Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was the worst day in the history of bad days. It seemed fitting that this was the one way Izuku beat Kacchan. Not only had school been…well, school, but the teacher just had to ruin Kacchan’s good mood be reminding him of Izuku’s heroic dream. In front of the whole class. Izuku really shouldn’t have expected anything different. Kacchan, of course, took Izuku’s desire to be a hero as a personal affront and burned his notebook before tossing it in the fountain. Then he’d said…

Izuku shook his head violently, tears pricking the corners of his downcast eyes. (Downcast because every time he looked up his eyes wandered to rooftops.) He wasn’t sure if that was the worst part of today, or if it was what came after. Being suffocated and drowned in an underpass by a villain, then rescued by All Might, then crushed by that same hero when Izuku dared to ask the only question that ever mattered since he was four.

Izuku should have known better, really. He didn’t even believe in himself anymore. Why should someone else?

Izuku let his shoulders sag in resignation as he kept putting one foot in front of the other. He had no idea where to go from here, but he knew where his feet would take him if he stopped moving. (He’d stood on that rooftop a long time after All Might left.) His dream was broken, but something in him refused to give up on everything else too.

A metallic thud startled Izuku from his dazed trek. He jerked his head up, whipping it around to look for the source of the sound, tensed to run. Had his bullies really laid in wait for him this long after school let out? Wasn’t Kacchan’s “talk” earlier enough? How did they even learn he took this route? He’d picked it specifically for the lack of people.

When he finally located the source of the noise, he froze. He’d stopped at the mouth of an alley, and at the far end, the Sludge Villain was in the middle of strangling/drowning a middle-aged woman. Horror crawled up Izuku’s spine and squeezed his lungs in sympathy. All Might caught the villain; so how…? Izuku paled as he realized this was his fault. All Might must have dropped the bottles while making sure Izuku didn’t fall on their cross-city jump.

Izuku’s eyes refused to leave the woman as she struggled to no avail. Finally, the pair shifted enough for Izuku to get a look at her face. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear, panic, and pain. Izuku had seen eyes like those too many times on the playground when he was little. He’d always stepped in then, putting himself between Kacchan and whoever he was hurting.

Izuku found his feet moving before he could even begin to think. There wasn’t much to think about anyway. Even if he couldn’t be a hero, he was going to continue stepping between bullies and their victims. That was something he’d always been able to do. But to step between these two, he first had to create space between them.

Izuku threw his backpack at the Sludge Villain with all the strength he could muster, yelling to draw the villain’s attention. The amorphous man turned to get an eyeful of textbooks and pencils as they flew from where Izuku had forgotten to zip the bag shut.

“You again? Ow!”

While the Sludge villain reeled and squinted—how did that even work when he didn’t have eyelids?—Izuku clawed at the sludge covering the woman’s face, trying to free her airway. He never thought victory could sound like a wet cough, but that had to be the best sound he’d ever heard.

The moment of success was short-lived, however. The sludge condensed around Izuku’s wrists, suddenly clinging too tightly for Izuku to pull away. It squeezed painfully as the villain leveled him with a slightly bloodshot glare. “You little punk! I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

The slime wrapped around his wrists lifted him in the air before flinging him. Izuku hit the opposite wall of the alley. The air rushed from his lungs, and his head spun and throbbed from where it contacted brick. He slid down the wall to land on a pile of garbage bags and tried to blink the spots from his vision.

A muffled scream sent a shot of adrenalin through him, and the world snapped back into clarity. Mostly. The Sludge villain was smothering the lady again. Izuku attempted to climb to his feet but fell back when the garbage bags shifted under him. “Stop…” he said, voice sounding small in his own ears.

“Stop hurting him, Kacchan!”

The funny thing with Izuku stepping between a victim and their bully? He’d never been able to fight off a bully, but he could make himself their target long enough for the other kid to get away.

“Stop!” Izuku said with more force. When the villain still didn’t respond, Izuku steeled himself and yelled as loud as he could, “Stop! Take me instead!”

The Sludge Villain and the woman both blinked in surprise and stared at him.

“Don’t…don’t hurt her. You can have me instead. I-I won’t fight you. Just let her go. You don’t need to hurt anyone.” Izuku shrank in on himself as the ramifications of what he’d offered sank in. He didn’t want to die, not really. But he wanted someone else to die for his mistakes even less. And well, wasn’t this what a hero would do? (Not that he could ever be one.)

The Sludge villain scrutinized Izuku, and Izuku did his best to meet his gaze head on, despite the tears steadily rolling down his cheeks. He wanted the villain to know he’d meant it. The villain seemed to reach the same conclusion, because his creepy smile spread even wider. He chuckled. “Oh, this is going to be good. I haven’t had a willing meatsuit in over a decade.” A slimy tendril plucked Izuku from the garbage pile by his waist and brought him to hover in front of the villain’s face. “You’d better remember your word, brat. You struggle, and I might just decide to off a civilian or two for funsies.”

Izuku swallowed before saying barely above a whisper, “I understand.”

The Sludge villain’s eyes narrowed as he smirked. “Good. Now, to take care of the witness.”

Izuku didn’t have time to protest before the woman was flung against the wall, much the same as he’d been moments before. Sludge covered Izuku’s mouth to silence his scream. More wrapped around his arms and legs, restricting his movement.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I just knocked her out. See, she’s still breathing.”

She was, in fact, still breathing, which made Izuku relax marginally. The villain rifling through his pockets until he found Izuku’s phone and tossing it and his backpack into the trash was slightly less reassuring. With the matters of witnesses and potential tracking devices settled, the Sludge villain carried Izuku deeper into the maze of alleyways with surprising speed.

“Now, here’s how this is gonna go, kid,” the villain said, drawing Izuku’s attention again. “I’m going to keep your airway open as long as possible, and you’re going to keep taking deep breaths through your nose the whole time. Focus on that and not struggling, and this’ll be over nice and quick.”

Izuku tilted his head in confusion, what was the point of keeping his airway open if the guy was going to kill him anyway? With his mouth covered, he couldn’t really ask. So, he just nodded. At least the villain didn’t seem intent on gloating or drawing out his suffering.

“Open wide.”

Izuku reluctantly complied, gagging on the taste of sewage that rolled over his tongue for the second time in an hour. It was somehow worse this time. The sludge slithered down his throat, and Izuku’s body tried to expel the nauseating stuff. A few unsuccessful heaves left Izuku tired and shaking as he dragged air into his lungs through his nose.

The Sludge villain laughed and said something about things not being so bad once you got past the gag reflex, but Izuku tuned him out and tried very hard to tune out the feeling of the steadily increasing volume of sludge forcing its way into him. His throat and stomach had been on fire at first, but they were settling into an odd, burning numbness now. That sensation was spreading too.

Nope, Izuku was not thinking about that. He wasn’t starting to hyperventilate either. The villain wanted him to take deep breaths, and Izuku didn’t want to test how much it took to make the guy angry. What was that breathing exercise he’d seen online again?

Izuku clamped his teary eyes shut and counted seconds and breaths, quickly losing track of time. It couldn’t have been too long. The villain had said it only took 45 seconds the first time. How could so little time feel like forever? As soon as he’d formed the thought, the villain said something, but Izuku couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like he was underwater, and everything was miles away. It felt like he was underwater too, with pressure bearing down on him from all sides. Dizziness and darkness played at the edges of his mind. He finally slipped under when something cut off his air.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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Awareness crept back to him like a brush fire, in painful starts and jumps. His everything hurt. He didn’t know that was possible, and he wished he still didn’t. Quirks, even breathing and his heartbeat hurt. And movement. Why was he moving? He whined, or at least, tried to.

“Oh, there you are, Midoriya. Took you awhile. I was starting to wonder if I’d lost my touch.”

“What? What’s happening?” He slurred. Oh, right. He’d hit his head earlier, hadn’t he? He didn’t think to wonder how whoever this was knew his name.

“Eh, don’t worry. The pain’s just your body trying to kill me, and my body trying to kill you. Immune response is a bitch. Things’ll settle out in another few hours.”

“Hours? I feel awful.”

“If you’re just going to whine, take a nap,” the voice said, sounding miffed. “Not like you’ll miss much.”

Something shifted, and Izuku felt pressure on…his mind? It was weird whatever it was, and he pushed back against it.

“Ah ah ah, no struggling. Or did you already forget our deal, kid?”

Izuku froze, recalling struggling was bad but not what specific context this person was talking about. Fighting back against the kids at school never went well; he got hurt more when he fought back. Several examples from the past semester played out in his mind. It made sense that it was the same here. After a few moments’ deliberation, he stopped resisting. The pressure returned, almost hesitantly, and Izuku slipped back into the dark.

The next time he woke up, thinking was easier, and he didn’t feel so much like he’d been on the receiving end of one of Kacchan’s beatdowns. Everything still ached, and he felt weak and kinda sick, but he was still standing. Wait…Izuku realized that his eyes were open. (How had he forgotten that? When did that happen?) Why was he standing…in a train station? And why was it dark?

“Welcome back. Again.”

This time memories rushed back to go with the voice. “Sludge?”

Izuku got the distinct impression of a cringe. “Yeah, never call me that again. Why does everyone assume it’s sludge? It’s slime. There’s a difference,” the villain groused.

Izuku made a mental note of that for later, because apparently, there was a later now? Izuku ran through a series of small, attempted movements, but his body didn’t respond in the slightest, instead stepping forward after an overhead announcement for an arriving train. He was definitely not in control of his body, right now, and he didn’t recognize the name of the station they were at. Okay, he needed to focus on something else. “Um, not that I’m complaining, but why aren’t I dead?” Okay, this topic wasn’t much better, but he was curious.

Izuku heard a sigh and jolted to attention when he realized his body hadn’t sighed with it. Did that mean they were communicating mind to mind? Part of him had so many questions. Another part of him felt queasy at the thought of part of the Slime(?) Villain’s sewage-flavored body being inside his skull and somehow attached to his brain.

“You’re alive, because you kept your side of the deal. Most meatsuits tend to waste their oxygen by pointlessly struggling. Also, it’s really hard to keep all of my body out of a person’s lungs when they won’t stop moving and trying to scream during the process,” the villain said dismissively. “After a while you kinda give up trying.”

Izuku shuddered at the villain’s callousness, surprised when his body responded to that of all things. So, the villain’s control wasn’t absolute after all. Maybe he could—

“I’m gonna stop ya right there, Midoriya. You really want to start struggling with all these helpless civilians around?” The villain trailed Izuku’s eyes over the crowded train car, lingering on the particularly vulnerable ones: a little girl and her grandma, a woman with a newborn, a gentleman with his arm in a cast.

Any plans of fighting back died instantly. Izuku’d already gotten that one woman hurt by distracting All Might and letting the Slime Villain escape earlier. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. “So, w-what now? And how do you know my name?”

“You had your school id and train pass in your wallet. As for what you’re going to do? You’re going to sit back and relax. I’m getting as far away from Musutafu as possible in 24 hours.”

“Why 24 hours?” Izuku asked, almost dreading the answer.

The Slime Villain rolled Izuku’s eyes. “You always this chatty? ‘Cause 24 is as long as I’ve ever held a willing possession. Granted that was when I was about your age. Maybe my time limit’s longer now, but I don’t want to chance it.”

Izuku didn’t want to contemplate what might happen at the end of that time. So, he distracted himself like he always did: quirk analysis. He reviewed Mt. Lady’s debut from that morning and Kamui Woods. He thought about All Might’s quirk—which seemed stranger and stranger each time he thought about it.

Then he thought about the Slime Villain’s quirk. It was so weird that he’d figured out how to possess people when it looked like he had a simple mutation quirk. Maybe his physical appearance wasn’t his quirk after all? If it was a vestigial mutation and the possession itself was his quirk, that made slightly more sense. Quirks like that tended to come with some degree of instinctive knowledge on how to properly use them. Taking over someone’s entire body without hurting them (and sure Izuku ached a bit, but he wasn’t hurt, per se) seemed like it would be pretty complicated to do, not something a person was likely to figure out on their own. Of course, Izuku could be discounting how intelligent the villain was. Maybe he was in med school before he went villain and just knew that much about anatomy and physiology. Then again, the guy did say he’d pulled off willing possessions when he was Izuku’s age—and presumably younger. So, Izuku was leaning more toward the instinctive knowledge theory. Maybe with some additional research to boost his efficiency. Then there was the mental communication component, and if his hazy memory was accurate, some degree of immune modulation to allow their bodies to mesh without suffering a catastrophic immune response. But how had the villain been able to fit—

Izuku was jostled from his train of thought by a mental nudge. “Jeez, kid. Your brain never stops, does it.” It was more an observation than a question.

“S-sorry. Did you hear all of that?”

“Nah, just the really loud bits. Unless you’re thinking ‘at’ me, I don’t hear your thoughts word for word.”

Izuku took his return to the present to register what his body was seeing again, a little disconcerted by how easy it was to completely block out the stimuli when he wasn’t in control. They were off the train now, walking down an unfamiliar street. This town seemed a lot smaller than Musutafu, judging by the lack of high rises, and it was a little after sunrise. He grew uneasy, thinking about what the villain intended to do with him. Was he finally going to kill him? Dump his body somewhere no one would ever find it? His mom would never get closure if that happened. Oh no! His mom! She must be worried sick by now…

His body chuckled before giving a wet cough. “Wow, you can work yourself up quick. I told you to relax, and I meant it. You kept your end of the deal; I’m keeping mine. Even if you don’t seem to include yourself in ‘don’t hurt anyone.’”

Izuku wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. He distantly heard grumbling—maybe an overheard thought like the villain had mentioned? “I might be a monster, but even I’m not going to kick a dog when its down.”

Izuku wondered if he should be offended by that.

Then there was a much clearer sigh in his brain. “I’ll make sure to leave you somewhere you’ll be found and given medical attention. Until then, I need you to sleep again. Can’t have you overhearing where I plan on going, now can I?”

So, Izuku had overheard one of the villain’s thoughts just then. Why hadn’t he overheard anything else? Was he too distracted by his analysis earlier, or was the villain better at shielding his thoughts due to experience? Maybe the strain of keeping his possession up so long wore at his mental barriers? Izuku had to have been taken at least 16 hours ago if the sun was already up.

Izuku felt a steady push at his mind, and his anxiety spiked. He didn’t fight it, but he did wonder if he’d really wake up this time as he went under.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, Izuku did wake up again. This time he felt fuzzy and light. It took him longer than he liked to register the oxygen mask on his face and the IV line in the back of his hand. Those were fine. He was significantly less fine with the other catheter once he realized it was there. He fumbled for the button to call a nurse, wondering how long he’d been out.

A flurry of activity followed. Apparently, he hadn’t been out too long. It was still the same day as before, but late evening now. He’d been found in a small town’s alley and transported to the larger hospital in Nagasaki when paramedics heard fluid in his lungs.

The doctor told him he had pneumonia, but without even a hint of infection, just the inflammation and fluid. Everyone was confused about that. Between the diuretics, narcotics, and supplemental oxygen, Izuku was breathing pretty easily now, and the doctor estimated he’d be released in a day or two once the inflammation had subsided. There was one other weird thing that showed up when they ran his bloodwork: there were droplets of slime in his blood. Izuku explained that was probably a side effect of his possession. The doctors didn’t seem terribly reassured to hear it and ran a lot more tests after he told them.

The next morning, Izuku’s mom and a police detective arrived to see him. Izuku was off oxygen, and his morphine dose had been lowered to almost nothing by that point. So, he felt pretty coherent when he greeted them. “Mom!”

“Izuku!” His mom was in tears before she launched herself forward to hug him. “Oh honey, I was so worried when you didn’t come home. And then the police found your phone, and that woman said a villain took you! I-I thought…”

Izuku’s eyes started watering sympathetically as he hugged his mom and let some of the fear of the prior day sink in. Moments later he was crying too. “I-I’m s-sorry, Mom. I’m okay, I-I promise.” He didn’t mention how he’d expected to die several times over. It didn’t happen; so, it didn’t matter. No need to stress his mom out over could-have-beens.

The detective let them hug it out for several minutes before coughing into his hand. Mother and son pulled apart and wiped their eyes as the man introduced himself, “Hello, Izuku. I’m Tsukauchi Naomasa. I’m the detective in charge of the Sludge Villain case. Is it alright if I get your statement now, or would you prefer if we scheduled an appointment for when you’re back in Musutafu?”

Izuku’s eyes widened, and he waved his arms. “No, now’s fine. I don’t want you to have come all this way for nothing.”

The man chuckled, and Izuku noted it was a softer thing than the Slime Villain’s. “It wouldn’t be for nothing. I still had to make the trip for your medical file and to take the statement of the man who found you.”

Izuku didn’t think giving himself time to overthink an interview was a good idea. He might as well get it over with now. Plus, the narcotics might have still been dampening his anxiety a touch. Izuku glanced at his mom and chewed his lower lip. He didn’t want her to hear this. He just knew it would make her cry again. “Mom, why don’t you go check in with the doctor. They had a few questions about family medical history I didn’t know the answers to. I’ll be fine.”

Inko was still teary-eyed, and Izuku tried to put on his best reassuring smile for her. It came out a bit watery, but his mom smiled back and nodded. She dug around in her purse for a minute before pulling his phone out to hand to him. “I’ll be back soon. Call if you need me before then?”

“Always.”

With one final glance over her shoulder, Izuku’s mom left the room. Once the door clicked shut Izuku sighed and slumped back against his propped-up bed. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked Tsukauchi.

“When you encountered the Sludge Villain in the underpass. I already spoke to All Might and got his side of events there and on the rooftop. He actually requested I take this case when he found out you’d been taken by the villain. We’re old friends.”

“Oh.” Well, that saved Izuku trying to leave out anything for the hero’s sake. He wondered if he should feel touched that the number one hero had specifically asked someone to look into his disappearance. Was All Might worried? It made a little sense; the hero had been the last person aside from the woman Izuku’d saved to see him before he’d vanished. Izuku hope All Might didn’t feel at all responsible.

He took a fortifying breath and told his tale, occasionally pausing for the detective to ask a clarifying question. 30 minutes later the man had everything he needed and headed off to speak to the doctor in charge of Izuku’s case.

Izuku napped until his mom and the doctor returned. Then he got to hear the final results of all the testing they’d run the night before. They estimated there to be a quarter of a liter of slime still inside him, but it seemed inert and wasn’t causing any immediate problems that they could identify. His immune system wasn’t attacking it or recognizing it as a threat, which was the main concern. When they described the type of systemic reaction that could cause and symptoms to watch for, Izuku thought of how awful he’d felt the first time he woke up after being taken and shuddered.

They theorized that the villain’s quirk had somehow convinced his body that the slime was “self” to keep his immune system from targeting it. Hopefully, that particular effect would linger until Izuku’s body could process the leftover slime on its own and eliminate it over the next few months. They did want him to keep an eye out for any reaction symptoms just in case. They also set him up to see a doctor in Musutafu every month to monitor the amount of slime in his blood to make sure his body didn’t run into any problems breaking it down. Aside from that, every other scan and test had come back normal or better than normal for a person in his age group.

Izuku decided not to mention the faint stretch marks he’d discovered scattered across his body when changing that morning. They blended in with his other scars anyway. He also didn’t mention how the burn Kacchan had given him the day he went missing already looked a week old, and several of his bruises and older injuries had faded or disappeared completely.

He’d recovered from pneumonia abnormally fast too. With the fluid out of his lungs, the inflammation was now nonexistent. The doctor set him up for discharge right after lunch and gave him a script for a short course of medication to take at home, but Izuku felt fine. He surreptitiously asked the nurse removing his IV line if any healing quirks had been used on him during his stay. There hadn’t been any.

He set that mystery aside for later contemplation as he focused on getting back to his life, or what was left of it with his dream thoroughly shot down. Maybe he’d do some research on quirk analysis or hero support?

Either way, he’d missed two days of school. Thankfully, with his case and the string of cases attributed to the Sludge Villain (a murder every month or two for the last year with no survivors prior to Izuku) being blasted all over the news, his teachers couldn’t deny his late work when he turned it in. As for his classmates, his unfortunate celebrity status just meant they had more fuel to use when describing how weak and useless he was. Kacchan was oddly silent about the whole thing aside from one comment of “Good job not dying, nerd.” Izuku thought that meant he’d been concerned? He was 85% sure, but he wasn’t going to ask for clarification.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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It took all of one week for the physical bullying to pick back up, though Kacchan rarely got involved anymore unless Izuku bumped into him. His lackeys were more than willing to pick up his slack. By the third week, Izuku was already forgetting what it felt like to be pain-free. Granted his injuries were healing quicker than usual.

While walking home from school, Izuku turned his hand over, examining the nasty purple bruise from a classmate stepping on his hand while he picked up his bully-scattered notes yesterday. It was already faintly lightening, and it hadn’t spread as far as he’d expected. He sighed and shoved his hand in his pocket. That one had been annoying to hide from his mom.

Izuku froze as he heard a familiar rough voice approaching. He glanced around the corner he’d been about to walk past and tensed as he spotted Kacchan and his usual group. Izuku did not want to get a second beating today, thank you very much. The one at lunch had been plenty. So, he beat a hasty retreat and decided to take a different path home.

Since he didn’t really feel like going through the underpass ever again, he took a circuitous route that should keep him out of Kacchan’s way until the blonde was already home and his minions dispersed. If it happened to pass the park Kacchan and Izuku used to play in as kids, that was neither here nor there. Izuku wandered into the more wooded part of the park on a whim, hoping to keep out of sight if anyone else from his school walked by.

He meandered for a while before he felt a faint tugging sensation. He frowned and looked around. There was a smaller, overgrown trail that split off here. If Izuku remembered right, it led to an old pond. No one went there anymore because of the smell. The plumbing to that pond had been broken for years, and the city kept putting off fixing it. So, it had stagnated and the water had grown particularly gross. It was lonely and forgotten. Izuku felt that tug again and huffed. Seemed like an appropriate enough place for him. He ducked under a low-hanging tree branch and followed the old trail.

The pond was just as disgusting as he remembered from the times he and Kacchan dared each other to touch the scummy water when they were younger. The willow tree that broke the plumbing seemed to be thriving though. He sat down underneath the tree and watched the last of the year’s dragonflies chase smaller insects above the pond’s surface.

He didn’t even notice he had company until a slimy tendril wrapped around the lower half of his face, cutting off his yelp of surprise. Izuku whipped around and climbed to his feet to find himself face to face with the Slime Villain again. He was a slightly lighter shade of green this time, and he smelled more like stagnant pond than sewage. The rest was still the same.

The villain, for his part, didn’t restrain Izuku further but didn’t remove the tendril from Izuku’s face as they stared at each other. Finally, Izuku broke the staring contest by raising an eyebrow and humming questioningly, careful to keep his mouth shut.

The villain seemed to shake off whatever he’d been thinking about and grinned. “Hey, Midoriya. Fancy meeting you here. I’ve actually been looking for you. Now, I’m going to uncover your face. Don’t scream, or things might get messy.” The villain glanced off in the direction of the playground and field where they could still hear people playing.

Izuku bristled at the implied threat before nodding slowly. The villain unwrapped the slimy tendril from his face and retracted it. Izuku felt that odd tugging sensation again and paled as he realized it was the slime left in his body likely responding to his proximity to the villain.

Izuku cleared his throat, reminding himself that it was clear and not clogged by the villain. “What do you want?” he asked quietly.

The villain kept shifting his form in short, twitchy movements as he looked around to reassure himself that they were alone before answering, “I…have a proposition for you, but first, how’d you enjoy the gift?”

Izuku wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, but he bit. “What gift?”

“The little bits of slime still circulating in your blood. Surely you haven’t gotten injured enough to use it all up this soon.”

Izuku blinked, processing that for a moment and connecting several dots. His eyes widened. “That’s what’s speeding up my healing?”

The Slime Villain smiled and nodded. “It’s also real good for preventing infections. With my body being constantly exposed to the air and ground, I’ve got a pretty killer immune system.” Well, now the pneumonia without any infection made more sense…sorta.

“Why’d I get pneumonia then? I thought you stayed out of my lungs?”

“The second time. The first time I tried to steal your body, I didn’t really intend to keep you alive. There was still a bit of slime in your lungs by the second time. I reabsorbed it, but your lungs were already pretty irritated. Did you run off before paramedics looked you over or something?” the villain asked, sounding angry.

Izuku looked down at his shoes and hunched his shoulders. “S-something like that.”

The villain grumbled and did one of his twitchy shifts again, reminding Izuku oddly of some of the people he’d seen hanging out around the shadier parts of town. Izuku wondered if maybe the man was on something and having withdrawal.

Before he could think more on the topic, the villain pinned him with a look. Izuku wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but he froze under it. “Look, kid. I came back here to ask you if you’d let me possess you again. I—”

Izuku balked at the idea, taking a step back before stopping himself. The villain looked the smallest bit panicked at his aborted retreat. Izuku narrowed his eyes and frowned.

When he didn’t make any further move to leave, the villain started again, “I…I haven’t had a willing meatsuit, er…host? Partner? In a long time. I forgot how nice it felt to not kill someone to use my quirk, and…”

The guy kept talking, but Izuku’s mind was rapidly piecing together details he’d rather it didn’t. The villain wasn’t on drugs. He had quirk withdrawal. He’d heard about that in his school’s health class. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was as common and horrible as his teachers made it seem (and used it to excuse his classmates firing off their quirks in class and at Izuku), but this villain did seem to be displaying several of the symptoms. Jitteriness, decreased focus, fixation on and/or craving the thing needed to use their quirk (if a material was needed). The time frame here fit his prior murders too. Damn it, Izuku was actually considering this. The guy even sought Izuku out rather than grabbing some random civilian. He didn’t want to kill anyone, did he?

Izuku really looked at the man in front of him and couldn’t shake the feeling he was asking for help. And Izuku never could turn away from someone who needed help. Izuku’s shoulders half relaxed, half slumped as he took his backpack off and dropped it to the ground beside him. The villain stopped talking and shot him a questioning look. “What changed a year ago?”

The Slime Villain balked this time before looking off to the side. Was he ashamed? “One of my old pals invited me to a party. Someone there spiked the punch with some bad Trigger. Don’t do drugs, kid.” He pointedly ignored Izuku’s snort. “That stuff messed up my quirk. The urge to use it has been much worse since then. I start feeling…not right when I go too long.”

Izuku stared at the man a bit longer before he rolled his head back to look at the sky. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “No killing or hurting anyone—except self-defense, of course—and no committing crimes in my body. No completely blocking me out or putting me to sleep unless it’s a life and death situation or I give explicit consent. And you have to let me be myself around family and school. They’ll notice if I suddenly start acting weird.”

The Slime Villain’s eyes widened comically—and Izuku had questions about how that worked—before rapidly nodding. “Done.”

“We’ll figure out more details later.” When the villain’s not in obvious withdrawal, and when they couldn’t be so easily overheard. The guy was still a wanted criminal. If someone heard them and called the police, things were likely to get violent. Izuku wasn’t about to let that happen when it could be so easily avoided. “I’m expected home in an hour. Is this going to knock me out again?” Izuku asked tiredly.

“Nope. Shouldn’t as long as you don’t have a panic attack like the last go around. So…” The villain edged closer but didn’t touch him yet.

Izuku appreciated the one last chance to back out but ignored it, taking a step forward. “Do it.” He left his mouth open afterward and closed his eyes tight.

Some of the villain wrapped around him as a tendril entered his mouth. The taste wasn’t as bad this time, but Izuku strongly suspected the villain had taken a recent dip in the nasty pond. He still gagged and tried to puke at first, but the slime wrapped around him held him fairly steady until the automatic response passed. He focused on his breathing as he forced himself to relax and loosen his jaw from where he’d tried to clamp it shut. At least, it didn’t hurt like last time. It was more pressure than anything followed by numbness. He also noticed the temperature difference this time. Winter was fast approaching, after all; it made sense for the villain’s semi-solid body—which didn’t lend itself to wearing a coat—to run colder than a standard human’s. Izuku made a mental note to figure out some way for them to avoid giving his body temperature shock for the next time they did this. He was already starting to shiver.

Maybe 20 seconds into the process, Izuku’s curiosity got the better of his anxiety, and he paid more attention to the spreading numbness in his body. The Slime Villain had numbed his throat and stomach first, presumably to shut off his gag and vomit reflexes. From there he seemed to be prioritizing reaching his legs and spine, and it took Izuku a moment to connect that to stabilizing him internally as he ran out of slime to do so externally.

Once those were fully numbed and under the villain’s control, the slime wrapped around the outside of Izuku’s body retracted, and the numbness started spreading in a branching pattern that Izuku quickly identified as mirroring his circulatory system. When the numbness hit his heart, he shuddered, but his heart only skipped a single beat before settling back into its rhythm, though maybe pumping a bit harder? Stronger? He made a mental note to ask about that after this was finished. His lungs going numb gave him a similar reaction, and they seemed to expand farther afterward. Weird.

About the time 90% of Izuku was numb, the villain spoke up, prompting Izuku to open his eyes. “You still with me, kid? Ah, good. This is where things goofed up last time. You need to hold your breath for a little bit at the end. Last time you didn’t hear me, and I didn’t have control of your lungs yet. I went ahead and got your lungs this time. So, all you have to do is not freak out when you stop breathing for a few seconds, okay?”

Izuku tried to nod and was surprised when his numbed body allowed the movement. He closed his eyes again after. Standing there and letting it happen was one thing, but actually seeing the slime pouring into his body at an unbelievable rate and volume was another thing. The handful of stretch marks he’d found on his neck made sense now. (How much must the villain be able to condense his body for this to even work?)

As promised, when Izuku’s lungs stopped pulling in air, it was only for 15 seconds. Then he was back to breathing again. He vaguely felt several somethings travel down his throat and figured that was probably the…solid bits of the villain. Yeah, that was going in the pile of things not to think about ever again.

The numbness finished spreading through him a few seconds later, and his brain went hazy for a split second. Then he could think clearly again, and the villain was talking in his head. “Alright, kid. Where to? Should I drive, or do you want to?”

“I will. You don’t know the way to my apartment,” Izuku said mentally. He tentatively took a step backward to pick up his backpack. He found he could move through the receding numbness now, rather than the complete and total disconnect of last time. What was left behind was like…an extra layer of sensation over top of what he normally felt? It was a little distracting being able to fully experience the pressure of condensed slime spread evenly throughout his body. He shakily took his jacket out of his backpack and pulled it on, zipping it all the way up. That went a long way to assure himself that he had the hang of moving in this…state.

As he started the walk home, he decided to keep up the conversation. He hadn’t often had someone to talk to on his walks, let alone someone non-antagonistic. “You sound more stable. Feeling better?” Izuku asked.

Izuku felt a faint impression of surprise, which he guessed was coming from his passenger. “Yeah, actually. A bit more clear-headed.”

“I hear quirk withdrawal is a bitch.”

The villain’s laugh rattled around inside his skull, making Izuku blink a few times. Wait, had he not blinked the entire block they’d just walked?

That thought was apparently loud enough to hear, as it set the villain to cackling again. “Nope. There’s a thin layer of slime over your eyes; so, I blocked that reflex. I’m used to not blinking.”

“Huh. Useful. Probably shouldn’t do that when we’re in a confined space around other people. It’ll look weird if someone notices we never blink. I’m fine with you doing that in private or on a walk like this though.” Izuku took advantage of not needing to blink to look around at everything as they walked, giving mental commentary on the area as he effectively took the Slime Villain on a tour of his route home, also explaining that it was one of many.

“That have to do with avoiding your bullies?” the villain asked, controlling Izuku’s right hand to bring it up for them to look at the bruise there. The villain controlling his arm didn’t even feel different from Izuku’s own movements really. The only thing was that the compressed slime moved a fraction of a second before Izuku’s muscles rather than the other way around.

Izuku flexed his bruised hand and abruptly realized that the villain was keeping all of his injuries numbed, though the feeling had returned to the rest of him. Gratitude rose unbidden, and he grinned. Then he thought about the question. He contemplated lying but figured the villain would see through him by the pattern of his injuries. He physically sighed. “Yeah…”

After a few moments of silence, Izuku asked, “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘Slime Villain’ forever.”

For a minute Izuku didn’t think the villain was going to answer. “…Ekikyō.”

Izuku had the feeling that was a given name rather than a surname, but he didn’t blame the guy. He got the whole not trusting thing. He still smiled inside and out as he said, “Hello, Ekikyō. It’s nice to meet you; I’m in your care.”

The Slime Vill—Ekikyō—huffed a single laugh with Izuku’s body. “Nice to formally meet you, Midoriya Izuku. And likewise.”

Chapter Text

They talked some more on the way to Izuku’s home, just general getting to know each other stuff. Like Ekikyō being 25 and having some “experience” as a plumber and locksmith. Izuku was sure that was totally legal and had nothing to do with avoiding the police and getting into places he shouldn’t. In turn, Izuku told Ekikyō about his recently dead dream of being a hero and his quirk analysis hobby.

“I could see you getting into that for a living. I didn’t catch all of what you said about my quirk, but you are right about it being possession instead of my physical appearance. Unintentionally lied on the registry paperwork as a kid and never updated it when I figured out the rest. I get enough funny looks as is. Can you imagine the response if my papers said ‘Body Possession’ on them?”

Izuku flinched in sympathy as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. “Believe me, I wish I could take ‘Quirkless’ off of mine. I’ll be lucky if I can get into any high school with that.” He paused on the landing of the floor below his as it suddenly dawned on him that he was showing a known villain where he and his mother lived. “New rule: Never endanger Mom or make her sad. Also, if anyone ever breaks in, you have full permission to use whatever force is necessary to protect her…a-and me,” he added after practically feeling Ekikyō’s judgmental stare.

Izuku got the impression of a nod of approval before Ekikyō mentally agreed, “Fine. In exchange, you don’t rat me out to police or heroes whether I’m here or not.”

“Agreed. That shouldn’t be too…oh no…” Izuku was fine keeping one more secret if it saved lives, except there was one teensy tiny problem he’d forgotten about until just now.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Izuku felt the villain within him tense as if expecting to face a threat. He was touched for a moment before he went back to panicking. “I forgot my doctor appointment next week. They’re going to draw blood to see how the slime breakdown is going. If I show up with more or the same amount, they’ll know something’s up. Can you take all of your slime with you when you exit?”

Ekikyō mentally frowned. “No. It’s kinda like backwash in a glass of water. Once that’s in there, there’s no getting all of it out, even if you tried.”

Izuku made a face of disgust at the analogy. “I get the picture.”

“I…might have a workaround though.”

“I’m listening.”

“If I’m with you when you go for your doctor appointment, I can temporarily block extra flow to that vein and pull all slime out of the stagnant blood. As long as they don’t take a huge sample, that should make it look like just you in here.”

Izuku felt a poke at the inside of his ribs and squeaked. “Don’t do that,” he hissed out loud before slapping a hand over his mouth and looking around. “Okay, if I start to answer you out loud in public and you catch it, you have full permission to shut me up.”

Izuku’s jaw suddenly locked shut before loosening again. “Got it.”

Izuku nodded and dug his key out of his pocket. “Mom, I’m home,” he called as he slipped off his shoes and hung his jacket. Then he wandered toward the kitchen, careful to keep his injured right hand out of sight. He could smell katsudon cooking. He started drooling, but it felt a touch too thick to be normal, and he winced as he swallowed it. Swallowing felt a little off too. He raised a hand to touch his neck as he wondered if his throat was permanently stretched out.

“Hi, sweetie. Food’s almost done. Why don’t you go change then help me set the table?”

“Sure,” he said, already heading down the hall, still massaging the spots along his neck with stretch marks.

Once they were out of sight of the kitchen, Ekikyō answered his unvoiced question, “It’s already shrinking back down. I can go slower next time to stretch it less. I admit I was a little overeager earlier. As for the rest of your body…can’t do much about that. As you grow—or put on more muscle—we’ll have more room to work with. Actually, you working out would be a good cover for the next thing I need to tell you.”

Izuku nodded as he stepped into his room. “Go ahead.” When all he got was shocked silence, Izuku actually looked at his room before blushing. “Oh…right. Uh…know anyone who collects All Might merch? I was actually thinking of selling most of this. And um, don’t look while I change?”

That seemed to snap Ekikyō out of it. “Nothing I don’t already know about, but sure, kid. I won’t look out of your eyes until you give the all-clear. As for the merch, I’ll ask around. Get me a set of prices later, and I’ll figure out a commission for acting as an intermediary. I wouldn’t trust most of my contacts with meeting you in person.”

“Sure.”

“Why the sudden dislike for heroes? Or is it All Might in particular?”

“Just All Might. He kinda crushed my dream after rescuing me from you; then he left me on top of a roof.” Izuku made a confused noise in the back of his throat when his body seized up. “Ekikyō?”

Then he felt it. Anger radiated off his passenger. Izuku tried to shrink in on himself as his fear rose in response. All the angry, disappointed, disgusted looks he got from teachers and classmates were too fresh in his mind after his day at school. He physically flinched when Ekikyō sighed.

“Izuku, I’m not mad at you, but I saw the way you kept looking at rooftops on the walk here…”

Shoot, Izuku hadn’t even noticed. Kacchan’s suicide bait echoed tauntingly in his ears.

Ekikyō made a choked sound before asking, “Are you suicidal?”

“I…I don’t know? I don’t really want to die but…”

“But you thought nothing of offering yourself up in exchange for that lady or letting a known murderer hang out in your body.” Ekikyō’s emotions were fluctuating, but he tamped down on them or blocked them before any bled through enough to identify. He finally seemed to remember his stranglehold on Izuku’s motor skills too and released him. “New rule: You keep yourself alive whether I’m here or not. You’ve got a good mind and a better heart. Loads of people would miss out if you offed yourself. I’d miss you too…I guess.”

Izuku covered his mouth as tears welled in his eyes. “Thanks…Um, you wanted to tell me something?” he asked to distract from his emotional moment.

“Yeah, kid,” Ekikyō said, awkwardly attempting to give him an internal hug. It sorta worked? Izuku got what he meant anyway. “When we’re like this, you’ll need to eat more. While I’m not as active, I am using my quirk to keep this whole thing working.” Izuku felt the slime throughout his body shift, making him want to squirm until it settled back into place. “If I remember right, it usually works out to about one and a half times what the host usually eats, give or take. In your case, it might be closer to double. Are you sure you’re even eating enough for you, Midoriya? You’re kinda scrawny.”

“Heeeeyyyy.” Izuku blushed and pouted as he turned to grab a shirt from his closet. He paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Yeah, he had a few scars and was shrimpy. Yes, with Ekikyō present he could tell his body had gained weight. He didn’t really care about those. What he did get stuck on was the fact his blush was closer to black than red. “Ekikyō! What?”

“What? What’s going…” Izuku’s eyes twitched without his say so, and Izuku realized his friend(?) had been keeping his word and not looking that whole time. “Oh. Uh…yeah, that might be a problem. Hm…want me to turn off blushing? I can probably do that. Here, let me try something…”

Izuku resisted the urge to squirm again as the slime in his face shifted and flowed through and around the muscles and connective tissue there. Wow, that felt weird. If he looked really close in the mirror he could kinda see the movement under his skin too. He shuddered, but Ekikyō kept Izuku from closing their eyes or moving away while he focused on fixing the problem. After a few more seconds the villain figured something out and gave a triumphant cheer as the unnatural color faded from their cheeks.

“Huh,” Izuku said out loud while rubbing his cheeks. Nothing felt different now that the slime had stopped moving. “Is that going to impact my circulation any?”

“Probably not? I’ll keep a feel on it just in case. Never done that before.”

Izuku’s body shrugged, and Izuku turned back to his closet. He didn’t really care if Ekikyō was watching now. He’d already gotten his pants changed out. As he contemplated his shirts, he rubbed his hands together feeling that they were still cold, though his shivering had settled out not long before they’d gotten home. He grabbed a thick sweatshirt. “I should probably shower after dinner to finish warming up,” he muttered mostly to himself.

Minor body horror behind them, Izuku headed for dinner. “Anything else you need while you’re in here that I need to know about?” Izuku asked, tapping a finger against his sternum.

“Uh…let’s see…oh! If your lungs feel a little off, that’s because I’m making them stretch more. I need oxygen too. Again, roughly 1.5 times your usual amount to keep both of us running smoothly, but there’s only so much room in your chest. Might not want to exercise too much while I’m visiting. You’ll get short of breath faster than when I’m gone.”

“Guess I’ll take those as rest days?” Izuku said, a bit confused to find he’d already decided to follow Ekikyō’s suggestion of working out. He really could stand to get in shape. How had he ever thought he stood a chance of getting into a hero course with his body looking like this?

Ekikyō shot him a feeling of disapproval and jerked his eyes up and away from his lacking form. “You were going to set the table?”

“Oh, right!”

Dinner was great, though Ekikyō almost gave him a heart attack when he took over for a moment to have him swallow a piece of pork whole, then reached a tendril of slime up his throat to grab it and ease it the rest of the way down. It was half digested before it even reached his—their—stomach. At least, Ekikyō remembered to turn their blink reflex back on before Mom sat down to eat with them. After explaining his new workout plans, she happily got him some leftovers from the fridge to supplement the katsudon. She promised to start making him bigger portions too.

One awkward shower (with Ekikyō tuning out again) later Izuku was warm and ready for bed. He’d finished his homework at school, thankfully. He was already exhausted, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Probably all the work going into speed healing your injuries. That energy has to come from somewhere, and it’s not me who’s hurt.”

Oh, that made sense. Izuku yawned. “Aren’t you going to get bored while I sleep?”

“Nah, I’ll get some shuteye too. You have any idea how uncomfortable and cold sleeping in a plugged bathtub is? My form falls apart when I sleep; so, being in a body is the only way I can sleep in a bed without making a mess and puddling out onto the floor.”

Izuku shivered at the impression of trying to sleep on cold porcelain he got from the guy and pulled his blankets around him tighter. “Goodnight, Ekikyō.”

“Goodnight, Midoriya.”

The next morning wasn’t all that interesting, except Izuku let Ekikyō control their body on the way to school. He felt a little bad that the man was stuck without much time to do anything where he could be present this visit.

“Eh, don’t sweat it, kid. After your doctor appointment, I’ll try to swing by mostly on weekends. That’ll give us more free time and a chance to test my time limit some too. I didn’t feel all that strained at 24 hours last time. Speaking of, are you cool with me swinging by the afternoon before your appointment? What day was it?”

“Tuesday, and yeah, Monday afternoon is fine. Want me to meet you at the park again? I could feel when I got close to you. The slime you left behind still responded to your control and tugged me in your direction when I got close enough.”

“Wait, really? That never happened before. Huh. Wonder if that’s the Trigger or just general quirk growth?”

“Guess there’s no real way of knowing at this point, though it is convenient.”

“Yeah. Anyway, sure. I’ll catch you at the park. We can separate there today too after your classes let out. I’ll try going slower then and see how much time it takes.”

Izuku grinned in the back of their mind. “And swing by before you get withdrawal that bad next time. You don’t want to accidentally hurt someone—or me—if you’re desperate.”

When they reached the school gate, they swapped out control…almost seamlessly. Izuku only tripped once. By the time Izuku reached the classroom, he knew it was going to be a bad day. It always was when it started with spider lilies and slurs written on his desk. Ekikyō was worryingly silent as Izuku cleaned the surface, ignoring the snickers around the room. Classes themselves weren’t too bad, but there was a steadily building sense of impending doom as lunch approached.

Izuku was packing ten minutes before the bell even rang, and Ekikyō tensed alongside his muscles. “As soon as the bell rings, we run, take a left outside the door, right at the end of the corridor, another left, go down the stairs to the second floor, run to the other stairwell, circle back up to this floor, and camp out in the janitor closet by the staircase. If we can make it there, we should be safe. Watch out for the guy with Extendable Fingers,” Izuku glanced at the boy with extendable digits. “And everyone in the front row. They like to trip me. If we trip, we’re done for. And whatever happens, we cannot bump into Kacchan,” Izuku added, shooting Kacchan a glance. “He’ll do worse than any of the others, but he’s mostly been leaving me alone since my abduction.”

Ekikyō didn’t seem happy, but he tried to soothe the anxiety rolling off of Izuku in waves. He did take partial control of Izuku’s body when he started to tremble though, suppressing the stress reaction. “Visible weakness might as well be blood in the water to those types.” Then he turned Izuku’s eyes back on Kacchan’s lackey with the finger quirk. “What’s the breakdown on his quirk, Midoriya? Do those fingers actually stretch or do they grow? Does the bone maintain density or get weaker with extra length?”

Izuku blinked and thought for a moment, recalling his classmate’s pages in his fourth notebook. “They grow and shrink. He has to get a lot of dietary calcium and phosphorus and sometimes takes supplements; so, I’m betting the bones weaken with extra length. Length and/or bone integrity might be dependent on how much calcium and phosphorus he has available. Maximum known length is four meters. He has the same grip strength regardless of finger length, and it’s decently strong.”

Ekikyō hummed, looking between the boy and the front of the room, gauging the distance. Then he asked about those in the front row. Izuku happily listed off everything he knew about them to take his mind off of his probable impending beating. When he finished the last one, his bodymate gave him an impression of a head pat. “If one of them catches us, let me handle it.”

Izuku mentally stared at his companion, both bewildered and a little terrified. “What are you going to do?”

Ekikyō drew Izuku’s mouth into a wide smile that Izuku remembered from the underpass, though it hadn’t been on his face then. Based on the few reactions Izuku could see from his classmates, it was just as unsettling for them as him. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t leave any marks. Let me help you on the way to the door?” Ekikyō let up on the control he’d taken without permission as if realizing he may have overstepped.

Izuku did the equivalent of scooting to the side in his brain, and he felt Ekikyō tense and relax a few muscles experimentally as he slid back into the driver’s seat. Interestingly, Izuku wasn’t completely ousted this time. He stared at his left hand as he clenched and unclenched it around his backpack strap. Ekikyō nudged his head back up, and Izuku cooperated as they turned their head back to watch the clock. They were…sharing?

The second the bell rang, they both pushed off, dashing for the door faster than Izuku remembered being able to move. Ekikyō spotted the first outstretched ankle and directed them in a hop over it while Izuku kept an eye out for others. They’d almost made it when a sudden yank on his backpack brought them up short.

“Damn, Fingers got us,” Ekikyō said, gently shoving Izuku toward the back of their mind. Izuku ceded control willingly, if nervously. He watched and felt as his friend pulled their face into a smile again and turned to look Izuku’s classmate in the eye. “Mind letting me go?” he asked with a too-sweet voice.

Fingers missed the warning it was and sneered. “Yeah right, loser. You think someone as pathetic and useless as you can ditch us?” Two more classmates stepped up beside the first. One popped his knuckles. “Guess we need to remind you how helpless you are. Didn’t think you’d forget so quickly after you were body-snatched and gave up your dream.”

Izuku cowered back, forgetting that he couldn’t physically get away. Ekikyō felt his reaction and grew angry. Izuku reminded himself over and over that it wasn’t aimed at him. It felt a little different from what he got from his classmates when he really focused on it. Seeing the two types side by side like this, Izuku thought Ekikyō’s anger might be more protective while the others’ had a heavy dose of disgust or condescension. That difference helped a little, though he was still quaking in his figurative boots.

Izuku instinctively stopped watching when Fingers reached for him with his quirk. Then Izuku’s—their—arm shot out and caught two of the approaching fingers in a crushing grip and twisted. Izuku dared to tune back in when the boy yelped. Ekikyō had the bully’s fingers bent at a painful angle and was still smiling. The other two kids had taken a step back at the display.

“Now, you’re going to let me go, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the school year, or I’m going to snap your twig fingers. Then I’ll do the fingers on your other hand. Capiche?”

“What?! What is wrong with you?”

“I’m done putting up with this school’s crap. I’ve talked to a real villain face to face, been at his mercy, and figured out what he wanted and how to stay alive. You’re not that scary.”

Izuku soaked up every word, watching in awe.

Then Ekikyō turned their eyes on the left-hand lackey. In 30 seconds, he verbally picked apart how to disable his quirk and hurt him bad enough to put him out of a fight. Then he moved on to the right-hand kid. All with the analysis Izuku had given him minutes before. Somewhere in there, Fingers let go of Izuku’s bag. Once Ekikyō finished his rendition of Izuku’s analysis, he gave the boy’s digits one last squeeze—just enough to feel the bones creak in their grip—and shoved him away.

“Oh, and if I’m so weak, useless, and helpless, what does that make you?” He smiled sweetly again before unhurriedly striding from the room.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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Izuku didn’t fully come out of his shock at having someone stand up for him (let alone with his own body and analysis) until school was out. He ate his lunch on autopilot and wrote notes without really hearing anything the teachers said. His classmates were shooting him looks the whole time too, and not the usual ones. A sense of unease plagued the last few classes of the day.

None of it truly touched Izuku before flowing around and past him until the closing bell rattled something back into place. He blinked and took a deep breath, letting it really sink in that he (technically Ekikyō) had stood up to and threatened three of his bullies, and he hadn’t gotten hurt. He hadn’t gotten hurt. Somehow that fact seemed the most fantastical and strange.

As Izuku started packing his books away, Ekikyō broke his silence to chime in, “There you are. Pretty sure you dissociated or something there for a bit. Couldn’t get you to respond at all.”

“Huh? Oh…sorry,” Izuku said, still feeling a bit off-balance. Why did the lack of pain make this whole thing feel so unreal?

“That’s a question for a therapist, kid, not me. Now, come on. We’ve stayed here too long already. I’m surprised none of your other bullies tried pressing their luck.”

“Maybe they think I finally snapped?” Izuku suggested, half joking. He wondered—quietly—if maybe he had, back when he agreed to occasionally act as a safe house for a villain.

Ekikyō made a non-committal sound in their mind and prodded Izuku’s body into standing. Izuku obliged and started walking. They reached the park and the stagnant pond a while later, and Izuku laid down under the willow tree, folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the swaying branches.

“So…how does this work? I wasn’t awake for it last time.”

“Basically, the same thing, just…backwards,” Ekikyō said, starting to shift around inside their body. “You still have to hold your breath briefly, but it’s at the beginning instead of the end. Ready?”

Izuku started a timer on his phone. Then he nodded and relaxed, blowing out a breath before taking a deep one and holding it. That extra sensation of the slime around his lungs tensing (or stiffening?) let Izuku know he wouldn’t accidentally inhale even if his attention lapsed. Slime and something a bit more solid crept up his throat, and Izuku closed his eyes, thankful that certain reflexes seemed to still be suppressed.

It really was like the initial possession but in reverse. And without the numbness covering up the feeling of slime flowing through his body and out of it. Also, the slime didn’t taste like much of anything on its way out. It did take longer than possession, though Izuku wasn’t sure if that was normal or because Ekikyō was trying to be considerate. Regardless, the steady decrease in internal pressure had Izuku sighing in relief. He’d gotten used to the constant pressure, but the difference with it gone was striking.

All in all, the de-possession process took two minutes. Izuku felt a bit lightheaded and weird afterward. This possession he’d had much more awake time to get used to having another person sharing his everything. He’d never thought his head could feel lonely.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Ekikyō shifting and stretching his once more freed form. Consequently, this tugged on the slime still inside Izuku. The sensation felt stronger than yesterday. “Did you purposely leave more behind?” Izuku asked as he sat up.

“Hm? Oh, not really? I was kinda focusing on leaving without stretching anything too much. Let me…” Izuku lurched forward slightly and slapped a hand to his chest when the slime tugged again. “Huh, what do you know? I can feel it too. Kinda distant and muffled, but I’ll definitely be able to find you easier next week now that I know what to look for.”

“Great,” Izuku mumbled, hoping there weren’t going to be any health complications from having even more slime circulating in his body long-term.

“Well, kid, it’s been fun, but I have to get going. Can’t risk anyone seeing me. Until Monday,” Ekikyō said, waving a tendril as he slunk off deeper into the park.

“See you Monday,” Izuku called back before standing and walking home. On the way, he thought over the last 24 hours. Was he an idiot for helping Ekikyō? Izuku stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as he wondered if All Might would have helped the slime man. Izuku wasn’t convinced he would. Arguably, Izuku shouldn’t have either. The man was a murderer…though not because he wanted to be. Sticking him in a prison cell away from anyone he could ever use his quirk on for the rest of his life was both the safest and cruelest thing to do. And it was exactly what would have happened if Izuku hadn’t been so desperate to ask his stupid question and made All Might drop the bottles.

Izuku huffed as he realized the irony. His dream being crushed had unintentionally helped someone. Really, that’s what Ekikyō needed: help. And those that no one else would stand up for or offer a hand to? Izuku knew what that was like, though he'd never really thought about others being treated that way. He’d never been offered a friendly hand (a deku didn’t deserve one), but maybe…maybe being that person to others could become his new dream.

Izuku grinned softly as he looked down at his right hand, turning it over. After a day’s possession, the bruise had almost completely faded. Then he looked further up his arm. A few of the stretch marks were more pronounced now, and old scars taunted him for his weakness. Izuku focused past those surface marks, eyeing the muscle underneath. He’d been incredibly lucky, being able to save that lady from Ekikyō in the alley all those weeks ago and being able to help Ekikyō just by being a willing subject for his quirk. As a rule, Izuku was not lucky. He didn’t trust it to last; nothing good ever did. Not for him. If he wanted to keep saving and helping people (despite never being a hero) he needed to stack the deck in his favor.

Chapter Text

The next time Izuku went to the park, he took a tray of hot tea in to-go cups and two extra layers of clothing. The temperature had dropped close to freezing over the weekend, and Izuku really didn’t feel like getting hypothermia.

Ekikyō was waiting for him like before. Izuku shoved all but one of the steaming drinks at the slime man before he could say anything. “Drink up. I’m not dealing with temperature shock.”

Ekikyō looked between the drinks and Izuku a few times before getting it. 20 minutes and several cups of tea later, Izuku sat on the ground. He figured he’d save Ekikyō the trouble of having to stabilize him standing like last time.

Izuku set up a timer on his phone again and said, “Ready when you are.”

“One sec,” Ekikyō said, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

Izuku tilted his head and frowned. Then he jolted when the slime already in his system started coalescing in the vicinity of his stomach. Izuku’s eyes widened when his stomach went numb and that numbness started climbing his throat. He laughed. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Ekikyō smirked. “Nope. Actually, thought of it yesterday. Should make things a bit quicker.”

“And more pleasant for all involved,” Izuku added, relaxing again.

With the problematic reflexes already blocked, possession only took a minute and a half. Then Izuku and Ekikyō stood up and grabbed the last cup of warm tea, taking long sips until their shivers ceased.

Izuku let Ekikyō drive on the way to his apartment to test the man’s knowledge of the route. They made it back without a hitch, and Ekikyō raised a mental eyebrow at Izuku when he saw the set of dumbbells that had replaced the All Might action figures on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Izuku smiled and said out loud, “Did you know that tearing muscle fibers, like one would in a workout, counts as an injury?” At Ekikyō’s continued silence, Izuku smiled a bit wider. “With the lingering slime, as long as I don’t really overdo it, I don’t have to worry about taking rest days. I barely get sore.”

“I thought there was a tiny bit more muscle in here. Didn’t think you’d actually take me seriously.”

“Well, you had a point about me being scrawny. And I don’t want to be ‘helpless Deku’ forever.”

Ekikyō scoffed. “You were never helpless to begin with, kid.” Sensing Izuku’s lack of belief, the man sighed. “Lemme put it this way. Do you think I’m wimpy or weak for never being able to throw a real punch?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Exactly. Just because I can’t throw a punch with the force of muscle and bone behind it doesn’t mean I can’t fight. I just have to do it differently. So, why are you weak for lacking a quirk?” Ekikyō let his point sink in for a few seconds. “Stop trying to measure up to their expectations of strength and work with what you’ve got. With how you pick apart quirks, you’d be terrifying as a hero, villain, or whatever you want to be.”

Izuku’s eyes traveled to the set of brochures his mom had left on his desk for various high schools and programs for support and business. She’d been disconcertingly happy to hear he’d changed his goal and had been oddly supportive since then. The question of what he wanted to be still didn’t have an answer. (It did, but he could never be a hero.)

The rest of that particular visit went smoothly—if Izuku spent more time thinking about something besides quirks than usual—and Ekikyō was able to pull off the blood/slime separation just long enough for their blood draw. Thankfully, that was all the doctor wanted to do that day. If they’d bothered to get Izuku’s weight or blood pressure, neither of them was quite sure how to fudge those results. (Apparently, Ekikyō also bolstered Izuku’s heart during a possession, helping it pump against the increased internal pressure and the much thicker slime flowing with his blood.)

Izuku’s mom cooked a large dinner when they got back to celebrate Izuku’s normal test results, and Izuku and Ekikyō enthusiastically ate two portions and part of a third before they started to feel full. After relaxing for a while, Izuku excused himself to go for his evening run. If that run took him by the park to drop off Ekikyō, no one needed to know.

---

The unlikely friends figured out a rough schedule for “hangouts,” and after the first few times and some prodding from Izuku, they started experimenting with how long Ekikyō could go between possessions. Izuku made it a point to run the park trail morning and evening every weekend, just in case, and Ekikyō knew how to find him if he hit his limit before the weekend came.

Through trial and error, they found Ekikyō’s withdrawal symptoms started kicking in between three and four weeks. They didn’t test past five weeks on Izuku’s insistence; he hadn’t liked the desperation that started clawing its way into Ekikyō’s eyes at that point. They just set up a three week schedule and called it a day, though Ekikyō tended to visit more frequently, ostensibly for the Midoriya matriarch’s excellent cooking.

At least until summer break rolled around.

With the break came greater freedom, both to work out and to investigate Ekikyō’s quirk and how long he could hold a possession. There’d only been so much they could do on weekends, learning Ekikyō could easily last two and a half days.

By this point, Izuku and Ekikyō had had their arrangement for nearly six months, and they’d grown to trust each other to an extent. They still kept some secrets. Ekikyō didn’t tell Izuku where he went when he was away or what he was up to, but he did bring back increasingly detailed descriptions of quirks he’d run into and “hypothetical” scenarios for Izuku to analyze. Izuku in turn didn’t tell him where his constantly appearing injuries came from, (while Izuku’s classmates largely left him alone now, other classes and the siblings of his classmates seemed immune to Ekikyō’s threat), but he started keeping a supply of energy bars for between meals when they were together and packing extra food for Ekikyō to take with him when he left.

So, when the first thing Ekikyō said when they met up at the beginning of summer break was that he wanted to take Izuku to an underground doctor he’d vetted, Izuku agreed with only a few seconds of hesitation. He’d gotten used to the idea of having some amount of slime in his body at all times, but that didn’t preclude him worrying about his health.

Ekikyō drove, but Izuku paid close attention in case he ever needed to find his way here when his friend wasn’t visiting. The idea of having someone to help him treat his worse injuries was a welcome novelty. Middle school was almost over, and Izuku had no idea what high school was going to look like. Past experience told him upperclassmen could be some of the most brutal of his attackers. It never hurt to be prepared.

Ekikyō took them into a more run-down and industrial part of Musutafu and hung a left down an alley between two unlabeled warehouses. One of them had a graffiti cityscape spanning half the length of the alley. Ekikyō paused a third of the way in and looked at a red cross buried in the mural. “This is the spot, Izuku.” He reached up and knocked on the wall of the warehouse right next to the cross in a series of three then two. Ten seconds later, several locks rattled and clicked. A seam appeared in the wall, and a door cracked open. A single blue eye looked out at them. Ekikyō leaned their body back and grinned. “Yo, Cheshire. It’s Sludge. I brought my friend, Green, if you couldn’t tell,” he said, gesturing at themselves.

A mental nudge from Ekikyō had Izuku assuming control and waving with a cautious smile. “Hey.”

The door closed, and they heard two chain locks being undone. Then the door opened fully. Ekikyō walked them inside, but Izuku stayed present as well, turning their head to look around the space they stepped into. Scuffed concrete, old fluorescent lights, and plastic chairs lined a makeshift waiting room. Two “walls” of the room were made up of shipping containers, and the last wall had a proper door leading into what was likely an office in the building’s original plans.

Cheshire—who turned out to be a middle-aged woman wearing a mask over the upper half of her face—smiled a too wide, too toothy grin at them, and Izuku’s anxiety melted away in seconds. He blinked in surprise. “That’s your quirk, isn’t it? That’s so cool! You must be great for panic attacks.”

Cheshire looked startled, and Ekikyō laughed with their body. “See? What’d I tell ya? Green’s sharp as a razor.”

Cheshire recovered and chuckled, fetching a clipboard and pen from the chipped desk off to one side. “That you did. Have a seat and fill out these forms; I’ll check if Cross is free.” She disappeared through the office door.

The duo sat, and Izuku started filling in blanks after Ekikyō told him he’d already filled out his own set a few days prior. The paper didn’t ask for any identification and had a small space at the top to write in whatever alias they wanted. Considering Izuku couldn’t think of anything better on short notice, he put down “Green.” The questionnaire was pretty standard medical history stuff, and Izuku had no trouble with it…until he found himself staring down at the entire page dedicated to detailing a patient’s quirk.

Old insecurities came racing back. After a while of Izuku staring and internally panicking, Ekikyō eased their eyes up away from the page. He used their hand to draw a large x through the section and gave Izuku the internal torso squeeze that equated to a hug when they shared a body. “Don’t worry about discrimination here. If anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to deal with me. Got it?”

Izuku took a shaky breath and nodded. Another ten minutes and all the pertinent papers were filled out. They walked up to the desk and slid the clipboard across to Cheshire, who’d reappeared at some point.

A short time later, a bald man with teal skin, orange eyes, and a black medical mask beckoned them through the office door. Ekikyō led the way. “Hey, Doc.”

“Sludge,” the doctor greeted. “When you said you’d found a partner, I imagined someone…older.”

“Oi, I never called Green a ‘partner.’ He’s a friend who helps me out when I have quirk withdrawal.”

“Mhm. Yes, well, I’m Cross, the local doctor of the underground and unfortunates. Pleasure to meet you, Green. Hop up on the table, and Sludge, de-possess him. I’ll check you over together once I have his baseline,” the doctor said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he turned to start pulling supplies from drawers and shelves.

He turned back around a moment later to observe Ekikyō separating from Izuku. Izuku felt self-conscious under the man’s gaze and hunched his shoulders. Once he was alone in his body, the standard physical exam passed quickly, followed by the doctor drawing several vials of dark red blood. “Come back in three or four days, and I’ll have the results of your bloodwork for you. Now, I’m going to use my quirk to check you over. Think of it as medical imaging. I can look through or inside of living organic matter. Sort of the quirked, video version of a CT scan, but in full color. I will need you to remove your clothes, though you can keep your boxers on. Any questions?”

Izuku had plenty of questions but not enough nerve to interrupt the man. After shaking his head, he awkwardly undressed. He tried not to fidget as the doctor’s eyes began to glow.

The man did a cursory pass, pausing for several seconds when he glanced toward Izuku’s feet. Then he did a slower pass. Izuku guessed that this one was more in-depth based on the shifting intensity of the man’s eye glow. After several minutes the doctor’s eyes returned to normal. “Fascinating. How many times have you two merged so far?”

Izuku and Ekikyō looked at each other. They hadn’t really kept count. “Uh…at least a dozen? Definitely not more than twenty.” Izuku said with a shrug. “Usually for no more than a day or two at a time. Haven’t had time for any longer stints with school.”

Ekikyō bobbed in what Izuku had learned was his version of a nod when in blob form. (Ekikyō could shape his body to be humanoid, but holding it tired him out after a while.) “Yeah, that’s what we’re actually getting ready to test out now that the kid’s on summer break. We’re not sure what my upper time limit is.”

The doctor nodded and wrote some notes on his clipboard. “Very good. Stop by again at the end of your possession. I’ll want to run some comparative scans and samples then.” Once finished with notetaking, the doctor looked at Izuku. “You have a surprising amount of sludge in your body even without your friend possessing you. Most of it appears to be soaked into your muscles…”

“Oh! That’s because I worked out this morning. The slime’s probably still repairing the damaged muscle fibers. I won’t even be sore by tomorrow. It’s made getting in shape go a lot faster than I expected,” Izuku said, running a hand over the distinctive bulge of his bicep.

“Be that as it may, I’d be happier if there was less. If that volume of slime isn’t entrapped in your muscles and injuries—I’ll come back to those, young man—but all goes into general circulation, it could strain your heart or at the very least give you high blood pressure.”

“I’ll be careful to pull out as much as I can when we wrap up this next possession.” Ekikyō hurried to assure the doctor.

Satisfied, the doctor looked over his notes once more. “Have you noticed any other physical changes since your arrangement started? Anything out of the ordinary before, during, or after a possession?”

Izuku shrugged. “I haven’t gotten sick at all since we started doing this. Like not even the cold that everyone in my class caught last month! And injuries heal faster…” he trailed off, thinking back over his notes on Ekikyō’s quirk and quirk tests. “The internal pressure of a possession has been less pronounced since I started gaining weight, or maybe I’ve just gotten used to it? Um…and sometimes I get lightheaded right after a…de-possession? It usually only lasts a few minutes though.”

The doctor hummed. “That makes sense with the sudden pressure drop. Avoid moving rapidly after separating to decrease your chance of fainting.” Glancing from Izuku to Ekikyō, the doctor said, “Alright, now for your joint exam.”

Izuku hadn’t really thought about how uncomfortable it could be to have someone watch Ekikyō possess him, but here they were. He almost choked when he caught the doctor’s eyes glowing partway in. Izuku couldn’t really blame the guy—he was curious how this actually worked too—but a little warning would have been nice.

By this point in time, the numbness that followed in Ekikyō’s wake faded almost as fast as it appeared, and Izuku didn’t bat an eye at the feeling of another mind sliding into his brain to overlap with his own. The familiar pressure—both physical and mental—was a comfort. A constant reminder that he wasn’t alone or useless.

After Ekikyō finished settling in, the doctor repeated their physical exam and started asking about their joint physiology. He’d been able to see the effects on Izuku’s lungs and heart as they happened with his quirk, and he seemed to catch on pretty quick that they didn’t blink. “Anything else?”

Izuku started to say no, only for Ekikyō to override him and say, “Yes.” A feeling of sheepishness reached Izuku, and he took a mental step back to let Ekikyō explain. “I…turn off his stomach, small intestine, and pancreas when I’m in here. I’m much quicker at breaking down and absorbing nutrients; then I split them between us. Waste is still pushed off to his colon, but I figure there was no need for both of us to have entire, separate digestive systems running when we’re like this. Oh, and salivary glands. Turned those off too.”

“Why am I just finding out about this now?” Izuku asked.

“It’s kinda like the eye thing or your heart and lungs, where I just did it without thinking, and by the time I thought about it maybe being something worth mentioning it would have been awkward…” Ekikyō rarely rambled. So, Izuku knew the guy felt genuinely bad about not bringing it up before now. Well, that and he could practically taste the guilt oozing from his bodymate.

“So, quirk instinct?” Izuku asked, slouching and radiating equal parts exasperation and interest. He reeled that feeling back in after a moment and pushed a mix of acceptance and forgiveness at Ekikyō. He hated it when the other sulked, especially because of his quirk or physical mutation. Izuku was supposed to be the insecure one. And Ekikyō had an amazing quirk. He had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

“Yeah, we’ll go with instinct.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like you had a lot of opportunities to test out your quirk the way it was meant to be used. You’re still learning…even if you are an old man.” The corner of Izuku’s lips twitched at the indignation and feigned offense that rose in their mind at the dig.

The doctor watched their silent exchange wordlessly, only speaking when the duo seemed to have reached a conclusion, “As fascinating as that was to watch, we should really wrap this up. I do have other patients to see today.”

“R-right, sorry,” Izuku said, holding their arm out for another blood/slime(?) draw.

The doctor pulled out a larger gauge needle this time, and Izuku paled at the sight of it. Ekikyō quickly numbed the crook of their elbow before the doctor could stab them. Izuku still felt a bit queasy watching the nearly black, definitely-more-slime-than-blood, liquid that slowly oozed into the test tube. Through his connection to Ekikyō, Izuku could almost imagine he still felt that piece of them as the man walked away with the tube. Izuku shuddered and put a hand over the puncture that had been sealed by the same black substance the second the needle had been removed.

The doctor asked several more questions before finally giving Izuku a clean bill of health. “You’re welcome back here anytime, Green, whether it’s for Sludge-related issues or any of your other injuries.” His eyes turned sharp as the doctor gave them a stern look. “But I expect you two to not be doing anything besides possession.”

Ekikyō bristled metaphorically and not so metaphorically, which was rather uncomfortable. “Oi, doc! I’m not doing any of that with a kid! We’re not even having that conversation until he’s at least 18.”

“What?” Izuku asked, clearly missing something.

“Cross just needs to get his mind out of the gutter. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Izuku tilted their head, curious but not sure he really wanted to know…yeah, no. Based on the sour feeling coming from his bodymate and the expression on Cross’s face he really didn’t want to know.

Their appointment wrapped up quickly after that, and Izuku found out Ekikyō had already paid for his visit. Cheshire cooed at Izuku’s dark blush (it turned out erasing his blush did negatively impact circulation, meaning they had to stick to using it for emergencies), which only made him blush worse. Ekikyō just laughed at him inside their head.

Izuku beat a hasty retreat and jogged toward the trash beach to show Ekikyō his progress. He had started cleaning it three months back when the dumbbells he’d bought stopped being a challenge. He still used the weights for stamina building and having something to do when the weather turned foul, but most of his workout routine now happened at Dagobah Municipal Beach, a.k.a. Musutafu’s unofficial illegal dump.

Chapter Text

Ekikyō whistled with their mouth when he saw the progress Izuku had made. “Wow, Izuku. This is impressive.” Izuku preened right up until Ekikyō continued, “You really have no life outside of school and my visits, huh?”

Izuku knew his friend was teasing him, but he couldn’t help the indignation and defensiveness that rose in response. “Hey! That’s not true! I get out plenty.”

“Running after hero fights for your quirk analysis doesn’t count.”

Ekikyō laughed when Izuku didn’t have an answer for that one. Izuku instead rolled his eyes and hefted a broken microwave onto his shoulder. He picked up an old tire under his other arm and started the trek back to the stairs leading up to the street. After a few moments, Ekikyō shifted the slime in their body to help support the extra weight. They both concentrated on working together for a minute before they were confidently in sync. When they were, their strengths were additive instead of individual.

“Hey, do you think we can lift that refrigerator yet?” Izuku asked as they neared the fast-food restaurant at the end of the street. As long as Izuku didn’t overfill their dumpster, the manager was fine with him using it for his beach cleaning efforts. There were two other dumpsters Izuku had permission to use too, but this one was the closest.

Ekikyō helped him heft the trash into the dumpster before turning their body back to eye the cleared swath of sand around the monstrous appliance. It had attempted to murder them the first time Izuku’d shown Ekikyō the beach. They hadn’t been able to move the thing from where it had landed when it fell out of one of the stacks. “Eh, give it another month or two. You’ve got a lot more muscle, but that thing isn’t going anywhere.”

Izuku sighed but listened, grabbing his work gloves and a trash bag from the box by the stairs and moving to tackle a new trash heap. “So, what do you want to do this week? We usually have to work around my schoolwork, but I can wait to start my summer project until you leave.”

“I dunno,” Ekikyō said with a mental impression of a shrug. “I haven’t done any casual hanging out in ages aside from the occasional party, and I’m not taking a kid to one of those.”

“What about visiting a non-trash beach? There are a few good stretches a train ride away.”

Ekikyō made a non-committal sound. “I was never that big a fan of beaches, personally. It’s really difficult to get all the sand out of my body, and the saltwater dehydrates my cells. I didn’t have a skinsuit to protect me until recently, you see,” he teased, internally poking Izuku’s side where he’d discovered the boy was ticklish.

Izuku squeaked and dropped the half-rotted phonebook he’d been picking up. He sent his friend a strong feeling of disapproval before shaking his head and grinning. “Well, I guess that’s going on the list. It’s too late today to make it there and back before dinner, but another day?”

“Sure, kid.” Ekikyō descended into silent thought as they worked. Based on some of the snippets Izuku overheard, the man was trying to think of other things for them to do.

Izuku didn’t mind the silence. It was far better than the type he was used to when Ekikyō wasn’t around. Izuku loaded up his trash bag, trying to think of ideas too. Then he picked up a crushed movie case. The thing was so dirty and messed up he couldn’t tell which movie disk it used to hold, but that gave him an idea.

He tugged off one glove and turned on his phone. Ekikyō tuned back in at the mental shift. “What’s up?”

“When was the last time you went to see a movie?”

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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Ekikyō laughed uproariously as the duo walked into the theater.

Izuku mentally whined at his copilot, “Ekikyō, this is serious! What am I going to do?”

Ekikyō finally got himself back under control. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this, kid?”

“Because what we just did is illegal! Fraud! Or theft at least. What if this is the first step of my downward slide into villainy?! Ekikyō, I can’t go to prison! They’d eat me alive!”

Ekikyō gave Izuku a patronizing mental head pat. “Aw, baby’s first step to villainy. You’ll be stringing up heroes by their leotards in no time.” Izuku whined not so mentally this time, and Ekikyō chuckled while suppressing the noise. “Izuku, I highly doubt someone with your moral compass is going to ever go full villain. Hero society deserves to burn down if they push you that far. Hit me up if you ever decide to go that route. I know a guy or three. But, anyway, buying one ticket for two people isn’t even remotely villainous. Pretty sure this is standard teenage hooliganry at best.”

“But—”

“Are we taking up one seat or two?”

“One…”

“Are we watching with one set of eyes or two?”

Izuku paused there in the middle of the lobby and started a mental mutter storm about whether or not their arrangement qualified as having one set of eyes or two. Ekikyō rolled their eyes and got them moving again while Izuku was occupied. When Izuku came back with the conclusion that they were one and a half—one set of eyes but two minds processing the visual input—Ekikyō had them standing in line for the snack counter. Ekikyō slid out of the driver’s seat with a sigh, radiating a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

They ended up seeing a crime thriller about a serial killer—one half of the duo flat out refused to watch a hero movie—and Ekikyō had to stop them from laughing out loud far too many times. Between Ekikyō’s constant pointing out of flaws in the crimes committed on-screen and Izuku’s pointing out how the protagonist group wasn’t using even half of their quirks’ potential, they stopped taking the premise seriously after the first ten minutes. From there, they just had fun. Where others in the theater were screaming with jump scares, Izuku and Ekikyō were placing bets on the ending and which of the starting cast would still be alive to see it.

Ekikyō ended up winning their bet and thus got to finish their sardines. Yes, they were sharing the same body at the moment, but Izuku still wasn’t a terrible fan of swallowing food whole and letting the slime do all the digesting. Why did Ekikyō even have teeth if he never used them? Izuku good-naturedly took a backseat as Ekikyō tossed several of their sardines back at once, pretending to be more upset than he really was. He let his friend have the victory and ignored the fish sliding down his throat with ease gained from multiple possessions.

After the movie, they wandered around town, talking and half-heartedly looking for something else to do before they were expected home for dinner. They didn’t really find anything, but they did get to pet two stray cats. Izuku counted that as a win. Apparently, cats didn’t usually like Ekikyō—probably because of him being liquid and the whole cats not liking getting wet thing—and Ekikyō pretended not to like cats either. Izuku didn’t call his friend out when he took over on petting the second one.

The next few days they fell into a routine: morning workout/beach cleaning followed by lunch, then city wandering, hero fight watching, beach bumming, or whatever activity caught their fancy, dinner with Izuku’s mom, evening workout, then some quirk experimentation or more analysis. They’d even discovered a few new things with Ekikyō’s quirk, like the mental connection growing stronger the longer they were together. Where before they mostly talked or caught brief bursts of emotions or intent, they started being able to share mental images with the same ease and entire memories if they focused on it, though that tended to give them both a headache if done for more than a minute or two. They also figured out that Ekikyō could ooze out of Izuku’s pores like sweat. Slow, but potentially useful.

The fourth night was the first time Ekikyō was present for one of Izuku’s nightmares. Izuku woke in a panic, images of Kacchan’s jeering face and hands holding him underwater still fresh in his mind. He didn’t hold anything against Ekikyō, but the first attempted possession in that underpass had given him a healthy fear of drowning and several nightmares in that vein. Sometimes it was Ekikyō drowning him, sometimes a teacher or other classmates, once it had even been that doctor who told him he was quirkless. He tried the hardest to forget the times it was All Might or his mom. (One had killed his dream, and the other danced on its ashes.)

Izuku sat up in bed gulping air like he couldn’t get enough, shaking and sweating. Ekikyō awoke at the same time. “Hey, kid, Izuku, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Izuku shook his head and managed to think, “Nightmare.”

“Shit, kid. That sucks. I can put you back to sleep if you want? You didn’t dream the other times I did it. Maybe that’ll work here?”

Izuku panicked even more at the thought of going back to sleep and frantically shook his head. He felt jittery with adrenaline and couldn’t sit still. So, he got out of bed and paced. After a few laps of his room, the space started feeling too small, bordering on claustrophobic.

“How about we go for a walk or jog? It’ll clear your head and get some of that energy out,” Ekikyō suggested, nudging their body toward Izuku’s closet. Izuku shakily nodded and grabbed the first shirt he saw from his closet and a pair of jeans. He didn’t bother to ask Ekikyō not to look; he’d gotten over that particular shyness a few months prior.

A few minutes later the pair slipped out the front door and started jogging a familiar route around Musutafu. Ekikyō started talking about his younger days and the nonsense he got up to when he was Izuku’s age to give Izuku’s mind something to latch onto. Izuku listened to his friend and the steady beat of his shoes on concrete. The fear and jitteriness slowly faded.

Izuku was slightly out of breath and about to turn for home when he heard something that made him freeze mid-step: a quiet whimper. The noise came from the alley ahead of them. Izuku started creeping silently closer, alert for any other sounds.

Ekikyō was equally on edge. “Izuku, whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. Just call the cops.”

“I left my phone charging in my room…”

Ekikyō swore, shifting to share control with Izuku. “Don’t suppose I can talk you out of whatever you’re about to do?”

They peeked around the corner just in time to see a young woman with torn clothes knee a guy where the sun didn’t shine and try to run away. The guy doubled over for a second and staggered. Then he snarled and yanked her back toward him with what looked like some type of telekinesis. He threw her deeper into the alley to land against a dumpster and started stalking toward her with one hand reaching for his belt.

“Nope.”

Izuku lunged forward, determined and furious. Oh, some of the fury was coming from Ekikyō too. Huh. They hit the guy with their combined strength, knocking him flat on his stomach. Ekikyō reached up to grab the guy’s greasy hair and slam his head down on the pavement. Izuku stopped him from doing it a second time, checking to see if the guy was unconscious. That was his mistake.

With force that was definitely augmented by his quirk, the guy threw them off. Izuku’s elbow hit the concrete hard as he rolled out of the way of a kick. They and their opponent scrambled back to their feet. The criminal reached out and yanked with a motion far too similar to Izuku’s mother when she used her quirk. Izuku was suddenly flying through the air toward the guy who was winding back a fist. Ekikyō twisted their body, turning the devastating blow into a glancing one. He also reached out and grabbed the guy’s wrist as they flew past, yanking the guy off balance and cutting their momentum before they could hit the wall.

The three went down in a tangle of limbs and traded punches and scratches for a minute or two. Izuku and Ekikyō’s combined strength was just enough to keep the guy from overwhelming them, but they couldn’t get a clear advantage either. After what felt like forever, they were both scraped up and slightly bloodied. That’s when Izuku got an idea. Ekikyō caught it as it formed and pushed more of their blood from the shallow wounds on Izuku’s arms, using his control to fling some of it in the guy’s eyes.

The guy screamed and wiped at his eyes, giving them the opening they needed. Slimy blood flowed over their skin to coat and cushion Izuku’s knuckles as Ekikyō landed a punch on the guy’s face and immediately pulled back for another. This time Izuku didn’t stop him, instead adding his own force to the punch. This time the guy stayed down.

Izuku stood on shaky legs and stumbled his way over to the victim while Ekikyō pulled all of their blood and slime back inside their body and sealed over their injuries. “Miss, are you okay?” Izuku knelt beside the lady who hadn’t moved at all after being thrown and gently shook her shoulder. He got no response. Ekikyō moved their hand to check her pulse. It was there, but weak. He almost relaxed; then he felt the warm liquid soaking through the knees of his jeans. He glanced down and saw the growing pool of blood for the first time.

His heart seized painfully as he frantically checked her over, finally locating the wound on the back of her head. “No…” Izuku pulled his t-shirt off over his head and held the wadded-up fabric to her head wound while checking the woman’s pockets for a phone. “No, no no!” Her phone was broken.

Ekikyō turned their eyes to the unconscious thug. Izuku scrambled toward the guy, and Ekikyō steadied their bloody hands as they searched him. He had a phone, and it worked! Izuku dialed 119 while rushing back to the woman to put more pressure on her wound, feeling despair at the blood already soaking through the fabric.

Izuku nearly burst into tears when the operator picked up. “119. What’s your emergency?”

“P-please send an a-ambulance. This guy attacked a woman in an alleyway and threw her against a dumpster with his quirk. She hit her head, and there’s s-so much blood. I can’t get the bleeding to s-stop.”

“Sir, can you tell me where you are? Are you safe? Is the assailant still there?”

“H-he’s unconscious, though I don’t know for how long. I-I don’t know where we are. I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry—” Izuku started crying then, as the operator told him they were tracing the call and to stay on the line. Police and paramedics would be there as soon as they could.

Ekikyō set the phone down on the pavement beside them and helped Izuku apply pressure. “Kid, it’s okay. You did what you could. Help’s on the way.”

They sat there for minutes that felt like hours. Then the woman’s breathing started growing shallow. In his panic, Izuku turned to his friend, only just remembering to speak mentally to avoid the 119 operator hearing him over the call, “Ekikyō, can you help her? Like you do with my injuries?”

Izuku felt Ekikyō’s hesitance and something halfway between sadness and shame. “Kid, I can’t. It takes hours for me and a body’s immune system to adjust to each other. She’d die from shock or blood loss long before then.”

Helplessness ate at the two as they listened to blood drip from Izuku’s shirt, felt more blood congealing on their skin, and watched the woman’s breathing slow. Izuku broke into loud sobs when her breathing stopped. The operator asked what was happening, but he couldn’t get enough air to answer.

Sirens finally sounded in the distance. Ekikyō stood their body up, not wanting to be here when cops arrived. “Izuku?” An impression of nothingness crossed their mind.

Izuku mentally nodded and welcomed it when Ekikyō eased his mind into shutting down.

---

Izuku woke up in bed and wished he hadn’t. He rolled over and pulled the blankets up over his head. He distantly noted he was in pajamas, that the blood and sweat were gone from his skin, that his left cheek was swollen and right elbow stiff, though the injuries themselves were numb. He closed his eyes and lay there trying to go back to sleep despite the sunlight pouring through his window.

At some point, he became aware of Ekikyō hovering in his mind. He didn’t say anything, but he was there. Izuku appreciated it. That faint acknowledgment prompted Ekikyō to give him a hug. Izuku appreciated that too, even if he didn’t react beyond starting to cry again, this time silently.

At some point he fell asleep, or maybe Ekikyō helped him again. Regardless of the cause, Ekikyō woke him back up around noon. “Come on, Izuku. You need to eat and drink something. We missed breakfast.”

Izuku mechanically got up and went through the motions of his morning routine. Ekikyō remained silent too but helped whenever Izuku faltered or stared off into space for too long. They ate a meal without Izuku tasting the food.

He listlessly followed Ekikyō’s lead when the man urged him to go out for at least a run. Ekikyō guided them on a slightly different route than usual, and every time Izuku started to drift somewhere far away, Ekikyō reeled the boy back in with some story or question. Finally, they slowed to a stop, and Izuku looked around in confusion. Ekikyō guided his eyes up to the sign of the storefront they’d stopped in front of: Meowsutafu Cat Café. The barest hint of a grin tugged at Izuku’s lips, and they walked inside.

They spent the rest of the day there, eating muffins, sipping lemon balm tea, and stroking any cat that deigned to grace them with its presence. When the sun started setting, they left, Izuku feeling a little bit lighter, and his clothes thoroughly covered in cat hair.

“Sorry about earlier,” Izuku said when they were halfway back.

“Izuku, don’t even start. That was your first close-up look at death, and you’re still a kid. Of course, it messed you up. I’m just glad you weren’t alone when it happened.”

Izuku could feel the concern radiating from Ekikyō. He tried sending the impression of a hug to his friend. “Thanks for looking out for me.” Izuku sighed, feeling his emotions hanging heavy around his shoulders. “I just wish I could have done more. Maybe if we’d taken that guy down faster, or if I hadn’t stopped you that first time, paramedics could have arrived in time…”

Ekikyō nudged his mind, and Izuku stopped. “Don’t play the ‘what if’ game. It’s impossible to win. We can plan for next time though.”

“Next time?”

Ekikyō used their body to scoff. “Are you seriously going to try and convince me that you won’t play hero the next time you see someone getting hurt?”

“I can’t be a hero,” Izuku said reflexively, too many peoples’ voices playing in his ear.

Ekikyō growled. “Vigilante then. Point is, you’re not going to stop helping people, as much as it would help me sleep at night. You’re going to keep finding stuff like me or last night, and you’re going to get involved. You have an M.O., kid.”

Izuku felt a little uncomfortable at the comparison to criminals, but Ekikyō wasn’t wrong, really. Izuku did have an established pattern of behavior when it came to people in trouble. “But I can’t be a vigilante either. Vigilantes are such because they’re using their quirks illegally.”

Ekikyō stretched their face in a familiar smile. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t have a quirk. It’s kinda hard to arrest you for vigilantism without one, hm?”

Izuku stopped walking at that, and Ekikyō took over to prevent them blocking the flow of traffic. Izuku didn’t have a quirk. He’d never thought of that as an advantage before, and it felt like his mind was breaking just a little contemplating it being one now. Then he remembered what Ekikyō said months ago about finding his own way to fight.

Izuku still wasn’t sure about the whole vigilantism thing. But two things were for sure. His luck was terrible; he’d always find trouble or it him. And he didn’t want to be too slow to move or unable to contribute in a fight again. Next time he tried to save someone, he wanted them saved. “What did you have in mind?”

Chapter Text

Ekikyō said he had to check a few things to solidify his idea, but he didn’t want to be with Izuku when he did, just in case anything went wrong. Izuku was a bit annoyed, but he understood. Besides, splitting up now would ruin their experiment. They were already five whole days in on their possession, and neither of them wanted to lose that progress. So, they put Izuku’s battle-readiness on hold.

They went back to the cat café on the sixth day, and though Izuku still wasn’t 100% there, he did talk more to Ekikyō. And the cats. The cats were excellent listeners.

On day seven Izuku tried to get back into his workout routine, maybe throwing himself into it a little too much. He kept forgetting that he ran out of breath more easily when Ekikyō was possessing him. Despite that, they made good progress on clearing another trash mound. Izuku and Ekikyō didn’t realize until they broke for lunch that they’d worked in sync almost the entire morning. This sparked one of Izuku’s animated theorizing sessions about how the longer they were together in one go, the better attuned to each other they got. They both wondered if it would carry over to the next time. After that productive morning, they decided to relax and watch a movie marathon from the comfort of Izuku’s couch.

On day eight, the duo got out of bed feeling weird, vaguely uncomfortable, and antsy. It took all of ten minutes for them to wake up enough to realize they were hitting Ekikyō’s time limit. They forwent the usual morning routine to book it to the underground doctor. Neither of them was sure what happened if Ekikyō hit his limit while still inside someone, but they did not want to find out.

Cross saw them immediately and did a quick exam and blood draw before giving them the go-ahead to separate. The pair followed their usual de-possession routine, with Izuku sitting on the exam table rather than the ground. The only difference was Ekikyō following Cross’s advice to pull as much slime as possible out on exit. When they were fully separated, Ekikyō let out a sigh of relief, before shouting in alarm as Izuku collapsed onto his side on the table, blinking sluggishly. Ekikyō and Cross positioned him more comfortably while the doctor took his vitals and scanned him with his quirk.

Izuku tried to wave them off, saying dazedly, “’M okay.” He convinced exactly no one.

Ignoring the boy, Cross reported, “His blood pressure tanked. He’s not going anywhere until his body readjusts.” Cross took a quick blood sample from Izuku and slime sample from Ekikyō. When Izuku still hadn’t quite recovered by the end of that, the doctor sighed, heading for a door neither of the duo had been through before. “Bring him in here. You two can have this room until Green is able to leave. I’ll go over your pre-long-term possession blood results with you after he’s stable. I have another patient to see in the meantime.”

Ekikyō picked Izuku up carefully and flowed his way over to the room in question. Izuku blearily looked around. It looked a bit like a hospital room, but everything was outdated and worn. He swore he only blinked, and he was on the gurney that served as a bed. There was a sensor attached to his finger and a machine beeping away beside the bed. There was also a tall glass of some drink on the bedside table. He felt a bit better now and tried to sit up. A mass of slime was behind him in an instant, helping leverage him up.

“Careful. You passed out for a few minutes. How are you feeling?” Ekikyō asked, keeping a slimy appendage around Izuku’s shoulders just in case.

“Better. Tiny bit woozy, but the room isn’t spinning anymore,” Izuku said, reaching for the drink. Ekikyō fetched it with a tendril of slime and handed it to him. “Thanks.” He took a sip and wrinkled his nose when he realized it was one of those electrolyte drinks that no one could make taste good. He downed it anyway, knowing he’d probably feel better for it.

Ekikyō went to fetch the doctor while Izuku drank. “15 minutes to recover this time,” Cross stated as he walked into the room. “I take it that’s longer than any of your prior recovery periods?”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah, it’s only ever been two or three minutes the other times. Is it because we were together so long this time?”

“Actually, I think it was because Ekikyō took all that excess slime with him.” When both parties gave him confused looks, Cross sighed. “Your body had gotten used to that extra mass taking up space in your body and bloodstream and accommodated as best it could. When he took almost all of it this time, your body had to adjust back to nearly where it was before you two ever started your arrangement. As long as Ekikyō is careful not to leave excess behind in the future, I don’t see this being a repeat problem. If you’re still concerned, I’d recommend coming back here next time you de-possess after a long stint together.”

That settled, Cross moved on to their test results. Ekikyō’s appeared as normal as it ever was for him being made entirely of slime. Izuku grinned a bit into his drink hearing that. He’d noticed Ekikyō’s color seemed brighter, or at least less murky, lately, and the yellow tint to his eyes had faded since they’d started hanging out. Whether that was due to their possessions or Ekikyō getting more frequent, good quality meals, Izuku wasn’t sure, but he didn’t plan on changing anything he was doing.

Izuku’s blood showed more interesting results. Nearly 5% of his sample had been slime, which was a lot when they considered how much even that volume thickened his blood, and even more slime had been tied up in his muscles at the time. All of his other values came back normal.

Then the doctor mentioned sending off a small sample to a colleague of his to run a more specialized test. They now knew how Ekikyō’s quirk convinced a host’s immune system to play nice with him. The slime cells in Izuku’s blood sample had all of the same cell surface markers as Izuku’s cells and vice versa. Their immune systems literally couldn’t tell their cells apart. “I’m fairly certain that the process affected both of your cells rather than just Sludge’s. Some of the markers on your cells, Green, are only seen in those with extensive physical mutations.” The man gave Izuku’s feet a pointed look.

Izuku tucked his feet and their telltale double pinky toe joints under him. Right, the guy knew he was quirkless from his scans.

While Izuku was busy being self-conscious, Ekikyō asked, “Will that cause any problems long-term?”

“Not that I can tell. His immune system has been thoroughly fooled into believing both sets of markers belong there. The only potential problems I can think of would arise if you possessed someone else long enough to adapt to them before returning to Green or—and this is a small chance but shouldn’t be ruled out—if you two are separate long enough for all of the sludge to leave Green’s system naturally. It’s possible that the sludge’s continued presence is reinforcing your quirk’s effect. Should that happen, his body may react negatively to a re-possession and need to be acclimated again.”

“Well, that’s not too bad as far as test results go,” Izuku said, smiling. “At least we know the residual slime isn’t slowly eating me or something.”

Ekikyō laughed, shaking his whole form. Izuku smiled a bit wider when he felt that small tug that reassured him he still had some connection to his friend. Cross rolled his eyes at the both of them and shooed them from the clinic. In the lobby, Ekikyō stopped Izuku to say, “I’ll look into that thing we talked about. See you in two weeks?”

“Sure. You know where to find me,” Izuku said, giving Ekikyō a cheeky grin.

“Don’t let your bullies catch you.”

“And don’t let the cops catch you.”

“Oh my word, you two are adorable,” Cheshire said, startling both of them. Izuku blushed; Ekikyō condensed in on himself.

---

It was one week and five days later when Ekikyō popped back up, guiding Izuku into a back alley along his jogging route by tugging on the slime in his system. “Hey, Ekikyō,” Izuku said, slightly out of breath. He was about three-quarters of the way through his run. He’d been aiming to up his sprinting endurance. “What’s up?”

Ekikyō smiled excitedly. “Izuku, I think I found someone to teach you to fight. Do you have time today?” he asked, gesturing between them with a slime tendril.

Izuku nodded and held one finger up. “Just let me catch my breath first.” A few minutes later Izuku nodded again, and Ekikyō got on with possessing him.

They took a deep breath as Ekikyō settled into place and sent a few mental images and snippets of memory back and forth to test how their expanded mental connection had fared after their separation. To their surprise, it was largely intact. Sharing memories had gotten more difficult again, but images and sensations still transferred as easily as words.

They started walking home while Ekikyō gave Izuku more details. “We’ll need to get you a mask or disguise unless you want everyone in the underworld to know your babyface, but this guy’s one of the safest I could find for the job. He’s got a thing against anyone who hurts kids, and he said he’d be cool with teaching you some basic self-defense. I mean, we still have to pay him, but he’s relatively trustworthy.”

“And what sort of payment does he take?” Izuku asked cautiously.

Ekikyō gave him one of his increasingly common mental head pats. “Always watch for the catch. Good job. So, that’s the thing. Guy wasn’t interested in money when I offered, but he’s been having some trouble with his quirk…I may or may not have mentioned your skill with quirk analysis…” Ekikyō shrank to the far side of their shared mind.

“What’s wrong with his quirk?” Izuku asked, choosing to ignore the fact that Ekikyō had apparently been bragging about him (and the way Ekikyō shrinking away from him made him feel bad).

Ekikyō relaxed as he said, “You’ll see when we get there. But first, disguise. No offense, Izuku, but the green hair and eyes are pretty recognizable. We’ll need to hide those.” Ekikyō stopped their body outside a discount clothing store, pointedly directing their eyes toward it.

Izuku sighed. “Okay, but I’m not trying on clothes while I’m sweaty and gross. We’re going home, and I’m getting a shower first. You hungry? We can grab brunch too.”

An hour later they stood back outside of the store, shopping bag in hand. While they were out, Izuku also took them by a sporting goods store to pick up elbow and knee pads as well as some fingerless gloves with padded knuckles. He remembered how banged up his elbow and knuckles had been after that fight in the alley, and that was with Ekikyō helping protect and speed heal him. Izuku needed something for when Ekikyō wasn’t around. His copilot agreed but made a snide comment about the woman in the alley almost getting away from her assailant by hitting him in the crotch. Following the unspoken advice, Izuku picked up one other piece of protective gear. If he blushed furiously at check out, no one but Ekikyō needed to know.

By the time afternoon rolled around, Izuku was dressed for his first meeting with his new sensei. A knit cap hid his curls, and sunglasses shaded his eyes. He had his other protective gear on too, earning him a few odd looks as he jogged down the street, heading for the industrial side of town again. Their meeting place was only a few blocks from Cross’s clinic, closer to the waterfront.

“Now Mamoru—that’s his given name; he doesn’t hand out his family name—works at the port and does a bit of smuggling on the side. You ever need something foreign-made, he’s your guy, or he’ll know who to put you in contact with. Pretty sure he has a family, but don’t ask. That’s a general rule here, kid. Don’t go prying into peoples’ personal lives. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now, slow down. You look like you’re running from someone.” Ekikyō took partial control, enough to slow their pace and straighten out their posture into one more relaxed and confident, eyes looking straight ahead. “If you act like you belong and like no one here could hope to mess with you, the smart ones won’t. Some of the dumb ones might still, and you’ll need to put them on the ground quick to prove a point.”

Izuku wasn’t too sure he’d be able to take anyone down but paid close attention, trying to match the stride and way Ekikyō held their body. It was hard when he was so used to making himself small and keeping his eyes down at school, but he started to get the hang of it by the time they reached their destination.

Ekikyō knocked confidently in a two-pause-two pattern. A moment later, the door swung open. A burly man twice Izuku’s height and probably three times his mass looked down at him with a cigarette stuck in the side of his mouth. His skin was weathered and tanned and his gold eyes sharp. One of his hands morphed into a bowie knife as Izuku watched. He raised an eyebrow at Izuku.

Izuku gulped. Ekikyō stepped forward and waved at Mamoru. “Hi. Sludge told me to meet you here. I’m a friend of his.” At the impression of a question Izuku sent Ekikyō, he responded mentally, “He doesn’t know that I sometimes possess you. Remember his whole not hurting kids thing? Just don’t mention my quirk use around him. I’d prefer not to have one of my eyes shish kabobbed because of a misunderstanding.”

“Right…” Taking the reins on their body again, Izuku said out loud, “I have terrible luck and always seem to find trouble. He said you’d be able to help with self-defense?”

Mamoru sized him up and nodded once before stepping away from the door. His hand slowly dropped its transformation. “Yeah, kid, and he said you’d be able to help me with my quirk?” He didn’t sound terribly convinced, more like he was amused and humoring Izuku.

With a gentle push from Ekikyō, Izuku nodded. “Tell me about it and what’s been going on?” He pulled a pocket notebook and pen from his cargo shorts.

Mamoru let out a sigh laced with cigarette smoke, but he did start talking. “It’s called Weapon Hands.” He held up his right hand and turned it first into a sword, then a gun, flamethrower, and chainsaw in quick succession. “Any weapon, though if it requires ammo, that takes more out of me. The problem is it’s been activating on its own the last couple of weeks when I’m startled. Kinda a problem when I want to hold my n—” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, got any suggestions…” the man trailed off, giving Izuku a look.

“You forgot to give him a name, kid,” Ekikyō whispered.

“You can call me…Green.” Izuku frowned as he looked over the page he’d written on. He was missing something. Quirks didn’t start acting up for no reason. “Has anything else changed in the last month? It doesn’t have to be quirk-related.”

Mamoru took another pull from his cigarette before taking the stub from his mouth and dropping it to the concrete to grind under his heel. “Yeah, a lot. My…friend just had their kid, but they won’t let me around when I smell of cigarette smoke. It’s ‘bad for the baby’ or something. So, I’ve been trying to quit. It isn’t going well.”

“Have you talked to Cross? That sounds like something he could help with,” Izuku said while searching “quit smoking” on his phone.

“Can’t afford him right now, and I won’t have anything he needs to trade for until two weeks from now.”

If Mamoru was so big on fair trade, Izuku really didn’t get why the guy was asking Izuku for help with his quirk. He was just a kid, after all. Izuku’s feeling of confusion prompted Ekikyō to say, “He’s proud, Midoriya. He doesn’t want our money for teaching you to defend yourself—something you should have been taught anyway—but we couldn’t accept his training without offering something. Second rule of the underground: owe no one anything if you can help it. So, by offering your quirk analysis, his morals are satisfied, but we avoid incurring a debt.”

Izuku mentally hummed, getting how dangerous owing someone a favor could be. A few classmates in the past had been nice to him just long enough to guilt him into giving them something they wanted. He chewed on his lip as he thought and wrote and read what he’d found on his phone. “Is…Does your quirk act up more when you’re trying to quit?”

Mamoru narrowed his eyes. After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Yeah, how’d you figure that?”

Izuku held his phone out for the man to look at. A list of nicotine withdrawal symptoms was pulled up. “Jumpiness and anxiety,” Izuku said quietly. “Those can impact quirk use. For a lot of people, quirks can act as a defense mechanism. So, when you’re already on edge and are startled…”

Mamoru’s eyes widened in realization. “My quirk reacts.” He frowned. “So, how do I stop it and smoking? Can’t get near my nie—friend’s baby without stopping the cigarettes, but I can’t hold her if my hands could turn into weapons at the slightest surprise.”

“Maybe nicotine patches? For a short-term solution anyway. I’m not too knowledgeable on fighting addictions,” Izuku said, scratching the back of his head through his cap. “For your quirk…what defines a weapon?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…how does your quirk pick what it can turn your hands into? Because you can knock someone out with a baseball bat or a frying pan, and those are a lot less dangerous to have your hands turn into than a chainsaw if you’re holding a baby. Maybe you can train yourself to initially respond to threats with less lethal options before you jump straight to katana or revolver.”

Mamoru stared at his hand for a second, and it turned into an iron skillet. The man blinked and nodded his head, impressed. He shot Izuku a sideways glance before turning his hand into one of those electrified tennis rackets for killing bugs. After a few more moments of staring at his hand, the guy shook his head. “Damn, I can’t do a plain old fly swatter.”

Izuku laughed, and Mamoru grinned. “You’re alright kid. Now, it’s your turn. Let’s take a look at what we’re working with.” The man popped his neck and rolled his shoulders. It was far more intimidating than it had any right to be.

Izuku’s laughter died and he gulped. “W-what?”

Mamoru crouched and motioned Izuku forward. “Come on, Green. Show me how you throw a punch.”

Chapter Text

Izuku had a lot more bruises the following few weeks, but they barely phased him. They were less severe than anything his classmates gave him, and far more worthwhile. Izuku was slowly learning his way around a back alley fight. After gauging his general ineptitude in a spar, Mamoru taught him how to take a hit and fall in ways that minimized damage. Then they’d moved on to dodging and blocking; after all, it was better to avoid a hit than take one. Once Izuku was passable with those, they moved on to strikes, throws, locks, and chokeholds.

Mamoru had gone a few rounds as a street fighter when he was younger and knew plenty of tricks—dirty and otherwise—that he was happy to impart. He wasn’t however, a trained fighter. There was no specific form or art to what he knew, aside from the art of survival. Izuku soaked it all up as quickly as he could. He loved learning, and it was so interesting seeing the differences between a real fight and how heroes fought on primetime tv.

The real problem came in unlearning. Every time Mamoru yelled or sounded angry—which was not often after the first incident—Izuku had to fight not to freeze or make himself a smaller target. When a strike caught him off guard, Izuku flinched. When they grappled, sometimes Izuku panicked and had to stop himself checking for burns that didn’t exist.

Mamoru never said anything when those moments occurred, but he did call a short water or snack break each time. He’d show Izuku something new he figured out how to make with his quirk: a power drill, a plank of wood, a pair of shears. Then he’d joke about how many career options he’d missed out on because he never got creative with his quirk. After laughing at the idea of Mamoru being a barber or an electrician, they’d continue training.

That was the usual pattern.

Today didn’t follow it.

“Green, why are you favoring your left arm?” They’d only been sparring for five minutes when Mamoru called him out.

Izuku turned slightly to put his left side away from his teacher. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mamoru-sensei.”

Mamoru raised an eyebrow at him and didn’t break eye contact. After a few tense seconds, Izuku caved. He sighed and looked at the dirty, concrete floor as he gingerly lifted his left sleeve to expose his shoulder. “I…One of my bullies cornered me.”

Of all the rotten luck, he ran into Kacchan on his run this morning. Literally.

“Deku?” the blonde asked, looking Izuku up and down. This was the first time they’d seen each other out of Aldera’s uniform in years. This was the first time Kacchan had seen Izuku in short sleeves and shorts since he started working out. And oh, was there a difference. Kacchan’s face of annoyance flickered with incredulity before darkening. “What do you think you’re doing, useless nerd? You said you gave up on being a hero. So, what the hell is this? You take me for one of those idiot extras?” Kacchan made a grab for the front of Izuku’s shirt.

Izuku knew it was coming the moment Kacchan got that particular shade of rage in his eyes reserved for only him. Without thinking he deflected Kacchan’s hand and stepped out of range and into a more stable stance. They both froze as they realized what Izuku had done. Izuku’s blood ran cold as he started backing away, dropping his hands out of the defensive position they’d fallen into out of habit. “K-Kacchan, I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Ha?! You think you can take me?”

“N-nooo!”

“I’ll teach you to look down on me!”

Izuku had never been truly ashamed that he didn’t fight back before, but something about showing Mamoru his injuries made the unpleasant emotion fester and tears build in his eyes. He was used to this. Why did this time bother him so much?

A light touch on his arm made him flinch. Izuku blinked to clear the tear haze from his eyes and looked up to see Mamoru crouched slightly at his side, examining the bandage pasted over the outside of his shoulder and top of his arm. Mamoru shot him a glance, and at Izuku’s nod, peeled it carefully off.

Izuku grimaced as he felt a small piece of damaged skin pull away with the dressing. He’d had trouble gauging if he got the bandage far enough around the back of his shoulder, and he apparently hadn’t. Once the bandage was fully off, they looked at the damage. A distinctly hand-shaped burn glared back at them. Several of the blisters had popped with all the movement of jogging (limping) home after the encounter and sparring just now.

A thin sheen of green-black coated and sealed the areas that should be oozing. Ekikyō’s quirk was hard at work. Even with the residual slime to help things along, Izuku knew from experience that this burn was going to scar. He had several bruises and a starburst burn on his side as well, but this was the only bad injury today.

Mamoru swore and rolled Izuku’s sleeve up to keep the fabric off of the ruined skin. Then he gently hauled Izuku toward the door by his good arm. “Come on, Green, we’re going to see Cross. That already looks infected.”

“It’s not, I promise! The odd color is from a friend’s quirk. It has a lingering effect that speeds up healing and prevents infection,” Izuku said, hurrying to slip his medical mask back on before they got outside. He didn’t bother to wear it when they sparred, but going to and from the warehouse? Better safe than sorry when it came to his identity.

“Yeah…I’ll wait for the doc’s verdict on this one, Green. Can you not feel it? How were you sparring with me?”

Izuku knew from investigation on the internet that a burn that didn’t hurt was a very bad thing. He kinda got why Mamoru was so worried now. “Oh! No, I can feel it! It hurts a lot, but I’m used to it.”

That was the wrong thing to say, judging by the way Mamoru’s hand tightened on Izuku’s right arm before easing up. They walked in tense silence for a few blocks before Mamoru broke it. “Kid?”

“Hm?”

“Do me a favor? Next time you run into the villain that did this to you, throat punch them for me.”

Izuku sputtered and waved his arms in front of him, ignoring both the pain in his left shoulder and the grimace on Mamoru’s face as he watched the gesture. “No! Ka—he’s not a villain! He’s going to be a hero!”

“Green, I don’t know how to tell you this, but heroes aren’t supposed to do crap like that. Especially not to civilians or children.” Mamoru’s face contorted like he was struggling not to swear up a storm or strangle someone. “Legally, your…bully is already a villain. He has no license, yet he used his quirk in public and to intentionally harm someone. That’s the textbook definition, kid.”

“But—”

“No buts. There is nothing that can justify that,” he said, gesturing at the open wound.

Izuku bit his tongue and hunched in on himself. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Mamoru didn’t understand. Kacchan was going to be a hero. It was Izuku’s own fault for not watching where he was going. He was always bothering Kacchan, and his childhood friend was stressed out about the UA entrance exam coming up in only three months. He had a lot on his plate, and Izuku was…well Deku. He always seemed to push Kacchan’s buttons, no matter how hard he tried not to. If he was smarter, better, he’d have figured out how to avoid setting his friend off by now, but here he was. A failure with a 10-year streak and still going strong.

Izuku let out a bitter laugh and rubbed just below his burn. He deserved the pain. Why couldn’t Mamoru-sensei understand? Izuku realized abruptly that he’d never told his teacher that he was quirkless. That explained it. It made sense. Izuku felt suddenly guilty. His teacher wouldn’t be so worried if he knew, but Izuku couldn’t bring himself to spit it out. Was that selfish? Not wanting to lose the only nice teacher he’d had since preschool?

“Hey, hey, kid. Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Strong hands pried Izuku’s hand away from his left arm. He hadn’t even realized he’d been squeezing. Part of the wound was oozing now, despite the slime. Izuku’s face burned with shame all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Sorry,” he said barely above a whisper. The rest of the trip to the underground clinic was passed in silence as Izuku kept his eyes glued ahead.

When they reached the door, Mamoru released him. “Do you want me to stay, or would you rather go in alone?”

“You don’t have to stay. Cross already knows me.”

Mamoru nodded. “Take two weeks off, Green. We’ll work double-time after you’re healed up, got it?”

Izuku nodded and tried to give his teacher a smile. After the man didn’t go anywhere, Izuku sighed and knocked the three-pause-two sequence on the wall. Mamoru started walking away when the locks clicked open.

Cheshire’s smile fell for the first time Izuku had ever seen when she got a look at his shoulder. She ushered him inside and fast-walked to the office door before disappearing inside. There was one other person in the lobby today. The man was covered in burn scars that made even Izuku wince. The man looked up to meet Izuku’s eyes briefly before glancing at the obvious wound on his shoulder. He dipped his head in acknowledgment before going back to messing around with his phone.

Izuku took a seat on the opposite side of the room and did likewise. A woman bundled in more layers than made sense for this time of year hobbled out of the office a few minutes later. Then it was scar guy’s turn. He was in and out in under 15 minutes, and Izuku and he exchanged a wordless goodbye. Then it was Izuku’s turn.

Instead of just Cross, this time Cheshire joined them with an armful of supplies. Izuku hopped up on the exam table and pulled his shirt and cap off before either could say anything. Cheshire made a high-pitched sound in the back of her throat when she saw him do it. The doctor just shook his head.

“Alright, Green. Aside from the obvious, where are you hurt?”

Izuku dutifully pointed out his developing bruises and the mild explosion burn on his side. The pair carefully cataloged the injuries. Then the doctor prodded at the bruise on his chest. Thankfully, his ribs were fine. Then they finally addressed the elephant in the room.

Izuku sat there stoically as Cross and Cheshire cleaned his burnt shoulder, only wincing when they had to pull a few fibers from his shirt and a hair from where they’d been caked onto the wound.

“Hm…second degree. You’re lucky,” Cross said, pointing to where Kacchan’s thumb had pressed over the edge of his collar bone. “Any deeper here, and you’d risk having a piece of bone die.” Cross frowned deeply as he retrieved two tubes from the supplies Cheshire had brought in. He looked Izuku up and down with pursed lips before saying carefully, “Cheshire knows somewhere safe you can stay until Sludge is back in town, should you need it.”

Cheshire nodded enthusiastically. “It’s just me and one of the girls right now. You’d love her quirk, Green, and neither of us would mind the company.”

Izuku looked between the pair, bewildered. “Why would I…” Then it clicked. “Oh! No, this wasn’t from home. Mom would never! Home is safe. I just got really unlucky and ran into one of my bullies this morning.”

Cross seemed satisfied enough with that answer and started dressing Izuku’s burn, explaining the process for when Izuku needed to change it himself the following day. Then he put the opened tubes and two pill bottles into a paper bag, added some bandaging materials, and handed the lot to Izuku. “Follow the direction on each medication, and yes, you need them. At least until the burn seals over completely and the unbroken skin peels. And no exercising or using that arm for anything strenuous until then either. Come back if anything seems amiss, if it doesn’t appear to be healing properly, or if as the skin heals and tightens you start having issues with your range of motion.”

Izuku tightened his grip on the paper bag, crinkling it. “What about payment?” Izuku asked.

“Oh, I was going to put it on Sludge’s tab,” Cheshire said with a smile.

Izuku narrowed his eyes at her not-so-subtle quirk use. “Nope, this one’s on me. I’ll pay.”

When Cross and Cheshire shared a look but didn’t immediately answer, Izuku decided to take a page from his interactions with Mamoru. “Do you accept payment in quirk analysis?”

If they didn’t before, they did now. Izuku walked from the underground clinic grinning. He’d analyzed both Cross and Cheshire’s quirks, and they’d even set up a sort of request system for other patrons who were having issues with their quirks in exchange for Izuku getting credit at the clinic in the case of a trade or a cut of the payment if they paid in cash. An extra slip of paper was tucked inside his paper bag with both of the…medics’ (vigilantes’?) phone numbers and instructions on how to get a burner phone.

