Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He'd never actually been aboard the Shinkansen before. The people he'd once been had had memories of it, both of experiencing it in this life and wishing he could in the last, but the him he was now had never ridden it before…stepping onto the sleek white train car marked yet another in a long list of first experiences, wishes fulfilled, and regrets added to a quickly-growing pile.

The only sounds around him came from the train itself, as the few passengers around him minded their own business quietly. It left his mind the loudest thing in the room, and he knew if they could hear it too he'd be gathering stares of concern and disdain. 

Get to U.A., wait for a teacher, ask for Nezu, give them enough to take you seriously but not enough to make you sound crazy, get into Nezu's office, spill your guts.

This was the mantra he'd been repeating to himself for the entire hour-long ride to the station nearest the school, and he hoped by god it would work. He had no idea what would happen if it didn't. 

■

In a bustling campus there lay an office: warmly decorated, with a lavishly plush official looking chair behind an ornate wooden desk. Utop that chair sat a diminutive form, humming a tune to himself as he watched his school bustle with the typical days' end activities. He did so from what some would consider an alarming number of camera angles, displayed on the many retractable monitors built into the desk that had served him so well these many years as Principal. It was because he was watching, always watching, that he was not caught unawares when Toki Hokori, known more famously as the Pro Hero, Snipe, approached his office door with troubled body language.

In moments like these, the Principal appreciates the hero teacher's mask more than usual. No matter how hard Humans try to hide their feelings from their faces, body language never lies; not when you know what to look for. Faces and their many expressions (and the frustrating way humans can defy their true feelings by painting a false masquerade upon their faces, myriad tiny actions all coming together to form a disgustingly effective veneer) tend to muddy the clear-cut signals the Human body produces, ones that his Quirk and years of training pick up easily.

The door opened before Snipe could knock, not that by this point in their teaching career, any of his staff expected otherwise of the chimera. He set his face into the closest thing his inhuman anatomy could make to a smile, which he knew came off as unnerving and disarming simultaneously, depending on who saw it. "Toki-kun, what brings you to my office this fine afternoon?"

Truly, it was moments like these he fully appreciated the Japanese language: honorifics offered such a bounty of ways to play with wording, to nudge how Humans saw him, his relationship to them, and they to him. The subtle reminders of where they sat, namely beneath him, on the hierarchy of the school he ran never ceased to bring a gleam to his eye. Many had called him sadistic in the past. He hadn't corrected a single one.

He was brought out of his brief musings by Snipe's rough, accented voice. "We have a bit of a situation. I was tidyin' up the classroom after last period, when one of the students said someone was at the gate askin' for a teacher, somethin' about 'a matter of dire importance'. I cain't say I weren't curious, so I moseyed on over and sure 'nuff, there was a young'un standin’ there with one helluva grave expression on his face. I asked what it was he needed, and of all things, he said he was here ta see you sp’cifically."

An ear perked up in interest as the Principal sipped his tea. "Did he say why he wished to speak with me?"

Snipe shook his head, his whole body radiating confusion. "He said to tell ya, 'All for One, and One for All'. Said you'd understand."

In an instant, the temperature in the room plummeted, and Nezu knew he'd need to clear his afternoon schedule. Voice sharper, more tight, he instructed his employee, "Please escort our guest to my office immediately, don't let him out of your sight until he gets here."

Snipe stiffened at the sudden change in atmosphere. He laid a hand on the gun on his hip. “Should I prep for hostilities?”

Nezu considered the question seriously for a moment before responding. Making up his mind, he shook his head. “No. Do not do anything overtly hostile or belligerent, but keep an eye on him. Dismissed.”

Snipe nodded, leaving Nezu to his thoughts.

As Snipe left, Nezu contacted Eraserhead, asking him to come to his office immediately, and prepared an email to a certain detective he knew might be interested in the conversation to come.

Eraserhead arrived before Snipe and their mystery guest, but there was only enough time to explain that there was a potentially dangerous individual coming to see him and Aizawa needed to be ready to erase their quirk at a moment's notice. The Erasure Hero saved any complaints, reading the tension in the room, and took up a position in the corner of the room where he would go mostly unnoticed by the average person.

It didn't take long for Snipe to return with a tall, heavyset, and visibly anxious young man in tow. Nezu watched the boy carefully observe the office as he walked in, body language tense with nerves but face putting on an air of affected calm that he doubted even Humans would buy. It was in this scanning of the room that the boy locked eyes with Aizawa, freezing in place with wide eyes and swallowing in fresh nervousness. Nezu's sharp olfactory senses effortlessly picked up the heady mix of shock, excitement, and dread the boy exuded. Curious, most wouldn't be able to recognize Eraserhead until they saw his Quirk in action, and even then few knew of him due to the underground nature of his hero work. Yet another mystery about his guest.

The staring contest had gone on for well over a minute now, and as amusing as it was to see the boy sweat, Nezu wouldn't get any information out of him if it continued any longer. He purposefully clinked his teacup against the saucer beneath it, and that seemed to break the teenager out of his funk and turn his attention to the Chimera behind the desk. Upon seeing the Principal, the boy actually relaxed slightly, a nervous, but seemingly genuine smile pulling at his lips. He was certainly not expecting that reaction when Aizawa, and even Toki to an extent, had put the boy on edge. Most viewed Nezu as a threat, a curiosity, or an abomination. Very few saw him and seemed to place implicit trust in him, much less see him as an equal, like this young man appeared to do. Curiouser and curiouser. 

