Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku stared, eyes almost unseeing, at the boy sat across from him in matching chains and matching yellow-purple mottling coating his skin. The boy with purple hair that looked as though it had once been fluffy, now coated in thick layers of grease and grime, pressing against his forehead and sticking up in haphazard directions. 

They didn't speak. 

They both knew what was coming. 

The only thing that was missing was the mutation quirked kid. This was how it was. One with a mutation quirk. One with a villain quirk. One with no quirk at all. Three ten year olds, chosen to die because society believed that they should not exist, and the HSPC had decided that killing off three in a ritual would somehow make less of them be born. 

It was an odd thing, growing up knowing you may be one of the three chosen when you turned ten, while no one around you knew it was a thing at all. Izuku wasn’t sure how he had learnt it would happen. His mother hadn't told him. He wasn’t sure she knew at all. When he said goodbye to Kachaan, getting an explosion to the face in return, the boy had said he was insane. Yet here he was. Maybe he would have been lucky. Maybe he would not have been chosen. Maybe he would have believed Kachaan, believed it was insane, in another universe where he hadn't been chosen. Not this one though. 

Izuku stared blankly, exhausted, terrified, and refusing to let himself get to know the other kid. Not when they were both less than a day off of dying. No point. 

The door slammed open with enough aggression for Izuku to whip his head around, wincing at the way that caused the chains to rip at his throat, bruising and burning even more. 

The third stumbled in, falling to the ground, as some faceless agent attached his chains to the wall and left, not caring about the kid who was struggling to stand despite his four extra arms. 

Izuku blinked at the other once more, before turning back to the kid who sat in front of him, resting his head against the wall he was leaning against, his eyes aching to flutter close, even as he refused them, remaining fixed on the boy in front of him, if only to stop himself from falling unconscious. He didn't know why he feared sleep as much as he did, but some instinct told him sleep wasn’t a good idea, and he trusted his instincts. After all, his instincts had told him he'd end up here, and look at just where he was. 

A shaky breath dragged Izuku's attention back towards the new kid, and he winced, internally begging the kid not to do what he was pretty sure would happen. 

The kid looked devastated. Unlike Izuku and the purple haired kid, this one didn't have that dead, accepting air of someone who had known this would happen. He had the pure terror and confusion of someone who hadn't known this was coming. 

There was another shaky breath, the kid's hands moving to rub desperately at his eyes and Izuku winced. He was going to cry. Izuku wasn’t sure if he could handle it if the boy cried. 

"Please don't cry," Izuku begged, his voice hoarse and desperate and pathetic, "Please."

There was a shuttering sound as the kid stumbled through another broken gasp, and Izuku felt his own eyes welling up. No. No, he had been doing so well. He couldn't cry. Not now. Not when he had been doing so well at holding it back. He flung his eyes back to the purple haired boy, craving some form of normalcy from the boy who had been stoic and silent with Izuku for the last several hours, but the kid was just staring at him like he had lost his mind. 

Izuku opened his mouth, then shut it, then looked back at the shaking kid and back to the purple haired one, unable to control his distress, just silently pleading for help. 

"I can't," The purple haired boy whispered, the first words he'd said since they had met, and oh. That was why he had been staring at Izuku, because those had been the first words Izuku had uttered as well. Izuku's stared at the boy, silently pleading, although what for, he had no clue. He doubted the other knew what he was refusing either. 

They both looked to the third kid. Third lamb, Izuku supposed, if you were looking at it metaphorically. Izuku wanted him to stop crying. He wasn’t sure he could handle the tears. He knew he couldn't. Not here, not in this cold, dirty cell with no light and no padding and nothing at all really except for the stone that created all surfaces and the chains that held them. 

"Please don't cry," Izuku repeated. He didn't know why he was so opposed to crying before his death. He just... refused. Deep in his soul, he refused. He did not wish to cry, and he needed the other to stop. To just stop crying so he wouldn't join. He looked back to the purple haired boy, simultaneously wishing he had the boy's name, if only to know how to refer to him in his mind, and allowing himself to feel inherently grateful he didn't know it. He didn't know who would die first. He thought maybe it would be easier to watch an unnamed purple haired boy with a villainous quirk die than to watch someone with a name die. He didn't want a name, because then he wouldn't be able to stop himself from caring. He didn't want to care. Not when he was set to die. He couldn’t handle that. 

The boy with six arms did not listen to Izuku's pleas. The son he let out ripped into Izuku's soul and just like he had known they would, the tears overflowed. The salty water burnt as it ran down his face, getting into all the painful cuts that covered him and just burning. Izuku couldn’t make them stop, not even when the purple kid pushed himself across the room, wrapping his arms around Izuku and the multi armed kid who had somehow also joined him. Izuku didn't know how, but the cell had gone from silent, two broken kids who had accepted their coming death, to loud, full of choked sobs from three kids mourning the lives they would never get. 

Izuku held the two close, dreading the ceremony where he knew he'd almost certainly have to watch them die. He could only hold that somehow he might be killed first and be spared the view. It was selfish to want that, selfish to want the other two to be the ones to watch, but he wanted it nonetheless. Forgive him. 

Chapter Text

Izuku had no clue how he had gotten here, no clue where "here" even was. He didn't really care, just let his breath stutter and shake as he stared out over the ocean- he must be on a beach or a dock or something- barely seeing the waves crashing in front of him, his mind replacing them with the image of his dreams crashing, or even his body crashing, had he taken that step he had so deeply wanted to. 

He sat, knees pressed tight against his chest, eyes staring out almost vacantly, the hard floor beneath him not bringing any comfort, just existing there as a place for Izuku to sit, to scream, to sob. Everything was over. It had been for years, he knew that. It had been ever since he was four and he had that stupid quirkless diagnosis, but now... now it was real. Now he had failed to get into UA, or any other highschool at all for that matter. Now he had no way of ever graduating, of ever getting a job as anything worth much, and certainly not as a hero. 

Izuku had failed. 

For once, he didn't flinch at the sound of footsteps coming towards him, even if he didn't know where he was or how much danger he could be in. He didn't flinch, didn't care. 

The person who the footsteps undoubtedly belonged to sat down next to Izuku, and still, Izuku didn't bother to look to see who it was. 

"You too?" The voice- it sounded to be about his age, not that Izuku had any real clue other than instinct- asked from beside him with a soft sigh. 

Izuku didn't reply. How could he, when he had no clue what the voice was asking? Thankfully, they didn't speak again, and Izuku assumed they were joining him in his silent staring out at the ocean, contemplating if drowning would really be as bad as people made it sound. Maybe that's not what the stranger was thinking exactly, but it was what was on Izuku's mind. Would it be so bad to let salt water fill his lungs, would his instincts really fight him so much that it became a painful death even if he wanted it? Izuku didn't know. 

"U.A.?" The boy next to him asked, eventually breaching the silence once more. Izuku wasn’t sure what exactly the kid wanted from him, but he begrudgingly nodded regardless. That was part of the reason he was out here too. 

The silence- or well in terms of voices- returned, allowing Izuku to bask in the volume of the rushing water, the wind, the birds, the nearby cars. It was nice, to be so quiet yet so very loud. He could get used to this sensation he thought. 

"Useless," The boy next to Izuku spoke, causing him to flinch. Why? Why was he bringing that up? Why now? Sure Izuku hadn't been nice, but he hadn't sent the other packing either, so he didn't think he deserved the harsh words. Although, he was pretty confident he rarely deserved the harsh words people threw at him, but they came regardless. "That's why I didn't get in at least. Useless, villainous quirk."

"Try having no quirk," Izuku snorted in a pathetic reply. Maybe he should be being supportive, no quirk was actually villainous, but Izuku didn't have the energy to go on that rant right now. 

"Sounds shitty. Do they bully you too?"

Izuku nodded, the other boy sighed a long, weary sigh, Izuku finally looked up, just long enough to spare a glance at the other kid before dropping his head back down. 

"Do you ever feel like you're never gonna be good enough? Never going to be kind enough to outweigh the quirk factor? Like no matter what you do, everyone will find a way to leave you and you will be left to die alone?"

Wow. Izuku hadn't expected that. He really hadn't. And it hurt. A lot. To have all of his greatest fears laid out like that in front of him. What had Izuku done to deserve this?

The boy seemed to take Izuku's shocked silence as agreement, because he continued without question, "Because it's not true, you know? You are good enough, you're probably one of the best people in the whole damn world. Or maybe you're not, I suppose I don't know you, but I just... I dunno."

Izuku forced his gaze back on the kid, taking in the chewed up lips and the anxious eyes that refused to make contact with Izuku's, and the quiet resolution he spoke with, and Izuku couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped him because what the hell kind of strategy to calm Izuku down was that? And why had that worked!?"

"You've got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears," Izuku's breath was wet and pathetic as he laughed out the halfhearted joke, blinking at the boy who had just ripped apart his soul and then promised it wasn’t true, promised he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. 

The other boy's violet eyes stared back at him for a while, before finally, he chuckles, his head dips down, and Izuku settles with a soft shaky sob. Izuku didn't bother moving or replying verbally. He really didn't need to. 

Chapter Text

I look in people's windows
transfixed by rose golden glows
These strangers move about their lives
not noticing their brother's eyes outside 
looking through these haunted windows
wondering if the cursed fire still glows
something inside me snaps
I step away, leaving ashes in my wake. 

Dabi stared at the crappy tv that just barely worked, watching his brother compete in the sports festival. His eyes scanned the crowds when shots panned to them, and his heart shattered just a little more as he saw Fuyumi and Natsuo there, cheering his brother on. Dabi should be there too. He should be there for his brother. He couldn’t though. His showing up would only cause the school to go into a lockdown and the event to be canceled. No one wanted a villain at a school festival. Dabi couldn’t do that to his brother. 

His eyes landed on Endeavor's bulking form in the crowd, not sat with his other two kids. Dabi couldn’t help but wonder if he even knew they were there. His wonderings didn't stay there for long, moving to focus on the question that gripped his heart. Did Endeavor still hurt them? Was Shouto being in U.A. enough to satiate the man's burning rage? Dabi hoped so. 

He leaned back, barely aware of his environment. One of the league asked if he was alright. He nodded, but didn't deem it worth a verbal response. They let it go, and David just huffed out a breath. He was getting too worked up over this. He should just forget about it all. Touya Todoroki was dead. Dabi had no connection to the split haired kid on the tv. He left the room. They could fill him in on whatever information they had gained later. 

---

Dabi tried to forget. Really, he did, but ever since seeing Shouto's face close up on live television, he couldn’t get the memories out of his head. Memories of throwing himself between his father and a toddler version of Shouto. A version without that scar. A version without that cold look in his eyes. Memories of Fuyumi bandaging up his burns after training, begging him to be more careful. Memories of curling around Natsuo after his brother had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep. Memories of his mother looking at him with sad sad eyes. 

He'd tried so damn hard to forget it all, and somehow, despite all his efforts, he found himself here, on the Todoroki estate, hidden in the garden, pressed up on his tiptoes and looking into the house, through that window. 

He watched as Shouto deadpanned some sort of joke, or something, Dabi wasn’t sure what, he couldn’t hear them after all, but whatever it was, it had Natsuo folded over cackling and Fuyumi huffing out that quiet laugh that shook her shoulders lightly as she tried to hide her smile. It felt so familiar. It felt so impossibly wrong. 

He watched for a long time, as no one cried, no one screamed, no one hurt. Then he left. It was better he not be there. Dabi was not a Todoroki. He did not belong. They were happy now, and that was all he could ask for. 

He didn't consider the fact that Endeavor hadn't been there. He didn't consider the thought that maybe the glass of that window had been tinted rose gold. He didn't waste time wondering and worrying that this was some once in a blue moon thing. They had been happy. Touya was dead, but they were happy, and Dabi could live with that. Maybe it really had been his fault Endeavor was so angry all the time. Maybe his death had freed them from their father's rage. Maybe it was a good thing that Dabi hadn't been able to force himself to go back. Dabi didn't know, but he was glad they were happy. 

He had to wonder what happened to Shouto's face, but if Touya hadn't been there to cause his father's hatred and anger, then it must have been an accident. That had to be it. Just an accident. They were safe, Touya was dead, they were happy, it was an accident. 

---

Dabi didn't visit the estate again for a long time. He didn't want to be caught, and he couldn’t face watching his family live on happily without him, but today was different. 

Big brother Dabi. 

The words rang in his ears. 

Big brother Dabi. Big brother Dabi. Big brother Dabi. 

Toga had said it so offhandedly, so comfortably and happily that Dabi hadn't had time to process it and refute it before the conversation had moved on. He had been left behind with his thoughts. 

Big Brother Dabi. 

It sounded nice, didn't it? Dabi liked it. He hated it, despised it beyond comprehension, but yet... but yet he adored it. 

So here he was, back on the Todoroki estate. Just to check in. He wasn’t going to do anything. He wasn't going to say anything, stop anyone. He just wanted to see them again. Just to make sure they were okay. 

So, hesitantly, he found his way over to the same window as before, moving onto his tiptoes to peak through it, expecting the rose coloured vision just as it had shown last time. 

Maybe that's why he flung himself back, shaking and breathing hard as he saw his father, screaming at Shouto, hurting Shouto, attacking Shouto, who was burnt and bloodied and so damn broken. Maybe it was that complete 180° turn from expectation to reality that had him recoiling, his skin bursting into bright blue flame that burnt and smothered and HURT. 

The estate, with no fire alarms installed thanks to the constant fire around Endeavor, made no sound as Dabi wrestled his quirk back under control. 

He had failed. He had left them and they were still being hurt. He had left them, and Endeavor hadn't stopped. He might even have gotten worse, and Dabi hadn't been there to be the human shield his siblings had needed. Dabi had failed them, and that revelation just sent him reeling again because holy fucking shit he was such a fucking pathetic failure. How the hell has he convinced himself they would be safe? How had he allowed himself to be so self centred as to actually believe his death would somehow fix things? What the fuck was wrong with him!?

