even though he had technically been asleep in that closet, it hadn’t been restful. And his body ached from the scuffle he and Shio had found their selves in.

How long had I been in that closet for?

His whole body felt sluggish too, like once the adrenaline had rushed out of him, he had been left with nothing. It didn’t feel normal.

What had they used to knock me out?

A Quirk?

Drugs?

Izuku grimaces. He couldn’t even remember where they had snatched him from. He looks down at himself and sees that instead of his school uniform, he’s wearing sweats and a plain shirt. They had taken his red shoes away, leaving him just with his black socks. He remembers going to school, having a lesson with Aizawa-sensei on conduct during a fire rescue, training with All Might on his Air Force moves, and then….

Izuku frowns.

Nothing.

Where did they take me? He thinks. His eyelids droop a bit without him noticing. Is this a daycare? An abandoned children’s hospital?

He notices that there’s a symbol that strewn out across the walls, like a logo. It’s a sun that is colored purple. There’s a clipboard hanging from the wall behind Izuku, and he can see the logo in the corner too.

That might be important… To figure out where I am…

Situated with his legs crisscross on the bed, Izuku slowly leans forward, his fatigue pulling him down.

His brain has the gall to think about what just happened to him, that now the villains have distressed pictures of him and a lock of his hair. And that’s the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep.

***

A loud laugh startles Izuku awake. Groggy but defensive, Izuku rightens himself and waits for the world come back into focus.

“Wake up, little hero,” Shio chortles, “You fell asleep half upright.”

Shio leans in, shaking Izuku’s shoulder, and Izuku jerks back. Now he’s definitely awake. Out of his two kidnappers, this man was much more dangerous in Izuku’s opinion. He had seemed to revel in Izuku’s distress yesterday.

“Don’t touch me,” Izuku spits back, pushing himself as far away from Shio and the end of the bed as possible.

“Watch your mouth,” Shio drawls. He grabs a metal chair from the wall on Izuku’s left and drags it across the floor. Izuku winces at the noise.

Shio plops down in it, straddling the back, and places a to-go plastic bag on Izuku’s bed.

“Eat,” he says.

“I don’t want anything you’ve made,” Izuku says.

“I didn’t fucking make it,” Shio counters, annoyed creases painting his forehead.

Izuku warily peers inside the bag, and sure enough it’s instant microwavable rice, a pair of disposable chopsticks and an unopened water bottle. He looks up at the kidnapper incredulously. His hands are still locked behind him.

“Alright, alright,” Shio says, getting up and close to Izuku again. Izuku tenses. “I’ll move your hands to the front. If you try anything, I’m prepared to slam you into the fucking concrete, yeah?”

Shio doesn’t give him much time to think, and instead Izuku watches the man intensely as he disappears behind him. One of his rough hands grabs Izuku’s wrists as the other unlocks the chain and pulls his hands forward.

Izuku considers trying to grab at Shio, retrieving the key, but Izuku’s legs are still chained. Even if he managed to get the key, Shio would be on him in a second. And Izuku didn’t doubt he’d pay for it.

So, for this moment, Izuku allows the kidnapper to chain his hands together in the front. The new movement causes a searing pain in his stiff shoulders, which had been kept in the same position for so long.

Izuku bites his lips to suppress a groan.

“Your hands are pretty messed up, huh?” Shio says.

Izuku now notices a second takeout bag, which Shio pulls out his own meal and starts to eat, his eyes on Izuku.

Shio is gesturing towards Izuku’s scars, his crooked fingers.

Izuku has the sudden urge to hide his hands.

I don’t want to talk to this guy, Izuku thinks, grabbing the rice container and chopsticks. But if I want to be helpful for the police, I’d better get some information.

Izuku buys himself sometime by awkwardly shoveling some rice into his mouth and takes in the little details of the villain. He’s got two earlobe piercings, fitted with two red studs. There are three scars scratching down his neck and into his shirt, and a separate mark, most likely a burn, close to the guy’s temple and fading into his hair line. His eyes are a stormy grey, looking a little washed out compared to his long, dyed hair.

“They’re fine, they just ache sometimes,” Izuku explains, his voice still a little scratchy. He goes for the water bottle. “I just didn’t know how to handle my Quirk back then.”

The man bites into his food, contemplative. He startles, as if remembering something, and points his chopsticks towards Izuku. He tries not to flinch as a piece of rice sprays Izuku’s way.

“I remember now! You’re that crazy fucking kid at the Sport’s Festival!”

Izuku’s eyebrows crease.

He hasn’t done research on me before kidnapping me? Izuku thinks. But that boss he talked to on the phone… Maybe he knows more about who I am.

I’ve gotta be careful with my answers. The less he knows the better.

“Yeah?” Izuku chuckles nervously.

Shio whips out his phone.

“Crazy UA student breaks all his bones,” the man recites, and to Izuku’s mortification, starts playing a YouTube video. He can hear Present Mic commentate on the Midoriya vs Todoroki fight, and Izuku’s whole face flushes red.

“Uh— um, that’s really not—”

“You really don’t have a handle on your Quirk?” the man says, the video still playing in the background. “That’s fucking stupid, aren’t you in the hero course?”

Izuku is still frozen in embarrassment.

“I have a lot left to learn,” Izuku says earnestly, “But I’ve gotten a lot better since the Sport’s Festival.”

Shio scoffs and stuffs his face full of food.

“You know what people would to do to get a Quirk like yours?” Shio continues, his expression melding into annoyance.

A quirk like mine?

Izuku blanches.

He— He can’t be referring to One for All right?

“You and Joon both are so blessed and for what,” Shio rants. “You actually are dealt cards and you can’t even play the game.”

No, Izuku thinks, a realization settling inside him.

He doesn’t know One for All…

He’s—

“Are—” Izuku’s voice gets stuck in his throat. He imagines his all-familiar nightmare. “Are you Quirkless?”

Shio shovels more food in his mouth.

“Yeah? And what about it, Quirked bitch?” Shio sneers. Izuku tries not to shrink at the insult. “You know the internet ate up the fact you won the first contest without using your Quirk? All the Quirkless forums were going fucking nuts.”

Something distant, like an old wound, opened in Izuku’s chest. Izuku used to be on those forums, almost every day. He’d desperately tried to talk with anyone who shared his experience, who could attest to the bullying or could send a relatable meme or even give some solid advice when his mom couldn’t help. In middle school, there were a few people he had sent direct messages to when he had built enough courage. And a few texts would turn into late night conversations and rants and—

He hadn’t touched those forums since getting into UA.

Quirkless people had been looking to me? Izuku thought, feeling awfully torn. Like he had abandoned a life-long friend. And I didn’t even know they were looking?

No, says a voice, an old one that used to get shoved around and silenced by his peers.

You got a Quirk and pretended like they never even existed.

The rice in Izuku’s stomach churns uncomfortably. Belatedly, he realizes that Shio is still going on and on and Izuku missed a huge chunk of the rant.

“—And that fight with the brainwash kid, ugh,” Shio stuffs his mouth and continue, “So much for representation. You took him down right at the start of the one-on-ones.”

Shinsou-kun, Izuku thinks.

Their fight returns to him so clearly.

Thanks to the way my Quirk works, I’m always at a big disadvantage.

But someone as blessed as you wouldn’t understand that!

Izuku thinks about how the forums must have blown up.

“He was a strong opponent,” Izuku says, concretely, so that there is no room for debate. “He almost beat me.”

Izuku quirks a small smile.

“He’s got the drive to become a great hero.”

Shio takes no time to jeer back at him, but the thought of Shinsou has UA on Izuku’s mind. He takes a deep breath and holds it, blocking out Shio and the situation he’s in.

Please come find me.

***

Shinsou Hitoshi sneezes abruptly, startling a few students who were walking in the halls of UA.

Great, Hitoshi thinks. Someone’s talking about me.

He wiped the corners of his eyes, feeling the lull of the afternoon hit.

Class had never been Shinsou’s happy place. He’d wake up tired and get more and more exhausted with every lesson. Math was his last class, which should have been a relief, but it seemed to take even longer than the allotted sixty minutes with the excitement of Aizawa-sensei’s training afterwards.

Hitoshi squeezes his backpack straps, warmth flooding his face with some concoction of pride and awe. His arms and legs are stiff with soreness from Aizawa-sensei’s lessons, but Eraserhead is teaching him. It makes the sleepless nights and the commute and the long classes worth it.

Purpose. The underground hero saw purpose in teaching him.

Hitoshi still can’t really believe it.

Shaking himself back into the present, he walks into his classroom and to the back, staring up at the ceiling. The students who had already walked in were boisterous today, and Hitoshi catches snippets.

“Have you heard?”

“Midoriya—”

“That boy from the festival—”

“Didn’t Shinsou fight him?”

“Yeah, hey Shinsou! Did you hear?”

Hitoshi drops his bag on the ground and slouches into his seat. They always liked to involve him in Class 1A’s news, as if his efforts in the Sport’s Festival had suddenly made him worth their time. He finds it funny at this point. He figures it makes sense now that he’s trying to take one of the student’s spots in the Hero Course.

Hitoshi sighs, resting his elbow on the table and slumps his head into his hand.   

“I told you, I’m not any of their friends—” he starts.

“Midoriya Izuku— you know the green haired kid with the freckles?” says a girl with blue tinting her skin, ignoring Shinsou. “He was kidnapped by villains!”

Hitoshi stops, his mouth still open a bit. Goosebumps travel up his bare arms and he tries his best not to shiver.

“What?” he says before he can help himself. “What happened?”

The little cluster of students turn to add him into their conversation.

“They haven’t said much about what went down, but one of the 1A students blabbed about it during lunch,” says a boy, Uji. He had sent Shinsou a meme once after failing a math exam, so Shinsou had bothered to remember his name. “Today’s the third day he’s been missing.”

The green haired boy with the million-watt smile flashes like a ghost in Hitoshi’s memory. The boy with enough power to shatter Todoroki’s ice. To break Hitoshi’s brainwashing.

He was kidnapped?

“Three days?” a girl repeats. “Isn’t that bad? Like aren’t the first 24 hours the most critical?”

“They saved that explosion boy in a day or two, didn’t they?”

“But that was the League of Villains. Do you think it’s the same kind of deal?”

“Class 1A keeps getting hit with villains.”

“It’s basically associated with them now,” some boy laughs.

“That’s not funny!”  the blue girl protests.

“It’s scary,” says Uji. He cringes, as if imagining something horrible. “I hope he’s ok.”  

“They’ll find him,” Hitoshi hears himself say, feeling a little floaty. “They have to, right?” 

A few people nod, hesitantly. Without confidence.

Hitoshi’s head starts to throb.

Their teacher walks into the room, breaking the odd energy that was building up inside the students, and starts writing equations on the chalkboard.

Reluctantly, Hitoshi takes out his notes.

This is the class you’re trying to get into, he thinks. One that keeps getting hit with trauma. They should do group therapy.

He scratches his hair.

Well, now a spot has suddenly opened up, huh?

He immediately cringes. How could he think like that?

That’s just who you are, Hitoshi, comes an intrusive thought. A voice that had laughed alongside the people in middle school who would stick their fingers in his face and say “villain.”

You are going to get out of your shitty situation.

Become a hero

Save people.

And whatever it takes to get there, you’ll do it.  

Hitoshi goes through the whole period without writing a single thing down.

***

“You have to swing downwards, Shinsou, not to the side.”

Hitoshi is trying not to throw up as Aizawa-sensei works him like he’s never worked him before. Aizawa-sensei’s got this cold look on his face as he watches Hitoshi, his arms crossed tightly in front of him, and it jostles Hitoshi’s nerves.

Hitoshi hates seeing a disappointed adult.

He breathes heavily through his nose, sweat dripping into his vision. He’s pretty sure he reeks.

Hitoshi tries pulling the capture tape again, the correct way, and every muscle in his arms strain. The metal pipe he’s attached himself to doesn’t move the way it should.

Aizawa-sensei throws up his hands.

“You know what? This isn’t working. Let’s take a breather, yeah?” he says, pulling off to the side to sit down.

Hitoshi wilts. Warmth stings behind his eyes, but he pushes the feeling back and swallows it like medicine.   

He’s finally done with you.

There always comes a time when adults are done with you.

As he retrieves his capture tape, Hitoshi tries to compose himself.

He’s been working with Aizawa-sensei for a few weeks now, and Hitoshi is proud to say he knows that this isn’t normal behavior. So he swallows his own insecurities and sits next to his mentor.

“You ok, Aizawa-sensei?”  

Aizawa looks up, and suddenly Hitoshi is struck by how worn down his teacher looks. There are bags rivaling Shinsou’s under Aizawa’s eyes and stress lines creasing his forehead. The man looks like he’s gotten zero sleep in the past few days.

“Ah—” Aizawa-sensei wipes his face. “I’m sorry kid, I haven’t been fair with you today.”

“S’alright,” Hitoshi says.

“It’s not, my attitude has got nothing to do with your performance. You’ve done good,” Aizawa continues.

Hitoshi simultaneously hates and loves that Eraserhead’s praise makes the nervous churning in his stomach go away.

“One of my kids was attacked and taken by a villain,” Aizawa-sensei elaborates. “It’s just eating me up inside.”

His kids, Hitoshi thinks, a pang of jealously rippling through him. Not the time, Hitoshi.

 The conversation from math class rings in his head.

“Midoriya Izuku, right?” he says lightly.

“How do you know that?” Aizawa asks, a dark look shadowing his eyes.

“The whole school is talking about it,” Hitoshi quickly explains. “He’s on everyone’s mind. Are you— Are you on his case?”

“I am,” his mentor nods. “We just got some sensitive information sent to us today, and it’s just completely thrown me.”

Hitoshi wants to press, to ask what has happened to Midoriya but Aizawa-sensei rubs at his eyes, willing for his tiredness to just disappear. He can’t bring himself to put more stress on his teacher.

“I’m sorry—” Aizawa-sensei says, “I don’t mean to bring all of this into your training.”

Hitoshi shakes his head.

“We can stop for today, Aizawa-sensei,” Hitoshi then lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I mean, why are you even wasting time on me right now? You should focus on getting rest for the case.”

Aizawa-sensei gives him a look.

“I never waste time, Shinsou,” he says plainly. A fact being stated. “You’re not a waste of my time.”

It makes Hitoshi’s body thrum with stupid, giddy energy. He settles for a small smile.

As Hitoshi packs up his things and gets ready to leave campus, he sends Aizawa-sensei a wave.

Midoriya, wherever you are, he thinks as he watches his mentor tiredly wave back, -- you better get the fuck out of there.

You’re making Aizawa-sensei worry.

Idiot.

***

Izuku sneezes at the same exact moment Joon bursts through the door to join him and Shio.

It's been a few hours since Shio had brought food. He had unchained Izuku for a moment to awkwardly use the bathroom, and then settled into a long stretch of silence that Izuku had uncomfortably endured.

He wished the villain would just leave so he could get back to kicking the bed post and get closer to freedom.

“Deposit went well,” Joon announces, throwing Shio a can of espresso. Joon cracks open his own and takes a swig.

Izuku tenses.

The photos… Who had they sent them to? Izuku’s stomach churns.

I should try to find out… But I don’t really want to know.

“Great, boss said to wait one more day till we do the next step. Let them squirm a bit.”

Izuku decides he hates the sound of Shio’s voice.

“Could we— Can we do it then? While we’re waiting?” Joon asks, his words a little shaky.

Shio considers this and nods. He grins at Izuku. Izuku glowers to the best of his ability.  

“What do you want from me now?” Izuku asks, “Aren’t you satisfied with your photoshoot?”

“You are still so fucking sassy,” Shio huffs, “Nah, little hero, Joon needs something only you and your Quirk could achieve.”

They’re going to let me use my Quirk?

It’s too perfect.

I could easily escape.

“And what would that be?” Izuku asks, apprehension coating his words.

“We want you to break something open and expose some shitty people,” Shio says casually, “But first—”

Shio downs the whole can and throws it to ground, making Izuku startle. His grin gets a little too wide, a little too excited, and Izuku shifts into a spring-loaded position, wishing he could flee.

He thinks of All Might, of Aizawa-sensei, his mom. Urakaka, Todoroki, Iida, the many classmates of 1A. Of Eri and Kota. Of people who make him feel strong. He takes that feeling and tries to put on a brave face.

“First we gotta introduce you to Joon’s Quirk, yeah?” Shio says, getting way too close for Izuku’s comfort. Izuku wants to lash out, to shove him away, but they’re going to let him use his Quirk.

“And then we’ll get to work.”

Izuku’s vision goes black.

Chapter Text

Splotches of Izuku’s childhood played out like a movie reel.

The sand sinking beneath his feet.

Auntie Mitsuki laughing.

A sand dollar getting washed away.

His flip flops hitting the wooden planks of the pier.

The whirls of an arcade machine.

The memory slants, the reel tears, and then nothing is left but shadow to swallow Izuku whole.

“Wh-what?” Izuku chokes out as he comes back into consciousness, the sensations of his dream blowing out of him.

He is in a room much smaller than before, with a large desk to Izuku’s left and the door he must have been brought through on his right. In front of him is a metal cabinet that has been somehow ingrained into the wall, appearing like a sealed up safe.

Joon is standing in front of it, tracing the large round lock with his fingers, while Shio is situated on top of the desk and shifting lazily through papers. They are both wearing the same clothes as the last time Izuku saw them, so he figures that it’s the same day he was knocked out.

What is Joon’s Quirk? Izuku thinks. Did he hit me? I don’t remember him hitting me…

Izuku frowns.

I don’t even remember him activating it.

Joon finally turns, and his expression seems much more cut off, cold even, from the interactions he and Izuku had before.

“I need you to open this lockbox,” he says.  

“What for?” Izuku asks hesitantly.  

“Do you know where we are?” Joon answers the question with a question.

Izuku looks around, noting the covered-up window, and decides this room must be an office. He thinks about the beds, all squashed together in the previous room and the drawings on the wall—a stark contrast to this space.

“A children’s daycare?” he guesses.

“Hm, close,” Joon says, his voice a little distant. “When I was seven, my parents gave up their guardianship over me to the government, and I was brought to this institution.”

An Alternative Care Facility, Izuku thinks. He had never been to one before, but there had been a few kids in his elementary who didn’t have parents pick them up from school, but rather an assigned government staff.

He thinks about how many beds were shoved into that room, the drawings covering the walls.

“I stayed here for the majority of my youth,” Joon says, and he sniffs, as if holding back emotion. “And it was horrid.”

Izuku’s gut twisted. Joon’s eyes landed on him.

“This institution was shut down when I was seventeen, a year before I could leave and be considered an adult,” Joon continues. “The government found accounts upon accounts of abuse and neglect, and they—”

Joon laughs, sounding incredibly bitter.

“And they covered it up. The kids who had been put through all this shit weren’t compensated, weren’t given therapy, nothing. It was a miracle if two or three kids could actually enter the foster system.” 

White hair and red eyes, Eri is the first thing Izuku thinks of. Of how alone she must have felt to be stuck in such a desperate situation. But looking around the deserted facility, Izuku also is struck by how lucky she was too. That Aizawa-sensei could take her in instead of leaving her in another institution, one that could not give her the care she needed or the love that she deserved after everything she had gone through.  

Moving from one abusive situation to another sounded soul crushing.

“That’s awful,” Izuku murmured.

Shio scoffed, giving him a glare.

“They shut down the institution and pretended it never happened,” Joon continues. “But, if they destroyed evidence and got caught, they would be in even more trouble. So I found one of the past employees and… convinced him to tell me where the records were being kept.”

Joon pats the metal lockbox.

“The information to expose these guys are in here,” he looks to Izuku with a firm expression. “And I need your help to break it open.”

Though chained up and in a room with his two kidnappers, Izuku couldn’t help but mourn Joon’s past. He could see the remanence of kid that had been shoved into a messed-up system.

But Joon’s aura, timid in comparison to Shio’s, was blazing in this room locked with secrets. He was pissed.

I feel for him, I do. But they should have never kidnapped me, Izuku argued with himself.  They could have asked someone with a power type Quirk.

Izuku thinks about what their real intention is, beyond this “favor” that he’s performing for them.

Their boss has more plans with me. They intend to involve people who are willing to ransom me.

And involving his loved ones in this mess is the last thing Izuku wants to do.

There still is an opportunity to escape.

So Izuku tries to force down his natural concern and remain diligent.

“How are you going to do that?” Izuku asks. “I’ll need my Quirk to break something so durable.”

Shio, sitting on top of the desk, throws Joon an object. It looks like a wallet— actually, it looks like Izuku’s wallet.

“Hey, what—?”

Joon pulls out a small token, one that a kid would win at an arcade that had no monetary value. Izuku had been carrying it around for years, transferring it from wallet to wallet.

Kacchan had given it to him.

A sensation buzzes over his chest, as if he has a rash, and Izuku scratches at his shirt lightly.

They had been five years old, just before Kacchan had his Quirk come in, and their parents had taken them to the local arcade after a day at the beach. Kacchan had insisted they play a space invader game, but Izuku didn’t know the controls well. Izuku, ever wanting to impress Kacchan, spent all his tokens trying to get better.

With nothing left, little Izuku had predictably cried. He hadn’t even played his favorite games.

The rash grows wider, deeper, as if pouring under his muscles and into his veins. Fire. It feels like molten fire. Izuku wheezes, pulling down his shirt collar to see the damage, but nothing graced his skin but freckles.

“This is for you!” Kacchan had announced, presenting him a few tokens of his own with a big grin on his face.

“For me?” Izuku repeated, his eyes wide. “Thanks, Kacchan!”

As Izuku won the different games around the arcade, he wore a huge smile. His friend had gifted him his tokens!

Kacchan was amazing.

“Wh-what is this?” Izuku chokes out, scratching at the place where the pain persisted.

“Joon’s Quirk,” Shio drawls.

Izuku looks up at the token in Joon’s hand and, as if an invisible force tugged at him, he feels inclined to draw closer to the object. He somehow knew that if he grabbed the token, the pain would go away.

Heaving, Izuku crawled forward.

Izuku had pocketed the last token and brought it home with him, after their moms had said their goodbyes.

Before he changed into his pajamas and went to bed, he made sure to stow the little coin away in his dresser, so he wouldn’t lose it.

It was a reminder of how great his friend was, after all.

With black spots dancing in his vision, Izuku reaches Joon’s shoes. He needs that token, or he is going to pass out.

“My Quirk is called Crave,” Joon explains softly, thumbing the token. “I can make people crave an object, and if the desire isn’t satisfied, the recipient will feel pain.”

He flicks the token in the air, catching it, and Izuku nearly shouts out.

“The more sentimental or essential the object, the more control I have on a person’s pain levels,” Joon continues.

“Damn Joon, looks like you found the right item then,” Shio whistles. “Do you want the token, little hero?”

Izuku is having trouble processing what Joon was saying, only focusing on the token in his hand. Something fills Izuku’s mouth, and he gargles on it.

“Shit, not on my shoes!”

Izuku releases the contents of his stomach onto the floor, gasping. There is no relief, however. The ever-present pain still saturates his body, and a moan slips past his lips.

“I can stop the pain if you activate your Quirk and break the door, yeah?”

Izuku’s tolerance is slipping. His stomach wants to go for a round two, but there would be nothing but bile.

“Deku, do you want the token?”

“Yes!” Izuku all but yells, his chains clinking.

“Shio, can you unlock his cuffs?”

The tight tension in his wrists loosens, and Izuku feebly reaches out for his Quirk. A small voice tells him he should aim for Joon, to disrupt his Quirk and stop this maddening feeling, to escape.

But Joon pushes his Quirk even more, and Izuku swears his blood begins to boil. He hates the feeling of heat, of not being able to escape it. With it, brings back memories.

Izuku kept the token close, even when he didn’t get his Quirk.

Even when Kacchan ignored him, or bullied him, or told him he couldn’t be a hero.

Because Kacchan had once shown him kindness.

And it was a stupid thing, to want after all this time.

But damn, he just wants to see Kacchan’s smile again.

“Break open the door,” someone commands.

I need that token.

Izuku rears back his hand and lets his Quirk activate on the heavy metal. As soon as his fist smashes through the lock, Shio is pulling him back and throwing on the Quirk-suppressing cuffs again.

With the click of the locked cuffs, Joon releases his Quirk, causing all the pain to flood out of Izuku like a broken dam. Izuku gasps, as if able to breathe for the first time. His stomach still quakes, unhappy with the sudden sensation. He’s on his knees with his head rested on the ground, his fingers still twitching around his green locks. Frustration fills him as his only opportunity to use his Quirk is over, and Izuku fights back tears.

Don’t you have crazy pain tolerance, Izuku? He yells at himself. You couldn’t even bare it for a few seconds more?

But you don’t know if hitting him would have stopped the Quirk, the logical side of him argues. You could have been pain for much longer.

The chains clink as Izuku begins to unfurl himself.

You could have been free, his mind counters.

With Izuku out of the way, Joon rips through the now unlocked cabinet and sends papers flying behind him.

“M-My file has to be here,” he says, his voice desperate.

Faces of children and their short biographies litter the floor, snippets of their pasts laid out for Izuku to see. Kids as young as three and as old as seventeen stares back at him as Izuku’s breathing slows.

Two accounts of instructional misconduct.

Severe neglect.

Several cases of—

Izuku turns away, not wanting to see the pasts of people who did not give him permission to look. But when he does, a paper flutters to his left and a little kid with purple hair catches his eye.

Izuku’s throat seizes, the taste in his mouth curdling.

Shinsou Hitoshi, the paper reads. Age 7-9 before removal.

The boy from the Sport’s Festival, who had tried to win at an unfair test and got all the way to the final event. Someone who Izuku could relate to, even if Shinsou never knew his past.

You can’t help the things your heart wants, he had said.

His purple hair and eyes were the same. Seeing someone from UA here, in this place that’s he is being held captive, feels incredibly jarring. The familiar face causes the tears Izuku had been holding back to suddenly tip over, as if a small comfort after having gone through tremendous pain.

“Geez, Joon, you’re making a mess,” huffs Shio, kicking some loose papers.

Izuku looks up, his head still muddled from Joon’s Quirk, but he is determined to get answers, to understand.

Why is Shinsou in this pile?

“A-All the kids in these files went here?” he asks, his voice shot. “To this institution?”

“All of them,” spits Joon, still riffling through papers. “And fucking look at the sick shit these people did to us—”

Joon’s voice catches on a sob, and Izuku’s heart pulls.

Shinsou was here. He was in this horrible place.

Izuku can’t even imagine it. He has always been lucky, having his mom as support. Even if she could not understand what he went through as Quirkless, she would make his favorite foods to make him feel better, buy him All Might merch to add to his collections. And now, as a hero-in-training, she watched his progress with the most proud and cautious smile. Wanting her baby to grow but stay alive and healthy.

Izuku couldn’t imagine coming home from bullies to a homelife that was worse than shitty. But pity was something Izuku never wanted from people back when he was Quirkless, so he tries to stop his line of thinking for Shinsou. If anything, the sheer effort he must have given on top of an unsteady homelife only reassured Izuku’s awe for the General Studies student. 

I hope he’s in a better situation now, Izuku thinks.

The rustling severely stops.

“I found it—” Joon says while he reads.

“What do you want to do now, then?” Shio asks. “There’s a lot of shit here to deal with.”

“I-I wanna expose them. I want them fired from their jobs, I don’t want them near another child again,” Joon says in a rush, his words blending into each other as furiously reads. “I want them in jail.”

“Well…. I don’t want to go to jail,” Shio drawls. “How do you suppose we out these people without outing ourselves?”

“W-We make copies of the files… Distribute them to their bosses, to their loved ones. Ruin their lives.”

“And the police?”

Joon turned to Izuku, who rights himself on his knees so that he is not so helpless on the ground. With his legs feeling like jelly, Izuku is unsure if he can make it to his feet.  

“Boss wants us to send a video next, yeah?” Joon continues. “Let hero society hear our words through someone who they’ll listen to.”

Izuku’s heart drops. He thought that taking the pictures and opening the safe were going to be enough to satisfy them. His body feels worn out, just after a few days of captivity. He hates the idea of being kept around, growing more and more weak. He wants to go home.

“I-I agree that this is not ok, that this should have never been covered up,” Izuku interjects, his voice still raw. “But, if you just let me go, with the information, I can—”

“You’re not going anywhere with anything,” Shio says.

Izuku tries not to flinch. But the whole ordeal has him rattled. And a little desperate.

“Are you sure we—”

“I’ve never been able to tell this institution’s secrets, my own story, the way I intended,” Joon continues, gripping the paper tightly. His voice cracks a little, and Izuku can tell he’s desperate too. “We’re doing it my way.”

Izuku holds himself back from arguing with them. The only food he had eaten in days was now on the floor and his limbs were still shaking from the Quirk— he was not in the position to push their buttons.

“A video?” Izuku asks lightly, instead.

“You’re going to specify what the recipients need to do to get you back,” Joon explains. “And then you’re going to read a script.”

“Joon— we don’t want the heroes to realize this is the location we’re keeping him at,” Shio argues, swinging his feet. “They’re going to come here once they figure out all these fuckers worked at the same location in the past.”

Izuku glares at Shio a bit. He hates that these two can actually strategize.

“He’s not going to talk about the Institution’s workers specifically,” Joon says. “I just want him to plant the thought into their head that ‘throwaway children’ matter. People don’t even know this is a conversation worth happening. He’ll make it an important enough topic.”

Joon looks down at all the papers.

“And then, when we’re ready to make the trade, I’ll send out all of these workers’ misconducts. It won’t matter that they find this location at that point,” Joon continues. “Since a kidnapped UA student set the stage, people will actually care. Hold these workers accountable.”

“And the kids?” Izuku tries. “Wh-What are you going to do with their pasts?”

“I guess that’s up to hero society,” Joon says. “I’ll see what they do to compensate them, and if they don’t…”

His expression hardens.

“Then I’ll have to do something about it.”

There is evening light pouring through the high windows that have yet to be covered up with wood, and they bathe Joon and the scattered papers in a golden glow. Izuku tries to imagine Joon as a young child, with such an intense Quirk under the supervision of horrible people, in this very building. Izuku looks at Shinsou’s file again, not daring to take in the details listed under Reported Abuse, but the small boy instills something inside Izuku. Rippling through Izuku’s pain and confusion was determination.

Something needed to be done.

And despite what these two think, I’m going to have to get home first to make a difference.

Shio jumps off the desk, shattering the silence. He claps a hand on Joon’s shoulder, who is still clutching his papers tightly.

“Alrighty then, let’s a take a breather yeah?” Shio says. “Let’s give you some time to process.”

Joon nods once, appreciative, but no words leave him.

In one quick motion, Shio turns towards the door, slips his arm under Izuku’s, and snaps him to his feet. Izuku lets out a surprised noise as his surroundings blur and spin. Although nothing is left in his stomach, he fights the urge to vomit again.

There are no lights in the hallway and Shio drags Izuku through the dark. Izuku’s legs shake as he tries to support his weight, but he’ll take getting moved around over sitting chained up. The metal clasps of Shio’s belt and boots jingle as they walk, the floorboards creaking under their weight.

“Joon is a good kid,” Shio says suddenly, forcefully. Like he is trying to convince Izuku.

But nothing Izuku could say would be able to fill such a deeply painful void, and he stays quiet, pensive.

“He’s a good kid and didn’t deserve any of this shit,” Shio tells the darkness.

He reaches out, opening a door that Izuku can barely see, and throws Izuku back into the room full of beds. There was no point in struggling, Izuku was bone tired and Shio had gone dangerously silent. People’s emotions were on high, and Izuku didn’t want to become the receiving end of someone’s frustrations.

Izuku watches Shio carefully as he rechains him to the bedpost, and luckily the older man doesn’t notice how loose the metal is from Izuku’s constant kicking.

“Well little hero,” Shio says, “You’ll be a movie star tomorrow, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

And with little thought, Shio leaves Izuku alone in the room.

He sinks back into the mattress, allowing his muscles to relax for a moment. He rubs his chest, even though the pain has left him completely. Izuku’s brain tries to catch up with what just happened, and he’s grateful he can finally mumble aloud to himself.

“S-So they want to use me to expose this place, in addition to a ransom. And they want me to do this through a video… If they’re sending the video to UA or the police, then how can I give away my location without being explicit?” Izuku murmurs.

The little sheet of paper tacked to the wall catches Izuku’s eye. The symbol of the purple sun doesn’t include the name of the Alternative Care Facility, but it is enough of a distinct image that someone could investigate.

Izuku strains against the bed post, reaching for the paper. He cringes at the pain running up his legs, but his fingers grace the parchment, and he pulls it off the wall.

“How many places would have a purple sun…”

Izuku rips off the small portion that has the symbol. It’s small enough to be inconspicuous, but maybe it’s too subtle.

“This might not be enough,” Izuku whispers, frustration welling up. His empty stomach rumbles, as if to agree. “Someone needs to get the reference.”

It’s better than nothing, so he stows the paper between his hips and the elastic part of his sweats. If they checked his pockets, they would be none the wiser.

He continues to lay there, giving his body reprieve, and thinks about too many things. Joon’s intricate Quirk. What were the limitations? How could they be used for good? A pain-causing Quirk would easily be labeled as “villainous”. What had pushed him into this life of crime?

It wasn’t his past. Even though what had happened here was horrible, it didn’t dictate these children’s futures. Shinsou was proof of that.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, almost out of a ghost pain.

He wants to go home. He wants to talk with the General Studies student. He wants to get in contact with all the kids that had been stowed away here.

But to do that, he would have to escape.

Izuku kicks the bedpost fiercely.

Or, he thinks. Tomorrow I will get the heroes to come my way.  

Chapter Text

The quality of Hitoshi’s coffee always seemed to dictate his day. And today, his coffee was black, bitter, and spilling out of his plastic cup.

“Fuck,” he swears, looking down at his dripping sweater. A brown puddle forms on the white filed floors of the kitchen. At least, he tells himself, it hadn’t gone onto his backpack, or he really would have been screwed.

Grabbing some paper towels, he pats himself dry and then tries to clean up the floor with awkward urgency. Chiemi liked the kitchen to be perfectly clean, but right now he doesn’t have the time to give it a full wipe down. A glance at the clock tells him he was going to have to sprint to make it, and Hitoshi liked to think he despised running as much as running despised his body.

“Aw that’s too bad.”

Leaning in the doorway was one of his older foster siblings, Kahori. She bit into an apple, watching him. Her temple twitched when she chewed, visible through her buzz cut.

“But not bad enough for you to help?” Hitoshi grumbled.

“Nope,” she said, popping her words.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” she returned with a grin.

Hitoshi dunks back the remaining coffee in one gulp, wincing at its bitterness, and drops off all his trash, grabbing his backpack off the floor. Kahori pitches her apple core alongside his trash and as she turns to leave the kitchen, waves him goodbye, to which he scoffs. They don’t have a bad relationship, but as two kids who had been raised and jaded from the foster kid pipeline, they didn’t try so hard to keep up false smiles. Which, in private, Hitoshi deeply respected. He hated keeping up a front, and at UA, it was kind of an expectation at this point.

Some people were still asleep, so he treats the front door gingerly when he shuts it and steps out, even though he kinda wants to slam it from his morning roadblock.

Ooh I feel like shit, Hitoshi thinks as he forces himself to jog to the station. Coffee on an empty stomach made him squirm, but eating breakfast so early always made him feel worse.

He key-cards himself through and collapses into a seat on the train. From the opposite window, he can see his reflection warbling as they begin to take off.

I look like shit too.

Running his fingers through his hair, Hitoshi tries to style his bedhead the best he can. Despite how tired he normally looks, he likes to keep himself presentable. People, he learned, treated him differently by the way he looked. And when so many people liked to point out his “villainous” potential, he didn’t want any aspect of his attire to prove their point.

In the back of his head, Hitoshi knew that it was stupid to think that appearance dictates whether some looked “shady” or not. But, well, a lot of the people Hitoshi ran into seemed to think that, and as a person ostracized from society in far too many ways, Hitoshi decided he had to adapt or die. People wouldn’t look at him strangely until after they found out his Quirk, which was better than having eyes on him all the time.

At least all those eyes can check out my stellar skin care, he jokes to himself, working moisturizer into his skin. He might not be able to get rid of his eyebags, but dammit, he wanted his skin to be clear and soft.

They won’t think I’m a villain, Hitoshi thinks, looking down at his coffee-stained sweater. They’ll just think I’m a slob.

After putting his products away, Hitoshi blearily pulls out and reads through his pre-calculus notes. He had been studying as much as he could this week, but it was hard to focus. There was a thrum of anxiety buzzing throughout the whole school. Another UA student had been attacked, even kidnapped, and none of the teachers had disclosed much beyond introducing the situation and telling students to be kind to each other in this time of uncertainty. The teachers, too, were thrown off balance. It seemed like Midoriya really was the golden boy of the school, and his disappearance tugged at the hearts of nearly every damn person.

And above all, in Hitoshi’s opinion, was how Midoriya had so deeply affected Aizawa-sensei. His mentor, despite being with Hitoshi so much, didn’t really talk about his homelife or his class. Which, Hitoshi never expected him to, but it created the illusion that Aizawa-sensei didn’t really care about too many things.

But the look on his face when they were training?

Anger and sadness all jumbled up and soaked into his mentor’s skin, weighing him down with grief. Aizawa cared. Deeply.

What was it that Aizawa-sensei saw in Midoriya? Was a question circling around Hitoshi’s brain nonstop, as he got off the train and walked towards the UA entrance. Was he upset because he lost such a good student? Such a good Quirk?

Hitoshi thought about Midoriya’s performance at the Sport’s Festival. Broken arms and legs and, God, fingers multiple times over.

Was Aizawa worried that Midoriya would hurt himself, alone, outside of the boundaries of the school?

Or, idiot— his brain supplied, you’re reading way too into this and Midoriya is literally a child who got kidnapped and his homeroom teacher is rightfully upset.

Absorbed too far into his thoughts, he had already walked into campus on autopilot, his feet navigating the hallways while his mind floated a few feet above his body.

His mind suddenly snapped back into place when someone ran into him, and the books the other person were carrying spilled out onto the floor. Hitoshi let out a surprised, annoyed huff.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl gasped with short brown hair, looking between her things and Hitoshi.

Her eyes were brown and glassy, her face blotchy with pink like she had been crying. Hitoshi remembered her as being one of the people who made it to the final Sport’s Festival competition, she was the girl who had gone up against Bakugou and made things float.

“Oh— it’s Shinsou!” she said in recognition, wiping her eyes. “I’m really sorry, I’m not feeling myself today.”

Hitoshi immediately feels bad, having not remembered her name. He bends down to pick up one of her books.

“It’s no biggie,” he says in low voice, as he offers it to her. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah… Yeah!” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I’m getting through it. Deku being gone has been— it’s been really hard.”

“Deku?” Hitoshi repeats with a frown. He had heard that jagged word thrown around before aimed to hurt, to cause pain. But the way this girl had said it smoothed out the edges, like it was something sturdy yet soft, something worth protecting. The intention was lost but the connotation Hitoshi was familiar with caused him to tense. 

“Oh, right, that’s Midoriya’s nickname,” she explains, sending him teary eyed smile like a fond memory had floated by. “His hero name too!”

Hitoshi finally remembers, this girl was one of Midoriya’s closest friends. He had seen her leaning on his shoulder in the halls, Midoriya’s smile matching hers. Hitoshi awkwardly hands her another book, not knowing what to say to her. He thinks about reassuring her that he’ll return soon, or that nothing bad will happen but—

That would just be cruel. And unrealistic.

“It’s a shitty situation,” Hitoshi says bluntly, trying to keep uncertainty out of his voice. “But you’re strong. And I think Midoriya respects his friends’ strength.”

Hitoshi thinks about the smile framed by freckles, at the fact that his hero name was something Hitoshi saw as an insult.

Midoriya Izuku brought forth so many questions of Why? The General Studies student couldn’t help but wonder what made the other tick.

“It’ll bring him ease to know that his friends so strongly support him,” Hitoshi finally says with a strict nod.

To Hitoshi’s horror, the girl’s eyes fill up with fresh tears and he thinks he’s majorly messed up. But she’s smiling as she wipes them away.

“Thank you Shinsou,” she beams. “I-I appreciate that more than you know.”

