Chapter Text
1.
Your cell phone rings. The Caller ID injects dread in your heart. MIGHT AGENCY. You have to swallow three times before you find the courage to answer. "Hel--?"
Triumphant music trumpets from your cheap staticy speaker. "Hello Citizen! This is an automated message from your Number One Hero to remind you it's cold and flu season! Remember to wear a mask in public if you or a loved one has shown symptoms, wash your hands, and get plenty of rest! Remember, with proper hygiene, you too can be a Hero!"
Ah. Well, that's very proactive of him. Good. You hang up in the midst of peppy outro music. Good…
"I can't keep doing this," you say to yourself. And you can't. Your voice is lost in the rumble of the city bus, the cry of an infant a few seats away, and the rasp of your own sore throat. You're not sick, thankfully. You have to wear a mask in public to prevent any possibility of that. It wouldn't do for the healer to need healing, would it? You are, however, strained from travel and work. Your quirk is demanding enough when you can stay in one spot. Every day a different hospital, every day a different travel route. Every day a gloomy adventure. "I'm too old to live like this."
At dusk, the bus whines to a halt at your stop. You exit, grateful the length of your skirt disguises a minor abuse of your quirk. Going down the stairs can be a death sentence on an ankle like yours. Your feet find the ground, you find your bearings, and you begin the journey home. You glance at your watch and use the reflection to see who else is exiting. Two others. One, a schoolboy with unruly hair, his ear to his phone, humming along with the theme music of All Might's agency. The other, a man in a dark hoodie and jacket, hands jammed in the pockets, taking your sidewalk path.
Probably nothing, but a lady can never be too careful. You reach for your phone, dial a friend you're certain will be awake and off the clock, and wait. A click, then a series of rumbling sounds, like the screen of a phone being dragged across bed sheets. "F/N, hey!!"
"Hey Cinder, I'm on my way back. Just calling to make sure plans are still on."
"Huh? That's vague as hell. Do you mean our weekend plans? Or about karaoke on the eleventh?"
You peek behind you as you round the block and, to your horror, the man in the dark jacket is taking the same route. "Y-yeah, great! That's great, I'm pumped." It's probably nobody. Lots of people live in these neighborhoods, you remind yourself. But you can't remember ever seeing him before. And there's something about the way he carries himself. Certain. Jagged. It's familiar in the worst way.
"What the fuck? Are you high, F/N?"
"Me? No! No, of course not," you say with a laugh that fails you in its last notes, drowns in your ragged throat to betray your fear. "Hey, Cin, doesn't Screech have a new boyfriend? He's going to be there too, right?"
"F/N, I really don't have time for this right now. I'm gonna call you back after I have some coffee or something."
She hangs up on you. You keep the phone where it is, pressed to your ear, pretending it's not over and wishing you had a smarter friend.
You swear there's breath on the back of your neck. If you needed to use the darker side of your quirk to save yourself, at any second, could you? You're split between saving your breath and carrying on the charade, your only shield. Please think I'm expected. Please think I'm not somebody you can get away with attacking. "I can't wait to meet him," you chirp. "I'll be there any minute." Your other hand is in your pocket, desperate to find your apartment keys.
After an eternity, you find them. The shade of tall, unlit buildings on all sides chills you. On one side of the street, unoccupied, unfinished structures of cement and iron. On the other, laundry lines and decorated steel railings, homes stacked upon homes. There's a small mirror attached to your key ring, which you direct to peek behind you. It… It doesn't seem there's anyone there. You can't hear anybody coming.
"… Oh, really? That's great to hear, Cinder. She's been pretty sad lately, about her mother? So it's super encouraging to see her--"
Your phone rings. You bring it away from your ear with a trembling hand to see the Might Agency Caller ID again. Flu season.
Wire loops your neck, vices, bites in. Can't breathe. You drop your phone. You wrench against your attacker and choke.
Pinned, pulled, pressed to the wall, garroted. Can't breathe. Not enough to use your quirk. Not a gasp. The world goes too dark too fast. You loose footing.
"I know who you are," he purrs against your ear. "You couldn't hide from all of us, not forever. You can't hide from him."