Chapter Text

Fumikage couldn’t help the soft smile as he walked. That was new, he used to be able to appear somber and dramatic all the time. Hawks had wheedled his way into Fumikage's life in more ways than simply a mentor. He was a friend, and an overly chirpy- pun intended- influence. Dark Shadow loved Hawks, and Fumikage couldn’t help but agree. 

He snorted to himself as he picked up the fried chicken for Hawks and him, both of them bonding over their shared enjoyment of the food that their friends teased them for. No one actually considered it cannibalism, but they did all tease the two. It was funny, and it never failed to make Hawks cackle. 

He didn't knock as he let himself into Hawks' apartment, hands too full of food to do so, just getting Dark Shadow to push the door open for him. Fumikage wasn’t completely sure when this tradition of meeting on the first Tuesday of each month had officially started, must have been some time in first year, but it was nice to hang out with his mentor and friend casually once a month and just talk about bird things. 

"Hawks?" Fumikage called as he dropped the chicken onto the kitchen counter. Normally the older hero would be bounding out to greet him by now. Where was he?

Even at the call, no one appeared and Fumikage hesitated. What was he supposed to do? This was uncharted territory. He didn't want to appear to be snooping or anything, but Hawks must know he was coming over right? The door was unlocked, so Hawks was home. Where was he?

Hesitantly, Fumikage slipped over to the doorway to the hero's bedroom, the door abnormally closed, he knocked loudly. No response. Again, Fumikage hesitated, not wanting to walk in on his mentor getting changed but if that were the case, he would have responded. Right?

He called out for Hawks another time, and when no response came, he hesitantly opened the door, surveying the room quickly for any sign of the hero or a warning that he shouldn't be in here. 

There, curled up on the bed, was the shaking figure of a man in the fetal position. Fumikage froze, staring in complete shock at the form. It took an eternity for Fumikage to recognise the man. Hawks, but with no wings, not even small tuffs of wings at his back. 

Hesitantly, Fumikage took a step forwards, looking towards the man's uncovered back, only to wince in horror. Not only were there no feathers there, but there was blood, and his skin looked raw and almost scabby, as though all his feathers had been plucked. It was... horrifying. 

"Hawks?" Fumikage whispered out, his breaths shaky as his mind raced. Who had done this? Why? How? Hawks himself had said he couldn't use the feathers closest to his back, because they took too long to regrow and it hurt to do so. What was happening? Was it going to happen to Fumikage too?

Finally, Hawks seemed to register his presence, sitting up suddenly, seeming oblivious to his lack of a shirt, and staring wide eyed at Fumikage. Only a second later, he tamed his face, eyes softening and smile easing onto it. 

"Hey, hey, don't be scared, I've done this before, I'm okay," Hawks' comfort came immediately, reaching out towards Fumikage, as though moving to check he was okay, despite Hawks being the injured one. This made no sense. What was happening!?

"Who- How?" Fumikage chocked out, eyes barely registering the man in front of him, still playing over the vision of the bloodied back he could no longer see. 

"It's nothing, I'm okay, It's nothing you have to worry about, okay? I'm okay, I just didn't realise how low on feathers I was. I'm alright now, I promise. I just need a little while to recover, and my back hurts, but I'm okay. I've trained for this, I am okay, there is nothing for you to worry about little bird."

Fumikage couldn't help the way his eyes darted around, desperately trying to get a better answer none of this made sense. None of it made any sense at all. 

"Are you... Are you okay?"

"I'm okay little bird, don't worry about me. Now, did you bring us some chicken?"

Hawks moved about with so much ease despite the way he winced so often at the pain he was clearly in. Every time Fumikage tried to worry or fuss, Hawks brushed him off, clearly trying to distract him with other means, and begrudgingly Fumikage allowed it, if only because he knew Hawks wouldn't let them have a conversation about it. He could only do so much for his mentor. 

-

Kiego berated himself internally, hating how much he had fucked up. He had forgotten Tokoyami was coming over at all, had forgotten pretty much everything. The fight had taken so much out of him, and he'd used more feathers than he really should have. He remembered ripping out his feathers that never came out naturally, remembered the blood soaking through them. It had taken a lot of work to ignore it enough to finish the fight, but he had. And then he had gone home, glad there were no cameras on that fight for people to see the lengths he had needed to go to. 

No one was supposed to know, but he had been stupid, had let himself wallow in the searing pain- it wasn't even the worst pain he had ever felt, but the powerlessness that came with his complete lack of a quirk until his feathers regrew just made the stabbing sensation hurt all the more. Now Tokoyami knew, and the kid had been terrified, and Hawks hadn't meant for that to happen. He tried so damn hard to make sure no one ever knew how far he had to go sometimes, but Tokoyami had seen the results and Kiego hated that so fucking much.

He felt like such a fucking failure, and that sensation only grew every time the kid looked at him with worry or asked if he was sure he was okay. Kiego hated it so much, wanted to rid his memories of it all, but he couldn’t, so he simply smiled and talked about shiny things. 

Chapter Text

Shouta groaned in quiet relief as he climbed in through the window of his apartment, his patrol finally over. That had been long and painful and just too much aching work. He hadn't seemed to be able to get a moments break and he was so fucking grateful to finally be home. 

Dumping his capture weapon by the window, knowing Miko-chan would appreciate curling up in it in the sun the next morning- and Bond would of course enjoy chewing it, but wouldn't have the ability to do any damage to the reinforced fabric, Shouta stretched slowly, letting his muscles fully relax. With another soft sigh, he headed down the hallway towards his room, stopping by Izuku's room to check on him. That had become habit some time over the last three months since they had started fostering the kid. He'd get home and check on the kid who would be fast asleep with Miko-chan pressed up next to him as close as she could possibly get. It was nice, seeing the kid so at peace, and it always made Shouta feel just a bit more relaxed after returning from a long patrol. 

It must have become perhaps too much of a habit, as Shouta opened the door, and startled when he found the bed empty. He hadn't seen Izuku out in the kitchen or living room? He wasn’t at his desk either. Where was he?

Shouta felt panic bubbling up inside of him but he pressed it down quickly, stepping properly into the room, scanning for any sign of the kid, and finally his eyes landed on the boy's figure, starfished face down on the ground- how Shouta hadn't immediately seen that, he had no clue, but it was probably something to do with how thoroughly pressed down into the ground the kid was. 

"Izuku?" Shouta asked tentatively, crouching down next to the kid, who did not even look up, but his hand did flap slightly in a pathetic little wave, and the kid let out a muffled 'mmphff' sound, so at least he was alive? That was something? "Hey kid, can you tell me what's going on?"

Izuku made a dramatic groaning noise and raised his head slightly to look blearily up at Shouta. "Floor time."

With that, Izuku's head flopped straight back down, leaving Shouta almost reeling in confusion. What? 

"Are you okay?" Shouta asked gently, his hand running through the kid's curls, if only to calm himself down more than anything. Izuku huffed, moving so his head was on its side instead of nose down in the carpet and properly meeting Shouta's eyes. 

"Had a nightmare. Feel better now though. Floor helped," Izuku explained, his voice somehow both soft and gruff at the same time. Shouta blinked at him for a second before registering that the kid had probably been using the floor to ground himself... quite literally. He couldn’t help the soft snort of laughter that escaped him at the realisation, but he did roll back on his heels so that he was sat properly rather than simply crouching. 

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, his voice soft, and Izuku nodded, rotating his head back to bury his face in the carpet once more. Shouta sighed softly, moving to lay on his back, head leaning to the side to look at his problem child. When the detective had said looking after a traumatised kid would be hard, this is not exactly what he had in mind, but he was pretty sure his presence was helping, so he was more than happy to continue. 

It took a long while of lying there in silence for the kid to finally fall asleep, his breaths deepening and muscles relaxing all the more. Shouts waited another long while- he had no clue how long had passed lying there on the floor- before he was sure the kid wouldn't wake once more. Only then did he scoop the kid up, gently depositing him into the bed and tucking the blankets around him. He waited another few moments, making sure the kid wouldn't immediately wake, before letting his hand gently card through the kids hair once more, the comfort undeniably for him. With a soft sigh, Shouta finally turned his back, leaving the door ajar the way the kid liked it, and headed to his room, curling up easily next to Hizashi, who didn't even stir. 

----

Izuku stared daggers down at the stupid dream journal. Hound Dog had suggested it, and Izuku personally much preferred the grounding exercises the therapist had recommended, but he couldn’t deny that a dream journal made sense, especially considering those dreams were probably his biggest struggle at the moment. Well that and small spaces- or big spaces with the doors closed- okay he might have more issues, but the dreams- nightmares really- were distinctly a problem. 

With a sigh, he started writing, scratching out messy words about that stupid closet and the stupid locked door and the feeling of the world getting smaller and smaller, closing in on him and cutting him off from any outside contact. 

Three pages of frantic scribbling down in that stupid dream journal and Izuku was panicking worse than he had when he first woke up. He couldn’t help himself as he shoved it away, practically throwing the journal from him and dropping to his knees in the middle of the floor. He tried desperately to breathe in those stupid squares hound dog had talked about, but his breathing just got more panicked and he kept losing track of the stupid square and he had to try something else. Anything else. His senses. What could he hear? Nothing. Nothing, it was silent. He couldn’t taste anything either. And it was too dark to see much of anything after he'd turned the lamp off way too fast. Observe something and describe it- no, no that wasn’t an option. Touch something soft- Soft, like the soft carpet beneath him? Izuku froze for a second, his hands moving from where they had been gripped tightly by his chest and touching the carpet, running his hands through the soft material, and finally he could breathe. Not well, but better. He slumped forwards, burying his face into the carpet as he tried to focus every inch of his body into pressing against the floor. 

He lay there silently for a long time, his panic finally starting to fade into an exhausted numb sensation. Then Shouta had appeared, and Izuku had listened to the man, had answered his questions tiredly, and had accepted the quiet company gratefully. He was safe. Shouta was here, there was nothing locking him up too tight to breathe, he was fine. He was safe. He could sleep. 

A soft breath in, and finally Izuku fully relaxed, letting his muscles calm and his mind go blank as sleep pulled over him. 

Chapter Text

Oboro's scream was ripped from his lungs, lost as his world shattered into darkness. He wanted to reach out through the dark void of pain- so much pain- he wanted to reach for Shouta and Hizashi but there was nothing there. It was all just darkness surrounding him. Darkness and pain. He shouldn't be surprised, he realised, choking out a wet laugh. This was a building he'd been crushed under after all. Was he even alive? The pain felt real, but while he ached all over he couldn’t actually sense his body at all. None of it at all, not even his mouth. He'd quite possibly broken his neck, but he should be able to feel something still, right? Maybe he was dead? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was dark and it hurt and he wanted Shou and Zashi so desperately. 
-
In a blink- not that Oboro had been able to blink, but the expression was what mattered here. In that instant, after some undefinable amount of aching time, the world went from complete darkness and void to bright blinding white. Was he alive? Was this a hospital? Instinctively he moved his head to look for Shouta and Hizashi, but he couldn’t even do that much. It wasn’t pain that stopped him, rather a pure inability to do so. He didn't hear the usual hospital sounds, but he also had no idea what was going on and how fucked he was, so that could mean anything. His eyes closed, or... did they close or did the white just fade to black again? Oboro didn't know. 
-
Clouds, Clouds of soft fluffy material, just a touch cold but in that refreshing way that reminded him of the comforting cool air on night patrols or the sensation of being sprayed by a spray bottle of water by Hizashi after a brutal training session on a too hot summers day. Clouds. Cool, fluffy, inviting, comforting. 
-
Darkness. His new home. Oboro existed in it, not so much as a constant period of time, he just... knew it. He didn't sit here thinking constantly, just was aware that he hadn't seen the light in a long time. Thinking didn't happen all that much anyway. Not other than the thoughts of pain, and darkness and clouds and green eyes and black hair and dark eyebags and obnoxiously large smiles and darkness. So much darkness. 
-
It was bright again for a moment before a purplish darkness enclosed over his vision- and it felt like vision this time, not just an existence outside of seeing as the darkness so often did. It was dark, misty and impossible to see through. Then it was gone and the void-like darkness returned
-
What was that about green eyes? And yellow goggles? He felt like there was something he was missing, but it was too far out of his reach to land on any answers. His mind slipped and thinking took a break again. 
-
Kurogiri. The first word he had heard, actually heard, not just thought, in a long time... or maybe ever. Kurogiri. What did that mean? Kurogiri. It felt wrong. Off slightly. Kurogiri. He could get used to it. What did it mean?
-
Obey and protect. That was what he was created to do. Obey and protect the blue haired boy. Master Tomura. He could do that. He was Kurogiri, and he was created to obey and protect. He would do everything in his power to succeed. 
-
Numbers. He needed to know them. 40.21, -73.195. Base. Home. Safety. Bar. 40.85, -73.112. Healing. Doctor. Help. Safety. 40.1415, -73.1321. Maintenance. Nomu. Defence. Army.
-
Ohagi. Eggs. Hot chocolate. Coffee with milk, sugar and honey. Muffins. Cookies. Bentos. Cooking. Cleaning. Helping. Fixing. 
-
Video games. Villains. Recruits. Drinks. Alcohol. Bar. Safety. No infights. Manage his anger. Careful with your quirk Master Tomura. Obey Sensei. Obey Tomura. Obey. Protect. Serve. Help. 
-
Attack. Warp. Teleport. -40.21, -73.1910. Disperse. Protect. Serve. Children. Eraserhead. Yellow? Goggles? Obey. Distract. Protect. Don't hesitate. Escape. 
-
Attack. Warp. -40.19 -73.3. Destruction. Fire. Plans. Strategy. Blond explosions. Bar. Prisoner. Watch. 
-
He gasped as for the first time in... years? something. However long it had been. That wasn’t important. His quirk wasn’t working on the accord of his actions to protect. It worked without his instructions and took far too long for Kurogiri to realise it was Sensei's work. 
-
Captured. Failed. No Master Tomura. Purpose? Quiet. Empty. Void. 
-
Yellow goggles. 
-
Green eyes. 
-
Dark eyebags.
-
Cockatoo hair. 
-
Who. Who. Who. Who was it. He knew them. It wasn’t Master Tomura or Master Tomura's friends. It wasn’t Sensei. It wasn’t someone Kurogiri had met. No. Yellow goggles. He knew them. USJ. Right? No. That wasn’t it. It was before. Cats? Heroes. School. Friends?
-
The purple that edged his vision vanished, and Kurogiri stared out at the white white room and the two on the other side of the glass that screamed familiarity. The urge to protect them was strong as they gasped out angry tears. Not normal. Kurogiri was created to protect Tomura. Not them. Who are they? Purple returns. 
-
Oboro. What did that mean? Oboro. It felt wrong. Yet... right? Oboro. He could get used to it. What did it mean?
-
Black hair becomes more common. Green eyes stare into his soul often. Yellow goggles hang around necks. Talking. So much talking. Kurogiri stayed silent, but green eyes and yellow goggles just keep talking. It's stories. Stories of children, of cats, of school, of heroes, of joy. Sometimes stories of death and mourning that make Kurogiri ache at his core. 
-
Oboro. He remembers it, from before. He'd forgotten about the before, just as he had forgotten about the straight jacket holding him in place when he went to reach forward to while a tear from black eyes. He couldn’t have reached the black eyes on the other side of the glass regardless, but still he aches, held back and away from where he wants to be. 
-
There's a cat. Sushi. Kurogiri... Oboro found it. A small tabby kitten in an empty sushi box. Purple hair, kind smiles. Midnight. Kurogiri didn't know what the time had to do with it but he knew it mattered. 
-
"Zashi?"
-
It was the first word Kurogiri had managed to utter in the time since he had been captured. Time he couldn't only assume was months. Green eyes- Hizashi, Hizashi Obo-Kurogiri remembers- Hizashi cries, but he agrees, soft affirmations that yes, yes this is Hizashi, and he, Kurogiri, is Oboro. 
-
He remembers clouds. He wishes he had them still. The purple mist, the closest he had to clouds, is gone, no longer crowding his vision. He wonders if he will ever see the sky again. He hopes so. Kurogiri had never cared much for it, but Oboro yearned, and Kurogiri had a sinking feeling that he and Oboro were one and the same. 
-
"I miss you."
-
Oboro doesn't know how long it took him to say that, doesn't know how long it had been since his first and only word, but there, staring into the soul of Shouta, his Shouta, who was telling a story of a cat shaped sharpener and a mouse shaped eraser, Oboro had needed to speak. Based on the blank shock, Shouta hadn't expected it. He probably wasn’t expecting the next words that would escape Oboro's lips either, even if those only manage to seep out the next time the two visit, this time both together. 
-
"I loved-love you."
-
Oboro is crying. He cant remember the last time that happened. To be fair, he didn't remember the last time he has done a lot of things, but this specifically felt so achingly far away. And yet, it was finally him, Oboro, who cried. 