Gently, she organizes the books in her hands and takes a steading breath.

“I know you didn’t know him really well, but Class 1A is having little group hangouts every night at 6pm, in our dorm,” she says. “Just to spend time together, comfort one another while we wait for more news. You should come sometime.”

An invitation. Huh. Hitoshi can’t remember the last time he had been extended one of those. Flickers of bad memories grab at his shoulders, making them tense beneath his stained uniform, and he closes up a bit.

“Oh. I dunno about that…” Hitoshi mumbles.

And yet…

This is the class you’re trying to get into, right?

She is being so nice to you right now, idiot.

This is something important to them.

Why would you brush it off?

“Think about it, at least?” her wet eyes refract the overhead light as she smiles. Then, before he can turn her down, she spins on her toes to leave. “See you!”

Which leaves Hitoshi, a bit frazzled, standing in the middle of the hall.

Did that really just happen? He asks himself, pink dusting his cheeks.

Shaking his head, he tries to immediately forget his embarrassing little speech he just gave to a grieving student— what the fuck was I thinking, really – and turns to walk towards his first class, which will be starting in, shit, two minutes.

But before he can, the overhead speakers crackle as they turn on, and principal Nezu’s cheery voice rings out bright and clear.

“Shinsou Hitoshi, please report to the principal’s office.”

And whatever calm had settled in Hitoshi suddenly fractured.

“What the fuck,” slipped out of his mouth before he could help it. His hands, clutching his pre-calc notes, begin the slightest tremble.

The announcement repeats itself, and the crackling spooks Hitoshi into a brisk walk through the hall, away from his homeroom and off to the administrative part of the building.

People are staring. As he walks, he knows people are staring.

He can’t even focus on why he’s being called forward when he can feel their eyes on him. He scratches the inside of his wrist, feeling like insects are crawling up and over his skin. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself as he walks. The details of the hallway fade away as his vision narrows.

In all his time at UA, Hitoshi hasn’t been called to the principal’s office. He hasn’t received disciplinary action for his Quirk, he hasn’t been forced to drag a foster parent to a parent-teacher conference, he hasn’t even been in a fight. The only time anyone had bothered him was when Aizawa-sensei had called him to his classroom and offered him the opportunity of a lifetime.

Being called in to talk to the principal, the person in charge, made Hitoshi feel like he failed, even if he didn’t know what he had done wrong.

Hitoshi doesn’t even have to enter the principal’s office, as Nezu and a police officer are talking out in front. He stops short, confusion coating his empty stomach like acid and making it gurgle. Hitoshi thought he would have been able to take a breather before he went in, to collect himself before talking to Nezu for whatever the fuck he was being calling in for.

There’s a police officer. Whose presence is enough to scrape into his psyche.

I didn’t do anything wrong, he thought. It was a phrase that should have saved Hitoshi in the past.

But no one ever fucking believed him.

“What— What is this all about?” Hitoshi chuckled nervously. His hand went up to the back of his neck and squeezed, the pressure grounding him and the gesture making him seem friendlier, less threatening. Less like a villain.

Nezu waves at him from his small stature on the ground.

“Thank you Shinsou, for coming!” he says, his voice ever cheerful. “The police here just have some questions if you don’t mind answering them?”

Hitoshi flickers his gaze to the policeman, who is too tall and too muscular beneath his uniform. The man is already assessing him behind those dark eyes.

“I have an exam in math,” Hitoshi argues weakly. He is still seizing his notes.

“Such an attentive student! Of course, you will be excused, no worries,” Nezu shakes his head. “Let’s head somewhere private, yes?”

Hitoshi can’t bring himself to nod and instead weakly follows the principal. The policeman trails behind him, as if to prevent Hitoshi from whirling and running away. I’m not going to fucking run, he thinks. They walk in the deserted halls, as class has already started, and end up in a room Hitoshi’s never been in before.

“With our students so deeply involved in hero work, we have spaces the police can use instead of taking students off campus,” Nezu explains as they enter. “Now, Shinsou. Are you alright to answer some questions? We hope to clear up a few things and get you back into class.”

Hitoshi disliked the set up. The room was too small, with a table, a few chairs, and the large police officer centered around glassy black walls. Hitoshi wonders if the walls were windows that allowed people to look in, and if they were, who was behind them.

Finally, on the table sat a recording device.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Hitoshi says with a helpless chuckle, the words slipping out. The policeman’s gaze shifts, and Hitoshi’s anxiety skyrockets. He backtracks, his words mashing into each other. “I’ve done nothing wrong, I haven’t, I swear, but— but I’ll answer your questions, if that’s what you need, Principal Nezu.”

Hitoshi clips his mouth shut.

Nezu smiles.

“Thank you Shinsou. Just take a seat here, and I will be around!” Nezu chirps despite the situation and turns to leave the room. 

Hallowed out, Hitoshi slumps into the cold, metal chair and allows his belongings to melt onto the floor. The officer clicks the little device, a red light indicating it was recording their voices, and he takes a deep breath. 

“My name is Officer Sano,” he introduces, his voice unsettling deep. “Can you, for the record, state your full name, grade, and course at UA?”

Easy. You can do this, Hitoshi coaches himself.  

“My name is Shinsou Hitoshi, and I’m a first year in the General Studies Course.”

“And your Quirk?”

Here it comes…

“Brainwashing,” Hitoshi says, shoving the word out of his mouth. He hates that something flashes in the police officer’s eyes. “Sir.” He tacks on, to seem polite. Unproblematic.

But Hitoshi can already see the gears whirl in the police officer’s head, like now the pieces of the puzzle have aligned themselves a little bit more, and Hitoshi is beginning to fit whatever narrative the man already dictated for him.

“What is your relationship to Midoriya Izuku?” Officer Sano says, his voice cold. Scrutinizing.

Midoriya?

Hitoshi literally had nothing to do with the golden boy, and yet here he was in the center of Hitoshi’s interrogation. The 1A student truly was a pervasive and unescapable topic of the school.

Hitoshi let out a belated chuckle, his nerves jostled and thrumming beneath his skin.

“We— we don’t have a relationship. He’s in the hero course, in Aizawa-sensei’s class, how could we?”

“When was the last time you and Midoriya met in person?”

“The Sport’s Festival…? I don’t know— maybe he visited the General Studies’ haunted mansion a few weeks ago. But we never really sought each other out.”

“Have you and Midoriya ever exchanged messages through text or over the phone?” the man clarified with a raised eyebrow.

Hitoshi frowned.

“No. I don’t even have his number.”

Officer Sano squares his jaw, and Hitoshi can tell he’s sorting through the information in his head.

Does he doubt my word?

“Talk me through your day on Monday.” 

Hitoshi grabs at his pants as he remembers back.

“It was fairly normal. I got up, took the commute to UA, trained with Aizawa-sensei for a few hours, and took the train back to my house.”

“When did you arrive home?”

“I dunno, like 6 or 7?”

“I need a concrete time.”

The police officer’s voice seemed to strike Hitoshi, a sudden urgency coming forth. Like this was what would make or break Officer Sano’s trust in Hitoshi’s story.

He thought back. Monday he had filled up the rice cooker when he had got home, and that took at least twenty minutes… They had definitely eaten by 7:30. Chiemi hated when they ate past 8.

“It was 7. I remember it being 7.”

“Where were you between 5-7pm then?”

“I trained with Aizawa-sensei, uh the pro hero Eraserhead, from 3:30-5:30. And then I caught a train back to the district where I live.”

“Does taking the train take an hour and thirty minutes, Shinsou?”

The condescending tone hooked some rebellious part of Hitoshi’s brain and flipped a switch. Brick by brick, walls formed around Hitoshi’s mind.

“No— it takes thirty minutes,” Hitoshi’s words stop sounding so meek. They become acidic, burning his lips and tongue, so he does what he has to and spits each of them out. “I just stopped at the grocery store once I got there.”

The police officer picks up on this tone change, and his stare darkens. It reminds of Hitoshi of the various adults he’s been passed off to. Hitoshi is normally quiet and polite. He’s not allowed to be angry, not allowed to show emotion in his voice.

Once he does, he’s proved their biases right. So you are the rebellious kid with the villainous Quirk. But once the sour taste settles in Hitoshi’s mouth, he can’t stop until it’s all gone.

“Do you have anyone who can back up your claim?”

“Aizawa-sensei can vouch for me,” Hitoshi says, the information obvious. “Can’t he come in?”

“When was the last time you activated you Quirk?” the man barrels on.

Fuck. Of course they would question my Quirk usage.

“Last week, during training,” Hitoshi says dully. “You can ask Eraserhead.”

The policeman stares him down, and Hitoshi stares right back.

“We can get Aizawa in here, Officer Sano!” Nezu says through another overhead speaker.

The officer looks to the speaker and grunts affirmatively.

“Alrighty. Now on to—”

“I don’t want to speak until Aizawa-sensei comes in,” Hitoshi interrupts. For a moment he falters— what if his mentor didn’t believe him? The doubt makes him tack on another “Sir.”

“Fine then,” Officer Sano grunts, seating himself in the chair opposite of Hitoshi.

The two sit in tense silence while Nezu, somewhere beyond the room, informs Aizawa to come. Officer Sano pulls a file off the ground and begins to read it, his eyes landing on Hitoshi a few times.

Hitoshi tries not to think, willing his brain to settle in a grey space where his thoughts can’t hurt him.

The door to the small dark room suddenly opens, and the relief Hitoshi feels when he sees that tired ass expression was unparalleled.

“—I am teaching a class right now, what is—” Aizawa-sensei says as he walks through the door, his face especially exhausted. As soon as he sees Hitoshi, his words cut off in surprise.

Hitoshi immediately straightens in the uncomfortable chair, quirking a small, hesitant smile.

“Shinsou,” Aizawa-sensei says softly, his words both surprised and laced with something, a sort of fondness, Hitoshi can only dream of. The words of a loved one when he would walk through the door, that would wish him goodnight, that would listen to the little joys of his life.

How was your day?

Are you doing ok?

What’s on your mind, kid?

The unfamiliarity made his head pulse, but the warmth dancing past his shoulders made him feel safe.

“Why wasn’t I informed immediately that Shinsou had been brought in?” Aizawa-sensei asks, voice cold and directed at the police officer.

“You were aware of the situation, and you aren’t his homeroom teacher so—”

“So nothing. He should have an adult representative,” Aizawa-sensei cut him off with a snap. He approached Hitoshi.

“You ok, kid?” he said, his word rolling and smooth. He sits in the chair right beside him. “I wish this had been handled better.”

“I’m ok,” Hitoshi says, trying to strengthen the sound of his voice. “You… You knew I was going to be brought in?”

When Aizawa nods, Hitoshi tries not to let the disappointment grace his face.  

“I promise you, this is important,” Aizawa-sensei reassures him. He reaches over and squeezes Hitoshi’s shoulder in encouragement. “Just tell the truth and hopefully we can get a lead on this case.”

Aizawa-sensei thinks I’m involved, Hitoshi thinks. The thought doesn’t cause the same blanket of dread that Hitoshi felt with Principal Nezu and the police officer, but a stabbing sort of realization in his chest. It feels closer, more personal, and it takes all of Hitoshi’s concentration to keep his face level.

“You can continue,” Officer Sano urges.

Hitoshi swallows.

“Like I said, I trained with Aizawa-sensei from 3:30-5:30.”

“That is correct,” Aizawa confirms. The policeman lets out an affirmative grunt.

That wasn’t so hard, was it? Hitoshi thinks.

“And from 6-7pm?”

“I got groceries for dinner.”

“Who can confirm your whereabouts? Your parents then?”

A wash of anxiety made his skin prickle. He knew that teachers could investigate his records and see that he didn’t have a family to go back to. But saying it out loud in front of Aizawa-sensei?

Would he think less of him?

What did Shinsou do that made his family get rid of him?

His Quirk would be hard to handle…

Hitoshi squeezes his eyes shut, pushing all the horrid echoes of adults in his life.

“I— I’m a ward of the state,” Hitoshi said, ducking his head slightly. “I can give you the staff member that’s assigned to me.”

Again. Eyes are focused solely on him again. Insects lazily press up against his ribcage and Hitoshi feels nauseous.

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

As Hitoshi gives the policeman the number he needs, Aizawa turns to face him still seated in the metal chair.

“Shinsou— we would like to show you some sensitive material regarding Midoriya Izuku,” he says. “It would benefit us if you could listen carefully.”

Why was he allowed to see this? When Midoriya’s friends, the people who actually cared for the golden boy weren’t even up to date?

He thinks about the anti-gravity girl, and the tear tracks on her face.

“Am I— Am I even allowed to see this?” Hitoshi asks. “I don’t understand why…” 

“It is important for the case that you watch,” says the police officer. “It doesn’t matter why.”

Hitoshi recoils. Aizawa sends a not-so-subtle glare the other man’s way and places his hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder again.

“Midoriya is my student,” Aizawa says lightly, concern rolling in his tone. “And he needs help right now. I believe you will be able to help our case.”

“I-It sounds like the police think I’ve caused this case,” Hitoshi mutters.

He thinks about what will happen if the school hears about this, hears that he was brought into questioning regarding everyone’s favorite student who was kidnapped.

The label that had followed him into middle school would finally end up in UA.

Villain.

Hitoshi wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“I don’t think that is what happened,” Aizawa reassures him. “But in order for me to confirm some key details, I need you to agree to see this piece of evidence.” 

Just wanting to rip the metaphorical band aid off, Hitoshi gives a short nod. That seemed to be the right thing to do, because Aizawa-sensei relaxes in his seat.

Whatever they are going to show him will prove Hitoshi was not involved. Seeing the evidence was a benefit to Hitoshi, really, he convinced himself.

The police officer slips out of the room and returns with a laptop. He clicks open a file, presumable a video, and hovers his mouse over the white play button.

“Please refrain from commentating until the end of the video, we will repeat through any scenes after the first viewing,” Officer Sano explains.

“Will do,” Hitoshi nods, nerves making him chuckle.

The video starts and Hitoshi immediately fails at Sano’s orders as he lets out a drained “Fuck”.

It’s Midoriya Izuku, stationed in a small dark space with a heavy light bathing his body. There are sturdy metal cuffs keeping his hands locked in place in front of him. Midoriya’s squinting, as if they’ve just turned on the lights and when his big, green eyes land on the camera, Shinsou feels cold. Midoriya tries to even out his eyebrows, so they aren’t creased in concern, but those eyes are too expressive, too telling of how the boy really feels. Anxiety, traces of fear, and maybe even underlying concern. His face looks pale in contrast to the bruising that travels up his jaw.

Both Hitoshi and Izuku, here in the holding room and on the camera, swallow thickly.

“Uh- hello!” Midoriya chirps. But his voice is raw and a little wrecked, like he had been talking until it went hoarse. “This is Midoriya Izuku calling to make an announcement a-and to complete the first part of my ransom.”

Midoriya looks down, clearing his throat. His eyebrows twitch, but he manages to keep them level. He shifts his hands in front of him, which are in loose fists.

“A-As you can see, I’m alive and well,” he continues. Define well, Hitoshi thinks. “Since my kidnappers have kept up their end of the bargain, they would like 2 million yen sent to the location you have received. After this first deposit, a second one of the same amount will be expected in three days’ time.”

“I don’t— I don’t understand how this has to do with me?” Hitoshi finally says.

“Keep watching,” is all Aizawa-sensei says, surveying Hitoshi quietly.

 Midoriya shifts again, his eyes looking down at his hands, which flex softly. His look back up at the camera is deliberate, catching the viewer’s attention.

“My kidnappers not only want the money you will give them. But they also want you think long and hard about a few topics. Because hero society has not given these topics enough time of day.”

What?

“And, and honestly I agree,” Izuku says in a rush like his breath has left him. “I understand this is a bit un-unexpected, but something must be done. I ask the Hero Commission and the police to investigate government-controlled foster care— uh also known as Alternative Care or Group Home Facilities. Kids are— Kids aren’t being given what they need to grow and develop. We’re letting amazing people slip through the cracks and— and allowing them to suffer in silence.”

Hitoshi’s gut clenches, like Midoriya’s words have just reached into his stomach and squeezed. Memories of him being traded around to different places, of the uncertainty and fear each time, made him breathless.

Is this why they called me in? Hitoshi questions, thinking wildly how to rationalize this.

Because I’m in a group home?

Midoriya looks to the right, and the video suddenly cuts, as if the person edited the video. In the next shot, Midoriya’s eyebrows are creased with concern and his lips tightly pressed together.

“I can’t do much right now,” he says, ending his sentence with a dry chuckle. “But you can. And they’ll let me come home if you comply. So don’t worry about me right now, mom, UA. I’ll just sit tight. But you must promise that you’re going to do something about this whole mess. It’s not right.”

How can Midoriya be kidnapped and say this with such conviction?

The way the UA student eyes the camera doesn’t look like a metaphorical gun is being pointed to his head, even though a literal one might be beyond the frame. He is strong and passionate, despite the overwhelming fear that he faces.

Hitoshi thinks about the image he’s got of Midoriya and the one that’s sitting on screen right in front of him. There’s the image from the Sport’s Festival and the image the anti-gravity girl pictured when she spoke of him. There was the one Aizawa-sensei saw.

This is what a hero looks like, Hitoshi thinks.

Just when Hitoshi thought he sorta understood the situation, Midoriya opens his mouth to speak again. 

“A-And, uh, to Shinsou Hitoshi,” Midoriya says, his voice warbling a bit as he looks straight into the camera.

Hitoshi’s breath leaves his body, his stomach pitching down to his feet, and his mouth parts in shock.

A stupid little voice in Hitoshi’s head says, That’s me.

Midoriya has the audacity to smile. There’s sweat on his brow and bags under his eyes and hand marks around his neck, but the idiot smiles.

“Shinsou-kun, no matter your past, you’re going to become a great hero,” Midoriya says firmly. His green eyes flicker off screen, like he’s looking at someone Hitoshi can’t see, and Midoriya’s strong expression suddenly wilts. “A-And that’s all the time I have. Just do what they ask, yeah?”

The video then cuts to black.

And a cacophony of sound blasts in Hitoshi’s ears.

Chapter Text

There is a wobbly grin on Izuku’s face as he is marched through the dark halls of the facility. Shooting the ransom video had brought about a rush of adrenaline through Izuku, and that intense energy still tingled throughout his body.

I can’t believe I did that, he thinks. He feels a stupid sense of pride flood his face and redden his cheeks. 

I should go into acting.

“Who the fuck is Shinsou? Your fucking boyfriend?” Shio sneers, scuffing Izuku off the top of his head.

Izuku flinches in the dark, Joon’s steady grip on his arm tightening.  

“Wh-What?” Izuku squeaks as they make it to the all-familiar children’s room. “That— I’m not, well— he’s not—”

Shio barks out a laugh, and Izuku tries to clamp down on his damn mouth.

“Look at how red he is, geez,” the blonde grins. Izuku tries to duck his head, but Shio grabs at his face. His fingers feel like ice against Izuku’s heated cheeks. “Priceless.” 

“Don’t be so rude, Shio,” Joon huffs, pulling Izuku out of Shio’s grasp and pushing him lightly onto the bed.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Joon,” Shio rolls his eyes. He grabs at Izuku’s legs, undoes the chain, and locks him to the post once more before Izuku can try anything. “He has the opportunity to tell his loved ones that he’s doing just fine and not to worry, and he includes a boy?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with that, God, it’s just entertaining,” Shio throws Izuku a water bottle and grins as Izuku fumbles with it. “Cool off little hero.”

“I-It’s nothing, really,” Izuku tries again, his voice cracking. He doesn’t want them to focus on Shinsou, who may be the only person who can get him out of this mess. Nor does he want anyone poking around his sexual orientation, which the topic alone sets his ears aflame. He sticks the bottle in his mouth and drinks to shut himself up.

“Sure, sure,” Shio laughs. “Well, you were good on film. You’ve got the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. Perfect for pleading to the police.”

Izuku crunches his now empty water in his fist, his whole-body bristling, but Shio speaks before he can protest.

“Were you happy with the message, Joon?”

The dark-haired man had calmed down a lot since his Quirk’s debut. He was wearing a huge grey hoodie with his hands stuffed in its pockets, the material swallowing him up. Dark eyebags lined his brown eyes and Izuku had the feeling he hadn’t taken a shower in a while, as his hair had become greasy. Man was depressed.

Joon’s eyebrows were creased, but he nodded.

“It’s not over until I call each one of those bastards out,” Joon says, his voice low and rumbling. “I want to photocopy all the reports.”

“I know a place nearby, you wanna go do that? Boss wants another video in a few days, so we’ve got time to spare.”

Shio sends a wink Izuku’s way, who physically cringes, drawing his shoulders back, then glares. He wants them to leave so he doesn’t say anything more, although he has many strong words for the blonde-haired man.

He’s just a bored bully, Izuku reminds himself, thinking back to his middle school days. Don’t give him more to fuel the fire. I’m not entertainment.

“That sounds good,” Joon says, already walking towards the door. “Fresh air will be nice.”

“You got that right.”

Shio exits after Joon, leaving Izuku with a smirk curling his lips.

Jerk.

Izuku listens as their voices fade away. He gives it a few more minutes of silence before ditching his water bottle and working on his chains once more. He throws his whole weight forward against the bedpost and tries to muffle his surprised squawk as he launches over the front of the bed.

“What—?”

Izuku’s eyes are wide. The foot of bed post was still attached to Izuku via the damn chain, but it was completely detached from the rest of the bedframe, wobbling on the concrete floor. He grabs it to stop its soft clanging and holds his breath.

Did they hear?

No footsteps. No shouts.

“I did it,” Izuku whispers to himself in disbelief.

He gets to his feet, still a bit shaky from his fall. It’s an awkward situation, his feet and hands are still chained to each other, and now he has a huge metal object stuck to him, but he’s able to walk.

Holding the frame tightly to his chest, Izuku takes a tentative step forward, cringing at the jingle of the chains. He waits another moment, expecting Shio to burst through the door.

Nothing.

Izuku grins, breathes tightly, and walks forward. For the first time since his capture, Izuku feels free.

***

Shinsou-kun, no matter your past, you’re going to become a great hero.

The walls begin to close in on Hitoshi as the ransom video comes to its abrupt end. Hitoshi doesn’t even get a second to process Midoriya’s words before three more people fill the small, dark room, their words rushing in like flood water.

“All Might, I told you to wait until after the video,” Aizawa-sensei gritted out.

All Might, clad in a white-collar shirt and baggy brown pants, looked a bit wrecked, flanked by Nezu and another man in uniform.

“I did come after the video,” All Might says, almost in a pout if he didn’t sound so exhausted.

Aizawa rolls his eyes and lets out the most annoyed sigh he can muster.

“All Might-sensei,” Hitoshi murmurs. He feels like he should stand in the man’s presence, so he awkwardly pulls himself to his feet.

Hitoshi hadn’t interacted with the retired pro-hero, despite seeing him on campus grounds a few times here and there. Immediately, he feels embarrassment for the coffee stain on his shirt, despite the situation he’s in.

“Young Shinsou, I am so glad to see you are alright,” All Might breathes out, a shaky smile smoothing out his worried wrinkles. “It’s nice to officially meet you, despite the circumstances.”

Hitoshi holds back a cringe.  

“Nice to meet you too,” Hitoshi says softly. His eyes flicker over to the man in the long coat.

“This is Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, a longtime friend and someone I trust to help us solve this case,” All Might explains with a sweep of his hand. “He’s acquainted with Young Midoriya as well.”

Tsukauchi bows his head a bit and shoots him a brief smile.

“Alright, alright, let’s stop crowding the kid and sit like proper adults,” Aizawa says lowly. Hitoshi has never felt so grateful. “Are you caught up on the details Shinsou shared?”

All Might nods, gesturing to Principal Nezu, who sits on the table rather than a chair. Hitoshi feels the urge to explain himself.

“I—” Hitoshi’s throat locks up. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I don’t know why Midoriya said my name.”

“But you can understand why we had to call you in?” Aizawa says.

Yeah, because he said Shinsou fucking Hitoshi. 

“I don’t understand why he would— I thought you had called me in because I’m in a group home— but he used my name?” Hitoshi repeated.

Aizawa studies him closely.

“You and Midoriya had never discussed your home life before?” he asks.

A laugh bubbles up and out of Hitoshi before he can stop it.

“I haven’t told anyone about my homelife!” he said, his low voice twinged with hysteria. “I told Officer Sano before, I haven’t had a conversation with Midoriya since the Sports Festival.”

Aizawa’s eyebrow creases ever so slightly, thoughts flittering.

“Midoriya said your name deliberately, either pressured by the villains or done intentionally by Midoriya to catch our attention,” Aizawa continues. “Each of which threatens your safety, so I believe he wouldn’t do so without reason.” 

Detective Tsukauchi hums.

“That would mean Midoriya either found out about this prior to getting kidnapped, was told this by the villains, or found out on his own during his time in capture,” Tsukauchi lists.

“I have no idea how he would have found out beforehand,” Hitoshi shakes his head.

“And if we assume he said your name of his own free will, that would mean Midoriya is trying to get us to connect the dots,” Aizawa-sensei continues.

“What dots?” Hitoshi echoes.

“The only things we can connect you to this case besides your name was your history with group facilities,” Tsukauchi states. “Is it possible Midoriya is trying to point to a specific facility? Could you list the group homes you’ve been to Shinsou?”

Another chuckle forces it way out of Hitoshi, the sound raw and ugly. There were some places he stayed for days before they forced him out again in fear of his Quirk.

“List them? I-I have been to so many I don’t think I even know them all,” Hitoshi says derisively. “When I was ten, I went to at least six.”

As soon as the confession passed Hitoshi’s lips, he could feel a sudden pressure in the room. Like his words weighed like heavy stones on the adults’ backs. All Might, forever an empath, didn’t hide his look of pity. Shame pressed like a searing knife against Hitoshi’s neck. He hadn’t meant to draw so much attention to himself.

You want Aizawa-sensei to think you’re a freak, too?

Slowly, reluctantly, Hitoshi raises his eyes to Aizawa-sensei. His mentor was wearing his best Eraserhead expression: neutrality and exhaustion, but ultimately calculated and collected determination. It was a look that brought Hitoshi more comfort than a misplaced smile could.

“Shinsou, did you notice anything about Midoriya’s hands?” he says slowly, almost working through his words.

“His hands…?”

On the laptop, Aizawa scrolls back, the catalogue of images of Midoriya’s strained expression flashing by and itching an unpleasant part of Hitoshi’s brain. All Might lets out a soft sound of protest. 

The video pauses. Midoriya’s hands were held out in front of him, one hand in a loose fist and the other resting over it.  

“Midoriya has a Quirk that can rock buildings,” Aizawa-sensei says matter-of-factly. “But I am more interested in his intellect, in his ability to problem solve and come up with clever solutions. It seems like he was trying to tell us something here.”

Aizawa zoomed in so that Midoriya’s scarred hands took up the entire screen and pushed play. His hands were kept in that same position, until suddenly they flexed, and something flashed in the middle of his fist before disappearing.

Hitoshi didn’t know what to do but shrug his shoulders at his mentor.

“I didn’t see it at first either. Here it is slowed down,” Aizawa said as he rewound the video.

For a few frames, a white piece of paper was suddenly visible as he opened his fist, before it disappeared again. Aizawa paused on the paper so that Hitoshi could see what it said.

There were no words, but a purple circle surrounded by lines of alternating sizes, like a sun. Hitoshi’s mouth parted ever so slightly, as the simple image pushed him back into a memory that he had forced to the depths of his mind.  

When it was seven in the morning, Hitoshi would wake up and stare out the window, catching sunlight in his hands.

He would wake before anyone else, to give himself a little privacy from the ten other kids who took up space in this section of the facility.

It wouldn’t be another half hour until the older kids started to wake up, so he only had a little bit to stare outside and reflect on his dreams. The swirls of shouts and crashes. His dad’s lilac hair that matched his own, his mother’s cheekbones. His belongings squeezed into a suitcase, things that they had bought him before his Quirk had come in.

He was pieces of them, he was a part of their family, and yet—

They had abandoned him here.

“Shinsou, you with me kid?” Aizawa says, concern flickering across his creased eyebrows and parted mouth. Beside him, All Might was literally on the edge of his seat.

“Uh— yeah, m’fine,” Hitoshi mumbled. His palms clammed up, his whole body feeling tight and tense. “I’m fine.”

“It doesn’t look like you are fine,” Aizawa said lightly.

Hitoshi flashed him a look. Was this a test?

“Is something about this symbol familiar to you?” Aizawa tried again, his tone still forgiving. He was always so patient with Hitoshi.

It made Hitoshi scared he was going to fuck it up.

“N-No, it’s—” Hitoshi squeezed his eyes shut. His breath caught as he felt pressure build behind his eyes.

Warmth from the sun made it easier for Hitoshi to cry.

It was almost like someone was holding him close, their arms around him creating loving heat, and that contact was enough for his barriers to dissolve away. 

This sliver of the morning was the only time he allowed himself to think about why they had left him. The rest of the day would be him dealing with school, dealing with the older kids, dealing with whichever staff member had been assigned to his group this month.

There was no space for Hitoshi to cry in the present.

But time stopped for him in the morning, and for a moment, he was allowed to go home.

“Shinsou, is there something I can do?” Aizawa asked. “Can you explain to me what you’re feeling?”

Hitoshi shook his head, clamping a hand down on his forearm.

Answer him idiot.

You already look suspicious as it is, now you can’t even speak?

“N-No. No, I’m sorry. This is embarrassing,” Hitoshi shuddered. “I just haven’t, uh, thought about something in a long time and, uh— wasn’t expecting it.”

“That’s not embarrassing, that’s reasonable,” Aizawa corrects firmly. The resoluteness of Aizawa’s voice keeps him grounded. “Is it to do with this symbol?”

Hitoshi nods. The detective shifts eagerly.

“Could you tell me what it is?”

“It’s from a group home I was at when I was, like, seven. It was their logo.”

Aizawa flicks a gaze up to Detective Tsukauchi, who nods and pulls the laptop to the other side of the table out of Hitoshi’s field of vision. Immediately, he begins typing, All Might looking over his shoulder.

“Do you remember the name of this facility?” Aizawa-sensei asks, his voice a bit more urgent.

When he was seven, Hitoshi hadn’t realized the importance of paperwork, of keeping all his files sorted and clear. This facility was the first one he had been taken to, and the place where his memory was the patchiest. He can’t even remember what his shared room looked like.

But he had been there for two years and it had certainly been the worst long-term living arrangement he had been sent to.

“Sunrise Child Care,” Hitoshi mumbled. “It was shut down six years ago.”

“Thank you, Young Shinsou,” All Might breathes, relief flooding his features. He reaches out, squeezing Hitoshi’s free hand. “Thank you so much.”

“We will look into this right away,” Detective Tsukauchi says with a nod.

“Shouldn’t we go there now?” All Might says eagerly, letting go of Hitoshi to look at Aizawa-sensei.

“No— we need to reconvene and get our information in order,” Aizawa argues. 

“Aizawa, you saw Young Midoriya, did you not?” All Might presses. His nostrils flare in anger. “Those pictures were— We cannot wait while those people have him captive.”

“All Might. You of all people know how much planning went into Bakugou’s rescue, we cannot rush here without intel and a well-thought-out mission,” Aizawa argues, his gestures getting wider, more expressive.  

“They hurt him. I won’t hesitate to—"

“And I will not stand for sloppy hero work!” Aizawa shoots back. “You are retired All Might. I know you care about Midoriya, but I will not allow emotions to affect our chances at getting him home safely.”

All Might opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes land on Hitoshi. All the anger building up inside him suddenly floods out and he physically sags.

“I— I should take a breather. I’m sorry, Young Shinsou,” All Might says, his voice now subdued. “Midoriya means to me what you mean to Aizawa.”

What I mean to Aizawa-sensei?

All Might gives him a shaky smile and pats him on the shoulder.

“Young Midoriya was so in awe of your match at Sport’s Festival,” All Might recalls. “I hope that you two can reconnect after we get him home.”

Before Hitoshi can process that, Principal Nezu and Detective Tsukauchi thank him for his time as All Might removes himself from the small room, his chin in one of his huge hands. The detective insists that Hitoshi keep all that he’s seen here private to keep their lead on the case. No discussing why he came in or the contents of the video. Hitoshi nods along to everything, feeling too overwhelmed and drained to speak.

“I’ll walk you to your class,” Aizawa offers, nodding his head towards the door.

Grateful someone is whisking him away, Hitoshi grabs his backpack and follows him out of the room They pass through empty halls, the voice of teachers escaping out from closed doors.

 “For the rest of this week, we would like you to remain on campus,” Aizawa-sensei says. “We don’t want villains targeting you for any reason and we can keep you safe here.”

“Where— where would I stay?” Hitoshi asks lightly, gripping his backpack straps.  

“Class 1A has a few unused dorms you can use. They are furnished with the basics, but we can drive to your house later to grab anything you might need.”

Hitoshi’s gut rumbles with nerves. What will Chiemi think…

“Oh.”

“Our investigative team might have some more questions for you, and I’d like you to be on standby. Is that alright?”

Hitoshi nods.

“I’ll… I’ll have to let my guardian know, but yeah. It’s alright.”

That makes Aizawa pause.

“Is everything ok at home right now?” Aizawa-sensei asks lightly.

Oh. Sweat builds up on Hitoshi’s palms. He had been actively blocking out the fact that his mentor and favorite hero of all time— not that Aizawa-sensei needed to know that— now knew too much about his homelife.

There was a constant fear that he would be dismissed for it, that people would insist he shouldn’t complain. That he was putting his guardians in a bad light even though they had offered their space to him. Hitoshi had been used to people placing the blame on him, his Quirk, his attitude.

But he couldn’t stand Aizawa-sensei thinking that.

“Yeah— yeah. Chiemi, that’s the woman in charge, she’s nice. Um, a lot nicer than a lot of my other housing situations,” Hitoshi says out in a rush, a nervous laugh adding itself on the end. “I— I just don’t want her to think less of me, because I’m involved in a criminal case? I’ve uh, had some problems with my guardians thinking I’m a— uh. Delinquent.”

This home was good. Great actually, when he compared it to his other experiences. Chiemi was strict about a few things, like keeping the house clean and leaving doors unlocked. She certainly wasn’t a loving parent, she didn’t ask about Hitoshi’s grades or his day or where his mental health was at, but Hitoshi hardly expected that out of someone who was being paid to watch over him. But she let Hitoshi pick out foods at the grocery store, she encouraged the kids to use the shared living room, she allowed Hitoshi to train with Aizawa-sensei. She didn’t curse at him, or shut off the water, or lock away his belongings. She didn’t berate him for his Quirk, or scuff him when he did something wrong, or scoff when he entered the room.

Most of all, her house was not too far from UA. And Hitoshi wanted to become a hero.

“I see,” Aizawa said, his tone thoughtful. “How about this, kid. Let’s tell your guardian that this is a next step for your training, that you’re working to solve a big case with me.”

Hitoshi tries not to gape back.

Or maybe…

Aizawa-sensei just cares.

“You’d do that?”

Aizawa shrugs, like it was nothing.

“It’s mostly the truth, we just didn’t plan this to happen. But this would be a great learning experience for you.”

As they arrive outside Hitoshi’s third class, Hitoshi slows to a stop. He still can’t get Midoriya’s expression and All Might’s insight out of his head.

“I want— I want to help bring Midoriya home,” he says decisively.

Aizawa lets out a huge sigh.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

The entirety of Aizawa and the police officer’s conversation comes back to Hitoshi all at once, like rain hitting a puddle of water. Each of the adults’ words blossomed and converged, running into each other, and creating noise, noise, noise in Hitoshi’s brain. He settles on a singular thought, calming the ripples.  

“Thank you. For believing me,” Hitoshi says softly.

Aizawa-sensei puts his hands on his hips and— what— the man smiles.

“Well, I believe in you. So it’s only reasonable.”

Hitoshi tries not to gape at him again, warmth flooding his cheeks.

“You’ve got my cell phone number from training, right? Please just keep your phone on sound and I will get in touch with you once we’ve figured out the next steps. You did good, Shinsou,” Aizawa lands a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder. “And if you need anything, please reach out.”

“Will do,” Hitoshi says in a daze. Pride and awe dance across his face.

With Aizawa-sensei on my side, things are going to be ok, Hitoshi thinks as his mentor turns to leave.

He’ll get you home, Midoriya. Message received.

***

Izuku breathed shakily through his nose as he peered from the children’s room and into the dark hallway. Ever since he had been brought here, the hallway had been dark. Izuku suspected the string of overhead lights had gone out after the place had been abandoned. Peering into it, Izuku was half relieved by its camouflage and half terrified one of two villains were there, waiting.

When Izuku had been brought to the locked cabinet, they had dragged him back on the left. When shooting the video, they had dragged him from the right. He wasn’t sure what was better. Since the cabinet had been locked inside what looked like an administrative office, Izuku deduced it should be closer to the front, which would mean there would be an exit. But he hadn’t seen much of the right, which could mean there was a back door that would be less suspicious than trapezing out the front.

The men had clearly stated they wanted to visit somewhere with a photocopier. But had they left yet? And did both of them go? And how long would they be gone?

In the past, the two had gone for drinks. Although Izuku hadn’t seen the outside world yet in way too many days, he suspected there must be a city or at least pocket of shops nearby.

Focus, Izuku screams at himself. He could theorize the whole day away if he allowed himself to.

It was hard to focus, Izuku realized. Although he consistently drank water, his kidnappers had scarcely given him more than a meal a day. With All Might’s intense training, Izuku’s caloric intake was massive. Going from a few thousand calories to a few hundred made his head swim and his muscles cramp. Not to mention his diverse range of proteins, veggies, and carbs had been whittled down to microwavable rice. Izuku tried not think of his body too much, he was kidnapped after all, but it was frustrating that all his hard-earned muscle was stiff with disuse.

He needed his body to listen to him in order to escape. Finally, Izuku stopped thinking so hard and chose to go right. 

Every movement clanged Izuku’s metal chains together and echoed down into the dark, making Izuku cringe.

Go fast. You aren’t going to be able to shut this thing up.

Izuku makes it into another large children’s room, although this one has a door with an EXIT sign hanging above it. Barreling towards it, Izuku breathes a sigh of relief. He props up the bedpost against the wall so he has a free hand and seizes the handle.

It rattles but doesn’t budge.

Shoot! Izuku thinks, trying not to get in the habit of swearing when things went wrong. What would his mother say? Are you kidding me??

He tries to break the door handle, but without his Quirk it’s not going anywhere. The movement suddenly disturbs the bedpost, which slides off the wall and crashes into the concrete.

Izuku goes rigid as the sound echoes off the abandoned building’s walls.

He stares back at it in disbelief, terribly offended.

No time. New exit.

Izuku picks up the blasted bedpost and looks around the room. There, to the left of the locked door, was a small tear in the wall where light was flooding in. I can make it.

Forcing his way through the hole, Izuku lets out a shaky chuckle when his hands meet yellowing grass. The facility is surrounded by a thick forest, the sun just passing the tree line and painting an evening glow against the sky. That will be his destination— the forest.

He heaves himself forward, determined. A sudden pain in Izuku’s ankles makes him gasp.

His stomach drops as he looks back at the hole. The bedpost is stuck.

Shit. Frantically, Izuku tries to turn it like a jigsaw piece so that it fits. The noise he’s making is way too loud. Shit!

“Please!” Izuku whispers at the damn thing.

The plaster around the opening breaks off as Izuku grabs it, so he furiously rips at the edges of the hole. Blood wells up at his fingertips as the rough material digs into his skin, but Izuku ignores the pain.

Come on!! He thinks as he pulls on the bedpost again with all his adrenaline surged energy.

Izuku let’s out a cry as he’s suddenly yanked backwards. There are pale hands covering the bedpost, and out from the dark of the room appears a face framed with blonde hair.

The adrenaline Izuku has been running on suddenly drains out of him and all he's left with is an icy emptiness.

“Oh no you don't, little hero,” grins Shio.

Fuck, Izuku allows himself to think.

Chapter Text

For a moment, all that the UA student and the villain could do is stare at each other.

“I can’t fucking believe you took the bedpost with you,” Shio finally spits, anger mixing with a sardonic grin.