“It doesn’t do to mix one’s identities,” Cheshire had said with a wink.

The burner phone could wait though. His accelerated healing was beginning to catch up to him, and he desperately wanted a nap. His mom was still at work when he got home so he poured one pill from each vial and threw some leftovers in the microwave. While his food heated, he searched the names of the medications on his phone. One was a pain med, one of the stronger ones, and the other…

“Why did he give me something for anxiety?”

Chapter Text

Ekikyō visited a little over a week after Izuku’s run in with Kacchan. Izuku roused from where he had fallen asleep on the sofa while editing his summer project to the sound of knocking. Izuku rubbed his eyes as he stumbled to the door. The pain medication did its job, but combined with the drain of accelerated healing, it tended to knock Izuku right out for the first few hours after a dose. “Hello?” Izuku croaked as he opened the door. Then he squinted and tilted his head. Maybe he should have read the side effects of his medication more thoroughly.

Ekikyō had forced himself to look as human-shaped as possible and found a dirty trench coat to throw on and hide most of his body. It really did nothing to hide his face. If not for the fact that he’d been “inactive” for seven months, he’d almost definitely have gotten caught by some hero or cop.

Finally deciding that this was probably not a hallucination—the jury was still out on it being a weird dream—Izuku stepped aside, saying, “Oh, hi Ekikyō. Come in?”

Ekikyō hesitated for half a moment before stepping inside. The second the door was closed, he sighed in relief and let his body return to a much more comfortable amorphous shape. “Izuku, where’ve you been? I’ve been staking out your jogging route for three days. You okay?”

Izuku hummed as he collapsed face-first onto the sofa, careful not to jar his left shoulder. “Bully. Cross. Meds. Tired,” he mumbled as he rolled over to look at his friend hovering at the end of the couch. Izuku focused long enough to debate whether letting Ekikyō possess him while he was this out of it on pain meds was a good idea. Would that dilute the effect, or would Ekikyō be just as drugged? Were any medications harmful to Ekikyō due to his different physiology?

“Kid, hey. Pay attention. You’re hurt?”

Izuku yawned and nodded, forcing himself to sit up to show he was listening. At the searching look his friend gave him, Izuku pulled up his sleeve to show the half-healed burn. It was mostly sealed over, but the skin was still pink and angry. A few places were starting to peel.

Ekikyō eyed the burn for a minute before picking up Izuku’s pill bottles to read the labels. Izuku had started spacing out again when Ekikyō took a long breath and drew his attention again. “Izuku, are you good with a possession right now? I can help that heal faster and numb it so you can stop the pain meds and feel more alert.”

“Mhm. I’ll probably fall asleep again though. That fine?”

“Yeah, I could do with a nap too. Didn’t get much sleep the last few nights.”

A minute and a half later, they sat on the couch together, Izuku already fading. One of them lowered their body to lay down on the sofa, and they drifted off.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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Ekikyō hung out with Izuku for the next several days, even tagging along for Izuku’s return to training with Mamoru. Or well…when he was supposed to restart training with Mamoru.

“Sorry, short stack,” one of the truck drivers said. “I haven’t seen Mamoru since Saturday. He missed clocking in for his shift yesterday too. Boss isn’t real happy with him right now. I wouldn’t want to be him when he gets back.”

Izuku frowned but nodded. “Do you think something happened to him?” Izuku asked Ekikyō as they walked away from the container yard. They’d spent the last two hours asking around, and no one at the cargo port had seen Mamoru since the weekend shift clocked out.

“It’s possible. He may have had to go to ground if cops or a hero started sniffing around his side business. If he’d been arrested, the gossip would be everywhere. So, it’s not that,” Ekikyō said, equally unsettled.

If someone had gone after Mamoru…did they watch him first? Did they know about his meetings with Green and Sludge? The duo turned their eyes to scan their surroundings for a possible tail as they walked a little bit faster.

“I’ll ask around to find you a new teacher. If he went to ground, he’s not going to be back in these parts for a while. If there’s too much heat, he may have to set up shop in a different city entirely.”

Izuku sulked at the thought. He’d really liked Mamoru, but he understood. Mamoru couldn’t help provide for his sister and niece if he got locked up. Family came first. (Not that he was supposed to know about Mamoru-sensei’s family, but they were the man’s lock screen. The family resemblance was pretty obvious.) He just hoped his former teacher was safe wherever he was.

Focusing back on their next step, Izuku asked, “This something you need to do alone again?”

Ekikyō shifted slightly in their body. “Yeah. Sorry, kid. I’m thinking I might contact a broker this time to put out a sort of ‘help wanted’ alert for this area. My own contacts are about exhausted at this point. Everyone I know and trust enough to ask is too far away to teach you. But if you ever move down to Nagoya, I got you covered.”

Izuku laughed inside their mind, only allowing a smile to show externally. “Noted. So, were you going to head out today? Or…” Izuku trailed off, not wanting to sound clingy or needy, but anxious all the same at the thought of another friend leaving when one of the few he had just went missing.

Ekikyō was silent for a moment, something like hesitance and consideration drifting from his side of their mind, though Izuku couldn’t overhear any concrete thoughts.

A siren started up close by, and Ekikyō turned their head in the direction of it. If they listened closely, they could hear what sounded like a fight. “Well, I was going to, but I wouldn’t want you to miss that hero fight, now would I? Come on. You critique the quirks, and I’ll critique whatever lame brain scheme the villain tried to pull this time,” he said, nudging their body forward.

Izuku grinned, seeing exactly what his friend was doing and having no complaints. By the time the fight clean-up was done, Ekikyō was going to claim he was hungry and that they should get home for dinner. Then he’d make some excuse to stay the night. He really had to leave tomorrow though; they were already a week into this possession, and neither of them was willing to risk whatever consequence might occur should they go over Ekikyō’s eight-day limit.

Izuku intended to enjoy the company while he could though. He retrieved a pocket notebook and pen from his shorts as they jogged toward the disturbance. His smile grew even wider when he recognized the hero involved in this takedown. Bamboo Man, a.k.a. Takeshita Yoshiaki, wasn’t a local hero, which made this an even rarer treat. Izuku had only ever seen him on the news and hero forums before.

Izuku rapidly scrawled notes on his fighting style—based in some type of martial art involving weapons given the expertise with which he handled his bamboo canes. His quirk, Bamboo Manipulation, appeared quite versatile as well. When the villain—one of the countless with a knife or sharpened appendages quirk—managed to land a hit on the hero’s side, Izuku and many of the other bystanders gasped, afraid they’d just witnessed a hero’s murder. But they needn’t have worried. The man’s costume shifted and stiffened on the side being attacked. Bamboo Man’s costume was made entirely of bamboo fibers, Izuku realized. The hero had left that opening on purpose! The blade barely bit into Bamboo Man’s costume, and the hero took the opportunity to trap the villain’s arm against his side. Then he punched the villain with his free hand, disorienting them enough to allow the hero to pin and cuff them.

He wrote furiously, trying to preserve every detail. The forum posts hadn’t done the hero justice at all.

Ekikyō laughed in their shared headspace. “You say that about every hero you get to watch in person.”

“Because it’s true!” Izuku protested. Heroes’ quirks were all so amazing. And no one online ever bothered to record all the little details and intricacies that were so important. Like how Bamboo Man’s entire costume was armor without looking like it or his skill in quirkless combat. There was so much to learn from each of them.

Izuku faltered and lowered his pen as it occurred to him that he was still thinking like he could learn how to be a hero. His mood plummeted between one breath and the next. There was a familiar ache in his heart where his dream had been. Why did he still act as if he stood a chance? No matter how much quirk knowledge he gained, he was never going to have a quirk of his own. He’d never be a hero or hold a candle to those who were. What good did all his notes and theories do? The few times he’d acted like a hero, he or the victim had gotten hurt.

A mental shove forcibly dispelled Izuku’s train of thought and made him stumble physically. “Izuku, knock it off!” Ekikyō yelled. “You don’t need a damn quirk. You’re plenty without one. You helped me, didn’t you? And you convinced me not to kill that lady or any of the other ten people I’d have probably killed by now to satisfy my quirk. You, quirkless but kind-to-a-fault, Izuku did that. Yeah, we messed up back in that alley, but that death is on the villain, not us. He got arrested and will face consequences thanks to us.”

Izuku hesitantly nodded, trying not to cry. He still felt guilty, now doubly so for making Ekikyō worry about him. He pulled back a little, letting Ekikyō have control while he tried to get his emotions in order. The last time he bawled at the scene of a hero fight, the paramedics thought he’d been hurt and didn’t let him leave for 30 minutes.

Ekikyō sighed with their body as he took the driver’s seat. Then he took a step forward. Toward the dissolving police line.

“Ekikyō?”

Ekikyō didn’t answer but let a bit of reassurance and determination reach Izuku through their connection.

Izuku didn’t stop him but sent a mental question mark back as they approached Bamboo Man. No one stopped them, though with his notebook still in hand, everyone likely thought he was going to ask for an autograph.

“I’m not getting you an autograph, kid,” Ekikyō said with feigned exasperation. “Just…listen.”

“Excuse me, Bamboo Man?” Ekikyō said out loud.

The hero turned toward them and smiled when he spotted them. “Hey there, kiddo. What can I do for you?”

“Your quirk is so cool!” Ekikyō exclaimed with very fake enthusiasm; Izuku cringed hearing it. Apparently, no one else picked up on it though. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Bamboo Man glanced over at the police who were on scene before relaxing. “Sure, kiddo. I’ve got a few minutes while I wait for the detective to show up for my report.”

“You control any bamboo, right? Even processed stuff like your costume?”

Bamboo Man raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, though the costume’s special made. Rayon’s too far from the original for me to use.”

Izuku got caught up in thinking about how a support company might have made the hero’s costume “raw” enough to use with his quirk, but soft enough to wear without getting a rash. Did he have to be in direct contact with the bamboo fibers to control them? Could he wear a softer undershirt to protect his skin? And if he didn’t have to be in direct contact with bamboo to control it, why not use bamboo shurikens? Or he could have a cape or carry a swath of the bamboo fabric on him to function as both a shield when stiffened or a shock blanket when soft. It could even function as a spineboard or stretcher in a rescue scenario. Izuku’s tears were long forgotten as he contemplated the possibilities. He hardly even noticed when he was pulled back into shared control of their body.

He did hear when Ekikyō parroted one of his questions to the hero. “Do you have to touch bamboo to control it? Because if you don’t you could have a cape or carry a shock blanket made of the same stuff as your costume and have it double as a shield. Or a stretcher if you get called out for disaster relief.”

The hero stared at them and blinked several times. “I…I have to be in contact with it to control it, but that’s actually a pretty good idea there. I always wanted a cape back in school, but my teachers vetoed it as a choke hazard,” the hero said, giving them a grin and a shrug. “Support would totally get behind a shock blanket though! Thanks. You got an intelligence quirk or something?”

Izuku shrank back again, remembering who he was compared to the person before him. The second Bamboo Man heard he was quirkless, he’d dismiss everything they’d just said.

Izuku got a strong impression of an eye roll from Ekikyō. Then his friend said, “No intelligence quirk. I’ve just been studying to go into analysis and support my whole life.” In their head, Ekikyō said, “You don’t have to out yourself every time someone brings up quirks, kid. He never asked if you had one at all, just if you had an intelligence one. Let him make his own assumptions. That way you’ll establish your credibility before they have a chance to be bigoted. Some of them won’t care if they already know what you’re capable of when they find out.”

Meanwhile, Bamboo Man smiled. “Awesome! Can’t wait for you to graduate. I’ll tell my agency to keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku said himself. He still felt nervous and uncertain, but Ekikyō had made his point. His analyses weren’t worthless. Even if he never became a hero, his work could help people or at least help people help people.

“Come on, Izuku. Let’s head home. Your mom’ll be making dinner soon. I think she said it was mapo tofu tonight,” Ekikyō said, giving him a mental head pat and hair ruffle.

Izuku smiled and waved a goodbye to Bamboo Man who was already walking off to greet the detective. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Izuku walked out of the underground clinic ¥5,000 richer than he went in. The whole underground quirk analysis thing was surprisingly lucrative. A lot of people had problems with their quirks.

The guy he’d just helped, Dabi, had an amazingly powerful fire quirk, but it burned him too if he overused it. His inherited cold tolerance didn’t help him either. Izuku hadn’t asked why he was overusing his quirk enough to look like overcooked bacon, but he’d recommended the man aim for precision with smaller, concentrated flames over large, sweeping moves, citing the benefits both to Dabi and the man’s surroundings. Dabi was also supposed to test if his quirk could produce flames farther away from his skin or adjust the temperature to not be full-on cremation every single use.

Situations like Dabi’s were why eugenics got banned in the first place. Some things just weren’t fixable. Thankfully, most of the clients he’d seen so far were easier to help. Recommending a sun lamp for a man with a reptilian quirk who almost lost a toe last winter, proposing a dietary change for someone with a crystal transformation quirk whose crystals were turning brittle, things like that. Simple fixes to think of when looked at from an outside perspective. It really wasn’t worth charging anyone.

Cross and Cheshire didn’t seem to agree with his assessment, but they didn’t outright argue. Instead, they simply slipped his cut of the consult fee into his bag when he wasn’t looking. Given the whole “don’t owe anyone anything” rule in the underground, Izuku stopped fighting it after the third time. He just accepted that he was getting paid for his hobby. People were willing to pay him to do something he loved. And wasn’t that a novelty?

At least it kept him in spending money. His stash from selling his All Might merch wasn’t going to last him forever, after all. Izuku debated what to spend the unexpected income on as he walked home. The summer twilight was the perfect temperature, and he reveled in the quiet that came after all the day workers had rushed home. Still streets meant he was less likely to be snuck up on.

“Hm…maybe I should save up for a new coat this winter? I’ve put on enough muscle I don’t know if my old one will fit anymore. Aldera’s gakuran barely fits now,” Izuku muttered to himself. He’d tried his old uniform on the other day, because school started back next week. The jacket that once swallowed him now left little to the imagination and restricted his movement. Izuku probably should buy a new uniform jacket before going back to class. The last thing he needed was anyone (Kacchan) thinking he was thinking too highly of himself and trying to show off. He just needed to lay low until spring. Then he was graduating from that hellhole and never looking back. And then…well, he’d figure that out when he got there.

He yawned and stretched before shifting into a jog when he got out of the industrial district. Normally, he wasn’t a fan of staying out this late, but his mom got called in for some emergency at her job. So, it’s not like she was be expecting him for dinner. He debated picking something up from a corner store on his way home instead of cooking. He shouldn’t skip meals, and whatever the store stocked had to be better than the instant ramen Izuku knew himself well enough to see in his future if he went straight home.

Izuku’d just about talked himself into detouring to pick up a beef bowl when he heard the scuff of shoes on concrete. Izuku froze out of habit and glanced over his shoulder. No one behind him…He cast his eyes about and tilted his head when he heard the sound again, this time followed by a laugh. There was something in it the sound that reminded Izuku of his classmates. Izuku quietly took his Mirko hoodie from his backpack and put it on, pulling the hood over his head. Then he donned the medical mask that perpetually lived in his shorts pocket. Hopefully, if it was someone from Aldera, this was enough of a disguise. Though it sounded like they’d already found a victim.

Izuku pursed his lips as he crept closer to the noise. These perpetrators hadn’t even bothered to drag their target into an alley. They were in the middle of the sidewalk when Izuku reached the next corner. Three unfamiliar teens surrounded a fourth who was already on the ground. The three bullies were taking turns kicking at him. One of them was clearly using a quirk to turn his shoe and pant leg to stone before each impact.

Izuku stared in disbelief for a second. He knew this wasn’t an oft patrolled neighborhood, but come on. Did they really expect no one to see or hear them? Izuku’s question was answered when one bully’s kick momentarily uncovered the victim’s face. Izuku caught sight of purple hair and a muzzle. The latter explained why the victim hadn’t made a sound. He almost definitely had cuts from the edges digging into his face. If they made him puke or cough up blood while wearing that thing, the kid could suffocate.

Not on Izuku’s watch. He snarled silently behind his mask but resisted the urge to rush in. Instead, he turned on his burner phone’s GPS and placed a call to 119 before returning it to his pocket. Then he picked up two empty beer bottles from the trash pushed against the building’s wall. He called on all the tips Ekikyō had given him on appearing confident and dangerous. He relaxed his shoulders, lifted his chin, and schooled his face into a mask of indifference, not unlike the one Dabi always wore. Izuku belonged here, and he was not someone to mess with.

Izuku hefted the bottles to get a feel for them before stalking around the corner and toward the group. His first throw was off a little bit, hitting Stone Transformer’s shoulder instead of his head, and the bottle didn’t break until it fell to the ground, but it still got his point across. “You really want to cause trouble on our turf?” Izuku bluffed, tossing his remaining bottle in one hand. Really, the closest gang territory was three blocks over, but he only knew that from Cheshire’s warnings about what areas to avoid. He hoped these three didn’t have that knowledge.

The three froze when they spotted him. One of them looked panicked as Izuku’s words sank in, but the other two still looked like they were spoiling for a fight. The kid on the ground eyed him warily. “Who are you?” one of the bullies demanded. “What, are you this villain’s friend or something?”

Since it wasn’t Rock Transformer, and this guy didn’t have any external tells as to his quirk, Izuku declined to answer. Izuku was fairly certain the purple-haired kid was not a villain though. Probably had a “villainous” quirk that these three used as an excuse to attack him, but Izuku had seen stray kittens that were more threatening than their victim.

When the Ringleader didn’t back down, Izuku pulled on his memories of Ekikyō’s smile and bared his teeth. Then he shifted into the fighting stance Mamoru had drilled into him and raised both hands.

The already scared bully took a step back, but the two others took a step forward. Rock Transformer moved to attack first, running forward while throwing a wide, telegraphed punch. Izuku saw it coming a mile away and sidestepped the move. The bully was a lot larger up close, and Izuku had to dodge two more hits and take a glancing blow to his right shoulder before the guy overextended. When he did, Izuku took full advantage to kick at the bully’s ankle. While his opponent righted his balance, Izuku circled around him just enough to kick out his right knee. As the bully stumbled, Izuku smashed the second bottle over the guy’s head. Rather than wait to see if that was enough, Izuku threw a quick punch with his free hand, hitting the back of the guy’s neck. He kept one eye on the other bullies as Stone Transformer fell, thankfully clear of the glass shards now coating the pavement.

“Anyone else want to try?” Izuku asked, letting just a hint of his irritation into his voice as he adjusted his grip on the broken bottle’s neck. It made a much more threatening weapon now, not that Izuku intended to use it.

The scared bully shook his head frantically. “C’mon man, this ain’t worth it. Let’s just go.”

The ringleader looked furious, and Izuku had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to back down. So, Izuku offered another incentive. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. And waved it where they could see the in-progress call to 119. “I already called the police.”

That was enough for the scaredy-cat to turn tail and run. Ringleader responded by carefully bending down to pick up a handful of glass shards. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice worryingly even. “This’ll only take a minute.”

Izuku thought he was prepared for whatever the guy might throw at him, but he was not, in fact, prepared for the bully to literally throw a shard of glass at him. It traveled far faster than it had any right to. Izuku barely managed to twist enough to avoid it impaling his arm. It still sliced through his hoodie sleeve before burying itself in the pavement several meters behind him. Izuku stared wide-eyed at Ringleader. Was that a speed/acceleration quirk? A projectile quirk? Either way, Izuku was screwed out here in the open, and the corner was too far away to risk turning his back on the guy.

Izuku took a risk and threw the broken bottle at Ringleader and swung his backpack off his shoulders to use as a makeshift shield as he rushed forward. If he couldn’t get away safely, closing to render ranged weapons useless was the next best option.

Ringleader dodged the bottle and threw another shard. Izuku tried to move out of the way but didn’t quite make it. The shard ripped through the backpack to slice a shallow line across Izuku’s left side. Another shard flew through the center of Izuku’s backpack, and he was only saved from a potentially fatal hit by the clang of it spearing his aluminum water bottle. Then Izuku was finally close enough to throw his backpack in the guy’s face and go low to punch his opponent’s stomach.

Ringleader doubled over but brought another glass shard around to stab it into the outside of Izuku’s right calf before he could back away. Izuku bit back a cry as Ringleader yanked the shard back out, and that leg buckled. Before Izuku could think of getting away, Ringleader had the bloodied shard only a few centimeters from his throat.

Izuku froze.

Ringleader smirked and panted. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Izuku’s brain refused to work as his eyes zeroed in on that bloodied piece of glass. Why had he even thought he could hold his own in a fight? He’d only worked with Mamoru for a month. Did he really think that was enough time to make him more than a useless de—

A tall boy with purple hair suddenly had one arm wrapped under the bully’s right arm—the arm holding that dangerous glass—and the other wrapped around the guy’s neck from behind, pulling him back and away. His attempted chokehold was weak, and the bully was quickly twisting free, bringing that deadly glass around toward the victim.

Izuku stumbled back to his feet and grabbed the bully’s wrist. He squeezed and twisted until the glass fell from Ringleader’s grip. Then Izuku punched him in the face. The purple-haired kid released his hold as Izuku dragged the bully’s head down by his hair to meet Izuku’s knee. That finally put him down, and Izuku dropped him unceremoniously onto the glass-littered ground.

He and the purple-haired kid stared at Ringleader for a moment as they panted, just to make sure it was really over. Then Izuku glanced back at the other bully, who was also staying down. Good. Then he turned his attention to their victim. A thin line of blood was dripping from one side of the muzzle, and there was bruising blooming across what was visible of his right cheek. He was hunched over too. Most of those blows likely landed on his abdomen and back. “Here, sit down,” Izuku said, sweeping a section of sidewalk clear with his shoe. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag. Might be able to cut that thing off of you with my bandage scissors.”

He retrieved his backpack, which was now half-soaked from his leaking water bottle. When he opened his bag, he found his earbuds had also been a casualty. He held up the severed cord and whined, “I just got those last week…”

A soft chuckle behind him reminded him of his purpose and he hastily pulled out the—thankfully waterproofed—first aid kit. As he turned back to the victim, he saw the Ringleader bully twitch. Izuku and the victim both froze. “Actually, let me tie them up first. Here,” Izuku handed the kid his first aid kit before hastily retrieving his earbuds. At least he’d get one last use out of them.

Five minutes later, Ringleader’s hands and fingers were tied together behind the guy’s back with several loops of earbud cord to prevent him picking up another piece of glass. There hadn’t been enough cord for Rock Transformer, and Izuku wasn’t certain he’d trust the guy not to break out of that anyway. So, he got tied up with his own belt. Satisfied with the restraints, Izuku finally joined the victim.

The purple-haired kid had already disinfected and bandaged a few scrapes on his hands and one on his arm that he was just now pulling his sleeve back down over. Izuku dug out the bandage scissors and showed them to the teen. “May I?”

The teen scrutinized him with lavender eyes before finally nodding, though he still tensed up as Izuku crouched beside him. Izuku moved slowly as he tugged at various places on the muzzle until finding one with enough give to slide the blunted end of the scissors under the strap. The purple-haired teen winced as Izuku started sawing at the thick polyester weave. It was slow going, but it did cut. As the horrid contraption fell away, Izuku finally heard sirens way off in the distance. Was it a busy evening, or did they just take that long to respond to calls in this part of town?

“Thanks.”

Izuku looked back to the victim, who was now holding a wad of gauze to his bleeding face. “Any time.”

The victim glanced back up at him. “Why’d you step in?”

Izuku raised an eyebrow and met those lavender eyes again. “Why’d you?” Izuku had honestly expected the kid to run while the bullies were distracted. It’s what every other kid he’d ever helped had done.

The purple-haired boy looked away, continuing to dab at one of the cuts on his face. Izuku politely ignored how the boy’s hands shook. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

Izuku grinned behind his mask and started disinfecting a few cuts the muzzle straps had left on the other teen’s scalp. “The last time I saw someone getting hurt, I waited too long, and they died before help came. I-I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Shinso tensed at that admission before relaxing again. “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah.” After a minute of painfully awkward silence, Izuku couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s your name?” Izuku asked, trying to get the teen’s mind off of everything that had just happened.

“Shinso,” the boy replied. Izuku handed the bottle of disinfectant to Shinso when he gestured for it. “You really with a gang?”

Izuku laughed. “No, that was a bluff.” After one last check of Shinso’s head, Izuku decided he’d found everything there. He’d let the paramedics deal with Shinso’s bruises and any potential internal bleeding. There wasn’t much he could do about those. So, Izuku finally sat himself down and checked his own injuries. As expected, the cuts on his side and leg—and the scrapes on his knuckles—had already sealed over with green-black.

Shinso raised his eyebrows at the sight. “Your quirk?”

Izuku shook his head as he dug through the first aid kit for a packet of butterfly sutures. “Nah, this is my friend’s.” He paused for a moment, thinking, before he added, “Just in case the cops ask, no, I did not use a quirk during that fight.” The last stitch applied, Izuku moved on to quickly wrap the wounds. “What’s yours?”

Shinso bristled and glanced over at the muzzle before looking down at the pavement. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Brainwashing.”

Izuku smiled as his mind raced through so many possible uses for such a quirk. “That’s so cool! Perfect for hostage negotiating or ending a villain fight before it even begins.” Shinso stared at Izuku as if he’d sprouted a second head, and Izuku realized Shinso probably didn’t get people reacting positively to his quirk that often. Izuku decided to make it extra clear he had no problems with the teen in that department. “I have a friend who has a possession quirk. It’s actually part of theirs that helps me heal faster. Lingering effect. Does yours have any odd effects like that?”

If anything, Shinso looked even more dumbfounded. “Not that I know of? I mean, it sorta helps with anxiety but…Wha—you…You really don’t care?”

Izuku started picking up their trash and putting the unused supplies back in the first aid kit as he hummed. “Nope. You seem like a chill guy. I’m guessing by that thing,” Izuku gestured toward the discarded muzzle. “That if you wanted to use your quirk on me you could have by now. Quirks like yours and my friend’s don’t deserve the bad rep they’ve gotten.”

Shinso grimaced. “Didn’t use to be so bad until Dictator.”

Izuku nodded in agreement. The puppeteer villain had made public opinion of control type quirks so much worse. “They put it on you?” Izuku asked, waving the first aid kit toward the bullies.

“No, that’s the fosters.”

Izuku bristled and pulled his burner phone out. He hung up the call to 119 that he’d frankly forgotten about and turned off the GPS before pulling up a blank text. “Give me your number real quick.”
Shinso did not give Izuku his number. He gave Izuku a deadpan stare.

Izuku sighed and explained, “I know someone who has a safehouse. They offered to take me in when they thought my folks were hurting me, and I can vouch for them. If things get bad or continue like this…you have options.”

Shinso studied Izuku’s face for a minute before giving his number. Izuku sent him a short text with Cheshire’s burner number and alias. Shinso pulled out his phone as it dinged.

“If you call or text her, be sure to tell her I sent you.” That done, he stood up—careful not to put much weight on his injured leg—and packed away his kit. After a moment’s thought, he picked up the shard of glass with his blood on it too. Best not to leave any blood—with hints of slime—behind.

He stared at the shard in surprise when the smallest amount of green collected on the surface beside his thumb. Izuku felt a firm pressure; then the slime was back under his skin where it belonged. Huh. He couldn’t manipulate it at will—he’d already tried in the past—but the slime returned to him if Ekikyō wasn’t around. That was good to know. It seemed to have a much shorter range to draw from though.

Izuku shook his head and started limping away. He could analyze that once he got home. He’d have to skip the corner store today. The enhanced healing exhaustion was going to make getting home hard enough without adding detours. At least the train station wasn’t too far. If he was careful, he should be able to make it home without reopening anything or falling asleep. The sirens were fairly close now; so, Shinso shouldn’t have to wait long either.

Shinso called after him, “Hey, what’s your name?”

Oh, yeah. That might be helpful if he had to contact Cheshire. He’d been thinking about names ever since he’d written “Green” on Cross’s medical forms. If he wanted this whatever-it-was to last more than one or two encounters, he needed a better alias than that. He and Ekikyō had debated it off and on over the summer, and Izuku had never found something he liked.

Ringleader’s words from the beginning of the fight gave Izuku an idea, though. He turned to call back to his new friend, “It’s Naisho.” Maybe it was a bit childish, but the grin and snort the name got out of Shinso were worth it. Izuku was never going to be a hero, but at least he could still make people smile when he saved them.

Chapter Text

Getting stabbed in the leg was exactly the incentive Izuku needed to start investigating getting his hands on some armor. Ideally, he’d just buy it, but he was semi-scrawny, still growing (hopefully), and didn’t have a contact in the underground smuggling circuit until Ekikyō was back in town. So, that left him with either cobbling together something himself or ordering bits and pieces from the internet and having to update his protective gear as he grew.

It took Izuku three hours of browsing motorcycle clothing websites for the right balance of armor versus flexibility to realize that he was picking out his vigilante costume. What he’d done the other day with Shinso was well, not technically vigilantism, but everyone else was going to peg it as vigilantism. He was (sort of) a vigilante. That fact left him breathless for a minute.

Almost of their own accord, Izuku’s fingers moved to pull up a web search on Japanese vigilantes. Pop Step, Crawler, Stendhal, and Knuckleduster were the most recent results. Izuku spent hours pouring over the information he could find on them, taking notes on tricks and gear they’d used. Learning parkour and acquiring some sort of climbing gear were quickly circled and underlined at the top of his list. Knives had a lot of utility too, from cutting strips of fabric to make bandages, to freeing hostages or himself if trapped, to scaring off (or hurting but he really didn’t want to) aggressors, to potentially opening a wound for Ekikyō to quickly use their blood like they did in that one fight. He shied away from that last thought after a moment. Ekikyō didn’t want him to die, and being willing to proactively hurt himself seemed like a slippery slope.

With lingering disquiet, Izuku shifted his focus from that line of thought to his frustration that there wasn’t more information available on the Naruhata vigilantes. The media coverage of everything that happened in that city was spotty, sometimes not mentioning the vigilantes at all when another article covering the same event mentioned them being involved but gave few details. The only thing all outlets seemed to agree on was all of the vigilantes seeming to disappear a year or two ago. Izuku frowned in disappointment and kept digging, this time into the villain organization connected to those events.

He wasn’t planning to research them, but then he read exactly what “Instant Villains” were: people unwittingly dosed with Trigger. An hour of searching—learning about self-destructing test tube-grown villains, “Next Level Villains,” and the Sky Egg Incident—left Izuku with more questions than answers and mounting unease. (The Villain Factory had been thoroughly dismantled years ago; so, where had the Trigger at Ekikyō’s friend’s party come from?)

He only worried more when he checked for other recent Trigger cases. They were spotty, happening in clusters of less than ten, then nothing for several months before the next cluster in a completely different prefecture, sometimes jumping islands. Most of the press releases about the cases explained the Trigger away as small batches smuggled in from out of country. If Izuku wasn’t so paranoid, he might have written them off too. But that part of his mind that always looked over his shoulder expecting to see his classmates chasing him had him searching the victims’ names next, already suspecting the worst. One or two from each batch went “missing” in the span of months between Trigger cases. But unlike Naruhata, none of these had turned back up.

He only came up for air when his stomach growled loudly, jolting him free of his anxiety-inducing research spiral. Izuku glanced at the time on his laptop and closed out his tabs. He’d lost track of time; he’d missed his usual dinner time and was supposed to be on his evening run right now. He sighed and stretched his arms over his head, pleased to note his newest scar wasn’t as tight and stiff as he’d feared it would be. After a moment’s debate, he decided to run first then grab some food on the way home. His mom was working late again, and he didn’t feel like cooking.

Thanks to a heatwave, it was still unbearably hot despite the late hour. So, Izuku took advantage of his mom’s absence and changed into a tank top and shorts before heading out. He carefully avoided the area he’d run into Kacchan. Izuku’s scars twinged thinking about him, and Izuku pushed himself to run a bit faster, ignoring the occasional pang from his half-healed stab wound. (The shallow cut on his side had finished healing overnight.)

He didn’t slow until he reached Dagobah Beach, where he reduced his pace to a jog. The stretches of sand between trash mounds had grown steadily until only the largest items remained. The refrigerator, a cluster of washing machines, half of an industrial stove, the rusted chassis of some vehicle, a tractor tire wider than Izuku was tall, and a few unidentifiable chunks of twisted metal. Izuku eyed the trash, knowing he and Ekikyō were going to finally finish the beach next time they hung out. Izuku was tempted to move the items himself, but if something went wrong, it was better to have a spotter on hand.

Izuku nodded to himself and turned off of the coastal sidewalk to make his way back into the city and loop toward home. He was just debating whether he felt like negima yakitori or oyakodon when he felt a slight tug throughout his body. Izuku paused for a moment to orient himself. A second tug had him smiling and changing course for a small, overgrown park. The neglected trees and bushes provided just enough cover to hide both himself and Ekikyō from passersby.

Izuku shoved his way through springy branches to stumble into the cramped clearing Ekikyō was hiding in. “Hey, Ekikyō,” Izuku whispered as he sat on the ground beside his friend. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

“Thought I’d get one last visit in before your school starts back up. Plus, I need to introduce you to the broker I found, but that can wait a few days. How’ve you been?” Ekikyō asked, eyeing Izuku’s exposed shoulders.

Izuku rarely wore tank tops for a reason. Both shoulders were a gnarled mess of scar tissue from burns both old and new, though the ugly handprint on his left shoulder was by far the worst. Izuku had a feeling Kacchan hadn’t accounted for Izuku’s lack of layers when he’d inflicted that one. At Aldera, he always had three layers of fabric between his skin and any burning hands.

Izuku shook the thought away and turned his head to inspect the healed burn himself. There was almost a faint green tinge to the scar tissue, but Izuku could never decide whether he was imagining it or not. He rolled his shoulder and met his friend’s concerned gaze with a sheepish grin. “It’s feeling a lot better, and I haven’t had any issues with it restricting my movement. How are things on your end?” He decided not to mention his newer injuries just yet.

Ekikyō grinned. “Business is good, and I had an idea for one last experiment we can run if you’re up for it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So, I was thinking about my time limit before quirk withdrawal kicks in; then I realized we never checked if our weeklong stints affected that.”

Izuku sat up a bit straighter. Ekikyō was right! They totally should have checked that. How had Izuku missed it? If an extended possession allowed Ekikyō to go longer between possessions, that could give both of them more freedom. He ignored the pang he felt at the idea of seeing less of Ekikyō. There were more important things to focus on, like the fact that Izuku’s classes started in five days. If they did this now, Ekikyō was going to be stuck sitting in class with him for a few days. But if they didn’t do it now, there wasn’t another good chance for several months.

“I’m fine with a couple boring days if you are,” Ekikyō said, making Izuku realize he’d been mumbling. After blushing in embarrassment, Izuku agreed.

By now, possession was pretty mundane for Izuku, but already thinking on Ekikyō’s quirk, Izuku found himself paying attention to the feeling of slime worming its way through his muscles, veins, and organs, slowly sinking into bones and nerves, and filling all the spaces in between. He wondered not for the first time how Ekikyō’s quirk allowed for all that without damaging his host. Or maybe there was some injury inherent to the possession process, but the brief numbness and accelerated healing that came with the quirk compensated for it.

Izuku was still brainstorming when Ekikyō finished slipping inside and connected to his brain. “Woah, you’re thinking a mile a minute. Give a guy some warning.”

Izuku chuckled in the safety of their head. “Sorry…”

Ekikyō rolled their eyes and grinned. “I suppose I should be used to it by now. After all, my quirk is one of the best out there,” he crowed, puffing their chest out.

Izuku mentally shoved Ekikyō and stood them up. “No arguments here.”

They took exactly one step before Ekikyō stopped them. The slime in Izuku’s leg shifted around, then Ekikyō asked in bewilderment, “Kid, how the fuck did you get a piece of glass buried in your calf?”

“There’s still a piece in there?” Izuku asked before catching himself. “I mean, hehe I have no idea? That’s so weird…”

Ekikyō sent him an impression of a very unimpressed face as he sat their body back down and turned their leg to look at the half-healed wound. “Uh-huh. Sure. Give me a minute to work it out; then we’ll get back to whatever fights you’ve been picking.”

Izuku sputtered but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory excuse. So, he settled back and watched Ekikyō work as his friend muttered something about ungodly pain tolerances. Izuku could feel the slime shifting around under his skin before the area numbed. He pushed down his queasiness at the sight of the closed skin of his leg reopening. Their black blood oozed from the wound, pushing a small shard of brown bottle glass out to fall onto the grass. Ekikyō picked up the shard as their blood retreated and the wound resealed itself with a thin line of black.

A wordless question brushed against Izuku’s mind, and Izuku pulled up the memory of the fight, replaying it in as much detail as he could. Memory sharing was still difficult, but they’d discovered it was easier if the person who’d lived it willingly replayed the memory rather than just trying to shove the knowledge at their counterpart. Izuku could usually manage one or two before getting a headache, but even one was mentally taxing.

The tiring part came from Ekikyō pressing closer in his mind to get a better feel for the memory. Instead of feeling like they were sitting side by side—separate and distinct—they almost completely overlapped. Ekikyō was him, and he was Ekikyō. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, and it was the most efficient method of memory sharing they had. But Izuku disliked the disorientation and eroded mental walls that always came after. Izuku rubbed at their eyes as their minds sifted back apart. He really wanted a nap.

“Dinner first, then we can sleep,” Ekikyō said as they stood back up and started walking toward the closest takeout restaurant. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he added, “Nice takedown of that stone transformation thug, and your intimidation tactics weren’t half bad either. You need to get better at gauging threats though. Unknowns are dangerous. If you’d hit the leader first, I think you might have made it out unscathed. That guy was an unlucky matchup.”

“I know. I was actually looking at ordering some gear earlier. To protect me if I run into a person like that again. I’ll show you once we get home.”

Izuku happily rambled about his research into protective gear and vigilantism while they waited for their triple order of food to be ready. Unfortunately, Ekikyō couldn’t offer any insight into where the Trigger he’d been exposed to had come from. The man was appropriately freaked out when he heard about how some Instant Villain victims had later been kidnapped and turned into Next Level Villains and how there was a suspiciously similar pattern happening again.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. Low profile is my middle name. Especially since we started doing this.” The slime under their skin shifted minutely, and Izuku grinned. The sensation had grown more comfortable over their months of shared time. “It’s nice not leaving victims behind everywhere I go anymore. If someone was trying to find me, they’ll have had a hard time following my trail the last eight months.”

“That’s good. I’d be pretty worried if you just up and vanished,” Izuku admitted.

Something warm flowed through their connection, and Ekikyō grumbled something about Izuku being unbearably sappy. They were distracted then by their to-go order being finished. Neither said anything else until they were halfway home. “So, Naisho, huh?”

Izuku blushed a little. “It was a spur of the moment decision! And besides, it fits, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Ekikyō said reluctantly and not at all fondly.

The rest of the evening was spent eating, staying off their healing leg, and going over vigilante suit options. Ekikyō had the brilliant suggestion of painting his motorcycle gear after ordering it or finding a contact in the underground with a color change quirk to make it harder to track back to Izuku. He also recommended waiting to order the suit until talking to Giran. Ekikyō wasn’t sure what sort of supplies the broker might be able to get ahold of.

Oh yeah, Giran was the broker Ekikyō had hired to look for local trainers. The guy wanted to meet Izuku in person and check the quality of his “payments” before finalizing the deal though. Hence Ekikyō’s early return. Izuku was fine with paying in analysis again, though he was a bit leery of giving analysis of heroes to a man known to associate with villains. Ekikyō and him…didn’t quite argue, but they debated Izuku’s stance for the better part of a day, even while they were walking to their meeting with said broker.

“I’m just saying, you should play it as having a minor analysis quirk that requires seeing the subject and their quirk in person and being able to ask questions. That’ll cover most of your bases if you really can’t stomach the possibility of one of those show ponies getting hurt.”

Izuku made a face as he adjusted his hoodie and mask. “You know not all heroes are like that.”

“Enough of them are.” A mental image of All Might and Izuku standing on a roof was pressed into Izuku’s mind, followed by an image of the casualty report from Endeavor’s last villain apprehension.

Izuku wilted a little under his friend’s points. “All Might hurting me doesn’t mean he’s a bad hero. Everyone does that.” Izuku ignored Ekikyō growl and the wash of disagreement and protectiveness that came with it. “Endeavor you’re right about though. That guy almost endangers more civilians than the villains he fights.” Izuku tried not to think about the article he’d found on Endeavor’s brief stint in Naruhata or how he turned an entire street into a fiery vortex all in an attempt to “stop” one villain. He almost killed a vigilante in the process. Or two. The article hadn’t been terribly clear on that point, only that Endeavor had stood down when Midnight incapacitated the villain before him.

They only stopped bickering when their destination came into view. The hole in the wall Café Lóng didn’t scream “place to hold illegal deals,” but what did Izuku know? Stepping inside, the duo looked around before Ekikyō spotted their man sitting in a corner booth smoking a cigarette.

Izuku wrinkled his nose at the sight, but Ekikyō smoothed the reaction away. “You going to go over there or what, Green?”

Izuku nodded subtly. Green. Right. Because Ekikyō hadn’t known about Izuku’s new name when he talked to Giran, he’d mentioned his friend as Green. At least that firmly kept his vigilante self separate from his quirk analysis dealer self, right?

“Oh, and don’t mention you’re quirkless. Like at all.” Izuku froze before Ekikyō got them walking again a split second later. “Not that he cares, but someone in the area’s expressed interest in ‘acquiring’ a quirkless person—the younger the better—and the buyer’s on his client list.”

Izuku felt the blood drain from his face. “Then why on earth are we meeting him?!”

“Because he’s the best at what he does…and he only mentioned the quirkless thing after I’d already set up this meeting. Backing out then would have been suspicious as hell. If anyone asks about your quirk, play it off as analysis or just chew them out and say it’s none of their business.”

Izuku swallowed and sent an impression of a nod to his copilot. He could do this. He needed a new trainer and support gear. He had to do this. Izuku took a deep breath and carefully schooled his expression into something unconcerned and confident. Ekikyō made one or two minor adjustments as they continued to approach the booth. His friend’s unspoken approval of his improved acting made the confidence less feigned.

Stopping in front of the corner booth, Izuku cleared his throat. “Giran, I presume?”

The silver-haired man leaned back in his chair, looking him up and down over his glasses. Izuku returned the favor, wondering at the man’s odd choice of formal wear. A purple suit? Really? He thought someone in the underworld would go for a less conspicuous outfit. After a few moments pink eyes caught on Izuku’s green. Giran smiled around his cigarette and gave a small bow from his seat. “Green?”

Izuku gave a short bow of his own and sat on the bench across from the man. Giran leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “So, Green, I hear you’re looking to learn to fight.”

Having already decided with Ekikyō what to tell the man, Izuku pulled his hoodie and shirt just far enough to expose the edge of one the older burn scars on his right shoulder. Once the sly man’s eyes registered the mark, Izuku let the fabric fall back into place. “I’m tired of being a punching bag for others. I want to be able to do more than run or sit there and take it.”

Giran hummed and tapped some ash from the end of his cigarette. “There are a lot of places you can learn self-defense legally.”

Izuku shook their head. “Those only teach so much. Legally, I’m supposed to be a good victim and wait for a hero or cop to save me. But not all men are created equal; not everyone gets saved,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. Ekikyō mentally nudged him, reminding Izuku that he was there.

“And you’re done waiting for a savior,” Giran concluded, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Izuku swallowed and met Giran’s eyes with steely resolve. The broker had bought it. The best lies had some truth in them, after all. Some part of Izuku taunted him, saying there hadn’t been any lie in the first place. Izuku shoved that part down with his nightmares. “I’m being realistic.”

“Alright, kid. I’ll put a word out. Might even know a person or two willing to play teacher. Are you good for it though?”

That was Izuku’s cue to pull a pocket notebook from his hoodie. After much debate over morals and ethics, Izuku and Ekikyō had settled on giving Giran a copy of Izuku’s analysis of a local repeat villain. He wasn’t terribly dangerous due to his strictly sticking to thefts and his tendency to commit crimes along very powerful heroes’ patrol routes, but he had evaded capture five times and counting. Spring Step—both the alias of the man and the name of his quirk—could make incredible leaps and always land safely on his feet, provided he could visualize his landing location. Why the man never tried utilizing it in combat, Izuku couldn’t fathom, but his escapes were quite entertaining to watch.

Izuku passed the notebook across the table and said, “I had the pleasure of witnessing one of his chases a few weeks ago. Wonderful quirk, though poorly utilized.”

Giran thumbed through the pages, one eyebrow rising as he read. “Not bad, kid. Do you take requests?” the broker asked, eyeing Izuku more seriously.

Izuku stiffened a bit before Ekikyō eased the tension from his muscles. Right, he wasn’t alone. He could do this. “There are some limitations on my analysis,” Izuku said, glancing away. He didn’t outright lie and claim his analysis was a quirk, but if someone assumed that from his wording, that was on them. “I do my best work if I can see someone’s quirk use in person, and if I can ask them questions, I can go even further.”

Giran’s eyes grew distant in thought. “Interesting…” Finally, he nodded. “I can work with that. You got a burner?”

Izuku nodded and rattled off his burner phone’s number.

Giran grinned as he entered the contact in his phone. A buzz in Izuku’s pocket told him he had a new number to add to his as well. “Good. Meet me here same day, same time next week unless I text you otherwise. I’ll have someone to train you and someone for you to analyze.”

Izuku recognized the dismissal and stood. As he turned to walk away, Giran said, “Looking forward to doing business with you.” Izuku glanced back to see the grin on the older man’s face. There was something predatory to it. Izuku and Ekikyō smiled back in kind, feeling shared satisfaction at the momentary surprise in Giran’s eyes. The broker chuckled and shook his head, muttering, “Where did you even find this kid, Sludge?”

Chapter Text

The rest of their stint together went well. They finished clearing the beach and basked in the sense of accomplishment the stretch of spotless sand gave them. It didn’t hurt that they were able to heft that stupid refrigerator into a dumpster with their combined strength either. They also ordered Izuku’s soon-to-be vigilante gear, or well, the under layer of it. He’d settled on a set of motorcycle short-sleeved shirt and shorts (both armored and ordered a size larger than needed to allow for adjustment as he grew or whenever Ekikyō was visiting), red reflective googles (to match his shoes), and a waterproofed, dark grey camouflage hoodie (because rainy season was kicking into full swing). He could wear pants over the shorts when it was cold, and he already had knee and elbow pads.

Then there was school. It was exactly as Izuku expected, but at least Kacchan was back to ignoring his existence. Things were okay until Izuku and Ekikyō’s last day together. They ended up unintentionally pushing to eight and a half days, because Izuku’s bullies were feeling particularly persistent and chased them halfway across the city before finally getting lost. The pair had wound up in the better part of town, where heroes patrolled heavily and the parks were too well-kept. Izuku didn’t want to risk Ekikyō being found if they simply split up in an alley.

By the time he and Ekikyō made it back to their favorite park, Izuku’s body itched, his skin and chest felt too tight, and a headache had set in. Ekikyō had been abnormally quiet too, focusing on maintaining his quirk. The second they were out of sight, slime began to ooze from Izuku’s pores and tear ducts in a hurried attempt to relieve some of the discomfort they were both feeling. It helped a little, but Izuku still staggered to his knees as soon as they reached the clearing beside the stagnant pond. He made an attempt at a deep breath and held it as Ekikyō got to work de-possessing him as quickly as safely possible.

Unlike previous times, Ekikyō continued to push slime out through Izuku’s pores in addition to his usual exit. It sped things up marginally, but they were both a bit desperate by that point. Every little bit helped. Afterward, the two sat beside each other and regained their breath.

Izuku rubbed his hands over his arms as he squinted light-sensitive eyes. His skin felt a little tender, but he was unharmed as far as he could tell. Izuku laughed tiredly and leaned sideways against Ekikyō, sinking in a few centimeters before the man solidified enough to hold his weight. “Let’s not do that again.”

Ekikyō rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t have had to do it this time if you’d just let me beat them up for you.”

Izuku shook his head. “I don’t want to get suspended. It’s only a few more months. I’ll be fine.”

Ekikyō leaned in, pushing Izuku slightly more upright. “You’d better be. If anyone hurts you like that again…” Ekikyō poked his scarred shoulder. Izuku only knew due to the slime in his blood responding to the movement. Feeling hadn’t returned to the handprint scar despite healing. “I will have words with them.”

Ignoring the probable euphemism for murder, Izuku looked up at his friend. “Guess I’d better work on my sprinting and endurance running then.” Ekikyō shoved him harder, making Izuku laugh in surprise as he sprawled on the grass.

It was funny how having a friend made his life more bearable.

Izuku clung to that thought as he looked through the brochures on his desk when he got home. With everything else going on, he’d almost forgotten that entrance exam sign-ups were closing next week. He couldn’t be a hero, but what could he be? As he stared at the papers for a half dozen schools around their area, his thoughts kept returning to UA. Despite his resolve, Izuku pulled up the school’s website on his laptop. He scrolled through the course descriptions, frowning. He knew he’d seen something in here about analysis last time he looked, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find it now.

Huffing in frustration, he finally clicked on the link with the school’s contact information. He debated who to email with his question. Yeah, there was the administrative office where students were supposed to send application questions, but Izuku’s mind wandered to the office staff at Aldera and how often they “lost” his paperwork or ignored his questions. Maybe he was better off emailing one of the teachers? Since they didn’t have access to his application unless he was accepted, they had no way of knowing he was quirkless to blow him off. That sounded like a plan. Now he needed to pick a teacher. Someone in the Support or Business departments seemed a good choice, since the analytics track likely fell under one of the two.

Scrolling down the page—past all of the heroics teachers—Izuku’s eyes fell on Power Loader, the head of the Support department. If anyone, he should know. Izuku quickly composed his email and hit “send” before he could second guess himself.

The anxiety hit a few hours later when his mom asked him how his day had been. He had just emailed a hero at their work email! What was he thinking?! Power Loader had to be so busy with teaching and Support work and his disaster/villain attack relief work. He was one of the heroes to call if there was a building collapse, an earthquake, or a landslide. Rather than having to wait for a path to be cleared for the heavy machinery to arrive on-scene to dig people out, he could do it himself once rescuers located them. He rarely if ever fought villains, but that was fine by Izuku. He thought victim rescue was more important than villain arrest too.

He mentally berated himself for bothering a (good) hero the rest of the night. The anxiety didn’t fully leave him until the next evening when he got a response to his email. Surprisingly, it wasn’t from Power Loader. No, it was from Principal Nezu, which had the potential to be infinitely worse. Izuku stared at the email in disbelief and trepidation for a solid ten minutes before his mother called him for dinner. He flinched at the sudden noise, accidentally clicking on the email. He called back that he’d be right there before looking at the opened message. Izuku’s anxiety drained away as he saw that Nezu had simply answered his question, not preemptively expelled him.

“Greetings, Mr. Midoriya!

Power Loader forwarded your email to me, as I handle the applicants who show an interest in analytics. There have only been a handful of candidates in the last few years, and the track is not highly publicized. So, I can understand your confusion as to which course exam to register for. The truth is, this track takes courses from both Support and Business, as well as a few extras that aren’t in any other track.

If you could bring a few samples of your work on the exam day—a portfolio, if you will—I’ll get the paperwork straightened out. Your modified test will be with the proctors in the General Education exam hall on the day of the entrance exams so as to avoid interfering with your practical. Simply deliver your portfolio to Cementoss and tell him who you are before the tests are handed out, and he’ll see to it you get the right one. I look forward to seeing your mind at work.

Am I bear, a mouse, or a dog?

-Principal Nezu”

Izuku stared at the email until his mom called him a second time, at which point he fled his room, wondering what alternate universe he’d stepped into to have the principal of UA looking forward to reading his analyses. After dinner, he managed to compose a brief email thanking the principal for his time. It wasn’t until he was about to fall asleep that he wondered what the principal meant about a “practical.”

---

The next time Izuku stepped inside Café Lóng, he was alone, but decked out in his new armor (which only vaguely smelled of spray paint) underneath a Fat Gum hoodie and jeans, mask, beanie, and his padded fingerless gloves. After a bit of thought, he’d decided he wanted to deal with Giran as little as possible and decided to order the gear independently, even if it did eat up most of the funds from selling his All Might merch.

But he felt a sense of accomplishment wearing it. Even if he was dying a little from how warm wearing that much gear was. He decided it was worth it when Giran stood from a table this time rather than a booth to greet him like an old friend. He slapped a hand down on Izuku’s shoulder, raising an eyebrow when he felt the armored panels through the hoodie. Without missing a beat, the broker introduced him to the other man sitting at the table, “Here’s the analyst of the hour! Green, this is my associate, Cider.”

“Cider” had messy white hair, cold grey eyes, and wore a respirator. He did not look impressed with Izuku. “Giran, that is a kid. An actual child. What do you take me for?” The man slammed a fist on the table, and the cup of tea sitting before him started bubbling.

Izuku called up his confident mask and said, “And age dictates what exactly? In the era of quirks, a four-year-old could level an entire shopping center, or they could be a genius.”

Cider eyed Izuku critically before snorting. “Let’s just get this over with. I’ve wasted enough time here.”

Giran motioned for Izuku to sit across from Cider while he took a seat between them. After a moment’s thought, Izuku asked, “You have a hydrokinesis quirk?”

Cider’s eyes shot back to Izuku from where they’d been wandering the restaurant.

Izuku took his silence as permission to continue, though the narrow-eyed gaze unnerved him slightly. “Your d-drink started bubbling when you lost your temper, but there w-was no steam, indicating it wasn’t a true change in temperature. Carbonation, maybe? That’s an uncommon quirk and one that would likely be overlooked as weak by peers. Does it apply to any liquid or specific ones only?” Izuku cut himself off there rather than ramble.

Giran was smiling like a cat that had gotten into the cream, and Cider was giving Izuku a more open, considering look than before. Most of the hostility had faded from his voice when he responded, “The carbonation’s more a side effect of my quirk than the direct application. My control’s best with water, but thin solutions—like tea—aren’t too difficult to manage. I can pull water from the atmosphere as needed, but any liquid I control froths and bubbles.” He pulled moisture from the air to form a small sphere of carbonated water hovering over his hand. The shape was rough and fluctuated due to the bubbling, but when he floated it around the table, it seemed more stable, only losing its shape again when he stopped it before dispersing it back into the air.

Izuku pulled a pocket notebook (he’d bought a whole pack of them after his last meeting with Giran) from his hoodie and started writing as Cider talked. “Fascinating. It appears there’s an element of kinetic energy manipulation at play, given the increased stability with movement. Usually, it’s the opposite for matter manipulation quirks. But if your control improves while your water is in motion the possibilities are…” Izuku shook himself. “So…uh, what exactly do you want out of this meeting?”

Cider leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “I’ve got pretty decent control and aim, but I could use more mobility, something for evasion.”

Izuku nodded, already scribbling down ideas. “A fight avoided is a fight you can’t lose,” he said absently. “What speeds can you get with your quirk, and what’s your range?”

“My range is maybe half a block? Not sure on its top speed.”

Izuku frowned and chewed on his lip, since he couldn’t chew on his pen through his mask. The range should be fine, but…Izuku turned to Giran and asked, “Does the alley out back extend the whole length of the block?”

Giran’s eyebrows rose a bit as he answered, “Yeah, why?”

Izuku stood, barely containing his excitement. “I have an idea, but I need to know if your quirk is fast enough for it. You up for an experiment?”

Cider and Giran exchanged a confused glance before they stood too. Giran led the way to a back entrance, exchanging a quick greeting with the chef in what sounded like Mandarin. When they stepped into the narrow alley, Izuku checked both ways, grinned when he realized that the alley did stretch whole block. Quickly estimating the midpoint of the block, Izuku motioned Cider down toward one end. “Go stand at the end of the alley. When I say go, launch a water ball this way as fast as you can. I’ll time it,” he said, holding up his burner phone with a stopwatch app open.

Cider shrugged and went along with it. Once he was in place, Izuku raised his arm and dropped it, hitting the start button on his timer. Izuku watched the ball of carbonated water fly towards him in a perfectly straight line. The instant the water passed in front of his face, Izuku stopped the timer. “Hm, 13.7 seconds…Convert to hours and factor in city block size…” He swapped over to the calculator on his phone. “Ah! Roughly 40 kilometers per hour. That’s incredible!”

“How’d you get that?” Izuku jumped and just stopped himself from making a very undignified noise. He’d been so focused on his calculations he didn’t see Giran and Cider walk up to stand beside him.

“O-oh. It wasn’t too hard. Since this part of town’s newer, that means it was built with the 305-meter city block standard instead of the older 352-meter. With the time it took your quirk to travel half of that, it was a pretty simple conversion.”

“You just walk around knowing all that?”

“I like math?” Well, actually, Izuku liked to calculate the top speed of heroes from their televised fights for his notes, but they didn’t need to know that. He was trying not to draw attention to how much he knew about heroes.

Cider shook his head and muttered, “Damn intelligence quirks.”

Izuku tilted his head, unsure if he should be offended or not. “Um…we can head back inside now? I have an answer for your mobility problem. Provided your sense of balance is good and depending on how well you can multitask.”

Once they were settled back around the table, Cider prompted Izuku to continue. Izuku barely contained his excitement as he asked, “Do you know how to surf?”

Cider’s eyebrows drew inward in confusion for a moment before realization struck. “Oh!”

Izuku couldn’t help but beam. “Exactly! You could ride and control a wave with your quirk. Even overland if you can pull enough water for it. You’d need to practice with sharp turns and sudden stops, but those are standard drawbacks for any type of speed quirk.” Izuku finished the last line he’s been writing before holding the notebook out to Cider.

Cider started to smile too as he took it before catching himself and settling on a smirk instead. “Guess I'd better start looking into lessons. Not bad, Green. Gotta say, I never thought of moving myself with my quirk.” Turning to the broker, the white-haired man handed over a stack of yen. “Pleasure as always, Giran. You’ll let me know when my gauntlets come in?”

Gauntlets?

Giran tucked the cash inside his suit jacket and smiled. “Of course. I’ll update my supplier on the specifics of your quirk. And do tell your coworkers about our little analyst if they’re ever in need of assistance.”

Izuku’s good mood took a nosedive as he watched the broker and villain exchange farewells. Cider was a villain. Why else order gauntlets that worked with his quirk? Quirk support gear was illegal unless you had a hero license, and if Cider had a hero license, he had access to far better analysts than Izuku. Izuku had just helped a villain.

Of course, he’d known what working with a broker would entail on some level prior to this, and what had he expected with the limitations he’d given Giran for his fake quirk? It just hadn’t sunk in that he’d be doing quirk analysis for villains.

Cider snapped Izuku out of his shock by offering him a fist bump. Izuku hesitantly returned the gesture, unable to find words until after the white-haired man exited the restaurant. Part of Izuku desperately hoped Cider wasn’t going to use his analysis to commit a crime, but Izuku had a feeling that hope was futile. He took a steadying breath and turned to Giran. If he was going to have to deal with a moral crisis, he intended it to at least be worth the trouble. “I held up my end of the deal. It’s your turn to deliver.”

Giran smiled that predatory smile again, and Izuku narrowed his eyes at him. Giran snapped his fingers and motioned for someone to join them without breaking eye contact with Izuku. “Green, The Ripper. Ripper, Green. I’ll let you two come to an agreement on your own. I only arranged the meeting. See ya around, Green.”

Izuku resisted the very Ekikyō urge to snarl at the broker as he walked out the front door. He’d have to be very careful with his wording in future dealings with that man. Then he turned his attention to the armored man standing before him. Izuku wasn’t sure where he’d been hiding before now, but Izuku almost wished he’d go back. The Ripper was decked out in similar gear to Izuku, though more professional-grade, and his face was completely covered by a respirator and goggles. A bandana held his greying black hair back from his face, and a sheath for a large knife hung from his belt. Izuku could just make out the outline of an armored vest through the man’s shirt before he dropped into the chair across from Izuku.

“So…What’s a smart kid like you doing out here looking for trouble?”

Izuku swallowed, suddenly nervous under the extremely well-muscled man’s scrutiny “I-if I don’t go looking it finds me anyway.” He rubbed at a fresh bruise on his forearm. One of his bullies had caught him at lunch yesterday. “I’m tired of constantly waiting for the next blow to fall…” On Izuku or on others. Izuku ignored how the more he recited that lie, the less it felt like a lie.

The man hummed, a deep gravelly thing. “Say I teach you to fight. What’ll you do with it?”

Izuku cocked his head. Why did The Ripper want to know? “I’ll defend myself and others if need be.”

“Almost sounds like a vigilante.”

Izuku tensed and eyed the two exits. “Is that a problem?”

The Ripper laughed and set his elbows on the table to lean closer. “Not at all, kid. And call me Ciupan Seikyun. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Izuku’s lips twitched. “Nice to meet you, Ciupan-sensei. My name’s Naisho. I’ll be in your care.”

Chapter Text

Ciupan Seikyun, upon some investigation online, was also called Hyper Quadfist in the Chinese underground. Izuku wondered how a Chinese vigilante(?) had wound up here and spoke such good Japanese. And where Giran had found him. Did the broker know that The Ripper was a Chinese vigilante? Izuku doubted it, and the broker wasn’t going to hear it from him. No way was Izuku about to compromise his chance to learn from an actual veteran vigilante.

Ciupan-sensei was a demanding mentor, but Izuku appreciated his no-nonsense attitude and his realism. Because Izuku couldn’t get any of his injuries past the man if he tried. Where Mamoru stopped their training if (he noticed) Izuku was hurt, Ciupan checked his bandages then got right back to drilling Izuku on hand-to-hand or dodging or the beginnings of knifework. If Izuku had to heal each time he was hurt before continuing, he’d have never gotten past their first lesson.

Ciupan also didn’t call things off when Izuku flinched or panicked in training. Their spars kept right on going, though Izuku was pretty sure the man pulled his punches more when Izuku was in the middle of an episode. Izuku honestly wasn’t sure if he preferred Ciupan’s or Mamoru’s approach on that one.

Izuku started to settle into the routine of training with his new sensei every other evening. They met up at an abandoned apartment complex Ciupan had picked for a training ground. With how often they met, Izuku really should have expected the man to notice certain things.

“Naisho, what’s up with the bruise on your neck?”

Izuku raised a hand to cover the fist-sized mark. He’d only gotten it the day before, but he knew it was already edging from blue toward green. “I-I injured myself on the way home from training night before last?”

Izuku cringed. That had to be one of the worst lies he’d ever told. Izuku couldn’t see Ciupan-sensei’s face, but he could feel the lack of belief radiating off him. Izuku braced for disapproval, a scolding, being called a liar or any of the other number of names he’d had to answer to in the past.

He didn’t expect the man’s steady, neutral tone. “Kid, do you have a regeneration quirk? Cause if so, I need to be training you differently.”

The topic of quirks was an interesting one with them. There was an unspoken agreement not to ask about the other’s quirk. Izuku had plenty of theories, but this was the first time Ciupan had actually broached the topic. Izuku dared to meet where Ciupan’s eyes should be behind his goggles. In his bewilderment, he answered truthfully, “No, the fast healing’s a side-effect of my friend’s quirk. Does drain my energy though.”

“Huh. Never heard of a lingering effect like that. Some type of healing quirk?”

“Nah, possession. The healing benefit’s even faster when they’re actually here,” Izuku said, tapping his sternum. “But it lasts for a few weeks after we split.”

There was a sudden tension in the air. Izuku tried to ignore it as he returned to his post-spar stretches. Crap, did Ciupan have something against control quirks? Why did Izuku have to go and run his mouth?

“Someone used a possession quirk on you?” There was concern in the man’s voice.

That…wasn’t quite the response Izuku was expecting. But it was close enough. He sighed. “It’s consensual if that’s what you’re worried about. They’re my best friend, and they get withdrawal if they don’t use it every now and then. Of course, I’d help them out,” Izuku said defensively, narrowing his eyes at Ciupan-sensei.

His mentor held his hands up placatingly. “Alright. I get it. None of my business.”

Izuku eyed the older vigilante for another minute before changing the subject. “So, you think I’ll be ready for proper patrolling soon?”

Ciupan snorted. “No one’s ever ‘ready’ when they start. You learn on the job. But I gotta ask…why aren’t you in some hero school? From what I overheard of your meeting with Giran, you’re plenty smart enough. Why go vig—”

“I can’t be a hero,” Izuku got out around the huge lump in his throat. He cursed himself for still getting emotional about the fact. He was over it. He accepted it. So, why did it still hurt so much? “I…” He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes in vain attempt to dispel the building tears. “I’m sorry, sensei. I need to get going. I promised to make dinner tonight. See you Friday.” Izuku grabbed his duffle bag and sprinted from the apartment, ignoring Ciupan calling after him.

---

Iwao pulled his mask off and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it.” He hadn’t meant to upset the kid. He’d struck a big, fat nerve with that one. He was lucky Naisho said he’d be back on Friday. When he did, Iwao needed to be more careful. If he scared the kid off before he was trained, he was likely to get himself killed, accelerated healing or no.

Iwao’s stomach turned at the thought of the kid being subjected to a possession quirk. Sounded like a fairly invasive one too. Logically, he knew that not all control quirks were like Queen Bee’s, but it was hard not to remember the cold half of his bed at home or the missing eye and chronic migraines Tamao and Kazuho now dealt with. Iwao knew he wasn’t objective here, and Naisho knew it too now. Quirks, he must have come off as an asshole.

Iwao sighed and leaned back until his spine popped. “Guess it’s time to call backup then.” He pulled out his phone and entered a number from memory. After three rings the line picked up an inarticulate growl. “Evening, Eraserhead. I got someone I need you to keep an eye out for on your patrols soon.”

A tired sigh and the shuffle of cloth answered him. “Another vigilante protégé of yours?”

“Yeah, though this one doesn’t have a combat-applicable quirk. It might be some sort of analysis or intelligence though. Kid’s scary bright.”

“I’m sorry. Did you say a kid?” The man on the other end of the line sounded more awake now.

“Yes. Real youngin too. Can’t be out of school yet.”

“Fuck. Fine. I’ll keep an eye out. This kid have a name?”

“Naisho.”

Eraserhead made a sound that might have been a snort. “Are you serious?”

“Wish I wasn’t.” Iwao scratched at his chin—he needed to shave again—and grumbled. “I messed up. Don’t think the kid’ll trust me because of it, but he needs someone in his corner. He’s getting hurt by someone in his day life and might have a record that keeps him out of hero schools. That and quirk discrimination are sore topics, fair warning.”

“I am not a therapist,” the hero hissed.

“No, but you care about kids, and I don’t think this one’s had that in a long time.” After a pause, he added, “Better you than Giran.”

There was silence for a beat. “The information broker knows about him?”

“Kid went through Giran to find a trainer.”

“Fuck.”

Iwao couldn’t agree with that sentiment more.

---

The next two weeks passed with an awkward tension between master and apprentice, and they didn’t talk about anything substantial outside of what was being taught. Sometimes they both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

For Izuku’s part, much of his thinking time was taken up with reviewing the hero patrol routes he’d been mapping. If he wanted to be a real vigilante with a regular patrol and everything, he needed to know who else was out there and where and when. There were surprisingly few heroes active in Musutafu once the sun set, barring the entertainment district.

Between hero sightings and overnight arrest reports on the morning news, Izuku was fairly confident he had a rough patrol route planned that should keep him from running into any heroes or gangs, but keep him close enough to get a hero to his location quickly if there was something he couldn’t handle. He wasn’t about to go picking a fight with any groups, and he’d really prefer not fighting anyone else with a dangerous ranged quirk for a while. He didn’t want to think about what Ekikyō would do if Izuku got himself seriously hurt. Probably march him off to Cross, and then he’d be scolded by three out of four of his friends. He was sure Mamoru would scold him too if he ever came back out of the woodwork. And then there was trying to hide a major injury from his mom…

After a depressingly short amount of time thinking about that potential problem, Izuku decided it wasn’t much of one. He’d had years of practice hiding injuries at this point. (He did wonder how his mom never picked up on the smell of burnt hair and skin or noticed how often Izuku needed new uniform shirts or how often they had to restock on bandages, burn cream, and white vinegar.) It was even easier to hide wounds now with how Ekikyō’s slime sealed any injuries within minutes, limiting how much blood soaked into his clothes.

By the beginning of the third week, Izuku began to grow restless. The fact Giran had gotten in his grappling hooks and knife the night before didn’t help. (Izuku decided against ordering those himself with how incriminating they’d be.) He’d paid for them with an analysis of some street villain with an electrical interference quirk. That had been an interesting one. Adjusting the frequency his quirk operated at, he could even interrupt radio and cell signals. If he learned Morse code, he could use his quirk to communicate at range like Mandalay!

Izuku shook his head and tightened the straps on his armored shirt. That was one of the cooler quirks he’d seen in a while, and Giran’s eagerness for his analysis of the quirk was a touch concerning, but he needed to focus. He was going out tonight. It was a Friday night, and Izuku wanted to get the lay of the land, confirm whether or not his hero patrol deductions were right. If he found trouble on the way? He’d figure out some way to deal with it himself, or he’d call for heroes or police.

He pulled on his waterproofed hoodie then secured his beanie and hood. Goggles and smaller supplies were next on the list. He packed his hoodie pockets full of first aid supplies and his cell phone. Last but not least, he strapped on the hip holster with his knife and the belt pouch for his grappling hooks. The strap placement for the holster was odd, and he felt a little unbalanced. But that’s what tonight was about: testing things out and getting used to his gear and route.

After double-checking that he had everything secured and that his mom was asleep, he headed out. It was quiet, which really, Izuku should have expected given that it was 11 p.m. It was beginning to mist as well. Izuku kinda regretted wearing jeans over his armored shorts now. Those were going to chaff once they soaked up enough water. Maybe he should order a pair of waterproofed pants? His feet were still going to be soaked no matter what he did. Quirkless shoes were hard to come by. Things like rain boots or combat boots were impossible, and they were the one thing he couldn’t ask Giran for help locating. Maybe somewhere out there was a Best Jeanist equivalent of a cobbler that he could make a custom order through? Or maybe he could find someone with a waterproofing quirk to treat his normal shoes? Was that a thing? That sounded incredibly useful.

With the dreary weather, the night was pretty dead, but Izuku got to map out several alleyways, broken fences, hidey holes, and potentially useful fire escapes. Ciupan-sensei hadn’t gotten around to teaching him parkour yet, but Izuku climbed a few of the easily accessible escapes to check just how noisy they were and what sort of view their buildings offered. With the wind picking up, anyone who heard him tonight was going to write it off. He took notes in a pocket notebook as he went.

He did the same the next night, exploring another section of his planned route. However, the weather was better the second night, and he ran into a problem fairly early on. Or well, a problem ran into him? He was minding his own business trying to convince a cat with plastic twine tangled around her neck and front leg to come out from under a dumpster so he could help. And what happened? Some jerk in a ski mask and bulky coat decided to drag another man into the same alley for a mugging. A blind alley.

They didn’t even notice he was there. So, Izuku took the opportunity to observe the mugger and try to identify their quirk. Izuku’s question was answered when an extra set of arms unfolded from inside the coat. Heteromorph, then, and rather built at that. Izuku wasn’t confident he could take the guy down. (He ignored Ciupan-sensei’s voice in his head telling him how exactly to use his knife to disable him. He didn’t want to stab someone. The knife was meant to be for utility!)

Welp, phone call it was. Izuku quietly slipped further behind the dumpster and unlocked his phone. Thankfully, the mugger and victim—who appeared to be drunk enough to think arguing with the 100 kg mound of muscle and four arms was a good idea—were yelling loudly enough that they didn’t hear his whispered conversation with the 119 operator. Izuku’s hands shook a little and his heart pounded in his ears as he recalled the last time he’d made a call like this.

He half-listened to the operator (who was trying to keep him calm and reassured) and half-followed the argument between the mugger and muggee. Why the mugger had let himself get drawn into a debate rather than just mugging his victim already Izuku really wasn’t sure. He was even less sure what he’d do if the mugger did stop arguing and got on with it. He couldn’t let the victim get hurt, but what could he even do? His thoughts drifted to his knife again, and Izuku really didn’t like how appealing that option was getting.

Izuku hung up his 119 call when a shadow dropped down from the roof above them to land squarely on the mugger’s shoulders. He sighed in relief and peeked out from behind the dumpster to see the criminal struggling to escape several loops of…oh! Izuku knew this hero! He was really hard to track, because the news never gave his name on arrests, but Izuku had found a few short videos of the Erasure Hero in action. Izuku watched in awe as the hero finish restraining the four-armed man. “Eraserhead…”

The hero’s eyes were on Izuku and glowing red in an instant. Izuku squeaked and ducked back behind the dumpster. Wow, that guy had intimidation down to a T. That glare was scarier than all the looks he’d ever gotten from past teachers combined. And Izuku was trapped. There was no fire escape of jumpable fence in this alley, and there was absolutely no chance of him getting past that hero. He was so going to get arrested.

A tense minute passed where Izuku could hear Eraserhead talking to the victim, who was still rather belligerent. Once the man was calmed down, footsteps started approaching Izuku’s hiding place. They stopped a few feet away, near the far end of the dumpster. “You’re the one who called this in, right? You can come out. I’m the responding hero. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Oh, oh that was right. Izuku hadn’t done anything wrong. (Yet, at least.) There was zero reason for him to be scared of the underground hero. He wasn’t going to get arrested. Ekikyō wasn’t going to have to break him out, and they weren’t going to have to go on the run for the rest of his life. Now if only his heart would get the memo.

The hero waited patiently while Izuku came down from his freak out and got his breathing under control. By the time he shakily stood, his heart wasn’t jack rabbiting quite so fast, and Izuku was feeling a tiny bit more rational. “H-hi, Eraserhead,” he said sheepishly. He offered a small wave and wobbly smile.

Eraserhead shifted slightly at the name drop and narrowed his eyes for a second. Rather than ask any of the likely important questions he had, the hero asked, “Why were you back there anyway?”

Izuku hunched his shoulders a little and pointed to the dumpster. “C-cat.” Izuku cleared his throat and tried again. “There’s a cat who’s all tangled up in some plastic. I’ve been trying to get her to come out.”

Eraserhead’s shoulders sagged a few degrees, and Izuku relaxed in kind. Until the hero started moving toward him again. Izuku froze up, only daring to breathe again when the man ignored him to crouch down and shine a small flashlight under the dumpster. “Hm…she’s not stuck, just scared.” The man put the flashlight back in one of the many pouches on his belt before fishing around in another. He pulled out a handful of small…somethings and tossed one tiny piece under the dumpster. 20 seconds later, faint crunching could be heard.

Izuku stared in disbelief. Did Eraserhead just…carry cat food (or treats?) with him on every patrol? Izuku slowly crouched beside the hero when the man motioned him down. Izuku cast a glance at the mouth of the alley to see the victim sitting against the alley wall, falling asleep, and the criminal hogtied and gagged on the pavement. Then he turned his attention to the kibbles being set in his hand.

“Don’t toss them directly at her, just near her. Slowly make your tosses shorter to tempt her out.”

Izuku nodded and followed the instruction. Five minutes later, they could see the tip of a nose sticking out from under the dumpster. Izuku started to reach for her, but the hero subtly raised a hand to tell him to wait. Another few minutes of bribing and quiet coaxing had the cat—a small calico—fully out in the open. Izuku didn’t move a muscle as the cat looked up at him and gave a curious “brrloo.”

Eraserhead chuckled softly and picked her up, careful to avoid the tangle around her front left leg. That broke the spell, and Izuku dug around in his hoodie pocket until he found his bandage scissors. The hero nodded and adjusted his hold on the cat to hand Izuku his flashlight. “Only cut up and away from her skin. If you can’t get under a loop, leave it and cut the others first.”

“Got it.” The cat grumbled a bit as they worked and shook her leg as they pulled the plastic away from the limb. It had rubbed the skin raw in a few places; her neck was in similar shape when they managed to free her. Izuku made a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat when the cat immediately tried to scratch at her neck with a back foot.

Eraserhead caught her paw in one hand and scratched at her ears with the other. “Relax, Problem Child. I’ll take her to a vet in the morning. Do you have any gauze? We should keep her from making it worse.”

“Oh, r-right.”

While Izuku was busy bandaging the cat, Eraserhead asked, “Why are you really out here rescuing cats at 2:00 a.m.?”

Izuku froze up again, realizing that this whole time, Eraserhead had stayed between Izuku and the only exit to the alley. Izuku gulped. “M-mostly exploring.”

The hero hummed as he checked Izuku’s work on the bandages. Satisfied with them, he nodded. “And identity-obscuring goggles and body armor are prerequisites for that,” he said so blandly Izuku almost missed the sarcasm.

Blush climbed his neck and ears as he put away his first aid supplies. “I didn’t do a-anything illegal!”

Eraserhead stood with the cat in his arms and surveyed the alley, checking the status of the other occupants. “No, all things considered, you did the right thing. You stayed safe and called for help. Good job. Though I have to wonder why you look so much like someone going out to be a vigilante.”

Izuku’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to say. He was getting a whole lot of nothing.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“M-my name?” Okay, this he could answer. It wasn’t even that hard. “Naisho.” See? That wasn’t so bad.

Eraserhead paused for a moment before groaning. “You’re that old man’s new apprentice?” The hero massaged his forehead with one hand.

“You know Ciupan-sensei?”

“Is that the name he’s using now?” Eraserhead grumbled to himself. “How many aliases does one man need? I wonder if he knows…” The hero shook his head, then studied Izuku again, something calculating in his eyes. After a tense staring contest that the hero definitely won, Aizawa said, “Meet me on top of the coffeeshop on 3rd Street at midnight on Friday. Don’t be late.” Then he stepped aside and motioned for Izuku to pass him and leave the alley.

Izuku left confused. What just happened? Eraserhead just…let him go. He knew about Ciupan-sensei, which meant he knew Izuku was a vigilante…but he hadn’t arrested Izuku. Instead… “Did I just get another mentor?”

---

Shota watched the boy leave. Erasure had done nothing to him. The only other time it had gotten a complete non-reaction was with Knuckleduster—who was quirkless. The boy was quirkless. That answered a lot of questions Knuckleduster’s phone call had left him with, actually.

No wonder quirk discrimination and hero school were sore topics. Shota had an idea the sort of treatment the kid faced in his daily life (if the number of quirkless who became petty criminals or attempted suicide because they felt they had no other choice were anything to go off of), and most hero schools didn’t take quirkless applicants. UA did, in theory. Perhaps—and only if the kid proved dedicated and skilled enough, if he had the potential—perhaps Shota could convince the young vigilante to apply when he was old enough. (Shota’s best guess was a first year in middle school. this kid was small.) Knuckleduster’s request suggested he did have all those things, but Shota could never be too sure with the old codger. The guy had taken more than a few hits to the head in the past. He’d have to see for himself.

The calico Naisho had found wriggled in Shota’s arms, and he adjusted his grip to keep her from escaping. Sure, the cat had managed fine on her own up to this point, but she needed help now. And Shota would see it given.

He glanced the direction Naisho had gone. Tracking him down with the knowledge of his quirk status would be simple enough, but Knuckleduster’s call gave him pause. If he pressed now, any chance at trust would go up in flames. Since the kid wasn’t doing anything illegal at this point, Shota decided to leave it be. The slower approach tended to be the more effective anyway.

Shota recalled the other warning Knuckleduster had given him and gently scratched under the cat’s chin, grazing the gauze covering her wounds. (The kid was clearly experienced with applying bandages…) Shota could wait a little while, but if Naisho’s situation became dangerous, he’d intervene whether or not his help was wanted. He always did have a soft spot for strays.

Chapter Text

Izuku had a feeling his teachers were talking behind his back. Which, to be fair, wasn’t a new experience by any stretch of the imagination. He just…didn’t expect this to become a thing with his unofficial vigilante-ing teachers too.

When Izuku went to his next training session with Ciupan-sensei, he smiled a scary smile—one of the ones that promised Izuku would be going home exceptionally sore—and patted his shoulder roughly. “So, heard you met Eraserhead.”

“Uh…”

“You were lucky he was there. He won’t always be. So, let me show you how to take down a bigger opponent. With or without a knife.”

“But—”

“Tell me, what exactly were you going to do if that mugger tried to kill the other guy before Mr. Hero showed up?”

Izuku shrank in on himself a bit while trying to come up with an answer.

Ciupan sighed and rested a hand on top of Izuku’s head. Izuku warily glanced up at the man. “Look around this building kid. If someone attacked you here, what could you use to defend yourself?”

“I-I…I have my knife and grappling hooks. So—”

Ciupan cut him off by ruffling his beanie, nearly knocking it off. Izuku ducked away and straightened it. “No, kid. I don’t mean what you have on you. What can you use.”

Izuku frowned and tilted his head before looking around the room they were in. There were their duffle bags, a few empty beer cans… “Um…Our bags, beer cans wouldn’t do much damage, the loose board over there with the nail sticking out of it…” He nervously looked back to his teacher, feeling like he was missing something.

“Better. You almost always have options floating around for improvised weapons, but don’t forget to use your terrain too. That rotten step between floors two and three that someone could fall through, trip hazards, visual obstructions, etc. now, do you remember anything at all about the alley with the mugger?”

Izuku flushed and shook his head.

“There ya go. You got caught up on the impossibility of a direct confrontation and forgot to look for alternatives and outside advantages. You need to always be aware of your surroundings. You never know when something you saw lying around might be just the thing you need.”

Izuku cursed under his breath. He’d done exactly what Ciupan was suggesting back when he rescued Shinso. Why had he forgotten this time? (A memory of a fading heartbeat and phone call started to surface before Izuku shoved it back down.) “Y-yes, sensei. I’ll try not to forget again.”

Ciupan nodded. “Good. Now, I’m going to give you a 30-second head start to run. Then I’m coming after you. Improvised weapons allowed for both of us.”

Izuku did not like the grin on Ciupan’s face. So, he bolted, scanning the hallways and rooms as he looked for an advantage. His 30 seconds were almost up when he spotted an empty paint can. The important thing was it was one of the cans that came with a handle. Izuku might not pack much of a punch himself yet, but that sure would.

Of course, Izuku and his improvised flail still lost the fight, but the red mark on Ciupan-sensei’s forearm made him feel a little accomplished.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, Ciupan knowing about the situation Izuku’d gotten himself into. Yes, Izuku’s teachers were talking about him, but it wasn’t as…malicious as he was used to. Ciupan-sensei didn’t say things to put him down or to get him hurt. And neither did Eraserhead. Part of Izuku felt bad that he was surprised by this fact, but after All Might…Well, he could say meeting this hero on a rooftop went a lot better than the last one.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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Friday came, and Izuku arrived at the coffeeshop an hour early to make sure it wasn’t a trap of some sort; he also wanted to check out several potential escape routes prior to the hero’s arrival. Unfortunately, Eraserhead was already there, perched like a gargoyle on the building’s AC unit, coffee cup in hand.

The man didn’t say anything about Izuku’s earliness, only raised an eyebrow at Izuku’s shocked expression. “Hm. Looks like I’ll need to teach you stealth too. What has Ciupan been teaching you?”

Well, if Eraserhead wanted to start early, who was Izuku to complain? “Sparring mostly. Hand-to-hand, how to handle a knife and an opponent with one. But I promise I don’t plan on stabbing anyone! This is strictly for utilitarian purposes,” Izuku said, patting the sheath on his right hip. “He’s going to start teaching me to use my grappling hooks too, now that they’re in.”

“It’s a start.” Eraserhead took a sip of his coffee before setting it on the AC unit. He jumped down from his perch and lifted his capture weapon from his shoulders to set beside his coffee. “We’ll do a quick spar to give me an idea of where you’re really at. We’ll go from there.”

Izuku quailed at the idea of fighting The Eraserhead, but he really did need more sparring partners than Mamoru and now Ciupan. (He’d tried sparring with Ekikyō once, and his friend had just surrounded him in slime, lifted him off the ground, and laughed until Izuku gave up.) Maybe he should ask Shinso sometime? The teen had been sending Izuku cat memes lately.

Uncertain though he was, Izuku nodded and fell into his ready stance. Eraserhead took half a moment to note the stance; then he moved. The man was fast. Izuku barely moved aside in time to avoid a fist aimed for his face; then he stepped out of range of the follow-up kick. Izuku dodged and ducked under a few more blows, analyzing and trying to convince himself to attack. There wasn’t any discernable pattern to Eraserhead’s strikes, aside from always keeping Izuku in his line of sight—probably an ingrained habit with his quirk.

That didn’t seem to be the man’s only quirk-related habit. It took Izuku a minute to notice, but the man hardly ever blinked, even if he wasn’t using Erasure. Once he noticed, Izuku got an idea. The next time Eraserhead blinked, Izuku went on the offensive. Izuku stepped into the hero’s guard and threw a solid jab. Eraserhead averted the attack and didn’t let Izuku retreat to midrange again. Anytime Izuku took a step back, Eraserhead followed, closing the distance once more. After a few more traded blocks and dodges, Eraserhead hooked a foot behind Izuku’s and tripped him. Izuku was pinned before he could recover.

Izuku held his breath for half a second, wondering if Eraserhead was going to change his mind and either arrest him or renege on his offer of training due to Izuku’s quick defeat. To his mild surprise, the hero did neither. Instead, the man backed off and offered him a hand up. Izuku grinned sheepishly and took it.

Once Izuku was back on his feet, Eraserhead walked back over to the AC unit to lean on it and take another drink from his cup. “Better than I was expecting. How long have you been training with Ciupan?”

“Only a few weeks. I did have another trainer before him, but he’s gone to ground.”

“Anyone I should know about?” Eraserhead asked.

Izuku tensed up a little. “N-no. They aren’t a villain, and he’s gone anyway. So…”

Eraserhead seemed content to let that lie. “Well, they gave you a pretty solid foundation. You’re not as green as I expected.”

Izuku nearly choked at Eraserhead’s word choice but covered it with a cough. Oh, Eraserhead had no idea.

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes at Izuku. “That said, you have a lot of room for improvement. For starters, your armor is the wrong size. It’s too big. If you keep wearing that, especially for active patrols, you’re likely to wind up with blisters from it shifting.”

Izuku blinked, surprised that Eraser had been able to pick up on that despite his hoodie. Izuku debated a moment before pulling his hoodie off. It wasn’t raining tonight, and his beanie and goggles hid his identity well enough. “I thought I had it tight enough…It has adjustable straps. I got the bigger size because I’d like to think I’ll have another growth spurt.” He diplomatically ignored Eraserhead’s snort as the hero came over and pointed out which straps to tighten further. After Izuku tightened them Eraserhead gripped the collar of the armored shirt and tugged, nodding when it didn’t budge.

“That’s better. But why not pick up the bigger size once you’ve grown?”

“I-I also need to be able to let it out occasionally now…” Izuku debated whether or not to mention Ekikyō to Eraserhead. After Ciupan’s reaction…Izuku shook his head. Ciupan was a vigilante, and Eraserhead was an underground hero. One with a quirk that arguably would have been classed as villainous when he was younger. Still, it didn’t hurt to make sure. “What’s your opinion on villainous quirks?”

Eraserhead scoffed. “No such thing, kid. Any quirk can be used to commit a crime if you try hard enough. And equally, any quirk can be applied for good. Why do you ask?”

Izuku relaxed marginally. “Because my best friend gets withdrawal if they don’t use their quirk every so often. I help them out with it. It’s a possession quirk.”

Eraserhead blinked at him but gave no negative reaction. “So…is Naisho you or the two of you together?”

“Yes,” Izuku said, giving Eraserhead a wide smile, and not one of his creepy ones.

“Problem Child,” Eraserhead commented, shaking his head. “Well, training’s the same either way. You have a decent grasp of combat basics, and you’re getting training on that from Ciupan. I’d like to focus more on the other skills that will keep you alive long enough to maybe see that growth spurt someday.”

Izuku got the sense he was being teased but decided not to acknowledge it. “Like what?”

“Parkour, stealth, first aid, the basics of patrolling and analyzing a dangerous situation.”

Izuku bit back another smile. “Yes, sensei!”

They started with first aid that night, going over how to treat and wrap various injuries both on himself and on another person. Then Eraserhead pulled an orange out of a pouch on his utility belt. “Uhhh…”

Eraserhead smirked and tossed him the fruit before pulling a small kit from another pouch. When he opened the flat box, Izuku spied several curved needles and a spool of some type of thread in it. It didn’t click until Eraserhead said, “Make a cut on the orange with your knife.”

Oh! They were doing stitches. Izuku happily followed directions, making a mental note to clean his knife when he got home. Citric acid couldn’t be good for the blade. Eraserhead demonstrated the first stitch: how much slack to leave, how to tie a surgeon’s knot, and how long to leave the ends for the EMTs or hospital staff to be able to find them easily. “Now, I don’t want you doing these on yourself unless absolutely necessary, Naisho. This is strictly for emergency first aid. Often a wound will need to be cleaned out before it can be properly closed and left to heal, but some temporary sutures can help slow tissue drying out or save a person’s life if a large enough blood vessel got hit. Do you understand?”

Izuku thought about how Ekikyō had had to reopen the stab wound on his leg to get that shard of glass out. Maybe there were some downsides to how quickly the slime sealed his wounds. At least he didn’t have to worry about infection. Anyone else would. “Got it, Eraserhead.”

After practicing a few more stitches with the spool of nylon thread (Izuku made another mental note), Eraserhead checked his phone. “That’s probably enough for tonight. Are you planning on only patrolling on weekends?”

“Weekends and whenever I can’t sleep,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eraserhead sighed. “Until you’re able to handle yourself, I’d like you to seek me out whenever you go patrolling. I take Wednesdays off but patrol every other night pretty close to where that mugging happened.”

“I know,” Izuku said without thinking. When he realized Eraserhead looked a lot more tense than a moment ago and reviewed what he’d said, his eyes widened. He waved his arms in front of him and hurried to say, “Oh! No, I wasn’t stalking you or anything! I just studied the local hero patrol routes before I ever went out. You were the hardest one to track, actually. At least, until I figured out that most of the overnight hero arrests on the news without a hero explicitly named were…yours…”

Eraserhead let out a long sigh and brought a hand up to rub his face. “Such a Problem Child. I don’t need to emphasize how important it is that you not share that information?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Eraserhead!” Izuku exclaimed, mildly offended.

“Good. And keep using your head. Seems like Ciupan was right about you being too smart for your own good.”

Ciupan-sensei thought he was smart? He’d told Eraserhead he thought Izuku was smart? Izuku didn’t know how to process that.

Eraserhead steamrolled ahead unaware of Izuku’s miniature crisis. “We’ll meet back up here tomorrow and next Friday at the same time, or can you keep doing 11:00 going forward?”

“11:00 is fine.”

“Alright. Oh, and before you leave…” Eraserhead pulled his phone out again and tapped at his screen for a few seconds. Then he turned the screen toward Izuku.

Izuku squinted at the sudden light, blinking. When his eyes focused, he saw a picture of a calico cat with a large patch of fur around her left leg and neck shaved. Her leg and neck were bandaged, and she has a baby sock taped over her back foot. She was rolling around on a carpet with a stuffed toy the size of her head. “Is that?”

“Yeah, that’s Maneki. She’s the cat you helped rescue. The cuts on her neck were infected, and she was malnourished. But the vet thinks she’ll heal up nicely.”

Izuku gave the hero a wobbly smile. He was not about to cry over a cat; he wasn’t! “Thank you, Eraserhead-sensei.”

They parted ways after that, and Izuku headed home, feeling light. He’d helped someone! Granted it was a cat—and yes, he’d technically helped the mugging victim too—but he had helped someone. Eraserhead took out the mugger, not Izuku. With how loud those two were being, someone else probably would have called the mugging in if Izuku hadn’t, and Eraserhead still would have taken care of it. No one else had known little Maneki was there. She’d still be sick and injured if he hadn’t been determined to help her.

Izuku took one last deep breath of night air before unlocking his apartment door. There were plenty more people (and cats) in trouble out there. And if Izuku had any say, Maneki was only the first of many he helped.

Chapter Text

Things got pretty busy from there. He had training with Ciupan on weekdays and Eraserhead on weekends on top of avoiding bullies and studying for school and entrance exams. He also had to get his analysis portfolio made for Nezu, and he refused to slack off on his own exercise regime. Despite his busyness, some nights his mind just could not stop spinning round and round with all the things he needed to get done and all the ways it could go wrong, all the ways he could mess it up. On those nights he went out for a short patrol, usually running into Eraserhead and tagging along until his mind cleared. Thank goodness for Ekikyō’s quirk. It helped a ton with the post-workout/training soreness. And the times he couldn’t get away from the bullies. When that happened, the accelerated healing made him tired enough that sleep came easily.

Speaking of Ekikyō, before Izuku knew it, a month and a half had passed since the start of the fall term. A month and a half since he’d last seen Ekikyō. Izuku started to get anxious as the days continued to add up with no sign of his best friend. Did an eight-day possession really stave off withdrawal for this long, or had something happened?

Izuku somewhat regretted asking that question when the answer tugged at the slime in his blood and muscle. Izuku was limping home from school—he hadn’t managed to avoid his bullies this time—when he felt the familiar faint pull, followed shortly after by a more constant pull. Izuku frowned and turned into the alley in the direction of the pull. The slime only responded when Ekikyō was either purposefully pulling on it or if he was in range and moving. Something was really wrong here.

Izuku broke into a shambling jog, then a faltering sprint as the tug stuttered but didn’t fade. After turning two corners, Izuku was hit with déjà vu as he saw Ekikyō rising from a sewer grate. Izuku immediately noticed several alarming details. His friend was smaller than Izuku had ever seen him, his texture and color were off—gritty and too opaque—and his form was literally falling apart. Bits of gritty slime were dripping off of his body and not returning to it, leaving a trail in his wake. And oh, his eyes were as wide and panicked as any bully’s target he’d ever seen.

“Ekikyō!” Izuku whisper-yelled, because for his confident friend to look like this there must be someone after him, hunting him.

Ekikyō’s eyes landed on him and the panic lessened for a second. Then a hissing sound came from the sewer grate. Before Izuku could register that his friend’s panic was back, he was swept up in a wave of slime and being carried down the alley at high speed.

“Kid, I need to possess you. Please. If he finds me again, I…” Ekikyō trailed off as he franticly looked both ways at a T intersection before choosing the right.

Izuku gave his friend as reassuring a smile as he could. “Of course. Let me take a good breath to hold; then you can go as fast as you need. We just have to make sure we have enough of a lead that we aren’t caught mid-possession. 45 seconds, right?” Izuku asked, more to get Ekikyō to focus than anything.

Ekikyō looked down at him for a second before nodding. Izuku relaxed at the familiar feeling of his throat and stomach numbing. He was fairly certain this was going to suck, given the wrong, abrasive feel of the slime hugging his skin, but he also really didn’t like the shape Ekikyō was in. He needed to get his friend out of whatever trouble he’d gotten into and fast.

So, he took a few deep breaths before holding one and patting the slime around him to signal he was ready. The slime around him squeezed gently before a tendril slipped into his mouth. The grittiness was more awful than the sewer taste, and Izuku just knew he’d be picking bits of whatever that was out of his teeth for a week. Izuku didn’t close his eyes for the possession this time, despite them starting to water a bit. He wanted to watch his friend’s back; he’d just…not look down at the slime. With Ekikyō’s attention already split, they couldn’t afford any trouble.

They kept moving, and Izuku kept holding his breath, even as his stomach started cramping. Usually, the numbness covered anything happening there. Izuku tried to hold his anxiety at bay as enough of Ekikyō absorbed to leave the duo standing on Izuku’s feet. Izuku braced himself against the alley wall with one hand as the last of Ekikyō made it inside.

Ekikyō’s mind crashed into Izuku’s on a tidal wave of fear and pain, making his renewed breathing hitch. Then the stomach cramping came back in earnest. They stumbled over to a storm drain and collapsed to their hands and knees as their body heaved. It felt like there was a huge stone sitting in his stomach, and his throat felt horribly raw. Tears (or maybe slime? He couldn’t tell) slipped from their eyes as they threw up a mass of dead slime and…sand? Why was there so much sand?

That question went unanswered as their focus narrowed down to desperately trying to get all of it out despite the increasing pain with each heave. After a few more heaves, Izuku shakily pushed them back to their feet. They needed to hide. He was after them. That much sand could kill—Izuku violently yanked back from Ekikyō’s mind where it had invaded his own. “Ekikyō, I need you to calm down! You’re safe.”

Ekikyō didn’t seem to hear him, which worried Izuku, but not as much as the sound of boots on pavement and that hissing from earlier. Panic not his own nearly swallowed Izuku again, and he started sprinting away from the mess they’d made by the storm drain. Izuku started brushing sand and a few bits of dead slime off his clothes as they moved, but it was very difficult to think with the shape Ekikyō was in.

Finally, Izuku staggered into a clothing store and made a beeline for the restroom, holding a hand over his mouth to keep any employees from questioning his hurry. Once inside the single stall bathroom, Izuku threw off his backpack and let himself slide down the closest wall until he was sitting on the tile. Ekikyō’s panic still hadn’t abated, and Izuku felt lightheaded with how fast his heart was pounding.

“Have to get away. Snatch shouldn’t even be in Tokyo. And he won’t stop! Why can’t I lose him? I can barely breath.”

“That’s because you’re having a panic attack,” Izuku said as patiently as possible when he felt like he was simultaneously going to be sick and pass out. “I’m trying to make us breath normally, but you’re fighting me. Please, Ekikyō. You’re safe. I’m here.” Izuku tried pushing a mental hug at his friend.

He responded a little but still wasn’t anywhere near present. So, Izuku kept talking in their head, counting it a victory when Ekikyō retreated more into their mind, letting Izuku have the reins on all the physical stuff. Then he pulled away from Izuku’s mind too, and Izuku’s worry only grew. He gnawed on his lip, debating how suspicious he’d look if he tried to go home in this shape. He wasn’t sure how else to help Ekikyō calm down. He felt helpless.

Then he had an idea. A crazy idea, but it was something. It worked for him, but did it work both ways? “Ekikyō? Do you trust me?”

He didn’t get an actual response, but Ekikyō relaxed(?) a little in their headspace. Izuku decided that would have to do. He hesitantly leaned on Ekikyō’s mind, not trying to overlap, but pushing him down. Izuku felt a brief moment of what might have been surprise before Ekikyō’s mind blinked out like a loose light bulb. Well, no that didn’t feel quite right. Izuku furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head at the sensation. Ekikyō was definitely still there but…not? Unfocused? Dormant, maybe? He supposed that made sense with how Ekikyō had referred to it as making Izuku sleep when he did it.

Izuku stayed there on the tile floor of the bathroom for a while longer, gathering himself. Then he struggled to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror. Oh, yikes. He had been sweating enough to plaster his hair to his face, and he was somehow both pale as a sheet and looking a bit green. And he felt like he’d gargled glass shards. Izuku shuddered and his stomach turned at the vivid memory of throwing up mostly sand. Yeah no, he was definitely going to be sick again.

Izuku dropped in front of the toilet just in time. It was mostly liquid this time, but the amount of red-black couldn’t be a good sign. He…he should probably go see Cross and Cheshire. Oh, Cheshire’s quirk would have been really helpful a few minutes ago.

With shaking hands, he pulled his burner cell out. He blinked at the message already waiting for him. It was from Ciupan-sensei. Izuku was late for training. Crap, how long had he spent in here? He composed a sloppy text telling the vigilante (quite honestly) that he’d been busy puking his guts up and wasn’t going to make it today. Then he texted the pair of underground medics that he was on his way and feeling terrible.

He dry-heaved once more before flushing and pushing himself to his feet. He held onto the sink with one hand while he turned the water on. He rinsed his mouth out and spat. It stained the sink pink. He winced as he realized his mouth felt pretty raw too, just not as bad as his throat and stomach. He shivered and splashed cold water on his face.

He really wanted to go home and curl up in bed. It wasn’t that he was tired exactly, more that he had a nagging feeling that he should be asleep. Now that he wasn’t fighting Ekikyō’s panic or throwing up, he realized just how off he felt. (He wasn’t counting the pain; that was bearable now that all the sand was gone.) This was different from their other possessions, though Izuku suspected the vague wrongness circling his senses was a mix of Ekikyō’s missing mass and the fact he was awake while Ekikyō was asleep. That had never happened before.

Izuku shuddered one last time and picked up his backpack, checking it over for slime and sand before shouldering it and heading out. As he passed the front register the cashier called out, “Hey, do you need me to call someone? You look pretty bad.”

Izuku gave her a wan smile and replied, “Don’t wor—” Izuku coughed. Ugh, talking made his throat hurt worse. “I’m not going far.”

It took Izuku twice as long to reach the clinic as usual, but Izuku finally let himself relax his guard when Cheshire opened the door for him before he could even knock. For once he welcomed the unnatural calm that came with her quirk. Snatch couldn’t get them here. He’d probably lost Ekikyō‘s trail at that storm drain. With any luck, the sand hero thought Ekikyō had fled the city or broken apart under the amount of sand mixed into his body. Izuku wavered on his feet as it dawned on him Snatch had nearly killed Ekikyō. Probably on accident, but still.

A gentle hand on his elbow guided him into the exam room and led him to a familiar table. He settled onto it without thinking and blinked up at Cross. The doctor was watching him with concern. “Green, can you tell us what happened?”

Izuku swallowed, wincing as the action aggravated his throat. At least a meager amount of slime was beginning to coat the damaged tissue. Izuku frowned for a moment before pulling his cell phone out; he rapidly typed up a synopsis, then handed the device to Cross to read.

“This…” Cross shook his head. “This is pretty bad. Sludge is lucky he found you when he did. If he’d already lost as much mass as you claim, he was at high risk of going into shock, which would have gotten him killed.”

Izuku’s face twisted at the confirmation of just how close he’d been to losing Ekikyō, and he tightened his grip on the pleather cushion atop the exam table. Cross returned his phone then conducted a thorough exam, frowning as he shone a light in Izuku’s mouth.

“I can get you something for the nausea and pain. As soon as you feel up to it, you’ll want to start eating again, liquids only until your digestive tract is fully healed. You’re both going to need a lot of nutrients while recovering. Call out sick tomorrow if you can; skip if you can’t. You don’t need any other injuries upsetting both of your systems,” he said, pointedly looking down at Izuku’s bruised and scratched-up leg.

Izuku rubbed at the back of his neck. He was limping when he walked in, wasn’t he? He’d forgotten about the bruises and scrapes on his leg with how the pain in his stomach and throat overpowered it. Oh…and he was wearing his middle school uniform. They could figure out where he went to school if they really wanted. It was a good thing he’d already established Cross and Cheshire as trustworthy.

Thinking about school made Izuku grimace. Staying home to heal was definitely the safest choice. After Izuku nodded his agreement, the doctor said, “And come back here tomorrow evening. I want to check you both over once Ekikyō is awake. You appear stable enough for now, but if anything, and I mean anything, is wrong or you start feeling worse, get back here sooner.”

After that admonishment, Cheshire brought Cross two glass bottles. Cross prepared an injection of each and gestured for Izuku to lay down. The anti-nausea injection went in the muscle of his butt, much to Izuku’s embarrassment. It also stung like the dickens. The other injection, Cross almost seemed hesitant to give. “This is not something I’d normally give you,” he finally said, tapping the syringe as Izuku gingerly sat up. “But even if you have a high pain tolerance, the idea of you suffering through this sort of injury until Sludge can numb it for you doesn’t sit right with me. You will need to hurry home after I give it, because it can make you sleepy or loopy.”

When Izuku nodded his understanding, Cross motioned for the boy to give him his arm. Izuku did, watching with interest as the underground doctor’s eyes glowed with his quirk. He cleaned a patch of skin on the inside of his forearm and slid the needle beneath his skin with one fluid motion. A bit of red-black blood flushed back into the syringe before Cross slowly pressed the plunger.

Izuku could feel the medication when it hit, making his vision fuzz and blur for a few blinks. Oh, that…that felt a lot better. Izuku hadn’t realized how hunched over he’d been on the exam table until he could straighten up without pain lancing through his insides. There was a distant twinge, but it might as well have not been there compared to the pain of before. The mussiness clawing to the edges of his thoughts reminded him of the medication he’d taken when Kacchan burned him. This was going to knock him out pretty soon, wasn’t it?

“Alright, off you go, and keep your wits about you on the way home. If a hero chased Sludge here, they’ll have alerted others. Just because they’re looking for him doesn’t mean they won’t be concerned if they notice a drugged teenager.”

Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from snorting or giggling. He grinned and waved to Cheshire and Cross as he shouldered his backpack. He swayed dangerously before finding his balance. He’d about steadied himself by the time he made it out into the alley. If walking normally took far more of his concentration than normal, no one he passed seemed to notice.

His mother was home today, and her smile fell as she took in Izuku’s disheveled appearance. “Sweetie?”

“H-hi, mom,” Izuku said, voice crackling. Izuku tried to clear his throat, but the slime now completely coating his damaged esophagus and mouth didn’t budge. “Think I got food poisoning. Or the flu. I got really sick about the time classes finished.”

“Oh, Izuku…” Mom rushed over to press the back of her hand to his forehead. “You do feel a bit warm. Do you think you could eat anything?”

Izuku grimaced and shook his head. Cross had warned him it might take a while for the nausea med to kick in. He wasn’t about to chance it until he was sure anything he ate wouldn’t come right back up. A little water might be nice though. “Water? Or that one soda?” There was this one brand of lemon-lime soda that seemed to do wonders for nausea. His mom jokingly kept a bottle of it and a can of chicken noodle soup in their medicine cabinet for flu season.

“Sure, sweetie. Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll bring you some.”

He’d just finished changing into his pajamas when his mom delivered a cup each of soda and water. The unspoken directions were to not drink any of the soda until it had gone mostly flat. He carefully sipped his water in the meantime. Most of the drink didn’t make it far before it got absorbed by the slime coating everything. But that was fine; they were both rehydrating either way. By the time he’d finished his drinks, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He was asleep practically the moment he slid into bed.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Izuku woke groggy and realized abruptly upon sitting up that Cross’s second injection had worn off. He quietly whined and doubled over at the sudden stab of pain through his midsection. After several careful breaths, Izuku uncurled enough to slip from his bed to sit on the floor. He’d kept his leftover pain meds from the burn incident, but he’d stashed them under his bed with his vigilante costume and extensive first aid kit.

He paused and listened for a minute. The apartment was quiet, and the amount of sunlight outside told him his mom was at work by now. Which meant she’d likely called him out of school and turned off his phone alarm. Or Izuku had just slept through it. Either one was perfectly fine in his book.

Once assured no one was going to walk in on him, he hooked his fingers under the lip of the box holding his medical supplies and tugged it out. He’d just fished the prescription bottle out of the bottom of the box when his hand stopped moving on its own. Izuku blinked a few times, then turned his mental focus inward. “Ekikyō?”

A quiet groan answered him. “Put that stuff away. Makes me feel sick.”

Izuku grinned as he felt slime shift through his body, albeit more sluggishly than usual. His stomach, throat, and mouth numbed moments later. Then he really thought about Ekikyō’s words. “Then why’d you possess me before when I was on them?”

“Because we were going to sleep it off anyway.”

Izuku had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he decided not to call his friend out when he was already under the weather. Instead, he set the bottle back in the box and mentally leaned against Ekikyō, not with the intent to put him to sleep again but to let him know he was there and relieved his best friend was okay. “Think you feel up to eating something? Cross wants us to stick to liquids until my stomach’s in better shape, but I know we have some soup.”

Ekikyō leaned back on Izuku, not quite overlapping, but thoughts flowed more easily. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m pretty low on energy.”

Izuku nodded and stood up slowly, half-expecting his stomach to hurt again. It didn’t, but he felt some of the slime shift again. He sent Ekikyō an impression of a question.

“Still a little bit of sand in here. Should be able to get it out now if you want to head for the bathroom.”

There was still sand? This was like that one kid with the glitter in preschool all over again. He was never going to be free of it, was he? Ekikyō chuckled in their head at the thought, and Izuku counted that as a win.

Izuku made for the toilet, expecting another puking session, but Ekikyō shook their head. “Nah, not enough for that. May I?”

Izuku slid aside and let Ekikyō have control, though he did steady their body when it started trembling. Did Ekikyō not have enough mass for full control? Did the amount of slime present affect that? Maybe it was more of an exhaustion thing? Izuku’s train of thought abruptly cut off as slime welled in their throat, and Ekikyō paused their breathing. Ekikyō spat a glob of slime into their cupped hands. The living slime started absorbing back through Izuku’s skin, leaving a small mound of damp sand and dead slime in their palms.

They made a face at the mess before dumping it in the trashcan. Without using words, they both agreed they weren’t going anywhere near the beach for a while. After rinsing their mouth out to get rid of a few grainy hangers-on and taking a long drink, they headed for the kitchen.

Izuku’s mom had left a note and the can of chicken noodle soup on the counter. There was also a fresh package of miso paste in the fridge, as well as the rest of that soda. After some deliberation, they turned on the stove and set water to heat in a pot while setting the chicken noodle soup to heat over another burner. They downed the rest of the soda while waiting.

Once that first bit of sugar was absorbed, they realized just how hungry they were. The chicken noodle soup went next while the miso paste dissolved into a bowl of hot water. Izuku nearly downed all the broth in one go before staring longingly at the noodles and chunks of chicken left in the bottom of the bowl. He definitely couldn’t do solids yet; both of them knew it. But Ekikyō could digest things before they ever reached Izuku’s stomach.

Conceding that point, Izuku tipped the bowl back to get a mouthful of noodles and chicken. The slime already coating his mouth did the rest. New system worked out, they decimated the miso soup too before just putting a spoonful of miso paste in their mouth. As they looked around the fridge for what else they could reasonably eat, Izuku had a thought. “Ekikyō, do your mutation or quirk require anything special in your diet?”

“Not that I know of? My mom complained about how much I loved meat though when I was growing up.”

“So, maybe a higher protein requirement? That makes sense. Probably a higher water need too considering how much soup we just drank.”

Izuku grabbed one of his protein bars and started chewing before Ekikyō locked their jaw. “Stop that. You’re really messed up, and you’re just wrecking your gums more. I got it.”

Izuku mentally pouted a bit while Ekikyō finished off the bar. “Think that’ll hold us for now? We can swing by the store for some sports drinks and jelly pouches later. The pouches are pretty energy-dense if I recall right.” Ekikyō didn’t say anything for several moments, and Izuku sent him a brief impression of concern.

Ekikyō mentally nudged him before withdrawing a bit. He sighed. “Kid, I need to apologize for yesterday. I…I made a stupid mistake and you’ve been paying for it. You almost really paid for it.”

Izuku wasn’t sure what his best friend was apologizing for. Yeah, that wasn’t a great situation, but they both made it out. “You were having a panic attack. I didn’t expect it to be a smooth possession.” Izuku thought about just how panicked his friend had been, how much slime was falling off, cells dead—ground up or suffocated by sand. “And I’d do it again. Snatch would have killed you if I did nothing. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if that happened.”

“No, Izuku, you don’t get it. You can’t see what you look like in here. Do you know how bad a stomach rupture is? Because you almost had that.”

That…didn’t make sense. It had hurt, sure, but it hadn’t hurt that bad. How…?

“Izuku, your scale of pain severity is screwed to hell and back. Think of it this way: you have such a pain tolerance from years of abuse—ah! What’s happening at that sham of a school is abuse, and you know it!—that anytime pain actually bothers you, it’s at least ten times worse than you think it is.”

Izuku frowned, thinking of Mamoru, Cross, and Cheshire’s responses when he’d been hurt. “So…”

“Yeah, those times were actually bad, and yes they care about you. Aside from that Bakugo brat and myself, you have excellent taste in friends.”

“Hey! I thought we had a rule against self-deprecation!” Izuku called out, mentally pointing a finger at Ekikyō.

“That was self-harm, and it was for you, kid, not me,” Ekikyō teased.