"Thank you for your help, Toki-kun, you may return to your classroom," Nezu curtly dismissed Snipe, turning his full attention to his guest. "Please, sit. And don't mind Eraserhead, he's only here as a precautionary measure. Tea?" 

The boy sat carefully, as if the chair beneath him would disappear at a moment's notice. His shaky smile solidified at the offer of tea, and he spoke for the first time since Nezu laid eyes on him. "Yes, please, I'd love some."

He took the proffered teacup with just the right amount of careful handling for Nezu's liking, and the tension seemed to slowly bleed off his shoulders as he sipped the still-steaming liquid. His smile turned grateful, but his tone was a curious mix of wry and relaxed. "You know, I never thought I'd get this far. I'm actually at U.A., in a room with the top underground hero and one of the smartest beings alive, sipping tea. Fucking surreal, if you'll pardon my language."

"Please, feel free to speak freely, don't hold back on our account." Nezu placated. Whatever information this young man wanted to talk about was far more important than the frankly nonsensical propriety customs Humans bothered themselves with. He set his tea down and folded his paws under his chin, beady black eyes meeting aquamarine blue ones. "Now that you are here, I'd like to discuss what it is you came here to talk about. You passed on a specific phrase that only has true meaning to a select few, and you certainly are not in that few."

The young man smiled, seemingly amused at the subtle insinuation. "You want to know how I know." At the Principal's slow, definitive nod, he continued, though the smile slipped quickly from his face. "First of all, I want to establish the things I do know before I say how I know them. It's a lot, and it's quite jumbled in my head so please bear with me." He turned then to lock eyes with Eraserhead once more. "I'd also like to say I apologize in advance, Aizawa-san. The things you learn here might not be in your best interest to know. Since you're here and will most likely be the hardest to convince I'll also be using what I know of your past as example knowledge. I truly am sorry." His gaze fell away from the hero behind him, now staring into the cup in his hands. "Aizawa Shouta, age thirty, known as the Erasure Hero: Eraserhead. Quirk: Erasure, Classification: Trump 8. You can temporarily suppress, or 'erase' people's quirks, but it doesn't work on Heteromorphic Quirks. You have a fondness for cats. Your best friend is Yamada Hizashi, the Voice Hero: Present Mic, Quirk: Voice, Classification: Shaker 8, Blaster 5. He picked your Hero name. You and Present Mic were part of a friend group with two other individuals, Kayama Nemuri, the R-18 Hero: Midnight, Quirk: Somnambulist, Classification: Shaker 8…and a boy named Shirakumo Oboro, Quirk: Cloud, Classification: Mover 3, Shaker 5. In the work study period of your second year of U.A., Shirakumo Oboro was killed protecting a group of children from a collapsing building. Despite his dying in the rubble, you heard his voice through your speaker cheering you on, which gave you the strength to push through and evacuate the children from the remains of the building."

The effect of hearing that name was obvious on Aizawa's whole countenance: deep, cutting grief, and outright malice at the boy for daring to open up this emotional wound, tinged with incredulous confusion and newfound wariness. Nezu was more interested in whatever classification scale the young man was using, it seemed far more thorough than the current system. The teen glanced up at Nezu, his face twisted as if revealing Eraserhead's past had been physically painful. "I could go on spilling your staff's secrets, but I imagine Aizawa-san's reaction is sufficient to prove I know what I'm talking about?" The tone was near-begging, a stark contrast from the tentative comfort the boy had shown just moments before. Nezu briefly caught Aizawa-kun's eyes, haunted and angry, and at the Pro's subtle nod, Nezu relented.

"Agreed. More tea before we continue?" The Principal needed to get the teen grounded again, and the hot drink had helped that before. The young man took it gratefully, clutching the saucer like a security blanket. This knowledge, whatever all it was, bore a far greater weight on the boy than Nezu initially realized. Before he could ponder that more, Aizawa's voice cut the silence.

"What's your name, kid? For knowing an awful lot about us, you've failed to reciprocate." His tone was harsh to the untrained ear, but beneath it was Shouta-kun's unique brand of concern, the kind he saves for his students. Apparently he, too, had picked up on the young man's stress.

The teen's eyes widened for a moment before he half sighed, half growled to himself, slamming his palm onto his forehead with a resounding clap. "Goddammit I knew I forgot something, should've known you'd fuck it up as soon as you got here, Everett…" The grumbles were quiet, clearly self-directed, and trailed off as a look of sheer tiredness fell over the boy. When he spoke again, it was with a voice far too old for one his age. "I had this all planned, y'know? Get to U.A., get to Nezu, explain my situation, ask for help, profit. Then I see Cowboy McGee is the teacher to escort me and fuck me, if that gasmask and gun combo isn't creepy as hell. Set my nerves right off. Then I see you in person, which is honestly the most surreal thing I think I've ever experienced, and Eraserhead's here too, and I realize I have to use what I got to establish some kind of credibility even if it means preemptively tanking my relationship with the one guy besides you I was hoping to find an ally in, and it all just goes to shit." The tone is uneasy, borderline depressed, words tumbling forth in a rambling stream. 

