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Chapter Text

The sirens are so loud he can actually hear them ringing in both ears.

Klaxons blare as they bolt full tilt down the halls hell-for-leather style through the mazes of corridors and hopefully the fuck out to freedom.

He keeps his head down and all of his focus on hauling ass and making sure his useless sack-of-shit partner stays buckled in and along for the ride.

The idiot. At least he’s doing his best to keep up; limping gamely beside him on his bloodied feet and breathing hard through his mouth to keep from choking on all the blood on his damn face.

Bastards.

The stupid shit’s gonna have another nasty fucking scar if they survive this.

Not that they will at this rate.

Fuck.

He scruffs his partner hard by the back of his flimsy hospital gown and pulls him back to his side as they reach a turn.

It saves him from getting totally rocked by a cloud of bullets that screams by as soon as what’s left of the guards catch sight of them.

It just fucking figures.

They’ve turned more than half the facility into piles of charcoal and candle fat, tanked the security feeds for the whole fucking lab, and fought off all the damn guard dogs too- but there’s still only one way out of here.

The bastards know where they’re headed.

He looks his partner over as they crouch waiting for the reload.

His face is pale under its mask of blood and he’s sweating and shaking. 

He’s got a metric ton of god knows what in his system and he’s been bleeding since he pulled him off the operating table. 

So, yup.

Still fucked up then.

The stupid asshat’s gonna pass out, it’s not exactly optional, and they don’t have long. 

“Stop that,” he murmurs, trying to keep his attention when his head lolls on his neck and his eyes try and roll up, “Stay with me. Look- It’s all techs up here. If we can get past these bastards we’ll be in the yard, do you hear me?” He nods slowly and sags against his shoulder for a moment to try and rest.

He can hear his teeth chattering from the stress or the drugs or both. 

He chafes his shoulders to keep him conscious “We’re almost through, okay? We can make it.”

They’re probably not going to make it.

But hey- they can at least go out like badasses.

That’s worth something.

If nothing else he’s going to make damn sure they’ll definitely have to kill them both.

“Just stay with me, alright?” He repeats, trying not to think hard about that last part. “We just need to get past these guys.”

The useless shit nods and before he can actually stop him he scrabbles past his frantically reaching hands and plows straight into the security detail.

It takes the stunned and confused men about two seconds too long to figure out what’s happening.

Dazed, drugged, and beat-to-shit the freaking asshole gives about as good as he can given the circumstances.

Thankfully that’s still more than enough to take down a couple of pussy little lab techs with handguns.

They’ve left the real party smeared all over the walls on the lower levels.

The little shit kicks the nearest coat-wearing idiot clean into the wall and bounces off the bloody smear of his skull straight into the terrified cluster of the rest of the of them.

He’s caught back up and on his six before they can even get their guns up.

It’s over pretty quickly after that, really.

It doesn’t stop him grabbing the self-sacrificing little idiot by his collar and shaking him like a bad dog once the lame lab fucks are all dead though.

“You jackass!” He hisses, “I’ll fucking kill you! What do you think you’re doing? You can barely fucking stand!” 

He can’t stand actually. 

He’s just fought like fifteen stupid techs in a couple of seconds, and he’s done.

They’re done.

He shakes in his arms when he drags him closer and just stares at him like he’s trying to memorise his face for the last time.

That makes him see red and he shakes him again.

“Fucking stop that!” He shouts, begs really, but it’s not much use because they’re not…

They’re just not.

They both look towards the door and flick their eyes back towards each other. 

The stupid little bastard reaches up with a wobbly hand and seizes the battered leather of his collar for comfort, the way he’s done all their lives since they were snotty little snivelling brats in the basement kennels.

He sees his lips bubble with spit and blood as he tries to mouth words.

“Shut up,” he hisses again, and he hates how his voice threatens to crack around the words.

His idiot hacks up another mouthful of blood and looks up at him with hazy, pleading eyes.

Shit. The clock’s still winding down.

He knows what he’s asking for.

The idea makes him fucking sick.

“I am not leaving you behind!” He snarls, “Get the fuck up! We’re leaving. Together.”

It’s no use though, they both know it.

It’s not worth it to try and drag him along anymore and he opts for a fireman’s carry even if that slows them up. “I’m gonna get you out.”

If they’re gonna die, they’re gonna do it together- outside, like he fucking deserves, dammit.

They’re gonna make it to the damn yard at least.

He bursts through the doors at speed and skids to a wild stop in the centre of the yard as the sirens keep wailing and the place burns and burns.

The grating under his feet sloshes with water and then whole place is tilted at a crazy angle-

It’s sinking.

After all these years, just the thought feels amazing; it’s really a damn shame they can’t stick around to see it go up.

All the spotlights that are still working swivel drunkenly to try and pin them down and he does his best to weave with the dead weight of a whole other fucking person thrown over his shoulder.

His useless fucking partner is probably not even conscious and can’t help spot any trouble, but by some miracle they haven’t actually been shot yet.

Who knows, maybe there’s no one left to do it.

...They might actually make it!

He almost dares to hope-

“-Subject Ten!”

Someone’s shouting from across the yard, standing right in front of the big metal gate that is now the only thing separating them from literal fucking freedom.

“Surrender yourself and the Zero Control at once or face immediate consequences!”

No.

Damnit! 

It’s the fucking Colonel- of course it is.

And she’s got a few goons left.

And a ton of fucking guns.

Damnit.

He turns on the group with a snarl and raises both his arms in a warning to back the fuck off.

They take the hint and take a few steps back, raising their guns.

All except one, of fucking course.

Here she fucking is.

She doesn’t have a mask on or anything, she definitely wants to try and talk.

“Ex,” She grunts, bringing her hand up to her throat and then up to her cheek. “Zee.”

Their fucking hand-signs too.

He shuts his eyes and shivers a little at the nicknames- so old now, as familiar and worn-in as the exhausted tone they’ve always been said in…

It’s fucking come to this.

“Give it up, kid. Put your hands up and hand him over.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he hisses.

His partner stirs against his shoulder and struggles feebly, trying- ugh- trying to come to heel, to help fight, to fucking defend him like they actually stand a chance here.

He tightens his grip on him, feeling nauseous.

It’s no fucking use.

It’s over.

He always figured they’d go out in a fireball of fucking nuclear destruction- but now that’s they’re here he just wants to hold him for as long as possible; maybe they can even manage stay like this to the end.

He can’t bear him to hurt anymore.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself, Ex,” the Colonel crosses her arms, “Look at him- Zee’s had it. You have to see that.”

He can see that, he may not have much else these fucking days, but his eyes still work just fine, and he can see they’re fucked. 

It doesn’t mean they won’t go out on their own fucking terms.

The colonel sighs in frustration.

“C’mon kid.” She wheedles. “Just let us take him and come quietly. Maybe we can still work something out for you to-”

“-Not on your fucking life,” he spits, horror and indignation curling up his insides like burnt paper. “You want me to- without? - Never, fucking never. You can all get fucked!”

His partner manages to slide off his shoulder and tucks himself into his neck, smearing them both with even more gore.

He lets himself pull him close and pets at the back of his bleeding skull, trying to soothe him as best as he can since this is probably it. 

They might as well.

The colonel sighs again and pinches at her nose like this is giving her a huge headache.

It probably is, given how they’ve basically trashed the place and left like- no survivors downstairs.

That’s gotta mess with her paycheck somehow. 

He really hopes their corpses make like, a shit-ton paperwork for everybody.

Not that that’s going to matter to them much in a few minutes.

He holds on to his idiot as tight as he can and counts the guns, calculates bullets and trajectory and general marksmanship.

They’re gonna want their bodies obviously, and these are the colonel’s own men.

It’ll be head-shots or straight through their hearts- quick, probably painless. 

He braces as best he can for it and aches for the poor, shivering wreck in his arms.

God-

He prays they hit the poor fucker first, so he won’t have to feel him die. It would just be agony for him.

He’s too selfish not to try and shield him though. 

It’s instinct; every cell in his body screams to try and keep him safe and he’s going to do it even if it fills their last fucking moments on earth with pain and horror.

He curls around him protectively and brings his right hand up.

“Ex-”

“No! If you’re going to do it, just do it already!”

Another explosion rocks the lab. The yard shudders and trembles; the whole goddamn structure is going tits up and the men around the old lady are starting to murmur and shoot her nervous glances.

They’re all at a stalemate.

He doesn’t understand why she hasn't drawn her own gun yet.

She hasn’t moved.

She’s just staring at the shaved, bleeding mess that is the back of the skull of the asshole he’s keeping tucked under his chin like it’s her fault they did this to him.

He won’t lie, it kind of is.

She finally raises her own hand, clearly about to pull her gun.

He snarls, baring his teeth at her.

He won’t even pretend it doesn’t hurt to see her do it, her out of all of them…

He palms his partner’s bleeding skull and pulls him in closer shielding him from the sight.

He shouldn’t have to see her pull that trigger; he doesn’t fucking deserve that.

He buries his face in what’s left of his curls, ready to let off one last blast.

His stupid useless idiot tries to struggle out of his grasp, tries to come to his damn rescue the way he always wants to; he pants with fear or with pain, he doesn’t know, but he just keeps him close.

“Ex...” he sees the old bat murmur. “Please.”

He screws his own eyes shut.

“Do it!” He spits. “Just fucking kill us already!”

His partner whimpers against his throat and he feels him bat feebly at his chest, trying to get him to run, to leave him and save himself, and can’t help the sob that catches in his chest.

Just this once he actually gets to hold him, just this last fucking time, he gets to make it okay.

“Shh,” he soothes him, “It’s almost over, I’m here. I’m with you, it’s gonna be okay, hold on to me.”

God, he’s such a goddamn LOSER. 

He couldn’t protect him.

He’s gotten them both fucking killed.

But it’ll be over soon.

He can offer him that much.

At least it’ll be over soon.

“Don’t look.” He tells him, pressing his lips to his temple, “Shh. It’s okay. Don’t look, you’re gonna be okay- hold on.”

-God, just let it be quick, not for his own sake but for his, don’t let him suffer any more bullshit, let it be quick-

Death seems a little slow to come though and he finally is forced to look and see what’s taking so damn long.

The colonel still hasn’t drawn her gun.

What the fuck?

She’s apparently over it because she suddenly drops out of her ready stance and shakes her head.

“Fuck me,” he sees her say, tiredly, “Not the damn dogs- I don’t get paid enough for this shit- Zero!”

His partner blinks against his neck and turns in his arms, trying his best to stand up straight. 

The absurdity of it makes him snort into his filthy hair, even as he braces to help him.

Probably minutes from Death’s door, covered head to foot in blood and guts, and the little fucker still wants to be polite. 

He probably thinks they owe her. 

Hell- maybe they do. 

They’ve done a hundred missions with this hag, and she’s addressing them for the last time.

The old fart looks them both over with something weird in her expression.

“Ex won’t get you far, Zee,” she says. “And the coats are gonna carve you up alive for what you’ve done to the place when you’re caught. You gotta know that- They’re gonna make him watch, kiddo.”

He shudders and nods but doesn’t take his eyes off the stupid old hag even as he reaches up to fist his hand up through his collar again.

The symbolism will be clear to her.

He won’t give him up.

His fucking stubborn little shit.

He feels like shaking him again. 

He puts his hands back up instead, eager to defend him.

If he wants them to fuck up as many of these bastards as they can before they go he will…

“Fine. If that’s what you boys want. You wanna go out swinging- I get it. We’ll try and make it a fair fight and we can end it quick here- I’ll fight you,” she promises, “I’ll fight you both even…” 

She looks exhausted as she says it and stares them both dead in the face for a full minute before she closes her eyes and adds, “But I’ll also get out of your way, if you just wanna ask me to move.”

Wait- what?!

He boggles at the old soldier and actually puts his hands down in shock.

Her men are all surprised too, making noises of outrage and barking about protocol, but the old hag just puts her hand up again for silence.

“Make your choice, boys,” she orders. “You have about five minutes before the choppers get here.”

Fuck!

They should fight then, he thinks instinctively. 

They should always fight, they’ve always fought, they’ve never run from a damn thing in their goddamn miserable lives-

They should get patched up and fucking get this shadow off their backs, kill her and the last of her men and end this horrible shit-show once and for all-

And yet…

He looks down at his partner and tries- well, he tries…he knows what he wants, but they always do what he wants, it’s always been him calling the shots until now.

Down in the labs, he remembers babbling that if this useless shit was still alive and they somehow managed to survive this he was going to let the little idiot pick whatever they’d do for the rest of their lives…

They probably won’t be very long anyways.

He suddenly wants to make good on his word, even if his stupid, useless partner probably can’t even remember given how fucked up he’s been.

“It’s your call,” he promises quietly. “What do you want?”

He watches him bite his lip and stares long and hard into his eyes, trying to guess his answer.

He can see him coming to some sort of decision and feels just the slightest bit of pride as he tries to shove at him so he can support more of his own weight.

Little punk.

He draws himself all the way up, looks at the colonel, and points at the gate.

Guess they’re gonna take option B and fuck off.

He moves to help shore him up, but he shakes his head stubbornly and starts to gamely limp forward.

He might be the stupidest, most useless piece of shit in the entire world, but he’s still a little badass.

He wants to walk out under his own power.

“Fucking MOVE.” He spits at the men as his poor useless shit finally gets his feet underneath him and they start to hobble towards the gate.

The Colonel takes a big, pointed step out of their way and looks them both over with her sad, worn eyes.

He glares back as they pass her, thinks maybe they should say something- thank her maybe.

But fuck that.

It’s too late to play nice, no matter what she’s done here to try and make amends.

They reach the gate and find it’s already slightly ajar- the explosions have rocked it off it’s hinges.

When they squeeze though they’re gonna finally be free.

They’re leaving all this behind.

They’re leaving…

“It’s okay kid, just get him out of here, don’t worry about us.” 

- fuck, he can’t do this, he needs to say something.

“You know we’re gonna kill you, the next time we see you- right, hag?” He says, turning at the gate after shoving his partner through first. “You better watch out- we…we fucking owe you, for all this.”

The ugly ancient fuck actually has the nerve to laugh.

She starts to turn, taking her men with her with a wave of her hand.

“Sure, kid- most of your gear’s still at the western safe house if you can make it that far- I’d head east after that if I was you.” 

The place is going down; he stares hard at her retreating back.

He wonders if they’ll ever actually see each other ever again.

He begins to squeeze through the gate himself as the sounds of men barking orders and chopper blades start to fill the space.

There’s a quick knock against the metal of the door by his face.

He freezes and turns back fully to stare at her face again, probably for the last time.

“One more thing, kid-” 

“What?”

“Tell the kiddo… tell him happy 19th, from me.”

He blinks and squeezes the rest of the way through the heavy door.

Huh. 

That’s today, huh?

Well damn.

Said birthday boy is barely conscious on the other side of the door. 

He’s trying his best to avoid being seen by the chopper searchlights and staring out at the expanse of the ocean like he’s seeing it all for the first time.  

There are tears in his eyes, the fucking crybaby, but maybe this time they might actually be warranted.

After fifteen fucking years.

Freedom on his birthday.

He can’t wait to fucking tell him.

He just has to get him the hell out of here first.

He hauls him into his arms and then manhandles him into a bridal carry.

He squirms in protest but basically seizes up in pain the moment he starts to book it down the stairs towards the re-supply ships and goes limp again.

Yeah, stupid idiots’s still really fucked up.

He is too, but he’s choosing not to prioritise that just now.

He’s going to get them off this fucking death trap first.

They’re actually gonna make it!

The lab’s a fiery shithole of gurgling death which means the entire rig is starting to tip on its side. Half the moored boats are sticking out of the water when they hit the docks, but thankfully there’s not actually many people around.

That makes sense. 

The place has been burning for hours now, most of the asshats here have either already evacuated or are fucking dead.

He hopes its way more of the latter, but he won’t stop to check.

He picks a boat that looks like it’ll still make it to shore, blasts it free of its moorings and takes a running jump into it, careful to be as gentle with his cargo as he can in the circumstances.

He still grunts in pain as they land, but he just dumps him into an empty corner of the boat and hurries to figure out the engine and get them fucking GONE.

It doesn’t take long to get them speeding towards the mainland and away from the inferno of the lab.

He kicks his partner awake and points it out to him behind them when it’s just a glowing orange speck on the horizon and slows just a little to watch it bloom up like Roman Candle before sputtering out.

It’s a fucking b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l sight.

He can’t help but shoot a quick glance at his partner as the place goes up. 

He still looks a little punch drunk and groggy but is smiling ear to ear and wiping hard at his eyes.

Years and years in that hell hole.

And they finally get to watch it fucking burn.

They watch it slowly disappear into darkness, sinking to the bottom of the sea, where it fucking belongs.

A breeze wafts towards them, bringing burnt smells and ashes from the wreckage.

They both shiver in their thin hospital gowns.

Time to get him someplace safe.

“Hold on,” he tells him, and cranks the engine again so they can keep zooming towards the shore.

The little idiot gives a loopy smile and dips his hand out of the side of the boat to play with the flotsam of the ashes as they start to drift past.

On the shore he has to be carried to the safe house the old lady mentioned, and he does his best to patch him up.

His stitches have never been perfect, but they fucking hold and it means they’ll get to hash out his stupid self-sacrificing bullshit stunts back there another day.

They’ll have to burn these locations and haul-ass out of here in a couple of hours, but for now he’s fucking WRECKED.

He bundles his stupid partner and all their gear into a corner and sleeps.

A few hours later he has them both back on the boat with everything that wasn’t nailed down, and some of that shit too, let’s be honest.

The Colonel said to head east.

He hopes she wasn’t bullshitting them. 

His stupid martyr idiot with his goddamned hero complex doesn’t have an opinion right now, he’s high as fuck on the good shit he gave him out their packs to keep him upright.

He hums a little tune under his breath and crawls over the mess in the boat to cuddle into his lap.

He can feel him tapping something into his knee, but he’s too distracted to pay much attention.

He dozes back off before long.

But he lets him.

They don’t have anywhere to be just now.

It’s nice to see him so relaxed after everything they’ve just been through, he deserves it.

It’s honestly not a bad start to whatever time they have left.

He pets over his curls and watches him nuzzle in close.

“Happy Birthday, Nerd.” He grins looking into the shiny new sunrise. “You sure got us a hell of a present this year.”

Chapter Text

It’s 700 hours, sunrise. 

He can just see the first wash of red trying to force its way through the haze. 

The lower city has been burning for 46 hours now. 

It seems to cower under the smokestacks like a beaten dog, waiting of rescue.

It will be waiting a while yet.

He’s been there since first call, and they’ve hardly made a dent in the chaos.

His back aches, his eyes are streaming, and it’s been difficult to breathe for a while now. 

Recovery teams have already abandoned their efforts on the east terraces and remaining teams have been ordered to focus their efforts on stopping the spread into the northern districts. 

The ones closest to the city center. 

He can hear the exhausted acknowledgments on the coms, his coworkers’ weary faces look defeated as they trudge past, shepherding the remaining evacuees away from what’s left of their homes and all their worldly possessions. 

He holds out his hand and grudgingly directs jets of flames over the inferno, trying to starve them out, using up what little oxygen there is. 

It’s too little much too late, but it does bank the flames some; enough for a hero he doesn’t recognize to come stumbling out of the nearest building coughing and hacking and clutching a small, badly burnt figure to his chest. 

“She’s the last one,” he gasps. “Let’s move. The place is coming down.” 

He could try an ice wall; thinks of gathering up what little moisture is left in the air together to shape or shore up the building, maybe give the pro a little more of a chance to search for survivors, but he’s already dropped off the child into his arms and is moving off with the rest. 

He can feel her fishbone ribs through her filthy shirt as she coughs and looks up at him with dull, solemn eyes. 

Their pupils are goat-like and the little fur that remains on her face is coarse and brown. 

They stare at one another.

She twitches one of her floppy ears and says nothing. 

A lot of the civilians in the lower levels are heteromorphs, so he is unsurprised by her appearance and only holds her close as he steps through the rubble. 

“Do you know where your parents are?” he asks her after a moment.

She points at the smoking hull of the building, and he sighs and moves with the other heroes towards the emergency nerve center where a number of recovery pros are already quietly draping tarps over the other casualties of the fire and rounding up the young children who don’t have anyone looking out for them anymore. 

None of them are crying or screaming. 

Most of them are old enough to understand that without the protection of their adult guardians they will be moved into state care. 

As ‘morph children he doesn’t like to think about their prospects. 

They will be shuffled out past the walls he supposes, sent out to the farms that support the city center, or else taught some other trade badly needed by the commission and forced to work off the debt for their education. 

The little girl in his arms tightens her grip on his shirt as he tries to set her down and he is forced to gently pry off her fingers before he can hand her off to an exhausted-looking nurse who looks her over and sits her on a gurney.

“Will she be alright?” He asks as she moves hurriedly away. 

“She looks stable,” she replies looking harassed, “We are prioritizing the critically injured and heroes on the scene. She’ll have to wait to be treated.”

 She’s badly burnt, but she doesn’t cry; she doesn’t say a word as he moves off, not to thank him or to curse him.

She looks far away, already moving past her injuries and the losses of the fire, too worried about next steps to even mourn. 

He hopes she has friends somewhere in the city.

He takes himself out of the tent and it’s serious, desperate air. 

No one makes any move to stop him.

He starts to move along with the rest of the crews headed off to deal with the crisis but is stopped by a nerve cell agent who waves him over impatiently.

“Shōto?” They confirm as he walks over. He nods and they type rapidly into their wrist com. “You’re being re-assigned. We had a call for a fire emergency in the inner city; head towards the nearest terminal and take the pro-line. They already know you’re coming.”

He blinks and taps his ear com into the open channel.

He hadn’t heard anything about fires in the upper districts.

The channel is clear of any emergency chatter, it’s quiet aside from the usual patrol check-ins and he stares down at the nerve cell.

“‘Coms sound clear,” he notes, “Do you have any details about the new fire?” The agent gives him an annoyed look. 

“Look I’m just doing what I’m told here,” they snap, shooing him off. “Orders from the top were to send you back to your district for emergency fire dispatch.”

He doesn’t try and argue anything else. 

There’s not much a cell could tell him anyways.

He heads towards the nearest shuttle platform and waits for the sleek red hero-shuttle to shepherd him through the gates and back into the upper districts.

He works out of the Belegaer district and watches the dirty, careworn streets of the lower city rapidly transform into tidy, neat buildings and high-tech glass structures as he passes through the gates back into the familiar sights of the inner rings. 

Smog and dust disappear, and the sky gradually clears into the pale light of a cool morning.

He leans his head against his fist where he holds the rail and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

He hasn’t slept in over a day. 

He remembers grabbing a cal-pack from a frantic recovery tech and cramming into his mouth half a day ago, so that’s been lunch, dinner, and today’s breakfast, and now he’s headed into whatever the upper city has planned for him.

The shuttle slows and he doesn’t wait for it to stop, he hops off and lets it continue on its way to the next emergency pick-up; hopefully to bring some sort of relief to the exhausted crews down south.

His ear-com registers him as having entered through the inner-city gates and rapidly begins sending him coordinates for the next emergency.

He’s not far- it’s a few blocks into downtown, at one of the new high-rises the council just got permission to rebuild.

He frowns.

That’s odd. Those buildings aren’t even 6 months old; he remembers his sister begging him to apply to move into them.

Perhaps it’s an electrical fire.

He’s too tired to try for a slide, and he may need whatever strength he has left to combat the fire, so he runs towards the building.

It’s barely dawn, so the city’s residents aren’t really out yet.

He spots a few early morning commuters and the odd service bot trundling along, but it will be hours yet until the morning rush.