“Your mistake then,” Izuku shoots back, fear fueling his bravery.

In a swift movement, Shio pulls the bedpost, pulling Izuku flat against the ground and dragging him across the dirt. Rocks and gravel dig into Izuku’s skin and he grits his teeth.

I don’t want to go back, is the thought he focuses on.

In a burst of retaliation, Izuku grabs hold of the bedpost and rams it back inside the hole with all of his shaky strength, carrying the momentum of Shio’s pull. A surprised grunt that had forced its way out of Shio morphs into a gargled cry as the exposed metal digs into his arm. A brushstroke of red splashes up the man’s bicep.

“You fucker!”

Izuku immediately changes direction and throws his entire weight forward. The bedpost wedges its way further into the plaster, but grates to a halt. On the other side still swearing, Shio tries to pull him through again, but the bedpost leaking blood doesn’t budge. It seems Izuku is stuck from both sides.

“No,” Izuku whispers with wide eyes, his breathing ragged.

Shio gives Izuku a slanted grin before he disappears into the dark of the room behind him.

“No!”

Izuku scrambles to the broken plaster, ripping into the wall furiously. He’s stuck. He’s seriously, seriously stuck. He even tries to push it back into the building, but it won’t move. The place where the cuffs meet his skin sluggishly ooze blood from the constant pushing and pulling of the chains.

You took a chance.

Shio rounds the corner, having exited a different way. He’s sprinting, an unrestrained grin on his face.

And you failed.

In a last-ditch effort, Izuku tugs at the plugged up hole once more, but it’s not going anywhere. Ditching the idea that he will be able to escape the wall, Izuku crouches low, his mobility reduced to only a foot of movement.

Shio runs over with the intent of kicking the shit out of Izuku, his foot raised behind him.

Stay low, Izuku instructs, Make him fall. Then take his key.

Izuku lunges for Shio’s dormant leg and sweeps it out from under him. The kick just barely misses him, and from the whoosh of noise it makes too close to Izuku’s ear, he can tell that a kick from those leather boots would hurt. Izuku’s movement forces Shio to land his foot on ground to stabilize his swaying body, rather than land on Izuku himself.

Izuku can’t look at his face, or he’s sure he’s going to falter. Instead, he looks to the man’s pant pocket, where he sees a lump that Izuku can only hope is the key. He reaches for it, desperate to feel the cool metal in his hands.

Pain prickles across Izuku’s scalp and a strained yelp leaves Izuku. Shio’s got him by his hair.

“Let me go!” Izuku yells out, trying to make as much noise as possible. A bird startles out of a treetop, but nothing else responds to his call.

A second hand moves forward, its goal to grab his face. But Izuku breathed out a tight, explosive breath and launched his hands forward, his left over Shio’s and his right underneath. In a quick motion, Izuku crosses them, causing the chain to tighten and ensnare Shio’s wrist. 

A cry of pain escapes the blonde-haired villain, who struggles and fails to pull his hand out of Izuku’s trap. Izuku’s hair is yanked even harder, the tension bristling down Izuku’s scalp, but he doesn’t waver.

“You are one tenacious motherfucker,” Shio spits.

Before Izuku can do anything more, a knee is driven into the center of his stomach. Izuku keels over, his hands leaving Shio’s and grasping at the place where pain blossoms across his ribs. His voice sounds like a bubble is trapped in his throat, a contorted cough not quite escaping him.

A large, rough hand slots itself over the back of Izuku’s neck and forces his nose into the dirt. The movement forces the breath that had been trapped in Izuku’s throat to suddenly leak out in a wheeze. Because his legs are still attached to the bedpost and thus the wall, his bent knees straighten and stretch uncomfortably.

No…

New strategies, improved movements, bolder actions spark through Izuku’s brain like electricity. But his body won’t listen. If his arms weren’t trapped beneath him, if he had eaten normally, if his breath hadn’t left him— maybe he could have done more. Instead, the energy fueling him leaks out and leaves his muscles quaking from the strain. 

“You done, huh?” Shio spits, emphasizing his words with a squeeze.

Izuku can’t see anything, his face pressed in the ground, so he jerks in surprise when Shio’s voice appears right in his ear.

“If Joon were here, he’d make you pass out with pain in just a second,” Shio says, his voice low and rumbling. “But he’s not. So you’ve just got me, with no Quirk and a fucked up arm.”

A tremor seizes Izuku’s bruised stomach. He lies there, silent besides his ragged breaths, as Shio unlocks the chains from the hunk of metal. Liquid joins the slick of sweat on Izuku’s neck, and as it plops down on the dirt below, Izuku realizes its blood from Shio’s open wound.

I want to take a bath, Izuku thinks, a pitiful whine simmering through his red-hot thoughts. At home. With bubbles. And candles.  

Suddenly, Izuku’s socks are ripped off. Izuku tries to bring his legs close, worried the man is going to strike him.

“What are you—?”

“Get moving. I’m not gonna make it easy for you to run away.”

Shio drags him by the scruff of his neck off the ground and across the gravel, the soles of his feet alighting with pin pricks of pain.

“A-Ah,” Izuku chokes out, struggling to keep up with Shio’s fast pace and the torrent of sharp rocks he’s being pulled through. They walk the perimeter of the brittle building following the same direction as Shio had come from.

“How are we gonna explain this one to Joon, huh?” Shio drawls. The pitch of his voice goes up an octave, like he’s acting out a scene. “Oh yeah, I thought he could use some sun, you know. Let him take off with the bedpost and run.”

Izuku tries not to be taken in by Shio’s levity. From his time stuck here, Shio liked to push Izuku’s buttons, liked to act chummy to get under Izuku’s skin. Izuku had tried to escape and hurt Shio’s arm. There was nothing friendly about this encounter.

If anything, his humor was prelude to violence.

Despite the pain and fear of what was to come, Izuku squints at the surroundings, hoping to get something out of this failed escape attempt. They are nearing the front of the dilapidated facility, where Izuku can see a dirt road meet concrete. He searches for a name or an address, anything that would help orient him—

“You know what, that’s a great point. You should not be looking around,”

Shio procures black cloth from his back pocket, like a bandana or a handkerchief, and even held a foot away, the smell has Izuku gagging like it had been dipped into an ashtray.

“Don’t get that near my face,” he bites out, but is unable to react as the material blocks his vision.

“Too bad.”

A knot is tied behind his head, enunciated by Shio’s words. The blindfold isn’t perfect, as Izuku can see light filtering through the thin cloth. But most everything is blurry and combined with Izuku’s exposed feet and the chain around his ankles, he is sure he is about to collapse at any moment.

His big toe hits something out in front of him and Izuku swears under his breath, realizing it was a step. They were back at the Care Facility.

I don’t want to go back.

As if he can feel the spike of desperation in the air, Shio’s free arm swings around Izuku’s chest, trapping his arms and keeping him close. Izuku lets out a choked breath. He had planned to shove Shio into the doorframe as they entered.

“Chasing after you was fun, but you’re really pushing your luck,” Shio seethes. He keeps him close as they walk through the halls. At some point, they take a sharp left.

Izuku doesn’t know where Shio is taking him, but the space feels smaller than the room full of beds. Hand on his shoulder, Shio pushes Izuku to the floor where something tall and circular meets his back. Shio wrenches up his arms, and for a brief second unlocks them, his grip tightening to an inconsiderable degree, before chaining them to something above his head. Weighed down by gravity, his arms bend a little, but stay upright to the left side of Izuku’s face.

Defeat rolls around in his chest. The position is uncomfortable only after a few moments of being in it. In an attempt to lighten the strain on his wrists, he grabs the chains and relies on his upper body strength.

However, he is utterly and completely confined as Shio’s hands move from his shirt to the start of his sweats, patting him down for anything Izuku might have picked up along the way. Each touch is like a barb plucking at his skin as if it had grazed something poisonous. His shirt soaked in sweat only makes him itch harder.

The hands aren’t gentle as they check his thighs, ending up at his swollen ankles.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” comes an unexpected whisper.

Izuku’s right foot is ensnared in Shio’s grasp, and Izuku hisses in pain, the scrapes from the gravel crisscrossing across his arch. Izuku tries to kick him. All the man does in response is tighten his grip around the cuts.

“Ah— Wh-What are you—” Izuku struggles to speak. His whole body stiffens when his pinkie toe is prodded at.

“You’re Quirkless.”

The word sounds like the reloading of a gun, and Izuku freezes as if the barrel has been pointed at his head. He rips his foot out of the other’s hand, hiding the evidence. It’s too deliberate. Too desperate.

It’s belated, Izuku knows he’s taken too long to reply, but he forces out a chuckle.

“Oh-Oh yeah? Take off my Quirk suppressants then.”

“You were naturally born Quirkless,” Shio repeats, ignoring Izuku. “You’ve got the same fucking toe joint as me.”

“That’s— You aren’t— Only x-rays show the toe joint,” Izuku protests, his brittle voice betraying his confidence.

“Bullshit. Anyone whose Quirkless knows how to feel for it. Don’t need a fucking x-ray.”

Izuku did know that. If he rubbed his pinkie toe, he could feel the slight click, click of the joint that reminded him of his origin. Shio had probably accidently done the same thing.

“I’m not Quirkless,” Izuku repeats himself, quiet. He feels like a little kid, insisting something to an adult who knew better.

“Yeah. Clearly. Anymore. Am I the first one to know?” Shio barks out a laugh. “That’s precious, when was the last time you came out to someone?”

Izuku doesn’t answer, he can’t answer. Because the last time was— the last time was All Might. He was the only adult Izuku trusted with his secret on his own accord. There were a few other adults who had been told, mostly out of necessity. Nighteye had been told by All Might himself and had made it clear how he felt about a Quirkless person receiving the torch.

A hand presses at his throat, and whatever molding stench coated that man’s hands now was right next to Izuku’s nose, mixing with the smoky smell of the blindfold.   

“When was the last time?”

“A year— a year ago.” Izuku immediately cringes at himself. Disclosure of something so integral to him made his thoughts slosh and his tongue loose.

“So no one at UA knows?”

Shoot.

“That’s hilarious,” Shio says. “One of UA’s best students was Quirkless.”

“It— It’s not that big of deal,” Izuku insists.

Izuku was lying right through his teeth. It is a big deal. No one can know. No one can know, yet this guy knows. And this guy hates me.

“So… When did you get your Quirk? Must have been artificially given to you.”

“I—I’m not gonna talk about this.”

“Fine. I honestly don’t care about your Quirk, just the fact you didn’t have one,” Shio sneers. “Let’s see… You had mentioned that you were still getting use to your Quirk at the Sport’s Festival. So I’m guessing not that long ago, huh.”

Izuku’s heart drops. Why did Shio remember the details of their conversation over lunch?

“I’m right on the money, aren’t I?” Izuku can hear the grin in his voice. “So that means you know what it’s really like to be Quirkless, don’t you.”

Izuku almost jumps out of his skin when he feels fingers graze his bicep, where the scar from the fight with Muscular had come from. With his hands tied above him, there is very little movement he can accomplish as he cringes into the wall.

“How many scars did you get because you were Quirkless…”

“That one was from a villain,” Izuku chokes out.

Izuku knew he was lucky. There were barely any marks on him from his middle school days. His bullies had known how to scare him in other ways, form bruises that would heal, destroy his belongings, taunt him with words aimed to cut.

But never enough that Izuku would scar. Or, at least prominently scar. The very few he had were so small and easily hidden and meant that he didn’t get a lot of unwanted questions. Now, they were easily forgotten when compared to all the large scars he had obtained from training and villain fights.

Izuku hadn’t felt this fear for so long, since the only person who would have known where his scars were from was Kacchan, but this man tracing his skin caused something ugly residing in corners of Izuku’s chest to dig with anxiety.

“D-Don’t touch me,” Izuku grits out. His breathing picks up, his chest falling and expanding. He could feel the thing made from blackness pulsate against his lungs, making it hard to breathe.  

I’ve always been worried that One for All was the secret I’d have to keep with my life.

But I’ve never thought my Quirklessness would be something I would need to protect.

He hadn’t thought about it, because why would he? How would anyone find out besides looking into his medical records? He hadn’t thought about it, because Izuku didn’t know how to look back at his middle school self, he didn’t know how to take his in all the hatred and dislike being directed at him by, well, everyone. He didn’t know how to address his own self-hatred, and the dark places where his mind went to in the worst of times.

He wanted to be a smiling hero that saved everyone. And that’s what he was becoming at UA. He has friends who love him, he has teachers he actually trusts, and he has a mentor who passed on a gift that meant Izuku could achieve his dreams. Everyday Izuku feels like he should be grateful to all of them, and although they insist that he deserves every bit of happiness, they don’t understand how long he had been deprived of it.

Uraraka doesn’t realize how much the lonely middle schooler Izuku used to be craved hugs like hers. Iida, with his huge gestures and loud voice, doesn’t understand that each time he respects Izuku’s boundaries, his heart floods with safety and gratitude. Like his body and space is something worth respecting.

Todoroki doesn’t know that Izuku watches for his small smiles. Because although the mask Izuku wore was different than Todoroki’s, they both still wore them. They kept their true thoughts close to their heart, and didn’t allow anyone else access, because they both had been hurt for a long, long time. Todoroki doesn’t know how happy each of those smiles makes Izuku, because it reminds him that there’s hope for the wounds he’s buried deep.

In that moment, the blindfold feels stifling. Izuku desperately wants to see a face of a loved one, he wants to hold them, to thank them again for saving him from this dark mass in his body.

“It’s a shame your ‘hero society’ can’t see this,” Shio drawls, each word slow and saturated with intent.

Instead, Izuku only feels Shio’s fingers tracing the scars on his fingers and the ugly feeling continue to crawl through his skin.

“But that can always be arranged, can’t it?”

Chapter Text

When Hitoshi opens the door to the Class 1A dorms, he catches the eye of the entire class of grieving students and thinks: So this is what it’s like when this many people care about you.

“Hey,” he blurts out.

His hands are occupied with reused grocery bags full of his stuff: morning and night routine products, school supplies, a few days’ worth of clothes. The trip to Chiemi’s had been stiflingly quiet and awkward, but Hitoshi was grateful Aizawa-sensei could explain the situation to her in person.

Chiemi had kept giving him this look like she didn’t quite believe what was happening, but Aizawa-sensei seemed to always pick up on it, reassuring her that Hitoshi was not in trouble. Hitoshi just let himself drift into the background, guiltily allowing his teacher to take on the brunt of the conversation while he stood in anxiety ladened silence.

But Aizawa-sensei wasn’t here to guide him through the dorms. 

The class of 1A seems extremely tired, the majority of them wrapped up in pastel blankets and sinking into the huge couch facing the TV. At the main table, three girls sit in casual clothes with their phones out. There are a few boys in the kitchen, who have stopped what they were doing to look at his entrance, besides one blonde who continues to aggressively chop up veggies.

Bakugou, his mind supplies. Explosion boy.

“Shinsou!” Uraraka says, breaking the silence. On the car ride back to the dorms, Aizawa had kindly supplied Hitoshi with 1A’s roster complete with the photo and Quirk of everyone in his class, which Hitoshi held firmly in his hands. Uraraka, whose brown eyes are still slightly red and puffy, smiles as she shifts in her cocoon of pink blankets to greet him. “You made it in time! We were just about to put on a movie.”

Hitoshi tries to take in the emotions of the students. Grief lingers in the air like humidity, ever present and stagnant. But the students did not seem shocked to see him, more interested by his general presence.

“Aizawa-sensei told you I was coming?” he asks, even though Aizawa had told him as much. He didn’t want to pull any surprises in front of a group of strangers.

“He explained the situation, more or less,” a tall student named Iida says, adjusting his glasses. Although his voice and strict posture on the couch reminded Hitoshi of a drill sergeant, there was a tiredness to his features, eyebags none too hidden. “That you are helping with Midoriya’s case and need to reside at our dorms for safety and convenience.”

“Can you say anything about the situation?” pressed Kaminari, who was also bundled up with blankets.

“Kaminari-kun,” chided Yaoyorozu. “Aizawa-sensei specifically asked us not to pressure Shinsou.”

“C’mon! I mean, I bet everyone wants to know some kind of update,” Kaminari said. The pause from the other students sounded like a resounding Yes.

Could he say anything? The detective had told him not to, but Hitoshi felt the eagerness in each student spike, even in Yaoyorozu and Iida who seemed more stringent. Seated next to Uraraka with his hands gripping his knees, Todoroki—the half-and-half legend himself— looked like he was also desperate for an answer.

But as Midoriya’s beat up expression in the ransom video flashed before Hitoshi like a ghost, he shook his head. Any information he had to offer was hard to swallow for him, someone who didn’t care about Midoriya like these people did.

Oh yeah! Your best friend is all beat up and I got to see it on camera!

They didn’t deserve to hear that, especially from a stranger like Hitoshi.

“Sorry,” he offers lamely.

A very loud scoff comes from the kitchen. Bakugou shakes his head with a twisted scowl, somehow slamming his knife through the ingredients and onto the cutting board with even more force. Beside him is a student with hair dyed bright red, who places a hand on his shoulder and whispers something into the blonde’s ear. It seems like Bakugou considers the student’s, Kirishima’s, words for a moment, before gritting his teeth and shrugging off his hand.

“Don’t fucking look at me,” Bakugou spits out. Most of the class complies, pretending they weren’t just staring at him warily.

“Anyways… Sit! Sit with us,” Uraraka insists, patting the couch cushion.

Hitoshi feels morally obligated to listen to her, but with most of his life belongings situated in plastic bags, he hesitates. Luckily, the green haired girl next to Uraraka pushes her shoulder lightly.

“Let him put his stuff away first,” she says in a unique accent. She turns to Hitoshi. “But please come back and sit with us, kero.”

“I will.” 

“I’ll take you to your room, Shinsou.”

Hitoshi turns and is half-surprised, half-guarded to see a familiar face offering help. Ojiro gets up from the couch and walks into the hall, expecting Hitoshi to follow him.

“Thanks,” Hitoshi says when he catches up.

“Course. Wanted to let you know that there’s no hard feelings between us,” Ojiro says not unkindly, although awkwardness seeps into his voice and makes his tail twitch. “The Sport’s Festival was a competition.”

“Oh you mean when I brainwashed you to get into the one-on-ones?” Hitoshi replies, just as clumsy, but he relaxes when Ojiro chuckles. “Thanks, though. How have you been doing?”

“With all this?” Ojiro says with a sigh. “It’s been hard. A lot of crying. A lot of questions. I’m definitely not as close to Midoriya as Uraraka and Tsuyu, or Iida and Todoroki, but Midoriya’s kinda just one of the most loveable people you’ll ever meet? He’s super earnest and well meaning, and even though he’s quiet most of the time, if he’s determined about anything, the energy he brings is just so— infectious.”

“That makes sense… I think because I only got to see his resolve and his Quirk at the Sport’s Festival, I totally got the wrong impression of him,” Hitoshi admits. It feels strangely good to tell someone else. “I thought he was a hero wannabe with an ego inflated by his power.”

“Easy mistake. When Midoriya gets into the zone, he puts on these terrifyingly unwavering expressions,” Ojiro hums, as if fondly remembering something. “But him being an ego-maniac couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s a real softy, huge nerd, and crier, especially when he’s happy. So… even though I wasn’t one of his best friends, it still hurts a lot that all those parts of him are missing. Like our everyday lives are lacking that kind of levity. The whole class feels his loss.”

Ojiro slows to a stop and gestures to the door on Hitoshi’s right.

“Well, here is the open dorm. I’m just two doors over, so feel free to knock if you need anything.”

When Hitoshi opens the door, it reveals a plain twin-size bed positioned by a window a small nightstand. There’s a simple bedspread, which Hitoshi was relieved to see, and an empty closet. He placed his backpack and grocery bags all at the foot of his bed, keeping everything together in case he needed to leave. He had been through enough temporary housing to know that much.

Grabbing a black hoodie two sizes too large and some jeans, Hitoshi quickly changes out of his school uniform and puts them away into an empty bag he’s deemed the dirty pile. Aizawa-sensei requested that he make a ready-to-use travel bag if the police needed him, so Hitoshi dumps out his backpack onto the desk and fills it with capture tape and a few extra essentials. He wants to bend over the bathroom sink to erase the coffee stain in his sweater, but Ojiro is waiting, so Hitoshi put on his pack and closes the door with a click.

“Nice fit,” Ojiro comments when he rejoins. “How are you holding up?”

“I mean… I don’t think my feelings in this matter, do they?” Hitoshi chuckles, tugging at his hoodie string as they begin to walk. “I didn’t know Midoriya all that well. We only fought at the Sport’s Festival.”

“Yeah but— Being involved in his case. That’s some serious stuff. I can only speak for my classmates, since I haven’t been in the middle of something like this before, but it’s takes a huge toll,” Ojiro pushes.

“Why would you— this might sound rude, but why would you care?”

“I mean… I’ve just seen that happen to my classmates. But they had people to lean on. And even though I’m sad and frustrated, I’m more emotionally available than some of 1A is,” Ojiro explains with a shrug. “Since you can’t tell anyone what’s going on, I feel like that’s hard on you.”

Hitoshi looks at him a little dumbstruck.

“So… Reach out. You don’t have to say what’s going on, I know it’s private. But just know that we’re here for you too, yeah?” 

“For sure,” Hitoshi mumbles.

When they reenter the living room, an aromatic smell hits them. The chopped veggies are now simmering in orange curry in a large iron pot, and as Bakugou opens it to add something, a puff of steam hits his face. Unbothered, Bakugou tries a small spoonful and without a second thought throws something else in. 

What seems to bother Bakugou is Hitoshi’s presence, however. When their eyes meet, Bakugou’s scowl deepens and he thrusts the ladle he had been using to Kirishima, who fumbles with it for a solid minute, before storming over to the cabinet to grab a new spice jar.

“Don’t mind him, he’s always like that,” Ojiro tells him, but Hitoshi’s gut swirls with distrust.

He seemed just fine a second ago…

Until I walked in.

Hitoshi’s grateful he’s out of the restrictive school uniform, as it helps him relax and rationalize.

Some guy is the least of my worries.

Maybe I’m still wound up from everything today—

The sound of Uraraka’s voice snaps him out of it.

“You’re back!”

Hitoshi gives the people on the couch a nod of acknowledgment, looking up at what they’ve got paused on the TV. It’s an old movie that All Might made a guest appearance in, back in the height of his career. He was only in the movie for a total of ten minutes, but the movie poster and title sequence has his face all over it. 

Taking off his backpack, Hitoshi gingerly seats himself next to the girl with green hair and Ojiro takes the space to his right.

“Call me Tsu,” she says casually, “We’re just about to watch one of Deku’s favorites.”

“I see Midoriya is a fan of All Might,” Hitoshi comments.

“The biggest fan,” hums Uraraka.

Midoriya means to me what you mean to Aizawa.

That was what All Might had told him, just hours before. Hitoshi frowns, the meaning of the words still foreign to him.

A fanboy? Is that what All Might meant?

Hitoshi’s face scrunches up, a little bashful.

Am I that obvious about Eraserhead?

He thinks about how angry All Might had gotten, how desperate he had acted to get out on the field and find the missing UA student. It didn’t matter that All Might’s power had been sapped from his body, he still cared so deeply.

No. Not because Midoriya’s a fanboy.

Then what?

“What— If you don’t mind me asking…” Hitoshi swallowed. “What does Midoriya mean to All Might?”

His question is met with the attention of the whole class. Todoroki’s multicolored eyes were wide although the rest of his expression stays blank. Next to him, Iida’s got a thoughtful furrow to his brow, his chin slotting into one of his hands.

“Well… It’s no secret that Midoriya is one of All Might’s favorites,” says Uraraka softly.

“Although they try to hide it,” Yaoyorozu says, covering her smile with a hand.

The students laugh, but the sound is a little wet, a little sad.

“Why the fuck are you asking questions about All Might, huh?” 

 Clutching two bowls of curry, one in each hand, Bakugou whole body bristles as he walks into the living room. Accompanying him are a gang of guys, all carrying bowls too with exasperated expressions on their faces. Kirishima’s lower shark-like tooth hooks his lip.

“Don’t be rude,” Kirishima scolds as he gently sets one of the curry bowls in front of Kaminari. The blonde wriggles his way out of his blanket and immediately sticks a spoonful into his mouth.

“I just want to understand,” Bakugou snaps. “You idiots actually believe there’s nothing else going on?”

“What are you trying to imply?” Hitoshi asks. The same defensive acidity that had leaked into his conversation with the police officer makes a reappearance.

“You’re trying to press into matters you don’t need to,” Bakugou accuses, his pitch raising with his anger. He frees up his hands by slamming the bowls of curry on the coffee table, making Yaoyorozu jump. “You don’t know Deku and you’re fucking working on his case?”

The sound startles the other students, each beginning to unravel from their cozy blankets.

“Bakugou, really?”

“We were just about to settle down for the day… Hasn’t there been enough stress?” says another boy with curry, Sero, and sags his shoulders in defeat.

“No! Why the fuck would that damn teacher ask him for help?”

“There was a reason Aizawa-sensei chose me,” Hitoshi bites back.

Molten lava pools in Bakugou’s red eyes. His fingers twitch, sending several sparks to ignite. Hitoshi doesn’t physically react because he expected this. The students of 1A had been kind to him, but that wasn’t a requirement. He expected wary looks to be thrown his way, to receive a little bit of the anger and frustration that accompanied losing a student.

He can handle it.

He’s always handled it.

“Oh yeah? Maybe that reason is because you’re involved?”

Hitoshi shoots to his feet to level Bakugou’s glare. The fear that had been chasing him all morning was out in the open. But, for whatever reason, those words jitter in Hitoshi’s brain like a glitch and soak up Bakugou’s pulsating anger.

He had had it. 

He had missed half of his classes to be interrogated by a police officer who had thought the same thing. Only to see that he was involved in a backwards, convoluted way that dug into memories he had repressed for years. His stomach had cramped with nerves all morning, and even with Aizawa-sensei there, his trip to Chiemi’s had almost sent him into a full-blown panic attack. Losing this foster home would mean he’d lose so much more than housing.

All he expected out of the UA dorms was to introduce himself and flop onto his temporary bed until Aizawa-sensei called for his help. Ojiro was fucking right, he hadn’t had any time to process the whole day, much less the situation he was throwing himself into in the near future, and it was boiling through his skin like acid.

Hitoshi doesn’t even want to look at the other students. He doesn’t want to see the hesitation in their eyes as they consider Bakugou’s accusation, even if it just flickers before disappearing.

“I am not doing this,” Hitoshi says, his voice low and even the same way a lid rattles over a boiling pot. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

“He denies it because I’m right,” Bakugou spits. “I heard his name on the overhead, did you not see the police car out front?”

“Bakugou… That’s a serious thing to say,” Kirishima protests with a disapproving frown, grabbing Bakugou’s shoulder once more. “Let’s cool off for a sec.”

Bakugou doesn’t immediately pull out of Kirishima’s grasp, instead grabbing and gripping his hand like he’s about to break it off. For a moment, Hitoshi gets scared that this kid is actually going to hurt someone, but Kirishima doesn’t even flinch as he activates his Quirk and his fingers become rock solid.

The front door bursts open at the same time as Bakugou’s sparks flare up.

For the thirtieth time today, Aizawa-sensei appears to save Hitoshi with his tired eyes. The seriousness of the situation hits Hitoshi when he sees his hero costume.

“Shinsou, grab your bag. We’re leaving,” Eraserhead says, urgency propelling his words forward. “And turn your phone’s vibration setting off, please.”

Hitoshi’s stomach drops and he pulls out his phone. Mortification creeps up his neck when he sees the five missed calls from his teacher.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbles and puts on his backpack.  

“What happened?” Bakugou barks out, his attention split between Hitoshi and his teacher.

Todoroki stands to his feet, holding himself strictly like his limbs were made of plastic. His fingers tighten and loosen around his sweats in waves.

“Did something happen to Midoriya?” he asks. The rest of the students pause, looking to their teacher expectantly.

“It’s none of your concern at the moment,” Aizawa-sensei says strictly. When the whole class sags in response, the creases on his forehead soften. “But I promise when we can update you, we will. Shinsou, let’s go.”

“Stay safe,” Uraraka says softly. “And good luck.”

Most of the class echoes her, a few people silent in thought.

Still in the doorway, Aizawa turns to exit and Shinsou follows him. Once outside, the door doesn’t close behind them, instead allowing the raging blonde-haired mess to stumble out with them.

“Let me go with you!” Bakugou demands, his voice still gruff. But his hands are flexing, his shoulders up by his ears, his stance wide like he wants to leap forward. Exhaustion and annoyance mounts in Hitoshi, thinking he wants to continue their argument.

Aizawa-sensei gives him a stern look.

“We don’t have time for this, Bakugou. You stay here.”

“Sensei, I’ve asked you over and over—” Bakugou stops, swallowing. He grits his teeth like he was in an acute pain, something sharp and deep digging into his psyche, and directs that feeling outward as points to Hitoshi. “Why would you let him help, when you’ve been fucking denying me this whole time?”

Surprise flashes across Aizawa’s face, and Bakugou takes the opportunity to use the empty silence.

“I can fight, I can stay calm in a— situation like this. When it matters.” Bakugou continues. When his lip quivers, he starts to shake his head. “I can’t stay still anymore. I can’t— I can’t let him be there anymore. I know what it’s like to be there.”

They saved that explosion boy in a day or two, didn’t they?

The rumors and taunts that Hitoshi had heard throughout UA began to resurface. This was a student that had already experienced a very public kidnapping, by the worst of the worst. That had ended in the destruction of a city and the retirement of All Might.

Will today be anything like Kamino?

The thought sends shivers through him.

And even though Hitoshi’s still aggravated that yet another person has pegged him as a criminal today, he allows his frustration to slip off of his face. He can recognize when a person is projecting.

“Kid, I’m not excluding you for exclusion’s sake, you know that right?” Aizawa-sensei says carefully. “I wouldn’t take any UA students with me if I had the choice— but circumstances have forced Shinsou into this situation.”

Bakugou stays silent and looks at the ground, his fists flexing.

“I know this is hard. But I promise you, we will be doing everything in our power to get him home.”

“Deku’s— He’s not me,” Bakugou says, like it explains everything. “He can’t fucking hide his emotions. They’ll see that and exploit it.”

He shakes his head again.

“I just— That nerd can’t be dead,” Bakugou turns to Hitoshi, his face still pinched up. “Don’t let him die.”

That was a big promise, one too large for Hitoshi to hold. But wasn't that what heroes did? Hold up the weight of the world so people could remain safe? If Midoriya could be a hero while tied up in a chair, Hitoshi could be heroic for once. He meets Bakugou's eyes and nods. 

“We will try everything in our power,” Aizawa-sensei repeats, a promise of effort, not results. The distinction makes Hitoshi’s gut clench. “Now we have to go.”

As Aizawa and Hitoshi leave for a second time, the blonde stays where he was.

“Sensei?”

“Yes?”

“Midoriya isn’t dead, is he?” Hitoshi’s question comes out quiet.

“No, Shinsou,” Aizawa sighs. “We’ve received no word that would indicate otherwise. But we have located where he’s been kept, at the Sunrise Child Care facility.”

Something about the word makes him feel small.

Back where it all began.

He tries not to think about it.

This isn’t about me.

This is about getting Midoriya home.

A new voice nags at him that this is about him too. It was his past they were entering and the traumas he had endured would likely rise to the surface. The voice, he finds with some amusement, sounds faintly like Ojiro. 

“And we're going there, right? You’ve got a plan?”

No confident grin graces Aizawa’s face, but his eyebrows tighten as if an impossible goal was no longer out of sight.

“Yes, we’re going. We’re going to find him tonight.”

***

In. One, two, three.

Out. One, two, three.

In.

In.

Go in. Please.

Izuku is vaguely aware of the voices that talk over his tied-up body, but he’s more worried by the fact that his lungs can’t seem to get enough oxygen. Rationally, he knows that he’s not suffocating. There’s no hands at his neck or gag in his mouth or water in his lungs. But each suck of air doesn’t feel like enough, like his panic demands taking in more air than he is capable of.

Across his skin, Izuku still tingles where Shio had touched him, and although he knows Shio is at least five feet away, yelling at Joon, the blindfold messes with his perception. Joon had burst into the room only a few minutes ago, when Shio was bent over threatening Izuku.

Relax, Izuku.

He knows that I’m Quirkless.

You can’t even focus on what they’re saying.

He could tell everyone.

Don’t be your own enemy.

Their voices are frantic and choppy, even without Izuku’s swirling headache. He knows he could probably shift his head against the wall behind him to get the blindfold off, but the fear of Shio lashing out at him was worse than having no sight.

He can’t ask much of himself at the moment with his lungs compressing and decompressing on nothing, so he tries to comprehend the conversation happening above him.  

“The boss c-called me, he said he didn’t like what we did.”

“What the fuck did we do? Do what he asked??”

“The kid. He didn’t like him talking about— extra things. Non-ransom things.”  

“…What did he say.”

“He said that the kid could have compromised this position.”

“Does he think we’re fucking idiots? We edited the whole thing.”

“He doesn’t care— he doesn’t want us to stay here. He sent me a location he wants us to move to.”

“What? That’s going to raise more suspicion. The ransom meeting is only a few days away.”

“He talked about— He mentioned that the money might be off.”

Izuku lets out a small breath, edging on a whimper. They are going to kill him, oh they are going to actually kill him. His usefulness had run thin. Listening in on this conversation only made him feel ten times more helpless.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“He said that if the next video was better, more focused, then it would be ok.”

“So now he’s using leverage over us? No, no, no.”

A huge crash to Izuku’s right makes him jump, his chains jingling. Shio had just kicked the shit out of something.

“You could— There are people still willing to ransom me,” Izuku gasps out. His mouth is moving faster than his thoughts, the words bashing into each other. “I could— my phone has numbers you could call, like really important people, you could stop listening to your boss and just directly talk to them—”

A hand comes crashing into his hair.

“You have the least leverage in this situation,” seethes Shio, giving Izuku’s head a good shake. “I don’t want to hear a single thing come out of your mouth.”

“Shio— You don’t need to hurt him,” Joon argues, his footsteps coming closer. “Let me just knock him out with my Quirk and we’ll move. The plan hasn’t fallen through yet.”

Izuku’s little gasps fill in the silence.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The reminder helps.

It’s ok.

It’s ok.

The tension in his scalp finally lessens, and Izuku sags to the floor. The strain shifts to his wrists, that barely hold him upright.

“Ok,” Shio says, like he’s convincing himself. “Alright. I can’t fucking stay with the kid or I’m going to do something I’ll regret.”

“I’ve got him. Just get the car ready.”

“Don’t fucking telling me what to do.”

Joon doesn’t say anything, but from the heavy stomps of Shio’s receding footsteps, it sounds like he listened. Alone with the quieter villain, the weight of the day presses up against Izuku’s chest. Tears build up in his eyes just from the force.

He tries to stay quiet, tries to keep it down, but a shaky breath blows out of him.

“It’s ok,” Joon consoles quietly.

“It’s not,” Izuku argues. It isn’t rational to be this emotional in front Joon, but Izuku can’t help it.

“And that’s ok. Remember to breathe, yeah?”

Izuku hates that his words help, forcing another lung full of air out. He’s not sure how such a subconscious act had become difficult for him.

“It’s ok to let go. I’m going to help you let go.”

“Please don’t,” Izuku isn’t even sure what he’s asking for anymore.

“Sleep, Deku.”

His hero title, his nickname, his insult. His greatest lie, his most treasured weapon. His strength and his weakness. He hears it come out of his bullies, out of his friends, out of people he’s saved.

He doesn’t hear Joon anymore, just an amalgam of noise that has the ferocity of Kacchan, the comfort from Uraraka, the hope in Eri.

He clings to it, submits to it, fights against it, grieves it.

Let go.

And he does.  

Chapter Text

It was the jittering sway of Izuku’s body that sluggishly pulled him from his deep sleep. The movement jostled his arms, trapped behind him as he laid on his side, that ached where the cool metal cut into his skin. They had been a constant source of discomfort for Izuku since his kidnapping, but having his arms chained above his head had made Izuku’s fingers go numb, and the uncomfortable feeling pulsed to the beat of his heart. Everything around him was dark and grainy, the blindfold still secured over his eyes. Another jerk from the outside world sent his stomach swirling in weighted circles, and that was when Izuku realized he couldn’t have been back at the facility.

He pawed at whatever was beneath him, realizing it was the uncomfortable rubber floor of a vehicle. Pressed up against his cheek, the car floor smelt like cigarette smoke and dirt. A radio playing soft rock crackled over the soft rumbling of wheels on gravel.

They had left the facility.

The reality came crashing down on Izuku. He had spent all that effort trying to alert the heroes of his location and now they could be hours away. Or, even worse, it could be a whole new day for all he knew, as time passed strangely under the influence of Joon’s Quirk.

Izuku had never been one to get car sick, but the emptiness in his stomach mixed with the constant swaying, and maybe the impossible situation he found himself in, was enough to make Izuku gag. A moan slips past his lips.

“He’s waking up,” comes the soft timbre of Joon’s voice.

“Is he.”

Izuku distantly recognizes the annoyance in Shio. Both of his kidnappers sound higher up and further away than where Izuku’s been placed, one of them behind the wheel and the other at his side.

“Where are we goin’,” Izuku slurs, another moan slipping out before he can reign it in. He had just flexed his legs, his ankles still swollen against the metal cuffs and the flats of his feet itching with newly formed scabs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joon says, his voice more placating than dismissive.

Inundated with exhaustion, Izuku is unsatisfied with the answer and begins talking before he can really think.

“What’re you going to do?” Izuku has enough mind to leave out the end of the sentence, to me?

“What a question to ask, little hero,” Shio snaps. “We’re relocating. And we’re going to finish the conversation we started. How long until we’re there?”

“A little over two hours,” Joon replies.

“Perfect.”

Something beeps softly, from someone’s phone or some other small device, and soon after the radio’s volume lowers so it’s only a faint background noise.

“Like I told you, the kid used to be Quirkless,” Shio tells Joon simply. The words are enough to startle Izuku out of his glazed-over stupor as they personally reach into Izuku’s soul and rip something out.

He knew, rationally, that Joon wouldn’t care that he was Quirkless, most likely because his partner in crime didn’t have a Quirk and Izuku shouldn’t care what his kidnappers think of him. But Izuku couldn’t quell that knee jerk reaction of being outed without his consent. When he was a child, Izuku could remember having conversations with other kids, adults even, and only after he outed himself, did their expression morph into something uninviting, unkind. He learned very quickly not to out himself when he was able to, but it wouldn’t be for long until someone at school or in the neighborhood let the detail slip. Sometimes told maliciously, sometimes accidentally, but it was almost guaranteed that once revealed, people would shift their tone the next time they spoke to Izuku.   

Awkwardness. Pity. Disgust.

Disclosure only ended painfully, Izuku had decided. And as this feeling settles in his gut in the kidnapper’s car, Izuku tries not to let out a sound of protest. The more desperate he sounds, the more leverage the villains had over him, he tells himself.

“And the kid’s reaction to me finding out— told me everything I needed to know. He hasn’t told anyone,” Shio continues to Joon, then raises his voice to include Izuku in the conversation. “Why were you hiding it from your friends? Your teachers?”

“I— I don’t, I don’t know how to answer that—"

Izuku’s thoughts are racing now. What prompted this mini-interrogation? Was Shio trying to get him to say something? Trying to humiliate him, to take him down a level? To take advantage of Izuku’s blaring headache and loose tongue?

Or was he genuinely curious, a Quirkless villain who had the opportunity to talk with a hero who once had no Quirk?

“Here, I’ll help. You’re a UA student, so you meet heroes all the time. Have you met a Quirkless hero before?”

Pressing his lips together, Izuku weighs his options. Indulging in this conversation could open the other villain up, maybe allow them to find middle ground, that Izuku could navigate and eventually negotiate his freedom.

So he breathes heavily, trying to calm his tense muscles and tries to answer Shio’s question. Izuku can think of a few Quirkless people in Support, but he hasn’t met any of them. And Izuku knew Shio meant pro-heroes, not people helping in the background.

“No, I haven’t.”

Shio lets out a surprised hum, like Izuku had just told him a new fact he had never learned.