Chapter Text

The green haired boy didn't know his own name anymore, hell, he only knew he had green hair because of the way it fell into his face and covered his eyes ever so slightly. He stared across at the man in the same dark room- or was it a cell? The boy couldn’t tell in the barely lit area, all he knew was that every surface was almost icy to touch. 

"Are you ok, kid?" The man asked softly, his voice husky as though his throat was dry and parched. The boy didn't feel thirsty, so he wasn’t sure why the other man would be, but he didn't question it. No need to bring up the other's suffering. Instead he simply nodded, moving ever so slightly closer. 

"It's cold," He breathed quietly, hands rubbing up and down his arms as he tried desperately to stay warm, "And I don't- I don't know where we are- who we are- I'm scared..."

"C'mere," The man offered, "We can share some warmth, maybe work out what's going on."

Hesitantly, the boy moved closer, testing the grounds slightly, before sitting next to the man, whose warm arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Shit, you're ice cold," The man hissed, carefully pulling the boy into his lap and holding him close, warm hands rubbing up and down the boy's arms. They were in the same cold room, both in just a T-shirt and pants, so why the man was so warm, the boy had no idea, but he wasn’t complaining, just curling in tighter and accepting the offered warmth. "Do you know what your name is?" The man asked, probably an attempt to distract the boy from the cold and the aching dread- although he had no idea what exactly he was dreading. It was just resolutely there, fear creeping inside him. He just shook his head before burying it back into the warm shoulder. He felt the rough textured scar tissue against his face, but said nothing, not wanting the man to push him away, back into the cold. 

"Me neither," The man sighed softly, "Shall we choose some names for now so we have something to call each other until we work it out?"

The boy hesitated for a moment- he didn't understand what was going on- had they lost their memories? Did they have memories to begin with? He knew basic facts, knew how to speak, knew what things meant, but he didn't know anything about himself, about this man, about anything. A name seemed smart though, so he nodded. 

"Okay, how about we go with Greenie for you?" The man suggested and the boy- Greenie- hesitantly agreed. Before the man could suggest one for himself, Greenie sat back, just enough to survey the man's face more carefully before offering a name in return. 

"You could be Silver, cuz the..." Greenie didn't know how to describe the small staple like things holding scarred skin to healthy, so he quietly tapped on them, and the man smiled and nodded, so at least that hadn't been a mistake. 

"Alright Greenie, you have any idea why I'm so warm and you're so cold?" Silver asked, and Greenie shook his head, huddling closer at the reminder. "That's okay. I'm sure we will work it out, I don't think I have any idea about how to get out, so how about for now we just rest, see if anyone shows up, and if they do, we can work out the next steps then."

Greenie nodded, letting his eyes shut as he manoeuvred to become more comfortable. He didn't have any reason to trust Silver, but the man hadn't seemed to be dangerous, and he seemed nice enough, plus he was heavenly levels of warm, so Greenie found himself trusting the man regardless. 

"Are we gonna be okay?" Greenie asked quietly, and Silver pulled him in tighter, holding him close. 

"We are going to be just fine. You're going to be okay, and as long as you're okay, I will be too. Does that sound good?"

"Okay," He whispered softly curling tightly into the other. 

Chapter Text

Izuku keeled to the ground, hands clawing slightly at his eyes as he stared up, past the barrel of the gun and into the terror stricken eyes of Snipe. He wonders, faintly, what the man saw. His greatest fear, of course, that was what showed in Izuku's eyes, but what had that been? 

He knew he was back to being himself now, after years of being trained by Aizawa, he finally knew how to hit the off switch on his quirk, but the gunshot had startled him and his instinctive screech of stress had dragged Snipe's attention over right as Izuku lost control of his quirk. And the man had seen. And he had acted. And now, even though Izuku had clamped down the quirk and was visibly himself, Snipe's gun still trembled in fear, and he still stared at Izuku in abject horror, and Izuku couldn’t do anything other than wait for the trigger finger to tremble too hard and shoot him.

He refused to even attempt to scare the man off by activating his quirk. No. His quirk only brought terror, and it was more than possible Snipe would shoot him instead of fleeing, but Izuku didn't even care if it was a possibility to escape. He would not use his quirk. Never again. Not now that he could control it. Not on purpose.  

He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move, could barely even breathe, so he kneeled there, staring up at Snipe, eyes wide- matching Snipe's in that sense- and anxiety curling around him. Even if he were able to move, he wouldn't dare do so. Maybe he would have been able to disarm Snipe before the man pulled the trigger- although Izuku highly doubted those chances- but then what? Besides, he'd known from the moment his stupid fucking cursed quirk awakened that he would die at the hands of someone who had been affected by the quirk. It was hard to expect anything else when with one wrong move you were transformed into someone's worst nightmare. 

The gun clattered to the ground, dragging Izuku back to his body, looking down, expecting to see blood soaking his clothes or dripping from his head or something, but instead he just saw the gun, unfired, dropped to the ground. 

"Shit, kid I'm sorry-" Snipe hissed, squatting in front of Izuku and checking him over, clearly looking for injuries. Hands brushed lightly over the scratches that Izuku hadn't even realised he had carved into his skin while just barely avoiding clawing his cruel eyes out. 

Izuku stared unseeing my over Snipe's shoulder as the man frantically checked him for every sign of injury. He knew logically that the heroes who taught at U.A. all knew of Izuku and all knew of his quirk. If they didn't, Izuku wouldn't be allowed to walk around campus at all. 

Faintly he is aware of Snipe guiding him back towards the teachers dorms, likely wanting to bring him to Aizawa. Izuku was too busy distracted by his own wonder of how close death had been, and how easy it had been to simply question if maybe death wasn’t quite as awful as people so often said. 

Chapter Text

Honestly? Izuku didn't care as much as he once had. Didn't even care as much as he perhaps should. No. Izuku had, for lack of a better term, grown out of caring. He didn't care what others thought of him. He didn't care what they did to him. He didn't care how hurt he got or how hated he was. Izuku. Didn't. Care.

Don't get him wrong here, he still had a heart, still felt things, and fuck he cared about others. He cared for his classmates. He cared for civilians. He cared for people. Hell, he even cared for the fucking villains. He just didn't care about how people saw him. He didn't care if he upset people. He didn't care about the dream of being a hero. He didn't care about any of that.

Maybe, if he hadn't been born quirkless, or if All Might hadn't almost caused him to jump before giving him the quirk, or hell, maybe if he hadn't felt beyond pressured to make his hero name the name he had been bullied with for so long. Maybe if he hadn't fought in the war at 14. Maybe in another world, another universe, another place. Maybe he would still care. Maybe he wouldn't have just broken Endeavor's nose on live tv. Maybe he wouldn't find himself backing away from the number one hero with eyes wide and terror streaming through him. Maybe his mind wouldn't be filled with a thousand memories amplifying the fear. But no. This was not another universe. This was not a different place with a different world. This was here and real and it had Izuku's entire being trembling.

Izuku stared up at Endeavor who stepped towards him again, and suddenly Izuku was falling. He hadn't been hit, or at least he didn't think he had. Not yet at least. He was on the ground and scrambling away because what the hell had he been thinking? Why would he EVER do that? That was stupid and dangerous and now Endeavor would hate him, would hurt him.

He truly couldn’t remember what had caused this. Had Endeavor said something? Done something? Izuku couldn’t remember. All he could think about was the fury in Endeavor's eyes as the hero stormed towards him, fire licking out at Izuku, not quite burning, but scalding the skin enough to more than just hurt. He would need to treat that properly later. Some sort of burn ointment would probably also help. That is of course on the assumption that he would survive which was far from a certainty.

"Endeavor, take a walk," The words, snarled out in a clear warning tone snapped and despite the dark tone, Izuku's body relaxed, trusting the new voice implicitly.

He watched tiredly as the two men have a staring contest, before finally Endeavor stormed away, and the figure Izuku so inherently trusted turned to him, pulling Izuku’s shaking form into his arms and half carrying him away from the media’s eyes.

Izuku was vaguely aware of just how long it took him to start properly processing the world around him again, but he did not care. Not at all. He just slowly turned to face the man who had stayed with him for the entirety of the time Izuku had been lost deep in his mind. Aizawa-Sensei was watching him closely, but he didn’t say a word, just quirking an eyebrow, the question of if Izuku was back with them again obvious in the expression.

“I’m back,” Izuku groaned, dropping his head back against the couch he was sat on and staring up at the roof, “How bad did I fuck up?”

The question to anyone else could mean a thousand different things. How hurt had Endeavor’s nose been, how much trouble he was in, how much work it would take to recover from this, literally anything. Aizawa-Sensei however knew without question exactly what Izuku was asking. How much had he come undone in a way that would cause pain. How much had he ruined what people looked up to him for. How much had he stopped being a symbol of hope.

“You’re okay kid. We are going to make it be okay. You’re allowed to come undone. You’re allowed to be imperfect. Okay?” Aizawa-Sensei replied, leaning forwards and forcing Izuku to look him in the eyes as he did so. Izuku just winced, looking down the moment Aizawa-Sensei had finished talking. Yeah. He had fucked up. Bad. Otherwise, it would have just been the first sentence. Otherwise Aizawa-Sensei would be calling him problem child and laughing silently the way he so often did, with only a soft smirk showing on the outside. No, this was too serious, too real, too undeniably bad.

“I don’t know what happened,” Izuku whispered, his head falling into his hands, more exasperated at himself than anything else. What had come over him? He knew better. It didn’t matter that Endeavor was a complete asshole, because Izuku coming undone meant a whole lot of bad for a society that had placed him on a pedestal with an expectation for him to be perfect. He had to be so fucking perfect all the fucking time. That was what Izuku had to be, and while Aizawa-Sensei hated it as much as everyone else in class 1A, none of them, not even Izuku, had been able to do anything about it.

“Endeavor crossed a line. You shoved him right back over it. If anything, the asshole should be thanking you,” Aizawa-Sensei replied, and Izuku snorted slightly. Had it been any other day, any other situation, that would have gotten a full laugh from him, but in this second, a snort was all he could muster. Especially the swearing. While Aizawa-Sensei hadn’t completely avoided swearing in front of his students, it usually only came out when they were in deep shit. Now though, now that they had graduated and grown up and Aizawa-Sensei was so often reminding them to drop the ‘sensei’, now he would swear without much concern, and it usually had at least some of the class startling. Directed at Endeavor and it was hard not to laugh.

Slowly, his friends started appearing, Aizawa-Sensei must have told them where they were– Izuku still wasn’t completely sure exactly where they were, but he didn’t care that much as the heroes he had grown up with surrounded him, offering their own promises that it would be fine, that the expectation for him to never break was unfair and illogical, and maybe it was the consistent repetition of that statement that had Izuku finally relax. They would fix this. Like Hitoshi said, this was a good time to point out that even heroes make mistakes and get upset and that just because people had made mistakes it didn’t mean that was all they could ever be. Or something. That was a problem for later Izuku. Right now, he just didn’t care enough.  