He glanced back towards Aizawa for the second time since sitting down. "My name is Everett Feron. It's not the name on my birth certificate but it's the one I primarily know myself by… but the debacle that is my identity issues has to do with how I know all this, and… well, we get there when we get there. Legal name is Sotetsu Shinji. Age 18. Quirk: Iron Within, Iron Without, Classification: Mover, Shaker, Brute, Master, Tinker, Blaster, Changer. Number ratings unknown, and several of those categories are hypothetical until I can test things more. I can detect, produce, absorb, and telekinetically manipulate elemental iron on an atomic level. It's a lot more complicated than that but I won't go fully into the science of it." The teen sighs again, returning his gaze to the Principal, whose brain is buzzing with theory after theory about who, and more importantly, what, the person sitting before him really is.

Nezu flicked his ear and tilted his head in interest. "That was the second time you've used a Quirk classification system unknown to me. Out of curiosity, what is my 'Classification'?"

The now-named Shinji-kun chuckled warily and eyed the Principal with a not insubstantial amount of respectful fear. "Thinker, 10+ at least. I didn't come up with the system myself, to clarify, it's something I read about once. Also, it's not limited to 'Quirked' individuals, it's a way to measure general danger levels, regardless of parahuman abilities. I know of Quirkless people I'd give moderate Thinker and/or Tinker levels to in a heartbeat, and a low Brute rating is absolutely possible to achieve through mundane exercise. Same with Striker ratings and martial arts, now that I think about it."

He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if knocking off cobwebs.

"With that out of the way, I'd like to move on to the information I was actually here to share and get to the part where I ask for your help before I wear out my welcome." He eyed Eraserhead before asking a question that sent the temperature of the room nosediving for the second time that day: "How much do you know about All for One?"

Eraserhead sent a confused glance at Shinji-kun. "...You mean the boogeyman of the underground? The monster who can supposedly take Quirks?"

He nodded. "The very same. I am here to tell you he is very real," he turned to Nezu, "and very much alive."

The young man proceeded to spin a tale of a man with a game-changing power, one he used to commit acts of great evil with over the course of centuries, until a climactic battle with the number one hero, All Might, left the world thinking him dead. "I am here today because All Might underestimated his opponent. All for One survived the battle, injured, of course, but still able to function while on life support. I assume you are at least partially aware of Yagi-san's situation?" 

If Nezu was surprised at the boy's candor in calling the number one hero out by name, he made sure not to let it show. "He has informed us of certain things, though I am guessing it is not the full story." He rested his chin in his paws again. "And that you're about to enlighten us as to the rest."

The teen gave an annoyed nod in conformation. "It's not really my secret to share, but that's never stopped me before. Frankly I'm already trusting those in this room with my life just by saying all this aloud, and I trust you to act responsibly with the information I'm about to give you. Before I start, when is All Might slated to begin teaching the Foundational Heroics class?" The teen sipped his now thrice-refilled tea as Eraserhead squawked out a strangled 'what?!'. Shinji-kun nodded to himself with a wince, "Ah, so you hadn't informed the staff yet. Well that'll make things more interesting." Not the word Nezu would use, though he couldn't deny that Shouta-kun's reaction was amusing. The boy continued on by confirming he knew about Toshinori's injury, his time limit, and his search for a successor. But that was not the end of his knowledge. All for One was the origin of All Might's Quirk, suitably named One for All, which passed down 8 generations of Quirk users as each gave their lives in attempt after attempt to bring down All for One for good. The Quirk was a power stockpile, one that grew stronger and stronger over each generation. This was where things got even more interesting. 

"While the Quirk is definitely a stockpiler, it doesn't just accumulate power. It accumulates Quirks." He let that bombshell sit a moment before continuing. "It currently contains the Quirks of users two through seven, seeing as the first user's Quirk was the ability to pass the Quirk on to others, which fused with the stockpiling Quirk to form One for All itself, and the fact that Yagi-san was Quirkless before inheriting the power of One for All."

Shinji-kun paused once again for dramatic effect (or possibly to let poor Aizawa have a moment to process what he's hearing, Nezu wasn't sure), before continuing again.

"One for All's next user will be Quirkless as well. All Might will come across him approximately ten months before the Entrance Exam of the year he's slated to begin teaching, and the Quirk will be passed on to the new user the day of said exam. The new user will have little to no control over this new Quirk but will still make it into U.A. through the secret Heroics point system in the exam by destroying a Zero-Pointer robot he believed was about to crush another student. He will pulverize the bones of three limbs in this process."

Aizawa blanched at the declaration, looking Ill at the thought. 

Shinji-kun's voice became heavy, and he seemed to choose his next words carefully. "I have a considerable amount of future information on this person, the many events they and their fellow students will be forced to endure, and how they will change modern society as we know it."

Shouta-kun narrowed his eyes at the back of the boy's head, his mein full of renewed suspicion and irritation. "And what, you'll tell us for a price of your choosing? What's your game-"

"No."