“Isn’t that fucking weird? But you’ve met Quirkless villains now, right. Why do you think that is?”

Back in middle school on the rooftop, All Might had been the one to remind Izuku of the realities of their world. Izuku didn’t— couldn’t— blame his mentor for squashing his dreams that fateful day. All Might had watched hundreds of people in terrible pain and suffering, even death, over the years, and didn’t want to send a middle school idealist to his own demise.

But that didn’t mean All Might’s words hadn’t impacted Izuku.   

“It’s hard to be a hero without a Quirk,” Izuku says, his tone deepened in memory.

“And why is it hard?” Shio shot back.

“People with Quirks have an advantage—”

“Oh boy, not an advantage. Think harder.”

Because people want something useful, something impressive, to save them. And Quirks are an easy way to satisfy that need.

All Might had been the Symbol of Peace for Japan and given all those around him comfort in times of utter hopelessness. His physique, bright colors and flashy Quirk told the people he was saving that “he was here” and everything was going to be ok.

He had set the standard higher for Quirked people, let alone the Quirkless community who wanted to be included in heroics.  

“Did you have support from your school when you were Quirkless?” Shio prompts when Izuku doesn’t answer.

Teachers ignored discrimination and bullying that happened right in their classrooms. Scorch marks on his desk, on his homework. Trips to the principal’s office that left Izuku in trouble and not his tormentors.

Memories Izuku had been repressing so deeply floated up to the surface, bubbling up around his ears, and Izuku knew he wasn’t strong enough to squash them back down.

“No,” he bites out.

“Counseling?”

“No.”

“So I imagine you had a similar experience to mine,” Shio says. “Bullying. Gas lighting. Suicide bating.”

Hidden on the floor, Izuku’s face scrunches up and he stays silent out of necessity. Because if he answered that question, he would be facing the reality he had gone through not even a year ago. At UA, Izuku had done so well taming that dark part of him. It was easy, being so detached from the pain that he faced, to pretend that it never even happened, or wasn’t as bad as he remembered. Because at UA, his fellow peers didn’t treat him like that, his teachers didn’t eye him differently.

Izuku had a Quirk now. Of course they wouldn’t tell him to jump off a building for just existing.

Izuku flinches so hard at his own memories that his chains jingle.

“Thought so. Maybe it isn’t surprising that you don’t see Quirkless heroes, huh?” Shio continues, taking his lack of answer as an affirmative. “They’ve either been forced to fade into irrelevance, pushed to the brink and become villains, or are pushed past it and listen to Quirked people’s advice to off themselves.”

Hearing the thoughts and ideas Izuku had contemplated throughout his middle school days spoken aloud for the first time twisted into Izuku’s stomach like a misplaced corkscrew that dug and dug and dug. They were thoughts that had kept him up at night, unspoken words that would leave him staring at the ceiling as he weighed his existence.

Izuku prided himself in keeping positive despite the overwhelming negativity around him and had never seriously considered doing anything to harm himself. But when he was on the receiving end of bullying, how could those words not affect his self-worth? If your peers call you useless on the daily, there are moments at your most vulnerable when you believe them.

“Maybe,” Izuku says just to say something.

A bump in the road jostles Izuku’s stomach and it growls loudly. This conversation has got him wired, but his body is so, so exhausted from running, from fighting, from not eating. He’s still not sure what Shio is trying to achieve by talking with him, but he feels like it won’t be much longer until he gets what he wants.

***

When Hitoshi looked out at the tall greenery encased in shadows of the night, it was uncannily familiar. It wasn’t that he remembered a certain tree in the woods or one of the signs that they passed by every so often, it was the experience.

A child, riding in the back seat of a car, being driven somewhere he didn’t want to go. A teenager, forcing himself to recall his childhood that he truly could not remember, staring out at the same forest.

Colors blurred as they drove in a black SUV, the leaves losing their distinct identity, the branches elongating like chewing gum. The police officer who was driving had his brights on, and the light moved with the bumps in the road, exposing the tops of trees and then slamming back down to eye level, like a continuous movie played out on a projector.

It was only when the detective started asking him what his experience was like at Sunrise Child Care did Hitoshi realize he couldn’t recall the building color or what food he ate or even the faces of the other kids stuck in his situation.

He quickly realized his memory was full of pit falls, lacking substantial information when he sought it out, still experiencing the terrible rush of stepping out into blank space.

“You can’t remember what your caretakers looked like?” Aizawa-sensei asks, his voice troubled in a way that made Hitoshi’s stomach sink.

Embarrassment rakes red flush down his face. The only reason they even allowed him to help on this mission was because he knew the area, he knew the place Midoriya was being kept. It was proving more and more quickly that he was dead weight, not providing anything helpful to the table.

Aizawa-sensei is still expecting an answer out of him, but how can he explain that he can’t remember what his caretakers looked like when he can remember the noise of their hand slamming into the dining table? Of their words cutting off when he stowed away somewhere dark? Of the stillness of the morning, the lack of their voice a sound in itself, that was the only peace he remembered at this time?

Hitoshi had been passed around for the majority of his life, learning the new rules of each environment while balancing the “normal” life he tried to maintain at school. There was no time for reflection, for processing his earlier years. They were over. He was alive. That was enough.

That’s what Hitoshi had always thought to be true.

“I mean, I was seven,” he says, a little strained. “Don’t seven-year-olds forget a lot of things? I’m sure stuff will come back to me when we get there.”

He hates that Aizawa doesn’t look convinced by the tilt of his thick eyebrows.

“I just want to focus on helping Midoriya,” Hitoshi insists.  

“Don’t stress yourself too bad, kid. Our unit is just support for the heroes who are already thirty minutes ahead,” pipes up the officer who was driving. This officer was a lot peppier, which normally Hitoshi would think was an annoying expenditure of energy, but in comparison to the other people he’s met throughout the day, Hitoshi silently appreciates him.

“Hopefully, when we arrive on scene, the villains will already have been taken into custody, and you can offer us insight on the facility grounds,” he continues, gesticulating with one hand with the other steering. “Any additional evidence, on top of what’s initially uncovered, would be a huge help.”

Hitoshi was both disappointed and relieved. It was a fulfilling image— him bursting into one of the many prisons of his childhood to save a person’s life. No one had done that for seven-year-old Hitoshi, no matter how much he dreamt at night.

But he was a General Studies student without a provincial license. All they trusted him with was offering information, and he was struggling, even with such an easy task.

“Right,” he agrees, leaning into the cool of the window.

“You’re doing alright, Shinsou?” Aizawa asks, staring up at him through the rear-view mirror. “It’s been a long day.”

Why does it matter what I feel?

I’m not the priority right now.

The thoughts come to him so naturally, like the idea of someone showing concern for his wellbeing kicks in his instinct to repress, dismiss, and move on.

“I’m fine,” he says, unable to keep eye contact with his mentor, but the words taste a little sour in a way that they haven’t before. That he’s telling a lie, but this time, for whatever reason, his body recognizes it’s wrong and bad for him.

He wasn’t sure what memories would float to the surface when they arrived. He tells himself in this moment that he’s not lying, he’s fine in comparison to whatever emotion he will experience once they step foot at the facility. That will be far greater, far more complex, far more… not fine.

Hitoshi tries not think about it. But he’s failed during the last hour of their drive. He wishes he had brought his headphones or one of those handheld game consoles where he could use his brain to do something mindless, to use up this excess of nervous energy.

I wonder if one of the UA students has a Switch…

From the front seat, Aizawa-sensei’s phone starts to ring incessantly. He grumbles something before taking it out, pausing to read the caller ID.

“It’s Ryukyu,” he tells the officer, and holds the phone so that it’s placed between the two of them. “What’s the situation?”

“Eraserhead, we’ve just arrived on scene,” comes the low rumble of the hero on speaker. “They were definitely here, but they’ve moved. Midoriya isn’t here.”

“Fuck,” Hitoshi whispers.

Midoriya is gone.

Even though Hitoshi can only see half his face, Aizawa’s eyes widen and settle on something stony. No, Hitoshi sees him mouth in anger.

“What’s your location?” the hero continues over the phone.

Aizawa squeezes his eyes shut, either in pain, frustration or the mix of the two, before he composes himself.

“We’re in the Shizuoka Prefecture, thirty minutes east of the Sunrise Care Center,” he says icily.

On the other end the hero speaks to someone else, their voices quick and hurried. As Hitoshi’s insides swirl, the reality of the situation setting into his bones like a heavy, viscous liquid, he watches Aizawa. Even in this moment, where he knew that his teacher was hurting, the man remained present and grounded, ready to fight a battle Midoriya couldn’t win on his own.

“From what it looks like, Midoriya was here within the day. They can’t be far off, but this area is a huge forest,” Ryukyu continues. “Actually— it looks like your car is the closest one moving on the road that they would have taken. I need you to divert your course to the coordinates I’m about to send.”  

 “Right. Got them. Anything I should know about the kid?” Aizawa says, strained as he types into the vehicle’s GPS. The route suddenly changes, and the policeman pulls a U-turn to follow it, kicking gravel and dust up into the air. Hitoshi grips the door handle as their speed steadily increases.

“Eraser— there was a good amount of blood at the scene,” she says lowly, almost apologetic. “There were fresh signs of a scuffle throughout the building, I would go into this situation with the mind that Midoriya needs medical care.”

“I see,” Aizawa says thickly. “I have very basic medical equipment here but send an ambulance out to any location I send after the villains are neutralized.”

“Will do. I’m sending you over some more evidence from the facility that might help you. We’ve got four units going your way from different directions, all of them thirty minutes out,” she reports, “Bring him home, Aizawa.”

“We will,” his mentor says, his voice swirling with emotion in a way Hitoshi had never seen before.  

When he hangs up on Ryukyu, he turns to Hitoshi, laying out a game plan to them as they drive, that emotion never leaving him.

***

It’s becoming more and more difficult for Izuku to stay present, he finds. Shio is still ranting in the front of the car with no commentary coming from Joon by his side. Izuku can’t do anything but allow the words to wash over him, making parts of Izuku’s mental state burn like saline on old, forgotten cuts.

“Have you ever considered, little hero, that the disadvantages you faced while Quirkless were not because of you, not because of your lack of Quirk, but because society could not accept that you existed in the same space as the Quirked majority?” Shio continues, his tone serious. “They saw you as a problem to fix, not a person worth accommodating for?”

Izuku stays silent.

“Quirkless people are just one community in the diverse array of people living here. Why don’t we ask society to alter their perception of ‘normalcy’ when 8% of the population in Japan is Quirkless?”

“Like what?” Izuku mumbles, his voice smaller than he’d like it to be. “What would you change in society if you had the ability to?”

Shio let’s out a long sigh like he’s racking his memory.

“When I was younger, I made it my pass time to figure out this kind of shit. I thought of resources we could provide to kids facing discrimination, but that’s just putting a band aid on top a larger problem— the fact that Quirked society allowed discrimination to occur in the first place.”

“And then I thought, why do people find us so horrible? Our uselessness? What does that even mean? That’s when I realized something— it’s much easier to foster and capitalize off someone with a Quirk. Quirks were deemed worth the investment, because in the long term, they are going to save human lives and rake in money through their advertisements, their brand, their sponsorships.”

 “But if Quirked society even gave a fraction of the attention to Quirkless people as they do Quirked people, we could have Quirkless hero training, Quirkless hero courses, Quirkless heroes. Support has always been phenomenal at making gadgets that could make anyone a hero with the right training. Haven’t you ever wondered why that talent isn’t being shared with the Quirkless community?”

Izuku had wondered that. He’d researched taking Support courses both before and after One for All, noticing how easy it was for him to access information and guidance during the latter. He’d chalked it up to also being a student at UA, but it was so more than that.

Normally, Izuku wouldn’t have been satisfied with such an easy answer, but he had grown a little complacent in the comfort of UA and his new Quirked status.

“There are legal barriers that deter Quirkless people from gaining access to Support. Isn’t that fucked?”

It was a difficult feeling, agreeing with a person who had kidnapped him.

Because it was fucked. And not too many people in Izuku’s life had agreed how Quirkless people were treated was fucked.

“I wanted to become a hero for a long time,” Shio says softly, “But when society drives you into a corner, you begin not wanting to save it.” 

Izuku’s skin crawled.

This could have been him.

If he hadn’t met All Might, if he hadn’t ignored his bullies, if he hadn’t met his supportive friends at UA, this could have easily been him.

“So I’m doing what I can do instead. Exposing it.” Shio stops talking, allowing the words to sink in. They do, like tar.

“Exposing it?” Izuku repeats.

“Just like Joon, I’ve got problems with the systems we’ve been thrown into. The only way you can shatter a fucked-up system is by getting people to care. And what better way than the mouth of a former Quirkless person?”

“What?” Izuku chokes out.

The car lurches to a stop, sending Izuku into something painfully solid.

“Shi— What are you doing?” Joon whisper-shouts.

Hitting something while tied up hurt, as bracing himself for impact was impossible with his hands secured behind his back. Little gasps escape Izuku as his body tries to recover, his body still utterly exhausted, but he has no time to react as the door next to his feet opens and his ankles are grabbed.  

“Stop, what— what’s going on?” Izuku splutters as he’s pulled forward, his old bruises alighting in pain. He tries to kick at Shio, but it lands so weakly.

During all the other confrontations, Izuku was able to fight back, to show that he wouldn’t be dragged around like it was nothing, but Izuku can feel how worn out he is in this moment. It’s taking everything he can not to slump like jelly.

He’s hauled into a sitting position, the only thing keeping him upright being the hand that’s fisted in his dirty shirt.

“D-Don’t touch me,” he gasps. His voice was the last thing he had control over. It stuttered and shook and wavered when he was about to cry, but it was also something people had found comfort in. Eri had felt protected when he had soothed her with his voice. He could still use it.

“Izuku Midoriya,” Shio announces, almost triumphantly. “Hero in training. Formerly Quirkless.”

Izuku stops breathing for a second. It sounded like— it sounded he wasn’t addressing Joon or even Izuku anymore. Was there someone else here? Where were they? Izuku looks left and right, trying to gauge if he can hear another person.

“To think we got this whole conversation on camera, the internet will eat this shit up.”

“What?” Izuku cries out, fear ramping up in his battered brain like an alarm.

Worse than another person.

Way worse.

The whole world.

“You know what, fuck the blindfold, we’re wasting the potential of those expressive eyes.”

The scratchy, smelly material finally parts from his face, and Izuku is greeted to an unforgiving light in an otherwise cold and dark landscape. It’s a phone, Izuku realizes, with flash turned on and pointed right at Izuku. He blinks harshly against it, shuddering in Shio’s grasp. He can barely see Shio’s outline beyond the glare.

“Wow. Perfect. Glistening in the light and everything.”

Shio grabs Izuku by the chin, his thumb digging into his cheeks, and showing off both sides of his face.

He’s filming this.

Izuku struggles to breathe.

He filmed our whole conversation.

Tears rise without trying.

He’s got actual black mail on you now.

“You— You can’t do this— What are you—”

“What do you think would happen if I sent this to one of your teachers? Or your classmates?”

“No! Please, please don’t,” Izuku wasn’t sure how he’d got here, got to begging, but he just couldn’t stand it. He could almost imagine what YouTube would look like, how the video would get passed from phone to phone. “Please don’t, I’ll— I’ll—.”

“Why can’t I tell them, Midoriya Izuku?”

Izuku could feel it coming. It had been so long since he had a full-blown panic attack. But with the camera in his face, his senses were heightened. Everything around him felt bigger, more impeding than before. He could feel the slick of dried blood coating the bottom of his feet, the bruising around his ankles and wrists, the knot in his stomach where Shio’s knee had landed.

His breath caught in the back of his throat. So he tried again and again, his breathing getting louder.

“Come on, give me an answer,” Shio squeezes his hand harder, leaving indents in Izuku’s skin. “Why are you so scared for them to know?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Oh, but you do know,” Shio continues. “We both know what happens to Quirkless people. They still need to know.”

“No, no, no,” A sob escapes him. His breathing is so fucked. “I-I’m doing what you a-asked, I can— I can do, whatever you want, not that. Anything but that.”

He was babbling, not making any sense anymore. Izuku just focused on that one thought.

He had a secret. One he kept closer to his heart than One for All.

No one needed to acknowledge it, not even himself.

No one needed to know.  

“If anything, Izuku, you’re giving me even more of a reason to share what society makes Quirkless people feel like. Do you hear yourself?”

“That’s enough,” Joon urged, getting out of the car and rounding it. He was behind Shio, his hands close to his chest like he wanted to reach out but was too scared to.

“It would be so easy to send this off, don’t you think?”

“I— I-I can’t. I can’t,” Izuku repeats in a wheeze, “I can’t breathe.”

“Shio STOP IT!” Joon yelled out, finally grabbing the phone out of the other’s hands. Shio, stunned for just a moment, opts to letting Izuku go to lunge for him. “This is fucked even for you.”

“Joon you stupid piece of shit,” Shio spits. “You could have just broke the phone!”

“For what? Using a kid’s fucking trauma as your talking point???” Joon seethes back.

“How the fuck is this any different from what you pulled with the first video?”

“Because I didn’t use his past as a soap box, idiot!”

With the light finally out of his eyes, Izuku blinks back his tears and slumps into the back seat of the car. He breathes big breaths, watching the scuffle like he was looking down ten feet in the air. A whine escapes his lips that stutters as he hiccups, his body and mind effectively stretched out.

All that’s running through his mind is that Shio has a video on his phone that would ruin Izuku’s life. And it hurt, more than any physical pain could.

“What are you doing?” comes a voice that distinctly not Shio or Joon. It’s deep, but also young, and… familiar. Izuku’s breath hitches, not wanting hope to overtake him in case this wasn’t who he thought it was.   

The two villains stop their scuffle, looking out into the woods with their backs towards Izuku.  

“Whose out there?” Shio finally fumes.

“Nobody important,” responds the voice. “Now drop to the floor.”

And like clockwork, Shio does.

Chapter Text

Leaves filter in Hitoshi’s vision. Beyond his hiding place, he watches an argument unfold between two people he can only assume are Midoriya’s kidnappers in the low lighting of an unaccompanied streetlight. One is tall with lean muscle and matted ashy blonde hair that’s been tied up in a ponytail. Every time he speaks, his lips curl as if disgusted by the argument itself. The other is a tank in comparison, large and built with a little softness to the curves in his face. He is holding a phone close to his chest, the other lunging for it. The only sign of the kidnapped UA student is his feet encrusted with blood, which stick out of the open the door of the car’s back seat and make Hitoshi’s stomach swirl with nerves. It’s the thought that Midoriya is right there, and Hitoshi is here, able to do something heroic for once in his life while Midoriya’s friends are stuck back at UA, that fuels his bravery.

Speaking up loudly, Hitoshi tries tapering his voice to sound neutral as Eraserhead often did and catches the attention of the two men.

Hitoshi can pinpoint the moment where the blonde villain’s brain goes blank, as his eyes lose their seething fire and his Quirk washes over his whole being. In Hitoshi’s mind, he imagines his Quirk as a trapdoor that opens before the person he is brainwashing. Most people, like this villain, aren’t searching for it and step right out into the unknown, falling deeper and deeper into Hitoshi’s control. In this state, Hitoshi can pick up on the emotions of the person under his Quirk, as they bubble up in the dark. Anger and confusion rush past Hitoshi’s ears, but in the real world, the man doesn’t waste a second before collapsing to the floor.

The air is still for a single second before everything erupts.

Aizawa-sensei spring loads into action, his capture tape flying over Hitoshi’s head and wrapping tightly around an upper tree branch. In a move he had just recently taught Hitoshi, he pulls the tape downward and swings, allowing his body to glide up into the air. Now above the villain, Aizawa’s hair shoots straight up, a tell-tale sign of his Quirk activating.

After the hell they put Midoriya through, the fear dotting the conscious villain’s face was almost enjoyable.

“I can’t erase the blonde’s Quirk!” Aizawa shouts from above, a warning.

“Shio!” the black-haired man cries out, dropping to shake his shoulder. Still falling through the air, Aizawa sends out a cloth that wraps around the villain’s wrist to stop him, but it’s too late.

Hitoshi’s connection to the blonde villain — Shio – snaps as the man jerks out of his Brainwashing.

Shio is stunned for a moment before diving back into reality, only to watch the pro-hero Eraserhead land directly into his companion and knock him to the ground. The larger man falls heavily, crashing backwards into the side of the car, the movement causing the whole car to sway. Midoriya’s feet flinch back at the shift, the only sign so far that he was alive. The same uncomfortable feeling Hitoshi had experienced watching Midoriya’s ransom tape bubbled up through his stomach once more as he looks between his mentor and the captured student.

On the car ride, Aizawa-sensei had told Hitoshi to stay out of the fight as much as possible, to only use his power to jumpstart their attack and aid Midoriya when they located him. He should remain hidden, his Quirk a surprise attack only used when the opportunity arose.

“Sensei, watch out!” Hitoshi yells out, breaching their agreement and revealing his location, as Shio pulls out a handgun from his thick brown jacket.

The gunshot goes off at the end of Hitoshi’s warning, and Aizawa’s focus shifts from the one villain to the other in an instant, giving him a few seconds to dodge to the side. With the bullet too small to track, Hitoshi watches Aizawa’s face morph into bridled pain as red slashes the side of his arm. He is forced to fall back a few steps from the car, gripping his right bicep tightly as his once-floating hair droops back to normal.

“Sensei!” Hitoshi cries out on instinct.

The black-haired villain takes the opportunity through the chaos to flee the scene, rounding the car to the other side with flailing arms and wide eyes. A second gunshot goes off, this time the car taking the hit with the front tire steadily deflating. This shot, Hitoshi knew from the angle, was from Officer Yuuki, also hidden in the brush to his left.

Towards the base of his neck, Hitoshi’s heart thud, thud, thuds.

Should I help Aizawa-sensei?

Should I go after Midoriya?

Should I try another brainwashing?

Or stay here, and do nothing?

An awful, choked sound breaks through the confusion and causes Hitoshi to flinch out of his thoughts. Midoriya’s leg has been wrenched forward by Shio, half of his body exposed to the fight, as the blonde wraps his arm around the student’s neck and pulls him all the way out.

“Sensei?” Midoriya tries, his voice cracking.

Earlier this morning, Hitoshi had first seen Midoriya’s ransom video, and even though the video could have been shot a while ago, it was baffling to see just how much Midoriya’s state had deteriorated since then. His grey sweats and plain shirt are ruffled and torn with crackled brown and sticky red caked throughout the material. The most apparent wounds on his body are on his legs, which are still bound in metal cuffs at least a few centimeters thick, and a threaded chain keeping his legs together. From the molted yellow and black bruising gripped around his ankles, Midoriya must have been jerked around a lot to cause such an impression on his skin.

“I dare you to shoot again!” Shio announces, tightening his hold for fucked-up emphasis.

Midoriya is squinting and blinking profusely, likely in pain. With his hands locked behind him, he couldn’t reach up to protest the man’s hold on his neck, the only thing he could do was follow suit with the villain’s movements.

“Please,” is all he can choke out.

“Return my student,” Aizawa says strictly, emotions not dominating his voice but his body language, the way his legs are ready to race forward and grab Midoriya despite his bullet wound.

“No fucking way. You dropped our arrangement,” the man spits.

“Your boss has already been taken into custody,” Aizawa continues coldly. “There are multiple hero units on their way here. Give me the kid and you can leave while you still have the chance.”

The villain laughs, shaking his head with wide eyes. His free right arm pulls out of his jacket pocket once more, the loaded gun now pressed up against Midoriya’s temple.

A shuddered breath escapes the UA student, his fear palpable.

Shit. Shit. Shit, Hitoshi’s brain bristles. Do something dammit!

“These fucking Quirked heroes… You really don’t see the situation you’re in, do you?” Shio proclaims. “I have a fucking gun on your student. You do not have the space to tell me what to do!”

“Yes, we do!” Hitoshi barks out, revealing himself in the brush.

“What did you say—?!”

“Drop the gun,” Hitoshi commands. “And let go of Midoriya.”

Clattering to the ground, the gun is immediately swallowed up by Hitoshi’s capture tape and yanked away from the van. The villain’s arms drop to his side, so loose under Hitoshi’s control that they sway uselessly.

Relief fizzles across Midoriya’s face as the arm leaves his neck and the weapon disappears from the villain’s proximity. His body pitches to the side, barely able to stand upright without the man’s support, but he attempts to stumble forward and away from his captor.

More capture tape shoots out, this time from Aizawa, that wraps tightly around the villain’s wrists, snapping him out of Hitoshi’s Quirk before anything else could.

“What the fuck—?” Shio barely gets out before Aizawa launches forward, arcing the side of his palm into the villain’s neck with a violent crack and sending him into true unconsciousness.

Fucking finally, Hitoshi thinks, happy to see the bastard stay down.

“Shinsou, get Midoriya!” Aizawa barks out as he drags Shio’s body back and away from the other villain’s access. Behind him, the Officer Yuuki walks out with his gun raised as backup.   

“SHIO!” the other villain yells out from the car.

Fear saturated the man’s voice, and it made sense. His partner, who seemed much more upfront and dangerous, was out cold and Midoriya could no longer be used as a bargaining chip. In the background, the dying wheeze of the van’s front tire as it lost pressure was a reminder that this was a losing fight.

“Stay right there!” Officer Yuuki demands at the conscious man, his gun still raised.

Taking advantage of his fear, Hitoshi surged forward out of the bushes, ready to finally get Midoriya to safety.

“DEKU!” the villain suddenly yells out, startling everyone. He’s standing on the right edge of the open front door, his body and face protected by the van with only his left hand visible as it was stretched over the top of the van’s roof. Gripped tightly in his fist was the shape of a phone.

Hitoshi keeps running, trying not to be phased by whatever the villain is desperately trying to do and reaches out to support Midoriya, to pull him away from the chaos of the scene.

Hitoshi’s fingers barely brush up against Midoriya’s shoulder when he wails. The sound is so piercing, so gut wrenching that Hitoshi flinches away.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks rapidly, trying more gingerly to hold Midoriya.

There must be wounds or something underneath his clothes, he rationalizes, waiting for the teen to tell him how to help.

But Midoriya is not even looking at Hitoshi, he’s staring up towards the van with pained eyes. It gets even more confusing as Midoriya tries desperately to step forward, but not towards the safety of the brush, but towards the villain.

Not sure what to do, Hitoshi more firmly grabs Midoriya, trying to stop him in his place. Up this close, Hitoshi can see how inflamed Midoriya’s wounds are, how much his legs are shaking from just the effort of standing, how limited his mobility is from the little chain length they gave him.

There is no telling where Midoriya’s strength has come from as he wrenches his arm out of Hitoshi’s grasp with the power of someone who did not have a patchwork of injuries littering his body. Thrown off, Hitoshi hesitates, wanting to grab him again but worried he’s doing more harm than good.

“St-Stop it, stop it, please—” Midoriya insists, looking at Hitoshi for the briefest second with eyes full of fear and adrenaline before his head swivels back to the van. 

The villain’s hand was gone, the van turning on with a rumble.

“Get out of the car right now with your hands up!” Officer Yuuki commands at the villain, his gun still out and loaded.

It’s a mad dash of chains and dirt as Midoriya throws himself forward, bringing both him and Hitoshi in the line of fire that has the officer screaming at them. From under the metal cuffs, Midoriya’s wounds leak out more blood.

“What are you doing?” Hitoshi asks desperately, trying to get the attention of a battered and frantic victim. The police officer lowers his weapon, staring at them with incredulous eyes. “We’ve gotta go this way Midoriya.”

“I can’t— ugh” Midoriya moans, his head bobbing a bit. He can only look at Hitoshi for a moment before his bruised cheeks fill up and he vomits onto the road. Falling to his knees, he soon dry heaves, the only thing escaping him being murky liquid every few seconds.  

“Something’s wrong sensei!” Hitoshi cries out, not even sure if Aizawa was available to hear his call. He cradled Midoriya’s shoulders to offer some kind of support.

“I’m gonna die,” Midoriya whimpers when he’s able to suck in a breath. Fat tears well up and plop into the mess he’s made.

“No, you’re not,” Hitoshi counters, his voice cracking. The rawness of Midoriya’s voice is making Hitoshi feel sick. “What can I do?”

“You can’t— P-please don’t touch me,” Midoriya sobs, his whole body rising and falling as he sinks deeper into his kneeled pose.

“Okay,” Hitoshi agrees and lets go, his hands still hovering. Helpless to the hammering in his heart, Hitoshi thinks that he shouldn’t be the one doing this. He doesn’t know how to console or fix whatever is hurting Midoriya so badly. Behind him, the police officer tries to reposition himself so that the kids aren’t in his line of fire, the van screeching as it tried to start with flat tires. Hitoshi is scared— but Midoriya is terrified. He can stay present in this moment. “Okay. Can I ask you a question instead? You recognize me, right?”

Midoriya doesn’t respond, his eyes wide and staring forward. He looks so small curled up in a ball like this.

“I’m Shinsou Hitoshi. General studies student. You gave me a wicked good clue to come find you. And now I’m here.”

“Shinsou,” Midoriya repeats, as if saying it out loud makes Hitoshi more real. “I-I can— I can see that.”

Is he drugged? Hitoshi thinks. Dissociating?  

“You’re here,” Midoriya says, his voice so, so quiet compared to the commotion that is happening around them. Hitoshi ignores it in favor of Midoriya.

“I am. Let’s get you to safety, yeah?”

His eyes fill up with tears suddenly and as he bays forward, Hitoshi grabs him as to not let him fall into his own puke.

“Don’t touch me,” he sobs. His toes flex and dig into the ground. “My skin is on f-fire.”

“Okay, I won’t touch you,” Hitoshi reassures him. He looks up at the van, which was too close for comfort. Its wheels began to spin, still trying to gain traction with a flat tire. It’s beginning to drive. “But let’s move this way, yeah?”

Midoriya allows him to guide him to the side, where at least he won’t be around his own sick.

“Shinsou, you’ve gotta hel—help me,” he begs, gagging partly through his sentence.

“I’m here,” Hitoshi reassures him. “What can I do?”

“Can you— just brainwash me?” he asks thickly.

Hitoshi’s stomach contents freeze over, poking at his insides like sharpened icicles. In all his life, no one has ever asked to be brainwashed.

“…I dunno if that’s a smart idea,” Hitoshi murmurs.

“He’s— He’s gonna kill me like this,” Midoriya insists, shaking his head, “I can feel my bones b-boiling.”

Hitoshi represses a shiver at his sincerity. The Sport’s Festival comes to mind, how much pain Midoriya put his body through just to go up against Todoroki. The pain tolerance that would have taken to do all of that and keep moving.

Midoriya admitting that he’s in pain is serious.

“Did they give you a drug, Midoriya?”

The teen shakes his head.

“It’s a-a Quirk,” he explains. Another round of tears flows down his face. “Please Shinsou. I need this. Only— Only you can do this, for me.”

“Are you sure?” Hitoshi asks, giving Midoriya one last out.

“Yes—”

Midoriya slips under Hitoshi’s control. Unlike Shio, Midoriya doesn’t free fall through Hitoshi’s trapdoor. It’s like he’s falling through viscous liquid, fighting against Hitoshi’s Brainwashing. Hitoshi can tell Midoriya is struggling to breathe, like the sludge around him is also in his throat. 

Never in his life has Hitoshi experienced something like this. For people that he’s brainwashed multiple times, like Midoriya, they were usually aware they were falling endlessly through his Quirk. And even Midoriya, who was able to break free of his Quirk during the Sport’s Festival, still fell just as quickly, but was somehow able to expand his space and breakout.

But this was different. It was as if the student was being forced upwards, towards the exit of Shinsou’s Quirk, but Midoriya was fighting the feeling with incredible resilience. Hitoshi joins him in the fight, increasing his influence on Midoriya and testing the limits of his Quirk.

In the real world, Hitoshi is relieved to see the tension slowly draining from Midoriya’s face as his body stays idle in a blank state. From behind them, Aizawa rushes forward, as he had transferred and detained the unconscious villain inside the police SUV. Hitoshi breathes out a sigh of relief. Now up close, it looked like Aizawa’s wound was just a bullet graze. 

“Sensei, you gotta erase his Quirk,” Hitoshi alerts him, a little strained as he fights the villain’s Quirk and its hold on Midoriya.

“Right.”

Aizawa doesn’t hesitate as his shoots his capture tape to a nearby tree and launches himself in the direction of the car that has taken off despite its torn tires. Hitoshi knows Aizawa isn’t going to be able to catch up in time, but it wasn’t stopping the villain that mattered in this moment. What mattered was helping Midoriya.

Hitoshi is careful not to change his grip on the other teen, as it would break him from his mental hold, but he notes how cold and clammy Midoriya’s skin is in the dying night. Even after commanding silence and stillness in his mind, uncontrollable tremors still rack Midoriya’s body that makes his shoulders jump. It makes the teen look scared even while not physically present, and something instinctive, protective, wells up in Hitoshi that forces his mouth open.

“1A’s common room has so many blankets,” he says softly, a loose and awkward chuckle tacked onto his words. “You can wrap up in them, drink some tea, sit with your friends and watch movies. You’re gonna be ok, Midoriya.”  

He’s not even sure between these two Quirks if Midoriya can process what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. Hitoshi can sit here in the dirt for as long as Midoriya needed. But when a deep pressure in Hitoshi’s mind suddenly released, like chords being cut slack that allowed Midoriya to free fall through his Brainwashing, Hitoshi knew Eraserhead had got the job done.

As gently as possible, Hitoshi lifts his Quirk, allowing Midoriya to return back into the conscious world. When recognition surfaces in Midoriya’s emerald eyes, so does all his pain receptors. His eyes dart all around, his breathing quickening as he takes in his surroundings.

“You’re safe,” Hitoshi reassures him.

Those green eyes land on his and say so many things.

Am I?

How did this happen?

You saved me?

I’m still in pain.

“Thank you,” Midoriya stammers out, his whole face pinching up, making his freckles crease.  

“Can I support you? Are you still feeling the Quirk?” Hitoshi asks.

“I-I’m—” it was like Midoriya was struggling to pinpoint an answer. “The Quirk’s gone.”

Something rustles behind them. Midoriya’s head whips to the side as Officer Yuuki runs up with a small black device in his hand. From under his light hold on Midoriya’s shoulder, Hitoshi can feel Midoriya’s body quake harder. He gives him a reassuring squeeze.  

“Hey there, my name is Officer Yuuki,” he introduces himself, his tone light and airy. “I’m going to free you of these restraints, alright Midoriya?”

“Ok,” the teen says, his voice still small and worn.

Officer Yuuki places the device over the chains first, snapping them off with a simple click of a button. Although heavily suppressing, Midoriya lets out a protest of pain as his arms unfurl and slowly relax to the front of his body with the cuffs still intact. His eyes are fully closed now, chin wobbling and head baying, as he hugs himself.

“You’re doing good, Midoriya. I’m going to get these cuffs off now, ok?” Officer Yuuki narrates as he moves the device to Midoriya’s ankles. Removal of the thick metal shackles takes a bit more time than the chains, and as they fall to the floor with a triumphant clank, the cool air washes over Midoriya’s wounds that makes him hiss. Hitoshi grimaces at the exposed skin that’s fresh and wrinkling from the constant welling liquid. The open wounds that haven’t been allowed to heal for so many days finally get a moment to breathe.

“Can I see your wrists Midoriya?” Officer Yuuki asks. “This will be the last of it, I promise.”

The last cuffs drop to ground in a matter of seconds to reveal skin underneath that wasn’t much better.

“Midoriya, I think it’s best if we get you warmed up in the car,” Officer Yuuki advises. “I need to check on Eraserhead to make sure he’s alright.”

But Midoriya is already shaking his head.

“I don’t want to go where Shio’s being held,” Midoriya says quickly.

“I understand that, but the villain is unconscious, and the ground is going to keep you cold—”

“You can’t make me—” Midoriya interrupts, his mouth twisting. “I can’t see him. I don’t care i-if he’s unconscious.”

“We’ll be ok,” Hitoshi says before the officer can push further. “The paramedics should be here soon, right?”

“ETA is six minutes,” Officer Yuuki nods. He checks his phone and confirms. “I’ll be right back, then.”

Turning on his heel, the officer bolts off back onto the road, leaving their sight. Midoriya’s arms are still crossed, hugged around his own waist, knees digging into the ground as he watches the man leave with blown wide eyes.

Just this morning, Officer Sano – what a joy, Hitoshi recalls – had asked him if he and Midoriya had ever spent time alone before.

How ironic that this counts.

Knowing that nothing he could say would ever be enough, Hitoshi instead shrugs off his black hoodie and extends it Midoriya’s way.

“You’re freezing,” Hitoshi says bluntly. “You want me to help?”

It looks like Midoriya is considering refusing, but he unfurls himself and grabs the soft material, thumbing it slowly. His wide eyes start to pool with tears and he leans into the hoodie, not putting it on but grasping it desperately as if it would offer him comfort. Hitoshi’s heart hurts.  

Into the hoodie, Midoriya says something too muffled for Hitoshi to hear.

“What was that?” Hitoshi asks.

Midoriya rips his head from the material, tears flowing earnestly now from half lidded eyes.

“He still has that fucking phone,” he sobs out. “He has that phone and— and—”

Hitoshi remembers back to when Midoriya first cried out in pain, when the villain had yelled his hero name and raised a phone skyward.

“Is that related to his Quirk…?” Hitoshi frowns, trying to grasp the issue.

“Not his Quirk,” Midoriya shook his head, his voice tight and thick with tears. “The phone itself.”

Hitoshi lets out a sound of understanding. The phone must contain something important, that Midoriya didn’t want to get lost if the villain escaped. A little warmth filled his chest, pleased he could deliver the good news.

“It’s alright Midoriya, he won’t get away. There are police cars coming from every direction with pro heroes,” Hitoshi reassured him. He chuckles again. “Actually, knowing Aizawa-sensei, he’ll probably be the one to stop the villain. He’s just that good.”

As a wet weep escapes Midoriya, his crooked fingers outlined with scars digging into the hoodie further, Hitoshi’s levity drains out of him. Something much more complicated, much more damaging has happened. In the distance, a siren of an ambulance wails. Blue and red lights flicker through the night coated treetops.

“That’s the problem, Shinsou,” Midoriya hiccups. “It’s ev-evidence, of course it’s going to go into custody. Aizawa-sensei finding the phone is the— the worst thing that could happen.”

Admitting out loud seems to have released the dam holding Midoriya’s emotions back. They gush out of him, washing over Hitoshi like flood water and drowning out the victory of the ambulance arriving. The villains might have been locked up, but it was no time to celebrate, even as pro heroes rushed towards them. Midoriya was still fighting, just as he had done by himself the entirety of his capture.  

Hitoshi reached forward, squeezing Midoriya’s shoulder as the commotion overwhelmed them, decidedly telling Midoriya that he was here to fight alongside him.

Chapter Text

The cool metal of the ambulance cot where Izuku lays reminds him that he is no longer in the villain’s custody, further emphasized by the warm touch of the paramedic’s hand intertwined with his own. She talks to him throughout their ride, but it’s hard for Izuku to process her words when he feels like someone has wrung out his body and mind like a wet dish rag. He remembers the fire of Joon’s Quirk raging through him, magnitudes hotter than before, and his own desperation for release. One that couldn’t be satisfied without the cool of Shio’s phone in his hand, that now, even with the Quirk dispelled, has tears stuck in Izuku’s eyes. His physical and emotional energy has been stretched in too many places— the overwhelming relief of being rescued, the unsettling fear of what remained, and the pain that had thoroughly lacerated every muscle in his being. Zoning out was the only was Izuku could escape these tenfold feelings as he allowed the woman’s warm but distant words to wash over him on the drive.

When the ambulance takes a left turn and begins to slow down, reality draws Izuku out of his daze and he brings his hands near, closer to his chest. Thumbing his sore wrists, he realizes that someone has wrapped bandages in the space where the cuffs used to be.

I can’t remember when they did that… Izuku thinks, eyebrows creasing.

“You’re going to be ok, champ,” the paramedic tells him with a smile. Her voice sounds smooth in comparison to all the screaming and yelling and threats.