Izuku stuck his tongue out. “Well, I think mental self-harm should count, and you don’t get to get away with it either.” Izuku’s somewhat joking mood faded as he continued, “Don’t compare yourself to Kacchan. He’s…” Izuku struggled for words for a minute. After months and months with an actual friend, an actual best friend, Izuku could see now that Kacchan may never have been his. Certainly not since he was diagnosed. “He’s hurt me for years…on purpose and never apologized. You’ve only hurt me that first time and then once or twice on accident. And you apologized! You’re a much better friend—a better person, even—than him.”

“Even if he’s going to be a ‘hero’, and I’m a villain?” Ekikyō asked quietly.

Even thinking about it pained Izuku, but the more he dared to, the more he knew it was true. “Heroes aren’t always good people, and…maybe ‘villains’ aren’t always bad guys.”

“…Dammit. I’m corrupting the sunshine child,” Ekikyō said with fake dismay.

Izuku couldn’t even pretend not to notice the fondness in their shared mental space as he laughed. When he stopped to breathe, a yawn slipped out. He blushed a little and scratched his scalp. “I guess we do need more sleep with both of us healing. Nap now, and shop before Mom gets home?”

Ekikyō hummed and settled, radiating contentment. Izuku rolled his eyes and set the last bowl on the drying rack. A few minutes later, both of them were once more huddled in bed, sound asleep.

This pattern of excessive eating and sleeping continued most of the day, only interrupted by their short trip to the store and Izuku’s mom returning and prepping dinner. Izuku still couldn’t talk much—moreso due to numbness than pain now—but he assured his mother that he was feeling better.

That was the truth too. By the time they convinced Izuku’s mom to let them go out for a walk and some fresh air they were both feeling a lot better. Still not great or normal, but better. Cross seemed to agree with their assessment too, though the near-miss on a stomach rupture worried him. He extracted a promise from them to stay possessed as long as possible for healing purposes (for both of them; he theorized that the healing boost worked both ways) and to come by the clinic before they split in case one or the other got into trouble during the process or immediately after. That was easy enough to promise.

They ended up staying home the next day too, mostly because Ekikyō threatened to murder anyone who even thought about punching Izuku in the stomach when he wasn’t half-healed yet. Izuku didn’t even feel bad asking his mom to call him out again. He still couldn’t talk or eat much anyway, and dealing with teachers and classmates sounded like even more of a pain than usual. So, they spent the second day much the same as the first with the addition of a few movies and one or the other occasionally doing a memory share to pass the time. Izuku was excited to show Ekikyō the progress he’d made in his training. Ekikyō in turn showed him interesting quirks and sights he’d run across during whatever business he was up to. That sparked off more than a few quirk analysis rambles.

They could only avoid Aldera for so long though. They thankfully reached a compromise of sorts before heading back. Izuku wore his armored shirt under his uniform and a medical mask. He and Ekikyō periodically coughed—Ekikyō even made a few of them sound phlegmy!—in hopes that his bullies would leave him alone to avoid catching his bug. It…mostly worked, and the few people who bothered him did so at a safe distance. Comments and spider lilies were pretty tame for his first day back.

The days after got progressively worse, and all too soon Izuku was back to narrowly dodging beatings when classes let out. Izuku and Ekikyō were starting to get pretty good at moving in sync with each other to boost their running speed, though they couldn’t manage it for very long due to their increased oxygen demand. After school, they mostly ate and rested again. They felt better each day, but the constant healing had their stamina shot.

Izuku did not go to training with Ciupan during this time, not because he didn’t feel well enough after the first few days, but because he didn’t trust the man with Ekikyō present. He decided he might just trust Eraserhead though. Plus, he had no way of contacting the hero to warn him he’d been sick all week. He’d have to tell him in person or risk the man thinking he’d skipped for some trivial reason. He really didn’t want to give Eraserhead a reason to drop their lessons.

So, he arrived on the coffeeshop rooftop at 10:58, later than usual, because he didn’t feel up to testing his new-ish parkour skills and jarring his still-healing stomach. (His mouth was better at this point, but a protective coating of slime and numbness still clung to his throat and stomach.)

Eraserhead was already there, as per usual. “Cutting it a bit close tonight, Naisho?”

Izuku was still breathing heavily from the climb up to the roof. “If I had…a way to contact you, I wouldn’t have…come at all tonight. I’ve been recovering from being sick…all week. Sitting at about…”

“75%”

“75% right now. Stamina’s still shot, but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate the training.”

Eraserhead frowned and motioned for them to sit. “You could have just had Ciupan contact me.”

Izuku sat down against Eraserhead’s favorite AC unit and pulled a jelly pouch from his pocket to sip. “Didn’t think of that. I’d been avoiding him this week.”

“You two have a fight?” Eraserhead asked before sitting beside him. He left a gap between them, but if Ekikyō wasn’t visiting today, the company would have been appreciated.

“Not really…” Izuku poked Ekikyō to make sure one last time that introductions were still okay.

“Just rip the band-aid off already.”

“I’ll tell you, but I need you to promise not to use your quirk on me tonight first,” Izuku said without looking at the hero. If he tried using Erasure, the only exposed part of Ekikyō was the film of slime over their eyes anyway. In theory, avoiding eye contact should be protection enough.

“I promise?” Eraserhead said, sounding a touch confused.

Izuku took a deep breath and glanced at Eraser’s hair hanging around his shoulders. He kept an eye on it without looking up enough to see the man’s face. “Remember my friend I told you about? They’re visiting today.”

“What? Why am I a ‘they’? Thought I made it pretty clear I’m a ‘he.’”

“Trying to keep your identity anonymous here.”

“Oh.”

Eraserhead shifted a little, but his hair stayed down. “The one with the possession quirk?”

Izuku nodded.

“Huh. Never would have guessed without you telling me. You don’t look any different. Is that wise though, with you getting over being sick?”

Izuku grinned and finally dared to lift his head enough to meet Eraserhead’s eyes. “Yeah, we’re good. Normally neither of us get sick at all—a side effect of their quirk—but there were extenuating circumstances this time. Should be fine in a few more days.”

“Hm. That’s good to hear.” After a moment’s silence, the hero asked, “So, that’s why you don’t want me to use Erasure?”

“Yeah, neither of us is quite sure how that would work, but there’s a decent chance it might kill me or both of us if you interrupted the possession. You know, considering their body’s condensed and meshed with mine at the moment.”

Eraserhead grimaced. “Yeah, I’m not going to use it on you while you’re together. Just let me know if this ever happens when we’re on patrol. Don’t want to accidentally catch you both in the crossfire during a fight.”

“Sure thing! I actually have an idea for a piece of not-quite support equipment for when they’re with me. It’ll make it pretty obvious if you know to look for it.”

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes. “Problem Child…”

“It’s not to do with their quirk, really! So, it’s not even illegal! It’s just that we both need oxygen separately, and together, we still need more than me solo. And it’s not like I’m going to whack someone over the head with an oxygen concentrator. Those are expensive.”

Eraserhead lifted his goggles to rub his eyes. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that and that the bug you’re getting over affected your lungs. Obviously, you’d need an oxygen concentrator after that for high-intensity activities.”

Ekikyō laughed with their body and smiled his trademark smile. “You get it! Oh, I’m the friend, by the way.” He waved, and Izuku rolled his eyes in their mind.

Eraserhead gave them a look Izuku couldn’t quite parse. “So, you can both perceive the world around you, and you take turns in control?”

Ekikyō shrugged. “We usually share pretty evenly when we’re not around certain people. Naisho’s rolling his eyes at me right now, but he could oust me from the driver’s seat if he really wanted to.”

Eraserhead raised an eyebrow “And what should I call you?”

Ekikyō froze for a second. “Uh…You can call me Gokaku? Yeah, that works.”

“Gokaku, really?” Izuku asked, stifling mental laughter.

“Oh, shut it. He put me on the spot! What was I supposed to say? And the way jade pieces fit together in sculptures is cool.”

“Huh, you know, your slime is pretty close to the color of jade lately.”

“Yeah, why do you think I found it so cool as a kid?”

“Gokaku. Got it.” Eraserhead stood up and pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. He scrawled something on a page and tore it out. “It was nice meeting you, but you two should probably go rest if you’re still recovering. We can pick this back up next week. This is my number if you ever need to reach me in the future. Only use it for emergencies. Especially for the next two weeks; I’ve got entrance exams to prepare for.”

“I won’t abuse it, sensei,” Izuku said, taking the slip and entering the number in his burner phone. He sent off a quick message to give Eraserhead his number. “And what entrance exams?”

“I teach at UA, Problem Child. I’m one of the judges for the heroics practical. I should have a say in what kids I’m forced to teach next year, right?”

“You work at UA?! Why didn’t you ever say so? Oh, wow. It makes sense why you’re such a good teacher now. I—” Ekikyō locked their jaw shut just in time to prevent him from saying out loud “I’m planning on going there.”

Izuku coughed. “Thanks for the save.” “Sorry about that. Got something caught in my throat. UA’s pretty cool. I hope the exams go well.”

Eraserhead looked a bit skeptical. “Sure. Good luck with your recovery and schooling too.”

“Oh, could you send me those pictures of Maneki? My copilot hasn’t gotten to see her yet.”

“Sure, kid. Now go home. Your homework until next week is finding a local CPR class to get certified. Not very physically intensive, but still life-saving to know.”

“Roger that,” Izuku said, giving a lazy salute as Eraserhead leapt from the roof.

As they started the trek home, Izuku asked, “Why didn’t you just tell him your name was Ekikyō?”

“Why on earth would I give a hero my real name?”

“That’s your real name?” Izuku was pretty sure his heart melted a little. He didn’t think Ekikyō trusted him that much at the beginning. He’d been proven wrong. “I thought you just gave me a made-up name.”

“Nope, that’s the real deal. Not giving you my surname though. Plausible deniability and all that.”

Izuku snorted and mentally leaned on his friend. Ekikyō leaned right back. “I don't think that's how plausible deniability works, Ekikyō, but I appreciate the thought.”

Chapter Text

Today was the eighth day, and Izuku and Ekikyō were both nervous. Neither of them was completely healed, but their time was up. So, they headed straight for the clinic after changing out of their school uniform.

They had the pleasant surprise of running into Monitor when they arrived. The guy had freely admitted to working night shifts in one of the city’s emergency rooms the first time they talked, and he occasionally did relief work on top of that. When his busy schedule allowed, he covered daytime shifts at the underground clinic for Cross and Cheshire. Cheshire and Cross alternated nights at the clinic. If an emergency came in, whoever was on duty called whoever was out. During the day, their hours were more variable, though Izuku didn’t know for sure if they had “normal” jobs too.

Izuku and Ekikyō exchanged pleasantries with Monitor, but after he left for his real job, their anxiety returned with a vengeance. They sat and fidgeted in the waiting room while Cross finished with his current patient. Cheshire kept using her quirk on them, but the moment she let up on it, there were the nerves again.

Finally, Dabi walked out of the exam room with all visible staples shiny and new. (How many were there for it to have taken over an hour to replace them?) Izuku perked up and waved. Dabi gave him a half-grin and waved back. “Your advice was good, Green. Keep it up.”

“The blowtorch analogy worked?” Izuku asked excitedly.

“Yeah. Still have to be careful and do small bursts, but it gets the job done. Haven’t had much luck on dialing down the temperature though.”

“I was worried about that,” Izuku admitted. Dabi’s genetics were against him there. “Sorry, I couldn’t help more.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it. You doing okay?” Dabi nodded at Izuku’s left shoulder.

“Yeah,” Izuku said, resting a hand over the burn scar. “No more incidents like that. Pretty sure my friends will murder the guy if he ever does it again.”

Dabi snorted. “Sign me up for that hunting party. Sounds like fun.” He glanced at Cheshire when he said the last part.

Cheshire beamed. “Of course, honey. Anyone who inflicts a burn like that deserves to feel one themselves.”

Izuku whined and covered his face with his hands. “Guys…”

Ekikyō laughed at him and mentally ruffled his hair. “Let us be protective. You’re worth protecting.” Izuku started to protest, but Ekikyō stopped him. “What did you say about self-deprecation a few days ago?”

Izuku sighed and stood to walk into Cross’s office, trying to ignore the possible Kacchan murder plot going on in the lobby.

Cross was waiting for them and motioned them over to the exam table. “I’m going to do a quick scan; then you two can separate.” After they’d nodded, Cross got to work, spending more time scrutinizing their torso than anything else. He seemed a bit pensive when he deactivated his quirk, but told them to go ahead and de-possess.

Izuku and Ekikyō’s nerves spiked. This was it. One last internal hug and Ekikyō slipped from Izuku’s mind. They went through their usual routine, though the process went quicker due to Ekikyō’s decreased mass. He had built some of it back up, but he was still significantly reduced. He didn’t seem to be going into shock existing on his own though, which had been the main worry for him. Izuku for his part, could feel his stomach for the first time in days, and he was surprised to find it still hurting. It was more of a constant ache than the stabbing pain he’d endured while Ekikyō was unconscious though. So, that was a definite improvement.

The doctor checked Ekikyō over quickly before moving on to Izuku. The usual exam followed with a few add-ons. The man gently applied pressure to various points on Izuku’s abdomen, and Izuku told him if there was any pain. There was around his stomach, but everything else seemed to be fine. Then the doctor used his quirk again. After several minutes, Cross was satisfied.

“Your stomach’s not where I’d like it to be in terms of recovery, but I suppose it can’t be helped. You’ll need to be careful for at least the next week. Eat small, frequent, bland meals. Nothing spicy, particularly rough—like granola—or heavily seasoned. And no taking hits to the chest or abdomen if you can avoid it. If you do get hit, come here as soon as possible for a quick check-up.”

“So, keep wearing my armor under my school uniform, avoid bullies, and no sparring practice,” Izuku summarized. “Got it.”

Cross turned to Ekikyō then. “Regaining your lost mass should be fairly straightforward. Lots of good quality food and rest. I’d lay low for a bit too if I were you.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ekikyō said, rolling his eyes.

“Green, you should come back in another week just to be safe. Otherwise, you’re both free to go.”

“Thanks again, doc. I owe you for this one,” Ekikyō said.

Izuku meanwhile checked to make sure the lobby was empty. Dabi had left thankfully, and Cheshire was off somewhere else. Sighing in relief, Izuku held the door open for Ekikyō to flow past. “That experiment was a bust, huh?” Izuku asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ekikyō hummed. “Yeah, but now we know I can safely make it at least six weeks after a long possession. Could be useful if your family ever goes on vacation.”

Izuku shook his head. “You know how much Mom loves her work. We haven’t gone on a vacation in years.” And the last one they had been on had been with the Bakugos. Not exactly a fond memory for Izuku.

“Hey, at least it gives you plenty of time to study.” Ekikyō looked off into space, thinking for a moment. “Your entrance exams will probably happen before I can make it back to visit. So, good luck, kid, not that you need it with your brain.” He held up a slime tendril.

It took Izuku a moment to figure out Ekikyō wanted a fist bump. He grinned and returned it. Except he bumped a little too hard, and his fist kinda sank into the slime tendril. Oops.

Ekikyō laughed and used that leverage to pull Izuku into a hug instead. Izuku blinked a few times and returned the hug to the best of his ability. (Where was he supposed to put his hands when the other person was amorphous?) “And just remember, even if you’re not going to be a hero officially, you’re already my hero.”

Okay, that was unfair. Now Izuku was going to cry. He bit down on his half-formed retorts and hugged Ekikyō a bit tighter. “You too, Ekikyō,” Izuku murmured, meaning every word. Izuku wasn’t sure where he’d be without his best friend right now, but he knew it would have been a much darker place (if anywhere). He didn’t know if he’d have been able to pull himself together and find another way to help people, another dream to work toward. Izuku released Ekikyō to rub at his eyes. “Stay safe out there. I don’t think I’m ready to plot my first revenge yet,” he added jokingly.

“We’ll get you there one day,” Ekikyō said between laughs. He ruffled Izuku’s hair with a tendril, leaving a bit of slime stuck in the curly mass. Izuku shot him an exasperated look, but Ekikyō was already slipping out the door. Izuku sighed and ran his hand slowly through his hair, letting the slime cling to his fingers and sink under his skin.

---

Things returned to normal after that, though Izuku warned his mentors about his continued restrictions when he started training again. The vigilante and underground hero were understanding, if a tad suspicious about the specific ban on torso hits. Most illnesses didn’t come with that as a recovery stipulation. Izuku knew that his story had holes in it, but he definitely wasn’t going to tell them the truth. Thankfully, neither of them pressed him on the issue.

Instead of sparring, Ciupan worked him hard on learning to use grappling hooks while Izuku finished healing. Eraserhead took him on a few light patrols on the weekends—mostly comforting the victims and giving first aid while Eraserhead mopped the floor with whatever thug was responsible. Izuku didn’t see him during the week due to studying for the UA entrance exam.

A week before the test date, Izuku got a package with his UA guest badge and instructions on what room to report to for his written test…and his…heroics practical? Izuku read the paper over and over, unable to make sense of it. Then realization struck him like a lightning bolt. “I never un-signed up for the heroics test!”

Izuku scrambled to boot up his laptop. He needed to email Principle Nezu and straighten this out pronto. He couldn’t be a hero. Izuku’s finger hovered over the “send” button. He bit his lip. He couldn’t be a hero, but…he saved Maneki, and he’d saved Ekikyō…

There was no harm in trying, right? Just confirming what he already knew, really. And it wasn’t like he could get the registration fee back this late in the game. There was no real point in withdrawing from the practical, was there?

Izuku moved his cursor and clicked, deleting the drafted email.

Izuku let out a long breath. Really, he shouldn’t be so worked up over this. Cross had cleared him for normal physical activity a few days ago; so, he could compete. And it was just a test for heroics. It had no bearing on whether or not he got into the Analysis Course. What was the worst that could happen?

---

It turned out the worst was being seated next to Kacchan in the auditorium while they received the practical instructions from Present Mic. Really, the hero just covered the same points that were listed in the brochure they’d all been given walking in, but there was one thing in the brochure that was bothering him. Present Mic hadn’t said anything about what outside gear was allowed in the testing center, but the brochure went into detail on what was and wasn’t permitted. There was a lot listed there, but Izuku didn’t see anything about outsourced quirk effects.

After the most embarrassing call-out Izuku had ever experienced courtesy of a blue-haired boy with glasses, he was a nervous wreck as he approached Present Mic at the front of the auditorium. The hero beamed when he spotted Izuku and asked, “Anything I can help you with, Little Listener?”

“Um…I was curious what the policy on outside quirks with lingering effects is. My friend has a quirk that gives a target an immune boost and slightly accelerated healing for a few weeks after they use it. They used it on me two weeks ago.”

Present Mic gave a thoughtful hum and rested his chin in his hand. “That is a tricky one, Little Listener. That doesn’t come up often, but we usually run a quick blood test to check for performance enhancers to be safe. You’d be surprised what people try to slip by the judges. As long as that test comes up negative you should be a-okay. If you follow me, I’ll show you to the infirmary. Recovery Girl can run your sample while the practical’s happening and give you the result before you head home.”

Izuku woodenly followed Present Mic, mind whirring a million kilometers per hour. It made sense, but the idea of a blood test left Izuku nauseated. If they took his blood, they’d see the slime in it. They’d check his file, and they’d know he’d continued having contact with the Sludge Villain. All the heroes had to do then was have Izuku put under house arrest or followed until Ekikyō made an appearance. Everything would be ruined, and Izuku had no way to warn Ekikyō before he returned.

Izuku didn’t find an answer by the time they reached the infirmary, but he let out a silent breath of relief when Recovery Girl was nowhere to be seen. Present Mic clapped a hand on his (good) shoulder and pointed him toward a chair. “Take a seat. I’ll go get her. Should just be a minute.”

Izuku nodded mutely and twiddled his thumbs until the door clicked shut after the hero’s exit. Then Izuku was on the move. He eyed the air vents before deciding they weren’t worth the risk. He needed to get off campus now, and he suspected UA’s diminutive principle was both familiar with the vents and well aware of their potential security risk. Izuku didn’t want to find out what defense measures had been put in place.

There was the window though…Izuku glanced out of the closest window and gauged the two-story drop. Not fatal, but could injure. He slid the window open to get a better look outside and realized there was a tree a little further down the building. Izuku slid that window shut and snuck into the adjacent patient room after checking if it was empty. Perfect! There was another window, and it should be within range of the tree.

Izuku slung his duffle bag across his chest and tightened the strap to keep it from shifting and throwing him off-balance. Then he defenestrated himself.

---

Izuku was still running on adrenaline by the time he made it home. He actually didn’t quite remember the trip back. Had he run the whole way? Taken the train? He had no idea, but it was hard to catch his breath all of a sudden. And why was the room spinning? He…he should probably sit down.

Once he was in the safety of his bedroom, he did just that, sinking to the floor with his back pressed against his door. He put his head between his knees and just breathed. He was home; he was safe. UA hadn’t found out. Oh fuck, how suspicious had he looked jumping out of a window to avoid a blood test?!

He nearly descended into another panic attack at that thought. Had he just ruined his one shot at getting into UA at all? Hero program aside—his once dream wasn’t worth compromising his now best friend—UA was his only shot at a maybe decent school. They were very outspoken about their anti-bullying policies. Sure, other high schools “had” those too, but those schools also had entire forum subsections composed of rejected applicants and disgruntled students, almost all with mutant or villainous quirks or quirkless. UA didn’t have that; the worst he’d been able to find was a forum of people who’d all been expelled by an Aizawa-sensei.

Izuku couldn’t let this chance slip away. He staggered to his feet and made for his desk and laptop. Once it had booted up, Izuku pulled up the email from Nezu. He hesitated again, wondering if he’d make things worse by doing this. He was about to start typing when he got a notification of another email received. It was from Nezu. Izuku hesitantly opened it.

“Greetings, Mr. Midoriya.
I am reaching out to you to see if you are well. You missed your heroics practical, and upon further investigation, executed a rather impressive jump from a window in the infirmary. You appeared quite distressed while doing so too. I’m afraid I cannot offer you a makeup practical, but don’t fret overly much. I cannot give you your score until official placements are released, but I can assure you your written test and portfolio were a joy to read.
Am I bear, a mouse, or a dog?
-Principal Nezu”

Izuku groaned and ran a hand down his face. Of course, Nezu saw what he did. On a second and third read-through, Izuku decided the chimera sounded concerned more than anything. Then again, he was an extremely intelligent creature; he very well could be putting up a front to get information. Izuku chewed on his lip as he opened a reply email. He’d err on the side of caution here. Just like Ekikyō said: no outright lying but vague enough for them to make their own conclusions.

“Good afternoon, Principal Nezu.
I apologize for my unorthodox exit. I kinda panicked when Present Mic-sensei mentioned me getting my blood drawn. I don’t do well with hospitals, or anything medical really. I’d honestly been thinking about withdrawing my application for the heroics course. So, I’m not too broken up over missing the practical. I think I’m more suited for analysis than hero work anyway.
Sorry for causing you concern.
-Midoriya Izuku”

Izuku closed out of his email and turned to his many forums. He’d just spent several hours cut off from the internet for his entrance exam and subsequent breakdown. Surely some interesting hero/villain fight had happened in that time. He could really use the distraction about now.

It took some searching to find an incident that really captured his attention, but once he did, he sank into analysis mode with abandon. His anxieties slipped to the back burner and stayed there as he finished analyzing that event and moved on to another and another. On the fifth hero/villain confrontation, Izuku jolted out of his hyperfocused state. Something about this villain’s quirk seemed familiar. Maybe they were a repeat offender or had a relative who’d been arrested recently? Revenge was a powerful motivator.

Oh! That’s what it was. Ekikyō talked about a quirk just like this on one of his visits. Izuku watched with rapt attention, comparing their quirk use to his analysis. This was a great opportunity to check his accuracy. It wasn’t often he got to study a quirk he’d roughly worked out.

The villain was just as difficult to combat as Izuku’d expected from the description Ekikyō had given him of their light-bending quirk. They could effectively make themselves invisible or make it look like they were several feet to the side, which ruined the hero’s aim with their quirk. (It appeared to be something ranged, an energy-based attack of some sort?)

The hero’s attack passed through the villain’s displaced image yet again, nearly hitting bystanders at the outskirts of the fight. Izuku tensed. That hero needed to get backup and tag out. If their quirk was energy-based like he suspected, there was a chance that the villain could control the hero’s shots. He’d said as much to Ekikyō. It all depended on where the villain’s quirk drew the line between energy and light—and if such a distinction existed at all. It was entirely possible that the villain’s quirk was broader than they realized. So many stopped experimenting with their quirks once they thought they knew everything.

Izuku hissed as that hypothesis proved true. One of the hero’s attacks passed close enough to the villain’s actual body to get caught in their quirk. Faster than a blink the attack did a U-turn and crashed into the hero, sending him tumbling. The fight continued with the hero on the back foot until another hero finally arrived on-scene: Mirko. With her enhanced hearing, the villain’s illusions were rendered useless. One solid kick to the chest dispelled the villain’s quirk and left the villain gasping for air on the pavement.

Izuku sat back in his chair and exhaled. He’d actually been pretty spot on with his analysis. He needed to add opponents with enhanced non-visual senses to that quirk’s weakness list. But everything Izuku had theorized had proven right. It was kinda refreshing seeing someone utilize their quirk so well, even if they were a villain. Izuku didn’t mind the affirmation of his skills either.

Chapter Text

The week spent waiting for his exam results seemed to simultaneously drag on and speed by for Izuku. Schoolwork and training with Ciupan kept Izuku busy enough to not dwell on what-ifs. And there was Kacchan to deal with. His streak of ignoring Izuku had broken. Apparently, Izuku showing up to the UA heroics exam was an unforgivable sin. The blonde glared holes in the side of Izuku’s head anytime he wasn’t taking notes, and the insults and…suicide baiting were back. Maybe Kacchan wasn’t so happy he’d survived his kidnapping and possession as Izuku had thought.

Kacchan didn’t directly hurt Izuku though, which was a nerve-wracking change of pace. Izuku worried that it would only last so long before Kacchan snapped and hurt him again. Each time his ex-friend burnt his school supplies or shoulder checked him, Izuku’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch, thinking this would be the time. Izuku wondered if this was what playing Russian Roulette felt like. Knowing you’d eventually get hurt but not knowing when. Izuku almost wished Kacchan would just get it over with. The anticipation was slowly killing him.

By the end of the week, Izuku was an anxious wreck. Unable to bear sitting still a minute longer, Izuku headed out early. He parkoured across rooftops, reveling in the movement and faint burn of muscles still recovering from his sick week. Izuku beat Eraserhead to their meet-up spot for the first time ever and used the time for some cooldown stretches. When the hero did turn up, Izuku wondered if maybe the man should have stayed home. Eraserhead’s eyebags were more pronounced than ever, and he seemed extra done with life.

“You okay, Eraser?” Izuku asked as the hero slumped against the rooftop AC unit, cradling his favorite cup of poison. Seriously, how could anyone drink something with that much espresso in it?

Eraserhead gave Izuku a deadpan look. That was a “no” then. After downing half his death coffee, Eraserhead finally answered verbally, “This year’s class is going to give me grey hairs, I can feel it.”

Izuku winced in sympathy. “That bad, huh?”

“Two of them I know are going to give me headaches already,” Eraserhead said, setting his drink aside to massage his temples.

“We could take tonight off if you’re not up to training or patrolling,” Izuku suggested. It only seemed fair to offer, since Eraser had let him off the hook when he was sick and recovering.

The hero shook his head. “No, I think we’ll patrol tonight. Taking down a few criminals is decent stress relief.”

“Amen to that,” Izuku said, earning a snort from his teacher.

The pair remained on the rooftop long enough for Aizawa to finish his drink; then they set out. Tonight, Eraserhead led the way toward the warehouse district. Eraserhead’s patrol usually followed the edge of the district (the warehouses were too spaced apart to easily traverse, even with a capture weapon), only venturing in if he heard or saw a disturbance.

As they passed a familiar set of warehouses, Izuku bit his lip and glanced at Eraserhead. “Hey, Eraser?”

“What, Naisho?”

“Do you know of any underground healers or doctors? Asking for a friend.”

Eraserhead stopped in the middle of the roof they were running across and turned to stare Izuku down with narrowed eyes. “Kid, are you hurt?”

“No! I’m perfectly fine. Just curious…for future reference,” Izuku said. Wow, he really needed to get better at deflecting.

Eraser didn’t look like he believed Izuku. “No, I don’t know any off-the-books doctors, but if you ever need a doctor, I might be able to help. I do work at UA, and we have Recovery Girl.”

Izuku was a little touched. Suspicious, but touched. If he went to UA as Naisho, the chances of Nezu identifying him and connecting his two personas…well, Nezu was one of if not the smartest person in Japan. Izuku might pretend to be more confident as Naisho the vigilante, or even Green the analyst, but he wasn’t perfect. Nezu was sure to pick up on every little mistake Izuku made and was more than capable of connecting the dots.

On the upside, Izuku had confirmed that Eraserhead didn’t know about Cross and Cheshire’s clinic.

“Recovery Girl has such a cool quirk,” Izuku said, avoiding the topic of whether or not he’d ask for help. “And with it drawing on a target’s stamina instead of draining her own, she can treat so many people! She must have seen a lot of disaster relief work when she was younger. If she worked in conjunction with someone whose healing quirk used their own stamina to heal others, they could handle just about anything that could happen to a person. Except, well, cancer, but that’s hardly a concern with her working at a high school now. Actually, she’s worked at UA long enough that statistically, a few people with childhood cancers should have made their way through. I wonder if they have to have a special flag on their medical files to avoid the use of healing quirks—”

“Problem Child,” Eraserhead said a bit louder than normal.

Izuku flinched and clamped his mouth shut.

Eraserhead sighed. “Those are all excellent points, but you got off on a tangent, kid. We’re supposed to be patrolling. Now come on.”

Izuku flushed under the safety of darkness and followed his mentor soundlessly. There were frustratingly few incidents to intervene in tonight. Not that Izuku wished bad things to happen to others, but he kinda wished the criminals were idiot enough to try to commit their crimes in the middle of his and Eraserhead’s patrol. In the following hours, they stopped all of one mugging and caught a group of teenagers drinking behind a convenience store. Izuku definitely did not recognize one of the teens from his class; he just didn’t feel like talking—at all—while they waited for the cops to pick up the drunk hooligans.

Then, just before they called it quits for the night, Eraserhead got a call about a robbery in progress. They reached the electronics store as the three thieves were piling armloads of tech into the back of a very beaten-up car. Eraserhead jumped one criminal as he was opening the door to the driver’s seat, quickly eliminating him and the thieves’ means of transport. The other two barely had time to yell in surprise before Eraserhead lunged toward them.

Izuku made it down from the roof a few seconds later. He was getting quicker with his grappling hooks and rappelling, but he was a long way from being as expert or confident with them as Ciupan. So, by the time he made it down, the most expedient thing for him to do was ensure the first thief didn’t get back up. Izuku pulled a bundle of zip ties from a pocket of the cargo shorts he was wearing over his armor tonight and bound the guy’s feet and hands. For good measure, Izuku pocketed his keys too.

Izuku checked to make sure Eraserhead was still doing fine; one of the thieves had a mutant quirk that seemed to give him toughened (leathery?) skin and was giving the hero a workout. Judging that the man was fine for now, Izuku checked the getaway driver’s pockets for anything else interesting or potentially da—OH…

“Eraserhead, this guy has a gun!” Izuku called. He pulled his hoodie’s sleeve down over his hand before carefully removing the firearm from the back of the man’s pants. He set it on the pavement and kicked it underneath the car where the other thieves would (hopefully) have a hard time getting to it.

Eraserhead heeded the warning—that if one had a gun, the others might as well—and knocked the non-mutant out by hauling them forward with his capture weapon to meet a swift and brutal knee to the face. Izuku cringed at the sound of man’s nose breaking. He was out cold too, which meant Izuku needed to get him into the recovery position to prevent him from choking on his own blood. Eraserhead must have known too (of course he did; he was the freaking hero here), as he moved the fight with the mutant quirked thief away from his fallen companion.

Once they were a safe-ish distance away, Izuku dashed in and rolled the villain onto his side and positioned his limbs to keep him propped there. Izuku zip-tied him and checked him for weapons too, finding only a small pocketknife. There was also a packet of what Izuku was 95% sure were drugs of some sort. He set the drugs and pocketknife on the hood of the car and checked on Eraserhead again. He had the thug just about restrained. As Izuku watched, one last loop of capture weapon snagged the man’s legs. He went down hard and with several rather creative curses.

Izuku held up the zip ties, but Eraserhead shook his head. He wanted to keep the man completely secured until cops arrived; so, in the capture scarf he was staying. Izuku shrugged and put his zip ties back in his pocket.

“Gun’s under the car, and the second thief’s pocketknife and possible drugs are on the hood of the car. Oh! And here are the car keys,” Izuku said tossing the keys to the hero.

Eraserhead caught them in one hand while maintaining tension on his capture scarf with the other. “Good job, Problem Child. Nice execution of the recovery position too.” Izuku had modified it slightly to facilitate tying the guy up. So, it wasn’t textbook, but it worked. “If half of my students were as competent as you, I might actually enjoy teaching.”

Izuku blushed at the praise and waved his arms in front of him as he walked over to Eraser. “I’m just good at memorizing things. If your students spent one-on-one time with you too, I’m sure they’d do even better!”

Izuku couldn’t see Eraser’s eyes behind his goggles, but he had a feeling the man was rolling them. “They really wouldn’t. You’re good, kid. You pay attention and learn lessons the first time. You’re surprisingly respectful for a vigilante, and you understand the importance of following orders and delegating duties.”

Izuku felt like he might just combust if Eraserhead kept this up. (Part of Izuku laughed at the idea of him learning lessons the first time when it took him a decade to finally get that he couldn’t be a hero.)

The hero’s tone was a bit softer as he continued, “By now, you should know that I don’t say things I don’t mean, Naisho. If you ever decide to try doing this,” he said, nodding at the contained criminals. “In a more official capacity, I’d be happy to see you in my classroom someday.”

Izuku’s brain stopped working for a moment. Eraserhead didn’t lie; he was blunt to the point of bordering on rude. And sure, he occasionally utilized sarcasm—like that comment about not enjoying teaching—but Izuku was fairly confident in recognizing it after the last month. Eraserhead actually thought Izuku was a good student. The Eraserhead wanted Izuku for a student.

Something in Izuku’s chest broke just a little. His chance was already gone. Eraserhead thought he could handle being a hero student (at least, he did without knowing Izuku’s quirk status), and Izuku’d given up the heroics practical.

Izuku laughed. It was a wet, painful thing. “Hate to disappoint you, Eraserhead-sensei, but I can’t be your student at UA. I…I tried to take the heroics entrance exam, but…I-I couldn’t.” Izuku shook his head and resisted the urge to lift his goggles to swipe the tears from his eyes.

Eraserhead normally was pretty still, but when Izuku dared to look back up at him, he might as well have been a statue. “What.”

Izuku flinched, feeling terrible for disappointing his mentor. Oh no, what if that had been the hero’s plan the whole time, the reason he’d been so nice? To soften Izuku to the idea of attending a hero course and get him out of not-quite-illegal vigilante work? Now that Izuku had blown that idea apart, Eraserhead had no reason not to arrest him. Abort! Abort! “I-I tried. Sorry, sensei. It’s just not realistic for someone like me. Gotta go; bye!” Izuku bolted before the hero could process the words.

"Problem Child, wait! Get back here!"

Izuku didn’t listen. He knew Eraserhead was a responsible hero. He was duty-bound to stay with the three criminals he’d incapacitated—two of them unconscious as well—until police arrived on scene. His hero job was more important than a quirkless kid who’d blown any chance he might have had, and that wasn’t much of one.

(Izuku wondered what Eraserhead’s answer to his question would have been if he’d asked the underground hero instead of All Might.)

Chapter Text

Izuku avoided Eraserhead the rest of the weekend, making excuses over text and ignoring the hero’s responding questions. Izuku did give the man credit; he only asked them that night. He didn’t press after.

Izuku spent the days off exercising and running until his pulse drowned out his thoughts, helping out at the underground clinic, or burying his head in quirk analysis. His mom noticed his change in behavior and attempted to cheer him up, but every time she tried, Izuku couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t bother if she knew he was upset about the heroics exam, not the analytics one. She hadn’t believed in his dream since that doctor appointment ten years ago.

All he wanted was to be believed in, and now that he had it (from a hero who barely even knew him instead of his own mother) it was too late. He swallowed down his despondency and budding bitterness and excused himself. He spent more of his free time in the back room at the clinic and almost all of his home time in his bedroom after that.

Then the letter arrived.

Izuku insisted on opening it alone, both to keep his mother from knowing he ever applied to heroics and to process his results in peace. His mother was going to cry over his results, regardless of what they were, and Izuku wanted to put that off for just a little while longer.

In addition to the paper letter, there was a hologram projector disc inside the envelope. It fell out when Izuku removed the papers. After hitting the surface of his desk, the disc whirred to life. A projection of a smiling Nezu appeared before him.

“Salutations, Midoriya Izuku. It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to UA’s Analytics Track. You’ll find your unique schedule with the enclosed papers. You’ll share homeroom with Class 1-H in the Support building, but you will also have classes with Management as well as yours truly.” The hologram patted itself on the chest.

“On the first day of class, if you could bring your other written analyses in, I’ve arranged for you to have an encrypted laptop for your work while you attend here. It will provide you with an additional layer of security until you learn ciphers, coding, and cybersecurity. I’d request that you allow UA to safeguard your hard copies in the meantime. Knowledge is power, after all, and you have it in spades.”

The holographic principal paused as if listening to someone out of view. “Yes, yes. I was getting to that. As for your score in the entrance exam, you placed third out of all departments’ participants this year. Congratulations! And your other exam…well, there are other ways to accomplish that goal than the entrance exam should you ever wish to.”

Izuku was aware that the Sports Festival was one such way. A student from another course could be transferred in if they placed high enough. He was uncertain of what other methods Nezu might be referencing. Maybe apprenticeship? Those weren’t common anymore, but the legislation still existed for them.

Izuku tuned back in to Nezu’s speech in time to hear the closing “welcome, Midoriya, to your UA academia” before the disc shut itself off.

Izuku picked up the unassuming device and turned it over in his hands. It was such a small thing, but it set the futures of so many every year. Maybe it was always the small things. An extra toe joint, taking one path home over another, one impulsive decision, a hologram disc.

Izuku slowly surfaced from his reverie and checked his burner phone. Shinso should have his results now too. He hadn’t told the boy his identity, but he’d let slip that he had entrance exams the same day as Shinso. Only UA held their exam that day. No other high school in the area dared try to compete. Izuku had already decided he’d tell Shinso his civilian identity when they started at UA, if only to have one friend in the school. Provided Shinso got in.

He sent off a text, and Shinso responded a minute later. They were both in, but they’d both missed out on heroics. At least they could commiserate together. No one had believed in Shinso either (until Izuku).

They would be at UA, even if Shinso had to transfer into the heroics department later—and he was going to make it in one way or another. He had an amazing quirk, strong resolve, and a great sense of justice. Izuku frowned, wondering if Shinso’s fosters would try to force him into a muzzle again for classes at UA. He hadn’t heard many details from the teen, but he knew things were not fine. Something burning and dangerous stirred in his chest, and he clutched his phone tighter. Shinso still had Cheshire’s phone number, if only he’d use it.

Izuku hoped Shinso’s foster parents wouldn’t give him any grief over his entrance exams. He wondered if Shinso had even told them that he’d applied to heroics or if he’d kept that a secret like Izuku had. A secret that Nezu had unwittingly(?) helped Izuku keep. Izuku was sure he could play that second exam off as seeing if he could get into Support if his mom asked. He did like studying support gear, though he had no experience building any. Yeah, that sounded believable.

Izuku nodded to himself and decided it was time to face his mother’s tears (of joy that he wasn’t going to be a hero). He unlocked his bedroom door and stepped out into the hall, a bit surprised that she wasn’t pacing right outside his door. He walked into the kitchen before spotting her on the phone.

“That’s great, Mitsuki! Oh, I’m so happy for him! Of course, of course! I can come over this evening. Let me ask Izuku.”

His mom hung up the phone and turned toward the hallway, only to stop when she saw Izuku already standing there. “Oh! Izuku, Katsuki placed first in UA’s heroics exam! Isn’t that wonderful? Mitsuki just invited us over for dinner to celebrate.”

Izuku froze. As much as he liked Aunt Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru, Izuku did not want to be anywhere near Kacchan right now. Or ever. It was mutual really. The chances of Kacchan wanting a useless Deku dragging down his celebratory dinner were about the same as Izuku becoming a hero, a.k.a. nonexistent. There was also the matter of Izuku’s acceptance and the issue Kacchan would definitely take with it…

“T-that’s great, Mom. I wish I could come, but I promised a friend I’d help them study for a biology test. We’re meeting up in an hour.” Actually, his next client at the clinic wasn’t scheduled until three hours from now, but Izuku could always use the extra time to help Cheshire organize the supply room. “Oh, and d-don’t tell the Bakugos that I got into the Analysis program. I want to surprise Kacchan on the f-first day of class.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it at least bought him some time.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” his mom said, expression falling. “I’ll tell Katsuki congratulations for you. Don’t stay out too late.”

“Okay, mom,” he agreed, feeling bad for dampening her enthusiasm. “Have fun. Say h-hi to Auntie and Uncle for me?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Well, I’d better get going. Mitsuki will need some help in the kitchen. You know how she gets.” His mom gave him a quick kiss on the temple before distractedly walking to her room, no doubt wondering if she should bring a dessert.

Izuku watched her go, wondering where the sudden hollow cavity in his chest had come from. He should be happy. He’d dodged his mother’s tears. With her distracted by the Bakugos, there was a chance she’d forget to ask about his exam at all by the time she got back. Izuku frowned and walked back to his own room. He probably should head over to the clinic, keep up appearances in case Mom forgot something and came back by the apartment in the next few hours.

Cross and Cheshire knew something was up when he arrived hours early wearing a plastic smile. After several genuinely concerned looks and each of them quietly pulling him aside to ask if he was okay, he finally broke and told them, “I-I got accepted to my dream school, though it’s not the program I originally applied for. I’ll be able to help a lot of people; that’s what I always wanted.” It wasn’t; he’d always wanted to save everyone. Analysis, while still something he loved, felt like a fresh admission of defeat, a downgrade. But it was something he could do.

And it was safer. That made his mom happy, or at least, it was supposed to. If the danger was what she cared about, why was she so happy to hear her nephew’s success, that her nephew was going into the field where so many died before they reached 20? Kacchan had an amazing quirk, but so did every other pro who’d died in the last year. Izuku had done research a while back, trying to understand his mom’s concern. Regardless of quirk type, a newly graduated hero had a 20% chance of dying in their first year, 40% chance of dying in their first five. That didn’t take into account career-ending injuries.

Izuku and Kacchan had had the same dream; the danger was the same whether it was Kacchan with his quirk in the limelight or Izuku with support gear in the underground side of heroics. If everything else was the same, was Izuku the problem? It didn’t make any sense.

He didn’t realize he’d descended into a mumble storm until Cross rested a hand on his shoulder and snapped him out of it. Izuku hunched his shoulders and flushed in embarrassment. “S-sorry.”

Cheshire drew him into a hug, and Izuku wasn’t sure why that made him want to cry so much. “You’ll do great, sweetie. You don’t need a flashy quirk to save people. Whether as your civilian identity, Green, or Naisho, you can’t not save people. It’s just who you are. We can see that.”

That tipped Izuku over the edge, and he clung tighter to his friend as he sobbed. Cross stood by, silent, a little awkward, but showing solidarity in his own way. By the time Izuku’d cried himself out, he had to rush to clean himself up before his appointment arrived. If this was how he could hel—save people, then he was going to do it with all the energy he would have put into being a hero.

He probably should have been concerned that Cross and Cheshire had already figured out his vigilante persona, but he was just relieved. They understood. Whatever their reasons for operating illegally, they just wanted to help, to save, people too. It was nice to feel understood.

He found himself reluctant to give up that feeling when his appointment concluded and he no longer had a reason to avoid going home. Something must have shown in his expression, because Cheshire gave him that reassuring, quirked smile of hers and said, “You know, my place is always open to you, even if you just need somewhere to decompress for a night. I’m sure the ladies would feel safer knowing a big, strong vigilante was staying over.”

Izuku flushed and sputtered denials.

Cheshire laughed at him, and Cross chuckled. “Didn’t you finish cleaning that beach recently? If I recall right, there were an assortment of large, heavy appliances there. I’ve also done numerous physicals on you. You’re exceptionally fit and strong for your age and build.”

Izuku’s blush only worsened, extending to the tips of his ears and down his neck, and he groaned into his arms. “Ekikyō helped…”

“Regardless, the offer still stands,” Cheshire said, grinning. “What are friends for?”

Izuku stared after her as she went to lock up the supply closet. Once she was out of sight and Cross was occupied on the other side of the room, Izuku pulled his civilian cell phone out. His mother hadn’t texted yet, despite how late it was. That meant she was probably still having fun over at the Bakugos’.

That hollow feeling threatened to come back for a moment.

Izuku typed out a quick text that he was staying the night at his friend’s place and sent it. He’d just have to wake up early to change into the spare gakuran he kept in his locker for emergencies.

Decision made, he put his phone away and moved to follow Cheshire. Cross held him back with a light hand on his shoulder. “Green, I’ve been meaning to ask, and today reminded me, the medication I sent home with you when you got burned, did it help? Or did you feel worse or return to previously bad levels when you stopped it?”

He knew which medication Cross meant. Anxiety meds were apparently a fairly standard part of treatment for bad burns, but Izuku had wondered if the doctor had had an ulterior motive when telling him to finish the full course. They hadn’t really talked about Izuku’s mental health, but Izuku had picked up a few things from hanging around the clinic. He knew what terms like depression and anxiety meant, though thinking about them in connection to himself made him uncomfortable.

Izuku frowned and tried to think about it from a more clinical viewpoint. Had he felt better while on the anxiety meds? He’d honestly chalked any change up to Ekikyō visiting more frequently then and having friends in general. On the flip side, things did seem worse the last few weeks, and he couldn’t put a finger on why. “Maybe? I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Cross nodded. “Well, if that medication didn’t give you any side effects, I can get you a refill. Though I would recommend tracking how you feel this time.” The underground doctor handed him a folded photocopy of a brochure.

It was a bit grainy and dark from repeat copying, but Izuku could still read it fine. “Mindfulness?”

“It’s hard to note your progress, or lack thereof, if you don’t know what to watch for. It can also help with catching yourself before you get into a spiral, among other things,” Cross said, smiling gently. He squeezed Izuku's shoulder once before heading for the medicine closet. He returned with Izuku’s anxiety meds a few steps ahead of Cheshire.

Cheshire for her part didn’t comment on the pill vial, only half-grinning—to avoid activating her quirk—as she asked, “So, what’ll it be, Green?”

“I texted my mom that I’m staying at a friend’s house tonight.” Cheshire beamed, and Izuku found a genuine smile on his face too. When was the last time he’d stayed over at a friend’s place? (When was the last time he had a friend to stay over with?)

Cheshire’s home was in the not-so-great part of town, worryingly close to one of the gang territories, but Izuku didn’t comment. Her apartment had two other occupants when they entered, and Cheshire was quick to introduce everyone. Kotone was a grad student eight years Izuku’s senior trying to get away from an abusive ex. She had a healing bruise on her cheek to prove it. Eiko was older, about his mom’s age, and she was a stripper hiding out with Cheshire to avoid a stalker who’d almost followed her home last week. She was looking for a new apartment now. Just thinking about what might have happened to either of them made Izuku’s skin crawl and something protective stir in his chest. Izuku introduced himself as Naisho the vigilante.

Cheshire vouched for him, but the ladies didn’t warm up to him until Cheshire whispered something else to them. Izuku wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she’d said for them to so quickly treat him as one of their own. But it was nice.

Izuku found himself actually having fun talking and cooking with them. He didn’t remember falling asleep on the sofa, but he woke to his phone alarm before sunrise well-rested, nails painted (with a clear gloss thankfully; his bullies didn’t need even more excuses to go after him), and hair tamed in several small braids. Cheshire saw him off with a bento of last night’s leftovers and a spare key in exchange for a promise from him to come over any time he needed. He promised and gave her permission to leave his burner number for anyone staying at her place, in case they ever felt unsafe or something happened. Izuku smiled on his way to school for the first time in a long time.

Izuku checked his messages, then texted Shinso on his way to school, showing off his buffed and painted nails. “Took Cheshire up on her hospitality last night. Didn’t expect the free mani-pedi.”

Shinso texted back a few minutes later. “But how long will those high-class nails last in your line of work?”

Izuku snorted. “Not long, but it’s nice while it lasts. May have to visit again for a touch-up.”

Shinso didn’t respond before Izuku got to school and had to change and unbraid his hair. He hoped his own visit to Cheshire might embolden Shinso to do the same when he needed it, but there was only so much Izuku could do. Maybe one of the heroes at UA would notice something was off next year. Izuku wasn’t holding out hope for teachers to intervene though. Maybe UA would be the same, but Izuku doubted it could be worse. He hoped it would be better than their current schools, if only a little.

Speaking of his current school, with entrance exams over, Izuku focused on surviving his remaining time at Aldera with minimal injury. It was tricky, especially after their homeroom teacher announced that Kacchan got into the hero course at UA as their top scorer. (Izuku had scored two spots higher than him on the written exam, but he suspected the hero course kids weren’t given the scoreboard for their written exams seeing as he was still alive.)

Their homeroom teacher read off a few other noteworthy acceptances, but he paused on Midoriya’s page and made a face at it before passing it over. Izuku breathed a sigh of relief. The teacher probably thought it was a mistake or typo, since almost no one had heard of the Analytics Track. Izuku was perfectly fine with Bakugo not knowing Izuku was going to the same high school as him for as long as possible.

He just had a few more months. A few more months of putting up with Bakugo’s bragging, insults, and baiting. A few more months of being harassed and hurt every day. A few more months of the awkward tension at home. A few more months of hanging out with Ekikyō and maybe Cheshire. A few more months of training under Eraserhead and Ciupan Seikyun. A few more months of doing analysis for the clinic and occasionally Giran. A few more months. He could do this. There were things to look forward to, and the end was in sight.

---

Yūku grinned at the boy asleep on her couch. Eiko quietly braided his hair with his head in her lap while Kotone fanned his drying toenails with a hand. She was glad he’d finally let down his walls today, even as she was sad he’d done so because of his treatment at home. Her heart broke a little remembering Naisho sobbing into her shoulder. He wasn’t getting hurt physically at home, but emotionally?

Kotone sighed. “He really is like me, isn’t he?” Following the younger woman’s eyes, Yūku saw her eyeing where Naisho’s shirt had ridden up to expose a strip of skin. Even that small glimpse showed pieces of two separate scars. Yūku had seen them all when he’d suffered that horrible shoulder burn.

She leaned over the back of the couch to pull Naisho’s shirt down. “You have no idea.”

He’d grown so much too, despite his treatment at school and home. She remembered how shy he was that first day Ekikyō brought him to the clinic, and now here he was trusting her and her guests. Naisho and Ekikyō had been unexpectedly good for each other. Naisho was bolder now, more confident in himself and his abilities, and Ekikyō was healthier and more balanced. Sure, he was still up to no good—Yūku would be worried if he weren’t—but he hadn’t murdered or maimed anyone since before introducing her and Cross to the kid.

She thought about when that trend started and the news story about a kidnapped boy with green hair and eyes. A boy who was sacrificed himself to save a woman he didn’t know and was later found alive and well. Yūku hummed to herself as she walked to the hall closet to fetch a blanket for Midoriya.

This wasn’t the first time she’d kept a secret. She knew far too many to treat this one any differently. Especially when this boy cared about the people the rest of Japan forgot. She tucked the blanket around the sleeping teen and smiled to herself as she thought about just how appropriate his vigilante name was. A secret between friends, indeed.

Chapter Text

Izuku stood outside the gate to UA, staring up at the building in trepidation. This was it, make or break. Was UA going to be better, the same, or worse compared to Aldera? He’d been able to hope up til now, but after today he’d know.

Izuku swallowed and stepped through the archway. Then he kept putting one foot in front of the other. Shinso had agreed to meet him before classes at the hall joining the General Education and Support buildings. He should be there any minute.

Ekikyō knew Izuku was going to read Shinso in on his civilian identity. They’d decided to keep Ekikyō’s a secret for now, though the two were bound to meet at some point with how frequently Ekikyō still swung by Musutafu. Ekikyō and Izuku had finished out a long possession the week before, but Ekikyō liked to stick to weekend possessions during the school year, sometimes visiting two or three times in a month. (Izuku was 90% sure his best friend was visiting as much for his mom’s cooking as his company, but he wasn’t going to call Ekikyō out. His mom’s cooking was amazing.)

Izuku’s mind snapped back to the present when his eyes landed on a familiar head of purple hair. He started to smile until he caught a glimpse of white peeking from below his friend’s blazer sleeve. A bandage. Izuku glared at the incriminating thing and clenched his fists around his backpack straps. Looking at his friend’s face more closely, Izuku thought the skin tone around Shinso’s nose and cheeks might be a tiny bit off; the scars that should have been there were invisible. Make-up. Izuku swallowed his anger but didn’t let it go. He never held onto his anger at his own bullies, but there was something different about seeing it on another person, knowing someone else had been given the type of wounds Izuku knew scarred from personal experience. There had to be some way to make this better.

Izuku took one last deep breath and let it out. Then he approached the taller teen, calling, “Shinso!”

Shinso jolted a bit and turned to face him. Their eyes locked, and Shinso’s eyebrows rose in recognition before furrowing. “You have a babyface.”

Izuku pouted. “I do not!” The two sized each other up for a minute more before Izuku bowed. “Midoriya Izuku.”

Shinso gave a shallow bow as well. “Shinso Hitoshi.”

Izuku grinned. “We both made it.”

Shinso allowed himself to grin too, though there was something bitter underneath it. “Yeah. Gen Ed. Really living the dream.”

Izuku grimaced. “You’ll get into heroics. I know it.”

“Sports Festival, I remember. But that’s still a month away. A month that the hero course kids are getting combat and quirk training that we’re missing out on.”

Izuku smiled something between Ekikyō and Eraserhead’s smiles with just a dash of Ciupan thrown in. Shinso’s face froze then shifted to fear, making Izuku smile even wider. “Oh, you won’t be missing out.” Izuku stepped closer and asked, “Would you be free for sparring after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Could also do something during the afternoon on weekends, but not the mornings.”

“Because of your…job?” Shinso asked, clearly hesitant.

“Yep. If we’re sneaky, we might be able to get some training with your quirk in on lunch breaks too. Is there a visible tell when you brainwash someone?”

A half hour later they had a rough schedule ironed out and separated to go to their homerooms. Izuku found his in the Support building. The Support classes had the same size as the other courses for core classes, but they split into half-class groups for their lab sessions due to the space needed. Homeroom was in one of the normal classrooms, though at least one student was already tinkering with several pieces of tech strewn across her desk.

As he walks in, the piece the girl with pink dreadlocks was working on sparked and let out a small cloud of smoke. Unfortunately for Izuku, the seat next to her was the only one left. He sighed, resigned to his fate, and strode over to set his backpack next to his new desk. The girl didn’t look up at him. Well, she wasn’t glaring like Kacchan yet. That was already an improvement on Aldera.

Another improvement on Aldera walked through the door as the bell rang; their homeroom teacher was Power Loader. Izuku couldn’t help but smile at getting to see the elusive hero up close. “Good morning, class 1-H and Analyst. I’ll be your homeroom and lab teacher at UA, Power Loader, but you can all call me Maijima-sensei. We have a few minutes before we’re due in the auditorium; so, I’ll hand out your syllabi and answer any questions you have.”

He passed the papers out and pointed at a girl with coppery skin and silver hair. “Yes, Tantetsu?”

“What did you mean 1-H and ‘analyst?’”

Another student, this one a boy with ram’s horns sprouting from the top of his head and oddly shaped fingers (probably has a touch-based quirk) chimed in, “Yeah, and why do we have 21 students instead of 20?”

The rest of the students, who didn’t seem to have noticed this detail previously scanned the room, tallying the numbers. Izuku sank a little lower in his chair.

Power Loader grinned under his helmet. “I see some of you are paying attention. The answer to both questions is one and the same. 1-H only has 20 students, but an additional student shares our homeroom for convenience’s sake.” The hero gestured toward Izuku. “Midoriya Izuku is in the Analysis Track and is the first…”

Izuku tensed, waiting for yet another teacher to announce his quirk status to everyone.

“…Analysis student UA’s had in three years. He won’t be in all of your classes; we have to share him with Business and Nezu.”

Oh. Power Loader wasn’t going to out him? Izuku blinked in confusion, staring at the teacher in something akin to awe. Maybe UA was better than he’d dared hope. Then he looked around the room and noticed all the eyes on him. Even the pink-haired girl had taken her eyes off her project to study him. (Wow, her pupils looked like crosshairs and they rotated!!!)

Izuku shrank in on himself. Maybe he’d spoken too soon. Attention from his classmates never went well for him. He shrank under the class’s scrutiny until Tantetsu whistled. “I do not envy you. My cousin’s a third year, and I’ve heard horror stories about Nezu. Good luck, man; you’re going to need it.” The others nodded or murmured similar condolences.

Except pink-hair, vision-quirk girl. She got a wide smile that reminded Izuku of Ekikyō. Then she bowed and announced, “I’m Hatsume Mei, future CEO of Hatsume Industries. Nice to meet you, Analyst-kun!”

“Oh. Um…hi?” He bowed to be polite.

“Alright, enough small talk. Nezu’s welcome ceremony starts in five. Line up and let’s go. Hatsume, leave the industrial laser here. You can work on it later.”

The welcome ceremony was longwinded and dull. Thankfully, Izuku had forethought to sneak his current analysis notebook in with him. Well, it was more that he simply hadn’t removed it from its hiding spot tucked into the back of his pants under his blazer (he’d had enough school supplies stolen from his backpack that he didn’t trust valuables there unattended—even his other analysis notebooks were secured in his locker under a combination lock and disguised in a furoshiki). He spent most of the presentation sketching the various teachers/pro heroes he could spot in the auditorium and assigning new pages to each. He was sure to learn a lot of new information from seeing them up close.

After the ceremony wrapped up, the rest of the day passed relatively quickly. They returned to homeroom, but when the Support students got dragged off by a pair of third years to get a lab tour and safety lecture, Power Loader held Izuku back to deliver the laptop Izuku’s acceptance recording mentioned. The computer was heavier than it looked, and Izuku had a feeling it was far more durable than the standard model. The hero walked Izuku through setup and programming the biometric and voice locks. A small instruction manual became Izuku’s best friend between the next few classes bouncing between Support and Business courses. And at the end of that short first day, Izuku stood before the door to Principal Nezu’s office with his stack of analysis notebooks in hand.

“Come in,” a cheery voice called from behind the door.

Izuku swallowed and pushed the door open.

“Welcome, Midoriya. Please, take a seat.” Nezu poured tea into two cups as Izuku sat on the sofa and carefully deposited his notebooks on the coffee table to one side of the tea set. Nezu hummed as he glanced over the sizeable stack, only twitching a whisker when Izuku pulled the last one from its hiding spot to set on top of the others. He handed Izuku a cup before taking his own seat across the table from the student. “My, you have been quite prolific, haven’t you?”

“Sorry,” was Izuku’s quiet and automatic response. He blushed immediately after and took an embarrassed sip of tea. It was a surprisingly good rose and lavender blend. Izuku’d never been a fan of either, but this one was decent. He studied his cup to avoid looking Nezu in the eye. He could still feel the scrutiny though.

After a few moments, the principal replied, “No apologies necessary, Midoriya. You are in the Analysis track after all. I am only delighted to see you’ve done so much. When did you start analyzing quirks?” Furry paws picked up one of the older notebooks—#4—and leafed through the pages.

Izuku blushed darker and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I-I started when I was really little. Four or five, I think, though the first two are mostly crayon drawings. Sorry for the messy handwriting.” If Izuku recalled correctly, #4 was when he’d started learning a lot of katakana and kanji; so, it was a mish-mashed mess of characters.

Nezu grinned as he turned to another page. “This is quite good for how young you must have been and your limited vocabulary at the time. Ah, right!” Nezu seemed to remember himself and pulled a USB drive from his vest. He held the device out to Izuku. “This contains the syllabi and assignment lists for your Analysis, Coding, and Information Security classes. Is it alright if I continue to peruse your work while you review the files?”

Izuku took the drive and pulled his new laptop from his backpack. “S-sure. Just be careful with #13. The binding’s starting to come apart.”

“Of course,” the chimera said, gingerly exchanging #4 for the much more battered volume. “You’re aware of why I asked you to bring them in?”

“You mentioned safeguarding them in my acceptance video…”

“Quite right,” Nezu said, turning Izuku’s 13th notebook to show the page he was looking at—Kamui Woods. “Information can be just as powerful as a quirk, if not more so, and in the wrong hands any power can lead to tragedy. It is marvelous that you’ve developed such a skill for breaking down a person’s strengths and weaknesses, but not everyone has as noble of intentions as you.”

Izuku was uncomfortably reminded of Giran. He hadn’t heard of any of the villains he’d analyzed causing trouble (yet), but this was the exact reason why he didn’t let on how much he knew about heroes. “I understand, and I haven’t shown anyone my notebooks except for 14 and 15. My best friend helped me with those ones. They travel a lot and like to tell me about interesting quirks they see while away.”

Nezu’s tail twitched in curiosity as he picked up #14. The two latest notebooks didn’t contain nearly as many pictures. Ekikyō didn’t always do a memory share when he was telling Izuku about the quirks he’d seen (Izuku still tended to get headaches from doing frequent memory shares). So, most of the subjects of those notebooks didn’t have an image to go with them, and none of Ekikyō’s additions had names attached. There were still a few hero and mainstream villain analyses interspersed, such as Bamboo Man, Snatch, and Spring Step. He kept a separate unlabeled notebook covering every villain he’d ever analyzed for Giran next to one with his analysis of Ekikyō’s quirk and their joint experiments under his mattress at home. He hadn’t brought those for obvious reasons.

Student and teacher fell into silence then, both looking over the information they’d been given. Izuku did his best to ignore the anxiety that rose from another person handling his life’s work. The only ones who ever touched his notebooks in the past tended to bend, tear, and/or burn them with impunity. Eventually, he focused long enough to get through the syllabi and start looking over the listed assignments. He froze when he reached one labeled “Hero Course Analyses.”

“Um, sensei? The Hero Course assignment…is that…?”

Nezu cupped his ears toward Izuku and looked up from the analysis he was currently reading. “Hm? Oh, yes, I want you to sit in on one training exercise each for 1-A and 1-B to observe the students’ quirks. You’ll be writing up an analysis for all 40 students…before the end of term. Though, I would prefer them turned in sooner than later…It would give the students more time to implement your suggestions and cover their weaknesses before their heroics final exam.” Nezu’s enthusiasm at the beginning of his explanation slowly shifted into something quieter and more cautious (concerned?) as he spoke. His full attention was focused on Izuku now.

Izuku who was dangerously close to a panic attack. He was supposed to sit in on one of Kacchan’s classes? And soon? Izuku had hoped to avoid the blonde entirely, at least until the Sports Festival (and he was internally debating withdrawing from that to avoid said blonde’s notice; there was no point in competing if he wasn’t going to be a hero anyway). “I-I don’t think…Can I use s-security camera footage instead? I can do 1-B, but I-I’m not sure about…”

“Easy, Midoriya. Take a sip of your tea and focus on your breathing,” the principal said gently, patting Izuku’s knee with one paw. Izuku startled a little. He hadn’t noticed the hero move from his chair. “This assignment isn’t due for a few months yet. You don’t have to do it right now if you are uncomfortable doing so. You can focus on some of your other assignments and come back to that one later. I’m not upset.”

Izuku took a deep breath and tried to forget the looming threat of Kacchan’s anger and quirk. All his interactions with Kacchan over the months since the entrance exam had felt like Russian Roulette, but this felt more like a death sentence. When Kacchan found out Izuku had made it into UA, there wasn’t an “if.” Izuku was going to get hurt. Somehow, the certainty was reassuring. He didn’t have to wonder anymore. The other shoe was going to drop, but Izuku got to choose when. Having that choice left Izuku feeling uneasy but less terrified. There were positives to this. If he chose his location and time right, he might not even get that hurt.

Right, he needed to focus on the details. This assignment was important, and he really shouldn’t let his problem interfere with the other students’ growth. Nezu was right about that. The sooner he got this done, the more time the hero classes had to adapt.

Once he had his breathing under control and his heart had slowed from its frantic pace, Izuku cleared his throat and asked, “Could I get a c-copy of the heroics practical schedule? So, I can pick which o-ones to observe?” There’d be no point in his joining the class for a day if they were doing a lecture or quirkless maneuvers.

Nezu’s tense shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. As he walked over to his desk, Izuku felt a little bad for almost breaking down in front of the creature. Then he felt annoyed with himself for being so affected by even the thought of being around Kacchan. Izuku was such a mess.

Nezu dragged him from his thoughts by placing a paper on his lap. “Again, you don’t need to do this right away, and if you pick one of the activities reserving Grounds Beta-Iota, they have observation centers and a high number of cameras.”

Izuku sighed in relief at the unspoken permission to avoid direct interaction. He quickly scanned the document, putting a mark next to interesting exercise names with the right venue. He paused on an acronym he didn’t recognize. “What’s USJ stand for?”

“Ah, that, Midoriya, is UA’s rescue training center and Pro hero Thirteen’s pride and joy, the Unforeseen Simulation Joint.”

Rescue training? Izuku liked the sound of that, though how heroes used their quirks in combat versus rescue operations often differed out of necessity. Some heroes—like Endeavor—had to forgo their quirks entirely in some rescue scenarios due to the risks involved, such as gas leaks and unstable structures. Izuku wished he could witness both the rescue training and a combat exercise. A smart student would treat the two very differently and would need equally different advice for each. Maybe he could observe the rescue training for one and combat for the other? But then he’d still be missing half of his analysis on any one student.

“Wonderful points, Midoriya,” Nezu said, grinning.

Izuku squeaked and slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing he’d been caught mumbling. In front of the principal. Was it possible to die of embarrassment?

Nezu ignore Izuku’s mortification and continued speaking, “While I’m hesitant to pull you from too many days of normal classes, I could get you access to the recorded footage of whichever exercises you miss but think would be beneficial to your analyses. You could watch the footage during your free period.”

Izuku liked the sound of that. “Thank you, Nezu-sensei. Principal Nezu? Er…Nezu-sama?”

Nezu laughed, and Izuku dared to grin. “Nezu-sensei is fine, Midoriya.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, Nezu motioned Izuku toward the door. “Now, I’ve kept you longer than intended, I fear. We’ll have more time to talk during class. I’ll have your notebooks scanned and the files sent to your laptop by the end of the week. Should you need the hard copies for any reason, please speak to Power Loader or myself.”

And Izuku’s anxiety was back. He’d never left his notebooks with another person, let alone long-term. “Y-you’ll keep them safe?”

Nezu gave a smile. It was probably meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t soothe Izuku’s frayed nerves much. “I’ll see that nothing happens to them. You have my word.”

Izuku nodded slowly and forced himself to walk toward the door. He hesitated in the doorway. “Nezu-sensei?”

“Hm?” The mouse looked back up from the notebook he’d been reading.

Izuku nearly chickened out then, but he wanted to know if his luck so far had actually been chance or planned. “Did you…did you tell my teachers not to have us introduce ourselves with our quirks?”

Nezu tilted his head slightly and grinned. “I never did see the point of that tradition, personally. Though I may have reminded my staff of its lack of import this year.”

Izuku blinked in surprise. Nezu really didn’t care that he was quirkless? He supposed that made sense with Nezu’s rumored background. He offered his teacher a small, grateful smile and glanced at his notebooks one last time before stepping from the office.

Nervous as letting them out of his sight made him, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it, even if he really wanted to. He couldn’t risk getting on Nezu’s bad side so early in the year. Teachers were scary, but principals? Izuku avoided interacting with or thinking about them as much as possible on principle. Nezu had seemed…better than okay so far, but Izuku couldn’t shake the worry that this was too good to be true.

---

Nezu watched the first year leave his office. He was quite the conundrum, if Nezu said so himself. Eager to please, highly intelligent, extremely anxious, and absolutely terrified of visiting 1-A. (Nezu hadn’t smelled fear that potent since the time Yamada found a house centipede in the teacher’s lounge.) And for all that Midoriya had left the notebooks behind without argument, Nezu’s nose didn’t lie. The boy was still afraid, likely that he’d never see his work again based on how his eyes had lingered on the notebooks before he’d left.

At least, Nezu seemed to have won a small modicum of trust from the boy with his move to get rid of classroom introductions. Nezu understood the desire to hide what made one different. He knew that trust was a fragile thing, and he had no intention to break it.

Nezu finished his tea and moved the tray to his desk. Then he splayed all 15 analysis notebooks across the coffee table. The first 13 were labeled “Hero Analysis for the Future” while the last two were simply labeled “Quirk Analysis.” So many of them were damaged too, for all the care their owner displayed in handling them. #13 was in especially poor condition with both water damage and burns. Nezu’s nose twitched at the putrid, rotten smell that lingered on it too. Though, Nezu supposed part of that could be explained by the Sludge Villain encounter and kidnapping listed in the boy’s file.

He could wash his paws later, but he had a mystery here, a puzzle. Why did a boy who so obviously wanted to be a hero for the majority of his life, who sacrificed himself to save a complete stranger, who went so far as to sign up for the heroics practical exam, suddenly stop wanting to be a hero?

Nezu picked up “Hero Analysis for the Future #1” and started reading. He always did love a good puzzle.

Chapter Text

Izuku had barely gotten home when he heard his burner phone vibrating in his desk drawer. He pulled it out to see Giran was calling him. Giran as a rule, didn’t call Izuku. He always texted to set up exchanges, and Izuku hadn’t made any requests lately except for…Izuku answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Ah, Green! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day.”

“I didn’t have my burner on me today. Needed to get the lay of the land, and I didn’t want to risk it being damaged if things went sideways.” Izuku still wasn’t sure what to think of his new classmates. None of them knew he was quirkless yet, even Shinso. He knew from experience how quickly people could turn on him when they found out. He was just relieved none of his teachers had seen fit to air his quirk status.

“Ah, right. New school year started today.” There was a pause for the man to presumably take a drag from one of the cigarettes Izuku never saw him without. “Listen, kid, could you come in today? I’ve been handed an opportunity to introduce you to another mentor—one who’s very difficult to get ahold of. He’ll only be in town for a few days, ya see. And I have some analysis requests that are time-sensitive. So, it’s a win-win.”

“What about the oxygen concentrator I ordered?” Izuku asked while he processed Giran’s other offer. Another mentor? Izuku was curious, and if it didn’t work out, the person was only going to be around for a few days. But was that really worth however many analyses Giran intended to request? He’d said there were multiple but not how many.

“It’s in. I would have messaged you today even if your potential mentor hadn’t made an appearance, but the timing worked out nicely.” The man’s smug grin was audible.

Izuku frowned. He didn’t have any homework yet—unless he wanted to get a head start on some of Nezu’s assignments. This was probably the freest he was going to be all semester, especially with the numerous other afterschool commitments he had. “I already paid for the concentrator. And with the short notice, I’ll have to cancel training with The Ripper today. Two analyses to meet this mentor of yours. And that’s only if you convince them to meet. It didn’t sound like they came to you looking for a student.”

“Four, and I’ll count the other two toward future services as credit.”

“Four, but I get paid upfront for the extra two.”

Giran laughed. “I like you, kid. You learn quick. I’ll text you the address. Think you can be here in an hour?”

Izuku checked the message he’d just received and calculated his route. He’d have to catch a train pretty soon, but he should be able to make it. “Just. And I’ll have to leave before the trains stop running for the night.”

“Not a problem, Green. If things run over, I know a warper who owes me a few favors.”

Izuku perked up at the idea of a warp quirk strong enough to negate the need for public transport. Now that was a quirk he wouldn’t mind analyzing. Warp quirks were rare. Izuku wondered what exactly Giran had done to secure those favors; they couldn’t have come cheaply. The fact Giran was willing to cash in one of those favors to secure Izuku’s services today raised a few red flags though. Why exactly were these quirk analyses so time-sensitive? If someone had been planning a big job, they should have been looking for something like this weeks or months ago. Had a golden opportunity presented itself, or was the decision-maker simply impulsive? If it was the latter, Izuku had a feeling Giran was making them pay through the nose for this.

Izuku snorted. If someone was trying to put a big heist together in a matter of days, it was going to be a disaster. He was sure Giran knew that too. Well, who was Izuku to deny a few uppity villains a chance to get themselves caught? Analyses were good, but without time to implement his suggestions, to adapt their behavior and thinking, the villains were almost guaranteed to fall back on their ingrained patterns in a high-stress situation. Humans were creatures of habit, and change—while possible—took time.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Giran. See you in a bit.”

Izuku quickly changed into his armor under civilian clothes, swapped out his school backpack for his duffle with his training clothes and utility belt, first aid kit, snacks, and water bottles, threw in a few extra notebooks and pens, grabbed a pair of onigiri from the fridge, and headed back out the door. He texted Ciupan and his mom on the way to the train station.

He made it just in time to hop on the train for Yokohama. He ate his onigiri and finished reviewing the day’s hero news before he had to disembark. The rest of the trip to Giran’s location went quickly, though Izuku kept his wits about him. The location was in a seedier part of town, and Izuku was pretty sure someone had started following him four blocks back. He took several extra turns in a futile attempt to lose the feeling of hostile eyes on the back of his head.

Finally, Izuku gave in to his frustration and texted Giran, “Picked up a tail a few blocks from your location. Can’t seem to shake them.”

The broker’s response came almost immediately. “Check the rooftops. If it’s a guy with a long red scarf, that’s your new mentor.”

Izuku turned the next corner and looked back just in time to see a figure leap between buildings to follow him. He didn’t get a very good look because of the sun being at the pursuers back—that was probably intentional Izuku realized—but he thought he caught a flash of red fabric. Izuku let himself relax and made for the address Giran had given him after texting the broker that he’d been right.

As he approached his destination, a warehouse, Izuku looked back over his shoulder one last time to wave when he was sure his tail was watching. Then he ducked inside. Giran was waiting for him with a small group of…thugs was really the only way to describe them. The four unfamiliar faces sized him up, and Izuku returned the favor as he approached Giran.

Giran looked over Izuku’s shoulder as if expecting an additional person to step through the doorway. When no one did, the broker shrugged and introduced Izuku to the four totally-not-villains. They all had fairly mediocre quirks—gun fingers, manipulable hair, a passive dexterity/balance boost, and a mutation quirk that reminded Izuku of an ogre—but there was a certain joy in finding unconventional uses for the mundane that fueled two and a half hours of quirk analysis and fighting style break down.

Izuku barely noticed the passage of time as he worked, easily leaning into his excitement. He’d gotten used to ignoring Giran and his smug or predatory grins that tended to come out while watching Izuku work. As he wrapped up his analysis of the last man—the one with the ogre quirk and a vestigial pair of horns—he briefly wondered why his potential mentor hadn’t followed him inside the warehouse. After a moment’s thought, he decided the guy was most likely pulling the same thing as Ciupan and watching him work in secret before engaging.

He handed over the fourth pocket notebook and smiled behind his mask. “Be careful when you check your skin’s temperature tolerance range. It may tolerate better in one direction than the other.” Due to the way his skin had thickened with his quirk, the man could run his hand through a lighter’s flame without so much as flinching. He’d never really tested beyond that though, an oversight Izuku intended for him to correct. Depending on his full range, he might be a good match for those with elemental quirks or for working in harsh environments.

Izuku shook his head to dispel the thoughts that desperately wanted to bubble out of him either via mumbling or note-taking. His villain notebook under his mattress called to him, but it could wait. He still needed to get his payment from Giran. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by wonderful quirks until he was safely home. “Okay, Giran, that’s your four analyses done. So, your end of the deal?”

Giran grinned and patted the top of the crate he’d been leaning against. There was a smaller, briefcase-sized box on top of it. “Got your order right here. Gotta say it’s one of the odder things I’ve had to acquire.”

Izuku opened it as Giran stepped aside. There was an envelope with a significant amount of yen inside, far more than he charged at the clinic anyway. He tucked it into his duffle before looking over the rest of the box’s contents. He’d known the broker had ways to get ahold of medical tech, but he hadn’t expected the oxygen concentrator to be in mint condition and apparently never used. Maybe he had a contact in distribution or manufacturing? Either way, Izuku was impressed. “I’ll check that it works tomorrow once it’s charged up,” Izuku said, ignoring the unspoken question of why someone so young needed a device usually used by the elderly.

Giran hummed, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. “As for the other part of your payment…” Giran glanced up.

Izuku followed his gaze to spot the man with the red scarf in the rafters. Now that Izuku wasn’t distracted by his hobby-turned-job, he could once more feel the intensity of the gaze on him, though the hostility had eased off. Izuku was vaguely aware of Giran walking away as he watched the scarfed man make his way to ground level. His movements were sure and precisely calculated as he leapt from rafter to pallet stacks to finally land in front of Izuku with all the grace of a snow leopard.

“You two can use the warehouse for the rest of the night. Stain, your order’s inside the crate. Green, text me if you need a warp later,” Giran called before exiting the building. The metal door clanged shut, echoing in the ensuing silence.

Izuku stared wide-eyed at The Hero Killer: Stain. When the man had debuted two years ago there’d been some debate as to whether he classed as a vigilante or a villain, but most of the online community agreed he was a villain after he’d targeted and killed a new hero in Saitama who’d been quite popular. There were 15 confirmed hero kills to the man’s name and five more left alive but maimed. All of those five had been forced to retire. And the man that had taken on and defeated all 20 of those heroes on his own was standing right in front of Izuku, looking him up and down with a critical eye.

“Y-you’re The Hero Killer,” Izuku said barely above a whisper.

Stain hummed. “That I am. The real question is, who are you?”

Faster than Izuku could blink, there was a chipped katana at his neck, grazing the skin under his mask. Izuku went very still. “I-I’m Green the analyst…and a-also Naisho the vigilante.” He kept his voice quiet, unsure if the warehouse was bugged or had surveillance equipment. Giran might already know what he was, but if not, he’d really rather not tell him. But that worry was rather distant at the moment.

Stain raised an eyebrow at Izuku’s second (or was it third?) identity. “And why do you fight? What drives you?”

Izuku swallowed, wincing when the katana nicked his skin. “I…I’ve never been able to just stand by and w-watch someone get hurt. And I-I know I’ll never be a hero...” Izuku picked carefully through the shattered remains of his dream, grasping the shards he knew he could never give up no matter how they made him bleed. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t save people. I want to save whoever’s in front of me and give them hope. That’s why I’ve been learning to fight.”

Stain studied him for a few moments more, and Izuku had a sinking feeling that he’d said something wrong. Then the blade left his neck. “You’re an interesting one, Naisho. I will let you live long enough to test your conviction.” The man moved a few paces away, wiping his blade off with the ragged end of his scarf.

Izuku hesitantly raised a hand to his neck. There was a small cut there, though it had already sealed over. The blood that had oozed from the wound stained his fingers red. He glanced after Stain to see the man waiting beside the door impatiently. Oh! They were going out. Okay, that was better than Izuku expected. He thought the man meant for them to fight to gauge his skill like how Aizawa and Mamoru had. Now that was a scary thought.

Chapter Text

Izuku grabbed a small water bottle from his duffle then dug down to the bottom where he’d hidden his utility belt and knife (he had been planning on training with Ciupan today, after all). He quickly fastened his holster and belt before following Stain.

Keeping up with Stain was twice as difficult as tailing Eraserhead. Izuku got the feeling that Stain was purposely picking the hardest paths over the rooftops. The boy quickly lost track of how many times he slipped, tripped, or nearly missed a jump. He even had to break out his grappling hooks a few times. But Izuku kept up as they wound through and over the dilapidated district.

After a long chase, Stain finally stopped on the edge of a rooftop that looked exactly like every other one they’d run across. He peered down into the alley below them for a moment before turning to face Izuku. “Not bad for a child. You’ve been taught?”

Izuku nodded while he regained his breath. “By a former street fighter, a retired vigilante, and an underground hero. The last two I still have lessons with.” He shifted uneasily on his feet, a little voice in the back of his head screaming danger.

That voice only grew louder when Stain unsheathed a pair of long hunting knives, and Izuku tensed, reaching for his own knife. He still didn’t like using it, but it was much easier to deflect a blade with another blade than barehanded. Stain observed the movement with a feral grin. “Good. Let’s see what you know and if you are worth my time to teach.”

The man raced toward Izuku faster than he could follow. He dodged on instinct before Stain’s movement registered. A large knife passed within centimeters of Izuku’s shoulder. His breath hitched for half a moment, then he had his knife drawn and swung it to rap the flat of the blade across Stain’s hand in hopes of making him drop his weapon. The man danced out of the way and before closing again for a second strike. Izuku barely managed to shift in time to catch the incoming knife with his own. Stain’s blade was larger, and Izuku could tell in an instant that the villain was stronger. So, he twisted their blades down and to the side, stepping back and out of the man’s range.

Only to get cut across the cheekbone and mask by a flying pocketknife. Izuku pressed a hand to the slice, trying to slow the bleeding until Ekikyō’s slime could do its job. But the villain was on him before he could do anything else. Another small cut across his right bicep, and suddenly Izuku’s muscles all locked up. He couldn’t move at all. After a year of sharing control with his best friend, being locked out of his own body’s controls again felt wrong. Izuku swallowed down his creeping terror and tried everything he’d learned from working with Ekikyō. None of those tricks worked here. There was no foreign mind blocking his own to dislodge; he could still feel everything. His muscles just wouldn’t work.

Blood seeped between the fingers pressed painfully against his face and steadily soaked into his torn facemask and the sleeve of his hoodie. The cut on his right arm barely bled or hurt at all in comparison. Izuku could feel that wet warmth trailing further down his arm with each frantic heartbeat. Crap, Stain must have caught a vein. And panicking wasn’t helping.

Izuku tried to focus on breathing evenly. He didn’t have much luck until pinpricks of pressure started trailing up and down his left arm and hand. There were a few on his right arm and face too. Izuku almost let out a hysterical laugh as he recognized the sensation. The slime in his shed blood was working its way back under his skin. Normally, Izuku clenched his fists or tapped his pen on his leg if he needed to ground himself, but this sensation worked well enough when he was paralyzed.

Izuku tuned back into the world around him to see Stain studying him from a meter away. The villain’s eyes were fixed on Izuku’s face, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Giran said you have an analysis quirk. But there’s something strange about your blood. You shouldn’t clot that fast.”

Izuku blinked the remnants of tears from his eyes and realized that Stain was right; at some point, the cut on his face had stopped bleeding. He could feel the sticky texture of slime under his fingers. “This isn’t my quirk,” Izuku said carefully. “It’s another person’s. A long-acting effect.”

Stain quirked an eyebrow at him before seeming to accept that as the truth. He looked at the blood on his knife for a moment before wiping it off on his scarf with a grimace. “You can dodge decently, but your reaction time is lacking. Once my quirk wears off, I want you to attack me.”

Izuku stared at Stain, bewildered. “You’re not going to kill me?”

Stain leveled Izuku with a look that reminded Izuku of his middle school teachers. It made him feel like an idiot. “I’m not in the habit of killing children.”

Izuku shrank a little before Stain, startling when he found himself able to do so. He cautiously pulled his hand away from the wound on his face, relieved that the motion didn’t disrupt the slime/scab already forming there. Izuku used his hoodie to wipe as much of the blood off of his left hand as he could, ignoring the way Stain stared at the cut.

Once his hands were dry-ish, Izuku adjusted his grip on his knife. He pretended to be focused on checking the wound on his right arm while watching the man in his periphery. When Stain shifted and rolled his eyes, Izuku dove for him. Stain was still too quick, but Izuku earned a feral smile from the villain for his effort.

Knowing Stain was far beyond his current skill level, Izuku leaned into Mamoru’s and Ciupan’s teachings about survival (a.k.a. dirty) fighting. He flung gravel from the rooftop at Stain’s face, he tried to land any hit, even if it was below the belt, and he even managed to grab the very end of Stain’s scarf once. Of course, the man cut it off before Izuku could try to choke him with it, but he had a feeling trying had won him a few points with the villain.

Izuku never landed a hit as the villain danced around him, blocked blows, and deflected attacks. After a few minutes of allowing Izuku to control the pace of their…spar(?) Stain shifted gears and started striking back. Izuku got paralyzed a lot in the following hour. Thankfully, none of those cuts were as deep as the one on his cheek, and the paralysis didn’t throw him into a panic again now that he was expecting it. The effect only lasted two minutes per activation, but it was frustrating each time Izuku realized he’d been had. Whenever he was paralyzed, Stain took the time to point out what he’d done wrong and what he could do instead.

Izuku’s crowning achievement of the evening-quickly-becoming-night was baiting Stain into throwing another knife at him when he was standing in front the rooftop access door. Izuku managed to dodge without injury. Then he retrieved the knife from where it had embedded itself in the door. He smiled as he held up his knife in his right hand and Stain’s smaller one in his left.

Stain barked a single laugh before closing in to test how well Izuku could actually use his new weapon. The answer was not very, but the man didn’t take his knife back after paralyzing Izuku again. “Nice improvisation, but you should learn to wield one blade effectively before attempting two. And they should ideally be balanced.”

Whatever Stain might have said next was cut off by a shout from the alley on the north side of the building they were fighting atop. Stain left Izuku frozen in place as he soundlessly stalked to the ledge bordering the roof to investigate. Izuku unfroze 30 seconds later, sheathed his knife, and (mostly) silently joined the man. In the darkness below, a woman dressed in leather with a blue bandana around her right wrist had a young man cornered. The sharpened ends of her quirked hair hovered dangerously close to the man’s ragged shirt. Had he been running from her for a while, or was his shirt already like that? Did the bandana indicate the woman was part of a local gang? Izuku knew what to look for from the Musutafu gangs, but not the ones in Yokohama. He’d really rather not get on the bad side of a gang.

All questions and misgivings fled Izuku’s mind as the woman drew one of her hair spears back. It was aimed at the cowering man’s heart. Izuku moved without thinking. He threw his recently acquired knife at the woman’s arm and snapped a grappling hook onto the roof’s ledge. Then he was vaulting over the ledge and sliding down the attached rope. He ignored the burning of his palms to gauge his descent.

In a move Ciupan would have been proud of, Izuku pushed off the wall to swing out and kick the lady. His aim was a touch off, catching her across her left shoulder rather than her head, but the blow did its job in putting distance between her and the man on the ground. Izuku dropped the rest of the way to the ground, landing between the two. Izuku crouched to pick up his Stain knife from the pavement—an odd mix of annoyed and relieved that he’d missed—never taking his eyes off of the woman.

“Are you alright?” he asked over his shoulder as he drew his original knife from its holster. The woman was standing back up, and she looked really angry.

After a moment the man answered, “Y-yeah. Just a few scratches.”

“Then go while you can,” Stain said, dropping down behind the woman. He drew a blade across her back, cutting a large swath of her hair as well as nicking her skin. She cried out and whipped around to stab him with her remaining hair.

Izuku hadn’t actually seen what it was that triggered his own paralysis in their spar. So, he blinked in surprise when he saw Stain lick the blood from his knife. The second Stain did, the woman froze, even the hair spear a centimeter from the masked man’s face.

The victim stumbled to his feet and fled after that display. Izuku rolled his eyes. What was he expecting? Of course, Stain wasn’t one to comfort victims. He was a villain! He only let himself relax after glancing back to see barely any blood on the concrete where the victim had been.

Izuku put his knife away and pulled his burner phone from his hoodie. “I’ll call the police.”

“That won’t be necessary, Naisho,” Stain said in a tone that made Izuku’s blood run cold.

Izuku jerked his head up to see Stain unsheathing his battered katana. Izuku felt like he was paralyzed all over again, but not from Stain’s quirk. The bloodlust rolling off the villain was scarier than any beating from Kacchan.

The woman’s face paled as she caught on to what was about to happen. She somehow found her voice and choked out, “No, please! I don’t want to die! I only joined the Blue Oni because all my friends did. I didn’t even do anything that bad. I—”

“Prey on the weak and defenseless and kill any who refuse to pay your protection racket. All without remorse. I may have moved on to bigger targets than organized crime, but it is important to remember one’s roots.” Stain raised his katana to hang level with the woman’s neck.

Izuku’s eyes shot wide. No! He dropped his phone to draw his knife again. Both knives and all of Izuku’s strength barely slowed the lethal arc of Stain’s blade. Izuku was positive he couldn’t have stopped the man if Stain hadn’t stopped himself.

“Naisho,” Stain said in a low voice heavy with warning. He glared at the boy now between him and the hair villain, holding his blade back with his own much smaller crossed blades.

For all the fear Izuku felt, he didn’t budge. “I w-won’t let you kill her.”

Stain sneered. “You would let a murderer live to see another day? And she is a murderer. For the Blue Oni, a bandana around the right wrist means at least five kills to her name.”

The silence from the woman was damning, but Izuku didn’t take his eyes off of Stain’s. “Then she’ll face trial and go to prison.”

“I’d sooner trust Giran than the courts to see justice carried out. There is only one way to ensure her crimes end.”

“And if you kill her, a killer’s all she’ll ever be!”

Stain narrowed his eyes in question.

“If you kill her now, that’s the end. There’s no chance for her to grow or change, to become someone better, to make up for what’s she’s done.” Izuku was thinking of Ekikyō.

Stain scoffed. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots, child. To think otherwise is naive.”

“It’s not naivete, Stain. It’s hope. Everyone changes, every single day. As long as she’s alive, who she is isn’t set in stone.”

The two stared each other down in tense silence. Stain’s expression shifted between anger, confusion, and something else. Izuku shook in his sneakers from a combination of fear and fatigue but didn’t shy away from Stain’s scrutiny.

Eventually, Stain made a decision. Faster than Izuku could blink, the katana withdrew, leaving Izuku stumbling. The villain lashed out with yet another small knife, and Izuku only felt the sting on the back of his hand when he could no longer move.

“No!”

“You’ll understand one day, child. Hold your ideals close as long as you can.” Hands on Izuku’s shoulders turned his frozen body so he could no longer see the equally frozen woman.

Izuku knew exactly what was about to happen and tried in vain to escape Stain’s quirk as his voice cracked. “No, please! Stain, stop!” He couldn’t let this happen again! Tears welled in his eyes and blurred his vision.

A shout cut through the night. “Not happening, Stain!”

Izuku was facing the wrong way to see who had spoken, though there was something familiar about their voice. A wash of bright green fire flew past, and Izuku knew who’d found them. “Burnin!”

Stain landed back in Izuku’s limited field of view, and Izuku breathed a sigh of relief that the man’s sword was clean.

“Got a distress call from this area and rushed on over. When we heard you name on the call, hotshot, we called in the big guns. Endeavor and the rest of the sidekicks are on their way.” Already they could hear sirens approaching and the dull roar of something being propelled rapidly through the air. Or someone. Everyone knew that Endeavor could use his quirk to fly.

Stain sneered and took a step forward. Then he stopped. The motion sent something skidding across the pavement: Izuku’s unassuming burner phone. With the movement, the screen lit up, showing an in-progress call to 119. Stain stared at it for a second before huffing a laugh. “Well played, Naisho. You win this round. Until next time.” The man met Izuku’s eyes for a moment before leaping toward Burnin. Izuku couldn’t see the fight that followed, but he did hear it move further away from him.

Izuku’s muscles unlocked seconds later, and he stumbled over to his phone. He hung up the call and turned to face the woman, who was still frozen. Izuku fleetingly wondered if Stain could control the duration or if there was some underlying factor that impacted his quirk’s effectiveness.

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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The woman stared back. She couldn’t seem to decide whether to be grateful or furious, expression shifting every so often. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally in a flat voice.

“No, I didn’t,” Izuku confirmed. He dug his zip ties out of their pouch on his belt and pulled the gang member’s arms behind her back. He was a bit surprised that he could maneuver her when she clearly still couldn’t move herself. Interesting. After her hands were secured, Izuku pulled her remaining long hair behind her head and deftly braided it. He’d gotten quite a bit of practice in the last few months from frequent visits to Cheshire’s place. He used a few more zip ties to thoroughly trap her hair in said braid. One final zip tie secured hair and hands to a drain pipe.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork for a moment. “I meant what I said to Stain. You can still change. I might not be around next time Stain swings through town.”

The villainess didn’t reply as Izuku jogged off. He could only hope she took the opportunity he’s given her.

Getting back to the warehouse was surprisingly uncomplicated. He only had to hide three times to avoid a sidekick. Despite this, Izuku didn’t breathe easy when he made it inside. Loath as he was to ask, he needed that warp Giran had offered. With all the cuts and blood on his hoodie, there was no way he could make it to the train station, let alone home, without being accosted by some well-meaning hero or policeman.

Izuku stowed all of his incriminating gear in his duffle and pulled off his hoodie to stuff in as well. He pulled on a spare shirt as he looked around. Stain had ditched the heroes long enough to come and go already, if the empty crate and broken katana on the ground were any indicators. Izuku should make himself scarce as well, before someone figured out that Naisho was here too. Thinking about Endeavor’s track record with vigilantes made Izuku shudder.

A minute after sending a text, a swirling purple-black vortex opened beside the warehouse door. After getting confirmation from Giran, Izuku stepped through. When the dark mist receded, he found himself in the alley adjacent one of the train stations in Musutafu.

Izuku didn’t relax until he was several blocks and a dozen twists, turns, and shortcuts into the city. On autopilot he avoided all hero patrol routes on his way home, slowing down as adrenalin faded and exhaustion set in. He was only two blocks away from home when it occurred to him that he couldn’t walk into his apartment with so many cuts on display. Izuku groaned and clambered halfway up a fire escape to sit and pull out his first aid kit. Halfway through patching himself up, Izuku drew up short. How was he supposed to hide all these injuries at school?!

Chapter Text

Shinso raised an eyebrow when he met Izuku inside UA’s front gate the next day. “Rough night?” he asked, as they quickly moved away from the mob of reporters clogging the entrance.

Izuku grunted and took another long drink of the soda he’d picked up on the way to school. He needed the caffeine with how much healing was still in progress, but he wasn’t a fan of coffee. So, he’d grabbed the soda with the highest caffeine content in the corner store, some neon yellow-green thing that looked like it might be radioactive.

Despite that, Izuku yawned and winced as the movement pulled on his cheek. Most of Izuku’s still-healing cuts were thankfully hidden under his uniform and blazer, but the cut on the left side of his face he’d had to settle with pasting a bandage over.

“You try fighting a madman with a katana and knives and see how you do,” he muttered quietly.

Shinso choked on air and coughed beside him. “I’m sorry, what?!”

Izuku didn’t say another word, mostly because they were entering the building, not at all because of how funny his friend’s confusion was.

As they reached the fork in the hallway leading to Support and General Ed. They paused in the middle of traffic to look at each other. “Lunch?” Shinso asked.

“Lunch,” Izuku confirmed. He gave his friend a half-grin with the non-painful side of his face. Then they separated.

Morning classes passed in a twitchy blur. The caffeine did its job of keeping Izuku awake, but it also made it difficult to pay attention. He did his best to struggle through without attracting attention and breathed a sigh of relief when the bell for lunch rang. As he tried to pack his things, Hatsume latched onto his arm.

“Come on, Analyst-kun, let’s get some food in you.”

Oh, maybe people had noticed, after all. “I-I’m fine, really! Just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Hatsume hummed. “I sometimes get distracted working on my babies and forget to sleep too.”

Izuku sputtered for a moment before realizing Hatsume must mean her inventions.

Hatsume just kinda steamrolled through his embarrassment and revelation. “Unless you want your parents to ban you from working on your babies too, you need to take decent care of yourself. I hate to say mine are right, but I do have better ideas when my brain isn’t mush. Caffeine only takes you so far.”

Izuku processed what Hatsume said and let himself be dragged toward the cafeteria without the bento in his locker. He could always eat that on the train ride home. He was more anxious about the fact he was being dragged off without his backpack and the very expensive UA laptop inside it. He didn’t want to be rude and pull away from Hatsume though. He reluctantly hoped that any bullies would hold off on targeting him until later.

Once his anxious brain caught up with the words Hatsume had actually said, he blinked at her. Was she…concerned? Looking out for him? Sympathetic? Izuku wasn’t really sure. But he allowed himself to relax somewhat when it became clear she was in fact dragging him to the cafeteria and not some secluded hallway to beat him up.

The relaxing of his guard lasted until the cafeteria doors swung open, and a wall of noise assaulted him. Izuku balked and nearly dug his heels in. It had been years since he’d set foot in a school cafeteria; the very idea of doing so at Aldera was tantamount to self-harm. When everyone in the room wanted to hurt him and there were at most two teachers “monitoring” the entire middle school student body, there wasn’t much of a difference.

Hatsume noticed Izuku’s near-panic but ascribed it to the wrong cause. “Oof, you don’t usually drink caffeine, do you? Makes you more prone to sensory overload.”

Izuku swallowed, eyes flitting around the cafeteria, looking for something he couldn’t put his finger on. “G-good to know.”

Hatsume led him over to the lunch line, and Izuku let her. He couldn’t quite focus on her. She was safe-ish. His instincts were screaming that the rest of the room wasn’t. That feeling was only validated when the sound of a very familiar set of explosions and an angry yell met his ears. Kacchan. Kacchan was in the same room as him. Izuku’s eyes finally landed on the back of a familiar head of spiky blonde hair.

Nope, nope, nope. Izuku needed to get out of here. But then a tray was shoved into his shaking hands. Izuku looked down to see a bowl of curry, vegetables, and rice sitting next to a milk carton and fruit cup. Where did all that come from? His scattered focus returned to Hatsume as she gently grabbed his arm to drag him onward, heading for a door perilously close to Kacchan’s table. (Really, anything this half of UA was perilously close for Izuku’s tastes, but this was directly in the blonde’s line of sight.)

He didn’t want to be here, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice or the will to stop. He frantically looked around the room marking alternate exits and a few tempting windows—they were only on the second floor—when green eyes met purple. Shinso. It felt like a second later when his friend stood in front of him, neatly inserting himself between Izuku and Hatsume. “Hey, Midoriya,” he drawled, eyeing the Support student as if she might be dangerous. “Everything alright?”

Hatsume looked Shinso up and down before grinning. “Oh! You know Analyst-kun? Are you in one of his Business classes?”

Shinso frowned. “No, I met him before UA.”

With Shinso’s tall form between Izuku and Kacchan, completely blocking Izuku’s view of the blonde, Izuku managed to wrangle control of his speech. “I-I’m o-okay, Shinso. Just r-really don’t w-want to be in the caf-feteria.”

Both of his friends (Izuku still wasn’t quite sure what to call Hatsume) looked at him and frowned. Hatsume nodded. “That’s why we’re going outside. That door’s the quickest way.”

Izuku flinched as Kacchan yelled particularly loud again, cursing himself for reacting while both Shinso and Hatsume were watching him. Something like understanding crossed Shinso’s face before he ushered Izuku back the way he’d come, away from Kacchan. “Come on, I know a quiet place.”

Hatsume fell into step with them, chattering away about a pair of completely noise cancelling ear buds she’d designed years ago but never actually built. It was a welcome distraction. As they neared the door Izuku and Hatsume had first entered through, another person approached their group. A girl with a brown bob and rosy cheeks skipped to a stop beside them. (Some distant part of Izuku’s brain noted it wasn’t quite skipping. There was something off with her gait.) “Hey Shinso, did you have a table yet? Can I sit with you?”

Shinso glanced at Izuku and Hatsume before looking back at the brunette. “Um, no, Uraraka. I was going to show my friend and his…classmate somewhere quieter before he spontaneously combusts from anxiety.”

Izuku wanted to feel offended, but he was already absorbed in studying Uraraka. The way she held her tray—with pinkies raised—indicated a five-point activation quirk, and the little pink pads visible on her raised pinkies supported the theory. He wondered what her quirk might be. And the way she stood…Izuku was familiar with. One of her legs or ankles was bothering her, and she wasn’t putting much weight on it.

“O-oh…” Uraraka looked so disappointed. Did she not have any other friends yet?

“You can join us,” Izuku blurted out before he could think better of it. “I-if you want to, that is…”

Three sets of eyes latched onto him, and Izuku resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. Finally, Uraraka smiled. “Thank you! Oh, I’m Uraraka Ochako, by the way. I’m in 1-C with Shinso.”

“M-Midoriya Izuku. Um…I’m not actually sure what my class designation is…” Izuku trailed off.

“He’s in my homeroom!” Hatsume declared stepping between them to bow. “I’m Hatsume Mei, future CEO of Hatsume Industries. Support class 1-H.”

“Nice to meet you both, but what do you mean about not knowing your class, Midoriya?” Uraraka asked as they started moving again.

“I-I share homeroom with 1-H, but I’m in a different track. Analysis.”

“Really? I haven’t heard of that one.”

“Y-yeah. It’s apparently not applied for very often.”

They exited the cafeteria and walked down the hall toward the library. It was in the Gen Ed wing and was blessedly quiet. The librarian (Izuku wondered if she was a hero too, though he didn’t recognize her) took one look at them before her expression softened. She warned them not to get food on any of the books before politely ignoring them.

Izuku’s nerves finally started winding down as their group settled into a back corner by a large window and a potted fern nearly as tall as them. They fell into a comfortable silence as they dug into their food. Talking to people his own age who didn’t seem to hate him was nice, but they’d already spent a portion of their break just getting here. They needed to finish in time to take their trays back too.

Once they’d worked through most of their food, conversation started back up, led by Uraraka, “So, how’s everyone’s first real day at UA going?”

“Fine” was Shinso’s clipped answer.

“I’ve learned I-I should never have caffeine,” Izuku volunteered, setting his head down on the table. He suspected his soda was wearing off, because he was exhausted. Or maybe that was the anxiety attack from the cafeteria catching up to him?

Hatsume beamed and said, “I’m putting the finishing touches on my Plus Ultra rocket flare, and it’s only blown up three times so far. One time it almost blinded Maijima-sensei!” The librarian shushed them, and Hatsume continued in a softer voice, “I’d say that’s progress.”

Izuku rolled his head to the side to stare at Hatsume with Shinso and Uraraka. Then a contemplative look crossed Uraraka’s face. “That’s like a day flare, right? I’ve seen those in rescue videos.”

Izuku perked back up. “Oh yeah! The Wild Wild Pussycats use those for large-scale natural disaster missions like the Hayakawa landslide last summer. How would you even make one of those ‘Plus Ultra?’”

Hatsume smiled even wider and threw her arms out to her sides as she whisper-yelled, “By making it a reverse bunker buster! Of course, you’d have to account for structural stability in damaged areas or the location of gas and power lines if underground, but most buildings can survive perfectly fine with a three-centimeter hole bored through them vertically. Oh! And I made the flare extra bright and added a device similar to a salute firework to draw that extra bit of attention. It’s quite effective. The last time it blew up in the lab, everyone’s ears were ringing for five minutes.”

“It’s our second day. How did you make that so fast?” Izuku asked, baffled. “You’ve only had three hours of lab time.”

Hatsume wagged a finger at Izuku. “Don’t doubt me, Analyst-kun. I’ve had the idea for this for aaaaages; I just didn’t have the materials. Strontium is hard to get ahold of, and the government gives you funny looks if you buy magnesium in bulk. All I had to do was finetune my formula once I had access to them.”

Shinso opened his mouth to ask a question of his own, but a very loud alarm cut him off. Izuku jolted at the sudden noise, spilling the remains of his fruit cup as he reached for his knife which…wasn’t at his hip. Because he was in UA’s library as Izuku, not patrolling Musutafu as Naisho…Izuku took a deep breath and winced as he registered the pain from the cut on his face. He’d pulled his vigilante face without thinking. (At this point it was a hybrid of Ciupan’s brash confidence and Aizawa’s intense watchfulness with a hint of threat behind it.) He gently rubbed his cheek and cast about, looking for trouble. He only slightly relaxed when he saw the librarian speaking to someone on her phone. His heart was still beating rabbit-fast with residual adrenalin when she walked over, stride self-assured and smile gentle.

“The media got past the front gate and triggered the alarm. No need to worry. You four just stay here until the alarm cuts out. Then you can head to your next class. I need to go help the other teachers.”

Izuku squinted after her as she left. He was 90% sure she was an underground hero now—that was a classic hero crowd control line—but he couldn’t place her. Maybe Briar? That hero had a quirk called Green Thumb that Izuku hadn’t been able to find any description for online. Whatever it did, it seemed to be useful for incapacitating villains. Supposedly Briar helped on a lot of raids, though she had backed out of the scene somewhat in recent years. Maybe because she’d taken up a job here? Izuku could ask Eraserhead next time he saw the hero.

Izuku shook himself out of his speculation and leaned over to look out the window. He could just see the gate from here, and it looked like the gate was…completely gone? A destructive or hacking quirk then? Maybe metal manipulation or very powerful object teleportation (less likely given the sheer mass of the gate and the fact it was normally attached to the surrounding structure)? The others joined Izuku at the window and commented on the chaos below, but Izuku continued to stare at the gate’s archway. A point of movement caught his attention, and Izuku locked onto it. Someone was there. A figure in a black hoodie stood just outside the arch; they leaned to watch the reporters a few moments more before ducking out of view.

Izuku’s hair stood on end. Whoever that was, Izuku’s intuition told him they’d let the reporters in. And they’d probably stayed out of security camera view the whole time with how they were positioned. Izuku’s hand twitched toward his pocket before he remembered that he’d left his burner phone in his backpack. His heartrate spiked again. Crap, he really shouldn’t have left his bag behind in the classroom.

Chapter Text

A few minutes later the alarm finally cut off, and the four friends (Hatsume and Uraraka had declared them all friends, and Izuku didn’t see a reason to contest it) dropped off their lunch trays and headed for class. Izuku grabbed his backpack from 1-H and waved goodbye to Hatsume. His next class was with Nezu, but first…

Izuku ducked into a restroom, confirmed he was alone, and locked himself in a stall. Then he took out his burner phone and powered it on. He pulled up his chat with Eraser. Then he paused. How could Naisho know about this so quickly? Eraserhead didn’t know that he was a UA student. If he tipped him off too soon after the break-in, he might be able to figure it out. If Izuku waited though, whoever had broken the gate might get away. They had probably already gotten away…

Izuku chewed his lip as he debated what to do. He pulled up an internet search on his civilian phone and saw that news of the media overstepping was already beginning to circulate thanks to bystanders taking pictures with their phones. One of the photos had a figure in a familiar hoodie standing half out of frame. Izuku smirked. That was perfect. He downloaded the photo after pulling the same post up on his burner phone.

“Hey Eraser, thought you should know one of my contacts heard some lowlife bragging about how they were going to break the gate at UA. Contact’s pretty sure it’s hoodie guy off to the left side.” He attached the photo and sent it.

He turned his phone back off and stashed it before continuing on his way to Nezu and his first Analysis class. Nezu’s office door swung open on its own just before Izuku could knock. He gave a half-grin and awkwardly waved with the hand he’d raised to knock. “Oh. Um…h-hello, Nezu-sensei.”

Nezu looked up from his computer to grin back at him. The expression fell when beady eyes latched onto the bandage on Izuku’s face, and his nose twitched. Whiskers and both ears curled toward Izuku as the principal greeted him, “Hello, Midoriya. Were you injured in the cafeteria evacuation?”

Izuku belatedly realized that Nezu was an animal with a quirk, not a human. Even though his quirk was intelligence, he still had his sharp animal senses, including a sense of smell much stronger than a human’s. He could probably smell the blood from Izuku’s partially healed wounds. Even without the obvious one on his face, the chimera would have known his student was hurt. Izuku wasn’t sure whether to curse or thank Giran for setting him up with Stain. The cut on his face was obvious and large enough to hopefully cover for however much blood the hero could smell. And he’d already come up with an excuse for his face. He’d have to be much more careful patrolling in the future. He doubted he’d be able to get any sizeable injuries past Nezu.

Izuku smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Actually, I tripped in the train station on the way home yesterday. Clipped the edge of a turnstile on the way down.”

Nezu winced in sympathy but gave no other indication as to whether or not he believed the lie. “Hm. Let me write you a note to go see Recovery Girl before we get started.”

“Oh, no, really, it’s not necessary, Nezu-sensei,” Izuku protested. “I don’t want to miss class on my second day.” Especially not Analysis; Izuku was tentatively looking forward to this one.

Nezu studied him for half a second before writing the note anyway. “Very well, but you will go see her after we finish. It’ll be a short day to start, due to today’s unforeseen circumstances.”

Izuku took the hall pass hesitantly and nodded. Then they got down to business. Izuku wrote notes as quickly as he could while Nezu discussed the core components of a solid analysis for people, cases, and active combat. The latter made Izuku a touch suspicious, but he quickly rationalized it away. After all, a lot of heroes wore body cameras; an analyst could, in theory, watch footage live and offer advice via comm in the heat of the moment. That was probably really useful during raids and high-profile takedowns.

After that, they transitioned to a beginner’s rundown of coding with Izuku’s laptop. Izuku was more out of his depth with that one. Why did there need to be 5 different coding languages? He was already learning English, and now he had to learn five more languages at the same time! Nezu seemed unduly amused by the whole situation.

When Nezu finally dismissed him, Izuku felt like his brain was fried or mush. Maybe fried mush. Could Nezu smell that? Maybe it just smelled like stress. Stress had a smell, didn’t it? He was so caught up in his scattered thoughts that he almost ran face-first into the person standing on the other side of Nezu’s door when he opened it to leave.

“Oh, s-sorry,” he stuttered as he stepped to one side to let the other person enter.

“You’re fine, kid.”

Izuku froze and looked slowly up at the person. Eraserhead walked past him without a second glance.

---

Shota settled into his spot on the sofa and crossed his arms. Two days. Why couldn’t his students go two days without one of them trying to murder another? Was that too much to ask? Apparently, it was, because Bakugo had collapsed half a building on himself and Uchiyama during a training exercise. At least, Iida and Inouye had been able to escape the falling debris, mostly due to Inouye’s quirk, ugh, “Yeet.” Despite the terrible name, a line-of-sight inanimate object teleportation quirk was extremely useful in a scenario that had debris raining down around them.

They were incredibly lucky that Iida and Inouye had been able to use their quirks to get to safety, and they were incredibly lucky that Uchiyama’s Bubble Barrier had held up long enough for All Might and Inouye to dig him out with only a nosebleed and migraine from overusing his quirk. Bakugo had been injured by falling debris, but he shouldn’t have any lasting damage thanks to Recovery Girl. All around, it could have been much worse. They’d been lucky.

Shota did not trust luck.

Shota and Nezu sat in silence for a few minutes before the final member of their meeting arrived. Yagi—Shota’s brain still refused to reconcile the skeletal twig with the muscled form of All Might—entered with shoulders sagging and form practically swimming in his oversized yellow pinstripe suit.

Shota allowed himself to almost feel bad for the man before reminding himself that it was Yagi who decided to skip the safety lecture and support gear test that traditionally made up the first Heroics class. Yes, the man was new to teaching, but surely somewhere in the online degree program he’d completed they’d mentioned how incapable of rational decisions teenagers were. What did he honestly expect throwing them headfirst into a combat scenario against living, breathing, equally teenage opponents?

Nezu clapped his paws together and started their meeting. “Alright, I’ve reviewed the footage from Ground Beta. I think it’s safe to say I’ll be having Power Loader rework our safety guidelines for first year students’ support equipment. Bakugo’s gauntlets are well-designed, but far too much power when he hasn’t first been taught restraint and what qualifies as ‘reasonable force.’

It’s unclear from the footage whether young Bakugo knew just how destructive his support device would be before he used it, but it is apparent that he intended to inflict harm on his opponent. Based on the…quality of the banter when they fought, it appears as though he and Uchiyama had a negative relationship prior to this. That doesn’t excuse the situation, though it certainly did aggravate it.”