The word stopped Eraserhead's words and Nezu's mind in its tracks with its intensity. The tumultuous blend of unwavering conviction and bare, naked fear was compelling, enough to stave off any tirades against the young man for the present moment.

"No. I will tell you everything I know, no matter what you do with me. I can't live with myself if I don't tell someone and the only people on this planet I trust to hear it are in this room right now. Once you have all I know, you can do whatever you want to me. Lock me up and throw away the key if you feel like you have to, but…" he paused, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "All I've wanted since I…arrived in this broken mess of a place was to help fix things. I just want to help."

Put off by the response, Aizawa sneered slightly. "'Broken mess of a place'? U.A. isn't perfect, kid, but that's going too far-"

"I don't believe Feron-san is referring to U.A., Shouta-kun." The young man in question snapped his head up and met Nezu's surely unnerving, toothy grin with a mix of relief and trepidation. "I just have one question before we continue."

His guest, and depending on the answer to this question, possibly more, tensed in anticipation but nodded for Nezu to continue.

"What form of media did this world take in the one you come from?"

Chapter Text

Aizawa Shouta had been having a decent, normal day. This is how he should have known something would go horribly, comically wrong.

It began the way every day he was slated for teaching began: being awoken by the familiar, slightly tone-deaf, but endearingly so (not that Shouta would admit that to anyone under anything less than pain of death), singing coming from the kitchen and the yowls of Bastard coming from where the jet black cat was loafing on his chest.

In one fluid, practiced motion, he scooped the purring void into his arms (the now-quiet Bastard content as he knew the morning routine of food was fast-approaching), and stalked to the remaining source of noise in the apartment.

The Aizawa-Yamada household was, at its core, a study in contrasts. The bubbly, exuberant Hizashi and the quiet, sarcastic Shouta; the black and white cats, Bastard and Spoons; Shouta's pink sweatpants and Hizashi's grey t-shirt. These were the things Shouta thought about as he stood, Bastard in tow, in the entryway to the kitchen and watched his husband, the Voice Hero: Present Mic, hair down and hearing aids out, serenade Spoons with a pitchy rendition of a ballad he had played on yesterday's airing of Hands Up Radio.

Too bright . The familiar thought about his chosen partner had never felt more applicable. Hizashi was sunshine on mornings like these, and Shouta couldn't help but be slightly awed by the glow. And how that light had, inexplicably, chosen to shine on him.

Shaking his head gently to himself, Shouta used the arm not occupied by the purring menace to slowly flick the hallway light on and off to get Hizashi's attention. With his husband's hearing aids out, this was the most logical way of letting Hizashi know he was up and about. The effect was immediate, Hizashi pausing mid-verse and spinning on his heel to face Shouta.

<Shou!>, Hizashi exclaimed in sign language with that same megawatt smile he'd fallen for all those years ago. In a flurry of movement, Bastard was stolen from Shouta's arms and spun around in the air in a bizarre fusion of the Lion King and an amateurish attempt at ballet before being set down on the floor next to a waiting Spoons. Cat safely deposited, Hizashi launched himself into his husband's waiting arms, Shouta having already braced himself for this staple of their morning routine.

As they held each other for a precious moment, Shouta remarked at just how appropo likening his husband to the sun really was. Hizashi radiated warmth like few people he had ever met, and in these rare moments they had together between their packed schedules, he was simply satisfied to be the moon to his ‘Zashi's sun, illuminated and made better by his other half.

But alas, these tender moments were fleeting, and before long, Shouta and Hizashi were rushing out the door, thermoses and papers in tow, and on their way to U.A. for their Friday classes. 

Aizawa Shouta, the married man and pet-dad to two cats, could be described as sarcastic and quiet, but with a soft spot a mile wide.

The Pro Hero Eraserhead, teacher of the Heroics course at U.A., however, would not be described as any of those things by even his most charitable (remaining) students. Eraserhead was a demanding taskmaster, with exacting expectations that his students either met, or became former students.

In keeping with this, Eraserhead had no members of his first-year class left after they had proved themselves unable to take this career seriously and he had subsequently expelled them all, to a man. The only classes he did teach nowadays were the remainder of his second and third-year classes, his eyes watchful for any wavering in their commitment to their chosen life path.

His Hellspawn students performed adequately today; he didn't even have to threaten expulsion to get them to take things seriously. He considered that to be a decent outcome; it meant less work for him if they self-motivated after all. And if said self-motivation helped keep them alert and prepared (and thus alive and well) once they graduated? Certainly a coincidence; the point is that they bothered him less when they became competent, and anyone saying otherwise was a lying liar who had been gossiping with Nemuri, and thus weren't to be trusted.

He was on his way to the teacher's lounge to begin grading papers when his phone rang, with a ring tone he only used for one person. He answered Nezu's call immediately, and at the terse summons (not that many other humans would be able to discern the stress in the chimera's voice, but Eraserhead wasn't most humans) he immediately made his way to the Principal's office.