He manages to find the building and takes stock.

It looks large and modern and very much not on fire.

He taps his com.

“Command this is Shōto,” he relays, “I received an emergency re-route from the Angmar district to this location?”

“Copy Shōto, this Command Dispatch,” comes a tinny voice. “Emergency call came from apartment 16648. You’ll have to go in and use the lifts.”

“I’ve…been routed from the district fires for a domestic call?” He checks, incredulous. “Can’t the civil services take care of it?”

“The call came in on the hero line,” the dispatcher explains after an embarrassed pause. “And all inner-city emergencies have priority. You are the hero on duty for Belegaer district in this rotation. We were told to- I…had to re-route you. Sorry, sir.”

“I understand, I’ll handle it, Shōto out.”

He seethes quietly for a moment and steps into the building.

There’s a concierge and he looks him up and down in his sooty, filthy recovery gear and balks.

“Emergency.” Shōto flashes his dog tags, “16648?”

“Sixteenth floor,” the man gapes, “Please try and mind the carpet.” 

Shōto takes special care to walk directly down the center of the gaudy floral carpet and stomps into the lifts.

He scans his dog tags to bypass the security and have direct access to the floor.

He waits in the gentle drift of snowfall that’s starting to consume the space and tries to control his anger.

The doors eventually swing open with a cheerful ‘ding’ and he’s able to find the right door pretty quickly.

He summons a wave of ice and batters the door open with a swift jab.

It cracks and sails off its hinges in an instant.

The building’s emergency alarm starts to blare at an ear-splitting decibel and several neighbors open their doors in sleepy panic.

A shocked and terrified looking couple stumbles out of the apartment to stare in horror at their door.

“Fire services,” Shōto says simply to their stunned faces, “You called the hero line, so I assume you require immediate assistance- where is the emergency?”

“Whu-?” The woman from the apartment gapes, “I- we-”

“-It’s in the kitchen,” her man finishes looking positively livid, “We only called the hero line because the fire department takes too long. You didn’t have to break down the damn door!”

“The hero line is for immediate and urgent heroic response,” Shōto informs them stepping briskly into the apartment and looking around.

It’s neat and tidy and looks very high-end and expensive with its modern glass fixtures and leather furniture.

He spots a small grease fire on the electric stove and sends a lazy wave of frost over the entire countertop, incasing the entire marble slab in a foot of ice, “Calls are directed by matter of importance through the helpline and heroes have to be diverted from other tasks. You should never throw water on grease fire by the way; it makes things worse.”

He turns to go, and the couple seethes with indignation.

“Now wait just a damn moment-” the man growls.

He draws himself together and Shōto waits to see if he’s going to actually say something.

He continues to just look angry, so Shōto ignores them both and taps his com.

“Command this is Shōto. Emergency resolved. Headed to base-” he turns to them and adds, “You can contact your insurance about damages, but the Council isn’t liable for any property that is destroyed during heroic action. Have a good day.”

“Wha- but you just- wait… Shōto…”

The man’s eyes fall over his face and linger on his scar for a moment before he suddenly seems to realize just who it is that’s come into his home.

He blanches and takes a step back, ducking behind the woman.

“Yen,” she hisses, “Don’t just stand there; do something!” 

He shakes his head, terrified.

“You’re Endeavor’s other boy,” he murmurs, “You’re Todoroki Shōto Aren’t you?”

The woman’s eyes go wide.

She looks at the frozen remains of her door and her ruined kitchen and stares hard at his face too before yelping in alarm and putting her hands up.

“Why are you here?” She bleats.

“You asked for emergency Hero services involving fire containment,” Shōto explains tiredly. “I was the only hero technically in the area.”

“Yuh-yes but- but you, you?” She says in open panic, scrabbling back with her man towards the other end of the apartment. “Couldn’t they send anyone else?”

“There’s not very many of us,” he points out, trying hard not to lose his temper. “And fires are, as you’ve probably realised, my specialty.”

“Just get out!” The man shouts, running behind a door, “Get out and don’t come back here! You were never here! Please!”

Shōto stares at where the couple has barricaded themselves in what is probably their bathroom and waits to see if they’re going to come back out or say anything else.

After a moment he sighs and turns to go.

There’s a sizable crowd gathered outside the door now having been eavesdropping and most of them take a step back in alarm.

Only an old woman rolls her eyes and stays where she is.

“Honestly,” she snorts, “You think the brother is going to come stomping up here from out in the slums? Be reasonable.”

“Mother!” a woman shushes from within the crowd, “Get back inside.” 

The old woman shakes her head and shuffles back into a nearby unit.

“Shaking in your boots over a boy and his little gang,” she sighs, “The world sure has gone downhill since the old man’s time.”

No one dares to say anything to that.

The crowd murmurs and parts for him to head to the lifts; he can still hear them muttering to one another as he heads downstairs. 

He tries to ignore the churning, miserable feeling in his stomach.

He has a feeling he won’t be able to continue working in this district for much longer…

The concierge is waiting by the doors and pounces on him as soon as the lifts open.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a car, sir,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument, “If you’ll follow me? It’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go. 

The ‘So long as it’s far away from here’ is implied.

Shōto follows the man down a long hallway and allows himself to be dumped into a service alley where a cab is waiting. 

“Good morning,” the cabbie says brightly as he steps inside. “Are you sure up with the larks? Where to?”

They have a quirk that makes sweet steam waft gently from off their skin. 

The whole cab smells like bananas and the windows are foggy. 

It reminds Shōto he hasn’t eaten.

“U.A. Academy, please.” He tells the cabbie, slumping against the window. They give a cheerful acknowledgment and pull into the street. 

“You’re not the usual sort we pull out of them flats,” they chortle looking at him through the rearview mirror. “It’s typically hookers or salary men too drunk to stand Ol’ Smokey calls for.”

“I’m not a hooker,” Shōto tells him tiredly, “Or drunk. I do make a salary though.”

“Yeah? ‘Don’t look like it’s enough,” they snicker, “Rough night?” 

Shōto debates his answer and settles for-

“Angmar is burning.”

“Again?” The cabbie scoffs callously, “Stupid bloody beasts– you hear the counsel public broadcasts, warning them again and again to take it easy with their half-assed ‘gennies, but do they listen? No!” 

Shōto wants to point out that the majority of the citizens in the lower districts are too poor to afford a radio, let alone a holo or a television to watch the commission broadcasts.

Most of their generators date from the before the war, during the initial attacks. They’re almost as old as he is and can barely keep a stove running at full pelt.

People get hungry and cold.

They don’t have a lot of options.

“And now another one’s gone and blown themselves up!” The cabbie shakes their head, “Just a mess. I tell you. I don’t even want to think about all the ‘fugees and what they’re going to do to the traffic around here. They’ll all be tottering up any minute now, just you wait, clogging up the place, begging the council for money or pros for aid.”

“What are heroes for if not to render aid?” Shōto says quietly.

“The pros have better things to do then babysit that pack of half breeds,” the cabbie scowls, “They tend to city business. 

Right. 

City business. 

Like grease fires at million-dollar condos. 

Shōto sighs.

“Well, don’t you worry about it much,” the cabbie soothes him, “The walls around the Academy are still ten feet thick! If you can get in you’re not gonna have any trouble. You work there?”

“I live there.” Shōto tells him.

The cabbie’s eyes shoot up in surprise.

“Well look at me yammering on about the pros,” they grin, “A preacher to a shiny pulpit! S’that why you know about that slum fire? You getting off a shift?”

Shōto nods and tries to ignore the powerful waves of curiosity emanating from the driver.

“Never been inside the academy walls,” They admit, “I hear it’s all real fancy. That’s where the commission is housed, right? And all you pros?”

“A lot of us live on the grounds, yes.” Shōto answers. “I don’t know if it’s any more ‘fancy’ that any of the other inner districts though.”

The cabbie snorts.

“Sure,” they say, “I’ll believe that. You guys have the best of everything in there, everybody knows it.”

Shōto says nothing.

“C’mon,” the cabbie coaxes, “We’re almost there. You can’t tell me a bit about what it’s like inside? You ever see any of the old pros? What about Mt Lady? I loved her!”

Shōto suddenly wishes he had just walked or taken a pro-line home.

He’s much too exhausted to have this kind of conversation right now.

He knows all the strange things the public says about the academy, the speculation and rumors, it stands to reason with the security around it, but he’s never been one to enjoy this kind of prying conversation.

He’s tired and burnt and maybe a little upset.

He doesn’t have time for this.

“If I double your faire for this ride,” he asks bluntly, “Will you please stop talking?”

The cab driver looks affronted for a moment and then beams at him.

“I get it,” they say, “S’all top-secret stuff, hush hush. Say no more friend. We’ll drop the subject.”

Shōto nods gratefully and closes his eyes.

He enjoys a single, blissful moment of silence before:

“I hear they keep All Might locked up in there.”

Shōto’s eyes snap open and he sits upright in the backseat.

He locks eyes with the cabbie through the rear-view mirror.

“Come again?” he says coldly. Hoarfrost creeps its way up the glass of the window and rimes across the seats, but the cabbie brazenly continues.

“You know, when they’re not dragging him around to apologize for this mess we’re in.” They say, “I’ve heard- well the hero commission keeps him over at the academy. You know, out of sight, out of mind and all that. That’s true at least, isn’t it?”

Shõto blinks.

“You think the commission is keeping one of greatest Heros of the modern age,” he repeats carefully, “Penned at the Academy like some sort of petting zoo exhibit?”

The cabbie scoffs.

“Well, he’s no hero now is he?” They snort, “He’s all washed up, he’s a has been, the right old fraud. They gotta keep him put up someplace so the public don’t tear him apart for the state of the place- he was supposed to protect us you know. Fat lot of good he’s done at that. And don’t get me started on the mess with Endeavor- ”

“Stop the car,” Shōto says, unbuckling from his seat and catching at the door handle.

He has to chip through almost half a foot of ice and the cab driver glances back in dismay.

“But we’re almost there,” they protest angrily, “C’mon lad, you have to have tougher skin than that about the old man or you’ll-”

Shōto fishes one of the Commission credit chips out of the pouch at his waist and tosses it to the driver who catches it as they slow to the curb.

“Feel free to charge whatever you’d like for the ride,” he says, scrabbling out and nodding in what he hopes looks like politeness to the driver. “Thank you for your services, have a pleasant day.”

He lifts his hand and condenses the air under it into a stream of ice and tries for a slide.

The motion is easy, practiced, years of work honing it to something he can do even now, even when he’s exhausted, when he can feel his hands shaking and the world greying out at the corners.

He leaves the cab and the sidewalk behind and skims to the side of the street designated for mobility quirks figuring he might get less of a reprimand if they only have to chip out one of the lanes leading up the academy.

Unlike the dirty sprawl of the lower levels, where any quirk is permissible providing you aren’t caught, the center has a hard line on quirk uses.

Loud, showy quirks like his are only tolerated for pro-work and even then, only grudgingly in the way that heroes are only tolerated because they’re necessary to enforce the fragile peace they have with the warlords on the other side of the walls. 

Everyone says it was different before the war, but Shōto doesn’t really remember, having been so young before The Decline.

It’s best not to dwell on it.

He turns the corner and sees the massive walls of the academy suddenly rear up out of the sleepy morning quiet.

He really wasn’t far from it. 

It looms over the surrounding rings of the city, a tired, careworn old creature crouched defensively in the heart of the metropolitan sprawl, ready to leap into action to defend any part of its home it can.

The sight of its massive gates are a welcome one to Shōto, who’s lived behind their protection since he was 14.

His ear-com chirps in welcome and he fiddles with his dog tags.

They flash green and open the service gate and he jumps from the arch of his ice slide through the little door to greet the security team.

“Morning Shōto!” One of the guards waves brightly, “Where’re you coming in from?” 

He holds his wrist out to be blood tested and waits for the pat down.

“Angmar,” he says watching the guards all wince.

“Yikes, still burning huh?” The security head says commiserating, “I hear the council’s about to petition the commission for some of the hydro-quirk pros out of the Bay Area to move up full time. The Old Man’s there now with some of your old school buddies coordinating rotations to give your fire-team a break.”

“Why didn’t they ask for a rotation when it started?” He asks sourly, unbuckling his vest and laying it on the nearby conveyor belt as the guards wrap up his exam. 

“Well- you know the commission,” the lead guard says ruefully, “They hate spending money they don’t have to, and they don’t like asking Beast Town for anything.”

“Don’t call it that,” Shōto snaps automatically, thinking of the cabbie and feeling his anger rise. “The Bay Area, we don’t want to associate the people there with that term.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the guard laughs, “You’re right we shouldn’t call it that. optics are bad enough for the ‘morphs as it is. I know you’re on the advocacy board and Endeavor’s got-”

“-Who’s with the Old Man’s at the meeting?” Shōto interrupts, not wanting to be drawn into another uncomfortable conversation. “Do you know?”

“It’s Froppy,” one of the guards supplies meekly after a briefly awkward pause. “She’s representing the bay, you might still catch the tail end of it if you run.”

Shōto grimaces and tries to think of something that will soften the uncomfortable edge of the silence. The lead guard gives him another rueful smile. 

“It’s all right, sir,” she promises, “Hurry up or you’ll miss your friends.”

He nods, picks his gear up from the security scanner and shuffles through the narrow hall that opens into the east service sector of the academy. 

Unlike the rest of the city, which is only just now shaking off a sleepy doze, the former school is a bustling hub of activity.

He makes his way into the Nerve Center and catches the attention of one of the cells as they wander by looking half-asleep.

“I heard the council is meeting someplace,” he asks them. “Do you know where?”

The cell blinks bemusedly for a moment and then seems to shake off the confusion.

“They’re in the south tower block.” They yawn, “But I wouldn’t head up there if I was you. The Council’s on the war path and the Old Man’s in a temper about it.” 

Shōto winces and thanks them for the heads up. 

He heads for South Tower and runs into a few scurrying, harassed looking sidekicks and various aids clearly fleeing the scene upstairs.

“Shōto,” Bubble-girl sighs in relief spotting him across the corridor headed towards the lifts. “Oh thank goodness you’re here! I was just going to get Recoverygirl!”

“What’s going on?” He asks, stepping over to her and letting her herd him into the lifts.

“Yagi-san is fighting with the council again!” She pulls a face, “It’s getting ugly- they’re refusing to allow class-4 citizens past the 3rd gates at all even with the fire and the current housing crisis and they don’t want to extend Heroic considerations to any of the candidates from out of the Bay-”

“-They’re not going to let any of the new recruits register?” He echoes, stunned. “Even though we had seven aquatic heroes retire last year?”

Bubble girl looks almost teary as she nods, “The Old Man’s going ballistic-he and Tsukauchi-san personally selected them and vetted them themselves and Froppy’s been overseeing their training, but they-”

“-What about the rotation for the current crisis?” He asks, “Bay area residents all have a class-4 status, even their heroes. If they’re not letting anyone past the 3rd gates how are they getting to Angmar to deal with the fire?” 

“Toshinori has managed to convince them to make an exception,” a voice cuts in. A hand jams the lift and someone crams inside with the two of them, “but only because the fucking plant’s just caught fire.”

It’s Shinsou and he looks completely exhausted like he’s also just come straight off of a shift. “I’ve been called in for reinforcements.” He adds at Shōto questioning look. “I did some of the backgrounds on the contested recruits. Aizawa sent for me. Long time by the way.” 

“Likewise.”

His former classmate sighs deeply and runs a hand through his matted purple hair clearly annoyed. 

He sniffs and glances at Shōto’s soot-stained uniform and singed hair.

“You coming in from Angmar?” he guesses. Shōto nods, sourly. 

“I was pulled off the detail to put out a kitchen fire on the upper level.” He tells his coworkers who look sickened. “The nerve center gave that priority status over the Angmar manufacturing plant apparently.” 

Both the other heroes in the elevator wince.

“Don’t tell the old man that,” Bubble-girl mumbles miserably. “He’s furious enough as it is.”

“Did they send you out to find your boss?” Shinsou asks her.

She nods and cups her elbows as if warding off a chill.

“Mirio’s gone to help with the fire,” she admits dully. “I shudder to think what the council is going to say when they hear about it – unsanctioned heroic action – misuse of paid time – they’ll hit us with something again, and we already took that voluntary pay cut because of the orphanage. Anyways, he’s not here so I was going to go get Recoverygirl instead. Luckily, I ran into Todoroki on the way down so…”

Shinsou nods. “Good. Listen, someone’s gotta talk the old man off the ledge before he gives himself another ulcer,” he tells them seriously, “Aizawa and I are going to tag in for a bit. Shōto, try to convince him to go home or take a nap. He’s been at the nerve center since the start of the fire, and nobody can remember when he last ate.”

“He can’t keep doing this,” Shōto sighs, “He’s just had that surgery.” 

“You try telling him that,” Bubble-girl rolls her eyes, “Mirio was almost in tears the last time he had to keep out him of the Nerve Center- you know how he gets.”

They all share tired, rueful smiles.

“I’m so glad so many of you 1-A’s are here on campus,” she jokes lightly, “Otherwise we’d never get him to rest.”

“Yeah, thank the Shining Child and all the gods you found Shōto,” Shinsou joins in, half smiling with his eyes, “His little golden child- what’s it like to be the favourite of the favourites?”

“Oh like you wouldn’t know Erazerhead,” Bubble-girl laughs.

“That’s not my name.”

“Sure, whatever. I still don’t understand why you won’t just take it, Aizawa’d let you have it, he’s off the field-”

“- But he’s not retired yet,” Shinsou cuts her off, loyally. “And anyways this ain’t about me. Shōto, I think Tsu’s called in Uraraka and last I heard Nezu was in the way up. Use that old class pet charm and get The Old Man out before this gets any uglier.”

“Principal Nezu is coming?” Shōto repeats, alarmed.

This really is a bad fight.

The old principal of the academy rarely leaves his labs these days, even for council meetings, not since the school officially closed its doors two years ago.

“The council’s called in Commission Reps,” Shinsou confides at a murmur, tucking his head into his scarf so as to not be seen on the cameras. “To ‘restore order to the overreaching body of the Heroics Chapter’. We’re rounding up all the troops. It’s gonna be a big one tonight.”

Bubble-girl gives a small groan of horror. 

Shōto doesn’t blame her.

He’d hate to have to sit at table for this fiasco.

Happily, he’ll never be needed.

The council is happy to pretend he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t make waves.

Plus Shinsou is right.

The Old man is pretty fond of him, and everyone knows it’s better to reason with him than meet him head on.

He wasn’t The Symbol for nothing.

Most heroes would stand behind anything he’d have to bring to or against their government.

The council knows this, just like it knows it can’t necessarily afford his anger and so they tolerate the men and women and others he respects so as to have something to leverage against him. 

Shōto is willing to put up with a lot to stay in the field. 

So he tolerates them back.

“Who else is coming?” he asks Shinsou quietly.

“Iida is already there,” He relays, “And your girl. I think they were trying to scare up Hawks if his wings weren’t hurting him too bad this week and Woods and Fats; 13’s been in the building for a minute and Mirko’s gonna radio in after her hip replacement.”

The Old Guard.

Interesting…

“That’s a lot of retirees,” Bubble-girl bites her lip, “You know they don’t like to listen to the old heroes. Ugh, I wish Mirio hadn’t left-”

“-Does Burnin know this is happening?” Shōto asks, “She’s always ready for a fight. I could send her a message, maybe.”

“Don’t.” Shinsou snaps suddenly. He gives him a quick glance and sighs through his nose. “I wasn’t going to tell you, because with any luck you’ll be gone by the time this really kicks off but- The commission chair is bringing Endeavor.”

Bubble-girl’s face twists in disgust and he tenses up without meaning to.

“What’s he coming for,” Bubble-girl hisses, “He’s got a lot of nerve-”

“-The commissioners probably think it’ll be better to have somebody reason with us, you know at our level,” Shinsou rolls his eyes “Hero to hero.”

Shōto doesn’t say anything, and his comrades don’t mention the icicles that start to drip down on them from the ceiling.

“Do you have a plan,” Shinsou suddenly asks as the lift starts to slow to its stop, “For the old man?”

“Let me see what mood he is in first,” Shōto contemplates. “Then we can decide on a plan.”

The doors open into chaos. 

Pros, techs, aids, and sidekicks are all crowded into the hall trying to see over each other into what was once a humanities lecture hall and now houses the majority seats for the council when they come to the Academy for assembly.

The stage is set up to receive the reps from the hero commission at their typical long wooden table and squashed between these two powerhouses of Civil control, towering and skeletal and clearly furious, stands Yagi Toshinori, the hero formerly known as All Might who was once the most powerful Symbol of Peace, and one of the greatest heroes the world has ever known. 

He’s been a shadow of these former glories for most of Shōto’s life now, but that doesn’t stop the people in that room from cowering back from his anger as it breaks over them in a flash of his sunken blue eyes.

“-A gross failure of leadership and frankly a bigoted response to the men and women and others who fight to defend our country in these times of crisis!” Shōto hears him bawling out at the council. “I would be ashamed to deny these brave young people a chance to prove themselves the heroes we need and so should you!”

The crowd around him breaks into furious applause and he can hear the head councilwoman shrieking for order as he pushes his way through into the hall.

“All Might,” a councilmember Shōto knows has always been sympathetic to the Old Man sighs as the room rustles and murmurs itself to a lull. “The Council recognizes your passion and commitment to the city and we can understand your desire to ensure a future for these young people, but please be reasonable- you know there are not enough resources to support the heroes we already have, and frankly we don’t have enough pros in the field to- to keep watch over the candidates from the Bay area.”

There’s a hiss of dissent from the gathered crowd and Shōto spots one of his old classmates and close friends, Ochaco, coming out to stand next to All Might.

“I think the council should be clear,” she says in a calm voice that carries to the back of the room and spills out to the halls, “They want the residents of the bay area, including its current registered Heroes and all future hopefuls, to be monitored by current Heroes and police staff at all times if they cross the 3rd gate. A gate past which, I do not need to remind anyone here, only 2 percent of the population holds any heteromorphic traits whatsoever. What is that if not open and callous discrimination against some of the most maligned people groups of this entire country?”

“You have no evidence to that claim madam!” A councilman shouts to be heard over the sudden din of the crowd.

Another one of his old friends, Tenya immediately bustles forwards with a holo tag that he throws up into full view of all parties. 

“Pro hero Uravity is in fact correct. And as a further matter of fact- we currently have a census taken of the entire city of Mustafar that corroborates Uravity’s claims.” He states, fussing with his glasses. “I’ve also taken the liberty to provide a breakdown of all current projects and future economic projections for the coming fiscal term and as you can see, funding would be available to provide for-”

“-It is the Commission’s responsibility to ensure dispersal for common funds provided by the council, Pro Hero Ingenium.” A commission member drawls lazily from over across the table, “And that is not up for debate at this time, please stick to the current situation and address the Council’s concerns.”

“WHO authorized this census,” a dowdy old councilwoman harrumphs at the back of the assembly, “Who requisitioned funds to conduct a survey of this magnitude?”

Shōto is unsurprised to find another of his closest friends, who everyone has called Momo since his school days holding up her hand to declare, “My family generously donated the funds for this project and all logistics and equipment were donated by myself and others, the research itself was compiled by your own Nezu, formerly of the Academy and 15th high seat of the council board.”

The former principal appears as if summoned from within the crowd. 

“Indeed, miss Creaty,” he bears his little fangs in a beaming grin, “And as a matter of fact there are a number of concerns this population graph illustrates about our current policies.”

He twitches his whiskers genially, but his lashing tail betrays his anger as he politely goes through a few of the relevant data points.

Shinsou suddenly steps forward from his place next to him and stands to meet their old principal so he can make the leap onto his shoulder and better address the Council.