Shota hummed. “My conclusion as well. As for their…attitude with each other, it seems to have started with yesterday’s Quirk Apprehension Test. Uchiyama and Bakugo were paired up for the 50-meter dash. When Bakugo used his Explosion quirk to propel himself down the track, Uchiyama quite reasonably used his quirk to protect himself from the blast. The bubble he created shoved Bakugo off course and out of bounds. He nearly attacked Uchiyama then for ‘sabotaging’ him. I intervened, of course, and there weren’t any repeat confrontations during the other tests. Seems the animosity didn’t go away though.”

“That is quite troubling,” Nezu agreed. “A future hero should not be so quick to hold a grudge.”

Yagi frowned before finally deciding to contribute. “I feel it’s less a grudge and more wounded pride. This is a good chance for Young Bakugo to grow.”

“At the expense of my other students?” Shota asked with a raised eyebrow. Uchiyama was still in Recovery Girl’s office sleeping off his migraine, in a separate room from Bakugo, of course. He was under strict orders not to use his quirk for the next few days to allow his brain to finish recovering. They were lucky Iida and Inouye only had a few scrapes and bruises between them. This could have gone a lot worse.

“That’s not what I meant, Aizawa,” Yagi hurried to say. “I mean that this is a good opportunity to teach Young Bakugo how to manage his pride in a more constructive way. To prevent situations like this from recurring. Being confident in his abilities isn’t a bad thing, just the way he’s expressing it. We cannot change what’s already happened, but we can make use of it.”

“Quite,” Nezu said. “Now, on to what we’re doing about this.”

Shota considered for several moments before sighing. “It’s a first offense, but considering he ignored an order to stand down, I’d say at least a week’s detention and being prescribed anger management counseling. If he does something like this again—without the excuse that he didn’t know how big the blast would be to hide behind—I won’t hold back on expulsion. He’s here to be a hero. If he can’t learn what behavior is acceptable, he doesn’t belong here.” Not when there were better candidates out there who’d been denied a spot in the hero course for reasons outside their control. A certain vigilante came to mind.

Yagi looked like he might protest, but Nezu spoke up before he could voice any complaints. “That seems quite reasonable. Yagi, I understand you not wanting to be too harsh on any of the students, but you cannot let one of them ignoring a direct order slide, especially when others were hurt because of it.”

Yagi grimaced but nodded. “I understand, Principal Nezu.”

“Good! Then I can call this meeting adjourned. I’ll send the Bakugos an email with our verdict and a few recommendations on qualified counseling services,” Nezu said, clapping his paws. “Yagi, you’re free to go. Aizawa, if you could remain for a few more minutes?”

Shota nodded, hiding his grin in his capture weapon. Shota’s old teacher always could tell when he wanted to speak to him about something. After the door clicked shut behind Yagi, he did just that. “The local vigilante gave me a lead on who destroyed the gate.” A few taps on his phone forwarded the picture to Nezu.

Nezu hurriedly typed on his computer, pulling up the image and setting a program to begin analysis. “Hm…How reliable is this vigilante and their source?”

Shota shrugged. “Kid wanted to be a hero. He hasn’t done anything to break the trust we’ve established in the last few months, though he’s still skittish at times. Can’t say I know anything about whoever his source is.” Shota wondered if that source was Gokaku or someone else entirely. Did he have a network established already? The other possibility—the possibility that Naisho personally was hanging out in places villains frequented and relaxed enough to make small talk—was less reassuring. Shota couldn’t write it off though; the kid did have contact with Giran after all.

Nezu glanced away from his computer to study Shota. “When you say ‘wanted to’…”

Well, Shota was already here; he might as well ask. “Nezu, with your permission, I’d like to access the dismissed applications for the heroics entrance exam this year. I have reason to believe one of them was denied wrongfully.”

Nezu’s ears perked up. “Oh? Do tell.”

Aizawa grunted. “The vigilante’s name is Naisho, and he’s good. I thought he was 12 or 13, but imagine my surprise when he told me a few months ago that he’d applied to UA and wasn’t allowed to take the test.”

“Really now? Are you suspecting falsified records or something else?”

“Most likely records, possibly bias in the staff sorting through the applicants. Tell me, Nezu, what is your opinion of the Quirkless?”

Nezu paused for a moment then smiled with all his teeth, setting Shota on edge. Not because his own safety was at risk but because someone somewhere had earned Nezu’s ire, and that meant a bloodbath was sure to follow. “Quite favorable, actually.” A few more seconds of hurried typing and Nezu nodded. “Permission granted. You’ll find the files in the archives on basement level five. Do tell me what you find out. If someone on my payroll is responsible, rest assured they will be dealt with.”

---

“Alright, sonny, let’s see what we’re working with.” Recovery Girl gestured for Izuku to remove the bandage on his face.

Izuku glanced at the other occupant of the room—a boy asleep on one of the cots with a compress over the upper half of his face—before he hesitantly peeled the gauze pad off. He checked it briefly to see if the cut had bled any since this morning and half-grinned when he saw it hadn’t. Then a hand entered his field of vision, causing him to flinch. His eyes darted up to see it was Recovery Girl’s. He flushed in embarrassment.

The nurse paused for a moment before gently lifting Izuku’s chin. She turned his head one way, then the other, scrutinizing the cut.

Izuku caught her furrowed-brow, tight-lipped look and cleared his throat. “T-the odd color’s normal for me. My best friend’s quirk speeds up healing and prevents infection. The color’s a side-effect.”

Recovery Girl blinked, and her eyebrows rose. “Oh! You’re the boy I was supposed to run bloodwork on during the entrance exam, aren’t you?”

Izuku blushed again and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. S-sorry about that.”

Recovery Girl waved a hand before pulling on a pair of exam gloves. “You’re not the first student I’ve treated who has a phobia of medical procedures or needles, though that was one of the more interesting reactions I’ve seen.” She gently prodded around the edges of the cut with gloved fingers. After concluding her inspection, she nodded. “You did good with the butterfly stitches, but something like this you should have gotten properly stitched. If it were any deeper, it would have hit the vein running along your cheekbone.”

Izuku did his best not to react to that. He failed to suppress his reaction when Recovery Girl abruptly changed topics.

“Do you know when your last tetanus vaccine was?”

He shook his head. “I can ask my mom if she’s not working the late shift tonight.”

“That’s alright, dearie. I’ll just check your medical file. It should be in there somewhere.”

That reminded Izuku of something. “Oh! I’ll need to bring you some more records. I changed doctors recently, and I’m pretty sure Mom forgot to update the file. I haven’t had any vaccines since changing though…” Izuku trailed off. “Um, shouldn’t my friend’s quirk prevent tetanus anyway?”

Recovery Girl hummed. “Without knowing the specifics of their quirk, I can’t say, but you don’t want to take chances with tetanus. Nasty bug and extremely painful.” She frowned again. “Actually, your cheek should be hurting pretty badly with that depth and placement.”

“Oh, it does. Don’t worry; there’s no nerve damage!” Izuku hurried to assure her. “I just have a high pain tolerance.”

The nurse raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he met her gaze with a sheepish grin. Recovery Girl shook her head and huffed. “You’re as bad as the hero students, I swear.” Then she finally leaned in and kissed his uninjured cheek.

Izuku tried not to make a face as the cuts across his body itched furiously. A few seconds later the sensation died down, and the cuts were healed. Izuku rubbed at his cheek, feeling the change in texture where a scar had formed. Because of course, it did. Izuku sighed. Just one more thing to keep carefully hidden as Naisho and Green. Maybe he could ask Cheshire and the girls for help figuring out how to cover it with makeup? At least it had missed his freckles.

“Thanks, Recovery Girl,” he said. Then he yawned.

Recovery Girl squinted at him. “Healing that shouldn’t have been enough to tire you out. You had other injuries, didn’t you?”

Izuku completely blamed his lack of sleep for how his mind blanked out. “Uh…”

A shout from the next room over broke their staring contest. A shout that haunted Izuku’s nightmares. Izuku went very still and paled as he realized how close he was to Kacchan for the second time that day.

Recovery Girl sighed. “Well, someone’s finally awake. I’ll be right back, Midoriya. I want to check your other injuries to make sure they healed properly.” She walked through the door to the patient room Izuku had used for his escape last time he was here.

This time he took the door.

It was nothing personal against Recovery Girl—she was an amazing hero—but Izuku had “run out of spoons” for the day. He didn’t care anymore if leaving was rude. He’d already dealt with his anxiety acting up, seesawing between being half-awake and wired most of the day, almost outing his presence to Bakugo at lunch, the mini-panic when the alarm went off, and a smaller panic when he ran into one of the only people who regularly interacted with his vigilante self and could possibly id him. Not that he was too worried about Eraserhead; after the entrance exam confession, they’d slowly returned to normal, if a little to the left of their old dynamic. (Izuku still wondered at times why the man bothered to teach him when he’d already missed his chance at heroics. He was too afraid to ask though.)

The near-miss with Recovery Girl and Kacchan was just the last straw. Even after he’d left campus, he didn’t truly relax until he was secure behind his apartment’s locked door. Knowing Kacchan might be released any second and walking back to their neighborhood behind Izuku made the vigilante extra anxious. He paused in the middle of preparing dinner, suddenly wondering if he’d remembered to take his escitalopram this morning. He couldn’t recall if he had. That might have done it, or maybe he just needed more sleep? The confrontation with Stain and staying up late to clean his wounds and clothes hadn’t helped.

Decision made, Izuku ate, took a dose of his anxiety medication, did his homework, and crawled into bed a few hours early. Only to jolt awake around midnight, unsure what had woken him. He rubbed his eyes and grumbled as he started to roll over. Then a familiar sensation tugged at his veins.

Izuku frowned and tilted his head as he climbed out of bed. He poked his head into the hall and checked to make sure his mom’s bedroom light was off. Then he softly crept to the front door and opened it. He’d been oiling the door’s hinges regularly since starting the whole vigilante thing, and he was thankful for it now as Ekikyō barged in, shoving the door wider to make it inside as quickly as possible.

Izuku shut and locked the door before whispering, “Ekikyō, what are you doing here?”

His friend scoped out the apartment before answering, “Izuku, we have a problem.”

Chapter Text

Never let it be said that Ekikyō was a man without conscience. His was just…a lot looser than most. He didn’t particularly care when Giran told him about some big operation that one of his other clients was recruiting for. He politely declined and went about his own less-than-legal business.

He did, however, care when he found out who Giran’s client was targeting. The bar in Atsugi was a frequent stop of Ekikyō’s on his way to and from Musutafu, and he had a lot of friends there. When one of those friends tried to invite him on that same blasted operation and mentioned their target was a class of UA first year students… Ekikyō barely kept himself from reacting.

While his friend prattled on and on about some grand plan to bring hero society to its knees, Ekikyō could only think of Izuku (of how scared he’d been the first two times they’d met, of his laughter and trust and courage now). The kids being targeted were the same age as him. Of course, it was probably a hero class, not the one Izuku was in, but did that really make it any better?

Ekikyō decided no, no it did not. Even villains had morals, lines in the metaphorical sand they didn’t cross, and he decided then and there that this was one of his.

“Heroes aren’t always good people, and…maybe ‘villains’ aren’t always bad guys.”

The question was what was he going to do about it? He was only one person, and a wanted one at that. No one would take a tip from him seriously, and if the other villains found out it was him who ratted, he was as good as dead.

But Izuku knew an underground hero. Underground heroes’ involvement and sources were rarely, if ever, publicized. (He’d learned that from Izuku.) That could work.

Mind made up, Ekikyō listened long enough to get a meeting location out of his unwitting informant. Then he ditched the bar and headed back the way he’d come, returning to Musutafu only days after leaving. Even though he was on a time crunch, Ekikyō stopped by the underground clinic first, like they’d agreed after Izuku’s entrance exam. The kid had a point about tracking the student being the easiest way for authorities to find Ekikyō. Ekikyō couldn’t exactly carry a phone on him; so, they’d worked out a system to leave any warnings/messages for each other at the clinic.

Once he’d checked in there (and found no messages warning him away), he made for his friend’s apartment. He gave Izuku the bare bones rundown, watching his young friend’s face pale in horror before steeling with resolve.

“We’ll stop them, Ekikyō. Eraserhead works at UA; he’ll believe us and pass word along to the Nezu. He’ll know what to do. Come on, let’s go.” Izuku gestured Ekikyō closer, one of the kid’s unspoken ways of saying for Ekikyō to get a move on and possess him already.

Ekikyō didn’t need to be told twice. He always felt more grounded when inside someone else’s skin, but someone willingly letting him use his quirk on them? There was an absence of the guilt and shame that came with killing a host, in their place an inherent layer of reassurance and acceptance that he didn’t like to think too deeply about. He was a strong independent villain and didn’t need validation from anyone. That didn’t preclude him from taking a few seconds to enjoy and relax into the feeling before they got down to business though.

Izuku and Ekikyō stared at Eraserhead’s number for a solid minute before they finally brought themselves to press the call button. They ran a hand through their hair and paced back and forth on the roof of Izuku’s apartment building as they waited.

Eraserhead picked up on the third ring. “Naisho, this better be important. I’m in the middle of something.” There were grunts in the background, followed by the clangs of metal impacting and bouncing along concrete.

Izuku took a deep breath before blurting out, “There’s going to be an attack on UA tomorrow.”

There was a moment of silence. “Give me a minute.” The sounds of fighting intensified but grew muffled.

“Maybe Eraserhead put his phone in his pocket?” Izuku absently wondered.

Ekikyō good-naturedly listened to his friend’s stream of consciousness while Eraserhead wrapped up the fight.

The thud of two bodies hitting the ground followed in short order. “Alright, start talking.”

“UA is going to be attacked tomorrow. Gokaku heard about someone recruiting a ton of street thugs and villains for a big operation a while back; he declined, of course. Then this afternoon, an acquaintance of Gokaku’s mentioned who they were attacking: one of the first year UA classes. And the villains are meeting for it tomorrow morning. They must have some sort of transport quirk on their side, because they’re meeting up on the edge of Yokohama.” When he reached the end, Izuku panted to regain his breath.

“Did you really have to say all that without pausing to breathe?”

“Shut up.”

The faint scratch of pen on paper carried through the phone before Eraserhead asked, “That’s everything?”

“Yes, Eraserhead. Please, believe us. If Gokaku could have gotten me a message earlier, he would have.”

“Don’t worry about it, Naisho. Your friend did the right thing. He got away without raising suspicion and got a warning through. There’s more than enough time for me to consult Nezu about this.”

Ekikyō pressed forward, and Izuku gave up control without a fight. “This is Gokaku. Eraser, I need you to keep our names out of any reports. I don’t know a lot about the people behind this, but I do know they’re the type to make problems ‘disappear’ if you catch my drift.”

“I know how to protect my sources, Gokaku. Thanks for the warning. And both of you? If this tip pans out, I owe you one.” The hero hung up then.

Izuku slid back into control alongside Ekikyō, and they put their phone away. As they took the stairs back down to Izuku’s apartment, Ekikyō started noticing the things he’d missed earlier, chief among them the deep scar on Izuku’s face. That had not been there a few days ago. “Izuku, have you been picking fights again?”

Izuku stumbled, and Ekikyō caught them before they could fall down the rest of the stairs. “Um…I’m not sure if Giran really likes me or wants me dead?” Ekikyō’s friend said in the most evasive tone ever.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need more than that kid.”

Izuku sighed and let their shoulders sag. “Yeah, I figured. Let’s get back inside, and I can show you.”

Two hours and several memory shares later, Ekikyō wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified that Izuku had literally fought The Hero Killer in the handful of days he was gone. And he’d somehow lived to tell the tale. “Kid, you either have the best luck I’ve ever seen or the absolute worst.”

Izuku chuckled tiredly and flung an arm over their eyes. They were lying in bed with the lights off in case Izuku’s mom got up. “It’s certainly some kind of luck.”

“Get some sleep, Izuku. I’ll stick around until this mess is done and over with,” Ekikyō said, shifting their body into a slightly more comfortable position.

Their body stiffened as Izuku stammered, “Oh, t-that’s really not necessary, Ekikyō!”

Ekikyō sent his too obvious friend an impression of a raised eyebrow. “You were planning to do something stupid and dangerous, weren’t you?”

Izuku wilted. “Okay, yeah it’s dangerous. But it’s not stupid! I wouldn’t be going in unprepared!”

“Uhuh. Why don’t you walk me through this plan of yours then? And kudos for figuring out how to keep a thought completely secret, by the way. None of it has bled through.” Ekikyō was a little proud of the kid for that. He had a problem with mumbling—both out loud and mentally—or focusing too hard on “not thinking” about something and thinking about it a frick ton. And his thoughts were loud. He was just enthusiastic like that.

Izuku perked up at the compliment. “Really?! Finally! I’ve been trying for so long…” A mental prod from Ekikyō and Izuku got back on track. “So, one of my assignments from Principal Nezu is to tag along for a heroics class…”

---

They stood outside the gates of UA on Izuku’s third day—and Ekikyō’s first—there, calming their heartbeat. “Moment of truth,” Izuku said.

Ekikyō took the cue and pulled the slime back from Izuku’s eyes, leaving none of his body external to Izuku’s. Then they stepped hesitantly through the archway with bated breath. When nothing happened, they let out a slow exhale, allowed slime to ooze back into place, and kept going. They hadn’t been sure if the biometric sensors could pick up on Ekikyō’s presence, but it appeared they’d been worried over nothing.

Izuku thought for a minute as they walked. “You know, it might already have your genetics tacked onto my file given that I had slime in my blood when they coded me into the system.”

“Fair point.”

Izuku made a detour on his way to meet Shinso this time, having arrived early. With any luck—

Up ahead, in the Development Studio, there was an explosion. Izuku and Ekikyō smiled one of their wider smiles. Perfect.

They made it back in time to meet Shinso, and Ekikyō took a minute to examine the tired teen. “Kinda reminds me of Eraserhead. Dude could use some coffee.”

Izuku hid his laugh under a cough before waving at Shinso. “Good morning, Shinso!”

Shinso turned to greet them, narrowing his eyes when they landed on Izuku’s newly acquired scar. “So, madman with swords?”

“A sword, singular. A katana. And more knives than any one person should ever possess,” Izuku said quietly. Izuku turned to look pointedly at where the nearest security camera was.

Shinso followed their eyes and stiffened. “Right…I’ll ask later. Assuming you plan to make up for flaking on me yesterday.”

Izuku frowned and blinked several times, trying to figure out what Shinso meant. Then he realized. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, Shinso! Yesterday was Tuesday! I totally forgot we were going to train. I was so exhausted after Recovery Girl and everything, and I’m really sorry! I just—”

“Hey, Izuku.”

“Huh?” Izuku’s mind went blank and fuzzy. He could distantly feel Ekikyō’s confusion, which was rapidly shifting into something more protective and potentially dangerous. Everything snapped jarringly back into focus a moment later, thankfully before Ekikyō could decide whether or not to attack Shinso.

“Wh-what was that?” Izuku asked, trying to shake off the feeling of Ekikyō bristling under their skin. “Quit it. I’m okay.”

“My quirk,” Shinso admitted, looking away. “Sorry.”

“Oh no, here we go,” Ekikyō said, feigning exasperation.

Izuku ignored him. “That was so…cool!”

Now it was Shinso’s turn to look bewildered. “What?”

“It feels different from E—I mean, my friend’s quirk. Actually, it kinda feels like the haziness the first few moments of a finished possession back when we first started doing it regularly. When our minds were meshing? Synching up? Connecting? I don’t think it happens anymore; that, or I’ve gotten so used to it that I don’t notice. I bet with some practice I could either break out of yours, or you could do something additional…” Izuku trailed off, realizing to his horror that he’d gone on a ramble again. Oh quirks, he’d been doing so well at not being a freak at his new school. Izuku blushed furiously.

Ekikyō shifted under Izuku’s skin to hide the blush even as he laughed at Izuku’s embarrassment and Shinso’s shocked expression.

“Not helping, Ekikyō.”

Shinso seemed to recover first and shook himself. “That was…something. Is that your quirk? Analysis?”

Ekikyō’s laughter stilled. “Wait, kid. Does he not know? I thought you two were chill.”

“It hadn’t come up yet!” Izuku mentally yelled, panicking. To Shinso, he shook his head. “N-no. I…” He looked around, nervous of who else might overhear. Izuku could tell Shinso; he deserved to know. He just didn’t want anyone else to know yet. He knew it couldn’t last forever, but he was enjoying the lack of social ostracism. He quickly dragged Shinso into the closest bathroom, locked the door, and turned the faucet on full blast.

Shinso had both eyebrows raised now.

Izuku sheepishly looked down at his shoes and whispered, “In case of nearby sensory quirks…”

Shinso grunted and shrugged, seeming to get the precaution but not the reason for it.

Izuku took a deep breath and nearly wheezed when Ekikyō surprised him with an internal hug. Right, he wasn’t alone. Even if Shinso abandoned him, Izuku still had Ekikyō. “I-I’m—”

There was a knock on the bathroom door, making both of them jump. “Boys, everything okay in there?”

“That’s Midnight-sensei!” Hitoshi hissed.

Izuku scrunched up his face and looked between the door and Shinso. He really wanted to tell Shinso, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel relieved for the interruption. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before making up his mind. “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered. Then Izuku turned off the tap. The two (three) of them exited the bathroom in silence, only to find Midnight standing right outside with a hand on her hip.

“So, what were you two boys doing rushing into a single-person bathroom, hm? It better not have been anything naughty.”

Shinso turned redder than Izuku had ever seen him, and Izuku sputtered and waved his hands frantically in front of him. “N-nothing like that, Kayama-sensei! I just n-needed to tell him something without risking anyone else o-overhearing.” Izuku should have been blushing horribly right now too, but Ekikyō still had the blood vessels in his face scrambled. Instead, he only had to deal with Ekikyō’s mental wolf-whistle.

Midnight pouted, feigning disappointment before she turned her attention to Shinso to confirm Izuku’s story. Once she wasn’t looking at them, Ekikyō controlled their eyes to trail over the teacher. Whatever Ekikyō’s original intention, Izuku snatched back control when he noticed something that looked like a pager on her belt next to her whip.

“That’s not part of her normal costume…” A tiny green light on it blinked at a steady rate.

“Ah, come on. You’re no fun,” Ekikyō complained.

“Y-yes, Midnight-sensei,” Shinso said. “No funny business here. Just a friend with anxiety.”

Izuku squawked in indignation before remembering something else he needed to do before class. Speaking of anxiety… “Oh shoot! I forgot I need to give Recovery Girl papers for my medical file.” He checked his phone. There was no way he’d make it to the infirmary and back to 1-H’s homeroom in time. He sighed, resigned to giving up part of his lunch break to do it.

“I could drop them off for you, Midoriya,” Midnight offered, all professionalism now that she’d finished her teasing.

“Really? That would be a big help. Thank you, Kayama-sensei.” Izuku pulled his backpack off and dug out the packet of papers Cross had given him before the semester started. It had been a big decision, giving Cross and Cheshire his real name, but this way his school had a set of (his new) normal bloodwork and his anxiety diagnosis just in case anything happened. There were certain medications that didn’t combine well with the one he was on, and not having it in his file was dangerous if Recovery Girl ever needed to treat him again.

“Why didn’t you just bring that on Monday?” Ekikyō asked as they walked away from Midnight and Shinso, whose class was in the opposite direction.

“Because I was kinda distracted worrying about taking all of my notebooks out of the house at once for the first time ever.”

Ekikyō let him have that point, and the rest of the walk to 1-H passed in companionable silence. They still had a few minutes to spare when they arrived, but that was fine by Izuku. He needed to talk to Power Loader anyway.

The door opened to reveal Hatsume attempting to snag something from their teacher that he was holding just out of reach. “Come on, sensei, just let me take a look.”

“No, Hatsume, you’ll trigger the dead man’s switch! Nezu will have my hide if I’m the cause of a false alarm.”

“Looks like you might need to rescue the hero first, Izuku,” Ekikyō said with no small amount of amusement.

Ekikyō had a point. Izuku thought for a moment before deciding a distraction served best here. “Hey, Hatsume, how goes building those noise-canceling earbuds?”

Hatsume and Power Loader both paused and turned to look at him. Hatsume beamed when she saw who’d spoken. “Analyst-kun! Yes! They should be ready by lunch, not that you seem to need them yet today.” Her irises rotated as she looked at him.

“Y-yeah. Pretty sure that was my bad. There’s a 50/50 chance I forgot to take my meds before coming to class yesterday.” To get her back on her sidetrack, he asked, “Have you changed anything else with the design?”

Hatsume’s smile grew wider. Then she ran back over to her desk.

While Hatsume was occupied, Izuku turned to the teacher, noticing that the thing he’d been keeping away from Hatsume was another pager, exactly like the one Midnight had. “Maijima-sensei?”

“Yes, Midoriya?”

“I was wondering if you could let Nezu know I wanted to sit in on 1-A’s rescue training today. I-if possible. It’s for 1 of my assignments. I’d also need to know when to head over.”

“Sure, Midoriya. I’ll shoot him an email real quick. Go ahead and take a seat.” The teacher rounded his desk to sit down. He paused with his hands poised above the keyboard and stared at something on his screen. For a minute he didn’t say anything; then he shook his head. “Midoriya, did you bring a lunch today?”

Izuku looked up from where he’d been pouring over a blueprint with Hatsume. “Um, yes?”

“Then Nezu wants you to head over with Thirteen at the beginning of lunch to help with setup. Meet her at the teacher’s lounge, and bring your backpack. You can eat your lunch on the drive over, and Nezu will email you your notes from your afternoon classes.” A.k.a. all the classes with Nezu.

“Well, that confirms that the cameras in the classrooms have audio,” Izuku mused. Ekikyō made some sound of agreement, but Izuku could feel how uncomfortable he was with the surveillance. Izuku mentally leaned against him and called toward the ceiling camera, “Thanks, Nezu!”

Everything was going according to plan. That should have been his first warning that things could only go wrong from there.

Chapter Text

The USJ was a lot bigger than Izuku expected. Even Ekikyō was impressed by the sheer scale and realism of the simulators. And instead of seeing any of those zones in person, Izuku was comfortably ensconced within the USJ’s command center, awaiting 1-A’s arrival. He spun in his commandeered office chair, glancing over the array of camera feeds on one wall as they slid past. Still no sign of the hero class yet.

“Would you stop already? You’re making me motion sick,” Ekikyō complained, setting their foot down to drag them to a stop facing the computer console that controlled the environmental and hazard settings in all six zones.

“You can get motion sick?” Izuku asked, wondering how that worked.

“Yes, and I’d rather not find out what happens if I get sick in here,” Ekikyō snarked.

Izuku pulled a face at the mental image that conjured. Then he shook his head and turned the chair to where he’d set up his laptop at one end of the console. He already had an encrypted document opened and 20 pages labeled with the names and school photos of 1-A’s class roster. Nezu had also given him the name of each student’s quirk, but all additional information Izuku had to gather himself.

After far too many minutes spent looking over the zone controls (and ignoring the temptation of the literal big red button labeled “Emergency Stop” locked under a plastic cover), the front door of the USJ finally opened. He snatched up the notebook he’d also brought with him and leaned in closer to the screen displaying the entrance. The laptop was great, but he couldn’t draw on it. He’d ask Nezu to scan the pages in after he finished all of them. For now, Izuku had 22 costumes to draw. The first page already sported a detailed sketch of Thirteen’s costume. (And her autograph!)

When only 21 people entered the building, Izuku frowned and pulled the schedule page back out of his backpack. Yeah, it said there were supposed to be 20 students and two additional teachers. Scanning back over those present Izuku spotted Eraserhead. No one else looked old enough and jaded enough to be a fully-fledged hero. Had there been an incident elsewhere on campus that called the third teacher away?

Izuku worried his lower lip as he started roughing out a sketch of Aoyama. Had Izuku misjudged? When he’d realized that the day the villains were going to attack was the same as 1-A’s fieldtrip to a remote training facility, he’d thought for sure that 1-A was the target. What if he was wrong?

“Well, then you’ll at least have part of one of your major semester projects done.”

Izuku snorted.

“Welcome. And it’s not like villains have to attack right this minute. The herolings are going to be here for a couple hours. It would make sense to stage an attack far enough into that time slot for the hero brats to already be tuckered out or at least spread out across the facility.”

“True. Better keep our eyes peeled,” Izuku commented absently, already switching over to sketch the…very revealing costume Yaoyorozu wore. He paused when he felt something between excitement and wariness from his bodymate. “Ekikyō?”

“Do you think there are any cameras in here?”

Izuku glanced around surreptitiously, noting one in a corner of the ceiling aimed at the room’s door and another behind a glass pane embedded in the console. It was angled to catch anyone trying to access the computer or zone controls.

Izuku bit his lip and stepped back over to his laptop, frowning. It really was unreasonably far from the security camera feeds. He should move it closer. He scooted the laptop along the console’s table until it sat right in front of the embedded camera, blocking its view. He grinned. That was much more convenient to reach. Why hadn’t he set it up there to begin with?

“You were saying?”

Ekikyō laughed in their head. After calming down, he said, “Okay, kid, hold still a sec.”

Izuku looked back to the camera feeds while Ekikyō did whatever he was up to. After a few seconds, Izuku could feel slime oozing from the skin above his shirt collar and from the right side of his face. Izuku raised an eyebrow and waited. Once enough slime gathered there to make Izuku feel slightly off-balanced, numbness climbed his throat, and he reflexively held his breath. Ekikyō confiscated control of their mouth to spit out…

“Ew, really? You could have warned me,” Izuku grumbled.

Ekikyō guided their hand up to the glob of slime clinging to their neck. Once Ekikyō put his eyeballs—no, Izuku was not thinking about that or where Ekikyō had been storing them inside his body—in the externalized slime, he pulled their mouth into a wide grin. “There we go. Now we’ve got two sets of eyes to watch with.”

Izuku had only a moment to consider the benefits of that when the double vision hit him with a splitting headache. “Don’t think this is working!”

Something in their brain shifted, and the extra set of images vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. Izuku blinked dazedly as Ekikyō sent him a mental apology. “Shit. My bad. Should have known your brain wouldn’t know what to do with that. I’ll keep my sight separate.”

Izuku sighed and massaged his forehead before picking his notebook back up. “Thanks. We can play around with that later though; it might come in handy someday.” Izuku resisted the urge to write about all the implications and possibilities presented by Ekikyō retaining the ability to sense things through slime outside of Izuku’s body when possessing him and being able to route his own senses through Izuku’s brain. He ignored the questions he wanted to ask, just like he ignored the vague tugging sensation at his neck or how the skin the slime emerged from prickled slightly. “I get the left screens; you get the right?”

A feeling of agreement was shared, and they settled in to work and watch and wait. Thirteen was giving some sort of speech. The cameras here didn’t have audio, which was annoying, but at least the speech kept the students in one place for a decent amount of time. He had very rough outlines of each student and a handful of notes on the support equipment (or lack thereof in Hagakure’s case) of several before the students clapped, indicating the end of the impromptu lecture.

Izuku took a break to stretch his hand and nearly fell out of his chair when several of the camera feeds turned to static or went black at once, and the lights flickered. “What?” Which cameras had those been? What was going on?

His head turned on its own and his eyes were forcibly focused on one screen in particular. It was a distant view of the Mountain Zone. There was electricity arcing from a spot near the wall. The hold on his vision released, and Izuku scanned the remaining screens. He quickly realized that all of the cameras in the Mountain Zone were out of commission. Had a fuse blown?

“I don’t think so, Izuku…” Ekikyō redirected Izuku’s eyes to one of the plaza cameras, but the thing that drew his notice was a swirling purple-black cloud of mist.

“That’s the quirk Giran used to send me back to Musutafu after Stain…” They watched in horror as villains began flooding the plaza through the portal. “We have to do something!”

Without exchanging words, Ekikyō quickly returned his slime and eyes inside Izuku’s body. The last thing they needed right now was to have their focus split. Plus, Ekikyō’s eyes were an established weak point. Best not have those on display when they might come under fire too.

Izuku pulled his cell phone out while Ekikyō finished up. No signal. “Damn it.” So, calling for help the normal way was out. If things got really bad they still had—

And now the students were vanishing through more purple-black portals! Okay, that qualified as really bad. Izuku dove for his backpack, digging through his schoolbooks and the assorted gadgets Hatsume had shoved into his hands this morning. He pulled out a metal cylinder with “Plus Ultra Rocket Flare -Hatsume Industries” printed on the side. He started to get up before turning back to dig a small case out of the front pocket of his bag.

He wasn’t sure if Hatsume’s flare could cut through the reinforced metal structure of the control room, but right outside? It should have no trouble breaking through concrete and glass. The only issue was the possibility of patrolling villains.

He cracked the door to the control room open and held his breath. When he didn’t hear anyone else nearby, he crept out of the bunker-like room into the shell of the convenience store it was disguised in. He was in a corner of the Ruins Zone. Once a few feet from the control room Izuku popped open the small case to reveal the earbuds Hatsume had been working on. Izuku really hoped they didn’t explode as he fitted them to his ears. He sighed once they were in place without incident, though the slight shaking of his hands didn’t still.

He frowned at his own trembling. He was a vigilante for goodness sake. Villains kinda came with the territory. Though he’d almost always had backup nearby in the form of Eraserhead or even the 119 operators. Here he was just a student who didn’t make the cut for heroics, and he had no backup. And there were a lot of villains. He weighed their chances mentally and didn’t like their odds, even with two pro heroes in the same building. Thirteen was primarily a rescue hero and almost never fought villains due to how lethal her quirk could be. And Eraserhead, while extremely competent, was only one person against dozens. He did his best work one on one or in ambushes. The students were wild cards, but they’d literally had one solitary heroics practical exercise before today. Chances were most of them didn’t know the first thing about fighting, let alone fighting someone who wanted to seriously injure or kill them. All this amounted to things very likely going poorly. Izuku almost wished he weren’t so smart.

Ekikyō took enough control to steady their hands and heart rate. Then he poked Izuku mentally to draw him out of his spiral. “Hey, Izuku, you know that ancient saying about Rome?”

Izuku tried to focus. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Yeah, that one. So…when in UA? What’s that moto again?”

Izuku grinned shakily. “When in UA…go beyond, plus ultra!” They slammed the base of the rocket flare on the concrete floor, holding the tube stationary as the internal mechanism clicked, triggering it to fire. He coughed and sputtered at the face full of smoke he got right after. It seemed Hatsume still had a few bugs to work out.

He waved his arms to clear the air and looked up to see the flare had already cut its way through the roof of the store. Actually, it was closer to “melted” than “cut;” the edges of the hole in the ceiling were glowing. As they watched, a glob of molten something dripped from the hole…and fell on Izuku’s right hand.

Ekikyō had to clamp their jaw shut to dampen the noise Izuku made as they shook the burning substance off. Ekikyō numbed the burn sprawled across their fingers as quickly as possible, and Izuku slowly worked his jaw after it was released. He took one glance at their hand and winced. “That’s so going to scar.”

They jumped when they could feel the explosion of whatever Hatsume had used for the sound part of the flare. Izuku looked up wide-eyed. Just how loud did Hatsume make that thing? Then he smiled. Someone had to have heard that thing, and if they didn’t hear it, they’d see it. Help was on the way.

“Uh, Izuku? Not to burst your bubble, but everyone will have heard and seen that.” Ekikyō pushed a mental image of all those villains in the plaza into Izuku’s side of their mind.

Izuku’s smile fell. Shit, he’d just given away their position. With that many villains, someone was definitely coming to investigate. They pulled the sound-canceling earbuds out of their ears, picked up the spent flare canister, and retreated to the control room as quietly as possible. Once inside, they locked the door, hoping the ten-centimeter-thick walls and door would buy them enough time if they were found. Time for what they weren’t sure, but they had half a bag of Hatsume brand gear to potentially use.

But before they dug into their gear, Izuku surveyed the camera feeds, blinking in surprise when he saw fighting on almost every one. The students had been scattered around the facility, not spirited away to some villain’s secret base or dropped in the ocean. That was better than he’d expected. On the downside, they were all fighting villains now. Izuku gaped as he saw Todoroki Shouto—easily recognized by his red and white hair—freeze a dozen villains in place in an instant.

A small voice in the back of Izuku’s head asked how he had ever planned to stand side by side with people like that.

As he watched, one solitary villain managed to break free and charged Todoroki from behind, seemingly unfazed by the cold. Izuku squinted. Wait…Was that the guy with the ogre mutation and abnormally broad temperature tolerance from the other day? Izuku didn't recall his mutations being that pronounced, but after a moment of watching how the man moved, Izuku was confident that was him. Giran had Izuku analyze villains for this attack! He really shouldn’t feel betrayed—it wasn’t like Giran knew he went to UA or was going to be here today—but here he was.

He cast about, counting students until he’d accounted for all but a handful, and they were likely in the mountain zone with its downed cameras. Most of the students were in groups of two or three, but one solitary student gave Izuku pause. Ojiro was alone in the Conflagration Zone, and at least two of the villains he was fighting had pyrokinesis quirks. Izuku frowned, wishing he could do something to help…

“What about that Emergency Stop button?”

Oh yeah, that was a thing. “Good thinking, Ekikyō!”

Izuku swung the flare canister down as hard as he could on the plastic case, grinning when it cracked. A second swing broke the case into several pieces, and Izuku was able to reach through the jagged shards to press the button. Several red lights started flashing across the console, but when Izuku glanced back up at the camera feeds, he let out a sigh of relief. The Conflagration Zone’s fires sputtered out, the Flood Zone’s water level began to drop, and the Downpour Zone’s rain and wind shut off. It also stopped the countdown on the Landslide Zone’s next “quake.” Izuku felt a little sick thinking about the first year students being caught unawares in a manmade landslide.

They’d given the kids as much of a fighting chance as they could. Now to defend themselves. They opened Izuku’s backpack and started pulling out gadget after gadget and laying them on the floor in “useful” and “not immediately useful/can’t remember what this does” piles. Izuku mentally mumbled out the names and functions he could recall. Hatsume had overwhelmed them a bit this morning. When Izuku told her about his shadowing the hero course for their rescue training she’d very enthusiastically kitted him out. All they’d wanted was the flare, but they weren’t complaining.

They got so wrapped up in analyzing their options for fighting back, they missed when an actual villain warped into the control room behind them. The air pressure shifted as if there was a draft, and that was all the warning they got before the world dropped out from under them.

Ekikyō panicked and stiffened some slime under Izuku’s skin and around his joints, hoping to cushion their landing. He reacted just in time for the portal to spit them out a few meters above concrete. They rolled and ungracefully staggered to their feet as Ekikyō returned their slime to normal. Izuku was likely to have a few nasty bruises later, but nothing was broken.

They were in the plaza, Izuku noted in horror. An odd sound—like someone wobbling a sheet of plexiglass—drew his and Ekikyō’s attention toward the edge of the Flood Zone. The hulking, dark-skinned villain was pounding its fists on a pink, translucent sphere—Uchiyama’s quirk, Bubble Barrier—surrounding a cluster of students. Izuku couldn’t see how many from this angle. He’d seen Uchiyama, Asui, and Mineta in the Flood Zone when he was back in the control room, though they may have picked up another student or two by now.

“Hurry it up, Nomu,” a raspy voice said. Izuku and Ekikyō’s eyes snapped to the skinny villain with his arms crossed. He was wearing…dismembered hands. “I want to get a few more kills before we abandon this raid.”

Izuku tensed, Ekikyō a split second behind him. That villain seemed to be in charge, and the hands implied that he was an experienced killer. (And possibly a taxidermist or mortician; those weren’t common professions and were going to make identifying the villain easier after they made it out of here.)

The duo checked their surroundings for possible escape routes and found the plaza littered with unconscious and semi-conscious villains. None of them looked hurt badly enough to keep them out of the fight once they woke up. They’d have to keep an eye and ear on those ones; some of them had to have ranged quirks.

Then they saw red. A pool of it, worryingly large. And at its center, in cracked and cratered concrete lay Eraserhead. Blood oozed lazily from wounds on his head and face. His arms lay at unnatural angles too, but Izuku only registered the last peripherally. He was stuck on the blood. This was far too familiar an image.

Ekikyō pressed closer in their shared mind and chased off some of the memories of dark alleyways and bloodied dumpsters. “You’re not there, kid. Eraserhead’s a tough bastard. It’ll take more than this to keep him down. He’s still alive, and help’s already on the way. He could probably do with being out of the line of fire though.”

Izuku shuddered and blinked, looking away from his far too still—but still breathing—mentor. “R-right. We need to get him out of here. At least one of these villains would kill him without a second thought.” Izuku silently started edging backward toward the incapacitated hero while keeping his eyes on the villain leader and the beaked strength enhancer.

They didn’t make it more than a few steps before the purple-black portal villain rematerialized beside hand guy. “Shigaraki Tomura, I found the one responsible for that explosion. It appears to have been a high-powered flare.”

Hand villain—Shigaraki—turned baleful red eyes on Izuku, making him and Ekikyō freeze on the balls of their feet. The villain growled and scratched at his neck. “A summoner NPC, and you weren’t supposed to be here. Are you a random spawn or a mini-boss?”

“He appears to be a support student if the equipment he had with him and lack of costume are any indicators,” the portal villain said.

Shigaraki tilted his head. “So, a low-level enchanter. What’s someone like you doing here, I wonder?”

Izuku stayed silent externally. Internally, there was a lot of screaming with a side of trying to figure the villains out. The misty one had a transport/portal quirk that he could use on others or himself; he was going to be incredibly difficult to fight (especially since all their gear had been left behind in the control room). As for Shigaraki…Now that the villain had turned to face Izuku, he could see how the villain held his hands (the ones actually attached of him, not the dismembered ones acting as morbid fashion accessories) reminded him of Uraraka. He had a five-point activation quirk, and it was likely quite destructive, whatever it was. Although…the mindless way the beaked villain bashed on Uchiyama’s quirk, it could be something similar to Dictator’s quirk, a touch-based puppeteering, or perhaps a form of mind control. If that was the case, Izuku was fairly confident it wasn’t going to work on both him and Ekikyō at the same time, given the villain wasn’t going to be touching Ekikyō.

Izuku getting lost in his analysis and failing to answer Shigaraki seemed to irritate the villain. Or he was just impatient. Izuku was inclined to believe the latter. Either way, the villain charged Izuku with his hands splayed and reaching. Definitely a five-point quirk. “Useless NPC, I’ll teach you to ignore the main character,” the man growled, swiping a hand toward Izuku’s face.

Izuku stepped forward and to the side to put him outside Shigaraki’s guard and met the man’s advance with a blow to the outside of Shigaraki’s extended elbow. He didn’t hit hard enough to break the joint, unfortunately. Ciupan would be disappointed.

“Easy there, Izuku. Remember your right hand’s burned. Try not to mess it up even more.”

Izuku winced at the reminder and flexed his injured hand to get a feel for how tight the damaged skin was.

Shigaraki noted the movement and smiled behind the embalmed hand on his face. Then he struck again.

Izuku dodged around the villain, steering him away from Eraserhead and the students inside Uchiyama’s bubble. He made for one of the downed and still unconscious villains, hoping to swipe a piece of their gear. Izuku would love a weapon right now. Hell, he’d make do with his grappling hooks if only he had them.

Shigaraki pursued readily enough, but his attacks started speeding up when Izuku failed to deliver any more blows of his own. Izuku struggled to keep out of reach, reluctantly impressed with the man’s speed. He was on par with Eraserhead, though nowhere near the speed Stain had drilled Izuku in only days before.

On his own, Izuku was no match for Eraserhead, let alone Stain. But with Ekikyō pressed close in their mind to read his intentions and synch up with his movements, they could just keep one step ahead. They worked to conserve their oxygen, making the smallest movements they could afford to in avoiding Shigaraki’s grasping hands.

When they reached the downed villain they’d been aiming for, Izuku was annoyed to find they were one of those villains that overly relied on their quirk. They didn’t even carry a knife or a crowbar on them! Izuku mentally grumbled to Ekikyō and sidestepped the subpar villain.

Shigaraki followed, kicking at the unconscious person’s arm when he tripped on it. He snarled at Izuku when he and Ekikyō took the opportunity to land a left-handed palm strike on the man’s right elbow.

If they couldn’t exert the force necessary to disable the joint in one blow, they could still fatigue it with multiple. And they might have succeeded if they hadn’t lost their focus.

A burst of air pressure and a terrible crack announced the failing of Uchiyama’s quirk.

Izuku and Ekikyō whipped around in time to see the translucent pink construct shatter and dissolve into thin air. Beyond it, Izuku could make out the three students from the Flood Zone. Uchiyama…didn’t look so good. He was pale as notebook paper and had blood trailing from his nose down to a decent-sized stain on his costume’s collar. As Izuku watched, the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell. Asui grabbed him and leaped away with him under one arm and Mineta under the other. Mineta screamed and threw balls that grew from his scalp at the massive villain. A distant part of Izuku noted how quickly the spheres regrew from the boy’s scalp and wondered what hair care for a quirk like that might look like, but the rest of him was praising the boy’s throwing arm.

Mineta hit the villain square in the face with several spheres, but Izuku couldn’t bring himself to feel bad when they stuck to the villain’s lolling eyes and beak. The rest littered the ground around the villain, likely for—

Pain hit Izuku all at once. It was like Kacchan’s explosions in the burning, but where that pain was intense but brief, this ate deeper and wider at a torturously slow pace. Izuku wondered if this must be what having superheated metal held against skin felt like. Ekikyō yanked them away from the source of pain and turned their eyes down to see half their right pant leg gone and the skin underneath chipping, flaking, falling away. Disintegrating. And it still was even though Shigaraki was no longer touching them.

A lingering effect, a hysterical part of Izuku’s brain noted. How long before it stopped? Did it stop on its own? Is this what happened to the people those dismembered hands came from? Was this how Midoriya Izuku died? From one touch in a moment of inattention?

He’d thought about death more in his life than was probably healthy, but he’d always thought he’d die in the field as (a hero) Naisho or in an alley after his bullies took things too far or by his own…The point was all those scenarios left him isolated at the…end. Painful as it was, this wasn’t the worst way he could go. At least he wasn’t alone. He just hoped Ekikyō and everyone else made it out alive.

Chapter Text

Toshinori had a lot of experience being late in his life. He was late getting (being given) his quirk. He mastered One for All too late to save Nana. He tracked down All for One too late to rescue hundreds who’d fallen prey to the villain’s trafficking and experimentation rings. He noticed too late that All for One had been toying with him in their fight. After Toshinori’s injury, he’d only grown more familiar with that lateness.

The final straw was realizing too late that he’d lost the bottles he’d stuffed the Sludge Villain into. That villain kidnapped (for a time Toshinori had thought he’d murdered) the same quirkless boy Toshinori had rescued from him once already. Toshinori hadn’t been there to save the boy a second time. That was on Toshinori.

He hadn’t been able to deny it any longer. He wasn’t the hero he once was. (Had he ever been the hero he wanted to be? No, if he had Nana would still be alive.) It was time; he couldn't risk being too late to choose a successor as well.

So, he’d taken Nezu up on his offer of teaching at UA and had even met Nighteye and his intern. Lemillion had turned down Toshinori’s quirk before Toshinori could even decide if he wanted to offer it. Toshinori wished he’d had such conviction and self-confidence when he was younger. Mirai had done a fine job teaching his intern. Maybe that was something Toshinori could help another young hero with: self-confidence. (Goodness knows he never got that from his own mentor after Nana was murdered.)

When Toshinori wasn’t patrolling he was cramming for the distance teaching degree he’d enrolled in. He was barely going to finish the academic requirements for it before his employment at UA began, but Nezu assured him he could get his residency hours on the job. As long as he got his hours, no one would really care that on paper he’d gotten them after starting teaching. Well, no one except Aizawa and Toshinori himself. The first because Toshinori had no experience with students before being handed two impressionable classes, and the second because it felt like being too late again.

Toshinori had felt like an imposter as he sat with the other heroes-turned-teachers to watch the heroics entrance exam. There were so many promising young people with strong quirks, but Toshinori found his attention drawn toward the less flashy candidates.

After speaking to Mirai and Togata, Toshinori had looked up the student and found just how far Mirai had brought him: from the boy with the difficult quirk and impossible dream to the hero who wanted to—and knew he could one day—save a million people. Toshinori couldn’t help but be reminded of himself hearing that story. And he found himself wanting to offer the same chance to another hero hopeful.

So, he kept an eye on those who had the heart but maybe needed a bit of help realizing their dream. When the zero pointer was unleashed, Toshinori’s eyes fell upon a boy with black hair who immediately left the robots he was fighting to help others flee the massive robot. Right before the timer ran out, the boy shoved another student out of the way of the zero pointer’s fist. Toshinori tensed as he watched the boy cross his arms—something changed about how his appearance, probably his quirk—and take the blow. He was flung back into a wall, but the robot’s fist had a massive dent. The boy staggered to his feet as the end siren blared, looking a bit dizzy, but no worse for wear.

Toshinori caught Nezu staring at him and grinning. The principal leaned closer to say, “Ah, young Kirishima Eijiro, an interesting young man with a hardening quirk. There are no negative marks in his record, but a few reports that he was the subject of bullying in middle school. His confidence took a hit from it, but he still put in his heroics application, albeit last minute.”

Toshinori mulled over what Nezu had told him until he heard another of the teachers gasp. He looked up as Cementoss hurried from the room, Aizawa running on his heels. He scanned the monitors until he spotted what had spurred them to action. A student in another testing center had been pinned under rubble. The zero pointer had stopped mere meters from her. Nezu rewound the footage to see what they had missed while discussing Young Kirishima.

Toshinori winced, side twinging in sympathy, as he saw her already stuck when another section of the building above her broke under the zero pointer’s advance and fell onto the pile trapping her. The video had no sound, but it was clear she screamed. She was hurt, probably badly. Thank goodness the school had Recovery Girl on staff. The girl should be fine. Toshinori only wished there had been a student like Kirishima in her testing center to prevent her being hurt in the first place.

After exam results were sent out, Nezu pulled some strings to arrange for (skinny) Toshinori and Young Kirishima to meet. Toshinori’s confidence in this boy being the one only grew when he learned Kirishima’s story, his reasons for wanting to be a hero.

“…I froze up then, but I’ve decided I’m going to be a hero. So, I’ll protect people from now on, put my life on the line for it, because I don’t wanna regret anything ever again. I’ll be a hero who protects others!”

Toshinori smiled. He had a feeling Nana would have liked this one. He didn’t ask Young Kirishima that day, but he did ask before the semester at UA began. Kirishima said yes, and now One for All had a ninth holder with a heart of gold.

Toshinori had done one thing right, but that didn’t break his curse of lateness. He couldn’t seem to figure out how to help Kirishima harness the power that had come naturally to him. Recovery Girl warned them the first time that Kirishima’s skin cracked and split under the strain of his strengthened quirk combined with One for All that the boy was going to have permanent scarring if they couldn’t find a safer way for Kirishima to use One for All. Toshinori was out of his depth, and he knew it. He didn’t want to be too late to save someone again, especially not his successor. Or his other students.

So, he begged off the morning after his first disastrous class with 1-A to speak with Mirai at his agency. He asked for help. Toshinori wasn’t sure why Mirai turned so red when he explained that his choice of Kirishima had been inspired by Mirai’s training of Togata, but Mirai agreed to help. They made a plan.

Toshinori left his old friend’s agency after a shared lunch, satisfied, hopeful, and intending to make it back to UA in time to join 1-A for their rescue training at the USJ. Then someone tried to rob a bank. Right in front of Toshinori. What was he supposed to do? Similar incidents racked up until he heard what he thought was a distant gunshot and looked up to see a blindingly bright flare halfway across town. Right where the USJ stood.

A little voice in the back of Toshinori’s head told him he was late again, maybe too late. He hadn’t moved so fast in years.

When he threw open the doors at the USJ, he didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. A child’s scream (of pain and terror that Toshinori was all too familiar with) made his blood run cold with apprehension and fury. The students near the entrance were already tending Thirteen where she lay injured; he could afford to not worry about them for now. He moved to the top of the stairs in an instant, taking in the scene below. It wasn’t pretty. The child’s scream cut out as he collapsed to the ground. There was something familiar about him, but Toshinori’s eyes were drawn more to the wound on his leg—the growing wound. A lean villain stood over the boy, laughing as he watched the boy suffer.

A quick glance told Toshinori where Aizawa was and that he wouldn’t be able to stop the villain’s quirk. Was his colleague even alive? That left hoping that either distracting or knocking the villain out would break their quirk’s effect.

(Toshinori didn’t think he’d be able to get the boy to a hospital in time with the way that wound was spreading.)

Toshinori moved. In the blink of an eye, he shoved the villain hard away from the boy and moved him and Aizawa to the edge of the plaza. Both of the wounded were unresponsive as he moved them, though the boy’s eyes were still open. Shock, Toshinori noted with worry. He set the boy down as gently as he could and propped him in a recovery position, wishing he had time to do more, but a glance down told him the villain’s quirk hadn’t halted. He hoped the boy could hear him as he said, “It’s okay, my boy; I am here.”

Toshinori hated leaving a clearly distressed civilian alone but he had to if there was any hope of saving the boy’s life. So, he checked Aizawa long enough to assure himself the man was alive too (and impossible to place in recovery with his arms as broken as they were) and returned to the fray. Distraction didn’t do the trick. Knockout it was. As he dove back toward the villain—whose costume was covered in what Toshinori suspected were actual human hands—he took in the rest of the battlefield. Had Aizawa taken down all these criminals himself? Toshinori’s estimation of the man vastly improved. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to his fellow hero’s lesson plan suggestions.

“Nomu!” The villain screeched, pointing at Toshinori.

Toshinori had only a moment to ponder who exactly Nomu was before he had to dodge a sloppy punch. It missed him by a wide margin, but the enemy’s speed caught Toshinori by surprise. The massive, musclebound person was not a looker, that was for sure. Covered in scars, brain exposed, and an off-putting combination of a beak and teeth must had made the…man(?) unpopular growing up. Whatever discrimination he’d faced didn’t give him a pass on endangering Toshinori’s students though. Speaking of his students, were those Young Mineta’s spheres stuck all over Nomu’s face?

Toshinori watched in mingled disgust and horror as Nomu reached up to claw two of the spheres away from its face, taking a chunk of skin and an eye with them. The skin and eye quickly regrew, giving Toshinori pause. Nomu’s quirk was regeneration? Then what about the super speed and incredible strength?

Damn, this was going to make reaching the hand villain more difficult, but Toshinori was done being too late to save people. He reached deep and pulled up more of One for All than he had used in a long time. Time to show these villains what Plus Ultra really meant.

---

Izuku wasn’t sure when he started to fall, but hitting the ground jarred the still growing injury, sending a sharp stab of pain up and down his leg. He also wasn’t sure when he’d started screaming, but the fall knocked the air out of him, and he struggled for a moment to get it back. Why couldn’t he get any air?

He felt himself being shoved aside, but he was still lying on the ground. He hadn’t moved, but his body felt more distant now, the pain like it might have belonged to someone else. He couldn’t move or do anything. His body relaxed and started breathing steadily and deeply without him, and his heartrate slowed to something approaching normal.

“You’re not dying today, kid. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Ekikyō growled. “Just…hold tight. Don’t fight me.”

Words were beyond Izuku at the moment, but he mentally curled in on himself in a failed attempt to escape from the pain and pressed up against Ekikyō. He let their edges blur a little, let his friend’s emotions and stray thoughts wash over him. Ekikyō had him; if anyone, he could get them out of this. Ekikyō could handle the outside world for a few minutes. Izuku for his part tried to get the trembling he could distantly feel their body doing under control and made a valiant effort at ignoring the pain marching relentlessly across his outer thigh. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of breaths and heartbeats Ekikyō had set and not doing anything to distract his friend.

Izuku distantly heard a loud clang and maniacal laughter that made him want to shrink in on himself even more. Then someone moved their body—not Ekikyō, because he was surprised too. A voice tangled up with memories of rooftops and drowning said something to him, but Izuku couldn’t make out the words.

Ekikyō didn’t seem to be paying much attention either. He was busy thinking of ideas to save them while frantically trying and failing to stabilize disintegrating layers of skin and fat. (He had to let the wound bleed freely as the disintegration attempted to spread to the cells in Izuku’s blood too, though it didn’t seem able to latch onto Ekikyō’s cells for some reason. Izuku was not complaining.) Ekikyō tossed most ideas aside the instant they formed, but one lingered despite his reluctance. One word kept repeating in his friend’s thoughts: firebreak.

Izuku caught what Ekikyō meant and wordlessly agreed. If it would stop the damage from spreading far enough to kill him (them?), Izuku was all for it. It was still better than amputation, and he trusted Ekikyō. Izuku wasn’t quite sure how much of that thought process was his and how much was Ekikyō’s, but it didn’t change what needed to be done.

Slime shifted rapidly under their skin, concentrating in their leg. A blast of air pressure washed over them just before Ekikyo turned their slime on Izuku’s skin and connective tissue, destroying and dissolving the tissue around the edges of the decaying area. Izuku knew that was what happened, but it felt closer to dipping their leg in battery acid.

“Not that far off,” one of them thought as they waited. If this didn’t work, they were really in trouble.

After several seconds of the pain not getting any worse or spreading beyond the bounds of what they’d sacrificed, relief spread through them. Ekikyō finally numbed their leg and turned his focus on Izuku. Izuku felt his concern and groggily pulled back. It was harder than usual and almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He wasn’t sure how successful he was anyway.

“That’s probably the panic attack or the shock, kid. Any other time I’d let you sleep it off, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull off being you when the teachers and paramedics get here.”

Izuku acknowledged the reasoning and pressed an impression of a question toward his friend. He was answered by Ekikyō reconnecting him with the senses he’d shut out while panicking. They were still on the ground, but they’d somehow wound up on the edge of the plaza. Someone had put them in a recovery position with their bad leg up. Eraserhead had been moved too and lay on his back only a meter from them. The answer to how they’d been moved came a moment later.

All Might and the Nomu crashed into each other in a flurry of blows that sent waves of air pressure washing over them. Even though their eyes were protected by a healthy layer of slime, they squinted against the force of it. All Might was here, and he was handling the crazy strong villain. That was good.

But what about the rest?

Ekikyō maintained tight control of their breathing and heart rate—and he was doing something with the rest of their circulatory system, though Izuku wasn’t quite sure what—but he allowed Izuku back in control of their motor skills as the student looked around. A few of the other villains were awake now, though they were smart enough to stay down with the wind whipping through the plaza. Izuku sized up the villains then looked at Eraserhead then down at himself. He didn’t linger on the pool of blood around their lower half. They and Eraserhead were out of the fight—

“Hey! I’m completely fine. Just kinda busy making sure your meatsuit doesn’t keel over.”

Okay, Izuku and Eraserhead were out of the fight. The best thing Izuku could do at this point was make sure they stayed out of it. He and Eraserhead were all too easy to take hostage in their current condition. So, Izuku carefully dragged himself toward the downed hero.

As he moved, he noticed the dampness on his skin under his uniform wasn’t all blood. Some of it clung too tightly to his skin. “Ekikyō?”

“Huh? Oh, I wanted to be ready to fight back if any of those dimwits tried to attack us while you were down for the count.”

Izuku made it to the hero and contemplated how exactly to move the man. He had a head wound and multiple broken bones. Moving him was dangerous, but staying out in the open—in an active combat zone—was even worse. Izuku’s right leg was still unusable too. Even a brief thought of trying to stand had a distinct feeling of warning directed at Izuku from Ekikyō’s side of their mind. Maybe if they could get Eraserhead balanced on Izuku’s back he could crawl? Just to the bushes. Out of sight, out of mind.

A half-formed idea from Ekikyō gave Izuku the confidence to start pulling the hero carefully onto their back. He mostly used the man’s jumpsuit, touching his broken arms as little as possible. Ekikyō helped as much as he could while staying out of sight. He pushed more slime through their skin and had it seep through the back of Izuku’s uniform to grip the hero’s jumpsuit and provide more leverage. Once the hero was in position, the slime held him there.

Then Izuku grit his teeth and forced his shaking limbs to carry them away from the titans clashing in the center of the plaza. He ignored the blood soaking into and through his uniform. (Eraserhead had been laying in a pool of his own blood before he’d been moved.) Progress was slow, and exceptionally strong winds knocked him flat a few times, but eventually they made it. As soon as they were out of sight, Izuku’s limbs refused to move them further. Izuku blinked, trying futilely to force grey, staticky patches from his vision. He wanted to gasp for breath, but that wasn’t cooperating either.

His body slowly lowered itself to the cool dirt, and Izuku relaxed as he recognized Ekikyō directing their movements. His friend had this. Izuku really wanted a nap.

“Not yet, Izuku. Hold on a little longer,” Ekikyō urged. More slime oozed through their skin, collecting beneath them this time.

Izuku vaguely registered the small pool of slime lift him and Eraserhead—not by much, only a centimeter off the ground at most. But it was enough to let Ekikyō move them deeper into cover without them dragging. He settled Izuku and the hero behind a small copse of maples and pulled most of the slime back through Izuku’s skin. Izuku rolled a little to deposit Eraserhead on the ground next to him before letting himself sag back into the dirt.

After a minute, the funny blotches of not-vision receded, and Izuku started cataloging Eraserhead’s injuries as best he could without moving. The broken arms—multiple fractures in each of the three long bones—and slight deformity to the man’s rapidly swelling face—probably broken facial bones—were the most worrying, but the definitely disintegrated patch on the man’s right elbow was also alarming. Ekikyō paid attention as they examined that wound. Once they determined that it wasn’t spreading like theirs had (was that dependent on Shigaraki’s intention when using his quirk or had the hero stopped the spread with Erasure?) Ekikyō went back to focusing on keeping Izuku stable and conscious.

Eraserhead was still bleeding. Izuku watched crimson drip from the man’s eyebrow for a painful few seconds before gathering the wherewithal to heave himself up to sit against a tree. After allowing his vision to clear again, he carefully pulled Eraserhead’s knife from the sheath on the man’s utility belt. He’d only seen Eraser use it a handful of times, and always to cut a damaged or tangled section from his capture scarf, but it served well enough for slicing the clean outer parts and inner lining of Izuku’s blazer into strips for bandages (for both of them on Ekikyō’s insistence) and cutting a low-hanging branch into pieces for rough arm splints. When that fabric ran out, Izuku grimaced before conscripting the hero’s support item for the same purpose.

Izuku went about this with the single-minded determination of someone desperately trying not to fall asleep. The task absorbed so much of his focus that Izuku failed to notice when the sounds of fighting ceased. He only slipped free of his fugue-like state when a branch very near their hiding place snapped.

Izuku and Ekikyō's heart pounded a little bit faster, and the world grew sharper. They were both present in an instant and very defensive—Ekikyō of Izuku and Izuku of Ekikyō and Eraserhead. They pushed their body slightly more upright and adjusted their bandaged grip on Eraserhead’s knife. It had more heft and reach than they were used to, but they were confident they could at least do some damage before they took any. They snarled as a figure stepped through the bushes to their right, and they whirled, swinging their knife at the person’s closest knee and hamstring. They realized a moment too late that the person wasn’t a foe.

Thankfully, Present Mic was more competent in combat than a half-conscious teenager. He caught Izuku’s wrist and twisted it into dropping the knife before the blade connected with anything. “Woah there, Little Listener! I’m one of the good guys.” After giving Izuku a few seconds to assess the truth of that statement, the hero asked, “Are you hurt?”

Izuku blinked up at Present Mic’s tight smile and darting eyes. The hero couldn’t seem to decide whether he should focus more on Eraserhead or Izuku. Izuku looked down at himself and realized for the first time how much blood was on his tattered uniform. Oh, yeah, he looked pretty bad. “Yes, but most of the blood is his,” Izuku said, pointing at the unconscious hero. “Head wound,” he added absently.

Present Mic winced and nodded. “Cover your ears,” he instructed before releasing Izuku’s wrist. Once Izuku obeyed, the hero took a deep breath and yelled back the way he’d come, “I’m gonna need a stretcher over here!” That done, the man knelt beside Izuku and looked him over. “Can you tell me what your injuries are, Little Listener?”

Ekikyō slid forward to rattle off, “Burned my hand when I set off the flare, disintegration on my leg, shock.”

The world fuzzed around the edges in what Izuku belatedly identified as an adrenaline crash. “I’m going to pass out soon,” he helpfully noted. He wasn’t quite sure why that prompted panic from Present Mic.

Chapter Text

Izuku could now say he’d been fireman carried. Izuku wasn’t sure if he much liked the experience, but he was grateful that Present Mic didn’t touch his disintegrated leg. The trip back to UA was a blur of movement, people leaning over him, medical equipment, and Ekikyō’s mental reassurances.

Izuku felt kinda detached from his body again, not that he was really complaining. He just wished Ekikyō would let him sleep already. But any time he started to drift off, Ekikyō tugged him back. He couldn’t make sense of why Ekikyō was keeping him awake.

Until Recovery Girl kissed his forehead. Izuku nearly blacked out then from sheer exhaustion, but a new sense of urgency from Ekikyō shot a dose of adrenaline through Izuku’s veins. Everything snapped back into focus, and he struggled to sit up.

“Easy, sonny,” Recovery Girl said, trying to push him back down. “You need to sleep. My quirk takes a lot out of people, and I’ve used it on you two days in a row.”

“Bathroom,” was Izuku’s only explanation.

The school nurse sighed and unhooked him from the various pieces of equipment around his bed. Izuku looked around and realized that he was in one of the infirmary’s patient rooms…and not the one with the convenient window by the tree. Actually, this one had no windows at all. It seemed Recovery Girl had wised up to his tricks. But the room did have a small attached bathroom, and that was what mattered right now.

Recovery Girl handed him a pair of crutches and let him limp and stagger his way through the small doorway. Once the door had clicked shut behind them, Izuku turned on the fan, and Ekikyō hastily de-possessed him. Recovery Girl’s quirk had sped up Izuku’s healing, but it drained more than just Izuku’s stamina to do so. Both friends breathed a sigh of relief once they were separated. Then Izuku nearly collapsed. The mental separation was more jarring than usual—they must have still been overlapping a bit from the USJ—and it left Izuku disoriented for a minute on top of being exhausted.

Ekikyō propped Izuku up and paused to listen while the boy recovered. He grimaced at whatever he heard and flushed the toilet. Ah, that probably meant Recovery Girl was still waiting for him. Izuku got his left foot back under him and nodded toward the cabinet under the small bathroom’s sink. Ekikyō made a face at him before rolling his eyes and cramming himself into his temporary hiding spot. Once Ekikyō was fully out of sight, Izuku pushed the door open again and struggled back to bed. After he was hooked back up to everything, he promptly passed out.

When he woke next, he felt both better and worse. He wasn’t quite so exhausted now, but his right leg hurt, and his heart pounded from the dream that woke him. Not wanting to dwell on the images of blood and disintegration and too-quiet alleyways, Izuku attempted to move his leg, making the pain worse and revealing that a heavy bandage trailed from his knee to his waist. Izuku groaned and tossed off his blankets. It was too warm in here, and he’d started sweating in his sleep. That was probably from the nightmare.

Izuku blinked blearily and looked around until he spotted the nurse call button sitting on the edge of the bed. He pressed it and frowned at the throbbing in his leg. After setting the button back down he turned his hand over. It was bandaged. Oh, right, he’d burned that hand. It didn’t hurt, but his leg did. That worried him.

Thankfully, Recovery Girl arrived quickly. “Ah, good to see you awake, Midoriya. You’ve been out for eight hours, give or take. We went ahead and got you cleaned up and did a skin graft once we’d confidently stabilized your vitals.”

Skin graft? But where could she have taken enough skin from to cover that large an area? The wound had wrapped nearly halfway around his leg before Ekikyō had stopped the spread. Izuku couldn’t feel any other bandages or wounds, but he wasn’t completely confident in his self-assessment given he hadn’t felt his hand either.

As if reading his mind, Recovery Girl continued, “Since it was such a large area, we had to use a donor transplant. I contacted a friend of mine who called in a specialist with an anti-rejection quirk that works well for cases like this. We’ll change your bandages in the morning and do one more round of healing; then you should be good to go.”

A little alarm started going off in Izuku’s head at the word “anti-rejection,” but he couldn’t quite place his unease. Then he remembered what Cross had said about him and Ekikyō. He bit his lip to keep from cursing in front of the hero. His body may not be rejecting the graft, but Ekikyō’s slime was.

“Um, Recovery Girl? Could you unhook me so I can use the bathroom again before you leave?”

The school nurse (doctor?) eyed his IV bag a moment before nodding. “I suppose. I’ll have something brought up for you to eat too before you go back to sleep. You’ll need the energy for my quirk.”

“Thanks,” Izuku said, holding out his left arm for her to disconnect his IV and finger clip thing. (He knew it had something to do with measuring blood oxygen levels from hanging around the clinic, but he couldn’t remember the name of it.) Once free, he grabbed his crutches and hobble-hopped back to the bathroom without putting any weight on his right leg.

He locked himself in the bathroom, turned the fan on again, and rapped a knuckle on the cabinet while whispering, “Ekikyō, we have a problem. Do you think you’d be up for a possession again?”

Ekikyō opened the cabinet door and flowed out, taking up the majority of the space in the cramped bathroom as he stretched. “What’s going on kid? I heard them come and take you away for a little bit.”

Izuku winced and pointed as his leg. “They gave me a skin graft, but I think the slime is rejecting it. Kinda feels like it’s on fire, and I might be starting to run a fever.”

Ekikyō frowned and pressed some slime against the bandage until it seeped through to prod at the skin underneath. “Think you’re right. I’ll need to mess with your immune system to get the graft integrated. Is the old lady planning to use her quirk on you again?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, but not til the morning.”

“Well, we’ll deal with it when we get there. Unless you want that fancy graft to fall apart, the sooner we do this the better.”

Izuku grimaced, thinking about how awful he’d felt the first few hours after his first possession. Hopefully, it wasn’t going to be like that again since it was only a small piece of him rather than everything that needed to adjust. “Ready when you are, Ekikyō.”

This was the closest together they’d ever done two possessions, not counting that first visit to Cross. Ekikyō slid into place easily, except when his slime reached their right leg. Everything there felt inflamed, and Ekikyō took longer to work his way through the new tissue attached to the half-healed edges of the wound. At least, Izuku couldn’t really feel him working on the graft. So, none of the burning numbness he’d expected. Just a general feeling like he had a bad cold or maybe a case of flu which, after a year of not catching anything, sucked.

Once Ekikyō settled in and stretched their body in a parody of how he had after being crammed in the sink cabinet, he repeated whatever he’d done to their circulatory system before. It felt weird and not quite uncomfortable.

At a mental prod, Ekikyō explained, “Putting your blood pressure back at ‘normal’ for the machines out there.”

Izuku nodded, and they looked at themselves in the mirror. They didn’t appear flushed or feverish. So, as long as Recovery Girl didn’t take their temperature, there should be no way for her to tell there was a problem with the graft.

“This is much more comfortable than under the sink,” Ekikyō commented, poking at Izuku’s half of their mind.

“Yes, I’m practically the presidential suite,” Izuku joked, mentally leaning against his friend. Part of him just wanted to stay in here with Ekikyō for the rest of the night, but eventually, he sighed. The school must have called his mom by now, and she should be getting off shift soon. He should be out there when she arrived.

They picked up their crutches and made their way back to bed. They climbed in and held still for Recovery Girl to hook them back up to the room’s monitors. There was a moment of held breath while the numbers appeared on the display. When the hero only spared the device a glance before leaving them to their dinner, they relaxed more fully.

Now that that was out of the way, on to a more important matter: food. Izuku mentally thanked Cross for putting the notes about him having a “higher than average” metabolism in his medical file. Recovery Girl had gotten them a tray packed with enough food to make even Fat Gum smile.

As Izuku started in on the bowl of soba, he asked his bodymate, “Hey Ekikyō, you said you heard Recovery Girl take me away earlier. How does that work? I mean, your body has obvious eyes. Do you have ear bones floating around in there too?”

“No, I don’t have any bones, ear or otherwise. Unless we’re counting yours?”

Slime shifted in their body, sliding around bones and through joints. A series of pops traveled down their spine, and Izuku sighed. He hadn’t even noticed the discomfort there until it was gone. He did, however pick up on the smugness radiating off his friend. Izuku mentally shoved him.

Ekikyō chuckled. “But seriously, I don’t need ears. My whole body’s a great conductor for vibrations, and sounds are just vibrations in the air.”

“Wait, really? What’s that like?”

“Memory share after we finish eating?” Ekikyō offered.

Izuku grinned and shoveled another bite of soba into their mouth. They made quick work of everything Recovery Girl had brought them, and Izuku laid back in their bed. He closed his eyes and leaned on Ekikyō. Ekikyō leaned back for a moment, and a wordless exchange passed between them, confirming they were both good to go.

Then Ekikyō’s mind slid over, around, into Izuku’s, and they were in a memory. They could feel the soft passage of water through the tunnel and the distant, drowning rumble in the air where it joined one of the city’s mains a distance ahead. There was a hum of passing automobiles in the concrete under and around them. Then another set of vibrations, oddly patterned, tugged at their senses, and they paused to listen before following the new noise. They could tell which way the sound waves came from by where on their body picked up the vibrations first.

The sound grew until they recognized it as music, something classical. They found a storm drain and stretched up to put their eyes through the grate. They were outside a concert hall. They found a back door and oozed some of their mass into the lock, prodding at the mechanisms there until the lock sprung. From there they carefully found their way to the storage space under the stage. No one should find them here; they could afford to take a break and enjoy the rest of the show.

The music lingered in their mind as they returned to the present, smiling in recalled contentment. In no great hurry, they left their minds sift apart until they were mostly separate and distinct again. Izuku pressed a pulse of gratitude Ekikyō’s way and yawned. He didn’t have a headache after this memory share (though that might have been the meds he was on), but he was tired.

Apprehension buzzed through him at the thought of sleep. He didn’t want more nightmares. But like this, he could feel how exhausted Ekikyō was. Izuku remembered how Ekikyō lost his shape whenever he slept. To stay hidden the past eight hours in that small cabinet he must not have slept at all. Izuku mentally poked Ekikyō. “Hey, get some rest. I’ll figure out some way to wake you up when Recovery Girl arrives to use her quirk.”

“You could use some more sleep too, you know. It’s your body that’s healing.”

Izuku hummed quietly, nervously, as he fidgeted with his blankets. He blinked when Ekikyō’s mind reeled him back in, just enough for Izuku to be unable to ignore the other’s mental presence.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, and I’ll wake you up if you start to have a nightmare, ‘kay? I’ll be up until your immune system’s sorted anyway; I’ll join you in Snoozeville once that’s done.”

That helped. Izuku wasn’t perfectly relaxed, but he knew Ekikyō had him. He was safe. They were safe. With the murmur of his friend’s thoughts and the faint echoes of remembered music playing in their head, sleep came more easily than Izuku expected.

---

“The graft looks like it’s healing nicely,” Recovery Girl said, examining the edges of the (larger than Izuku expected) wound. There was a roughly 17 centimeter by 17 centimeter patch of skin a few shades darker than his normal skin tone wrapped around the outer half of his thigh. He couldn’t really feel it, but he could still pick up on pressure a little. The damage had been more superficial at the edges and deeper in the middle, where Shigaraki’s quirk had gotten a good centimeter down into the tissue under his skin, and some of that pitting remained under the skin graft, leaving a definite divot where the injury had been. Thankfully Shigaraki’s quirk hadn’t chewed through much muscle or any tendons before Ekikyō stopped it. Maybe his quirk had an easier time traveling in a tissue layer than jumping layers?

Izuku gently rubbed at the seam between normal and grafted skin. The color of the new skin reminded Izuku of how his blush looked when he was hosting Ekikyō. Curious, he pressed on the grafted skin, watching it blanch and return to tan with an underlying duskiness when he removed his finger. He wondered if it would look so dark when Ekikyō was off doing his own thing.

Recovery Girl swatted his hand away from the wound and proceeded to re-wrap his leg to protect the fragile skin while it continued to heal. “Leave it wrapped until tomorrow, Midoriya, and be gentle with it. No strenuous activities, no scratching, and sleep on your side with a few pillows between your knees to elevate it. It’ll help decrease swelling, though there’s honestly less of that than I was expecting. Your friend’s quirk is certainly something. They wouldn’t happen to be interested in going into medicine, would they?”

“Is she trying to scout me?” Ekikyō asked, incredulous.

Izuku snorted and slapped a hand over his mouth. He was still smiling when he shook his head and said, “I don’t think that would work out, Recovery Girl. The healing’s a side effect, not the main part of their quirk, and it takes several hours of unpleasant set up for the healing to kick in the first time.”

The elderly hero frowned. “Too bad. It seems to have very few drawbacks…aside from the odd coloring,” she noted, tapping her cane against his right calf.

“Huh?” Izuku leaned as far forward as he could without falling out of the bed. With the bandages restricting his movement, he couldn’t quite see his right calf. That was where he got stabbed with that glass shard, right? “What do you mean?”

Recovery Girl raised an eyebrow at him. “Haven’t you noticed? Your scars are tinted green.”

What.

The heroine shook her head and kissed Izuku’s cheek. “You can see for yourself next time you’re in front of a mirror. For now, rest. We couldn’t reach your mother, but your aunt should be here in a little while to pick you up.”

Izuku yawned and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s normal. She works weird hours and sometimes picks up double shifts.” She should have been off by now though. He’d been in the infirmary almost a whole day at this point. Izuku pushed that uncomfortable thought aside and snuggled down under his blanket. The usual discomfort/urgency of Ekikyō’s quirk time limit was absent, and Ekikyō wasn’t saying anything. So, they probably had time for a nap?

He leaned a bit more into Ekikyō as he thought the last. Ekikyō sent back a feeling of confirmation, and they both relaxed into a light doze. The drifted between sleep, disjointed thoughts, and pieces of memories until someone knocked on their door. Izuku yawned and called, “Come in.” He and Ekikyō sat up straighter when he saw Nezu walk into the room pushing a small cart with a tea tray. “Nezu-sensei!”

“Hello, Midoriya,” the principal chirped as he walked over to clamber up into the chair beside his bed. “I do hope you’re recovering well. I was quite concerned when I heard the condition you were admitted in.”

Izuku gave his teacher a shaky grin. “I’ll be okay, though I might not wear shorts as often as I used to,” he admitted, running a hand over the bandage on his leg. Recovery Girl had left the wrappings off his right hand at least. The burn was as healed as it was getting. An uneven stripe of shiny tissue ran across the back of his hand and his index and middle fingers. Now that Izuku really looked, he could kinda see the green Recovery Girl was talking about.

Izuku tucked his scarred hand under his blankets when he caught Nezu looking at it. He cleared his throat and looked away. “So…is everyone else okay? 1-A? Eraserhead? Thirteen? All Might?”

Nezu gave him a soft smile and poured them each a cup of tea. “Everyone’s being taken care of, I assure you. Thirteen and Eraserhead are expected to make a full recovery, though they’re both still at the hospital at this point in time.”

“That’s good.” A tension Izuku wasn’t aware he’d been carrying eased from his shoulders. He accepted a cup from Nezu and worried his lip for a few seconds before whispering, “Eraserhead l-looked pretty bad.”

“He was in rough shape, but he is awake, last I heard,” Nezu said before sipping his tea. “I saw the section on Eraserhead in your notebooks, and I must admit I was a bit surprised. Not many people know of underground heroes at all, let alone him. How did you hear of him?”

Izuku glanced away from Nezu and stared into his teacup. “It was an online support group, one for quirkless people. One of the members was caught by that trafficking ring…three years ago? And Eraserhead saved her and the others who were taken. She told us about him when she came back online. Of course, I was going to look into him after that. Even if I left the group later because I found out they were connected to Humarise.” That had been disappointing. He’d made friends there, but when he was dmed that first recruitment pitch…He’d never left a server so fast or blocked so many people at once before.

Nezu’s ear twitched at that, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he steered the conversation back to the events of the day before. “That was a smart move setting off the flare.”

“Ahhh, thanks,” Izuku mumbled, tilting his head down to hide any blush until Ekikyō could get it under control.

Nezu hopped off his chair briefly to pull something from the bottom of the tea cart: Izuku’s backpack. One of the teachers must have retrieved his things from the control room when they went to get the security camera footage. “I am curious as to why you had it and several other pieces of support equipment with you though.”

“Well, I got to school early yesterday. So, I went to talk to my f-friend, to tell her I might not be able to eat lunch with her and the others, but when she found out I was going to watch the hero course’s rescue training, she threw a bunch of ‘rescue applicable’ inventions at me. I…don’t think she got that I was observing, not participating. But she seemed so excited…So, I just kinda rolled with it,” Izuku explained.

“Ah, Hatsume Mei. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear how successful her ‘baby’ was,” Nezu said with a mischievous grin.

Izuku nodded. “It worked great. Still has a few kinks to iron out though,” he said, absently tracing the edges of his new burn scar.

Nezu followed the motion with a look in his eyes that Izuku couldn’t place. The principal seemed about to say something when the door opened.

Recovery Girl entered first, followed by his “aunt,” Cheshire. The woman was dressed in casual clothes, a far cry from the scrubs he almost always saw her in. Her blue eyes immediately locked on Izuku’s green, and she gave one of her not-quite smiles. She sidestepped the tea cart and principal to hug him. “I’m glad you’re okay, kiddo.”

“Me too, Auntie Yūku.” Izuku hugged her back. When they pulled apart, he apologized, “Sorry you had to come pick me up.”

“Oh, none of that. What are friends and family for?”

Izuku’s heart twinged, thinking about his only actual family. Why wasn’t she here? Surely her work wasn’t so heartless as to refuse her leave when her kid had been caught in a villain attack. Or maybe he wrote her phone number wrong on the contact sheet he turned in to the school? (She’d filled one out, but Izuku wrote a second one with Cheshire as an emergency contact instead of Bakugo Mitsuki before disposing of the original.)

Something heavy and unpleasant lapped at the edges of Izuku’s mind before Ekikyō pulled back, taking the emotion with him. It left Izuku’s heart with a phantom ache, whatever it was.

Chesh—Yūku’s face softened for a moment before she turned to face the teachers. “Will there be any permanent damage?”

“Aside from the scarring and skin graft, there was some muscle involvement. I’d recommend a few sessions with a physical therapist to build his leg’s strength back up,” Recovery Girl said, holding out a packet of papers.

“Which UA will pay for,” Nezu interjected.

Recovery Girl nodded at the papers once Yūku took them. “Those ones are well-reputed and often service local law enforcement and heroes. Midoriya and his privacy will be kept safe at any on the list.”

Yūku flipped through the pages before humming. “I’ll make sure he gets scheduled. Is there any paperwork I need to fill out or home care instructions I need to know about?”

Chapter Text

Izuku adjusted his position on Chesh—Yūku’s sofa as he texted Shinso. Izuku felt really bad about missing the first two days he’d intended to train Shinso, but he was on strict orders to avoid strenuous activity.

“You could always have him practice with his quirk,” Ekikyō suggested. “That would only be strenuous for him.”

Izuku conceded that point and fired off another text to Shinso. “I’m at Cheshire’s place right now if you want to come over. Could get some practice in with Brainwashing while I’m ‘taking it easy.’” Just like any of the other times he’d invited Shinso, Izuku didn’t expect to get a response.

Much to his surprise, Shinso texted back, “Send me your location.”

Izuku stared at the message for a few seconds before smiling. He leaned his head back to see into the kitchen around the side of the sofa. “Yūku, is it okay if I have Shinso over? He’s the one I told you about.”

Yūku turned from where she was manning the stove. “Sure, Green. He can join us for dinner. He’ll have to leave when we go to your appointment with Cross though. Don’t think the ladies will be comfortable with a new face so soon.”

Izuku nodded. Maiko was the only one staying “full-time” with Yūku right now, but Kotone still visited when her classes allowed. Today was one such occasion. (Eiko had moved out a few months ago and gave the odd update to Yūku, but Izuku hadn’t seen her since she left.) Maiko was close to Izuku’s age, maybe a year younger, and she was skittish and touch averse in a way that was familiar enough to hurt. Even though Izuku had visited a handful of times since she’d taken up residence, she hadn’t stayed in the same room as him outside of meals. Yūku assured him that she was like that with everyone.

He sent Shinso his location pin and the apartment number before closing out their messages. He looked briefly at the message thread with his mom. He’d texted her earlier to tell her he was safely at “Auntie’s” house, but that Mitsuki had to leave right after. Something about a big deadline coming up. It was all lies, but it should be enough to stop her dropping by the Bakugos’ home spontaneously. She’d replied with a thumbs-up emoji, but that was it.

He frowned and set his phone aside before picking up his notebook. He’d work on his laptop later when he wasn’t at a sort-of-kind-of vigilante’s home. He even had the power bank removed from the laptop to (hopefully) prevent location tracking. So, for now, he worked on analyzing the villains he could remember from the USJ.

There was a knock at the door about the time Izuku put his finishing touches on his sketch of Shigaraki Tomura. He tucked his pencil into the notebook and closed it as Cheshire opened the door for Shinso to enter. Izuku waved at him, grinning as the boy seemed a little less stiff after spotting him.

“Hey,” Shinso said, raising a hand to wave back.

Izuku shifted to sit up on the sofa and make room for Shinso. “Shinso, this is Cheshire. Cheshire, Shinso. Kotone will be visiting for dinner, and Maiko is hanging out in her room right now. She’s not a big fan of…people,” Izuku said diplomatically.

Shinso snorted and plopped down onto the cushion next to Izuku. “I can respect that.” Then Shinso eyed Izuku up and down, eyes lingering on Izuku’s burned hand and bandaged leg.

Izuku forced a grin. “If I had a cast, I’d offer to let you sign, but…you could come with us when we visit the underground clinic to take the bandages off later?”

“Later?” Shinso asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you said Recovery Girl wanted you to keep the bandages on another day?”

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yes, but she doesn’t know that I heal even quicker than normal with my friend here.”

Shinso blinked before connecting the dots. “Your friend with the possession quirk is…”

Izuku felt Ekikyō stretch their face into his signature smile. “Hi, Shinso. Thanks for keeping an eye on this klutz for me when I’m not around.”

Izuku and Ekikyō laughed at the shocked face Shinso made. “Y-you look like that one meme…”

Shinso scoffed and fitted his stony mask back in place. “So, what do I call you. The other yo—oh this is confusing.”

Izuku got the last of his giggles under control and mentally poked Ekikyō. “You want your real name or fake one here?”

“Real’s fine.”

Izuku beamed and introduced his friends. “Shinso, Ekikyō. Ekikyō, Shinso.” Then he took a mental step back and allowed Ekikyō to do the talking for a bit.

“Just so you know, you’re the first teenager who’s treated Izuku like a human being in a decade. If you turn on him too, I will hunt you down.”

Okay, bad idea; abort! “Ekikyō! We do not threaten our friends!” He fought Ekikyō for control for a moment, only stopping when Shinso spoke.

“I don’t plan to.” Shinso tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Are you two fighting? Your expression did something weird just now.”

Izuku finally shoved Ekikyō over and nodded, glaring off to the side. “Yep. Just reminding him that we don’t give our friends the shovel talk.” He shook his head as if that could clear it of Ekikyō’s laughter. “Anyway, I may not be able to help much with physical training right now, but want to train your quirk while dinner’s cooking?”

“You were serious about that, huh?” Shinso asked, glancing away. “Won’t Ekikyō being here make it dangerous? I’m not sure how my quirk functions with the target already being…possessed?”

Izuku grinned. “Ekikyō can keep his mind separate from mine; so, there shouldn’t be any interference. And he can snap me out of it if anything goes wrong. Plus! This way you can practice controlling two different people at once.”

“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this!” Ekikyō protested.

“Oh, don’t tell me you aren’t curious what it feels like to be on the other side of things.”

Ekikyō grumbled a bit, but Izuku felt agreement.

Shinso, on the other hand, still looked a bit skeptical. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive,” Izuku said. Then everything went fuzzy and distant. Izuku relaxed into the feeling after a few moments. Thoughts still formed, but they felt like bubbles forcing their way up through molasses. He could vaguely feel Ekikyō hovering nearby, but he didn’t interrupt. Izuku blinked as his ability to think freely returned. “How long was that?”

“Like a minute. Wasn’t sure what I should have you do,” Shinso said, glancing down at Izuku’s injured leg.

“Oh, right. Um…” Izuku looked around before picking up his notebook. He pulled his pencil out and flipped to a blank page in the back. He scribbled down a few notes on what Shinso’s quirk felt like, then flipped to another blank page. “You could check to see if you can make people answer questions while under your quirk. Or write answers. Give their signature—that has some interesting applications for undercover work. I’m decent at drawing—”

“Kid means excellent at drawing,” Ekikyō interjected.

“So, you could check to see how much of your commands are based on a target’s skill versus higher brain function or something you know. Maybe ask me to draw something simple that I’ve definitely seen and drawn before, like a top hero; then ask me to draw something I haven’t. Maybe from a picture on your phone? Then show me the picture to draw from. After we do that, we could try seeing how long you can hold on when I fight back. Villains and other students won’t cooperate; so, you’ll need practice there.”

Shinso looked just a little stunned again. “Sounds like a plan. You good?”

“Yes.” And he was under again. Izuku could distantly feel his body moving and doing things without his input. It felt different from when Ekikyō controlled him, but close enough that he didn’t feel tempted to freak out. While that happened, Izuku felt around in his mental fog. He could still sense Ekikyō, but there was a wall between them with Shinso’s quirk in effect. He slowly wondered if that separation would hold if they were both under. In what felt like no time, Izuku snapped back to reality.

Before he could even ask, Shinso told him, “15 minutes that time.”

“Huh, didn’t feel that long, but my thoughts were forming very slowly. So, I guess the time distortion makes sense.” He glanced down at his notebook to see a very rough, but recognizable sketch of Mirko with his name was written in slightly crooked kanji underneath it. Next to the first sketch were two even rougher ones—with little difference in quality between them—of what Izuku thought might be a little kid. His mind drew a blank on who it might be though. “Who’s this?”

“You don’t remember me telling you?”

“No? Nothing external really registered. I could still feel Ekikyō, but I couldn’t reach him, like there was a wall in the way.”

Shinso raised an eyebrow before turning his phone to show a young boy fallen asleep on the floor with papers and crayons strewn around him and a half-finished drawing under his head. “…my brother,” Shinso said hesitantly.

Izuku noted the total lack of similarities between Shinso and the boy in the picture but said nothing. “Think he’s in an orphanage or foster care?” he asked his bodymate. “Maybe that’s his adopted or step-brother.”

“I hate to say it, but the first one makes the most sense with him being muzzled last year,” Ekikyō said, shifting slime through their body.

Izuku pressed closer to Ekikyō and immediately picked up on Ekikyō’s discomfort with the topic. He tried to convey the idea of a hug before backing away from his friend’s mind. Out loud he said, “Cute. This will make great blackmail and teasing fuel when he’s older.”

Shinso grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, that’s the idea. Get what you need from that experiment?”

Izuku examined the sketches again and tugged at his lower lip. “The two of your brother are virtually the same, meaning while under your quirk I couldn’t really process the reference image. So, the fact it’s drawn that well at all might mean there’s some communication with your mind and your mental picture of him. Mirko is definitely clearer, but I have drawn her several times. Maybe my muscle memory is a factor? We’ll have to do some more testing over the weekend. I should be healed up enough for physical activity by then.” Izuku made several notes on the page with the drawings then turned to a fresh page where he wrote even more. He tore that page out and handed it to Shinso.

“What’s this?”

“A list of things to have ready for next time. We should test if your quirk prioritizes my muscle memory or yours when you’re in control. So, you’ll need to think of something unique to you to try to have me do while under. Things like that.” Izuku paused to take a breath before he chewed on his lip. “Do you have any drawbacks to using your quirk? I know you haven’t gotten to use it much, and I don’t want to push you too hard early on.”

“Uh, I’m not sure? I used to get migraines when I was little and used it a bunch on accident. If anything feels off, I’ll drop it.”

“Okay, that works.” Izuku made a few more notes before closing his notebook and returning his attention to Shinso.

“Ready to keep going?”

“Sure.” This time, as soon as the fog settled, Izuku started fighting back. He knew how to shove Ekikyō aside (though he always suspected Ekikyō let him win the times he did) but he had no experience trying to oust someone entirely. That hadn’t ever been an option with Ekikyō literally inside his skull. So, Izuku fought the way he knew how to, though it was really slow going.

The suffocating fog resisted every push he gave it, but it didn’t…have as much substance as Ekikyō? Wasn’t as strong? With Shinso training his quirk so little as a kid, that made sense. It still felt like forever before Izuku earned himself enough space to breathe and think again. He blinked his eyes and stared at Shinso, who had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and a pinched expression on his face. Then Izuku realized that the fog was still there, just pushed off to one side. “Well, that wasn’t quite what I was going for.”

Shinso’s eyes flew wide. “What? I can hear you?!” Shinso’s mouth hadn’t moved.

Izuku recognized that voice, though this was the first time he’s heard it in his head. He couldn’t feel any of the other boy’s emotions either. Maybe that was because this was remote control rather than possessive? “Oh, hey Shinso. I take it this is new?”

Shinso nodded, still shellshocked.

“Um…want to try giving me a command like this?” Izuku asked out loud, mostly to see if he could. “Oh! Give one verbally and one mentally. That might work now.”

“Sure…” Shinso shook himself and cleared his throat. “Touch your nose.”

Izuku snorted at the silly command, then blinked in surprise when his hand still obeyed the order. Izuku turned his focus internally to find the fog had encroached on his mental space again, though it didn’t wrap him so tightly or try to drown him now. He didn’t notice its presence at all unless he focused on it.

“Flap your arms like a chicken,” Shinso said mentally.

To Izuku’s embarrassment, his body started to obey again, though this time Izuku paid attention to the fog and actively fought against it to lower his arms. After the initial flap, Izuku had a much easier time fighting the control off. He figured that was because he’d technically satisfied the command. Shinso hadn’t specified how long he was supposed to flap, even if he’d implied longer.

Shinso accidentally let his control slip at the end, and Izuku chased the feeling of the receding fog to get a feel for how to potentially fight Brainwashing off entirely. He wrote a few notes before they moved on to Shinso controlling Ekikyō instead of Izuku, which felt really, really weird for Izuku. It kinda reminded him of the time he’d had to put Ekikyō to sleep. Moving was harder, though Izuku could still do it. They were careful to have Shinso’s first order be for Ekikyō to not release his quirk at all while they practiced, just to be safe. Shinso seemed to have a harder time holding onto Ekikyō; Ekikyō claimed that was probably due to his body operating off of a hive mind rather than a centralized brain. (Izuku had so many questions!)

Then they tried Shinso controlling them at the same time but while their minds were separate. It turned out that their minds were locked in their own little cells like that. Izuku still couldn’t reach Ekikyō.

Out of curiosity, they also tested what happened if Shinso activated his quirk on them while their minds were pressed close enough to overlap slightly. As soon as they said “yes,” the fog returned, but this time both of their minds went fuzzy together. And blurred together, as they stopped trying to hold their minds slightly separate. After being fully overlaid for a few minutes and too disoriented to properly fight back against Brainwashing, Shinso released them. It took Izuku and Ekikyō several minutes to separate themselves and recover. At least it didn’t give anyone involved a headache.

“Well, that was a thing,” Izuku said, still half focused on his and Ekikyō’s mind space. It felt like their minds wanted to drift back together and just might if they didn’t actively prevent it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shinso, you’re fine. We’re not hurt, and we didn’t know that would happen either. That shouldn’t really be an issue for anyone but us anyway. It’s not like you’ll run into a ton of other possession quirks. So, let’s just stick to separate brainwashings for now.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Shinso,” Izuku warned before slipping under Brainwashing. This time Izuku fought his way back to partial control fairly quickly. “Alright, get a good handle on what this feels like. I want you to try to get this halfway state directly.”

Shinso complied, and about a dozen attempts in, he managed it. Shinso looked a bit strained, but he was smiling. Izuku could count the number of times he’d seen that smile on one hand. So, they continued releasing and activating Shinso’s quirk until he could reliably hit that state. Then they got back to experimenting.

After trying a few other things, they accidentally discovered that, like this, Shinso could bring a target’s higher brain functions into play. Shinso got to experience one of Izuku’s hero info dumps firsthand when he offhandedly said Izuku’d have to tell him more about heroes with villainous quirks sometime. Shinso’s quirk interpreted that as a command, and Izuku didn’t even realize he was being compelled to talk for the first ten minutes. The only reason he did was Yūku calling them to dinner. That’s when Izuku realized he couldn’t stop talking.

That realization paired with how overwhelmed Shinso looked made Izuku painfully uncomfortable. The second Ekikyō picked up on his host’s distress, he broke Izuku out of the quirk by jabbing the inside of Izuku’s ribs. He yelped and flailed right off the couch.

Shinso rubbed his temples and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Izuku said as he picked himself up off the floor. He sent a wave of gratitude Ekikyō’s way before continuing, “I-I couldn’t make myself stop. I think it helped that I really love talking about heroes to start with, but that could be a really useful trick for interrogations if you practice it.”

After seeing that Izuku truly wasn’t mad about it, Shinso let out a breath and followed him over to the dining table. Kotone had arrived at some point while they’d been busy, and Izuku animatedly introduced Shinso to her. Just after they all took their seats, Maiko joined them, slinking over to the seat closest to the hallway and as far as possible from everyone else. Brief introductions were made again, thanks was given, and they dug in.

Yūku had prepared tai, spring cabbage, and rice. It was delicious, and consequently, there wasn’t much talk at the beginning of the meal. As everyone’s portions dwindled—aside from Izuku who Yūku handed seconds despite his protests—Yūku asked Kotone how her classes were going. Everyone else took turns discussing their schooling. Even Maiko quietly mentioned being privately tutored before stuffing her mouth with rice to avoid questions.

“So, you two have your first high school Sports Festival coming up. Excited?” Yūku asked, leaving out where they attended.

“Not yet, but I will be,” Shinso said.

Izuku swallowed his mouthful of cabbage to add, “Yep, that’s why we’re training his quirk. If he does well, he could transfer classes to wh-where he really wants to be.” Izuku glanced at Shinso.

“Izuku too,” Shinso added.

Izuku didn’t see a need to correct him.

Maiko looked up from her food and narrowed her eyes. Izuku hadn’t gotten to interact with her much, but he had learned she was startlingly intelligent. She was the only one he’d met so far who could tell at a glance if he was possessed or not. Izuku grew more nervous the longer she sized up Shinso with the occasional glance shot Izuku’s way.

Maiko didn’t disappoint. “You want to be a hero.”

Izuku didn’t miss how she only looked at Shinso when she said that. (Thankfully, the others did.)

“But you failed the entrance exam,” Maiko stated as if it were simple fact. “What makes you think you’ll do better this time?”

Shinso shared a hesitant look with Izuku before answering, “My quirk doesn’t work on robots; it does on people.”

Maiko went perfectly still for a split second, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. Then she set her food back down. “What’s your quirk?”

“Maiko,” Yūku reprimanded quietly. “That’s very rude to ask. Especially of people that are welcomed here.”

Shinso had his own eyes narrowed now as he and Maiko stared each other down. “Brainwashing,” Shinso said without so much as a blink.

Maiko’s eyes widened. Her voice was quieter—smaller—when she asked, “But you have a villainous quirk?”

"Oh, that’s why she ran," Izuku realized. She had a villainous quirk too, probably something that specifically affected people. Maybe that’s why she always kept her distance. It was probably touch-based or an area effect then.

Shinso’s answer pulled Izuku from his analysis. “Everyone told me that my quirk was perfect for a villain. For the longest time, I believed them. Then someone told me that my quirk would be perfect for hostage situations, that I could use it to talk down villains and suicidal or panicking civilians without collateral damage. He told me it wasn’t a person’s quirk, but how they used it, that made a person a hero or villain.”

Maiko didn’t say much else the rest of the meal, seemingly chewing over Shinso’s (Izuku’s) words before retreating to her room once again. Izuku hoped they helped. As everyone else settled in the living room, Izuku decided to give Shinso a break to ask Kotone and Yūku about how to cover his more visible scars. He pretended not to notice how closely his friend paid attention to the following tutorial and demonstration. Honestly, he probably could have asked Shinso instead, but he didn’t really want to put his friend on the spot and let on that he knew about scars he hadn’t been explicitly told about.

All too soon, it was time for Izuku, Ekikyō, and Yūku to head for the clinic. Shinso declined to join them, saying he needed to get home before it was too late.

The doctor appointment went well. Mostly they were there to make sure the graft held when Ekikyō de-possessed Izuku. Thankfully, it did.

Izuku rubbed at the sensationless patch of skin. Even the feeling of pressure there was weak at best, and that more from the underlying muscle than the skin itself. Izuku’d have to be careful to avoid injuries there. He might not notice them right away. He decided to check into upgrading his armored motorcycle shorts to pants for the extra coverage. He might as well put the money from Giran to good use. (He planned to deposit the cash in smaller chunks once per week to make it look like he was picking up odd jobs. If a teenager deposited that much at once, it was going to attract attention.)

Before heading home, Izuku decided to ask something that had been bothering him since this morning. “Hey, Cross?”

“Yes, Green?”

“Recovery Girl mentioned that my scars are green. I hadn’t really noticed, but…what do you think?” Izuku was fairly certain that the skin graft had a green-ish undertone. Ekikyō had to do some repairs after convincing his quirk and Izuku’s body that it belonged there, and Izuku had a feeling the coloring was a consequence.

Cross blinked at him. “Yes, though it’s only the scars you’ve acquired since starting your regular possessions with Ekikyō, likely due to his slime’s involvement in the healing process. Your older scars appear unaffected.”

Cross and Cheshire stepped out of the exam room to put up some supplies while Izuku pulled his shorts back on. Ekikyō lingered, clearly concerned about what Izuku thought of this development. When Izuku looked up at him, he asked, “You good, Izuku?”

Izuku ran a finger over the burn on the back of his right hand and thought of the dozens of other injuries that greened his skin. Before, his scars were reminders of how useless and worthless he was, and he supposed his old scars still were, but maybe the new ones didn’t have to be.

Instead of remembering how and why he’d gotten the burn on his shoulder, he remembered Ekikyō being there afterward, caring, helping him heal, raging for him at the injustice of it all. Instead of remembering fighting the bully who’d left a slice across his side and a stab in his leg, he remembered meeting and befriending Shinso. Instead of remembering the burning pain and Shigaraki’s laugh, Izuku was going to try to focus on how Ekikyō was there through it all and kept him—and consequently Aizawa—alive.

Finally, Izuku smiled, feeling a slight pull in the scar on his cheek. “Yeah, I’m good, Ekikyō.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Izuku texted Eraserhead. He didn’t get a reply until close to noon, but when he did, he laughed.

“Present Mic here, typing for Eraserhead, as both of his arms are in casts right now. The grumpy cat says, ‘No one died, though that might change if the doctors don’t let me have coffee soon.’”

Once Izuku got himself under control, he texted back, “Want me to break in and deliver some? I’ll even bring your favorite.”

Eraserhead (or should he say Present Mic?) took a long time to reply, long enough that Izuku wondered if the injured hero had fallen asleep. Eventually, Izuku set his phone aside and went back to comparing motorcycle pants online. He’d narrowed it down to three options, but he was having trouble deciding on if he wanted the higher number of pockets, the water-resistant zippers, or the highest number of vents. With summer (and the rainy season) coming up, Izuku was leaning toward one of the latter two. Just as he was about to close the tab for the high pocket count pants, his phone finally dinged with a new message.

“I might just take you up on that offer, but not until tonight. Unless you want to get arrested by some limelight hero?”

“Fair.” Izuku chewed on his lip for a moment before deciding to ask, “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, Problem Child. I’ll be okay. Your warning ensured I got help in time.”

Izuku wondered if Naisho had really done that much. It didn’t feel like he had. Maybe the hero was trying to make him feel better? But Eraserhead didn’t say things he didn’t mean…

Then Izuku recalled the weird pagers that every one of his teachers had carried the day of the attack. Power Loader had mentioned a dead man’s switch and potentially setting off a false alarm. Had that been Nezu’s countermeasure, something that triggered an alarm if it stopped receiving a signal from one of the pagers? That…was brilliant actually, and it would have tipped the school off the second the interference villain activated their quirk. That explained how quickly the teachers arrived. Well, that or the flare. Either way, they couldn’t have known without Izuku’s help.

Izuku was pulled from his musing by the chime of the doorbell. His mom had left for work before he’d woken up; so, that left him to answer it. He quickly minimized his tabs and took extra care standing from his chair. The muscle in his right leg hadn’t been badly impacted, but there was enough damage to make it a touch weaker when moving sideways or trying to push something out of the way with that leg. Straight-line walking was fine, but he was still keeping an eye out for other problems.

He looked out the peephole once he arrived at the door and found a man dressed in a trench coat and hat standing there. He pulled off the look better than Ekikyō, at least.

Izuku was sure he’d seen him somewhere before, but he couldn’t place him. He was pretty confident the man wasn’t a villain though. So, he unlocked and opened the door. “Hello?”

Mystery Man grinned and took off his hat to bow. “Afternoon. I’m Detective Tsukauchi. I was hoping to speak with Midoriya Izuku if he’s home. The police need his statement regarding the events of the USJ attack.”

Now Izuku remembered him. “Oh! You’re the detective who interviewed me at the Nagasaki hospital after I was kidnapped.” He stepped aside and motioned for Tsukauchi to enter the apartment.

Tsukauchi’s grin grew just a little, and he nodded. “Good to see you again, Midoriya, though I wish it was under better circumstances. How’ve you been?”

“A lot better—well, aside from the disintegrated leg thing.” Izuku realized he’d made it awkward when he caught Tsukauchi’s wince. “Um…do you want any tea?”

“Yes, please,” Tsukauchi said, taking a seat at the dining table. “Is your mother home?”

Izuku glanced back from where he was pulling the good tea from the cabinet. “Hm? Oh, no, she’s working. Won’t get home until around 6:00. I’m fine giving my statement though.”

Once they were both settled at the table with cups of tea, the detective set up his recorder and asked, “Shall we get started?”

Tsukauchi had Izuku walk him through his Wednesday up until the Mountain Zone cameras went dark. There he gestured for Izuku to pause. “Midoriya, could I ask you to clarify why you were in the control room as opposed to with the rest of the students?”

“I didn’t want to distract the hero students…”

Tsukauchi sighed. “Midoriya, forgive me for not mentioning it earlier, but my quirk is Lie Detector.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up. “That must be so useful for police work! Is it always active? Well, it must be, because police aren’t normally allowed to use their quirks on the job, which is kind of dumb really. But how does it work? Does it operate off of objective truth or subjective? Is—”

“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi interrupted. “I can answer some of your questions after the interview. But I told you my quirk, because I need you to tell me the real reason you were in the control room.”

Izuku grinned sheepishly and dropped his gaze. “S-sorry. I love analyzing quirks…” He weighed his next words carefully. “Um…I wanted to be in the control room to avoid someone in 1-A. He doesn’t like me, and he doesn’t know that I made it into UA. I’d really like to keep it that way until at least the Sports Festival,” Izuku said, rubbing his left shoulder.

“Thank you, Midoriya.” It looked like Tsukauchi wanted to ask more, but he held himself back. “Please continue.”

“R-right, after the mist teleporter started making the 1-A students disappear, I knew things were really bad. And I couldn’t phone out; I tried. So, I pulled out Hatsume’s rocket flare, made sure no one was outside the control room, and set it off. That’s when I burned my hand.” He held his hand up to show off the scar. “Then I retreated to the control room and locked myself in. I should have thought about the teleporter just…teleporting into the room. I don’t know why I didn’t. But he did, and he got me before I had any of Hatsume’s support gear ready to use.”

“That’s when you arrived in the plaza?” Tsukauchi asked.

“Yes, he dropped me out of a portal in the plaza…” Izuku summarized his encounter with Shigaraki Tomura, pausing when he got to being tagged by the man’s quirk. “He…he had a five-point activation disintegration quirk. Very painful, appears to travel through tissue planes more efficiently than between planes. Affects inorganic matter and organic equally, though it might be quicker with inorganic. He’s probably the one who broke the UA gate on Tuesday. The hands he wore…those looked really real. I think they were embalmed rather than taxidermy work. There wasn’t any formaldehyde or decay smell when I was close to him. So, he or someone he knows might be a mortician or work in that field. I-I know that’s probably not helpful, but—”

“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi stopped him with a hand raised. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, and his grin had been replaced by a frown. “You don’t have to talk about your injury if you don’t want to. I can get a summary from Recovery Girl later. Why don’t we skip ahead to after All Might arrived?”

Izuku looked down and noticed his hands were shaking slightly where he held his tea. He swallowed and nodded. “O-okay. After…after. Eraserhead and I were at the edge of the plaza. Some of the other villains—the ones Eraserhead took down before he was hurt—were awake by then. I was worried they or Shigaraki might try to come after us, use us as hostages or…worse. So, I dragged Aizawa into the bushes. Went as far as I could. Then I started working on bandaging both of us to keep myself awake…and stop either of us from bleeding out. O-oh…I need to apologize to Yamada-sensei for pulling Eraserhead’s knife on him.”

Tsukauchi grinned at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m sure he didn’t take it personally. You must have been pretty out of it by then with the blood loss and shock.”

Izuku nodded. “That’s about it for me. I don’t really remember the trip back to campus.”

“One last question, Midoriya. You had advanced knowledge of 1-A’s USJ trip due to one of your school assignments. Did you share that information with anyone or at any time lose the schedule Nezu gave you?”

Izuku’s eyes widened. The police thought he’d tipped off the villains? “What?! No! I didn’t tell the villains! And I didn’t tell anyone who told them either,” Izuku added, crossing his arms. He should be safe saying that, if he understood Lie Detector correctly. “I still have the schedule in my backpack if you need to confirm that I have it.”

“I didn’t think you did, but I had to ask. Alright, that should be everything,” the detective said, turning off the recorder. “If you think of anything else you think might be helpful, please contact the Musutafu police department or tell one of your teachers. They know how to get ahold of me.”

Izuku nodded, distracted by wondering if Naisho should tell Eraser about his own encounter with the mist villain on Monday and the villain’s connection to Giran. He saw Tsukauchi out and glanced at the clock. He had a few hours to figure it out.

In the meantime, he completed his order, deciding the breathability of the extra vents outweighed the waterproof zippers. How much crime was really going to happen during a monsoon? He could just take storm nights off to get ahead on homework.

The next item on his vigilante shopping list wasn’t so much for active patrol, but more for use at school: scent-blocking deodorants and soaps. He compared reviews, wondering which would be most effective at hiding injuries from Nezu’s sharp nose. Maybe the deodorant on top of a bandage if it were in a place he could hide? He didn’t think he should put it directly on a healing wound. Yeah, the soap might be too obvious. He didn’t need to cover his scent entirely, just any blood. He placed an order for their smallest one. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to need it very often.

That done, Izuku checked the time again and changed into a set of workout clothes. It was time to leave for his physical therapy appointment. He felt self-conscious walking down the road in his workout shorts. Logically, he knew that the physical therapist was going to need to see the injury they were dealing with, but Izuku felt a bit queasy looking at it himself. He didn’t want to know what looks other people might give him.

All too soon, he arrived at his destination. Izuku blinked in surprise when he realized he was only a few blocks from where he usually met Ciupan for training. Speaking of training, Izuku hoped Ciupan was okay. The vigilante had cancelled their training today unexpectedly. He hadn’t given a reason why either.

Izuku left thoughts of his vigilante mentor outside as he stepped into the lobby. This physical therapist’s office was small and not the fanciest, but that was fine by Izuku. The main draw had been one of the reviews he’d found online while researching: one of the therapists was quirkless. Granted the reviewer was being bigoted about saying as much, but Izuku now knew this place was safe. Recovery Girl and Nezu could say the whole list was safe as much as they wanted, but they both had quirks. It paid to be overly cautious when you were quirkless (and injured in a way that might impede fleeing).

Check-in went quickly, and Izuku wasn’t left to stew in his anxiety for long before he was led to the back—which really looked more like a miniature gym than a doctor’s office. He was handed a digital timer, and a person with a clipboard put him through his paces. Walking along a straight line of tape on the floor, doing the same but sideways, measuring how far he could move his injured leg in various directions with a fancy protractor, testing how well he could hold those angles while the PT pushed his leg back to its resting position, and more.

