Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was in these days that everything seemed to remain comfortably the same. There was less distress when they were together and when they were apart they both alternated between deep moods of discontent and focus. They had worked out a plan, and for now the plan only required of them those two things.

For Izuku, he could see the difference most clearly in his kitchen and his bedroom. When he rolled out of bed the morning light was a crisp white and the walls opposite the windows were luminescent and those adjacent to it were a golden honey. It was with those things in his sight that he greeted the day, along with a Good morning, Mikumo and a new sense that there were important things to be done.

It had never been his mother’s habit to make him breakfast so he’d rarely eaten it. But now, upon Mikumo’s gentle insistence, he often cooked up something quick to eat. The kitchen sounds - pots clanking, silverware drawer jingling, stove beeps - were less jarring with each day he continued to solidify the habit. It got so that his mother arose to the sounds of breakfast being made and took her daily shower accordingly. If it was her day off from work she often crawled back in bed afterwards. Izuku liked the routine he was creating. It made him feel closer to her. Although, when her door opened his fear of being chided for waking her never lessened. Mikumo adopted Izuku’s wariness - which they both dubbed care - and didn’t mind how Izuku moved deliberately slow when picking up and placing things in the kitchen.

And when the outside light dimmed in the evenings Izuku often left the living room light on. He liked to see the yellow glow wafting in from under his bedroom door.

For Mikumo, things were in peril. The plan they had cooked up was not sufficient, it seemed. But neither was any other. Izuku had spent more time toiling over it than even he had, which was a comfort. But once the decision was made Izuku was able to make his peace with it - or at least push aside uneasy thoughts - whereas Mikumo could not. He had accepted it just as easily but couldn’t stop jabbering to himself about his concerns. He knew something bad was coming. It was in the plan for something to go wrong. He just wished it would come and be over with already.

But that was many months off.

They were going to get into UA. Once there, they would be found out. It was a matter of when, not if. But they had one trump card, one modicum of control over the situation. And it was that the HPSC knew Mikumo could run away. He could run away so fast and be so well hidden that if he chose to do it, the HPSC may never find him again. There was no way they were not acutely aware of this fact.

So when they found Izuku out, they would be disinclined to make their knowledge known to him, i.e., he’d be watched, but undisturbed.

Obviously, that limbo would not be able to go on forever - certainly not long enough for Izuku to graduate with his hero license and leave. Nor did either of them want it to. The situation would culminate into a cusp of sorts. Their goal was to be ready for this cusp. To have accrued enough resources (a nebulous concept as of now - though getting people on their side was what they hoped for) to be able to meet a threat with a threat…in the best case scenario this looked like strong-arming the HPSC.

The way Izuku saw it, the HPSC’s publicity was everything to them. The only reason an escaped Mikumo was such a threat to them was because they feared the story getting out. Mikumo’s case was that of a human rights violation - not to mention all the compounding problems his existence implied. There was no way the HPSC could take that hit and roll with it.

Izuku, Mikumo, and those (nebulous) resources would be the sole arbiter of deciding when and how the story got out. Hence…their tool for strong-arming.

There was one major flaw in all of this. It poked a gaping void in the plan and even now they’d yet to plug it up.

Asassination.

“I don’t doubt that there’s a million ways they could kill me before you or I realized it and got you out in time. But unless they know something we don’t…there’s no guarantee that if I die with you in my body, you die with me. My bet’s that they won’t take that risk.” Izuku said, eyes squinting in stern focus.

“I don’t like that,” Mikumo said, knowing it was useless. These were the cards they’d been dealt, and it would be foolish not to examine them all before playing their hand.

“I doubt it will pan out like that anyway.” Izuku said doggedly.

As much as Mikumo stressed and ruminated, he had to admit that this was happening because at the core of it all, he was desperate to know if the HPSC was still holding onto others like him.

He and Izuku could easily choose to not go to UA and remain hidden and safe for the rest of their lives. All they had to do was keep up the facade that Izuku was quirkless. They’d be fine. Undetectable.

But Mikumo could not rest for that.

Something in him constantly churned. He struggled with a pain that washed over him and pulled away as inevitably as ocean waves. And where the idea of other sentient quirks like him were concerned he was unable to stave off the impulses. Impulses of rage and panic that left him feeling miserable and groundless. It brought him back to his first day and chained him there until Izuku reminded him that they were going to do something to fix it all. And that helped settle him. Like a cooling salve.