Your fingernails cut into your own skin trying to grab the wire. You can't quite feel them. Your fingertips. Your toes.
"Let her go!"
It's hard to see through the haze of suffocation. You force yourself to adjust your eyes. Stay awake. Down the alley stands the schoolboy who got off at your bus stop, stance wide with mock bravery, trembling. He holds his phone up in the darkness. "I already called the police and Pro Heroes are on their way! Let her go right now!"
You are wrenched to the side and slammed on the ground but you can breathe again. You suck air so hard you nearly vomit. The man flees into the darkness on silent, certain feet.
The kid hurries to you but it's plain to see his legs are as sturdy as gelatin. "Are you alright?" he says with a quaking voice. Everything catches up to you at once. How long you were followed, in the dark, on your way home, by a villain who knew, who *knew* your face or voice or… And the boy who saved your life was a child. A villain tried to kill you in the shadow of your own home, and a middle schooler saved your life. Bless his spindly bones, he was a godsend. "Are you alright?" he asks again when you don't answer. He's on the cusp of tears. You're well beyond.
You throw your arms around the child. "Thank you," you weep against his scrawny shoulder and a chest far too small to contain the heart beating wildly within. "Thank you!"
He freezes in your grasp, uncertain, processing. Then he hugs back. No words, but many whimpers fall from his lips. You can only imagine how awful it must have been for him to come across the gruesome scene. You pray he won't have nightmares.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
2.
Midoriya struggles to both move the enormous, heaping pile of scrap across the beach and speak to his idol. All Might isn't making it easier; he continues to add junk to the pile even as the ropes Izuku relies on fray. But he wouldn't have it any other way. This is the fastest way to improve, and the most meaningful. "Is it true you took down the Tsunami Sundivers with a single punch?"
"Yep!" All Might, small today, flexes his form for an instant to show off the glorious muscles credited with that deed. "Texas Smash, right across the center of their formation, and all of them went down!"
Amazing. All Might is every bit the living legend Izuku dreamed he might be. The Symbol of Peace. The Strongest Hero. Number One. Izuku tosses a broken television in its proper recycling pile, then flexes as his mentor had and wonders if he will ever take out a gang of villains with one punch. That day seems a million years away, but not impossible.
"Hey!" Izuku looks around, trying to find where the voice is coming from. Failing, he sees All Might shrink to his original form in a puff of smoke and cussing. "Hey," somebody calls out again.
Izuku spots a woman leaning against the railing overlooking the stairway entrance to the Dagoba Municipal Beach. "Oh, hey!" He waves back with double enthusiasm. It's the woman he met last month, the one who was attacked by the fast villain. She heads for the stairs, surely coming to meet them.
"Young Midoriya, no matter what, I'm not here!" hisses All Might. He crams himself into a shabby, tiny car to hide. The door is shut, but it has no window, so he uses the sun visor to further obscure his face from any possible snooping.
"Huh?"
"Just don't let her see me, and get her to leave as quick as you can, okay?!"
He hesitates. "Uh... Okay, sure. I'll try. Be right back," he says and goes to meet the woman on the nicer area of the beach. Midoriya notices the graceful way she descends, like a ghost, and the thin, colorful breaths that occasionally puff from her lips as she calls out in greeting.
She's pretty. Izuku isn't sure how old she is, but she's plain and dignified and has a tender smile. "If it isn't my hero!"
"H-huh?! Me?!"
"Yes, you. Don't be so humble about it. I owe you my life and you didn't even stay long enough to give me your name."
"Oh!" He introduces himself in a flurry of bows and stammers. She smiles, pressing a giggle back with knuckles to her lips. Izuku fears he looks foolish, swallows hard, and stands up tall. "Izuku Midoriya. I'm glad you're doing all right."
"Again, thanks to you. But whatever are you doing out here, darling? It's in the middle of nowhere. Do you have a parent with you?"
"I'm, um, I'm here with my personal trainer. He's just stepped out for a minute. To get lunch. What time is it? Two? That's a normal time for us to eat lunch! Because of our training schedule!" His nervous mouth threatens to run off without permission or supervision.