His timer finally came into play when they moved on to stretches. The physical therapist showed him how to do a handful of stretches on one of the exam tables and left him to it for several minutes.

Then Izuku met the bane of his existence: the balance machine. The PT set him up on the round platform and programmed the machine. The goal was to keep the angle indicator at or as close to zero as possible. It sounded easy, but Izuku quickly found it wasn’t. The platform could shallowly tilt in 360 degrees, and apparently, the injury to his right leg had thrown his balance off substantially. He couldn’t seem to hold the angle in single digits for more than two seconds before dipping back into doubles again. Izuku indulged in a frustrated growl when the platform made the soft thump that indicated it had tipped as far as it could in one direction.

Izuku whipped his head around when he heard a quiet chuckle to his right. Izuku discovered a gruff man holding onto the parallel bars set up in front of the mirrored wall. His left knee and the left side of his face and neck were covered in long scars, though there were smaller ones scattered along his arms and hands as well. His left eye socket was empty and scarred over.

“First time?” the man asked, turning to look at him. The skin at the corner of his good eye crinkled with mirth.

Izuku let some of his frustration out with a huff. “That obvious?”

The man nodded. “You’re trying too hard and over-correcting. Relax and loosen up. Relearning your balance is all micro-movements. Use the railing the first few times if you need to; it’s there for a reason.”

Izuku grumbled an acknowledgment. They both went back to their exercises. For all of one minute. Then Izuku’s curiosity got the better of him. “Were you in a villain attack too?”

The man paused mid-step before carefully setting his leg back down. “Yeah, a few.” The man pointed to the scar running diagonally across his face and onto the left side of his neck. “Had this one for years longer than the rest. How’d you get caught up in one? No offense, kid, but you’re a little young to be doing more than pulling kittens out of trees.”

Izuku lifted the right leg of his exercise shorts, exposing part of his graft. “Wrong place, wrong time, but I go to UA. So, they’re footing the bill. This place was on the referral list Nezu gave me and had good reviews.”

The man hummed and returned to walking with the bars. His left leg seemed to not want to hold his weight in anything but a fixed, fully extended position. Izuku imagined joint problems in older heroes must be fairly common. Unless you were one of those limelight heroes that (thought they) could get away with standing in one place and attacking villains at range. He wondered if the joint problems were as common in repeat offender villains.

“You’d be surprised,” the man said, grinning.

Izuku silently cursed his muttering habit.

“That’s why I always aimed to kick out a knee or slam a wrist into a railing or wall. Provided they were still conscious after my first hit. That didn’t happen very often after my first year.”

Izuku frowned and focused on his balance as he said, “I tried that. The villain who got me had a touch-based quirk. I tried to break his elbow but couldn’t get enough force behind my blow.”

The man paused before slowly turning toward Izuku. “How did you try?”

Izuku gripped the railing to maintain his balance as he turned to look the probably-retired-hero in the eye. “Stepped outside his guard and punched just above the point of the elbow. My…self-defense teacher said that always worked for him.”

The man’s face twitched. “Kid, this teacher of yours, does he wear something like gloves with studs on the knuckles or use…knuckledusters?”

Izuku tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, actually. He wears gloves, and I saw him playing with something metal once that might have been knuckledusters.” It clicked a moment later. “Oh! That move worked for him because of that, didn’t it? Well, that and he’s way more muscular than me. He can probably get a lot more force behind a punch…”

The man held a hand up to get Izuku’s attention and stop him mid-ramble. “I get the feeling your teacher may have told that story without realizing you’d try to emulate it exactly. Ask him to show you some joint locks and quick arm breaks next time you see him. Not a perfect solution for a contact quirk, but nothing outside of a ranged weapon or quirk really is. That’s why I also have a gun license,” the man said with a predatory smile.

Izuku snorted and started to say something when he got hit by déjà vu. That chipped incisor and those scars in that expression looked really familiar. Izuku studied the pattern of the man’s facial scars. Where had he—Izuku suddenly recalled a certain mentor taking off the lower half of his mask to take a swig of water from his bottle. His limited-run, aluminum Narufest water bottle. Exactly like the one sitting innocently on the ground at one end of the parallel bars. Izuku’s eyes shot back up to the man’s face, superimposing goggles and a mask over his features. The scar that extended onto his neck was right where Ciupan’s was.

Oh.

Izuku’s discovery must have shown on his face, because Ciupan-sensei held one finger up to his lips in a silencing gesture. “I know I’m not much to look at, kid, but pick your jaw up off the ground.” Under his breath he added, “You’re worse than Koichi.”

Izuku woodenly turned back to the digital display on the balance machine. The rest of their shared time was spent in awkward silence, both trying to focus on their physical therapy. Izuku still snuck glances occasionally. At one point, Ciupan’s left knee buckled, and Izuku barely restrained himself from jumping off his machine to help.

Ciupan caught himself on the parallel bars and shot Izuku a wry grin. Then he hoisted himself back up and returned to his exercise like nothing had happened.

Before Izuku could decide if he wanted to ask another question or not, Ciupan’s PT walked over to them with some metal and fabric contraption with…hinges(?) in hand. “Alright, Oguro-sama, I got your knee brace all fixed up. You shouldn’t have to worry about losing that screw anymore. Let’s get it fitted; then you can use the recumbent bike for a bit to make sure it sits right.”

Ciupan (Oguro? That was a Japanese name, not a Chinese one…)-sensei picked up his cane and water bottle before following the PT over to one of the tables. On the way, the old vigilante turned back long enough to catch Izuku’s eye and nod.

Izuku didn’t get a chance to talk to Ciupan again before his mentor left, but he wasn’t left with much time to think about their conversation between exercises—most of which utilized oversized rubber bands of varying resistance. At the end of it, Izuku’s physical therapist gave him a few rubber bands to take home and a list of exercises to do at least once per day, twice if he was able.

Izuku’s leg hurt by the time he got home, and he happily camped out on the sofa to watch the news and work on his sketches of the 1-A students while Ekikyō’s slime did its job repairing the strained muscles in his leg. Abusing the rapid healing mechanic the slime came with, Izuku figured he should have the compromised muscles in his right leg back up to normal strength within a month tops. And once he was back to 100%...

Izuku turned to a fresh page at the back of his notebook and started listing off what he knew about Giran and the people he’d seen at the USJ. He decided then that he was going to tell Eraser about running into Kurogiri. As long as the villains had their warper, UA couldn’t be truly safe. No one could. Honestly, Izuku wasn’t sure why the villains didn’t just ambush All Might with a portal that dropped him inside Mount Bandai. Not even All Might could fight a volcano. If they still wanted to make a spectacle of it, they could just set up a webcam at the main vent and wherever they ambushed him. Much more effective and less expensive than however they’d acquired Nomu and all those other street criminals.

Maybe the villains were too stupid to think of that, but Izuku didn’t like trusting in other peoples’ ineptitude. Izuku was used to being underestimated himself. He didn’t want to make the same mistake.

There was another reason too. Shigaraki may come off as childish and impatient right now, but that didn’t mean he would always be like that. Even villains could learn.

So, Izuku planned and made lists. Lists of things to hunt for on patrol and lists of things to discuss trying out with Ekikyō. They weren’t going to get caught off guard again if Izuku had anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

Izuku wondered if it was supposed to be this easy to sneak into the hero ward of Musutafu General Hospital. Sure, it was nearly midnight, but there should have been more than two guards, right? Maybe Eraserhead or Present Mic had purposely distracted them?

Speaking of Present Mic, Izuku—in full Naisho regalia plus sweatpants to cover his scar—spotted the hero when he peeked around the next corner. Once he scoped out the rest of the hall and confirmed that, yes, the hero was alone, Izuku crept around the corner and whispered, “Present Mic?”

Present Mic jumped a little and spun around to stare at him and his tray of coffee and tea. “Naisho, right? Nearly gave me a heart attack, Little Listener. Has Sho been teaching you his bad habits?” he joked, motioning for Naisho to follow him.

“If by bad habits you mean stealth, then yes,” Izuku replied cheekily. “And who’s Sho?”

Present Mic looked over his shoulder at him, eyebrows pulling together. “Did Eraser not give you his name?”

“No?”

The hero shook his head and stopped in front of what would have been an inconspicuous door if not for it having a card scanner attached to the lock. “Here we are.” He scanned his hero license and walked in, holding the door for Izuku. “Shota, why didn’t you give your kid your name?”

Izuku choked.

Eraserhead scowled—or at least, Izuku thought the man scowled behind his bandages. Izuku couldn’t actually see his eyes. The underground hero’s whole body was covered in medical gauze and casts. “Maybe because he’s not ‘my kid,’ Hizashi. He’s a vigilante; I can’t adopt him like some stray cat.”

Izuku managed to snap out of his shock and rushed to the side of the bed. “Oh my gosh, I thought you said you were okay?! I am never trusting you about your condition again. Is anything not broken? Is your face okay? Your eyes? Oh no, your quirk! Is—”

A casted arm landed on top of Izuku’s head, silencing him. “I’ll be okay, Problem Child. Most of these bandages are a precaution. I’ll get the bandages off my eyes tomorrow morning. And we’ll see about my quirk. I’m not allowed to use it until I recover more from the reconstructive surgery anyway.” The hero ignored the distressed sound Izuku made at that and tilted his head. “Now, where’s this coffee I was promised?”

“Oh, uh, right here. Let me see if I can get you a straw real quick.” Izuku turned to Present Mic, silently begging for help.

“I think I saw some coffee stirrers by the waiting room coffee machine. I’ll be right back,” the blonde said before slipping from the room.

Izuku claimed the chair next to Eraser’s bed to lower the man’s arm into a comfortable position. (It was still on top of his head.) “Eraserhead, does Present Mic like genmaicha or gyokuro tea? I’m pretty sure I heard him talk about both on his show, but I couldn’t remember which one was his favorite.”

The hero huffed. “I thought I smelled tea. He likes gyokuro.”

“Ah, thanks.” Izuku picked up the genmaicha tea to sip.

“Is Gokaku still around?” Eraser asked after a minute.

“Hm? Oh, no, they had to leave yesterday. Was there something you needed to ask them?”

“I was just going to ask if there was anything else they knew about the group that attacked UA.”

“Ah, no. Sorry, that’s it, though…I did have something to tell you about. Um, if the transport quirk they used to get in is what I think it was.”

“I’m listening, Naisho.”

“Was the quirk a purple-black vortex?” Eraserhead’s small jolt was enough answer, even if Izuku didn’t already know. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. I’ve seen that quirk before, on Monday actually. An info broker I know kept me out late and ‘called in a favor’ to get a purple-black portal to return me to Musutafu for the inconvenience.”

“Giran,” Eraserhead growled.

Izuku startled, dislodging Eraserhead’s arm. How did Eraserhead know who he was in contact with? Was Giran the only broker in the area, or—wait…oh, he probably talked to Ciupan. The vigilante knew about Giran. Giran sought The Ripper out. “L-look, he can’t know I told you anything. Same reason Gokaku gave you, but even more so, since I have regular contact with him. Though…since you already know this much, I should probably give you another head’s up. One of his clients has a bounty out on quirkless people. Delivered alive.”

Izuku glanced at Eraserhead’s heart monitor in alarm. The hero’s heart rate had just skyrocketed. “Eraser, are you okay? Should I go get a nurse?”

“No,” the hero wheezed.

Present Mic reentered the room as Eraserhead started coughing. Izuku stepped aside as the hero rushed to help his friend sit up more. He snatched the coffee from Izuku’s tray, stuck several of the stirrers in it, and helped Eraser take a drink. Once Eraser’s coughs subsided, Present Mic asked, “You good?”

“Yeah.” Eraser cleared his throat. “Just need you to text Tsukauchi for me.”

Izuku sat awkwardly off to one side as the heroes talked. After Present Mic messaged Tsukauchi to Eraserhead’s satisfaction, Izuku handed the blonde hero his tea, earning a blinding smile. While everyone drank their drinks (Present Mic held Eraser’s up for him every so often) they made small talk. Mostly it was Present Mic sharing tales of old patrols and occasionally something from when he and Eraserhead were in school together. They’d both gone to UA! Izuku kinda wanted to go look up their old Sports Festivals now.

By the time they finished their drinks, Izuku started to get antsy. He didn’t want to get caught in here by a nurse or doctor doing their rounds, even though the heroes said they’d vouch for him. Present Mic picked up on his fidgeting and asked, “Hey, Naisho, want to help me find a trash can in the hall. If we toss them here the whole room will smell like stale coffee and tea by morning, and no one wants that.”

Izuku grinned and nodded. Then for Eraserhead’s benefit, he added, “Sure.”

They were halfway to the door when Eraser called, “Aizawa Shota.”

Izuku stopped to look back at him. “Huh?”

“My name, kid. It’s Aizawa Shota.”

---

Izuku went for a jog on the way home. He had too much on his mind to sleep anyway. So, he jogged and thought over everything that had happened this week. It was pretty overwhelming. So, he pushed himself from a jog into a run to keep his thoughts from spiraling.

He was at the far end of his route when he felt a tug. He slowed to a walk with his arms up behind his head to open his lungs more while looking around. Ah, Cato Park. They usually stayed away from this one for meet-ups because of how much foot traffic it got, but this late at night it was deserted. Izuku ambled over, following the faint pull in his veins toward a patch of manicured rhododendrons. During the day they didn’t provide much cover, but at night? Izuku twisted through a gap where one of the bushes had died and found Ekikyō waiting for him.

“Hey, Ekikyō. What brings you back so soon?” Izuku asked before sitting cross-legged on the ground beside his friend.

“I wanted to poke around the local underground, see if I could dig anything up on that Shigaraki guy, but the heroes are on high alert and have upped their patrols. I almost got spotted by Kamui Woods earlier. Don’t think I’ll be able to accomplish anything or slip town until the heat dies down. Also wanted to see how you were doing. Wasn’t expecting to catch you til tomorrow morning though. Why are you out so late?”

Izuku grimaced and looked away. “Not tired yet.”

“Uhuh, sure.” Ekikyō wrapped around Izuku and tightened his slime in a hug. “Come on, let’s get you home. We’ll tire that big brain out, then get you to bed.”

Izuku chuckled as Ekikyō numbed his stomach and throat. “How do you plan on doing that?”

Ekikyō smiled down at him. “You wanted to play around with sense sharing, didn’t you?”

Izuku’s eyes widened, and he smiled back. “Yes! Come on; let’s go.”

The slime around Izuku tightened its grip a little more and started sinking into and through his skin while Ekikyō got started on the more usual method of possession. It didn’t speed the process up by much, but they practiced it every now and then in case they ever needed those extra few seconds. Plus, the more often Ekikyō pushed slime through their skin, the more Izuku’s body adapted, and the easier it got (and the less tender Izuku’s skin felt afterward).

The only other real way they’d found to cut down on their possession/de-possession time was for Izuku to hold his breath. He had been looking up breathing exercises to increase his lung capacity and lengthen his holding time, but he still didn’t particularly like how that approach to possession stretched things out. He got that it was necessary if there was an emergency, but they didn’t practice it often.

All in all, it took Ekikyō 70 seconds to fully integrate. Then they were on their feet. Izuku swung his modified and armored backpack to the ground at their feet to dig their mask and the tubing attached to it out. He turned the oxygen concentrator on and slipped the mask into place. The nasal canula attached to the inside of the mask settled in their nostrils, and Ekikyō used a bit to slime to securely seal it in place, avoiding any wasted oxygen. Then Izuku slipped the backpack back on, and they started jogging for home.

The concentrator wasn’t a perfect fix—they still tired quicker when they were together—but it let them go twice as long before having to worry about oxygen debt. Which was great, because they both enjoyed running together. They’d almost managed to outpace Eraserhe—Aizawa—a few times while working in synch, but there was no time like the present to get some extra practice in.

They synched up at a jog then slowly increased their pace until they were sprinting. Izuku resisted the urge to whoop as they reached their top speed. They maintained that speed most of the way back, only slowing for turns after they almost wiped out on the first one. (Izuku added running turns to his list of issues related to the muscle damage in his leg.)

They used the stairs up to the apartment as their cooldown, climbing them at a leisurely pace. As they approached the apartment, Izuku was surprised to see the lights on. They quickly stripped off their mask, gloves, and goggles and stuffed them in the backpack, turning off the concentrator in the process. Then they put the backpack on under their hoodie. It and sweats looked normal enough at first glance. With (one of) their secrets protected, they unlocked the door and opened it.

As soon as they stepped inside, Izuku’s mom spotted them from her post in the kitchen. “Oh! Izuku, what are you doing here? I thought you were still at the Bakugos’; I was going to pick you up later this morning before I head back to work.” The latest twist on her schedule at the hospital had her occasionally working double shifts. It had been worse than usual lately with some respiratory virus working its way through the staff.

“I’m not five anymore, Mom. I’m fine home alone.”

“But you were injured! What if something went wrong or you suddenly got worse?”

Izuku held up his cell phone and gave a weak grin.

His mom frowned before seemingly conceding that point. “What are you doing up anyway? You should get plenty of rest while you’re recovering.”

“Couldn’t sleep; so, I went for a run to tire myself out.”

His mom’s face crumpled in sadness, knowing exactly what he meant. He’d had nightmares a lot as a little kid, especially after his quirkless diagnosis and the bullying started. She probably thought they’d gotten better as he got older, but truthfully, he’d just gotten better at staying quiet and hiding them to avoid worrying her.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. That must have been terrifying, being attacked by villains when you’re not even training to be a hero. Just watching the hero class put you in so much danger. It’s almost like that whole school attracts it,” she said while shaking her head. “I’m sure Zonama would accept you for their business program if you ask them for a transfer—”

Alarm zapped through Izuku, and he yelled, “Mom, no!” He flinched at his own volume, even as his mom startled. He gave her an apologetic look and continued at a more normal volume, “I can help people with my analysis, but I need to train it and improve. No other school will be able to do that for me like UA. I know I can’t become a hero…”

Izuku’s heart hurt every time he said it, despite accepting it months ago. Was it ever going to hurt any less? Ekikyō pressed a bit closer in their mind, and Izuku could feel his best friend’s affection and belief in him. It smoothed over some of the jagged edges in his chest. Izuku wasn’t sure what he’d ever done to deserve Ekikyō.

“…but please, don’t make me give up my dream school. I’m learning so much there, a-and I’ve made friends.”

His mom still looked a bit shellshocked from his outburst, staring at him as if she was just now noticing something. Eventually, her eyes teared up, and she rushed forward to hug him. Izuku hugged her back, ignoring how Ekikyō recoiled a bit at the sudden contact. His eyes started watering—at least Izuku hoped it was water—as he felt her shudder against his chest. (Hopefully, the hoodie was thick enough to keep her from noticing the armor underneath.)

“Promise me you’ll keep yourself safe. I don’t know if I can take it if you get injured again,” she said into his shoulder before shaking her head.

Izuku sagged as a wave of guilt hit him. He was abruptly knocked out of it by a near-blinding flare of anger from Ekikyō.

“Are you serious? Where was all this concern every day you came home beat up in middle school? Or even yesterday or the day before, you know, when you were in a fucking hospital bed?! She sure seemed real torn up about that before you contradicted what she wanted.” Ekikyō continued to fume, distracting Izuku from his mom’s tears.

Izuku needed to get to his room and help Ekikyō calm down. Izuku wasn’t sure he’d ever felt his friend so worked up before, and he really wasn’t sure what had caused it. “Of course, I’ll be careful, Mom. Um…Mom? I’m all gross and sweaty from running…”

His mom blinked up at him before her eyes widened a bit. She sniffed his hoodie before grimacing and releasing him.

Izuku gave her a grin and said distractedly, “I’m gonna go get a shower.”

His mom wiped the last few tears from her cheeks and nodded. “You do that, sweetie, and go to bed right after.”

20 minutes later, Izuku and Ekikyō collapsed into bed. Ekikyō had settled down halfway through their shower, though Izuku could still pick up on some lingering disgruntlement. When asked, Ekikyō didn’t want to talk about whatever had set him off. He’d only said, very confidently and firmly, “How your mother feels is not your fault, Izuku. She’s a grown-ass woman and responsible for her own shit.”

Izuku really had no idea how to respond to that. It kinda was his fault for stressing her out though?

Ekikyō’s emotions got very complicated before he pulled back from Izuku’s mind. About a minute later, Ekikyō was back and definitely ignoring whatever that was. “Okay, kid, we doing this or not? What do you want to try first? Hearing? Sight? I suppose there’s touch too.”

Izuku shrugged their shoulders. “Your pick. They’re your senses.”

“Well, they’re about to be our senses.” Slime oozed from their pores to form a thin coating on their skin.

Izuku stared down at his slimed arm, curious where Ekikyō was going with this. He felt more slime around his spine and the base of his skull shift, and then nothing. Izuku was about to ask why nothing was happening when it hit him. Every heartbeat rippled through him like he was standing too close to a bass drum. The hum of the AC vibrated across the slime on their skin. The rush of air in and out of their lungs was suddenly as overwhelming as a jet taking off.

“Too much, too much,” Izuku managed to think as their breath hitched. His head pounded with every heartbeat, and that was picking up, which didn’t help.

The intense sensation cut out a moment later, and Izuku curled onto his side to wait out his headache. “That’s how you hear? How can you stand it? Everything’s so loud.”

Ekikyō hovered close in their mind. “Shit, sorry, kid. I’m really not sure why that happened. It’s pretty quiet here. There shouldn’t have been enough to overload you.”

Izuku leaned on his friend, sending him a feeling of disapproval. “Not your fault. You’ve never tried this before. There’ll be some trial and error.” After another minute Izuku’s head felt less like an overstuffed pinata, and he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Let’s try a different approach. How do you deal with two sets of sensory input?”

“I don’t know. I just do it? It doesn’t feel straining.”

Izuku hummed quietly. “Maybe it’s a side effect of your quirk. You obviously connect to my brain and nervous system and can experience what I do from there, but—” Izuku slapped a hand to his forehead. “We’re idiots.”

Ekikyō sent him a feeling of confusion.

“We were trying to run everything through my brain. My brain’s not built to handle that, and I’m not sure any amount of adapting will change it, but your—well, not brain, but mind (hivemind?) is already built to.”

Ekikyō caught on a second later. “So, we do our mind meld thing, but instead of using it to share old memories, we share what we’re experiencing in real-time? That way my brain’s doing the processing for my senses, but you’re along for the ride?”

“Precisely.”

“Worth a shot. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Izuku leaned into the familiar feeling of Ekikyō’s mind merging with his own. It was always somewhere between a strong, tight hug and drowning, but without the suffocating fear. Maybe “being submerged” was a better description.

Their senses swam for a few moments. They usually did this with intent to share a specific experience and jumped right into that, but things eventually settled, even without that focus to anchor them. They could feel both their skin and the slime woven through it and resting on top of it. They could also feel how the slime connected to…everything else. Oh, this was weird (normal).

They flexed their hands, marveling at the muscle fibers and slime moving in tandem, making minute adjustments as they noticed one set of senses or the other lagging and slightly out of focus. After several minutes, they had everything registering in perfect synch. It didn’t feel like two separate sets of information anymore, but one expanded perspective.

They were acutely and intimately aware of how their lungs and heart were altered to support pumping blood that was mostly slime. (They’d lost a lot of Izuku’s blood when Shigaraki wounded them. They were working on it, but it wasn’t a quick fix. They were just thankful Recovery Girl didn’t try to give Izuku a blood transfusion while they were separated.) They could hear and feel sounds. They could see the ceiling above them and the darkness where their second set of eyes was stored.

They tested moving and exploring their body a bit longer before they got another idea. They sat up and looked down at their arm as more slime pulled and pushed its way through their skin. They manipulated the mass of slime into an ameboid limb and whipped it out to grab Izuku’s pen and notebook from their desk a few meters away. This was so cool.

After half an hour that seemed to pass in seconds, the two let themselves split back apart, unwilling to push themselves or risk triggering one of Izuku’s worse headaches. Reorienting took longer than usual but left them both smiling. A success. Oh, the things they could do with this discovery. Izuku itched to grab Ekikyō’s notebook from under his mattress.

A gentle mental push redirected Izuku’s thoughts. “Not right now kid. You didn’t get a headache, but you’re thinking about getting one.”

Izuku focused on his body for a moment, and sure enough, there was a pressure in his skull. “That’s probably from the extra slime it took to balance things out,” Izuku observed.

It turned out Ekikyō generally limited his connection to a possessee’s brain to the minimum of what was required to hijack the body and communicate with or suppress his host (if they survived the possession). He’d connected a bit more with Izuku after they’d established their possessions as a long-term arrangement, but to get Izuku and Ekikyō’s senses and mental processes running at the exact same pace, they’d had to expand on that connection quite a bit. So, there was significantly more slime inside Izuku’s skull than there was earlier this evening.

Izuku was actually surprised his head didn’t feel worse for the addition. The hollow spaces in his brain probably had something to do with that. They made decent reservoirs for slime. Speaking of, Izuku turned his phone on and googled those. After determining that, yes, those hollow spaces were normal (and apparently called ventricles), Izuku paused to marvel at how much he now knew about his own anatomy. It was a little weird knowing things like what the surface and inside of his brain felt like or that his left foot was a few millimeters longer than his right, but Izuku decided he could live with a few strange facts. It made sense that Ekikyō was so aware of his host’s body. And when they merged like that, so was Izuku.

Izuku smiled even wider as he stared up at the ceiling. He was practically vibrating with excitement. There was so much experimenting they could do with this. They—

Ekikyō nudged Izuku’s mind again and teasingly said, “You’re not going to be able to sleep at all unless I put you under, are you?”

Izuku grinned. “Nope. Your plan backfired. You should know better than giving an analysis nerd a fresh new application of their favorite quirk to theorize about right before bed.”

Ekikyō sighed, feigning exasperation as he leaned on Izuku’s mind. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but Izuku’s vision unfocused and dimmed some. “Woe is me. You’re going to be up all night, then crash around noon. And I’m going to have to explain to your friend why you slept through and missed another training session with him.”

Frick, Izuku did have a training session with Shinso tomorrow. But quirk analysis…Izuku agonized over the decision for a minute before admitting defeat. Before Ekikyō, he hadn’t had friends in a decade. He couldn’t bring himself to risk one of the few he’d gained now. “Fine, you win. Put me to sleep.”

Ekikyō didn’t laugh, but Izuku could feel the smug fondness radiating off him. As Izuku let himself be pressed down into unawareness, he smiled one last time. He never dreamed when Ekikyō made him sleep. No dreams meant no nightmares.

Chapter Text

Shota slowly walked into the UA conference room, ignoring how Hizashi hovered beside him, ready to catch him if he stumbled. If it was anyone else, it would be degrading. But Hizashi had seen Shota strung up and stuck in his own capture weapon one too many times when they were younger to maintain any illusion of dignity around the man. As things were, Shota wouldn’t mind collapsing. Into his sleeping bag. But sadly, his arms were still in casts; so, climbing inside the cocoon of comfort was impossible at present. At least the rest of the bandages were off.

Shota sank gratefully into a padded chair beside his friend and looked at Nezu. They were the last to arrive due to Musutafu General dragging their heels with his discharge papers. But they were all here now.

Nezu nodded to them in acknowledgment, then pressed a button on the remote before him. The screen on the wall behind him lit up with various pictures from the USJ security cameras. “Let’s begin. First order of business is the incident report for the events of Wednesday. Tsukauchi?”

The detective stood from his spot beside Nezu, took the remote, and cleared his throat. “The two lead villains called themselves Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri. Searching for their quirks—disintegration and ‘Warp Gate’—in the quirk registry has turned up nothing. Their quirks aren’t on record, and their names are most likely underworld aliases.”

Snipe leaned forward in his seat. “So, you’re saying we know next to nothing. I—”

“Actually…” Hizashi said, waiting for the room to turn to him before continuing, “We do have something. Well, Shota does.”

Shota sighed. “My contact that warned us about the attack reached out again after Tsukauchi stopped by the hospital to take my statement. They asked about the transport quirk used to breach the USJ. It turns out they’ve seen Warp Gate before.”

Nezu’s ears perked up, attention fully focused on Shota. “Oh?”

“My contact occasionally interacts with criminal elements, including the information broker Okuta Kagero, also known as Giran. Giran has been in contact with at least Kurogiri, as he requested the villain’s transport service in my contact’s hearing. It’s likely the broker is also responsible for recruiting much of the rabble the League of Villains brought to the attack.”

Yagi coughed into his handkerchief before saying, “That’s wonderful news! When will Okuta be brought in for questioning?”

And this was why All Might stuck to the spotlight; the man had no understanding of how things worked in the underground. Shota shook his head and let Tsukauchi field that one. Yagi seemed to actually listen to him. Sometimes.

Tsukauchi shook his head. “If only it were that easy. He’s a slippery one. We can’t bring him in without solid evidence and a formal charge, or he’ll just walk right out without telling us anything. All we’d do is compromise Eraserhead’s contact and get them killed. Even if we had substantial evidence Giran’s not likely to tell us anything.”

“Why’s that?” Nemuri asked.

“Because whoever hired him, whoever’s running the League behind the scenes, is powerful. Of the 72 villains we arrested at the USJ, we only have 68 now. Four escaped with the help of Kurogiri the same day they were booked.”

While the others talked, Shota bristled. They knew which precinct and cells the arrested villains were in. There was a mole in the police force. Shota thought they’d ferreted out everyone corrupt in the department after the Naruhata scandal and the targeted attack on Detective Tanuma two years ago. He should have known it was too good to be true. Shota made a mental note to discretely send a message to the police internal affairs department; it seemed it was time for some spring cleaning.

“The other villains have all been moved now, but the villains taking people in our custody—and doing so blatantly—sent a clear message. Anyone remotely willing to talk to us will have second thoughts now.” Tsukauchi pressed a button, and the screen changed to show four mugshots. “The first of the escaped villains is Matsunaga Masa, quirk: Ogre. The mutation class quirk gives him thickened bones and skin, the latter thickened to the point he went toe to toe with Todoroki Shouto without succumbing to the cold or suffering burns. The next is…”

Shota absently memorized the faces. He planned to keep an eye out for them once he was back on patrol. His wariness increased tenfold when he spotted the black star by the name in each mugshot. A black star indicated that the incarcerated had tested positive for Trigger when brought in. Shota interrupted Tsukauchi to ask, “Detective, how many villains at the USJ attack were on Trigger?”

Tsukauchi’s expression turned grim. “15 including the Nomu. All still accounted for have been transferred, and their new locations kept classified for safety. When asked where they got the drug, they all said someone at the jump-off point—a warehouse in Yokohama that is currently being swept by forensics—offered it to them at no charge. Though this person doesn’t appear to have participated in the raid himself.”

“That’s…”

“Really not good,” Nemuri finished for Shota. “Are we looking at another outbreak?”

“We don’t know yet,” Tsukauchi said, shaking his head. “Between the Trigger, the selectively disappeared villains, the human experimentation that must have gone into the Nomu, and something one of the students said, there’s a distinct possibility we’re looking at another Villain Factory setup.”

The atmosphere in the conference room turned grimmer. They all chewed on that revelation for a moment. It was Nezu who broke the silence this time. “And what did this student see that supports your theory?”

“Ah, I was getting to that.” The detective fiddled with the remote some before the image on the screen changed again, this time showing pictures of all students and teachers present at the USJ attack. One student stood out due to the different uniform: four tiny buttons on the epaulets and four thin stripes each on the lapels and cuffs. “Midoriya Izuku lived up to his department’s name and inferred that Shigaraki’s incredibly well-preserved human hands indicated connection to or affiliation with someone with knowledge of and, arguably, skill in embalming.”

Nezu hummed and twitched his tail to one side. “And the Nomu’s existence and mental state imply the employ of someone with extensive medical, biochemical, and psychological expertise. It’s within the realm of reason that such a person may also know the best means of preserving a body. With the original Villain Factory, you never did track down the person in charge of creating the bomber villains and next level villains. It’s possible this is the work of the same or a related person.”

While Nezu talked, Yagi suffered through another coughing spell. (Shota wondered how badly the man had strained himself at the USJ.) Once he gathered the breath for it, he asked, “What uh department is Young Midoriya in? I don’t recognize the uniform.”

Nezu smiled one of his could-be-a-threat-if-pushed smiles and decided to enlighten Yagi. “He’s our sole Analysis student this year and quite a bright young man.”

Yagi nodded and said—seemingly to himself, “It appears he took my advice after all.”

Shota eyed Nezu as the rat stiffened for a moment. A blink and Nezu was back to normal. Shota didn’t know what that was about, but he was not touching it with a ten-meter pole. He had enough trouble with his own problem children. Nezu could keep his.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat to recapture everyone’s attention. “The police are still investigating, but there’s one thing that I haven’t made any headway on. How did the villains know 1-A and All Might were going to be at the USJ Wednesday?”

Shota had thought a lot about that too while confined to his hospital bed. Thinking about a mole in the police force was one thing, but a mole inside UA? It made Shota’s hackles rise. He glanced around the table at his coworker’s pensive faces. No one else was going to say it; so, he did, “Have you looked into Midoriya? I was informed that he’d be observing my class for one heroics lesson of his choice, which implies he knew what lessons were planned in order to choose.”

Tsukauchi raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, Eraserhead. I already cleared the kid when I got his witness statement.”

“As did I when he was in the infirmary,” Nezu added.

Shota blinked and stared at his employer. Had he puffed his fur up slightly?

Tsukauchi continued as if Nezu never interrupted. “Unless someone snuck into his backpack, stole the schedule out of it, and returned it without Midoriya’s notice, I don’t think he’s your leak. Plus, any thief would have needed to know he had a schedule to begin with.”

Nezu nodded before taking over. “The most plausible theory at present is someone having snuck onto campus while the teachers were occupied with the press on Tuesday. The odd thing is the lack of security footage evidence or tampering. Perhaps a scrying or prediction quirk of some sort was employed.”

“Regardless, that’s where the investigation stands at present. You each have a written copy of the incident report that covers things in more detail. Please reach out if you have any questions or additional information that may be pertinent; likewise, I’ll keep you apprised as we move forward.”

The heroes all thanked the detective for coming out to debrief them, and Tsukauchi saw himself out. With that out of the way, the staff of UA moved on to more personal matters.

“How are the students?” Shota asked the moment the door closed behind Tsukauchi.

“Most came out of the attack with nothing worse than scrapes and bruises. There were a few notable exceptions though. Young Todoroki seemed to encounter a fair number of the villains on Trigger. While he was able to incapacitate most of them immediately, Matsunaga broke free of every ice attack thrown at him. While trying to fight him off, Todoroki sustained frostnip, numerous contusions on his arms and torso, and hairline fractures in three ribs, though the fractures were most likely from his rough landing after he triggered an explosion.”

“Explosion?” Hizashi asked. “Please tell me he’s not going to be another Bakugo. One explosive kid’s enough to handle, ya dig?”

Nezu chuckled. “I doubt he’ll purposely use such a large amount of fire after supercooling the air around him again.”

Shota didn’t know what hang-up the boy had about using the fire side of his quirk, but the explosion likely hadn’t improved things there. He’d hoped the boy would start taking things seriously once he realized his ice wasn’t always going to be enough but not like this. Perhaps a few sessions with a quirk counselor were in order? Maybe an actual counselor too. “And the others?” Shota prompted.

Nezu frowned as he continued, “I’m afraid the other hero student’s situation is more serious. Uchiyama overtaxed his quirk and his brain protecting himself, Asui, and Mineta from the Nomu. The doctors think he may have experienced a quirk evolution to last as long as he did, but they’re uncertain of the degree of permanent damage at this point. He has woken up a few times, but he hasn’t stayed awake for very long. It’s unlikely that he’ll be joining us for classes next week.”

Uchiyama’s likely serious condition, Shota had been somewhat aware of already. He’d seen the Nomu slam a fist on the boy’s shield before he’d passed out. Shota wished he could scrub a hand over his face. The kid wasn’t even supposed to use his quirk on Wednesday, Recovery Girl’s orders. But if he hadn’t…

“And the last injured student, Midoriya, sustained a third-degree burn on his hand, a handful of bruises, and a large disintegration injury that necessitated a sizeable skin graft and ongoing physical therapy. Recovery Girl reports he has good chances of regaining full functionality in his injured leg.”

Shota grimaced. His own elbow throbbed at the reminder of Shigaraki’s quirk. It didn’t matter that the student injured wasn’t one of Shota’s; the kid was still injured on Shota’s watch. He debated checking on the kid once classes started back up, but Shota was sure Nezu had the boy’s recovery well in hand.

Although…Hizashi had mentioned the green-haired student administered first aid and guarded him until the teachers arrived. He supposed he at least owed the kid a thank you.

---

The weekend passed quickly for Izuku and Ekikyō and involved a lot of training with Shinso. Izuku introduced his friend to a workout routine (not near as hellish as Izuku’s own), freerunning, parkour, and healthy eating habits. Shinso gave him such a baleful look when he mentioned a good night’s sleep that Izuku didn’t bother bringing it up again. Insomnia was no joke, and not everyone had a copilot who could force their brain to shut down.

Shinso almost seemed tempted when Ekikyō jokingly offered to knock him out.

Shinso’s quirk training went significantly better and generally involved fewer feelings of dying (according to Shinso). Shinso grew more confident in establishing both partial and full control and shifting a person between states without losing his hold on them. After getting him comfortable with that, Izuku shifted gears to work on his commands. They learned a lot there.

They found that commands while fully under relied more on Shinso’s knowledge and muscle memory than Izuku’s. Izuku had never been so confused as when Shinso released him, and Izuku found himself holding a very intricately knotted length of string. But, if the same command was given with Izuku only partially under, it relied more on Izuku’s knowledge and muscle memory.

Izuku wasn’t aware of commands given when fully under Shinso’s control, but those commands carried over and remained active if Shinso switched to partial control afterward. “Imagine, Shinso! You could set a villain up as a sleeper agent! If they have the right quirk, you could order them to go back to their base and once inside, knock everyone out without hurting them. If you can order someone to forget running into you, they’d never even know they were compromised until you resume full control to arrest them at the end! You’d be perfect for taking down human trafficking rings, since historically those employ people with disabling quirks.”

After training, Izuku and Ekikyō went patrolling. Izuku didn’t like the idea of letting criminals get off scot-free, and with Eraserhead out of the picture for who knew how long, that left only them in the shadier part of town. (He’d checked the Musutafu Crime Tracker forum Saturday morning, but there were zero arrests from Eraser’s usual patrol area; that meant no one was covering it.) Izuku also wanted to test out their sense-sharing in a more practical setting.

Once they’d changed into their vigilante gear, they headed for the park with the stagnant pond. It wasn’t a crime hotspot or anything, but Izuku figured that they should test moving around on solid ground before they started roof-hopping.

“Alright, Ekikyō, let’s do this,” Izuku said, slightly adjusting how their mask sat on their face. He hoped it wouldn’t rub off the makeup he’d put over the scar on his cheek.

“Roger that,” Ekikyō replied.

Their senses settled more quickly this time, though they still had to make a few minor adjustments. Once they were properly aligned, they started out walking around the clearing, then jogging and running, then jumping up and down, punching, kicking, and performed a few rolls. They still had to be careful with their right leg, but they were fairly confident with their movements.

They let slime ooze out to coat their skin under their costume as they jogged into the city. Better to have it ready and not need it than to not have it in a pinch. They headed for one of Izuku’s favorite (well-oiled) fire escapes and climbed to the roof. They paused for a moment to let themselves feel the cold breeze brushing over them. Then they moved.

They sprinted to the edge of the roof and leaped to the next building, eyebrows rising when they overshot a bit. They huffed a small laugh and raced to the opposite ledge. They made good time running Eraser’s circuit, only stopping when they heard something coming from an alley up ahead. It was awfully reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, and it made the slime on their skin recoil a bit.

Izu—Eki—Izukyō? Naisho (they were Naisho right now) approached the ledge silently and looked down as he hooked one of his grapples to the ledge. There was a pair of guys sizing up the back of a pawn shop. One had what looked like half-meter long, boney fingernails on one hand; the other focused a flashlight beam on the wall. He was scratching an X onto the building’s brick wall. The other guy was fiddling with a keyring that had a bunch of rings on it.

“Think steel will do the trick, or should I use the rhodium?” Ring Guy and Bone Claws.

“Just break out the diamond. We’ll need to get into the safe too; those things are reinforced steel.”

“Ugh. I hate using diamond though. It always cuts up my hand,” Ring Guy grumbled, pulling what looked like an engagement ring off of the keyring. He slipped the other rings into his pocket and put the diamond ring on his pinky. Then he twisted it around so the diamond was facing in toward his palm. He clenched his fist, and the skin rippled and changed. Where it had once been tanned flesh, it was now transparent and gleamed where it caught the light.

As Ring Guy wound up to punch the wall, Naisho made themselves known, looping the rope from another of their grappling hooks around the drawn back arm and yanking the guy off balance. (Izuku might have spent far too many hours trying to figure out Eraserhead’s fighting style.) As he spun and tried to correct his footing, Naisho grabbed just below the man’s collar and yanked him down to meet a rising knee. The man was out like a light before he hit the ground.

Bone Claws gaped at them for a moment before dropping his flashlight in favor of charging toward Naisho, screaming and extending their second set of claws.

Naisho swapped their grappling hook to their left hand and drew their knife with their right. They caught and redirected the villain’s left hand with their knife, then hooked the second hand’s bony nails with their grappling hook and twisted. The man yelped and tried to twist with his hand to take the pressure off his fingers. Naisho used the hooked nails to lead the guy in a circle and down until he tripped and landed on his back.

The Bone Claws kicked at them. They dodged, but that gave the man time to get his left hand free of their knife to take another swipe at them. Naisho took a step to the side and around the villain, keeping the guy’s right hand entangled in the grappling hook. What the criminal didn’t notice was the layer of slime cementing his claws to the hook’s prongs. They kicked the guy in the side of the head (gently) to disorient him, then threw the rope end of their grapple around his free hand and pulled it up over the guy’s head to join his hooked hand.

Bone Claws flailed and flexed his fingers, narrowly missing Izuku’s face with his nails. “Hey, none of that,” they said, irritated. They twisted the man’s arms, rolling him onto his stomach. After a bit more wrestling, they managed to get a knee on the man’s spine to pin him in place while they zip-tied his wrists and fingers together. Only after his hands were secured did they work their grappling hook free.

They stood up and moved to grab the guy’s feet to tie his ankles. The villain lashed out again, claws tearing through the toes of his shoes. Three of the bony claws raked across Naisho’s chest, tearing their hoodie and scoring the armor underneath. They knew without looking that they were uninjured, but their heart rate still spiked. Adrenaline pumping, they kicked the guy once more and pounced on his legs, pinning them between their knees. One hand held his feet pointed away from them while they fished another set of zip ties out of their utility belt. They tied the guy’s ankles, and just to make sure he didn’t get himself free, looped another zip tie through the one on his wrists and attached it to the one at his ankles. He shouldn’t be able to get his claws at any of the ties now.

They stood up to survey their work, nodding in approval when—for all the man’s wiggling—he couldn’t get free. Then they went and did the same to Ring Guy. They did put his diamond ring back on his keyring for him though (and put it in his back pocket where he couldn’t possibly reach it). They weren’t sure if the diamond hand came with any enhanced strength and didn’t want to chance it.

Then they stood there looking between the two incapacitated villains. What were they supposed to do now? This was usually when Eraser called to report the crime…Should they call 119? The police department? What was the procedure for a sorta-vigilante (because they did use Ekikyō’s slime in that fight without thinking about it) calling in a pair of crooks? They frowned and pulled out their phone. They were tempted to call Eraser, but they didn’t want to bother him if he was asleep.

They stopped and ran that thought through their head again before chuckling. Like Eraserhead could ever sleep during his patrol time. He was probably bored out of his mind though. They decided to call him.

Aizawa picked up on the second ring. “What now, Naisho?”

“Hey, Eraser! So, we were out keeping an eye on your patrol route—because no one else is—and we bagged a pair of attempted robbers. Um…who do you want us to call them in to?”

Eraserhead groaned, and they could hear Present Mic laughing in the background. They were probably on speakerphone. “You two are going to be the death of me. Oh, and welcome back, Gokaku.” He sighed. “One moment, I’ll have Mic get you Tsukauchi’s phone number.”

Their jaw reflexively clicked shut to keep them from saying out loud that they already had his number. Their vision blurred and their hearing went echoey and distant for a moment as the internal conflict caused them to desynch slightly. Izuku and Ekikyō leaned against the back wall of the pawn shop and rubbed their eyes as they focused on realigning.

That reaction didn’t fill them with confidence. They should probably head home. It had been two and a half hours anyway; they needed to make sure they could safely do this for so long, work their way up to a full patrol. They turned their focus inward, carefully feeling around their brain and nervous system for any potential problems.

“You there, Little Listener. Listeners? Anyway, you got something to write with? Here’s Detective Tsukauchi’s number…”

They entered the number in their burner phone from memory and reported the criminals. As soon as they hung up, they headed home. They felt a little off after that desynch, and they were slower. Once they got home, they laid back on Izuku’s bed and started pulling their minds apart. It was more disorienting than last time, and Izuku threw an arm over his eyes to keep out the room’s spinning. His head didn’t hurt; he just felt off.

After a few minutes, Ekikyō gently prodded his mind. “You okay, Izuku?”

“I think so? Everything just feels…” Izuku couldn’t think of a word for it but pressed the feeling toward his friend’s mind.

“One-dimensional? Desaturated? Not right? Like you’re suddenly missing something?” Ekikyō offered after considering the feeling in question.

Izuku nodded, eyes still covered. Yeah, those all seemed like pretty good words for it.

Ekikyō pressed closer mentally, enough to let Izuku distantly feel their slime from his friend’s point of view and the nameless feeling eased somewhat. Oh, had he really gotten that used to being hooked into Ekikyō’s senses? That might be a problem.

Ekikyō hummed in agreement and shared worry. “We’ll try weaning you off over the next fifteen minutes. Maybe it was the sudden shift to cold turkey that threw you for a loop.”

They let out their metaphorically held breath as the last of their sensory connection dwindled to nothing. Izuku felt…okay. It was still weird remembering being able to feel and sense so much more, but it was less jarring. They’d have to keep an eye on that and make doubly sure no one ever followed them home from patrol. Izuku disliked the idea of anyone finding him while he was so vulnerable.

Chapter Text

Monday came all too soon, and with it the media. Eraserhead was right; they were vultures. By the time Izuku got through the gate Ekikyō’s anger was simmering alongside his own, the two’s emotions seeming to feed off of each other until Shinso snapped them out of it.

“Hey,” their friend greeted, sounding a bit more dead inside than usual. His uniform was also a bit rumpled.

“The vultures harass you too?” Ekikyō asked with Izuku’s voice.

“I already felt dead from someone’s insane training plan.” Izuku and Ekikyō smiled innocently at the halfhearted glare shot their way. “They just finished me off.”

Izuku hummed. “You did all the stretches and exercises I showed you?”

Shinso sighed. “Yes.”

Izuku chuckled and checked the time on his phone. Seeing they still had a half-hour before classes started, he grabbed Shinso’s wrist and tugged him down the hall toward the Support department’s building.

“Where are you taking me?” Shinso asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

“You’ll see,” Izuku said, only grinning wider when he felt the faint haze of Shinso’s quirk latch onto him. There was still some hesitance at times, but his friend had gotten a lot more confident using his quirk, even outside of training. It was a partial control, and Izuku knew Shinso wasn’t going to do anything with it. Though it did allow for silent communication. “I found a vending machine last week; they have canned coffee.”

Shinso picked up his pace at the promise of caffeine. “Why didn’t you say so?” He released Izuku from Brainwashing when they arrived at the vending machine, and the pair chatted amicably until they had to split up to get to class.

Hatsume pounced on Izuku as soon as he and Ekikyō stepped through the door to 1-H. “Analyst-kun! I heard about the USJ. Are you alright? Are my babies okay? Did they keep you safe? I heard the rocket flare go off. Give me your phone; I didn’t have your number to check on you.”

Izuku stumbled sideways under the unexpected weight, right leg buckling on him. Ekikyō saved them from a fall by stiffening the slime in their injured leg. Izuku grimaced at the not-quite-pain and righted himself. “I-I’m okay, Hatsume. That flare really saved us.” Still a bit overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, he handed her his phone without question.

“Hatsume, don’t crowd Midoriya,” Maijima-sensei scolded Izuku’s friend before turning toward him. “Kid, your leg okay?”

Ah, he’d seen Izuku’s expression. “Getting there, s-sensei. She just caught me by surprise.”

The teacher nodded. “Alright, but if it starts bothering you later, let me know. I can write you a note to go see Recovery Girl.”

Hatsume handed Izuku’s phone back before looking him up and down with a worried frown, irises rotating as she took in the details, like the new scar on his right hand and the way he shifted more of his weight to his left leg. “You got hurt.”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku said nervously, not really wanting to tell her that the rocket flare had caused the burn. “But I’m getting better. Just need to build the muscle back up in my leg at this point.” When that didn’t seem to fully convince Hatsume, he asked, “Want to hear how the flare’s first field test went?”

Hatsume narrowed her eyes at him, clearly aware of what he was doing. There was an unspoken “this isn’t over” as they made their way to their desks. Then Hatsume pulled out her tablet and gave him an expectant look.

Izuku grinned and started talking.

---

Lunch saw Izuku and Ekikyō joining Izuku’s friends in the library again. Shinso and Uraraka were a bit later getting there. It seemed most of Gen Ed had gone to gawk at 1-A when classes let out.

“And then Shinso said, ‘Consider this a declaration of war’ and walked away!” Uraraka concluded her retelling of what happened.

Izuku choked down his mouthful of katsudon that suddenly tasted like ash. The phantom scents of burnt skin and caramel turned his stomach. He stared at Shinso. “Y-you said that to Kacchan?! Are you crazy?!”

“‘Kacchan’? You know that arrogant asshole?” Shinso asked.

Izuku immediately dropped his gaze back to his food as Ekikyō shoveled another bite into their mouth. Izuku let his bodymate handle eating and digestion, his own stomach tied in too many knots to consider food. Between bites, Izuku said, “W-we grew up together. We…might have been friends at one point, but not for a very long time.” Izuku shook his head and took control of his right hand long enough to rub at his left shoulder. “He has a powerful quirk and a short temper, a-and he always wins. You don’t want to make him angry.”

Shinso scowled. “Doesn’t seem very heroic.”

Izuku flinched at the words so close to what Mamoru said to him months ago, words he still had trouble admitting were true. “Y-yeah…”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Shinso sighed. “So, are we still on for tomorrow, or are you going to get involved in another villain attack and ditch me?”

Izuku sputtered and looked up to see a teasing smirk aimed at him. The beginnings of a retort evaporated, leaving Izuku flustered and off-kilter.

“Hm? What are you doing tomorrow?” Uraraka asked.

“Midoriya’s hell training,” Shinso replied. “We’re preparing for the Sports Festival. Provided I live that long.”

“Hey! It’s not that bad,” Izuku insisted. “We’re only doing Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends.”

“Training? Oh! Can I join?” Uraraka asked enthusiastically. “I won’t be able to stay long on Tuesdays because of physical therapy, but I should be able to stay the whole time on the other days. A-as long as my ankle doesn’t act up,” she added, glancing down.

Izuku and Shinso glanced at each other. Izuku hesitantly said, “I don’t see why not, though we do spend some time training Shinso’s quirk. So, if you have a problem with brainwashing…”

Uraraka tilted her head and frowned. “Shinso’s nice. Why would I have a problem with his quirk?”

Well, that settled that. The trio traded numbers; then Hatsume got in on the number sharing. They’d just settled back into a conversation about Cementoss’s latest Japanese literature assignment when the door to the library opened.

The group fell silent as they tried to see through the bookshelves who had come in. So far, they hadn’t seen any other students in the library at lunch. At the other end of the aisle from their corner, they saw the librarian smile at whoever had entered, then point in their direction.

Should they be worried? Izuku was worried. Before his brain could conjure up too many scenarios of bullies cornering him in library aisles, Ekikyō nudged him out of it. Izuku mentally leaned on his friend as they heard slow footsteps approach. Izuku wasn’t sure who he’d expected, but it wasn’t Eraserhead.

The teacher’s arms were still in casts and slings, but the rest of his bandages were off. One surgical scar left a red crescent on his right cheekbone. There were faint traces of others, gossamer-thin red lines that Izuku only noticed for having seen the man’s face up close so often on patrols, but the scar on his cheekbone was large and impossible to ignore. Izuku wondered if they’d had to put any pins or plates in during the reconstructive surgery.

“Midoriya Izuku?” pro hero Eraserhead asked, staring straight into Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku hesitantly raised a hand to wave.

“May I speak with you? It won’t take long.”

Izuku glanced at his friends who all seemed vaguely concerned or curious. Shinso looked suspicious. “That’s Eraserhead,” Izuku whisper-hissed to ease their concern. He took a moment to appreciate Shinso’s expression morphing from protective suspicion to shocked awe. Then Izuku stood up and said to the hero, “S-sure?”

Izuku quietly followed the underground hero, keeping his eyes down while Ekikyō hurriedly pulled his slime out of their eyes and the surrounding tissue just in case. The hero knew not to use his quirk on Naisho and Gokaku, but he knew nothing of Izuku and Ekikyō.

Once the door to the library closed behind them, Aizawa stopped and turned to face Izuku. After a moment of silent observation, he stiffly bowed. “Thank you for everything you did at the USJ, Midoriya.”

Izuku blushed—which Ekikyō scrambled to hide before the hero could see—and waved his arms in front of him. “Eraserhead, please, there’s nothing to thank me for. I-I should be thanking you for holding the villains off for so long.” (Izuku should be thanking Eraserhead for every night he taught Naisho to spar and sprint across rooftops and secure captured criminals and splint broken bones.)

Aizawa raised himself from his bow with a quiet grunt. Izuku withered under the man’s utterly unimpressed stare. “You set off that flare. All Might would not have gotten to the USJ so soon if not for you. You kept me and yourself from being used against All Might, and you prevented both of us from bleeding out. That’s hardly nothing.”

“Just take the compliment and gratitude, Izuku,” Ekikyō said, radiating smugness. He’d been trying to convince Izuku that what he did mattered for a while, and Izuku could tell he was enjoying the unwitting backup.

“Eraserhead doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean,” Izuku acknowledged hesitantly. He bit his lip and nodded to Aizawa. “O-okay.”

Aizawa nodded in turn before glancing to the library door. “Go back to your friends, Problem Child.”

Izuku froze. Did he know? How…

“And next time you’re on the ground and facing a dangerous opponent, don’t aim for the knee, aim for the Achilles tendon. Much easier to get to. Less likely to nick the femoral artery as well.”

Aizawa knew about Izuku trying to attack Yamada. Izuku nearly whined in embarrassment. He must have made a face, because Aizawa snorted. Then he smiled his unsettling smile, and Izuku fought not to return it.

Instead, he sheepishly muttered, “H-hai, sensei.”

Aizawa turned to walk away, saying under his breath, “So many problem children this year.”

Izuku let out a shaky breath. Aizawa didn’t know. Apparently, he had many problem children?

“And he’s claimed two of your three identities,” Ekikyō said, pushing slime back into and over their eyes, making Izuku blink a few times to adjust his vision. “Maybe Yamada’s right about him adopting you, and he just doesn’t realize it yet.”

“Ekikyō!”

His friend laughed at him as they walked back to their table in the corner of the library. Izuku knew he shouldn’t have shared his memory of visiting Eraserhead. He honestly felt so attacked right now. Izuku’s (mostly) feigned indignation made Ekikyō laugh even more.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, and before he knew it, he was waving goodbye to his friends and turning down the hall to the principal’s office. He wondered what his first lesson back with Nezu was going to entail. (He also wondered if he could request the security feeds from the USJ, since he didn’t actually get to watch much before he was thrown into the middle of things.)

“Ah, Midoriya! It’s good to see you getting around well. Did your first physical therapy appointment prove useful?” Nezu asked as Izuku stepped into his office. His nose twitched as he watched Izuku walk to his customary seat on the sofa.

“Hello, Nezu-sensei,” Izuku greeted as he sat down. He rubbed at his right leg as he continued, “It went alright. I have more to work on than I thought initially, but building the muscle back up shouldn’t be a problem.”

Nezu hummed and hopped down from his desk chair to walk a pair of tea cups over to the table in front of the sofa. He handed the cups to Izuku before climbing into the arm chair at one end of the table. Once he received his tea cup back from Izuku, he asked, “I take it your friend’s quirk works on muscle strain in addition to more obvious injuries then?”

Izuku smiled and nodded. “Muscle microtears are still tears, after all. It’s made getting and staying in shape a lot easier. I was pretty skinny back in middle school,” he confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Do give them my thanks for their efforts in keeping you whole and healthy.” Nezu took a long sip of tea before setting his drink aside and clapping his paws. “Now, before we get started on today’s lesson, I want to let you know that you can observe 1-A’s make-up session at the USJ once it’s rescheduled. Normally, I’d just give you access to the video files for Wednesday’s exercise, but considering there’s an active investigation, it’s all under lock and key.”

Izuku grimaced and nodded. Yeah, that made sense.

“Which is why we’ll be moving forward with the next stage of your coding class: hacking.”

Izuku startled and stared up at Nezu. “What?”

“Kid, I think I might just like the rat,” Ekikyō said. “He wants you to hack the police evidence files.”

“Or the UA servers—they’d still have a copy of the footage too,” Izuku replied without really thinking. Then he shook himself. “Wait, why would you want me to—”

“UA is a place of learning, Midoriya. Where better to begin?” Nezu asked.

“But isn’t hacking illegal?”

“Questionably legal,” Nezu corrected. “And I’m giving you permission. You essentially have a warrant—which is what you’d need to access public cameras and servers legally once you graduate. If your future work is under a hero agency, the agency will handle most of the paperwork for such things, and we’ll cover the warrant requests and requisition forms for independent work at a later date.”

Izuku nodded along and pulled his notebook dedicated to his Cyber Security and Coding class out. He flipped to a blank page and opened his pen. “Where do we start?”

Nezu smiled. “System analysis and identification of weaknesses and entry points.”

---

“Why do you think Ciupan-sensei told me to get these?” Izuku asked Ekikyō as he turned over a rubber ring dog toy. When he’d checked his burner phone on the way home from school, he’d seen the text telling him to bring two of the toys and his grappling hooks to training today. Ciupan hadn’t given an explanation.

“I have no idea, but what are we going to do about…this?” Ekikyō asked, shifting slime through Izuku’s body.

Izuku frowned. That was a problem. They could just not tell Ciupan—Izuku’d already been planning for that—but Ekikyō needed to leave eventually if he was going to learn anything about the “League of Villains” as the news called them. The real issue was that despite five days passing since the attack, the heroes were all still on high alert with upped patrols.

Izuku was frankly surprised that things hadn’t gone back to normal yet. Maybe they were just trying to reassure people? The villains had a warper, and their staging area wasn’t even in Musutafu. There was no reason to keep this up that he could see. And if he couldn’t discern the heroes’ reason for acting the way they were, he couldn’t predict when they’d go back to business as usual. They only had three more days before Ekikyō had to go, and neither of them liked waiting til the last minute with their possessions. Not after that one time they were late. Izuku shuddered.

“I could always hop a train out of the prefecture for us to split somewhere less policed? We could even do that tonight if you want.” Izuku could feel Ekikyō’s hesitance even as he spoke.

“If it comes down to it, sure, but I’d rather you not end up flying solo in an area you don’t know.” They walked in silence for a block before Ekikyō offered, “I could just stick around until things settle down. All I’d need is somewhere safe to separate for a few hours. With your mom’s ‘work schedule’ lately…”

Izuku could feel something akin to anger or disdain coming from Ekikyō, though he couldn’t quite pin down the emotion. He wasn’t too happy with how hard his mom’s job was working her lately either. He wondered if they were being assholes like her last workplace, which had assigned her a bunch of extra hours after finding out about her kid being quirkless. It wasn’t like she had a “real family” to get back to or anything. The few phone conversations Izuku had overheard between his mom and her old boss had made him really dislike the guy.

“…we could probably just pick a day and do it in your room before she gets home that evening.”

“Or at the clinic. I’m sure Cross and Cheshire wouldn’t mind you hanging out in the backroom for a bit, though they might put you to work organizing supplies.”

“You know, we probably ought to do the clinic considering we’ve been tinkering with your brain,” Ekikyō said, trepidation drifting through their shared headspace.

Izuku nodded. That was probably the smart thing to do, though he wasn’t sure if their friends would be able to actually help if anything went wrong. In retrospect, they probably should have talked to Cross before they went integrating a bunch of extra slime into his brain, but the thought hadn’t come up at the time.

Things weren’t lining up seamlessly; so, they allowed for more communication between Ekikyō’s cells (hiveminds were such a cool concept) and Izuku’s brain. More slime had seemed like the natural fix, and it had worked. It only struck Izuku as odd now when he really thought about it.

That…wasn’t normal, he realized. Wait, was this Ekikyō’s quirk instinct bullshit again? Just “knowing” that was the way to fix things?

Oh, quirks, that made so much sense; Izuku hated it. Their minds had been all mixed together at the time. So, Izuku had felt the same self-assuredness Ekikyō had, and neither of them questioned it when Ekikyō sort of knew what to do.

“Ekikyō, your quirk is—”

“I know, I know. I heard you the first time. Not my fault that’s the way it works.”

“At least it’s worked out so far?”

One of them shrugged their shoulders as they turned the last corner and spotted the abandoned apartment building. “I can see why the lack of questioning bothers you,” Ekikyō said. “Think I have an idea for keeping your perspective more intact next time we do a…what are we calling that anyway? Full merge? Fusion? Mind meld?”

“What about a dive?” At the feeling of a curious presence pressed close in his mind, Izuku explained, “Whenever you pull me into a memory or when we do sense sharing, it feels kinda like being dragged into deep water. Suddenly its all around me and everywhere; I’m fully submerged—immersed—in it.”

“What about a deep dive?”

Izuku tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, that fits.”

“Anyway, I have an idea, and no it’s not an instinct. It’s an actual thought-out thought.”

Izuku resisted the urge to laugh, leaning on Ekikyō a bit more to make sure his friend could feel his appreciation and a hint of happiness. Happiness was something Izuku had been estranged from for years. He had been content. He had been hopeful. But anytime he was happy, someone—usually Kacchan—made sure it didn’t last long. But well…Izuku was pretty sure Ekikyō could take Kacchan in a fight. Ekikyō wasn’t going anywhere. So…maybe it was okay to admit he was happy. Just a little bit.

Ekikyō echoed the sentiment back at him before going quiet at the foot of the apartment stairs. It was time for training.

They found Ciupan-sensei in their usual room, and Izuku held up his plastic bag while looking around. “So, where’s your dog?”

“Seeing eye dog, you mean.”

Izuku did not almost laugh. He was biting his lip so hard because he was nervous. Yeah, he had anxiety; they’d established this.

Ciupan barked a laugh at Izuku’s question. “Those aren’t for a dog, Naisho. They’re for us. Hand me one and one of your grapples,” his mentor said, holding a hand out. Once he had them, he dropped the toy at his feet and pulled his knife out. He cut the rope from the grappling hook, then reached into his own duffle bag and pulled out a fresh length of rope.

Izuku furrowed his eyebrows as he watched. The new rope was a different color, shorter, and seemed a lot more supple than the original, but Izuku couldn’t see why the old one needed replacing in the first place. He only got more confused when Ciupan picked up the dog toy and tied it to the free end of the rope.

Finally, Ciupan sheathed his knife and gathered the hook and loose rope into several loops in his left hand, leaving the end with the rubber ring dangling from his right. “Tell me, Naisho, have you ever heard of a shoge hook?”

“No.” Izuku had a feeling Ciupan was smiling behind his mask and shifted to the balls of his feet, expecting some sort of attack (not a serious one, but Ciupan could be scary when he wanted to be).

“Well, let me introduce you to your new best friend,” Ciupan said, beginning to swing the rope and ring around.

Izuku’s eyes widened as he watched the ring pick up speed. Was this a legit weapon or something that Ciupan had made up? Izuku hesitantly pulled another grappling hook from his belt and started circling. If he timed it right, he might be able to tangle—

The ring came flying at him, stopping centimeters from his right knee when it hit the end of its tether. The ring smacked the floor loudly and bounced, even as Ciupan reeled it back in. Almost before Izuku could register it, the ring was back swinging in circles beside Ciupan again.

“So, what do you think, Naisho? Think this’ll help a little next time you run into Shigaraki?”

Oh, so they were acknowledging the physical therapy encounter after all. In that case…Izuku pulled off his hoodie, mask, and beenie and tossed them to land beside his duffle. He gave Ciupan one of his vigilante smiles and nodded. “A retired hero…” Izuku had looked up the name Oguro after the PT, and he’d learned of a twilight hero named O’Clock who disappeared after a horrible injury. “Recommended I ask you about arm and wrist breaks, but I do like the idea of staying out of reach.”

Ciupan pulled off his own mask and goggles, grinning. “Then we have a lot to cover today.” Ciupan stopped the ring and lightly tossed the whole rig to Izuku. Another length of the new rope flew at him a second later. “Study those knots and make a second shoge hook. I’ll show you the basics to practice on your own. Then we’ll get to the bone breaking.”

Chapter Text

Walking home that evening, though he was covered in bruises, Izuku smiled. Ciupan (Ripper, Oguro, O’Clock—how many aliases did one guy need?) had shown him three ways to break an arm without a weapon and two for breaking wrists. Ciupan also recommended taking a knife to literally any of the tendons in a hand or going for a finger if he felt ambitious, since Shigaraki’s quirk required five fingers to work. It was all brutally efficient, but with a patch of skin, fat, and muscle twice the size of a smartphone missing from his leg, Izuku didn’t intend to give Shigaraki any quarter if they met again. He loved learning.

Ekikyō seemed to enjoy the lesson too. The whole way back they theorized about how much force they could actually exert working together when executing one of the arm breaks they’d been shown. Or throwing the ring part of their practice shoge hook.

Apparently, a real shoge hook had a dagger with a hook attached on one end of the rope and a metal ring on the opposite, but they’d look into acquiring one of those later. Beaning himself in the head with a rubber dog toy hurt enough. He’d rather not find out how much a metal ring hurt.

But they were done with the shoge hook for the day. They got home to find dinner almost ready. They changed, ate dinner with Izuku’s mom, watched the hero news while running through their list of PT exercises, then retreated to Izuku’s room for the night.

“You said you wanted to try something earlier?” Izuku asked, mentally poking Ekikyō.

“Yeah, you good to go?” When Izuku nodded, Ekikyō got to work.

Izuku felt the pull of a deep dive as he sat on his bed to take the pressure off his sore leg. He closed his eyes, leaning into the feeling as it washed over him. He could feel Ekikyō moving slime around in their brain and quickly picked up on a pattern. They established a full connection, then started pulling slime out of areas one at a time. The odd ebb and flow in their link continued for a few minutes. As they pulled slime out of a section of cortex toward the front of their brain Izuku asked, “What are you doing?”

The slime stopped moving all at once, and they felt victorious. Ekikyō replied, “Looking for your logic center. Found it.”

“What?”

“Neither of us questioned practically drenching your brain in slime, which you definitely should have. That means I was overwriting your logic processes without meaning to. So, if I could find your brain’s logic center…”

“You could limit your connection to it and thus, your influence on me! Couldn’t we have just searched online for where a human brain’s logic center is though? That seems like it would have been easier,” Izuku commented, glossing over the fact that their prior deep dive had apparently been skewed heavily in Ekikyō’s favor (which, in retrospect, made sense with the hivemind thing). The fact his best friend was already addressing it made Izuku more confident in his trustworthiness.

Silence reigned in their head for a minute. “Case in point.”

They opened their eyes and pulled out Izuku’s phone. A quick search narrowed down the specific area Ekikyō needed to work with, and they went back to fine-tuning their connection. With their phone already out, they decided to check what other sections of their brain were in charge of too. They quickly identified and better connected the parts of the brain responsible for receiving and processing sensory input. Upon learning which parts regulated balance and coordination (the cerebellum) and heart rate, breathing, and blood pressure (the brain stem) they briefly thought it over before making sure Ekikyō’s slime was much more thoroughly integrated there too. Honestly, what had they been thinking distributing slime evenly throughout their brain when they tried to smooth things out before?

Once they were satisfied with their new configuration, they put their phone away and moved through a few strikes and blocks against an imaginary opponent. The difference was subtle, but movement felt more natural now, smoother. They could hardly wait to test themselves the next time they patrolled, but that wasn’t going to be tonight, not when Izuku’s body was already tiring from healing numerous bruises and muscle microtears.

They had another matter to take care of anyway. Sensing Ekikyō wanted to ask something, Izuku pressed curiosity toward his friend.

“When I find the League, what do you want to do?”

Izuku tilted his head. How was that even a question? “We stop them or tell people who can stop them.”

“Yeah, of course, but I mean, I’m pretty sure Shigaraki isn’t the actual boss of the League. Brat’s barely older than you, and there’s no way in hell that he scared Giran and all those other villains enough for the level of cooperation we saw with the recruitment drive and the last-minute analysis requests, not to mention the Nomu.”

Izuku frowned and contemplated that. It was odd how insistent Giran had been about that last batch. At the time he’d thought it was because of Stain’s limited availability, but now? He was beginning to think Stain’s mentorship had been more a bribe to ensure he did the analysis than any serendipity. “He did pay me an awful lot for those analyses…”

And the Nomu…Izuku shuddered. The news said that thing had been made. No, there was definitely someone smart—scary smart—behind the scenes involved in creating that. They needed to be caught. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, sensing Ekikyō was bringing this up for a reason.

Ekikyō shifted anxiously under their skin. “There’s no point cutting off a hydra’s head if you don’t get the heart too. I think the Big Bad needs to go down even more than Shigaraki…” Ekikyō turned their eyes to their hands, flexing them slightly. "I’m a wanted man, and Giran already tried to recruit me for the League once. With how many people they lost at the USJ, they’ll be recruiting again soon. If I can get close, maybe…”

“If we can get close, you mean.”

“What? No, kid, I—”

“I am not letting you go in there solo, even if you seem to be immune to Shigaraki’s quirk. If we’re doing something this risky, we’re doing it together from the get-go.” Izuku pressed memories of his encounter with Stain and Ekikyō’s encounter with Snatch into his friend’s mind. Both incidents would have been easily resolved or avoided if they were together at the time. Hell, they only survived the USJ because they were together.

Izuku felt guilt well up on Ekikyō’s side of their mind as his friend pulled back. “Kid, Izuku, I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking; I’m volunteering,” Izuku pointed out. He used their connection to pull Ekikyō’s mind closer until they bled together again. He wanted Ekikyō to feel how serious he was about this. They stayed like that a minute before pulling back.

“I’d have to drive most of the time. Giran knows me too well. And…We’d need to disguise you…”

“I trust you,” Izuku countered.

There was a little spike of guilt again. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Izuku got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to overhear that thought. He pressed his trust at his friend again. “What’s your idea?”

Ekikyō silently nudged Izuku’s mind, asking for permission, And Izuku let himself sink into the background. Slime welled from their skin, enveloping every inch of him. It covered his hair and swept it back out of his face as more slime coated and tickled their larynx. Ekikyō tested their voice, now much rougher, wetter, and best of all, nigh unrecognizable. When Ekikyō hesitated again, Izuku nudged him in turn.

“This next part is reversible, but I want you to know in advance that my eyes can slip through your tissue too, they’re just not as good at it as the rest of my body.”

Izuku felt a brief flutter of anxiety before squashing it down. “Go ahead.” Izuku felt slime climb their throat, and they held their breath as Ekikyō brought their eyes out. Izuku blinked in surprise, getting to actually see through his friend’s eyes for the first time. Then Izuku’s vision cut out entirely, and his face numbed and froze in place. Izuku waited patiently for Ekikyō to reconnect him, already having an idea of what was going on.

A minute or two later, Ekikyō did. Izuku was only looking through one pair of eyes, and it felt like there was more pressure in his eye sockets than before, like he’d been staring at a computer screen for too long. They walked over to Izuku’s mirror and stared at their reflection in all of their Swamp Thing glory.

It hadn’t felt like that much, but there was at least a centimeter’s thickness of slime covering every available speck of skin and seeping through his clothes where they clung too close. His hands looked larger, and Izuku flexed one experimentally, slime and underlying skin, muscle, and bone moving together. He brought the hand up to touch the slime underneath his, well, Ekikyō’s eyes. Their eyes. Maroon irises instead of bright green. His facial structure was masked and warped by the thick layer of slime, though Ekikyō had carefully left holes in the slime to allow them to breathe through their nose. He looked a bit higher and noted their hair looked black and wavy where it was weighed down by slime. At least they didn’t have to worry about their hair getting in their face. The slime moved it back out of the way anytime it might have drifted too close.

The eyes still felt strange, but the feeling was lessening rapidly. Izuku let their hand fall away from their face. This…was one hell of a disguise.

“Will we get enough oxygen with our airway like this?” Izuku asked. “I don’t think we should bring the oxygen concentrator.”

They thought about that for a minute before Izuku’s skin prickled all over. “This might help.”

Izuku sank into their connection again to get a feel for what Ekikyō was doing. Slime was cycling in and out of their skin and the underlying blood vessels. It took Izuku moments to realize what was occurring. He suppressed a laugh. “We’re breathing through our skin.” He paid attention to their external appearance again, noting that the constant movement made them look even more unsettling. Perfect for a faux villain.

They smiled, and their lips pulled farther than usual. Izuku felt the scar on their cheek twinge faintly and examined their face more closely. Good, he couldn’t actually see their freckles or scar through the ever-shifting, translucent slime.

A knock on Izuku’s door had them frantically pulling slime back inside. Izuku turned away from the door, knowing their eyes took longer to fix than they had. “Yes, mom?” he called once his voice was his own.

“Just wanted to say goodnight, sweetie. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.” Like Ekikyō would even let him.

They waited until they heard—and felt with a bit of externalized slime—her footsteps recede to her bedroom. Once her door closed, more slime flowed from the skin around their cheekbones to cover their eyes. Izuku’s vision went black and his face numb again as he patiently waited. A minute later, Izuku was seeing double once more. They rubbed at their eyes with a combination of slime and fingers before checking in the mirror again. Both sets of their eyes looked a touch bloodshot—which looked more concerning than usual with their black blood/slime mix—but otherwise appeared to be okay and functioning fine.

Then they realized Izuku was shivering. Slime lost heat a lot faster than Izuku’s skin did, and with slime cycling constantly through theirs, Izuku’s body temperature had dropped a degree or two during their test run. They’d been so caught up in everything they hadn’t even noticed. Ekikyō fiddled with Izuku’s brain stem to turn his internal thermostat up, and they slunk out of their room to get a quick snack. They needed to be careful to eat a lot and pack snacks whenever they did that to keep their metabolism up, but it seemed doable.

“Watch out League of Villains; we’re coming for you.”

---

The following week and a half flew by. Between school, studying, training with Shinso and Uraraka, training with Ciupan, practicing with his practice shoge hook, physical therapy, patrolling, homework, and watching security feeds of 1-A and 1-B exercises (he actually got to sit in on 1-B’s USJ trip; it was nice and calm—he stayed in the control room) Izuku and Ekikyō didn’t get much time to themselves. They still carved out time to visit the clinic to de-possess in safety (and get chewed out by their friends for their recklessness). There were no complications aside from a brief headache, which Cross hypothesized was due to Izuku’s body having to adjust back to producing the normal amount of cerebrospinal fluid again now that his brain wasn’t full of slime.

Despite the few hours of de-possession, Izuku and Ekikyō didn’t really separate until halfway through the next week, when hero patrols finally started lightening up. It was perfect timing really, because, as nice as the moral support was, Izuku wanted to do the Sports Festival himself.

At school, Uraraka and Shinso kept him busy when Nezu didn’t. Uraraka’s physical therapist finally gave her the green light on athletic activities, provided she wear an ankle brace the whole time. Said brace was surprisingly unobtrusive; it was even thin enough that she could wear her normal sneakers for training.

The last day before the Sports Festival their table in the library was one short. Hatsume opted to eat in the Development Studio and make some last-minute adjustments to her babies. Try as the remaining trio might to not think about it, talk eventually turned to the Festival and what it meant for those present.

“Guys? Let’s win the Sports Festival!” Uraraka said with more fire in her eyes than Izuku had ever seen.

Izuku and Shinso looked at each other, a little confused and both with their mouths full. Shinso swallowed his food first. “That’s the plan, Uraraka. We’re getting into that hero course.”

Izuku nodded along. His friends had a decent shot, since that one slot in Eraserhead’s class opened up. He felt kinda bad that one of the students had to withdraw for medical reasons after the USJ, but it did improve his friends’ chances.

Uraraka nodded too, all seriousness. Then her expression turned more thoughtful. “Shinso, Midoriya, why do you want to be heroes?”

Izuku hurriedly stuffed more soba noodles in his mouth to buy himself time. Why did she assume he wanted to be a hero? How was he supposed to explain he didn’t (not anymore)?

Shinso sighed. “You can’t help what your heart wants. Though I suppose there’s also spite.”

Izuku’s heart ached at his friend’s first admission. He grinned just a little at the second. “What about you, Uraraka?” he asked.

Uraraka turned uncharacteristically sheepish, playing with her fingers as she quietly said, “I…want to be a hero for the money.” That got a confused sound from both of the boys. “I-I know how it sounds, but my family isn’t very well off. My parents run a construction company, but business hasn’t been great the last few years.”

She rubbed at her bad ankle. “When I got hurt at the entrance exam, I thought that was it, the end of everything, but UA paid for my medical bills and physical therapy. So, I’m not going to waste my second chance. I want to make enough money to take care of my parents and to show them they don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“That’s a great reason, Uraraka! I’m sure your parents will be really proud of you.”

Uraraka blushed and covered her face with her hands, keeping her pinkies raised the whole time.

“What about you?”

“Huh?” Izuku and Uraraka turned to face Shinso to find him staring at Izuku.

“What about you?”

Izuku’s heart and gaze fell as he poked at his food. “P-people like me can’t be heroes, Shinso. Analysis is as c-close as I’ll ever get, and I can always help in other ways…” He didn’t dare meet Shinso’s eyes.

“Bullshit.”

Izuku startled and snapped his eyes to his friend. Shinso looked angry; Izuku didn't think he'd ever seen Shinso look quite this angry before. “Wh-what?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it, Izuku.”

Izuku’s eyes widened as he stared at Shinso, struck speechless at the use of his first name.

“You’re a reckless, stubborn idiot, but you’re also the smartest, most heroic person I know. I’d rather have you than five of those hero brats in a fight.” Shinso gave Izuku a conflicted look. “You keep telling Uraraka and me not to give up, that we can make it. So…why have you given up on yourself?”

“That’s different,” Izuku said, looking away.

“Why?!”

"It just is."

Shinso scoffed. "That's not a reason."

Something in Izuku snapped. “Because I’m quirkless!" he yelled, balling his hands at his sides and glaring up at Shinso through watery eyes. "Because that’s all I’ll ever be, and even All Might himself told me I’d never make it! There’s no point. There’s no point…” His voice cracked and he lowered his head before any tears could fall. “I can’t…I can’t be a hero,” Izuku repeated, shaking his head. “B-but I have this—friends, even a best friend—and I h-have my analysis, and I have Naisho.” Izuku huffed a laugh and grinned if a little sadly. He looked back up at Hitoshi. “That’s more than I ever expected to have.”

When Shinso couldn’t seem to find his words, Izuku wiped his eyes and continued, “I don’t have to be a hero to help people like me, like Ekikyō or you.” Izuku took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s enough. I’ll make it enough.”

Izuku’s friends (former friends, because who would want to be friends with him?) gaped at him, trying to process the bombshell that was his quirk status.

“You kids okay?” the librarian asked, standing halfway between her desk and their table.

Izuku really hoped she hadn’t heard everything, but being an underground hero, she probably did.

“Yes, Briar-sensei,” Izuku said, earning a pair of raised eyebrows from the hero. “I was just leaving.” He snatched up his backpack and tray of half-eaten food and fast-walked for the door.

“Midoriya, wait up!” Uraraka called after him.

They knew now. Izuku didn’t want to know how they’d react. He hunched his shoulders, curled forward, and walked faster. At least they weren’t in any of his classes. They should be easy enough to avoid. He needed to find a new place to eat lunch though. Maybe with Hatsume in the lab or on the roof? He contemplated the latter only a moment before shaking his head. No, roofs were a bad idea.

A hand landed on his left shoulder, and Izuku flinched hard, cursing himself for getting so distracted thinking about future confrontations that he missed them gaining on him in the present. He looked up to see Shinso standing over him and dropped his eyes just as quickly, blinking back tears.

“Izuku?”

Izuku tensed up but didn’t pull away. There was no point in fighting back. He hummed, not trusting his voice. The Brainwashing he expected didn’t come.

Shinso released his grip on Izuku’s shoulder and took a step back. “Izuku, look at me. Please? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Izuku swallowed and glanced up through the curls that had fallen in front of his face. Shinso looked…sincere? Earnest? Concerned? Uraraka stood right beside him, and she looked so worried.

Once he caught Izuku’s eyes with his own, Shinso said, “I shouldn’t have pushed. I didn’t mean to out you.”

Izuku resisted the urge to say “It’s fine,” because it wasn’t. Izuku wasn’t ready. Maybe he was never going to be, but what was done was done. The only thing left to do was deal with the fallout.

After standing there awkwardly for a minute or two, Uraraka cracked. “So, you’re really quirkless?”

Izuku glanced around the hallway. Thankfully, there was no one else around to hear her. He swallowed and nodded.

“But you’re like the smartest person I’ve ever met. You placed third in the entrance exam.”

Izuku didn’t quite hide his wince. “And quirkless people can’t be smart?”

Uraraka’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not what I meant! That was stupid of me to say. I’m so sorry. I have no problem with the quirkless or you being quirkless,” she said, waving the arm not holding her tray in front of her. “I just thought for sure you had an intelligence quirk or something.”

“Don’t worry about it, Uraraka. I get that a lot. To be fair, my mom does have a telekinesis quirk. So, it’s possible I inherited some altered brain structure from her, even without getting a version of her quirk. So, that might contribute to the intelligence.”

Shinso grimaced at the whole exchange and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling as if it might take pity on them and bless them all with social aptitude.

---

Outtake:

“Hey, Shinso?” Uraraka whispered after Midoriya headed off to class. “What’s Naisho?”

Hitoshi froze. “Uh…it’s a secret between Izuku and I. Like a Big secret. You—”

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed,” Uraraka said, smiling. “Hopefully you two figure it out.”

Hitoshi narrowed his eyes at Uraraka. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.”

Uraraka’s giggling made Hitoshi sincerely doubt that.

Chapter Text

The first event of the Sports Festival passed in a flurry of parkour and dodging. Izuku didn’t quite have the confidence to run across the ropes at the second obstacle, but he still made decent time. The minefield presented a bigger challenge…until he recognized the pattern Nezu had set the mines in. Once he caught on to the checkerboarding that grew denser until leveling out at the halfway point in the minefield, placing his feet confidently became much easier.

He placed in the low 20s (to his surprise) and avoided Kacchan’s notice. Those were the important things. He didn’t really care if he advanced, but he did want to help his friends with the second event. If his analysis was right, it was going to be a team event.

And it was. As soon as team sizes were announced (two to four people), Izuku, Shinso, Uraraka, and Hatsume gravitated toward each other. Hatsume started handing out support gear and cackling. “Let’s go, Team Antihero!”

“Hatsume, no,” Izuku tried to say, though his laughter somewhat detracted from the effect.

“Hatsume, yes!” Uraraka said as she examined a jetpack.

“How many shots does this have?” Hitoshi asked, carefully turning over the net gun in his hands.

“Six,” Hatsume said before shoving a pair of goggles and some sort of staff at Izuku. “Take these, Analyst-kun! Gotta keep the dust and your hair out of your eyes—so you can analyze the competition. The staff’s pretty basic, but it does have a shock absorption feature. You won’t feel the full recoil from hitting or blocking with it.”

“This is so cool,” Izuku said swinging the staff a few times experimentally. He kinda wished he’d practiced more with weapons besides his knives and the practice shoge hook, but he’d do his best. If all else failed, he knew how to throw a pretty decent punch. “Alright, plan! Uraraka, Hatsume, and I are all about the same height, but putting Shinso as the rider would draw too much attention to his quirk. He needs that to be secret for the final event…”

“You should be the rider. You’re the best here with weapons and hand to hand. You’d be wasted as a horse,” Shinso pointed out. “Plus, with the attention off of me, I can still use my quirk as an emergency measure.”

“Right,” Izuku agreed. “Hatsume, did you finish those hover soles you were working—” He pointed as she held them up. “Perfect, you and Uraraka will be the back horses. Each of you should wear 1 to balance out. Uraraka, you can use your quirk on Hatsume and Shinso to give us better mobility. Here, give me the jet pack. Hatsume, do you have any spare bits Uraraka can use for throwing ammunition? Broken parts, extra bolts or screws, that type of thing.”

They hurriedly figured out the rest of the details and arranged themselves. Izuku tied his team’s headband around his head and stretched to try and shake his nerves. With so few people in this round—and with him being the rider of their team—it was going to be difficult to avoid Kacchan’s notice. He anxiously scanned the field, mentally listing off each team’s quirks and searching for that head of spiky blonde hair.

“Hey, Izuku?”

“Yes, Shinso?” Izuku asked without turning to look at his friend. His world went foggy in an instant. It faded a moment later, but Izuku’s body had turned away from the rest of the arena to face Shinso.

“Breathe, Izuku. Calm down,” Shinso ordered. “You’ll be okay. We’re a team.”

Izuku’s breathing grew more even and deepened without Izuku’s say so, and he blinked a few times as he felt the fog of Shinso’s quirk encroach on his mind just a little. He was still aware of the danger; it just felt more distant, less pressing. He nodded. “I-I think I’m okay now. Thanks.”

Shinso watched him for a few moments. “Want me to keep you like this for the event?”

Izuku shook his head. “I’ll need my wits about me, and you should conserve your quirk. If I need your help again, I’ll let you know.” Izuku felt the fog recede, but he didn’t start hyperventilating again. He forced himself to stay focused on his team. They needed to make it to the next round. Izuku just had to hold it together until their spots were secured. Then he could find a nice quiet corner to fall apart in. He briefly wondered if Maijima-sensei would notice if he left early; he really didn’t want to get cornered by Kacchan.

He shook his head again and tightened his grip on his staff. He could think about that later. Cavalry Battle first. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then he did what he did best. Analyzed. “Alright the teams to avoid are Todoroki, Bakugo, and Honenuki—red and white hair with ice and fire, explosive blonde—self-explanatory—and kid with the same teeth as Ectoplasm-sensei with a softening quirk that can turn the whole arena into quicksand. If any of those three get close, run as fast as possible in the other direction, or if that fails, we need to get off the ground or brainwash the rider. The other blonde is Monoma. He talks a big game and has a copy quirk. If he reaches for me, let him; I can grab his headband while he’s confused…”

Izuku rattled off everything he knew about the other teams—all hero course students that he’d studied to a degree. He was still a bit vague on some of 1-A’s quirks, since he hadn’t succeeded in hacking into the USJ video files yet and their rescheduled rescue training wasn’t until next week. But he knew enough. Hopefully.

“Alright teams, places!” Once everyone had formed their teams and the riders were in position, the countdown started. “We’re starting in three…two…one!” Midnight cracked her whip.

Suddenly, there were 9 headbands flying through the air overhead. Izuku reached up to feel that his headband was gone. So was everyone else’s, by the looks of it. All except…

“Team Inouye!” Izuku yelled, pointing.

The item teleporter had teamed up with Tetsutetsu, Tokoyami, and Yanagi; the latter was responsible for the headbands’ continuing air time and erratic flight. Inouye looked inordinately pleased with himself and his 3 headbands as he surveyed the chaos the field had become. The teams were all shouting and chasing after the points except his and Izuku’s.

Izuku whispered, “Hatsume, can your grapple wire catch one of those as they fly by?”

Hatsume watched the headbands before shaking her head. “No pattern, I’d be shooting blind. Shinso may have luck with the net gun, though the net might be light enough for Yanagi to control too.”

Izuku frowned and pulled at his lower lip in thought. They watched as one team managed to snag a headband, only for it to teleport out of their grasp a second later. Izuku narrowed his eyes and searched for the two hero students with hearing quirks. “Psst, Jiro, Shoji,” Izuku said at normal volume. He caught Jiro’s jolt of surprise. Shoji merely turned an ear tentacle toward him. “It’s Inouye’s doing. If someone doesn’t take him down, no one will have any points at the end of this.”

Izuku watched as the two students turned to look at their smug classmate. They yelled something to the other teams near them, and several turned to charge at Inouye at once. Inouye’s eyes flew wide, and his team fled.

Izuku grinned. “Now, Shinso!”

Shinso took aim and fired, snagging two of the flying headbands. The net fell to the ground, and they raced toward it. Another team made for the net too—Monoma’s team. Perfect.

Izuku spun his staff around to get the other team’s attention. Monoma smirked at them, and his team shifted direction. Midoriya’s team reached the net first and Hatsume scooped the whole thing up. Izuku allowed Monoma to brush outstretched fingers against his arm.

The blonde jolted back and gaped at him. “You’re—”

Izuku cut him off with a sharp jab to the solar plexus with this staff. Then he swung the staff at one of the team’s horses, not to hit them, but to get them to back off. It worked, and Team Midoriya beat a hasty retreat.

Hatsume handed him the two headbands: 620 and 170. That was probably enough to make it to the last round. He decided to keep an eye on the scoreboard just in case though.

Before they could go much further, a sudden chill ran through the arena, and the ground froze under them. Hatsume and Uraraka hopped up on their hover soles just in time, but Izuku had to trade Shinso his staff and stand guard while his friend chipped himself free. Most teams weren’t so lucky as to have support gear to break themselves out. Others didn’t need it though.

Explosions rocked the arena and sent Izuku’s heart hammering against his ribs. His eyes followed the sound without a conscious decision to find Bakugo duking it out with Todoroki. One of them must have gotten the ten-million-point headband, and judging by Bakugo’s vicious smirk, it was him.

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Once they were free, Izuku’s team crept around the edges of the iced field, picking off teams that had managed to snag headbands and occasionally getting into scuffles. They ran into Monoma one other time, but the teen only flung acid at them before retreating, apparently deciding they weren’t worth the effort. Did he have to ruin Izuku’s gym shirt though? The acid holes were slowly getting larger, and Izuku did his best to ignore the sting on his skin where the acid had touched. They all needed to hose off as soon as this event finished.

Izuku carefully layered the headbands he had around his neck, hoping to prevent Inouye from seeing—and teleporting—all of them at once. It turned out to be a good idea as Izuku felt a faint brush of air on his neck a minute later. Izuku slapped his hands over his neck and remaining headbands, counting them by touch. Damn, he’d gotten two of them then. Glancing up at the scoreboard, Izuku was relieved to see that they still had their highest point band.

“Shit! The net gun too!” Shinso yelled. A clatter off to the side told them that the piece of support tech had been teleported out of bounds. Lovely.

They ducked behind another trapped team in hopes of blocking Inouye’s view of them. It seemed to work until Izuku froze midbreath, hair standing on end. That feeling of eyes on him…Izuku slowly turned to look, already dreading what he’d see. His blood roared in his ears as green eyes met red across the arena.

Kacchan’s face was frozen in shock for a handful of seconds before it dropped into a dangerous, furious snarl.

Oh no.

“I-incoming! Get in the air now!” Izuku frantically said. He watched Kacchan’s team start running their way.

The girls yelled “ready”, and Shinso gripped Izuku’s legs to make sure he didn’t get left behind. Izuku pressed the button for the jet pack, and the quartet shot up into the air.

Izuku breathed a premature sigh of relief. Then he heard the approaching explosions. He glanced down to see Kacchan rocketing toward them with his quirk. Izuku yelped and swung his staff sloppily.

Kacchan redirected himself with his explosions and came at Izuku again. “You damn nerd! You’ve been here this whole time?! Are you looking down on me, trying to make me look like a fool?!” This time when Izuku tried to deter him, Kacchan blasted the staff right out of his hands, sending it sailing out of bounds to join the net gun. The blonde smiled wider as he aimed another blast for Izuku’s torso.

Izuku moved on instinct and knocked Kacchan’s wrist aside, making the explosion miss. “No, Kacchan! I listened. I didn’t even take the heroics exam, and I’ve been leaving you alone. Isn’t that what you wanted?!”

Izuku’s team began descending—Izuku didn’t want to think about what might happen if the jetpack got hit by an explosion while they were midair—and Kacchan gave chase, still trying to blast Izuku. Izuku managed to deflect or minimize most of the hits, finally grabbing Kacchan’s wrist and twisting it in frustration. He stopped himself shy of snapping it though. He shoved Kacchan away as they landed, but the boy just came back more visibly angry.

“Hold still, you useless Deku!” he yelled.

Izuku, loathe as he was to admit it, froze. Too many memories of that name, of the beatings that accompanied it…and oh, Kacchan sounded positively livid. Izuku’d never heard him that angry before. Izuku saw his former friend’s hand lighting up with a big explosion, and he raised his arms to shield his face and clamped his eyes shut. There was a light brush of air again, then a burning wall of pain and sound.

There was a moment of shock and disorientation (confusion on whether he was at UA or Aldera). Then he felt someone squeeze his leg; through the ringing in Izuku’s ears, he could just tell someone was yelling. Shinso. Bolts and pieces of scrap metal pelted Kacchan, one of the sharper pieces nicking his cheek. Uraraka. A wrench swiped at Kacchan’s knees, forcing him to move back. Hatsume.

Right, he was at UA, in the Sports Festival. There were only…two minutes left in the Cavalry Battle. Relief (that he wasn’t there anymore, that he wasn’t alone) flooded him; then it scorched and crumbled beneath a swell of anger at himself. Damn it! He’d frozen again.

Izuku scowled at his reaction before shoving the emotion aside. He couldn’t let Kacchan be the reason his friends didn’t get to chase their dreams. They’d worked so hard; they didn’t deserve that. They needed the points Izuku was guarding. Kacchan couldn’t have them. Determination found, Izuku lowered his arms the rest of the way, tightened his fists, and stared down Kacch—Bakugo.

The blonde snarled as he blasted toward them again before his eyes widened comically. He almost looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Izuku rested a hand on Shinso’s right shoulder to tell him to let go of his leg and to brace for his next move. The Izuku leaned back and to the side, brought up his right leg, and kicked Bakugo in the sternum as hard as he could.

Izuku watched Bakugo fly backward until the blonde’s team snagged him with Sero’s tape and reeled him back in. Izuku’s team was already racing away.

Izuku’s hand trembled as he tapped Shinso on the shoulder.

Shinso took one look over his shoulder at Izuku before asking, “Want me to help?”

“Y-yes…” Izuku stayed aware but he felt Shinso’s quirk wrap around him like a thick, warm blanket.

“Breathe, Izuku, even and deep. We won’t let him hurt you. Relax, but stay alert.”

Izuku gratefully did so, eyeing the field around them as his heartrate started to settle. Unfortunately, as the adrenaline wore off, the pain began to register. The familiar stinging, burning tightness of fresh burns. Izuku hadn’t missed that feeling in his months of freedom from Bakugo. He’d almost forgotten how much they hurt.

Shinso could feel the strain on his quirk too, gritting his teeth as they jogged across the arena. Another team approaching was all the distraction needed for him to lose his grip on Izuku’s mind entirely.

The other team—Inouye’s team, to Izuku’s horror—stopped a handful of meters from them. Inouye help out his hand with a wad of fabric in it. Izuku stared at the fabric in confusion until he felt that faint brush of air again, and the wadded-up fabric dropped in his lap. Izuku unfolded it enough to recognize it as his acid-eaten gym shirt.

“Midoriya, right? I’m sorry; I really didn’t mean to grab that. I was trying to snatch your headband, but you lifted your arms at the last second and blocked my line of sight…and I accidentally took your shirt instead…”

Izuku blinked and looked back up at the hero student. He seemed genuinely sorry. Izuku nodded but didn’t get a chance to speak before familiar explosions made a rapid return. Izuku dropped the fabric back on his lap as he felt that paralyzing panic creep up on him again. What was he supposed to do?

Then Inouye’s team moved. “Eh, we got this one. Consider it reparations.” Then Inouye reached, and several headbands appeared in the air around him. Bakugo howled in rage.

Inouye’s team booked it after that, headbands trailing behind and around them under Yanagi’s control. Izuku watched long enough to see Bakugo close on the team. He almost looked away, but because he didn’t, he saw Yanagi wrap both of Bakugo’s hands in separate headbands. Bakugo’s next set of explosions were throttled and left him yelling in what Izuku might hesitantly call pain. The headbands remained intact.

The headbands were quirk-proofed!

Izuku smiled and quickly took his headbands from around his neck. He tied the three together, end to end. It wasn’t at all well-balanced, but Izuku knew how to work with a rope. “Hey, Uraraka, do you still have any scrap? I need something about half the size of a fist.”

“Um…yeah? Here you go,” Uraraka said, passing him a dented piece of…something electronic.

Izuku tested the weight and decided it would do. He carefully tied it to one end of his headband rope. He gave it a few experimental swings, making sure not to hit Hatsume (behind him on the right) or Shinso. Now he was in business.

The next team to approach Izuku’s was quite surprised when Izuku lashed out with his improvised weapon. Izuku swung the weighted end of the fabric around the person’s wrist and yanked them forward with his left hand, pulling them into his right fist. A repeat of the kick Izuku had given Bakugo sent the enemy team packing.

A few more minutes of maneuvering around the field (as far away from Bakugo as possible), and Izuku was surprised to hear Present Mic call over the speakers, “One minute left, folks! Who will the final 16 be?”

Izuku quickly looked around. It had actually been a while since anyone attacked their team. With less than a minute left, Izuku expected a couple to rush them, but no one did. Izuku continued looking around in confusion while keeping his improvised weapon swinging and at the ready. Everyone seemed to be targeting Todoroki, Bakugo, Inouye and one or two other teams. But not Izuku’s. Why?

“Uh, Analyst-kun? It’s because you’re not wearing our points. Unless they look at the scoreboard, they’d never know we had any.”

Oh, Izuku had been mumbling again. Oops. “But our points are right here?” Izuku said, holding his right hand—headband weapon in tow—up. “Kinda hard to miss them.”

Shinso huffed a laugh. “Don’t look much like point headbands with you constantly moving them. They probably think it’s another of Hatsume’s babies.”

“Oh.” Just to be sure their points still counted despite them not being around Izuku’s head or neck, Izuku glanced up at the scoreboard. Sure enough, they sat comfily in fourth place.

“Ten seconds.” Eraserhead announced in his usual monotone.

Izuku scanned the field again as the countdown started, looking for last second threats. He found one, but it wasn’t aimed at him.

Across the field, Inouye stared at Bakugo’s team with a manic smile on his face. He reached out, and suddenly there was a headband in his hand. Izuku looked up at the scoreboard, gasping as he watched Bakugo’s team drop from first to third and Inouye’s rise to first place. Inouye had stolen the ten-million-point headband.

The horn blared, signaling the end of the Sports Festival’s second event, and Izuku’s team lowered him to the ground as the crowd went wild. “There you have it, folks! Our final 16 competitors will be the members of teams Inouye, Todoroki, Bakugo, and Midoriya! I can’t believe it! For the—is this the first time?” Mic asked someone, presumably Eraserhead. After a moment, Mic continued with even more enthusiasm, “The first time in 12 years, a team made entirely of non-heroics students—and from three other courses—that is a first—has advanced to the third event! Keep an eye on these kids, Listeners, because they’re going places! I can feel it. Yeah!”

Izuku stood there, slightly dazed. They’d made it. Hatsume was going to get the chance to show off for the support investors, and Uraraka and Shinso were getting their shot at a heroics transfer. They could be heroes.

Uraraka snapped Izuku from his thoughts as she stepped up beside him. “I can’t believe this.” She was…angry?

Izuku turned toward her, head tilted in confusion. “Midnight-sensei didn’t do anything when Bakugo was going after you like that! He wasn’t even trying to grab your headbands! Ooh, if I face him in the individual fights, I am going to float him into the sun.”

“He is kind of a meanie,” Hatsume agreed. “How’d he get into heroics, anyway? You don’t malfunction like that overnight. Someone had to notice his attitude needed a redesign.”

Shinso scoffed. “Please. He has a flashy, heroic quirk. That’s all anyone cares about,” he said bitterly.

“Well, we’ll just have to show them then,” Uraraka said, fists clenched and eyes gleaming with determination. “We’ll show them that being a hero’s more than that, right guys? Heart’s important too, and all three of us have that.”

Izuku blinked as it dawned on him that it wasn’t just his friends who’d made the cut for the final event. He, Midoriya Izuku, made it to the third event. Without a quirk or Ekikyō’s help. Izuku let out a silent, long exhale. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost believe…

No. Izuku shook the dangerous, fantastical thought away. He’d gotten his friends one step closer to their goal. That was realistic. That was enough for him. He grinned, a bit more subdued, as he listened to his friends enthusiastically recount their favorite parts of the Cavalry Battle.

The feeling of eyes on him again made him tense up, but not panic. (After all, he’d kept Bakugo in view since the event ended; so, he knew his once-friend wasn’t the one looking at him.) Izuku cautiously turned, scanning the faces around him until he found a disconcerting pair of dove grey and icy blue eyes aimed at him. Izuku blinked and did a double-take. Wow, that shade of blue was familiar.

The youngest Todoroki stared wide-eyed at Izuku, and Izuku recognized something like horror in his gaze. The boy’s eyes darted up to meet Izuku’s when he turned to more fully face the heroics student, and the look softened into one sadder or more resigned? Todoroki tilted his head the barest degree, and a hand rose to touch the margin of the scar around his left eye.

Izuku frowned ever so slightly, starting to raise his own hand to check his face for a black eye or a cut. Then he realized his ruined shirt was still clenched in his hand. He glanced down at it and watched as a piece finally succumbed to the acid that had soaked into it and fell away. He stared at it for several seconds before the significance registered.

His shirt was in his hand. He wasn’t wearing his shirt. Izuku slowly raised his head to look around, catching more than a few students casting furtive looks his way or outright staring. Izuku’s breath hitched as he looked farther, out to the stands. They were too far to hear, but the pointing and concerned frowns were easy enough to make out.

Everyone was looking at his scars.

---

In a bar in Kamino, a scarred man swirled the whiskey in his glass. This was a tradition. Every year when the prized show ponies-in-training pranced for the masses, Dabi came to this bar and tempted fate and his liver’s health. To think he’d ever wanted to be one of those brats, would have given anything to have one person cheer him on, let alone a crowd of thousands.

He scoffed and knocked back the shot, exhaling a thin stream of blue flame as he (gently) slammed his shot glass down on the bar. The bartender knew the drill after so many years and refilled Dabi’s glass without prompting. Dabi sighed as the man also set a bowl of peanuts in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, old man. I know.” Dabi grabbed a handful and toasted them in his closed fist before popping a few in his mouth to chew. They’d soak up some of the alcohol. Not much, but enough to keep him from spontaneously combusting. Hopefully.

Dabi reluctantly turned his attention back to the tv behind the counter as the announcer’s obnoxious voice rose. Dabi didn’t pay much attention to the words, more interested in what the hero brats were doing. The smoke cleared to show the explosive boy had attacked…a shirtless kid? He thought they’d made a rule about nudity after last year and that streaker guy.

Dabi’s lip twitched, wanting to pull back in a sympathetic grimace at the expanse of first—maybe second—degree burns over the kid’s crossed forearms and chest. He remembered how that felt. He picked up his shot glass, then paused. He narrowed his eyes as the cameras zoomed in. No…it couldn’t be.

Dabi gestured for the barkeep to turn the volume up.

“And it looks like Bakugo’s attack blew the shirt right off Midoriya’s back! Yikes, that has to hurt…”

The cameras changed angles a moment later, but Dabi got enough of a look to know for sure. An oddly colored handprint scar wrapped around Midoriya’s left shoulder.

Dabi smiled, heedless of the pain as his stapled skin pulled taut. He laughed, earning a shocked, concerned look from the bartender. He raised his shot glass to the tv and tilted his head as Midoriya Sparta kicked the explosive asshole away from him. “You go, Green.”

Chapter Text

Everyone was staring.

Izuku covered his worst scar—his shoulder burn—with his right hand and clutched the scrap of a gym shirt to his chest with his left, hoping to hide some of the starburst burns and parallel line scratches that had played landmark on his skin for years. He needed to get off the field. He—

A weight dropped on Izuku’s shoulders—carefully avoiding the scar on his left—and arms appeared on either side of him. “Come on, Izuku, let’s get you to Recovery Girl.” Shinso said beside Izuku’s ear. The taller student was leaning over Izuku’s back, shielding one side of him from view.

Izuku nodded, uncertain whether the burning in his cheeks was from Shinso or actual burns. He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. We should all probably hose off. I don’t think Monoma could regulate the pH of Ashido’s quirk very well.” He held up what was once his shirt as evidence.

Hatsume pulled a face before taking the shirt from Izuku with two fingers. She held it as far away from herself as possible and motioned for the others to follow. “Chemical burns are no joke, and it’s ruining the finish on my babies! I need to clean everything before the one v. ones.”

“You, first, then your babies,” Uraraka corrected, falling into step beside Izuku.

Izuku breathed a little easier as they approached one of the doorways on the edge of the arena. He glanced back to catch Todoroki’s eyes again, but the boy had vanished. Izuku frowned and turned his attention back to his friends, but he couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about.

Recovery Girl had set up shop in one of the rooms closest to the arena; so, he didn’t have too long to get lost in his head. Then he and the others were being fussed over and directed to the showers and a closet full of spare gym uniforms. Izuku’s shirt had gotten the worst of the acid, but Hatsume and Shinso’s clothes had holes growing in them too.

The places acid had met skin weren’t as damaged, thankfully, but the angry red patches still looked bad. A few of the chemical burns that overlapped with the burns from Bakugo’s explosions were worse off, oozing lazily. Recovery Girl tutted at Izuku’s injuries before handing Izuku a pair of pills for the pain and a tub of burn cream with a numbing agent. “Start applying that, but not to those oozing areas. I’ll fetch some bandages.”

Izuku, used to treating burns and working through pain, was finished by the time she returned from the supply closet. She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment. A different ointment was applied to the chemical burns; then she started wrapping Izuku’s arms and torso. The few chemical burns on his legs and elsewhere received spot bandages. As she tied off the last of the gauze, she sighed.

“You have a choice here, sonny. After you eat lunch, you can either come back here, and I’ll use my quirk to heal you. Your burns aren’t severe, but with their extent, I can’t guarantee you’ll have the energy to compete afterward. Or you can compete like this and come see me for healing after your part in the bracket. I’ll use whatever energy you have left, but that may not completely heal everything. Anything left would have to heal naturally.” When Izuku stared dumbly at her, she handed him a few gummies and shooed him toward the door. “I don’t expect an answer right now, but go eat. You’ll need that energy either way.”

Izuku nodded and slipped a shirt on over his bandages. When he left the infirmary, he found Shinso waiting for him, leaning against the wall. Shinso frowned when he saw Izuku. “She didn’t heal you?”

Izuku shook his head. “She wants me to eat first. Come on; we don’t have much time left,” Izuku said, walking in the direction of the arena’s cafeteria.

The walk wasn’t long, and Izuku smiled when he saw Uraraka and Hatsume had ordered for them and saved a table. “Hey,” Izuku greeted as he slid into the chair beside Hatsume. “Thanks for the food!”

“No problem, Analyst-kun. Can’t have you or Hero-kun going hungry.”

Shinso gave Hatsume a look. “If I’m Hero-kun, then who’s Uraraka?”

“Gravity-kun, obviously.”

Izuku snorted, covering his mouth to avoid spitting out his bite of horenso gomaae. He took a quick drink from his milk carton before coughing. “Not the worst nicknames I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh?” Uraraka asked.

Izuku took a quick bite of his saury before answering. “In middle school, Ka—um Bakugo called everyone extras, and the two that followed him around he only called Fingers and Wings because of their quirks.”

Izuku’s friends snickered.

Hatsume tapped her chin with her chopsticks. “See, I can kinda understand Fingers and Wings, as those seem like rather obvious physical traits. What I don’t get is why he called you Deku.”

“Was that what he said?” Uraraka asked. “My ears were still ringing a little, and I thought he said ‘dekiru.’ You know, like ‘you can do it,’ which really doesn’t make any sense given the context…”

Izuku stirred his bowl of Hōtō, staring at the noodles as they spun. “No, it’s Deku. Like dekunobo. He…misread the kanji for my given name when we were learning to read, and when I was diagnosed as quirkless, it became the only thing he called me. Well, that or ‘damn nerd.’” Izuku shrugged and stuffed noodles in his mouth, glancing at Hatsume out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction.

Hatsume didn’t bat an eye at the revelation, only continued frowning at Bakugo’s choice of nickname for Izuku.

“When you were diagnosed? Wait, you’ve known Bakugo for ten years?” Shinso asked.

“Longer.”

Shinso huffed. “Wow. I never thought they’d let a bully into the hero course, but I guess I should have known better. UA did graduate Endeavor, after all.”

Izuku curled his lip in disgust. “No, Endeavor is far, far worse than Bakugo.” His three friends raised their eyebrows at him, but Izuku shook his head. “I…stumbled on some information I’m not supposed to have. Don’t ask.”

The table fell into an awkward silence until Uraraka couldn’t take it anymore. “So…everyone excited for the one v. ones?”

Shinso shrugged eloquently. “As long as I’m not up against someone mute, I should be good.”

Uraraka considered this. “Do we know for sure that Todoroki isn’t mute? I don’t think I’ve seen him talk to anyone.”

Izuku laughed. “He’s not mute. You might avoid mentioning his dad though,” Izuku said, thinking about how a boy with an ice and fire quirk got a burn scar on the side of his face that should be fireproof. He didn’t like the implications. “I get the feeling that topic will either get him talking or put him in a particularly murdery mood. I’d give it a 50/50 shot. The vision in his left eye might be weaker, though, if that helps.”

Shinso gave Izuku some serious side-eye. “Okay, I don’t know what you know or think you know, but—”

“Nope! Not talking about it,” Izuku declared before stuffing the last quarter of his saury in his mouth all at once. He gestured at his mouth to accentuate how much he couldn’t talk at the moment.

Uraraka laughed and nearly knocked over her bowl of soup.

Izuku swallowed enough of his fish to ask, “Anyway, Hatsume, what’s the plan?”

Hatsume smiled one of her more crazed smiles. “The plan is to cut a deal with whoever my first match is to advertise my babies. I’ll let them win after I show off everything. The Sports Festival isn’t worth breaking all of my beautiful babies,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “So, I’m getting out before I face one of the overpowered heroes-in-training.”

“What if you face one of them first though?” Izuku asked. Todoroki and Bakugo were both in the final 16, as were Kaminari and Yaoyorozu. That was a one in four chance of facing an “overpowered” opponent right off the bat.

“Then I’ll use the taser feature on the net gun.”

Shinso choked on his milk.

Uraraka snapped her fingers. “Wish we could have used that against Blasty last round. That would have been perfect.”

Izuku listened to his friends debate about how best to use a taser net and let a small smile creep onto his face. Shinso and Uraraka took Hatsume’s indifference toward the competition in stride. They didn’t even comment on it. Maybe…

“I’m actually thinking about not doing the one v. ones,” he said before he could think better of it.

His friends stopped arguing to look at him. “What? Why?” Hatsume asked.

Izuku shrugged and glanced away, somewhat regretting his momentary bravery. “I just…don’t see a point. I did okay in the first two events.” And Izuku got his three friends (when had he ever had so many? He’d even had one of them for more than half a year) into the final event. “But in a straight-up fight? I wouldn’t stand a chance. And I’d rather not get bodied by Iida, Tetsutetsu, or Kirishima, thanks.”

“Izuku…” Hitoshi warned.

“Hitoshi,” Izuku said back, watching his friend’s eye blow wide in surprise. Izuku had been chewing on this—using Shinso’s given name—ever since he’d used Izuku’s yesterday. Using it felt like something taboo, a great risk, like admitting they were friends, but more somehow. The last person his age he’d ever called by their given name was Bakugo Katsuki, and look where they had ended up.