He was often in awe of Izuku. Mikumo regularly asked him why he wanted to do all of this and Izuku doggedly replied (that word gave a pure resonance with the concept of Izuku) that he could not imagine doing anything else.

Mikumo did not know exactly what the well Izuku drew up his motivation and vigor from contained, but this did not bother him. Izuku was less and less of a stranger every day.

“You know, I’m the only person you’ve ever talked to,” Izuku exclaimed. He’d just broken the hour-long silence between them.

Mikumo nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Izuku fidgeted but his emerald eyes remained steady. “If you could talk to anyone, who would you talk to?”

“Bakugou,” he said, just to give Izuku an answer. He was only mildly concerned with the question. But if he was honest, he’d say Izuku’s mom. Izuku’s careful treatment of her had made the woman grow to a powerful yet mysterious stature in Mikumo’s mind. He’d like to talk to her, if only to get to know her better.

“Oh.” He recoiled at the answer - a near imperceptible reaction. “What would you say to him?”

“I don’t know. I imagine he’d drive the conversation.”

Izuku was mildly disgusted at the thought. “Yeah.”

“How is studying going?” Mikumo asked. Izuku had doubled down on his study efforts after firmly resolving to go to UA. It wasn’t that he’d been doing badly before, but he’d insisted there was room for improvement. As it was, it seemed he was going for perfection.

“Good. The four hours are almost up. We have one and half left to go. How is that going?” He nodded towards the phone in Mikumo’s gloved hands.

Mikumo looked down at it. He wore the gloves because the phone couldn’t sense his own fingers. The gloves were the special kind that allowed for touchscreen use. “There’s only so much I can learn,” he explained. “The HPSC has a rich history, but they share very little of it. Really, all I can get from their website is the information I knew before. And outside sources are invariably ‘opinion’ articles.”

Izuku merely nodded to show he heard. They’d dished all this out before. “Nothing new today?”

Mikumo leaned back on the floor. “Nothing new.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Work on reading. Or my shadows.”

“That sounds good,” Izuku said vaguely, turning back to his computer. Mikumo watched him. Izuku always knew what they should be doing. He hated to be idle, but didn’t resist resting when it was due. Mikumo figured it was a good match for his own internal tumult. It was odd, but above all the good things about Izuku, Mikumo was most proud of their dynamic together. And he had a strong feeling that was just what having a friend was like.

Mikumo turned back to the phone. In a few hours they would do their exercise routine. Then, when Izuku’s mom got home, they’d spend the evening quietly watching movies. Or drawing.

This was the schedule they had worked out. They got the most out of it on the weekends, but they were determined to squeeze it into schooldays too. It had been about four weeks since they’d begun it, and it would stretch out all the way until Izuku was done with his third year of middle school. Until he was ready for UA.

And it was all comfortably the same.

The phone buzzed. A breaking news alert poked out from the top of the screen. Mikumo felt lucky as soon as he got through his struggle to read it.

“BREAKING NEWS: HPSC HIRES CRIMINALS TO DO HERO WORK IN EX…”

He tapped violently on the notification, which led him to a monetized video. While the ad played, he read the rest of the caption.

“...IN EXCHANGE FOR REDUCED SENTENCES”

“Izuku!” He shouted.

“What?” Izuku whirled around, immediately matching Mikumo’s alarm.

Mikumo waved him over. “Come look at this! I got something. It’s new - just happened.”

Izuku laid down beside him, pressing his shoulder against Mikumo’s own to get a better look. “Oh shit,” he breathed. “Quick, skip that ad. It’s been four seconds.” But he’d already done it himself.

A lady news anchor was speaking.

“It was previously believed that those who fought against the villainous gang several nights ago were heroes. That was the information the Hero Public Safety Commission presented. But now, a civilian eyewitness who was on the scene during the event claims that the three ‘heroes’ do not match the identities of any known pro hero. Our investigative branch worked tirelessly with this witness and has now conclusively identified who these three men truly are.”