The door opens wide, allowing enough space for his cot to come to the front ring of the hospital. Ready for him is a wheelchair and a man in green scrubs so tall that he rivals All Might. Izuku wouldn’t have noticed him, as his attention was so blotchy and scattered, if it weren’t for the fact that the nurse’s height dwarfed his mother, who waits by his side.

She’s wearing some comfy joggers and a pink sweater that looks so warm Izuku can feel in that moment how cold he is. She fiddles with a tissue, watching the paramedic’s every move as they situate him in the wheelchair.

“Mom,” he croaks out, his voice raspy and unlike himself. Vaguely, he remembers yelling a lot during his rescue, Joon’s Quirk forcing cries through his mouth.

“My baby boy,” she says. Her eyes match his— green and glassy with tears— and they roam all over him, taking in his injuries and worn body.

“I’m ok,” he says. He doesn’t feel ok, he feels the worst he’s ever felt, but he tries to lighten the blow that his body is doing to her. He absently notices that his feet are still bare but covered in bandages. He can’t tell if they hurt or not from the constant buzzing in his muscles. Overhead, the paramedic gets the nurse up to date in quick medical jargon.

“Shhh, you don’t need to comfort me, ok?” she says. She inserts her hand with his as she walks beside his wheelchair. Her fingers are smooth and warm, like she had just been sipping on a cozy cup of coffee and the heat had transferred from her mug. His arms relax, accommodating her and her warmth, and he finally feels some semblance of safety.

“Mom,” he says again on instinct, like he’s just come home from elementary school with scrapes on his hands and knees. Not strong enough to admit what happened, or what hurts, but simply to ask please make it better.

“I’m here. I love you, Izuku,” she says as she plants a kiss into his hair. “You are so, so strong.”

His chin wobbles and he closes his eyes out of necessity. Everything felt too bright, too vibrant, too much. His mom is rubbing circles into his shoulder which should feel nice, he likes being comforted through touch and she knows that, he knows she knows that. Then why does he simultaneously want nothing to touch him— not his mother’s hand, or the sterile rubber from the wheelchair on his arms, or the bandages around his ankles that are keeping his wounds clean, or the clothes on his body that he’s been wearing for— how many days has he been gone—

“Here’s your room,” a masculine voice chirps and effectively scares the shit out of Izuku. He forgot that the wheelchair was in fact not pushing itself and a nurse was there behind him.

“Sorry for startling you bud,” the nurse apologizes. Izuku looks back at him— his eyes are grey. “I’m going to help you get comfortable, that sound good?”

Izuku gives a quick nod, not trusting his voice. He looks around the hospital room, noting that it was private unlike the many other places he had been situated in the past. There is a light blue curtain up and ready to split the room into two spaces, to give him privacy if he needed it, but there was no one accompanying the second half of the space.

Good, Izuku thinks, his fingers twitching with nerves. He is sure that if a stranger was sleeping in the room next to his he’d feel even more unsafe than he does now.

He watches the nurse closely, as if he was about to do anything besides his job. The man clicks a button on a small device attached to the bed, and the bed itself begins to lower, reaching a height Izuku could easily transfer himself onto. There’s a plastic rim encircling the bed, probably so that the patient couldn’t accidentally roll off, that the nurse pulls down before he turns back to Izuku.

“Ready to get comfy?” the nurse says, hands on his hips.

Izuku is very ready. He nods.

“Would you like me to lift you? Or do you think you can stand with support from me and mom?”

“I can stand,” Izuku insists.

When he does, his ribs pull tight and white speckles fill his vision. He vaguely feels someone’s hands reach out to help, and he tries not to cringe away. Leaning back in the bed, he sinks into the pillows. The small action of changing places has him unreasonably tired.

“Alright Izuku, the doctor is busy at the moment, but I’m going to hook you up with some fluids to get you hydrated and get your vitals on the screen so we can monitor you throughout the night,” the nurse explains quickly, with the air of someone who has done this thousands of times before.

He attaches something to Izuku’s finger, wraps something around his bicep, and without warning sticks a needle into the crook of his left arm. Izuku’s grateful how fast the nurse is going, feeling his energy slip away from just situating himself on the bed. A screen attached to the fluids boots up, showing Izuku numbers having to with body that he doesn’t understand.

“Here’s a special button— if you need me for anything, you can just click this, yeah?” he shows Mom first, then Izuku. It’s on the same remote that adjusted his bed. “You’re my priority patient for the night. Nothing is too small of a request, yeah?”

“Thank you,” Izuku’s mother speaks for him. She scoots a chair near Izuku’s bedside and retakes his hand.

“Sleep, honey,” she tells him.

Finally, he does. For once, he doesn’t dream.

***

Natural light causes Izuku to wake. The air is warm from the sunlight pouring from the window, painting across the floor and up onto Izuku’s hospital bed, and for a moment it smells like the quiet mornings his mother would spend in the kitchen, prepping breakfast for him.

But saline soon hits his nose and he is reminded that he is not home. Small pains start to alight in his body, his stomach feels particularly sore and unhappy, as well as an uncomfortable dryness in his mouth that prickles at his tongue. Izuku blinks awake, rubbing his face and being reminded that there are several tubes stuck into his arm.

“Bleh,” Izuku says intelligently as that’s certainly how he feels.

Outside the canvas of light were two people situated in waiting chairs. Izuku rubs at his eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing. It was his mom, fast asleep, with her head resting on All Might’s shoulder so casually, who shifts as he notices Izuku.

“My boy,” All Might says and the softness of his voice makes Izuku’s eyes water. “I’m so happy to see you awake.”

He’s close enough to reach and put his hand out on Izuku’s shoulder. The movement is enough to knock some tears out of Izuku’s eyes.

“All Might,” he says simply, safely.

No matter how quiet, Izuku’s voice yanks his mom out of her slumber, who immediately looks his way.

“Izuku!” she says, still sounding half asleep. She blushes, which is surprising in itself, when she realizes what she had been doing, looking between Izuku and All Might.

“I’m so sorry!” she tells them both.

“It’s fine Mom,” Izuku says, his voice still scratchy.

“What kind of mother am I,” she pouts. “I can’t believe you let me fall asleep,”

“Inko, you need rest!” All Might insists, chuckling a bit. “You’ve been up all night.”

Inko, huh? Izuku thinks, wondering when these two were on a first name basis.

She huffs, swatting All Might’s shoulder.

“But I know you’ve been up this whole time! That’s not fair.”

“I’m just happy you’re both here,” Izuku butts in.

“Oh honey, you have no idea how happy I am to see you awake,” his mom wipes her eyes.

All the doting usually made Izuku blush, but right now, even in front of All Might, it just carefully fashioned a blanket of security. He soaks in her words and smiles wobbly.

“I’m happy to be back,” he says.

The levity, of whatever weird interaction was happening here, settled in the air. But Izuku’s brain was awake now, and the ugly shadows of worries and doubts began breaking through. Underneath the bandages, his wrists itch.  

“Mom? I know I just woke up, but uh, I wanted to talk to All Might for a bit if that’s ok? Privately?” he asks.

Izuku hates that his words create worry lines on his mother’s face.

“Oh— of course,” she says a little stilted. “But you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” he tells her even if it’s a lie. There were a lot of things he knew he couldn’t tell her, couldn’t live with himself if she were to find out. “It’s just— All Might understands things about my Quirk… that aren’t public?”

“Ok…” she says, elongating the word as if she wasn’t convinced. “I’m going to go find us some breakfast then.”

She bends over, planting a kiss on Izuku’s forehead. He’s already a little regretful that he’s sending her away, but the creeping dread on his mind is becoming too poignant to ignore. Izuku tries to ignore the spindling desire to scratch at his bandages.

Once the door closes behind her, Izuku breathes. It’s difficult to look up at his mentor.

“I didn’t lose my Quirk,” Izuku hurriedly explains. He has the edge of the bedsheets tightly wound in his hands, taking his stress out on something physical.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” All Might says, sounding a bit unsure.

“It was repressed for— for the whole time I was gone,” Izuku says. “That’s not bad for One for All, right?”

“No, my boy. I don’t think it’s an issue.”

“B-Because I’m not sure— I don’t think I’m— my body isn’t strong enough to handle it right now,” Izuku admits. He’s not sure why it’s so hard to just say it. That this vessel he’s created for this Quirk has deteriorated in such a short period of time. That he hasn’t trained or eaten normally or exercised or even stretched. If One for All ever chose a moment to blast off his limbs, this would be the time, Izuku decides.

“That’s quite alright,” All Might assures him. “No one’s asking you to activate your Quirk.”

“But— But that would be bad right?” Izuku asks. His voice hitches, because fuck, wouldn’t that be the cherry on top to all the shit these people had put Izuku through. “If I couldn’t— do it?” he finishes lamely.

“I mean— of course it wouldn’t be ideal,” All Might clears his throat. His face is pinched, pained. “But I assure you, young Midoriya, that I care much more about your wellbeing than the reawakening of your Quirk.”

Immediately, Izuku feels horrible. He can see right then how concern fills the worry lines on his mentor’s face, how there are real tears in those intense eyes. Izuku feels selfish, because how has he reduced his mentor— someone who has given him an opportunity to change the world, someone who has given patience and time and effort— into a watered-down version of himself that was planted into Izuku’s head by villains. Honestly, All Might has a picture of Izuku tucked safely in his wallet that he keeps on him all the time.

Be grateful, Izuku thinks, squeezing his messed-up fingers.

“You have been through so much at such a young age,” All Might reminds him and pats him with his hand as if to enunciate his points. He shakes his head briefly. “And I am so, so sorry that this has happened to you. This never should have happened.”

Slowly, the fear and tension that mounted in Izuku drains out. Izuku could tell himself these words a thousand times, but none were taken quite as seriously as the ones said by his mentor.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Anytime, my boy.”

A knock on Izuku’s hospital door interrupts and a familiar face peaks through. All Might lets out a small oh! and stands to his feet to walk to the doorway.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” his homeroom teacher says, his face perpetually tired but smoothed out with palpable relief.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku breathes, and for some reason that makes him want to cry.

He was there during his rescue. Aizawa-sensei had saw Izuku, stayed strong for Izuku when Shio had a gun pressed to his temple. Izuku traces his jaw up to his ear, relieved to have correctly remembered that no wound had come to him there. Vaguely, he remembers the gun had gone off though.

“Is your arm ok?” Izuku asks, his eyes darting to Aizawa’s upper body for clues. The man is wearing a simple grey sweater, so Izuku can’t assess the damage.

“Just a bullet graze,” Aizawa assures him as he seats himself in one of the bedside chairs. “Already bandaged up.”

Just then, Izuku remembers another person who was at the scene last night.  

Did I hurt you?

What can I do?

You recognize me, right?

“And Shinsou-kun?” Izuku asks. He remembers throwing up in his arms— yikes— but he can’t recall where Shinsou went when the ambulance came. “He’s ok too?”

Aizawa rubs his face with his hand, scratching through stubble.

“Shinsou is fine. He’s back at UA, safe in the dorms.”

“Oh,” Izuku says, then feels like that’s an underwhelming response. It’s hard to bring forth brazen emotions when he still feels drained beyond belief. “That’s good. Why was he with you?”

“Trust me, I asked the same thing,” Aizawa grumbled. “He was supposed to be our informant about the Facility you were being held at. But we ended up being the first responders after they left the location.”

“Oh wow,” Izuku thinks aloud, still feeling massively out of the loop.

“Hello there, Midoriya,” said someone that wasn’t Aizawa-sensei.

Which startles the shit out of Izuku. He hadn’t even process the two other people who had entered the room with Aizawa-sensei and were chatting quietly to All Might. Both in uniform, Izuku recognizes only one of them, Detective Tsukauchi.

“Sorry!” Izuku apologizes, “I didn’t mean to ignore you both, I-I was just worried.”

“No need for apologies,” Detective Tsukauchi says with a smile, taking off his hat. “Just glad to see that you’re here, safe.”

“You know Tsukauchi—” All Might says, patting his friend on the shoulder, “—but Detective Daishin has been working on the other side of your case, dealing with the boss behind your capture.”

Large and burly, Daishin looks exactly like the old men in detective movies Izuku used to watch when he was younger. Grey washed out his otherwise black hair and beard, no doubt from stress from working alongside heroes, and his skin was speckled with sunspots as if he were outside most of the time. He didn’t hesitate to move forward, extending a large hand to Izuku to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Midoriya,” he says as Izuku returns the greeting. “Always excited to meet the subject of our case when someone’s gone missing.”

“Thank you for— for your efforts,” Izuku says earnestly. “All of you, I can’t be grateful enough.”

“It was a team effort,” All Might chimes in. “These three have been working your case with help of countless local police and pros.”

“It was our pleasure,” Tsukauchi reassures him.

Izuku bows his head, overwhelmed by the attention.

“Do you mind if we sit?” Detective Daishin asks, dragging over a chair as Izuku nods. The scraping of metal on tile makes Izuku’s head pulse.  

“I’m sorry to bring this up so quickly,” begins the detective. “And I understand this is fresh, but we are trying to finalize the rest of your case as soon as we can. That way when you leave the hospital, you won’t have to deal with us long after.”

Oh. Izuku thinks, already feeling consumed with the churning in his stomach.  

“Um… I guess?” Izuku tries, shrugging his shoulders.

“We would like your doctor to be present as well,” the detective continues. “I asked her on the way in—”  

“Hello!” announces a short brown-haired woman, the doctor Izuku presumes from her white coat, who pops into the doorway at perfect timing. “Midoriya Izuku?”

“Hi,” Izuku says and gives a little wave, his voice smaller than he would have liked.

“My name is Doctor Ikabaru,” she extends her hand with a smile. The way she speaks makes everything she says sound like an absolute fact. “I am happy to see you awake. I see that you have quite the entourage.”

She nods her head to the others in the room.

“I want to make sure that you give consent to them being present while I’m here,” she says seriously. “I understand that we are trying to establish some facts with the detective team so Izuku can be on his way?”  

“That’s correct,” Daishin echoes.

“I consent,” Izuku says.

She gives him a smile and whips out a laptop, propping it up on an adjustable side table.

“How’s your body doing, Izuku?” she asks.

“Fine,” he says. Even to his ears, it doesn’t sound convincing. He tries again. “Actually, a lot better than I thought. Just sore.”

“You are on a good amount of painkillers,” the doctor reminds him.

That makes more sense, Izuku thinks.

Doctor Ikabaru flips through some charts and squints at his statistics, humming to herself.

“If we are going based on the numbers that I’m seeing at the moment… The only thing I’m keeping an eye on is your blood pressure, which is low. How often were you were allowed food and water, Izuku?”

So we are getting right into, huh?

“Uh, not much,” Izuku admits. “Water was pretty regular, but I only ate like… uh four times?”

All Might makes a low sound in his throat that spikes Izuku’s nerves.

“A-Actually, I don’t know how long I was gone for?” he admits, scratching lightly into his forearm.

“You were gone for five full days,” Detective Tsukauchi says. “Today is Saturday.”

“Oh wow,” Izuku whispers to himself.

“That’s not a lot of nutrients,” the doctor continues. “But these numbers are actually lower than what I would expect. Was there any other changes to your diet?”

“It wasn’t really meals, per say. Just rice… Actually— uh, I was throwing up a lot,” Izuku grimaces on the taste that lingers in his dry mouth. He traces up his throat with his finger, the inner walls still raw and tender.  

“I see. Was there a reason for vomiting? Were you given any bad food, or were any medications forced on you?” she continues.

“I don’t think they used any drugs— I thought they might have at the beginning, when I first woke up, but I think it was one of their Quirks that uh, put me under,” Izuku recalls, sifting through the patches of his memories from Monday. “The Quirk had to do with pain? So, the throwing up was from that.”

Izuku’s mouth twists. Why can’t I explain anything clearly?? He can’t bear to look up from his hands wringing the shit out of his bedsheets.

“So their most direct use of force was Quirk usage?” Detective Daishin clarifies.

The wrongness of that statement made Izuku cringe. Izuku could imagine Joon’s soft voice asking Shio to stop it while Shio pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Actually—” Izuku can’t stop a hoarse chuckle come out with wide eyes, “— most of my injuries were non-Quirk related. I had Quirk suppressants on the whole time.”

The room goes silent for an awful second and Izuku blinks hard, trying to still his swirling mind.

“I think it might be best to work backwards, as it appears you sustained the majority of your injuries at the end of your capture,” Daishin offers.

Izuku nods, even though he still is at loss how to recount— how to even summarize what had happened to him.

“Perhaps start when you left Sunrise Care Facility?”

“Yeah, ok. Well, I had just finished filming the video,” Izuku cringes a bit. “Uh, I’m guessing you all saw that? Since you got my clue?”

Tsukauchi nods.

“You were brilliant, my boy,” All Might says with pride.

“They were keeping me locked to a— to a bed. I had been trying to free myself the whole time, but after the video I was able to kick the bedpost off.”

Detective Tsukauchi hums, like he’s just realized something.

“I ran through the building, but I didn’t really know where I was going. I, uh, don’t have any memories of walking through the entrance on the first day. Just kinda woke up.”

Izuku swallows, hearing the echoes of clang, clang, clang, metal on tile.

“So. So I ended up in this room that had a back door, but it was bolted shut. I panicked, and tried to squeeze through a tear in the wall.”

“That was why the bedpost was found there,” Detective Tsukauchi nods to himself with a subdued ah ha.

“Yeah,” Izuku breathes out a chuckle. “That must’ve— must’ve looked odd.”

“I um, got stuck,” Izuku’s face has the audacity to pinken. “And uh, one of them found me. Wasn’t too happy about it either.”

“Who found you, Midoriya?” Aizawa-sensei asks, his face troubled.

“Shio. Uh, the blonde?” Izuku bit his lip. He hated that the prickling feeling of Shio’s hands persisted across his body. “Brought me back inside. Roughed me up a bit.”

Blindfolded me.

Locked me up.

And found out I was Quirkless.

He knows that I’m Quirkless. 

“Midoriya?” sound warps back into place, like someone had fine-tuned a radio to just the right wavelength. It was the doctor. “Do you need a moment?” 

Izuku shakes his head. There was no stopping now, or else he wouldn’t be able to start.

“When we received you from the ambulance, I was told that your ribs were bruised,” she recounted calmly. Belatedly, he realized she was helping lead his through this difficult conversation. “Did this happen during this specific instance?”

“Yeah,” Izuku breathes. He traces his stomach, realizing there was cloth tightly wrapped. When had they done that? “It feels better than last night. Is Shio, you know, detained?”

“Shiomaki Fuyuto is in our custody, yes,” Daishin confirms.

“Oh,” Izuku says, feeling dumb and sick and small. Shio was a nickname used between partners and he was just using it. Despite him learning that Joon had been through hell at Sunrise Child Care and Shio was Quirkless, Izuku realized in that moment he really didn’t know his kidnappers. He didn’t know what they had been up to before his capture, where they had planned on taking him, what they were going to do next besides expose the former institution members.

He remembers just then that Joon had driven off at the height of Izuku’s pain.

“And Joon? Did you stop the car?” Izuku asks.

“Your teacher here did a number on the last working tires,” Daishin told him, clapping Aizawa-sensei on the back. “Joon-seo Yi is also in our custody.”

“Just doing my job,” Aizawa dismissed, wincing a bit.

That means, Izuku thought, blood draining from his face, that they found the phone.

It was then that Izuku remembered his outburst with Shinsou. Izuku itched for something to grab, something to bring close to his chest while the world around him was crashing.

“Did the nurse have a uh, a black hoodie anywhere?” Izuku asks, his voice small. He looked around the room for it, finding nothing on the wheelchair or the coatrack. “It was Shinsou’s… He gave it to me, uh— when you all came. I don’t remember what happened to it—”

“It’s probably with evidence, Young Midoriya,” All Might says.

“Oh,” Izuku says. He probably won’t get that back. Which sucked, because it was so soft and comforting, and it probably gave Shinsou comfort too before Izuku bled all over it.

“Kid, are you alright?” Aizawa-sensei says softly. “You’re crying.”

“S-Sorry,” Izuku chokes out, wiping at his eyes but failing to stop the tears. He still wanted to hold something. “Sorry, I’m being— being stupid.”

“You’re many things Midoriya, and stupid is not one of them,” Aizawa counters seriously.

Izuku has so many things to say to that. So many memories from the past few days that would support his antithesis of “Why Izuku IS in fact stupid” that he could hand write and turn in for a letter grade.

I’m behind in school, comes another intrusive thought because his brain refused to settle.

“I understand that this is overwhelming, but is there something specific about this instance with Shio or Joon that is causing you to feel this way?”  the doctor asks.

Izuku understands that she’s trying to emulate his own language, but hearing their nicknames in this space, spoken from people who weren’t there, feels disgusting. He hates that he’s stuck in bed, not unlike the rest of the week, while the rest of them stand high over him. The bed feels huge suddenly, like he’s going to be swallowed up into the sheets if he leans into them anymore.

“I can’t say it,” Izuku whispers into his fist.

Someone murmurs something, but it sounds blurred and faraway.

“Hey. Instead of trying to say it, let’s identify what’s causing you to pause.”

Izuku looks, confused and scared, to see Aizawa-sensei crouched down to his level near the bedside

“It was hard for me to articulate my emotions when I was younger,” his homeroom teacher explains. And then in the most typical, monotone Aizawa-voice he can muster, he says “I know, surprising right?”

It gets a tiny exhale from Izuku.

“I didn’t think it was an issue until something very devastating happened,” Aizawa-sensei shares. “And suddenly I couldn’t focus on anything. On what happened, on my friends, on my school.”

Aizawa’s voice doesn’t waver, continues to be neutral and commanding silence in the hospital room, but it’s full in a way that captivates Izuku. It wasn’t often that Izuku learned anything about the pro-hero Eraserhead.

“I had someone close to me ask what I was feeling and I couldn’t answer him.  So he challenged me to figure out why I couldn’t answer. For me, that was how I was finally able to process what had happened.”

Aizawa-sensei stares at him deeply.

“So let’s talk about what’s coming up for you,” he ends.

Izuku no longer feels like sinking.

“I-I’ve worked so hard,” he starts. “And I know— And I know others have had it worse, have had it way worse than me, like Eri—like—”

“We’re focusing on you kid,” Aizawa-sensei reminded him.

“But they did something,” Izuku says. “He did something that could ruin everything that I’ve— worked towards.”

“Are you saying one of the villains has blackmail on you, Midoriya?”

He can work with this. He can answer yes or no questions.

Say yes.

Say yes.

Say yes.

Izuku nods jerkily.

“Thank you for telling us. Do they have physical blackmail on you? Or verbal?”

“Both,” Izuku says, spewing the admission out like a bitter taste. “Shio would probably say something if y-you asked. Fuck, he’d probably say something even if you didn’t ask.”

The curse slipped out so naturally Izuku couldn’t get himself to care.

“If you know, can you tell me what physical blackmail they have?”

“It’s a video,” Izuku says. It then crosses his mind that Shio could have recorded him without him even knowing. “Or multiple videos. You have it. It was on Shio’s phone.”

More murmurs. Izuku can’t focus enough beyond his bedside.

“I want you to know, Midoriya, that all evidence is privatized and is not disclosed to the public,” Detective Daishin says. “The only ones who review materials are people sworn into oath in my team, and the four of us here.”

Izuku chuckles incredulously, as if that makes things better.

He’s just lying there, prone, in the back of the car.

Exhausted and weak and terrified.

Shio’s talking over him, reminding him that this world that he’s fighting for would hate him if he didn’t have All Might’s Quirk.

And he’s right.

A burning sense of rage fills Izuku because fuck, he never had his moment to prove the villain wrong. He never got to slam a fist into Shio’s gut or show him that his words could do nothing to Izuku’s resolve because Izuku was weak and Shio was right.

And everything in that video cemented that fact.

“I can tell that something is still bothering you,” the doctor prompts lightly.

“I don’t want anyone to see it,” Izuku fumes. His face feels hot, blotchy. He has the indescribable need to break something, preferably something small and phone shaped.

“I’m sorry Midoriya. We would like to fully punish these criminals,” explains Detective Tsukauchi, “I cannot withhold evidence while it is relevant to your case.”

Izuku stays silent, shaking.

“What are you feeling right now?” the doctor asks.

“I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed. I’m— I’m angry.”

“All of those feelings are valid, my dear,” the doctor says. “I ask you to fully embrace those feelings, while recognizing that this is in no way your fault.”

“But it’s true,” Izuku’s voice shakes. “What’s on that video isn’t a lie.”

“But forcing that information out of you, without your consent and with the intention of intimidation, is wrong. They are in the wrong, Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei steps in.

But Izuku can’t stop thinking about what the reaction can be.

All Might knows his story— he might not know how bad the bullying got— but he knew his secret of his Quirklessness. So did Tsukauchi. This other detective didn’t know, but it was almost easier for him to find out. Someone from a third party who wouldn’t watch the video and think about him in a personal sense.

That left his homeroom teacher. Izuku didn’t know his views on politics, he didn’t want to know if he would discriminate against Quirkless people, like the teachers in Izuku’s middle school days. If he found out and things changed— Izuku didn’t know how he could show up to class anymore. Izuku wasn’t sure he could stay at UA anymore. And that meant Shio would win. It would prove that someone who was open about their Quirkless identity couldn’t be a hero.

It was a childish way of thought, but it was the only way Izuku could think to defeat the raging mass in his chest where Shio had completely consumed him.

“If you have to— can…” he stops. He fights the words as they leave him. “Can I ask that Aizawa-sensei not see it?”

“Eraserhead has been integral to the case, has he not?” pipes up All Might. “He was there during your rescue, my boy. Allowing him to see the video would further solidify your case against these two villains.”

Izuku’s stomach falls.

“But if that disclosure causes you any additional discomfort,” Aizawa-sensei butts in, making sure he reclaims Izuku’s attention with the influx of his voice. “I don’t have to view it.”

Izuku’s chin wobbles.

“Sorry,” he says because he feels inexplicably guilty. His words are wet and salty.

“No need for that, problem child,” Aizawa-sensei counters.

From the moment Shio learned of Izuku’s Quirklessness, it was like Izuku had been pulled into the wake of the ocean, water constantly crashing through his system with his thoughts drowning.

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers, placing his head into his hands. He feels someone rub his back and he relishes in the fact that he is definitively free.

Chapter Text

“Oh you are going down.”

“Not with that strategy.”

Hitoshi didn’t know he ended up here, Switch controllers in his hands, playing Smash against Kaminari Denki. The tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration, his controller raising higher and higher as if that made any difference on his performance. The lightning bolt in his hair is so gaudy Hitoshi can’t help but glance at it every few moments, taking his eyes off the game to look. Everything about the other boy screams loud, but for some reason he decided to stick by Hitoshi and his quiet for the past few days.

“No!” Kaminari shouts, sitting up from his crisscrossed legs, as Hitoshi backs his player into a corner.

“Oh yes,” Hitoshi replies with a final blow. He tries to hide the adrenaline that’s making him grin.

“Nooooooooooo,” Kaminari whines and melts into the couch. The controller hits the ground with a thud as his arms flop uselessly to his side.

“You’re so dramatic,” Hitoshi scoffs, “You’ve already lost what— three times?”

“Don’t be meaaan,” groans Kaminari, his body a puddle seeping into the cushion.

“It’s in my nature.”

Kaminari snaps upright, no longer liquid.

“No it’s not,” he protests. “You’re not actually mean.”

Something twirls around Hitoshi’s lungs. The levity he felt around Kaminari was something Hitoshi rarely experienced. Hitoshi had many things kept locked away from the outside world— the past neglect he experienced, the fact that he was never once adopted through all his years in the foster system, and the calm, yet strict, life he led at home now. His Quirk had become an amalgam of other people’s fears and distrust, so that even though he wanted to become a hero, he had been forced to lock that away too.

Diminished smaller and smaller, who he was faded into the background because it had no place to … be. The world told him: you can exist as long as the parts of you we dislike disappear.

But the hero course was different. People gave a shit. Aizawa-sensei cared about his wellbeing, his professional development, his goals. Ojiro and Uraraka tried to make 1A comfortable for him, the outsider, when he had first arrived. And now Kaminari had somehow slid into a role Hitoshi struggled to name.

“You’re just stupidly good at this game,” Kaminari finishes with an incredible sigh.

The feeling in Hitoshi’s chest flutters and a small laugh escapes him.

***

It was nearly five in the morning when Hitoshi had first returned from Midoriya’s rescue mission, still covered in dirt and Midoriya’s blood, and nearly every Class 1A student had still been awake. Tired beyond belief, Hitoshi had been hit with nearly every question imaginable fueled with adrenaline-jacked energy.

“Where the fuck is the nerd?!”

“How is he? Is he ok?”

“Whose blood is that?”

“Where are the villains?”

“Are you ok?”

“I’m going to collapse the moment I sit down,” Hitoshi announced, pointing a finger in warning. “But Midoriya is ok. I was with him when the paramedics came.” 

With that off his chest, Hitoshi’s knees wobbled, and he followed through with his promise. Someone guided him to the couch before he could fall to the ground.

The night, now morning, rolled on with students thanking him, quizzing him, apologizing for quizzing him until one of the girls finally decided that Hitoshi had had enough and told everyone to go to bed.

Tired but grateful the focus had finally shifted off of him, Hitoshi could only think of Midoriya’s absolutely gutted response before the ambulance arrived.

There was something else going on with Midoriya… Hitoshi thought, biting his lip.

Thick and heavy, the feeling of dread crept up on Hitoshi.

There must have been something more that I could have done—

“Hey! I know you want to get to bed…” piped a blonde, way too chipper for someone who was nearing 24 hours awake. “I wasn’t sure about you before. But saving Midoriya like that— I know now that I like you.”

The blonde, Kaminari Denki, smiled as he rolled his words.

“You’re totally a future hero.”

And before Hitoshi could even open his mouth to gape, Kaminari was gone with a peace-sign flung over his shoulder. Suddenly, the repressive mass on Hitoshi’s lungs dissipated and his slip into deep sleep was smooth and soft.   

***

Hitoshi figures that’s the reason why he’s here, playing video games with Kaminari, although it still kinda baffles him how the other has still staked an interest in Hitoshi. And even after reveling in his initial curiosity, placed here on the couch with their shoulders bumping occasionally, Hitoshi pleasantly realizes he doesn’t mind.

A knock on the front door interrupts the calm of the common room and the door opens with a suitcase shoved through.

Midoriya himself peaks through the doorway. Currently consumed by an oversized All Might hoodie, Midoriya sports a weary expression as his eyes dart around the room, landing on Hitoshi’s for a brief second. Bags weighed down his freckled cheeks, the bruising on his neck fading but still there, and somehow the short little 1A student was still able to pull out a wobbly smile upon seeing his friends.

“Oh my God!”

They surge forward and flood the entry room like an excited gaggle of children, hesitating once they got too close, not knowing how to approach a topic familiar yet distant.

How do you grow use to your classmates getting kidnapped?

“Deku!”

“Midoriya!!”

“Welcome home!”

“Good to see you, bud!”

“Now, let’s not overwhelm him!” shouts Iida, whose eyebrows are tight with concern, while his voice absolutely rattles the wide windows. 

“Sorry!”

“Hi guys,” Midoriya says softly, his voice still a bit raw even after a few days of rest.

Tears in free flow, Uraraka pushes through the thick swell of students.

“Can I hug you?” she asks, her voice wet.

Concern flashes over Midoriya’s features. Memories surface of Midoriya writhing on the ground after touching Hitoshi.

“Y-yeah,” he says, subdued.

“Oh Deku— you scared the shit out of us!” she cries out as she slipped by his side, not tugging on him or launching herself forward. She instead offers her arms outward, like something he could return to, a safe haven he could indulge in if he chose to. Midoriya hesitates, not in the way Hitoshi is warry of people offering him goodwill, but as though Midoriya is overwhelmed by the fact that he is here and holding a close friend was a possibility.

Letting go of his suitcase, he meets her where she stands.

“Can I hug you too?”

“Me too- kero.”

“Me as well.”

With the permission of a muffled “Yes”, Midoriya’s classmates create a warm ring of comfort. There’s some sniffling, some low murmuring, some hair petting and eye wiping. It’s messy and vulnerable and full of a feeling Hitoshi’s not quite experienced before, so he waits on the side with a few other 1A students who weren’t keen on physical contact.

One of them is Bakugou who face hasn’t changed from its perpetual state of general displeasure, although Hitoshi saw a brief moment of… something… when Midoriya had first entered the room. His arms are folded over his chest and his right hand is squeezing the life out of his forearm, as if he’s physically holding himself back.

When the group finally parts, Midoriya wipes his eyes, looking both worn out and comfortable.

Next to Hitoshi, Bakugou bristles as if he’s just stepped in something gross.

“ALRIGHT I’m making food, stop being so awkward and sit down,” he spits and turns towards the kitchen.

“Alright Mr. Emotional~” Mina sings.

“Shut the fuck up, pinkie.”

“If you’re tired though— you don’t have to have dinner down here,” Kirishima reminds Midoriya. “We can bring something up to you.”

“No— I’m fine. I’d like to be around everyone,” Midoriya admits, scratching his hand through his hair. His hand falters for a moment, grasping at open air, and he frowns slightly.

“Then we’re happy to have you,” Yaoyorozu assures him. “I’ll make some tea!”

Comfortable chatter connects the students as they disperse. Midoriya looks around the room until his green eyes meet Hitoshi’s and a small wave has Hitoshi walking his way.  

“I just want to say thank you,” Midoriya says quietly. “I’m sorry that you had to go through all that trouble.”

“It’s no problem,” Hitoshi shrugs off Midoriya’s concern. “I wanted to save you.”

That makes the other boy blink— and for a moment Hitoshi thinks his wording was a bit weird, what the fuck—

“Still—” Midoriya eyebrows crease and jump over the emotions running through his mind. “You don’t know how much you helped— Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, then,” Hitoshi decides and nods his head.

The large dining room table slowly fills up with both people and little tokens of appreciation. A large aloe drink is poured several cups, cookies are plated in a neat arrangement, a Welcome Home card finds its way into Midoriya’s lap. There’s even a small cheese platter. Hitoshi picks a neutral seat on the other side of the table, his blonde shadow slotting himself on his left. Midoriya’s closest friends sit next to him, all of them appearing to want to say something, but not knowing where to start.

“Oh- you guys,” Midoriya warbles as he looks out to the gifts. The card rests in his lap, unopened. “Thank you.”

“How are you doing?” Todoroki asked in the seat to his right, entirely too tense and too oblivious. It seemed Midoriya didn’t mind his bluntness, and his expression relaxed.

“I’m happy to be back,” he says simply. His face falls a bit when the rest of the class leans forward, their eyes demanding more. “I’m mostly healed up— I got clearance to start training again on Monday.”

“You’re thinking about training?” Sero pipes up. With his other arm slung over the chair beside him, he pops a chip into his mouth. “Classic Midoriya.”

“It’s ok to rest, right man?” Kirishima gives a softened smile.

“I-I mean, I’m not that injured,” Midoriya protests. “Really, Shinsou probably told you already.”

“Shinsou didn’t really talk about too much about anything,” pipes up Kaminari, “Just that he was there when you were rescued and how Aizawa-sensei was a total badass.”

Eyes suddenly swivel to Hitoshi.

“It’s not my story to tell,” Hitoshi said, hoping Midoriya understood his intentions.

Bandages peaked out of Midoriya’s hoodie is the spaces where the cuffs met his skin. Up close like this, Hitoshi could truly see how tired the other UA student was, and for the first time, he felt bad when the attention diverted away from himself and back onto Midoriya.

“Oh. Well… I just had a few issues– but the doctors have already patched me up. I’m just— a little tired and weak is all.”

“That’s so stressful,” Kaminari shakes his head. “I’m surprised you’re able to think of school at all.”

“I mean, I’m already way behind,” Midoriya continues with a wince. “I’ve always been behind… but yeah.”

“Not to fear—”

Iida walks up from behind Midoriya and sets a notebook down from over his shoulder. Hitoshi knows from all the studying they’d been doing in the common room that it’s full of last week’s lecture material.

“—We are here, for you!” Iida butts in.

“Ah that was soooo lame,” Jiro buries her head in her hands, her earjacks floating.  

“So lame but so cute,” Uraraka smiles.

“Just lame.”

Midoriya’s eyes are wide and shining as he thumbs the pages, flipping through his classmate’s notes and soaking up their detail, their effort.

“And we color coded who wrote what,” Yaoyorozu nods in pride.

“Mines highlighted in green, kero.”

“And mines in pink!”

“You won’t find any yellow in there, Midoriya,” Kaminari sighs, “My notes weren’t good enough to make the cut.”

Iida readjusts his glasses.

“It was an admirable effort, Kaminari, but it simply wasn’t legible—”

Hitoshi represses a snort. Kaminari gawks at him.

“You guys… This is—” Midoriya’s breath hitches and effectively silences everyone. “Thank you, really.”

“Alright, enough sappy crap. Just eat,” Bakugou growls, sliding some plates onto the tabletop.

Midoriya’s breath hitches a little, and the notebook that he’s clutching folds tightly into his chest, as if he’s trying to protect it.

Bakugou freezes, his mouth skewed. It’s only a brief second before he regains his composure and returns to the kitchen for more plates of food, but it was enough for Hitoshi to notice. And it took a few seconds more for Midoriya to recover as he unfurls the notebook from his chest and his shoulders relax, worrying over the creases he caused from gripping the material too tight.

Uraraka, on Midoriya’s left, frowns, but just rubs soft circles into his shoulder.

“You heard Kacchan,” Midoriya attempts to lighten to mood and reaches with his chopsticks for the tofu platter. It sits in a black sauce with a generous portion of veggies ranging from leeks to eggplant. “I can’t wait to eat something that’s not rice.”

“Oh, I bet. Hospital food is rough.”

“Ojiro, do you remember when we had to eat—”

Conversations start to swell again, and Midoriya allows himself to fade in the background with so many extroverts around. Waiting for the beef platter to free up, Hitoshi gives himself a generous helping, not wasting a free home-cooked meal. Tangy and spicy undertones make Hitoshi’s mouth literally water as he eats, and despite his differences with Bakugou, Hitoshi can recognize culinary art. He tries not to spill onto his white sweatshirt, which Kaminari had loaned him once learning Hitoshi only came with three days’ worth of clothes.

A few seats over, the explosion boy picks a seat and reaches over for some flat noodles. The redhead whispers something is his ear and Bakugou shakes his head all the way through their private exchange, ending with a tight “No.”

Hitoshi’s eyes travel over to Midoriya, who has been chewing on the same bite of food for the past few minutes and not only Hitoshi noticed.  

“You okay, Midoriya?” asks Sero.

“Oh— My stomach is just a little overloaded, I think,” Midoriya says, his normally high-pitched voice flattened by the weight of the last week.

“What— you think my food is crap?” Bakugou belts out, glaring over another bite.

Midoriya’s fists tighten over his chopsticks. His mouth hangs open slightly in disgust, like Bakugou’s words have entered and replaced the taste in his mouth with decay.

“No Kacchan why would you— never mind,” Midoriya looks down at his half-finished plate, shaking his head.

“Dude, shut up,” Sero nudges Bakugou.

“What?”

The clink of Midoriya’s chopsticks hitting the table was deafening.

“I think I should head to bed,” Midoriya looks to his closest friends. “If you’re still eating you can stay—”

“I’m good,” Todoroki announces and immediately gets to his feet. “I’ll get your bag.”

Uraraka and Tsyu both look at each other, uncertainty making their eyebrows jump, but gives Midoriya a shaky smile.

“We’re coming too.”

Midoriya’s pinched anger drains out of his face.

“Oh— If you’re sure…”

“Oh we are sure.”

Iida gets to his feet and clears away Midoriya’s plates before he has a chance to, entering the kitchen to give them a wash.

Midoriya looks a little lost as his friends prep for his mass exodus but slowly gets to his feet. He tucks the Welcome Home card safely away inside the notebook and sends a weak smile to the rest of the table.

“It’s good to be back,” he says. His eyes briefly meet Hitoshi’s and the way they shimmer feels like a cry for help. “Thanks for this, everyone.”

“We love you, man!”

“Sleep well, Midoriya.”

Everyone keeps up the same smile as the five of them enter the elevator. The door barely closes before Kaminari sags by Hitoshi’s side.

“That was a lot,” Kaminari sighs.