She nods, peering out at the ocean. "Training?"
"Yeah, moving heavy trash! It's good for the earth and good for my muscles, haha. Ha."
What a smile. It makes Izuku smile back, as if she's sharing an inside joke and giving him all the credit. "My hero is setting off to save the entire world! I'm impressed. And humbled." She looks at the scenery again and this time Izuku follows her gaze. It's a beautiful day, clear, a little cold. The waves are gentle and the wind smells fresh. "It's a shame this place has gotten to such a shameful state. When I was in high school, this was the best place in the city to spend the summer. I think I went here every weekend to meet my friends, look for shells, avoid my reading assignments. It really would be something to see it restored to former glory. Somewhere people can just go without a paywall."
"I'm going to try," he affirmed. "By the middle of January, when entrance exams start, I plan to have this place all cleaned up. It's essential to my training and to my path to becoming a Pro Hero."
"A Pro?" She seems surprised. "Where are you going to apply?"
"W-well, I'm going to try my hardest to get into U.A.."
She beams. It sends a great jolt through his heart. "You absolutely should! You are exactly the kind of young talent U.A. needs to be taking advantage of."
"I am?"
"Yes. You know, I attended U.A.. I was in the Hero program way, way back in the day. I'm not sure it will help you, but I'm going to write you a letter of recommendation, Izuku Midoriya."
"I… really?!" The world tilts on its axis. Hell freezes over. A near-stranger supports his dream. "Do you mean that?!"
She nods.
This is real.
"B-but my quirk… I mean, it isn't… I don't have a very good, um…"
She shakes her head, kneeling down to level with him. "Listen to me. A good quirk is fine, but the bravery to respond to a crisis, even when you're terrified and things might go badly? That's something Hero teachers struggle to imbue in their students. But you've got that instinct now, in your heart, and it's powerful. It's going to take you further than even the best quirk in the world ever could. Listen to me, I mean it. Try your hardest on the test, and even if you don't get into the Hero course, try to get into general education. You can test to transfer in with enough support and field performance."
The liquid freezes in his brain. He nods, vacant, processing, buffering. A Former U.A. student? She believes in him this much? This is… This is…
"And darling? When you're out here cleaning up trash, make sure to wear protective gloves and closed-toed shoes. There are sharp edges and rusty things everywhere. The next time I see you, I want you to be on your way to U.A., not on your way to the hospital." She takes his hands and turns them over, looking for cuts and scrapes, and finds only superficial damage. They were worse before, Izuku thinks. Just talking to her has caused his wounds to knit and the tiny stings to fade completely. "A jacket and pants would be good, too."
"Yes. Yeah. Yeah! Thank you! Thank you so much, miss!"
She gives a final contagious grin before bidding him farewell. Izuku is still standing on the beach, staring at the place she was when he could last spot her, when All Might stands beside him. And then he remembers he was supposed to be having a quick conversation. "Sorry! I was so caught up, I forgot you were hiding."
All Might doesn't respond. He didn't hear, maybe. He watches the same spot, where she was, where she's disappeared. "What a throwback," he sighs.
"Huh?" Izuku knows All Might has a long history. He's obsessed over every available public moment of his Hero's life and knows more of it is mystery than not. Even so, the expression on All Might's face is an unreadable mix of wistfulness and consideration. "Do you know her, All Might?"
"I do." His fist softens and his posture bends beneath heavy shoulders. "That's F/N L/N. We went to high school together."
3.
You are fifteen years old. Too old to be suffering quirk malfunctions like this. Children half your age have twice the control, you remind yourself in your mother's disapproving tone. Regardless of age, this is happening today, of all days. You are trapped on the ceiling.
One of the many facets of your quirk allows you to float. Or rather, you always float and it takes a great deal of effort (and sometimes weight) to keep your feet on the ground. You never go too high. You've never floated into the sun, for instance. But on days like this, with your back bumping the panels and your fingers slipping around the doorframe, you aren't sure it's out of the question.