Six images now overlaid the news anchor’s face. The top three were photos of detailed sketches that had been done. Below each was a corresponding image of the man drawn above. Every single one was a mugshot.

“Not only that, but we’ve received an anonymous tip that this standoff was arranged by the HPSC, who offered the three inmates a plea deal that would shave an unknown amount of time off their prison sentences in return for their service.” Her face pinched in faux-concern as she gave a small disappointed shake of her head. “As for why the Hero Public Safety Commission chose to send prisoners into this battle instead of heroes, our leak says it has to do with the gang being suspected of having a new lethal weapon in their possession. At this time, no further information has been released in regards to the nature of this weapon, and the health and status of the prisoners is unknown. Stay tuned to this channel for further updates.”

The clip ended there. Mikumo’s thoughts swam blankly in his head. What he’d just heard carried too many implications for him to cogitate on just one. He turned to Izuku instead.

Izuku had fixed the screen with a stern stare. His lips moved, uttering soundless mutters. He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and pointer finger as he worked it all out. Just as he seemed to reach the end of his line of thought, Mikumo made one connection. Tentatively, he voiced it.

“Did our job just get easier?”

“What? Making their public image go down?” Izuku asked breathlessly. “Yes. This is evidence of them lying. Lying to cover up something groundbreaking, just like with you. But to use prisoners…”

Mikumo was more concerned with their situation. He couldn’t cast his net of empathy out that far. Not easily. “How does this change things for us?”

Izuku flopped down on his back and folded his hands beneath his head. “We get the advantage of…of…” He pursed his lips together and looked at Mikumo. “I’m trying to figure out which way this will bend them. If it’s a higher defense or offense. Do you know what I mean?”

“No. You’re skip-thinking.”

“Oh.” Izuku closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright. I think I’ve got it all in order. Now, listen, the perspective I’m thinking from is the HPSC when they not only know about us, but know we know that they know about us.”

“Alright Izuku, just call it the cusp like we did earlier. This is when we start bargaining…” he trailed off to let Izuku pick it back up.

“And threatening, yes. So, in light of this development, the HPSC will either be even more on guard about what’s remaining of their public image, in which case we’re more likely to get what we want. Or this spurs them to be on the offensive.” He wet his lips thoughtfully. “Which is not good.”

“How can we know which one it’ll be?”

“We can’t.” He sat up. “Don’t worry. These were the same stakes as before, and it’s just as unknown as it always was.”

“So we shouldn’t bother dwelling on it?” Mikumo asked. There was a certain lilt to his own voice that wasn’t normal. He couldn’t identify it. Izuku peered into his eyes, gaze sharp and gentle all at the same time, looking for the meaning too. Mikumo couldn’t tell if he found it.

“No. I’m more focused on the nature of what the HPSC did. I wonder what crimes those three men committed.”

“I bet they were chosen based on their quirks. Past crimes were likely negligible.”

“You really don’t have any faith in the HPSC, do you?”

“No,” he replied. But he was unsure. The question confused him. “Do you?”

Izuku pinched his lip. “I never thought badly of them until I met you. They’ve always been in the background of heroics. I used to associate them with paperwork and bureaucracy. The stunt they pulled - the two stunts,” he corrected, nodding towards Mikumo. “Are abnormal for them. I’ve never heard of anything like it before.”

“Now everyone is going to think differently of them.”

Izuku smiled thinly. “It might be worth reading the opinion articles now.”

Warm gusts of wind pushed and prodded at Izuku as he stepped off the road and onto the meandering dirt path. The ground was comfortable under the soles of his sneakers, and though the sky was gray it served as a comfort to him; at least it was warm.

The path cut through a thick mountain forest. It was a good, dew-ridden morning. The gentle cooing of birds rang out overhead and the deep green of wet leaves was welcoming. He made his way down the shallow decline then veered off to the left. If he kept to the trail, it would lead him all the way to the top of the mountain. But he didn’t plan to. His destination was a mere mile out, and unless he spotted someone else, he’d be there for half an hour before coming back this way.

Little was said between him and Mikumo, and there didn’t need to be. It was like this more and more often now. Conversation could easily lull while Izuku went through the motions of his life. Mikumo was not so much a strange presence or a looming pressure any longer. He was a mere facet of Izuku’s brain.