Chapter Text

Izuku had a secret. A secret so big that the fate of Japan, or perhaps even the world, relied on his ability to keep it. So he did. He didn't tell a soul, not even when his mother asked questions and worried over him, not even when his childhood best friend turned bully hated him more than ever before. Not even when his new homeroom teacher pulled him aside and actively asked about it. Izuku didn't say a word because he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. He couldn’t risk it. It didn't matter that he broke every bone in his body in the process of keeping the secret. It didn't matter that the secret had him facing off villains far more deadly and experienced than him. It didn't even matter that it risked his own future, his own ability to live.

Izuku kept his mouth firmly shut, a smile plastered on at every question if he was okay. The smile grew more easy and natural every time he wore it, reaching his eyes and making them shine, even if inside Izuku felt like his skin was crawling and his bones were aching. It didn't matter how far the smile was from the true expression that lay beneath because he had perfected the smile, and people no longer questioned if the sunshine child was okay. Why would they when he always had that bright smile that made his eyes sparkle with joy? The smile was so perfectly real that there was no reason to question them. And so no one did. It was easier that way, easier for Izuku and easier for everyone else. Izuku didn't have to lie to their faces, and they didn't have to worry. A perfect win-win scenario. 

Maybe it was the practiced ease of that smile that made it possible to hide everything that happened to him. Maybe it was the way he was so completely accustomed to the lies and the secrets and the importance of never letting anyone see below the smile that meant Izuku didn't tell them about what had happened. About how they had hurt Izuku in ways he had never been hurt before. About how deeply their actions had reached into Izuku, ripping away all that he was without permission, hurting him more than any other before. More than broken bones or even 4th degree burns. Hurting him deeper in a way he doubted they would understand even if he weren't to keep it a secret. He kept the secret though. Just as he knew so easily how to. 

He remembered their words, searing into his mind. Don't tell anyone little hero. No one trusts a hero who can't even save themselves. If they knew they'd expel you. You're going to be a great hero one day, so don't you dare tell them and risk that, risk all those people you could have saved if you had kept your mouth shut. 

So Izuku had kept the secret. No one would ever know about how they had abused his body, how they had defiled it and broken him beyond belief. Broken bones he could handle, but the broken spirit was much harder. Still, he handled it with that practiced perfect smile. Perfect, easy, shining smile. No one would ever know. 

There were times where Izuku was tempted beyond belief. He wanted to tell someone so fucking bad, but he couldn’t. When Aizawa-Sensei asked him point blank if there was something wrong on days where the smile wasn't quite so easy and the memories were particularly loud, Izuku wanted to tell him. Fuck Izuku wanted to tell him. He never did though. He couldn’t. He needed to be a hero people could believe in. He needed to be perfect. He needed to be. 

Izuku couldn’t be certain, but as he stared up at the needle and thread, his whole body restrained and quirk nullifying cuffs tightly attached to his wrists, he was pretty sure it was the promise of no longer needing to be the cause of his lips being sealed shut. He probably shouldn't see All For One's Doctor sewing his mouth shut as a blessing in disguise. He probably should be fighting it, fighting back, but as the villain told him all about how much Izuku had run his mouth too much, gotten in their way too often, rambled too loud too constantly, Izuku couldn’t be bothered arguing. He just closed his eyes and exhaustedly accepted the pain piercing through his mouth. 

--

Shouta, despite his cool calm and collected appearance with a tint of anger, was a worrier at heart. So when one of his students had a too bright smile that didn't reach his eyes, Shouta had worried, had asked the kid if he was alright, and had been met with confident, cheery lies. Shouta knew better than to force anything out of the kid, though he kept a close eye on the officially dubbed Problem Child. 

When the boy's smile started to reach his eyes, Shouta's concern only grew, because that was too perfect to be a practiced fake smile, and yet he knew it was fake. It took a damn lot to convince an underground hero of pretty much any lie, and when Shouta was married to Hizashi, king of perfect fake smiles, he was more experienced in noticing them than perhaps anyone else. No kid should be so good at fake smiles that they reached their eyes, so again, Shouta tried desperately to reach out to the kid, to convince him to let Shouta in, but it only had the kid closing off further and nothing he did seemed to fix it. Shouta hated it with a burning fucking passion. 

Then the kid's smile that had become so easy despite its lie started to struggle again, started to turn into grimaces when the kid wasn’t playing complete attention to it and wasn’t that terrifying. The worst part was that it wasn’t after a villain attack, it wasn’t after one of the many traumatising events his kids had been put through. Hell, it didn't seem to be after anything specific at all, and that just infuriated Shouta all the more. He desperately tried to get the kid to tell him what was happening, hell, he got all of Midoriya's teachers on the task, but the resolute smile and insistence that he was okay remained despite it all, and Shouta couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix it because Midoriya refused to let him and it was driving Shouta insane. 

And now Izuku was missing. Kidnapped by the League of Villains, and Shouta just knew it could only get worse. So he worried. While they desperately searched for the kid, he worried, coming up with a thousand possibilities for what might be happening to the kid, a thousand different ways the League could be hurting him far more than ever before. 

None of his thousand theories could have prepared him for this. None of them could have prepared him for the sight of his problem child, mouth covered in dried blood, sewn shut with thread that Shouta had no clue as to what the colour had originally been, but it was the dark brownish red of dried blood now. It was horrifying, but perhaps the worst part was the soft relief in Midoriya's eyes. It... It had to be because the heroes were here. Right? It was just because he was relieved to be saved. That was it. 

Except, in the ambulance, Midoriya stared at him and there was something like hope but so much darker there and Shouta didn't know what that meant. And then the doctors had tried to cut the threads away and Midoriya shoved them back, covering his mouth and practically pleading with his eyes for them to leave him there like that, mouth sewn shut, and fuck did that make Shouta want to rip his heart out. Instead, he sent the doctors away and focused on the kid. 

"Midoriya," Shouta started, hesitating for a moment as he tried to find the correct words to say. "Kid, can you tell me what's going on in that head of yours? Just write it down, okay?"

Shouta handed the kid his phone, the notes app pulled up so the kid could write, and Midoriya just stared wide eyed at him as though the idea was foreign and illogical. Shouta raised his eyebrow and the kid looked down at the phone in defeat. 

'It means I don't have to lie anymore'

Fucking hell that ripped at Shouta's heart because he knew. He knew what the kid meant. With a mouth sewn shut, he would never have to say he was fine when he wasn’t. Shouta looked the kid over once more and every aspect of the boy radiated exhaustion, bone deep exhaustion and Shouta knew then that Midoriya was tired of lying. Maybe he had been for a long time, but finally he had an excuse. 

"Kid, you can tell me anything, okay? You never have to lie to me, even if you think you do. I am never going to get upset at you for being honest, even if- especially if it means admitting you need help."

'But they can't know. No one can know.'

"Kid, there is nothing you can possibly know that you cannot tell me. Okay? I promise you, you can tell me anything."

Shouta would grow to regret those words as the kid broke and finally, finally told him what he had been searching for. Finally explained why the smile was a cursed lie. Shouta may never have been ready for the words written out on his phone screen, typed by a terrified kid with his mouth sewn shut. Still, at least it meant his kid was finally talking to him. That was what mattered here. 

Chapter Text

Shouto hissed under his breath as he wrapped the bandages around the injuries. He hated it when it was like this. Hiding bruises was easy enough. Burns could be defended as his own quirk acting up. Hell, even broken ribs were manageable. These deep aggressively bleeding cuts though? Not so much. 

Shouto deserved them of course. He hadn't stopped Natsuo from riling his father up by talking about the fanfiction people had written about his father and All Might. Then he'd been stupid enough to agree to training- not that he could ever say no, but if there were a time to, it was then. And then Shouto hadn't been good enough and the mug thrown at him had only been fair, even if it shattered on impact and tore through skin, even if the scalding liquid inside burnt into those fresh cuts forcing Shouto to work so much harder to clean them. 

It had hurt, practically reopening some of the lacerations covering his body just to clean it thoroughly, but he didn't dare risk infection. He'd done his best, and he could only hope the infection had been staved off. The bandages that wrapped around his arms and torso, covering all of the deep jagged cuts were infuriatingly hard to hide but Shouto did his best, of course he did. He pulled on his uniform shirt and the jacket he probably didn't need in this heat but didn't dare take off and risk anyone seeing the multitude of bandages. It wasn’t so hot that anyone would be concerned, and if they were he could say he liked the jacket and was keeping himself cool with his quirk or something. Anything to get the attention away from him and his bandages. 

It worked. Shouto didn't miss the way his homeroom teacher looked at him a little too long, but the man didn't say anything and Shouto was practiced enough not to show any pain at all. No one noticed, no one asked qustions, no one worried. It was perfect. It was manageable. It was fine. 

Even training wasn’t bad, his wounds all remained faithfully closed to his great relief, and everything was fine. It wasn’t his best work, and it was clear Aizawa-Sensei noted that, but the man didn't do much more other than raise a concerned eyebrow in his direction. Shouto would have to get his act together quickly. He couldn’t risk anyone working it out. He may hate his father, but the man did good hero work. If anyone found out just how bad home life with him got, that hero work would be ripped away and Shouto knew how much damage that would cause. The villains would take advantage of society stumbling as the new number one fell. No, Shouto did not dare risk it. No one could know. That was how it had to be. 

When the class demanded an outing to a mall, Shouto couldn’t deny it, not when that would only draw attention to him, so he tagged along, careful to avoid irritating the wounds. It should have been fine. It should have been a nothing shopping trip where nothing happened and everyone was chill, but when had anything ever worked out in that way for class 1A?

The villains appeared, and for some fucking reason, Dabi of all people grabbed Shouto, his grip brutally tight. Shouto couldn’t help the almost inaudible hiss of pain at the way the hand tightened around some of those still healing cuts on his arms. Bizarrely, Dabi froze, rearranging how he held Shouto slightly, and it wasn't perfect, but it was better. He had no clue why or how this was happening, but he knew better than to fight back with so many civilians present. It would be too dangerous. 

Shouto's mind was still firing a hundred plans a second trying to work out what to do when Dabi moved, roughly dragging Shouto's sleeve up and oh. Oh no. Shouto had been doing so well at denying, at hiding, at saying he was fine. He couldn't exactly deny this, not as his entire class and a handful of other civilians watched in mixed horror and intrigue, cameras fixed onto him. 

"Endeavor did this. Endeavor did all of this to his own son, you see that!? Endeavor did this. Ask him, ask him what happened, but he won't deny it, will you, hero child. The number one hero abuses his own kids."

Shouto opened his mouth, trying pathetically to reply, to answer, to justify and defend, but he couldn’t. How could he deny his entire life so elegantly summed up? Even if he should. Even if hundreds of lives potentially lay in his hands, Shouto couldn’t force the words out. 

"You can come with us kid, you know that? You don't even have to do villainy, but if you need an out, you can," Dabi's words were soft, barely spoken at all, impossible to be overt heard by any of the crowd over the clamour, but Shouto heard it loud and clear, turning to stare in stunned shock at the words. 

"How do you know any of this?" Shouta asked, instead of the almost thousand other questions that should probably be his focus. 

"My boss' boyfriend has insider knowledge and I care enough to pay attention. I can't stand by when he's hurting you this fucking bad."

Chapter Text

I’d guess dizziness, unease (like you know when you can feel something is off but can’t tell what) arm pain is likely closer to the collapse, perhaps some amount of shortness of breath especially if he try hide that which would kinda exacerbate it heart beating hard and fast

Izuku knew he should go see Recovery Girl, hell, Aizawa-Sensei had told him to, had told him to leave class and visit Recovery Girl and he knew he SHOULD. Only, she didn't want him there, and with the re-fracture in his arm after he had fallen on it wrong and snapped the brittle bones once more, she wasn’t going to even look at him. That wasn’t why he needed to see her, hell, Aizawa-Sensei didn't even know about that. It was more the fact that after a fight with Denki, he hadn't been able to properly catch his breath, nor completely keep his balance. Both were bad signs after fighting someone with an electricity quirk. Izuku knew that, but he didn't have the energy to walk all the way to Recovery Girl's office only for her to scowl at the now bruising arm and send him away in disappointment. 

It wasn’t fair that she wouldn't see him with a broken bone when he hadn't even broken it using his quirk, but he knew better than to waste his time with that, so he simply headed to the dorms, deciding to wait for his class there. He'd say Recovery Girl's dealt with it, he'd dutifully ignore Hitoshi and Shouto raising their eyebrows disbelievingly at him- how they were better at picking up on Izuku's lies after only a year than Kachaan was after an entire lifetime, Izuku had no clue, but he refused to let himself ponder it. That would only lead him places he really didn't want to go. 

By the time he had back to the dorm, nausea started to bubble up, so he didn't dare try the stairs, let alone the elevator, which was always hell when it came to nausea. He just shoved it all down and crumpled onto the couch. Later him problem. Right now, he needed rest. He needed a nap. He needed his chest to stop fucking aching. 

He watched tiredly as his classmates returned, followed by Aizawa-Sensei who immediately sat himself at the table, likely planning to mark while keeping an eye on the students who had been just a touch more rowdy today than normal. 

Izuku forced his attention away from the teacher when Aizawa's gaze landed on him. He wasn’t even completely sure why he had been actually paying attention to the man, but to be fair he didn't have anything in his hands to distract himself with and if he didn't find some interest in the world around him, he'd get caught up in the distraction of too many things that were simply wrong with his body. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but it didn't feel great, and Izuku did not want to focus on it. He'd be fine after he slept, he was sure of that, but if he had a nap now he wouldn't sleep well tonight, so he was trying to hold off on that until it was a reasonable time to go to sleep. 

Izuku hissed under his breath, suddenly aware of how much the pain in his arm had grown. He wasn’t completely sure why, usually the fracture would remain a similar pain unless something antagonised it, and it didn't quite feel like the same thing, the same type of pain, but Izuku couldn’t be bothered questioning it. He really couldn't. Maybe water would help. That sounds like the sort of thing Iida would say. Drink water. Yeah, Izuku could do that. 