Izuku grinned at his friend’s expression for a few seconds before his face fell again. “I just…I was already thinking about it, and Recovery Girl gave me a choice.” He held up his arm, wrapped wrist to mid-bicep in bandages. His arms had taken the brunt of that one explosion; even with the pain meds and numbing cream, the skin felt stiff. At least none of the burns should be bad enough to scar. “I can let her heal me now and be tired for the tournament, possibly too tired to compete, or I fight as is, probably gain more injuries, and let her heal me after.”

“I didn’t think any of those burns was that serious,” Uraraka said, clearly worried.

“They’re not!” Izuku quickly said, waving his arms in front of him briefly. “But there’s a lot of them…” He idly rubbed at a square bandage covering a bright red acid burn on the side of his neck.

Hitoshi finally seemed to reboot, blinking several times before saying, “You should try.”

Izuku scrunched up his face and silently pleaded with Hitoshi to let it go.

“Hear me out. You do this, and you fail? You can tell me ‘I told you so.’ But doing it means you have at least a chance of succeeding. You don’t do this? Some part of you will always wonder if you could have made it.”

The rest of the break Izuku chewed on that (and his chopsticks until Uraraka swatted his hand away from his mouth). It was true, a part of Izuku still wondered about the entrance exam. Even though he knew now that the exam was fighting robots, some part of him refused to accept the knowledge that he’d have had no chance against them.

Finally, he nodded. He had enough regrets in his short life. Why add more needlessly? He still felt anxious and stuck close to his friends as they headed out to the arena again, but he held his head high.

The tournament 16 stood before the raised concrete platform they’d be fighting on and watched Midnight strut to center stage. “Finally, the moment we’ve all been awaiting with bated breath…the pairs for the first round of the tournament!” She motioned behind her with her whip as the jumbotron screen lit up. Izuku scanned the names; some of those were going to be interesting. He wondered if Yanagi could get away with stealing Midnight’s whip during a match. Inouye definitely could take it. Or her microphone. That could make for a decent bludgeon for either of them too.

Then his eyes caught on a pair of names, and it felt like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs.

Bakugo v Midoriya
Shinso v Tokoyami
Sero v Todoroki
Mina v Yanagi
Hatsume v Iida
Uraraka v Inouye
Yaoyorozu v Kaminari
Kirishima v Tetsutetsu

Izuku’s first fight—the first fight in the tournament—was against Bakugo.

“If all students except Bakugo Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku could leave the field, we’ll get this party started. Yeah!” Present Mic said over the loud speaker.

The crowd cheered in response.

Izuku’s blood roared in his ears, his eyes turning against his will toward where Bakugo stood. His bully stared back. If looks could kill—

Hitoshi stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Bakugo. He was saying something. Izuku could see his mouth moving, but he couldn’t make out anything past the memory of explosions deafening his ears. Hitoshi looked so concerned.

Izuku tried to put on a smile to reassure his friend, but it felt brittle and lopsided. “I’ll be okay,” he said. No comforting fog greeted him, but Izuku knew it wouldn’t. Hitoshi’s target had to actually hear him for his quirk to form a connection.

Hitoshi only looked more worried as Izuku moved around him to step woodenly toward the stairs up to the stage. Izuku kept his eyes locked ahead. It felt like he was walking to his own doom, just like every day at Aldera walking up to the door to homeroom, but worse. Every day hurt a little; the question was always how much? Was today a spider lily day, or a tripped in the hall day, or maybe a Bakugo dragging him behind the school for a beating day? It was always something.

Izuku shook the memories away and grit his teeth. He wasn’t that same helpless Deku anymore. Except he was, wasn’t he? He’d frozen up in the Cavalry Battle, reverted to his cowering old self at the drop of a hated nickname. If that happened again, here, Izuku could get seriously hurt. He was alone now; no friends were going to bail him out and bring him back out of his head if he got lost.

Izuku swallowed and turned his eyes down as he climbed the stairs, not wanting to trip (not wanting to meet those burning, red eyes and blistering palms and derisive snarl). This…this was being broadcast live, right? Surely, Bakugo wasn’t going to take things too far. Right? Maybe Izuku could get out of this without a new scar.

“Deku…”

Izuku flinched. Oh, who was he kidding? Bakugo was going to murder him in front of the cheering masses.

“Don’t think you can earn any sympathy points with those wimpy bandages and old scars. If anything, they prove just how pathetic you are.” Bakugo laughed. It was a cruel thing. “Yet somehow you think you can go toe to toe with me? Seems like someone needs to remind you of your place.”

Izuku self-consciously started raising his right hand toward his shoulder. His shoulder marked forever by Bakugo’s quirk. His shoulder healed by Ekikyō. Izuku stopped halfway and clenched his fist.

Ekikyō…Izuku had promised Ekikyō to keep himself alive, and they’d later extended that to self-harm. This…Izuku was walking into this expecting to be maimed or worse. (It didn’t occur to him that the teachers—pro heroes—might stop Bakugo from going too far; no teacher had ever stepped in for him before. Why should they now? They’re the ones who set up the matches.)

Was this worth it? Why was Izuku standing on this stage? For a fool’s dream of making it into the hero course? Even if Izuku could be a hero, his matchup against Bakugo all but guaranteed his failure. And, as enticing as it was, giving Bakugo a taste of his own medicine by itself wasn’t going to accomplish anything except making Bakugo angrier. (That’s all fighting back ever did.) Even if he somehow won today, it was nothing but a pyrrhic victory. Bakugo’s beatdowns after a humiliating, public loss were something Izuku didn’t want to even think about.

And if Izuku (somehow, against all odds) won, if the powers that be decided to allow him to transfer to heroics, the only open spot was in 1-A. With Bakugo. That thought made Izuku’s chest constrict. He quickly decided that nothing in the world was worth submitting himself to that again. Izuku was bound to press Bakugo’s buttons, and he didn’t want UA to turn into middle school all over again.

(Shinso and Uraraka deserved the spot more anyway.)

Izuku wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in his head, but when he started registering things other than Bakugo and the immediate danger he presented, Midnight was going over the rules. Izuku looked up, and the teacher caught his eye and nodded slightly. Izuku blinked in surprise. Had she been…stalling until he collected himself?

Midnight smiled and said, “And last but not least, win conditions! For a student to win, the other must either be pushed outside of the boundary line, be unable to continue, or choose to forfeit.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. Forfeiting was an option? He didn’t have to fight?

Was this worth it? Izuku dared to glance across the field at Bakugo. Izuku’s shoulder—and back and side and arms—throbbed with phantom pain. No. No, it wasn’t. Izuku didn’t want to do this. He’d never had a way out before, not really. (Rooftops did not count.) But he did now.

“Midnight-sensei?”

Midnight paused in her speech to look at Izuku. She held her microphone away from her to ask, “What is it, Midoriya?”

“I forfeit.” In the shocked silence that followed, Izuku turned his back to the stage and headed down the stairs.

Bakugo yelled something behind him, but Izuku ignored him and smiled. Bakugo was going to be a great hero, and Izuku wasn’t going to get in his way (be in his crosshairs) ever again. He was…free.

Izuku was halfway across the field when a too-hot hand landed on his left shoulder and squeezed in a bruising grip. Izuku was caught for a moment back in the last time Bakugo grabbed that shoulder. He wavered on the razor’s edge between freeze and flight. Izuku couldn’t fight Bakugo…but fleeing and cowering never got him out of being hurt, did they?

And Izuku had promised Ekikyō.

Something snapped into place. Despite the rabbit-fast pounding of Izuku’s heart and the way his lungs seized, he moved. He didn’t even have to think as he executed a throw Ciupan had taught him half a year ago and drilled him on constantly. Izuku grabbed Bakugo’s wrist, pulling his bully’s arm forward as he stepped back into him. He bent forward and pulled on Bakugo’s arm tossing the blonde over his shoulder to the ground.

As Bakugo’s back impacted grass, his palm lit in an explosion, making Izuku hiss and release his grip before he could think of putting the other boy in an arm lock (or breaking his arm, not that Izuku was thinking about doing that). Izuku held his burned left arm close to his chest as he backed away from Bakugo, keeping a wide ready stance. A single throw wasn’t enough to put Bakugo out, but—this time—it didn’t have to be.

Izuku heard rapid footsteps approaching from behind and shifted to be able to see whoever they were and continue to keep an eye on Bakugo. He stared in surprise and straightened from his ready stance as Midnight ran toward Bakugo, hand already poised to tear her costume’s sleeve. (He was kinda impressed she could run so well on grass in heels.) “Boys, break it up.” Once she was between Izuku and Bakugo, she glanced back at Izuku. Her expression softened a little, and she nodded toward the exit tunnel.

Izuku was a bit flabbergasted that someone—a teacher no less—was stepping in to protect him, and he was still keyed up from Bakugo’s attack. He cautiously backed away, surreptitiously glancing about to be sure there were no other threats. His eyes caught the scene on the jumbotron. Oh, they were on live tv; it wasn’t very good for the school’s image if they didn’t step in, was it? No one in the stands knew he was quirkless, after all. If a kid with a (presumed) quirk was attacked, there was always a big uproar.

Well, Izuku was going to take what he could get. He didn’t fully turn his back to Bakugo this time, but he made it to the tunnel unmolested. Once safely out of Bakugo’s sight, Izuku darted down the hall, taking several turns he didn’t need to on his way to the makeshift infirmary.

Only after putting five turns between him and the arena did he dare to check his arm. Bakugo’s point-blank blast had burned straight through his bandages and into the more delicate skin on the inside of his forearm. Ugh, Recovery Girl was going to have to pick some bandage fibers out of that. It looked like a bad second-degree burn, but it was hard to gauge damage depth before blisters formed or killed tissue dried out and sloughed. He gingerly touched the burn and winced. Well, at least he still had feeling there?

Izuku slowed to a walk in an otherwise empty hallway before pausing to catch his breath. It didn’t feel like he was getting enough air. He grit his teeth and leaned against the cool, concrete wall as he forced himself to take shaky, even breaths. He could do this. He wasn’t always going to have Ekikyō or Hitoshi around to pull him out of a spiral.

Eventually, Izuku trusted his breathing enough to continue. All his adrenaline was spent by then, and he felt more tired than anything else. He stumbled as he rounded a corner and nearly ran into someone.

“Do you require assistance?” a robotic voice asked.

Izuku stared at the pair of medical bots before him. They had a stretcher. He shook his head. “Ah, no. I’m fine to walk, but could you point me in the direction of the infirmary? I think I got a bit turned around.”

The robots considered him for a moment before turning back the way they’d come. “Follow.”

A few minutes and a dozen turns later, they reached the infirmary. “Thanks,” Izuku said, waving at the robots as they headed off toward the arena. Then he ducked inside. “Hey, Recovery Girl? Think I’ll take you up on that healing now.”

“Midoriya! We’re so glad you’re okay.”

Izuku had just enough time to process that wasn’t Recovery Girl’s voice before he was tackled by two bodies. It took him a moment longer to realize Uraraka was hugging him, and Hatsume was hugging both of them.

“This is how you execute a group hug, right?” Hatsume asked.

Izuku chuckled. “Yeah, Hatsume.”

“Alright, dearies. Stand aside. I need to check his burns before I heal him.” Ah, there was Recovery Girl.

Izuku took a seat on one of the cots and pulled his shirt off over his head. Uraraka squeaked before she realized he wasn’t revealing anything given the bandages. Recovery Girl shook her head and shooed the girls toward the door while Izuku started unwinding the damaged gauze on his left arm. “You can all check on him later once he’s healed. You have your own fights coming up, after all.”

“But…” Uraraka protested.

“We’ll hold you to that, Healer-san. We have to go cheer on Hero-kun anyway.” Hatsume glanced at the tv in the corner of the infirmary.

Izuku followed her line of sight to see Shinso stepping up to the stage across from Tokoyami. Izuku let himself be drawn in as his friends left and Recovery Girl swatted his hand away from his wraps to do the job herself.

The infirmary’s tv had the volume turned off, but Izuku could see Midnight crack her whip to signal the start of the match. Dark Shadow rushed toward Hitoshi, who rolled out of the way before saying something. Hitoshi had to dodge a few more attacks before he got what he was looking for. Dark Shadow said something, and Hitoshi grinned. He darted forward and vaulted over the living shadow’s arm. Once on the other side, he tightened Brainwashing’s control. Izuku could actually see it happening as the shadow’s eyes turned from yellow to white. (Uraraka had mentioned that his pupils went white when he was fully under Hitoshi’s control, but it was interesting seeing it firsthand.)

A jolt of pain made Izuku hiss. He glanced down to find the school nurse pulling a few gauze fibers away from his skin with a pair of tweezers. He relaxed as best he could and turned back to the tv in time to see Hitoshi give a command. Dark Shadow turned on Tokoyami—who seemed caught between surprise and horror—and picked him up. Izuku tilted his head as he realized what he was seeing. Dark Shadow carried Tokoyami out of bounds before setting him back down. Dark Shadow could levitate? Wait! Did that mean Tokoyami might be able to fly by having Dark Shadow carry him?! That opened up so many more possibilities for them as a hero!

Recovery Girl flicked his arm, and Izuku startled back to the present. “Hold still. You can write analyses when you aren’t the wrong side of sunburned.”

Izuku grinned sheepishly at her and held still as she unwound the bandages from his torso, checking the places where chemical burns had oozed as she went. Soon enough all bandages were removed and piled in a trashcan. She checked him over one last time before kissing his temple. Izuku yawned and wilted where he sat as his skin itched and returned to normal. He turned his left arm over to check his new explosion burn. Yep, that one had scarred, though not as badly as he’d expected. It was one of his lighter scars. He rubbed a thumb over it before glancing up at the nurse. “Am I…” He yawned again. “Good to sleep now?”

If Izuku had been a bit more awake, he might have noticed Recovery Girl’s furrowed eyebrows and stern frown. The look vanished as she grinned and said, “Just a question or two first, Midoriya. I was updating your file and realized I didn’t have a start date for you and your friend with the healing quirk interacting. Have long have they been using their quirk on you?”

Izuku hummed. “About a year now.”

“Got it. And I noticed there weren’t any notes in your file from Aldera’s school nurse. Did you ever…” She stopped when Izuku snorted.

“S-sorry, Recovery Girl. I just…never had any injuries serious enough to justify going to the school nurse. She was always so busy.”

The nurse frowned and pointed her cane at the pillow on the cot. “Alright, Midoriya, that’s everything. Get some sleep. You’ve got a couple hours before you’ll need to head home.”

Izuku happily shrugged his shirt back on, then laid down and pulled the thin blankets up over himself. He mumbled something unintelligible and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.

Chapter Text

Shota frowned down at the arena as Midnight chewed out Bakugo. She’d run after the kids so quickly she’d forgotten to turn off her headset. “Bakugo, if you pick a fight outside of a sanctioned match you will be disqualified. Now, head back up to the stands.”

Beside him, Hizashi was in full Present Mic swing. “Well, that was an anticlimactic first match! Here’s hoping the second fight is more interesting, folks. But! Since the stage wasn’t damaged at all, we should be able to kick off the second match in just a few minutes. So, stock up on snacks and hurry back. Yeah!” The blonde pressed a button to turn the loudspeaker off and leaned back in his chair. To Shota, he said, “Too bad the Little Listener forfeited. I was looking forward to getting things started off with a bang. Must have been a poor quirk matchup to make him give up like that. He was such a spitfire in the second round.”

Shota set aside his paperwork for Mineta’s expulsion and Inouye’s suspension to look at Hizashi and massage his sore (freshly un-casted) arm. Just thinking about Mineta convincing the item teleporter to help him with his “prank” gave Shota a headache on top of everything else. The fact that Inouye didn’t seem to realize prior to this that female students didn’t tend to wear undershirts was the only reason he wasn’t filling out two expulsion forms right now. Instead, Inouye was getting in-school suspension with Nemuri for a week. She’d be eager to set him straight, Shota was sure.

“There’s an easy way to find out, you know,” he said to Hizashi. He pulled Midoriya’s file from the stack on the corner of their table. They had been given the files for all 16 finalists to aid in their announcing, but Hizashi always left the files to his cohost, preferring to announce undistracted. Something about being more authentic. And Shota had been too busy dealing with his problem students over the break to read ahead.

Shota rolled his eyes fondly as he opened the file. The top half of the first page was taken up with the student’s picture and general information. Halfway down the page, Shota found what he was looking for, Midoriya’s quirk…or not. Shota blinked. Midoriya was quirkless?

“Earth to Sho. Everything okay there?” Hizashi asked after Shota stared too long at the file.

Shota snapped the file shut and pulled his phone out. He texted as quickly as his stiff fingers allowed, sending a copy to Hizashi, Nemuri, and Nezu. “Whatever you do, do NOT announce Midoriya’s quirk status. There’s a local trafficking ring targeting quirkless people.”

Hizashi made a sound like a dying cat as he read his text, and Nezu texted back almost immediately. “Meet me after the next match in conference room three-one.”

Shota wasn’t surprised Nezu wanted more details given that the rat’s Problem Child was involved. Midoriya was honorarily one of Shota’s too. Shota glanced back at the closed file. What if he was…

Shota picked the file back up and flipped through pages until he found the kid’s transcript. A lot of notes about him being disruptive and antagonizing other students but nothing to outright bar the kid from applying. Considering Nezu himself graded any Analysis applicants, he probably elected to waive whatever warnings his former teachers had written. And counting the lack of complaint from Maijima, Shota was more inclined to believe the kid’s former teachers were a bunch of quirkists than the kid being a delinquent.

A few more pages brought Shota to what he was really looking for: the kid’s entrance exam. Shota stared in confusion at the paper. Midoriya placed in the top three for the written exam, but the part that really surprised him was just below it. “Heroics Practical: zero points.” If he’d been barred from the test outright, there should be a dash there (like the support practical and business written tests next to the heroics portion), not a zero. A zero meant he’d been signed up to take the test…and got no points.

Shota rubbed a hand over his stubble, confused. Naisho had been barred from taking the heroics practical…hadn’t he? (But he hadn’t found a quirkless applicant in the archived files yet.) Were there really two quirkless kids that age running around in Musutafu? Or had Shota misunderstood? It was clear that Midoriya had some training by the way he threw Bakugo and how he handled himself during the Cavalry Battle.

Something wasn’t adding up, but with the participants of the second match walking onto the field now, Shota set the matter aside for later. He was due to start patrolling again in a few days. He could ask Naisho for clarification then. These kids deserved his attention right now.

Shota picked up the Gen Ed student’s file and opened it to see another kid who’d attempted the heroics entrance exam and failed, though he’d earned a handful of rescue points. That spoke in his favor. “Alright, Shinso Hitoshi,” Shota said to himself while Hizashi loudly introduced the students. “Show me why I should consider transferring you to the hero course.”

---

Shuzenji Chiyo was no idiot. She knew as soon as Midoriya said it that there was something off with Midoriya’s reason for never making use of his middle school nurse. And if he’d only known his friend with the healing quirk for a year…

She pulled up the boy’s file on her computer. She’d cataloged a number of his scars when she’d had him in the infirmary after the USJ attack (and found no correlating doctor’s notes to indicate they were seen by a professional, aside from the handprint burn). Now she counted how many of those scars were green. There were far too many—too many injuries within the last year and none of them stitched—for her liking, and most of them appeared to be from cuts or scratches in the instance of one set of four parallel lines. She added a picture of his newest scar, a green starburst on the inside of his left forearm, to the count and disliked the picture being painted.

Her frown deepened at how similar that newest scar was to several older, not green, starbursts across Midoriya’s torso. She’d written the old scars off at the time, but she couldn’t now that she knew where they came from. She opened Bakugo’s file and pulled her lips into a tight line when she saw the boys had attended the same middle and elementary schools. UA had a strict policy regarding bullying, but there wasn’t a single flag on Bakugo’s file.

This combined with some of the other worrying signs she’d seen from Midoriya: the boy’s self-proclaimed high pain tolerance, how he had frozen up and then fled after hearing Bakugo in the infirmary, how he’d flinched when she unexpectedly reached toward him during his first visit to the infirmary; some of those wounds and the way they scarred as if they’d received no treatment…

Chiyo knew the statistics regarding the quirkless population, had brushed up on them and some medical knowledge particular to their demographic before the start of the school year. She knew how high the instance of abuse in one form or another ran. She wished she was wrong, but the evidence pointed toward Midoriya being among that number, either at his former school…or at home. Perhaps both.

She sighed and pulled her cellphone from her lab coat’s pocket. She dialed a number from memory and glanced over at Midoriya to ensure he was still sound asleep.

“Hello, Chiyo; what can I do for you?” Principal Nezu chirped from the other side of the line.

“You can open a case for the Midoriya boy. The burn Bakugo just gave him scarred, and the scar it left is identical to at least five others on him. I’m suspicious of the handprint burn on his shoulder too. I’ll send you a report on his other scars after the Sports Festival is over, but I doubt there was only one person hurting him.”

“That is…troubling, but not unexpected, I fear. The world is rarely kind to those who are different, but we are here to bring justice where we may.” There was a pause as the principal typed something on his end. “There will be a brief intermission before the third match. Technical difficulties. Can you make it to a faculty meeting in ten minutes?”

Chiyo glanced over at Midoriya one last time. “Yes. My only patient is out like a light. Conference room three-one?”

“You read my mind, Shuzenji-san.”

Chiyo printed the pertinent files and slipped them into a folder. Then she slowly made her way to the arena’s closest elevator, which coincidentally let her out right next to level three’s first conference room. It was a courtesy Nezu had started giving when she’d been forced to use her cane more, though she supposed it benefitted Yagi this year as well. Not that mid-Sports Festival meetings were common. But there had been a meeting last year to discuss Togata’s…wardrobe malfunctions. They’d finally had someone fetch the boy the lower half of his costume for propriety’s sake. (This year they had a gym uniform made of the same material as his costume to avoid the issue entirely.) She chuckled thinking about that snafu.

She was one of the last to arrive at the meeting, followed closely by Yamada and Aizawa on their way down from the announcer’s booth. Once everyone was settled, Nezu called the meeting to order. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what this meeting is about. Well, there are three things really, but they all relate back to one student in particular.”

“Midoriya Izuku,” Aizawa stated, unsurprised.

Nezu nodded. “Yes, it’s been brought to my attention that one of the cases you’re working relates to my student, Aizawa?”

Aizawa grunted as he sat up straighter in his chair. “Not enough to make a proper case, and I haven’t gotten to investigate yet due to my injuries from the USJ, but Naisho gave me an additional heads-up when he told me about Kurogiri. Another of Giran’s clients has a bounty out on quirkless people—delivered alive. Take that as you may.” He and Nezu exchanged looks. “If I’d known your student was quirkless, I’d have told you right off the bat.”

Most of the teachers looked surprised, as only Recovery Girl and Inui had been informed at the beginning of the semester. “It’s good to hear UA has a quirkless student this year,” Keizō said. When Nezu tilted his ears toward her in question, the librarian smiled. “Midoriya mentioned it in the library once. My niece was excited when I told her. One of her best friends is quirkless.”

“I’m sure she was,” Nezu said with a smile. “But do tell her to warn her friend and not to spread it further than that. We don’t wish to give these traffickers any more targets than they already have.”

The mood sobered at that reminder, but Nezu was quick to move things along. (They couldn’t hold up the Sports Festival too long, or people were going to get antsy.) “The next order of business is the altercation between Midoriya and Bakugo after Midoriya forfeit their match.”

Inui was the first to speak this time, “After reviewing the footage, I’d be inclined to believe Midoriya’s reaction was trauma-based. Bakugo grabbed the shoulder with that nasty scar, obviously the result of someone similarly grabbing him. Bakugo knew that scar was there too. You might do well to give your pups the rundown on dealing with traumatized civilians a bit early, Aizawa.”

Aizawa sighed. “That’s the first month of second year before they go out on work studies, though I suppose giving them a quick summary before internships might be wise.”

Oh yes, Trauma Month. Chiyo did enjoy teaching the students first aid and field triage during that segment.

“So, that’s Midoriya’s reaction explained. What about Bakugo’s?”

“He shouldn’ta chased the kid down to begin with,” Snipe said, crossing his arms. “Midoriya was obviously scared of him and wanted to avoid a confrontation. But after Bakugo forced one, that explosion seemed almost reflex.”

“Yeah, that throw did seem to catch him off guard,” Hizashi commented, though there was doubt in his eyes.

“That’s a dangerous reflex though, using your quirk when startled or surprised. We’ll need to train that out of him,” Kayama said sternly.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at her. “Something eating at you, Nemuri?”

“You didn’t hear what Bakugo said to Midoriya before I started going over the rules. There’s some sort of history between those two, and it smells rotten. You might want to talk to the green one, Inui. Pretty sure he was dissociating for a bit on stage.”

Inui growled a low confirmation.

Nezu’s tail lashed behind him as he cleared his throat. “Interestingly, that brings us to the last matter of business. Shuzenji?”

Chiyo sighed and passed the folder to Aizawa who passed it the rest of the way to Nezu. “I think we need to open an abuse case for Midoriya.” She waited for Nezu to silence the initial racket before continuing, “That boy has more scars than half of you, and nearly a third of them are from sometime in the last year.”

Yamada tilted his head in confusion. “How are you so sure of the timeframe?”

“Because roughly a year ago he made a friend who has a healing quirk of sorts. It comes with a side effect of dying injuries it heals green, seemingly moreso the worse the injury,” Nezu said, holding up a picture that showed the green-ish handprint on his shoulder as well as a fainter, not-green starburst on the back of that shoulder.

“And worse, look at that starburst scar.” She gestured toward the folder. “Pull out the last one, Nezu.” The last picture was the green starburst burn from today. “That’s what Bakugo gave him 40 minutes ago.”

There were several hissed breaths from some of the staff. Aizawa went dangerously still as he eyed the pictures. Finally, his eyes narrowed and flashed red. “Nezu, UA doesn’t take bullies. How did he slip through the screenings?”

“That’s what I intend to find out, Aizawa. I’m opening an investigation into the middle and elementary schools Midoriya and Bakugo attended together. Some of these scars appear quite old,” Nezu said, sifting through the other pictures in the folder.

“As much as I hate to say it, someone needs to check on Midoriya’s home life too,” Chiyo said.

Nezu frowned. “That’s right. Midoriya-san never answered the phone or called back when we tried to reach her after the USJ. His secondary contact had to pick him up. Perhaps a parent-teacher conference is in order, followed by an un-announced welfare check next week?”

“I can arrange it,” Chiyo volunteered. “I already need to give her a call to let her know her son is fine. I’m sure she saw that nonsense live.”

---

“Mitsuki, hurry! The Obstacle Race is about to start,” Inko called toward the kitchen.

“Coming!” Mitsuki yelled. A minute later, she walked back in with a tray of snacks and tea. “Do you see Katsuki?” she asked as she set everything up on the coffee table.

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll be easy to spot once things start.” Sure enough, as soon as the race started, Katsuki was one of the few to immediately pull ahead, rocketing forward with his quirk.

The race passed with Katsuki just barely falling behind and taking second place. Then the Cavalry Battle started. There was so much confusion at the beginning as one of the teams teleported, then puppeteered the majority of the headbands. About halfway through the event, Mitsuki sat up straighter. “Hey, Inko. Isn’t that Izu?” She pointed at one team running around the perimeter of the frozen section of the arena.

Inko looked, and sure enough, there was her baby. “Oh! I didn’t think he’d make it all the way to the second event. How on earth did he get past those giant robots? Or The Fall!”

“No, Inko. Since when has Izuku been going to UA? You never told me.” Mitsuki pouted at her.

Inko giggled. “Oh, Izuku wanted to surprise you and Katsuki the first day of classes. He made me promise not to tell and everything. I thought Katsuki would have told you by now though.”

“Like that brat tells me anything. He’s probably embarrassed that Izu’s ruse got him.” Mitsuki frowned. “Well, at least they’re back to normal now. Oh! Look, Katsuki’s spotted him,” she said, pointing at the tv screen.

Indeed, he had. Both women watched as Katsuki’s team charged toward Izuku’s. Then both teams took to the air. Inko gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. If her baby fell from that height…she couldn’t bear to think about it.

Katsuki and Izuku fought. Katsuki was obviously winning. Then there was that big explosion, and Izuku’s shirt was gone. Mitsuki took a sharp breath beside Inko, and Inko glanced to her friend.

“Inko,” Mitsuki swallowed. “Where did Izu get those scars?”

Inko furrowed her eyebrows and really looked at the screen. Her son’s torso was covered in scars. Inko couldn’t say for sure if she’d ever seen any of them before. Izuku almost never walked around the apartment without a shirt on. The only one she knew of offhand was the scar on one side of his face, and even that one she wasn’t sure how or when he’d gotten it.

Some part of her knew her son getting hurt was inevitable—he was fragile and so clumsy and couldn’t defend himself—but she hadn’t expected it to be so bad. “I…I’m not sure,” she said in quiet horror. What had happened to her baby when she wasn’t looking? Why hadn’t he come to her?

Inko wrung her hands as the camera changed to a closeup of Izuku as he uncovered his face. Inko’s hands froze as she stared at her sweet baby’s face contorted with anger and determination. Izuku never had that look on his face. Izuku didn’t get angry. He was such a sweet child, but he—

Inko gasped as Izuku kicked Katsuki in the chest hard enough to send him flying back. Mitsuki laughed beside her. “Serves my brat right after he burned Izu and destroyed his shirt!”

Inko continued to stare at the stranger who’d replaced her son. Her baby wasn’t violent, and he didn’t hurt people. What had happened to her Izuku?

Inko continued watching as Izuku crafted a weapon from his headbands and scrap to fend off more enemy teams. His team placed fourth, meaning he’d made it to the third and final event, the tournament.

She could barely focus on her conversation with Mitsuki as she fretted over how hurt her baby might get fighting one-on-one against any of Katsuki’s classmates. She was only slightly relieved to see Izuku was facing Katsuki first. He was strong, and he was Izuku’s friend. He’d make sure her baby didn’t have to fight anyone else in his condition. (He was wrapped in so many bandages; when did that happen? What happened?)

She was surprised when Izuku left the stage willingly and without a single punch thrown or scratch given. Maybe Izuku had come to his senses. Her baby could be competitive when it came to Katsuki. Yes, that was probably what happened. Izuku got caught up in competing with his Kacchan and only now realized how dangerous this all was. Oh, thank goodness.

Then Katsuki chased after Izuku and stopped him, and Izuku threw Katsuki! What on earth?

Mitsuki whistled. “That’s a nice throw. Where’d he learn that?”

Inko couldn’t find the words to explain she didn’t know.

Katsuki set off an explosion, making Izuku back away with his arm held to his chest. He was hurt. Well, more hurt. At least he was out of the tournament now. He shouldn’t get hurt any further today.

Why did he have to antagonize Katsuki though? He hadn’t done anything to deserve that, and of course, he’d set off an explosion on reflex when he was attacked. He’d just been attacked a few weeks ago. Why wouldn’t he react violently to being attacked again?

Inko shook her head. She needed to talk to Izuku when he got home. That wasn’t how friends should act.

The second fight in the tournament went much smoother than the first. Then there was an intermission for the staff to fix a bug with some of the cameras. Inko hadn’t noticed anything amiss, but with the number of hero-grade quirks at play during the second event, she wasn’t terribly surprised that something had been impacted.

Just after the tournament restarted with Endeavor’s son and a student with some sort of elbow mutation (oh dear, that must make finding clothes difficult), Inko’s cellphone rang. She looked at it in surprise. Who could be calling in the middle of the Sports Festival? No one called anyone during the Festival. It was practically a national holiday. Which implied this was either a telemarketer…or something serious.

“Sorry, Mitsuki. I think I need to take this,” Inko said as she stood from the couch.

“Don’t worry about it, Inko. You can take it in the study if you want. Walls are soundproofed there.”

“Thanks.”

Once Inko closed the door to the study, blocking out the sounds from the tv, she answered the call. “Midoriya Inko speaking.”

“Hello, Midoriya-san. I’m Shuzenji Chiyo, or you may know me as Recovery Girl,” an elderly voice on the other end of the call said. “I was calling to give you an update on your son’s condition.”

“Oh, how is my baby? I saw all those bandages in the tournament and that explosion when he startled Katsuki.”

“Midoriya-san, Izuku is fine. He has a new scar, but everything healed nicely. I would recommend you pick him up after the festival rather than letting him take the train home alone. The way my quirk and his friend’s quirk interact seems to completely drain his energy. He’s likely to still be quite tired by the award ceremony.”

“Friend?”

“Yes, his friend with the healing quirk.”

Izuku didn’t have a friend with a healing quirk. If he did, he surely would have gushed to her about them like he had Recovery Girl when he was younger and had first learned of the heroine. Inko kept her questions to herself. For now. She added them to the growing list of things she needed to talk to Izuku about when they got home. “So, you want me to pick him up from UA after the award ceremony?”

“Yes, that would be best. Oh, and Midoriya-san?”

“Yes?”

“Principal Nezu asked me to talk to you about scheduling a parent-teacher conference. Preferably for tomorrow or the day after if either of those works for you.”

Inko blinked in surprise. This wasn’t her first parent-teacher conference by far, but it was the earliest in the school year she had been called for one. She wondered what it was going to be about this time. It was never anything good.

“Early tomorrow works fine. What time?” Inko asked. She had tomorrow off anyway to surprise Izuku and Katsuki with a day together and celebratory lunch out. (There was no doubt in her mind that Katsuki was going to place.)

“How does 9:00 sound?”

“How long will the meeting take? I have plans for lunch.”

“Don’t worry, Midoriya-san. I can’t imagine it taking more than an hour. Just come to the front gate. Someone will be waiting to let you in tomorrow morning.” They exchanged goodbyes and hung up.

Inko stayed in the study to stare at her phone for a long while afterward. Izuku had changed so much when she wasn’t looking. The boy she’d seen on tv…She couldn’t reconcile the violent, angry (confident) boy with her sweet, kind (such a good son) Izuku.

When, how, where, and why had he learned to fight? Someone didn’t learn to fight if they never intended to use that knowledge. And whatever else she thought, Izuku clearly knew how to fight, was comfortable fighting. Was she losing her son without even realizing it?

What had changed? Where had she gone wrong? She couldn’t think of any particular point where Izuku seemed to change. Not drastically or all at once anyway.

Now that she thought about it, Izuku had been pulling away lately, had been quieter and more distracted. At the time, she had thought it was due to him coming to terms with him realizing that his dream of being a hero was just that—a dream (and a dangerous one at that). She’d been glad he’d let it go. It clearly hurt him to do so, but like surgically correcting a bone that grew crooked, he was going to hurt less and be better for it in the future.

So, why had he learned to fight? And he kept it a secret from her! He knew she would have disapproved and went behind her back. Izuku’d never done that to her before. (That she knew of. What else had she missed?)

She thought of another secret she’d just learned of. A secret friend. He knew she worried about him getting along with people his age; so, why not tell her? Were they someone she wasn’t going to approve of? Had they asked him not to tell her?

She paused to consider that. It made sense. Her baby never wanted to hurt her, but he was one to always see the best in people. It was all too easy for her to imagine someone taking advantage of that trust and kindness. They must be the one responsible for making Izuku keep secrets from her, for him changing.

Inko knew what she had to do.

Chapter Text

Shoto walked through the hall without truly seeing where he was going. He should be thinking about his first match, but his mind was still stuck on the green-haired boy—Midoriya—and his scars. That handprint especially. Shoto knew what a mark left by a burning hand looked like, felt like. Some of the older marks looked like burns too.

Shoto wondered if they were the same. Obviously, not in the “parent being a top-ranked hero” way. He’d looked over lunch, but no hero turned up on his internet search with the boy’s surname. But Midoriya had his own Endeavor.

Shoto just hadn’t expected it to be Bakugo.

The explosive classmate rubbed Shoto the wrong way most days. Too brash, loud, arrogant, too close to what he had to deal with at home every day. Despite that, Shoto hadn’t considered he was that similar until he saw the way Midoriya walked toward the stage like Shoto sometimes did his home training room when Endeavor returned from work angry. And Bakugo? His smile as he stalked up to the stage was more vicious than the one he wore in their first training exercise.

Then Midoriya faced Bakugo, turned his back, and walked away. The look on Bakugo’s face could be quantified as “priceless” if Shoto understood the term correctly. And Midnight stopped them fighting when Bakugo went after Midoriya despite that and made sure Bakugo didn’t follow the other boy to finish what he’d started.

Shoto wondered if he might be able to do the same to Endeavor someday, put that look on his face. Just walk away. He wondered if anyone might step in for him. After a moment’s contemplation, he decided he couldn’t see it happening.

Familiar anger fed on his dying hope. There was never any escape for Shoto; he lived with his tormentor, had his cursed, dangerous quirk burning in his veins. He couldn’t just walk away. Unless…he could?

His anger abated slightly as he turned over his new idea. Endeavor held too much power to hope of escaping, but he only held that power in Japan. Hadn’t All Might left Japan to work in America right after getting his license? What better way to spite Endeavor’s dream of Shoto being Number One than to refuse to play the Japanese hero ranks at all? (And maybe, just maybe an entire ocean was enough to keep Endeavor away.)

---

Hitoshi leaned back against Izuku’s cot and watched as the last match of the first round—Kirishima v. Tetsutetsu—finally finished their tiebreaker. After his own fight, he’d stopped by the infirmary to check on his friend. When he’d found Izuku asleep and completely alone (where the hell was Recovery Girl?) he’d decided to take up guard duty in the plastic chair next to the cot. Someone had to make sure no rabid Pomeranians snuck in to bite Izuku when no one was looking. It was quieter here than the stands anyway.

He’d stayed there despite Recovery Girl returning before the third match started—the nurse allowed it so long as he was quiet and stayed out of the way—but he had to leave for his second match now. He glanced down at Izuku where he still slept peacefully on. Anger burned in his chest as he thought about how his friend had reacted to having to face Bakugo. “This one’s for you, Izuku,” he said quietly before walking from the room.

His second fight was against Bakugo, and Hitoshi knew exactly how he wanted to play Izuku’s bully. He walked out into the arena at a sedate pace, looking neither right nor left as he crossed the field and mounted the stairs. Once in position, Hitoshi lazily looked Bakugo up and down, putting on his best unimpressed face to agitate the walking inferiority complex. The blonde snarled in response, and Hitoshi scoffed.

The second Midnight cracked her whip, Bakugo launched himself forward. Hitoshi dodged the initial blow and started talking. “So, what’s your deal with Izuku?” He blocked a punch and ducked out of the way of a kick before continuing. “He dump you once he realized a flashy quirk can’t make up for a shit personality, Kacchan?”

Bakugo’s face scrunched up in an even nastier expression. “Shut the fuck up!"

Hitoshi smirked as he felt his quirk wrap around the hero student, but he didn’t put Bakugo fully under yet. He needed the boy to be in a stable position. If he put the blonde under full control right now, he’d crash to the ground and immediately break free.

Hitoshi blocked another hit, taking a glancing blow from the follow-up explosion. Then Bakugo planted his feet to aim a double-handed blast his way. Hitoshi yanked his opponent under in that instant, smiling widely as his opponent’s eyes dulled and unfocused. He kept a steel grasp on the explosive boy’s mind as he ordered, “Don’t trip or stumble. Walk out of bounds.”

Hitoshi decided to learn from Midoriya’s not-fight with the blonde and backed clear to the other side of the arena from where Bakugo was going. This position also made it easier for Midnight to jump between them if needed. Hitoshi cast a glance at the referee and waited.

The moment Bakugo stepped over the line she raised her whip and announced, “Shinso Hitoshi is our winner! He advances to the semi-finals!” The audience took a confused moment to start cheering, but they were pretty loud once they got going. Then the teacher lowered her whip and nodded to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi sighed and released Bakugo—well, half-released him. He’d didn’t trust the bully enough to fully remove Brainwashing’s effect while he was within pouncing distance.

It seemed his distrust wasn’t misplaced, because as soon as Bakugo realized what happened he whirled back around to face Hitoshi with palms sparking. “You shitty, cheating extra! What did you do?!”

Before Midnight could even warn him off, Bakugo lunged. Hitoshi side-stepped behind Midnight and tightened his quirk again while Bakugo was airborne. Hitoshi didn’t give an order, just watching as Izuku’s bully faceplanted into the concrete, unable to catch himself or fire off another explosion until the impact shook him free.

Midnight and Cementoss took it from there. Hitoshi smirked and tucked his hands into his pockets as he strolled away from the arena, just as leisurely as he had entered. The silence following the hero student being put down for his nap was music to Hitoshi’s ears.

---

Several voices talking drew Izuku sluggishly to wakefulness.

“—stay here. He’s a danger to my other patient. You can carry a cot to one of the unused prep rooms and let him sleep it off there. Call his parents to pick him up if you don’t trust him without supervision.” Huh, Recovery Girl sounded angry.

Izuku fought to open his eyes, eventually succeeding. He was still in the stadium’s infirmary, bundled under his blankets. His eyes darted to the door as he heard it click shut. Whoever Recovery Girl had been talking to must have just left. There was movement beside Izuku, and he turned toward it as a familiar huff/laugh met his ears.

Hitoshi was sitting in the chair next to his bed. When purple eyes met green, Hitoshi said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Izuku said back, voice scratchy from sleep.

Recovery Girl noticed he was awake then and strolled over. “Welcome back, Midoriya. Still tired?”

Izuku blearily sat up and nodded while yawning. “Yeah, but I’m awake now. What did I miss?” he asked, looking over at Hitoshi while Recovery Girl did another check on his left arm.

Hitoshi shrugged, dragging his eyes away from Izuku’s new scar after a few moments. “Not much. The second round just started. You missed my fight—I won by the way—but there’s still Todoroki v. Yanagi, Iida v. Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu v. Kirishima.”

Izuku stretched, feeling muscles and scars pull with each movement. “No, I saw your fight. Against Tokoyami, right? I caught it on the tv in here before getting healed. It was a good fight.”

“That was the first round,” Hitoshi pointed out. “Second round, I fought Bakugo.”

Izuku paled as his friend’s words sank in. “Are you alright?!” Hitoshi being in the infirmary made so much more sense now. Bakugo didn’t hold back in his fights. Izuku frantically scanned his friend, hoping they didn’t have matching scars now.

Hitoshi snorted. “Please. As if I’d lose a fight to a Pomeranian. Fucker only gave me one first degree burn before I got him.”

Izuku gaped. Not that he’d doubted his friend, but… “You beat him?” Just…how?

Hitoshi shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard. Just called things as they were…and called him Kacchan,” he said with a smug grin.

Yeah, no. That could have done it. Bakugo tolerated Izuku calling him Kacchan when they were younger, but he hated anyone else calling him that. Izuku just couldn’t believe that Kacc—Bakugo had lost. He never lost.

His brain must have gotten stuck on that for a minute, because suddenly Hitoshi flicked his forehead. “Earth to Izuku. You okay in there?”

Izuku shook off the weirdness that was the thought of Bakugo losing and looked at it from another angle: Hitoshi had won. Hitoshi had won twice. Against heroics students, arguably some of the strongest in their year. Izuku smiled. “Hitoshi’s amazing.”

Hitoshi’s face turned red, and he coughed as he looked away. “I mean, debatable? But feel free to argue your side.”

Izuku, having plenty of practice with Ekikyō, was more than prepared to fight his friend’s “villainous quirk” self-image, but for better or worse, that was when their other friends decided to come check on them.

The door swung open to reveal Uraraka and Hatsume. “There you two are! We were getting worried when Shinso never came back up to the stands.”

“I’m fine,” Shinso said, holding up his left arm to show it was uninjured.

Izuku made a mental note to pull up footage of Hitoshi’s second fight later.

“So, Analyst-kun, feeling any better?” Hatsume asked as the pair of girls joined Hitoshi at his bedside.

Izuku smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, a lot better. Nothing hurts, though I’m still tired.”

Recovery Girl chimed in from where she was typing on her computer, “That’s because my quirk drains your stamina more than usual, probably an odd interaction with your friend’s healing quirk.”

Uraraka and Hatsume shot Izuku confused looks; so, he explained. “My best friend has a quirk that gives me a prolonged healing boost and prevents infection. It’s not the main function of their quirk, but it comes in handy,” he said, running his thumb over the new scar on the inside of his forearm.

Hatsume’s enhanced vision locked onto the movement and carefully lifted his arm to examine the damage, frowning. “It scarred despite the quick medical attention?”

Izuku shrugged and took his arm back. “Explosion burns are just like that. I’m lucky none of the skin sloughed with it being that close-ranged.” Izuku rubbed at his shoulder before he caught himself and yanked his hand away, shaking his head. His voice was quieter as he continued, “I shouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. I promised Ek—my friend I’d take care of myself.”

“You did fine,” Uraraka said before looking thoughtful. Reaching some decision, she nodded to herself. “No, you did better than fine. You did great considering how scared of Bakugo you are. Your friend should be proud of you. If they aren’t, I’ll float them into the sun!”

Izuku laughed at the mental image of Ekikyō floating in midair with a surprised look on his face. Could Uraraka even use her quirk on liquids? (They should test that later.) Izuku sobered again as he picked at his blankets. “You’re…you’re not disappointed in me? I said I’d try, and then I turned around and forfeit my first match. I didn’t—”

Hitoshi flicked his forehead again. “No, we’re not. If anything, we’re proud. You refused to let that blonde asshole walk all over you.”

“What Shinso said!” Uraraka joined in. “I wish I could be that cool under pressure.”

Izuku looked between his friends, looking for any lie. He found none. They weren’t upset he’d gone back on his word? They were…proud of him? Tears rose unbidden, and Izuku gave them a shaky smile. That free feeling when he’d walked away from Bakugo returned as his friends decided this called for an impromptu group hug. Izuku leaned into their hold and hugged back. Yeah, he wouldn’t trade this for the world, even the world of heroics.

All too soon, Izuku’s friends had to head out. The teachers had finished clearing the ice from Todoroki’s fight (he won), and Uraraka was up next. Hatsume and Hitoshi left too to cheer her on from the stands. Izuku…technically he could have left with them, but he decided to stay in the relative safety of the infirmary. He really didn’t want to risk running into Bakugo in the halls when he was too tired to outrun his bully. Especially with the blonde having lost a fight.

“Oof, that’s gotta sting,” someone said from the doorway.

Izuku snapped his attention to the student, tensing slightly at being snuck up on. He studied the student—Kirishima—warily. He was one of Bakugo’s “friends” here at UA. Izuku had more than enough experience with Bakugo’s brand of friend when they were at Aldera. He didn’t let down his guard.

Kirishima gave him a sharp-toothed, sheepish grin and waved. “Hi…uh, Midoriya, right?”

“Yes,” Izuku said hesitantly. “And you’re Kirishima, one of Bakugo’s friends.”

Kirishima grimaced. “Something like that.” The redhead took a steadying breath before continuing, “I wanted to talk to you about that actually and apologize on behalf of the hero course.”

Izuku blinked at Kirishima as he processed. That wasn’t quite what he’d expected. What sort of person had Bakugo befriended?

Kirishima took Izuku’s silence as a cue to keep going. “How Bakugo treated you was wrong and so not manly. I saw how he acted during the Cavalry Battle. And the way he reacted to you specifically? He shouldn’t have burned you like that. That was way stronger than was called for.” Kirishima shook his head. “I…part of me doesn’t want to know, but I gotta ask. Was Bakugo…a bully before UA?”

Izuku studied Kirishima’s face for a minute, took in the hope and anguish in his eyes. Oh, that’s what this was about. “Kirishima, I appreciate you checking on me, but you don’t have to stop being Bakugo’s friend for my sake. I’ve seen the two of you together. He cares about you.” Izuku left unspoken how Bakugo didn’t care for Izuku. More and more often Izuku wondered if he ever had.

“People can be…pretty awful, but that doesn’t mean they can’t change. Sometimes it just takes the right person holding out a helping hand. It…doesn’t always work,” Izuku said, thinking of offering a hand to five-year-old Bakugo only to have it slapped away. “But the times it does make it worth it.” He remembered facing an anxious and twitchy Ekikyō, telling the man he was willing to help with his quirk (again and again). “That’s how I got my best friend,” Izuku concluded, smiling.

Kirishima looked close to tears, but he was smiling too. He sniffed back the tears and yelled “That’s so manly!” before hugging Izuku half to death.

Izuku shot Recovery Girl a pleading look, because what was he supposed to do when his bully’s best friend—who was actually pretty chill despite his questionable taste in friends—just hugged him out of nowhere?

Recovery Girl rolled her eyes and strolled over. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” she said, lightly swatting Kirishima over the head with her cane. “Let my patient rest, and go get to your match. They’ll be calling for you any minute.”

“Ah, right,” Kirishima said, rubbing the back of his head. “It was nice talking to you, Midoriya! You’re a real cool dude.”

“You too, Kirishima. Good luck with Bakugo.”

Kirishima’s fight with Yaoyorozu was interesting, but Izuku struggled to keep his eyes open with only the tv to watch. In the break before the semifinal matches, Izuku felt even more tired. He somehow managed to stay awake long enough to watch Shinso and Todoroki’s match, which ended just as quickly as Izuku had expected. Seeing one of his friends frozen up to his neck in ice woke Izuku up a little, but he was flagging again by the time Hitoshi arrived at the infirmary shivering and soaked through.

Recovery Girl handed him another set of clean clothes and sent him off to take a warm shower. The field was almost cleared for the next match by the time Hitoshi came back out, hair somehow still standing up despite being dripping wet.

Izuku grinned when he saw his friend but didn’t say anything about the match, sensing it was a sore topic. Silent comfort he could do; he had gotten plenty of experience with Ekikyō. He sat up in his cot to lean against the wall and headboard before patting the space next to him.

Hitoshi glanced at Recovery Girl before joining Izuku. There was just enough room for the both of them.

Izuku leaned a bit on Hitoshi, and the two watched the tv as Cementoss shoveled the last of the ice off of the stage with a wave of cement. Izuku struggled to suppress a yawn but lost. “Tell me what I miss if I fall asleep?” he asked Hitoshi.

“Sure thing, Izuku.”

---

Kirishima felt a little bad at the end of his match against Uraraka. She’d done really well for having no training, and it was obvious she wanted to transfer to heroics. Kirishima hoped third place was high enough for her and that Shinso guy to be considered for transfer.

Uraraka had put up a really good fight, but her meteor shower couldn’t scratch Hardening, not since he got One for All. (Some days it felt like cheating, getting such a power boost.) All he had to do to counter her quirk was dig his feet into the arena floor—or his hand that one time she surprised him with a throw. It was a good fight, and he hoped he got to fight her again someday.

On his walk back to his prep room, he hyped himself up to fight Todoroki in the finals. Kirishima wasn’t sure he could win, but he’d give it his all. All Might wanted him to announce himself to Japan, and he didn’t want to disappoint his mentor. He only wished he could use One for All too, but Recovery Girl had warned him about what might happen if he did. He still remembered how horribly his skin splitting open like an overripe fruit had hurt.

Kirishima rubbed at his forearm as he turned into the hallway with his prep room. He paused at his door when he heard someone yell. He frowned and walked to the next fork in the hallway and peeked around the corner.

Endeavor was talking to—yelling at—Todoroki. “You disgrace me, Shoto. Stop rebelling like a petulant child and use your fire. You haven’t even warmed up from your last fight. How do you expect to win if you can’t move? You’re about to hit your limit, boy.”

“That’s it?” Todoroki asked in the iciest tone Kirishima had ever heard from his stoic classmate. “I’ll win this with Mom’s power alone. I’m never using yours in battle again.”

Okay then. Kirishima was not getting involved in that. Whatever that was. He quickly retreated to his prep room. He sat in silence, waiting for the announcer to call him out to the field. He clenched his fists where they rested on the table. He wasn’t getting involved. He wasn’t.

But…Todoroki had seemed off ever since the USJ attack. He’s heard something had happened, that Todoroki had gotten pretty hurt, but he wasn’t sure what. He suspected it involved his classmate’s fire side though. Ever since the USJ, he'd refused to use it to even warm himself up and only melted his big ice attacks when the teachers asked him to. And the way he’d just talked to his dad…

Kirishima bit his lip. Should he get involved? The closest he came to understanding quirk trauma was when Hardening first came in and he cut his own eyebrow on his hand. Well, there was One for All too, but that was different, right? Surely Todoroki wasn’t afraid of using his own quirk.

Kirishima looked down at his hands as he pulled on One for All, making his veins glow. He didn’t dare move with it active, but he could at least hold it. He hissed as it started burning. Well, for a little bit. He let One for All flow away, shaking his hands out once the glow had dissipated.

Could he help Todoroki? Kirishima wasn’t too sure.

But he could let Todoroki know he wasn’t alone. He could hold out a hand.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. He grumbled and nuzzled his face down into his pillow further. He was warm and comfortable and still tired.

“Izuku, wake up.”

“Five more minutes…” Izuku felt something settle in his mind.

“Izuku, wake up.”

And Izuku was wide awake now for some reason. He blinked owlishly and looked around. He quickly realized he was not in his bed, and that was not his pillow. Oh quirks, he’d just buried his face in Hitoshi’s chest! Izuku could feel the blush climbing his neck and face. So, he did the only reasonable thing and sat bolt upright and tried to scoot away from Hitoshi, making himself fall off the infirmary bed.

The familiar fog lingering around the edges of his mind evaporated as he hit the ground. “Ow…”

Snickers made Izuku’s ears turn even redder. He lifted his head from the floor to see Uraraka struggling to hold in laughter and Hatsume looking at him in confusion.

Then Hitoshi leaned over the edge of the bed to look down at him. “Please tell me you didn’t just re-injure yourself. I don’t want Recovery Girl to steal my kneecaps.” He extended a hand to Izuku.

“Only my pride,” Izuku said, taking Hitoshi’s hand and letting his friend pull him back to his feet.

Hitoshi failed to suppress a snort. “Since when do you have pride?”

Izuku pouted and pulled his hand free of Hitoshi’s. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it. It’s a work in progress,” he added, glancing to his other two friends.

Hitoshi looked like he was about to say something else, but Recovery Girl started shooing everyone toward the door. “Go on, the lot of you. You’re going to hold up the award ceremony.” Then she pointed her cane at Izuku. “Midoriya, head to the front office after the ceremony. Your mother should be here to pick you up shortly.”

Izuku froze like a deer in headlights. “My mom?” The school had called his mom? He wasn’t even that hurt, and he was healed now! (And how did they get ahold of her this time when they couldn’t after the USJ?)

“Yes, I didn’t want you trying to get yourself home when you’re still exhausted,” Recovery Girl said, nudging him toward the door after his friends.

Izuku stepped out of the infirmary and let Hatsume drag him up to the support course’s stands to watch their friends receive their third-place medals. His homeroom classmates greeted him as he and Hatsume started down the stairs to the front of the section.

“Hey, Midoriya, congrats on making it to the tournament!” Tantetsu called, grinning.

“Yeah, you really showed those hero kids!” A mousey boy who sat in the corner of 1-H’s classroom said. “And that Sparta kick was beautiful.”

Several of his classmates murmured in agreement. A classmate with abnormally large hands (Izuku felt kind of bad that he hadn’t memorized everyone’s names yet) leaned into the aisle to slap Izuku’s back as he passed. “Dude, the look on the exploding boy’s face when you just turned around and left the stage? It was meme-worthy. Who knew forfeiting could be such a power move?”

Izuku blushed and sputtered, unable to get anything intelligible out. He ended up flailing his free arm in front of him as if he could wave off the others’ words.

“Hey, what’s that?” Tantetsu asked, grabbing Izuku’s arm and ceasing his flailing. She turned his arm over.

Oh, now everyone was looking at his new scar again. Why were people so obsessed with it?

Tantetsu’s coppery fingers ghosted over the mark as if measuring it. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she frowned.

Izuku was relieved when she let his arm go. He was less relieved when she turned to the boy with large hands and said, “That does it. Kataoka, bring the itching powder on Monday. We need to get 1-A’s costumes ready for their internships.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, but Hatsume dragged him the rest of the way down to the railing before he could intervene. Hopefully, Maijima-sensei caught and scolded them before they got too far.

“Ah, there they are,” Hatsume said, pointing.

Out in the center of the stadium, Cementoss was raising a platform from beneath the arena. Hitoshi and Uraraka shared the third-place podium with Kirishima in second and Todoroki in first. Izuku frowned when he saw that Kirishima’s arms were bandaged. He made a mental note to pull up footage of the final match later.

Izuku tuned out after All Might arrived. The man brought up bad memories, even if he had saved Izuku once. (Or was it twice? Did getting him away from Shigaraki at the USJ count when it was Ekikyō who saved his life there?)

Izuku wondered if the man’s time limit had gone down any more since last year. Maybe that was why he’d taken up a teaching job. He was probably trying to ease the public into the idea of not having him around. Even if he was the exact same as last year, he had to be pushing his luck. His skinny form looked like it was one bad case of flu or food poisoning away from keeling over. Had he waited too long to start pulling out of the public eye? What happened if he fell? Izuku thought of the heroes he’d analyzed. No one currently in the field could hope to fill All Might’s shoes. And that sort of power vacuum could be a disaster…

Izuku didn’t realize he’d descended into a mutter storm until Hatsume waved a hand in front of his face. “Come on, Analyst-kun. You can tell me about how the hero system and Japanese society might collapse with All Might’s retirement—planned or untimely as it may be—on the way back to the main building.”

Izuku nodded and fell into step beside Hatsume. While they worked their way through the crush in the halls, Izuku talked more about his theory about how badly things could go when All Might retired.

Hatsume listened intently, occasionally throwing in questions or points. As they finally escaped the stadium, she asked, “If Japan does descend into a post-apocalyptic waste in the near future, which do you think would be more useful: a laser sword or a Swiss army sword?”

Izuku stared at Hatsume for a minute before saying, “Swiss army. If we’re in the middle of an apocalypse, there’s no guarantee you’d have access to the fuel source needed for a laser sword. Better to use the non-electric option.”

Hatsume hummed and nodded. “Good point, but what if I make solar batteries to power the laser sword?”

Izuku shook his head. “Same problem but less predictable shortages. Between the possibilities of nuclear winter, actual winter, monsoon season, and weather quirks there are just too many variables for solar to be reliable in an apocalypse. You’d still need a way to fight when solar’s not readily available.”

Hatsume grumbled her reluctant agreement as they stopped at the fork in the hallway that Izuku needed to take to go to his locker. “See you later, Analyst-kun.”

“Bye, Hatsume.”

Izuku swung by his locker to grab his backpack and laptop before heading for the locker room to get his uniform. He’d changed at the main building instead of the stadium to hide his scars (for all the good that did now) and decrease the chance of anyone messing with his stuff if his quirk status came out during the Festival. He was beyond relieved that Present Mic and Eraserhead hadn’t said anything about it over the loudspeaker. UA had been a dream of acceptance so far, and he wasn’t ready to wake up yet.

He stuffed his uniform into his bag without changing, since he was just going to leave anyway. He decided to check his burner too; with his mom traveling with him, he wouldn’t be able to check it on the way home like he usually did. No new messages.

Then he made for the front office, steeling himself for his mom’s fretting. He felt more tired just thinking about it. Maybe he could just go to bed as soon as he got home and skip the whole “going to UA is so dangerous and why don’t we look at Zonama’s business track again” talk. Izuku’s steps faltered as another possibility occurred to him. What if she had seen his scars?

By the time he’d reached the office, he’d worked himself into a nervous sweat. He took a deep, steadying breath before entering the office to find his mom already waiting for him. “H-hi, Mom,” he said with a mostly steady voice.

“Izuku!” She stood from her chair and rushed over to him, looking him up and down as if looking for any wounds Recovery Girl might have missed. “You had me so worried, sweetheart. You were so reckless. Come on, let’s get you home. I already signed you out.”

Izuku gave the secretary an apologetic smile and followed his mom out. Izuku spent the trip back half-listening to his mom talk about her and Aunt Mitsuki’s watch party and trying not to fall asleep standing on the train. (Maybe Recovery Girl had a point about not sending him home alone.) Silence finally fell between them as they exited the train. It was easier to stay awake when moving, but Izuku was very ready to call it a day by the time they reached their apartment.

Izuku kicked off his shoes at the genkan and was about to head to his room when the dreaded “Izuku” reached his ears. His shoulders sagged, and he set his backpack down in the entryway before heading into the kitchen after his mom.

“Yeah, Mom?”

Inko was waiting for him with arms crossed and a frown on her face. Izuku’s shoulders slowly rose as he looked away from her disappointed face. It made him feel sick with guilt.

“Izuku, we need to talk.”

Oh, that did not bode well. At least he was a little more awake now with his adrenaline pumping “O-okay, Mom. Um…what about?”

His mom sighed and sat down at the table, and Izuku sat across from her. He never thought their dining table could feel so much like an interrogation room’s. His mom searched his face, her eyes watery in that way that threatened to send both of them into tears. “The principal had me set up a parent-teacher conference for tomorrow morning.”

Izuku swallowed. He hated parent-teacher conferences. His mom always looked at him as if he were a disappointment after those, and half the time he earned some sort of “talk” or grounding. It depended on how believable the teachers made their accusations.

“Izuku…what happened? I thought you were doing well at UA, but in the Festival…You…you know how to fight. You got hurt. You’re covered in scars. You’ve been keeping secrets.”

Izuku shrugged, looking down at his hands, at the very thin scar on the back of his right hand from Stain’s knife. “Most of the scars are from years ago.”

“Years?! Izuku, what happened? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

Izuku looked at his mom, really looked at her. Had she honestly never noticed? Yes, he hid his injuries, but he couldn’t do anything for the smell of burnt hair and skin that followed him home from schools prior to UA. It had taken him a few years to learn how to properly get dried blood out of fabric. Did she not notice the stains or holes burnt through his school shirts? She’d replaced them often enough he couldn’t truly believe that. (Did she not care?)

“I’m quirkless,” he said simply. It almost surprised him how emotionless he sounded. “I didn’t want to worry you. There wasn’t anything you could have done to change how everyone else treated me.” That was what he always told himself, but it sounded like a weak argument when voiced aloud.

He was beginning to realize there was another reason underneath it all. He didn’t want to know. If his mom must have known something was going on, must have known he was the one eating through all of their first aid kit’s bandages and burn cream—always restocked a few days later—must have known he wasn’t setting his own school shirts on fire, and did nothing…

Izuku didn’t want to pose her the question directly when he already suspected the answer. As long as he never asked, he could pretend he didn’t know. They could continue living the happy lie, that they were a normal, loving family, even without a father or husband in the picture. (Izuku had his own suspicions about why the man had stopped coming home nine years ago.)

“Izuku, you don’t know that.”

No, he kinda did. He declined to voice his disagreement though. He just wanted this talk to be over.

His mom sighed. It seemed she didn’t want to answer the question any more than he wanted to ask it. The unspoken “Would you have done anything?” loomed over them regardless.

“Why did you learn to fight?” The “behind my back” was implied.

Izuku felt so tired. “Why does any civilian learn to fight? To defend myself.” To keep his promise to Ekikyō, to prove he could, to better protect and save others (so they never felt as helpless as he did). No one really stood up for people like him, like Shinso or Ekikyō, or any of the other people he’d helped through the clinic and on his patrols. Eraserhead and Ciupan might be rare exceptions, but Izuku had no intention of telling either man that he was quirkless and finding out for sure. Even if they were, they couldn’t always be there.

After a long pause, his mom said, “You’ve changed.”

Izuku didn’t know what that look meant on his mom’s face. He’d seen ones like it before on clients Giran introduced him to—when they realized he was much more than a little kid—but there was something different about this one. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

“Izuku, who’s this friend of yours with a healing quirk that Recovery Girl told me about?”

Izuku froze for just a second before responding, “They’re a good friend. They’re actually the one who encouraged me to get in shape and start working out last year.”

“A good friend? Like you and Katsuki?” Her tone set off warning bells in Izuku’s head. “Are they the one who taught you to kick your friends in the chest and flip them over your shoulder?”

“Bakugo burned me!” Izuku protested.

“He was just in a villain attack a few weeks ago, Izuku.”

“So was I,” Izuku reminded her, curling his hands into fists under the table. Maybe it was the way she defended Bakugo, maybe it was the unintended insinuation that Ekikyō had anything in common with the bully, but Izuku couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You don’t get to use that against me to try to make me change schools then conveniently forget it now.”

“Midoriya Izuku!”

Izuku flinched at the reprimand but kept his fists clenched and his gaze hard as he met his mom’s eyes. He was…angry. He was distantly surprised (he never got mad at Mom) but he held his ground.

Mom stared right back, looking a little angry herself. She brought out her mom voice as she continued, “We’ll talk more about this later, young man, but you are not to see that so-called friend of yours anymore.”

“What?!”

She kept talking like she hadn’t heard him. “They’ve obviously been a bad influence on you. And you never introduced them to me; do you know I wouldn’t approve of them? You’ve been hiding things from me, keeping secrets, picking fights, getting hurt.” She gestured at the scar on his face. “Do you know how that makes me feel? No more. I’m putting my foot down on this.”

Had Izuku said he was angry? No, he was livid. He stood up so quickly his chair squealed against the wood floor. “That friend is the only reason I’m still alive!” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the USJ or the rooftops, but it didn’t really matter. “They remind me again and again that I have worth, that I’m worth fighting for, they believed in me when no one else did, and they’re an infinitely better friend than Bakugo Katsuki ever was.”

His mother looked shellshocked for a moment before her stern expression returned. She stood too. “You and Katsuki have been friends since you were babies. Don’t throw that away for some…hooligan you just met!”

Izuku almost laughed. “Bakugo and I haven’t been friends since we were four, Mom. I can’t throw away what doesn’t exist. Go ask him what he told me the day the Sludge Villain kidnapped me. Then tell me we’re friends.”

When he saw Mom puffing up to argue further, he turned away. Izuku didn’t want to fight Bakugo today, and he definitely didn’t want to fight Mom. He couldn’t do it, but he couldn’t just sit here and listen to her defend his bully after getting yet another scar from him. He couldn’t listen to her try to rip him away from the first person who actually cared about him after he was diagnosed quirkless. So, he did the same thing he did earlier today. He walked away.

“Izuku, where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” he said, grabbing his backpack and sliding his shoes back on. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not as helpless as you think.”

“Izuku, get back—”

Izuku closed the apartment door behind him and ran. Frustrated tears blurred his vision, but he knew this part of Musutafu too well to get lost. He didn’t stop running until he’d climbed his favorite fire escape. He’d started so many patrols from this building. Now, he paced the rooftop and angrily scrubbed at his face.

What had he just done? Why did he run out like that? She’d only have more questions when he got back. He didn’t want to go back. He sobbed and sat down in the center of the roof. He wished Ekikyō was here.

He cried until all the frustration and fury and pain drained out of him, leaving numbness, exhaustion, and a headache behind. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t go back home today. He just couldn’t.

(He very carefully didn’t look at the roof’s edge.)

He wished, not for the first time, that he had a way to contact Ekikyō. His best friend knew just what to say at times like this.

Izuku jolted slightly as he heard something in his backpack vibrate. He sniffed and dug through his bag to pull out his burner phone. He wiped one last tear from his face and opened the new message.

Giran wanted to know if he was free to do some analysis this weekend. The new address was pretty far away though. (Of course, he reached out with an address after Ekikyō left.) Izuku bit his lip as he considered. He’d have to sneak back into the apartment to get his gear…

Thinking about his home and his mom made him frown. Wait, Giran sometimes set villains up with safehouses, right? Maybe he’d know somewhere close by that Izuku could stay. Just for a few days. He could pay in analysis later.

He started tapping out his question but paused when another message came in, this time from Cross. “Good job in the SF. Do you want me to look at your burns later?”

Izuku gave the message a small smile. Then he facepalmed. He didn’t need to ask Giran for a place to stay. Yūku was always willing to have him. He felt like such an idiot.

He deleted his drafted text and instead sent, “Sorry, G. Out this weekend visiting friends. Could do next Saturday or Sunday though.” Then he texted Cross back. “On my way now.”

He debated climbing back down to street level, but his UA gym uniform was pretty recognizable. He only had his actual uniform in his backpack too. He made a mental note to start carrying a spare set of inconspicuous civvies in his backpack. Maybe he could stash a change of clothes up here too? He did frequent this rooftop. He decided to think about that later. For now, he silenced his civilian cellphone—he didn’t want to hear if his mom spammed him with texts—and disabled the GPS. Then he removed his laptop’s battery, tightly wrapped it and his laptop in his UA uniform, and zipped his backpack closed with all electronics inside. He pulled it on, snugged the straps and took off for the roof’s edge.

Parkouring was a lot harder when he had a heavy backpack with sensitive cargo. And when he was bone-tired. His rolls were far from graceful, he fumbled more than he cared to admit, and he knew he’d earned a few more scrapes and bruises by the time he reached the edge of the industrial district and its warehouses. The roads here were a lot less populated, and Izuku only needed to wait ten minutes to have an opening to descend an apartment building’s creaky fire escape and cross the street unseen. He darted down the alley with access to the clinic and rapped out the code quickly, ducking inside as soon as the door opened.

Thankfully, there was no one else in the lobby as Cheshire ushered him in. She took one look at his red cheeks and puffy eyes before smiling at him. Izuku grinned weakly back as they walked over to the exam room.

His checkup was quick. Recovery Girl had healed everything except for what he’d earned on his way here. Cheshire left while Cross was disinfecting one of the worse scrapes—on his left elbow—only to return a few minutes later with a spare set of clothes. They were baggy on Izuku and the fabric a bit rough, but Izuku was grateful to change into something less recognizable.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” he asked Cheshire while Cross wrapped his arm.

“Sure, Green. Your mom again?”

Izuku nodded, blinking rapidly. He was not going to cry again today. He wasn’t.

Cheshire sighed and pulled him into a hug. “Let’s get you home, kiddo. You must be tired.”

Izuku definitely didn’t cry. The ceiling just sprung a leak.

Chapter Text

The quiet of Yūku’s place was a welcome reprieve to Izuku. Even Maiko seemed to know he felt terrible, because she didn’t snark him about the Sports Festival like she had last time he’d visited, just shot him a few concerned looks. He was oddly touched when she chucked a pillow and blanket at his face after they finished eating. Full of ainame, takenoko, and fresh ume, Izuku happily curled up on the sofa and fell asleep within minutes.

He slept in the next morning, not waking until 7:00. He felt a lot better for it though—not 100%, but better. He helped Yūku make taiyaki and tuna onigiri for breakfast. Maiko started the sencha tea once she joined them in the kitchen.

None present were particularly morning people; so, breakfast was a quiet affair. The most interesting thing about the whole meal was the way Maiko downed nearly half the kettle of sencha herself. Izuku was moderately concerned about someone younger than him drinking that much caffeine, but when Maiko caught the horrified look he was giving her, she laughed. “It’s because of my quirk. Here…” She leaned across the table and tapped Izuku on the nose before he could dodge. “You’re welcome.”

Izuku stared at her in shock. Izuku was pretty sure he’d never seen her touch anyone during her stay, even Aunt Yūku. (He made a mental note to update his noteb—digital entry on her quirk. It was definitely contact-based.) He was glad to know she was feeling more comfortable, but…what? He made a confused sound in the back of his throat and looked himself over, half expecting to find himself turned into a cat or palette-swapped, but nothing was visibly different. He glanced over at Yūku.

Yūku gave him one of her not-smiles. “How are you feeling, Green?”

Izuku frowned and concentrated on how he felt. He felt…good, energized? “An energy booster?”

“Hm, close,” Maiko said before taking another big bite of her second onigiri. After swallowing, she continued, “Vitality Transfer. I can give or take it through contact. You were super low yesterday. Like, I don’t get how you were still on your feet low.”

Izuku perked up at learning something concrete about Maiko’s quirk and a name too! She hadn’t touched him yesterday; so that implied… “You can see peoples’ vitality?”

Maiko nodded.

“That’s really cool! It would be so useful in medicine or heroics. Actually, it might do best in underground heroics. Sneak attacks would work well for it being contact-dependent. Can you see peoples’ vitality regardless of light level? That would make it really hard to sneak up on you. I bet—”

Yūku cut him off by holding another taiyaki in front of him. “Easy there, Green. You’re overwhelming her.”

Izuku glanced at Maiko and sheepishly apologized before stuffing half of the taiyaki in his mouth to keep himself from muttering.

They shifted topics after that and bounced between schoolwork, vigilante work, the underground rumor mill, and more mundane things. After cleaning up their dishes, Izuku bid his second home goodbye. He needed to take care of a few things—and pick up a change of clothes—if he was going to stay away from Mom for a few days. If he was lucky, she would be out for her parent-teacher conference by the time he got back to the apartment.

Thankfully, the powers that be seemed willing to give him a break after the flaming mess of yesterday. Izuku moved through the empty apartment without bothering to turn the lights on until he closed his bedroom door behind him. He sighed and looked around him. On the upside, he didn’t have to worry about transporting all of his analysis notebooks.

He grabbed his workout duffle bag and a larger one meant for actual travel that was buried in the back of his closet. He gathered enough clothes to last him the week. He wasn’t sure how soon he’d be ready to face his mom again, but today was definitely too soon. Just thinking about it made him jittery with anxi—

Oh. His meds. He should grab those. He hadn’t taken them yet today. He knelt to pull his vigilante box out from under his bed. He grabbed his escitalopram and went to get a glass of water. On the way, he pulled out his cellphone, ignored all of the missed calls and texts from Mom, and messaged Hitoshi, “Hey, can I hang at your place until tomorrow?”

He got a response by the time he set his glass in the sink. “Sure. You okay?”

“Mom and I had a fight.”

“Jeepers.”

Izuku snorted at the response and got back to packing. Everything from his vigilante box went in his workout duffle. After a moment’s thought, he pulled his and Ekikyō’s notebook and his “client” notebook in there too. He did not want Mom finding those if she decided to look through his room while he was gone. Extra shoes, house slippers, toiletries, a few hoodies, his non-school laptop and charger, phone charger, spare notebooks and pens, and the rest of the money from Giran’s last payout went in the travel duffle. He scoured his room one last time before snatching some supplies from the first aid kit and tossing his stash of energy bars in his bag too. That should be everything.

Less than thirty minutes after entering, Izuku slunk back out of the Midoriya apartment. He texted Hitoshi again as he wandered aimlessly. Once Hitoshi replied with his address, Izuku put it into his maps app and headed that way. Hitoshi lived that awkward distance where Izuku could almost justify taking the train, but not really. Eventually, he decided to just hoof it. He’d missed his morning jog anyway. This could count for that and some weight training. (As much as he’d wanted to bring his weights, he was not going to lug those around for a week while he couch surfed.)

He somewhat regretted his decision to walk/jog by the time he got to Hitoshi’s neighborhood. He’d worked up a sweat and was reminded that he hadn’t gotten a shower since washing off Monoma’s acid during the Sports Festival. He still smelled a bit of smoke and burnt caramel. Once he’d recognized that, it was stuck in the forefront of his mind, making his skin crawl.

He was so distracted by it that he didn’t think it was odd when Hitoshi met him on the corner of the block his address was on. “Hitoshi! I’m so sorry, but can I borrow your shower when we get to your place? I still smell like Bakugo sweat.”

Hitoshi turned to greet Izuku but just raised an eyebrow instead. “Uh…sure. Are you…running away from home? I thought you said you were camping at my place for one night.”

Izuku looked down at the stuffed bags hanging from his shoulders as he stopped a step away from his friend. “Um, no. I just…need some space for a few days.”

Hitoshi shrugged. “Alright. Here, give me one of your bags,” he said holding out a hand.

“Thanks.” Izuku handed Hitoshi his smaller bag, smirking when Hitoshi nearly dropped it for its weight. “Be careful. That’s my gear.”

Hitoshi’s eyes went wide before he looked between the bag and Izuku. Then he matched Izuku’s smirk. “If my folks catch us with this, I’m throwing you under the bus.”

“Fair,” Izuku said as they set off down the sidewalk. “But I’d be more worried about them finding the drugs than the gear.”

Hitoshi choked on nothing. He coughed a few times before asking, “What? Drugs?”

Izuku laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re a prescription. Just, you know, from the underground clinic. I only use them if I get a really bad injury and Ekikyō isn’t around.”

Hitoshi gave Izuku some side-eye and changed the topic. “So, anyway, you can shower when we get to my place. Just keep it down. One of the guardians is working, but the other is taking a nap.”

“What about your little brother?”

Hitoshi grimaced. “Out with his grandmother today. She can’t have full custody because of medical problems, but he gets to have a day with her twice a month, provided she’s out of the hospital.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad she was feeling well enough today to spend time with him,” Izuku said, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Yeah. It makes him happy.”

Izuku didn’t have to think up something else to say, because Hitoshi put a finger to his lips and turned off the sidewalk to head up the front walk of a worn two-story duplex. Izuku eyed the building critically, putting himself ever so slightly on guard. After all, the people who put that muzzle on Hitoshi last year lived here. (Unless he’d been rehomed since then, but Hitoshi never changed schools or said anything about moving.)

The pair crept inside, silent as only bullied kids (and trained vigilantes) could be. Izuku thought it was odd that Hitoshi didn’t take his shoes off at the genkan, but he followed his friend’s lead, climbing the stairs with his and skipping the steps Hitoshi skipped without prompting. Hitoshi only relaxed and slipped his shoes off once both of them were sequestered in his bedroom. Izuku tried not to cringe at the lack of decoration in Hitoshi’s room as he slid out of his own, setting his bag and backpack beside his shoes quietly.

Hitoshi set Izuku’s vigilante bag on his bed. “Bathroom’s down the hall on the left. You got spare clothes in there or just illegal weapons and drugs?” he asked, pointing at Izuku’s larger bag.

Izuku laughed quietly and lifted a new outfit for Hitoshi to inspect.

“Does that shirt say ‘jorts?’ What the hell?”

“Exactly.”

“Is this how you beat villains, baffling them with your outlandish and downright strange sense of humor?”

“Yes, I knock them out while they’re too busy laughing.”

They held each other’s gaze for maybe ten seconds before they both had to cover their mouths to suppress laughter.

Izuku retreated to take his shower, feeling lighter. He still wished Ekikyō was here, but Hitoshi was pretty great too. That contentment followed Izuku for the next hour of cleaning up and hanging out with Hitoshi. Right up until they heard the door slam downstairs and Izuku saw panic cross Hitoshi’s face for the first time ever.

---

Nezu watched Midoriya Inko and Maijima through his cameras, assessing. She appeared nearly as nervous as her son on the first day of his classes, most likely an inherited trait. She was friendly and polite while making small talk with Maijima, but something about her smile rang false. Was it covering her anxiety or something else?

No matter. He reviewed his office cameras to make sure they were recording and checked in with Aizawa and Yamada to ensure the feed was crisp with no delay where they watched from the security room. That accomplished, he put on a pot of the same rose and lavender blend Midoriya Izuku seemed to take well to. It was good for the nerves, and flavor preferences tended to run in the family as well.

The tea finished steeping right as Nezu pressed the button to open his office door, just as planned. He did so enjoy starting meetings with the humans involved disconcerted or mildly uncomfortable. It was easier to judge character and intent when the subject of his attention wasn’t perfectly put together. To further that effect, Nezu smiled one of his practiced uncanny smiles. “Welcome Midoriya-san. Please take a seat. How do you like your tea?”

“A drizzle of honey is fine. Thank you, Nezu-san.”

Nezu handed Midoriya and Power Loader (whose order he had memorized along with every other staff member’s) their cups before hopping back up in his chair with his own cup. Nezu took a first sip of his tea and savored it. Then he turned to the task at hand. “Before we begin, did you have any questions or concerns that you’d like to address, Midoriya-san?”

The woman considered for a moment, wringing her hands much like her son. “No one here taught him to fight, did they?”

Nezu raised an eyebrow. “There were no training sessions logged with staff, no.” He declined to mention the sessions where Young Midoriya trained others. He was quite decent if lacking in form, but that was understandable considering how he likely learned.

Nezu’s words seemed to confirm something for Midoriya-san, if the hand she briefly clenched before relaxing it again was any clue. After the silence stretched a few more seconds, he prompted, “If that is your only question…”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” Midoriya-san said, covering her mouth with a hand as a nervous giggle escaped her. “I did have one more. Do you happen to know who Izuku’s friend with the healing quirk is?”

Nezu had his suspicions, but he was more interested in the fact Midoriya-san appeared to be new to the information that such a friend existed. Recovery Girl had commented on her reaction during their phone call too. If Young Midoriya felt the need to hide his friendship from his mother for a year, Nezu wanted to know everything for certain—regarding the boy’s friend and the staff’s concerns about his mother—before he betrayed the boy’s tenuous trust. “No, Midoriya-san, though I know they are not a student at UA.” After a pause, he added, “And I can say with fair confidence that they are the reason your son didn’t bleed out or at least require a transfusion after the USJ. Some property of the quirk appears to allow for rapid clotting.” (If it could really be called that when the material forming the “clot” was more gel or sludge than true scab.)

Midoriya-san sighed in relief. “Oh, that’s what he meant.”

“Midoriya-san?” Maijima asked.

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Just something Izuku said yesterday worried me. He said that that friend was the only reason he was still alive.”

Nezu’s fur bristled at the possible implications. Anxiety and depression ran hand-in-hand all too often in humans, and with bad depressive episodes came the potential for suicide. Adding in the extensive abuse and discrimination they suspected Young Midoriya to have faced, it wasn’t a pretty picture. Nezu typed a quick reminder to email Inui with an update before he had his first session with the boy.

“Yes, well, now that we have that cleared up, Midoriya-san, shall we move on to the more usual topics?”

“Sure, Principal Nezu.”

“Young Midoriya’s been doing quite well with his studies thus far, despite the USJ attack interfering with one of his semester projects. He’s keeping up in classes and is growing more comfortable with asking questions and volunteering answers in class. As for socially, he seems quite content with his trio of first year friends in addition to his mysterious best friend.”

“Oh, it’s good to hear he’s made friends besides Katsuki,” Midoriya said, smiling.

Maijima and Nezu exchanged a look before Maijima cleared his throat. “Uh, Midoriya-san? Nezu means Hatsume, Shinso, and Uraraka. Your son hasn’t interacted with Bakugo at all outside of rounds two and three of the Sports Festival.”

“What? But that makes no sense,” Midoriya said, visibly confused. “Izuku and Katsuki have known each other since they were in diapers. They’re inseparable. Mitsuki and I even asked their previous schools to put them in the same class to make sure each would always have a friend close by.”

Nezu made a few notes in the document open on his leftmost computer screen. Either the woman was delusional (had she watched the Festival at all?) or Izuku was very good at hiding the truth from his mother. He was leaning toward the former. “Regardless, he’s getting along well with his new friends. The only real setbacks I or the other teachers have seen were on days Midoriya admitted he forgot to take his anxiety medication, and he was always right as rain the next morning when he got back on it. Now—”

Midoriyan-san interrupted him then. “Medication? Anxiety? What are you talking about? Izuku doesn’t have anxiety.”

Nezu tilted his head. Oh dear, there were more secrets here than he expected. How had the boy managed to go to a doctor without his mother’s knowledge? Had his aunt taken him? That seemed the most likely scenario. It was troubling though.

Nezu pulled up Young Midoriya’s medical file on his computer and printed out the single page covering the boy’s diagnosis to show his mother. Just to confirm his suspicion.

Sure enough, the woman didn’t recognize the doctor listed on the file.

Nezu hummed. “Perhaps you can ask him when you get home, Midoriya-san. Children can be quite self-conscious when it comes to mental health. He likely kept it from you out of embarrassment. UA does offer counseling services in-house through Hound Dog, or we can recommend a number of outside, vetted therapists. Given his involvement and injury in the USJ attack, I was planning to recommend at least an introductory appointment now that the Sports Festival is out of the way.”

Midoriya’s face softened a bit as she absorbed that. “I’ll talk to Izuku. Hopefully, he’ll be back by the time I get home.”

Nezu’s tail twitched. “Oh, did he go out?” Nezu had been planning to warn the Midoriyas about the trafficking threat but found himself wishing he’d done so sooner. The idea of his student being hunted while unaware made his hackles rise.

Midoriya frowned and pulled her phone from her purse to check something. “Something like that. We had an argument yesterday, and he stormed out. He hadn’t come back by the time I went to bed, but I didn’t think anything of it. He stays up late sometimes, goes on runs to burn off energy; so, he can sleep. But he wasn’t there this morning either and hasn’t answered my texts or voicemail.”

Nezu’s fur started standing on end as he rapidly pulled up and typed in a new window. While the traces ran, he suggested, “Why not call his aunt and see if he stayed the night there?” He didn’t want to worry Mrs. Midoriya unduly, but if they couldn’t locate her son in a timely manner, he would tell her.

The boy was running on very little energy after Recovery Girl’s healing yesterday. He couldn’t have been at his best. With any luck, he’d gone to his aunt or a friend’s home. If someone else hadn’t gotten to him first. The Sports Festival had broadcast his face and name—and unfortunately his footwear of choice—nationwide. If the traffickers knew what to look for, they would have recognized the sneakers for the quirkless designator they were.

Could they have tracked down Young Midoriya’s address and staked it out so quickly? That was less likely, but they might have caught him on his way home rather than as he left.

Nezu sent off an email requesting access to the city’s camera archives for yesterday afternoon through midnight. He started another email to send to the police if their checking around failed to turn up results. A ding informed Nezu that his cellphone and laptop traces for Midoriya finished. Both came up empty. Young Midoriya could have disabled the GPS locator on his phone, but for the laptop to not be registering, it was either out of power, disconnected from its power supply, or destroyed.

Nezu lashed his tail once in disappointment. He glanced over at Midoriya as someone answered her phone call. Perhaps she had better luck.

“Ah, Mitsuki! Yes, yes, I’m still on for lunch. That’s not why I’m calling. Have you seen Izuku?”

Mitsuki? As in Bakugo Mitsuki? Nezu tilted his head. That’s not who was listed as Midoriya’s secondary contact…at least on the form that was turned in. Nezu sent a quick text to Aizawa to call the contact they had on file—Anshin Yūku—and pulled up Young Midoriya’s registration papers. On another screen he pulled up the emergency contacts form. As expected, there was a slight difference in handwriting between the two signatures. Izuku had forged his mother’s signature in order to change his secondary emergency contact. If his mother’s first choice was the parent of his longtime bully, Nezu couldn’t say he blamed the boy.

Nezu’s phone buzzed. He quickly flagged both of the files he had open for the investigation to follow and closed the tabs. He skimmed Aizawa’s return message and picked up his office’s cordless phone before strolling toward the door. “I need to take this. I’ll be right back.”

Once outside the office, he pressed a hidden button in the wall that opened the vent overhead. Framed photographs that were much more securely attached to the wall than was necessary served as hand and pawholds. After closing the vent cover behind him, the principal made haste to his secondary office. (The staff lovingly called it the vent bunker.)

Once secured inside the much smaller and Nezu-proportioned hidden room, Nezu logged into his computer and picked up the call on hold. “Principal Nezu speaking.”

“Hello, Nezu-sama. Aizawa-san mentioned something about trying to locate Izuku?”

“Yes, it has been brought to the staff’s attention that Young Midoriya never returned home last night. Given his fatigued state upon leaving campus yesterday, we were concerned, even moreso when I tried to trace his laptop and it couldn’t connect.”

“Oh, yeah. Izuku tends to keep it disconnected when he’s not using it or at school. Something about technopathy quirks that I honestly couldn’t follow,” she added fondly. “Anyway, you can call off your manhunt. He stayed at my place last night. He was an emotional wreck and collapsed on the sofa right after dinner. Didn’t move an inch all night. He just left here…about an hour ago. Said something about visiting Shinso.”

Nezu’s fur finally settled slightly. “That’s good to hear. If you see Izuku again before Monday, could you pass along a message for me?” If Izuku trusted Anshin Yūku enough to list her as his alternate contact, then Nezu was going to tell her what she needed to know to keep him safe.

“Sure?” Anshin said uncertainly.

“It’s been brought to my attention that there’s a group of traffickers operating in the area. One of their target groups is the quirkless. I’ll speak to him more on security and preventive measures in class on Monday, but if you could tell him to careful until then it would be much appreciated.”

Nezu frowned at the silence that followed. He checked to ensure the call hadn’t dropped. A very quiet “oh no” had the principal on edge once more.

“Anshin-san?”

“I-I’m here. Just thought of something. I know a lot of the ladies in this part of town. We look out for each other, but a few have disappeared over the last several months, and another caught someone stalking her and decided to move. Three of them are quirkless.”

Nezu twitched an ear and tapped another message to Aizawa. “Anshin-san? I’m going to transfer you back to Aizawa. He’s the hero in charge of the investigation into the group. Tell him everything you told me, and he’ll keep an eye out for your friends as the investigation proceeds.”

“O-okay.”

Nezu put the call on hold for Aizawa to pick up and turned back to his computer. A quick search pulled up Anshin Yūku’s address. One of the less safe neighborhoods, though not outright gang territory or slums. Multiple people in the area had potentially been abducted, and Young Midoriya had left Anshin’s residence alone.

He debated the pros and cons of his current plan of action. Pros: he’d know where his student was, and if he was in trouble, he could send help to his location. Cons: he risked breaking his student’s trust.

Trust could be re-won; life could not.

Decision made, Nezu set to hacking Midoriya Izuku’s phone. It was shamefully easy, and Nezu made a mental note to add phone security to his curriculum for Midoriya. Once in, Nezu turned the device’s GPS locator back on, then turned on the audio while waiting for the location to process. He relaxed as he heard his student speaking with a friend. The location finished loading, and a quick check of student files confirmed that Midoriya was at Shinso’s home. Now, who to send to pick him up?

Chapter Text

“He’s not supposed to be home until tomorrow,” Hitoshi said quieter than Izuku had heard him. Hitoshi’s eyes darted to him. “You need to leave. Now.”

Izuku nodded. “Window?”

Hitoshi nodded and grabbed Izuku’s vigilante duffle. Izuku grabbed the rest of his stuff and met Hitoshi at the window as yelling started downstairs. “What room is below us?” Izuku whispered, eyeing the ground below Hitoshi’s window. There were some bushes he could drop his bags into, but no easy way to break his own fall. It looked like he’d have to roll as best he could, or lower himself from the window and drop the rest of the way, though that was going to make him pretty visible from the first-floor window.

“Master bedroom,” Hitoshi whispered. He tilted his head to listen to the argument below them. Something glass shattered. “Sounds like they’re in the kitchen. Go.”

Izuku dropped his bags into the bushes before taking his gear bag from Hitoshi, eyeing his friend. “What about you?”

Hitoshi had this awful resigned look in his eyes. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

Like hell was Izuku believing that. “Grab your stuff and come with me.”

Hitoshi stared at him in shock for a moment. “What?”

“I am not leaving you here to get hurt. So, come on. We can camp out at Uraraka’s or Cheshire’s. I might even introduce you to my…sort of vigilante trainer if I have to crash with him. Or we both stay here, and I’ll fight them if they try to hurt you again.”

When Hitoshi hesitated, Izuku opened his bag and pulled out his practice shoge hook. He twirled the end with the rubber ring a few times to demonstrate. Hitoshi watched with widening eyes as he recognized the move from the Cavalry Battle. Then his eyes flew to his bedroom door—which Izuku now realized didn’t have a lock on the inside.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Izuku took a step forward to put himself between the door and Hitoshi. A slightly trembling hand on his shoulder made Izuku look back. Hitoshi glanced at the window and nodded, though his eyes were anything but sure. He grabbed his backpack and shoes before lowering himself from the window in a practiced move. Izuku waited until Hitoshi’s hands disappeared from the ledge to toss his vigilante gear and vault from the window himself, pushing off from the outside of the building with both of his feet to put distance between Hitoshi’s landing spot and his own and to make rolling into his landing easier.

Izuku sprung to his feet and darted back to the bushes to help Hitoshi up. Then they grabbed their bags. This time Izuku took all three of his. He could run faster with them. They booked it as above them they heard the door to Hitoshi’s room slam open. Izuku led them around the side of the duplex to get out of the window's line of sight as quickly as possible before ducking into the closest alley.

Hitsohi’s parkour wasn’t good enough to take them to the rooftops; so, alleys it was. Once they were a few blocks away, Izuku led them to a park he’d met Ekikyō in a few times. They camped out in a secluded clearing while Izuku texted Uraraka. Hitoshi needed the break if his gasped breaths were anything to go by. Izuku frowned in worry. Had his friend eaten anything today? He shouldn’t be that worn out from their run.

He looked back down to his message, reading it over one last time before sending it. “Hey, Uraraka, by any chance, would you want to hang out today? Hitoshi and I can’t go home at the moment…” He cringed a little, but there really wasn’t a better way to put it.

Uraraka responded back a few minutes later, and Hitsohi sat up to read it with Izuku. “Sure! We can watch movies on my Flickfix account. Afraid I don’t have much in the way of snacks though…”

Izuku immediately texted back, “That’s okay! We can pick up snacks on the way over since you’re hosting. Where’s your place?” Then in their group chat, Izuku pinged Hatsume. “Hatsume, party at Uraraka’s today. You coming?”

“I hope you have cash, because I’m broke,” Hitoshi said, resting his chin on Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku leaned back against Hitoshi, who seemed taken by surprise by the act, letting both of them fall over to lie on the grass with Izuku half on top of Hitoshi. Izuku laughed. “Yeah, I got us covered. I do some quirk analysis on the side. Pays well in certain circles.” His good mood wavered as he remembered who and what his last paycheck came from.

Hitoshi pushed Izuku off of him and sat back up. He looked down at Izuku, studying him. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Izuku shook his head and sat up. “I’m fine, I swear. Just thought of something. It’s unrelated to my argument with Mom.”

“If you say so.”

The two sat in silence while working out the details of their impromptu get-together over their group chat. Once they had Uraraka’s address—close enough to Aunt Yūku’s to be mildly concerning—and a list of everyone’s preferred snacks, Izuku put his phone away and stretched. He really should have stretched before running to Hitoshi’s place. He was regretting it now that the stiffness was setting in.

Hitoshi took a page from Izuku and stretched beside him. After a minute of silence, he asked uncertainly, “So…what now?”

Izuku wanted to say that now they went and bought snacks, but he knew that wasn’t what Hitoshi meant. He chewed his lower lip for a moment before asking, “How long will he be like…?”

Hitoshi winced and looked away. “At least until tomorrow. Maybe Monday. I don’t know if he’ll have work tomorrow, since he got back early.”

Izuku frowned. “Then you stay with Uraraka or Cheshire or Ciupan until it is safe to go back, or longer if you want to. I’d offer my place too, but…yeah…” Izuku looked down at the ground, twisting a piece of grass between his fingers.

Hitoshi bumped his shoulder against Izuku’s. Izuku looked up to get caught in Hitoshi’s purple eyes. “You’ll be okay too. We’ll figure it out.” Hitoshi’s expression grew less certain, his eyes skating off to the side as he continued, “But…could you not mention what you heard to anyone? Please?”

Izuku’s eyes watered a little as he grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to tell Eraserhead or maybe Ciupan and let hell rain down on Hitoshi’s foster “family,” but Hitoshi had to go and plead with him not to. Izuku suppressed a whine. Was this what Ekikyō felt like when Izuku asked him not to eviscerate Bakugo? He now understood the weird mix of emotions he’d felt from his friend, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“You’re worth defending,” Izuku said, echoing Ekikyō’s words to him. “I’ll keep your secret for now. But, if things get really bad, please don’t ask me to not step in.”

Hitoshi hummed, considering. “Only if I get to tattle on you to Cheshire when you get hurt.” There was his teasing smirk again. Izuku had missed it.

Izuku grinned. “Don’t suppose I can stop you. You do have her number.” Izuku pulled himself to his feet and held a hand out to help Hitoshi up. “Oh, Maiko seems to be doing better, by the way. She actually used her quirk on me this morning.”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows rose as he took his friend’s help in standing. “Really?”

Izuku smiled as they picked up their bags and started walking. He rambled on about Maiko’s quirk as they made their way across town.

---

Nezu’s tail twitched in annoyance when Yamada called to report that Midoriya was not at the Mugojō-Shinso residence. He had been there a half-hour ago, unless Midoriya was good enough at coding to throw a false location. As interesting as that would be, it wasn’t plausible. Midoriya was a quick study, but he was still having some trouble keeping coding languages separate.

“Do the Mugojōs have any idea where the boys might have gone?” he asked Yamada.

“Nope. Mugojō-san seemed pretty annoyed about it. Just let me…Oh, that’s interesting.”

“Hm?”

“Some of the bushes on the side of the building have broken branches, and there are leaves scattered. The window above the damage is open. Looks like they may have snuck out.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Why sneak out? Did they catch Nezu tracing Midoriya’s phone? Did they flee when Yamada showed up or before? Why? And where were they now?

“Alright, Yamada, proceed to your meeting with Tsukauchi. I’ll keep looking on my end.” Nezu said before hanging up. He sat back in his chair and picked up his cup of tea to take a long sip. Now he had two missing boys on his paws instead of one. At least neither boy was alone. That would offer them some degree of protection. Now, he was back to square one. To hack and trace or not to?

For a change of pace, he got an answer before he could decide. His computer pinged. Midoriya’s school laptop was online. Nezu’s perked up as he focused on the notification for a moment. Then he opened a window to compose an email.

“Greetings, Midoriya-kun!
I’m reaching out to check that you are well. During my parent-teacher conference with your mother this morning, she mentioned that you had not returned home last night. Given how tired you were from Recovery Girl’s quirk, I was understandably concerned. Anshin-san mentioned you stayed the night with her before going to see a friend when staff called her, but I wanted to contact you directly to make sure. Are you somewhere safe?
Am I bear, a mouse, or a dog?
-Principal Nezu”

Nezu waited patiently while his student composed a response. He resisted the urge to track the boy’s location or activate the laptop’s audio or webcam. If he was as careful as Anshin-san said, then Izuku must be somewhere safe to have turned the laptop back on.

“Good morning, Nezu-sensei!
I apologize for causing concern. I just needed a break from Mom. I didn’t mean to make everyone else worry! I’m fine, really. I have a lot more energy than yesterday, even went for a run this morning. But you didn’t ask about that…
I’m at Uraraka’s place with Hitoshi, and Hatsume’s on her way over too. We’re going to watch movies and Hatsume’s recording of the Sports Festival. So, we can see what we missed. (Mostly what I missed.) I’m working on some of my 1-A/1-B analyses while we’re waiting for Hatsume.
Hopefully, I didn’t cause too much trouble on your day off.
-Midoriya Izuku”

Nezu relaxed more knowing that his student was well and with multiple friends. Still, a tiny bit of worry remained. So, he sent a follow-up email.

“As glad as I am to hear that, Midoriya-kun, I must ask that you be careful this weekend. It was brought to my attention yesterday that there is a trafficking group active that has been targeting quirkless people in our area. I hate to say it, but you may already be a target after the Sports Festival if they know the significance of the shoes you wear.”

Izuku’s response to this took a little longer to come through, but Nezu chuckled when he saw there was a picture attached: Izuku leaning against Hitoshi on a sofa with Uraraka in the background opening a bottle of soda. “Oh! You’re probably worried I got kidnapped. Here’s a picture to prove I’m actually okay and not sending emails under duress. I’ll be careful.”

Nezu examined the picture a little more closely, comparing the boy he met on the first day of the semester to the boy in the picture. Midoriya did look a lot happier and more comfortable in his own skin. He’d grown more confident. Nezu didn’t want to undo that progress or break Izuku’s trust in him, not with how things looked to be going with the case against his mother. He made a decision. “Try to avoid traveling alone or after dark when you can, and we’ll discuss additional security measures when you come in on Monday. If you could keep me updated as to where you’re staying until then, it would be much appreciated.”

Izuku emailed back a confirmation, and Nezu allowed himself to relax more fully. Midoriya was safe for the time being. Now, he could focus on ensuring he stayed that way. Yamada’s meeting with Detective Tsukauchi should officially kick off their abuse investigations: the Aldera school system, Bakugo Katsuki, and Midoriya Inko.

If the detective thought they had enough evidence of neglect and emotional abuse as is—or if they found enough evidence of such during the course of their investigation—Izuku was going to need a temporary or long-term change in living arrangements. The Bakugos—who would certainly be Midoriya Inko’s first choice—were out of the question. Anshin may be a possibility, but she wasn’t an immediate solution, given the questions surrounding how Izuku and her knew each other, nor was it likely to be a permanent one given the household income her address suggested. (Could she afford to feed the extra mouth and pay UA tuition and transportation? Even with scholarships, a growing teenage boy—and his occasionally visiting friend—ate a substantial amount.)

That left UA. This wasn’t the first time a student’s custody had become an issue; they had protocols established to handle it. Usually the duty of guardianship—barring contraindications in quirks or other circumstantial matters—fell to the student’s homeroom teacher or department head. However, Maijima was already set to take guardianship of a student later in the semester when the girl’s parents left the country for an extended business trip involving I-Island and much of Europe as well as the majority of the school year. Emergency foster licensure only allowed for one foster child at a time. He could take Midoriya on temporarily, but the boy could use some stability and a sense of normalcy sooner rather than later. Routine was important to young humans’ sense of safety. With Midoriya already having anxiety, Nezu didn’t wish to uproot him more times than necessary.

Much to Nezu’s dissatisfaction, he couldn’t take Izuku in either, despite being the Analysis department head. He didn’t have a foster license, let alone an emergency one. The Hero Commission had given him his hero license and allowed him to retain ownership and autonomous management of UA, but in winning those battles, Nezu had sacrificed what he thought was a smaller, less important fight. Now he wished he had fought harder against the judgment that “a non-human shouldn’t be entrusted with the sole responsibility of raising of a human child.”

Nezu pulled up his phone contact for Aizawa and dialed. After the gruff teacher picked up, Nezu said, “Midoriya’s safe for now. He’s staying with a group of friends and celebrating how well they all did in the Festival, and he’s agreed to keep me updated as to his whereabouts. We’ll speak to him on Monday. How are things on your end?”

“I’ve got the boxes out of the guest room, but cleaning will take a while. Why do I still have these case files from five years ago? Might have to get a spot in the precinct’s records room at this rate. Anyway, the kid’s not allergic to cats, right?”

Nezu smiled. “No such allergy is listed in his file, but I’ll add it to the list of questions for Monday.”

Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment, and Nezu left him to his work. Nezu hadn’t been surprised when Aizawa volunteered to foster Midoriya when the topic was discussed. Nezu wondered if the man might be able to reignite the boy’s interest in heroics.

Between Midoriya’s behavior at the entrance exam and the third round of the Sports Festival, Nezu suspected the chances of the boy trying on his own a third time were near non-existent. He’d regretted arranging that first match once he saw his student dissociating on stage. He’d known something was going on between him and Bakugo from the way they interacted in the second round, but he hadn’t expected it to be that bad.

He folded his ears back at the memory. He’d rewatched the footage several times while compiling evidence for the Aldera and Bakugo cases. He couldn’t undo his miscalculation, but he could protect his student from further harm.

(Some part of Nezu wondered if he should pass on raising Midoriya even if he had his foster license.)

Chapter Text

Well, Izuku was going to stay at Uraraka’s for the night, but then her landlord decided to be a dick and make up a rule that she was only allowed to have one additional non-family person over at a time. They hadn’t even been that noisy! (Okay, the noise complaint was probably Hatsume somehow making the tv remote explode, but that was one time! You’d think not everyone grew up around explosions or something.)

That had to be illegal, and Izuku was going to find a way to get the landlord in trouble for that. But he wasn’t going to get Uraraka in trouble in the meantime. So, Hitoshi was staying with Uraraka while Izuku stayed at Hatsume’s place tonight. He just had to drop off his vigilante gear somewhere safe first. Not that he didn’t trust Hatsume! Because he did. He just…didn’t want her suping up (or exploding) his vigilante gear. He didn’t have enough money to replace everything if she did.

So, he texted Ciupan. Thankfully, the man got back to him quickly and agreed to meet up at their usual place. Izuku knew he technically shouldn’t be out and about by himself (why had he never considered that his shoes would give him away to the traffickers?!) but he changed into his spray-painted black vigilante shoes instead of his usual reds. Hopefully, that was enough to throw most people off.

He still needed to find someone to custom make or modify some proper combat boots for him. Actually…maybe he’d give Hatsume his unpainted shoes to try with. He did have the blacks, and Nezu was right. The reds weren’t exactly safe to wear at present. (If big heroes like Nezu were getting involved in the investigation, that meant the group was more active, right?)

Anyway, he’d let Hatsume run on ahead to pull out the guest futon for him and make her room as non-hazardous as possible while he met Ciupan at the abandoned apartment building. The ex-vigilante (ex-hero, ex-cage fighter) was waiting for him when he walked in. “Hey, Ciupan. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

The man waved him off, removing his mask and goggles. “No trouble, Green. Now, what’s this about? And what’s with all the bags?”

Izuku scuffed the floor with the toe of one shoe before unslinging his vigilante bag from his shoulder. “I need you to watch my vigilante stuff for a few days. Is…that okay?”

“I mean, sure? Are you alright, kid? Thought you usually kept this stuff at home.”

“Yeah…I, uh, can’t go home at the moment. But!” he quickly added, heading off Ciupan’s response. “I stayed with a friend last night, and I’m staying with another tonight. It’s just…this one is an inventor with a penchant for explosions?”

Ciupan sighed and shook his head, but he took Izuku’s bag from him. “Alright, kid. I’ll keep it safe for you. But I want a full explanation next time I see you. Got it?”

“Got it, Ciupan-sensei! I’d better get going. Nezu warned me about staying out too late with the traffickers hunting,” Izuku said, jogging off with his remaining duffle and backpack.

“Traffickers? Kid, wait!”

Izuku did not wait. He actually made pretty good time to Hatsume's place. Hatsume was waiting for him and ushered him inside as soon as he got there. “My folks already had dinner, because they weren’t sure what time I was getting back. But there’s leftovers in the fridge! Do you want ramen or chawanmushi?” She asked, leading him to the kitchen.

“I haven’t had chawanmushi in ages,” Izuku admitted with a grin. “Thanks again for letting me crash here, Hatsume.”

“No problem,” Hatsume said, waving dismissively as she rummaged through the fridge. “I know you’d do the same if our situations were reversed.”

After eating, they headed down the hall to Hatsume’s…room. Izuku wasn’t sure if he should call it a bedroom or a workshop really. He was just glad there weren’t any precarious piles of inventions within collapsing distance of the rolled-out futon. It was only as he stepped into the room that it occurred to him that he was in a girl’s room. Blush climbed his neck and cheeks, and he sounded a little strangled as he asked, “Are you s-sure it’s okay for me to stay in here?”

Hatsume glanced over from where she was pulling some pajamas out of her dresser. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

After a minute’s indecision Izuku just shook his head and choked out “never mind” before retreating to the bathroom with his own change of clothes. He made sure to knock and wait for Hatsume’s okay to head back into her room. Hatsume was sitting cross-legged on top of her covers, working away on a pad of graph paper, no doubt designing something. He settled onto his futon and pulled his school laptop out again to email Nezu an update and work on his analysis notes some more. He still needed to update Maiko’s file after all.

That quiet camaraderie continued until Izuku remembered he wanted to ask Hatsume about doing something to his shoes. So, he snapped his laptop closed and plugged it into the wall to charge along with his home laptop. “Hey, Hatsume?”

She hummed without looking up from her work.

“You know how q-quirkless people have the extra toe joint? Well, there’s only really one brand of shoe that fits us well, and I was wondering if…” he trailed off as Hatsume looked up from her blueprint to study his bare feet, quirked eyes rotating slightly.

Then she narrowed her eyes and tapped her pencil against her notepad. “Having only one choice of shoe is pretty boring, and are they even steel-toed? Do they have ankle or arch support?”

“Uh…no…”

“Well, that won’t do. Want me to make something? If it’s specifically designed for a quirkless foot, I won’t even have to deal with getting it approved. Since support gear is by definition designed to aid a quirk, anything I make for you doesn’t class as support gear! I could design so many more things without all that red tape. Makes me kinda sad there aren’t any quirkless heroes.”

“Yeah.” Izuku dug his red sneakers out of his bag and held them out to Hatsume. “Do whatever you want to them as long as you don’t keep the red color. I spray-painted my other pair.”

Hatsume set her blueprints aside to take the shoes to examine. She turned one over in her hands before making a sound of disgust. “These things are shoddy. I’d be surprised if a pair lasted you more than six months ever.”

Izuku flopped back on his futon. “Try three. I run a lot and sometimes do parkour or freerunning.” Or vigilante-ing. At Hatsume’s small sound of indignation, Izuku smiled and added, “And they cost more than normal store-bought sneakers.”

“That’s it! I cannot let this injustice in craftsmanship stand. That is price gouging or extortion or…something. Hatsume Mei is going to invent the world’s closest thing to an indestructible quirkless sneaker, and it will be affordable!”

Izuku laughed as his friend tore the pages she’d been working on earlier from her pad of graph paper and set them aside to start working on a new sketch. He fell asleep to the sound of a pencil scratching on paper.

He woke to a scream. He flailed his way to his feet and a fighting stance before he was fully awake. “What’s…” He paused to yawn. “Going on?”

“Hatsume Mei, why is there a boy in your bedroom?”

Oh. Oh no. This was worse than waking up to being attacked. That was the mom voice. His brain caught the rest of the way up as he realized there was a woman standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She had the same pink hair as Mei, though hers fell in loose waves rather than dreadlocks.

“Morning, Mom,” Hatsume said, seemingly unbothered. “This is Analyst-kun. He needed somewhere to spend the night. So, I let him use the guest futon. Didn’t want you guys tripping over him when you got up; so, I set it up in here.”

Hatsume’s mom turned baleful eyes on Izuku.

“H-hi, Hatsume-san. I’m Midoriya Izuku. I’m in Hatsume’s homeroom.”

Hatsume’s mom did not look impressed.

---

Izuku beat a hasty retreat after breakfast. He felt kinda bad that Hatsume got in trouble, but how was he supposed to know she hadn’t told her parents he was staying over? He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt a little guilty.

Because of that, he didn’t want to stay at Hatsume’s place again tonight. He also didn’t want to stay at Yūku’s place (and eat all her food) again too soon. Having nowhere else lined up yet, Izuku decided to text Ciupan again before his vigilante phone died.

That was how he found himself sitting across from Ciupan on the floor of their abandoned apartment building with a bag of Chinese takeout between them a few hours later. Ciupan unloaded containers of rice, sweet and sour chicken, and lo mein before addressing the elephant in the room. “So, kid. You going to tell me what’s going on?”

Izuku fiddled with one of the water bottles Ciupan had brought to give his hands something to do. “Mom and I had a fight…”

“Do you mind if I ask what it was about?” His sensei asked, tone still gruff but softer.

Izuku chewed on his lower lip for a good minute before he started talking. He told Ciupan about his mom being mad about him learning how to fight and “hurting” Bakugo in the Sports Festival. How she didn’t seem to care that Bakugo had hurt him too. How she said he’d changed then forbade him from seeing his best friend, calling him a bad influence. How she didn’t listen. Izuku’s eyes were watering again by the end of it, but he refused to cry about that argument twice in two days.

Ciupan gave him a few minutes to collect himself before speaking. “Kid, Midoriya, I need you to know that you are never in the wrong for defending yourself. Your mother shouldn’t have implied that you were for doing so.” The man twisted the water bottle in his hands, plastic crinkling. “From a parent’s perspective, I’d say she’s scared. You grew up when she wasn’t looking. Part of that’s her fault for deciding to not look; part of it’s a lack of communication and a breakdown of trust. Her baby boy suddenly looks like a young man capable of defending himself, someone who doesn’t need her anymore. That’s no excuse for her taking it out on you though. Even if she doesn’t support what you’re doing.”

The water bottle burst under a particularly sharp twist. Ciupan stared down at it for a moment before he shook his head and set the mangled plastic aside. “I made that mistake with my daughter when she wasn’t much older than you. Nearly lost her because of it. Did lose her for a while when Queen Bee possessed her. I got her back in the end, but I wish now that I had heard her out. She wanted to be a musician.”