But this silence was different. It wasn’t exactly tense, but it was something similar. It was hard. Roughened. Neither of them were happy, and they both knew it.

Izuku’s foot fell through a deceptively deep mud puddle. It squelched grotesquely as his leg was enveloped all the way up to the calf. He yanked his foot out and kicked lazily, sending gray water droplets flying.

It just adds to it, he told Mikumo.

He made quick progress. The mud had hardly finished caking to his leg when he reached the drop. It was a slimy precipice, and sheer. It was meant to be used as an overlook, a place for hikers to take a break and enjoy the view. The rest of the path was steep inclines, which meant the water that didn’t go barreling off the side in makeshift waterfalls would accumulate here. And it had. Most of what surrounded Izuku was a solid pool of water, but right at the edge - and this was perfect - it thickened into a watery mud. He stabbed a stick into it to measure. When he shucked it out, the stick read a solid foot of mud.

He touched his chest. What first?

“Let’s set it up - the tracks in the mud. I’ll get out.”

In the next moment Mikumo stood beside Izuku. He looked down at his feet. “Are the shoes a good match?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Let me see the soles.” He crouched down, lifting Mikumo’s foot so he could see. He touched the bottom of it, fingers searching for the same striped grain his own shoes had. It was there. “You got it right. Though I don’t think it will show anyways. This mud doesn’t look like it will take much of an imprint. It’s too slick.”

“But it will take the tracks, right?” Mikumo asked, already walking up to the edge.

“It might smooth out sooner than we thought,” Izuku said faintly. The reality of what he was about to see was dizzying. Mikumo’s dark figure looked so small. And he was about to drop…

“Nobody’s going to check anyway,” he assured Izuku. “This is just in case someone does. For whatever reason.” He turned back to the cliff. “I’ll go now.”

Izuku was tense with restraint. His jaw began to buzz from being held shut so tightly, but he refused to speak, to reach out, to stop him. No matter if this felt wrong, the fact remained that Mikumo couldn’t feel any pain. And they had to do this part - just in case.

All Mikumo had to do was stand on the edge. The mud and gravity took care of the rest. It was almost like he was yanked down, he fell so suddenly. The harsh snaps and rustling of young saplings as Mikumo hit them seemed so loud and enormous that it filled all the world's noise - like everything else had to be silenced for this. Izuku peered over the edge just once. All he saw was the twisting rush of a ragdolling body - Mikumo’s body, his own body - and he could take no more. He backed away until a dark, gaseous substance wound back up the ledge and greeted his palm.

“Why are you scared?”

“Uncanny valley,” he explained, voice wavering. He removed his hand from where it clutched half his face - he’d tried to cover his eyes.

“Look at the track,” Mikumo gently implored.

“Were you scared?”

“No. It was just hard to keep the form. I managed it, though. I didn’t come undone except for a little, maybe.”

Izuku wondered if the pride in his voice was a forced lilt of positivity for his sake. He looked at the pathway. The tracks were good. It looked just like someone had slipped and fell. He stepped forward to examine the rest.

The path Mikumo took was obvious. Crushed shrubs and disturbed leaves traced his graceless fall all the way to the end. The blaring white gashes of wounded saplings glared accusingly up at them. “It’s good. All good,” he heard himself say. “Let’s move onto the next part.”

“No.”

Izuku felt the stony weight of an unknown emotion plunder down his chest. “No? What do you mean?” Then, to be more personal, Why not?

“You’re scared. I can feel our heartbeat, but in a painful way. It’s not good.”

Mikumo! What are we meant to do then? We’re here, and you’ve already done the first part.

“I just meant that we should take a break. Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” Izuku sighed. He could concede to that. He traveled a few paces back up the trail and sat on a fallen tree. It had rotted from one too many downpours and the soft wood allowed moisture to seep into his pants. He didn’t get up, though. This was the driest place to be.

Silence ticked on. Izuku knew it would be more helpful if Mikumo spoke to him rather than remaining quiet, but he didn’t ask for conversation. He allowed the slow wash of time to rid him of the burning swath of panic in his chest instead. It wasn’t bad at all, but he supposed Mikumo was more sensitive to these things.

“I’ll…what do you want me to do first?”

Break my wrist last. That’s the only thing I’m sure of.