He forced himself to his feet, wincing internally as his slight stumble from dizziness caught Aizawa-Sensei's attention, but he shrugged it off and forced his way towards the fridge, only for the world to go black and his legs to give out beneath him not even halfway there. 

----

Shouta wasn’t stupid. He knew something was wrong with the kid almost immediately, but he had sent Midoriya to Recovery Girl, and she hadn't messaged him to let him know to watch out for anything, so the kid had to be fine. Still, the nagging sense that it WASN'T remained, and Shouta made it a rule not to ignore his instincts, so he set to marking in the form common rooms instead of curled up next to his husband in their apartment. He didn't regret it though, not when Midoriya's gaze remained set on him just a little too long, nor when the boy stumbled as he stood. Most of all, he didn't regret it when the kid fell. Out of no where, simply collapsed. 

Shouta moved before anyone else could, telling the others to stay back in case there was a danger he hadn't noticed and to call Revovery Girl. The moment he was by the kid's side he was kneeling next to him, checking for any sign of responsiveness, breathing or a pulse, and finding none. 

He hissed a frustrated breath out, utterly confused as to how Recovery Girl had allowed Izuku out of her sight if this had any chance at all of happening. Still, that wasn’t the focus right now, and Shouta would be damned if he didn't fix this. 

Moving on trained instinct, Shouta forced himself to treat this as though it were any other individual he'd simply found on patrol, moving through the ingrained motions with enough practiced ease that everything moved swiftly. He winced internally for barely a split second before he began compressions, hating the way he felt more than one rib crack under the pressure, but knowing better than to let up. Better a broken rib than death, even if Shouta despised thinking of it that way. He would not let this kid die on his watch. He refused. 

He didn't let up until Recovery Girl appeared, letting his hands clear as she pressed a magical kiss to the kid's forehead before checking for a pulse, and practically crumpling back on his heels when he felt it. Thank fuck for Recovery Girl and her quirk's ability to still work on someone after their heart had stopped if they still had a chance of revival. 

He looked up at Recovery Girl, exhaustion filling every fibre of his being as she quickly moved around the kid, clearly checking him out. 

"Why didn't you keep him for observation if he was like this?" Shouta asked, his tone perhaps a touch too aggressive, but he really didn't care. Not when it came to one of his kids almost dying on him. 

"What do you mean keep him? I haven't seen him in over a month?"

What. 

Chapter Text

Izuku stared emptily out over the city. He had known this was coming for years, known as he slowed down, as his mind wandered instead of sprinting, as sleep evaded him yet also consumed him. He had known for a long, long time that his life was coming towards a pause. He just hadn't expected it to be quite this... sudden. He'd expected to continue slowing until he came to a gradual stop, and he had been ready to deal with that, ready to accept his life would be over after that point. 

This morning he had been moving, not fast by any means, but certainly not so emptily close to the end. Then Kachaan had said... and Izuku had been dragged so suddenly slower, time moving at a pace his mind couldn’t keep up with, internally looping the words slowly, cruelly, devastatingly. It wasn't a stop, but it was so much slower than before. 

Then the slime villain had attacked and Izuku had been so ready for that to be the end, if it had been, maybe he wouldn't feel so wretchedly, painfully, empty. 

But no. 

He hadn't died there. Hadn't had his life paused and turned off. 

No, instead he'd been saved, and it was as though Izuku's mind had been turned to fast forward for the first time in years, moving a mile a minute as hope filled him so completely. 

And then, out of no where, All Might had hit pause on his mind with just a few short words. "Try to be realistic."

And then the hero, unaware of how much that had simply stopped Izuku in his tracks, just left. He left, and Izuku was alone, brutally paused and unable to ever escape it. He was pretty sure All Might had smashed the remote in his wake, just making sure that no matter what, no one else would ever be able to press play again. No one would ever be able to let Izuku's mind continue again. 

And it ached. 

Fuck it ached. 

Somewhere deep inside him, there was this ache, trying to claw its way out, and had Izuku still been functioning even the slightest, he might have started dry heaving at the sensation.

He didn't. Of course he didn't. He just stared, eyes half lidded and empty of emotion. Empty. Empty. Empty. 

Izuku would never know how long he stood there, staring emptily out at the cityscape, his whole life paused with zero expectation for it to ever resume. 

All he knew, was that somehow, someone appeared on that very roof and hit play. Even if it was the slowest Izuku had ever functioned, there was something there, moving less than a frame per second, but moving nonetheless. Izuku allowed himself to be led away with a hand on the small of his back, not even registering the way one finger remained raised, something that by all means should have had him gushing about five point activation quirks. Instead he found himself slowly, echoing slowly, wondering how this person had managed to hit play after All Might had so completely destroyed any chance at that. 

----

Shigaraki, despite his friends' teasing and his impulsive perhaps reckless nature, was not stupid. Even more so, he wasn’t as oblivious and uncaring of other people's emotions as he allowed others to assume. Shigaraki was no hero, he tended not to care much, but when he saw the kid stood by the edge of the roof across from him, eyes void and body slack, he couldn’t very well leave him. That would make him no better than all of society that he hated so much for doing that very thing to him. 

So, he had called Kurogiri to warp him across to the other rooftop, not particularly wanting to go down all those stairs only to go up the stairs on the other building. This would be easier. And perhaps speed would be important, given how teetering close the kid was to the edge, even if he didn't look aware enough to even take the step required to fall. Shigaraki wasn't quite willing to risk it. So warping it was. 

The kid was oblivious to him, unaware of the calls Shigaraki had sent his way. At first he'd thought maybe the kid was purposefully ignoring him, and he'd been ready to turn and leave, but then he had caught sight of those dead eyes and it became sickeningly clear that the boy was not choosing to do anything. He was simply existing, emptily and without registering a thing. 

It had taken Shigaraki a while to break through to the boy enough for the kid's eyes to ever so slowly track their way up to meet his, blinking painfully slowly. With that confirmation of some level of awareness remaining, Shigaraki gently led the kid away, guiding him with a hand on his back because it was clear the kid wasn’t aware enough to understand what Shigaraki wanted from him without being physically guided. 

Technically, Shigaraki realised several days later, technically that had been kidnapping. He looked over at the kid, curled in a ball on the couch, blanket tucked around him courtesy of Dabi who cared as much as Shigaraki did, not that he'd ever admit it. The kid, although still emptily quiet and barely responsive, was there, and he was more there than he had been when Shigaraki first found him. 

No, Shigaraki didn't have any particular guilt over the supposed kidnapping when it meant he was able to more effectively help the kid return to the land of the living and functioning. 

Chapter Text

prompt: in the end, it's worthwhile
sub prompts:
ignoring an illness
body bag
wounded caretaker

Izuku and Shouta curled up close on the couch, both just trying achingly to breathe. It shouldn't be this hard to do such a simple task, but whatever the fuck was wrong with Izuku's lungs had left him unable to breathe properly for the last week. Had Shouta not been suffering a severe concussion, broken ribs, more than a little internal bleeding, and likely far more injuries neither were quite aware of, the man would have been rushing Izuku to hospital. Had Izuku been able to breathe enough to walk more than a few metres without collapsing to his knees and heaving ragged empty gasps for air, he too would have rushed his dad to the hospital. As it was, neither of them had been able to make it out of the apartment, both struggling to do much as think straight. 

They couldn't call an ambulance either, not when Izuku's phone had fallen down the gap between the head of his bed and the wall, impossible to access without moving the bed, something neither were capable of, and Shouta's phone had been lost during the patrol that had hurt him this badly. He'd only made it back to the apartment on adrenalin, and now the two found themselves in this cursed hell. The timing was fucked, Shouta's entire body broken completely the same night Izuku's fever started. Just their fucking luck. 

It said something for the awful state the two were in that despite both being famously known for their self sacrificial streak, disregard for their own wellbeing, and extreme levels of protectiveness, neither had been able to help the other. 

Both were starting to wane dangerously, neither quite aware enough to properly take in the other's state. Izuku couldn’t remember the last time he'd eaten. He knew at some point his dad had dragged out a box of jelly pouches and that had lasted them a while, perhaps a few days? Izuku definitely wasn’t sure of the amount of time passing around them. He'd also grabbed them multiple bottles of water, but both things were empty, and Izuku couldn’t stomach the idea of even so much as moving, his whole body aching despite the lack of injuries, his legs stiff enough that he wasn’t sure if he'd be able to move if he tried. He couldn’t force himself to try. 

Shouta on the other hand wasn’t even aware enough to register any time had passed, and the pain that consumed his entire aching body blocked out any hunger or thirst he may have felt. Neither would be moving to get food or water any time soon. Neither had the energy to care, even if they knew they should, which they didn't really know. Not in this fogged, clumsy, aching moment. 

They didn't move, even as aches grew and their breathes grew more haggard. They simply curled up close to each other, finding faint comfort in each other's warmth, proof that they weren't alone, even if the other couldn’t help with anything. It was still a comfort, knowing they weren't alone. 

It was pure luck they were found at all. It was the school break, so neither were expected anywhere, and they had both decided for the holiday to be spent in each other's company, bonding and relaxing and, more importantly, not worrying about what others would expect them to do. Was it antisocial? Perhaps, but it was a nice break for the two introverts to exist without expectations. 

Still, Hizashi had been concerned when he hadn't heard so much as a peep from his husband and son while he was away on a mission, especially considering the two never stopped worrying when he was away. So he had called Nemuri to go check on them. 

No one had expected what she would find when she had to use her spare key to get inside after no one answered. 

No one had expected the two forms, one feverish, the other cold to the touch. No one expected for two unconscious bodies to leave that building that day, one in an ambulance with sirens blaring and paramedics fretting over the barely alive person, and the other in a body bag. 

No one had expected this. 

No one would be the same after. Especially not the lone survivor. 

In the end though, the body in the morgue would always see this as a worthwhile sacrifice, to have died with the other, to have died so the other could live. 

It would have been better if neither died, but when had life ever been so kind to them? 

Chapter Text

Shouta Aizawa was known for many things, his logical ruses, his inclination to expel students, his unruffled exterior, many, many things. Most of the things he was known for, he did t care one way or another about. He didn't care what people thought about him at all in fact. No. That wasn’t quite true. He cared what his husband thought, and he had come to care what his students thought. He supposed it was probably the shared trauma that made him care so personally for his students. Any other year group he undeniably cared for, he was a softie underneath his hard exterior after all, but never had he cared what they thought of him. Never had he thought of a class as his kids rather than his students. 1A was a different breed, that was for sure. 

All that to say, maybe a year ago he wouldn't have cared quite so much about this situation. Maybe a year ago, he would have simply glared at the camera and done what was needed to survive without risking anyone. Maybe a year ago he would have allowed the pain to show. Maybe a year ago he wouldn't be infuriating his torturer so completely with his steadfast refusal to show pain. 

Don't get him wrong. Shouta was in agonising levels of horrific pain. He just refused to show it. He knew where that camera lead, knew his students would be watching despite the multiple glares he had sent in the camera's direction and the snapped warnings to his kids to turn the stream off, to put there phones away, to stop watching. His class, while truely amazing, didn't have the self preservation instinct in them to listen. Not when it came to one of their own, and as loathe as Shouta was to admit it, he was one of theirs. So, of course, they would be watching. And that meant he couldn't let them see him in pain. 

At first the villain had been trying to get information out of him. Then he moved to a pathetic attempt to sow discontent amongst his students, trying to force him to turn on them. Now? Now it seemed the only goal was to get him to admit he was in pain. Which he refused to do. Even if it would stop the torture, which he doubted. Far more likely it would just make him all that much easier for the villain to break. Shouta refused to break. 

Shouta would die before letting his kids see him break. 

Just as he thought those words, he felt the cyclone knife shove deep into his gut and twist. He grit his teeth, grateful to the dry eyes stopping any tears from welling at the aggravating pain. That had been the deepest wound yet. The others were flesh wounds, not pretty, certainly not painless, but the pure amount of blood Shouta could feel flowing out of the wound was not good. Would he die here? Fuck, what would happen to his kids if he died here? 

Aizawa looked up at the camera, mind running through a thousand different scenarios of what would happen when he died. He prayed Hizashi would look after 1A. They would need someone. Nemuri would look after Hizashi, that much he knew for certain. She'd look after Eri too, make sure the kid was okay. Fuck that was a lot to put on Nem, but he knew Hizashi would break just as bad as he had when Oboro had died. Perhaps worse. He would need Nem, and Nem would be there. His class would need them both.

While 1A looked up to All Might still, at some point they had learnt his dislike for the hero and seemed to lack a fundamental trust in him, although Shouta couldn’t say if that was his influence or something more to do with Midoriya, but he was leaning towards the latter as his dominant theory. Regardless, they wouldn't seek comfort from the man. Same with Vlad King, and while the other teachers were trusted by the class, they weren't a part of the class. It would take a long time for 1A to recover from losing Shouta, he knew that, and fuck he wanted to live, but he knew he had no control over that.

He felt his face being grabbed, dragged to meet the villain's eyes. 

"You had enough yet hero? All you have to do is admit you're in pain and it will all stop. Just tell me it hurts and I will let you have a break."

Shouta didn't know what possessed him to do such a stupid thing, but he simple glared at the villain and spat in the man's face. 

He would regret that, he knew, but it was worth it. It was so very worth it. He smirked. The knife cut into his skin once more. Worth. It. 

331

Chapter Text

Izuku glared up at his captor, not saying a word as they asked him dozens of questions. He knew it had to have been hours of questions, none of which he'd answered, because the itch that grew whenever he was not near his class and more importantly the pillar of safety that was his teacher, was becoming near unbearable. So hours. Izuku did his best to ignore it, to focus on the world around him, maybe get some information for when he was rescued. He was smart. He was strong. He could deal with this. Aizawa-Sensei would come save him soon. 

---

It was getting late now, almost twelve hours after when he was captured if Izuku had to guess. No one had come yet, but that was okay, that was to be expected. They were likely still searching. Izuku's captors- a pathetic mimicry of the League of Villains- had at least given up on trying to get information out of him, instead simply watching him in silent shifts. Izuku hated it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to the dorms and curl up with his class around him and his teacher grumpily watching over them all trying to hide the fondness that always shone through just a little. 