The sight of his little white furred person wrapped around the lean black figure with its billowing white scarf sends a wave of sudden nostalgia through Shōto’s very bones.

He wonders where Aizawa is in the crowd. 

Their old homeroom teacher was never one to draw attention to himself, but his protégé mentioned he would be here.

And indeed, Shōto’s careful eye finds him tucked into the back of the crowd surrounding All Might, calm, observing and steady as he remembers.

It’s been a while since he’s seen him out in public.

Perceptive as ever Aizawa flicks his single eye over to Shōto and nods, having felt his eyes on him and continues looking to where Shinsou, almost his clone in his black tac-gear, heavy boots and scarf, is allowing himself to be used as a makeshift podium.

Shōto tunes out of the meeting and watches the crowd, curious.

The council isn’t pleased by this united show of force from the heroes, and he spots several of its members glaring over to the commission seats, trying to force them into action against the heroes they claim to regulate.

The commission representatives look almost bored, having likely been flown in from the central branch in Tokyo and being largely unconcerned with the petty political affairs of such a small part of their larger picture.

Shōto doubts they really care about any of this as long as the heroes don’t overreach themselves and get booted out by the council; they get paid for every set of tags in the city after all, the council’s effectively renting every person here from their Tokyo office.

They’re only really here to make sure the city stays satisfied with their purchase.

He tunes back in when he hears Tsu’s familiar croak rasping current updates from the Nerve Center about Angmar.

“Relief teams have just reached the plant and pros from my district have begun taking over fire control.” She ribbits, hopping forward. “The blaze is currently over 45 percent of the district, and we’ve incurred twelve losses.”

12 heroes.

Shōto feels the room flinch.

He wonders whose names will be read at the next assembly- if he’ll see a

familiar face at the memorial soon…

“12 Fine heroes.” All Might murmurs. “Lost to the course of their duties… Members of the council: we hold here in this room the solemn responsibility to secure peace and protect those without means from harm. We all do this bravely, selflessly, sometimes at the cost of our lives. Few are equipped to handle the enormous weight of such a pledge. Who are any of us to deny those who would stand up to take up this promise when others fall?” 

There is a resounding silence. 

The counselors shift guiltily and begin to mumble among themselves.

“Perhaps,” the lead council woman coughs. “We have been a bit… Hasty about the Bay Area candidates...” 

“Let’s take a brief recess.“ A commission representative suggests, “And your heroes can present their case to you after the management of this current crisis. Everyone! the certification issue will resume this evening, please head to designated assignments for the day.”

There’s a sudden tumult as the crowd begins to break up, chattering quietly among themselves. 

The council stands to go, threading out in a line behind the podium at the front of the room by the stage. The councilman who spoke to All Might stops briefly to smile at him and pat his elbow which is the only part of him he apparently can reach. 

Several of the commission representatives steeple their hands and watch the room gradually empty looking contemplative. 

Shōto feels a sense of misgiving; nobody likes it when the commission reps are here, especially if they have their eyes on anything the heroes are doing in the area.

Aizawa moves forward to whisper something to Tenya and Ochaco. They both whip around, beaming. 

Apparently, they hadn’t noticed him in the crowd. 

Ochaco gets Momo’s attention and they both come barreling out of the knot of people surrounding the old man and make a beeline straight towards him.  

“Shōto!” Momo smiles. We didn’t see you.

Ochacho stops just short of where he and bubble girl are standing and opens her arms, inviting him to hug her. She looks well and he awkwardly steps forward and lets her and Momo put their arms around him before stepping back. 

There.

Friendship done.

Both girls giggle a little at the look of relief on his face, and Momo says, “Come on, everyone’s gonna try and trick the old man into grabbing some breakfast.”

“I haven’t eaten.” He informs her as they all head closer. “I’ve just come in from Angmar.”

She looks grave, and Ochoco asks. “How is it?” as they approach the others.

“Bad,” he grimaces, “Worse now if 12 of us haven’t made it. They were only reporting seven casualties when I was recalled.”

“The generator that exploded took out four Heroes from the jump,” Ochaco reports sadly, “We lost Deadlift, and Bullneck- someone said Arctic’s in critical condition too. He’s been transferred downstairs to see what Recoverygirl’s techs can do.”

Shōto sighs under his breath as they make the final few steps towards where All Might is shaking the hand of a teary-eyed person with some sort of walrus-based quirk.

They’ve got massive tusks and look awed as they stammer their thanks at his defense of them and their comrades.

They must be one of the contested heroes.

“Young one-”

“-Miss, sir-”

“Young Miss,” he corrects smoothly, taking her flippers in his big hand, “It is my duty and more than that my honor to see you through this. Please rest assured that we will all do everything in our power to see that you and your companions are licensed.”

She sniffs and struggles to keep her composure as she blubbers another thank you.

The old man looks absolutely exhausted, but he smiles gently at her and asks.

“Have you chosen a Hero name?” 

“Siren, sir.” She murmurs, “It- it was my aunt’s, b-before she- I’m s-sure you don’t remember…”

“-I remember her very well,” he says softly, “A beautiful, brave young woman. She helped save everyone in Kamakura that day, you know. It was a privilege to have known her. I’m sure she would be proud to know her niece is following in her footsteps.”

The girl’s bristly mustache twitches and her eyes brim over with tears.

She has to be gently steered away by Tsu who shoots All Might a thankful look as she hops over to her little clutch of hopefuls.

All Might looks over at them and sighs deeply.

The entire weight of the world feels like it hangs over him in that moment and Shōto wavers, scared to interrupt him as he gathers the strength he needs to bear it.

He trades anxious looks with some of his old classmates and finally glances over at Shinsou who nods covertly before turning to chat with the principal and Aizawa.

Shōto steps forward and into the old man’s line of sight, catching his attention.

“Oh,” He perks up and finds a tired smile. “Young Mr Todoroki, I heard you’d been called in from Angmar.”

“I was sir,” Shōto nods, “I’ve only just got back.”

“What terrible timing,” he says wryly, “Out of one fire and into another.”

Shōto fidgets on his feet as the others keep giving him meaningful glances.

He’s supposed to find a way to lure the old pro out of here…

“Sir,” he tries after a moment of deliberation, “I was told to distract you so you would leave this room and Aizawa and the others could take over for you. I haven’t eaten and was hoping you could be convinced to come with me to have breakfast. 

Ochaco and Momo both duck their heads to grin and Shinsou groans and rubs between his eyes.

Tenya nods encouragement to continue, but he waits to see what the old man will do.

All Might blinks in surprise and smiles ruefully.

“Oh? You’re my distracter, are you? I’m being burdensome again.” He chuffs and looks them all with obvious affection, “Had to break out the big guns to get the old man out of the way, huh?”

“We were hoping he would be more subtle.” Bubble-girl shakes her head, walking over from where she got held up greeting a few pros.

“I’m not sure why,” Shinsou snorts. 

Nezu’s whiskers twitch and a few of the others crack into smiles.

All Might chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.

“I admire your effort my boy,” he says genuinely, “But-”

“-But Shōto really hasn’t eaten,” Ochaco blurts. “Tenya and I haven’t either! We just flew in from Tokyo.” 

A few others rapidly relay similar information and look at him hopefully.

All Might wavers.

“None of you have eaten?” He repeats suspiciously.

Shōto nods.

“Not since I was called out to the fire.” He states.

Now the old man looks alarmed.

“I was the one who dispatched you,” he boggles. “That was almost two days ago, young man.” 

“I’ve been a little busy,” Shōto shrugs and the old pro scowls and starts to steer him towards the mess by his shoulder.

“That’s never an excuse to miss meals,” he admonishes, ignoring how some of the others shoot him incredulous, exasperated looks. “Young people like you need to eat to keep your strength up- what if you’re called in for another crisis? No, no, we’re taking you straight to Lunchrush so we can sort this whole thing out- come on everyone.”

Shinsou and Aizawa both give him quick nods of thanks as he’s marched out and he hears more than a few sighs of relief.

They tromp out in force to the mess and Shōto is forced to watch with dismay as All Might loads a tray with two of everything on offer.

Ochaco and Momo sneak up next to him.

“Thank you,” Ochaco murmurs.

“I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat all that,” he mumbles as the old man tries to beg one of the service techs for a third portion of rice. “I’ll explode.”

“Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” Momo nods, smiling slightly. She reaches out to squeeze his arm and he puts his hand over hers reflexively. “I’m sneaking back off to check in with Nezu- good luck you three.”

She leans up to peck a quick kiss to Shōto’s cheek and darts off and Ochaco looks sadly at her retreating back.

“I wish you guys had worked out,” she sighs.

Shōto says nothing and she pouts at him.

“Seriously Shōto, what’s it been like- a year? Two? Tenya and I were talking-”

“-I’m sure I’m not going to enjoy the topic of your discussion,” he stares down at her.

“-and we really think it’s time you moved out of here and found a place in the city.” She pushes, ignoring him. “You never get out! All you do is work and it’s not healthy! We were thinking that maybe you could-”

“-Shōto!” All Might saves him, waving him over impatiently, “Come here my boy, come have some breakfast.”

The commotion causes a few other heroes to realize that they are here, and she is called away to the other end of the table to converse with a few friends she hasn’t seen since her Tokyo deployment with Tenya.

Tenya ducks his head to avoid Shōto’s reproach and pretends to be deep in conversation with another one of their old classmates, Hagakure, who is showing off the pictures of her twins.

“Oh yes,” he hears him say seriously, staring hard at where a floating pair of bows and a tiny blue bow tie sit in an otherwise empty field over matching pink and blue rompers. “They…sure are getting bigger?”

“Right??” He hears Hagakure cooing ecstatically, “They look just like their father, don’t they?”

“Y-yes,” Tenya nods, dubious, “But they…really take after you I think…”

“Everyone says that,” she laughs happily, “Poor Mashi- I’m sure you’ll be able to see it more when they’re older.”

“I…certainly hope so,” Tenya mutters. 

Shōto tunes in to where others are discussing All Might’s speech to the assembly and betting on the new reps they’ll swap in to replace the commissioners who just left.

“It’s going to be that asshole from Hosu who’s always fighting with their chief.” He hears Epic telling Bubble-girl and Sirius. “The one who hates ‘morphs. They’re always trying to ingratiate themselves with our city.”

“I’m not sure,” Bubble-girl frowns, “I heard Endeavor is coming, and the Hosu chair has it out for him-”

“-Endeavor?!” Ochaco squeaks, overhearing and jerking up from her other conversation. She shoots a nervous glance at Shōto and says, “He’s not coming here is he?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t dare show his face here.” Tenya blusters, “Not after the last time- and All Might’s sir, you wouldn’t let him.”

All Might doesn’t say anything and quietly pushes the tray of food in Shōto’s direction. 

“Eat,” he prompts, ignoring how almost everyone at the table is staring intently at him. “You need your strength.”

Shōto looks down at the tray of food and feels his insides churn with nausea. 

He looks at the Old Man and he stares back somberly.

“He’s here already,” he guesses, “Isn’t he?” 

“To help starve the fire,” All Might whispers, “Yes.” 

The others at the table jump up or slam their fists in outrage.

Shōto is warmed by how several of them instantly draw close and form ranks around where he and the old man sit as if they expect to have Endeavor drop in on them out of nowhere and are ready to defend them both.

“Calm down everyone,” All Might says, holding his hands up to placate them, “Endeavor is a hero, and has a right to come to UA, especially during times of crisis for our city. It’s still his duty to render aid.”

“But-” Ochaco chokes.

“-The Commission knows where we stand on the matter of his…other sanctioned mission.” All Might interrupts her. “He’s not allowed to be housed in or near any of our private residences, and none of his people can linger in any of our common spaces. Those were my demands.”

He looks deeply into Shōto’s eyes and says more quietly.

“I spoke to him personally, reminding him about our last discussion. It’s alright my boy, he won’t try and contact you without your permission.”

They all relax, and he feels his face heat a little as Ochaco and Hagakure sit down on either side of him and start to fuss over him to ease their nerves.

Ochaco gently pets a wrinkle out of his sooty sleeve and Hagakure starts nudging plates off the tray and closer to his person.

Tenya looks stiffly towards the doors, alert to trouble.

He feels his throat work and coughs a little, pulling a plate of rice closer to begin eating.

Everyone begins talking loudly to distract from the awkward tension.

He and All Might lock eyes for a moment and he gives him a small, knowing smile.

It’s still a strange feeling, having friends. 

They make him feel weak and fragile but also cherished and cared for.

He’s never quite known what to do with it.

“Do you know who I haven’t seen in some time?” The Old Man murmurs after a while, automatically taking a cup of coffee from Tenya as he surreptitiously pushes it into his hand. “Your little friend- the one young Koda asked for your help with.”

Shōto looks up from his breakfast and finds a real smile under his rattled nerves.

“Fin-chan,” he nods, thinking of the little white bird that’s probably dozing in his cage on Shōto’s desk as they speak. “Yes, I still have him.” 

“Koda said his wing didn’t set right, didn’t he?” Ochaco adds, slyly pushing a plate of pastries under All Might’s hands. “And that the other finches might bully him. That’s why you kept him isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Shōto agrees. “And I thought it might be nice to have a pet. Momo says he looks like me.”

“He does!” Hagakure laughs, “I saw the pictures on your profile. Do you ever post about anything else?”

“No.”

“Ah. Well, pets are a good start!”

All Might takes a bite of pastry without thinking much of it with a little chuckle and misses how the table collectively sighs in relief.

“I think it’s important for us to cultivate interests outside of our work,” Tenya says thoughtfully, “Ochaco and I have taken up gardening-”

“-You’ve taken up gardening,” she teases, “I hold the watering can-”

“-And we have a fairly sizable crop of tomatoes going.”

“Mashi and I have a garden,” Hagakure tells them, “We’re a little busy with the dojo though, so it’s getting a bit neglected. I wouldn’t even know where to start with pets, the twins are enough work.”

“Has that been hard?” Shōto asks. “All that change at once?”

“Not really,” she muses, “Getting kicked out of my job for getting pregnant was hard- I love Mashi, but I’m not interested in getting married you know? I don’t see why that had to be so make or break, but it turns out we love the countryside, and our district keeps us busy with how close we are to the slums- we see a lot more of Tokoyami and Mina now too which is a plus, they both look amazing by the way.” 

Shōto smiles at the thought. 

A number of his other classmates settled out in the furthest districts of the city, past even the fourth gates.

He doesn’t see much of them anymore and it’s nice to hear they’re doing well.

“We’re so far out in Tokyo,” Ochaco whines, “We never see anybody and it’s not like there’s money to visit-”

“You do good work for us there though,” All Might suddenly rumbles, “Advocating for the lesser cities and keeping down those prohibitive quirk measures- I know it’s terrible to be so far from home, but I applaud you.”

Tenya adjusts his glasses, flustered and Ochaco blushes and stammers to think nothing of it. 

“You were supposed to go to Tokyo too weren’t you, Shōto?” Bubble-girl suddenly butts in, leaning past Ochaco, “I remember Mirio pouting about your transfer request.”

“I was,” he nods, “With Tenya and Ochaco and Momo, yes.”

“I didn’t know that!” Hagakure gasps, “Why didn’t you go?” 

“Toru-” Ochaco winces, but Shōto cuts off her next statement with a simple shrug and the truth.

“I was supposed to move in with Momo. We were still seeing each other at the time, but then we broke up.” He says, “Everyone said it would’ve made things more awkward for us to stay together since I broke it off and I had never wanted to go so I stayed here.”

“O-oh,” Hagakure says thinly, “I um, guess I missed that part.”

“You were very pregnant and mired in scandal,” Shōto agrees, “We were all doing our best to mitigate your stress at the time and Momo didn’t want to inadvertently slip the idea of breaking up into your head.”

A few people at the table wince, but Hagakure doesn’t seem to mind much.

“That’s very thoughtful,” she murmurs. “She was probably right, I was out of my mind at the time, especially when your pops tried to take my license-”

“-Let’s not dwell on any of that now.” Ochaco covers hastily. “That was years ago and-”

“-I’m still sorry about it,” Shōto ignores where Ochaco is desperate to change the subject. “Him creating that stupid, horrible division, and then trying to use it against my friends to- I really don’t know what he hopes to do coming back here. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forgive any of it.”

There’s another lapse of silence at the table.

His friends all trade worried looks. 

“We won’t let him near you, son,” All Might declares quietly. “You have my word. I think we should all do our best to put past actions behind us and focus on the future, but I can respect your wishes on it.”

“He’s not here in that capacity besides.” Tenya soothes the table, “You heard All Might. He’s here for the fire and nothing more, once he’s done what he can he and the commission will have no choice but to leave.”

He seems to be reassuring himself as well as them, but they all agree and conversation eventually resumes.

All Might’s appetite reasserts itself now that it’s had a sudden taste of food and Shōto happily shares the spoils of his massive tray.

Talks veer towards budget cuts and rota complaints and the deficit in the support technology and Powerman’s ongoing divorce from Flicker.

The usual chatter of hero life.

Shōto lets the conversation slip over him and cover him up like a blanket.

It’s soothing; listening to his friends talk and eating quietly until prompted to offer some response to someone or something, it’s familiar.

He misses sometimes the way things were, before his brother’s confession.

How much simpler life was here, with his friends at the academy.

Eventually he must nod off right there at the table, because he wakes to find his tray cleared and the old man’s patient expression waiting with another cup of coffee.

He sips contently.

The table has mostly cleared out and the mess is quiet.

“Oh,” He wobbles groggily upright and rubs over his face. “I fell asleep.”

“You passed out, yes,” All Might nods. “You’ve been up fighting fires for most of two days, you’re exhausted. I told the others I’d walk you home. Your friends were a bit reluctant to leave you, but I convinced them.”

“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He stands from the table and looks at Shōto expectantly and together they set off towards Heights Alliance.

Shōto glances at all the Old Man as they walk.

“I take it I’ve worked as a distraction.” He asks, “Or will you go back once you’ve seen me to my room?”

All Might sighs deeply.

“It seems they would prefer I take a break from the proceedings,” he says ruefully. “Young Iida mentioned while you were sleeping- insisted really. We’ve both been up since the start of the crisis and apparently rest is called for.”

“It’s not healthy to stay up fighting fires,” Shōto nods. 

“I haven’t been,” All Might says darkly, “I’ve just been standing in that room, watching the situation deteriorate.” He looks broodingly up at the towers of the school and shakes his head. “That’s all I’m good for these days. Sending bright young people into danger and listening to old fools like me complain about money of all things while Japan slides out from under us all into the sea.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen.” 

All Might looks at Shōto and gives him a wan smile.

“Of course not,” he states. “Not while we still have some fight left. There’s plenty of us in the ring.”

He reaches out and pats his shoulder again.

“Don’t listen to this Old man’s nonsense, my boy. Go get some sleep.”

Shōto wants to, he feels like he could sleep a thousand years, get up, roll over, and sleep a thousand more, but he’s worried about the old man and his strange mood.

“Would you like to come see my finch?” He asks him, casting around for something distracting. “You’d mentioned it’s been some time.”

All Might chuckles. 

“Some other time,” he promises, “I have to stop by the memorial if I have no other business…we’ll need it ready in the morning once the crisis is over.”

That doesn’t seem like a good idea given his current state, but Shōto doesn’t argue.

He turns from the path that leads up to his current dorm and heads toward the main gate and its massive security entrance.

“Now wait just a minute. You don’t need to-” All Might protests, but Shōto just ignores him and plods determinedly towards the door.

The guards all come to attention once they spot the old man and a couple of them trade quick glances.

Shōto flashes his tags and says.

“The Old Man needs to go to the square.”

They look subdued as they open the little side hatch of the gate and wave them through.

The massive monoliths can’t be seen from the front of the campus, but a quick walk sees them to the square and its granite pillars, honoring the fallen.

There used to be some other statues or something here when Shōto was a boy, but he no longer remembers of who or what. 

Now it’s this: a stone forest of names that grows every day. A garden that All Might tends diligently and stands to honor every morning with whoever is not on morning rotation before they make their solemn procession back to campus to start the day.

Shōto waits for the old man to check carefully over each stone, making sure they’re free from the usual refuse and graffiti before he mentally plots out where the next one will go.

He lingers especially long over the smallest of them at the back. 

It’s much older and different than the rest of them; made of bronze, originally melted down from whatever had once stood here, it’s dwarfed by the heroes’ names that seem to crouch over it protectively.

He places his hand on its surface and runs over the neat rows of listed names, inspecting them for smudges or flaws.

A little bundle of flowers and a teddy bear lays at its feet, and he pauses and crouches down to study it with a deep sigh.

“It’s almost the fifteenth, isn’t it?” He mumbles, “I’ll have to remember to bring flowers.”  

Shōto thinks he’s been here long enough and moves to stand next to him.

He glances at the pillar but doesn’t really see it- it’s been there most of his life, he was four, when it was erected, it’s proclamation is almost as familiar to him as the scar on his face.

IN MEMORY OF THE CHILDREN LOST TO THE MUSTAFAR CRISIS: JAPAN HONORS YOUR SACRIFICE 

“You have a while sir,” he says softly, “Until then. We ought to leave.”

All Might tenderly brushes a bit of dirt off the bear’s snout and fusses with the flowers, pruning withered leaves and straightening them in their vase, before finally standing to go.

They head back into the academy without another word.

Shōto practically bullies the world’s greatest hero into the old teacher’s dorms where he still lives and begs him to get some sleep before heading to his own dorm.

A few people loiter around the common area, some gearing up for work shifts and others spreading rumors and gossip about the fight at the assembly.

They mob Shōto as he heads up towards his room, but he fends them off and basically collapses against his door.

His room is as ever he leaves it.

Calm, quiet, tidy and bare except for the essentials.

The little bamboo cage at his desk rattles as his finch cheeps loudly inside, demanding breakfast.

He strips on autopilot and moves to open the cage so the little white bird can flutter around while he checks his water and fills his food bowl.

Once that task is done, he fights to unroll his futon and collapses straight into it in a smokey heap.

There’s the tiniest bit of pressure as his bird flits over to bounces across his head, beeping loudly while he burrows his face into his pillow.

“Please don’t make a mess,” he tells him with a loud yawn. “And stay away from the windows this time.”

He falls asleep like that, half in his clothes, with fin-chan free-flying around because he was too tired to close his cage back up.

Just another day in the city.

Chapter Text

A foreign looking couple brushes against Kacchan’s shoulder and he turns towards the man with a snarl.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” he snaps, warningly, “You almost ran us off the damn pavement!” 

The woman looks vaguely affronted, but something about Kacchan’s ill grace and poor temper must show on his face, because her and her man stalk off after a tense moment huffing under their breath.

Kacchan’s glower follows them up the street for a few more seconds before he begins mechanically separating all the useful things from the trash in a wallet that’s appeared in his hands as if by magic.

“Chumps,” he snorts, counting bills and haphazardly throwing out healthcare cards and old receipts, “God, I love tourists, you hungry?”

Deku, who abhors the grind and prefers to get his cash the easy way from highjacked card readers and unattended computers at Internet Cafes, looks up from the where he‘s pestering a few of the pigeons and nods.

He and Kacchan came to look at some names on a statue Kacchan wanted him to see. It's pretty but boring; he's excited to grab some lunch.

Can we [get] katsudon? He signs.

“Again?” Kacchan groans.

Deku grins.

Want taiyaki too, he continues excitedly, Can we? And a M-E-L-O-N soda float!

His partner rolls his eyes but sticks out his elbow a little in an open invitation for him to crawl under his arm and stand close while he finishes counting.

Deku knows it’s a trap to keep him still while he’s busy with the money, but it’s just too tempting to resist.