“Okay,” Mikumo said, appearing before him. He looked down at Izuku. “Scratches on your arms and legs. A…gash, maybe.” He seemed to be looking for approval.

“Yes. It’s fine, Mikumo. We talked about all of this before. It’s two gashes.”

“...Okay.”

He backed up a few steps, posturing appraisal. But Izuku knew it was just hesitation, the same kind he’d felt earlier. Now the tables were turned. But it wasn’t nearly that fair, was it? Mikumo’s job was a lot harder than Izuku’s.

Guilt pinched at him. There was no good way to approach this. Open shame would just increase Mikumo’s hesitation, and a bold facade was guileless. He’d come off as smug.

So he just stared earnestly, like he always did.

“It’s got to look traumatic,” Mikumo mused faintly.

Izuku nodded. “Traumatic enough to induce a quirk.”

Mikumo folded his hands together and studied them. “I’ll use my thumb,” he said shyly.

“That’s fine.” He stood. “Just do my arms first.” He offered his left.

Mikumo grabbed it, fingers and (supposedly) eyes tracing the wounds that would soon mar the skin. He came around to Izuku’s left, hand holding Izuku’s arm taught by the wrist. His right hovered over it, and one quick second later a sharp point flashed out from his thumb. He pressed the seared point against Izuku’s skin.

“Just do it really quick,” Izuku advised, looking away. “It’ll make it look more real.”

Pain was his only reply. It was quick and he felt it with a maddening sensitivity, but only because he expected it. He looked over at it just as blood began to ooze from the parted skin. The wound was thin, not very deep, but long. This was a scratch, not the gash. There would have to be several more like it.

Mikumo yelped and slapped his abrasive hand against it. Thin blood droplets splattered onto Izuku’s t-shirt.

“What?” Izuku asked, fighting the urge to wrench his arm away. Mikumo’s grip was a vice, but not an unkind one.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t like that.”

“The blood?”

“I haven’t seen us bleed before.”

Izuku merely blinked at the plural pronoun. He had questions about it, just as he always did when Mikumo spoke like that, but perhaps they were the kind that didn’t need to be voiced. Perhaps he didn’t mind it.

“It’s okay.” He lifted Mikumo’s solid-as-stone hand away from his arm, revealing matted blood to the daylight. Beady scabs had already begun to form. “It doesn’t hurt badly. Do you want to feel it?”

“Yes,” Mikumo nodded, surprisingly willing. He disappeared into Izuku’s arm in the next moment.

“How is it? That pulsebeat you can feel in it will fade after a while.”

“It stings. But I can tell it will heal with time. Sorry. I guess I only needed to know it for myself. I can continue now.”

“They will all heal with time. Even the ones that hurt worse.”

Mikumo formed next to him. “I’ll do…a smaller one next. Right next to it,” he offered.

They continued like that for some time.

As Mikumo worked through all the scratches, they were no longer silent. Chatter filled the air. They talked on many topics, most irrelevant. It seemed their drive was to find out more about each other. One of them would introduce something and ask the other’s opinion on it. It was in this way that they turned the butcher’s work Mikumo was making of Izuku’s skin into a kind of relaxed, monotonous work. They might as well have been two buddies chopping wood for fire-fuel. Except it was a bit more than that. Izuku could feel it.

The gashes took some maneuvering and great care on both their parts to get it done safely. The result was an undeniably nonlethal yet grotesque wound that showed the tense meat of Izuku’s muscle. A chunk of his skin had been flayed off. While he’d been able to stifle his shrieks as sharp exhales before, he could not manage the same this time. He jerked his arm from Mikumo’s grip and held it close to his chest, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Mikumo was back with him with no warning and no invitation.

“Is this one going to be okay?” He asked, panicked.

“Yes,” Izuku bit out. Sweat popped out on his neck. “Just do one on my leg. Below the knee - but smaller. Much smaller.”

It seemed a minute went by without a reply. And he didn’t get one. Mikumo left, scrambled down to his knees, and got the job done quickly. He peered up into Izuku’s face.

“Sorry, I had to do it before I lost my nerve.”