"I overdid it," you whimper. You've managed to get into the hallway, finally, but the size of the windows and their possible flimsiness snap your hopes in half. Kinda like the way that kid with the beast quirk snapped your pencil in half today. On the first day of school. Ass. "I shouldn't have used that much breath. I knew I was going to get light headed. I knew it, I knew it and I got talked into doing it anyway. How am I supposed to get home like this? Freaking teacher…" Classes have been over for an hour, giving you plenty of time to hide upstairs and wait out the issue. But you have curfew to consider. Unless you want to sleep at the school.
Maybe.
You're crawling across the ceiling while considering if you could break into the U.A. kitchen to feed yourself when you hear a horrible, guttural sob. It freezes you in your, uh, tracks? Ceiling tracks? It gets worse. Somebody else is here and they're crying. A lot.
You poke your head around the corner of a newly familiar hallway. U.A. seems like a labyrinth compared to your middle school. You can't imagine why anybody, even staff, would want to stick around after-hours on the first day of school. Except you, but… Well, you didn't *want* to. But you prefer this to being scooped up by the wind to become a cloud and then a bloody splat on the pavement.
You follow the noise to an alcove and spot the one person in your class you are certain is having a harder adjustment period than you. Toshinori Yagi, skinny and blond and pale, is the class loser. You have quirk malfunctions? He has quirk non-functions. During practice, Yagi winds up and charges forward as if a great burst of strength will cascade with him. Instead, he falls on his face or rams into fellow students, tumbles through the obstacle course. Your single day of basic, get-to-know-you training let everybody know Yagi was as good as quirkless and very nearly useless. Everything was compounded by your instructor. For a man whose quirk has nothing to do with sound amplification, your teacher sure can scream.
Yagi is sitting on the ground, curled up, spirit as broken as your pencil. There are bruises gaining color on his arms and knuckles, one on his cheek you can barely see with his face buried in his knees. He sniff-snorts in a thick, wet line of snot. Ew.
It would be easy to turn back the way you came and ignore him, but the sight tugs at your heartstrings. You've been that kid more times than you'd like to admit. You've left your pathetic, middle school persona behind. There's no more crying for F/N L/N. And while you didn't come to U.A. to make friends, you didn't expect to spend three years of education without getting to know anybody.
Plus, he seems tall. Like, tall enough to reach you.
"Psst!"
He continues to cry.
"Pssst! Hey! Pssst! Yagi!"
He does peek up when he hears his name. Then he sees you crawling on the ceiling above him. Then he screams.
"No, no! Cut that out!"
"What are you doing here?!"
"Like…?" You gesture to your situation with growing aggravation. "Does this look voluntary to you? I'm in a skirt, I don't want to be up here!" You stretch to reach down toward him. You're worried that putting all of your balance on standing legs will crack a panel and send you floating up through the pipes and drywall. Then where would you be? Would they have to call the fire department to get you out? "Wipe your hand off and help me down?"
He does, jittering the whole time. Yagi tugs you to the ground, but your feet threaten to go right back up. You knot yourself around his elbow and try to force yourself to stand normally. "Are… Are you okay?" he asks.
"I'm just having a weird quirk day, okay?! My breath is different than air and sometimes my insides are lighter, so if I don't get the right balance in my lungs, I just… What are you doing here?"
He goes rigid. Thankfully, he is no less interested in anchoring you to the earth. "I… Nothing."
"Pro girly tip. If you want to cry, the bathroom is prime real estate."
"Um… Not for boys? I don't think?"
"It's got to be better than an open hallway, dude. You're lucky it's me here and not, like, Snaggletooth McPenmuncher. That kid would narc on you in an instant and wag his tail doing it."
"… You mean Jaku Kemono?"
"Yeah, that jerk."
Yagi cracks a smile, but he wipes it just as fast. "You're not going to tell anybody, are you?"
"Are you going to tell anybody about me floating to Kingdom Come?"
"No, of course not!"
"Then we're cool. Your normal, human emotions are safely secret with me." You feel a little weight coming back to your toes. Not enough to keep you on the ground, but you can stop clinging to this boy for dear life. Loosening your grip is a process, though, and you barely trust yourself not to go belly up like a dead fish, but midair, and you'd probably smack your nose. "Hey do you think they leave the kitchen doors unlocked around here, or would I have to break a window or jimmy the door open or something?"