“Fine, fine,” he says, tapping his cheek with a thick stack of bills as soon as he takes his bait. “But only because the money’s good out here- we can’t eat like this every damn day, nerd.”

Deku shrugs and smiles back, signing sure/whatever you say, boss and lets Kacchan manhandle him through the crowd.

“Damn, you need a bath too,” he murmurs against one of his ears, “You smell like a pack of lunchmeat.”

 Deku wheezes one of his scratchy laughs and shoves at him good-naturedly.

Kacchan shoves back, affronted.

It immediately devolves into a proper wrestling match from there where they’re both scrabbling to overpower each other. 

You too you too you too! Deku signs frantically, as Kacchan tries to catch his hands to shut him up. You too, Kacchan! 

His partner finally manages to grapple control of both his hands and Deku squawks and wriggles and ends up gnawing on his arm in between giggles as he locks him against his body in an easy hold. 

“Deku,” Kacchan growls a warning.

He twists in his grip to bite at his face instead and Kacchan makes an impatient noise and tilts his chin up away from his snapping teeth.

“Knock it off you freak,” he grumbles, “People are staring.”  

He’s right. A number of people are looking them over as they fight by these strange graves in the open street, and frowning.

He…

Deku’s smile flickers like a spent match and slides into a snarl. It twists against the scars on his face and he knows it makes him look deranged.

He doesn’t like it when people stare!

A few of the random bystanders flinch and Kacchan gives him a little shake.

“Hey! I said cut it out,” he reminds him, “Fuck, we can’t take you anywhere.”

He can’t sign with his wrists caught up in Kacchan’s hand and so he hisses, drawing his lips back from his wicked looking teeth, and struggles against his hold.

He’ll give these people something to stare at! 

Kacchan easily shoves him forward without so much as looking at him.

“Yeah, yeah you’re fuckin' scary, c’mon you weirdo,” he mutters, “Quit being such a goddamn lunatic and help me find you some fucking food. I want Ramen.”

Deku immediately forgets how much he wants to fight everyone on the street and beams excitedly at his scowling face.

He taps a hopeful S-P-I-C-Y-? in Morse against his skin and his partner snorts.

“Obviously. What the hell do you take me for?”

He stops fighting against his grip and tucks himself sweetly under his chin instead with a happy sigh.

If he plays cute, he's totally going to get that soda, he just knows it.

Kacchan lets him have his hands again eventually but keeps a hand on his hip to remind him to keep close.

Deku rolls his eyes, but heels pretty.

It’s not worth it to fight a bunch of the extras if Kacchan’s going to be mad about it.

Plus, he really wants dessert.

-

Cities are different than he remembers. Still busy, but less lively than they felt in the hazy recollections of his memory.

Kacchan doesn’t seem bothered one way or the other and just strolls down the street as if they own the whole place same as always.

He checks a phone he picked up somewhere when they hit the city this morning and squints around at the street signs.

Deku peeks over his arm to read the map and nudges his side, prompting his gaze to sweep over his face in question.

He points helpfully at the right alley with a beatific smile.

“I was gonna see it,” his partner grouses, shoving him down the stairs towards a little ramen shop tucked into side street while Deku wheezes another laugh. 

Yeah.

Sure, he was.

—

They have katsu bowls here and the noodles are good, but his taiyaki is frozen solid in the middle.

It doesn’t matter because the ice cream in his melon soda is handmade and AMAZING.

Kacchan leans over his shoulder and sneaks a taste off the top as he taps away at his phone, totally ignoring the way he hunkers over it growling like an animal. 

“I’m paying for it, you fucker,” he scowls, poking him hard in the side, “Play nice.” 

Deku sips it sullenly and lets him know how he feels about the theft with the middle fingers of both his hands, but Kacchan just copies him.

The shop is small and dirty, but empty which Deku appreciates as much as the unexpectedly artisan soft serve, and he kicks his feet happily against his stool and blows bubbles into his dinner.

The itamae looks like he’d like to ask questions about what a weird looking pair of young men are doing skulking around this part of the city at this time of night, but when they’d come in Kacchan had barked out their order and laid a stack of cash and Deku’s second favourite knife on the counter and that seems to have prompted him to make the wise choice to mind his fucking business.

Kacchan finishes poking away on his new phone and looks over him.

“Finish that.” He commands, “We gotta go.”

Where? Deku asks, pulling the straw out of his float so he can knock the rest of it back like a shot. 

Kacchan moves to stand, and he falls easily into step tucked against his right side. 

They both ignore the chef who’s practically cowering in the corner trying to disappear and step back out into the humid air of the city.

“Baths are still open ‘round here,” he grunts, “We need to figure out clothes and shit, then maybe head to the base for a while.”

Deku looks at him in surprise.

[We’re] staying here? He signs. He’d assumed they were just passing through. Kacchan hates [the] city. Why [are we] bunking in? 

“Don’t ask me stupid fucking questions.” He snaps and when Deku pouts he gives in and signs.

Loser/Nerd/Mine/Deku hurt (almost fucking dead). Your-Kacchan-will-fix-it. Trust me/ Do as I say. 

Trust you /Love you, Deku answers almost automatically, the sign ancient and practiced between them. 

Kacchan glowers, unimpressed. 

He knows that much already.

Deku pouts and signs the one he knows Kacchan wants to see. 

Will-do-what-you-want (grudgingly). 

Kacchan smirks.

“You’re damn right you will.”

Mean, He sticks his tongue out at him and signs, Deku not hurt (almost fucking dead), Deku just hurt(needs rest and maybe stitches). Don’t be worried.

Kacchan frowns deeply.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

Deku chooses not to push when he’s clearly in a mood.

Where’s clothes? He asks instead. Deku get (steal) some?  

Kacchan waves away his questions impatiently, considering the street.

Your Kacchan will get (pay for) later. He signs distractedly, “C’mon, up. Let’s go.”

Deku nods and reaches down into Kacchan’s belt to pull out the pieces of one of his staves.

He snaps them together, vaults himself up into the nearest fire-escape and then scrabbles up the rusting stairs to the rooftop to wait for Kacchan to catch up.

He’s up in seconds and they skim along the skyline with the ease of their long years of practice, dodging cameras and patrols and the odd stranger who prefers the rooftops to the streets.

Kacchan has been edgy since they hit the city and Deku tries to keep his mind off whatever’s eating at his thoughts with every trick he has.

He trips him up on purpose, snaps playfully at him when he swings in close to snarl at him to cut it out and flips and twirls and tumbles along clownishly to keep him annoyed or amused by turns.

Race you/Chase me, he signs at him as they leap across the buildings, Race you/Chase me! Race! Let’s race! 

He surges ahead and Kacchan howls and chases after his heels.

“Come back here you stupid bastard!” He shouts as Deku soars happily across a roof garden and bounces playfully partway down another fire escape. “You don’t even know where you’re going!”

He doesn’t, but Deku doesn’t really care or mind- he just wants Kacchan to chase him!

Kacchan eventually ends up losing his temper and tackling him into a hotel pool to the shock and horror of its few guests, but even as he surfaces, sputtering and choking, the sound of Kacchan’s wrathful glee brings a smile to his own face.

It’s worked; he’s having fun again.

He knew it would be worth it to come to the city.

—— 

They do eventually make it to the sentō. 

Kacchan chases him around cursing and trying to force a comb through his matted curls, but he eventually gives it up when they draw the attention of the janitor on the premises.

Years of experience keep Deku as far away from him as the tub allows.

It’s best to let him seethe without gloating too much.

They’re the only people in the baths at this hour beside the attendant- a surly looking old heteromorph with a deer face who looks at them as if he wishes he could drown them in the tubs.

Kacchan chooses graciously to ignore him for once which makes Deku wonder if he’s dying.

He decides to tease and asks and is half-drowned (He’s recently had stitches and Kacchan is trying to be careful with them) in the steamy water for his troubles.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” Kacchan roars, shaking him by his collar after hauling him around and making a sopping mess of their gear from all the splashing.

Kacchan [is] being weird, Deku complains, It’s bad/freaking Deku out.

Kacchan twitches and he wriggles out of his grip before he can dunk him again.

He retreats to the corner of the tub and glares at his partner.

Kacchan sneers at him, glaring right back.

Deku can see the plates on his back shifting and moving restlessly like they do when he’s thinking too much.

Tell Deku what’s wrong, He demands, Let Deku help fix it! Deku will-

“-No.” Kacchan growls, “Fuck you. You don’t have to solve all our problems anymore, nerd. Focus on your fucked-up head for once.”

Deku bites his lip and nods but refuses to meet his eye. 

That’s- 

He’s going to try.

——

Kacchan says he did the recon for this place a month or so ago when Deku was still a little too delirious to move.

It’s strange to think of them staying anywhere for any length of time, particularly a city, but it’s kind of exciting too!

He catches Kacchan’s hand and hugs it to his chest despite his growling protests and hops around to be as obnoxious as possible.

He’s still in a weird mood so he pops a few little explosions in his captured palm to discourage any wild thoughts of hand-holding, but doesn’t actually pull away.

Deku counts it as a win and grins broadly at him.

Where [are we] going? He yawns, watching the signs of civilization slowly start to fade away to nothing.

"Remember when you said you wanted to live somewhere green?" Kacchan replies, simply. That makes him perk up.

Something clatters around in the rubble, and he stops and turns fully to check it out, but it turns out to just be a pack of haz-beasts- Japan is full of them these days, especially Mustafar they’ve been told.

He sprints up to where they’re tearing apart what looks like a dead dog, and they turn to him to snarl- but Kacchan calls him back to heel before they can really have any fun.

He walks back in a sulk and Kacchan smacks the back of his head (carefully avoiding his itchy handiwork) and curls his hand into his collar.

“What did I fucking tell you about darting off like that!” He hisses, shaking him a little, “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Deku pouts but stays put.

It’s best not to test him, really. 

They walk up a dirt track to an old two-story house in the middle of the piles of rubble and trash a few hours later.

He gapes. 

Kacchan smirks smugly and Deku barely waits for him to release him from his heel before he darts up to look around.

There are actually trees here!  And they’re everywhere!! The grass is wild and comes up to their waists; he sees little flowers blooming all over in patches and hears cicadas chirping quietly in the moonlight.

There is a big tree with a rope swing in front of the house and a creek and a pond in the back. 

The old house itself has cute little flowers growing on the side of it, pink and white.

"Well?" Kacchan asks, arms crossed when he finally comes inside. 

Deku beams at him and twirls around to take in the dusty, dark interior.

Perfect, he signs, grinning broadly.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but Deku knows he’s pleased.

He patrols around but later wants to heat water for them to wash out some of their gear in a giant rusted tub he found in the pile of trash at the back of the property.

Deku doesn’t care about that so he occupies himself by exploring what he can of the dilapidated upstairs.

The house has been abandoned for what looks like years, so for now there is no running water or electricity, but there is a wood-burning stove and a couple of cracked old chem pucks for a generator.

He lights candles for them to see by while Kacchan cleans the tub the best he can and draws water from the creek.

[There are] mice upstairs, he tells him when he hears their telltale scuttling in the dark.

Kacchan tosses him a flashlight from out of their kit so that he doesn't have to bother with the candles.

“They’re rats more likely,” he replies, “Be fucking useful for once. See if there’s anything we can burn to heat this bitch up.” 

He dutifully peers around and comes back to report.

There’s [a bunch of] furniture, he replies, and then races back further into the ruins of the upstairs. Roof stuff?  Some of the beams have fallen in, but they might be too wet and rotted to burn. They look fun to climb though. 

Tatami burns, Kacchan?

“Fucking obviously,” he answers, still distracted with his task.

Those look the lightest, so he starts tearing the frames off from along the rotted floors.

Later, after he has gathered up the flammable junk, pushed an old divan and two tables down the stairs, and been scolded for nearly falling through the floor while chasing a rat across a room, Deku helps wash out the worst of their gear in the tub and curls up with Kacchan to sleep in it after it's been drained.

There’s no one around to get mad, so he lets his chest thrum with a deep, happy purr.

Kacchan purrs back and he grins against his shoulder.

He loves that sound.

He loves this place.

It almost feels like they've been here before.

[Are there] wolves here?  He asks sleepily as Kacchan wraps his arms around him and they settle in.

“Here in this place?” he murmurs, “Or here in Japan?”

Both, he yawns, snuggling up to him and tucking in close under his chin. Deku doesn’t remember.

He feels him tense and then feels his fingers pull roughly through his hair.

“Do you…” he murmurs, “Do you remember any of it?”  

He’s really sleepy, but he can tell Kacchan is waiting for him to answer.

No, he taps drowsily against his chest, Deku always wanted us to come though, to see if we would remember- does Kacchan? Kacchan relaxes slightly but keeps yanking at his hair.

“Nothing,” he says quietly, “It doesn’t fucking matter though. Don’t worry about it.” 

He falls asleep to the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the feel of him tracing along the tender new scars hidden in his growing curls.

—

The next day when he wakes up Kacchan is gone. 

This doesn't surprise him; he frequently fucks off to do one thing or another. 

He finds a note tucked into their bag that says he’s gone out to look for supplies and that he's to stay indoors until he returns or Kacchan will kill him.

He’s annoyed at first that he’s been left behind on a mission where he could have been of use but then is excited that he’s now free to explore without limits and sets off to gather intel about their new home.

By the time Kacchan comes back he’s popped a few stitches from various falls in the subfloor and is sporting an impressive cut across his forehead from not quite ducking under a beam in the upstairs.

He’s learnt there are eight rooms in their new home plus two bathrooms, a big kitchen, a tatami room, and a large cellar. 

Three of the rooms are upstairs and are mostly caved in and uninhabitable, but one of them is fine.

There was probably once an attic, but with the state of the upstairs it's got to be mostly destroyed.

There are no cages anywhere though, there’s not even chain to tie them to the floor or anything. 

Deku wonders where they’re supposed to sleep when their handlers get there.

They’re probably going to move once he’s well enough which is a shame, he really likes this house.

As soon as Kacchan comes through the back door of the kitchen he pounces on him and demands to be allowed outdoors to explore.

Kacchan scowls; he yells and fusses at him about his head wound but eventually relents to his saddest pouting puppy face and warns him to be careful.

He knows that this part of city has been largely abandoned, but he doesn’t get why, and he pokes around curiously.

Japan had been at the epicenter of a crisis when they were younger, he knows, but most of it had occurred while they were kenneled and he’s never learnt the details…

The surrounding neighborhoods appear to have been emptied by it, they’re ancient, but mostly intact and filled with all sorts of interesting things. 

He finds some old cars and the remains of an old boiler and a rusty farming scythe he desperately wishes was still sharp.

They’ve never practiced with one before and he wonders if Kacchan knows how to use one.

He spots Kacchan heading into the little thicket of woods twirling a shiny new hatchet in his right hand and that immediately looks more interesting than his current exploration and he abandons the old houses to plunge into the abandoned park with him instead and collect firewood.

Kacchan seems to be in a better mood today, more teasing and amenable to answering questions.

Deku takes full advantage and shamelessly demands to be carried on his shoulders, citing recent near-death experiences.

They spend the whole day in the woods and catch fish for supper. He shows him how to swing a hatchet, and they workshop two new ways to gut a man while laying side by side on worn tatami. 

It's a wonderful day.

—

The next day Kacchan opts to follow him as he goes exploring and they swim in the pond. 

He forces him between his legs and combs through his hair afterwards but rewards him for not snapping at him with cake he picked up in from somewhere in town.

"I think your birthday was- well," he winces, tugging his hand through his hair in the way he sometimes does. Deku knows he likes the way it feels so he stays still and let’s him mess with it despite how badly he wants to bite. "Or maybe mine, who fucking knows."

Neither of them is very sure of their birthdays, mostly they pick a day that sounds nice at the beginning of the year and celebrate if they remember it.

Does that mean we’re what, 20 now? He asks carefully, trying to recall what age he is supposed to be. 

His memory is spotty because of the vats; he wouldn't remember but reminding him sometimes makes Kacchan upset.

"You must be," he says, looking him over and poking him in the side with his foot so he giggles, "You sure as hell act like our old idiots at the labs." 

He’s going to take that as a compliment.

Kacchan’s leers at him and Deku offers him a bite of his cake slice. 

It's another good day.

——

Deku isn’t sure he’s ever had this many good days in a row.

It’s been two weeks since they came to the city and there’s been no fights, no Punishment, no…episodes…

He and Kacchan have just been playing around in the safehouse and walking around the city.

He’s had some cake, slept all he wanted, eaten a ton of Extra Food, gone shopping- Kacchan got him a new pair of shoes and they’re RED-!

-He even let him fight an entire pack of Haz-beasts and chase them halfway out of the city! 

He has never been happier; this is the best birthday present Kacchan has ever gotten them! 

It seems a shame to have to go home, but Deku’s healing nicely, most of his recent wounds are deeper than usual, but even still they’ve all sealed up and he thinks he’s ready to go back to work now.

Kacchan gives him a funny look when he says so and sits him down in their new kitchen on their new counter so they’re at head height.

“We ain't going back to work, nerd.” He tells him seriously.

Copy, Deku hums happily and leans forward to press their heads together. 

He’s been pushing his luck lately, wanting to be close like this, but it should be alright, there’s not any handlers here yet and he hasn't seen a single camera. 

[Can] we stay here until we do?

Kacchan pulls back from him. He seems hurt or maybe angry.

Deku tilts his head and tries to figure out what’s upsetting him.

We no have [to] stay here, he tries, Can stay somewhere else. We [can go] back to base. It’s okay. Don’t mind.

Kacchan sighs and cups his cheek.

“Izuku,” he says softly.

The name is like pressing live wire against his skin.

Deku jerks and tenses, snapping to sudden and violent attention.

Kacchan…he’s being weird again- he’s- he’s going to be mean to him- 

He bares his teeth at him and tries to wriggle out of the cage of his arms, but Kacchan keeps him pinned in and holds his chin to force their gazes to meet.

“Cut it out.”

Deku doesn’t understand, he doesn’t like how solemn and serious he’s being.

He wrenches his head out of his hand and snaps his teeth over his fingers, fills his mouth with blood and shakes back and forth to make him angry.

Kacchan doesn’t even flinch.

“Deku,” he sighs, and Deku relaxes a little, “Listen to me. We’re not going back to work. We can’t. We fucked up the lab and killed all the techs, remember?”

So? They fuck up the lab and kill techs all the time; why is it different now?

Deku bites down harder on his hand whining. 

Kacchan just growls and pries his mouth open with his other hand.

“Quit it,” he commands, “Stop freaking out and listen to me.” 

Deku pouts at him.

He’s not freaking out, he’s just worried, worried that Kacchan is angry with him, worried that he’s gotten them in trouble again…

He’s not like Kacchan; he messes up a lot, gets the vats and the tests and the…the episodes.

Are [the] lab techs angry with Kacchan? He signs, biting his lips, Did Deku get you in trouble again?  [Is that] why we came to the city?

Kacchan’s face is grave and strange when he says-

“There ain’t no more techs Deku, there’s no more labs…use your damn brain, nerd. Try and remember.”

Deku…he doesn’t understand.

No more labs? Forever?

How?

HOW?

He clutches at the back of his head, claws at his new scars under their patchy covering of curls and whines.

They had gotten out, he suddenly remembers, the surgery-

He’d finally been selected for harvesting. 

Kacchan hadn’t wanted him to go to the Zoo, but he’d figured-

He’d just thought-

We [will] go back though? Right? He asks, panic settling in, We have to go back Kacchan! The Coats- the Director- the general- [they’ll] be mad! Kacchan will get in trouble! 

Kacchan looks at him again and makes a strange face. He reaches for him and pulls his nails out of his hair.

He sets his hands in his lap.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbles, “You’re so fucking- ugh, I knew you didn’t know what the hell we were doing here- look.”

He wipes his bitten hand impatiently on his tank top and holds the other up.

Loser/Nerd/mine/ Deku. He signs carefully, Your Kacchan is not scared coats/rats/extras/ bastards- we are not dogs anymore. Copy? Loser/Nerd/mine/ Deku- we got free. Kacchan-and-Deku-together. Free. We can do what we want now.

Free? 

But-?

Deku gapes at him.

Kacchan suddenly smirks and leans forward to press their heads together.

“We got out, Izuku.”

He’s rarely affectionate, it’s against regulations, and it’s such a smug assertion of his certain victory that Deku reels in shock.

He keeps him as close as he can, pets at his wild hair, and tries to understand.

He whimpers and Kacchan rubs their heads together almost painfully.

“It’s okay, nerd,” he soothes, “We’re out, m’gonna look after you, okay? Like we promised.”

Deku squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shaky breath.

Free. 

They’re free and Kacchan’s going to take care of them now.

No more coats, no more missions.

But then…

He pulls away from his body and signs almost shyly between them.

Deku…Deku is still your control subject? We are…still partners? 

Everything is different now, Kacchan might not need Deku if they don’t have to work.

He could find something better maybe. Wouldn’t he…prefer that?

He bites his lip and asks him.

Now Kacchan finally looks angry.

He fists a handful of his hair and shakes him.

“I don’t want nothing else. I got you. You’re mine,” he growls, “Doesn’t matter where we end up, what we end up doing, you’re always gonna be mine- don’t ever ask me such a stupid fucking question again- copy?”

Deku feels something stick in his throat as he nods and Kacchan releases him with an ugly glare.

“Fucking idiot,” he sneers. 

Deku can tell he’s genuinely upset him.

He reaches for him with all the tenderness Kacchan will allow and presses their heads back together.

Kacchan relents and lets him take his hands so he can sign against his palms.

Deku is dumb, he repents, Deku is yours. Always. Kacchan-and-Deku-together. My Kacchan. Your Deku.

Mine. Kacchan agrees and gives him a surprisingly playful chomp, right over the muzzle scar on the bridge of his nose. “Now stop being so fucking mushy and help me clean this place up, we ain’t about to live in a fucking dump.”

Deku perks up in sheer wonder and looks around the house with new eyes.

Kacchan-and-Deku-together are going to live here? This is our house?

Kacchan stares hard at him for a second and then snorts.

“Well obviously, dipshit,” he says, but his voice is soft. "It's gonna be hard to take care of you on the damn street. People live in houses, remember?"

Yes. 

People do.

He pets once over his hair and Deku, reckless with the sudden profundity of what Kacchan is actually suggesting, takes his hand and presses his lips to his palm.

Kacchan pulls a face but lets him and doesn’t even try and burn him when he tugs him forward and hugs him as tight as he’s ever wanted, completely overcome.

He and Kacchan are free.

They’re going to live somewhere, together and be…

He buries his head in his shoulder and struggles to choke back his sobs.

“Th-thhh” he tries to say, forcing the word out with a wince. “Th-”

“-Stop it,” Kacchan says gruffly, “Fucking crybaby. Shut the hell up before you hurt yourself.”

Deku shakes his head on his shoulder and pulls away to glare stubbornly.

He’s free now; he won’t be told what to do!

He opens his mouth and tries again.

Kacchan deserves to hear this, he deserves words for what he’s done for them.

Deku wants to thank him.

Kacchan glares down at his pout, worried and angry about it.

Deku strokes his hair back from his forehead and takes a deep breath to try again.

He heaves and spits, but words won’t come, in the end he tries for anything, any sound that could match the depth of the feeling in his chest. 

“K’chn,” he manages to choke out after a long struggle.

Kacchan’s breath hitches ever so slightly.

Deku stares hard into his eyes, trying to show him just how grateful he is, how much it means to be free in the world with just him.

“K’sk-i.” 

Kacchan’s red eyes stare hungrily back for a long minute before he pulls him in close.

Deku feels his chest heave just once in way that would almost imply tears in some other person.