The aroma of fresh-brewed tea met him as the door to the office opened at his approach. Something the underground Hero had learned over the years is that the kind of tea Nezu drank often depended on the situation he was in; there was the Plotting Tea, the Scheming Tea, the Vengeance Tea, and so many others, all of which were known to him just by smell after these long years as Nezu's de-facto second-in-command. Today's aroma was no different, but it did put him more on edge than he already was. This was a dangerous tea… this was the Pacification Tea. Someone dangerous or upset enough to warrant breaking Nezu's weekly tea schedule was on their way here (or was already in the building) who needed to be quelled or comforted, and the fact that he had been called to attend made him suspect the former possibility more than the latter.

Taking a bracing breath, Eraserhead walked in and faced the Rat's desk, inclining his head in greeting. “What's the situation?”

Nezu nodded authoritatively. “Eraserhead.”

Oh this was serious. The Rat never gave up a chance to annoy his subordinates, especially not Eraserhead, his personal student and verbal pincushion.

“There is little time for explanations, so I will be brief. I am going to be receiving a guest within the next ninety seconds that I have reason to believe is someone very dangerous, either physically and/or because of the potential knowledge I believe them to possess.” Well that explains the urgency of the summons. Eraserhead couldn't help but wonder what kind of monster of strength or intellect was approaching this very room that could make Nezu himself feel so threatened. The Rat continued.

“Should they present a clear and present physical danger, and/or make overtly aggressive actions, I am ordering you to apprehend them with as little damage to their cognitive and speaking functions as possible.” Translation: ‘Make sure they're still fit for interrogation once you're done thrashing them.’ Alright, sounds doable. What's the catch?

“If it proves impossible to hold this person, I authorize you to use whatever force you deem necessary to put the target down. Am I understood?”

Shit. Fuck, that's not good. In all his time under Nezu's authority, he could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he'd heard the Rat this serious, or been ordered to commit what equates to a kill order, for that matter. All Eraserhead could do was nod, a grimace on his face.

 With a curt nod and a wave of his paw, the Rat delegated him to the far corner of the room, where he would be least likely to be seen. As he stood, his mind began to drift, but before he could catch onto any solid thoughts, the door to the office opened abruptly. 

The first to walk in was his fellow Pro Hero, Snipe, fully equipped in his hero gear. This was normal. What wasn't normal was the obvious tension his coworker held in his posture: shoulders tight, back straight. Ready for action, but hiding it, downplaying his stress level. As was becoming irritatingly typical of this trip to the Rat's sanctum, Eraserhead had little time to dwell on this information before he was presented with a new conundrum: Nezu's guest.

 The first thing that stuck out to Eraserhead was how young he was. The kid couldn't have been more than twenty years old. As he stood there, awkwardly fidgeting, Eraserhead studied him: tall for his age, at least as tall as Shouta himself; overweight, with a protruding stomach and round face; a poorly made mask of calm hiding obvious nerves roiling beneath; grey hair, short cropped; vibrant blue eyes, alert and scanning the room. Vibrant eyes that then met Eraserhead's.

 The kid froze, in something like shock, and what looked like recognition. But that shouldn't be right. Because Eraserhead was underground. He was never in the spotlight, never drew attention to himself, so why was this kid so familiar with him to feel something akin to fear in his presence? Had Eraserhead saved or fought him one dark night and forgotten? Possible, but why was he here now? And why was Nezu so threatened by this youth barely out of his teens?

The Hero's pondering and the kid’s staring were interrupted by a far-too-noisy-to-not-be-intentional clink of a teacup against its accompanying saucer from the Rat, causing the kid to look Nezu's way for the first time since he'd trailed in behind Snipe. The sheer relief held behind that flimsy mask of nonchalance made Eraserhead raise a proverbial eyebrow (his face remained passive, of course). It was a downright strange reaction from someone presumably seeing the Rat for the first time, this sort of reassurance in his posture and shaky smile. He had no idea what to make of it.

What he could make sense of was Snipe's curt dismissal and the Rat skipping the “Dog, Bear, Mouse” spiel, going straight to offering the unsuspecting kid the Pacification Tea. Nezu was serious about this. It was no time for the usual theatrics the Rat entertained himself with, he needed this “guest” quelled and docile. And, by the way Nezu spoke, a bit more softly than usual and with little forcedness to his polite diction, he was attempting to ingratiate himself to the kid even more than he apparently already was, judging by the kid's reactions.

As the Rat and the kid faced each other across the desk, sipping away at their respective teacups, the kid finally spoke.

"You know, I never thought I'd get this far. I'm actually at U.A., in a room with the top underground hero and one of the smartest beings alive, sipping tea. Fucking surreal, if you'll pardon my language.”

Eraserhead's paranoia seemed to pay off at this remark: the kid did know who he was, and wasn't shy about sharing that fact, either. That was telling. The tea shouldn't have loosened his lips by now, this was a conscious choice. And that last line: the thing the kid was worried about was his language? Not the fact he'd shown part of his hand already? If the Rat shared Shouta's thoughts, he didn't show it, as he was quickly reassuring the kid and getting down to business. 

"Now that you are here, I'd like to discuss what it is you came here to talk about. You passed on a specific phrase that only has true meaning to a select few, and you certainly are not in that few.”