“I feel horrible,” says Mina as she slumps her head into her hands.

“Why would you feel horrible,” Bakugou scoffs, sticking another bite into his mouth. “He barely ate my fucking tofu.”

“He’s uncomfortable and that makes us feel like shit, my guy,” Kirishima butts in.

“Yeah, don’t push him right now, Bakugou,” Sero says.

“What the fuck do you mean? You were the person bringing up his discomfort, tape-face.”

“I was checking in on him because he looked— dude did you see his expression?” Sero shoots back, his anger tapering off into something pitiful.

“Sometimes it’s easier to just fucking forget about the bullshit and have a normal dinner.”

“How is this normal?” Ojiro snaps. “Seriously how are we supposed to have a normal dinner? Midoriya was gone for five days, Bakugou.”

Bakugou shoots to his feet, slamming his chopsticks onto his finished plate.

“I fucking know that! He’s skinny as shit— I know what that means,” Bakugou shakes his head. Hitoshi grimaces. They all knew what that meant; Midoriya’s kidnappers had withheld food. “Deku himself said he was weak— I was trying to get him to eat.”

“You didn’t have to be so rude about it,” Kaminari presses back.

“Lower your voices, please,” Yayorozu insists, her eyes traveling to the elevator.

Hitoshi swirled the leftover food on his plate with his chopstick. Whenever he inserted himself into conversations surrounding Bakugou, it never went over well. But right now, it was taking everything he had not to speak up. He had been hanging around class 1A for a while now to know that they were all, in one way or another, well off. Todoroki was the son of the number one hero— there was no doubt he was one of richest kids in Japan. Iida and Yaoyorozu both had a vibe of “I’m rich, but that’s not a big deal!”, not knowing what to do with themselves when talking to kids whose parents made less than six figures. Hitoshi had picked up on the way a few of them dressed— the sweatshirt he was borrowing was designer. Bakugou, too, was well off from the expensive products he used in the bathroom.

For most of the other students, it was easy to tell that they were comfortably resting in the high middle class, and possibly the lower middle class. There were a lot of kids who lived in houses instead of apartments, with two parents instead of one or, in Hitoshi’s case, zero.

Uraraka, however, had been surprisingly open with Hitoshi about her background and her motivations for becoming a hero.

I guess it’s easy for us to find each other in this sea of rich people, Hitoshi had thought.

But the opposite was not true. These kids really didn’t know what kind of territory they were treading, and like Ojiro said, how were supposed to treat this normally? Hitoshi saw a room full of young people who hadn’t struggled the way he had as a kid, who were now struggling to deal with a situation that should have never happened.

“I’m guessing most of you have never gone hungry, then?” Hitoshi pipes up as he takes a bite of food and casually rests his chin in his propped-up hand.

Heads swiveled his way. Normally, he would have hated the attention, but the acrid taste in his mouth demands justice, demands understanding.

No one was speaking up, so Hitoshi shrugs.

“Figures.”

Bakugou bristled.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well— you would know if you’re continually denied food, your metabolism shifts,” Hitoshi drawls like he’s explaining something to a child. He wants the other students to feel a little stupid. “You start depending on reserves, and when you finally get food again, you go into a refeeding period.”

“Refeeding period?” Sero repeats.

“It’s a syndrome. Your metabolism shifts again, and all the important nutrients you’re getting overwhelm your system,” Hitoshi further explains. “Lots of throwing up, fainting, general fatigue— you know.”

He shovels his last bites of food into his mouth.

“You don’t know what he went through and assuming things is just going to isolate him from you. So maybe—” Hitoshi stands up, empty plate in his hands.

There are memories floating close to his consciousness, but Hitoshi tries to stay present to keep them at bay. Still he remembers locked cabinets, dumpster diving, going to school with nothing and saying nothing. He remembers the lightheaded feeling of constant hunger, constant exhaustion. Spraying ethanol on glass jars to get rid of sharpie marks, where adults would mark how much food was left. Stealing and binging food, redrawing sharpie lines, and later at night, trying to quiet down his retching so the adults would sleep until morning in peace.

“—Maybe don’t fucking get on Midoriya’s case about eating, yeah?”

The way everyone goes silent makes Shinsou want to laugh. He gives them smile, intentionally fake and over the top so they know that he’s serious.

“Shinsou…” Kaminari starts.

But Hitoshi’s already decided he wants to leave. Class 1A means well, but they were also God damn stupid and Hitoshi doesn’t truly want to get angry at them for saying something ignorant. They needed time to reflect and rethink their ways of handling Midoriya Izuku, and Hitoshi did not have the energy to sit by and listen. He rinses off his plates and utensils, setting them on the dish rack.

The elevator dings open and Todoroki alone walks through.

“Shinsou—” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Midoriya asked if you could come up?”

Hitoshi wipes his hands on a dish towel, now nervous. He might have been able to talk to the rest of the class, but Midoriya himself?

“For sure,” he says despite everything.

From his clenched jaw and dead set stare, Todoroki looks like he has been tasked with a dangerous mission. Hitoshi doesn’t suppose he’s far off, though, as they step into the silent elevator. How were teenagers supposed to react once their friend came back home? It felt very much like an impossible task.

“Why’d he call me up?”

It takes a moment for the other to reply.

“Midoriya is one of the most compassionate people I know,” Todoroki replies, his monotone voice tapering off at the end. He swallows before continuing. “We’re trying to get him to focus on what he needs but— he’s worried about you.”

“Me?” Hitoshi wonders aloud. The spicy noodles in his stomach start to come alive, twisting together like a pit of snakes.

But before Todoroki can respond further, they already have made it to Midoriya’s dorm room. Todoroki sends him a look, almost requesting him not to hurt his friend, before he opens the door.

Hitoshi thinks that if the circumstances were different, he would have laughed coming into Midoriya’s room. All Might’s face was plastered on just about every surface of the dorm room— from curtains to bed sheets to limited edition posters. But with Midoriya bundled up in a fuzzy black blanket on the ground, his eyes pink and glassy with tears, poking fun seemed like an asshole thing to do.

“What’s up Midoriya?” he says as he sits down in Midoriya’s desk chair.

Wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, Midoriya unfurls himself from his cotton ball. Behind him on his bed, Iida holds his hands together in a tight grip.

“I wanted to apologize for losing your jacket,” he says with tears thick in his voice.

Hitoshi tries not to look confused. This can’t be what Midoriya wants to talk about…

“That’s no biggie—”

“The police took it as evidence,” Midoriya says, like he has to explain himself.

“It’s really no issue, I can get another one. It didn’t even have a design on it or anything.”

Midoriya’s friends are looking to Hitoshi as if they want him to initiate something, but Hitoshi always believed in letting silence fill up empty spaces.

“Can I talk to Shinsou alone?”

His friends frown.

“You sure Midoriya?” asks Uraraka.

Midoriya nods.

“You can always call us back,” Todoroki assures him. That makes Midoriya smile.

“Thank you guys.”

As the last of his friends leave the room, Midoriya shifts in the blankets until they dip off his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for using your name in the ransom video— that must have brought a lot of trouble onto you.”

Hitoshi hesitates for a moment, going against his nature to simply agree with facts and instead consider how they would make Midoriya feel. But from everything he’s seen, he knows Midoriya is too observant to lie to.  

“Yeah the police weren’t too convinced about my story until I saw the symbol of the sun and explained. That was good shit, Midoriya.”

“Ah— I was a little desperate.”

“How did… How did you find out I used to go there?” Hitoshi asks, intrigued, and a little cautious.

Midoriya winces.

“Again— sorry for looking into your past, I didn’t mean to pry—”

“Let’s agree, no more apologizing, yeah?”

The blankets shift.

“Okay.”

Midoriya’s eyes drift off, stuck in memory.

“One of my captors was held there too, when he was younger,” Midoriya explains, and the snakes writhe tighter. “And he wanted to expose the people there who had perpetuated your living situation.”

“They had me use— I opened a locked safe for them that was full of hidden case reports. And Joon just was digging through them, trying to find his own, and yours ended up on the ground.”

Hitoshi tenses at the captor’s appearance in their conversation, wracking his brain for any older kids with the same name, but nothing rose to the surface. A large dread floods him. Another unloved foster kid with a hideous Quirk, falling into villainy.

That could have been you.

That still could be you.

If you’re not careful.

If you don’t get out of General Studies.

He tries not to show his discomfort on his face.

“I didn’t read it,” Midoriya assures him. “But your hair is very recognizable.”

Hitoshi lets out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but at least there was no direct connection from the captor to Hitoshi. Midoriya had seen Hitoshi’s seven-year-old face and ran with it, instead of digging into his past and finding how utterly hopeless Hitoshi was.

“Glad my photo could help,” Hitoshi says. Thanks for not reading my background, Hitoshi means. “And seriously, Midoriya. I’m glad I was there to help you get home. Don’t regret saying my name.”

“I don’t regret it,” Midoriya says, his voice shaky. Like he’s both trying to convince himself aloud and trying to make it clear that it was absolutely necessary. “You were quite literally my only chance out of there. I didn’t expect to see you at my rescue.”

“Yeah, did Aizawa tell you about that?”

“Yeah. About— about my outburst,” Midoriya’s whole face pinches up, cringing. “Sorry for—”

“Midoriya, seriously no apologizing.”

“But I like vomited right in front of you,” Midoriya shoots back, disgusted.

“I want to become a hero, Midoriya. I’m fine with a little vomit.”

“B-But I panicked so hard in front of you— you must think I’m—”

“You were kidnapped and a villain literally had a pain quirk activated on you,” Hitoshi assured him. “You are safe, it’s fine. If anything, I should apologize for hurting you—”

“No apologizing,” Midoriya stuck a finger out at him. “Your brainwashing saved me. Thank you for saving me.”

“Ok then,” Hitoshi mocked back, “Brainwashing you was my pleasure.”

They both decompress for a moment, as the apologizing and thanking somehow became a heated argument. Midoriya let out a wet chuckle, and Hitoshi wiped his tired eyes.

“It feels very weird being back,” Midoriya says without prompting.

“I can’t imagine,” Hitoshi says. “Your friends were so worried.”

“They are great, aren’t they?” Midoriya whispers, a smile on his face. “I never thought I’d have people like them in my corner.”

Hitoshi frowns at what that exactly means.

“You have a lot of good people in your corner, Midoriya. Don’t forget that.”

“I know. It’s hard to— remind myself.”

“Midoriya, I was here when you were missing. Your friends cried over you, were desperate to find you. Aizawa and All Might both fought so hard to get you home. They— they care about you. I don’t—”

I don’t know if people would care if I went missing.

Years of anger, resentment, fear boils up into Hitoshi’s tone and he cuts his sentence short.  This conversation was about Midoriya, not him.

Because Hitoshi was so intermeshed with Midoriya’s case, it was hard for him not to project, not to see himself floating like a ghost through 1A’s dorms, comparing his experience to anyone who walked right through him.

“I should be grateful. I am grateful,” Midoriya’s voice shakes. “But sometimes I look out on all these things and I can’t help but feel like they are temporary.”

And that rocked Hitoshi’s being. Because didn’t he feel that every damn day?

Things were getting better.

Aizawa-sensei advocated for him. Wanted him to succeed.

UA had his back. There were people who wanted to be his… friend, despite everything.

His foster situation was the best it had ever been.

He had successfully proven to 1A that he was going to be a hero. That his Quirk could save people.

But with all the amazing new moments came the perpetual feeling of grief— that at any minute, all the good things in his fragmented little life would vanish.

“And I-I don’t think my friends would understand that,” Midoriya continues.  “But when we fought in the Sports Festival, Shinsou, I felt that you understood.”

Hitoshi’s mouth hung open a little. Because here was the golden student of class 1A, someone who Hitoshi never believed he could understand after fighting him and his awe-inspiring Quirk in the Sports Festival, and he related to him. He related to him on a deep-rooted pain so acute, so specific, that only those who had experienced it would ever be able to put it into words.

And it wasn’t derivative of Midoriya’s kidnapping, but something so integral he felt at the Sports Festival.

Hitoshi wanted to push, wanted to understand just exactly what he and Midoriya related to that would make their interpretation of life feel so similar. But Midoriya’s green eyes looked fearful, like he was scared he had said too much already.

“I do understand. And look— I know explaining how much these people love you isn’t ever going to fully click,” Hitoshi takes a mental leap, seeing if the other boy will agree with him. “But if we are truly similar people, I know we think it’s our job to— to prove our existence to others.”

“And we shouldn’t have to. But we know we need to, the way things are,” Midoriya continues for him, his voice quiet. His eyebrows furrow, and anger seeps into his voice. “I am so sorry that the foster system did you such a disservice, Shinsou. We don’t deserve the systems that hurt us. It’s taken this whole ordeal for me to get that through my head.”

Hitoshi tries not to take that sentiment in too deep.

Had anyone ever apologized to him— not how they specifically hurt him— but acknowledged the deeper-rooted issue? There were middle school teachers who had noticed his bruises and sent him to the school nurse to get patched up, there were kids who gave him jelly pouches when he showed up to lunch without food, there were people like Kaminari would lend him things out of goodwill. The little acts of kindness all added up and got him through the rough sections of his life, but had anyone looked back at its entirety and done anything about the cause of all these grievances?  

I’m sorry you don’t have parents, Hitoshi.

I’m sorry the adults in your life failed you, Hitoshi.

I’m sorry society hates your Quirk, isn’t that fucked?

Let me do something about it.

“Fuck,” Hitoshi curses, overwhelmed by memories pushing up against his cranium, underwhelmed by the lack of care from other people in his life.

Midoriya seems to lose his fire, relaxing his straight back into something more hunched and hidden within the blankets.

“I didn’t mean to overstep—” he begins to apologize.

“No— You’re right,” Hitoshi sighs. “We don’t deserve it. It’s just a heavy thing to hear.”

Midoriya gives him a small smile.

“A-Anyways, I don’t want to keep you for too long,” he mumbles, “Did— did anything happen in the news while I was gone?”

Hitoshi takes the hint, allowing the conversation to change from something deep to something simple. And he finds it’s unusually easy to talk to Midoriya. They talk, even as Midoriya looks like he’s going to pass out in his bundle of blankets, but he continues the conversation.

But the entire time, Hitoshi thinks about the enigma that is Midoriya, someone who he was trying to understand when he was first roped into this case, is now alive in front of him.

There was something Midoriya was still battling. He hadn’t seen it when Midoriya fought him in the Sports Festival, but he had seen it clear as day during his rescue. The conversation tonight had only cemented that fact.

 We don’t deserve the systems that hurt us.

Later, when Hitoshi went to bed in the empty dorm room, that sentiment filled the air and allowed him rest.

We don’t.

Chapter Text

At 4:45 AM, Izuku sits at his desk with his computer bathing white light in an otherwise dark room. The throw blanket around his shoulders tries to keep the cold out, tries to reassure him that he’s safe, warm, and present. He scrolls, his eyes wide and lips pursed, as he reads the forum. It had taken him a few tries to guess his correct password, but once he was logged into his old account, missed messages and notifications came pouring in.

-Has anyone heard from @allmightfan413? It’s been a while

-You think they’re ok?

-You don’t think…

-@allmightfan413, no matter how hard it gets, you deserve to be here you know that, right?

A few months pass in the chat box, his online friends ranting about different things, occasionally bringing up thing X that happened because of their Quirklessness.

-I still haven’t heard from @allmightfan413

-They didn’t live in Kyoto, right? There was a boy on the news…

-No, I don’t think so. But they could have moved

-Maybe they are just taking a break

-Fuck

-Don’t think like that

Izuku’s fingers hover over the keyboard. There’s a pulse over his neck, that feels like Shio’s fingers.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

He can’t get himself to reply. Instead, his breathing stumbles and he throws himself out of his blankets, tripping when the fabric won’t let go of his legs. His knees hit the carpet hard with a bang, but Izuku’s brain is still racing, now in flight. The illuminating glow of his computer only accentuates the dark corners of his room and obscures his view of the window.

Anyone could see in, he thinks and scrambles over to the glass, checking to make sure the latch is locked tight. The blinds close shut and Izuku slips to the floor again.

If Aoyama can access my balcony then any villain could…

Rapid fire escape routes play through his brain. He can’t calm down.  

You have a Quirk. You are ok. One for All can protect you.

His hands shake, because Izuku hasn’t tried to use his Quirk since the time Joon forced his hand.

The red-hot pain, melting, melding into the core of his body…

He sits there and remembers too much, not able to move. He sees the Welcome Home card, still resting on his desk and it gets him to even out his breathing. But his body refuses to listen to him and shuts down on the hard floor.

The dark morning wears on, and only when his phone pings, does he jolt out of his frozen stupor.

-You down for a walk or a light jog? Todoroki texted. It’s now 6:30 AM.

Izuku breathes. It’s easy, with Todoroki. The two of them could do anything together in complete silence without it being awkward.

-Yeah! I’ll be down in ten

Getting off the ground felt impossible, as the chaos in Izuku’s brain felt like lead shackles binding his every move; but, now with a time limit and an obligation to his friend, Izuku pushes himself to stand. The weather has decided to change, so Izuku changes into sweats and a hoodie. In the bathroom, he splashes water on his face, attempting to rub out dark circles that ring his eyes. Prickling at his skin, the water no longer stays as a pleasant sensation, instead making him itch and towel himself dry violently.

Everything reminds Izuku of his hands, around his neck, prodding at his scars.

He’s not here. He’s not here. No one knows.

Izuku repeats this mantra over and over even as he slips out of his room and enters the elevator.

Todoroki is waiting for him downstairs. Never the best with emotion, Todoroki does not smile or pull Izuku into a hug, but instead gives Izuku his full attention.

“Was Shinsou ok last night?” is the first thing he asks, like Shinsou could have hurt him. An ugly retort wants to bubble out of Izuku’s mouth, I’m fine, but Izuku feels the tiredness in his bones like the marrow had been replaced with iron. Todoroki is undoubtably, fiercely loyal to his friends, and Izuku reminds himself this, steadying himself before he speaks.

“Yeah— he gave me some closure.”

A miniscule shift in Todoroki’s mask. Relief.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m here for you if you need me, Midoriya.”

Izuku tries to smile at that, but it’s difficult. 

I appreciate it, Todoroki, Izuku wants to say. Except I really can’t tell you anything. You’re one of my closest friends and I can’t tell you that I was Quirkless— the plot of the video that keeps replaying in my mind— the reason why I keep feeling Shio all over my skin.

“Thanks, Todoroki,” he says, and he means it. Izuku can tell his friend wants to say more, but they instead walk out into the cold morning and enjoy each other’s company.

***

When they reenter the dorms, many of the students are already awake and bustling.

“Woah Midoriya, did you sleep at all?” Kaminari says with wide eyes, bundled up on the couch.

It makes Izuku wince out a smile, like he’s apologizing.

“I can make a really good espresso!” Aoyama announces and bounds off into the kitchen before Izuku can turn him down. Iida, already dressed in his school uniform, waves at him from the bar facing the kitchen and Izuku joins him.

“Good morning, Midoriya!” he says, cheerfully. Overly so, Izuku notes. “It is so reassuring to be able to say that again.”

“Good morning, Iida,” Izuku says back, trying to wipe the wince off his face. “Feels good to say it too.”

“I made breakfast ~” Uraraka calls out from the kitchen, depositing a small bowl in front of Izuku and Iida. On top, there’s thinly sliced green onion and roasted sesame seeds. She had cut the omelet into bite-sized star shapes.

“So cute,” Tsyuu comments after Uraraka gives her a bowl.

Although Midoriya really did want to eat more robust foods, he was happy to see what she’d made for him would be easier to eat.

He sends her his thanks and begins to eat slowly, waking his stomach up. Other people’s eyes are on him as he chews. In moments like these, he’d kill for an intimidating stare like the one Kacchan’s got.

Last night was bad, wasn’t it…

Between his conversation with his friends, with Shinsou, the nightmares as his heels, the forum… Izuku had honestly forgot how he left his classmates yesterday. They had made him a huge meal and he could barely take a few bites. He had overreacted to Kacchan and made a scene. He’s happy Kacchan’s not downstairs yet, because Izuku can feel too many emotions poking beneath his skin. Too many emotions meant he couldn’t react properly— he couldn’t deescalate Kacchan the way people were used to.

“It’s good, thanks Uraraka!” Izuku forces himself to smile. The relief that floods the kitchen is a lot less subtle than Todoroki’s, and Izuku tries not to deflate.

They probably talked about you long after you left for bed, a negative part of his mind crowed.

“Here’s a holiday spice latte, mon ami,” Aoyama slides a festive cup his way. He had whipped up the cream, making it foamy and soft, and sprinkled spices on top. It smelled amazing, and if Izuku was going to get through the whole school day, he needed a little caffeine.

Even if they talked, it was out of worry, Izuku reminds himself, reflecting back to the conversation he and Shinsou had last night. They care about you.

He takes a sip, enjoying its sweetness, before showing his thanks.

“Happy to,” Aoyama says easily, returning his with own latte.

“I can’t believe you can drink something so sickly sweet,” comes a new, instantly identifiable voice. Shinsou enters the kitchen with his sleep-tousled lilac hair and goes straight to the coffee pot, getting himself a fully black cup of coffee.

“I can’t believe you’ve killed off all your taste buds,” Izuku retorts before sipping.

Shinsou raises his eyebrows as his sips some of his own, as if proving the taste wasn’t bad. But Izuku will not be convinced.

This sends the rest of class in a wild debate on what coffee should be— it’s supposed to be bitter, it should taste good!— that feels blessedly normal. The warmth radiating from his mug allows Izuku to relax, to soak in the joy of being home, of being free.

“Aizawa says he wants to have a meeting with us, after our homeroom,” Shinsou says as he slips into the empty seat on Izuku’s right. His voice is low, only meant for the two of them.

“Oh… Did he say what the meeting was for?”

“Not sure,” Shinsou shrugs, and takes a sip with a slight wince. “But don’t think about it too hard, yeah? Trust in Aizawa.”

“I-I trust him…” Izuku retorts back, his mind already working. He takes another bite of his breakfast so he won’t have to say anything more.

“Do you trust me?” Shinsou says suddenly.

Izuku blinks. Trust was such a complicated word. Izuku doesn’t think he fully trusts anyone— he has multiple secrets, after all. The only one who knew everything, from his childhood, to his Quirklessness, to One for All was Kacchan— and Izuku did not trust him either.

“Wha—? I do… I mean, you risked your life for me.”

“If you trust me, even it’s not fully, know that I’m on your side,” Shinsou says. “If you get overwhelmed today, just let me know.”

Izuku sips his coffee, too cowardly to look up. He’s not sure how he can respond to this, so he just nods. This seems to be enough for Shinsou, as the morning slips away.

***

Izuku is overwhelmed, that’s for sure. But Shinsou is not there when he’s in homeroom, trying to compare the notes his class has given him to what they are learning in class. It’s loud and overstimulating, so Izuku’s brain sort of turns off halfway through lecture. He makes himself a bit smaller than usual, a bit less easy to talk to, and it allows the class period to go fast enough.

Soon Izuku follows Aizawa-sensei out of the classroom, back into the teacher’s lounge where other heroes wave to Izuku.

“Shinsou’s already inside your office!” calls out Present Mic, to which Aizawa-sensei grunts in an affirmative.

As promised, the purple-haired General Studies student waits in one of the chairs opposite of Aizawa-sensei’s. Izuku takes a seat just as his teacher does.

“Thank you both for joining me,” Aizawa begins. “I’d like to discuss a number of things. First is— your development. I understand that it is difficult to get back into the swing of things once you have been out of training for a bit.”

Weak. Weak. Weak.

You’ve fallen to the bottom again.

Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but Aizawa cuts him off.

“— And Shinsou is continuing his training to enter the hero course.”

“What? That’s amazing Shinsou!” Izuku exclaims, a smile slipping onto his face so easily. Shinsou just scratches the back of his head at the abrupt attention.

“You know this…” Shinsou shrugs. “I want to become a hero.”

“Once you’re cleared to train, Midoriya, I’d like you to take afterschool lessons with Shinsou and I,” Aizawa finishes.

Beaming, Izuku quickly sifts through all the newfound benefits of this offer. He’s always secretly wanted training from Aizawa, a hero of stealth. In his hero analysis, Izuku always looked for subtle strategies. While All Might was an amazing mentor, he had never really taught Izuku to be nimble and resourceful— more utilizing his strength to its maximum.

“Yessir, thank you for this opportunity!”

Aizawa hums in approval.

“But that is not the only reason I called you in,” his teacher continues. “The interrogation of your kidnappers is going underway this week, Midoriya.”

Tension seeps back into the room, and the cheery mood slips right off Izuku’s face.

“We are attempting to uncover and properly compensate those who were involved in the Sunrise Facility case, including Shinsou here.”

“You’re— You’re actually doing something,” Shinsou mumbles in disbelief.

Their conversation from last night steeps in Izuku’s mind like a warm tea, the meaning of their shared words growing more poignant and pronounced by the second. Recognition of the harm that had been done and immediate action into bringing justice to those harmed was important, essential, to both Shinsou and himself.  

As Aizawa-sensei holds Shinsou’s gaze, inexplicable pride for his teacher wells up inside Izuku.

“I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get you justice, kid.”

Shinsou blinks, his violet eyes suddenly growing glassy. He rubs at his face, pursing his lips like he’s desperately holding back a slew of emotions. Despite the uneasiness in his heart, Izuku can’t help but place his attention on Shinsou. He suddenly understands his friends— how they desperately wanted to support Izuku while simultaneously not knowing how to do so.

Leaning forward in his chair, Aizawa-sensei interlacing his fingers and props them up just under his chin, contemplative. With his teacher’s eyes now on him, Izuku refocuses.

“But we are having trouble accessing the evidence needed to make this go underway,” Aizawa explains.

“From your testimony and a clerk at the copy store, Mr. Yi successfully brought and copied the hidden reports of Sunrise staff members. But Mr. Yi will not disclose where he stowed this evidence, making it near impossible for us to start targeting both victims and perpetrators.”

Nothing is ever easy, Izuku thinks. He tries not to let dread creep into his voice.

“What do you want me to do, then?” he asks.

Aizawa-sensei looks almost apologetic as he speaks.

“It seems you and Mr. Yi discussed the matter while in capture, and he disclosed that his intention for you in the ransom video was to inspire others about this cause. He had faith that your presence would help his cause, but now –while detained— he seems extremely warry of the police and their ability to help. Much less the other foster children.”

Izuku nods in confirmation, losing himself to his thoughts.

I’ve never been able to tell this institution’s secrets, my own story, the way I intended, Joon had said. It was his life, his traumas, his retribution— Izuku understood why the villain was filled with distrust and fear.

I’m going to have to get home first to make a difference, Izuku had thought.

Well, now he was home. And as he flickers his gaze over to Shinsou, he can see the direct affect this difference could make. It was important for him to do whatever he could for the lost kids of Sunrise.

“So, you think he might tell me the location?” Izuku clarifies. Shinsou makes a small noise of protest at that.

“It is our hope.”

“And Shio has— hasn’t said anything either?” Izuku pushes, trying not to sound so small.

Yes, he understands Joon and his intentions.

Yes, he wants to help these kids who had gone through so much.

But actually seeing his kidnappers again… After everything was so fresh—

I can still feel his fingers around my neck.

“I am not assigned to Mr. Fuyuto’s case,” Aizawa emphasizes this by shaking his head. Izuku wonders if that has anything to do with his request in the hospital. “However, it’s been established from the other investigators that Mr. Fuyuto has been extremely belligerent throughout his interrogation period and thus priorities for him have changed.”

“So…”

“So you will only be speaking to Mr. Yi,” Aizawa concludes.

An involuntary shiver rips through Izuku, like his body just recoiled from both disgust and relief. He has the unexplainable urge to cry, and he can feel his chin wobble in betrayal.

“Breathe, Midoriya.”

Izuku wants to be offended by that, but he sucks in a shaky gasp, and realizes he’s been holding in his breath. It takes him a moment to center himself, and he wipes at his face in case there were any hidden tears present.

“I understand this is a lot. I apologize for how hard we are pushing you both—”

“You don’t have to do this,” Shinsou interjects, his face falling. That is enough to strengthen Izuku’s resolve.

“I’m fine—” Izuku bites out. “Sorry. I want to do it. I will do it. I just— I really don’t want to see Shio…”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Izuku nods tightly. He summons the determination he felt when he first glimpsed Shinsou’s file, when the hero inside him saw a person in need of saving.

“I will be ok, then,” Izuku affirms, raising his chin up at the task.

Now, Aizawa-sensei studies him, the furrow of his eyebrows radiating subdued worry.

“I have an availability to bring both you into the precinct on Friday, two days from now,” Aizawa continues and picks up a paper on his desk.

“Both of us?” Shinsou asks. “I’ve already talked to the police…”

“Yes— but the police would like to take your account for the Sunrise investigative case. We would like to interview as many foster children as we can, so that the case against its staff is solid. These people need to answer to their crimes.”

“Wow,” Shinsou sounds dazed. “Wow, ok. You are really doing this.”

“We’re not going to leave anyone behind,” Aizawa-sensei said firmly.

Izuku feels his heart tug at that.

What if…

What if I just told Aizawa-sensei… Without him seeing the video…

Would that be so wrong? To know that I’m Quirkless?

Would he support me too?

Years and years of longing sink through Izuku’s chest. To be understood in his entirety and not only to receive respect but— to have a person by his side to champion for him. To fight a fight that he didn’t want to battle by himself.

It seemed selfish to want such a thing, but Izuku had never craved it so poignantly.

“In that case, I will pick you up Friday morning,” Aizawa folds the paper in front of him and taps it on the table, like they both just sealed a deal. “I know this a lot on you— but I am so, so proud. You are going to create a lot of good change in this messed up world we got.”

Izuku and Shinsou get to their feet when Aizawa does.

“Please let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable,” he says. He then looks to Izuku with intense eyes, as if he can hear his thoughts. “And I mean it, ok?”

The sentiment feels truthful, but between prolonged wounds and his conversations with Shio, Izuku doesn’t want to risk it. He just can’t.

So he smiles, weakly, but he smiles all the same.

***

On Friday morning, Izuku sits in the backseat of Aizawa-sensei’s car with his hands twisting in his lap. As Shinsou enters to his left with a small backpack, the cat plushie hanging from the rearview mirror swings carelessly. The fake leather smells like pine, Izuku notes, as his senses triple in their intensity.

He sends Shinsou a small wave, to which the other returns. They both look hopelessly nervous. The past few days have been a blur as Izuku fought nightmares until morning, where he pulled himself together enough to get through his classes. Catching up on schoolwork had proven difficult when Izuku’s mind was either on hyperdrive or sluggishly existing. He was grateful that after today, he would be visiting his mother under the supervision of All Might and one of his hero buddies. It would be a needed reset.

“You boys ready?” Aizawa says tiredly from the front, dressed in semi-formal clothes. His normally mess black hair is twisted into a bun, exposing his newly shaven face.

“Yessir,” they both echo.

As the car starts, soft rock coats the car in a pleasant hum.

“It’s about a twenty-minute drive,” Aizawa-sensei lets them know.

That’s so long, Izuku cringes internally. Twenty minutes was very short, but Izuku knew that the itch of anxiety would make the seconds crawl.  

“I brought Denki’s Switch if you wanna have a go,” Shinsou suddenly says as he reaches into his bag. Kaminari’s console is predictably a warm yellow with orange details. Izuku smiles at the sudden closeness of Shinsou and his classmate.

“Oh! What— What’s on there?”

“The updated version of Hero’s Quest.”

That piques Izuku’s interest. He realizes it’s been far too long since he’s had time to lounge and game, and he hasn’t been able to try new the new update.

“Sure. I’ll give it a go,” he smiles and takes the Switch. As he plays, Shinsou gives him pointers and details a few random facts about the game.

“Wow, Shinsou, you know so much about the development!” Izuku comments as he spams the attack buttons, not used to the controls.

“Well— I sure as hell don’t own a Switch,” Shinsou says in a low chuckle, “But I watched, uh, too many videos on the game and how it was produced. I’ve been binging a few games while I’ve been in the dorms.”

“It definitely takes your mind off of things.”

“That’s the idea.”

“We’re here,” Aizawa-sensei announces as he drives over a speed bump, the cat plushie bouncing and holding on for dear life. Izuku’s character chooses the perfect time to die abruptly and throws him back to the loading screen.

“Already?” Shinsou murmurs, voicing what Izuku was feeling. Aizawa goes through a security check before pulling into an empty parking spot. It feels all rushed as the Switch gets stowed away and the three of them empty out of car as quickly as they had entered.

“Well— We’re going to be separated, right?” Izuku clarifies.

“I will be with you, Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei confirms, and that makes Izuku feel a bit better. His teacher digs into his pocket to pull out a tin of mints, popping one into his mouth before offering to his students. “Shinsou will be with the rest of my team. They are very considerate people, but if anything feels off—”

He locks eyes with Shinsou, emphasizing his point with a rattle of the tin.

“— You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. You can always wait for my availability if you would like me to be there with you.”

That seems to give Shinsou confidence as he takes a mint.

“Okay,” he nods. “Thank you.”

Izuku pops a mint into his mouth, the biting and refreshing taste making him a little less focused on his dry throat.

This is really happening.

Aizawa-sensei luckily does all the talking and paperwork for them as they enter the precinct, Izuku swishing the mint back and forth on his tongue. The bustle of the office they’re in makes Izuku’s mind buzz a little.

“You’re going to do great,” he says to Shinsou, so suddenly he surprises himself.

Shinsou blinks, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ah… We’ll see. Yeah, we’ll see,” he murmurs. His eyes widen, like he’s just been reminded of something. “I just told you the other day that I am here for you when you’re feeling overwhelmed… And here you are supporting me.”

“We’re both going to be heroes, right? Makes sense,” Izuku chuckles.

Shinsou relaxes.

“Yeah— we are, aren’t we?” he says and the statement rests in the air likes it’s a fact. “The offer always stands, Midoriya. We’re both going to get through this.”

“Shinsou Hitoshi!” an officer calls out to their left.

Shinsou nods to the officer, prepping to leave with the file Aizawa hands him, but before he does, he extends a fist Izuku’s way. Izuku taps it with his own.

And the lilac-haired boy turns and disappears through the door across the room.

“Hey problem child,” Aizawa-sensei says in monotone, handing him his paperwork. “You ready?”

“As ever,” Izuku huffs, swallowing the mint. It burns on the way down. He reads the papers silently as Aizawa goes over some of the etiquette expected out of the questioning period.

“And— if for any reason— you need to step out, or take a break— you just let me know. I will be by your side to guide the conversation. You are not alone in this, Midoriya.”

“Thanks, sensei,” Izuku says, trying to keep his voice level. He couldn’t afford to get emotional before even entering the room on their right. Some officers come up to him and introduce themselves, but their names enter and exit Izuku’s brain on the same beat.

Shio’s not in there.

It’s just Joon.

You’re safe. You’re with Aizawa-sensei.

He breathes tightly as one of the officers opens the door for them. It’s the other side of a one-way mirror, Izuku realizes, where a few monitors are set up with officers stationed in front. And on the other side, seated and handcuffed to a white table, sits Joon-seo Yi, who both looks uncomfortably familiar and uncannily different.

His light brown skin was now flushed with black stubble, aging him. The bags under his eyes that had appeared after finding his Sunrise file only looked more pronounced and highlighted the utter resignation in his eyes. There were a few bruises on his arms and Izuku wondered where he had got them— from Shio? From Aizawa? Izuku had been so out of it during that fight he had no clues to guess off of.

“Midoriya?” Aizawa-sensei lightly prompted. They still needed to enter the actual room.

“O-Oh, yes? Sorry.”

Demanding his body to listen, Izuku shook himself and nodded to the officer that he was ready. Once the door was unlocked, bright light reflecting off the tiled floors made Izuku blink. He pressed forward, trying to not look so damn terrified.

Joon’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open ever so slightly, as Izuku took a seat next to Aizawa-sensei. Emotions Izuku couldn’t try to understand flittered over his face.

“Hi Joon,” he says lightly.

“Deku,” Joon whispers. “You’re ok.”

Izuku’s throat went tight. And then, they began.

Chapter Text

            Here, in a room where all noise sifted into an incriminating buzz, Izuku truly saw his kidnapper in his entirety. The skin around his eyes was dark and loose, the fat on his cheeks making him look boyish, but the fullness of his jaw and neck pointing a stronger indicator to his age. His hands tensed on the table, his wrists chained to its underside, where Izuku could see how rough and worn the pads of his palms were. Dried blood peeked out under his fingernails, callouses converged and cracked without lotion. The normal restraints were accompanied by Quirk repressing cuffs, looking eerily like the ones they put on Izuku, that canceled out the Quirk that had caused him so much pain at the end.

Being at the dorms at night had given Izuku too much time alone. When he went through his routine of checking the locks on the windows, he’d sit in an uncomfortable upright position on his bed— too scared for his brain to turn off but too exhausted to keep it going. It was then when he was most vulnerable, and the broken memories of his rescue would slot into place with painful poignancy.

Up until that moment when Shinsou and Aizawa came rushing in, Joon had solely been using the token in Izuku’s wallet to activate his Quirk. But Izuku had been far too delirious with Shio taking those videos on his phone, too open about how much importance he’d poured into the object. Joon had used that against him, shifting his Quirk to employ a pain sharper, deeper into not only every cell in his body, but the depths of his psyche.

Everything would be ruined if people saw that video.

If they saw how low I could fall.

Of what lies underneath green lightening and scarred skin.

Izuku is afraid to look at Joon’s eyes again. He’s afraid that Joon could see right through to the core parts of him, the ones reserved for those who had seen the primal desperation that would get him to survive. The remnants of those memories prickle through his blood stream, a part of him, unwanted but there even so.

I don’t want to be here, a childish part of Izuku’s brain whimpers.

What grounds him is Aizawa-sensei, whose left hand slips under the table to gently squeeze his own. The touch reminds Izuku that he’s not alone, that he was not being subjugated to memories so fresh and recent for nothing. He remembers lilac hair in the Sunrise Care Facility report, that his friend needed him. Hundreds of kids needed closure that Joon had the ability to grant.

He needs to be strong, just for a little longer.

“You’re ok,” Joon repeats, and Izuku raises his gaze to meet him once more. “Th-The police wouldn’t tell me if you— if you made it out.”

Guilt is thick in Joon’s voice, but Izuku is morbidly comforted that the other stewed in his wrong doings. Did he think he killed Izuku with his heavy lance of a Quirk? Did he think that in his last moments of freedom, he stooped lower than the likes of Shio?   

A part of Izuku firmly states good.

“I’m fine,” Izuku says evenly. Aizawa’s pulse helps his words smooth out.

“Why are you here?” Joon says, his voice so quiet as if the silence of the room ate away as his words.

“When we first accessed the reports of the Sunrise Facility, I told you, that I agreed what had been done was unforgivable,” Izuku begins. “That when I returned to the real world, I wouldn’t let this go uninvestigated.” 

Joon’s eyebrows crease, and he looks down at his hands, emotion flickering all over him.

“I know you hid the reports,” Izuku presses. “Where are they, Joon?”

“You are too good for the life you’ve been put through, Deku,” Joon’s voice shakes.

“It isn’t just for you,” Izuku snaps, fear driving his voice to a higher pitch. It scares him that the other is treading along the lines of a story he doesn’t want to tell. It scares him that the other cares so deeply. It would almost be easier if Joon was callous and wicked like Shio, but the humanity, the hurt shining through Joon sends confusing emotions through Izuku. “There are hundreds of kids waiting for justice.”

“I can’t,” Joon shakes his head, his voice resigned and watery. 

“What do you mean you can’t?” Izuku says, frustration biting at his tone.

Joon is silent.

“You chose this life. I know that there were one thousand fucked up reasons that led you to make your decisions, but you acted on them. You kidnapped me, you sought out the reports of the people that hurt you, and you buried them away. You have the ability to choose now.”

Izuku’s shoulders jitter, like untapped energy through a telephone wire.

“You are so, so strong. I understand what I did to you was fucked up. I understand that the pressure we put on you at the end was wrong, so fucking wrong. I really thought I killed you,” an angry weep rips out of Joon that makes Izuku’s gut swirl and churn. “But you’re here, still fighting. I’m not as strong as you, Deku.”