"Why?!"
"Hungry. Gotta eat. Also, it would help me gain enough weight to safely walk around again."
He frowns in a bemused way. "I'm pretty sure you would get in trouble for doing that."
"Yeah, but that isn't what I asked."
"Hah. I don't think it's a good idea. How about…" He puts an arm over your shoulder and it allows you to press your heels to the tile floor. The sense of security is unparalleled. "There's a street food vendor not far from here. We could get some takoyaki and try that."
"You realize I would have to go outside for that?" you huff. "Do you like the idea of watching me float helplessly to the moon? I'm not a fan."
"I'll hold you down, I promise. I can even use my jacket sleeve to tie a safety line around you. See?"
"… I feel like a helium balloon," you lament. But your stomach relents louder. It squelches almost as loud as Yagi's sobs had been. "You promise you're not going to let me go?"
"I promise." He's a doofus, but he has the most honest demeanor and smile the world has ever known. You believe him. "You can always count on me to help you down, L/N."
4.
Your phone rings in the evening, startling you from a nap. You rub your eyes a few times, expecting the number and its label to change, to morph into something more mundane. U.A. OFFICES. Oh. Oh, it's probably about the letter you wrote for Midoriya. You shake off your apprehension and answer. "Hello, this is F/N L/N, how may I help you?"
"So quick! Thank you for picking up, dearie."
"… Recovery Girl?" You sit bolt upright. Where are your shoes? "What's wrong?" You have your keys, your purse, your coat ready to go. Where are those damn shoes?!
"Calm down, dearie, calm down. This isn't an emergency call."
Thank goodness. You sit back down, sighing relief, catching your precious, precious breath. "What's up, Granny Chiyo? I never hear from you unless somebody is dying."
She laughs but it wasn't a joke. Oh well. "I should say the same for you. You've used your credentials to give away all your credit and hide behind every hospital I've ever worked with. If anybody is around exclusively for injury and death, it might be you."
"That's harsh. A woman old enough to be my mother calling me a boring workaholic. I'm wounded, Chiyo."
"Heehee. Anyway, dearie, we were surprised to see correspondence from you. Very happy to see you alive and still supportive of your old school."
"Hey, I saw a student worth supporting and I supported him. It's not more complicated than that."
"Are you looking for a job, L/N?"
"… Excuse me?"
"I'm old enough to be your mother, dearie, just like you said. You aren't a young woman anymore, either. At my age, I need an extra pair of hands around the nursing office just to keep some semblance of order. I should be taking more time off. You would know about that, wouldn't you? It's hard labor for an old woman." She sighs dramatically. You're being guilted and you don't have any choice but to take it. You aren't about to hang up on Recovery Girl. "You see, I need another healer with decent credentials to come be my assistant this year. Healing quirks are in such short order to begin with, and how few Heroes can I trust? I've met you personally. I've trained you. It would set this old, guttering heart so much at ease to know a good, reliable pair of hands would be working beside me at U.A.."
Your head spins. Of everything you were ready to deal with out of the blue, this was not one. "I… I'm not opposed, but I think your faith is misplaced. I could recommend a more senior Hero with a squeaky-clean record. Biopro, he's out of Osaka, he has a mending quirk that--"
"It's a difficult job, L/N. A personal one, especially this year. Principal Nedzu wants to keep things close to home. We need to."
How ominous. "I, uh… For the next school year?"
"At least. I'd like to keep you longer if things work out favorably for you."
"Do you want me to come in for some kind of job training or…?"
"It's a yes, dearie?"
"I mean… Sure, yeah. I'd like to sit down and look at salary and benefits and all that before I say anything officially. I expect to talk to some board members. At least the principal."
"Dearie, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to all of us to have you on board." The static hiss from the phone line kills a bit of enthusiasm for you. This seems unreal. So sudden. "There's one more thing. It's something you have to stay quiet about, but I know you have your strong opinions. It wouldn't be fair to hide this from you, especially because it might make you change your mind."
You fear the worst.
"All Might is going to be teaching this year."
You didn't fear worst enough.