He presses his lips to his temple and doesn’t say anything else, but Deku knows he understands.

He tucks himself in under his chin and hums into the safety and warmth of his chest.

They’re going to have to figure out what to do now, Deku thinks, shivering a little with the sheer possibility of- of living out here.

Tomorrow they’ll start to clean this place up and make it theirs; they’ll explore the city and build lives- whole new lives!

But tonight, right now, he will hold on as tight to his partner as he’ll let him and revel all that freedom will mean to them.

Tonight, they will just be free.

The first day of their brand-new lives in the city.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes with something pressing on his chest in pitch darkness.

He tries to move and finds he’s pinned right in place like the butterflies their teachers show them sometimes on their little black boards.

He hears weird groans and something pops by his cheek, burning him. 

There’s something hard pressing on his back and his head hurts a lot. 

He can hear sounds – screams and people shouting or crying or calling for help, but they’re fuzzy and far away.

It hurts to breathe.

He doesn’t remember what happened or how he got here. It’s dark and hot and wet and… Scary. 

He’s not scared though. He’s tough and too cool to be scared!

He just uh…knows that it should be scary. 

But it’s okay! He’s gonna find a way out of this in a second! He’s strong and he’s smart and he’s- he’s not scared.

Not…yet.

The groaning sound gets louder and suddenly there’s a bunch of light and even more sounds. 

He squints because the light kind of hurts after being in the dark for so long and tries to figure out what happened.

There was some sort of big beam over him, like the kind he’s seen in his granddad‘s books that are supposed to hold the roof up, but it’s come down on top of him and someone is holding it up. 

There’s smoke and too much noise as they pull the beam away.

He bats the hand that is offered to lift him up away and scrubs at his face as he staggers to his feet.

He’s a big kid now, he doesn’t need any help.

He wants to know who offered though.

He’s spots of familiar costume and gasps. 

The big cape.

The red suit (this is a re-brand, he's only been wearing it about three weeks now).

The loud, braying laugh-

There’s no denying it-

It’s All Might!

All Might is here! 

The hero leans down and scoops him up with a smile. 

“Are you all right, young man?” he asks cheerfully.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak in case he accidentally says something dumb. He just nods and stares at him. 

A hero! His hero, here at his school! 

He blinks in awe and then suddenly realizes – something bad must’ve happened for heroes, for ALL MIGHT to be here.

Something really, really bad. 

Heroes don’t come out to his part of town all that often because it’s boring and safe.

That’s what all the grownups say about Mustafar.

Nothing bad ever happens here.

They can’t say that now.

He looks around and sees there’s not much left of his classroom – or his school at all actually. 

Was it blown up? 

Was it an accident?

Was it villains?

A sudden sound distracts him; it’s a whimper, and then a wail – a familiar one. 

“Deku?” he wonders out loud and then scowls when All Might turns to look at him. 

His first words to the world’s coolest hero and it’s that big dummy’s stupid name. 

But he remembers now.

Why he’d come back to class; the reason he was trapped under that beam in the first place…

He’d come back to get Izuku. 

Stupid, weird little Deku, who’d got left behind on purpose by the teachers for being annoying again…

The wail gets louder, and All Might puts him on his shoulder and starts to root around in all the junk on the floor. 

Katsuki keeps his eyes peeled for anyone else who might be trapped under something like he was (he’s helping All Might on a hero mission! How cool is that?), but he knows no one should be.

Izuku was the only kid left behind for outside play because he wouldn’t stop crying.

Katsuki…he’d felt kinda bad because he let Toru push him and…

Well, he came back to get him so he could come play, the dumb crybaby.

But then he’d heard that noise…

And the building had come down…

He spots stupid Deku’s dumb shoes before All Might does. 

The wailing has gotten softer again and the usually bright red sneakers are caked in dust and very still. 

Katsuki feels his chest squeeze.

He can’t be hurt…

He- he better not be!

He scrambles down from All Might’s back and starts pulling bits of tables and stuff off from on top of him. 

Stupid Deku, always in trouble with the grownups and needing Katsuki to bail him out-

If he’s managed to actually hurt himself Katsuki’s really gonna give it to him today!

“What have you got there, my boy?”

All Might bends down to start to help, but he’s already got most of it off. 

Deku’s bruised, dusty face is revealed after a few moments and he takes one look at Katsuki, scrunches his big dumb eyes, and leaps into his arms.

Katsuki tries to pry him off at once, but he buries his wet gross face into his neck and sobs. 

“K-Kacchan!” He wails.

Ugh.

Katsuki is embarrassed. 

He’s being such a huge baby! 

He thinks about all the other kids in his class that he could have rescued who wouldn’t make such a scene and mentally shakes stupid Izuku for being so weird.

He’s always like this.

This is why nobody likes him but hi-

This is why nobody likes him!!

He tries to pull him off, but he just clings harder and whimpers. 

“Shut up,” he half mumbles, trying to be quiet so the world’s coolest Pro Hero doesn’t overhear how corny he sounds right now. “You’re all right, dummy. You’re fine. See?”

“Kacchan,” he blubbers, squeezing him too tight and not coming out from his neck.

He whimpers again and Katsuki is worried he’s about to have one of his freaky fits; the lame kind where he won’t stop crying and making weird noises and his auntie has to put him under a blanket and turn down all the lights and Katsuki has to go home instead of playing heroes or going to the park. 

If he has one of those in front of ALL MIGHT Katsuki will never forgive him!

He’s going to make them look like dumb little crybabies.

He rubs his back quickly the way he’s seen his auntie do and says “Quit it. Stop crying, look who it is!”

He pries him off and turns him around by the shoulders so he can see All Might.

Deku’s eyes go wide and fill up with tears again.

He actually starts to blubber louder and Katsuki is so embarrassed to know him. 

Ugh. Coming to get him was such a bad idea. 

He doesn’t normally do anything when the grownups let his classmates bully him and he should’ve just…

Well, whatever.

If All Might laughs at him…

That would make him pretty lame too, honestly. 

Heroes are supposed to protect dumb kids like Deku.

Turns out it’s okay though; All Might doesn’t seem to mind his crybaby tears and pats his head.

“You’re alright, young man,” he says, “I am here.” 

Deku throws himself into his arms like a loser and All Might picks him up and that’s…well.

Katsuki was there first!

He pouts, but Deku immediately turns and wriggles and reaches for him in All Might’s arms.

“Kacchan,” he whines. Katsuki turns his nose up at his pleading whimper and starts to pick his way through the rubble of the room.

Deku’s a huge dumb baby and Katsuki doesn’t want All Might to think he is too; he’s fine on the ground!

He did what he came here to do and he’s going to go check on the rest of the class now.

“You can’t go that way, young man!”

Something sparks in the rubble, and he jumps, but before it has any chance to hurt him, he is scooped up by All Might and crushed next to Deku who stares at him with wide eyes.

His face is all dirty and there’s snot in his nose.

Katsuki thinks he’s dumb and gross.

But… he’s kinda glad he’s alright.

Izuku stares at him with awed eyes and wipes his dirty face on his sleeve.

“You saved my life,” he says in a shy mumble.

“It was All Might,” Katsuki whispers back, but Deku shakes his head adamantly.

“It was you,” He says stubbornly, “I saw you; you were amazing.”

Katsuki hisses for him to shut up, but he just sniffles and wipes more tears off his grimy cheeks 

“You came back for me, even though you were mad. You’re a hero, Kacchan.” He declares.

“He’s quite right, young man.” 

They both start and realise that All Might was actually listening.

Katsuki looks up to see him grinning broadly down at him.

“You were very brave.” He says and Izuku is quick to agree. 

“Kacchan is amazing,” he gushes enthusiastically, forgetting his tears for a moment to beam up at the pro hero.

All Might starts to pick through the rubble of their classroom with them in his arms.

“Is that so?” He asks.

“Yeah!” Deku smiles proudly. “He’s the best! He’s so cool! One time he-”

Katsuki finds he…doesn’t mind so much when Izuku starts to yammer about his quirk and how cool and smart and great he is because All Might is apparently listening with interest.

It’s super embarrassing, but…

“He seems a remarkable young person,” The hero says, patiently when Deku finally stops to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” Deku agrees, loyally, “We’re going to be heroes, just like you! He’s going to be the coolest Hero!”

Ugh, Dumb nerd. 

He’s right though and it’s …alright of him to say that stuff to All Might.

That they’re going to be heroes…

Even though…

Well-

Stupid Deku’s quirk is late; his mom told him he’s actually got to go to the doctor about it soon it’s so late, but that doesn’t really matter.

No matter when it gets here, it won’t be as good as Katsuki’s.

Still, if it’s cool enough Katsuki’s gonna let him be his sidekick or something.

That’s technically a hero, even if it’s not as awesome, so he’s not lying to All Might.

Katsuki wipes his face and tries to look serious, especially when All Might regards him just as seriously as he bends back a beam and starts to fly them out of the ruined school.

“You have a lot to live up to there,” he says solemnly, “In your friend’s kind words.”

Katsuki’s stomach churns.

He wants to tell him Deku is not his friend, he’s just a dumb baby his mom makes him take care of for his auntie because she’s really busy and her kid’s too weird to make real friends, but the pro hero is looking right at him like he’s trying to figure him out and he suddenly feels like he doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m gonna be the best,” he finally manages and- feeling bold in the face of his scrutiny and wanting to show off how brave he is, he adds, “Better than you someday, even!”

Izuku’s mouth drops with shock and for a moment Katsuki is worried that was too much- but he just looks even more awed, especially when All Might throws back his head and brays with laughter.

“And so you should be,” he chuckles after a moment. “You’ll make amazing heroes.” 

He flies them over a field where a bunch of rescue pros and other people are swarming around moving kids and teachers out of the smoking mess they just came out of.

Looks like he was right, the building’s all blown up and there’s pros fighting people they can see from up here.

Izuku gasps and leans out over his arms to see the city, but Katsuki stares into All Might’s grinning face and does his best to look cool, like it’s not that impressive how high he can jump and how he like, totally just saved them like it was nothing.

He lands near where all the pros and the teachers are and kneels to place them both firmly on the ground.

He places a hand on their shoulders and Katsuki doesn’t squeal like Deku does, he’s too cool to do that. 

“Continue being brave,” All Might commands, “And take care of each other, and I’m sure you’ll both go far.”

“Really?” Deku breathes.

“Of course,” All Might winks, “Any of you might one day be the best of us.”

He smiles at them one last time and flies off.

Katsuki stares in awe and disbelief.

All Might!! The Greatest Hero in the world, just said he, Katsuki, was going to be the best!!

He turns to stare at Deku who is grinning widely and going all mushy again.

Ugh, stupid Deku.

He reaches over and grabs his hand so he can’t lose him and waits for the rescue pros to rush over and help take them out of here.

Izuku smiles at him and squeezes his hand in a death grip.

He really is pretty hopeless without him; it’s just lucky mom likes his Auntie so much.

He tugs him towards where some teachers are trying to line up some kids after the pros are done asking if they’re hurt or not.

They’re fine, so they’re allowed to leave.

“C’mon,” he tells Izuku, hauling him along so he can take them where they need to be. “Let’s go, dummy.”

“Okay Kacchan!” The dumb nerd beams. “Thanks again for coming to save me!”

Katsuki ignores him, feeling a little annoyed.

If Katsuki could control his other dumb friends as well as he can him stupid Deku probably wouldn’t have needed saving in the first place.

He’s uh, gonna work on that…maybe.

It’s kind of good that he doesn’t remember what happened.

In a way, it’s not so bad that it did…

He keeps thinking about All Might’s words and glowing.

The best. He grins.

All Might said so himself. They’re going to be the best!

Chapter Text

All Might manages to keep him in the inner-city for longer than Shōto is expecting this rotation, but news of his little altercation at the high-rise, eventually reaches the council and he’s summoned in for reassignment.  

He was expecting it honestly. 

He’s been bounced from district to district for years now with someone or other eventually citing how “uncomfortable” the idea of him serving the people makes them.

It’s basically unavoidable what with his… familial reputation. 

The commission has their hands full sticking up for Endeavor, so it’s easier for them to acquiesce to public demands and shunt him off somewhere else until he’s recognized.

Shōto doesn’t take it to heart.

Or tries not to at any rate.

It’s just a shame that so many of his friends are in town to hear about it this time, because inevitably Momo and Ochaco and even Iida want to make a huge scene about it.

The council is still tender from the show of force the heroes pulled on them last week; they refuse to back down from their demands.

Shōto wouldn’t expect them to. They have to exercise their authority somehow and shoving him out past the lower gates is one way to make themselves feel important and like they’re actually doing something for the city.

So it’s another “voluntary” reassignment or his tags.

An easy choice, obviously. 

“I can’t believe they’re making you do this again.” Ochaco complains as she helps him fill out the forms for his supervisor to look over. “How many times is that this year?”

“Only three times,” he tells her, hunting for his seal so that he can finish signing everything, “That’s actually kind of a record. Remember a couple of summers ago after the lower city protests? I had a reassignment whenever anyone noticed my scar, they didn’t even let me fill these out, I just kept getting shunted over to the temp department.”

“Where are they sending you?” Momo asks, exasperated. “How long until you can come back to the inner city?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

He doesn’t usually keep track of the days.

They typically send him out and wait for people to forget he exists and then All Might sneaks him back in under the guise of some “administrative” something or other he needs him to complete.

They’ve been playing this whack-a-mole game for his entire career and he really is used to it despite what his friend’s sad gazes would make others think.

“When do you go back to Tokyo?” He asks them to distract from the subject. “Do you have time to see your families or anything?”

“I’m going today, actually,” Momo informs them all. She looks at him briefly and says. “My parents would be pleased to see you if you’d like to drop by for some tea.”

He highly doubts that her parents would be pleased. They had always hated him. But he understands her meaning and smiles. 

“It would be nice to spend some time with you before you leave.” He tells her genuinely, “Maybe we can all get dinner or something.”

She smiles at that and squeezes his arm again. 

“I’d like that,” she says, “I’ll ask around and see if anyone has time.” She reaches into her shirt and produces another seal with a smile. “Also you can’t keep losing these, they’re supposed to be government issue.”

“The other one will turn up,” he takes it from her gratefully. “Thank you.” 

She rolls her eyes, amused and stands up from the desk to stretch.

“I’ll text you,” she promises and walks off.

Ochaco watches her go and looks up at him hopefully.

“Please tell me I’m sensing a thaw,”she grins. “It would be amazing and make this whole stupid trip worth coming out here.”

“I would think the registry license gaining eight additional names makes your ‘whole stupid trip’ worth coming out here.” He replies, wryly, “And no I just…miss her. Like I miss you. We really should all get dinner.”

“Don’t mind her. I think if we’d managed to get all of them licensed, she would feel better about the matter,” Iida comments tiredly. 

Shōto can tell she agrees, but the council concessions were better than nothing, some of the contested rookies were going to be allowed to take their exam and that’s a victory for everyone, plus they do have the upcoming exams again in the fall. 

It’s likely they’ll have this whole fight all over again, but hopefully they’ll win it for real the next time.

“Oh, I forgot to ask- How was the memorial service?” Ochaco inquires as she helps stack his forms into the correct order. “We didn’t get a chance to go, we were too busy sorting out arrangements for last- minute appeals.”

“It was fine.” Shōto shrugs, “We did lose Arctic so there were 13 names. The old man gave a good speech and we didn’t have very many protesters so it really was pretty quiet.” He finishes his paperwork and flips the cap onto his seal. “Has the commission left yet?”

“This morning,” Iida confirms, seeming disgruntled. “But not everyone.” 

Hm.

“I bet I can guess who’s still here,” he tells them as they all leave his office and head to the records department. 

He looks into their concerned faces. 

It’s not surprising.

The old man might carry a lot of clout in the city, but his will does not extend to the others beyond that. 

Endeavor can be very stubborn, particularly when it comes to matters that he deems of his own personal importance. 

He won’t approach Shōto, but he plans to linger in his presence until he becomes impossible to deny. 

The joke is on him though, because Shōto is about to be reassigned.

The man can monitor at the academy all he wants. He’s going to be kicked out past the gates into the back-ass of nowhere and probably won’t see the place from sunrise to dusk.

He’ll have to see if he can get one of his dormmates to feed his bird. 

That does remind him -

“Sero said that he saw Kaminari  recently,” Shōto recalls, “He’s finally come back from that outer island raid. Apparently, they managed to subdue the warlord there and confiscated a few nomu. He and Jiro want to ask for reassignment here. I told him I would ask you two to pull some strings if I saw you before he did.”

He mentally checks his neighbors’ request off of his to-do list, glad he hadn’t forgotten given how exhausted he’s been.

He still hasn’t really totally recovered from the fire- it finally stopped burning three days ago, and Shōto had gone back into its ashes twice before they’d closed on it as a crisis.

“Oh, we already heard about that.” Iida shakes his head. “His quirk is so useful I doubt they’ll let him come home, but we’ll do what we can for them.”

“We might not have to do anything. I heard they were looking to tap them both for something high-spec under Hawks,” Ochaco hums, looking thoughtful, “But we’ll see if any of that’s true. If it is, they’ll be able to be reassigned wherever they like.” 

Yes, probably, because they’ll never be there. Shōto thinks.

“They won’t take the bait of it,” Iida doubts. “I don’t think anyone from our class would willingly work under Hawks. He’s too closely associated with the commission and…”

He trails off and clears his throat awkwardly.

He and Ochaco trade looks.

Shōto glares at that.

“I really hope all of you aren’t tanking your careers for my sake,” he grumbles.

“Of course not.” Ochaco denies, not meeting his eyes.

“We’d never dream of it,” Tenya mumbles into his collar, shiftily.

“Good. It would be fantastic to see one of us actually make rank,” he reminds them. “So we can do something about the old man’s exile.”

His friends flinch and look away from him guiltily.

He reels back in and takes a deep breath to clear the frost out of the air.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said it like that, but it was your plan in the first place Iida and we need to try and stick to it.” 

They don’t say anything to that and clear their throats awkwardly.

He sighs deeply.

It’s unlikely at this point that anyone from their former class a will ever actually make meaningful rankings according to the commission guidelines and given their sordid history, but the point is still to strive to it. 

If they can manage to have one of their number wrangle in some real star-power they might be able to weed a few concessions out of their governing body.

All Might has been trapped festering in Mustafar since the end of the Camino disaster, none of which is, of course his fault and Shōto…

Well, he doesn’t think that this particular cage suits the old man and they’re all supposed to be doing their best to bail him out. 

That seems a little hard to do if they’re all carrying Shōto’s grudge around their necks like some sort of terrible, patricidal albatross.

He really needs to inject some reason into the situation before it gets any worse.

“We just…”Ochaco bites her lip, “No one wants you to think we’re not on your side- the commissioners, the press, the public- it’s all stacked against you and- and we’re your friends.”

“You can’t ask any of us to work towards another of our’s destruction,” Iida states bluntly. “We stick together. You know that.”

He does.

His former class is notoriously clannish- in everything from where they live to who they work with they have always tried to keep close.

He suspects these two are tagging along to his requisition appointment so they can alert the friends working closest by where he’ll be so they can meet up during shift breaks.

It’s what he would do if their roles were reversed.

“I can handle Endeavor,” he tells them flatly. “Anyone who’s maybe forgotten that, please let them know.”

Ochaco rolls her eyes. 

“You can tell them yourself at Momo’s fancy dinner,” she teases lightly. “You’ve let her off the leash, now she’s going to go all out- I expect we’ll all have formal invitations by 3rd shift.”

—

The invitations are ready by 2nd shift. 

Shōto looks it over and mentally notes the reservation time and the restaurant.

It’s one of their old usual haunts from their academy days; Shōto is pleased to see it’s still standing.

He tucks the invitation into his pocket and struggles his way through his meetings, filling out forms and getting his affairs in order for his relocation.

All Might catches wind of it and starts to make a fuss, but Shōto manages to get the old man to leave the department without causing a scene.

They get soba in the mess after and he watches him scowl furiously into his lunch.

“It’s my fault,” the old pro insists, “I don’t think they would have bothered with a single complaint otherwise.”

“I’m not so sure,” Shōto shrugs, “I heard the couple were pretty well known bankers in the Tirith district and the woman’s uncle’s knows the council seat there. This was likely inevitable.”

“You have got to watch that temper of yours, my boy,” All Might sighs, “You’re going to see more trouble than this one day if you can’t.”

Probably.

But Shōto will burn that bridge when he gets to it.

Possibly literally.

He picks at his noodles as the old man steeples his fingers under his chin and studies him. 

His gaunt face is pensive as he watches him eat.

“Do have any idea where they’re sending you?” He asks.

“Not yet,” Shōto informs him, “I asked for any posting they’re having trouble filling though.”

“Any particular reason why?” 

Shōto shrugs and refuses to meet his eye.

“I thought a challenging position might…pass the time better,” he admits after a long moment of silence. “I’ve been- It’s like treading water here, between fire patrols.”

The old man makes a thoughtful sound.

“You want to go where you feel needed,” he agrees, “That’s laudable. I’m sorry if the work I’ve found for you’s been a bit dull. I’m trying to keep you out of trouble. Not that it’s helping much.”

He chuckles ruefully and Shōto looks up from his lunch.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate-” he starts, but the old pro just waves him off.

“I understand,” he says lightly. “I understand that you and your class want more from this than meetings and paperwork. You came into this profession to help people. I heard about that grease fire- coming in from actual trouble in the outer district to patch a few scrapes in the inner city…well, I can see why you’re frustrated, young man.”

Shōto struggles with what to say and the old man smiles and leans in to pat his arm encouragingly.

“A change of scene will be good for you,” he declares, “A chance to work with new people and see some other things; I just hope wherever they send you next, you can find your satisfaction.” 

They leave the rest unsaid and finish their lunch.

Shōto completes his transfer by the next shift and hurries home to get ready for the dinner.

His dorms haven’t really changed at all since he moved into them almost a decade ago; in the six years since he’s lived there they haven’t so much as painted the downstairs.

Most of the heroes in the area use the empty rooms as crash pads in between postings or shifts, but a few of his original classmates still live in them.

Aoyama, Jirō, his neighbor Sero, Shinsou and he himself have never left, opting to just stay and work out of the academy rather than try for agencies or look for housing outside its walls.

The rent helps cover some of the old school’s maintenance fees besides; it’s harder for the Academy to make ends meet without classes.

He knows a number of teachers opted to stay in their dorm system too- All Might of course, but also a few surprises.

It makes time feel like it’s locked in a strange loop where everything stagnates and changes all at once.

He gets older and his body builds muscle and stains with scars, but he still keeps his shoes in his locker and has to sneak around his homeroom teacher at the gym when he decides to skip his warm ups.

It’s an odd feeling sometimes.

He walks through the front doors and sees the place is bustling with old friends.

He spots Kaminari and Sero talking to Sato and Aoyama and Tenya and Ochaco chatting idly with Asui and Higakure and Jirō; he smiles a little feeling a spike of nostalgia.

The air is warm and familiar and heavy with memories.

He can tell the others feel it too from the way they’re all grinning and laughing.

They spot him at the doors and call out, waving him over but he just points to his uniform and heads for the stairs. 

“I’ll be right back.” He promises. “Just let me shower.”

They wave him off.

He heads upstairs to his room and opens his closet for the basket of his shower things.

It looks like someone’s come in to feed his bird.

The little white finch’s cage has been opened and he stands perched on the door.

He beeps and buzzes at the sight of him and Shōto smiles and raises his arm to see if he can be enticed over to stand on him.

“Hello,” he murmurs as the little creature cheeps and flutters over to hop busily down the length of his arm for a moment, “I wonder who let you out?” 

Fin-Chan has no answers for him, but he does rub his little red beak on his bracer to clean it.