“It’s okay.” His lips peeled back from his teeth as he breathed heavily, hand clasped around his knee. His nails dug into the flesh, trying to outdo the cataclysmic starbursts of heat and pain his heartbeat pounded into the wounds. It was useless. He gathered his bearings, mentally scolding himself. The only reason this hurt so badly was because he knew it was coming. There was no adrenaline rush to sweep away the effects. It had all been premeditated - he’d done it to himself.

He’d done it to himself.

He looked at Mikumo. “Guess that’s over with.” He licked his lips. They were salty with sweat. “Now the uh…the mud and the…”

“Broken wrist,” Mikumo answered softly.

“Yes. That’s next.” The words were heavy and clotted as they left his mouth.

Mikumo didn’t get up. He merely rolled back on his heels. “Why do you want to help me?”

The old question. How many times had he heard it in the past two months? He started to answer but Mikumo interrupted him.

“We could pretend like you’re quirkless. We don’t have to go to UA.”

Izuku blinked blearily down at him. His head hurt. “I’ve always wanted to go to UA.”

Mikumo flinched at this. “I know…you said you planned to go there. But this isn’t how you wanted to do it.”

He dutifully considered this. Turned it over in his head like a stone in a tumbler until a speck of precious gem shone through. He liked what he had to say. “Yes it is.”

Mikumo recoiled. “But…no?”

“It’s all the same.” He smiled. “I wanted to go to UA so I could do things just like this.”

“You mean…help people, as a hero?”

“Yes. Well,” He shuffled his feet. “I wanted to go because…” He bit his lip and restarted. “What drives me is anger, and stress.”

“What?” Mikumo asked sharply.

“It’s just…” he shook his head and looked away. But his eyes were laser focused. “I have strong feelings about creativity and freedom. You know how someone might ask what you would do to change the world, if you could do anything? I’ve always thought about it. Ever since I was a kid I’ve mulled over it…when I was told I was quirkless I guess I just became more intent on the question. ‘What can I do?’ And around that time people started…pushing me around. They tried to tell me what I couldn’t do. They’d discourage me in all sorts of ways. But I was never really discouraged. And…I started noticing that people would…act differently than they always had before. It’s just a part of growing up, really. But I don’t like it. I don’t like it when people aren’t truthful, when they do things I never thought they would do-

“I’m getting off topic. That’s not what I meant to get at. The one thing this world needs is exactly what it’s always needed. People who live. Who can have the freedom to do what they want, and the creativity to drive them. They shouldn’t be pushed down, or discouraged. It makes me angry to see it. Angry enough that I can’t sit still.” He looked back to Mikumo. “I wanted to be a hero so I could do something about it.”

Mikumo was silent for a long while. This didn’t bother Izuku. He set about turning over bloody patches of dirt with his foot. He worked with contentment in his heart.

“I wanted to hear that this is what you wanted,” Mikumo said. “It’s a relief that you said all of that. I’ve been looking for it for months.”

Izuku stared at him. There were no words to match that frankness.

Mikumo pointed at him. “You’re smiling. I haven’t been able to get it right yet. On my own face, I mean. Because you never smile.”

Izuku faltered and looked away. He noticed Mikumo’s hand lilt disappointedly in his peripheral. “Nobody can tell anyways. It’s impossible to read your face.” He realized what he said was possibly rude. “Don’t worry about it,” he tacked on apologetically.

“Okay,” Mikumo said quietly.

The jovial atmosphere was gone. They were separately alone again. Two different people.

Izuku finished tilling the soil with his blood then suggested they finish up. A minute later, Mikumo broke his wrist.

He shoved the neon orange flag through the ground in one powerful motion. The dirt gave way easily. He trudged over to the other side of the entrance, dragging his begrudging cart behind him. He plucked another flag from it and gave it the same treatment as the first. Just as Katsuki started to wind the rope between the flag posts, he heard a noise just beyond the trailhead. Footsteps.

He peered down, rope clutched tightly in hand. It was Deku.

He recognized the simple fact of it immediately. He’d know Deku’s form, his posture, and his face from anywhere, anytime, at any distance. Still, his mind struggled to correct him. It must be someone else. Deku couldn’t be plodding up a hill, slouched miserably, dirt and blood smeared all over him. Another reason was deceptively simple, which knocked him out of his stupor. He hadn’t seen Deku wearing anything but his school uniform in a long time. The relaxed t-shirt and cargo pants were foreign on him.