---

The light of day returned, and so did the questions. Izuku ignored them all, not even bothering to glare at his captors as he tried to keep his cool. He refused to shake and cry like a pathetic child over nothing. He knew the heroes were coming for him, he knew they would find him, and he knew these villain wannabes weren't anywhere near ready to torture him, let alone commit actual murder. Compared to the league, these were nothing. The heroes would find him soon enough and Izuku would be uninjured. There was nothing to worry about, but that fact didn't lesson the tightening ball in his stomach, writhing anxiously and forcing him to grit his teeth to not show any of his inner turmoil. 

---

Night fell and Izuku found himself staring at his guard for lack of a better thing to do when sleep refused him. He hadn't been able to sleep in a place he didn't feel safe in for a long time. He wasn't sure why, but it was something that had followed him for far too long. Regardless of that annoying aspect, every part of Izuku felt wrong. He wanted to be back home, he'd rather they torture him, get it over and done with and send him home than just wait. He didn't care what happened he just wanted to be back at the dorms. He just wanted to be with his classmates and teacher. Was that so unreasonable?

---

Izuku hated this. He hated it and he was practically begging his fucking captors to let him go. He didn't know why, but he would tell them everything he knew if it would make them set him free. Problem was, he didn't know what they wanted to know. He was just a fucking kid at school, he didn't know the inner workings of the HSPC. He wished he did. He really truely wished he did. If he could just know he could tell them and finally go home. He wanted to go home. 

---

It was night again. Three nights now. It had been months since he had stayed away from campus this long. While many of his classmates would leave Friday afternoon and return on Monday morning, visiting their families, Izuku hadn't been willing to leave for quite that long. He still visited his mother of course, he even stayed at his house on Saturday nights often enough, but he never left on Fridays and he was always back by Sunday evenings. Three nights felt like an eternity. He ached to be back at the dorms. Ached to be in the comfort of knowing his teacher was watching over him, keeping him safe. Ached to be able to know what was happening to his classmates and teacher. What if they were hurt? What if they were hurt and that's why they weren't here to save him?

---

Izuku, even with his inability to sleep in unsafe places, hadn't been able to keep himself awake. Now though, his head snapped up, panic overwhelming him, the image of Aizawa-Sensei's head being smashed into the ground by a nomu at the USJ seared into his head. He... he hadn't been there to see it... right? No. He can't have. There was no way he would have... forgotten... that. No. It wasn’t possible. But it had been real. So fucking real. The nightmare like any other nightmare of memories. It was real, and Izuku remembered it. He remembered watching in abject horror as Aizawa-Sensei was pummelled into the ground and Izuku was unable to do anything. He hadn't been able to protect him. Aizawa-Sensei had still managed to protect him and Froppy in that state, but Izuku had been too far, too weak, too pathetic to help him. Now he would be able to protect the hero, and he wasn’t there to do so. Izuku screamed. Loud and wretched and desperate he screamed. He needed to go home. He needed to be with his teacher and make sure everyone was okay. He needed to be okay. 

---

His captors had gagged him to muffle the screaming, but it did nothing to stop the shaking panic consuming Izuku. He needed Aizawa-Sensei. He needed to make sure everyone was okay. He needed Aizawa-Sensei to make sure he was okay. He needed. He needed. He needed. 

---

He was alone. The captors didn't count. Izuku was alone and he still couldn’t stop shaking. He was alone and all he wanted was to be home. To be back in the safety of the dorms. He needed to be home. 

---

Izuku felt arms wrap around him. The shaking didn't stop. He heard voices around him. The shaking didn't stop. He felt his restraints fall away. The shaking didn't stop. He faintly recognised All Might was the one holding him up, now carrying him out of the room. The shaking didn't stop. 

The shaking didn't stop. 

The shaking didn't stop. 

Aizawa-Sensei's worried voice cut through his scattered senses, and Izuku snapped to attention, searching out the man's face, shoving himself from All Might's arms and sprinting to wrap himself around his teacher. As the man kneeled down to hold him, the shaking finally started to settle as he sobbed into Aizawa-Sensei's shoulder. 

---

-------

---

Shouta carried the sobbing boy to the waiting ambulance, unable to extract himself for the almost inhumanly tight grasp the kid had on him. They ended up needing someone with a quirk that allowed them to scan for injuries in order to work out if the kid was okay because he couldn’t be pried away from Shouta at all. 

At some point, Shouta's grip on the kid became almost as tight, letting the last few days of panic out as he held the kid who was so completely unwilling to let him go. Shouta couldn’t find it in himself to be anything but grateful for the boy's need to be near him, when Shouta himself didn't want the kid out of his sight. 

---

Shouta would start to regret that fact when after the boy had fully come back to himself, he refused to be more than a metre from him at all times, spending almost every waking second gripped onto Shouta's sleeve. He allowed it, because the kid had been through yet another traumatic thing, but it made for quite a lot of difficult conversations, and practically forced a full class sleepover in the common rooms because Midoriya would not settle unless Shouta was nearby, but he wasn’t stupid enough to stay alone with the kid. He knew the rules about that after all, so a class sleep over would do the trick. Especially since they were all wanting to be close to Midoriya as well. 

It was harder when they had to go back to classes, Midoriya following him too closely for Shouta to even consider going into the staff lounge. When he nudged the kid towards his seat, Midoriya froze, gripping back onto the sleeve that was becoming almost worn with the near constant tight hold. Right. Even his seat was too far away. This wasn’t great, Shouta knew that, but he had only just gotten back, it was reasonable for him to need more than normal. With a sigh, he allowed the kid to sit at Shouta's own desk, and then found himself glaring at almost every student who came in and opened their mouth to question the sight. They all wisely kept their mouths closed after that. 

Then came the problem of Homeroom ending. Shouta was supposed to go get some work done, catch up on all the marking he hadn't even considered doing while his kid was missing, but the moment he moved to leave, Midoriya was on his feet and moving swiftly after him. Right. That wasn’t exactly an option.

With a soft sigh, Shouta returned to where he had been stood, waiting for Ectoplasms' arrival. A quiet word to the other teacher, and Shouta was curling up in his sleeping bag behind his desk, close enough for Midoriya to feel safe while still being in the class he needed to be in. 

This was going to be a problem, not because Shouta didn't want to be here to help his kid, but because this was so clearly unhealthy. He would have to take Midoriya to see Hound Dog today. He doubted it would help much, but he didn't know what else to do. 

Chapter Text

Shigaraki stared at the hero in front of him, eyes flicking back to check on the unconscious figure of his brother behind him. The entire reason he had called in the not so anonymous tip. Izuku needed help. Shigaraki was going to be that help if it was the last thing he did. He just... He didn't have anyone he could trust to help Izuku. The only medical professional a villain was safe with was Dr Garaki, and Shigaraki knew just how much the monster was holding out to turn his little brother into a nomu. No. Not a fucking chance. He didn't trust the man near Izuku, so. Heroes. That was his next best option. 

He had asked for Eraserhead- or... demanded he supposed, said if Eraserhead was there he would come peacefully, and if not he wouldn't. That wasn’t entirely true. He would have come peacefully for pretty much anyone if they would save his little brother, but he actually trusted Eraserhead. Especially with kids. Eraserhead had an entire class of students Izuku's age. If anyone would know how to help him once they had healed him, it would be Eraserhead. 

Surprisingly, the hero had come alone- or, no, Shigaraki doubted that substantially, but he had at least been the only one to come inside. The others were likely all waiting for Eraserhead's signal. 

"Shigaraki," Eraserhead gritted out, clearly both unhappy to see him but glad it wasn't obviously a trap. 

"I'll come peacefully, I've even got my artist gloves on to stop the five finger activation. All I ask is that you look after Izuku. Not just get him to a hospital, I mean really actually look after him. I don't doubt I'm going to jail or Tartarus or whatever, and I don't care, but he's just a kid, he won't survive on his own without my help."

"I'll watch him," Eraserhead nodded, "Can I check him over please?"

"You're not arresting me?"

"Currently, you're my second priority. I would have been by his side immediately to check he's still alive and okay if I didn't think that would risk getting disintegrated. So, can I?"

Shigaraki hesitated only a moment before nodding, stepping back so he wasn’t stood protectively between them, and watching as Eraserhead quickly checked Izuku's pulse and breathing, before turning back to Shigaraki. 

"Can I call the paramedics in?" Eraserhead asked, and Shigaraki nodded watching carefully as the hero spoke into his comm, before moving over to him, "I'm going to have to cuff you now, I promise I'll keep the kid safe."

"Thank you," Shigaraki sighed, holding his hands out to be cuffed and watching the paramedics over Eraserhead's shoulder. He hated watching them take his brother away, but he had spent his time since the call preparing for it. Still, the urge to protect Izuku from them was strong. He didn't move. 

"Are you ready to go?" 

Shigaraki nodded, following obediently behind Eraserhead. 

---

Eraserhead kept appearing in Shigaraki's cell, telling him about Izuku's condition. Internal bleeding, and he was in a coma, but he was alive and the medications seemed to be helping. It was good. He didn't understand why Eraserhead was telling him this. After the fourth visit, two weeks in, Shigaraki gave in and asked. 

"Because he's your brother, and if you cared enough about him to give yourself in then you deserve to know how he's going." Eraserhead answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. It really wasn’t. 

"But I'm a villain?"

"You still deserve to know how your brother is going, and I don't see how you knowing that will do anything other than give you some peace. Knowing his condition isn't going to help you escape."

Shigaraki couldn’t argue the logic, and he really didn't want to, because he was desperate for more information on his brother. 

---

Eraserhead kept returning, visiting twice a week, always with news about Izuku, and more often than not, other topics of conversation. Shigaraki didn't understand it, but he appreciated the break from the emptiness that left him alone with his thoughts. 

---

A month later, Izuku still hadn't woken up. All his injuries were healed, quirks were used to make sure he was physically ok, but yet he was still in that cursed coma. It made Shigaraki itch. If he hadn't needed to wait for the heroes to come, maybe the speed would have changed something somehow. He still didn't know what exactly had happened, Izuku had just stumbled home and into his arms and passed out, looking beaten up beyond belief and he hadn't woken up. It had terrified Shigaraki enough to give himself up. And now Izuku still wouldn't wake up. And Eraserhead just kept visiting. 

"Eraserhead," Shigaraki interrupted the other, who had started talking about coffee mugs of all things. He waited for the man to be fully intent on him before he continued, "Tell me there's hope for me."

That was the crux of it. If Izuku woke up or not, Shigaraki's existence would no longer change anything for the kid, and it was such an exhausting existence. He knew Eraserhead wouldn't lie to him, and he just needed the knowledge that he could stop worrying about trying to exist. It would be easier. Perhaps even for Izuku. No one wanted an older brother locked up in Tartarus.  

"There's hope for you." 

Shigaraki blinked. 

What?

He stared at Eraserhead, waiting for the rest of the joke, but Eraserhead just stared back at him, seeming unperturbed and... honest. 

"What?"

"There's hope for you," Eraserhead repeated, "It may take some time, but you've proven you're willing to do a lot for your brother. I don't see why you can't rehabilitate for him. I'm working on getting legal permission to do just that. There is hope for you. I promise."

Oh. 

That, Shigaraki had never expected. 

Chapter Text

Oboro didn't hesitate. He moved without even thinking. He moved and he saved those kids and only once they were all safe did he realise the consequences of what he had just done. Only when the whole world shook and he fell of balance did he realise just how bad this was. Only when his eyes flew wide and the world around him came hurtling closer, too fast for him to stop it. He screamed, not in fear per-say, and the pain was yet to come. No, he screamed for Shouta and Hizashi. He screamed because he didn't want them to be alone and selfishly he riding want to die alone. 

Within a millisecond, the pain hit, smashing through his entire body, darkness flooding his vision. Then, mere moments later, it was over. 

---

Hizashi screamed at the sight of the building collapsing, hand slamming over his mouth and forcing it shut to cut off his quirk before it could do any more damage. Fuck. Was this his fault? No. No, it couldn't be. But Oboro had been in there. He'd ignored the call to retreat, had raced in and sent a cloud out holding the kids but he hadn't followed. 

Maybe he had a cloud protecting him from the debris? Maybe he was still in there? Hizashi wanted to believe. He wanted to believe do fucking bad, but he wasn’t sure he could, as he stood there, unmoving except for the uncontrollable shaking as he stared at the building. 

"Snap out of it," Shouta's voice was harsh, forcing Hizashi attention to him. How could he be so cold and unbothered when Oboro could very well be dead? Hizashi didn't trust himself not to use his quirk if he spoke, so he just mouthed the other's name in confusion. "He's not dead."

How did Shouta know that? Had he seen something? Had Hizashi missed something?

"Oboro, talk damn you," Shouta snapped angrily into his comm, "This is a bullshit fucking prank, so pull your ass out of there already."

No one replied. The rubble did not move. Shouta hissed under his breath and stormed towards the rubble. Hizashi stared after him, uncertainty clouding his mind. Was Shouta right? It seemed impossible, but maybe? 

"Eraserhead," Their interning hero's voice snapped over the comm, "The building is unstable. Stand back."

Hizashi watched as their mentor ended up having to practically drag Shouta away, his comm filled with rapid fire instructions as search rescue heroes were contacted and brought in to look for Oboro, then he was dragged away with his mentor and best friend, still with no clue if Oboro was alive. Fuck, he hoped Oboro was alive. 

---

Shouta snarled as their mentor berated him. It was stupid. Oboro was not fucking dead and he was definitely not a casualty. Just because Shouta didn't have any proof didn't mean it wasn’t true. It wasn’t fucking true. It couldn’t be. Shouta refused to let it be true. Why did they not see that? At least there were some rescue heroes going in to look for Oboro. Maybe the boy was trapped. That, Shouta could concede, was reasonable. He doubted Oboro would have ignored him, so his comm must be broken and he must not be able to get out, but he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. 