He chirrups and fluffs his feathers importantly before regarding him with his bright, beady little eyes.

He’s got a tiny tuft of brown coloring over one eye- a little blemish on his otherwise pristine snowy coat.

Apparently the defect had almost cost him his life at the pet store, his former classmate had had to rescue him from a drop into the river.

Shōto can relate to that a bit.

He had volunteered to watch him for a weekend while Koda had gone to do humanitarian aid in the mountains and well-

Fin-chan buzzes again and flutters to the top of his head.

He smiles and tips his chin to force the little bird to flutter back to his cage.

He hops inside and scolds Shōto loudly for disturbing his perch and he walks over and shuts its door.

“Sorry friend,” he tells him softly. “Looks like you’re staying in tonight. I’ll be back, watch over the place for me.”

Leaving the little animal to his cage and its delights he makes his way back downstairs to shower and change into clean clothes.

A few of the girls greet him happily when he steps out.

He joins them and they exchange the usual catch-up pleasantries.

“Ochaco and I went and fed and let Fin-Chan out so he could stretch his wings.” Asui croaks, hopping over. “She mentioned you were stuck in requisitions today. We still had the key. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Shōto nods, “It saved me a lot of time, thank you.”

Another of the bunch, Jirō grins at him and says.

“I can’t believe you convinced your ex to feed The Front Line tonight.”

“The Front Line?” He frowns, recognizing the old joke name for their class in their war days. “Who all is coming?” 

Jirō shrugs. 

“As far as I can tell: everyone.”

“Its not everyone,” Ochaco cuts in quickly, reading the exhaustion on Shōto’s face, “Neito can’t make it, he’s still in Kyoto, and Yuga said he has to meet with his parents about some errand for an uncle of his after this and Mezo couldn’t get permission for a shift change-”

“-and we can never get Fumikage or Hitoshi to come to anything.” Hagakure laughs. 

“I don’t know,” Jirō smirks, “I brought Denki back. We might start to see a little more of Mr Ninja for a bit.”

“So it’s a reunion dinner,” Shōto states ignoring how the girls all break into fits of giggles at her words.

“More or less yeah,” Jirō shrugs. “We’re using that same hanketsu we always use -which it’s crazy we have a ‘regular’ one- and Momo said something about a Michelin chef?”

“Oh, we’re using Narisawa-san?” he asks, pleased, “I guess her parents didn’t need him tonight. That’s nice- I liked him and this place was nice the last time we used it.”

“You people are so rich it’s disgusting,” Jirō grins as the rest of the girls smile and teeter.

“Sorry,” Shōto acknowledges, nodding, “Welcome back by the way. I heard it was a rough mission.”

Jirō’s face clouds and Hagakure waves her arms around.

“No no no!” She exclaims, “We’re not talking about work! It’s the first time any of us have seen each other in ages and I don’t want to think about the world ending! Come see our twins Kyoka! Let’s go find Mina and ask about her fashion show thing-“

Hagakure grabs Jirō by the arm and hauls her off and the rest of them snort.

“Fashion thing?” Shōto asks, putting his hands in his pockets. 

Ochaco laughs.

“Mina was invited to Tokyo to model for that new Bakugo line.” She explains. “Apparently it made quite the stir and she’s been getting calls from their lead designers out in Paris-” 

“That’s not surprising,” he says.

Ashido has always had a vibrant and playful personality and he’s heard she’s a darling of her district.

If it weren’t for a- well, a recent shift cultural bias she’d have been a shoo-in for a Tokyo transfer.

“Yes, well it’s a Mustafari couple who owns that fashion house,” Ochaco elaborates, “And they’re known for being, I don’t know, a bit difficult to work with? At least the wife is I guess? So it’s kind of a big deal that she’s managed to make such an impression.”

“Do you think she’ll ask the world heroes council for an international transfer?” he wonders, suddenly perturbed. “None of our people have ever gone abroad.”

She and Asui both crack smiles.

“You’re such a catastrophist,” Ochaco laughs softly. She bumps his shoulder fondly, “It’s one fashion show. I don’t think she’s gonna change her life over it.”

“Mina loves her work,” Asui adds her assurance, “but having a heteromorph model such a high profile fashion line and in Tokyo no less, that’s a big deal. It might do a lot of good.” 

Ah.  

Yes, he can see that that makes sense. 

“That’s good news,” he nods firmly. 

“Dont forget to tell her you’re proud of her,” Asui coaches him, smiling, “And say she looked great.”

“But I haven’t seen the photos?” He frowns. “I don’t know if she did or not?”

The girls roll their eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s Mina,” Ochaco laughs. “She’d look great in a sack.”

That’s true enough.

He gets shuffled along with the girls until they meet back up with Tenya where he’s busy chatting with Sero and Sato.

Sero smiles at him and gives him a commiserating kind of look.

“Hey dude,” he says, “Heard someone bitched again- where are you headed?”

Shōto looks at his longtime neighbour and shrugs.

“They haven’t said yet.” He says, “I’ll probably get a memo or something at my next shift.”

“You need me to watch the little lady for you?” He asks.

The question makes the girls both squeal with performative outrage.

Ochaco pouts and puts her hands on her hips.

“Fin-Chan is a boy!” She mock argues. “How many times are we going to do this with you guys?”

“I am entitled to my own opinion.”

“No! No opinions! We flipped a coin and everything!”

“Just ‘cuz you guys say it doesn’t make it true,” Sero grins back, “I never agreed to honor the consensus.”

“Hanta! You guys are always-”

“-it doesn’t really matter,” Shōto cuts in, amused. 

His bird‘s name and gender have been the topic of much discussion since he acquired the little creature. His friends seem to really enjoy having arguments about it for reasons he’s never quite understood. 

“The name’s ambiguous.”

“Yeah. I guess, but I still maintain ‘Death Star’ was a better option,” Sero winks at the girls who roll their eyes.

He and Tenya trade looks as they still to this day have no idea what they’re all talking about.

“I’d appreciate if you’d check in on him,” Shōto says, gratefully. “I’ll probably be out all day at my new assignment.”

Sero claps his shoulder genially and says.

“Yeah man of course, I gotchu.”

Talk veers away from his pet bird and moves towards the dinner.

The phrase “party” is getting thrown around despite Ochaco’s insistence that they’re only going to a “smallish dinner with most of their friends.”

It’s hard for anything to really be considered small when cramming almost 20 people into a room, but even still the atmosphere is cozy and intimate as they all head in ones and twos out of the academy by various means and go to meet up at the dining hall. 

Yaoyorozu is already there to greet them. She’s wearing a very pretty and elaborate looking red dress but has left her hair down for the occasion.  

She’s blushing furiously as she chats with Jirō, who herself is looking pleased and a little flustered. 

He makes sure to raise his eyebrows at her as he slides past her into the event and she mouths stop it, when Jirō is distracted chatting with some of their other old classmates.

I have not said anything, He mouths back but smiles encouragingly and pats at her elbow as he moves into the hall.

She blushes harder and returns to her conversation and he squeezes past them, pleased.

He hopes that this is an encouraging sign that things are lining up for her the way she would’ve preferred from the start.

He’s wonderfully close with her, them having the history that they do, and he knows what would make her happiest would never have been him. 

It’s been a long time since their war days, and things have never been easy, they seem to get harder as a matter of fact, but he really does wish that at least in this thing, Momo could have it easier this time around. 

He’s bowed in to the dining hall by the staff and directed to sit at one of the tables near the front of the banquet.

Sero is on his left side chatting with Kaminari already. 

His other old classmate is waving his hands excitedly as he tells one of his usual jokes. 

He’s got a bandage taped low on his face, and it looks like something’s pulled out one of his eyebrow piercings, but otherwise looks to be in great spirits.

“Aww,“ he coos as soon as he spots Shōto, “Look what the hazzies have dragged in!”

“Kaminari,” he greets, “You look well.”

“You too big guy,” he laughs, “Even if you’re dressed like we’re going to a funeral. Smile man, it’s a party!” 

Ah.

He knew it.

“I’ve been at the rotational department all day,” he tells him as Sero purposefully avoids his eyes and smiling takes a sip of his drink. “I just got off shift.” 

“Yeah, me and Kyoka just got in too. I been doing accommodations funding stuff all day,” he acknowledges, grimacing, “I heard you got got again dude, that sucks. Any idea where they’re exiling you this time?”

“Not yet. Are you staying in town for a bit?” He inquires, thinking of his Ex outside.

“A couple days, maybe a month or so, yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” He says smoothly, “I asked Iida and Ochaco about your transfers-”

“-oh yeah,” he grins, “We heard about that too! You sure move fast, we appreciate it, Iida and them were already on it, but that was awesome dude! Thanks.”

“Where are the rest of the guys?” Sero asks as Shōto waves off the easy thanks, “You seen Mina yet?”

“Oh yeah, she and Ei are gonna be late,” Kaminari reports, pulling a face, “They need fucking passes to move through the lower gates now? Can you believe that shit? They can use their tags to grab em, obviously, but that shit takes time-”

“-They should be here soon,” a deep voice cuts in as someone suddenly blocks their light. 

Kaminari’s grin is huge and delighted as he immediately springs up from their table to make room for Shinsou.

He’s dressed down in his usual blacks but he’s combed his hair out and put in his piercings. 

Shōto notes that he looks a bit red as his partner fawningly pours him a drink and offers it to him as soon as he’s seated next to him.

It looks like Jirō was right after all. 

“Hitoshi!” He gushes, “Nobody said you could make it tonight!”

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits, “I was working a case in the third ring, but you know how the reps are when they want something. They were getting an all clear for Ashido and Kirishima as I was headed here. Fumikage and Shoji are coming too- They pulled some strings. Nieto’s been bitching in the chat all day.”

Kaminari pouts theatrically at him and bats his eyelashes.

“You weren’t going to come?” He says, “And here I thought you’d missed me.”

There is a slight note of genuine hurt in his tone and Shōto sees how poor Shinsou softens at the sound of it, still helpless to the other man’s easy charms even after all these years.

He leans in and brushes his fingers gently through his bangs to help neaten the pattern there.

Denki blushes red and ducks his head away from his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Shinsou says simply. “I was coming to see you as soon as I could.”

“Yeah well,” Denki mumbles, clearly as just as flustered by his attention now as he ever was in their school days, “Glad it gets to be today.”

“Me too.”

Sero smiles and tips his head into his hand looking them over fondly.

“Cute.” He declares, making them both huff and take deep pulls from their drinks.

Shōto privately agrees.

He’s never quite been sure how their whole thing works given their schedules, but it’s comforting to see it’s still going strong.

It must be nice, to have that sort of longing and connection with someone all the time.

That wasn’t his experience for all that it was nice.

“Is that everyone then?” He asks, changing the subject, “The whole class?”

“Except for Monoma and Aoyama,” Sero holds his glass up in acknowledgment, “Heres to the poor bastards- they’re about to miss a hell of a party.”

He’s not wrong.

Momo, aware at how rare the opportunity is to have so many of them free for an evening at a time is, pulls out all the stops.

The meal is amazing and she invites them out to her hotel penthouse afterwards.

She has the staff open the bar and makes a truly impressive amount of music equipment.

It’s chaos after that.

Drinks, music, catching up.

Shōto loves how even in the tumult of the war and the mess of their lives they still manage to find time for themselves to be with each other.

He wasn’t exactly planning for his evening to turn out like this, but he enjoys himself, sitting by the pool on the private rooftop and watching his friends get increasingly drunk and silly as the night settles in.

He’s not sure who’s let Tokoyami be in charge of the music, but the crashing roars of his incomprehensible metal bands clash spectacularly with the overall mood of and they all laugh and cheer, clearly having deeply missed one another.

Someone’s found the remote to the tv inside and some sort of drinking game is being played against hero footage on the evening news.

A few people have started to grill s’mores on the outdoor kitchen’s million-dollar stove.

Ashido and Hagakure are dancing on separate tables- how and to what he really has no idea.

Kirishima and Ojirou hover nearby with their hands out, ready to catch them should they fall.

Momo’s already hired a service for all the kids for the evening, and she and Jirō are in a rapt and animated conversation over by the sunken conversation pit in the penthouse’s big living room.

Iida has turned in for the night and been seen off to one of the spare rooms.

Koda too was immediately overstimulated and seen into the library to ogle at the massive standing fish tank inside, Sato and the others keep popping in to bring him treats and drinks.

Ochaco and Asui are swimming with their clothes on in the pool laughing about some show they’re both watching.

It feels like old times.

He smiles and leans back into the lounge chair he’s sitting in. 

It feels auspicious somehow, a reunion party right before his next assignment.

He chooses to take it as a sign good things are to come.

Mina sees him sitting alone and hops off her table to join him on the lounger.

“Boo!” She pretend complains, draping herself all over him and being as obnoxious about it as possible, “Booo- you don’t get to be a wallflower when you’re this pretty! Nobody’s seen you for ages- have a drink! Go eat something or come dance with me!”

“I don’t know how,” he reminds her gently, smiling as she rubs her face a little drunkenly into his, “And I’m not sure anyone but you two could dance to this- congratulations on the magazine by the way. You looked very pretty.”

“Thanks Gizmo,” she laughs, falling into his lap and poking at his face, “Don’t pretend you’ve seen it though; you don’t read anything but office reports and those motivational posts from the old man.”

“Nuh uh- he reads manga from like twenty years ago too,” Kirishima joins them, smiling. “Mina, you forgot one of your shoes on the table.”

“Did I? Thanks, baby.” 

Kirishima hands over an alarmingly tall bright green stiletto and she clumsily jams it onto her foot.

He grins at them both and sits down opposite of them on the other lounger.

“Hey man,” he greets, “Long time! Sorry we were so late to everything, we kept getting pulled over at the gates.”

“I thought you’d gotten passes.” Shōto frowns, recalling what he had been told much earlier in the evening. “Don’t tell me our own people were giving you a hard time.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t for shitty reasons,” Kirishima laughs, looking over at Mina fondly, “Our girl here’s just super popular-”

“-people are so weird,” Mina snickers, “Last month we saved like half their asses from a liberation front raid and they could’ve given less of a shit. But I dance down a Tokyo runway in a miniskirt and suddenly I can’t walk down the street without somebody wanting to talk to me. You really missed out if you haven’t seen it you know.”

“I haven’t seen it yet.” he admits seriously. “But I will, and I don’t doubt it. Ochaco said you’d look good wearing a sack and she’s not wrong about it; a miniskirt’s a big improvement from that.”

“I love how you genuinely mean that,” Mina chuckles, “You’re so cute, sweetie. You’d be an amazing flirt if you’d put in effort you know; you’ve got the, well the everything for it really. Isn’t that right, Red?”

“Oh yeah,” Kirishima snorts, “It you ever figure that out we’re all done for.”

“Thank you,” he nods. 

They cackle and Mina pokes him in the cheek again.

“We’ve got to find you somebody, baby. There’s gotta be somebody out there who will appreciate your weird self. I think it’s been long enough don’t you think?”

“Or at least get you out of your dang room, bro.”

Shōto winces internally. 

He wishes everybody would stop saying that.

You would think he was unhappy.

“What’s the matter Shōto,” she pouts, “You look so sad sitting out here all alone.”

“You worried about the new posting?” Kirishima asks, “Because we’re out in the outer districts and I promise you dude, they’re not all that bad- we totally got your back for coverage and stuff, bro.”

“I’m…” Shōto considers thoughtfully, “I’m actually a little excited I think? I’m not upset about it or anything. I’m just a little tired. You can go back to your dancing if that’s what you were worried about.” 

“My dancing can wait-“ Mina insists petting at his face, “I just wanna make sure you’re having fun; you can go babysit Koda in the library if this is too much, I don’t even know how they talked you into coming-”

“- it was my idea actually,” he says lightly, enjoying their surprised faces. “Well, the dinner was. The party has been a nice surprise though. I’ve missed all of you.” 

“Awwww Gizmo,” Mina half wails, hugging him, “We missed you too! We’re gonna have so much fun together out in the sticks! You wait.”

He doesn’t doubt it.

————-

He gets his posting notification the next day in the first shift courier run. 

His friend’s howling outrage and protests can be heard across the campus and down every hall.

Shōto doesn’t mind anywhere near as much as they do; he is intrigued actually.

He looks at the little black card with its single district distribution on it and the ID code he’s to scan into his tags.

The Lorien district.

Well, he’s not sure if this is auspicious or not yet, but it’s certainly going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

The siren sounds. 

Katsuki can barely hear it anymore.

He remembers it like a shriek in his ear that’s grown faint over time, a bad dream, a memory. 

He watches for the lights now, or the way the other subjects start to move towards their tasks.

The noise is distant, fading every day.

It doesn’t matter to him anymore.

He just has to fight when they come at him, has to kick and run and bite and punch.

Solve the puzzles, win the races, avoid the trick floors, kill anything that makes eye contact, test subject, rat, coat, whatever.

If it’s in his way it has to die.

He doesn’t let anything get back up, even if it fucks up his times or ruins the entire test.

A mad dog, he’s heard them call him.

Subject Ten’s a mad dog.

He’s been testing too long.

He’s had too many drugs.

The early procedures have had a damaging effect.

The surgeries have made him psychologically unstable.

The siren sounds.

They’re supposed to be solving a puzzle on the table for food.

He hasn’t been fed for days.

He’s starving.

But the subject at the table across from him looked up.

Looked straight at him.

He’s going to kill him now.

They’re strapped to the tables, bolted to the chairs that will administer corrective shocks anytime they refuse to solve the puzzles or get the sequence wrong.

But Katsuki’s memorized the sequences they run already, and he’s not refusing to solve the puzzle.

He makes sure to finish it 30 seconds ahead of the others before he rips himself out of his restraints and flips his table.

He’s on the other subject before the kid has a chance to scream.

The guards don’t get to them in time and he snaps the subject’s neck.

His eyes are grateful.

He’d been begging, when he’d looked up at him.

Begging him to make it stop.

Trapped in these chairs for hours, for days maybe, the tests are getting harder.

But he won’t have to worry now.

He’s headed for the vats or the slabs or the ocean with the other losers.

Katsuki is a killer, no one even has to know he quit.

Katsuki’s helped him out.

The guards rush in.

Katsuki snarls and fights and bleeds and they kick the shit out of him, break his fingers and muzzle him.

The coats come out and look angry.

“-not working-”

“-Second one today he’s-”

“-Going to have to think of something else-“

 “-can’t make him preform-”

They use batons. He spits blood through the slats of his muzzle and growls.

They want their data though, so they patch up his hands and strap him to another testing table.

“Bring his control.” Someone commands.

He’s propped up. Woozy.

Strapped down.

No one escapes their tests unless they die.

The door hisses open.

He knows him.

His ears don’t work like they’re supposed to, but his eyes are sharper and his nose works good when it’s not stopped up with blood.

Even now he knows him.

The tiny shape brought in between two control poles. 

The guards try to be careful because he’s fast and his teeth are sharp.

He’s hurt people here before.

Killed even.

They’re both getting better at that.

They hook him up to the table across from him and he looks up and straight into his eyes.

Deku.

His control.

His stupid eyes swim with tears and he fights to break out of his restraints so he can reach for him.

Katsuki glares.

He’s strong.

He’s wild.

They’ve never killed him for it.

They won’t because he’s valuable.

But no one likes to get too close.

Nobody but Deku.

Who’s always waiting for him to get back.

Deku, who beats himself bloody against the cages, begging for them to bring him back.

The only one who wants him.

The only thing here stupid enough to beg for Katsuki’s life like it’s good for something other than tearing and breaking and killing.

No one else in this whole stupid place is allowed to have anything.

But Katsuki gets to keep Deku.

His control.

His.

Deku is his because he’s weak, because he’s useless, but Katsuki’s never killed him, even when he clings to him and sobs, even when they stuff them both into his tiny kennel and starve them for weeks in the dark.

Deku is his.

Nobody wants them.

But they want each other.

And Katsuki is strong enough to keep them together.

He gives him value.

And they don’t die.

The siren sounds.

He sees the lights flash and realises they’ve locked them both into their tables.

They won’t be able to complete the tests in time.

They’re both going to be shocked.

They’re not going to be fed.

Deku looks at him with wide, scared eyes, asking him what he’s supposed to do, asking him what’s happening.

They brought him in to punish him.

He snarls and fights and pulls against his restraints.

He’s got to finish the stupid test!

He’s got to show Deku what to do before they hurt him!

Deku struggles too.

He cuts his wrists, but works his hands free. 

He tries to lean forward to help Katsuki, but spasms from the shocks.

Katsuki screams behind his muzzle.

Those fuckers!

He flexes until his arms hurt, until something gives.

The siren sounds.

The pain makes him throw up in the muzzle.

The world swims. 

There’s blood.

There’s Deku’s desperate pants and sobs.

They’re both trapped. Strapped down.

He’s woozy.

Tired, hungry. Hurt. Scared.

Not for him.

But for Deku.

Stupid, useless Deku.

Who’s only alive because Katsuki can kill, because he can test. 

Because he’s a mad dog with one glaring weakness.

He shakes himself awake and pulls his torn wrists out of their mangled restraints and locks eyes with Deku.

Deku’s eyes never beg him for death. 

His nose is bleeding, but he nods.

He’d never quit.

He can follow along.

He shows him how to solve the stupid puzzle.

They solve it and the lights flash.

A handful of food clatters into the dish.

Their reward.

Only…

Deku whines.

He ignores the food.

He reaches for Katsuki instead.

He wants to take off his muzzle.

He wants him to eat.

The only stupid fuck in those whole place who cares if he lives or dies.

The only one who wants him.

They shock him again.

The food is flushed through the drain.

The siren sounds again.

They have to be faster.

Deku refuses the food.

He just wants the damn muzzle off.

He refuses the food.

They shock him.

The lights flash.

They’re faster.

He refuses the food.

They shock them both now.

The lights flash again.

Deku refuses the food.

He refuses the food.

He refuses-

Katsuki can’t think anymore.

He can barely remember the sequence.

He’s tired, he’s hungry.

The muzzle cuts against his cheeks.

Deku hasn’t eaten.

Stupid idiot’s being stubborn.

He looks at him and sobs in frustration reaching for the muzzle.

Pain.

The lights flash.

Katsuki thinks suddenly he would never kill him, even if he begged.

He’ll never get a say.

Katsuki solves the puzzle.

He looks him dead in the eyes and demands he give up and just take the damn chow already.

They both get shocked when Deku refuses to eat.

The subjects at the tables around them are starting to pass out now.

Maybe they’re dying, who knows.

They look at each other and keep going.

Deku is stubborn.

He won’t give up on getting him out of his stupid muzzle.

Even if it kills him.

Even if he starves.

He always chooses Katsuki.

He refuses the food.

The sirens…the lights.

They’re the only ones left now.

Katsuki’s world is the blurry green sheen of his eyes.

Lights flash. Deku must hear the siren.

They complete the test.

The puzzle sways on the table and the food makes his mouth water behind the muzzle.

His stomach cramps with hunger and then with pain as the shocks set in.

Again.

Again..

Again…

Deku never takes the food.

He reaches for the muzzle.

They solve and solve and solve the puzzle.

The world swims, lights fade.

Sounds buzz distantly in the background.

He comes to on the table. 

Techs are taking off his muzzle and administering fluids through an IV in his neck.

Deku’s eyes are watching him from where he’s slumped across from him too weak to move.

He blinks muzzily and after what looks like an enormous effort pushes his battered hand across the tabletop so that his fingers can brush the tip of his nose.

His fucking reward.

Katsuki stares at him.

“Another record-” he hears someone scoffing. “Typical. Someone make sure to tend to his control. He’ll be completely unmanageable if-”

He stops listening.