“Deku!” He barked.

The boy in question finally looked up, wide eyes growing impossibly wider. He stumbled and nearly fell backwards.

This gave Katsuki a start. The fucking mud. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He demanded. “Do you see this fucking mess? Look down.”

To both their surprise, Deku did it. He stared dumbly down at his feet for a few seconds before looking back at Katsuki. “Yeah? The mud,” he said faintly, and continued to trudge upwards. “What are you doing?” He noticed the rope and the flags. “Volunteering?”

A wave of defensiveness washed over Katsuki, but he pushed it away. He was in the right here. “Yeah, to keep people out of the hiking trails.”

“Too late.”

“Most people would look at the mud and realize it’s too fucking dangerous to be out here right now,” he seethed.

“Then what’s the point of your job?”

A horrible anger leapt up on him. He glared at Deku, who was near to passing him, and wondered what would hurt him the most. Then he saw that dangling, disjointed hand. It hung from the end of Deku’s arm like a claw. He grabbed his wrist.

A surprised cry of pain came out of Deku’s mouth. He sounded like a little boy. Katsuki was almost deterred by it. He brought Deku’s arm closer to get a better look.

“You broke your fucking wrist.”

“And you're holding it,” Deku said plaintively. He was leaning as far away from Katsuki as he could get, yet he hadn’t tried tugging his hand back yet.

Katsuki dropped it, but not before noting the streaks of gore lining Deku’s entire arm.

“You fell.”

“Yep,” Izuku nodded, walking away.

“How’d you fall?”

“Slipped.”

“Fuckin’ figures.” He finished tying the rope into a makeshift blockade. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. Deku sat on the bench at the bus stop.

They would have to wait for the bus together.

Katsuki dragged his cart over and, instead of kicking Deku off the bench so he could sit (like he normally would) he leaned against the pole instead, arms crossed.

Deku stared at him, and by all means, he should have looked like a beaten dog with the way he was slouched, but he didn’t. Something shined too defiantly in his eyes for that. It always did.

Katsuki let his rage simmer quietly. Neither said a thing. Neither stopped staring.

He was compelled to break it; the insolent stare was too much for him. “You still given up on UA?”

Deku hesitated. “...No.”

“Why not?”

Real fear flashed in Deku’s eyes. His mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling for words. “I…have…a quirk…now,” he said slowly, dryly. Like it took all his energy.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His two reactions were to laugh or to be scared.

Deku started to say something else, then gave up. He leaned back on the bench and stared straight ahead. He looked dejected. Crushed, almost. He raised his uninjured hand, motioning to the ground. “This.”

The shadow under the bench grew darker. It rippled, then something popped out of it. And that was just it. Something. A blob-like thing, impossibly dark, there then gone in the next instant.

Katsuki blanched, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I fell…” Deku said distantly.

Katsuki went for him. He grabbed his shoulder and jerked him up to his feet, ignoring that boyish cry of pain. “You got that from falling?”

A trauma-induced quirk. That’s what Deku was insinuating. Katsuki had always wondered about it in regards to his old friend. But it was too rare, and often too horrible a phenomenon to ever expect to happen. To ever want to happen. He searched Deku’s eyes, but all he found was hatred.

“Yes,” Deku bit out.

“Falling did that to you?” Katsuki scoffed, stepping back. Then it all fell into place.

“It di-”

“That’s not believable,” he interrupted, cold spite taking over.

Deku’s eyes widened. “What?” He asked softly.

“That’s not fucking BELIEVABLE,” he shouted. “You better come up with a better story, Deku!” He shoved him back down on the bench, noting the sick crunch as he landed on his broken wrist.

“GODDAMMIT Kacchan!” Deku screamed, the wailing cry of a boy. He shot out at Katsuki with his legs.

Deku’s sneaker grazed his crotch before he could get completely out of range. For one heartbeat it felt like any other kick, then the pain hit him. He fought the reflexive urge to double over and lost to it.