His head snapped up to attention, eyes drilling into the figure who had entered the room. He recognised the hero, and while he couldn’t name them, he knew they were able to detect the location of living creatures. Fucking finally. Someone who would be able to convince these idiots that Oboro was still alive. 

"We found the body, we need you two to confirm his identity."

What. 

"It's not Oboro."

"Shou, you haven't even seen him!" Hizashi snapped, tears welling up, his face scrunched in confusion and hurt.

"He's not dead. Oboro did not die. He can't."

"Just, come with me," The hero sighed sadly, and Shouta wanted to wring their neck personally, but he begrudgingly followed, if only to have proof it wasn’t Oboro. Shouta refused to believe it could possibly be Oboro. 

~

Shouta stared, unbelieving, at the body he recognised all too well. Everything down to the bandaid on his nose from where Shouta had punched him at training earlier that day. That was Oboro. That was Oboro. Holy fucking shit that was Oboro. And he was dead. He was so fucking dead and that was Oboro and suddenly Shouta was screaming. He'd never been one to scream. Ever. And yet, at the sight of half his world crumbling down to dust, Shouta couldn’t help but scream. 

He felt Hizashi's familiar arms wrap around him, and he turned around to bury his face in the other boy's shoulder, sobbing just as much as Hizashi was. No. No. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. Oboro wasn’t supposed to die. It wasn’t supposed to be Oboro. It was never supposed to be Oboro. Why did it have to be Oboro?

Chapter Text

He hissed and snarled at anything that came close, his hackles near constantly raised, never resting fully, merely crouching in a way that would permit him to leap away at any threat. Danger was all around and he was far too aware of it. Aware of how wrong everything is, of how much of a threat every person who came across him was. 

He was hungry all the time, but to eat was to be vulnerable and danger was always right there even if he couldn’t quite tell what from. He ate only when he could scavenge up something from the trash deep in the alleyways when the danger was ever so slightly lower. 

He ached from the constant tension in his muscles, from the near constant fleeing, from the wounds that never quite healed and the way he so rarely slept. He ached deeply, the pain becoming more and more natural with each passing day. 

People were dangerous. So terrifyingly dangerous, and he hated what he had to do to protect himself when they came too close. He hated the taste of blood in his mouth, hated fleeing through streets that were too busy, too dangerous, too deadly, hated all of it. 

And then a man appeared in his alley, and he prepared himself to do what was necessary, all his instincts kicking in, his vision flaring a little as he pulled on the strength deep inside him, the strength that caused electricity to crackle around him. He reared back and prepared to lunge only for the man's eyes to flash and he as falling, his body wrong and misshapen, his claws vanishing and his snout flattening and for just a moment, the panic remained but the all encompassing danger was gone. And then the world faded to black. 

---

Shouta stared in utter disbelief at the feral wolf that had been terrorising the area (although he had thought that description unfair given the wolf left well enough alone provided no one came near it, but that was neither here more there), trying to understand what had just happened. The wolf had activated its quirk- it had a quirk- and so instinctively, Shouta had flared his own and... and it wasn’t a wolf anymore. It was a kid, perhaps eight years old, now naked and covered in dirt and grime, far too skinny to be natural. And the boy was unconscious. 

That last thought kicked Shouta into gear, moving quickly as he unfurled his capture weapon, doing his best to turn it into a blanket-like thing to cover the boy somewhat while checking his pulse and breathing. He was alive. Definitely unconscious, but alive. 

Shouta moved through the motions, mind still running wild as he called it in, pulling out the shock blanket he kept in one of his punches, flicking it out to unfold it and wrapping the boy up in it, returning his scarf to his shoulders in the same movement. He hesitated a moment before calling Hizashi. He had to wait for the police car to get here regardless. 

"Shou?" Hizashi asked, picking up the phone on the second ring. 

"Zashi, hi, I'm okay," Shouta started immediately? knowing exactly where his husband's worries would go, "Look, you know the wolf we've been told to be on the lookout for?"

"Yes?" Came his husband's uncertain voice, clearly questioning where this was going. 

"I found him. He's a kid. A shapeshifter- and- maybe some other aspect to his quirk? he had electricity flying off him. I'm not sure, but when I used my quirk he detransformed and passed out. I can't say anything for sure yet, we will need to work out what information we can find on him, but given the sightings we have seen, he hasn't been going to school, and he's been out far too late for a kid his age. I'm not sure he's got anyone and-"

"Shou, hey, shh, don't panic, you're okay, and you've got him now. We can sort something out. I'm guessing you have a plan?"

"Yeah, I-" Shouta breathed, hesitating a moment before nodding to himself, "If I'm right, he's not going to be safe to be around other people, not at first, he looked... he looked feral 'Zashi. Like, worse than Spirit when we first found her. Ready to fight because it was all he knew."

"Shit," Hizashi whispered, a sentiment Shouta could only agree with. It was an accurate comparison. Just like their cat, the kid had been so terrified, eyes wide enough to see pupils, snarling in a clear message of 'go away', tackles raised and leaning back on his haunches, ready to pounce. He had been halfway through the motion of pouncing when Shouta's quirk had put a stop to it. 

"We have a spare room. My quirk can detransform him. He needs help Zashi."

"Of course, Shou. Bring him home, I'll get the bed set up properly."

"I'm not sure when we will get back. He passed out, and we are going to need him awake to sort anything out," Shouta warned, but he could feel the tension easing from his muscles. Hizashi was ready to protect the kid, just as much as Shouta was. 

The drive to the station was quiet, with Shouta just holding the kid to his chest, knowing that would be easier and safer than trying to strap an unconscious kid into a seatbelt. 

Once they got to the station, Shouta grabbed a collection of spare clothes they had for situations like these where loss of quirk control resulted in torn or lacking clothes. There wasn’t anything the kid's size, but the huge sweater did the trick, and Shouta really couldn’t complain. They would sort something better out soon. For now they had to work out who the kid was. 

---

He woke up inside. He was never inside. Inside was dangerous. Everything here was dangerous. He moved, his body shifting back into its natural state without any thought, and he prowled forwards, clawing at everything as he searched for an escape. There was no exit, and that just made the panic grow. He was trapped. He was trapped and there was no where out and he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t. 

He didn't know how long he'd been panicking, clawing at everything in sight and trying desperately to create some sort of hiding spot, when all of a sudden his claws vanished and his paws turned... human? Dangerous. And then once more, he passed out. 

---

Shouta stared in mild horror at the room he had left for two minutes. Two minutes to grab a coffee. Two minutes. It was trashed. Trashed beyond belief. The couch clawed beyond repair, the table now missing a leg that had been somehow chewed through in the time he was gone. Everything was destroyed. 

Shouta stared at the kid, once again human and passed out. How someone that small- even if he was much larger in his wolf form- could cause this much destruction, Shouta didn't know. He did at least know the kid's name. Izuku Midoriya. He was supposedly quirkless. His mother was dead, his father MIA, and the boy himself was quite obviously not quirkless. 

Shouta groaned. This would not be an easy challenge. With a soft sigh he settled the kid back onto the couch and called Hizashi once more. They would need to take everything even remotely able to be destroyed out of that room before Izuku came home. 

Chapter Text

Shouta had been to a hundred of these events before. You'd think as an underground hero he would get out of it, but no. Of course not. He had married a spotlight hero and that resulted in him being forced into a suit he despised biannually because if he didn't go with Hizashi, the man would act like Shouta had stabbed him thirty seven times without remorse. 

So, he came along to these stupid events, kept his head down and did his best to appear like any other nonhero plus 1. It wasn’t exactly easy, but it helped that none of the heroes he had worked with recognised him like this. 

He stared after Hizashi, watching as the man talked animatedly with one of the newer pros. Shouta had taken a break from all the questions aimed at him- who was Present Mic's mystery partner? The recurring question was infuriating- to get some drinks for the two of them. This place only had champagne which made Shouta want to gag a little, but he ignored that in favour of drinking all the alcohol he could get his hands on in order to best wipe the event from his memory. He knew he wasn’t a stupid drunk. Not as smart as his sober self, but he wouldn't draw any attention to him, he would just start clinging to Hizashi, and as embarrassing as that was, no one knew it was him and Shouta would remember very little of it. 

Maybe Shouta should know better than to drink something he hadn't been watching from the moment it was poured, but he had already had too many glasses, so he just happily took the two glasses the waiter handed him. The man had said something about making sure the drink got back to Present Mic, and Shouta nodded solemnly, only to turn away, slip into the crowd and down them both. Hizashi dragged him out here, Hizashi owed him many drinks. 

By the time Shouta had returned to Hizashi's side, his head was spinning, a pounding headache consuming him. Fuck. He felt like he already had a massive hangover but he was supposed to still be drunk. Shouldn't have a hangover until the morning. This was odd. With a groan he leant heavily against Hizashi. This was... new. Why did his head hurt so much so suddenly for no apparent reason?

"Shou?" Hizashi's voice was quiet, but the concern was clear, even in Shouta's foggy state. 

"I- don' feel s' 'ood" Shouta slurred slightly, only realising how out of breath he felt when he had to pant to catch it again after the words. 

"Shou? What happened?"

Shouta shrugged, his knees weakening slightly as he continued to be unable to breathe properly. He felt the back of Hizashi's hand press against his forehead and then leave a few moments later to rest two fingers on his neck, making Shouta suddenly aware of how fast his heart was racing. 

"Shou? Shit, what's going on?" Hizashi hissed under his breath, wrapping his other arm around Shouta and just barely catching him before his legs gave out, "Shit, get a medic or someone. Go!"

Shouta stared at his husband, uncertain and suddenly feeling so fucking nauseous and dizzy, the world spinning around him. Or maybe he was spinning? He wasn't sure. He gagged slightly on the bile in his throat, coughing and then gasping pathetically for air, each desperate breath yielding nothing at all. He whined, hating the way his vision was flickering and fading at the edges. 

There was no warning before the convulsions took over, the sensation terrifying as he lost control of his body, the only thing keeping him from hitting his head was Hizashi's protective hands holding his head off the ground- when had they gotten to the ground? Shouta had no clue. He gasped desperately for air but it didn't seem to do anything and his vision went black. For a few more moments, he was still able to hear the commotion around him, but then that too faded. 

Chapter Text

Hitoshi didn't get it. He didn't understand it one bit. Midoriya Izuku made zero sense. He moved about breaking his bones near constantly, he had a quirk too powerful for any logic, he was too strong to be anything but an arrogant brat, and yet he held himself as though he were waiting for the other shoe to drop constantly. Hell, even his bullshit fucking hero name made no sense. "Deku". Useless. What the hell was that about? 

Hitoshi grit his teeth and ignored it, focusing on the stupid fucking fight. He just had to get Izuku under his control and he would win. That was it. So, he went for the rage bait, and Izuku didn't fall to it. Didn't fall until Hitoshi snarled dangerous words, "Have you ever been told to kill yourself over your quirk!?"

He hadn't expected the startled deer in headlights look Midoriya shot his way, as though he had been caught red handed. He really hadn't expected the response. 

"How did you find out-"

Hitoshi snapped the boy under his control, annoyed that it had taken him longer than the first syllable. Just because he had been surprised by the answer, by the attitude change, by the fear. He ignored all that and forced the boy out of bounds. 

When Midoriya stopped, when he broke his finger somehow and escaped Hitoshi's quirk, Hitoshi couldn’t bring it in himself to be furious that the hero beat would have some cheat to get out of it because Midoriya turned slowly, his eyes too sorrowful and empty, as though replaying a memory on loop. 

Hitoshi barely registered the slow movement of the other's arm up to point towards him, too fixated on that almost broken expression until it was too late and the boy flicked his finger and Hitoshi went flying out of bounds. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care about his humiliation as he watched Midoriya stand stock still for just a few moments too long before turning haltingly away and walking into the hallway across the field from Hitoshi, who didn't dare follow, simply slipping into the hallway closest to him. 

---

Hitoshi didn't miss the way that the green haired boy's smile dropped for a split second every time his eyes landed on Hitoshi in the hallways between classes, and even if the smile consistently returned less than a second later, it never reached his oh so sorrowful eyes. 

The need to understand started to fester and grow, and Hitoshi found himself watching the boy closely, perhaps almost stalker-like. He didn't care. He just needed to understand. Why was Midoriya so broken in this unexplainable way? Why did the emptiness in his eyes remind Hitoshi so much of himself?

---

All of Hitoshi's stalking came to ahead when Izuku stopped in his tracks in the library, his eyes going dull. He didn't turn to face Hitoshi properly, but that didn't make it any less obvious he was who Midoriya was speaking to. 

"Don't hide behind the bookshelf watching me."

Hitoshi grimaced at the call out and slipped through the bookshelves to stand in front of Midoriya. 

"You've been watching me," Midoriya stated, not at all a question, but Hitoshi nodded regardless, and Midoriya continued, "Why?"

That made Hitoshi hesitate. He didn't have a reason- or well, he did, but he couldn’t exactly say 'you're eyes looked the way mine do when the past gets too heavy and the depression too overwhelming'. Yeah, no. That would go over about as well as a lead balloon in that it wouldn't go over well in any terms of the word. 

"I... I wanted to apologise," Hitoshi settled on pathetically. He did need to apologise after all. He met Izuku's quizzical look and shrugged, looking at his feet before focusing back up at the other boy, "What I said at the sports festival, I- it was wrong. I'm sorry. I let my emotions get the best of me and I assumed some awful things about you and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay Shinsou. Really. It's not your fault i've been all up in my head."

That caused Hitoshi to start. Why did Midoriya remember his name? It didn't seem like something the boy should be bothered to remember. Hitoshi certainly wasn't sure he'd remember Midoriya's name had it not been for the way that fight looped in his mind and his perhaps a touch stalkerish moments. 

"Can- You don't have to answer, but... can I ask why? My words clearly hit home but... but you're so powerful, I never expected them to. I don't understand why they did."