He can barely hear them anyways.

They jam a straw in Deku’s mouth and demand that he swallow something.

Some other tech pulls his hand away to wrap his bleeding wrists.

Katsuki watches them. 

They all avert their gazes.

Everyone but Deku who stares back and smiles tiredly.

His control.

His.

They’re dragged back to their kennels and dumped inside.

Katsuki has to curl up to even move.

He presses his hand to the mesh that separates them so Deku can curl their fingers together.

Their hands used to fit through these bars once.

The coats and their techs babble distantly around them.

“-collect vitals from both-”

“-Should we try next-?”

“-vicious little brutes-”

“-Don’t bother, they won’t hurt each other-”

“-Lights out for Subject Ten-.”

“-tell the maintenance staff not to come in. We won’t be feeding them again today-”

“-broke subject two-oh-four’s neck, just snapped it like a twig, fucking animal-”

“-control has a procedure in the morning. Remember to bring gloves and -”

“- they’ll need to sedate Subject Ten before we collect his control-”

They turn out the lights and leave them in the dark. 

Deku pets at the bandages on his fingers and hums the best he can some half-remembered tune.

It’s soothing. Knowing he’s still there.

Someone is still there.

He wets his cracked lips, tries to find words.

“Next time just eat the damn food, stupid,” he scolds him, “Don’t let them hurt you.”

Deku shakes his head. 

“Not if you can’t.” He whispers.

He runs his fingers gently over his throbbing hand and looks at him with his stupid stubborn pout.

He chooses him.

He always chooses him. 

“You better do what I say,” Katsuki warns him tiredly, “Or I’ll kill you.”

Deku smiles.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

He closes his eyes and goes straight to sleep.

Katsuki watches him breathing.

The only person left who gives a fuck about him.

Ready to die just to see him chew up a handful of slop and live for one more fucking day in this hellhole.

He chooses him too.

His control.

His.

He curls up as close as the bars will let them and closes his eyes too.

They’ve got tests in the morning.

You don’t stop testing here ‘til you die.

And it looks like neither of them are going anywhere yet.

Chapter Text

Deku wakes to the sounds of something screaming outside fighting with the cat. 

He considers ignoring it and leaving whatever is happening out there to deal with itself, but then remembers he actually loves the cat and would be devastated if he woke up in an hour and found it in pieces all over the yard. 

He slips out of Kacchan’s hold and tries to untangle himself from their bunk without waking him up or letting too much cold in. 

His poor Kacchan.

He’s had a long night of work and opens a single eye in bleary question before rolling back over at his quick reassurance that all is well. 

He hopes he’s having sweet dreams.

Deku pets his big shoulder, tucks their best blanket over him, and slides open the window.

He jumps into the yard to chase off the haz-beasts harassing their cat and then, since he’s already up and ready to kill things, heads into The Stacks to rustle up breakfast.

The woods are cool and quiet where they grow out of the ruins of the old shops and buildings. 

A pack of haz-beasts that half-resemble deer look up lazily when they spot him coming but immediately go back to grazing when they see he is not there to pick a fight. 

He studies them in their terrible, twisted beauty for a moment. 

No one really knows what they are; he’s heard all sorts of rumors– animals who have evolved quirks of their own or heteromorphs who have regressed to a more primitive and bestial form…

(That one’s pretty stupid actually, extras in a Japan are really stupid about a lot of things.)

They plod along placidly with their multitudinous limbs and iron thick hides, taking little notice of him.

They’ve been everywhere in Japan for a while now. Since the start of the war at least, and that began probably before he was born.

These have probably been here since the start of The Decline, being so huge and used to the comings and goings of men.

Eventually one of the largest of the haz-beasts seems to have enough of being stared at. It bows its head and sways warningly with its antlers and he takes its hints and walks past.

He yawns and stretches and scrambles to get off the street level so he’s less in harm’s way.

 Deku likes the ruins; they’re interesting and quiet and filled with tons of old stuff to poke through!

Kacchan does his best to keep him clear of the place because “it’s dangerous“ and “full of crumbling shit moron, you could fall through someplace and kill yourself", but he just thinks he’s being overcautious.

He clambers into one of the abandoned buildings and picks through its dusty contents while he heads for its windows. 

It looks like it was once some sort of business office, everything out here has been looted to hell and back, but he manages to find a pen that still works and a few notebooks and other odds and ends worth picking up as he wanders though.

He should have brought a bag he thinks and then gets distracted with poking around in the rusted and foundering old place until he finds one in a rotten pile that had previously been a desk at some point.

He kicks over a pile of bones to get at it, but that doesn’t faze him.

Deku is used to bodies.

 The windows are what he’s really after – they contain pigeons and their nests which is what he was hoping for. 

He quickly catches and strangles as many of the birds as he can before they scatter and fly off and collects all the eggs out of the mess he sees. It’s a decent haul for a few moments of work and he’s pleased with his efforts.

He takes his time heading home.

Mornings are beautiful out here and he likes to linger in the quiet and enjoy them sometimes. 

They’re not up to much today- Deku’s got work, but that’s not for ages.

He suspects Kacchan will be up by now and doing inventory of their house before they leave.

He still grins when he gets to say it.

Their house! 

He lives somewhere! With Kacchan! 

He scampers up the drive and jumps up to smack hard at the lintels of the doors as he goes to announce his presence and let Kacchan know he’s moving through the house.

“‘That you, nerd?” His partner calls out. “You find any breakfast?” 

Sure enough, he’s up and moving in the kitchen– getting the gas lit and water boiling for rice and whatever else he’s making. 

Deku found him a cookbook when they first arrived here, and he had taken it upon himself to familiarize himself with the task. 

Now he does all the cooking while Deku mostly scrounges around for the things to eat or does the washing up. 

He brings his offerings to the steaming shrine of Kacchan’s newest domain, and his partner looks them over. 

The pens and half-rotted notebooks make him roll his eyes, but the eggs he seems pleased by.

“You shower yet?” He asks him brusquely.

Deku shakes his head and explains about the cat.

“‘She okay?”

At Deku‘s assurance that she’s survived he nods and turns back to his pots and pans.

“Go clean up.” He commands, “Your breath smells like ass.”

Deck rolls his eyes, but heads to their bathroom to comply. 

“And wash your hair!“ Kacchan calls after him, “It’s a rat’s nest! We’re cutting it today.”

 Deku grimaces.

He’d secretly been hoping Kacchan had forgotten his vows from yesterday to see them both at the barbers today…

“I don’t hear shower sounds!” Kacchan says dangerously and Deku hurries to obey him before he forcibly throws him into the water like he’s wont to do.

Their place has a tank on what’s left of the roof they found scavenging one day; he and Kacchan had spent a very wet, smelly, frustrating week figuring out attachment systems and filtration for it. 

Deku found a book on the subject at their old library and with some help from a few scalped parts he’s managed to bring it up to spec. Now they have running water to most of the house!

They have a few plates for solar too, but inverters are harder to come by this far outside the city and Kacchan doesn’t want them attracting too much attention besides, so they mostly stick to wood and fire and leave that side of things alone.

They see super well in the dark anyways.

The one generator they do run is for Deku to keep up with their kit– even though Kacchan scowls like a storm-front when he sees him tinkering with it, he still maintains it’s important. 

They haven’t worked in over a year, but you really never know.

He turns on the water to the tap and strips off.

He must’ve been gone longer than he thought: Kacchan’s filled the tub for him; it’s steaming gently when he rolls back the top. 

He smiles at the thoughtfulness of it and considers calling him out for a moment but decides not to.

It’s early in the day to try Kacchan’s temper.

He showers quickly, brushes his teeth, and jumps in for a quick soak.

Kacchan loves baths, Deku guesses they’re okay, but the warm water makes his implants itch sometimes where they’re anchored under his skin. 

He doesn’t mind lingering in here with his partner, but mostly because it’s fun to lay anywhere with Kacchan. 

He dozes until he’s called for breakfast and almost forgets to wash his hair. 

Deku gives it a quick dunk as he drains the tub. 

He hopes Kacchan is joking about cutting it. 

Deku doesn’t like extras touching him. 

Their hands…can hurt.

He scrabbles out of the bathroom and runs upstairs to hunt for non-dirty clothes. 

He hopes he has something…

His memory for house stuff isn’t the best and it drives his partner crazy. 

Kacchan takes their being things that live in houses now very seriously and he likes to keep their things ordered and tidy.

Deku’s approach to their newfound humanity is a bit more…organic.

He finds a clean-ish looking shirt to throw on over some boxers and runs downstairs to sit at their table to see what Kacchan made him for breakfast. 

He’s plating soup and rice and a pile of little boiled eggs into dishes for them and looks him over critically.

Deku stares right back.

The heat from the kitchen’s made him strip out of his tank and so he’s out in just his sleep pants with alllll his pretty new tattoos on full display.

Underneath the ink his spine ripples and plays, trying to help him vent more heat.

Deku leans his head into his hand and makes eyes at him, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously to make him snort a laugh.

“It’s too early for your shit.” He warns him, going back to the kitchen to begin bringing in the food. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Deku signs a question about the pigeons as he leans in to begin their meal and Kacchan grunts in response.

“I put ’em up outside.” He says, “I’m sick of ‘em. We’ll take them in town– maybe some old bat will trade us for shears for that ugly fucking bush on your head- we still need glass for the back window too.”

Deku nods and relaxes. 

He knew he was joking about the barbers. 

They eat breakfast and play with the cat before heading into town. 

—-

Kacchan’s in a decent enough mood today; he’s made okay money at whatever work he picked up last night and Deku didn’t hurt himself or blow any more holes in the house while he was gone so he’s got nothing much to complain about.

He gives Deku his legs and lets him bounce around the market and pester their neighbors with smiles and polite conversations while he handles a few of their other errands.

Mustafar where they are isn’t a very big place. It’s not even in the top 20 of the biggest places they were sent to work, but it’s plenty big and plenty complicated to get on with. 

They mostly live and do their shopping out of its slums for privacy- It’s a place the locals call “the last wall“ or mostly just “Wall“ for short. 

He smiles when he thinks of it.

Of course, like most cities in Japan these days, it’s enclosed by a complex defense system, but Mustafar’s actually is mostly just a big wall. 

Deku loves it, it’s literal and silly and imposing and always begging to be climbed.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought so, because this little shanty town is built right into the side of it, patched in with scraps like a mud swallow’s nest. 

It clings to the outermost defensive structure of the city, its location providing some meager protection from the roving bands of warlords who scour the actual wastes, looking for food and slaves to sell.

The extras in Wall are fun, they’re sort of like city people, but also not and they never do that thing where they point or stare or whisper which he doesn’t like.

They mind their own business and stay out of theirs and he enjoys watching them do that.

Kacchan eventually calls him to heel as they approach the butcher they work with, and he obediently trots over and stands at his side.

He makes sure to show him he’s being overprotective by rolling his eyes and pouting, but Kacchan ignores him and rings the bell for service from the woman who runs the place.

She’s a sweet, fussy, no nonsense old lady who Kacchan prefers because she never bothers to ask where their kills come from.

“Oh,” she says when she sees them at the counter, “Good morning gentlemen. Buying today?”

Kacchan nods and plops the bag of pigeons on the counter.

“You got anything sharp enough to cut hair back there?” He asks as she starts to look over the birds.

“I could find you something,” she hums, picking over the carcasses, “If you give me a few hours. That’ll cost you the lot of these though.” 

“One knife for fifteen birds?” Kacchan repeats, unimpressed. “Pass.”

He makes as if to sweep them all back into the bag, but the old woman stops him a scowl. 

“Hang on there, sonny,” she protests, “I didn’t say it’d be a single knife. I’m assuming you want something to clean up your little friend there?”

Deku smiles ruefully and blows one of his curls out of his face.

His hair must be pretty bad, he guesses, if extras can tell right away who the shears are for.

No wonder Kacchan wants to cut it.

He nods and she looks them over.

“Why not take him for a trim?” She offers, “I have a couple bath tokens that come with-”

“-No one’s touching him,” Kacchan interrupts her gruffly, “I ain’t got time to be burying assholes today.”

Deku glances over at him gratefully.

The old woman makes a sour sound.

“Alright,” she huffs, “I’ll send you some things. I do need the morning though, one of my runners can drop off at your place later if you’d like?”

Kacchan tilts his head at him.

Deku shrugs.

That’s fine with him.

“Fine,” he nods, “You got any red meat today? I’m sick of fucking fish-”

Deku loses the thread of the conversation as it drifts into the boring and mundane realms of bartering, and he shuffles restlessly on his feet.

He hates these kinds of long-winded exchanges…

Kacchan notices him getting twitchy and releases him from his heel so he can poke around the rest of the market.

“I know it’s hard for you but don’t do anything stupid,” he warns him as he dashes off with a relieved smile.

Mean, Deku sticks his tongue out at him.

You’d think the place was crawling with danger and not a bunch of harmless extras.

He picks the pocket of the first rude-looking person he finds shouting at a stall clerk about how long it’s taking her to wrap their packages and scurries deeper into the mess of the place to look over the loot and find something fun to spend it on.

He’s in luck, the asshole was carrying a few city bucks and a stim pen!

He happily takes a hit from it as he looks around.

The little market stalls are rough and crudely cobbled together, made of leftover debris or carved out of the carcasses of whatever old stores had originally been here. 

He buys a bag of candies off of a group of filthy kids who giggle when he winks and gives them twice what they’re worth for them and haggles over a pair of shiny copper gauges he knows Kacchan will like at a table filled with stolen city goods.

They had seen extras with body piercings all over the city slums and Kacchan had loved them; he’d made Deku pierce his ears the first thing.

Something about seeing him after, with something so pretty, something he’d chosen to change on himself instead of being forced into it…

Well, they have almost a dozen between them now and Deku loves getting pretty things for them!

It’s early into the day and people are still putting out their goods, so it’s fun to stroll through and peer at things as they’re unboxed.

Plus he’s flush and itching to trade the pen in his pocket for something really cool…

He’s just about to turn towards his favourite shoe shop a street or so over when he spots a distinctive looking red, blue and yellow something sitting on top of a pile of junk in a bin at a rag stall.

It can’t be-

He dashes over in excitement.

He really hopes-

Yes! 

Deku plucks an old All Might Hoodie out from a pile of clothes and holds it triumphantly above his head.

He cannot believe he just found this!!

Real, honest All Might merchandise!! In Wall!!

He squeals with delight and dances on the spot and looks carefully around in case there’s anything else.

Finding All Might things is increasingly rare given the current climate around Heroes in the world and especially here in Japan where the war first started and has been waging longest…

Deku doesn’t care about that though.

All Might is literally the greatest, coolest, most wonderful and important hero in the history of the world!!

Japan is lucky to have him!!

He rushes over to the stall owner and practically shoves the old rag under their nose in his haste to know the price.

Their quirk makes their skin swim with lots of little ripples of pigment that swirl in strange patterns over their body, and they sniff in open disdain when they spot what he’s holding.

“Oh,” they grunt, “I thought I’d gotten rid of that crap.”

Deku stares hard at the stall owner and resists the urge to growl. 

“Hey, what’s with the face?” They say, “Relax kid, go ahead and keep it if you want it, you couldn’t pay people ‘round here to wear that old fraud’s junk. It’s worthless.”

He does growl now and holds the hoodie protectively against his chest, snarling.

How dare they…

Just because the war’s turned out the way it has, that doesn’t make All Might a fraud!

He’s the greatest! He fought hard! 

Who even knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been there?!?

“Whoa now, easy champ,” the rag merchant chuckles nervously, “Didn’t know the old boy still had any fans out there…”

A whistle cuts through the stall owner’s sudden nervous babbling.

Kacchan is calling him.

It’s not the Recall Command, but it’s urgent enough.

He has to go.

He gives them one last poisonous glance and stubbornly holds out the stim pen for them to take.

He’ll show them worthless.

The rag seller gapes at the bounty and gives him an incredulous look.

“Seriously?” They baulk, “For that?” 

Deku nods stiffly and thrusts the pen at them again.

“You’re crazy,” they laugh and take the pen with glee. “You belong in the city with that kind of stupid, kid.”

Deku sniffs and proudly slips on the hoodie, ignoring the sad shake of their head.

It’s a few sizes too big for him, and smells like old fish, but it’s soft and warm.

He stares down at the silver age logo with open delight and wriggles with pleasure.

Kacchan is going to be so jealous when he sees this…

Speaking of Kacchan:

He’s whistling again. 

Deku leaps up onto one of the crumbling old buildings that make up the backbone of the market to search for him.

He spots him with his arms laden with packages scowling down the street and quickly makes his way over.

Kacchan never bothers to wait for him; he always expects him to catch him up.

Deku drops down next to him grinning excitedly and puffs out his chest to show him his cool new find.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow at the sight and he looks furious.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” He hisses, snatching him up by the hood as soon as he’s in range. 

Deku found it in the stalls, he explains happily. Had to pay lots- it’s so cool! Right Kacchan?

“You’re such a fucking fanboy,” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Buying all that corny shit.” 

He notes the way Deku’s rolled up the sleeves and quickly follows with, “What size is it?”

Deku grins.

Deku [will give it] to Kacchan if Deku doesn’t need a haircut anymore, he negotiates smugly. 

Kacchan gives him a disgusted look and shakes his head.

“Nice try, Idiot,” he glowers, “But your ass is getting your hair cut today.”

Deku pouts.

“No. Don’t start with me- You look like a hobo and it’s all mats in the middle, nerd. That shit’s gotta go.”

Ugh.

Fine.

But see if Deku will let him borrow this hoodie now.

(He will of course, it’s Kacchan.)

-

They make their way down the street and Deku offers to help carry some of the packages Kacchan bought.

He smells several pounds of different meats and some kind of pepper and it looks like he also managed to find a sheet of intact glass for the back door-

“You good to open your shop by yourself?” Kacchan asks as they turn up the street that leads to their place. “I can take this shit home and meet you later?”

Deku shrugs and hands back over most of the packages.

Kacchan leaves him with one that turns out to be a packed lunch.

Looks like he plans to avoid coming back for a while.

“Stay inside,” he commands him sternly, “You leave that place and I’ll kill you, copy?”

Copy.

Kacchan hands over the keys to the door and Deku trades him the pretty earrings and his leftover sweets and the rest of his ill-gotten city money with a wink.

His partner snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Fucking Klepto,” he says, fondly.

He leans down so Deku can smoosh their foreheads together and breathe him in for a second before he makes for the roofs and takes off.

Deku watches him go with a smile and heads inside to start opening the shop.

-

It’s the middle of the day when it happens.

Sara-Chan looks up at him from where she’s browsing and frowns thoughtfully.

Deku likes her, she’s a handful of years younger than him, a regular, and she only ever buys books about love.

“Excuse me,” she asks, “Do you ever sell any magazines?”

He tilts his head at her.

Magazines?

She obligingly pulls one out of her bag, partly to show him, partly to show it off, and he peers over the counter at it in interest 

There’s a pretty looking lady and her man on the cover with bright happy smiles; it boasts of showing off the latest summer fashions in Tokyo.

Deku peers at it in open interest.

He thinks he remembers these, but they’ve never exactly caught his attention, nor given the delicate paper nature of their design, does he suspect they’ve survived much out in the ruins.

Deku collects things: toys, hero paraphernalia, old support items he can refurbish- and books.

He and Kacchan had been lucky enough to run into a library out in the ruins of the city that was difficult for people to get to, and Deku’s basically given over what’s left of his soul to it-

Kacchan had eventually put his foot down about how many books he’d been sneaking into their house and he and Deku have been forced to compromise.

He could keep his books and his odds and ends and his other junk as long as he found a place to store them that wasn’t their house, and they were made to be useful.

Kacchan’d felt really smug about his ultimatum too-

Until Deku had opened up a bookstore.

It made sense. No one had thought much about scrapping them in the early days of The Decline, so they’d largely survived, and now that things are pretty stable people have an interest in them again.

Plus, the chance for the place had fallen into their laps, really.

Kacchan, who could usually be found doing odd jobs to pick up extra cash, had been commissioned to clear out a haz-beast nest in a quiet, cozy little corner of the slums. 

Deku had loved the look of the place once the corpses were disposed of and the smell had cleared out and since the original owners had been eaten by the beasts, he’d moved their stuff in.

They’ve been happily serving their community for about a year now.

(Well, Deku says “happily”, but Kacchan hates extras and stays as far away as he can manage most days…)

Sara-Chan opens the little paper stack with a flourish and shows off its little articles on hair care and tips about matching the colours in your clothes to your skin tone.

It’s fascinating.

He can’t believe the people in the city have time to care about stuff like this.

“I’ll trade it to you,” she says in an eager rush, sliding over her stack of paperbacks, “For these.”

It’s a bargain for her given the haul she’s getting, but Deku’s already read the ones she wants, and he’s got about a million other copies besides.

He nods and slides the books towards her distractedly, flipping through the glossy pages.

He settles in to read it as she gloats over her luck with a few friends.

“Are you going to start selling them?” They ask him eagerly. “Oh, my Gods! That would be amazing-!”

“Can you get the specialty ones-?“

“-I want the ones with--”

“-Will they be current? The last ones we saw were from years ago-”

He holds up his hands for silence and looks at Sara-Chan.

He raises his eyebrows and taps on the magazine in his hand, asking where it’s come from.

“Oh that? I have an aunt who lives in the inner city,” she brags loudly, smirking at her friend’s awed faces. “She sends them to me when she’s done reading them.”

Hm.

So, they’re only in the city…

He flips it back to its front cover and notes the price with a wince.

They’re expensive…

They don’t come by city cash all that often- Kacchan would never let them blow it on something so frivolous…

Sara-Chan and her friends eventually leave, chattering in excitement, and he looks at the magazine and ponders his options.

He’s still pondering when Ran, the errand boy for this part of the market, comes in and grins at him.

“Hey there!” He says with his usual friendliness. “Did you guys get an order from Old Lady Towa?”

Deku smiles at him and nods and he slides off his pack while Deku scrounges around for a tip.

He may need to sacrifice his lunch…

“Nah, don’t worry,” Ran waves him off, “The old lady paid in full. You bring in those birds? They’re huge! Where’d you find them?”

Deku points out towards their house and smiles again and the errand boy nods.

“I forget you guys live out in the old city,” he grins, “Hiding out in The Stacks- You’re nuts for that you know?”

The Stacks are the shorthand people from the city used to describe the wild country of abandoned buildings and city places of the old city of Mustafar, back when it had extended past its current walls.

It’s where he and Kacchan live now, and known by the people of the slums and further into the city center to be a forsaken and Godsless place filled with Warlords, monsters, and pollution.

Deku shrugs theatrically and moves to take the bag he drops onto the counter into the back.

It’s safer for everyone that they live where they do, plus it’s not that far to walk here if you don’t take the streets.

“I had a buddy who used to go hunting out that way,” Ran muses conversationally, “Got into it with a pack of beasties that tore his legs off! He begs by the rag stalls now, has to sleep with the dogs at night.” He lays his head into his hand and leans against the counter. “Life’s a bitch sometimes, huh?”

At least he sleeps warm. Deku says, thinking of the nights he would shake awake from the cold in his kennel.

At the blank look he receives from the boy remembers he can’t understand him and does his best to look sad and commiserating.

“What’s that you got there?” Ran asks poking at the magazine he’s still got laid out on the counter. 

Deku holds it up to show him and he laughs in open delight.

“Oh shit!” He takes it and flips through it excitedly, “I haven’t seen one of them in forever! You sell mags now?”

He leans forward and looks conspiratorial.

“Do you have um…you know, swimsuit or uh…?”

He flushes and Deku laughs and waggles his eyebrows at him beaming mischievously.