This was beginning to feel above Eraserhead's pay grade. Phrase? Select few? What the hell kind of mess was this kid in that had him running in circles Nezu would consider exclusive? It certainly wasn't anything the Rat had read him in on yet, otherwise that would surely have been in the briefing before the kid got here. He had begun getting the bad feeling he was going to learn things here he would be better off not knowing.

The kid's response was, to the untrained ear, one of wry humor. But Eraserhead's ear was anything but untrained, and it picked up the veiled resignation in the kid's voice as he spoke. “You want to know how I know.” This cleared up nothing to him, but Nezu clearly knew what it meant as the Rat gave a definitive nod in reply. It was then that the kid's whole body language began to both brace and deflate in a movement Eraserhead was familiar with. This was body language he'd seen countless times in his Hero work, most often from those preparing themselves to tell others news they most certainly don't want to hear, but need to hear.

‘We did everything we could.’

‘We've found a body matching that of your son.’

‘They didn't make it.’

The kid looked like he was about to tell Nezu that the Rat's parents died, and he couldn't tell why the rapid change in disposition had set in.

 And then the kid turned to Shouta.

 And called him by his name.

And described, in detail, his loved ones.

And proceeded to tear the scab off one of Shouta's oldest wounds, from the time before Eraserhead was ever a Pro Hero. 

The kid went on to say things he had no possible way of knowing about said event, things he hadn't talked about, ever; even on those sleepless nights after he'd wake up from nightmares filled with blood and dust and clouds, and ‘Zashi would hold him close until the tears stopped and the aching lessened… not even then had Shouta talked about his memories of that day. 

So how did he know?

What…what was this thing in human skin sat across from Nezu, to know Shouta's innermost thoughts?

"I could go on spilling your staff's secrets, but I imagine Aizawa-san's reaction is sufficient to prove I know what I'm talking about?”

It was the voice, more than the words, that broke Shouta out of his reverie. The haunted, broken voice. As if it had been the kid's wound laid bare instead of his, as if in speaking the words, he had stabbed himself in the chest for every syllable of privacy he violated.

What could Shouta think, in this moment of shared suffering with this demon on Nezu's doorstep?

What did he feel? 

Rage? Surely. 

Fear? More than he'd like to admit. 

Pity? More than he would have thought. And damn if it didn't move him.

And so, for the first time since the kid entered this accursed office, Eraserhead spoke. "What's your name, kid? For knowing an awful lot about us, you've failed to reciprocate.”

The effect on the kid was immediate. His body stiffened before crumpling in on itself as he clapped a hand to his face in sheer annoyance. The kid mumbled heatedly to himself, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. Eraserhead didn't catch much of it, but was able to make out a foreign name of all things, ‘Everett’. Not one he'd heard before, probably English based on how the name was said (being married to an English teacher forces you to pick up an ear for that kind of thing).

When the kid spoke up again, his voice took up a rambling pace, slow and unfocused, and notably unrefined.

"I had this all planned, y'know? Get to U.A., get to Nezu, explain my situation, ask for help, profit. Then I see Cowboy McGee is the teacher to escort me and fuck me, if that gasmask and gun combo isn't creepy as hell. Set my nerves right off.” In any other scenario, Shouta would have filed ‘Cowboy McGee’ away as prime blackmail material, but now was not the time. Something subtle Eraserhead noticed as the kid rambled was his speech pattern. It was subtle, but he was beginning to suspect the kid was at least bilingual, and that Japanese may not be his first language. The language was just off: not formal enough, or too formal, or odd word choice here and there.

The kid looked more directly at the Rat. “Then I see you in person, which is honestly the most surreal thing I think I've ever experienced, and Eraserhead's here too, and I realize I have to use what I got to establish some kind of credibility even if it means preemptively tanking my relationship with the one guy besides you I was hoping to find an ally in, and it all just goes to shit.”

Ally? That's… A loaded word. An ally has one's back, the concept holds trust and mutuality of respect and understanding. And why him? Of all the people to choose to put your faith in, why the little-known Underground Hero? This school was full of spotlight heroes with more resources than Eraserhead had ever had, so what was it about him that made the kid count him as the only other potential contact in this school, and possibly the hero community, alongside Nezu?

Blue eyes once again met his as the kid turned to address him directly. "My name is Everett Feron.” Definitely English, the pronunciation was a dead giveaway on top of the Western name arrangement. 

“It's not the name on my birth certificate but it's the one I primarily know myself by… but the debacle that is my identity issues has to do with how I know all this, and… well, we get there when we get there. Legal name is Sotetsu Shinji.” Japanese name this time, definitively at least bilingual. 

“18.” Young, so young. Dammit.

“Quirk: Iron Within, Iron Without, Classification: Mover, Shaker, Brute, Master, Tinker, Blaster, Changer. Number ratings unknown, and several of those categories are hypothetical until I can test things more. I can produce, absorb, and telekinetically manipulate elemental iron on a molecular level. It's a lot more complicated than that but I won't go fully into the science of it.” 