For a moment the only sound was the scuffling, winded noises of the two of them attempting to recover. Then Katsuki straightened up, ignoring the roiling cramps that had yet to cease in his lower body. Deku was now leaning against the pole, cradling his injury against himself. He stared at a fixed point on the ground, shaking, looking as though he was gathering up the will to look at his now further-mangled limb. Katsuki took one look and couldn’t blame him for his hesitation. Deku’s hand had rotated even further from its proper position. It was absolutely grotesque. Katsuki hadn’t meant to do that to him. He’d just been following an old routine, and Deku fell funny (Deku’s scream still rang through the air).

“What did you come out here for?” He asked, voice low.

Deku’s head shot up. Panic was seared into his eyes. “To…hike,” he said haltingly. “What did you think?”

“I think that falling isn’t traumatizing enough to get a quirk from. I think you’re not stupid enough to go for a hike after a week of rain.”

Deku only bit his lip and stared at him, head bowed. His expression was unreadable, though there was certainly something like mottled rage there.

Katsuki continued. “You’ve been through worse than falling, Deku.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he knew. It hung in the forefront of his brain like an iceberg, cold and confusing in its enormity.

“Where do you think I got my quirk from, then?”

The question almost threw him off. “It was the fall,” he said, exasperated. Deku knew what he’d done. Why couldn’t he admit it and spare himself some shame? Spare Katsuki the pain of saying it for him?

“So? We agree!” Deku shouted, frustration streaking his voice with high pitches.

“No, we do not. What’s your story, huh? You just went out there and slipped?” He said, deprecation leaking from his tone. “You broke a bone, and you got a quirk from it? You’ve broken bones before, and never-”

“I thought I was going to die, that’s the difference,” Deku broke in.

“Yeah that is the difference. Trauma-induced quirks come from emotional pain.” He pointed to the trailhead. “So you come out here, thinking you’re going to die…”

Deku finally caught on. He stepped away from the pole towards Katsuki. “I didn’t…it wasn’t a suicide attempt,” he said softly.

“Like hell it wasn’t.”

“Why would I want to die?” Deku cried, voice warbled with sob-spit. “Why would you think I would?” A tear rolled down his cheek. It was sad. It was refreshing. It was annoying.

Why would he want to die?

“I’m not going to UA,” Deku had said. Katsuki had never heard those words from Deku before. Not even the slightest intention of them. Never, not in any of the previous ten years. Until this one. This, the the last year before high school.

Why would he want to die?

“You got what you wanted then, right?” He jeered, shaking with an unspent energy. “You got your quirk? You’re finally on my level. Congrats.” He turned towards his cart, yanking it to attention. The bus would arrive soon.

He ignored his shaking hands.

“On your level?” Deku seethed. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in an ugly attempt at a smile. Katsuki saw this and dismissed it. His head was a mile away.

“What if you actually just died instead of getting your quirk? Or was it fine either way?” His mind flashed with an image of Deku tumbling head first, snapping his neck upon impact with the ground. Would that have been fine?

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. You and all the things you do don’t mean that much to me. UA does not even mean that much to me.” He paused to sniffle roughly. “You haven’t hurt me in years, Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t reply. He couldn’t hear it now, though the words would get through to him later. Then he’d think about it a lot.

Deku was incensed. “I don’t want anything to do with you. And I don’t. You can burn me and hit me but believe me when I say none of it hurts.” The words were raw and strained as he shouted them.

Still, Katsuki heard none of it. He raised his hand to his closed eyelids. He expected to cry. When the two tears rolled out he wiped them away cleanly, with dignity. He didn’t know why it happened, but if it was going to, he’d take care of it well. He didn’t look at Deku as he spoke.

“It would’ve been three weeks before anyone found you. That’s when I’m supposed to take the barrier down.”

The words seemed to tip into a void and stay there.

“...Did you even hear me?” Deku asked. And what was that in his voice? It was scorn.

And there was the bus.

It came to a stop with a sigh. Deku got on first, adamantly pushing through to the back, ignoring all murmurs. Katsuki followed up the steps, maneuvering his cart with care. He took the first available seat he saw. Many looked at him with accusation in their eyes, because they thought he did it. They thought he hurt the kid covered in blood and grime. They thought he did it even though he wore a volunteer vest. Even though he himself bore no marks of a fight.

He felt sunken and hollow. Why would they think it was his fault? It’s a stupid thought, he assured himself. But it replayed painfully in the static of his mind.