“Okay, shut up,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry I asked, geez.”

Thinking of what the old butcher lady would say if she thought he sold her errand boys inappropriate magazines Deku sobers up and points at the magazine and then opens up his hands and shakes his head sadly.

“This the only one?” He surmises. “You got it in a trade, huh?”

Deku nods.

“Damn, well that’s a shame,” he says setting it back down on the counter with a sigh.

Deku shrugs and copies his easy lean against the counter.

“I just figured you’d found ‘em out in the old city or something,” he says, “Or snuck into the Bins since you guys are so good at that stuff.”

Deku tilts his head.

He knows of the Bins of course.

He raps his knuckles on the counter to get the boy’s attention from where he’s suddenly daydreaming and taps on the magazine.

“What?” He asks, “You asking if they got magazines in Lorien?”

Deku nods.

“Hell yeah man,” he says, “You know those inner-city cats have EVERYTHING, and like, they don’t even care, they just throw it away. All their shit! You know that.” 

He brings his hands together dramatically and makes them chomp together like some sort of monster.

“I heard they take all their old paper and books and shit and just chop ‘em up and burn ‘em. Can you imagine? Just burnt up like it’s nothing.”

That’s probably true, he’s been to the city. 

Every scrap and piece is precious in the slums, nothing is not repurposed, sometimes two or three times, but the city people…

Well, what would they know about need?

Ran catches his expression and nods solemnly.

“I know right?” He winces at the thought of all that senseless waste. “But that’s city folk for ya.”

They stand in thoughtful silence.

“You know…Nobody sells ‘em around here, bet you’d make a fortune.” He says slyly.

Deku blinks.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, “I know you fellas are pretty handy…if you could actually get your hands on any magazines…you could maybe afford to move closer to work, you know?”

He winks and stand to move away from the counter.

“Don’t forget what I uh, asked about though,” he blushes, “If you go, I mean. I gave you the tip about Lorien, sooo-”

He turns and leaves without a backwards glance and Deku snorts.

He and Kacchan are fine where they are, and Kacchan makes sure they have everything they need…

He works very, very hard at that.

Very hard…

Deku stands at his counter and ponders the magazine.

He wonders.

-

Kacchan eventually returns and Deku shows him the bag that’s come from the butcher’s place.

He looks it over to make sure they didn’t get ripped off.

Deku looks at him expectantly and rocks on his heels.

Kacchan catches his eye and snorts.

“What?” He asks.

Deku pouts.

He knows what.

Kacchan tries to ignore him; he huffs.

“You want your present you little spoilt shit, is that it?” Kacchan clicks his tongue, “You’re that sure you got something, huh?”

Deku pretends to be disappointed; he looks up at his partner with wide, hurt eyes and gives his head a sad little shake.

Of course not. He’s not sure; why would he be? What is he to Kacchan besides his poor, dumb Deku? 

Why would his Kacchan ever bring him anything nice?

“Wow,” Kacchan snorts, “Don’t quit your day job, loser.”

(Yeah okay, he is laying it on a little thick, but he’s a killer, not an actor, okay?)

He needs to cut him some slack.

Give Deku presents Kacchan.

“You’re such a brat,” he cackles and drags him over by the loop in his collar. “Here. One day I won’t bring you nothing and it’ll blow your fucking mind.”

He dangles a huge, serrated knife in front of his face and Deku snatches at it like a starving man.

It’s so shiny and sharp and pretty.

The balance on it is GORGEOUS.

Deku coos his thanks and looks it over while he picks through the junk in the bag and starts to work out the plan for his haircut.

“Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna need to- whoa hey- Deku, what the fuck-?”

(Yeeeeah..

Deku doesn’t really care about whatever fucking logistical thing he’s worried about.

Gifts are nice, but they haven’t seen each other since breakfast; he wants him to say hello.)

Deku puts his big hands to his sides and gives him a pleading look.

“Deku-” Kacchan starts, annoyed, but he whines, trying to voice his impatience, and Kacchan sighs and says, “Fuck me, yeah okay then, c’mere.”

Kacchan grabs him by his hips and hauls him up onto the counter so he can bury his face in his neck and run his hands down his sides.

Deku purrs with pleasure and tilts his head back. He opens his legs so Kacchan can come closer and lets him crowd him, petting him everywhere.

He’s missed him today.

“You reek,” Kacchan grumbles, rubbing his chin over his shoulder, “‘Smell like all these stupid fuckin’ nobodies.”

Kacchan smells like Kacchan; he smells like their sheets and their home and their blood and their things. 

Deku drags him even closer.

He loves to feel him under his hands, how strong and sure and here he is. 

Right here, with him.

Kacchan’s never said, but he must like this too because he’s never taken his head off and he would if it annoyed him.

Missed you, Deku signs, right over his heart, Missed you, love you/trust you, yours, your Deku, missed you, yours, All yours. 

Kacchan leers at him and leans in to bite him right over the scar on his nose that is his favourite place to set his teeth.

Deku growls playfully and pulls away to pretend to try and bite him back.

“You’re in a fuckin’ mood,” he says, dodging his silly air chomps, “What the hell’s gotten into you, huh? You want me to take you home?”

Always. He smiles, feeling the warmth pool in his chest at the happy thought of home.

Their home.

His and Kacchan’s together.

Always want [to] go home [with] Kacchan.

He curls himself over his partner and pets at his hair, purrs from the bottom of his heart to show him how much it means to him that they can be close like this. 

Kacchan holds him tight enough to bruise, and he feels him take a deep, satisfied breath of their mingled scents.

Deku loves him. He loves and loves and loves him and he tells him so with every sweet and happy nuzzle he snuffles into his hair.

“Fucking sap,” Kacchan complains. Deku feels him press a soft, sweet bite to his chest. “You’re such a fucking mess. Let go of me already, damn.”

Deku doesn’t want to, but he knows that he should, they can’t spend all day wrapped up in each other, even though that would be nice.

He wants to lay in his arms and be safe and warm and happy and free forever.

He nuzzles him tenderly and purrs harder.

“What is with you today?” 

Deku shrugs.

He doesn’t know, really.

Sometimes their life just doesn’t real to him. 

He doesn’t know how it can be so perfect and beautiful and theirs.

Deku is happy, he signs, humming. Kacchan makes Deku so happy. It’s good here. Love you/trust you.

Kacchan starts to purr. He gets loud for a minute and coughs to clear his throat.

“Okay weirdo,” he snorts, “I get it already, you’re a cheap date. Let me up.”

Deku leans back on his hands so Kacchan can escape his clutches and closes his eyes to the last, gentle press of his lips to his temple.

Kacchan never bites when he’s happy.

Too bad that’s never enough to distract him.

“You ready to get your hair chopped off?” He asks, petting at his cheek.

No. Deku leaps up with a grin and darts towards the back door, Race you!/Chase me!

“God damn it Deku! No! C’mere!”

-

Kacchan catches him of course. 

It’s hard to lose him when he’s mad like that, especially in a dead race.

Deku lets him snatch him up and yell and shake him for a while and doesn’t complain when he carries him back to their shop slung over his shoulder like a piece of meat.

A few of their neighbors spot them on the roofs and laugh. They point up to wave and Deku waves cheerfully back.

It’s nothing no one out here hasn’t seen before.

Kacchan makes him close the shop for the day and takes him and the sack back out towards the Stacks.

He’s being very cautious. Deku hasn’t had an…he’s been alright for a while now, but he wants to limit his potential for damage as much as possible it seems.

He’s scouted out a place to cut his hair that’s up on a tilted old high-rise that overlooks the sea.

No wonder he took so long Deku thinks as he inspects the place.

It’s perfect.

Out in the open, bright and airy and empty.

The complete opposite of anywhere they used to do this.

Deku feels very grateful and very seen.

“You good?” Kacchan asks once he’s finished looking around.

Deku nods.

He can do this.

He waits while Kacchan finishes setting up. He kicks out a chair for him to sit and rummages around in the sack for the shears.

He’s brought Deku’s radio up from their house too and shoves it into his shaking hands to fiddle with as soon as he manages to sit down.

He moves the chair so it’s facing out towards the sea and it’s open, glittering horizons.

All of what had once been Mustafar stretches out before him like the old bones of some long-dead beast.

There at its center is its blown-out heart, the massive crater that had killed it and started by all accounts, the great decline-

It’s a nuclear wasteland not even he and his partner can stomach and everyone but the sturdiest beasts give it a wide berth.

The current city’s borders skirt the disaster; it reaches out into a portion of the bay and no further, that tiny piece of the greater whole: all its heroes, their government’s armies, and its people can hold with their resources.

The rest belongs to whoever is strong enough to keep it.

Villians, gangs, criminals, and people like him and Kacchan, who can live anywhere.

As long as they’re free.

Deku takes a deep breath.

This is fine; he’s alright, he’s with Kacchan, they’re both free and nothing…

This isn’t going to hurt. 

He’s going to be fine.

He feels Kacchan’s rough hand suddenly at the back of his neck like he’s going to snap a lead onto his collar.

He yelps and cringes away from his touch, shaking.

Kacchan doesn’t say anything. 

He just waits patiently for him to- to stop being so stupid and weak and useless and- 

“-Don’t.” He hears Kacchan snap, “Don’t get in your head like that.” He tries again and pets at the wobbly line of little scars under his collar at the base of his neck where he’d removed his tracker once, “You’re fine, nerd. You’re okay.”

He is fine.

They’re both okay.

He takes a deep breath and turns on his radio.

The static-y buzz of noise is soothing, and he turns the dial to try and find a news station.

Kacchan pets into his hair and he leans back against his belly and breathes.

He hears the soft snick, snick of the shears and focuses on the news broadcast from inside the city.

There’s traffic by the second gate and a new deal for refugees is being put towards the council.

Kacchan clicks on some clippers.

The sound fills him with instant panic; he turns his radio up higher to drown it out.

Pro-hero Siren’s saved a bunch of lives out in the Bay Area and they’re celebrating the capture of some water villain with yakuza ties she’s finally managed to bring down.

Her vigilante partner High Tide’s getting officially licensed too.

He hums in pleasure at that and kicks his feet.

Kacchan curses and tells him to sit still.

He keeps cutting.

Deku turns the radio up again.

Pro hero Uravity is being transferred back into the city to help negotiate for some new quirk program they’re implementing.

He doesn’t know that name, he’s going to have to look them up. 

Kacchan’s using a comb now to carefully part the hair around the huge scar that runs along most his head.

It’s really sensitive and he doesn’t want to pull on it by accident.

Deku nips affectionately at his wrist as he tilts his head back and spins the dial to look for another broadcast.

There’s been a league sighting near the Stacks and citizens are advised to steer clear of the area and exercise extreme caution if leaving the city walls.

That one genuinely surprises him and he starts to tell Kacchan, but he just hisses for him to stop moving so damn much.

“You’re gonna look fucking lopsided.” Kacchan complains, “Lemme work here, damnit.”

He grumbles and keeps listening.

The league villain Toga’s signature knife pattern has been seen at a number of crime scenes and police have determined she’s back in the neighborhood.

Her current preferred targets are young people in their mid-to-late twenties, but anyone who is seen acting strangely should be reported to the local hero hotline.

Another League Villain known as Dabi, aka Todoroki Touya’s handiwork has caused the destruction of a war-band thought to have been encroaching on League territory near the Riverside slums.

The public is to avoid contact with him at all costs as he is erratic and highly dangerous.

There’s a reward for their capture.

They’re some of Shigaraki’s lieutenants apparently.

That’s interesting…

Deku’s heard of Mustafar’s infamous Warlord; his following is huge, especially out here past the gates, but he and Kacchan don’t have much to do with that.

They’re retired now.

Warlords and villains, Heroes and vigilantes-

That world’s all behind them now.

“There.” Kacchan declares, tugging affectionately at the loop in his collar. “You’re all done, nerd.”

Deku leans forward and shakes his hair feeling how much lighter it is and grinning at how it no longer falls into his eyes.

He spins happily to beam at Kacchan who looks smug and pleased.

“Told ya you could do it,” he says proudly, “Let’s get out of here. I need a damn shower and I made lunch, it’s back home.”

Deku looks at him fondly. 

[It’s] katsudon? He guesses.

“Hell yeah it is,” Kacchan grins, “We’re celebrating. Let’s go.”

Deku nods and stands. 

He looks out towards the Stacks for a moment and debates trying to tell Kacchan about the villains again but ultimately decides against it.

It’s got nothing to do with them, really.

—-

It’s a few hours later when Deku suddenly remembers about the magazine.

They’re home again by then and Kacchan is complaining about the mess in their living room.

He slides the screens separating the space from their engawa open to shout abuse at him where he’s practicing with his new knife in their yard and stomps around tidying up.

The magazine flops out onto the table on top of his toolbox and Kacchan’s half-finished gauntlets when he picks up his bag to shake out its contents and Deku turns with a start.

Oh yeah!

Kacchan look! Look-at-this! He shows him, clambering through the space while Kacchan screeches about his filthy feet on the tatami. Deku got this today! Cool right?

“Don’t try to distract me from all the shit you have everywhere, nerd. You need to clean-”

He waves his partner off impatiently and brandishes the magazine at him again.

Deku [will] clean mess, he promises, Look though? Look-at-this! 

Kacchan snatches the thing out of his hands and holds it at arm’s length to peer at the writing.

“It’s a magazine,” he grunts, throwing it over his shoulder into the bin, “So what?”

Deku scrabbles over and takes it out of the trash.

Mine! he growls, showing Kacchan his teeth.

Yours, Kacchan signs, rolling his eyes, All yours, “I thought it was trash, calm down, put your fucking teeth away.” 

Deku sniffs and holds the magazine to his chest.

Extras brought it to the store, he explains, Meat Boy {Ran} says they’re money.

“Yeah, probably,” Kacchan agrees absently, “Those slum-fucks love city shit.”

He sits down at their table and starts to pack up Deku’s tools grumbling about the mess and Deku slides sweetly under his arm and bats his eyes at him.

Deku really likes them, he tries. 

“Oh yeah?” Kacchan snorts, “You need more tips on how to style the hair you don’t brush and pick out some clothes you won’t wear?”

Mean, Deku sticks out his tongue 

Kacchan gives him a flat look.

“Don’t bullshit me, Deku. Just tell me what you want.”

 Deku bites his lip and decides to tell Kacchan his plan.

Deku wants to sell them at the store. He admits. Meat boy says there’s a place in the city to go? Deku can-

“No.” Kacchan denies flatly.

Kacchan! 

“No. No fucking way, drop it right now. You are not going into the city.” He growls. “I’m assuming you want to go by yourself?”

…place is best to go in the morning, he hedges, Kacchan needs sleep from work.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What the hell ‘place’ is this?” He snarls.

Deku bites his lip.

“Deku.”

…L-O-R-I-E-N. 

THAT little nugget leads to a screaming fit that scares the cat, breaks their third table, and results in them having to angrily curl up to sleep  that night without talking.

(Well, that last part is mostly him.)

Deku won’t give up and tries to stay as mad as he can about it which infuriates Kacchan.

He refuses to share the best blanket out of spite and drags him over moodily when he turns out the light.

Deku refuses to help and makes himself dead weight so Kacchan can’t arrange them how he likes.

“Deku,” he sighs, “You’re pissing me off.” He takes his hand and nips at his fingertips. (A cheap trick because he knows Deku loves that.) “You been mad for hours, s’time for bed, loser.”

Deku huffs when Kacchan tries to sweeten his temper by putting his captured hand to his throat to let him play with his collar.

He won’t be bribed, damnit. 

(Okay, he’s going to fiddle with the loop some, but that’s it.)

He’s still mad.

Kacchan puts his hands over his face and groans.

Deku feels a tiny bit guilty. He knows it makes him crazy when they go to bed mad. 

“For fuck’s sake, nerd,” he grumbles, “I said ‘no’ now drop it. Let’s just go to sleep, you can find something else to be dumb about in the morning.”

He pulls him into his arms and pets him, trying to soothe him down.

Deku won’t purr for him no matter how nice his hands feel in his newly shorn hair and lays over his chest so he can feel him sighing sadly every few moments.

This isn’t over, he swears.

He wants those magazines. 

—

In the morning, he decides to try for a different tactic.

As soon as the sun pokes through the cracks in their windows Deku wakes and makes sure he stretches, long and luxurious against Kacchan’s body.

He sneaks off to the bathroom for a quick early morning bath and takes care to put on one of Kacchan’s clean shirts as he goes down to the kitchen to hunt around for something to eat.

When he comes back to bed with a tray of bread and butter and two steaming cups of tea Kacchan lifts a sleepy head out of their piles of blankets and pillows and gives him a bleary, questioning look.

Deku smiles and sets the tray by his head before sliding back into their bunk.

He reaches for a slice of bread and takes a bite before offering it to him.

Kacchan’s furrows his brows but drowsily takes a bite.

He feeds him the rest between sips of tea alternating on bites for himself.

He takes care to seem easy and unhurried.

Kacchan starts to purr and Deku smiles at the sound.

(Yes, good.

His plan is working.)

It’s warm, they’re safe and well fed, they have nowhere to be, and Deku is here being cuddly and smelling clean and like Kacchan.

It’s the perfect trap.

Kacchan is completely lulled by the lazy morning he’s creating and sighs, pulling him closer.

He tolerates it for the sake of his plan.

He doesn’t really like to lay around in bed, but he makes sure to stay soft and sweet while Kacchan’s half awake and in a good mood.

“I know what you’re doing,” his partner yawns, playing with the hoops in his ears. “You’re trying to butter me up about those damn bins, aren’t you?”

Deku grins and presses his lips against his chest without biting.

Deku is seducing you. He admits. Tell Deku it is working and [he can] go to the city.

Kacchan gives a sleepy chuckle.

“Get fucked,” he replies, “I said no.

Deku bites his shoulder in retribution and Kacchan hisses, but in the end he’s too lazy and content to swat him off.

“Ouch. Fucker,” he says in a tired deadpan, “Why do you wanna go so bad?”

Deku licks blood off his teeth and considers the question.

Kacchan is always taking care of us. He signs. Does jobs, makes money. Does house stuff.

“Damn right I do,” he yawns, “I said I’d look after you.”

Spoils Deku, Deku agrees and kisses his bleeding shoulder devoutly, My Kacchan. Perfect. Deku is happy. Deku is yours. 

Kacchan purrs like a freight train and lets Deku press his fingertips against his lips.

He looks like he would swallow him whole if he could.

 Deku wishes it were possible.

Love you/trust you. Will-do-as-you-ask (willingly) Yours. All yours. Always. He vows, feeling tears prick his eyes.

He loves and loves and loves him.

Kacchan chafes his shoulder.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “S’too fucking early for this. Gimme a break.”

Deku wants to do for Kacchan. He says. Kacchan always does for Deku. Partners. Deku-and-Kacchan-together. 

“You don’t think you’re pulling your weight?” Kacchan frowns. “THAT’S what this is about?”

Yes/yeah/sure/whatever.  

“Tough shit loser, I don’t give a fuck.”

Mean, Deku sticks his tongue out. Be serious.

“I’m serious as a Vat Tech. Who do you think you’re fucking talking to?” He counters, scowling. “I got this. I don’t want you to go to the city. You to just keep playing with your fucking junk and let me worry about the rest, okay?”

Kacchan... 

“Izuku.”

Deku freezes and pulls away from Kacchan’s body to peer into his suddenly serious, sleepy face.

“Don’t you ever think you ain’t doing enough for me,” he says, reaching out a hand to cup his face. “I’ll damn well tell you if I ever want more, copy?”

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip and Deku shivers. 

“I promised to take care of us,” he murmurs, “Didn’t I, nerd? I fucking meant it. We’re fine. Just stay fucking happy and I’ll do the rest.”

He wants to eat him raw sometimes, wants to tear into his body and taste blood, claw into his heart and feel it between his fingers, but he doesn’t.

Kacchan is trusting him not to bite, and he can be good.

Sometimes.

He pulls away and Deku snatches at him to keep him close.

He leans in to press their foreheads together.

There’s so much he would say to him if he could…

“Yeah yeah, alright, get off me already,” he sighs, “Are we done talking about this? Can we go back to sleep now?”

Deku giggles and rubs their faces together obnoxiously.

No. He pokes him in the cheek. Kacchan feels like [it’s] enough? Good. Deku doesn’t. Deku wants [this]. Let Deku get [the] magazines.

Kacchan groans and curls up to curse into his hands.

“It’s like a nightmare,” he laments, “You never give up, fuck.”

Deku cackles.

There might be magazines [for you], he tries. 

He props up onto his elbows so he can peer into Kacchan’s grumpy face.

“I don’t want any more damn stuff, Deku,” Kacchan grumbles, turning away from his pleas. “Go the fuck back to sleep.”

Kacchan, he whines.

No. Sleep. Now, nerd.

What about if Deku finds a magazine about video games? he wheedles, Or cars?- Munitions?- Martial Arts!

Kacchan has had enough and tries to grapple him back into position so he can force them both back to sleep, but Deku wriggles free of his grasping arms and rolls them over so he can sit over his hips and stare into his rumpled, sleepy expression.

“Deku,” he warns him tiredly, “Get off.”

Deku whines and leans down to nuzzle at his neck.

His collar is in the way, and he grabs it between his teeth and pulls, growling playfully. 

Kacchan gives a soft huff of laughter and tilts his head back, so he has room to worry at it and tug.

“You’re such a freak,” he states, bringing a hand up to pet at his head. “Quit playing around already; either get up or c’mere.”

He strokes one of his hands down his side in a way that feels nice and makes his first truly compelling argument for Deku to come crawling back into bed with him, but he resists.

Comics? He proposes and Kacchan’s fingers twitch against his hip.

He grins.

Got him.

[There] must be soooo many comics [in the] city, he muses. Ones Kacchan’s not read…Deku could bring [him] some.

He flops down over him like a big blanket and spits out his collar so he can nip at his jaw instead. 

Deku bets Kacchan [wants to] know how some of them end…[he] could find out. He coaxes, nuzzling sweet little love bites down his neck.

Kacchan looks thoughtful for a moment.

Deku takes full advantage and lays his head sweetly on his shoulder.

He’s still restless so he brings his hand up to fidget with the new copper gauge in his ear, but Kacchan doesn’t seem to mind.

He looks tired. 

Not just because Deku’s not letting him sleep.

He works so hard for them…

He decides to abandon all attempts at coercion and goes for the nuclear option.

Please? He begs. Deku [will be] so careful. Deku [will be] good. Deku really wants to go, really wants to do this for us, please Kacchan? For Deku?

Kacchan sighs loudly.

“A million fucking things you could beg me for in the city and you want to go root through the fucking trash,” he complains bitterly.

Please?

His partner reaches to play with his buckle on his collar for a minute as he considers. 

Deku stays perfectly still so as to not annoy him at all and influence his decision.

Deku really wants this? He signs against the back of his neck. [You] want to beg your Kacchan for this?

Kacchan, please. For Deku, please.

“Fine,” he finally grunts aloud, “Go then, be careful, and you better be back by lunch or I’ll kill you.”

Deku squeals in delight and hugs him furiously despite his snarling protests.

He vows to be very careful and bring back as many comics as he can find.

“Just go, loser,” Kacchan yawns, turning his back to him and reaching for the best blanket. “Get out of my face and let me sleep.”

He looks so tempting there, so sleepy and warm and comfy that Deku almost wavers for real.

It’d be nice to stay in his arms all morning…they could make breakfast later and Kacchan could help him fix their gear…

But no. He’s made his mind up.

He will back by lunch with stuff to sell and treats!  

He leans down and nuzzles the bright spiky mess of his hair one last time and goes to the window.

He’s so excited!!

This is going to be soooo good!

He just knows it.