Izuku straightened up a bit, recognizing the name “Queen Bee” from some of the articles he’d read about vigilantes and the Naruhata attacks a few years ago. Wait, possessed? Was that why Ciupan had acted so weird when Izuku mentioned Ekikyō’s quirk?

“Is she okay?” Izuku asked.

Ciupan nodded. “Lost an eye and gets occasional migraines from the damage Bee did, but she’s alright.”

Izuku winced in sympathy, wondering what shape his brain would be in if Ekikyō hadn’t been so consistently careful with him. “Did…she ever become a musician?”

Ciupan smiled fondly. “Not a famous one, if that’s what you’re asking. She still plays guitar though. The kids at the park back home adore her though. They ask her to play every time they lay eyes on her.”

Izuku found himself matching his trainer’s grin.

“I stop by to listen to her sometimes. She’s good.” Ciupan paused and caught Izuku’s eyes with his one. “You’re good too, kid. I watched your performance at the Sports Festival. You’ve improved a lot in a short time, and you should be proud of that. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Izuku wanted to argue, but his heart wasn’t in it. ‘Anyone’ included himself after all. He gave a small huff. “I’ll do my best, sensei.”

Ciupan nodded. “Good.” Then he stood up on creaking legs and popped his back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough feelings for one day. How do you feel about sparring? Or I could show you a few new tricks with that shoge hook of yours, make you into a real menace for your Sports Festival next year?”

Izuku laughed, and it was a little more genuine. “Hai, sensei.”

Outtake

“So, what’s this about traffickers?” Ciupan asked while chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

Izuku paused in unpacking his laptop by the sofa and took a deep breath. Better to get this out of the way now rather than later, he supposed. If Ciupan was going to kick Izuku out, it might as well be before he unpacked everything. He stuffed his laptop back in his bag and didn’t look at Ciupan as he answered, “There’s a group in the area that’s been kidnapping quirkless people.”

The steady chop of vegetables ceased. “You’re quirkless?” Ciupan sounded surprised more than anything. Then he laughed. “Well, you’re in good company, kid.”

Izuku’s brain short-circuited, and he spun around to look at Ciupan. “What?”

Ciupan set his knife on the cutting board and walked over. “Yep. I’m quirkless too. Wasn’t born this way, but quirks aren’t as permanent as people would like to believe.”

“That makes no sense. You were a hero; as O’Clock you—”

“Bit off more than I could chew,” Ciupan interrupted. He sank into the chair next to the sofa. “Tell me, Midoriya, have you ever heard of the quirk boogieman?”

Chapter Text

Izuku spent the rest of the evening listening to Ciupan recount how he’d encountered the villain who was as much myth as man, a monster who since the dawn of quirks had stalked the shadows of Japan. Ciupan also told Izuku about his second encounter with the man in Naruhata, though the vigilante admitted he was only half convinced that the second encounter happened, given that he was dying and having an out of body experience at the time. This led to Izuku learning yet another moniker his mentor had gone under: Knuckleduster. Honestly, that one was pretty fitting.

All in all, it was a pretty decent evening, and the prospect of a quirk-stealing quirk existing thoroughly distracted Izuku from his own problems. His mind ticked over theories and questions well into the night, but somehow, he did manage to fall asleep. Ciupan’s sofa wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but the man made a mean ramen and told great stories. 10/10 would camp out there again. The only downside was having to wake up extra early to make the trek to UA the next morning.

Oguro—as he insisted on being called when in civvies—sent him off with natto on toast, some lunch money (which Izuku tried and failed to refuse), and a confirmation that they were still on for training that afternoon. On the way to school, Izuku turned his vigilante phone on to see if he’d gotten any messages while it was dead. (No way was he taking it out to charge at Hatsume’s; her sharp eyes wouldn’t have missed it. He’d only gotten to charge it after going to Ciupan’s apartment.)

He had. Several in fact. Most of them were from a rather annoyed Eraserhead who had patrolled last night for the first time since the USJ attack and was wondering where Naisho was.

Eraserhead was cleared to work again? Izuku smiled and texted back the same excuse he’d given Giran. He did congratulate the hero on his full recovery though. It would be nice working with his second sensei again. Izuku could hardly wait for the weekend, and the week had barely started.

He had a spring in his step the rest of the way to UA and his homeroom. He was brought up short by Maijima-sensei telling him to go talk to Nezu in his office instead of stay for class. Confused and a little nervous Izuku obeyed. Nezu had said he wanted to talk to him about security today, but Izuku had thought the principal had meant during his afternoon classes, not the second he arrived on campus.

Nezu’s office door opened for him as he approached. Izuku hesitated in the doorway as he noticed Detective Tsukauchi standing in one corner of the room. The greeting he’d been about to give Nezu died on his tongue.

“Midoriya, come in,” Nezu said, chipper as ever. “The Detective is assisting on the trafficking case, and I thought it pertinent to include him for the first part of our meeting.”

Tsukauchi grinned apologetically at Izuku. “We really must stop meeting like this, Midoriya.”

Izuku forced himself to relax slightly as he nodded to the detective. He allowed himself a small grin as he said, “Hey, at least it’s before something bad happened to me this time instead of after.”

The detective gave a small chuckle, and they all slipped into their seats. The door clicked shut, and Nezu served their tea. Izuku noted it was the rose and lavender blend that had been growing on him. Once Nezu settled back in at his desk, they got started.

Tsukauchi took out a notepad this time instead of his recorder. “Midoriya, it’s been brought to our attention that there have been several disappearances in the area, but especially in western Musutafu’s neighborhoods surrounding the warehouse district.”

Izuku sat up a little straighter. That was Yūku’s part of town. How had he missed this?

Tsukauchi continued without noticing Izuku’s sudden interest. “Several of those disappearances line up with the target demographic of a trafficking group we recently learned of. Have you noticed anything or anyone suspicious around your aunt’s home or your own in the past few months?”

Izuku’s head swam as he parsed the detective’s words. Target demographic? He paled as realization set in. He meant quirkless people. Quirkless people in his city had been disappearing, and he hadn’t even known. “I-I…No, no I haven’t seen anything that could match up with that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Midoriya,” The detective said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good that you haven’t run into anyone connected to this. They would have gone after you too.”

Izuku shrugged. “Um, a-anything else I can help with?”

“Actually, I did want to ask for your perspective as a quirkless person,” Tsukauchi said, withdrawing his hand to open his pen and poise it over his notepad. “Do you have any ideas or suggestions as to how this group might be identifying and tracking targets?”

Izuku tilted his head. He supposed most people with quirks wouldn’t know what to look for. “Our shoes, for one. There’s only one brand of quirkless shoe in Japan.” When the two adults glanced down at his shoes, Izuku fidgeted. “They’re usually a bright red. Spray painted these ones a while back to try a different look.

“If they had a hacker or found someone willing to sell them the shoe company’s sales files…Then again, the same could be said for doctors or anyone with clearance at the quirk registrar’s office.” Izuku shrugged. “Maybe check if the missing had any doctor or service in common or ordered shoes within the same time frame? There are quirkless forums too. They’re supposed to be safe spaces, but well, hacked accounts and catfishers happen.”

Nezu’s tail twitched. “Like the server you mentioned with a Humarise recruiter?”

Tsukauchi whipped around to stare at Nezu. “A what?”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah, like that.”

Tsukauchi looked between the two of them before shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m not in the counter-terrorism division; they can deal with that.”

Nezu hummed. “You might contact the division to see if Humarise has a mailing list. That would be another avenue to investigate.”

Tsukauchi nodded even as he sighed. “Why do the legwork when you can just steal a list from someone who isn’t going to report the crime because of their own hang-ups with law enforcement?”

Now Izuku was looking between the two adults in confusion. He could kinda understand their worry about Humarise. That group had been preaching increasingly worrisome rhetoric the past few years, but why were they worried about quirkless people disappearing now? The two adults turned to stare at him, and Izuku blushed. His mumbling had betrayed him again. He cleared his throat. “I-I mean…quirkless people have been targets for the last generation and a half. Why do the police care all of a sudden?”

Tsukauchi’s eyebrows drew inward. “What do you mean, Midoriya?”

Izuku studied the man’s face for a moment before deciding the man was either very good at playing dumb, or he simply hadn’t noticed. Izuku sighed. “Go look through your department’s cold cases, Detective. This isn’t something new. If it’s not traffickers, it’s hate crimes or job discrimination. Quirkless people know not to expect long lives. Not in Japan, at least.”

Tsukauchi paled as his quirk confirmed how serious Izuku was. After a moment he coughed and tried to shake off his surprise. “Looking for misfiled cases is a good idea. This pattern might have been going on longer than reported.” He made another note on his notepad before returning his attention to Izuku. “Thanks for your help, Midoriya.”

There was a pause as Tsukauchi sighed and exchanged his notepad for the recorder Izuku was familiar with. Izuku narrowed his eyes in suspicion. A recorder meant an official statement, but he hadn’t seen anything to do with the trafficker case. (Which struck him as a bit odd, considering he was a vigilante; maybe he needed to change up his patrol route if criminals were learning to avoid it?) Tsukauchi shot him an apologetic look for the second time since he walked in, and Izuku stiffened, senses on alert.

“I am sorry about this, Midoriya, but Nezu asked me to go over a few other things with you. If you could answer these questions honestly, we’ll get through them quickly.”

Izuku guardedly nodded.

“Alright.” Tsukauchi clicked the recording on and gave their names and today’s date. “Beginning the interview with Midoriya Izuku in regards to the ongoing investigations of his abuse. Midoriya, do you feel safe at home?”

Investigations? Abuse? Izuku was torn between confusion and outrage. How could they just spring this on him? Why were they digging into his life? Did they think his mom hurt him? What gave them the right? He was fine. (“He wasn’t,” whispered a voice in the back of his head that sounded like Ekikyō.)

None of his protests or questions escaped as he gaped at the detective.

Nezu decided to speak up then. “Midoriya,” he said, far too gently. “We all saw your scars during the Sports Festival. You don’t get wounds like those from normal childhood accidents. As heroes and educators, we can’t look the other way when a child is getting hurt.”

One question broke past the emotions clogging Izuku’s throat. “Since when do teachers do that?”

Nezu and Tsukauchi shared a look before Tsukauchi asked, “Has anyone ever defended you before?”

Izuku shook his head before remembering he needed to respond verbally for the recording. “No, um, not aside from my friends.” Izuku was still confused, and he had a feeling it showed.

Nezu sighed. “Then many people have failed you, Midoriya. I know this is a difficult subject, but think of this from another perspective. If you were in charge of the well-being of several hundred children and found out one of them was being injured badly enough to scar, and regularly enough to have more scars than some veteran pro heroes, would you let them continue to be hurt, or would you investigate and ideally save them?”

Izuku’s mind jumped to Hitoshi and his bandaged arms and makeup-covered scars. He wanted to save his friend so badly. Oh, did…was Nezu implying they felt that for him? The fight slowly drained out of him, but some of the confusion remained. Just, why? He wasn’t worth the trouble.

He remembered the last time he felt like that, and Ekikyō’s words then came to mind, unbidden. “You’re worth protecting.” Izuku rubbed at his face, surprised that his eyes were still dry. He slowly nodded, not meeting either adult’s eyes.

“I don’t mean to imply anything about your mother, Midoriya,” Tsukauchi said quietly. “But it’s standard procedure to ask if there’s a suspected abuse case, regardless of who we think might be responsible.”

“I understand,” Izuku mumbled. He chewed his lip as he thought about the detective’s earlier question. Did he feel safe at home? Thinking of the word “home” brought up far too many images, only half of them being of his and his mom’s apartment. “I’m safe at home.”

Tsukauchi made a face and blinked. “Sorry, I got a strange reading with that one. Hm. Ah, do you feel safe with Midoriya Inko?”

“Yes,” Izuku said. For all that she didn’t understand, she would never raise a hand to him or hurt him (physically).

“Good. Could you tell us about what spurred you to leave home the day of the Sports Festival?”

Izuku winced and wrung his fingers. Running away wasn’t a crime, right? “We had a fight…” Izuku summarized the events dispassionately, taking a mental step back. He didn’t want anyone to get in trouble, but he was so done with reliving this stupid argument. He just wanted to get this over with. After he finished with fleeing the apartment he waited in silence for their reactions.

“Midoriya?” Nezu asked. He studied Izuku’s face when he looked up. After a few moments, the mammal tilted his head. “Why don’t you tell us about what a day in your life looked like when you were in middle school. It’ll give us some perspective.”

Izuku considered the request before nodding. He kept his mental distance as he recounted his routine prior to Ekikyō: wake up, go to school, get hurt in some way or other, get belittled by a teacher or his classmates, hide at lunch, run out as fast as he could after lessons let out, and race home to nurse his wounds. He gave them more detail than that, but that was the gist of it.

The silence when he finished lasted longer this time. Tsukauchi wrote a few notes on his notepad, which Izuku had missed him pulling back out at some point. That confused Izuku. He already had the recorder running. Maybe he was writing additional questions down?

When he finished writing, Tsukauchi met Izuku’s eyes again and asked, “Are all of your older, not-green, scars from school?”

Izuku thought a while, trying to recall where each came from. He pushed his hair back to show a small scar by his hairline. “This one was from falling off the monkey bars at the park; otherwise, yes.”

“How were your injuries treated?”

“I treated them myself until recently,” Izuku said remembering the trial and error of learning to properly wrap burns, how tight was too tight, and when not to wrap them. At least he hadn’t needed to use Eraserhead’s lessons on applying stitches yet.

“Your mother never took you to a hospital or doctor for your wounds?”

Izuku shook his head before remembering himself. “No. I hid the injuries after the first few times. Never got caught.” Quieter, more to himself than the adults, he added. “Probably should have been though.”

“Why did you hide them?”

“Because she couldn—” Izuku bit his lip, remembering Tsukauchi’s quirk. He wasn’t going to buy that lie. Izuku’s shoulders sagged and he looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers tightly together as he admitted his cowardice, “I-I didn’t want to know if she’d do anything about it or not.”

“Did she before you started hiding the injuries?”

“She talked to Ba—the other kids’ mom, but nothing changed. It was only worse the next time, because he was angry I tattled. So, I figured, telling doesn’t fix anything and only makes her cry. So, why tell?”

“One last question about your mom before we move on, Midoriya. If you went home today, what do you think would happen? Would anything change?”

Izuku scrunched up his eyebrows. That was a weird question. Why ask about things that haven’t happened? Someone couldn’t get in trouble for something they hadn’t even done yet. “She’d probably try to get me to transfer to Zonama again and tell me to apologize to Bakugo. Which is not happening. I am not apologizing for defending myself,” he said lowly, anger bitter on his tongue.

Ciupan was right. He was within his rights to defend himself. Bakugo wasn’t in using his quirk. As if anyone would ever punish Bakugo though. Izuku barely suppressed a scoff.

“And we’re not asking you to,” Nezu said, pulling Izuku from his negative thoughts. He shot Tsukauchi a look.

The detective subtly nodded and flipped his notepad closed. “That’s it for the questions,” Tsukauchi said before closing out the recording. “Only other thing is your scars. Recovery Girl already documented them after the USJ and Sports Festival, but there are a few that we need accurate measurements of for the case,” he said apologetically. “I can take measurements, or someone else can, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Izuku almost told him to go ahead before remembering this detective had been (possibly still was?) on the Sludge Villain case. He could not let the man get more of a look at his green scars than he already had. “Um, can Nezu take them? S-sorry…”

“No worries, kid. Nezu knows which ones we need. I’ll wait for his email. Stay safe and don’t hesitate to call if you ever see or hear anything suspicious.” Tsukauchi put his hat on and tipped it before stepping out, closing the door behind him.

Izuku swallowed and glanced at Nezu. His sensei had walked around his desk to stand before him with a tape measure. “They need the length of each of your lacerations and the dimensions of the larger scars.”

Izuku nodded and rolled up his pant leg for Nezu to get the stab wound scar there while he unbuttoned his blazer and shirt. Then he remembered he had half a dozen fresh bruises decorating his skin from messing up with his shoge hook yesterday. He was so glad now that he hadn’t given himself a black eye. That would have been embarrassing. As Nezu hopped up onto the sofa behind him to get the scars on his back, Izuku said, “Um…the bruises are from sparring. I told you I stayed at my trainer’s place last night.”

“Noted.”

Neither of them spoke again until Nezu finished measuring what felt like every burn, scratch, and scrape on Izuku’s torso and arms. Izuku refused to think or feel anything about the situation. He just wanted to get it over with. He twisted his undershirt in his hands as he stared at the tea set across the room.

A tap on his arm told Izuku when Nezu was done. As Izuku turned away and slipped his blazer back on, Nezu rested a paw on Izuku’s shoulder, carefully avoiding his scars. Izuku looked over his shoulder at his teacher. “Thank you for trusting me, Midoriya.” He hopped off the sofa and started walking back around his desk. “Oh, and sending Tsukauchi out was a wise choice if you wanted to preserve your friend’s identity.”

Chapter Text

Izuku stared wide-eyed at Nezu. Nezu smiled and poured another cup of tea. Then he moved on as if he didn’t just claim to know who Ekikyō was.

“There are a few things I wish to discuss with you now that Tsukauchi’s gone. Firstly, I want to apologize for you being forced to face Bakugo in the tournament. If I had known…” Nezu shook his head. “I would have changed the matches. I’m sorry we put you in that position.”

Izuku waved his arms in front of him. “You didn’t know! And I’m okay now.”

“That still doesn’t make it happening in the first place right.” Nezu actually stood in his chair and bowed. “I promise to do better by you in the future.”

“Nezu-sensei, please…” Izuku couldn’t handle the principal of the premier hero school in Japan bowing to him. This was too much.

Finally, Nezu rose from his bow and sat back down. The next topic was calmer, though just as overwhelming. “Midoriya, have you ever considered therapy?”

Izuku frowned and tilted his head. “No?” Why did he have the feeling that was the wrong answer?

Nezu hummed. “The majority of pro heroes see a therapist at least once in their career. Many see one regularly. That’s because of the high incidence of injury and traumatic experience in the field. But you don’t have to be a hero to experience trauma. Given your panic attack at the beginning of the year, your presence for and injury in the USJ attack, and the way you dissociated on stage during the Festival, let alone the kidnapping of your person last year, I think you could benefit greatly from it.”

Izuku wasn’t sure what he thought of that. He wanted to say he didn’t need it, but…His anxiety medication helped, and he wouldn’t have tried it without being prescribed it while he was badly burned. He would have said he didn’t need it too, back then. So, Izuku wasn’t going to write therapy off right away, but… “Is there someone who’d be willing to take on a quirkless person? With the security risk and all?”

Nezu nodded and hummed again. “I understand your trepidation. Hound Dog handles in-house therapy if you wish to see him, or I can vet another therapist for you.”

Izuku perked up at the mention of the other pro. It was one of the lesser-known facts on the hero forums, but Hound Dog did have a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s in counseling. Izuku had always thought it was cool when a hero had a clear second interest outside of heroics. It let people bring something unique to their jobs as heroes.

Because of his degrees and quirk, Hound Dog was a frequent go-to for runaway cases. Which oddly enough, Izuku technically was. He giggled at the thought. “Well, I am one of Hound Dog’s usuals.”

Nezu laughed. “Not many know about his work with runaways. It’s good to see you’re informed. He’ll email you later today to set up an appointment.”

Izuku nodded. Distantly, he heard the bell ring signaling homeroom was over. He shifted nervously in his seat.

Nezu picked up on his anxiousness and said, “Don’t worry. You have a pass for all your classes today if you need it. We won’t be too much longer here. I did want to go over potential security measures to keep you safe given that you’re a target of an active villain group. While you’re on campus, you’re safe, but I’d like to offer you something to take with you off-campus.” Nezu opened his desk drawer and pulled out what looked like one of those touchscreen watch/phones Izuku couldn’t afford.

“This has a panic button that activates a silent alarm and a tracker embedded in the device,” Nezu said, pointing to a button on the side of the touchscreen.

“You want to put a tracker on me?” Izuku asked, somewhere between tired and offended.

“I assure you it only sends your location when an alarm triggers,” Nezu said calmly. “It also monitors your vitals and triggers an automated alarm if there’s a significant change such as what might be expected with a panic attack, serious injury, or loss of consciousness in case you can’t trigger the alarm manually. It comes with a ‘learning mode’ that lasts a few days to get adjusted to the normal range of your vitals, and there’s an option to set a secondary ‘normal’ for when your friend is around,” Nezu said, winking.

Well, there went Izuku's one argument against it. Nezu was definitely onto him and Ekikyō. Though if Nezu knew (or suspected) who Ekikyō was, why wasn’t he trying to have Ekikyō arrested? “Sensei?”

Nezu grinned, seeming to guess Izuku’s train of thought. “This isn’t an elaborate ploy to track and imprison your friend. After all, I owe him the life of my student. As long as he continues to cause no trouble while here and murders no one else, I see no reason to protest him learning at my institution. But that’s if he is who I think he is. I have no real proof, you see. It could just be that your scent fluctuates on occasion.” Nezu leaned back in his chair and smiled. “As long as you are happy and unhurt?”

Plausible deniability. Izuku could work with that, though he was a little embarrassed that the principal’s sense of smell had given him away twice now. He’d have to be more careful of that in the future and talk to Ekikyō the next time he was in town. “I’m fine Nezu; his quirk doesn’t hurt me.”

That out of the way, Izuku only had one other concern. Pointing at the emergency tracker, he asked, “Can I take it off, or is it stuck once it’s on?” He couldn’t very well patrol as Naisho with it permanently strapped to his wrist.

“It has a combination fingerprint and password/voice lock.” Once it’s set up, only you should be able to remove it. It automatically locks whenever an alarm is triggered, which should prevent someone else removing it if you’re unconscious.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Izuku admitted. It sounded like a piece of actual support gear or maybe a reprogrammed house arrest tracking band. He thought over the pros and cons one more time before saying, “Okay. How do I set it up?”

Nezu smiled and walked him through fitting the band, setting up his password and fingerprint recognition, and how to activate the ‘learning’ mode. The band snugged down to his wrist but was still flexible enough to not be restrictive. It did, in fact, function as the watch it looked like to act as a cover for its true purpose, though the phone connectivity appeared to have been sacrificed to make room for the other tech.

As the novelty wore off, Izuku gnawed on his lip. The rest of the meeting was beginning to catch up to him. He cast a furtive glance to his teacher, who was typing away on his computer with a look of concentration while Izuku got used to operating his watch. “Sensei?”

One ear twitched toward him; then Nezu turned to face him fully. “Yes, Midoriya?”

“What’s going to happen when the investigations finish?”

Nezu’s expression grew a touch somber as he said, “We figure things out. If a student needs new living arrangements, generally custody would fall to a family member, but if one’s unavailable, the student’s homeroom teacher or department head would step in. Normally.”

Izuku frowned.

“Maijima is already committed to taking temporary custody of another student this year, and an emergency foster license only allows for one charge at a time. Next in line would be me, but the Commission wouldn’t issue me one.” Nezu shook his head. “Aizawa has a second room set up and has volunteered to take you in if it comes to that, or if you need somewhere to spend the night safely during the investigation. Provided you aren’t allergic to cats, of course.”

Izuku shook his head at the last before responding to the rest. “I…really?”

“Yes. It seems you made quite the impression on him at the USJ.”

“But he wasn’t even conscious for that!”

Nezu chuckled. “Only Aizawa knows his own mind, but I can assure you he’s a good hero and person. You don’t have to make a decision until the investigations are far enough along to press charges, but if you need his hospitality before then, he asked me to pass along his number.” Nezu handed Izuku a card with a familiar number on it. “Go rest in Recovery Girl’s office for at least the rest of this period. If you feel up to it once you’ve processed, you can return to classes, or you can leave for the day. It’s been rather emotionally taxing, and it’s not even 10:00 yet.”

Izuku numbly nodded and walked from the office.

---

Nezu watched the security camera feed until he was certain his student made it safely to Chiyo. Then he sent a message to Aizawa letting him know to impress on Bakugo how unwise it would be for him to seek Midoriya out again. Nezu had seen the blonde stomp his way to the Support building to stalk the halls before homeroom. Whatever he thought he was doing looking for Midoriya, Nezu was not letting it happen.

He also messaged the entirety of the Support department’s and the Business department’s staff to let them know to send the boy to his office if they caught him lurking in their buildings. Bakugo was already on Nezu’s watch list after the incident in his first heroics lesson, but after grabbing Midoriya outside of a match and then going after Shinso after he’d been warned…he was getting detention all this week. Nezu was still debating barring him from internships. He was holding off on more permanent punishment until the investigation into him and his former schools concluded.

Speaking of…Nezu sent off the email to Tsukauchi with all of Midoriya’s scars’ measurements. The detective had already requested Bakugo’s measurements from the Support department. Nezu had a feeling the hero student’s hand would match the print on Midoriya’s shoulder. He would not be lenient if that were the case. Assault with a deadly weapon (or a quirk) was a felony, after all.

He exhaled slowly and dialed Yamada on his office phone. “Hello, Present Mic, is Tsukauchi at your location yet?”

“He’s ten minutes out,” the Voice Hero reported. “Our appointment with Aldera Middle School’s principal is in 30.”

Nezu’s tail swished behind him. “Excellent. Activate the program once you have verbal confirmation.”

“You really think they’ll doctor their records?”

“95% certain. And once I dig through their files and acquire the originals—which they’ll be agreeing to give us under warrant and in the hearing of a police detective, they’ll have no recourse. If the files they give you differ in any significant way from what I find, they’ll be getting an additional falsifying of legal documents and obstruction of justice charge. Per file.”

Yamada whistled. “I hope for their sake they’re honest.”

---

Izuku did go back to class, but not until fourth period. (After very carefully shoving everything in a box and pushing it to the back of his brain where he could process it later.) His friends seemed to sense something was wrong—well, more wrong—and stuck close to him whenever they could until classes let out for the day. Then Izuku went to training with Ciupan. He burned off a lot of nervous energy there, but he still couldn’t settle by the time night fell.

Eventually, Ciupan rolled his eyes at Izuku and tossed him a key. “Go take it out on some criminals and not my rug.”

Izuku hadn’t even realized he’d been pacing. So, he took Ciupan’s advice, changing into his vigilante gear—complete with new motorcycle pants—and debated wearing his hoodie versus applying makeup over the new and very recognizable scar on his left arm. He eventually decided on the makeup. It was getting warmer out, and it wasn’t supposed to rain tonight. He would have better maneuverability without the hoodie. Lastly, he removed his emergency tracker and set it on top of his bag.

He checked himself over in the mirror one last time. Black beanie, green motorcycle goggles, armored short-sleeved motorcycle shirt and pants, elbow and knee pads, fingerless gloves with padded knuckles, knife holster strapped to his waist and right thigh, pouch of grappling hooks attached to the holster at his left hip, black shoes, and Stain’s knife tucked into the right shoe. He picked up his hoodie and tested where he’d been forced to stitch the material back together after that pawnshop robber clawed it. It had been Ekikyō’s idea to use neon green thread, but it turned out looking pretty cool. The next rain would tell him if it was good enough though. Setting the hoodie on the counter, he transferred the medical supplies from its pockets to the cargo pockets on his pants and called it done.

As he walked back into the living room, Ciupan checked him over, making sure his gear fit properly. Then he handed Izuku something made of leather and canvas straps. He gave the man a confused look.

Ciupan smiled and bent down, carefully pulling Izuku’s second knife—the little spear point one he took from Stain—from where it was tucked into the side of Izuku's shoe. “You’re going to cut yourself one of these days without a proper sheath.” He pointed to the material in Izuku’s hands. “It straps onto your ankle. Consider it a congratulations on making it to the tournament, Midoriya.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in understanding, and he quickly sat down for Ciupan to show him how to put it on. After walking around in the new ankle holster to get used to the weight and ensure it wasn’t too tight, Izuku smiled. “Thanks, sensei. This is amazing.”

Ciupan roughly tousled Izuku’s hair through his beanie and said, “Nah, that’s all you. Knock ‘em dead, Naisho.”

Izuku fixed his hat and didn’t waste any more time racing for the rooftops. After a few tumbles and rolls to test if the knife would stay where it was supposed to, Izuku set off, heading for the route he’d been running the last few weeks.

30 minutes into his route, he remembered why exactly he’d been running this one. It was Eraserhead’s. The man in question dropped onto the roof next to him, scaring Izuku into flinging a grappling hook at him. The hero dodged the weighted end and grabbed the rope, raising an eyebrow at Izuku. Izuku smiled sheepishly and reeled his grappling hook back in.

“Naisho,” the gruff hero said in greeting.

“Eraserhead,” Izuku said back.

They looked each other over for a minute. Then Izuku said, “Your scars are fading nicely. How are the arms?”

Eraserhead grunted. “They’ve been worse. You updated your gear.”

Izuku nodded. “Yep. The ankle sheath’s a gift from Ciupan.” Izuku couldn’t stop himself from beaming.

Eraserhead snorted and tilted his head toward the edge of the roof in invitation. Izuku nodded, and the pair set off, deviating from Eraserhead’s normal route and heading for Aunt Yūku’s side of town. They stopped atop one of the taller apartment complexes, uncomfortably close to gang territory. What was Eraserhead doing out here?

Eraserhead stood at the corner of the building, surveying the area below for several minutes. “So, what did I miss while I was gone?” the pro finally asked.

“Not too much really. I think all of the halfway competent crooks got picked up for the USJ attack. The ones that were still on your route weren’t much trouble. Only the one guy last week even knew how to throw a proper punch.” Izuku edged forward to stand beside Eraserhead at the edge of the roof. He didn’t look down. “How about things on your end?”

Eraserhead sighed. “I haven’t been able to do as much as I’d like, but I pulled a few more heroes and some police contacts in on the trafficker case you gave me. That’s why we’re out here. There have been over a dozen disappearances in this prefecture in the last year, a number of them occurring in the blocks between here and the waterfront.”

“All quirkless?” Izuku asked, surprised. He honestly hadn’t thought there were that many like him in Musutafu, let alone so close. He may have passed some of them on the street before they were taken and never known.

Eraser shook his head. “Not all, but there doesn’t seem to be a pattern to the others that have gone missing.”

Well, that wasn’t good. “Do you think one of the gangs is involved?”

“I don’t know, kid, but I plan to find out. Stick close, and I don’t want you coming out here solo. Got it?” he asked, angling his head slightly toward Izuku.

“Don’t worry, Eraserhead. I don’t have plans to pick a fight with a gang.”

“Good.”

Izuku expected the hero to start off then, but he didn’t. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Izuku wasn’t expecting the hero to turn toward him and lift his goggles though. Eraserhead studied Izuku’s face long and hard before glancing down. Izuku realized a moment too late that the man was looking at his arms.

He still had bruises from yesterday’s training and a few new ones already showing up from today’s. They all looked days older than they were. And Eraserhead knew he hadn’t patrolled over the weekend.

Before Izuku could make an excuse for the bruises, Eraserhead said, “Naisho, if you are ever in any trouble, you can ask for help. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

Izuku tucked his arms behind his back and stepped away from the ledge. “I’m fine, Eraserhead. Ciupan’s just been teaching me weapons.” Oh no, now Eraserhead was scowling. “I’m just clumsy, I swear!”

Eraserhead looked him over one last time before seeming to believe him—or at least deciding to let it go for now. He stepped away from the ledge and slipped his goggles back over his eyes as he took his eyes off Izuku, sizing up the far side of the roof instead. A sideways glance told Izuku they were about to move a moment before the hero said, “Come on, Problem Child. The night’s still young.”

Outtakes:

1) Aizawa’s totally not about to go drag Knuckleduster out behind the local Denny's.

2) Eraserhead: looks at Naisho’s face and arms to see if he has the same scars as Izuku
Instead sees numerous bruises in various stages of healing
“Of course, there’s two of them…”

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a blur of classwork, training, patrolling, and hopping between Ciupan, Yūku, and Uraraka’s places after Hitoshi deemed it “safe” to go home. (Izuku wasn’t ready to face his yet.) Then Friday came. He was eating lunch with his friends in the library when the door opened, and for a second time that semester, Aizawa asked to speak with him. This time, he told Izuku to bring his bag.

Izuku shared worried glances with his friends before shouldering his backpack, handing his tray off to Hitoshi (who Izuku noticed always had room for more since they started training together), and shuffling after the teacher. Neither said anything on the way to Nezu’s office. They both knew what this was about.

Tsukauchi, Nezu, and a lady Izuku didn’t recognize were waiting for them. Izuku listened long enough to figure out the woman was a social worker, but he withdrew into himself when he heard “formal charges” and “child neglect.”

He wished he’d gone home now. It was funny how he couldn’t stand the thought of facing Mom and her disappointment just this morning, but now that he was being placed elsewhere, he couldn’t comprehend never seeing her again. Was he allowed to see her again? He imagined she probably wouldn’t be allowed to seek him out, but could he ask to see her? He should ask.

Izuku felt like he was moving through molasses as he slowly lifted his head and turned to look at the social worker. His voice sounded hollow as he asked, “Will I be allowed to see her again?”

The adults all stopped talking for a moment to look at him. The social worker’s face shifted from stern to gentle (though it didn’t seem as genuine as Nezu or Tsukauchi’s expressions on Monday). “That will be up to your guardian and therapist—and the courts once things get there.”

“Oh.” At least she hadn’t sugar-coated it? He curled back in on himself as the adults resumed talking, though in more hushed voices. Izuku wasn’t sure what he should be feeling. He’d been angry at Mom and their disagreement, but a part of him always expected to be able to fix things later. Now he might not get the chance to. He might not get to see her face, feel one of her warm hugs, or smell her cooking ever again.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he ducked his head to hide the ones that followed.

He wasn’t sure how long he cried silently or how long the adults talked, but he eventually became aware of a person crouching in front of him. He couldn’t quite make them out through his tear-blurred vision or the…dim lighting? When did the lights get turned down? There was a distant, low murmur, and it took Izuku a minute to realize the person was talking to him. He frowned as he tried and failed to make out the words.

A smaller white blur joined the dark one before him; Izuku was pretty confident that one was Nezu. His suspicion was confirmed when Nezu lightly rested a paw on Izuku’s knee. Izuku sniffed and tried to blink his vision clear. One of the blurs said something he still couldn’t catch, and Izuku shook his head, growing frustrated with himself. That only made the tears worse, of course.

He startled a little as Nezu’s paw tapped his knee. Izuku squinted through his tears and saw something colorful held out to him in Nezu’s other paw. Izuku tentatively reached for the object, feeling something rubbery and bumpy and vaguely round. He tilted his head and frowned as he tried to figure out what it was. One of the bumps depressed as he squeezed the ball(?) and popped back up when he lifted pressure on it. The small popping sound caught Izuku’s attention, and he abandoned rubbing at his eyes to explore the thing with both hands, curious. It felt almost like a stress ball with the way it squished, but he’d never heard of one with popping bumps on it.

He focused on the stress ball (he decided it must be some type of stress ball given the circumstance) for a while, turning it over and over in his hands, occasionally squishing it or pressing one bump or another to hear and watch it pop back up. He didn’t realize he’d stopped crying until one of the people with him spoke again, and he could hear them.

“You’re doing great, Problem Child.” When Izuku’s eyes shot up to meet Aizawa’s, the man’s voice was still low and soft as he asked, “Feeling any better?”

Izuku sniffed and nodded before dropping his gaze back to the rubber ball in his hands, feeling embarrassed.

A slight squeeze on his knee drew Izuku’s eyes back up, this time to meet Nezu’s beady but concerned eyes. “I know this is a lot to adjust to, Midoriya. Rest assured that we want what’s best for you, though I am sorry it came to this.”

“Not your fault,” Izuku whispered, voice thick. He winced and cleared his throat afterward.

Nezu offered him a small smile before removing his paw from Izuku’s knee. He poured Izuku a fresh cup of tea before setting it and a tissue box on the coffee table in front of him.

Izuku handed the stress ball back to Nezu, or he tried to.

“No, Midoriya, that one’s yours to keep. I have a whole drawer full of them from Hound Dog.”

“O-okay.” He set the ball on the sofa next to him for lack of a better place to put it. After blowing his nose and drinking half of his chamomile tea, he felt a bit more like himself. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Nezu said, giving Izuku another gentle grin before turning most of his attention to Aizawa. (Izuku noted one ear remained cupped toward him.) “You and Midoriya have the rest of the day off to collect his things and get him settled in. If anything else comes up, just let me know.”

“Um,” Izuku interjected. “I have my appointment with Hound Dog today after school…”

“Considering today’s events, I can speak to him for you about rescheduling to Monday?” Nezu offered.

Izuku gave a weak grin. “Yeah, thanks.”

Aizawa sighed as he stood from his crouch, knees popping as he did so. “Come on, Problem Child, we can swing by your mother’s apartment first. Tsukauchi just texted me that she’s at the precinct right now going over paperwork. So, we shouldn’t have to worry about running into her.”

Izuku mutely nodded and stood to follow Aizawa. He stuffed the stress ball in his blazer pocket and slung his backpack over one shoulder as he walked two steps behind the teacher. About the time they exited the building, Izuku realized that his friends would be worried by him disappearing and that he needed to warn Yūku that a hero was coming over to her place. Izuku shot a quick glance at Aizawa before slipping his burner phone out of his backpack to text Yūku.

He was about to trade out phones when he saw his text thread with Ciupan right below Yūku’s. “Um, Aizawa-sensei?”

The pro hero looked over his shoulder at Izuku. “Outside of school it’s just Aizawa, kid. What’s up?”

“I usually have a session with my trainer on Fridays after school. I already bumped it to later this evening because of, um, yeah…Sh-should I just cancel for today?”

Aizawa blinked in surprise. “Yeah, Problem Child. Cancel for today, and we’ll work out our schedules tonight. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Izuku said, still uncertain. At least he didn’t seem to be alone in being unsure how all this was supposed to work.

He quickly texted Ciupan, giving him an update on the Inko situation and canceling their training. Then he checked to make sure Aizawa still wasn’t looking before swapping phones. He sent a quick summary in his friends’ group chat.

By then Aizawa had stopped beside a fairly non-descript car. It didn’t look like a beater, but it definitely wasn’t new either. The only thing about it that really stood out were the tinted windows. Izuku had honestly never thought about what sort of vehicle an underground hero might drive, but this one just screamed Aizawa. Especially when the man opened the passenger door and had to clear away half a dozen empty coffee cups.

The man stood aside with his armful of disposable cups and said with his face pressed down into his scarf, “I wasn’t informed this would be happening today. Go ahead and climb in. I’ll be right back.” The hero fast-walked off to find a trash can before Izuku could say anything. Was Aizawa embarrassed?

A grin teased Izuku’s lips, but he fought it off as he settled into the leather seat and put his backpack between his legs. The teacher returned sans coffee cups a few minutes later, and they set out. After the first few minutes of awkward silence, Izuku pulled out some homework to do while they were stuck in traffic.

Even with the delays, it felt like they got to the Midoriya apartment all too soon. Izuku found himself standing in front of his (former) home with his key in the lock, but he couldn’t make himself open the door. It felt like that would make this real. After a few minutes of Izuku staring at it as if it might bite him Aizawa stepped around him to open the door.

The apartment was empty of life, and Izuku couldn’t bring himself to look at any of the family photos. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make himself keep moving. He led Aizawa to his bedroom and headed inside. He already had most of his important things in his bags at Yūku’s, but he did need to take his weights if he was leaving for good. And one other thing.

Izuku dropped to the floor and reached as far back under his bed as he could until he hooked the object he’d forgotten to pack. He’d kept it in its own separate box in case it leaked. “Gotcha,” he said pulling the small box with his half-spent can of black spray paint into the light of the room.

Izuku grinned and looked up at Aizawa, who was giving him a deadpan stare and lone raised eyebrow.

Izuku’s shoulders hunched up a little. “Um…it’s for my shoes,” he said pointing down at his blackened sneakers. In a few places, the original red was beginning to show through as wear and tear chipped the paint off.

Aizawa’s eyebrows both rose as he realized what Izuku meant. “Smart, kid. Keep it in the box for now. I don’t want to have to get my car detailed.”

“Of course, Aizawa.” Izuku set the box on top of his bed and climbed back to his feet. “Should I grab my sheets?”

“If you’re attached to them, sure. I have a spare set on your bed at my place right now, but they’re nothing special. Anything I can help pack?” the man asked, looking around the half-empty walls.

Izuku felt suddenly self-conscious. He’d sold off all of his All Might stuff, but he’d barely replaced any of it with other hero merch. He wondered what Aizawa thought of all the blank space. “S-sure. Uh, here,” Izuku pulled the box that once held his vigilante gear out from under his bed. “If you could grab the weights on the bottom shelf there, I’ll start on the closet. The posters can come down too, but be careful with them. Most of them are first edition.”

All in all, it took maybe 40 minutes to pack up everything and carry it down to Aizawa’s car. Then they locked up, and Aizawa had him hand his key in to the leasing office. Izuku was surprised he didn’t cry as he left that last piece of his old life behind. Maybe he was all cried out, or maybe the tears would come in a few hours once things had really sunk in. (He suspected it was the latter.)

The drive to Yūku’s place wasn’t as long, since it skirted the busier part of town. Aizawa seemed on edge as they walked up the apartment stairs, one hand on his capture weapon at all times as he scanned their surroundings. Izuku shot him a reassuring grin as he unlocked Yūku’s door and prayed that anything incriminating was put away.
He wasn’t quite sure what he expected when he opened the door, but it wasn’t Maiko and an old familiar face standing in the kitchen. “Eiko!” he called before racing over to her. “Yūku didn’t tell me you were coming by today.”

Eiko ruffled Izuku’s hair. “I was in town to talk to a detective about that creep who was stalking me last year, but I couldn’t swing through ole Musutafu without saying hello. You’ve been taking care of yourself? Just look at you. So big and strong now, though you could use a haircut…” she said, playfully tugging on one of Izuku’s curls.

Izuku laughed and pulled away while whining, “Eiko…”

“Oh, who’s this?” Eiko asked, immediately on guard and less friendly.

Izuku followed her line of sight to see she was glaring at Aizawa. “Oh, um, Eiko, this is Aizawa. My um…guardian as of today. He’s a teacher at UA. We’re here to pick up my stuff.”

“Drat, guess I won’t get to braid your hair this visit,” Eiko said, snapping her fingers. She didn’t take her eyes off of Aizawa though.

“So, you’re a hero?” Maiko asked, looking Aizawa up and down. When Aizawa nodded, Maiko turned to look at Izuku and asked, “Why’s your guardian a zombie?”

Izuku didn’t quite stop his laugh in time.

“Zombie?” Aizawa asked, confused.

“She can see peoples’ um…energy. And well, you’re…you,” Izuku said awkwardly.

Aizawa just stared at Izuku for a minute before saying to Maiko, “I haven’t had my afternoon coffee yet, and I work nights.”

Maiko shrugged. “As long as you keep him safe,” she said pointing a thumb at Izuku. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

Izuku sputtered. “Maiko, you can’t just threaten a hero!”

Aizawa tilted his head in a slight nod. “I’ll keep him safe to the best of my ability.”

Izuku decided to just go get his bags now before Eiko decided to threaten Eraserhead too. He quickly packed up the things he’d had out from this morning and grabbed his charge cables. He kept his vigilante gear bag, but he handed Aizawa his other duffle to indicate they should go. “Bye, Eiko. Bye, Maiko. Stay out of trouble.”

Eiko waved. “Give them hell, kid.”

“Visit sometime. Or don’t. Not like I care,” Maiko muttered before walking down the hall toward her room.

Izuku sighed in relief when the door closed behind them. Thankfully, Aizawa didn’t seem inclined to question him about the people who definitely weren’t Yūku who were in Yūku’s apartment. Izuku wasn’t sure his nerves could have handled it.

---

Aizawa’s home was an apartment in a gated complex. It was quiet, nice, out of the way but close to UA and his patrol route (well, his old one). And he had cats. Multiple. And one of them was Maneki. Izuku almost cried when she ran up to him and started winding around his ankles while meowing.

“Huh. She usually hides from new people,” Aizawa said before carrying his duffle and box further into the apartment.

Izuku crouched to run a hand down the cat’s spine and whispered, “That’s because you’re the smartest kitty. You remember who helped you.”

Maneki nibbled on his fingers.

“Or who fed you,” Izuku amended.

After offering the cat a few chin scratches and noting how her fur had grown completely back in over her prior injuries, Izuku stood and walked after Aizawa. He caught a glimpse of something white dart under the sofa out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t get a good look at the second cat before following Aizawa into what was apparently Izuku’s new room. It was a little bigger than his old room, though it might only look that way for lack of decoration. There was a bed, dresser, and vanity, but no desk or bookshelf.

Aizawa set his duffle and box at the foot of the bed before pointing to a door in the left wall. “Closet’s there. Bathroom’s across the hall. Linen closet’s the next door, and my room’s at the end of the hall. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen or bathroom; just let me know if you use the last of something or want something specific. Do you have any food allergies?”

Izuku shook his head as he set his things down.

“Okay, good. Do you want to unpack for a bit, or we could go over our schedules out in the living room?”

Izuku wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do at the moment, but Maneki was out in the living room. That decided it for him. “Schedules.”

“Alright, kid. Watch your step,” the hero said as he led the way back out to the living room. “You already met Maneki, but Mausu and Komainu are around here somewhere too.”

There were three cats? Izuku kept a vigilant eye out, but only saw Maneki as she fell into step beside them. Aizawa took the armchair in the living room, and Izuku sat on the sofa perpendicular to it.

As soon as they sat down, Maneki claimed the other end of the sofa, and a tawny cat materialized to wind around Aizawa’s ankles before sitting beside his feet, purring loudly. “Ah, there’s Komainu,” Aizawa said, leaning down to scratch the cat’s ears.

Now that Izuku could get a good look at the cat, he could identify it as an Abyssinian.

“Okay, Problem Child, what’s your week typically look like?”

Izuku’s attention snapped back to Aizawa. “Um…I have training sessions after school on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. When I don’t have physical therapy, that is. I’m on every other Friday for that right now, but we took off for the Sports Festival,” he said, rubbing at his right thigh.

“How is your leg doing?” Aizawa asked.

Izuku jerked his hand away from his scar. “It’s fine. I have to be careful not to hurt myself, since I can’t feel anything there. But I haven’t had any trouble moving or turning for a few weeks. Phantom pains only really happen after bad nightmares.”

Aizawa’s eyes flared red, and Izuku flinched, half-expecting the slime in his blood to react. Thankfully, nothing happened, and Aizawa blinked a split-second later. The hero eyed him with an odd tightness around his eyes and mouth before saying. “Sorry, Midoriya. I promise, I won’t use my quirk on you again.”

Izuku laughed nervously, looking anywhere except Aizawa. “I-it’s not like it can do anything to me.”

“Not the point, Problem Child.” The teacher sighed and rubbed his eyes. “So, your schedule?”

“Oh, right. Um. I train with Hitoshi—er, Shinso—and Uraraka after school in one of the gyms on Tuesday and Thursday and at the beach or a park on Saturday afternoons. Haven’t figured out how therapy with Hound Dog is going to fit into that yet…”

Izuku thought for a moment, wondering if there was anything else he should mention. Then he recalled that Aizawa’s apartment was in a gated complex. That might make meeting up with Ekikyō harder. “Oh, I also go for a run most mornings and evenings. Sometimes I’ll stop in the park for a break halfway, but I’m usually not out for more than an hour or two for those. And…I did have plans to go out with some friends this weekend…” he added, remembering he’d agreed to do some work for Giran tomorrow.

Aizawa had been writing on a piece of paper as Izuku talked. When it was clear Izuku had finished, Aizawa swapped pens for a different color and made more notes before leaning back in his chair. “Alright. Outside of teaching, I usually spend an extra hour or two after classes at UA doing grading, paperwork, etc. I patrol every night aside from Wednesdays…and every other Tuesday on the insistence of my physical therapist.” He sounded rather disgruntled about that, but Izuku was glad the man was taking care of himself. “My patrols usually run from 10:00 p.m. to 4:00 a.m. I get naps in after dinner and before school starts. My nights off are catchup nights.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Given their packed schedules, the two wouldn’t necessarily have to interact very much. Some of Izuku’s anxiety about the situation eased.

It returned as Aizawa stared down at the paper schedule and frowned. “I know you’re aware of the danger the traffickers present, and Nezu informed me of the emergency tracker he gave you. With your permission, I’d like to be added to the emergency alert system alongside Nezu.” After Izuku nodded, the hero continued, “I’m not going to put you on house arrest, but I want you to be careful. Even if I’m not awake or home at the time, I want you to text me when you leave and get back. The tracker is a good defense measure, but as we both know from the USJ, interference quirks exist.”

“Sure, sen—Aizawa.” Texts were a reasonable enough request given the circumstances.

“As far as curfew, how’s 9:30 sound? If you’re not staying at a friend’s house.”

Izuku frowned at that one. He was used to being able to go running if he couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t really want to bother the hero more than he already was. Aizawa would be out on his patrols by 10:00 anyway. So, there was really nothing stopping him from just…leaving after Aizawa as long as he got back before the hero. “O-okay.”

The pro hero narrowed his eyes slightly, as if sensing that Izuku was leaving something unsaid, but he didn’t press.

Izuku hurried to fill the silence, “What happens if you need to run a stake out or extended case?”

Aizawa gave the question due consideration before nodding to himself. “If I’m forced to stay away for more than a day, you can stay with one of your friends or Anshin. We can work out if you or Nemuri is taking care of the cats when that becomes an issue.”

“Okay.”

“What all have you learned as far as self-defense?”

Izuku thought carefully about how to word this. Aizawa was a hero; Izuku could technically get Ciupan in trouble for teaching him some of the more...proactive moves he knew.

Aizawa seemed to pick up on Izuku’s reluctance and held up a hand. “I’m not going to get mad unless your trainer’s been teaching you how to snap necks, kid. You don’t have a quirk to fight with; I won’t deny you whatever advantages you’ve made for yourself, especially when you’re a target.”

Izuku swallowed and nodded his understanding. “I-I know how to fall safely and take a hit, how to dodge and use an opponent’s mass and momentum against them—”

“Like you did with Bakugo,” Aizawa interjected, something like approval in his voice.

“Y-yes. Um…I know how to throw a punch and kick properly…and how to fight dirty. How to disarm someone with a knife…and how to wield a knife in a fight. After the USJ, my trainer showed me what tendons to target to disable someone with a five-point quirk and a few ways to break an arm or wrist,” Izuku admitted uncertainly.

“That’s a good start,” Aizawa acknowledged. “I’d like to see how you fight in person at some point, but I think we’ve done enough for today. The plans you had with your friends, are those tomorrow or Sunday?”

“Tomorrow. Most of the day too. We were going to hang out before training,” Izuku lied. He planned to see Giran late in the morning and hopefully wrap things up there in time to make it back for training with his friends. Hitoshi had already agreed to cover for him if anyone asked.

Aizawa nodded. “Sunday will be your rest day then.” When Izuku gave the man a rather bewildered look, Aizawa explained, “You can’t train non-stop, Problem Child. You have to give your muscles time to recover, or you’ll end up setting yourself back in the long run. Anyway, I can evaluate where you’re at on Tuesday. If you don’t mind me taking over your Tuesday/Thursday training. I need to whip Shinso and Uraraka into shape for their transfer anyway. Two birds, one stone.”

Despite himself, Izuku smiled. “They’re really being transferred? Both of them? But I thought you only had one opening in 1-A?”

“There are two now, though that number might increase depending on how two other Problem Children behave in the coming weeks,” Aizawa said with narrowed eyes.

Izuku did not envy those two, whoever they were.

Outtakes:
Aizawa: uses Erasure because he's angry the USJ happened and put his kids in danger and is giving Izuku nightmares
Izuku: flinches
Aizawa: "Oh no. He's traumatized. Is it the red color? Shigaraki and Bakugo both have red eyes...Or is it that he's used to other people using their quirks on him without permission to hurt him..." suppresses the urge to go burn Aldera down (Hizashi would never forgive him for not inviting him.)

Aizawa: "There are 2 open spots for now. There might be more soon." looks pointedly at Izuku
Izuku: completely misses the implication "Huh. Rip those guys, I guess."

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t go out as Naisho that night, mostly because Aizawa didn’t go out for patrol either. The man had called out in case Izuku “needed anything.” Not that the hero hovered. He didn’t, and Izuku was grateful for that. The pro hero just…sat in the living room doing some grading, so he was available if anything came up.

Izuku did finally get to meet Mausu though. She was the tiniest little, solid white chinchilla cat (Aizawa insisted she wasn’t a Persian for the extra length to her muzzle) Izuku had ever seen, and she was scared to death of him. He tried not to pout when she darted away every time he entered a room, and he ignored Aizawa’s amused grin each time.

At least Maneki loved him. It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep with a cat curled up against the back of his neck.

The following days were…interesting for lack of a better word. Izuku got his own apartment and gate keys and went to UA early on weekdays with Aizawa and did his morning runs on campus before class. Classwork and training kept him sane, even Aizawa’s “hell training” on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (After that first Tuesday, Hitoshi swore to never complain about Izuku’s training ever again.) On his evening runs, Izuku found himself lingering at the parks he often met Ekikyō at, missing his friend more with every day that passed.

Nights were where the real difference was. Izuku had trouble falling asleep more often than not, even if he worked himself to exhaustion. Those nights became a 50/50 split of sneaking out to patrol with Eraserhead and cuddling the cats until he eventually passed out. It really depended on if a cat was lying on top of him when 10:15 rolled around or not. Maneki had a thing for curling up in the exact center of his back or stomach depending on how he was lying, and Komainu took to “guarding” him whenever Aizawa was out. Once or twice, he’d been trapped by a cat on the sofa and woke to find a blanket draped over him the next morning.

Therapy was…okay. After the first stressful appointment, Inui-san set him up for weekly appointments for the time being. They spent a lot of time talking about everything that had changed for Izuku recently and touching on his experiences prior to UA. And he gave Izuku homework. Izuku hadn’t thought that was a thing with therapy, but writing down his negative thoughts (but for no more than five minutes at a time) and then reading them out loud to someone else (even if that someone else was a cat) did put a new perspective on things. Inui also told him to pretend those negative things were being said by one of his friends about themself. Something about him being just as valuable and worthy of love as anyone else.

Izuku wasn’t sure that last one was really working considering he’d get stuck thinking and worrying about Hitoshi.

Before Izuku knew it, his first week in his new home was up, and the hero course internships were starting. The rest of UA still had classes, but Aizawa took the week to pull Shinso and Uraraka from theirs for intensive training before they joined the hero class the next week, treating it like their own internship. Izuku laughed at their exaggerated misery and took the opportunity of Aizawa’s distraction to visit Aunt Yūku and the underground clinic to give them an update on his life and patrol route.

The new routine was nice.

Then Hosu happened.

---

Ekikyō was about fed up with false leads. First, there was a sighting in Chigasaki but no leads once he got there. Then Giran was seen in Yokosuka recruiting. No luck there either. Now Ekikyō was in Hosu. If this lead didn’t pan out, he was calling it quits and heading back to Izuku. Maybe the kid will have heard from the broker by then.

As Ekikyō wandered through the sewers, he occasionally poked an eye up through a grate to look around. Supposedly, Giran was setting up a meet and greet for the League and Stain, and Stain was still in this city for one, maybe two more kills. Ekikyō had even checked the news this morning to make sure a kill hadn’t been reported overnight.

It was getting dark now, and Ekikyō’s chances were improving. Stain usually struck at dusk or night. Once it was dark enough, Ekikyō planned to abandon the sewers to search aboveground. Ekikyō should have known better after the USJ. All his and Izuku’s plans tended to go to shit.

As the street lights turned on, first one siren, then a dozen went off across the city. Ekikyō was at attention and listening to the vibrations in the ground in an instant. Something big was going on near the center of town. If there was some sort of villain attack, it made for the perfect opportunity for the Hero Killer to strike again and disappear.

Ekikyō weighed his options for a moment before bursting from the sewer. He could taste smoke on the night air and hear distant screams and the roar of flames. He flowed in the opposite direction, sticking to alleyways. He paused at intersections to listen and feel for activity, and after ten minutes of searching, he heard the clang of metal on metal. “Jackpot.”

He flattened himself low to the ground and sped toward the sound, only slowing when he found the right alley. He extended his body in a pseudopod-like projection with his eyes at the end to see around the corner. He winced as he watched some mook in armor get his ass handed to him. Actually, the armor kinda looked like Izuku’s memory of Ingenium, but didn’t that guy get paralyzed recently? And his engines were in his elbows, not his calves…

The armored person fell with a blade through their shoulder and screamed despite being pinned to the ground, “I’ll make you pay for hurting my brother! I’ll kill you!”

Oh, this was Ingenium’s kid brother. Izuku did a write-up on his quirk. Engines in his legs. Needs orange juice to fuel them. Weird quirk.

Stain leaned on his blade, bending down closer to the trapped high schooler, and said, “Try saving him first.” The hand not holding his sword and opponent in place pointed out another person in the alley. A costumed man lay crumpled against the wall.

Ekikyō recognized this guy from Izuku’s notes too: Native. He couldn’t remember the guy’s quirk offhand. He shared Izuku’s brain when he possessed the kid, but not his encyclopedic knowledge and frankly terrifying recall. But he did know that the hero would be dead in minutes with all other pros occupied in the city center. Ekikyō’s attention snapped back to Stain at a pained cry from Iida.

The villain twisted the blade in Iida’s shoulder and yanked it free as he monologued, “…getting trapped in your own hate and acting out of pure self-interest and revenge makes you the furthest thing from a hero. That’s why you have to die.” Then the weirdo licked some of the blood off his sword.

Ekikyō made a disgusted face behind the safety of his corner and noted the instant lack of movement from the kid afterward. Blood-based paralysis quirk? Must be why Native was out too. Oh shoot, that was a lot of blood pooling under the kid real quick. Okay, killing heroes? Meh. But killing a kid (especially one Izuku’s age, one that Izuku knew)? Nah, that wasn’t going to fly. Not in Ekikyō’s book. And it wasn’t like he had any blood for Stain’s quirk to work off of or a solid body for a sword to hurt—as long as he kept his eyes protected. After so long sharing headspace with Izuku, Ekikyō was intimately aware of and mindful of his weaknesses.

Ekikyō surged forward without warning, using some of his slime to lift and fling trash bags and a trash can at Stain. The Hero Killer backed off, surprised and wary. “Who are you?”

Ekikyō pushed forward until he was between The Hero Killer and the kid, keeping his eyes buried under several centimeters of slime for safety. “Me? I’m Sludge. I was just passing through.” Ekikyō carefully moved slime to probe Iida’s wound, ignoring the kid’s muffled gasp of pain. He winced when he felt that the wound went clean through the back of the kid’s shoulder to the front. It had nicked a pretty big blood vessel too. Felt like an artery the way it was pumping. No wonder the kid was bleeding out.

Making a split-second decision, Ekikyō packed the wound with slime and let it start sinking into the surrounding tissue to slow the boy’s bleeding.

“Sludge?” Stain asked, eyeing Ekikyō suspiciously. The man’s grip on his katana tightened as recognition lit his eyes. “You’re a serial murderer.”

“Was,” Ekikyō corrected without thinking. Oops, he probably shouldn’t have said that if he’s trying to get in good with the League. Distraction time. “Say, you don’t happen to know where I could find Giran, do you? Heard he was looking for you.” Ekikyō paused as he felt some of the slime in the Iida kid’s wound start getting pulled into a vein by capillary action and grinned as he got an idea. Oh, this was going to suck, but it just might work. He pushed more slime into the kid’s veins and muscles, connecting to the kid’s body now rather than just packing the wound. He also covered the boy’s mouth to muffle his pained sounds. The tantalizing signals from newly connected cells and nerves that weren’t his were a distraction, but one Ekikyō had practice ignoring.

“Giran?” the villain asked, confused. The confusion only lasted a moment before it morphed into anger. “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him since Yokohama. Now stand aside,” he said, twitching his katana in clear threat.

Ekikyō pretended to consider it while shrinking down as he felt his slime wrap around and through Iida’s heart and lungs. He held them in arrest just long enough for the boy to pass out. Then he quickly reinstated a strong pulse and forced his lungs to take a few deep breaths before freezing again. He shoved slime down the kid’s throat and into his wound as fast as he could. He made eye contact with The Hero Killer before smiling and saying, “Don’t think I will.” Then he extended his slime to the dumpster off to one side and flung it at Stain.

Instead of grating across the alley or rolling, the dumpster flew. Well, it only got a few centimeters off the ground, but it was still airborne. Huh, that was easier than Ekikyō expected. Maybe Izuku wasn’t the only one who’d gotten stronger in the last year.

The agile villain dodged out of the way by jumping off the alley wall and flung a knife at Ekikyō. Ekikyō moved his eyes safely to one side and caught the knife with an extension of slime, flinging it right back at The Hero Killer a second later. That gave the villain a precious second’s pause. With two wide-open entry points, that was enough time for Ekikyō. He flung one last trash bag at the villain before retracting the rest of his slime and his eyes and teeth into his temporary meatsuit.

It took another second of blindness before he properly plugged into Iida’s brain and senses. It felt good having a living body, but it left a bad taste in his mouth compared to doing this with Izuku. Everything felt just a little off, from the kid’s height to his internal mutations to the rhythm of his heartbeat. At least Iida wasn’t going to die with him in here clotting the wound through their shoulder and subclavian artery. Now to get him away from the walking knife block. He pushed Iida to their feet. The boy’s muscles resisted movement, but it was no harder moving him than dragging tires across sand with Izuku.

“What? How are you…What did you do?” Stain demanded, brandishing a second blade.

It was too fuzzy for Ekikyō to make out exactly what type it was. Ah, fuck, the kid was near-sighted. Why was he out here without contacts? “Preventing you from murdering a kid. What’s it look like I’m doing?” Did Iida have glasses around here? He really didn’t want to rocket off without being able to see clearly. Ekikyō extended some slime from the wound in their shoulder to feel along the ground. “Ah! There we go.” He slid the cracked glasses onto their face and gave Stain a very not-Iida smile. “Now where were we?”

Ekikyō whipped the externalized slime out to grab another couple trash bags to throw at Stain before they made their move. Remembering something of Izuku’s notes, he worked the slime in their calves until he felt the engines there warm. Bingo. He fired up the engines and shot off faster than he expected. Oh, he was still facing Stain. Shit. He should have turned around first. He was expecting a rev up, not zero to 60 in one second!

In the panicked flailing that followed, they managed to clock Stain’s shoulder as they passed. An externalized swell of Ekikyō’s slime barely cushioned their impact with the wall at the end of the alley. They were going to have a few bruises from that, but the kid’s chest plate cracked where it had already been damaged by Stain’s katana. Part of the armor fell off, leaving the left half of their upper chest uncomfortably exposed. Ekikyō shook their head and turned to face the actual exit of the alley.

He glanced at Native, whose eyes were fluttering. There was a pretty good-sized puddle of blood under him too. He looked back over at Stain in time to whip their slime around to catch another airborne knife. “Would you stop with the knives? Just for that, I’m taking this too.” he fired off Iida’s quirk again, snatching Native with their good arm and slime as they passed him. He paused at the mouth of the alley, mostly to let the kid’s engines cool off. The first-time-possession fever was starting to set in.

He threw the hero over their good shoulder and retracted their slime into Iida’s wound, sealing it with a mix of slime and blood until he could properly heal it. He looked back over their shoulder at Stain, frowning when he saw a gobsmacked expression on the man’s face. The man’s brows furrowed as Ekikyō watched, and the villain seemed to be fixated on their shoulder. Weird.

They paused only a handful of seconds. Then they were speeding off again. He wasn’t sure if Stain was the type to give chase, but he doubted the ambush specialist would be willing to follow them toward the mess going on downtown. They spotted an ambulance on the way and dropped Native off.

They had to dodge pushy first responders to escape though. Iida was only a little stabbed, but Ekikyō had it under control. He didn’t see what the big deal was.

As he debated where to go from there, he spotted Endeavor. In a moment of brilliance he yelled, “Hey, Endeavor, I found Stain!” That got the glory hound’s attention. He didn’t even ask if Iida was okay before following them. Fuck, Ekikyō hated that guy, and he really didn’t care whether it was Endeavor or Stain that bit it tonight. But at least if he led one to the other, the world would be down one asshole by morning.

Thankfully, Stain wasn’t far from where Ekikyō had left him, looking pretty deep in thought when they arrived. Kind of a weird time to contemplate his life choices, but it made things easier for Ekikyō. He certainly wasn’t going to complain.

After siccing Endeavor on Stain, Ekikyō slipped away again. He ended up retreating to the sewer to find a safe place to camp out with Iida and ride out the next few hours of their immune systems integrating and Iida’s wounds healing. He couldn’t very well de-possess the kid until he was sure he’d survive the process and live long enough to get into surgery. That would defeat the whole purpose of rescuing him. A quick system check had Ekikyō scrunching up their face in disgust. He’d have to pick a bunch of debris out of the kid’s wound and blood too. The slime he pushed into their body through the gaping wound in their shoulder hadn’t filtered like it would have absorbing across the mucous membranes in their throat and stomach. This was going to take a while.

---

Shoto wasn’t sure if he regretted his internship “choice.”

It still rankled that Kirishima was correct. When Shoto took the time to think about it, he was afraid of his quirk, or at least the fire part and the potential for temperature-based explosions. Of all the people in 1-A, he hadn’t expected Kirishima to get it, to share that fear. (And Kirishima had used his quirk anyway, despite molten lines cracking across his hardened skin and the way he trembled. The way he smiled through the pain.)

Between that and finding another student who suffered under their own Endeavor, was terrified of them, but still had the courage to fight back until he could walk away…Well, Shoto had had a lot to think about when reviewing the several thousand internship offers he’d received.

Midoriya and Kirishima had both been scared, but they both moved anyway. Shoto had frozen when his ice didn’t work at the USJ. Shoto had a lot of experience freezing (taking beatings). And when he didn’t freeze…Shouto still remembered the pain in his ribs at the USJ after he’d exploded the Mountain Zone. He didn’t want to do that again, but he didn’t want to freeze either. And he didn’t want to be afraid of the power he wielded, not when that fear was a trigger for his freeze or fight reflex.

Unfortunately, there were very few heroes with fire quirks not affiliated with Endeavor’s agency, and of those, none had power remotely comparable to Shoto’s fire. The idea of giving Endeavor (never “father”; he’d given up that right years ago) what he wanted soured the boy’s stomach, but Shoto reminded himself of why he was doing this. He needed to get control of the fire half of his quirk, if only so it didn’t flare disastrously again.

No one had died at the USJ, but he’d overheard Endeavor talking with his lawyers. Some of the villains in the Mountain Zone had been maimed in the explosion. (Shoto didn’t understand why Endeavor never told him that directly, never lorded it over him as incentive to gain control of his fire. It made Shoto uneasy.) Then he’d nearly burned Kirishima in the Sports Festival finals, nearly caused another explosion before he caught himself. He was not like Endeavor. He didn’t want to hurt people.

So, he would suck it up and learn what the old man had to teach on control. He’d use Endeavor for his knowledge and experience. He’d face his fear and refuse to freeze and learn how to not lash out unless he meant to.

He had a lot of expectations about what his internship would look like, but he somehow never considered the possibility of facing more Nomu or staring down a madman so terrifying that Endeavor stood frozen before him. (Suddenly, Shoto didn’t feel so bad about the times he froze.)

Shoto had seen Endeavor run away from the main fight and followed, because he hadn’t been told to do otherwise. Plus, he needed the old man to be around to legally use his quirk, and he knew Endeavor would come up with some sort of punishment if they were separated. At the time, he’d thought it was the smart choice.

Vigilante charges and Endeavor’s wrath were sounding much more appealing now. Because The Hero Killer, a.k.a. Stain, was who Endeavor had dragged Shoto out to Hosu to catch. Now, here they were staring each other down on an empty street, and Endeavor couldn’t move.

“Endeavor, you fake,” Stain spat, shifting his grip on his katana. “You’re the worst this society has to offer. Lower than any criminal who uses their power for petty mischief; they at least admit what they are. You hurt as many or more yet parade yourself under and pollute the title of hero.” The man sneered. “When you posture for fame and money, are you any better than the villains you mutilate and lock away?”

Stain straightened to his full height and spread his arms wide. “Everything I do is for the sake of a better society! And that society doesn’t need more fear created by men like you,” Stain said, pointing his katana at Endeavor’s chest. His eyes, though, slid from the hero to Shoto.

A dozen meters still separated them from Stain, but the gesture was no less threatening for that distance. Shoto couldn’t move under the suffocating fear. He knew he was being weighed against the man’s skewed morals and prayed he wasn’t found wanting.

Despite the man’s paralyzing aura, Endeavor shifted ever so slightly to put himself more between Shoto and Stain.

Stain’s eyes snapped back to the number two hero. The man stared Endeavor down for several seconds as if debating something. Then he smiled. Quieter than before, more contemplative and almost as if speaking to himself, the madman said, “A better society could do with a little more hope though.” He nodded to himself and declared at his former volume, “The only ones allowed to kill me are the true heroes All Might and Naisho! As for you, you will be a good test of the little hero’s ideals. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

In a move too fast for Shoto to follow, The Hero Killer whipped a knife out and through the air. Then he turned and ran. Shoto didn’t realize what had happened until Endeavor fell to his knees, one hand pressed to his side. What really struck Shoto was the man’s flames guttering before dying completely. In wide-eyed horror, Shoto noted the growing pool of red. He stood frozen despite The Hero Killer having vanished into the night.

“Shoto…” Endeavor grunted out. Once he had the boy’s attention, he ground out, “Ice my wound. Leave the knife in.”

Shoto swallowed and nodded. They needed to stop the bleeding. He could do that. He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he froze Endeavor’s side, catching the knife hilt and the man’s bloodied hand in the ice for stability. The ice sizzled and cracked almost as soon as it formed, but Shoto kept applying it until it began to actually stick.

Time still didn’t feel like it was moving quite right as Endeavor raised his free hand slowly to his ear and tapped his comm. “Endeavor here. I need medical assistance.” He grimaced and let out a pained grunt as Shoto helped him lie down. “Urgently,” he bit out, voice strained.

Shoto re-iced the wound every few seconds. Endeavor’s body ran hot, even more so with how much he’d already used his quirk tonight. Shoto focused on his task, ears alert for any approaching aid.

Trouble found them first. A shriek rang through the air, and Shoto lifted his head in time to see a flying Nomu swooping toward them with talons extended. He could dodge the monster easily…but Endeavor couldn’t. Endeavor who was pale and grinding his teeth in pain and not even looking at the Nomu.

Shoto moved. It was no Sports Festival glacier, but the half dome of bristling ice spears stopped the Nomu with a choked scream. Shoto huffed out frigid breaths and stared at the shield of ice, expecting the Nomu to break through any second. It didn’t. Shoto kept his eyes on the wall and the blurry shadow of something trailing down the outside of the ice as he called up his fire to warm him enough to respond if another threat presented itself. With a trembling hand, Shoto applied another layer of ice to his father’s side.

Outtakes:

Stain: sees the sealed wound on Iida/Ekikyō’s shoulder “Wait a second; that looks familiar…”
Stain a moment after the heroes(?) leave: it finally clicks “Naisho spoke from experience? People can change???” proceeds to have an ideological crisis
Endeavor: appears and sorta defends Shoto
Stain: “You know what, I doubt you’re worse than Sludge. We’ll try this Naisho’s way. I can always track you down and finish you later if you don’t change.” stabs, but in a non-lethal way—as a treat

Shoto: interns with Endeavor to use him for his knowledge
Stain: stabs Endeavor
Shoto: “Hey, no! I’m not done with him yet!”

Shoto: pacing in the hospital waiting for Fuyumi to pick him up “It doesn’t make any sense! By all accounts, Stain should have killed Endeavor. He’s good with knives. That hit couldn’t have been a miss. But why leave him alive?”
Nurse: looks over the once-ordered whiteboard that is now decorated in increasingly frantic and messy handwriting “Todoroki-kun, what did you do to our treatment board?”
Shoto: “Oh, perfect. Do you know where I could find some string? Red, preferably. I already found the pushpins.”
Nurse: “Did…did you stick pushpins through a whiteboard? How?”
Shoto: “Yes.”

Chapter Text

12 fucking hours. That’s how long it took for Ekikyō to fully hash out their immune systems, pick all the grit out of their blood, and heal the Iida kid enough to be reasonably sure he wasn’t going to croak the second they split. He’d also had to put the vigilante wannabe back to sleep twice in that time. The downtime was more than enough to make a plan though. The kid had a set of hidden pockets and compartments in his armor, one of which held a small notepad and a pen—likely for witness statements or something. Whatever the original purpose, it came in handy for writing a note detailing the kid’s actions and injuries. (And circling, underlining, and starring a big warning not to give the kid a blood transfusion. Given how his slime in Izuku had reacted to a graft, a transfusion stood a good chance of killing Iida.)

If Ekikyō had to save this vengeful kid’s ass, the kid was damn well staying rescued, which meant Iida didn’t get to run off and attempt murder-suicide again. Ekikyō smiled at the thought of what consequences the kid might face. At least, the heroes were likely to make sure the kid stayed alive. They had better.

He was not attached to the idiotic, glasses-wearing, hero student. It was just…the thought of a kid purposely trying to get themselves killed was almost as unsettling as recalling how Izuku’s eyes had strayed to and lingered on rooftops when they first made their deal. Why were teenagers so dumb?

Ekikyō shook their head and walked Iida to one side of the emergency entrance of Hosu General Hospital. After one last sweep of the area, they lay down on the pavement, and Ekikyō de-possessed the kid. The exposed, anxious feeling of being outside of a body was a bit unexpected though. He hadn’t felt like this in…nearly a year. Maybe it was because of how short a time he possessed Iida? Probably something to check out with Izuku later.

Wanting to be anywhere but here—in the center of a city crawling with heroes and beside a tempting body that he knew he could safely possess—he checked over Iida one last time to ensure he’d removed as much slime as he could and that the boy’s wounds weren’t actively bleeding. He pulled the kid’s notepad out of his pocket and set it in the center of his chest. Then he picked up a chunk of broken concrete shoved to the side of the sidewalk and flung it at one of the hospital’s glass doors. He booked it for the nearest sewer before the glass finished falling.

Getting out of Hosu was trickier than he’d bet on. Someone must have seen him or found security footage of him, because heroes were crawling around the sewers before Ekikyō could make it to the suburbs. A few hours of cat and mouse had him cursing. He knew he should have waited to return the kid til after dark. He couldn’t go aboveground like this, and the heroes seemed to have set up a perimeter—aboveground and below.

He was just contemplating suffocating one of the rookies (just until they passed out) to slip the tightening noose when Giran found him. Kurogiri was with him, but Ekikyō ignored the teleporter who he wasn’t supposed to know to berate the broker he did. “You slippery bastard! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Would it have killed you to leave a forwarding address at one of the villain bars?”

“Would it kill you to get a phone?” Giran countered with a grin. “Why were you looking for me?”

Ekikyō put on a scowl. “It’s getting harder to avoid the cops and heroes. Figured it might be time to look into something other than solo work if you catch my drift.”

Giran’s grin turned into a sharp smile. “Funny you should mention that. I was thinking the same thing, and an organization I know is recruiting. They won’t have any problems with your…proclivities, especially with how much better you’ve gotten about hiding your bodies.”

Ekikyō narrowed his eyes (as much as his slime allowed) at the not-so-subtle dig for info. “I have my ways. Think you could set up a meet and greet for us?”

“Of course, Sludge. Could actually do that now, if you want. You see, my friend here is a member of theirs,” the man said, gesturing toward Kurogiri. “He’s got a wonderful teleportation quirk.”

“You don’t say,” Ekikyō said, feigning surprise. “Now, that’s a commodity. But I can’t meet up just yet. I found myself a…semi-permanent meatsuit. I’m a lot more versatile with a host that doesn’t start rotting after a few hours, you see. And I’ll actually have fingers to use a phone,” Ekikyō joked, holding a tendril of slime in a rough hand shape before letting it all melt back together.

Giran arched his eyebrows in a rare show of genuine surprise. “Really? Must have an interesting quirk to survive with you…” He gestured vaguely at Ekikyō.

“I know, right? But if you could get me out of Hosu and give me a few days to fetch my meatsuit, I am interested in meeting the rest of your friends,” Ekikyō said, looking between Giran and Kurogiri.

Giran smiled again and nodded to Kurogiri, who opened a portal. “We’ve got you covered. Tokyo good? Oh, and since you’ll have fingers…” Giran tossed a plastic baggie toward him.

Ekikyō caught the sealed bag and turned it over, seeing a cheap burner phone through the plastic. Ekikyō tucked the bag inside his slime and smiled his best smile. “Tokyo would be great.”

---

Izuku had never heard Aizawa so frantic as the day after the Hosu attack when people tried and failed to locate his student. Izuku wasn’t supposed to hear, but well, eavesdropping was a perfectly valid means of intelligence gathering for a vigilante. And it wasn’t like Aizawa was in a good frame of mind to catch him doing so.

(Izuku wondered if maybe the little bit of slime permanently sunk into his tissues made his hearing a little sharper. If any of the stuff was in his eardrums they might in theory be able to pick up vibrations better than a baseline human’s…Izuku wrote down a few theories between eavesdropping on phone calls and doing homework.)

For over 12 hours, no one could find any sign of Iida Tenya apart from a broken piece of his armor and a pool of his blood in an alleyway. Native’s blood had been there too, but the man hadn’t been perfectly lucid for the events that apparently saved him and disappeared Iida.

Then Aizawa got the call that his student had been found. Alive. Aizawa shot Izuku a few weird looks in the hours that followed, but the pro didn’t fully relax or say anything until Iida was out of surgery and his tests all came back that evening. Then he collapsed into his chair, boneless.

Izuku draped the man’s sleeping bag over him and gave him a pointed look.

“Iida’s alive,” Aizawa said as much to himself as Izuku. “He was kidnapped by a villain, but they left him outside Hosu General’s emergency room. Iida might have complications with his left arm, but he’ll live.”

Izuku nodded along, a bit shocked that Iida had been kidnapped and returned alive. (Why did that sound familiar?) Izuku set the matter aside for now and picked up Komainu to plop him on Aizawa’s lap. There, now the man was covered, relaxed, and had a cat. If that didn’t get him to sleep, nothing would. “I’m glad to hear it, Aizawa, but you should rest. You still have training with Shinso and Uraraka in the morning. At least get a nap in before your patrol? I’m going for a run.”

All he got in response was a grunt.

Well, he tried.

Izuku changed and headed out. It was a bit early for his evening run, but he needed to work off the stress he’d picked up from Aizawa via osmosis. He set a brutal pace, alternating sprinting and jogging all the way to the park with the stagnant pond before letting himself collapse under the willow tree, reveling in the familiarity and quiet. For a while he lay there panting and downing water from the reusable water bottle Aizawa had gotten him. (It was a limited-edition Present Mic bottle; how was he supposed to say no to that?)

Izuku might have dozed a little, but a faint tug brought him back to full wakefulness in seconds. “Ekikyō?” he whispered, sitting up. Sure enough, there was Ekikyō slinking out of the…pond. He giggled. “Why were you in the water?” He didn’t tell his friends that he had pond scum on top of his head.

Ekikyō smiled. “Figured you’d appreciate me rinsing out the sewer taste before possessing you.”

Izuku shuddered. He still remembered that taste in his nightmares. It wasn’t Ekikyō’s fault that his body tended to pick up…well, everything; so, Izuku wasn’t going to outright say it. “Thanks.”

Ekikyō settled down beside Izuku and sighed. “Busy couple weeks, huh? How’d the Sports Festival go?”

Izuku’s smile fell, and his shoulders drooped.

“Izuku?” Ekikyō nudged his shoulder.

Izuku shook his head, not looking at his friend. “It’ll be easier to just show you. A-a lot’s happened.”

Slime wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed. “Alright kid, though um, I should warn you before I possess you that we may have to reacclimate…”

Izuku’s eyebrows drew in, and he looked up at his best friend. “Ekikyō?”

It was Ekikyō’s turn to not meet Izuku’s eyes. He looked everywhere except at Izuku as he muttered, “I might have had to possess that Iida kid in Hosu…”

“Ekikyō!”

“It was to save his life, I promise! And I didn’t hurt him. I mean, well, yeah, first time possessions kinda hurt? But I didn’t hurt him. You get what I mean?”

Izuku just stared at Ekikyō for a minute, processing. “Wait, that’s why Iida was missing for 12 hours?! Do you know how many people were looking for him? Are you insane?”

Ekikyō shrunk in on himself a little. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I had to hold onto him that long to make sure he’d survive de-possessing. But I should have waited to drop him off at the hospital until the sun was down. Heroes hounded me the whole way out of the city. On the upside, I finally talked to Giran!” Ekikyō said, making a rather obvious subject change. “We’ll set up a recruitment meeting once we’re together,” he said, pulling a Ziploc bag out of his body. Was that a phone?

Izuku shook his head and sighed, sliding the bagged phone into a pocket. “I’m not going to be mad that you saved someone’s life, Ekikyō. I’m actually pretty happy that you saved Iida. I just wish you hadn’t almost gotten yourself caught doing it. I’d have to figure out some way to break you out of Tartarus if that ever happened,” Izuku said as he leaned on his friend. He was only half joking.

Ekikyō leaned into him in return. “Eh, it would take you a week tops.”

“Yeah, but that’s a week’s homework I’d be behind on, and you’d be helping me catch up on it when we get back,” Izuku playfully threatened.

Ekikyō’s body shuddered. “Anything but algebra! I dropped out for a reason.”

Izuku laughed again. After a moment of comfortable silence, he said, “Alright, I’m ready.”

Ekikyō hummed in response.

Izuku felt the slime still inside him shift a tad more jerkily than usual and start collecting at his throat to numb it. “Oh, one sec!” He couldn’t believe he’d nearly forgotten. Izuku hurriedly fiddled with the settings on his watch until he found the learning mode and activated it. “Okay, now we’re good to go,” Izuku said.

Ekikyō made a pair of slimy eyebrows just to raise one at Izuku. When Izuku didn’t say anything else, Ekikyō shrugged and got to work possessing him.

Izuku grimaced slightly at the way Ekikyō’s slime burned on its way through him. Thankfully, Ekikyō left things numb in his wake this time. Izuku’s mind went fuzzy as Ekikyō connected to it, but that cleared up after a few seconds.

“Want me to take us home and put you to bed?” Ekikyō asked inside their head.

Izuku appreciated the offer, but… “You don’t know where I’m staying now.” At the mental question pressed his way, Izuku sent back a mix of sadness, resignation, and acceptance. “You’ve missed a lot.”

“Tell me about it on the way back?” Ekikyō asked, lifting the numbness in Izuku’s body enough for him to feel and move.

Everything burned and ached, but it was still a bit distant. Even so, Izuku felt awful. Was the fever setting in quicker this time? He couldn’t wait to curl up in bed and sleep it off. “Sure.” On the walk back to Aizawa’s, he told his friend about the investigation into his old school and his mom…and his subsequent change in address.

Ekikyō listened intently the whole time. As they got closer and Izuku felt progressively worse, Ekikyō pulled him into a deep dive. Izuku went willingly and relayed directions to Ekikyō as his friend took over steering and deadened Izuku’s ability to feel his body again. It was a little easier to concentrate on where they were going with most of the background pain and malaise a degree removed. Izuku could tell Ekikyō the rest of what happened once they rested.

They made it back to Aizawa’s apartment with Izuku in a feverish haze. Aizawa was cooking in the kitchen when they stumbled in. Just the thought of eating turned their stomach, and the normally delicious smell coming from the kitchen made it worse.

“Welcome back, kid,” Aizawa called. “I’m making katsudon.”

“That sounds great, Aizawa, but I think I might be coming down with something.” They slipped out of their shoes and into their slippers before heading for the living room, only staggering a little. “I’m just going to go to bed.”

Aizawa leaned out of the kitchen to get a look at them, and Ekikyō tensed under their skin. Izuku mentally patted at his friend, trying to assure him Eraserhead wouldn’t use his quirk on them.

Aizawa looked them up and down, frowning at whatever he saw. He stepped out of the kitchen and pressed a hand to their forehead before grimacing. “If you feel up to it, take a cool shower before you go to sleep. It’ll help. I’ll get you something for that fever.” Aizawa squeezed their shoulder before walking down the hall to his room.

Izuku and Ekikyō wavered where they stood in the hall unsure if they should follow or wait there or maybe go into the kitchen to watch the food for Aizawa? He did walk away from the stove…

Aizawa returned before they could reach a decision and pressed a pill and a glass of water into their hands. “I’ll put your helping in the fridge for later. Let me know if you start feeling worse, alright?”

“Yes, Aizawa,” Izuku said before giving Ekikyō a quick mental tour of the apartment.

Ekikyō took them toward their bedroom, tossing the pill and water back on the way. “I got things from here, Izuku. Get some sleep.”

Izuku blearily agreed and let himself be pushed under.

When he woke up next it was nearly morning. It took a moment to place whatever had woken him. Then he heard the faint, soft footfalls that were the only indication Aizawa was home from patrol. He was usually tired enough after his shift that he forewent stealth around the apartment the few times Izuku had been awake to witness his return.

Izuku stretched a little to test his body as the footsteps came down the hall. His everything ached still, and he had a bit of a headache, but it felt like his fever had broken. Aizawa cracked the door to his room open then, and Izuku sleepily rubbed his eyes. “Aizawa?”

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly, stepping inside once he realized Izuku was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better. Fever’s gone, I think. Achey, headache, tired.” Izuku blinked up at Aizawa as the man checked Izuku’s forehead with the back of his hand again.

“That’s good. You probably caught the flu that’s been going around. I’ll call you out of classes and physical therapy today in case you’re still contagious. Think you’ll be alright here alone?”

“Well, as alone as you can get,” Ekikyō grumbled, having finally woken up.

Izuku leaned on his friend and said out loud, “I should be fine. I’ll probably just sleep the whole time anyway.” Izuku froze as a hand patted his hair once before Aizawa stood.

“Don’t forget to stay hydrated too, Midoriya. Go back to sleep. I’ll crack your door open when I leave, so the cats can join you.” Aizawa was closing their door before Izuku finished rebooting.

They just got patted on the head by Eraserhead.

“Not that that moment wasn’t great and all, but when were you going to tell me that Aizawa has cats?” Ekikyō demanded, feigning betrayal. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Izuku rolled his eyes before snuggling back down into his pillow. “He has three cats: Maneki who I helped rescue, Komainu who likes to pretend he’s a guard dog, and Mausu who is scared of me for some reason.” He pushed a mental picture of each cat at Ekikyō as he mentioned them. Then he leaned more into his friend. “Come on, let’s sleep. You can meet them in the morning.”

Ekikyō grumbled halfheartedly before shifting the slime in their body in his own version of getting comfortable. His mind curled around Izuku’s, and they drifted off to each other’s sleepy thoughts.

Outtake:

Izuku: “I think I’m coming down with something.”
Aizawa: *Dadzawa mode unlocked*

Chapter Text

Izuku and Ekikyō made the most of their sick day, namely eating all of the leftovers in the fridge and several bowls of miso soup. The “haven’t eaten in a week” feeling only abated after they’d eaten together nearly as much as Izuku ate on his own in a day. Izuku theorized that was due to Ekikyō acclimating and healing Iida and then immediately going on to acclimate Izuku again without any proper rest or recharge between those events.

“Ugh. Remind me to never possess someone new ever again,” Ekikyō said as they downed a third bowl of miso soup.

“I mean, fair? I don’t want to have to acclimate again either. Was that worse than the first time, or was it just that I was awake for more of it?”

Izuku could feel Ekikyō thinking before his friend replied, “It might have been? I think your fever got higher than the last two times, though it didn’t take near as long to acclimate your body as the first time. Probably because I only needed to introduce one additional set of markers to your cells and didn’t have to do anything to my own.”

That reasoning seemed sound. Izuku nodded as they washed their dishes. (They may occasionally be ravenous, but they weren’t slobs.) He jokingly asked, “Aside from eating my weight in food, what did you want to do today?”

“We do still need to catch each other up on everything. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you got a new explosion scar on your forearm,” Ekikyō said warningly. “And we should probably call Giran at some point in our disguise, figure out when we can meet up, probably should practice our disguise too while Eraserhead is out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Izuku said, shrugging and grabbing a jelly pouch to drink on the walk to the living room. “Memory shares first? You want to go first or should I?”

That’s how they spent the next hour sprawled on the sofa swapping memories and Izuku talking Ekikyō down from fleeing the country with Izuku after his friend learned Nezu likely knew his identity. Once they caught each other up and finished calming down—and crying in Izuku’s case—they stayed in their deep dive and refamiliarized themselves with moving and functioning together. There was more adjusting than usual before they were in perfect synch, but they suspected that was again due to Ekikyō’s brief stint in Iida. They made a mental note to add how possessing different people seemed to negatively impact how “in tune” Ekikyō was with any given host to Izuku’s notebook.

Before they succumbed to Izuku’s desire to analyze, they needed to work with their disguise. There were only so many hours before Aizawa got off work at UA and returned. And they definitely couldn’t risk practicing with him home. Even with him out, they retreated to Izuku’s room to have that extra barrier before someone could stumble upon them.

Izuku relaxed his hold on their body, allowing Ekikyō the lion’s share of physical control. Ekikyō flexed their hands and shifted on their feet, getting reacquainted with everything. Then he pressed slime against the underside of their skin. It oozed through hesitantly at first. After feeling that this part of their connection hadn’t been set back, it poured through more rapidly until they looked like a bargain horror movie monster again. They cleared their throat experimentally and added more slime to their airway until they got that deep, wet sound that was more Ekikyō than Izuku.

Then they did their eyes. Honestly, this was probably the part they needed to practice most. Sitting still and blind for a solid minute while Ekikyō fitted his maroon eyes over Izuku’s (it was a lot more complicated than that from what Izuku could catch, but he really didn’t want the details) seemed like a dangerous thing, especially if they intended to do this around villains.

Ekikyō listened and nodded in agreement as Izuku had the thought, and they wordlessly agreed to practice putting on and taking off their disguise to cut down on the transition time just like they had their possession and de-possession time. And practice they did, at least until Izuku’s eyes started to hurt badly enough to leave him squinting and developing a headache. They worked a bit longer with just the slime part of their disguise, getting it down to a handful of seconds. There did seem to be a hard limit on how fast they could exude slime; if they went too fast, Izuku started getting ruptured blood vessels under and in his skin. Thankfully, Ekikyō caught them before they could get bad enough to visibly bruise.

After that, they moved on to maintaining Izuku’s temperature and oxygen levels while in disguise. Ekikyō and Izuku shared control here, so Izuku could finish some homework while Ekikyo fine-tuned his control of Izuku’s homeostasis and metabolism with most of their body still covered in slime. (Izuku’s hands were kept free to prevent any smudging of his homework.)

Things went off the rails slightly when Izuku had an idea. “Hey, Ekikyō, how long do you think I could hold my breath with us skin-breathing like this?”

Ekikyō considered. They’d about worked out the balance for maintaining Izuku’s body temperature in this state. Why shouldn’t they be able to do the same with oxygen? “Want to find out?”

Izuku smiled in response. He and Ekikyō shared a few impressions of ideas, and Izuku slid off their bed to stand in the middle of their room. More slime welled from their skin while Izuku took measured, deep breaths in preparation. Once there was enough slime outside their body to hold Izuku up, they let their muscles go lax and limp to reduce oxygen need. Izuku took one last deep breath and held it as slime folded over his face.

The wall was distorted through the centimeters of translucent slime, and Izuku was surprised for a moment that his eyes didn’t sting before he remembered that there was already a slime layer over them. The constant push and pull of slime through his skin was almost relaxing, and Izuku let his eyes drift closed, focusing on Ekikyō and his bodymate’s sense of things.

Izuku was a bit stunned at the sudden influx of information once he paid attention. He hadn’t realized Ekikyō was…micromanaging like this. (Benefits of a hivemind, he assumed.)

Ekikyō was constantly tweaking Izuku’s internal thermostat while paying careful attention to his own and Izuku’s cells to catch when any of them started to run low on oxygen. He didn’t want to hurt Izuku.

Something in Izuku melted a little at the sentiment, and he settled into their deep dive again, lending his brainpower to managing their shared body.

Things went well, right up until they repositioned their body in the slime to recline more comfortably, and some of their slime went up Izuku’s nose. It tickled, and Izuku tried to snort it out. The mass of slime failing to budge against his attempted exhale put Izuku right back in that underpass from over a year ago, where he’d tried and tried but couldn’t get his airway clear, where he knew he was going to die, where he very nearly drowned. Izuku panicked and started trying to tear the slime away from his face, so he could breathe.

Ekikyō froze around him for one horrible second before realizing what was happening. He hurriedly pulled his slime off of their face and back inside their body as Izuku gulped air and crumpled to his hands and knees, eyes staring unseeing at the floor. Ekikyō wrapped Izuku in an internal hug and talked in their mind as he forcibly slowed their heartbeat. He left Izuku’s breathing alone while the boy slowly came back down from his panic.

Izuku’s mind eventually cleared enough to hear Ekikyō again. As soon as he identified the mental voice of his friend, he curled in on himself and pressed into Ekikyō. (His best friend was safe.) Ekikyō slid into control seamlessly and lifted them up off the ground. A moment later, they were curled up on the living room sofa, huddled under a blanket with Maneki mrrp-ing in their face.

Izuku blinked at her, wondering how much time he’d lost. He shakily raised a hand to pet her, and the calico pressed her head back into his hand. After a few more pets, she hopped over Izuku to take up her customary spot against the back of his neck. Then she set an imperious paw on his head and started grooming his hair. Izuku giggled a little and slowly, shakily relaxed.

Ekikyō was oddly silent and distant in their head. Izuku could very faintly feel guilt and hurt and heard something that sounded an awful lot like “my fault.”

Izuku forced his eyes to stay open. Before he could let himself drift off, he needed to make sure Ekikyō knew something. He reached across the chasm in their mind and said, “It’s not you. I could never be afraid of you. I’m…afraid of drowning…”

“Yeah, because of what I did to you.”

“You ever have a swirly?” Izuku asked, sending his friend a mental image to explain. “I was well on my way to developing that fear without you. My bullies only stopped doing that because of you standing up for me. And I already forgave you, anyway,” Izuku added, holding out a metaphorical hand.

Ekikyō hesitated before reaching back. They slotted back into place side by side and overlapping at the edges. Emotions flowed back and forth as they settled. Guilt was quieted by forgiveness, embarrassment and self-doubt brushed aside by understanding, apology met by acceptance, a desire to not be alone acknowledged with fondness and a mental head pat.

Between the tiredness from Ekikyō’s quirk practice and his own fading adrenaline—not to mention the emotional exhaustion—Izuku only lasted a few minutes before falling asleep.

Aizawa shook them awake several hours later. “Hey, dinner’s ready.”

Izuku and Ekikyō stretched and dislodged three disgruntled cats—wait. They blinked down at their feet where Mausu was staring at them. She’d been sleeping on their feet! Izuku almost squealed. At the grin spreading across their face, she launched herself off the sofa and darted underneath Aizawa’s favorite chair. They pouted but took the opportunity to escape before Maneki could climb back onto them.

Dinner was mild but filling. Izuku tried to pace himself, embarrassed that he and Ekikyō had eaten nearly half of the fridge’s contents earlier today. Aizawa didn’t comment on their binge-eating, thankfully.

“Feeling any better?” the man asked as they finished their second helping.

Izuku nodded sheepishly, mentally yelling at Ekikyō to make sure they couldn’t blush. “I think that extra sleep helped.”

“You look better, though your eyes are a little bloodshot.”

Izuku rubbed at his eyes, grimacing when he realized they were still sore.

Aizawa pulled their hand down away from their face. “Rubbing will make it worse. Wait here,” he said before walking toward his bedroom.

Ekikyō and Izuku did the mental equivalent of shrugging at each other as they took their plate to the sink. They started washing the dishes, since they didn’t get to help with cooking.

“Leave the dishes to soak for a minute, Midoriya,” Aizawa called from the hallway. “Come to the bathroom, and I’ll show you how to put eyedrops in.”

Izuku dried their hands and followed. Ekikyō pulled his slime back from Izuku’s eyes to ensure they looked normal bloodshot under the better lighting in the bathroom (rather than black blood bloodshot). They kinda needed to pull the slime back to allow the medicated eyedrops to actually contact Izuku’s eyes anyway. Izuku squinted at how dry his eyes felt without the usual slime coating.

Aizawa tilted their head up to get another look at their eyes in the bathroom. “You probably got a little dehydrated with the fever and excessive sleep. That can dry your eyes out. This should help,” he said, picking up a small bottle from the counter. He demonstrated how to put the drops in before handing them off to Izuku.

Ekikyō helped with positioning and keeping them from blinking as they put a drop in each eye. The mirror helped with that too. Izuku blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from his vision as he handed the bottle back to his guardian. “Thanks, Aizawa.”

“It’s no trouble, Problem Child. I’ll leave them in here until tomorrow in case you need to use them again. One set of drops usually lasts me four to six hours.”

Izuku nodded and turned to head back to the kitchen. A light hand on his shoulder stalled him.

“Have you been doing anything for your scars?”

Izuku frowned and glanced at his reflection. After a few seconds’ consideration, he figured that Aizawa had noticed how some of his scars and all of his stretch marks were more prominent with Ekikyō in residence. He rubbed at a few of the ragged stripes of white on his neck. Those and the ones on his torso were equally big, with smaller marks decorating his limbs. “Ah, these aren’t scars, Aizawa. I’ve had stretch marks ever since I got kidnapped last year. I was pretty scrawny, and the Sludge Villain…” Izuku shrugged, not meeting the teacher’s eyes. “I’ve gotten used to them. They don’t hurt or anything. They’re just there…and everywhere,” he added.

Izuku idly wondered if he needed to start hiding those as Naisho too, now that Aizawa had noticed them. Then again, Aizawa knew that Naisho’s friend had a possession quirk. It would make sense for them to have similar marks.

Izuku felt something negative drift from Ekikyō’s side of their mind and turned some of his focus inward. He leaned on Ekikyō to make sure his friend didn’t start doing any self-deprecating and thought reassurances at him. He truthfully didn’t mind. It was just how things worked. Ekikyō couldn’t help it.

They were pulled from their thoughts when Aizawa picked up another container on the bathroom counter. The small jar had been there since before Izuku moved in with Aizawa, but Izuku hadn’t wanted to pry. The hero was already sharing his home with Izuku. He didn’t need Izuku digging through his medications and toiletries too.

After reading the fine print on the label, Aizawa nodded and set the jar back on the counter. He nudged it toward Izuku. “Quirk-enhanced scar cream. It should work for stretch marks too.”

Izuku’s eyebrows shot up. He’d seen quirk-enhanced burn cream before, but that stuff was really expensive. He could never quite justify buying it. He glanced back up at Aizawa’s face. “Is that why your scars have healed so well? I can barely see any of the reconstruction scars except for the one under your eye.”

Aizawa nodded. “Doesn’t work quite as well on deeper wounds or grafts, sadly.” He rubbed at his right elbow. “It may not be able to do much for your older scars, but it should still help some.”

Izuku gingerly picked up the expensive jar and turned it over in his hands. He wondered how long it would last with the number of scars and marks their body bore. “I-I’ll give it a try. Thanks. Again. You really don’t have to…” He glanced down and away, suddenly sheepish.

A hand ruffled his hair, and the man had a hint of amusement in his eyes as he said, “I’m your guardian, kid. Taking care of you is kind of in the job description.” His face grew more serious as he shifted his hand from Izuku’s curls to his shoulder. He held eye contact as he added, “Even if I wasn’t your guardian I’d still help. As much as you’d let me. You deserve help and care, Midoriya. You’re worth it. Despite what you’ve heard in the past.”

“He’s right, you know,” Ekikyō added with a mental poke.

Izuku’s throat clogged with emotion, and he blinked back tears as he offered a half-grin and nodded. He took the jar of scar cream and retreated to his room. What was one more breakdown anyway? At least this one was of a better sort.

Outtake:

Aizawa: looks through the half-bare fridge and scratches his head “I’ve heard people say teenagers are bottomless pits, but this seems excessive. Am I not feeding the kid enough?”

Chapter Text

The next day was thankfully Saturday, which meant Izuku and Ekikyo could sneak away under the guise of hanging out with his friends and training. The first thing they did was hop a train for Tokyo, Ekikyō good-naturedly listening while Izuku gushed about his friends and their performances in the Sports Festival and how they were getting moved to heroics. If Izuku spent a little more time talking about Hitoshi than Uraraka, Ekikyō didn’t call him on it.

Once on the outskirts of the city, they found a nice secluded place to disguise their voice and got down to business. They called Giran on the burner he’d given Ekikyo. “Hey, Giran,” Ekikyō said with their voice. “Fetched my meatsuit. When are these friends of yours free?”

“Hello, Sludge,” Giran said “Good to hear from you. My friends are mostly free during the day. You available now?”

Ekikyō hummed. “Give me fifteen minutes to wrap something up on my end. Then yeah. Where should I meet you? Or are you using that teleporter again?”

“Just send your coordinates when you’re ready, and I’ll have Kurogiri—the teleporter—send you over.”

“Got it.” After Ekikyō hung up, he asked, “You ready, Izuku?”

Izuku took off his emergency tracker and tucked it into his pocket. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

Ekikyō enveloped their body in slime and got to work on their eyes as Izuku took a moment to make himself relax. They were doing this in a deep dive, but not an equal one. That would put Izuku too close to the surface, and some of his reactions might slip through, which would likely give them away or get them killed. After much discussion this morning, Izuku had suggested they do something like their very first deep dive. Everything would still be shared, but control and influence would be skewed in Ekikyō’s favor. Ekikyō hadn’t been a fan of the idea, to say the least.

They tried keeping their minds separate for a test run first, but Izuku could barely feel anything through the layer of slime and the constant push and pull of it through his skin. Sight with their disguise had been really weird and spotty too. Then there was the breathing situation with the way their disguise coated their trachea. After Izuku’s panic attack yesterday, neither of them wanted to risk an episode when they were going to be surrounded by villains. (There was also the question of how well Izuku would handle seeing Shigaraki again, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.)

They’d ended up circling back to the skewed deep dive, but only because Izuku made it clear that he was perfectly okay with it in this exact, specific circumstance. It wasn’t something either of them wanted to do regularly, but Izuku trusted Ekikyō not to abuse that control any more than Hitoshi would.

Ekikyō still had trouble accepting that trust on some level, asking several times throughout the morning if this was really okay. He asked again now before they got going. “Last chance, Izuku. You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Izuku gave a confirmation before he felt their slime shift in his brain attaching to and infiltrating areas they’d purposely left unconnected prior to this. Izuku didn’t feel any real difference on his end. That should probably be scary, but the thought slipped away, their focus zeroing in on the odd shift in the air immediately before Kurogiri’s warp gate opened in front of them. They hadn’t noticed it at the USJ, probably because they didn’t have much slime externalized when the warper snuck up on them there. Ekikyō’s slime really was amazing for picking up changes in their surroundings.

They walked through the warp gate, suppressing a shudder at the odd chill that came with it. They emerged in a dingy bar with no windows and a staircase up to the main door. Maybe they were underground? Then they took in the people. Kurogiri stood behind the bar where Shigaraki sat. The man was only wearing one of his embalmed hands—the one covering his face. There were a handful of other people in the bar, but Shigaraki held their attention.

Izuku’s thoughts disjointed from Ekikyō’s, stuttering to a crawl as he remembered the USJ, the sick smile, crazed red eyes, deadly hands, and agony crawling across his leg. The panic didn’t quite have time to set in before his paralyzing thoughts were yanked off track, and he was forcibly pulled back in synch with Ekikyō. His friend’s mind pressed in on him, keeping him in a deep dive and scattering his half-formed thoughts.

Izuku let himself sink into Ekikyō for a few seconds as he tried to recenter himself. He focused on his and Ekikyō’s senses as he followed one of Inui-san’s grounding exercises. By the time he’d counted various things they could see, feel, taste, hear, and smell, Ekikyō and Shigaraki were in the middle of a conversation.

“What do you mean you won’t be staying here?” Shigaraki asked, picking at the wood of the bar counter.

“I mean, I can’t stay here with this body full-time. My meatsuit’s a timeshare. They’re still alive and have a day job when I’m not piloting them.” At the mix of confused and disturbed looks that explanation earned them, they sighed. “We made a deal. They get to live their life, but I get to use the body when they sleep or if I need them during their free time. I put their mind to sleep while I’m in charge, so they’re not aware of what happens while I’m in control. Can’t betray what they don’t know.

“In exchange for getting a body to use and a place to hide and sleep when I’m not in control, all I have to do is keep their identity a secret from you lot and manage their chronic pain and occasional injuries.” Ekikyō laughed. “Pretty sure they’re addicted to me for the pain relief bit.”

“Aw, that’s almost sweet,” a man in a black and white mask said before shifting tone and posture. “So messed up.”

Izuku wondered if that guy might be possessed too.

“Nah, that’s just Twice. I’ve heard about him. He has a cloning quirk. Had a mental break a while back after he and his clones got into some sort of spat that turned bloody.”

“Ooh! So, you have to take them home before they wake up, so they don’t know what happened,” a girl with blonde hair done up in messy buns said. “What do they look like? I bet they’re cute.”

Izuku felt a defensive shift in their mood, slime clinging a bit more firmly to their skin and insides. “Back off, blondie. They’re mine.”

The blonde only giggled in response.

Their attention snapped back to Shigaraki as he said, “There are a lot of restrictions on your character. What do we get out of letting you join? What’s your mechanic?”

Ekikyō pulled their face into an exceptionally wide smile. “I’m great at breaking and entering, picking locks, recon and spying. I’m decent at fighting and capture. Choking people out is easy for me. Oh, and I’m pretty good at picking out peoples’ quirks.”

“Really?” a person in the corner of the bar asked.

Their eyes locked on the man, and Izuku internally screamed. What was freaking Dabi doing here?! He knew Izuku as Green. Was their disguise good enough? What if he figured out who they were?

They only panicked for a few moments before Ekikyō forced them to continue talking without showing the emotion externally. “Well, yeah. Comes with my quirk. I have to be a good judge of compatibility to stay alive. Like you. You would make a terrible host. I’d probably boil alive before ever acclimating to your body. Especially since it looks like you’re not acclimated to your quirk either.”

Dabi snorted and leaned back in his corner booth, seemingly amused.

“Me next!” the blonde from earlier said, waving her hand in the air.

Ekikyō tilted their head and studied her, Izuku picking her apart alongside him. Neither of them could spot any tells or obvious mutations…aside from her elongated canine teeth and slitted pupils, though those could be holdover mutations from a parent.

“Not sure about you. I’d guess someone in your family history had a feline quirk. I wouldn’t try to possess you until I observed you long enough to figure out if your quirk’s an emitter or transformer unless I was desperate. I stay away from tranformers. Can’t always tell how a body changes internally with a transformation, which can get dicey for me being inside them and all.”

Deciding to make up for their less than satisfactory display with Toga, they moved on to the kid sitting further down the bar on the other side of Shigaraki. He was wearing a gas mask. “You, I’d avoid entirely. I breathe through my slime. Judging by the gear, you might be able to kill me before I possess you.” Then they pointed at Spinner. “You shouldn’t pose too big of a problem though if the lizard mutation is the extent of your quirk.”

The lizard man blinked at them. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I can stick to wall, because my quirk takes after a gecko.”

“I wonder where the magenta hair comes from then?”

Ekikyō sent Izuku the impression of a shrug before turning his attention back to Shigaraki. “That enough for you?”

Shigaraki considered them closely for several seconds. “You have an unusual skillset. What would you say if we could get you a different body? One that you didn’t have to return at the end of the day?”

Izuku would have stopped breathing without Ekikyō firmly in charge of their bodily functions at the moment. This was all of Izuku’s fears rolled up into one neat package, wasn’t it? His dad had left and never returned, Bakugo had left him in the dust after beating him down there, and his mom had put distance between them mentally and emotionally at some point without him realizing it. No one he cared about growing up had stayed. It made sense for his more recent friends (and family) to leave too.

Izuku wasn’t unique. Now that Ekikyō knew more about his quirk, had had time to practice and experiment with it in safety, he could have anyone he wanted (and was compatible with) for a living host. He could find someone strong or with a complimentary quirk. Ekikyō didn’t need him. Izuku wilted under the realization.

(What if Izuku still needed Ekikyō?)

Ekikyō shushed him and flooded their mind with affection and conviction as he squeezed their body in an internal hug. “I’m not going anywhere, Izuku.” Out loud, Ekikyō laughed. “I doubt you could find me as good a match, Shigaraki, but it wouldn’t last anyway. The whole reason I agreed to this arrangement in the first place is that I can only hold a possession a few days at a time. Finding someone who survives my quirk is rare enough, let alone someone who doesn’t fight me every single time I have to reestablish the possession.”

Shigaraki scrunched up his face in distaste before looking away and waving a hand at them. “Fine, whatever. Give Kurogiri your number, and we’ll text whenever we need you.”

Ekikyō did so before requesting something called a lemon sour from the teleporter/bartender. While Kurogiri fetched their drink, they said, “If it helps, my meatsuit has enough PTO saved up to take off a couple weeks around July or August. Can’t take off before then because of everyone else in the company having seniority and taking their own time.”

A villain at a nearby table with a large…metal beam(?) propped against it humphed and shook their head. “Coworkers. Enough to drive anyone to villainy, am I right?”

“Tell me about it,” Ekikyō said, moving to join her with the drink Kurogiri had handed them. To Izuku, he said, “That is Magne, and she is a woman. If she ever hears you call her anything else, she will murder you.”

“Good to know. Um, what is that?” Izuku asked, twitching their eyes down toward their large mug.

Ekikyō chuckled where only Izuku could hear. “This is a lemon sour. It’s about the lowest alcohol content thing I can order without looking like a total pansy. Didn’t want to get anything stronger without knowing how your body will handle it.” Ekikyō pulled back from Izuku’s mind enough that Izuku was very distinctly himself before asking, “Want a taste?”

Izuku stared at their drink for a minute, mildly apprehensive. They did need to blend in, and he was confident Ekikyō wouldn’t let him get alcohol poisoning, but… “Maybe just a sip? I really can’t have any hint of that on my breath when we go back to Aizawa’s apartment though.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I won’t try to drink anyone under any tables.”

“What does that even mean?” Izuku asked as Ekikyō returned them to their skewed deep dive and raised their mug to take a sip of their drink. Izuku wanted to wrinkle their nose as the sharpness under the lemon taste hit him. “Yuck. Needs sugar and less of whatever that is.”

Ekikyō mentally laughed. “That’s the alcohol. This is called a lemon sour for a reason.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not taste the rest of that if it’s all the same to you.”

Ekikyō mentally shrugged before coating their mouth with enough slime to ensure none of their drink hit Izuku’s taste buds as he continued drinking.

They and Magne shared drinks and a companionable silence until the blonde girl plopped down in the chair between them with some sort of milkshake. “Hiya! I’m Toga Himiko.”

“Sludge,” Ekikyō said in reply, raising his mug to her before taking another gulp.

Toga nodded in acknowledgment. “Can I ask a question about your quirk?”

Ekikyō narrowed their eyes at Toga before getting an idea. “Only if I can ask one in turn.”

Toga beamed. “Deal!” She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table and her head in her hands as she intently asked, “Do you possess people because you like being someone else?”

They blinked at her a few times. Of all the things she could ask, that was not what they were expecting. “Not…exactly. When we’re both awake in here,” Ekikyō said, tapping the side of their head. “We can blend together if we want to, but we’re still separate and distinct most of the time.” Ekikyō thought hard for a moment before continuing, “There is a sense of safety in being inside someone’s skin, but I like being seen for who I am as much as the next guy.”

Toga looked thoughtful as she stirred her Sakura(?) milkshake with her straw. She frowned as she asked, “If you like being seen, why come here in someone at all? Why not come by yourself?”

Ekikyō noted a few of the others appeared to be listening in and answered carefully, “You ever hear of quirk withdrawal?”

Toga flinched back in her chair before staring at them as if seeing something or someone else.