“Why?” Izuku presses. “I don’t understand when you have the option to be a better person— when there is no good reason for you not to?”

“Do you believe that?” Joon shoots back, his voice finally getting louder. It makes Izuku’s lungs flutter with a skipped breath. “You think these people will actually do something? How do I know you aren’t going to just get the information and then do nothing? When that’s been the case my entire fucking life!”

“Mr. Yi, if you cannot calm yourself, we will have to conclude here,” Aizawa-sensei steps in, his voice dangerously low and commanding. Izuku almost wants to get mad at him for interrupting, but he can finally feel how bad his hands are shaking against his teacher’s.

Joon lets out a staggered breath, his jaw shivering. With his hands chained to the table, he’s forced to lower his head to wipe away warm tears.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice reduced to a whisper once more. “I’m sorry.”

The silence, for a moment, makes Izuku’s ears ring.

“I was there for the majority of my childhood. I watched kid after kid get shoved through a facility that couldn’t give two shits. I reached out, you know?” Joon’s voice cracks as he gestures to Aizawa-sensei as if he encompasses all of hero society. “I reached out and they didn’t care. I wanted to do this on my own terms. But if I tell them, and they do nothing, it will hurt much deeper than if I withheld this information to the grave.”

Izuku allows his heart rate to slow down. Before, when he was assaulted by Shio and Joon’s pasts, they had power over him. They could dig their fingers into his neck, withhold food, scream in his face while Izuku had to think through split second decisions. Izuku was no longer in that facility. He was in control. Sharp clarity helps his shoulders relax, for his mind to swim in rationality.

“I can’t know exactly how you feel, I won’t claim what I’ve been through is the same as your experience,” Izuku says, his voice strong. “But I do know what it feels like to ask for help and have it stomped into the ground. It has hurt me, it has made me wary, it has made me question the people who are supposed to protect me.”

Aizawa-sensei squeezes his hand under the table and Izuku almost stops. You’re saying too much. But he reminds himself why he’s here, why it’s important that he speak.

“My friend was also admitted into Sunrise at one point of his life,” Izuku continues, and Joon’s attention suddenly whips on him. “If you believe that you won’t receive justice after everything you’ve done, please believe I will not let this go. I will not let them go silent. My friend deserves justice as much as you do.”

Joon’s broad shoulders are tense, brought up close to his ears. His eyes are on Izuku, but they flicker like the man is thinking a thousand thoughts at once.

“You could just be saying that,” Joon whispers, rejecting the thought. “I can’t believe you. I— I’m sorry but you’re— you’re with them.”

His eyes flicker to Aizawa-sensei, and Izuku realizes his teacher was the last thing Joon encountered in his last stretch of freedom.

“You haven’t even gotten yourself help— I can tell,” Joon continues, and his words feel like a blow to the stomach. “We are hurt by the system. Without villainy, without crime as our hostage, we rely on the same fucked up system to fix itself. How can I expect you to help me when you don’t even trust the structure that hurt you?”

The strength that had lifted Izuku to this unending task suddenly floods away. His jaw quivers and his whole-body aches like his limbs know Joon’s right. There were moments this week when Izuku thought he would talk to All Might about what happened. All Might knew him and his past, and there weren’t many people Izuku could trust to talk about this. From the way his nights would stretch on and on with his eyes wide and his stomach bursting with anxiety, he could feel that he needed more support. That he was drowning by himself in the dorms.

But Izuku couldn’t get himself to reach out.

When the detectives had first discussed how the blackmail would be dealt with, back on that hospital bed, Izuku had only specified Aizawa-sensei not to view the footage. That means— that must mean that All Might saw the video.

Then why hasn’t he said anything? Izuku’s brain would scream.

Is he afraid to?

Is it too uncomfortable for him?

Does he just not care?

It takes everything in Izuku not to tear up. It all but confirmed Joon’s suspicions. Izuku didn’t want to face the reality that people might find out what really happened to him and still would choose to do nothing about it.

If he opens his mouth to say one more word, he knows his body will betray him.

“The friend Midoriya is referring to is here, actually,” Aizawa-sensei speaks, his low rumble taking over the room so abruptly, Joon flinches. “If you don’t believe he exists, that can be easily rectified.”

Izuku turns to his teacher with questioning, glassy eyes. You want to bring Shinsou into yet another unnecessarily stressful situation? The General Studies student has been dragged through enough shit to exhaust even a pro. Izuku opens his mouth to voice this, but Aizawa meets his eyes.

“I’ll make sure he’s ok with it first, I promise,” Aizawa-sensei assures him. “I know how much he wants to see this through.”

Joon is still silent— from shock or disbelief Izuku can’t distinguish – but Izuku finds it in him to nod.

We can’t let this end here.

***

Hitoshi walks behind Aizawa, trying not to think about what he’s going to say in the interrogation room. Before his mentor explained the new situation, Hitoshi had been waiting at the front of the police station with his headphones in and Switch out. It was easy that way to drown out his interview that had more or less finished up with a few shaky tears and mumbled confessions. The memories that he had taped up in brown cardboard boxes were now ripped open, and, instead of closure, the contents were strewn all over his brain like a rediscovered hoarder.

If he reached into the mess in his mind, he only caught his hand in glass. 

“I appreciate that you’re doing this,” Aizawa says, looking back at him. It was easier than normal to see the other’s concern. “Midoriya tried his best.”

“It’s huge that Midoriya tried at all,” Hitoshi said, his voice flat. “He hasn’t even been home for a week.”

“This mess will be over soon, I promise. I won’t let you kids sink deeper into this,” Aizawa reassures. “With the full picture in mind, the detectives and I can finally do our jobs.”

Hitoshi grunts, not fully convinced, and that makes Aizawa turn. His eyes churn with something sad, like he’s failed Hitoshi too many times.  

“Anything you need, kid, and I’ve got you, yeah?”

The sincerity in Aizawa’s words dispels the uncertainty clouding through Hitoshi. He’s not alone.

He’s never going to be alone again.

Hitoshi ducks his head, a grateful smile flashing for only a moment.

“Okay.”

When they reach the next hallway, Aizawa enters the first door to his left. Hitoshi peeks his head into the room and sees Midoriya quietly sipping on a water bottle. His knee is perched up on his seat and crunched up by his chest, but the rest of his body slumps around it like jello. 

“How are you doing Midoriya?” he asks. Midoriya’s green eyes widen and look up at him.

“Hanging in there,” he says, his voice and body deflated. “Are you ok?”

Hitoshi shrugs. Midoriya hums in acknowledgement. Finally, he gets to his feet.

“Are you sure about going in?” Midoriya says like the words have been ripped out of his mouth with tweezers.

“No,” Hitoshi says simply. “But the least I could do is try.”

“Okay.”

They both are nervous. But it’s different from the feeling in the car. Back then, they were stewing in anxiety, waiting to approach the entities that live in the black beaded corners of their rooms. Not knowing what would happen when the light finally revealed what was there.

Now they were well acquainted with their shadows. It wasn’t easier, and Hitoshi couldn’t speak for Midoriya, but he figured the anxiety had settled into a kind of acceptance that makes you want to crawl under the covers and never get out.

Instead, Hitoshi was here at the police station, looking over a man who had made Midoriya scream in pain. Yet, he wants to go in there. He wants to finally pick up the scattered pieces. He wants to finish the job Midoriya never should have been given.

He nods to Aizawa, and the man looks to Midoriya before he opens the door.

There are three chairs on the side opposite of Joon-seo Yi, and Hitoshi lands himself in the middle. The cold metal bites into Hitoshi’s back, and after a moment, he realizes there’s no way to make the seating comfortable.

Perfect for an interrogation.

“This is Midoriya’s friend, as promised,” Aizawa introduces, allowing his voice to breach the silence.

“Sup,” Hitoshi says.

“You’re— you’re from that night,” the man says, his voice surprisingly soft. It was hard to associate the raw fear and rage of that night with the person before him.

“That would be me.”

“Which means you’re— you’re a hero?”

Hitoshi blinks.

“I don’t have a hero’s license yet. I just came in because I knew Sunrise’s grounds.”

Joon’s arms withdraw ever so slightly, giving Hitoshi an untrusting raise of his eyebrows.

“When were you admitted?”

“Eight, nine years ago.”

“You were just a little kid then,” Joon says, his voice shaking slightly. “You were there for my last year, when I was eighteen.”

Hitoshi shifts in his seat, giving Joon a hard stare. Underneath the stubble, the longer hair and worn features, could he see someone he used to know?

“I remember the older kids would take care of us,” Hitoshi says. “There were never enough staff hired, and the kids would have to pull the slack.”

“I was always out back, helping with the yard,” Joon says shakily.

“Figures. They always kept me inside,” Hitoshi murmurs.

At Sunrise, Hitoshi had stayed much longer than many other children. His Quirk came in just before his entry into the foster system, and not many places wanted to deal with abandoned kids with haywire Quirks. Many of the kids he met left within a couple weeks, their names far more distant than their faces.

But there was a girl that came to mind. She had red, ashy hair that came to her shoulders.

“There was a girl named Suuki,” Hitoshi recalls. “She’d sit with me on the steps and calm me down after my Quirk would activate.”

“Suuki,” Joon repeats, like he’s sifting through the pages of a book filled with his memories. “Green eyes? Magnetism Quirk?”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi breathes. It was like their timelines were floating into place ever so slightly. “She would twirl around spoons in the air. I thought it was so cool.”

“Suuki came two years before me,” Joon says. His words are distant, mournful. “She always— she always knew what to do when things got tough.”

“Yeah… That’s wild,” Hitoshi murmurs, “I haven’t thought about her in years. I haven’t thought about Sunrise in years.”

With the pieces of his past so close to forefront of his mind, a memory slots into place. Hitoshi remembers standing, his back pressed against the wall as a faceless adult screamed spittle against his cheek.

How dare you speak?

How dare you use your Quirk on me, you little bitch?

Hitoshi stood there, almost on the brink of tears but too scared to say a word, until the other backed off. Suuki found him after dinner when it was quiet and his ears were still ringing.

They’d sit on the porch steps.

Suuki had been kind about his Quirk. She had asked him to use it, in small amounts, to gain a greater understanding of its reach. It was hard not to hate it, but she insisted otherwise.

It’s just a tool in your arsenal, she had said. You can use it however you like.

She summoned a yen that had fallen through the floorboards and handed it to Hitoshi. Her smile was small, but still there.

I think you should use it for good.

“Why won’t you give up the reports?” Hitoshi asks firmly. “I thought you wanted to make people care about this shit.”

“I-I do.”

“Then—”

“They can’t be trusted,” Joon whispers out. His hands wring themselves on the table. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.”

“You kidnapped Midoriya,” Hitoshi asserts back, “You can’t be trusted either.”

Joon has the gall to look guilty, his eyes flickering to Midoriya before dropping to the table. With their legs so close together, Hitoshi can feel Midoriya tense. 

“So instead, trust that I will finish this,” he continues. “I’m going to become a proper hero and save the rest of us.”

A quiet voice speaks up, startling the two.

“You will,” Midoriya says shakily, giving Hitoshi a small smile when he looks his way.

“Gotta catch up to you, golden boy,” Hitoshi hums.

“Oh you will,” Midoriya insists with those big green eyes. It makes something in Hitoshi flutter. “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

Joon looks between the two of them. Guilt. Fear. Recognition. Wonder. Shame.

Hope.

“What’s your name?” Joon asks.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Aizawa says strictly. But Hitoshi has already decided he was fine with it.

“Shinsou,” he offers.

“Shinsou…” Joon looks over at Midoriya with wide eyes, like puzzle pieces have slotted into place. The other boy swallows, nerves flaring. “I understand, now.”

Confusion crawls onto Hitoshi’s face, and the man notices.

“’You’re going to become a great hero’,” Joon repeats from the ransom video. Midoriya whole body goes taunt, but he keeps his expression neutral.

“He will,” Midoriya confirms, his voice small but strong.

Joon looks between the two of them for a moment, the quiet all encasing. Hitoshi can’t imagine how uncomfortable it would be for someone to stare down his own kidnapper right in front of a schoolmate and teacher. Hitoshi was never one for physical contact, or maybe that wasn’t true— maybe he did crave a hug, or a pat on his head, or a  kiss on his cheek from a parental figure, but he just never had the opportunity. If he was a bit more acquainted with the feeling, Hitoshi would offer a hug to Midoriya. It was the same feeling Hitoshi felt back on the ground of the forest, when he had the overwhelming urge to give Midoriya his hoodie.

You are so fucking strong.

But I want to protect you.

He takes his eyes off of Midoriya and sees that Joon is still looking between the two, contemplative.

“There’s an apartment complex in the same town as the copy store,” Joon says suddenly. “In the main hallway, there’s a locked-up cabinet. There you’ll find the reports.” 

This is when Aizawa-sensei leans forward, settling his elbows on the table. Hitoshi figures someone behind the glass wall is looking up the apartment as they speak.

Aizawa pushes Joon for a bit more information, confirming locations as the stress built up in Hitoshi drains out. The cool metal chair is still uncomfortable, but the biting cold helps the heat that has washed over him.

Under the table, Midoriya surprises him by taking his hand. His hands are rough and bumpy, but in Hitoshi’s all he feels is the other’s warmth.

“Thank you,” Midoriya mouths.

“Thank you,” Hitoshi mouths back.

As Joon’s interrogation winds down, Aizawa raises to his feet. An officer comes through the door, breaking the stillness. It was time to return to the real world again.

“Are you ok?” Joon asks, looking at him, pointedly ignoring the talk between Aizawa and the officer.

Hitoshi frowns.

“What do you mean…”

“A-Are you safe? Now, I mean?” Joon clarifies, his voice barely over a whisper.

Hitoshi’s gut churns.

“I’m still in the system, but what I’ve got now is nothing like Sunrise,” he says.

“You deserve so much more than that, you hear me?”

Hitoshi hesitates. He doesn’t hate his living arrangements. And after talking with Aizawa the other night, it seemed very likely he could permanently move into the dorms for protection reasons, even if he didn’t get into Class 1A.

He thinks about teasing Denki on the couch, sharing morning rambles with Ojirio, waving hi to Uraraka in the halls.

He thinks about Aizawa, back in his office, promising to make things right for the first time in Hitoshi’s life.

He glances over to the boy on his left, who is looking right back at him.

Let’s become heroes.

“I’m going to be ok,” he says, and he means it.

The police officer clears his throat.

“You all will have to leave before I get Mr. Yi out of here,” he says.

Joon blinks, like he’s forgotten he is running on borrowed time.

“I am so proud of you for getting out,” Joon says quickly to Hitoshi. He looks as if he’s going to tear up. “You got out of Sunrise, and you’re going to be an amazing person in spite of it.”

Hitoshi blinks, thrown off by the sentiment. Joon only looks at him for one more moment, before he turns to Midoriya.

“And I’m sorry, again, Deku,” he tells Midoriya. Hitoshi feels some type of loss as Midoriya’s hand jerks out of his own. “Get some help.”

His mouth tilts, like he’s just tasted something bad, but he nods.

“I’m trying,” Midoriya says.

“Let’s go, my problem children,” Aizawa presses.

Joon directs his attention to Aizawa.

“If you call yourself a hero, don’t fail these kids,” he says firmly. Aizawa’s eyes flicker to Midoriya, who looks to the ground.

“I will not fail them.”

The door opens and Midoriya is the first to leave. When Hitoshi follows him, the police ask them a few additional questions, clarifying things. Aizawa waits behind them impatiently, insisting that they go home.

They’ve all been through enough today.

Once they exit the precinct and enter Aizawa’s car once more, it feels like all the energy surrounding the day had been suddenly syphoned out. But Hitoshi’s mind was, for the first time, starting to clear. The junk that had been strewn out was now beginning to process, trash in the garbage, childhood memories hanging like picture frames from walls. It wasn’t finished, but he finally had addressed the mess. Joon had been fucked up to agree to kidnap someone, to hurt Midoriya like he did, but talking with Hitoshi had done something good.

He wonders if he could find Suuki and they could talk over coffee. If he could introduce her to Aizawa-sensei. If he could thank her.

Hitoshi sits in the same seat as this morning, but he allows his tiredness to influence his judgment, and lays his head on Midoriya’s shoulder. The other is tense for a moment, but then he relaxes, accommodating Hitoshi’s weight. He hesitates, then rests his head against Hitoshi too.

The car starts. Soft rock plays over the radio like the distant corners of a dream.

He can feel Midoriya’s pulse.

Tears well up and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t wipe them away, and instead feels the slick on his skin, the heat in his cheeks.

He feels incredibly, distinctly safe.  

Chapter Text

With light filtering through his eyelashes, Izuku basks in the crisp ocean air. It’s not warm by any means, but he’s wrapped up in a fluffy puffer jacket and a light blue scarf that keeps out the afternoon chill. Self-assured waves crash on the beach and foam drifts over the wet sand, repeating through Izuku’s mind like a mantra. Izuku’s mom thought that leaving their province would ease their minds a bit, where she and Izuku could relax peacefully for a few days.

Izuku knows she needs this too. She had been reluctant for him to go right back into the dorms after his rescue, but he was safest at UA with their security system and crowd of teaching heroes.

“I need to see my baby,” she said over the phone. “I need to know that you’re ok.”

It had been hard to convince the police to let them take a small vacation with such a vulnerable target on Izuku’s back. But All Might, one of the most well-known retired heroes in the world, has a gaggle of government-issued protection on his side. It was easy to get a few of them to come to the beach.

Izuku’s mom gets up from her seat, brushing off her light purple dress. She’s got a little makeup on that accents the green in her eyes, and a pair of sunglasses to keep the sharp sun out. A large, heavy coat keeps the cold at bay.  

“We never go out— I want this to be special,” she had told him this morning. It made Izuku smile because she was finally relaxing a bit. Having a single mom meant that her happiness was the first to be sacrificed. It was important that she have time to unwind and recoup from the stress Izuku’s kidnapping brought.

“Toshi, I’m going to grab a drink,” his mom announces. “I could get you a virgin Lemon Drop martini?”

All Might laughs, the sound booming across the rocks.

“What’s left in a martini without the vodka?” he says.

“Something sweet,” she hums as she sifts through her purse.

“I’ll probably like it then.”

“You want anything, Izuku?”

“I’m good,” Izuku says. His stomach still feels queasy from time to time, and he doesn’t feel like changing things up all the sudden. “I have a water.”

“Alright then, I’ll be back in a few!”

His mom waves to them before heading back to the string of shops that line the pier. As Izuku watches her disappear into a store, it makes his heart ache.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” All Might says. Izuku tears his eyes away to look back at the beach.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen the ocean in a while.”

“I wish it weren’t so cold or I would stick my feet in the water,” All Might chuckles. His eyebrows crease, like he’s straining himself.

He clears his throat abruptly.

“How are you doing my boy?” All Might prompts. Even though he knows it’s coming from a good place, Izuku already feels exhausted. “I know that the interrogation must have been difficult.”

Izuku blinks past the tiredness that has settled over his eyes.

Maybe we can finally talk about it.

It would be good for me.

I think.

“It… wasn’t the easiest seeing Joon again,” Izuku said slowly. His stomach begins to squirm, and he searches for another topic to hinge off of. “But Shinsou— he did so well. He got Joon to offer up the reports. It was so brave of him.”

All Might shares a genuine smile.

“Shinsou has proven himself time and time again,” his mentor says. “I knew you two needed to reconnect.”

“Yeah… He’s been a great support for me,” Izuku continues. Izuku recalls the overwhelming urge to grab Shinsou’s hand under the interrogation table, extending the same kind of support Aizawa-sensei offered him. To make the other boy feel that his show of comfort was reciprocated. “I don’t know. I hope he feels the same.”

At the time, he thought he might have overstepped. But then— in the car… Shinsou had shared another moment of vulnerability.

Maybe it only happened because we were so burnt out.

But…

It was nice.

“I think even if you don’t know his thoughts, you understand what’s within you, my boy,” All Might says.

They settle into a peaceful silence, the waves creating comfortable white noise. It wasn’t quite loud enough to silence the whispers in Izuku’s head, however. He thinks that if he were to float out there on the water, the heaviness in his chest would be enough to weigh him down to the ocean floor.

For every moment of levity, memories of the past few weeks would surface so dizzyingly. This was the first time he and All Might had been alone since the hospital, and the unspoken reality of Izuku’s time with Shio felt like lead in his veins. 

Why won’t he say anything? Izuku thinks, as he looks to All Might. His lungs flutter, like he’s going to fall back into panic suddenly.

Can’t he tell I’m drowning?

Izuku crunches his finger together, as the pain usually brought him back to the present. But it wasn’t working so well this time.

All Might should know, right?

What Shio said.

He should talk to me about it, right?

I’m not ok right now.

I’m drowning.

I’m drowning.

I can’t fucking breathe.

Izuku’s breath shudders.

“You alright, Izuku?” All Might says suddenly.

“I’m— I’m just exhausted,” Izuku says weakly. He wants to spill his guts to All Might, but it feels as if that will do nothing unless the other man starts the conversation.

Ask me why.

Please, ask me what’s wrong.

I need—

I need—

“Get some help,” Joon had said.

Izuku’s lip quivers. He was so fucking right.

I need help.

“‘That’s understandable’ is an understatement,” All Might says with a fallen face. He carefully takes Izuku’s hand and squeezes it tight. “You are so, so strong.”

It should have been comforting. It should have made Izuku feel better. But further resignation fills Izuku’s heart.

I don’t want to be strong, he thinks. The itching feeling scattering up his arms reminds him he’s being selfish.

I’m drowning and I need someone to save me.

Izuku’s mom comes out of the shop carrying a bag and two new drinks.

“I don’t want mom to worry,” Izuku says quietly, wiping his eyes.

Another excuse.

“I understand,” All Might whispers back, but worry lines still crease over his forehead.

He cares about you, Izuku.

Tell him.

His mom sends them one of her familiar smiles. He allows it to wash over him and sips on his water as his mom and mentor talk.

I can’t.

***

When Izuku enters homeroom, he’s disappointed to see he wasn’t the first one there. As refreshing the weekend with his mom had been, the number of unspoken words between him and All Might crowded his brain to the brim. Unlike during the weekdays, where Izuku barely slept and took many hours in the morning to prepare himself for the school day, he slept soundly last night— too soundly. He barely had twenty minutes to get ready and say goodbye to Mom.

That meant he didn’t get to prepare himself for the onslaught of people, of noise that would follow entering homeroom.

The normal gaggle of guys surrounds Kacchan’s desk— Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima— but they are here earlier than normal. A few of them shout out “good morning”, but Izuku can barely pull himself to answer beyond a wobbly smile. Many of Izuku’s close friends are not in yet, except for Iida, who he waves to.

“Hey Midoriya!” Iida announces, a few notches less loud than normal yet still enough to grate against Izuku’s nerves. He's too aware of the scratch in his skin and the words in his brain and another feeling— anger, that’s tickling at the back of his throat.

What is up with me today?

Izuku hates this feeling, this lack of control over his emotions and how they appear on his face. At his desk, Izuku pulls out his notes and his trusty water bottle. He takes a sip and allows the cold to hit his gurgling stomach.

“You’re beginning training again today, right?” Iida asks.

“Yup,” Izuku says tightly.

“Wait no way! Midoriya, you’re coming back to training?” Kirishima overhears and sends him a toothy smile. “That’s so great, man!”

Izuku can recognize that Kirishima is being supportive, that he means well. But now the entire Baku-squad is looking his way, Kacchan himself at the center of it. Since coming back to the dorms, Izuku has pointedly been avoiding Kacchan. Izuku could deal with him nowadays, especially after their big confrontation at Ground Beta. But Izuku doesn’t have that kind of energy anymore. His patience has been worn past thin.

From the itch in his skin, to the rumbling in his stomach, to the chatter ping-ponging against his cranium, there is a fact so clear in Izuku’s mind that feels like a promise: there is no way Izuku has enough self-control to handle Kacchan today.

Please keep quiet, he thinks and hopes Kacchan can hear him loud and clear.

“Ah— well I’m not going to be joining you guys,” Izuku back peddles, “I’m having private lessons with Aizawa-sensei until I feel— until I’m comfortable with my Quirk again.”

“Oh— that’s makes a lot of sense!” Kirishima replies.

“That’s nice of Aizawa-sensei,” Iida says lights.

“Sensei’s pretty tough with his training,” Kaminari trills, stretching back into his seat like a cat. “Good luck out there~”

Kacchan lets out a scoff. Izuku’s eyes close.

Of course.

Of course you have something to say.

Here it comes.

“Finally,” Kacchan draws, elongating the word. “You better hurry up with your training, Deku. I’m becoming the next number one hero— and I won’t wait for you with your half-baked Quirk, you know.”

Eyes still closed, Izuku falls back into Ground Beta, where he and Kacchan had their most recent confrontation. There, he had admitted that Kacchan was the image of victory in his head, a goal he could catch up to. Something big had changed for both of them, then.

Izuku thinks that’s what Kacchan is referencing in this moment.

We’re proper rivals now, aren’t we?

That one moment solved everything in Katsuki’s mind, right? But there was still salt grating against open wounds for Izuku.

When Izuku had heard Katsuki’s confession, when their emotions were out in the open, Izuku still hadn’t asked for an apology. He didn’t ask Katsuki to recognize the past. He simply moved forward and forced Katsuki to recognize and accept his present, Quirk-ladened self.

But little five-year-old, nine-year-old, fourteen-year-old Izuku was still waiting. Still hurting. Salt forced upon wound. Strained smiles as it dug and dug and dug.

And today, of all days, Izuku could ignore them no longer.  

He opens his eyes. Light pours through 1A’s wide windows. It hits Izuku’s skin and paints his scars white.

The world rights itself with an odd, cold clarity.

“What if I never got it, my Quirk, to work again? I got pretty messed up in last few weeks,” Izuku says as if he is speculating the weather, “I think we all must have thought, since Overhaul— what if I got my Quirk taken away and I never got it back?”

Izuku opens the question up to the classroom, that’s slowly filling up. He wants to invite their eyes, now.

Look.

Look at me.

“That didn’t happen,” Katsuki says gravely, his eyes wide and angry like he can now see the topic Izuku’s approaching. Like he can taste the momentum at which Izuku is barreling towards it.

“But you think I couldn’t be a hero if I couldn’t get my Quirk back? That I’d be useless?” Izuku asks, his voice eerily calm. He feels the metaphorical gun hiding in his subconscious, but instead of pushing it away, he welcomes the press against his temple. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Katsuki straightens, his face contorting.

“Oh— Midoriya, you know that’s not what he means—” Sero begins, awkwardly looking between the two.

“What do you mean, then?” Izuku pushes. His stare does not waver.  

“I’m not fucking repeating myself,” Katsuki shoots back, no longer sitting back comfortably in his seat. “What the fuck are you saying, Deku?”

Izuku chuckles incredulously, his eyes wide. It comforts him how Bakugou recoils from the sound.

“You think that my Quirk gives me the ability to become a hero worth competing against you,” Izuku pushes. “And I think that’s a gross understatement.”

“You are always so dramatic,” Bakugou snaps. “First with the fucking food and now this—”

“Dude, shut up,” Kirishima snaps, his brows furrowed. He grabs Bakugou’s shoulder as if to pull him back to his senses.

“What do you think makes a villain, Bakugou?” Izuku pushes, the other’s name falling out of his mouth like he just swallowed sea water. There is still a flood in his lungs, he is still drowning. But he wants the other to see how far he could sink.

Bakugou’s eyebrows jump like Izuku’s just spit out a swear word.

“You think my kidnapper’s Quirk made him a villain?” Izuku says thinly.

“I don’t fucking know—”

“My kidnapper was Quirkless, did you know that?” Izuku chuckles out, a slightly unhinged sound, and suddenly the topic becomes frightening. He can see the video replaying on the back of his eyelids, flashing before him every time he blinks. “A Quirk doesn’t make someone good or bad, worthy or unworthy.”

“Deku—” Uraraka’s voice cuts in, worry laced throughout his hero name, and Izuku’s confidence falters. Nearly the whole class was inside 1A, and Izuku hadn’t even realized. He catches Todoroki’s mismatched eyes that shimmer with concern.

It hurts, Izuku wants to say out loud to the people that care about him.

I can’t breathe.

I haven’t been able to breathe for so long.

Uraraka slips a hand over his shoulder and Izuku feels a semblance of safety.

“I don’t want you jutting into my life if that’s how you still view me,” he finishes, his once strong voice whittled down to a low rumble. “I’m done talking to you.” 

There’s a painful silence. Izuku’s skin buzzes like the tremors through a railroad track expecting an approaching train. He said his piece, but the clarity that should have consumed him doesn’t come.

Instead, the front door to the classroom slides open.

“If y’all don’t return to your seats in next five seconds you are all staying after class,” Aizawa-sensei interrupts in as he strides inside.

Uraraka squeezes his shoulder before following suit. Izuku feels his classmates’ eyes pull from their teacher back to him, back to Bakugou, but Izuku numbly takes out his notes and tries not to think too hard about his own words.

***

Hitoshi runs through some hand motions Aizawa-sensei has gone over, pulling the capture tape around his neck in various ways to test his dexterity. After seeing how difficult it was to multitask the item, Hitoshi felt an even stronger respect for his mentor. He had this issue in which, even as he pulled and flexed with his non-dominant hand, he was still slow to fall into the next move with his right. Using the capture tape meant enacting a series of moves to get to one target. The user had to think several steps ahead just to get what they wanted. And more than that, using capture tape put the user at risk in many ways— Hitoshi was forced to either pull himself closer to the attacker or bring his enemy near. Or— that was at least what he had thought.

Fighting to save Midoriya had taught him a few things. He could grab weapons and take them away from villains, he could launch into the air rather than straight at his enemy. But that took skill and precision, which he hoped Aizawa-sensei would go over in more detail once he got to Field Gamma.

I wonder what Midoriya will think of my hero costume, Hitoshi thought, clicking through his voice modulator.

He’s still slightly embarrassed about falling all over Midoriya in Aizawa’s car. Would the other boy find him odd? Weak? Overly emotional?

It was his instinct to push away after letting someone in, but in return, all Midoriya had done was accept him, comfort him when he felt like falling through the cracks of the earth to never return.

He’s a good person.

I want to be near him.

I want to know how he’s doing.

I want to know what he thinks of me.

In his all-green hero costume, Midoriya rounds the corner with Aizawa-sensei by his side. Hitoshi tries to meet his eyes, but they are trained on the ground even as he approaches.

The half-baked confidence in Hitoshi fizzles out a little, the small smile on his face fading.

“Great, you’re both here,” Aizawa-sensei says, giving a halfhearted thumbs up. “I think I have an activity that would help the both of you train. But first, you should run through some stretches, yeah?”

“Sure, sensei,” Hitoshi nods. He takes the lead as Aizawa walks away to read something on his tablet and reaches towards the ground. His sore muscles light up along his back in small, heated bursts. Midoriya rolls his neck before joining him.

“Have a good weekend with your mom?”

“Yeah, it was good to see her,” Midoriya says, his words short and clipped as he stretches out his wrists.

There is an odd energy in the air, some barrier impenetrable from small talk. Hitoshi suddenly wants to apologize for what happened in the car, to back peddle hard. But Hitoshi tries to push through his own worries, to see what’s under the surface, rather than on it.

Midoriya’s eyebrows are slightly furrowed like he’s been straining himself all morning.

Maybe he has.

“I’ve liked being in the dorms, but getting away every now and then sounds nice too,” Hitoshi admits. There was practically zero privacy once they left the comfort of their personal bedrooms.

Midoriya’s face softens.

“I get that. The noise of it all— it’s too much for me sometimes.”

It’s just him and Midoriya, quiet in the back of Aizawa’s car.

It feels safe.

“Well, if you ever just wanted to sit somewhere in silence, I’m pretty available,” Hitoshi’s face brightens even as the words leave him.

Midoriya looks surprised at the offer, but his worry lines soften a bit and he smiles.

“I’d take you up on that.”

Something delicate flutters in Hitoshi’s chest. Before he can really dwell on that feeling, Aizawa-sensei walks back over, still scrolling through his tablet.

“The goal today is to train parts of yourself, rather than the whole. For Midoriya, that means Quirk usage and output. I want you to feel confidence in your Quirk after not using it for a few weeks.”

Midoriya makes a small noise under his breath, but nods.

“Shinsou, for you that means focusing on your capture tape rather than your Quirk,” Aizawa gestures to Hitoshi’s neck, where the voice modulator sits. “We can train with that another time.”

Although he understands the circumstances, Hitoshi feels a brief pull of disappointment. He wished Midoriya got to see his new piece in action. 

 “Midoriya, the goal is to use Full Cowling to catch up to Hitoshi. I understand that this move requires you to concentrate your energy throughout your body and hold it there, which I think will be safer than pouring all your energy into a single punch or kick,” Aizawa-sensei explains. “Once you’ve ‘tagged’ him, the round is up. We can then discuss what could be improved upon. Sound good?”

“No concerns here,” Hitoshi nods as he takes off his unnecessary gear. He walks up to the line on the ground Aizawa points him towards and runs a hand through his slightly tussled hair.

“Yup,” Midoriya says. He flexes his hand as if to imagine the energy coursing through.

“Shinsou, you get a ten second head start,” Aizawa-sensei announces, turning to his tablet to prepare a timer. “Ready?”

Hitoshi nods, situating into a spring-loaded position.

“Off you go.”

Hitoshi starts out in run, feeling his body wake up and react to the movement just as sensei begins counting down. Before he can get into the thick mess of metal pipes, he launches out his capture tape high above him. It wraps around a few times and Hitoshi pulls down hard, launching himself into the air and up onto a metal platform high above the ground. He begins sprinting, the metal under him creaking with each step.

Five

Four

Three

Two

One.

Something crashes below him, and Hitoshi glances down briefly to see green lightening scattering across the floors and walls peeking through the metal grates. Hitoshi takes a sharp right, just as the floor in front of him caves in where Midoriya appears. The darkness of the corridor crackles with green energy and casts a disjointed silhouette of Midoriya against the metal.

Midoriya’s scary when he’s focused, Hitoshi thinks with a slanted grin. 

Hitoshi slides over a large metal pipe and launches himself into a new section of the facility, a smile catching his lips when the rush of air pushes past him.

Like this, he feels alive.

Now in a much more open space, Hitoshi can only weigh his options for a moment before Midoriya literally comes bursting through.

“Holy shit Midoriya,” he grins and diverts his course abruptly to avoid the other boy from flying at him.

Midoriya tries to correct his course, but it appears that he overshoots and launches himself against the opposing wall with a crash!

“Shit,” he says, righting himself out of the wreckage.

Is he hurt?

It takes only a few seconds for the other boy to recover, energy pouring out of him and crackling through the earth and air. Hitoshi feels his hair raise on end.

What are you saying, he’s fucking strong.

And you’re in a training simulation. Get going!

Hitoshi launches his capture tape behind him and pulls hard, bringing the thin metal pipes down and blocking Midoriya’s path.

Behind the wreckage, he hears Midoriya swear. Footsteps echo all throughout this new corridor, the sound only confusing Hitoshi as to where his classmate was running from.

“What— What is happening— Shinsou!”

If it was any other student, Hitoshi would have guessed this was a trap. But Hitoshi could recognize the fear in his classmate’s voice, one that he’s regrettably heard before. Instead, he turns.

Turbulent black energy, different from the rush of green, pulsates against Midoriya’s skin and sharply scatters once its climbs out of his body.

“Midoriya!” Hitoshi yells, body tensing. 

“I-I don’t know what’s happening!” the other boy screams out. He’s ripping at his hero costume, as if trying to pry away the source of this power. Around him, the metal platforms groan and snap.

“Please—” Midoriya’s faces contorts with pain as his throat seizes. Hitoshi is eerily reminded of Midoriya’s rescue.

Hitoshi hesitates in his approach as the black whisps tear through the concrete floor.

“This has— This has never happened before,” Midoriya gurgles, tears leaking out.

He wants to get near the other boy, but if those things can rip through rebar, he doesn’t want to see what it would do to his body.

Fuck, Hitoshi thinks.

Fuck.

It’s happening again.

Midoriya is in pain.

“I’m here, I’ve got you. You trust me?” Hitoshi asks.

Midoriya peaks an eye open.

“I do!”

In any other situation, Hitoshi’s heart would have fluttered at how easily Midoriya responded.

His body, thankfully, goes completely still and Hitoshi watches in fascinated horror as the slithers of energy climb back into Midoriya’s chest. As the last sliver fades, Midoriya goes limp and falls to the ground.

Now with nothing stopping him, Hitoshi races forward. 

“Midoriya?” he yells, panic rising in his throat. His hands hover over the other’s scarred skin.

I don’t want to hurt him again.

“Shinsou!”

Aizawa jogs up to him from the clearing of metal that they had created.

“Sensei I— I don’t know what happened, he said he’s never experienced this before—”

“Do you think it was a Quirk?”

“A Quirk? I—I don’t know. Quirks don’t just manifest like that—”

“I know. But if it’s a Quirk, then I can erase it,” Aizawa butts in.

“It was powerful and emitting from Midoriya, and it stopped after I used Brainwashing. But it was so different from his normal green lighting— I just don’t know how something like that could happen?” Hitoshi shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Could you support his neck? Let’s give him a second and pull him back to reality.”

Scooching his knees closer, Hitoshi delicately moves Midoriya’s head.

Completely limp, his head is heavier than it looks as it rests on Hitoshi’s lap.  

“Ready?” Hitoshi confirms. Aizawa nods, taking a long blink in preparation.

Giving Midoriya’s shoulder a shake, the boy gasps as if his soul was just thrown back into his body. He shoves away Hitoshi with wide eyes, his whole body shaking.

“Wha-What—"

“You’re alright, Midoriya. It’s just me and Shinsou here,” Aizawa-sensei says softly.

Midoriya puts a hand up to his chest, as if to feel for the holes where the leeches of energy shot out from.

“I-I can’t control it, I don’t want to hurt you—” Midoriya is shaking his head as he talks.

“I can always cancel out your Quirk,” Aizawa lightly reminds.

“My Quirk,” Midoriya repeats in shock. His face suddenly falls. “This isn’t— it has to be a mutation or— or a re-manifestation or—”

“We both know that can’t typically happen, Midoriya,” Aizawa says, voicing what Hitoshi thinks.

Midoriya’s chin wobbles. He looks at Aizawa-sensei with wide eyes, which then fill glassy with tears. It’s as if Hitoshi is watching something monumental come undone, a building buckling under an earthquake, a piece of cliff eroding off into the sea.

“You’re right. I can’t keep doing this,” Midoriya croaks, his voice so, so low. “I can’t keep this up, Aizawa-sensei—”

“Can’t do what, Midoriya?”

“I can’t keep lying.”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows jump, but even more so, his stomach sinks for his friend.

“How the fuck was I supposed to keep this up?” Midoriya cries out, anger and sadness blurring together. “How was I ever supposed to succeed like this? To carry such a complex lie on my shoulders? That now has, like, ten more layers!”

Midoriya chuckles incredulously, pointing his hands into his chest.

“And I am grateful— I’ve always been grateful to be blessed in the way that I have been, but then Shio planted this fucking seed in my head that I’m supposed to be angry, and I am.”

Hitoshi frowns, not exactly following. From Aizawa-sensei’s expression, it looks like he, too, was confused.

“Who are you angry with, Midoriya?” Aizawa asks slowly as if he’s navigating through the bulk of Midoriya’s troubles, like brambles with thorns blocking their path.   

“All Might! Bakugou— Aldera, Shio— myself!” Midoriya spits out, myself resonating throughout Hitoshi.

“And what are you angry about?” Aizawa says, the thorns close to catching now. They had deviated from whatever black energy had exploded out of Midoriya, instead probing at the cause of a seemingly impossible event.

“All Might— he knows. He has to know, right sensei? You were there when I asked you not to— not to watch that video,” Midoriya’s whole body cringes, and his voice suddenly pitters out. “But he was on the investigative team. He would have watched it, wouldn’t he?”

Hitoshi’s stomach curls at the mention of a video. There was too little information to conjure up an image of what happened, but by the disgust Hitoshi felt while watching Midoriya’s ransom, he could only imagine.