Nezu began asking questions regarding the kid's odd power classification system, and the kid's reply had Eraserhead once more raising his hypothetical eyebrow (though by now his steely mask of intimidation was broken so he allowed his physical eyebrow to follow suit, if only slightly). He was intrigued, despite himself. The current rhetoric regarding the separation of power types was antiquated and more often than not conveyed very little actionable information, instead relying on a description of the Quirk's specifics to paint a fuller picture. This system felt utilitarian yet comprehensive, the kind of thing Heroes could really use over comms to help save lives. He wanted it. His classes needed to learn actionable skills to keep them alive, and this would help a great deal towards threat identification.

Before Shouta could ask him to elaborate, the kid spoke again. "With that out of the way, I'd like to move on to the information I was actually here to share and get to the part where I ask for your help before I wear out my welcome.”

The question the kid asked next would change the trajectory of Eraserhead's life forever. He had no way of knowing this just then, but as soon as the words were out of Sotetsu Shinji's mouth and hanging in the air of the cozy office, history had been changed. Eight words to derail the lives of uncountable many, to tear down and build up empires and decide the fate of a world:

“What do you know about All For One?”

Eight words to end Aizawa Shouta's normal, decent day. He should have known it wouldn't last.

Chapter Text

Shouta's normal day had been well and truly dashed, crushed beneath the weight of this fucking conversation that just never seemed to end. As it went on, the increasingly concerning rabbit hole of conspiracy-theory-grade information the kid was telling them, and Nezu’s seeming readiness to accept it all without question, made the Pro Hero feel more and more like the only sane man in the room.

He rallied his thoughts during one of the natural lulls of conversation, reviewing what he'd been told. The kid sitting in front of him had knowledge he had no business knowing, including but not limited to: details of his own hero career he had never spoken aloud, the names and powers of his innermost social circle, an uncomfortable amount of information about All Might, including information that surely bordered on national security matters as well as gross personal violations, and even claimed to know the future.

Eraserhead had no idea what to make of the young man sitting mere meters away from him, this intruder into both his life and apparently many more, if his allusions to having more knowledge could be believed. Was it any wonder the wary hero asked the kid what it was he was really up to?

But the words had barely been spoken before the desperate, impassioned plea, a single, frantic word, cut the tension in the room like a knife.

”No.”

And then Shouta was well and truly stumped. He had thoroughly lost the plot of the situation at that point.

But it seemed Nezu hadn't.

The Rat proceeded to ask one of, if not the, most ridiculous, illogical questions Shouta had ever heard.

"What form of media did this world take in the one you come from?”

And the kid didn't balk or question it for a moment. He simply sagged, relief radiating off of him like light from the sun, like Nezu was a god and the kid's prayers had finally been answered. And if Shouta was feeling out if it before now, the following discussion nearly sent him catatonic.

“A Shounen Manga-turned-Anime series. It was called “My Hero Academia”.

■

He had done it. 

For the first time since he woke up to that unfamiliar ceiling nearly a week ago, Everett Feron, Sotetsu Shinji, both, neither, the man they had become, could breathe without the weight of the world on his back. He had made his choice, pleaded his case, and found a receptive audience in Nezu, and he thanked whatever deity or being had brought him to this universe for his good fortune. It was all he could do to not burst into tears of sheer relief, but after his moment of reverie, he felt more grounded than he had the entire time he'd been in this universe. He stole a glance at Eraserhead and couldn't help but chuckle wryly at the unique blend of confusion, denial, and fear on the Pro Hero's face.

“Y’know, when I awoke in this unfamiliar body beneath an unfamiliar ceiling, and realized where I had ended up, I felt much like you're feeling now. To know that I was… divorced, completely, from what I had previously considered to be the only true reality, it fucked me up something fierce. What had happened to me, the ‘real me’, the body I'd grown up in? Did my parents find my corpse that morning, or did I just disappear into the ether? Or did I even exist at all? What if Everett Feron, the twenty-four year old man who'd lived a truly pitiful existence, was nothing but a figment of eighteen year old Sotetsu Shinji's imaginings, or a product of a Quirk gone awry in the cacophony of power and parody that is the universe I woke up in that day?” He shook his head while rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “I swear, it was only the years of therapy I'd had as Everett that kept me from leaping out the nearest window just to escape all…this.”

His declaration drew concerned eyes from the other occupants of the room, but he waved them off. “I'm better now,” he assured them, “Thoughts like those are a familiar devil on my shoulder; I learned how to shake off their influence years ago. I've spent half a lifetime shadow-boxing with death, I'm not going to let some existential horror take me out that easily.” He shook his head slightly, refocusing.

“In the end, what stopped my panic at being in this clusterfuck of a universe in its tracks was thinking about said universe's inhabitants. Because I had knowledge, and in a world of superpowers that can kill in instants and destroy cities, knowledge would be a powerful tool of its own. I thought of many situations, all of which I'll gladly talk about, but the one that got me motivated, the one that got me here today, was Eri.”

■

Shouta listened in a daze as the newest Problem Child in his life told the story of a young girl, whose volatile and powerful Quirk caught the eye of an up-and-comer in the Yakuza. He told them how she'd been taken from her home, violated on an existential level day in and day out by this man, and how said man then used that poor girl's Quirk to further his goals of erasing Quirks off the face of the planet.