Midoriya hesitated, looking around the library for a moment before groaning and rubbing his hands down his face, "Come with me."

Hitoshi didn't argue, he just nodded and followed Midoriya out of the library and through U.A.'s halls until they were outside and well and truely alone. Hitoshi hoped this wasn’t a ploy to murder him. Midoriya didn't seem like the type but looks could be deceiving. 

"I... Shit, I'm not allowed to tell you this so... would... would it be okay if you brainwashed me and asked me again? plausible deniability on both our ends, you were just a concerned friend, I didn't have control."

Hitoshi blinked at Midoriya. What? The boy just stared back at him, no sign of taking it back, and fuck, Hitoshi's curiosity was too much to be smart about this, so he nodded. 

"What's your favourite colour?" Hitoshi asked, hoping the easy question would put Izuku at ease somewhat. 

"Green," Midoriya murmured, and just like that, he was under. 

"Tell me truthfully why you reacted like that at the sports festival."

And Midoriya told him. Fuck, Hitoshi almost wished Midoriya didn't tell him. there was so much to unpack in the green bean's words. There was a quirk that could be transferred- it was ALL MIGHT's quirk. Midoriya had been quirkless. Now he had All Might's quirk. That's why he broke all the bones in his body. It... It didn't make sense, not really, but Hitoshi couldn’t deny it was true, not when it was confessed so readily under Hitoshi's instruction to be honest. 

When he was finally done, Hitoshi released his hold on the boy who stared exhaustedly up at him. 

"So yeah," Midoriya huffed out a dry chuckle, "Sold my soul, broke my bones, now i'm here." 

And fuck if that didn't make Hitoshi want to cry. 

Chapter Text

Izuku learnt at a young age that he couldn’t rely on his own ability to win. He was not a hero won. He didn't appear and make all the bad go away. He could, however, take the bad for someone else. When Kachaan was angry and taking it out on someone else, Izuku stepped between them, took the punches as the other kid ran. When his father beat his mother, Izuku stepped between them and took that beating for her. When a kid screamed for help as a man reached out to grab them by the neck, Izuku shoved them out of the way, the hand instead closing around his own throat. The man, for whatever reason, hadn't cared, simply grabbing Izuku and snarling for the other kid to scram. 

When he had been put in an arena filled with kids and told to fight but not kill, he stepped between those who looked a little too close to death for comfort, knowing deep down he was protecting both. None of these kids wanted to be killers. All of them were forced to be fighters. 

Izuku never won a fight. Not even when he tried his damn best. Not even when the collar around his neck buzzed with sharp burning electricity every time he failed. Izuku never won. Even if maybe he could have, he didn't want the other to go through the punishment for losing. So he didn't. He let them hunt him for sport, let them use him as pathetic pained entertainment because at least it meant it was him who was hurting. Not someone else. 

Izuku was weak. He was too weak to win a fight, but by now he knew that didn't matter. He was still a hero in his own twisted form of the word, so when the heroes came to their rescue, Izuku fought along side them- or... that wasn't quite accurate, but he took some of the blows, he got in his captor's ways. He did his damn best. 

---

Shouta was furious. He always got too emotional when kids were involved, but to be raiding a place thinking it was a trafficking ring only to discover it was a ring designed just like dog fights. Only children. His blood boiled. So he fought, with far less mercy than he normally would, and that almost caused him to not notice the kid. 

There were so many kids around, so many joining in the fight on either side, but the kid that caught Shouta's eye wasn’t fighting. He was just... letting himself get hit? No. That wasn’t quite right. He was... He was blocking the hits from landing on heroes. He was blocking them with his own body. Shouta felt a chill drive down his spine. It was bad enough that there was kids here, but to see what had to be an 8 year old have hit after hit land on him and continue to purposefully take those blows in an attempt to protect the adults, the HEROES? It made his blood boil. 

The moment the fight was over, Shouta set on a direct path to the boy, knowing there were plenty of kids here that needed his help, but if nothing else he could argue that the injuries the boy had sustained in Shouta's line of sight was enough to defend that he did need specific attention, even if it was not the logical side of Shouta's brain that drove him to the kid.

Even as Shouta checked over his injuries, wincing slightly- barely perceptibly- at just how bad the burns around the kid's neck were, the kid noticed the wince and started checking HIM for injuries, started quietly fretting over a pro hero while he was covered in his own blood and grime. This kid...

---

Shouta had claimed that kid then and there. Maybe that had been a rush decision but he made it, and he never regretted it, no matter how hard raising a traumatised kid- or hell just raising any kid- could be. He didn't care because Izuku was his kid. 

Still, no matter what Shouta tried, Izuku always stepped between people, always threw himself into danger to protect others, always willingly sacrificed his own health and well being to protect others. It was terrifying to watch as Izuku dove in front of a car to grab a cat, barely rolling out of the way before the vehicle hurtled past. It was even more horrifying to watch the kid sprint towards villains without any thought. The pure number of times Shouta found himself holding his kid back as the boy struggled in his arms, biting and scratching and kicking in a desperate attempt to escape to run between the villain and the civilians was heartwrenching. Shouta hated it. Hated that no matter how much he tried to drill self preservation into his kid's brain, the boy would forget it all the moment someone was in danger. 

He wasn’t even surprised when his kid sprinted towards the zero pointer on the day of the entrance exam. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t hovering close by the emergency stop switch, his hands trembling imperceptibly. He was undeniably afraid. He just wasn’t surprised. 

He could have cried in relief when his kid managed to get the other girl out of harms way without sacrificing himself, but he stayed strong. He watched on, ignoring the anxiety that had grown to be a near constant since adopting the kid. He hated that he was letting his kid into heroics, even if he knew it was the only option for Izuku. There was nothing else the kid would do, and it was obvious he was made for it, but it terrified Shouta to see his kid in a dangerous profession where the majority of deaths came from self sacrificial movements. Things his kid did on instinct. Shouta could only desperately hope his kid would take on some of his lessons about self preservation before he got his licence. He refused to lose his kid who was always so happy to be lost if it meant saving someone. That was what the kid saw as a victory, while Shouta just saw Izuku's survival each day as far greater than any victory he, himself had ever achieved. 

Chapter Text

Hitoshi couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He was choking, he was dying. There was something down his throat. He needed to get it out, needed to breathe. He felt his body spasming as he tried to cough it out, his hands reaching up to rip the thing away. What was it. What was it. What was it!?

Before Hitoshi's hands could even make it to his face, someone was pinning them down to the bed beneath him and a nurse was hurrying into view. A nurse. A nurse. Shit. Shit, no. No. Toshi could not be in a hospital right now. No. No. He had to get out, he needed to breathe, he needed to get this thing out of his mouth. 

He could hear speaking around him, but the buzzing of his rapid pulse in his ears was enough to block out any comprehension of the actual words as he fought, bucking desperately in an attempt to escape the hold. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, to yell for help or trap them under his quirk or SOMETHING, but no sound came out. No sound came out. Hitoshi froze. 

"Don't try to speak, okay?" The voice was soft and kind and Hitoshi didn't move an inch. He was in a hospital. They knew his quirk. They had stopped him from speaking. Was this permanent? He'd been threatened with it plenty of times before. Surgeries intended to remove his voice, or ones not officially intended to do so, but a surgeon could slip up, could be paid to slip up. 

Hitoshi cast his mind back pathetically in a useless attempt to work out what happened. He had been with Izu. He had been on patrol with Izu, and they had been fighting someone. Shit. Was Izu okay? 

Hitoshi looked around the room wildly, eyes not finding Izuku's instead landing on the man who was holding his wrists down. 

Eraserhead. 

Once more, Hitoshi found himself freezing. He knew Izu trusted Eraserhead. Trusted the man more than perhaps anyone else in the world. Still, Hitoshi was far less trusting than Izuku, and had only seen the hero at a distance, not daring to go closer, even if he admired the man. All that to say, he hadn't had a clue if he could trust the man. Now, watching with wide eyes as Eraserhead held him down after being here to approve them stealing his voice? He fucking wished Izu had been right about the man. 

"Please don't cry kid," Eraserhead's voice was rough and ragged, a sharp contrast to the nurse's sweet- too sweet perhaps- one.  Hitoshi squeezed his eyes closed, trying to hold back the tears. He wanted Izu. He wanted to be safe. He didn't want to be in a hospital with no voice. 

Hitoshi let his head fall back, his eyes staying closed. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He had to though. He had to get out of here and go find Izuku. Fuck. What had they done to Izuku?

It took a long time, and Hitoshi was sure he'd fallen asleep multiple times since, but he had no real clue, no concept of time. Eventually though, the nurse asked him if he was awake enough to take the tube out of his throat- holy fucking shit there was a whole tube down his throat no wonder he felt like he was breathing through a straw. The nurse studied him, clearly trying to gage if he was truely awake enough before beginning the process. 

"Now, your throat is likely to hurt a little, and using your voice may be hard, but it should come back to you soon, okay?" The nurse explained once the tube was removed. Hitoshi just stared at her, eyes wide. They... they hadn't taken his voice?

"I- I-" Hitoshi choked out, not really knowing what he had planned to say, simply checking his voice did in fact still work, and it did. It really did. Hitoshi gasped, his hands, no longer restrained by the underground pro, flew to his neck, as though checking it were real. 

"Are you okay kiddo?" Eraserhead's gruff voice asked, and Hitoshi couldn’t help the way he started sobbing, relief flooding him, practically consuming him in his entirety. Now all he needed was Izuku to be here. If he was, Hitoshi could breathe easy. 

"Izu-" Hitoshi choked out, only to freeze. Eraserhead didn't know Izuku's name- or he hadn't before this shit went down. He tried again, "Vi- Vi- per?"

 "Viper is okay," Eraserhead promised and Hitoshi sagged in relief, "He's in surgery right now, but he's okay."

No. No. No, Izu couldn’t be- he- fuck. If Hitoshi thought hospitals were awful- well it was nothing compared to Izuku. Hell. The quirkless weren't even allowed inside ninety nine percent of hospitals, not even as visitors. Some of Hitoshi's newfound panic must have been visible, because Eraserhead moved to rest his hand on Hitoshi's wrist, the movement clearly intended to be comforting, so Hitoshi did his best to hide the flinch. 

Did Eraserhead not know Izu was quirkless? Fuck, what if they took an x-ray for some reason and got mad he had been admitted at all? What if they hurt him worse?

"Kid, calm down, Viper is okay. You're okay. Everyone's safe. You're both lucky after that quirk hit you that you even survived. Izuku fell pretty hard off the roof, he's lucky he was only a floor up. You're lucky you were on the ground."

"Qui- Quirk-" Hitoshi struggled, his throat practically screaming at him for the attempt but he didn't care. He needed Eraserhead to know. Eraserhead actively supported quirkless people. He had to protect Izu. 

"The quirk you were hit with induced a seizure," Eraserhead started to explain, but paused when Hitoshi shook his head frantically, gripping his wrist in all his feeble desperation. 

"Quirk- less. Vi- per." Hitoshi coughed out, and Eraserhead visibly softened, understanding clear on his face. 

"It's okay, kid. We're at Kosei Hospital. You're both safe here."

Finally, Hitoshi could breathe out the air of panic. The only hospital in Japan that accepted both the quirkless and those with villainous quirks. The only hospital that had protections in place to keep vigilantes safe. They were safe. Hitoshi could breathe. They were safe. 

Chapter Text

Kurogiri didn't remember a lot. It bothered him, but he did his best not to show it. No use worrying Tomura or angering All For One. He really didn't remember much of before. Almost everything he could recall was during. The pain, the feeling of skin being sliced apart and put back together, the neck brace being surgically attatched to him. All while he was very distinctly awake. He remembered screaming, he remembered sobbing, he remembered pain. He didn't remember the before. He knew there had been a before. 

Kurogiri was many things, but he wasn’t stupid, nor was he particularly in the dark. He knew he was a nomu, which meant he had once been human. He had once been normal. Then, for whatever reason, he fell into All For One's hands. He wondered if he had chosen to. It would make sense, given his undeniable loyalty. Or perhaps he had been forced. Both were possibilities. Kurogiri tried not to dwell on them too long. It wouldn't change anything. Even if Kurogiri decided to hate All For One, he knew his loyalty would not fade. Regardless, Tomura needed him, and Tomura hadn't done anything wrong. Tomura was not the one who had taken his memories, nor had he caused the pain that he did remember. 

These days, Kurogiri didn't care about much, but he did care about Tomura. He had no intention of losing the kid. 

After the USJ, Kurogiri found himself cleaning glasses in the bar simply to get his mind off things, off the pure terror in those kids' faces. Kurogiri was a lot of things. One of those was caring. He wondered if that had been bred into him to better help Tomura. It didn't matter. What mattered was that he had seen twenty kids overwhelmed with enough panic to rip Kurogiri's heart into shreds. They were just kids. They were just kids, and Kurogiri had forced them to face off against adults and hardened criminals. Sure, the majority of the criminals hadn't been particularly dangerous, but they outnumbered the kids undeniably, and it could have been enough to kill the group of fourteen year olds. 

Not for the first time, Kurogiri wondered if he came back wrong. Not for the first time, Kurogiri wondered if the person he had been before would be disappointed in himself. Not for the first time, Kurogiri heard his own snarled words twist around in his mind.

Monster. Monster. You are a monster. You monster. 

Perhaps for the first time, it wasn’t simply twisting, circling thought. Instead, it was a real conviction. He couldn't deny it. Those kids were beyond lucky to be alive. Kurogiri could well have gotten a bunch of 14 year olds killed today. He was a monster. He hated it. He couldn't change it. Every time he dared to consider going against orders, his whole body cringed and denied him. It almost hurt to think about it. Kurogiri was stuck. He had come back wrong. He was a monster. He couldn’t fix it. Nothing he did would fix it. He was just, quite simply, a monster. Just like every other nomu. To think he was special because he had more brain function, that he was any more human than the others? It was a foolish pipeline dream. Kurogiri was not human. Not in any way that mattered. He would just have to get used to that fact.