“If he watched it— why hasn’t he said anything?” Midoriya’s tone grows desperate now. “He’s the only person who could possibly understand how that— how that would have made me feel, and he’s said – nothing.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Aizawa-sensei asks, his tone light. Hitoshi can almost recognize the flurry of questions Aizawa wants to ask, but he holds himself back.

“No—  It’s like— I feel so much support and love from him for everything else, and in moments like this, when I really need him— he can’t see how I’m drowning!”

Midoriya wipes his face, voice wet.

“Can’t he tell that he’s— he’s the only one who knows, and that isolates me from— from everyone?” Midoriya whispers. “I’m in so much pain, sensei. I can’t stand it. I thought I could but I can’t.” 

A sob leaves his lips.   

“Sometimes secrets hurt much more when we convince ourselves that only we can shoulder its burden,” Aizawa says gently. “Are you sure this isn’t a burden you can share?”

Midoriya looks up at Aizawa, then to Hitoshi. His green eyes speak for him:

Please help me.

“I’m here regardless, Midoriya,” Hitoshi says firmly.

I want to help you.

“I was— I’ve always been—” the words catch in Midoriya’s throat. Frustrations fills his face. “Why the fuck am I so scared to say it? A-After everything?”

“As much time as you need,” Aizawa assures him.

“I’m not supposed to— but after All Might this weekend, and Bakugou this morning, a-and now this…?” the other boy drags out. “Will you promise not to— not to say anything?”

Aizawa’s face grows stern.

“Unless it’s a concern to your safety,” he says, then flickers his eyes to Hitoshi. “We can say this in a more private space if you’d like—”

“I’m Quirkless,” Midoriya interrupts, his head bowed. “I-I received this Quirk, it didn’t manifest in me.”

Quirkless? Hitoshi blinks.

Quirkless.

So many implications came with that word, many more than Hitoshi’s brain could keep up with. The fragments of Midoriya that Hitoshi has grown fond of suddenly align into place with such precise clarity.

The golden boy of UA.

The one that was gifted everything, something only Hitoshi could dream of.

The kid with kind eyes and scars up his arms.

“And that video— Shio made me face the fact that I never allowed myself to be angry, for— for—”

“For the boy who had to live with that experience,” Hitoshi finishes for him. Because hadn’t he just gone through the same thing? Unsolved trauma ripped from the dark corners of his mind at the mention of the facility, in the interrogation room with Joon-seo Yi.

Kids are taught too well to repress and not taught at all what to do when everything is suddenly out in the open. Adults always expect lived experiences to stay hidden.

You have a lot of good people in your corner, Midoriya. Don’t forget that, Hitoshi remembers saying, and even more, Midoriya’s response.

I should be grateful.

I am grateful.

But sometimes I look out on all these things and I can’t help but feel like they are temporary.

Hitoshi always wondered how he could relate to someone like Midoriya so fiercely. He was sure there was a reason, especially after that night, but Hitoshi could easily say he never expected this answer. It is unfathomable, but it is so, so clear at the same time.

Emotions, hot and sharp, cold and deep, well up in Hitoshi, but one rings louder than the rest.

I need him to know that this is real.

That I won’t slip through his fingers.

That what I can offer is enduring.

He shoots forward, pulling Midoriya into a firm hug, one that he’s been wanting to give since the interrogation.

“I see you, Izuku,” he says into the crook of his neck. “You are allowed to be angry.”

There are hands in Hitoshi’s hair and shirt grasping lightly like Midoriya is sinking. He squeezes tighter.

I’ve got you.

***

There is an endless void beneath him, ready to swallow him into the depths. His muscles hurt from trying to stay afloat, his motivation for staying above water dying off.

I’m gonna drown.

This is so painful.

I’ve got nowhere else to go.

As Izuku is held in the tight embrace of Shinsou Hitoshi, he distinctly thinks that there’s a life raft. Someone is here. Someone is helping.

He’s not going to sink.

He’s not going to sink.

It’s warm here.

Chapter Text

The conference room that Aizawa-sensei had placed Izuku should have felt oppressive, but Shinsou’s presence made the walls creep in a little less. Maybe, that was why Aizawa had not slapped a Quirk-suppressant bracelet on his wrist and left Izuku alone in here.  

He should feel anxious. He must be in trouble, he thinks, for lying to Aizawa-sensei all these months— a teacher who is kind, but also is known for being strict. The blatant unfairness that had dictated Aldera teachers was nowhere to be found in Aizawa-sensei, but in the past, Izuku had always brought out the worst in his authority figures.

In a different room on campus, Aizawa-sensei was discussing Izuku’s Quirk with All Might and deciding what to do with him moving forward. Izuku should feel weird about All Might bearing this burden for him. Explaining All for One and Izuku’s past on his own was a lot to ask.

Every emotion in his arsenal had warred on his face at Field Gamma, but now Izuku felt much too drained to express anything. Instead, his teacher’s words loop in his brain.

“What matters to me is your immediate safety, Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei had said. “Brainwashing has proven effective against this new Quirk manifestation. And while I need to know what exactly happened, you first need rest.”

Izuku had tried to push back.  

“All Might can shoulder the weight,” Aizawa-sensei had insisted before leaving the conference room. “And Shinsou can protect you if Black Whip starts up again. Rest. That’s a direct instruction from your homeroom teacher.”

Izuku had been given no room for argument as Aizawa-sensei left, and while he frustratedly mumbled to himself for the first few minutes, there was a point where the aches and pains of the day made themselves be known.

Izuku was incredibly sore.

It had felt good to push his body after so much inaction. There was an incredible source of energy at the root of his gut, that Izuku had rarely experienced. It was the same when he rescued Kota and Eri, the same when he had fought Todoroki during the sports festival, and the same when he had seen Bakugou stuck between the League of Villains and All For One.

Anger.

That low simmering, then all-consuming fire that made him grit his teeth. How dare Muscular and Overhaul hurt the innocent so flippantly? How dare Endeavor tell his son who he can and cannot be, like he was a mound of clay to be molded into the correct shape? How dare the League of Villains think that they could convince Bakugou to abandon the very thing he had aimed for his entire life? The thing he had crushed Izuku for?

As Izuku had flown through Field Gamma, that anger grew and grew. His body, weak from disuse, thrummed with it and it made him clumsy. He crashed into way too many pipes chasing after Shinsou. Having a goal and that anger in hand, Black Whip had made its appearance.

Izuku shuts his eyes.

Right now, the Vestiges are the last thing he wants to think about.   

That was, of course, the straw that broke the camel’s back. In a moment of weakness, Izuku had blabbed about things that did not matter. He’d revealed a part of himself that he’d never want to face and now he had to pay the consequences. This was a full proof reason, he thinks, as to why Izuku doesn’t allow himself to feel anger. If he does, he goes off to do stupid things. He wonders how Bakugou goes throughout his life like this. It must be exhausting.

After he explodes at people, Izuku wonders if Bakugou feels stupid too.

“That’s an expression I rarely see on you,” Shinsou hums.

Not wanting to talk, Izuku flickers his eyes over to the lilac-haired boy. They had both cleaned up a bit after their scuffle and changed into civilian clothing before Aizawa-sensei had directed them to this room. Although he wore a neutral expression, Shinsou couldn’t hide the tiredness that settled on his features. It had been a long year.

I don’t want to talk.

But I owe him. For bawling in his lap.

Again.

And if Izuku is honest with himself, he does not want to be alone. So he indulges the other.

“What is?”

“Your anger.”

Izuku swallows. It’s one thing for Izuku to feel an emotion. He knows he’s angry. But it’s a problem if other people can tell.

A voice inside whispers to ease the muscles of his brow.

Don’t take the spotlight. Quiet down. Stop mumbling. You’re disrupting class. Don’t ruin things, Deku.

“I’m angry at Bakugou,” Izuku says, because the name keeps looping in his brain.

Baffled briefly, Shinsou recovers and grins.

“Well, he is a prick.”

Izuku huffs.

“What did he do?” Shinsou prompts.

“He gave me that stupid token at the boardwalk,” Izuku says. “And Joon used it against me.”

Shinsou’s face crinkles in confusion.

“I’m saying this all wrong,” Izuku mumbles.

“Help me understand?”

Taking a moment, Izuku tries to sort the jumbled mess that are his thoughts.

“I’m angry that I kept that thing around in my wallet. That he was important enough to me back then and he’s— that I think I’m worth something to him now.”

Izuku sighs heavily.

“I’m angry at myself. For placing so much weight into something that means so little. Joon was able to take advantage of me for that. And then… again with that phone.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut as another wave of anger presses up against his throat.

All Might should have watched that video. And he didn’t say anything. Nothing.

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way. Because I am not a Bakugou defender, you hear?”

Izuku nods, a bit wary.

“He does care about you,” Shinsou says. “He’s got a weird way of showing it, but you should have seen him when you were still missing.”

At that, Izuku perks his head up.

“Oh yeah?”

“He was begging Aizawa-sensei to bring him on the investigative team.”

Izuku tries to imagine Bakugou… groveling. It makes his stomach turn. The homemade meals Bakugou had painstakingly prepared comes to mind. His odd way of comfort consisted of showing both effort and nonchalance.  

“I know he cares,” Izuku says slowly. “He welcomed me with food, when I first came back.”

“Didn’t need to be so rude about your eating habits, though,” Shinsou scoffs.

“Bak— Katsuki’s always been blunt,” Izuku swallows. “I know that. I’ve known him almost my whole life.”

So why can’t Izuku just accept it? Why can’t he accept Katsuki’s gestures, even if they were a little jagged along the edges? Why did he snap at him during class this morning?

Shinsou scrunches up his face, like he’s thinking hard about a problem right in front of him.

“When did you receive the token?” he finally asks.

Izuku remembers looking up at his mother. Even in the humid summers, she would always hold his sweaty little hands.

“When we were little. Maybe four.”

“Before your— his quirk came in?”

A lump firmly lodges in Izuku’s throat. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He watches Shinsou scrunch up his eyebrows as he thinks. He’s so clever, and quick on his feet. After all, he saved Izuku while he was in some of the worst pain of his life. Although he doesn’t like the attention on him in this conversation, Izuku likes watching Shinsou’s brain work in real time.

“I think… I understand,” Shinsou says. “He cared about you then, and he cares about you now. But…”

Izuku thinks of burnt notebooks and smoldering desks and looks of disapproval.

“But the person you were…”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, equally bitter and sad. The room gets a little distorted as his eyes grow glassy. “He didn’t care about me then.”

Shinsou looks down at his hands.

“That’s fucked up.”

Izuku shrugs.

“Yeah.”

Shinsou laughs abruptly.

“I think I know what you’re feeling,” he says. “You’re mad for your younger self.”  

“Yeah?” Izuku presses.

“Yeah. I think I’m beginning to realize… That I’m pissed for my younger self too,” Shinsou continues. “On the drive to the Sunrise Facility, I realized how much shit I’ve repressed from those days. Talking to Joon-seo Yi, seeing my own case files… A lot of memories from the past are starting to resurface.”

Shinsou opens and closes his fist.

Like a reflex, Izuku wants to apologize for bringing Shinsou into this mess. But he knows Shinsou well enough, now. He has a feeling that the other boy would not want an apology in this moment.

“I guess… The same is happening for me,” Izuku starts, although it sounds more like a croak. “I thought that part of my life was over. That I didn’t need to address it anymore. Shio— he brought those thoughts front and center.”

“It’s painful, addressing the past,” Shinsou admits. His brow furrows and his jaw sets. “That man should have never threatened you like that. It pisses me off.”

The two boys allow that truth to settle in the quiet room. Despite everything, it makes Izuku smile a bit, the way Shinsou shows his concern.

“When my past came to light, Aizawa-sensei immediately asked me if I was safe. At my current home I mean,” Shinsou continues. “It means a lot, for someone to care about my well-being.”

“Of course,” Izuku says. “You matter, Shinsou-kun.”

Shinsou huffs at that.

“Yeah, alright. You matter too, Midoriya.”

Something buzzes inside Izuku’s chest.

“Anyways… I thought Aizawa-sensei would be done at that point. I mean, he made sure that I was safe. That’s his job. But…” Shinsou looks away, his face a bit pinched. When he speaks, his voice is hushed. “He told me… That he would get me justice. That I deserved justice.”

“And I think at first, I couldn’t understand why he cared so much. I’m safe at Chiemi’s after all. I didn’t think I had such… strong feelings about my childhood. But once he started defending me, once he started working with the police to uncover all the shit Sunrise did, I realized I cared too. There was a lot of… fucked up shit that I went through. I wanted someone to fight for me, I wanted to fight for younger me.”

He looks at Izuku now, with vulnerability Izuku hasn’t seen before. This all feels like a confession of the soul, and Izuku feels tender that the other has trusted him with his past so blatantly.  

“So I don’t think it’s weird that you’re feeling this way.”

“Thanks,” Izuku says. He pauses a moment, slowly piecing together his thoughts.

“I’m not mad at Katsuki…” he begins, then stops. “I mean, I am angry about some things. But… I think more than anything, I’m mad that I’ve let so much time pass without acknowledging any of it. The lack of apologies, the lack of Quirkless people at UA, the fact that the admin at my middle school have probably changed nothing in the year that I’ve been gone.”

The anger brews again.

“At UA, no one even fucking acknowledges Quirkless people exist, do they?” he says, a bit of venom back in his voice. “We don’t talk about it in social studies, the only time we come up is if we’re a victim or a villain. It has been so easy to pretend that I never was Quirkless, when we rarely come up in conversation.”

All those Quirkless forums that I used to stalk every day, my communities forgotten.

All those debate pages I’d anonymously post to, heckling bigots.

All that Quirkless history I’d read about on the internet, to try and internalize that if those people mattered, then so do I.

“I’m tired of it. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t exist. I may have a Quirk now, but I didn’t for almost my entire life.”

Izuku’s words end taunt and ridged. He takes in a shaky breath, then expels it.

“See? I’m flying off the handle at nothing,” Izuku says. “I can’t control my emotions and, don’t get me wrong, it feels good to be angry. But Shinsou-kun, I’m so tired of these ups and downs.”

“It’s exhausting,” Shinsou agrees. “Is it ok if I sit with you?”

With Izuku’s permission, he sags into the couch. This close, their shoulders touch.

“I think we’re more similar than I thought,” Shinsou says.

“Yeah?”

“You know, I’ve got a villainous Quirk.”

“You have a sick ass Quirk.”

“Alright, alright. Glad you think so.”

“You’ve saved me multiple times with said Quirk—” Izuku’s face feels hot suddenly, “—so I might be a little biased.”

Shinsou chuckles but looks away for a moment.

“Why do you think we’re similar?” Izuku prompts, trying to reel the other boy back.

“I think, I’ve always thought that anger was a villainous trait. And I didn’t… I didn’t want to be a villain, even if other people had already made that assumption of me.”

Izuku relaxes into Shinsou’s side, offering comfort through touch.

“I see,” he murmurs.

“I think we both haven’t allowed ourselves to feel anger for our past,” he continues, “So I like it when you curse. It’s scary to show anger… But when I see it in you, I think, I’m starting to accept it for myself. That I can be angry too.”

The warmth on Izuku’s face travels to his chest, and the rumble of Shinsou’s baritone helps keep Izuku calm.

I feel safe, he realizes.

“I’m here for you. If you want to tell all that to Aizawa and All Might sensei,” Shinsou continues.

“You understand,” Izuku says tightly. “I don’t know if they’ll get it.”

He thinks back to Joon-seo Yi in the interrogation room.

“But if I tell them, and they do nothing, it will hurt much deeper than if I withheld this information to the grave.”

Izuku swallows on nothing.

“I’m flattered that you trust my opinion on this,” Shinsou begins, and Izuku snorts, elbowing him. “But please trust me when I say that I’ve seen Aizawa-sensei do his best over and over. I don’t know All Might sensei, but from everything I’ve seen, he cares about you. It’s time that they care about your younger self, as well.”

Izuku hums noncommittally, churning each of these revelations over in his mind like a flip book. Anxious, scrawny Izuku comes into his mind. He wonders if Shinsou would have been his friend, then.

“If they say anything stupid, though, I’m calling them out,” Shinsou said. “And don’t be afraid to get a little angry, too. More than a little.”

Izuku nods into Shinsou’s shoulder, smiling despite what he will have to face.

Someone wants me to be angry.

Someone likes it when I’m angry.

A childish desire wells up inside Izuku, one that has never been fulfilled.

“You can call me Izuku, if you want,” he says before he loses his courage.

Shinsou hums in thought.

“Izuku-kun.”

Hearing his name aloud in that baritone makes Izuku shiver. Had he let any person his age take on his name? Not even Katsuki could take on that weight. But Shinsou had proven himself over and over and over.

“Call me Hitoshi, then.”

Hitoshi-kun.

Two people, who had been through so much in so many ways, who knew each other’s bleak past even if the details were not defined. Izuku loves his friends, he’s so grateful that they exist. But this…

This is something distinct and dear.

Maybe if I told them

Maybe if I opened up

I’d feel like this all the time

I wouldn’t feel like I’m lying

To both my friends, and to my true self

A knock at the door separates the two.

“Midoriya, Shinsou. We’re coming in.”

While Aizawa-sensei doesn’t look much better, All Might looks positively worn out. Izuku has the sneaking suspicion that Aizawa-sensei must have questioned and lectured the hell out of him.

His mentor promptly stands in front of the couch, then drops into a full dogeza.

A rush of emotion floods Izuku’s body.

“No need for that!” Izuku insists immediately, reaching for All Might’s shoulder. The man presses himself flatter to the ground.

“I need you to know how sorry I am,” All Might insists. “I am so sorry, Izuku.”

Izuku doesn’t know what to say. It’s a huge gesture, but he’s wildly uncomfortable to see his mentor lower himself like this.

His voice is small and shaky.

“Please rise, All Might.”

As he struggles a bit to return to his feet, Aizawa-sensei guides him with a hand to the shoulder. They share a wordless exchange, and All Might forces himself to take a breath. The emotions toiling across his face begin to recede.

“All Might has already enlightened me about your Quirk, among a few other hundred questions I had, but there is still much to discuss. Would you prefer that Shinsou leaves?” Aizawa-sensei asks.

He’s here for me.

He wants to support me.

I don’t want to do this alone.

“No, I want him to stay,” Izuku says firmly, then a little bashfully, “If you’re willing, of course.”

Shinsou nods.

Hitoshi, his mind corrects.

All Might clears his throat, his eyes pinched as he speaks.

“May I explain myself?”

Izuku finds this all to be very formal, but he can tell the gestures are important to his mentor. He nods.

“Young Midoriya, I know that we had agreed to keep your secret. To protect you from All for One and those who would try to harm you, knowing your connection to me. But I was negligent to realize how isolating that would be for you.”

“I thought that because Young Bakugou knew about One for All, you would have a confidant that you could discuss these matters with. But… I was a fool to think that was enough. I made you feel like it was enough.”

“And I realize, after talking to Aizawa, that I did you no favors by restricting your circle so tightly. We could not guide you, safely, from someone with no Quirk to someone with an immense power. I and Nezu made that decision, because we both have seen first-hand the horrors that people can stoop to for a power like One For All. But… It was short sighted of me to see how much harm that decision has taken a toll on your body, and your mind.”

Izuku nods along, knowing this already. He understands why it was unsafe to tell everyone. But something in that last statement is rubbing him the wrong way. Aizawa-sensei seems to notice.

“Midoriya, I want you to know how differently things would have gone if I had known your past,” Aizawa-sensei starts. Izuku immediately tenses up. “Your curriculum would have looked entirely different.”

“So you would have coddled me? Because I was Quirkless?”

Aizawa-sensei raises an eyebrow.

“Does it seem like I coddle people?”

Izuku’s indignation simmers at that.

“No. Because it’s irresponsible to throw your body into situations its unprepared for. I cannot believe you received your Quirk the day of the entrance exams.”

Aizawa mutters a few choice words under his breath, and Izuku thinks All Might must have gotten the extended version of this rant. Beside him, Hitoshi cannot hide his shock in the form of a belated gasp.

His teacher sighs explosively before continuing.

“Your body is worth protecting, Midoriya. I apologize, after seeing you put your body through so much at your short time at UA, that I did not intervene sooner.”

Izuku feels wary of this. But Aizawa-sensei is keeping his stare and All Might is nodding along.

“Aizawa and I spoke about this at length. That I… I am probably not the best person to mentor you on how to take care of yourself. I am the epitome of taking heroism too far.”

More than his gestures, All Might’s sincerity reaches Izuku.

“I think… I need to get help too. I need someone to talk about why I felt like it was necessary to run my body into the ground. I don’t want you to end up like me, Midoriya. And I realize, now, that I was preparing you for that kind of destruction.”

All Might sensei, needing help?

Izuku’s brain short circuits on this.

“What kind of help?” Izuku murmurs, in shock.

“Counseling. In tandem with some occupational therapy,” All Might admits. “I need to accept my body for how it is now and give it what it needs to keep going.”

He looks down at himself.

“I realize, I am not the best mentor for these areas. I have… I have a lot of self-destructing tendencies. And I am so sorry for not realizing how those thoughts would transfer to my students.”

This reminds Izuku of the conversation him and Hitoshi just had.

Sometimes, we cannot take in advice unless we hear it from someone else we trust.

Internally, Izuku thanks Aizawa-sensei for getting through to his dear mentor.

“I am ashamed, if I made you feel like you had to hide your injuries, of the body and of the heart. You deserve better than that, my boy.”

Izuku’s eyes grow hot.

“Thank you.”

Thank you, not I forgive you.

He tries not to act on instinct and listen to the timid voice of middle school Izuku.

Is it ok?

To feel this selfish?

“This is a lot to take in, Midoriya. How are you feeling?” Aizawa asks.

His brain an absolute scattered mess, Izuku doesn’t know what he’s feeling. All of the topics that he and Shinsou talked about feel so distant from the present conversation, but All Might and Aizawa-sensei brought up points he hadn’t even considered. There’s more— so much more— that Izuku feels pressed up against his chest. He has no idea how to formulate any of it.

“Will you tell them?” Hitoshi murmurs. “What you told me?”

“It’s not even relevant,” Izuku mumbles back.

“I promise you, Midoriya. It’s important to us.”

Faintly, the passion kindles in his voice.

“I— I was Quirkless. And society didn’t want me because of that. But now I have a Quirk, and society does want me.”

Izuku swallows, each word getting harder.

“I can’t help but think, if you would care about me in the same way that you do now, if I were Quirkless?”

Realization dawns on Aizawa-sensei while All Might’s face falls.

“I can see why that would be concerning to you,” Aizawa-sensei says.

“Of course we would care for you,” All Might jumps to say. For some reason, his wording rubs Izuku the wrong way.

“Thank you,” Izuku begins, “But I just haven’t seen proof.”

Aizawa and All Might exchange a look.

“What about Young Mirio?” All Might suggests.

Golden hair, wide smiles, Eri’s laugh.

Tears over a hospital bed.

A distant voice berates Izuku for not spending more time with Nighteye’s prodigy.  

“It’s kind that you’re helping him through this rough time,” Izuku begins. “But I… I can’t help but feel you’re just waiting for Eri to give him his Quirk back.”

All Might’s helpless expression only spurs Izuku on.

“That might not be true, but I think, there’s a lot of people who would be relieved if Mirio returned to ‘normal’,” he continues. “Before UA, I wasn’t taught to respect Quirkless people. I was taught to remove myself from the path of heroes, to not get in the way. At UA, I don’t think I’ve learned anything different.”

He can’t bring himself to look at his mentors now.

“What would you change, Midoriya?” Aizawa asks.

His wording sends Izuku into a spiral. He thinks of that damn video, where Izuku asked Shio nearly the same thing.

“Correct me if there are programs out there… Resources…” Izuku rambles, “… but we don’t ever discuss them in class. And, even if they’re shared in the General or Support classrooms, I just don’t think that’s good enough. We call ourselves heroes, but we don’t learn anything about the vulnerable groups we fight to save…? I didn’t know anything about the foster system in Japan, and I doubt that Shinsou knows much about Quirkless folks from school.”

Lilac eyes meet his.

“I haven’t,” Hitoshi confirms.

“And it shouldn’t stop there. I hate how much I was told I could not be a hero. How I would be a burden if I tried to forge that path. Even though we have some of the strongest Support teams in the nation. There would have been options for me, for other Quirkless kids.”

All Might clears his throat.

“I’ve always believed the heart chooses the hero,” he says. “That was why I chose you as my ward, Izuku.”

Months back, this would send a warm glow through Izuku’s chest. That someone important cared about him.

It’s not enough.

I’m so selfish, but it’s not enough.

“That was the message I wanted to convey to you, my boy. It’s what my mentor conveyed to me, another Quirkless dreamer. But times have changed. There are less and less Quirkless people in this generation of students, and it was shortsighted that I did not see how you internalized my message.”

“Then why—” Izuku snaps, a sob catching his voice, “—didn’t you say anything?”

Izuku crunches his left forearm in his fist, restraining himself.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” he insists. “The video? You were one of the only people cleared to watch it, right?”

Izuku shakes his head.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t seek me out. I haven’t addressed anything that has happened to me before UA. You knew that I was unhappy in middle school. But you didn’t know the extent. And yet you saw that video and didn’t think to check in with me? About anything Shio said?”

“Izuku—”

“I was mortified that he recorded me like that. I— I’m disgusted with how I acted and— and how his words held truth!”

“Izuku, I didn’t watch the video.”

The world grinds to a halt.

“What?” Izuku whines, the noise childish, but he cannot bring himself to care.

All Might begins to tear up.

“Oh, my boy. I didn’t realize… I should have realized that this was important for you. To talk about.”

“Of course, it is,” Izuku’s voice feels so small, then it builds. “All Might, I can’t talk to anyone about that video. Because I made a promise to you.”

The air is tense and thick with emotion, like humid clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I think some closure is necessary, here, from both of you. Without leaving gaps to fill on your own time,” Aizawa-sensei interjects, rubbing the junction of his nose. “Shinsou, you saw All Might during your interview with the police, right? When you watched the ransom video.”

Hitoshi clears his throat.

“Yeah. You disagreed on how to get Izuku-kun back.”

“We did… I saw both the pictures that the villains took of you, and the ransom video,” All Might explains. “I— I reacted rather strongly to both of them.”

He grows quiet. Sensing the other needs help, Aizawa-sensei joins him.

“While All Might was on your investigative team, we determined it would be best if All Might were excluded from primary evidence until either Shiomaki Fuyuto or Joon-seo Yi’s confession.”

“I hated seeing them do those awful things to you,” All Might says. “And I was so fed up with my body, my inability to swoop in and save you. I was reactive and brash, and when we realized Joon-seo Yi had the Sunrise reports hidden, they didn’t want me to ruin things.”

All three pairs of eyes are on Izuku now, waiting to see if this was enough to appease the other.

Aren’t you happy he didn’t see it?

Aren’t you happy he didn’t see you at your lowest?

Izuku’s gut churns violently.

I’m so tired of not being seen.

Even the parts of myself that are disgusting.

Even the parts of myself that scare me.

“So that’s it then?” Izuku begins in a low rumble. “Detectives watched my video and got their evidence, and now that whole experience is shelved? I refuse to believe that I went through all of this for nothing. Did anyone listen to what Shio’s been saying, in that video or during his interrogations? Has anyone given him the time of day?”

Indignation builds on All Might’s gaunt face.

“That man doesn’t deserve any sympathy from you, after everything he’s done to hurt you.”

“All Might—” Aizawa warns.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Izuku fumes. “Nothing is ever going to fucking change if we don’t— if we don’t do something!”

Not hesitating more than a second, Izuku says the dark thing out loud.

“I could have easily been like Shio.”

Floored, All Might shakes his head.

“You’re nothing like that man—”

“I’m just like him,” Izuku insists vehemently. “I was weak and vulnerable, and it would have taken time, yes, but society was already disregarding me. At age fourteen!”

Izuku barrels forward.

“How dare you say I’d never turn out like Shio? If I hadn’t met you that day, All Might—”

He swallows. Izuku needs to word this properly. They aren’t going to understand if he doesn’t.

“I wasn’t ever going to hurt myself, I swear it. Please believe me when I say I wanted to live, even in middle school,” he explains, ignoring the dread building in him at this confession. “But I had been told my worthlessness constantly. Just that day we’d met I’d— I’d been told to take my own life. I wasn’t going to do it, I promise, but it was looping in my mind at the time. If you hadn’t met me that day, and I was mentored by the wrong people, you don’t think I could have been a villain?”

Shock sharpens the gaunt features of All Might’s face, with the same severity of glass breaking. Izuku can’t bring himself to look at Aizawa-sensei.

“I can’t accept that. Shio could have easily become a hero if society had not rejected him.”

Shio’s words come to him in waves.

“I wanted to become a hero for a long time. But when society drives you into a corner, you begin not wanting to save it.” 

“I can’t accept the explanation that there are good and bad people in this world,” Izuku said. “I’ve met heroes who are great at saving people, but then aren’t kind to their own families. Their own… friends. If you say that I was always meant to be a hero because… I’m kindhearted or hard-working, I can’t accept that. Because that would mean… That would mean if I did give in to the dark thoughts, if I was influenced just enough from the people around me… That means I would be the one to blame. That I’ve always had the opportunity to become a hero, and it’s my fault if I didn’t make it. Instead of questioning why I had turned to crime in the first place.”

Finally, Izuku looks up at his teachers. A deep sadness has settled onto Aizawa, while an uncomfortable mix of guilt and pity wars on All Might. The momentum in his words begins to petter out, and the gravity of what Izuku has revealed begins to catch up.

Before they came, Hitoshi said he’d stay by my side.

But he didn’t know about all of this, yet.

He thinks back to his conversation with Shio about disclosure. How the people in his life would change their tone, their attitude towards Izuku only when he revealed his Quirklessness. Hitoshi is different, he knows this, but this situation is so similar to the hundreds he’s had in the past that it is difficult to tame his own dark doubts.  

I trusted him with my name, he reminds himself.

And he exchanged that trust with his own name.

Don’t lessen his gesture.

Meeting eyes with Hitoshi is difficult, but he manages it. Not wasting a moment, Hitoshi grabs his hand and squeezes.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Hitoshi says, pain creeping into his tone.

The world grows blurry. Wet droplets hit Izuku’s lap as he bows his head.

All Might clears his throat.

“I believe you, Young Midoriya. I agree that people are not born bad, just as they are not born good. As your mentor, it has been incredibly hard to see how you were treated by… Shiomaki and his associate. Our sense of justice begins to warp when our loved ones are concerned.”

All Might breathes deeply, then gathers his strength.

“But I know that my anger is not what you need right now. You are telling us something important, something you feel has been overlooked. I did not realize the extent… of malintent to Quirkless people, these days. It has been a long time since I was considered Quirkless, and even now, as I lose access to One for All, I find myself both embracing and growing weary of how it will feel.” All Might sighs, sagging. “I am so sorry that such thoughtless comments were made, and no one was there to save you. To teach those people otherwise. Your past teachers, they did not give you the care that you deserved. And I fear that, we too, have not fulfilled those needs either.”

Finally.

He’s getting it.

He’s seeing me.

As the wariness in Izuku begins to recede, tears drip silently from his face.  

“Midoriya, I want to thank you for trusting us with this,” Aizawa-sensei begins. “We understand that sharing your past must be difficult, and you may fear what we think. I think I speak for all of us, the rest of your teachers, your classmates, when I say that we are all so lucky to have met the hero that you have grown into. I want to give my thanks, to that young Midoriya, who fought so hard and thrived despite adversity. That his tenacity and spirit allowed us to meet you as you are now.”

A mix between a gasp and sob bursts out of Izuku, and he grasps at his chest as if to cram the sound back in.

Do you hear that, younger me?

They hear you.

Can you believe it?

All Might and Eraserhead.

Another one of my peers, my friend.

They hear you, loud and clear.

“It’s ok to let it out,” Hitoshi murmurs, returning a hand to Izuku’s back and rubbing it softly.

A soft laugh bubbles out of Izuku, surprising even himself.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “I’ve never— I’ve never told anyone.”

“It feels good to be finally seen,” Hitoshi agrees.

“As All Might and I have discussed, we want to extend your circle,” Aizawa continues. “We don’t want to put you and your loved ones in danger, but I cannot in good conscious allow you to go on without support. Those instances of hateful speech can influence our actions, our own perception of ourselves and others, in subtle ways. I want to rectify that.”

“I’m going to start counseling soon,” Hitoshi says. “Maybe… you could come with me? Not in the same sessions, of course. But we can get through it, knowing the other is there too.”

Izuku offers a small smile. He’s scared of all this change, of continuing to open up. But knowing that Hitoshi was going to do it made the task seem less daunting.

“I’d like that.”

Like the quiet after a long and sour rainstorm, the air around them begins to cool and feel crisp against Izuku’s flushed skin. He breathes his first full breath since entering this room, and his body finally relaxes.

“There’s much work to be done,” Aizawa-sensei says, “But we will stand by you and Shinsou.”

“You two have been through so much, and I am so happy you have found solace in each other,” All Might says and doesn’t hide his smile. “We’re here for you both. Let’s rewrite the rulebook.”

“Seems like something a hero would do,” Hitoshi shrugs, then grins at Izuku.

Izuku huffs.

“It does, doesn’t it.”  

***

With his friends bickering around him on the common room couch, Izuku feels at home. Hitoshi has settled to his left side, and as they race in Mario Kart, Izuku’s crisscrossed knees keep bumping into the other.

“You’re going down, Shinsou!” Sero cries.

Pride wells in Izuku’s chest. His class has easily and continually incorporated Hitoshi as one of their own, even as Hitoshi is still finishing up the last of his requirements to make the official change. Even though Izuku hasn’t told his closest friends about the details of Field Gamma, he thinks that they’ve noticed a positive shift in Izuku that could, in part, be explained by Hitoshi’s presence. In many small ways, he feels like his friends have been thanking Hitoshi and rooting for him as he tries to transfer.

“Oh! Deku-kun, watch out!” Uraraka cries, and Izuku veers his controller left, barely dodging a banana peel.

“Nice adjustment, Midoriya,” praises Iida, who sits ramrod straight to Izuku’s right.

He watches as a small smile flickers on Todoroki’s face, there and gone in an instant. It makes him think that there is still a lot of work to be done.

His friends do not know about All for One, yet. But in history class last week, Midnight-sensei taught a section on the Quirkless population in Japan. She mentioned that this was the start of a new lecture series on helping heroes better connect with and incorporate all communities. Despite his nervousness, as it would hurt deeply if his classmates suddenly exposed a bigoted mindset, Izuku is excited. He, too, wants to learn how to become a better ally and friend to those around him.  

“You’re all rotting your brain,” Katsuki grumbles from the kitchen, where he’s been prepping and cooking for the past hour. “Taiyaki’s ready.”

“Oooh I want some, Kacchan!” Kaminari hollers and abandons his controller midway through the level.

“Denki!” Hitoshi scolds. “You’re on my team!”

“Sorry bro! Can’t miss this.”

Izuku huffs as Hitoshi pauses the game, groaning. While their other friends leave for the kitchen, Izuku spends an extra moment on the couch.

“I was about to win against you, you know,” Izuku prods.

“Oh, were you now?”

“I was right behind your car.”

“But I’ve been in first the whole game.”

“I would have caught up,” Izuku croons.

“Class 1A is too competitive,” Hitoshi grumbles.

“I think it’s wearing off on you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to switch classes anymore.”

“Don’t believe you. You care.”

“Couldn’t care less,” Hitoshi scoffs.

Izuku just smiles.

“I’m excited for you to join our class,” he admits. “It’s nice having you in the dorms and at counseling, but… I’d like to work with you, you know?”

“You wanna be heroes with me?” Hitoshi teases.

“I do.”

His earnest reply shocks Hitoshi into silence, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.  

“You can’t just say things like that, Izuku…” he mumbles.

Izuku can’t help but laugh. It’s been a heavy time. Izuku has spent many evenings in his dorm crying, a random memory from middle or elementary school surfacing without notice. Moments from his kidnapping will randomly surge and make Izuku jittery with nerves. Counseling has been rough, and it saps all of Izuku’s energy after he’s finished a session.

But Izuku’s been smiling a lot too. Maybe more than he has in his lifetime.

It makes him think that this all might be worth it.

“Oi!”

Izuku startles at Katsuki’s sharp bark and turns towards the kitchen. With flour splattered across his black shirt and a plate in hand, Katsuki stomps towards them.

“You think I made these just for them to go cold?” he sneers, shoving the plate into Izuku’s chest.

Hitoshi glares at Katsuki, to which he mirrors and juts out his chin. The two of them just couldn’t seem to get along, no matter what.

“Thanks, Katsuki-kun,” Izuku says. “Oh—! They smell so good.”

Katsuki awkwardly hovers, his face pinched, for a long moment.

“Of course they smell good,” he huffs. “But you don’t have to eat them. If you’re not feeling up to it.”

The comment makes Izuku pause, then smile faintly. It almost sounded like Katsuki was checking in on him. In counseling, Izuku has begun to strip back the years of bullying. He hasn’t talked to Katsuki yet, and he isn’t sure if he ever will. But it has helped redirect his anger and hurt. Now, Izuku can separate his feelings towards how society made him feel, versus Katsuki’s direct actions. His childhood friend doesn’t deserve Izuku’s anger at an entire oppressive system towards Quirkless people, but he does deserve an apology. Several, at some point.

But Izuku doesn’t want to demand anything from him. No, if Izuku was going to forgive him, the apology would have to begin and end in Katsuki’s words. As he sat right behind him in class, Izuku noticed how uncomfortable he’d been in Midnight’s cultural lessons. Almost uncaringly relaxed in every other class, Katsuki’s shoulders had been tense, his hands gripping the informational packet that Midnight had passed around.

Quirkless History and Their Impact Today.

Even if he wasn’t ready to apologize yet, Izuku had noticed a subtle shift in Katsuki’s attitude.

“Thanks,” Izuku says, and he means it. “I’m feeling a lot better, lately.”

“Good,” he says brusquely. Katsuki looks like he wants to say more, but Hitoshi is still giving the other boy a fierce glare.

“Just don’t make a mess on the couch, alright?”

And the boy stomps back into the kitchen.

“You’re like a guard dog,” Izuku muses, staring at the furrow in Hitoshi’s brow.

“Am not.”

Amused, Izuku takes a bite and reels from the taste.

“Yum, an ube filling!” he cries and indulges in another. “Katsuki-kun, it’s so good!”

“I know it’s good!” Katsuki barks back.

Hitoshi looks apprehensive at the taiyaki in his hands, like the fish is going to come alive and flop around on his lap. Finally, he takes a bite. A flicker of awe crosses his features, then he forces it into something indifferent.

“Mine’s matcha,” Hitoshi murmurs. He’s got a smear of green on his lip. “S’okay, I guess.”

Izuku bellows out a laugh, happy tears filling his eyes.

“Izuku?” Hitoshi huffs. “What did I do?”

Unable to reply, Izuku laughs and laughs, falling back into the couch.

He feels so safe here, with his friends. He hasn’t forgiven Katsuki, he hasn’t granted him the name Kacchan again, not yet. But things were improving. Izuku believes that his classmate will get there eventually, and he knows Katsuki’s got a lot to sort through before that happens.

They were both getting better.

He was in a place where authority figures had gone out of their way to understand his experience, to make something meaningful of his kidnapping and rescue. He even entrusted his name to a close friend.

Not his reclaimed Deku or impersonal Midoriya.

Izuku.

In rough counseling sessions, Izuku feels a little broken. Like a bunch of shattered pieces of something fragile. His counselor taught him to investigate each shard, each memory, and understand why its rough edges hurt him so.

“Why?” he had asked finally. “Why do I need to go through all these memories? Even the small ones, the ones that aren’t even that bad, why do they hurt so much?”

“Individually, they might seem insignificant. But as you process each one, you’re able to move forward,” his counselor explained. “If we take a step back, I think we’ll find something beautiful. Like a stained-glass portrait.”

 At the time, Izuku couldn’t understand what his counselor meant. But here, seeing all these pieces fit together, still a little jagged and raw, it did paint a beautiful picture. His life was made up of small memories, good and bad, raw and fleeting, and he tries in this moment to cherish them all.

Izuku closes his eyes, feeling the warm glow of light filtering in.