Hearing this alone would have been enough to motivate anyone to action, but the kid had more distressing situations he knew of, such as:

● A young woman with a blood-based Quirk who had been abused by her heinous relatives who demonized her for her Quirk and starved her of the blood she needed to keep a clear head, driving her into a life on the streets and, if things went unchanged, into the hands of villainy;

● The number two Pro Hero, Endeavor, needed to be investigated and his children and wife checked on as soon as physically possible;

● The Hero Public Safety Commission needed to be investigated as soon as possible with regards to the career and treatment of the number three Pro Hero, Hawks;

● The Hero Killer Stain's true identity, powers, and at least one hero the kid knew he would target;

● The Pro Hero duo Water Hose would be killed by an A-rank villain within the next year.

It was…a lot; just to hear it all was a lot, and as overwhelmed as the Pro Hero was feeling in that moment, he couldn't imagine how badly it had affected the kid. Add to that the apparent fact that he was a foreigner to this entire plane of reality (which Shouta was mostly ignoring at this point, lest he catch the Existential Horror mentality as well), and it was frankly a miracle the kid was still functioning at all. 

A glance at how Nezu's more relaxed demeanor confirmed that the Principal was in agreement that this young man was not a threat, and that they could relax their guard, if only a little.

Really, the kid was more a victim than anything else; ripped out of his own life and stitched together with one from another world. And yet he himself was so moved by the need to help those he knew were also victims of villains and circumstance that he had risked his anonymity, and the relative safety that gave him in the world of Heroes and Villains, just to be able to help. Eraserhead couldn't help but think the act was foolish, but nonetheless…heroic, in a way that made his opinion of the kid tick up a notch. That's the only reason things ended up heading in the direction they did next.

■

Everett could feel the two Heros’ gazes on him and struggled not to squirm under the scrutiny. The pressure of being judged lasted only a moment, before the Principal smiled a reassuring grin in his direction. Apparently he'd not been found wanting.

“Well, it seems we will be having quite a number of conversations like these in the near future then.”

Everett nodded and rubbed the back of his neck in a weary sigh, he both was and was not looking forward to the process, and he voiced that combination of excitement and trepidation aloud, but Nezu waved off his concerns with a kind expression.

“Though it may be difficult in the short-term, we will do our best to mitigate the stress of this process. You have the opportunity to do something good here despite your own problems, and you took it. It is our turn to help you now.”

Everett furrowed his brows and tilted his head slightly in confusion, but before he could voice it, the Principal continued.

“Tell me, how is the home life of Sotetsu Shinji?”

The question brought Everett up short, but answered anyway: Shinji lived alone, though that was not always the case. His parents and younger sister had been killed in the wake of a Hero fighting a powerful Villain, and he alone survived the ordeal. The young man had been living off his inheritance, trying to find motivation to keep living in a world he now considered cruel and careless. He chuckled sardonically then. “Honestly if Everett Feron hadn't been put into this body, I think Shinji might have gone on to become a villain, or at least a vigilante.”

Nezu, seemingly curious about the logistics of the whole affair, asked if Everett held both sets of memories, those of both his past life and Shinji's life. Everett wobbled his head back and forth in a mixture of a nod and a head shake. “Yes and no; to say that the two people who came together to comprise me exist as two separate entities in my head would be overstating things. It's more that I can call up the memories of either one just like anyone can recall their own memories, with the haze of time and a lack of clarity as the memories get older.”

Nezu nodded in confirmation, as if he had guessed as much, which frankly, he probably had.

“Well,” the Principal smiled and gently clapped his…paws? Hands? Hands. For his own sanity Everett was going with Hands. “This has been a singular and enlightening experience, but I do believe we could all use a respite. Shall we reconvene tomorrow, once again after classes?”

Everett gave a grateful nod at the offer of a break, and the two swiftly finalized their plans for the coming meeting: the young man was to write down everything he could remember of Eri's circumstances and bring it to Nezu the following afternoon.

A brief lull fell over the room after the plans had been made, each of the occupants taking a moment to solidify their plans in their own heads. Once Everett felt he had a grasp on what he needed to get done, he came back to reality and realized that Nezu was looking at him in an…odd way. The Principal's grin widened. 

“During the majority of our conversation, I've been thinking about what we, both as Heroes and as staff of U.A., are going to do with you now that you're here, and while the circumstances of Sotetsu-kun living alone are regrettable, this does give us an opportunity.”

Nezu straightened his posture, his bearing feeling much more professional than he had for the last several minutes. “I am officially placing you into protective custody under the authority of both myself and Eraserhead, in accordance with U.A., until such time as the information you carry ceases to serve as a danger to yourself and others, or such time as you are trained, prepared, and licensed to defend yourself and others, should threats arise due to what you know.”

“...licensed?”

If one had heard that one-word question out of context, far from its flabbergasted speaker, one might assume it came from a particularly articulate macaw that happened to be undergoing death by strangulation.

They would be hard-pressed to connect it to the young man sitting across from the not-dog, not-mouse, not-bear who held his future, and indeed his life in its scheming hands.

The creature in question perked up. “Why of course, what better way to ensure both your safety and the safety of the children you wish to protect than by becoming a hero alongside them?”

In the face of this call to action, this prophecy laid bare, this plucking of at the threads of the great Narrative, our hero could only meets its summons thusly:

“Eh?”