Ekikyō gave a humorless laugh and looked away. “Let’s just say this is as much for your protection as mine.” Ekikyō knocked the last of their drink back before setting their mug down heavily on the table. “I believe it’s my turn now?” When Toga nodded, Ekikyō asked the burning question, “What’s your quirk?”

Toga seemed to shake off whatever her staring was and refocused on them. “Transform. I drink someone’s blood, and I can become them.”

“Nice. That explains the sharp teeth then. Bet it comes in handy for losing a tail and getting into places unseen.” Unspoken was their strong suspicion that Toga got quirk withdrawal too, given her reaction to the term. They were both pretty sure now that the pink color of her milkshake wasn’t Sakura.

They chatted with the League a while longer before they took their leave and headed back to Tokyo via Warp Gate. As soon as Ekikyō pulled fully back under Izuku’s skin, the alcohol seemed to hit the boy all at once. Or maybe it was them separating their minds. Izuku hadn’t noticed a thing wrong until they split, but he felt very unsteady now, and he couldn’t seem to stop giggling. The way the world kept tilting was just too funny.

Ekikyō saved them from faceplanting twice before just taking over and gently shoving his tipsy bodymate into the passenger seat. “Of course, you’re a lightweight. Come on; we’ll get some food in you. That’ll help.”

They grabbed a box of yakisoba and a bottle of water from a street vendor for while they waited for their train home. The train ride itself was fuzzy at best. Izuku fell asleep at some point. Ekikyō prodded him awake as they disembarked feeling a little soberer.

“You should feel soberer. I jacked your metabolism way up to clear that stuff out before we hang out with your friends,” Ekikyō informed him.

Izuku hummed and rubbed his eyes. “That’s why I’m hungry again already. Guess we could grab some snacks on the way. How do you feel about dorayaki? We could grab extra for Uraraka and Hitoshi.”

Ekikyō nudged Izuku toward the convenience store. “Sounds good. Grab something with extra protein for Shinso. Don’t think the kid’s gained any weight since you started training him.”

Izuku chewed on his lip for a moment before Ekikyō made him stop. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I’m really worried about him. Is this how you felt about me after…?”

Ekikyō rolled their eyes. “Essentially. Cross, Cheshire, and I don’t have a crush on the person we’re worried about though,” Ekikyō said, smugness saturating their shared mind.

Izuku choked on his own spit, and Ekikyō had to lock their jaw to keep Izuku from shrieking out loud at his friend.

Outtake:
Izuku: "I do not have a crush!"
Ekikyō: "Listen, kid. I've already gone through puberty once. I know what a crush feels like. I am not going to sit here and deal with you pining for however long it takes you to figure it out."
Izuku: "There's nothing to figure out!"
Ekikyō: "Sure. Let's see if this sounds familiar. You care about the person, smile when you think about them, think they're good-looking, want to spend time with them...Kid?"
Izuku: was distracted thinking about Hitoshi and smiling "What?"
Ekikyō: ...
Izuku: "I...that doesn't prove anything!"

Chapter Text

When Izuku returned to school on Monday, they ran into a snag. Izuku stared up at the closed UA barrier and sighed. “I should have seen this coming.”

“Problem Child, did you forget your id card?” Aizawa asked from the other side of the barrier, sounding thoroughly done with the day already.

“N-no. I’ve got it on me. I don’t know why this is happening.”

Aizawa sighed. “Hang tight. I’ll have Nezu sort it out.”

“Huh, so that’s how their security system works,” Ekikyō commented, sounding vaguely impressed.

“What do you mean?”

“The only difference from the last time I possessed you was me possessing Iida, right? So, the system must be picking up on the change in our cells somehow and compares it to what they have on file for the id card detected. That or my quirk actually picks up some of my host’s DNA.”

“Interesting. Oh…that means Iida is going to have a problem when he gets back from his internship too,” Izuku said with a small grimace. “Maybe it’s a good thing Nezu already found us out. I don’t know how we could explain this otherwise…”

Ekikyō grudgingly agreed.

A few minutes later the barrier opened and let Izuku through. A disgruntled Aizawa told them to swing by the office to get their id re-issued before he stalked off—probably to find a place to nap in his sleeping bag. After that hiccup, their morning run and classes went smoothly. They missed Hitoshi and Uraraka at lunch, but they’d all agreed in their group chat that the two should get to know their new classmates on the first day of their transfer.

Then there were afternoon classes with Nezu.

The creature surprised them by greeting them both (once his office door was closed). “Welcome back, Midoriya Izuku, Motsu Ekikyō. It seems I owe the latter of you two of my students’ lives now and a pro hero’s besides. Thank you for your help in ensuring the safety of those in my charge.” He gave a brief but deep bow before offering them tea.

They were speechless as they accepted a cup. “Your surname’s Motsu?” Izuku asked.

“Yeah. Don’t go wearing it out.” Ekikyō cleared their throat to say to Nezu, “Uh…you’re welcome? The Iida kid doing okay?”

Nezu smiled, keying in on their change in speech pattern. “Yes, he’s expected to make a full or near full recovery.”

Izuku and Ekikyō both sighed at the news, relieved. “That’s good,” Izuku said. “Oh! You’ll probably need to issue Iida a new id card too, since Ekikyō possessed him. That’s the only thing that changed since the last time we were on campus, and we set the gate alarm off, so he probably will too. The slime in his system will last at least five weeks. We never did get around to testing how long it took for my system to fully process the slime and reset for…reasons. You might have to re-issue our cards again whenever that happens. If it fully resets? Not sure how long Ekikyō’s quirk will interfere with whatever the gate reader keys off of. Is it DNA? We thought Ekikyō’s quirk was only changing cell surface markers before this, but DNA makes sense too, though that would mean his quirk is a bit more involved than we thought…” He stopped when Ekikyō mentally poked him. “Ah…sorry, Nezu-sensei. It’s been a while since we learned something new about his quirk. I got excited,” Izuku said while rubbing the back of his neck.

Nezu smiled. “It’s quite alright, Midoriya. Motsu’s quirk does seem quite fascinating. Normally, I wouldn’t reveal information regarding our school’s security system, but since it pertains to your friend’s quirk and potentially your health, I will say that it works off of DNA recognition.”

Izuku perked up at that. That was proof then! Ekikyō’s quirk carried the DNA of his possessees. Was it just in his cells, or did that get shared alongside the cell surface markers? Actually, that could be how he affected cell surface markers in a host. If Ekikyō’s quirk allowed for exchanging DNA or reprogramming Izuku’s own, he could tell Izuku’s cells to make the markers themselves rather than having to manually attach the markers. That made more sense for long-term upkeep.

Nezu clapped his paws to regain Izuku’s attention. “Now that that’s out of the way, I believe we were starting the unit on how to cover one’s tracks when acquiring intelligence digitally.”

“Is he teaching you how to get away with hacking?” Ekikyō asked, bafflement coming off his mind in waves.

“I still have that outstanding assignment to get ahold of the USJ footage,” Izuku told his friend without really answering. Izuku bit back a smile and pulled out his notebook dedicated to his Cybersecurity notes as he looked up at Nezu. “Yes, sensei. That would be good to know before I crack the MPD’s firewalls.”

Nezu gave a sharp grin, and his eyes twinkled. “We’d best get started then.”

---

Monday turned to Tuesday, and Izuku could hardly wait for their lunch break. He wanted to hear and see how his friends were doing. He was mostly excited for them, but a small part of him that still wore the Aldera gakuran over fresh burns was afraid to even think about Hitoshi and Uraraka in the same classroom as Bakugo. Izuku knew that he seemed to be the only one who set Bakugo off, but what if Shinso said the wrong thing? What if Uraraka got on his nerves? What if them being Izuku’s friends was reason enough? There was no one in 1-A to defend them from Bakugo. Teachers and classmates never told Bakugo “no.” It wasn’t fair, but that was just the way the world was.

The fact Eraserhead was 1-A’s homeroom teacher could only comfort him so much. Eraserhead was an amazing hero, but Aizawa was also Bakugo’s teacher. As a hero, Eraserhead was trustworthy, but Izuku had never met a teacher that was. Nezu had experienced prejudice himself and was not human, so Izuku could believe him to be an exception or outlier without much mental gymnastics. But the cognitive dissonance about Eraserhead was giving him a headache.

Ekikyō and Hatsume both did their best to distract Izuku from his catastrophizing, but none of them really relaxed until Hitoshi and Uraraka walked into the library with their trays of food. “You’re okay,” Izuku breathed as he looked them over. No burns or bruises were visible on either of them.

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at them. “What? Did you think they were going to descend on us like starving piranhas?”

“No, just the explodey one,” Hatsume said, waving a hand at the two hero students without looking up from the blueprint she was working on.

“Oh no, everyone was really nice!” Uraraka hurried to assure them. “The worst Bakugo did was glare and sulk.”

“Like a wet cat,” Hitoshi added before narrowing his eyes at Izuku. “You’ve been stressing about this all morning, haven’t you?”

Izuku grimaced. “Maybe?” Izuku’s world was wrapped in a familiar fog. He let himself drift there and allowed the stress to leach out of him. Knowing Hitoshi, Izuku suspected his friend was ordering him through a breathing exercise or something similar to reduce his anxiety.

Hitoshi was sitting beside Izuku when the fog lifted. The purple-haired boy pressed their shoulders together and asked, “Feeling any better?”

Izuku considered how he felt. He was less jittery, and his Bakugo anxiety was easier to ignore now, even if it was still there. He felt a little tired though. “I think so. Thanks. Kinda want a nap now,” Izuku added with a yawn.

Ekikyō made himself known then, leaning against Izuku’s mind. “Anxiety and adrenaline do jack up your metabolism. Speaking of, you gonna finish your lunch, or should I?”

Izuku leaned on Ekikyō and picked up his chopsticks to start eating. They really did need all the energy they could get with them planning to patrol tonight. Thinking about running around with Eraserhead brought up another thing he’d been uncertain about. He glanced sideways at Hitoshi. “So…now that you and Uraraka are officially in Heroics…are we still training on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

Hitoshi smirked. “You can’t get rid of us that easily, Izuku. We’ll be there.”

“Plus, Aizawa-sensei thinks we still need some catching up. He said we might start doing quirk training in addition to hand-to-hand,” Uraraka said.

Izuku grinned. “I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time.” He frowned a little when he noticed Hitoshi’s tense body language. Hitoshi was behind compared to everyone else when it came to quirks. He’d purposefully used his a mere handful of times before this year. Izuku wondered just how strong he might be if he’d had as much practice as someone like Bakugo, how strong he might get in the future with consistent training and the confidence that came with it. “Hey, Hitoshi, want to come over to my place to practice your quirk after school and training?”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows shot up, and he studied Izuku’s face with thinly concealed concern. “Are you sure your guardian would be okay with that? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Something warm built in Izuku’s chest, and he smiled. “I’ll text him now, but I’m 95% sure he won’t mind.” He pulled out his phone to do just that while he continued eating.

“Ugh, kid. You’re killing me here,” Ekikyō complained. “Do you two have to be so nauseatingly cute? You’re still brushing shoulders, and now you want to introduce him to your not-dad. Aren’t you supposed to ask him out before you take him home?”

Izuku choked on his mouthful of rice. “Ekikyō!”

Ekikyō laughed and cleared their throat for him. “Just saying, kid, he hasn’t pulled away even though your anxiety’s better now. Pretty sure that means he likes you back.”

Izuku could not deal with this right now. Ekikyō was unbearably smug, and Hitoshi was looking at him like he was trying to decide if he needed to do the Heimlich, and Izuku just wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. “I’m okay!” he choked out before draining his milk carton. “I-I don’t…It’s not…Ekikyō, this isn’t funny!” Izuku sighed as his friend subsided into snickers. Being teased by someone inside his head and able to feel his emotions was so unfair. “Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—it doesn’t matter. Hitoshi could do a lot better than me. He—”

“Izuku, I know you’re not about to self-deprecate,” Ekikyō warned.

Izuku deflated. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re right either.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, Ekikyō moved their eyes to Izuku’s phone on the table. “By the way, your phone went off while you were choking.”

“Thanks.” Izuku unlocked his phone to see a reply from Aizawa. He had the go-ahead to bring Hitoshi over. He turned his phone back off and told Hitoshi, “You’re good to come over and stay for dinner.”

Hitoshi nodded and pulled out his own phone, probably to text his fosters. He still didn’t move from where his shoulder brushed Izuku’s.

The next few classes passed quickly, though Nezu had to cut their last lesson short after he got a phone call. Izuku couldn’t hear what it was about, but Nezu did not seem pleased about whatever it was. Izuku and Ekikyō ended up spending the last period camped out in Gym Gamma doing homework, or well, attempting to do homework.

After staring at the same page of English homework for 15 minutes, Izuku sighed and closed the worksheet in his textbook to save his place for later. “Ekikyō?”

“Hm?”

Izuku chewed on his lip. “About what you said earlier… if I were…interested in someone, how would that even work? With us, I mean.”

Something distinctly uncomfortable drifted from Ekikyō’s side of their mind. “I’m not going to get in the way if you want to date someone or anything. Might give them a mean shovel talk though. Anyway, you deserve to be happy, kid, and I can literally feel you’re happier with Shinso around. But…I am ten years older than you, so if you two want to do anything when I’m around, put me to sleep first. And please don’t ask me to give you The Talk. Just…use the internet or ask Cheshire or Cross if you have any questions.”

Izuku blushed black and hid his face in his hands. He didn’t say anything for a minute before he got himself back under control. He got where Ekikyō was coming from, but he didn’t really like the idea of knocking his best friend out for something that wasn’t an emergency. “But…”

“No buts, Izuku. I am a lot of things, but a pedophile isn’t one of them. We can revisit things after both of you are 18 if it really bothers you.”

Izuku nodded, still frowning. He didn’t have long to dwell on his dissatisfaction before the bell rang for the end of class. Izuku blew out a breath and shoved that topic aside for now. It wasn’t like it would become an issue anytime soon. Even if Izuku liked Hitoshi and Hitoshi somehow liked him back, his friend was busy learning how to be a hero and catching up on a month of missed heroics lessons. And Izuku was busy with his vigilante stuff and infiltrating The League and adjusting to his new living situation. Neither of them had time for a relationship.

Izuku pointedly ignored Ekikyō’s mental eye roll and patronizing “Whatever you say, kid.”

Izuku huffed and set his backpack aside to start his stretches. He’d changed into his gym clothes and stuffed his uniform in his backpack before settling in here to study. Today was Hitoshi and Uraraka’s first heroics lesson, but that meant that the rest of 1-A was using the locker rooms too. Izuku hadn’t wanted to risk running into Bakugo alone by changing after classes let out when he’d always met up with Hitoshi before going to the locker room prior to this.

(Izuku didn’t think he’d be able to get burnt uniforms and skin past Aizawa like he had Mom.)

His friends and guardian/teacher arrived about the time he finished his stretches. They stretched and fell into their routine learning a handful of new moves from Aizawa before moving on to quirkless sparring. Izuku won most of his matches but finally lost one to Hitoshi when he started getting into oxygen debt. Their increased oxygen need while possessed wasn’t usually a problem, but Izuku couldn’t very well use their oxygen concentrator in civilian clothes.

Aizawa noticed him struggling too. “Midoriya?”

Izuku blinked his eyes open and stared up from where he was still sprawled on the mat. Aizawa was crouched beside him. Izuku grinned and said between panted breaths, “Just catching my breath, Sensei. Give me a minute.”

The teacher hummed. “How about ten? Your stamina’s still recovering from when you were sick. I can start the others on quirk exercises while you rest.” He held a hand out to help Izuku up.

Izuku nodded and took the hand up. He drank some water and focused on breathing deeply as Aizawa set Uraraka to practice floating herself over by the climbing rope, so she’d have something to keep herself from floating too high. He stacked a few extra layers of mats under her before moving on to Hitoshi. Hitoshi couldn’t really use his quirk without a second person, but Aizawa handed him a sheet of paper. Izuku watched on as his friend made a face before paying attention to Aizawa again.

It took Izuku a minute to recognize Aizawa was showing Hitoshi breathing exercises. Izuku recognized one of them from his research when he was learning to hold his breath longer. Why hadn’t Izuku thought to teach Hitoshi breathing exercises?! His entire quirk depended on his voice!

“To be fair, you were focused on figuring out what Brainwashing could do. The kid barely knew anything about his quirk when you two started. I’m sure you’d have gotten around to how to strengthen the physical aspects of it eventually,” Ekikyō said, giving Izuku a mental head pat.

“But still! This was a pretty big thing to miss. I wonder if he trains his voice enough if Hitoshi would be able to throw his voice or mimic other people’s?”

Ekikyō chuckled fondly but didn’t interrupt the ensuing brainstorm.

Izuku might have felt something a little fond in turn. Very few were willing to listen to him ramble about quirks. Izuku wondered briefly what life might have been like if he’d met Ekikyō or someone like him a decade ago, if he’d had a best friend earlier, if someone had always believed in him.

(Maybe he wouldn’t have given up.)

Melancholy and something like grief settled in his lungs like a stone. Izuku swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and blinked his eyes rapidly. How was it possible to feel so strongly about something that never was?

Ekikyō carefully pressed a question against Izuku’s mind, and Izuku couldn’t think of words for what he was feeling. He sent an invitation instead. The two glanced surreptitiously at Aizawa, who was showing Hitoshi something with breath control. Then they sank into a deep dive. After half a minute, their minds drifted back apart.

“Yeah, kid. I wish I’d grown up with someone like you around too,” Ekikyō said after a long moment. “Though maybe it’s for the best we didn’t. I definitely would have murdered that Bakugo brat before he got to middle school if I had to put up with his shit as long as you did.”

Izuku didn’t dignify that with a worded response, only pushing a halfhearted feeling of reproach at his friend.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa called, dragging Izuku out of his head. Once Izuku perked up and met his eyes, the pro asked, “You good to continue?”

“Yes, sensei!” Izuku said, setting his Present Mic water bottle and his emotions aside.

Aizawa nodded and motioned him over to the sparring mat. “Good. I’m going to show you some pressure points you can target with your strikes.”

Before they knew it, Aizawa dismissed them. Uraraka waved and headed out, but Hitoshi lingered, eyes straying from Izuku to the still present Aizawa. Aizawa let Hitoshi stew in uncertainty for a moment longer before grunting and picking up his messenger bag. “Come on, Midoriya, Shinso; let’s get going.”

Hitoshi’s brow twitched in confusion. Then his eyes widened. He whipped around to face Izuku, and Izuku and Ekikyō struggled to hold back laughter. Hitoshi mouthed, “You live with Eraserhead?!” and they lost it. The betrayed look he gave them was worth it.

Once Hitoshi got over the shock of his friend living with his favorite hero and teacher he elbowed them into submission, and any remaining awkwardness faded on the short drive to Izuku’s new “home.” Izuku showed Hitoshi around while Aizawa started on dinner; then they settled in Izuku’s room under the excuse of working on homework.

As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut Hitoshi was giving them a look. Izuku picked Maneki up and shoved her at him as a very effective distraction while he figured out where to start. His friends knew Izuku had been removed from his mom’s custody, but he hadn’t told them where he’d been placed at the time. Was it weird that he was living with Uraraka and Hitoshi’s new homeroom teacher? It felt weird.

Ekikyō sighed in their mind and took enough control to say out loud, “Izuku’s still pretty self-conscious about all this. Don’t take him not telling personally.”

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows. “Oh, hey, Ekikyō. I was wondering if you were in there too.”

“Yeah, he’s been here a few days.”

Hitoshi narrowed his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with why you were out sick on Friday and why you were kinda loopy the next day when we trained?”

Izuku gave something halfway between a grin and a grimace. “Kinda…Did we ever tell you about how this works?” Izuku asked, gesturing at himself and by extension, Ekikyō. A silent conversation with his bodymate assured him that they were both fine with trusting Hitoshi.

Hitoshi shook his head and settled down in a bean bag chair that had appeared in Izuku’s room one day. It was yellow and white, and Izuku had a sneaking suspicion Yamada-sensei was somehow behind it. But it did come in handy when he didn’t feel like sitting on his bed or when he had a guest over.

(He still needed to get a desk and a proper chair at some point; he just wasn’t sure how to ask Aizawa for something that big. Maybe he could do an extra analysis or two for Giran and pay for them himself? Would Aizawa care if he bought those himself? Something made him hesitate to commit to the action.)

Izuku took a deep breath, and he and Ekikyō started talking. They talked about how their possessions worked, their arrangement, and what they’d figured out so far. Then they talked about patrolling with Eraser and the whole Hosu thing and meeting the League, pretty much anything and everything they’d gotten up to lately. Sans their relationship conversations, of course.

At the end, Hitoshi whistled, long and low. “Holy shit. You really just sneak out five minutes after Eraserhead leaves to go play vigilante sidekick with him? That takes balls.”

Izuku spluttered and blushed.

“Your life is actually insane. You know that, right? Both of you. And I’m not sure whether to be impressed or furious that you’ve infiltrated the League. That is so dangerous.” Hitoshi ran both hands over his face as he collapsed back further into the bean bag. He stared at the ceiling for a minute before asking, “Am I the only one that knows all this?”

“Cross and Cheshire know most of it, and my trainer—a retired hero/vigilante/cage fighter—knows some but not the possession details.” He paused at the incredulous look Hitoshi gave him. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t know how better to describe him. He has more aliases than all the UA teachers combined. Anyway, Cross and Cheshire know all but the latest developments. Haven’t gotten a chance to talk to them since Ekikyō came back to town. I talked to my trainer yesterday.”

“Just take care of yourself…er, yourselves? I don’t really want to have to figure out how to save your asses if this blows up on you.”

Izuku and Ekikyō laughed. “Fair.”

“So…” Hitoshi said, a little uncertain. “Did you just want me to come over to tell me all that?”

Izuku hummed. “That’s part of it, but I really did want to help you practice your quirk some more too. Especially with you needing to use it in class exercises now. You’ve got a lot of training to catch up on. And with you leaving after dinner, that might be a good chance to test your quirk's physical range.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Always.”

Outtake:
Uraraka: walks beside Shinso on their way out to Ground Beta “So…you excited to spend some time with Izuku?”
Shinso: raises an eyebrow at Uraraka because what the heck does that tone mean? “Yes? He hasn’t said anything about his new home, so I want to check it out, make sure he’s safe.”
Uraraka: holds in a squeal before schooling her face into something more serious “Mhm. If he’s not safe, I’ll help you hide the body.”

Chapter Text

The next day was pretty normal until someone slunk into the library a minute after Uraraka and Hitoshi. “Todoroki?” Uraraka asked, looking confused.

The red and white-haired boy froze at the end of the aisle and stared at them as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Um…may I join you?” he asked the table, but his eyes were locked with Izuku’s.

Izuku abruptly remembered the look and silent question Todoroki had given him at the Sports Festival. He nodded without thinking. Then he glanced around at their table. They only had four chairs, but the window was only a few feet away. “Guys, help me move the table. You can have the window seat, Todoroki.”

“Thank you.”

They shifted around and settled back down without spilling anything. “How did you find us?” Hitoshi asked with a hint of suspicion.

Todoroki paused for a moment where he’d been pulling his chopsticks apart. “I might have followed you.”

Shinso raised his eyebrows, but Uraraka beamed. “And the rest of 1-A say you’re cold and aloof.”

Todoroki looked a little confused. “They’re not wrong. I do use my ice a lot.”

“I can’t tell if he’s pulling Uraraka’s leg or completely serious,” Ekikyō commented.

Izuku mentally shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t have a lot of experience with sarcasm?”

They made small talk for a while until internships came up. “Man, I wish we could have done normal internships. Aizawa-sensei’s really tough,” Uraraka groaned.

Todoroki furrowed his eyebrows and looked between her and Hitoshi who was nodding sympathetically.

Izuku decided to take pity on him and explained, “Uraraka and Hitoshi spent all week working with Aizawa in preparation for being transferred to 1-A. They still work with him after class every day.”

Hitoshi sighed. “It’s worse now that we’re actually in class. Heroics classes are exhausting.”

Izuku frowned and shoved the last third of his lunch at Hitoshi. He had some energy bars in his backpack he could eat later.

Hitoshi mumbled a thanks and dug in. (He’d tried to reject the extra food at first, but he’d figured out pretty quickly that the fighting Izuku on this was pointless.)

Todoroki’s eyes flitted between Izuku’s face and his tray of food before going to Hitoshi, clearly trying to understand something. “Is that why you two are so good at hand-to-hand?” he asked his classmates.

Uraraka smiled. “Yep! Between Midoriya and Aizawa, we’re pretty good at quirkless sparring now. Midoriya was training us before the Sports Festival. Aizawa-sensei kinda took over our weekday training sessions and made them daily,” she added with a slight frown.

“Hey, don’t worry. He asked me if that was alright first,” Izuku hurried to assure them. “And it’s not like he kicked me out of our Tuesday/Thursday sessions.”

“Aizawa’s training you too?” Todoroki asked Izuku with slightly widened eyes.

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck and gave a weak grin. “I mean, kinda? Pretty sure he’s mostly in it for them.” He pointed his thumb at Uraraka and Hitoshi.

“Dude, he was teaching you how to take someone down with pressure point hits yesterday,” Hitoshi said in his usual deadpan. “I am terrified for the next time I have to fight you.”

A laugh burst out of Izuku before he slapped a hand over his mouth. He glanced down the aisle to see Briar-sensei giving them an amused look with one eyebrow lifted in warning. Izuku gave her a sheepish wave before turning back to the table. “I’m not that scary! I’ve just have a year’s training on both of you. You’ll be scarier next year with your hand-to-hand and quirks trained up. And wait, why am I the scary one when Todoroki’s had literal years of training with the Number Two hero?” Izuku asked, gesturing at the red and white-haired boy.

The table was silent for a moment before Izuku realized his faux pas.

“Wow, way to bring down the mood, Izuku,” Ekikyō said.

“Shoot! Todoroki, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” Todoroki said mildly. “It’s not like he’s dead. He’s just stuck home recovering. Should be back to desk work in another week or two.”

“That long?” Izuku asked, eyes wide. “How bad was it? I thought he’d be back on patrol by now with healing quirks. His agency keeps some of the best in the country on retainer.”

Todoroki hummed. “Yes, well, usual recovery from losing a kidney is six weeks, so three weeks for that and the stab wound is pretty good all things considered…”

“Oh,” Hitoshi stated. “Glad he’s recovering okay.”

Todoroki shrugged and went back to slurping his soba noodles.

All too soon the warning bell rang, and they all got up to return their trays to the cafeteria. Izuku hung back a little as they walked. Todoroki’s eyes had been on him most of lunch, and he had a feeling the boy wanted to talk to him. His suspicion was proved right when Todoroki slowed to match his pace as the others pulled ahead. “You wanted to talk?” he whispered to the hero student.

Todoroki hummed and nodded his head to the side as they approached an intersection.

Izuku nodded back before grabbing Todoroki’s tray and running to catch up to Hitoshi. “Hitoshi, could you take these for us? Todoroki agreed to let me ask him some questions about his quirk real quick,” he lied through his teeth.

Hitoshi didn’t look convinced, but he took the trays anyway. He shot Todoroki a quick glare in warning before walking off.

Izuku and Todoroki turned down the other hall and walked a ways before stopping. Todoroki seemed lost in thought for a moment before saying quietly, “Bakugo hurt you.”

Izuku blinked in surprise. It didn’t sound like a question. Had he recognized the starburst scars? Had anyone in 1-A gotten those types of burns yet for them to find out? “Y-yes. How?”

“Your face when you walked up to your one-on-one match. Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone else realized.”

Izuku exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on the linoleum floor.

When he didn’t say anything for a few moments, Todoroki continued, “I…You’re not the only one with a Bakugo.”

Izuku’s eyes snapped up to lock on Todoroki’s. He visually traced the burn scar around the boy’s left eye…Oh.

“Fuck. Is everyone you meet messed up or in messed up circumstances?” Ekikyō asked, clearly reaching the same conclusion Izuku had.

“Are…you okay at home?” Izuku asked, internally cringing at how much he sounded like Tsukauchi. “I know a few places you can stay if you need to get out.” At least until he could convince Todoroki to talk to Nezu or Izuku could contact Dabi. He was fairly certain the man would be all for ruining Endeavor’s day by helping his youngest son disappear. He’d have to ask carefully though; the man didn’t know Izuku had identified him.

Todoroki just stared at him for a moment. Then the faintest hint of a grin appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Aizawa training you makes sense now.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m…okay. Better than I used to be anyway. What about you? Has Bakugo gone after you again?”

“No, I haven’t seen Bakugo at all since the Sports Festival.”

Todoroki nodded. “Good.” After another moment of intense staring that Izuku didn’t understand, he said, “We should get to class.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Izuku said, pulling his phone out to check the time. He’d have to fast walk—not run—to get to class on time. “I don’t want to be late for Cybersecurity with Nezu-sensei.” Izuku didn’t notice the hero student’s face pale as he started back for the main hall. He turned to say over his shoulder, “It was nice talking to you, Todoroki. You’re welcome at our lunch table any time. See you!”

---

Izuku was just finishing his stretches when Ciupan said, “Kid, forget the sparring for a minute. I think you’ll want to see this.”

Izuku glanced up to see his sensei scowling at his phone. Izuku hurried to his feet and stepped beside the man to see what he was looking at.

It was a video. Ciupan turned up the volume and rewound to the start. His eyes widened and Ekikyō tensed under their skin as they realized it was a video of Stain from Hosu. After a few moments, they relaxed slightly, realizing this was footage of his confrontation with Endeavor, not Iida, Native, and Ekikyō. It would have been bad if the media drew fresh attention to the Sludge Villain and Iida, let alone any similarities to Izuku’s own case.

Then the narrator cut out, and they could actually hear Stain speak. The audio wasn’t the best, but the words were still clear. “Everything I do is for the sake of a better society! And that society doesn’t need more fear created by men like you,” Stain said, pointing his katana at Endeavor’s chest. There were several seconds of intense staring between the man and Endeavor. Then, almost too quiet for the camera’s microphone to pick up, Stain said, “A better society could do with a little more hope though.” He returned to his prior pulpit volume as he declared, “The only ones allowed to kill me are the true heroes All Might and Naisho!”

Izuku’s breath caught in his lungs, and Izuku stopped hearing what the villain said over the ringing in his ears. Stain, his vigilante name, (him a hero?) it was all too much. Someone maneuvered him to sit down on the floor. He wasn’t sure if it was Ekikyō or Ciupan. It didn’t really matter. He felt himself taking deep breaths, and his heartbeat slowed from rabbit-fast to resting in a few moments, leaving him dizzy until he adjusted. He relaxed minutely at the tangible reminders that Ekikyō had him.

“You okay there, Izuku?”

“Stain just put my name out there. There’s a viral video of Stain putting my name out there! People are going to talk about me. In the same breath as Stain. This is beyond bad! What are we going to do?!”

Ekikyō gave him a tight internal hug for a few seconds. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we should probably start by explaining what just happened to Ciupan.”

The blood tried to drain from Izuku’s face before Ekikyō seized control of their entire circulatory system, doing something similar to what he’d done at the USJ. “He just saw you control me, didn’t he?”

“Yep. Had to get you sitting and calmed down before you did something embarrassing like fainting,” Ekikyō said, aiming for nonchalant. Izuku could feel his nerves though.

Izuku pressed close to Ekikyō’s mind for a moment, pushing acceptance and the impression of a hug at his friend. “I got this one.”

Izuku tilted his head up to meet Ciupan’s eyes. The man was watching Izuku closely, posture a little more rigid than usual.

Izuku offered a small smile as Ekikyō returned their breathing control to Izuku. “S-sorry about that. I, uh, panicked.” Izuku rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag. My friend’s here visiting today,” Izuku said, tapping his sternum. “They’ve got my heart rate and blood pressure under control until the adrenaline dies off.”

Ciupan raised an eyebrow.

“A-and before you say anything, um, I can prove they’re not evil. The hero student who went missing in Hosu after Stain attacked him and Native? My friend saved both of them.”

“Kid…”

“And they stood up for me when I was getting bullied in middle school and got my classmates to back off! They’ve done things they’re not proud of—mostly out of desperation—but they’re not an evil person! They—”

“Midoriya, I get it. Breathe. I’m not going to hurt your friend.”

Izuku sagged in relief.

“As long as they don’t hurt you or drag you into illegal shit. And if they do…” Ciupan cracked his knuckles and gave one of his dangerous smiles. “I’ll make them regret it for the rest of their life.”

“Do you think going undercover in The League counts as ‘illegal shit?’” Ekikyō asked.

“I’d rather not find out,” Izuku replied.

Ekikyō mentally shrugged and slid into shared control of their body. Izuku let him take the lead as he returned Ciupan’s smile with one of their own. “The same goes for you, Ciupan-sensei.”

Ciupan narrowed his eyes at them for a moment before shaking his head. The tension in the room finally broke as he turned away from them and walked over to his gym bag. He dug around inside it for a moment before standing back up.

Izuku heard something metallic clink and tensed to flee. (He knew he couldn’t win a fight against Ciupan, but he might best his mentor at endurance if the man was having a bad knee day.) His muscles relaxed and his eyes widened when Ciupan turned around. In his hands was a shoge hook. A real one with a metal ring and hook dagger. They were still connected by rope—much lighter and quieter than the chain ones and more suited for the stealth and ambush attacks that were becoming Naisho’s style.

Then man smirked at their excitement. “So…Midoriya and guest, do you think you’re ready to try the real deal?”

“Hai, sensei!”

Outtake:

College student/hacker: sends 1st draft of the Stain video to the email they were given
Mysterious benefactor: responds a few minutes later “Cut out the parts involving the alley rescue. And could you send me the raw footage of that fight?”
College student/hacker: “It’s no skin off my teeth. Trying to figure out how the sludge guy beat Stain?” sends attached file with the message
Mysterious benefactor: “I’m not paying you to ask questions. I’m paying you to finish the video by tonight. The money will be in your account in the morning.”
College student/hacker: shakes head and stretches while muttering, “Rich weirdos and their kinks…”
Mysterious benefactor in an undisclosed location: smiles and adjusts goggles while reviewing the footage of Sludge possessing the Iida boy “Oh, the things I could do with your quirk…”

Chapter Text

Izuku tucked his duffle bag—with his brand new metal shoge hook!—under his bed before grabbing his school laptop and plopping down on the bed. (He really needed to get a desk.) Finals were coming up sooner than Izuku liked, and he still had to get past a major roadblock to complete his semester project: getting the USJ footage from the MPD archives.

“Here goes attempt number 23…” Izuku muttered to himself as he started poking at the police station firewall again.

“So…explain to me how hacking the police is part of an assignment you got…at a hero school.” Ekikyō said, watching Izuku work through the boy’s eyes.

Izuku grinned as he replied mentally, “Kinda hard to stop a hacker if you don’t know how they operate, what holes in programming they use, etc. And apparently, ‘white hat’ hacking is looked on quite favorably, though there is a lot of paperwork involved for ‘official’ operations.”

“Huh. Can I see?”

Izuku hummed an affirmation and blinked as Ekikyo slipped further into his brain and initiated a deep dive. This one was more skewed in Izuku’s favor, given that he had all the applicable knowledge for the task at hand. They rolled their shoulders and got back to work.

It was one hour and four attempts later that they finally got access. Files spanned the entirety of the computer’s screen all at once, and they whooped, throwing their arms above their head. “Finally!” They were still smiling as they started combing through case files.

Maneki trotted into their room to check on them, meowing all the way, and Aizawa leaned in their doorway. “Everything alright, Midoriya?”

Izuku beamed at the scruffy man. “Just working on my homework for Nezu-sensei and had a breakthrough.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow and asked, “Yeah? Which class?”

“Cybersecurity.”

The man narrowed his eyes for a moment before seeming to decide he didn’t want to know. He straightened up and turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, “New rule: no taking over the world on weekdays.”

They tilted their head as the man disappeared from view. Did that imply weekends were fair game?

They were brought from their musing on loopholes when Maneki hopped up onto the bed beside them and meowed once more. They stroked her fur without really thinking, just enjoying the feel of her fur under their hand and how Maneki started purring at the attention. It was going to take a few minutes for the USJ case file to download anyway.

Why was the file so massive? Did ten minutes of security camera footage really take up that much memory? Well, there were a lot of cameras inside the building, he supposed. Ten minutes from each added up pretty quick.

They shrugged and left their UA laptop doing its thing while they booted up Izuku’s personal laptop. Their minds slowly separated as Izuku logged into his hero forums to see if any interesting fights or news happened while he was at school. The top post for the day was about Best Jeanist and Uwabami going at it again after something Uwabami said in an interview, and there was talk of a challenge where the loser had to wear an outfit of the winner’s choosing. Izuku was 80% sure their fashion war was played up for show, but he kinda hoped the bet was a rumor and nothing more. Trying to imagine Uwabami in denim or Jeanist in satin broke his brain a little. Whatever the case, the internet seemed to be eating it up.

Then he scrolled down.

The rest of the page was taken up by posts in a similar vein: “Who is Naisho?,” “The Vigilante Musutafu Never Knew It Had,” “Naisho: Vigilante or Villain?,” “Stain Starting a League of Vigilantes?,” “Naisho has Better Rescue Stats than Some Sidekicks and What That Means,” and the one with the most comments and likes “Naisho: Eraserhead’s Secret Love Child.”

Izuku closed out of that tab quickly, heart pounding and face burning. Ekikyō laughed in their head as he cautiously opened the rest of his favored websites. He was on every. Single. One. On some of them he even beat out Best Jeanist and Uwabami in topic of the day. He closed each page as soon as he saw the extent of the damage. He quietly whined and buried his face in Maneki. The cat purred on, oblivious to his utter mortification and dismay.

Ekikyō continued to chuckle as he gently nudged Izuku aside. Izuku let his friend into the driver’s seat while he bemoaned the loss of his anonymity. If civilians knew who he was now, so did villains and criminals. That could make things a lot harder on patrol. And what if…

Ekikyō poked him again, startling Izuku out of his thoughts. He turned his frazzled attention to his bodymate. “What is it, Ekikyō?”

“Want to see what they think your quirk is? Some of these are hilarious.”

Izuku focused back in on where his eyes were looking to find a discussion thread debating the subject. His quirk? Curious now, Izuku scrolled through the messages. People were guessing everything from a form of Erasure (to explain why he was seen hanging around Eraserhead so often) to enhanced agility and reflexes to merging with shadows to personal blood control to…talking to cats? What? He laughed. He didn’t even stop to pet cats on patrol half as often as Eraser, and people thought he was the cat whisperer?

After his giggles died down, he sighed. “Just…how? All of those ideas are so cool! Can you imagine the reaction if they found out I’m quirkless?” They both grimaced at that thought. There was no way that could end well.

Ekikyō moved their eyes over the list again before saying, “Personally, I think my favorite is the cat one, but the blood control sounds pretty dope too.”

“I know, right? It’s so—” Izuku cut off as his brain grabbed “blood control” and went off on a tangent. He followed the rabbit hole for a few seconds before he got an idea. He smiled and opened a new tab on his personal laptop and pulled up the Tokyo Quirk Registrar’s website. Then he opened a few extra tabs with several blood banks around Tokyo.

Ekikyō sent him a silent question, but Izuku just grinned. “I’ll tell you if this works.”

It worked.

---

That night, Naisho was more out of sorts than usual by the time they caught up to Aizawa. They’d stopped a mugging; then two separate people recognized their costume and asked if they could take pictures with them. Then they got chased a few blocks by a police officer. They weren’t even doing anything! They were just trying to walk to the closest fire escape to get back to the rooftops.

Then, when they finally got to Eraserhead, they were greeted with a (thankfully not red) glare and a growled “Problem Child…”

Naisho backpedaled immediately and held their arms up in front of them, waving frantically. The pair hurriedly split their minds to allow Ekikyō to withdraw his slime from their eyes and skin just in case. Izuku blurted out, “It wasn’t me! I swear, it was my friend! I had absolutely nothing to do with Hosu!”

“Wow, way to throw me under the bus, kid,” Ekikyō said dryly.

“Yes, but Eraserhead can’t strangle you with his capture scarf.”

Eraserhead studied them for a minute before relaxing his posture and asking, “And what exactly happened? You’ve got your mask on which means both of you are in there right now.”

Izuku and Ekikyō breathed a sigh of relief, and Izuku let Ekikyō take over to tell his story. “Gokaku here. I was in Hosu looking for a…friend when shit hit the fan. I stumbled on Iida and Native by chance and may have stepped in. I don’t like seeing kids get hurt.” Ekikyō looked down and scuffed their shoe on the rooftop.

Eraserhead squinted at them. “Then why kidnap Iida? That was you who possessed him, wasn’t it?”

Ekikyō winced. “Not my proudest moment, but the kid was bleeding out. He wouldn’t have lived more than three minutes with his subclavian artery severed.”

“There was no artery damage when the hospital evaluated him,” Eraserhead challenged.

Ekikyō rolled their eyes under their mask. “Yeah, well why do you think I held onto him for 12 hours, Eraserhead? I couldn’t just de-possess him until he wasn’t going to bleed out before making it into surgery. I patched up his artery before I left.”

Eraserhead’s eyebrows drew in, and he looked like he was about to ask a question. Fortunately or unfortunately, Ekikyō decided to get a bit of revenge then. “As for Stain’s speech, that’s 100% on Naisho.”

The distraction worked, and Eraserhead’s attention was shifted back to Naisho. “Naisho, what do they mean?”

Izuku shifted from foot to foot as he mentally yelled at Ekikyō (who was laughing at him, the jerk). Finally, he sighed and let himself drop to the rooftop to sit with his legs crossed. He had a feeling this was going to take a while. “It happened about a month and a half ago? Back around the start of the spring semester. I was…meeting Giran to pick up an order, and the man decided to introduce me to another of his clients who happened to be in that evening.”

“Stain,” Eraser supplied, sitting across from him with only a few feet separating them. The hero had a notepad in hand now and was taking notes.

Izuku nodded. “Let me just tell you that guy is terrifying in person. He seemed to take a liking to me and decided to give me an impromptu training session on a rooftop. I got cut up a lot, but I did learn a few tricks. I even stole one of his knives!” Izuku said, pulling the knife from his ankle sheath. He twirled it in his fingers as he continued, “Then we got interrupted by a…I don’t think it was a mugging. Maybe a hit? Or extortion? I dunno, but the aggressor seemed to know the victim. I-I’m getting off track. I swung down to break up the fight when the gang member was about to stab the guy she’d cornered. Then Stain tried to kill the gang member. I had to put in a call for heroes. I-I wasn’t good enough to stop him completely. Burnin showed up just in time to keep him from killing anyone.”

“When were you going to tell me you ran into a serial killer?”

“Er…”

“And how does this relate to his speech exactly? He mentioned testing your ‘ideals’ using Endeavor.”

Izuku frowned and tried to think back to that frantic argument in an alley over a month ago. What had he said?

“Stain mentioned hope in the video,” Ekikyō said helpfully.

Izuku nodded. “Hope…That’s it! My main argument for Stain not to kill the gangster was hope, hope of change. If he killed her then, she couldn’t have ever been anything but a killer. She wouldn’t have a chance to atone or turn her life around. Stain scoffed at the time, didn’t think people could change.”

Ekikyō slid back into control to say for Eraserhead’s benefit, “And then he met me in Hosu.”

Eraser grunted and finished the line he was writing before looking at them again. “You’re both problem children, aren’t you?”

Ekikyō puffed out their chest. “I’ll have you know I’m an adult, thank you very much.”

“Spoken exactly like one of my high school brats.”

Izuku laughed in their head as Ekikyō gaped in offense. The boy mentally nudged his friend and leaned on him in a silent question. Ekikyō sighed and leaned back, pulling them into a deep dive. Once their minds settled a few seconds later, they asked, “What happens now?”

Eraserhead sighed and put his notepad away. “The best thing you can do right now is lay low. Stain mentioned your name, but eyewitnesses—people you’ve taken down or saved, those who claim so at least—are the ones telling your story right now.” The hero ran a hand through his hair. “Frankly, this would be a PR nightmare if you were a hero student. But at least then you might have some protection.”

“But I haven’t used a quirk in any of my takedowns!” they protested, ignoring the times they went out while fully in a deep dive. Those might technically count, though moreso against Ekikyō than Izuku.

“I know,” Eraser said. “But no one else does. They see you as just another vigilante, and the only other ‘vigilante’ on everyone else’s minds right now is Stain. The Hero Commission doesn’t want another him on their hands, not after Stain took down Japan’s Number Two hero without so much as a scratch on him.”

Naisho’s shoulders sagged. “They have a price on my head, don’t they?”

Eraserhead chuckled and reached over to ruffle their hair through their hood. “Not quite…but they are calling for your arrest.”

Naisho tensed slightly, slime shifting uneasily under their skin. “Are you going to bring us in?”

Eraser raised an eyebrow at them. “Since when have you ever known me to arrest someone without them doing something illegal? Sure, you toe the line occasionally by throwing the first punch and using your not-quite support gear, but you’re a good kid. And Gokaku must have really not been a saint for Stain to recognize them and any change in their behavior, but they had no reason to step in and defend Iida and Native from a serial killer.”

They raised a hand to rub the back of their neck. “To be fair, saving Native was more to piss off Stain than anything else.”

Eraserhead snorted. “Still, you did good.”

Naisho let out a breath. “So…you’re not going to turn us in, but any other hero or cop probably will.”

“That’s about the gist of it. My advice? Lay low for a while. Let this blow over. Something else will grab the vultures’ attention soon enough. It’ll be safer once people have stopped talking about you constantly and once the heroes have other, more pressing missions to focus on. Besides, don’t you have end of term tests coming up?”

Naisho grimaced. “But no one else patrols our sections of Musutafu at night. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

Eraserhead sighed. “That’s one of the hardest lessons you learn in heroics, Naisho. In an ideal world heroes would save everyone, but this isn’t a fairy tale. I can’t save everyone, and neither can you or Nezu or All Might. You have to save who you can while keeping yourself in good enough shape mentally and physically to keep saving people. You can’t save anyone if you’re locked in a cell or crippled or dead. You have to save yourself first.”

Naisho squeezed their eyes shut as their mind tried to split at the seams, feeling too many conflicting ways about that assertion. Then they remembered something they had been trying hard to believe over the last few months, something one half of them had told the other.

“You’re worth protecting.”

Their mind settled again. Saving themselves was the next logical step, wasn’t it? If they were worth protecting, they should be proactive. Put their money where their mouth was, so to speak. And really, was taking a break from patrolling until heroes and police stopped hunting them any different from Izuku walking away from Bakugo? (Yes, it was. Bakugo was only after Izuku, but the criminals he caught on patrol were actively hurting others. Protecting himself here might mean others got hurt.)

Naisho could feel a headache coming on.

“We’ll think about it, Eraser.” They climbed to their feet, shoving the problematic topic aside until they got home. “But for tonight, we’re already out here; might as well help you. I need to test this out anyway.” They gave one of their best smiles and patted the weapon hanging diagonally across their chest.

The hook dagger part of their shoge hook rested in a holster low on the front of their chest with a small strap and snap button to secure it and the ring end of the weapon. Ciupan had made them practice taking it on and off a dozen times before letting them take it on patrol. (He’d only tangled the rope three times before he figured out how to keep the loops neat.)

Eraserhead raised an eyebrow and stood as well. “You weren’t kidding about Ciupan training you with a weapon, huh? Alright. Keep up, don’t hit me with whatever that is, and don’t kill anyone unless they’re trying to kill you.”

“Sure thing, Eraserhead, and it’s a shoge hook!” they said cheerfully. “Or a kyoketsu-shoge. Ciupan wasn’t very clear on why there are two names for it, but it seems kinda fitting with him having like six names of his own.”

Eraserhead huffed a laugh, and the pair lined up for their first jump. “I almost feel sorry for whatever criminal you get to test that thing on.”

Outtake:
Naisho: grinning and brandishing his shoge hook “I have a new weapon!”
Aizawa: “Who gave the Problem Child another sharp, pointy object? I just want to talk.”
Naisho: “It’s actually not the sharp, pointy end you have to worry about. I can now break kneecaps!”
Three criminals in the warehouse district: “Why do I hear boss music?”

Chapter Text

Naisho didn’t get to test their shoge hook until an hour into their patrol with Eraserhead when they came upon a soured drug deal under a lonely street light. The dealer appeared to have some sort of mutation quirk that gave him large scales or bony plates all over his body, and the agitated druggie had an emitter quirk that had superheated steam rolling off his body (at least judging by the heat ripples in the air around the steam and the way the dealer flinched away from any vapor that got close to him).

Not a great opponent to fight in close quarters, though that didn’t deter Eraserhead. The pro leaped into the fray first, capture cloth swinging and eyes blazing with Erasure. Naisho followed a few seconds behind, slowed by having to descend more slowly via grappling hook. By the time their feet hit pavement, the druggie was down and unconscious, but the dealer was giving Eraser some trouble.

Naisho watched in fascination as the dealer dragged the edge of the scales on his arms across the capture weapon wound around him, slicing through it. Naisho checked the unconscious man, but couldn’t get close enough to tie his hands for the heat still rolling off his skin. Zip ties might melt, actually. Hopefully, the guy would stay down until cops could bring heat-safe restraints. He turned back to the fight between the dealer and Eraser, noting the numerous cut sections of capture scarf littering the ground.

He made a mental note to avoid getting cut on the guy’s scales before unclipping the snap button on his chest holster. He ducked his head as he pulled the loops of rope over his head to rest in his left hand with the handle of the hook dagger. He was already swinging the ring end from his right hand as he stepped to flank the man. (Now that he got a better look and could see a plated tail hanging loosely coiled behind the man, some part of their brain thought the quirk might be mimicking a pangolin.)

Eraserhead nodded at them without taking his eyes off of the dealer. He wasn’t using Erasure right now, but they couldn’t completely rule out the man’s appearance being an inherited trait and his actual quirk being something more dangerous. Naisho didn’t intend to get close enough to find out anyway.

The next time Eraser moved to attack, Naisho loosened his hold on the rope as the metal ring swung toward the dealer. It flew forward in an underhanded arc, hitting the outside of the man’s left thigh, right over the tendon there, eliciting a yell of pain from him. The leg gave out on him, and a single scale looked like it cracked under the hit. But most importantly, the man lost the chance to dodge Eraser. The hero landed a solid blow to the man’s solar plexus before moving around him to tie both of his arms behind his back in the capture weapon, yanking it tight. Naisho reeled their weapon back in and got it swinging again, expecting the dealer to cut himself free once more, but the worst he did was whack Eraser’s ankle ineffectually with his armored tail. The way Eraser had him pinned kept him from getting enough leverage to cut himself free.

Naisho carefully noted the technique—some sort of arm lock—wondering if that would have worked on the robber with bone claws they’d fought a few weeks ago. Then they turned back to watch the unconscious criminal and keep an eye out for other trouble. It took ten tense minutes for a silent police car with lights flashing to approach the corner of their street.

“Wait for me on the roof,” Eraserhead instructed, shifting his weight against the pangolin man’s renewed struggles.

Naisho checked the steam man one last time before stopping his shoge hook’s spin by catching the far end of the rope with his foot. He flinched a little as the ring rapped against the top of his foot—he couldn’t wait for Hatsume’s shoe upgrade—before holstering his shoge hook and scaling the rope and grappling hook he’d left from his descent. He pulled the rope up after him and returned the whole thing to the pouch at his left hip, occasionally peeking over the lip of the roof to see Eraser hand off the pangolin man and help the police secure the other. They had to pull two pairs of heavy-duty welder’s(?) gloves out to get the cuffs on the second guy and haul him onto what Naisho guessed was a heat-resistant blanket. The hero and officer wrapped him from the neck down before loading him into the cop car as well.

Naisho hoped the man wasn’t prone to overheating from his quirk.

Once the police car left their street, Eraserhead joined them on the rooftop. Naisho looked him over and asked, “You okay? We couldn’t get close enough to the steam guy to think about tying him up.” Had Eraserhead taken the guy down with a punch? He’d probably have some nasty burns if he did.

“I’m fine, kid. I knocked him out with a kick. My boot protected me from the worst of it.”

Naisho nodded, relaxing their shoulders slightly. They hadn’t noticed how tense they’d been at the thought of Eraserhead being burned. They knew how unpleasant burns were from personal experience. Well, Izuku’s experience. Ekikyō was likely to boil off at such temperatures, which was a whole other type of uncomfortable thought.

“Good aim, by the way,” Eraser said, offering them a hand up.

They took the hand up and chuckled. “Figured you wouldn’t want us to break his shin or knee.”

Eraser grunted. “Keep that option in reserve for if things are ever desperate.” He nodded his head in the direction they were heading next.

Naisho nodded in turn and fell into step beside the hero as they set off again. They swept the neighborhood next to the warehouse district, then turned to follow the line of buildings closest to the waterfront and the shipyard.

Naisho held in a sigh as his thoughts turned to Mamoru. He wondered if the street fighter turned smuggler had ever set up shop again. If so, Ekikyō hadn’t heard of it. That was an awfully long time for him not to be running his business. They hoped he, his sister, and his niece were doing alright.

A thought niggled. Some connection that wanted to form, but Naisho couldn’t quite grasp it. Something about the reason Eraserhead and Naisho were patrolling here instead of their usual route. Not all of the kidnapping victims had been quirkl—

A muffled scream had both Eraserhead and Naisho’s head whipping to the left. They changed direction and leaped another alley before they saw them: two people walking fast for the dry docks. One of them had a limp body thrown over their shoulder. A man and a woman, neither with any obvious quirk factors. (He couldn’t get a good read on the carried person.) Probably both emitters with at least one of them good for swift incapacitation. Most likely kidnappers or murderers. Neither option was good, but they weren’t getting away with it either way.

Eraser made a quiet call with his earpiece before leaping from the roof, throwing his capture weapon out to snag a light post on the far side of the road. He swung to land on top of the criminal at the back of the procession. The woman went down with a shout.

Naisho let slime coat their hands and gloves to help them rappel faster, vaguely aware of the cells damaged from the abrasion or left behind on the rope. They cut off their connection to those cells with barely a thought and kept moving. As they crossed the street to join the fray, Eraser’s eyes flashed red, and they were abruptly aware of a third villain. He was frankly massive, and it should not have been possible to miss him.

“Perception altering quirk? Or illusory?” one half of their mind mused. They weren’t sure, but they had a counter. It was dangerous with Eraser here, but this guy could do some serious damage if he got the drop on them. Slime rose through their skin and flowed through the vents in their costume to coat their gear. An awareness of vibrations overlaid their senses. Then they called out, “I got the big one, Eraser!”

They saw Eraser nod out of the corner of their eye before Erasure cut out. The giant of a man vanished in front of their eyes. They could still feel something in front of them, but their eyes refused to focus there for some reason. They shook their head and closed their eyes, training their attention on what their ears and slime were telling them. Something big was in front of them and rapidly approaching. Slime stiffened around their knuckles as they ducked aside and punched at the massive form. The blow landed on something soft—the man’s side maybe. They were getting a clearer impression of where the man was the longer they focused on the vibrations in the air and ground.

If only they could tell exactly where he was. Their shoge hook could do a lot more damage than their fists, and the villain was big enough they weren’t confident they could bring him down without using it or their knife. Actually…They froze for half a second, an idea bouncing around in their mind before uncertainty settled into consensus, resolution. Slime pooled in their hands. When the villain next charged, Naisho swiped their hand across the villain’s hip as they dodged, leaving a streak of slime behind.

Naisho could still feel those cells, though there was a strain and something similar to pain from them. Slime shouldn’t be so far removed from their body. They’d make this quick then.

They pulled their shoge hook from its holster and their shoulder, opening their eyes to see if the slime they’d tagged the villain with was visible. It was, but their eyes still wanted to skitter off to the side rather than focus on it. Annoying. They shook their head and focused as they sped up the swing of their weapon. They waited a moment to estimate where the rest of the man’s body should be then let the metal ring fly.

The first attempt glanced off the man’s un-slimed hip as he dodged. Naisho’s face twitched in a grimace at the building discomfort from their isolated slime and hurriedly reeled the rope back in. They parried another blow from the villain with their hook dagger, dragging the sharpened blade along the man’s arm as it passed them. The villain jolted away as if burned. Naisho smiled with all their teeth, almost sad that they were wearing their mask. They knew that particular smile tended to unnerve people.

The second time they struck with the ring end, the blow landed. Whether that was because they caught him off-guard or because Eraser activated his quirk on the man right before they let fly, they weren’t sure. They’d at least expected him to try to dodge. So, they may have aimed pretty close to the center of his legs, hoping to catch a thigh as he moved one way or the other and decrease his mobility. Instead, they hit him…Well, the man wasn’t getting back up for a while, that was for sure. And they didn’t break any bones, so…mission accomplished?

Naisho almost felt bad as they reeled in their shoge hook and set a hand on the ground to collect the slime that was inching sluggishly across the concrete toward them. It sank through their skin, and they sighed in relief as the pain and general wrongness faded. They took mercy on their opponent and whacked his temple with the ring (held in their hand to better gauge the force). Once he slumped in unconsciousness, they zip-tied his hands and feet.

They checked on Eraserhead’s fight—still ongoing. Did the lady make some sort of corrosive substance? One end of Eraser’s capture weapon was smoking. That poor thing could not catch a break tonight.

The woman spat a glob of neon yellow at Eraser. It missed, but it ate a hole in the pavement behind him. Her spit was corrosive? That was disgusting.

Naisho scrunched up their face and looked around, getting the feeling they were forgetting…something. Where did the third guy and the kidnapping victim go? Shit! “Eraser! Did you see which way the other one went?”

Eraser jolted and whipped his head around as if he’d forgotten the third man too. Great, that probably meant the perception inhibition quirk could protect whoever the villain wanted it to, not just himself. If he hadn’t knocked the guy out, they may have forgotten the third and the victim entirely. Realizing Eraserhead had no more clue than him, Naisho took off in the direction the three had been heading before they were interrupted.

They ran down the alley between two dry dock sheds, pausing once they were out of sight of the road. They moved more slime through their skin and stood very still, listening. There! They picked up a faint vibration from the left. They retracted most of their slime and eyed the chain-link fence as they backed up. They took a deep breath and ran at the fence, jumping as high as they could before climbing the rest of the way. They dropped down on the far side with slime bracing their joints. Then they slunk over to the shed and peeked inside. After their eyes adjusted, they picked out movement by the gate.

The dock was dry at the moment, with a coastal fishing boat resting in the near end of the dock. The gate at the opposite end of the shed from Izuku held back the seawater. A much smaller, motorized vessel was moored in the water just past the gate. A figure was crouched on the walkway beside the boat. Naisho saw the outline of a rope flying and ran. The man was untying the boat! Was he going to leave his partners behind?

“Not if we can help it.”

They pulled their shoge hook out and started swinging it as they ran. They usually went for an underhanded swing—better for hitting legs and getting under peoples’ guard—but they started with an overhand swing this time, letting the ring fly once they were within range. It hit the muscle between the man’s right shoulder and neck. The shout that earned made them grin. They rushed forward as they reeled in the rope, aiming to kick the man off the walkway into the water.

The man stumbled out of the way, holding his right shoulder and snarling as he turned to face them. “You’re that little punk vigilante, aren’t you? Naisho. I’ve been hearing about you.” The snarl shifted to more of a sadistic grin. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave, but hey, it’s your funeral.” Faint, tiny blue sparks danced along the man’s hands. Then he charged.

Naisho had just enough time to process that this man had some type of electrical quirk before he needed to dodge. Electrified hands meant no parrying with his hook dagger. Hitting him with the ring should still be safe. Rope wasn’t very conductive, and Ciupan had gotten the shoge hook’s rope treated to be burn and wear-resistant. (It was still susceptible to being cut, but that was a necessary safety precaution.) Electrified hands also meant no touching. That was a little bit harder considering how aggressive the villain’s approach was.

Naisho and the villain danced around each other for a minute before Naisho finally got enough space between them to throw the shoge hook again. The man just avoided the hit, but he didn’t press while they reeled their weapon back in. Something wasn’t right. They didn’t like it.

They swung again as soon as they got the ring spinning up to speed, but this time when the man dodged, he lunged forward to stomp down on the rope before they could retract it. The man had more mass than them, and the rope didn’t budge at a sharp tug. Naisho put their combined weight into a second pull, but the man lifted his foot, sending them stumbling back.

Slime stiffened throughout their body to keep them from falling, painful though the save was. They regained their balance a second later, but that was one second too slow. Fingers brushed the side of Naisho’s neck under their hood, and their world exploded.

Outtakes:
Yūku: restocking the underground clinic’s medicine closet when she suddenly freezes “Why do I get the feeling Midoriya’s gotten himself into trouble?”

Aizawa: finally knocks out the villain with corrosive spit and looks around “Problem Child?”
Aizawa: the silence sets off alarm bells in his head “Damn it, Problem Child.” takes off running in the direction Naisho had gone

Chapter Text

Where there had been Naisho before there was only Ekikyō, and the abrupt shift was terrifying. Disoriented, Ekikyō pulled away from Izuku’s brain and nerves, which felt like they were trying to tase him. Then he took stock. Izuku’s brain was a riot of activity, but none of it was coherent or organized. The nerves in the rest of their body were firing off constantly too, leaving their body rigid, locked in place. Their heart and lungs weren’t working quite as they should either.

Ekikyō took over full control of the latter—fighting against constant muscle twitching to keep pulse and breathing even—but couldn’t seem to get the electrical activity everywhere else under control. He abandoned the attempt after a moment, pushing slime through their skin to handle the threat himself. This was going to continue as long as those fingers were pressed to Izuku’s neck.

The slime already outside their body picked up vibrations—words—as the villain who did this said, “You know why vigilantes are so rare, Naisho? They all die young.”

Ekikyō didn’t get the chance to attack before another jolt from the man’s quirk zapped through their body, not hurting Ekikyō nearly as much now that he was disconnected from Izuku’s nervous system but sending Izuku into a seizure. Ekikyō felt the man shove them, and their body fell backward. Into frigid seawater.

Ekikyō hissed and drew all of his slime back inside their body on reflex. Saltwater burned. Then he realized that they were sinking. And Izuku was still seizing.

He tried getting their limbs to move in a coordinated manner to swim (not that Ekikyō knew how a normal person swam), but the attempt was stilted and jerky at best. “Fuck, this is going to hurt,” Ekikyō said to himself before shoving slime back out, fully encasing Izuku in a thin layer of it, swearing all the while. Then he kicked Izuku’s internal thermostat into overdrive. Or tried to. That part of the kid’s brain was on the fritz too. He had to keep their body oxygenated, but he could only do this for so long before they dehydrated to a dangerous degree. Or became hypothermic. That might actually get them first.

As their back landed on the rocky ocean floor, Ekikyō spared a few tendrils of slime to anchor them and keep them from drifting out to sea. He just had to wait out the seizure. Once Izuku’s nerves and muscles calmed down, Ekikyō could (hopefully) get them warmed up and back to the surface.

Minutes ticked by as the electrical storm in Izuku’s brain and nerves slowly quieted, leaving their muscles spent and aching, but Izuku didn’t wake up. Ekikyō cautiously pushed slime back into their nerves and just a little into their brain. He could at least feel Izuku now, but the boy was out cold. Ekikyō carefully, slowly reconnected to Izuku’s senses and entire brain, checking for any obvious damage as he went. He opened their eyes and tried to move one of their cold-stiff arms, setting off several painful muscle spasms. That wasn’t good. He cranked up Izuku’s internal thermostat as high as he dared with how depleted the kid’s energy was and settled in to think.

He stared at the surface, trying to come up with some way to get from here to there. They were only five meters down, but they might as well have been a kilometer under. Ekikyō was just debating if he could de-possess Izuku and get him to the surface before too much of his slime died in the saltwater when a shadow appeared at the edge of the gate overhead.

A few seconds later, the shadow flew out over the water before crashing into it. Eraserhead! It took a moment to recognize the man without his obnoxious scarf, but once he did, Ekikyō frantically tried to move their spasming arm to get the man’s attention. It came out as more raising their hand and twitching it, but that seemed to be enough. The man swam down to them and grabbed their arm. Ekikyō pulled all of their slime back inside and tightened Izuku’s hand as much as he could onto Eraser’s arm until the man pulled him up and repositioned him. After securing a hold around Izuku’s chest, the pro started swimming for the surface.

Ekikyō held their breath until their head broke the surface. Then he kicked Izuku’s lungs back into gear. Eraserhead lifted them and shoved them up onto the walkway by the dry dock gate before hauling himself up. He dragged them further back from the edge before pulling their sodden mask down to make breathing easier.

Ekikyō’s first words were. “Ah crap, kid’s going to have to buy a new oxygen concentrator.”

Eraserhead huffed a laugh and asked, “Gokaku, I take it?”

“Yeah. Kid’s unconscious. The last guy had some sort of electrical quirk. Gave him one hell of a seizure and short-circuited his brain. Think he’s okay aside from the muscle spasms and being cold and a little dehydrated. Nothing feels wrong with his brain or nerves anyway.”

Eraser pressed a hand against their face. “Fuck. How long were you two down there? You’re freezing. We need to get you out of those clothes and warmed up. There should be a blanket or something around here…”

Uh…no, Eraserhead was not going to undress them and identify Izuku. Ekikyō waited until the pro picked the lock on the office attached to the dry dock before pulling slime through their skin again, soaking up all the seawater still in their clothes and hair with a patch of slime. Then he extended that slime out over the edge of the walkway and detached the wad of too-salty slime. It wasn’t perfect, but it got rid of most of the moisture. He let their body sag against the concrete, tiredness sinking in. Ugh, he hadn’t thought they’d gotten cold enough for him to start slowing down. That wasn’t great. “I got it, Eraser, though if you have any water or food, it would really help,” he called.

Eraserhead reappeared from the office with a ratty blanket. He pulled a small water bottle from his utility belt on his way over. He checked them over, frowning when he saw that the vast majority of the seawater was gone. “What?”

Ekikyō pulled their lips into a smug grin, though their face twitched right after. “I have my ways. Little help? Kid’s muscles are going to kill him in the morning.”

The hero shifted them into a sitting position and wrapped the blanket around them before helping them drink the whole bottle of water. “Come on; we need to get you out of the cold. I’m taking you two to Recovery Girl,” Eraser said before picking them up, blanket and all.

Ekikyō thought frantically. “Uh, wait. There’s somewhere closer. Can you get our phone? Ah, shoot. It’s probably ruined. Um…okay, yeah, pretty sure I’ve got the number memorized. I don’t use a phone much,” Ekikyō rambled.

Eraser raised an eyebrow at them. “Who exactly am I supposed to be calling, and why are they a better option than Recovery Girl?” He still pulled his cell phone out. It was one of those fancy, hero-grade ones that was practically indestructible.

Ekikyō smiled at Eraser. “An underground doctor. They’ve already seen me and the kid a bunch and know our physiology pretty well. Recovery Girl doesn’t. Plus, the kid’s wiped. Recovery Girl wouldn’t be able to use her quirk anyway. All you have to do is promise Doc not to rat him out or mess with his operation.”

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. What direction are we going, so I can walk while I call?”

Ekikyō gave him general directions then listed off Cross’s burner number. He’d known the doc longest of those at the clinic and had gone to him once or twice back around when the Trigger thing happened. He’d helped a lot, though he hadn’t been able to do anything for the withdrawal itself. Ekikyō had skipped town for a while after that. Not that he was ashamed; he just…didn’t want to risk hurting one of the few people who treated him like a person. He hadn’t been very nice when he was first learning to deal with his quirk withdrawal episodes.

While Eraserhead called Cross, Ekikyō focused on himself and Izuku. Ekikyō couldn’t tell exactly how cold they were, but the way everything wanted to slow down was a clear indicator that their temperature was too low. There was also some inflammation setting in in the soft tissue and nerves in their neck near where the villain had touched. Ekikyō was going to have to keep an eye on that. If it got into Izuku’s brain or spine, it could be very dangerous. With a thought, slime cells began attaching to those damaged cells to speed up repairs.

Ekikyō was stirred from his work by the jostling of Eraserhead shifting them to rap his knuckles on metal siding. Ah, they were at the clinic. Cheshire ushered them inside, but insisted on Eraser staying out in the waiting room once he’d deposited Ekikyō and Izuku on the table in the exam room.

Once Eraser was safely out of sight, the doctor and nurse got to work removing their Naisho costume. It was mostly dry now, but it wasn’t exactly warm. Once their torso was wrapped in warm towels and hot water bottles, Cheshire left the room and returned with a mixing bowl full of steaming water. Ekikyō raised an eyebrow at that, but relaxed once he saw Cross set 2 bags of IV fluids in the steaming water to warm. Then he got to work putting an IV catheter in one of their arms.

Ekikyō let them work and used his slime as an extra means of circulation to speed up the warming process, cycling it between their skin near the hot water bottles and deeper in their torso more directly than Izuku’s bloodstream could. “Either of you got anything to eat? Kid’s pretty worn out from the seizure earlier, and I can speed things up with some calories to burn.”

Cheshire nodded and slipped out of the room again and returned with a pair of energy bars. Izuku’s muscles still didn’t want to move without cramping, so Ekikyō externalized enough slime to hold the bar for him while he ate it. He split the calories between the two of them and pushed the kid’s metabolism to burn energy faster as he ate the second one.

As warmth crept back into them, Ekikyō anxiously kept an eye on Izuku’s brain and consciousness. The kid was still out, and Ekikyō was sorely tempted to try waking him up. He wasn’t even sure if he could make Izuku wake up—he’d only done it once before, and the kid had been close to waking up on his own then—but trying something had to be better than this. Between their body responding sluggishly and stiffly and the quiet in their head, Ekikyō was reminded a little too much of other times he’d possessed people after the Trigger incident.

He shoved the thought of Izuku ending up like any of them far away and focused back on what he could feel of the boy’s mind, trying to prod him to wakefulness. Brain activity picked up some in response, but the kid stayed unconscious. He kept trying and started talking in their head. “Come on, Izuku. You’re starting to worry me here. And Eraser’s probably worried sick too. He really saved our bacon this time. I don’t know if I could have gotten us out of that situation without help.”

There was a brief spike in brain activity, and Ekikyō could feel Izuku’s presence in their head a little more distinctly. He latched onto his friend and kept talking, “That’s it. Wakey, wakey, Izuku. We need to get you back to Eraser’s place before he heads home, or you’re going to be in serious trouble. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to know how he’ll react to you sneaking out or, quirks forbid, finding out that you’re Naisho.”

Out loud he said, “Hey, can one of you make sure Eraserhead doesn’t leave? Still need to ask him if that last guy got away. If so, I can give a pretty good description of him. That bastard does not deserve to go free after pulling this shit.”

At Cross’s nod, Cheshire headed out into the lobby. The doctor picked up their goggles and asked, “Do you want him to come in? I can cover you up and put your goggles back on if so.”

Ekikyō kept his attention split between rousing Izuku and talking to the doc. “Yeah, that works. Think I might be able to get the kid up and awake soon too. Eraser’ll be on edge until he knows his little protégé is okay.” And Ekikyō owed the guy. He’d saved them tonight and looked after Izuku when Ekikyō wasn’t around to help him with everything that happened with Bakugo and Inko.

Ekikyō closed their eyes again drawing Izuku’s consciousness just that little bit closer to waking. He barely noticed Cross slip their goggles on over their head and wrap a warm towel around their head to hide their hair. Someone applied a layer of something over their facial scar, probably Cheshire.

The faintest flicker of confusion let Ekikyō know that Izuku was coming to. “There you are.”

The confusion faded into calm with a hint of curiosity. “Did I go somewhere?” Izuku’s mental voice was quieter and more exhausted than usual, but it was there. “Why is it so cold?”

“I’ll catch you up later, kid. Right now, we need to report to Eraser and assure him you’re okay.”

Izuku hummed and leaned on Ekikyō until they slipped into a deep dive, just in time for Cheshire to let Eraserhead through the exam room door. “Hey, Eraser,” they said tiredly. They really wanted to sleep.

Eraserhead’s tense shoulders relaxed some as he looked them over. Well, as much of them as he could see with them bundled under what felt like a dozen towels and blankets. “That’s both of you in there?”

“Mhm. Sorry for the scare.”

Eraserhead dragged a hand over his face. “Problem…Children, do not apologize for almost dying.” He sighed and leaned against the foot of the table for lack of anywhere to sit. “You shouldn’t have had to face that villain alone. That’s on me.”

“We don’t hold it against you, Eraserhead. We’re just glad you got us out of the water. Gokaku couldn’t have kept us going for much longer like that,” they admitted. “Did the villain get away with…?”

Eraserhead shook his head. “Coast Guard responded when I called it in. The Oki Mariner was in the area and was able to intercept the electric villain. The victim’s already at the hospital, which is really where you should be right now, Problem Child.” He turned to look at Cross. “Gokaku said Naisho had a seizure. Does he need a brain scan or anything? I have a few favors I can cash in with Recovery Girl.”

Cross grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary. From what they told me, there’s been no abnormal electrical activity in Naisho’s brain since the seizure. If that changes, they might need to take you up on the offer, but for now they’ll be okay.”

Naisho bit back Izuku’s question until Cross finished talking, but the second he was done, words started spilling out. “Selkie caught the guy? What was his ship even doing here? I thought he was based out of Kobe.”

Eraserhead shrugged. “He was working a case. I’m not privy to the details.”

They talked a while longer with Cross or Cheshire periodically checking their temperature or changing out their hot water bottles. Their first bag of fluids finished, and they started their second, which earned them a raised eyebrow from Eraser. Dehydration wasn’t typically associated with hypothermia or near-drowning. They shrugged and said, “Our biology’s weird, and salt water really doesn’t agree with Gokaku.”

Eraserhead accepted that with a shrug before frowning and pulling his phone from his pocket. It was vibrating enough Naisho could hear the buzz. Eraserhead sighed and shifted away from the exam table. “I need to head over to the station for a debriefing. That last villain is claiming to have killed you, and Tsukauchi is getting frantic. Think about what I said? Lay low for a while. Make sure you’re fully recovered and let things die down.”

They snorted at the obviously unintended pun.

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes at them. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure thing, Eraserhead. Get going. We’ll be fine. And you remember your promise. This place stays our little secret.”

Eraserhead huffed a laugh at their own pun. “Terrible. Both of you.” The pro shifted his focus to Cross and Cheshire. He nodded his head toward the lobby. The two adults shared a look and followed the hero out for whatever super-secret adult conversation Eraserhead felt they needed to have.

Naisho debated for a few seconds before exuding enough slime to reach a tendril over to the door. They pressed it along the floor under the door and listened. Cross was talking. “No, we don’t discriminate here, Eraserhead. Everyone’s welcome as long as they respect the rules, pay for services, and don’t start any fights on premise.”

Eraserhead shifted one of his feet. “You accept quirkless patients as well?”

There’s a brief pause before Cross answers, “Of course. They need a place like this more than most.”

Eraserhead sighed. “Good. That’s good. Next time I rescue or talk a member of that community down, I’ll let them know you’re an option.”

Naisho pulled their slime back, swallowing around a surge of emotion. They stared at the ceiling and huffed a quiet laugh. Eraserhead really was one of the good ones, wasn’t he?

Outtakes:
Aizawa pre-patrol: “I feel sorry for whoever you use that weapon on.”
Aizawa post-patrol: “You know what, they deserved it. Aim for the kneecaps next time. No one hurts two of my Problem Children.”
Izuku: “Aw, Ekikyō, you hear that? He’s adopted you too.”
Ekikyō: “I want a divorce.”
Izuku: “That’s…not how that works…”
Aizawa: “Too late. I already have both of your adoption forms filled out.”

Aizawa: “You know, there’s one thing that’s still bothering me.”
Izuku: “What?”
Aizawa: “I watched you use your shoge hook, and for the life of me I can’t place why those moves looked familiar.”
Izuku: mildly panics and wonders if Aizawa was paying attention during the second round of the Sports Festival, trying to think of a decent cover “Ah…you see, I…might have studied how you use your capture weapon and maybe tried to incorporate some of your style into my own…”
Aizawa: blinks because wow, the kid sounds familiar. Then his words click and he gives his signature grin “Problem Child, if you wanted to learn my style, all you had to do is ask.”
Izuku: is equal parts afraid and excited

Chapter Text

Naisho made it home around 4:00 and crawled exhaustedly into bed. Izuku had been kept awake by Ekikyō the whole time; they were uncertain if Izuku falling back into unconsciousness was safe. Sure, this wasn’t a concussion, but it was a brain injury nonetheless. Did it count as a brain injury? They were too tired to make a coherent argument one way or another. But he still needed sleep, so they’d have to chance it…once they had one of Izuku’s working phones on hand in case of emergency.

After they changed, set Izuku’s civilian phone on the nightstand, and crawled into bed, they let their minds drift apart. Izuku groaned and curled in on himself, hands moving to cradle his skull. His head felt like someone had set a firework off inside it, and his skin itched and felt too tight, rubbed raw and constricting. Faint, full-body tremors made the headache worse. Overall, he felt terrible. And that was with Ekikyō keeping most of their body numbed. Their muscles should be hurting a lot right now.

Ekikyō pressed a little closer in their mind, offering what comfort he could. “I know. I’m sorry, kid. Try to sleep. You should feel better in the morning.”

Izuku hoped he would.

Sleep found him eventually, and the next morning found them soon after. Too soon. At least, the splitting headache had faded to a vague pressure. Not quite painful, but making focusing difficult and their thoughts hazy around the edges. Moving hurt, but they numbed the worst of it with barely a thought.

Aizawa had taken one look at them that morning and checked their temperature to make sure they hadn’t gotten “sick” again. They tried to wave him off, saying they just had a headache, but he didn’t seem to buy it. They had to actually convince Aizawa to let them go to school. It was so weird, and they didn’t have the spare energy to even attempt figuring the strangeness out.

They didn’t notice anything else was off until they ran into Hitoshi at their new pre-class meetup spot between the Support and Heroics buildings.

Hitoshi grinned at them and once they were close enough, he quietly greeted them, “Morning, Izuku, Ekikyō.”

They paused in their own greeting. Hitoshi said Izuku and Ekikyō, not Naisho (Izukyō?). What…? They rubbed their temples and whined at the contradictory thoughts suddenly rushing through their mind. Were they in a deep dive? Why? They couldn’t remember initiating one. Did they wake up like this? How?

Hitoshi’s hand gently gripped their arm, steadying them. “Hey, you okay?”

One of them (or both—they couldn’t tell) shook their head. “Something’s wrong.” They should be able to separate. Why was it so difficult this time? “Help…”

Calm washed over them, and muscles unwillingly relaxed. When the world crept back in, they recognized it as that halfway state of Hitoshi’s quirk. “Tell me what’s wrong to the best of your ability. Stay calm while you do so,” Hitoshi ordered.

They complied. “We developed what we call a ‘deep dive’ where our minds are so attuned to each other that we essentially operate as a single mind, mostly to improve reflexes and to allow sharing of muscle memory and senses. We…appear to be stuck in one. We woke up like this after a very taxing night and didn’t notice until now.”

Hitoshi’s eyes widened and face paled. “What do you want me to do?”

They thought about the situation, still unnaturally calm. “I think you can order us to separate. Our minds, that is. I don’t think de-possessing right now would be wise.”

“No shit,” Hitoshi said, glancing around before nodding.

They still had some time before homeroom. They hoped it would be enough to readjust. They nodded back to show they were ready.

Hitoshi took a fortifying breath before saying, “Carefully separate your mind into Izuku and Ekikyō.”

Something shifted, and their minds started sifting apart. It took a little longer than usual, but eventually they shared their mental space as two autonomous entities.

“I-I think it worked,” Izuku said, rubbing at the base of his skull and rolling his neck. Why did his neck feel stiff?

“Oh, that’s what happened,” Ekikyō commented, shifting some of the slime around their spine. At the wordless question from Izuku, he elaborated, “I had some of my cells dedicated to running repairs on the nerves inflamed by that guy’s quirk. I kinda set that on autopilot before falling asleep. I wasn’t sure how far the irritation would spread, and I was worried about it reaching your spine and brain. Looks like it did. Think we’re in the clear now though.”

Izuku got the impression of a wince and felt slime flow away from their brain. “So, we defaulted to a deep dive with that much slime in my brain?”

“As interesting as it is being able to hear both of you in my head, am I good to release you?” Hitoshi asked mentally, surprising both of them.

“Ah, yes,” Izuku answered quickly before switching to his mental voice to tack on, “Unless you want to hear about what happened now? No one would be able to overhear us this way, and Ekikyō still needs to fill me in on what happened while I was unconscious anyway.”

Hitoshi thought about it before nodding. “Just remember not to push me out. Holding both of you like this is…not quite draining, but precarious? It won’t take much to break our connection.”

Ekikyō cut in before Izuku could say anything, “Hey, Shinso, can’t you just order people not to fight your quirk? I’ve been wondering if that works.”

Hitoshi stared wide-eyed at them for a few seconds. “I don’t know?”

Izuku snickered and nudged his friend (and maybe crush) toward his hallway. “Why not try it out? But you should probably start walking toward 1-A, so you’re not late. We’ll talk while walking to our classes.”

Hitoshi nodded before narrowing his eyes in thought. Finally, he smirked. He started to walk off as he said, “Neither of you do anything to fight Brainwashing for the next ten minutes.”

Izuku blinked a few times before shrugging and starting the walk toward 1-H’s homeroom. “Ekikyō, do you want to talk the whole time, or do you want me to start?”

“Nah, I got this one, Izuku. You focus on making sure we don’t trip over our own feet.”

Izuku made a sound of indignation and mentally shoved Ekikyō; Izuku’s bodymate only laughed.

Hitoshi scoffed. “I dunno Izuku, you are pretty clumsy.”

Izuku mentally pouted, struggling to keep a smile off his face. “Why are both of you so mean to me?”

---

Izuku and Ekikyō took the rest of the week off from being Naisho (despite being sorely tempted to try out their new shoes, appropriately dubbed The Hatsume Special; they shoved the box under their bed for now). They got their new burner phone and spent time texting their various contacts when they weren’t working on homework.

Knowing they couldn’t avoid the issue forever, they very carefully tested a deep dive before the weekend. Thankfully, the whole “getting stuck” thing seemed to have been a fluke. Then it was Saturday again, and they boarded an early train for Tokyo.

They made a slight detour before heading for their “favorite” alley. Izuku had gotten a notification the night before that he had a package waiting for him, so they swung by Ōta ward’s busiest post office. He’d rented a P.O. box after moving in with Aizawa for whenever he needed to order vigilante supplies, but it worked well for this too.

The harried postman handed them their package—really it was just an oversized envelope that was a smidge too big to fit in their P.O. box—and shooed them away, calling for the next person in line. Izuku bowed before retreating with his prize. They waited to open the envelope until they were safely ensconced in the alley in Meguro ward that they’d used last time. They carefully ripped the envelope’s seam and checked the contents.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Ekikyō said.

Izuku smiled widely. “Neither can I, but here we are.” He tore off the part of the envelope with their P.O. box address before tucking the envelope and its contents into a Ziploc bag they’d brought. They slid the whole thing into the back pocket of their shorts. “Let’s do this.”

They sank into their skewed deep dive and took a moment to just be before pulling their “League” phone from their pocket to text Kurogiri. Slime welled from their skin, and Ekikyō took care of their eyes as they hit send. They blinked their vision back into focus as a purple-black portal opened in front of them.

They stepped through into the League of Villains bar. The place wasn’t as crowded today. Aside from Kurogiri only Mr. Compress, Magne, and Toga were present. The two ladies were sitting together, and Compress was camped out in a corner seemingly practicing card tricks. “Hey,” they greeted. A smattering of hellos met them.

With pleasantries out of the way, they headed for the bar to order another lemon sour. The part of them that was Ekikyō wished they could get something harder, but they knew it wouldn’t be good for their body. As is, they didn’t intend to completely finish their drink this time for Izuku’s sake.

Once they had their drink, they sat down at Toga and Magne’s table. “Ladies,” he said raising his mug in a toast before drinking.

“Hiya, Sludge. Whatcha been up to all week?” Toga asked, twirling the straw in her empty glass.

“Bit of this and that. My meatsuit got himself mugged, and I had deal with them whining about it. How about you?”

Toga—who had perked up when Ekikyō mentioned Izuku getting “mugged”—brightened even more, nearly bouncing in her seat. “I found someone to stab!” She pouted and stilled. “They weren’t nearly as cute as I hoped though.”

Magne patted her shoulder. “Not everyone’s a winner, darling. Better luck next time.”

They hummed and took another drink. “How often do you go hunting?”

Toga shrugged. “Every week or two. Why?”

“Eh, I usually have to every three. At least, before this meatsuit. Must be tough avoiding the cops and heroes with needing to go out that often.”

“I haven’t been caught yet!” Toga boasted. “People are starting to get wary though. It’s harder to find people traveling alone than it used to be.”

“I hear ya. The funny thing is how quickly they forget that caution when you lay low for a bit.” When they saw Toga’s eyes narrow and Magne’s head tilt consideringly, they continued, “People forgot me pretty quick when I went quiet for a few months. I’m still cautious now, but I haven’t been caught out outside of a body since mid-summer. And…I might know someone who owed me a favor.” They pulled the sealed Ziploc with the envelope from their slime and clothing to slide it across the table to Toga.

They watched the girl open the envelope with one eye as they tracked movement at the bar with their other. A portal opened to admit Shigaraki—this time wearing all of his hands. The man (man-child the part of their mind that was Ekikyō insisted) settled on a stool at the bar and gestured for a drink. Their focus snapped fully back to Toga when they heard a sharp inhale.

Toga stared wide-eyed at the unfolded paper in one hand. A card sat in her other hand, a quirk registry special allowance card. “This is…” Toga trailed off, looking up from the page. She looked a bit lost and a lot confused. “Why?”

They shrugged their shoulders and slime. “Figured it’d make you harder to track if you could take a break whenever you wanted and mess up whatever pattern authorities have in your profile.” They looked away. “And I know what withdrawal’s like.”

A sharp squeal was all the warning they got before Toga pounced on them. They reeled back ready to defend themselves only to pause when they didn’t feel a knife. Was Toga…hugging them? Toga released them just as quickly, seemingly unbothered by the slimy residue that stuck to her clothes. She bounced back to her side of the table to show Magne her card, which gave her an allowance of blood bags from whatever blood bank or hospital she presented it at.

Magne examined the card before asking, “Chihana?”

Over at the bar, Shigaraki flinched. He glanced over his shoulder at them before turning back around, grumbling and scratching at his neck. What was his problem? Eh, didn’t matter.

They blocked out the League’s crusty leader and answered Magne’s sort of question, “Mhm. Seemed like a fitting alias. Oh, let me see that paper real quick. I’ll give you the account login info so you can change the mailing address and stuff. I’ll need to ditch the P.O. box I sent this to anyway,” they said, gesturing for her to pass them the letter that came with the card. They lifted a pen from their pocket with slime and deposited it in their hand. They pulled their slime back inside the limb long enough to quickly scrawl out the username and password Izuku had set up.

They pushed the letter back across the table to Toga, smirking as the girl squealed all over again. Magne caught their eye briefly and nodded approvingly. Pride bloomed in their chest, and Toga’s genuine smile engraved itself in their mind.

(Villains weren’t always bad people; some of them just needed a little help.)

Izuku and Ekikyō hung out at the bar for another hour as the other League members trickled in. Once they finished three-quarters of their drink, they stood and pushed the mug back across the bar to Kurogiri.

Shigaraki, who had been sullenly silent since arriving caught their eye and asked, “Leaving so soon?”

They shrugged. “Got a few other errands to run today.”

Shigaraki hummed before smiling. “You should stay a little longer. We’re having a meeting as soon as Dabi ret—” They both looked over to the door as the bell attached to it chimed. It was none other than Dabi. Shigaraki smiled. “Well, would you look at that? Seems I get to skip this cutscene.”

Ekikyō and Izuku eyed Shigaraki warily as he stood and walked to stand in front of the bar’s tv. “While everyone’s here, I have something important to discuss: our next move.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even the antisocial Muscular and Moonfish stared at the villain expectantly.

Shigaraki’s smile stretched a bit wider as he continued, “We’re going to undermine society’s faith in heroes by hitting them where it really hurts. And what does our society love? Heroes…and children.”

Ekikyō’s slime stilled for a moment before clinging more tightly to Izuku in wordless assurance. Izuku leaned into his friend more.

“Instead of striking down All Might directly, we’ll weaken peoples’ faith in him and hero society first. We’ll hit their precious hero brats where they should be safe, and the masses will do the job of tearing UA and All Might apart for us.”

“Sounds great in theory, but how do you plan to accomplish that, boss man?” Dabi asked, head tilted to the side and the faintest hint of a condescending smile tugging at his scarred lips.

Shigaraki scratched his neck for a second before catching himself and lowering his hand. “Every summer, UA sends its first year hero classes off to training camp. They’ll be isolated and exhausted from constant exercise. Shouldn’t be a problem for you all, right?”

Toga bounced in her seat. “Can I stab some of them?!”

Spinner spoke right after, not giving Shigaraki a chance to respond to Toga, “What’s the goal?”

Shigaraki narrowed his eyes at the room. Silence quickly returned. “Yes, stabbing is encouraged. Get as many heroic blood samples as you can for your quirk. I don’t care what you do with most of the NPCs, but we have a few targets I want captured alive.” Shigaraki nodded to Kurogiri.

The mist man pressed a button on a remote, and the television behind him lit up, and scenes of the Sports Festival’s final round fights started playing.

“What’ll stir the hornet’s nest even worse than hurting a few hero kids? Converting one.” The footage paused on a frame of Bakugo launching himself at Shinso. “I want him,” Shigaraki said, pointing at Bakugo.

Ekikyō and Izuku stared at the image, frozen. They could feel Izuku’s panic begin to mount before Ekikyō shoved it down. Izuku didn’t fight as Ekikyō wrapped more securely around his mind and pulled his thoughts in a different direction. This was a bad idea. There was no universe in which trying to convert Bakugo ended well for the League. How delusional were they?

Dabi leaned forward to rest his elbows on his table. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly, Shigaraki.” It seemed there was a voice of reason among the League after all. “Don’t get me wrong; you have him pegged. He’s a villain. But you see, I already decided that asshole would burn if I ever laid eyes on him.”

Okay, never mind, Dabi wasn’t the voice of reason; he was the voice of murder. Or arson. Probably both.

Shigaraki stared at Dabi, clearly as caught off guard as Izuku and Ekikyō were. “What?” the leader of the League of Villains said intelligently.

“Ooooooh! I bet it’s personal, isn’t it?! What did he do?” Toga asked, smiling and sounding surprisingly like a teenage girl looking for the latest juicy gossip at school.

Dabi gave Toga some side-eye but didn’t say a word for or against her claim.

Shigaraki finally seemed to gather his wits and glared at Dabi. “You can’t burn him! I’m recruiting him!”

“Bet.”

Shigaraki let out a strangled sound of frustration. “Moving on! Other targets: Tokoyami and Shinso. Grab as many of them as you can during the raid…”

Izuku’s panic tried to resurface, and Ekikyō smothered it again. “We won’t let that happen, Izuku. We are here, and we will stop them.”

Izuku sent an impression of a nod to Ekikyō. He couldn’t afford to panic and risk blowing their cover. He tried to think about anything other than Shinso being kidnapped. “Hehe, guess it’s a good thing I didn’t progress further in the tournament bracket, huh?”

Izuku sensed agreement from his bodymate. “Seriously dodged a bullet on that one, though it’s not like you’d be at the camp even if they did try for you.”

A thought suddenly struck Izuku, and he felt Ekikyō join him in turning it over and eyeing it from different angles. After several seconds, Ekikyō voiced their thought. “How are you even going to find the training camp? After the USJ, won’t they take extra precautions?”

Shigaraki broke his glare away from Dabi to shoot them a manic grin. “I have a cheat code for that.”

Outtake:
Magne: “So, Toga, what do you think of Sludge?”
Toga: grinning and twirling her new card “He seems alright. And he gets me! It’s too bad he doesn’t bleed red though. I think he’d look pretty in it.” Pouts
Twice: chiming in from across the room “His host probably bleeds red. That doesn’t count!”
Toga: pouts more “But Sludge won’t let me stab him!”
Twice: shrugs “Maybe if you ask really nice?”
Magne: shakes her head and stares at the ceiling “Why does it feel like I’m babysitting?”

Dabi: “Get your own kid; I claimed this one for revenge first.”
Shigaraki: “I’m the leader here, and I want him for my party!”
Dabi: “Revenge.”
Shigaraki: “Recruitment.”
Mr. Compress: slightly worried the bar might be either decayed or burned down in the immediate future “Gentlemen, I think you’ll find your goals are not mutually exclusive. Dabi, do you want to burn him or kill him? If you let him live with his wounds, Shigaraki can still take a crack at recruiting him.”
Dabi: stares at Shigaraki a full minute before huffing “If he doesn’t turncoat, I get to finish him off.”
Shigaraki: “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Shota stood in his favorite café waiting. He checked his phone one more time before sighing. Of course, the man was late. Why shouldn’t he be? It wasn’t like Shota had anything better to do on a Saturday, like brushing out the cats or trying to figure out what to do about Midoriya’s birthday coming up all too quickly. (Shota was the boy’s guardian; that meant he was supposed to do something, right?)

Just when he was about to give up and use his phone to research what gifts were popular with teenagers, the bell above the door chimed. Shota glanced up and grumbled. Finally. The gnarled older man gave a wolfish, chipped-tooth smile when he spotted Shota. He hobbled over, the gait drawing Shota’s eyes from the man’s empty eye socket to his rather impressive knee brace and forearm crutch.

Shota couldn’t remember the vigilante looking so beat up the last time they’d met. Then again, he hadn’t seen Knuckleduster since before the Naruhata Blackout. Shota hadn’t been in Naruhata at all the last few years. He wondered what else he’d missed. “I could have picked somewhere that wasn’t halfway up a hill if you’d let me know your knee was giving you trouble,” he said by way of apology.

Knuckleduster waved the words away as he shuffled into a seat across from Shota. “Eh, I’m fine, Eraserhead. If you really want to make it up to me, you can place my drink order,” the scarred man said, eyeing the line at the counter.

Shota nodded and stood. “It’s Aizawa when I’m off-duty. What do you want? I can recommend their Rush Hour Heart Attack.” (That drink was Shota’s favorite mid-patrol pick-me-up.)

Knuckleduster shook his head. “Get me one of their iced coffees, whatever has the lowest caffeine. The old heart doesn’t do good with too much of the stuff. And call me Oguro, kid. My days as Knuckleduster are over.”

Shota would believe that when he saw it, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he took his place in line. While waiting, he idly scrolled through HeroNet alerts. It appeared to be a slow day, which Shota didn’t trust. Rather than feed his paranoia more, he exited out of the app and glanced over at Knu—Oguro. He narrowed his eyes. Where had he heard that name before?

A quick web search pulled up something Shota did not expect: a retired hero, O’Clock. That…made so much sense and zero sense all at once. It explained the man’s training and skill, but it begged a huge question. What had happened to O’Clock’s quirk? Because O’Clock had very much had one, and Shota could attest that Knuckleduster did not. And it wasn’t a simple case of an injury making the man unable to use his quirk anymore; Erasure would still pick up on it if that were the case. Oguro’s quirk was nonexistent. He had no quirk factors for Erasure to act on.

Shota got to ask a few minutes later when he returned to his table with a matcha green tea latte. He promptly handed the abomination of a drink to Oguro.

“You’re O’Clock?” he asked without preamble.

Oguro laughed before taking a sip of his drink and nodding appreciatively. “What, you a fan?”

“No, but Iida Tensei was in my year. He was a big fan.”

“Ah, Ingenium. That makes sense. Shame what happened with Stain.”

Shota hummed before giving the man a pointed look. He hadn’t answered Shota’s question.

Oguro shot him a grin with too many teeth to really be cheerful. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and asked quietly, “Do they still tell you underground types about the Quirk Boogieman when you graduate?”

Shota glanced surreptitiously around the café before leaning forward as well. “Officially? No. Have I heard rumors? Yes.”

“What if I told you the rumors and legends and myths were true? Every last one?”

The discussion that followed probably should not have been had in a public setting, but Shota was a bit too hung up on the fact the supervillain who could steal anyone’s quirk was real, alive, and, if not mostly well, still a serious threat.

And he’d been behind everything that happened in Naruhata. How did Oguro know this? Because Six had Oguro’s quirk. Six had gotten Oguro’s quirk from All for One.

Oguro lost his quirk to All for One.

Shota had significantly more respect for Oguro now. (This man had survived an encounter with All for One.) But he had one question. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you’re already involved.” Oguro typed something on his phone, and Shota’s vibrated with an incoming message.

Shota unlocked his phone and saw Oguro had sent him a link to a document. The document had a series of dates, locations, and names arranged in clusters. The last large set of names all had the same date and location: the USJ attack. Following them was the group of four who had escaped later the same day. “What am I looking at?”

“Trigger cases. That list starts three months after the Blackout.”

Shota’s eyes widened as he made the connection. If All for One was behind all of the Naruhata Instant Villain and Next Level Villain cases, then it was a reasonable assumption that he was behind these as well. Shit, Tsukauchi was right; this was another Villain Factory scenario. He needed to report this.

He scanned the list again and quickly noticed the pattern. A cluster of Trigger cases, then a missing persons case or two (or four in the USJ attack’s case) picked from those dosed with Trigger. He paused on one of the earliest names on the list: Iha Bōheki, quirk: Shock Absorption.

Shota’s blood ran cold, and phantom pain seared along the scars on his face. Shota ran a hand over his jaw, subconsciously confirming that it wasn’t broken. He turned his phone off and set it down on the table, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening his eyes and schooling his expression back to blank passivity. He’d deal with all of that later.

“Thank you. I’ll pass it along to the relevant parties. But that’s not why I asked to meet you here today.”

“Oh?”

“Have you heard about the recent string of kidnappings?”

Oguro nodded. “Yeah, the brat told me about them. They’re targeting quirkless, right?”

Shota nodded, relaxing slightly. “I wanted to make sure you knew to watch your back, old-timer…and Naisho’s.”

Oguro’s eye narrowed. “So, you know…”

“That Naisho’s quirkless, yes. Since I first ran into him. Why do you think I never arrested him?”

Oguro scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Huh. Yeah, I’ll keep an eye and ear out for the sprout.”

“Thanks,” Shota said, slumping back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. “I swear, between Naisho, Midoriya, and my class this year I’m going to get more grey hairs than you.”

Oguro laughed. “I bet. Midoriya…he’s the one who bowed out in the final event of the Sports Festival, right?”

Shota scrutinized the retired pro. “Yes…”

“Good kid. Ran into him at the physical therapist once. He doing okay?”

Shota’s suspicions faded. Nezu did give Midoriya some of the best-rated PTs as options. Running into a retired pro there wasn’t that unlikely. Hero work was hell on the joints. “He’s doing okay. He’s actually a ward of UA at the moment.”

Oguro frowned. “He staying with Power Loader? I worked with him once or twice before I retired.”

“Nah. Power Loader already had another student’s custody this term. So, I took him in.”

“Really? You?” Oguro seemed pretty skeptical. “You realize that kids need more attention than cats do, right? Take it from someone who knows.”

Shota scoffed and unlocked his phone again, pulling up his photos this time. Finding just the one, he turned his phone to show Oguro. “I think he’s settling in just fine.” The picture was one of Izuku sleeping on the sofa bundled under a blanket and three cats. One of the cats was half-laying over Izuku’s head and was busily grooming the teen’s hair.

Oguro chuckled. “You should send that one to Naisho. She’s the cat he helped rescue, right?” he asked, pointing at Maneki. “Kid loves that damn calico. If the topic of cats comes up in training, he can’t stop talking about her.”

Shota huffed, contemplating it a minute before sending the picture to Naisho.

Oguro shook his head and took a sip of his horrible drink before continuing, “Alright, I’ll admit the cats make a good welcome party, but are you actually spending time with your kid?”

Shota stared at Oguro for a moment, stuck on “your.” Then he gave the man a light glare. “He’s not my kid.”

“Really? Because the way I see it, he’s living with you, you have guardianship of him, and you’re responsible for raising him and keeping him out of trouble. Sure sounds like you’re a parent.”

“But I’m not,” Shota insisted. “I’m just his temporary guardian while things with his mother get figured out. I’m not taking her place.” Shota couldn’t. Midoriya Inko was a lot of things, but she did seem to genuinely care about Izuku, or the version of Izuku that existed in her head, at least.

From what Tsukauchi had hinted to him, Shota suspected the woman would be given custody again at the end of the case. Provided her therapist gave her approval and Izuku’s did the same. He couldn’t say he agreed with the decision, not with how skittish and quiet Izuku was. How his eyes sought out escape routes and followed any other person in the room but never quite looked at them. Shota didn’t want the kid to have to go back to one of the environments he learned that behavior in. Even if Inko never hurt her son physically, it was still in her home Izuku learned to lie about, hide, and self-treat his injuries. It was there that he learned asking for help wasn’t worthwhile.

Oguro hummed, seemingly unconvinced. “Let me guess, his mom’s negligent at best, abusive at worst? And you don’t want to be associated with that.”

Shota sighed, taking a long draught of his own coffee before answering, “Negligent near as we can tell. And definitely not providing him with adequate healthcare. The investigation’s ongoing and out of my hands. She’s in mandatory counseling and mental evaluation last I heard.”

“And you’re not Midoriya’s parent?”

“No.”

Oguro frowned and seemed to chew something over before he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table again. “Now see, that there is a problem, Aizawa. Because a kid like that? He’ll see you keeping your distance and assume you’re just like his mom and every other authority figure he’s met before high school. That you don’t want him around or don’t want to deal with him as he is on some level. That’s all he knows to compare your behavior to. He’ll either try to figure out what mold you expect him to fit into to cater to your expectations, or he’ll withdraw and avoid you as much as possible. And neither of those is a good thing if you’re trying to help the kid get into a better mindset.”

Shota outwardly froze as Oguro talked, but internally his mind raced. Hadn’t that been exactly what Izuku had done? After the initial move-in, he’d spent almost every moment he was home in his room. Was he avoiding Shota? Was he afraid Shota would reject him like his mother had? (Then there was the possibility of Midoriya comparing Shota to his former teachers; Shota had heard enough to know those…individuals didn’t deserve their teaching licenses and wouldn’t have them for much longer if Hizashi and Tsukauchi had anything to say about it.)

Shota’s shoulders sagged. Had he given Midoriya a reason to doubt his intentions? No, that was thinking about it from the wrong direction. It was assuming Midoriya expected people to treat him well from the start, which he didn’t. Midoriya was used to everyone around him wanting something from him or wanting to hurt him; that was his normal before UA. Had Shota given Midoriya any reason to think he was different, that he was trustworthy, that he wouldn’t pick and choose what parts he liked and reject the rest? If even Inko had done it, why shouldn’t everyone else?

Shota thought he’d built a rapport with Midoriya. Shota had been training the kid for weeks now; he wouldn’t do that unless he saw potential and was invested in the kid doing well. But what if Midoriya didn’t see it that way? (Obviously, he didn’t if he was avoiding Shota so religiously.) Did…did Midoriya think Shota was only training him to help the others? Or worse, did he think Shota was only training him because Shota thought he’d make a good hero. If that was the case…With all the self-esteem problems Midoriya had, he was likely waiting for Shota to “realize” he wasn’t worth the effort. That mentality was painful to contemplate, but all too familiar. Shota hadn’t been so different his first year at UA.

Had Shota messed up his chances already?

Oguro rapped his knuckles against the table, drawing Shota’s attention out of himself. “That reaction right there? That’s a good thing. It means you care.” Oguro said. “Now you need to figure out how to get Midoriya to understand and believe it.”

Oguro gave him another chipped-tooth smile. “Just keep in mind that teenagers aren’t the best at reading between the lines, and they’re forgetful. Actions are probably your best bet. And keep them consistent. Keep reminding him that you’re there for him. Not because you’re obligated to be.”

Shota stared down into his coffee, wishing he knew how to make it seem so easy in his mind. He couldn’t help but see all the potential pitfalls. “You speak like you have experience.”

“It’s ‘cause I do. My daughter had a rebellious streak as a teenager. I…didn’t handle it well at first and almost couldn’t save her when it counted,” Oguro admitted, gazing down at his own drink. “You want my advice?”

“Yes.”

“Take this seriously. You’re a hero and a teacher, right? Well, you’re a parent now too, and that has to take precedence. You’re responsible for Midoriya’s life and well-being for the foreseeable future. Can you really call yourself a good hero or teacher if you don’t take care of the child in your own home?”

---

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If you're hearing audio of this or seeing it reposted somewhere other than Archive of Our Own, I did not consent to it, and this person is stealing. Please report them. You can find the original work on ao3 under the title Residual Hope.

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They got the text on their way from Meguro ward to Minato ward where Giran was operating. He’d requested them for some analysis work, and they could always use the spending money. Plus, the broker had their new oxygen concentrator in. Izuku was focused on shoveling down their ochazuke when he saw the picture and stopped mid-chew to stare at a picture of himself asleep and covered in cats. He checked to make sure he had the right phone and only stared at it more once he confirmed it was his new vigilante phone.

Ekikyō took the opportunity to nudge Izuku aside and text back, “Awwww! They’re so cute! (The guy too!)”

Izuku’s brain didn’t reboot in time to stop his friend from hitting the send button, reducing him to vehement, but futile, protests. “Ekikyō, you're going to make him think I like myself!”

“Good, you should like yourself more.”

“Ekikyō!”

Hours later, they were jogging back to Aizawa’s apartment after a solid afternoon training with Hitoshi and Uraraka, and what Ekikyō had done was really sinking in. To make it worse, Eraserhead had replied with “The kid’s off-limits.” Izuku might just die of embarrassment.

Izuku was mortified. “I cannot believe you texted that to Eraserhead!”

Ekikyō just laughed at his misery. “Oh, come on, Izuku. It is pretty funny.”

“No. No, it really isn’t,” Izuku groused. And he’d wanted to sneak in a quick patrol tonight too, just to check in with Eraserhead on the arrests earlier in the week. They definitely weren’t doing that now. Izuku didn’t think he could stand to show his face around Eraser for a few days, at least.

Ekikyō seemed to pick up on what Izuku was thinking—a more common occurrence the past few days—and mentally nudged him. “Hey, maybe we can do some shopping tonight instead. You need a desk, chair, and voice changer, and we could stand to lay low for a while longer.”

Izuku pulled a face. Ekikyō did have a point about the desk and chair. Izuku had been lucky so far. It was only a matter of time before one of Izuku’s pens broke or leaked, and with him doing all of his homework on his bed…He grimaced at the thought.

Then there was the voice changer. Izuku had been debating one for a long time, but it had only recently become an urgent need. (No one paid attention to him as Deku; no one remembered his voice to recognize him in costume.) With his vigilante identity being broadcast everywhere this side of Japan, the risk of being found out was much higher. And, of course, his civilian identity living with the underground hero he regularly interacted with as Naisho…It was really a miracle Eraserhead hadn’t made a connection by now.

“It’s because you’re more confident as Naisho. You know you can handle yourself—for the most part—and it shows,” Ekikyō pointed out. “I think the only time you’ve ever been remotely confident as ‘Izuku’ was when you kicked the crap out of Bakugo on national television.”

Izuku blushed and ducked his head as he walked up the stairs to Aizawa’s apartment building. “I wasn’t going to let him ruin my friends’ chances of making it into the hero course!”

“See! There’s the steel backbone you show as Naisho. Only seems to come out when there’s someone else to defend,” Ekikyō said contemplatively.

“Yes, I’m aware. You were there when my therapist said self-worth is going to be a recurring topic in my sessions,” Izuku reminded his friend tiredly. He could understand the logic of himself being just as worthy of consideration and saving as anyone else, but it didn’t feel like he was. Something there refused to click.

Ekikyō gave him a firm internal hug. “I get it, kid. Believe me, I do. You’ll get there.” Izuku could practically hear the teasing smirk in his bodymate’s voice as he added, “And hey, most people don’t have the benefit of their best friend living inside their head and being able to call them out on their bullshit 24/7. It’s like you’re practically cheating at this whole mental health thing.”

Izuku had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at that. “True. I am so lucky to have you,” Izuku said sarcastically back.

Ekikyō laughed. “Aw, you’re sassing me. You’re finally growing up. If I had my eyes out right now, I’d wipe a fake tear from them.”

Izuku snorted and shook his head, switching his focus from his internal conversation to digging his copy of Aizawa’s apartment key out of his pocket. “I’m back!” he called as he stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him to stop Maneki from making a break for it. Sometimes she forgot that she wasn’t a street cat anymore.

Izuku crouched to grab Maneki as she tried to dart past him to get at the door. He scooped her into his arms and scratched behind her ears until she gave up on escaping. “Maneki, where do you think you’re going? What’s an alleyway and a dumpster got on Aizawa’s home and the fish he pretends not to sneak you? Hm?”

Maneki blinked lazily at him and started purring, leaning into his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Izuku said with a soft smile. His eyes moved from the cat’s now contented face to the patchy ring of scars around her neck. “You want to know a secret?” Izuku whispered to Maneki as he walked them to his room to gently set down his duffle bag. “Aizawa would probably just track you down and bring you home again if you ran off. He’s pretty attached to you.”

“And you’re not, Midoriya?” a voice asked behind them.

Izuku froze for a moment before relaxing and looking over his shoulder to see Aizawa standing in his doorway, arms crossed and face tucked into his capture weapon. The faintest hint of crinkling at the corners of his eyes was the only thing betraying his smile.

“W-well, yeah,” Izuku said sheepishly, eyes glancing away from the pro hero and teacher. “But she’s yours.”

Aizawa hummed. “I dunno, Problem Child. Pretty sure she’s claimed you, not me.”

Izuku was about to protest when Maneki leaned up to rub her head along his chin. Izuku fought down a blush, ducking his head to shush the traitorous cat. His attempt earned him a meow. “You are illegally cute. You know that, don’t you?”

Izuku was distracted from Maneki when Aizawa chuckled. Izuku and Ekikyō shot him a bewildered look. They’d heard him chuckle maybe once as Eraserhead, never as Aizawa.

Aizawa merely raised an eyebrow at them before turning and motioning with his head for them to follow him.

Confused and a little wary, they left their room. Izuku continued petting Maneki to distract himself. Aizawa didn’t seem like he was angry or tense or disappointed. And Izuku hadn’t done anything noteworthy recently to draw the man’s attention. (That was by design.) What did he want Izuku for?

They followed Aizawa into the living room and then to the kitchen. There were ingredients laid out all over the counter. They glanced between the food and Aizawa, uncertain what this was.

“Have you ever had homemade okonomiyaki?” Aizawa asked, rolling his sleeves up. He reached for a stained old apron while waiting for a response.

Izuku blinked. No, he had not made okonomiyaki before. A brief impression from Ekikyō said his friend had in the distant past and was interested in where this was going. Izuku shook his head.

“Would you like to learn?” Aizawa asked, holding out a second apron that Izuku was pretty he hadn’t seen before. It was newer, still had the fold lines in it from whatever packaging it came in, and had various vegetables decorating it.

Izuku’s eyes widened as he carefully took the apron. He nodded and gave Aizawa a tentative grin. “Sure.”

Outtakes:
Oguro: requests something iced and with minimal caffeine
Aizawa: “You disgust me.”
Oguro: “Listen here, whippersnapper. I’ve been electrocuted, defibrillated, and have spent years on narcotics for chronic pain. I don’t feel like testing if my heart’s gonna finally stop ticking today. I still got someone I owe a knuckle sandwich first.”
Aizawa: “Okay, okay! One froufrou excuse for a coffee coming right up.”

Oguro: “So, how’s your kid?”
Aizawa: bluescreens “He’s not my kid.”
Oguro: “Really?” presses X to doubt
Aizawa: “Really.”
Oguro: smirks and questions whether or not Izuku knows that Aizawa cares
Aizawa: bluescreens again but with more parental panic
Oguro: “There it is.”

Chapter Text

It was one of those nights. Izuku was restless, and his mind refused to shut off. He wanted to patrol, but…

“I could always put you to sleep,” Ekikyō reminded him.

Izuku scrunched up their nose. He didn’t want to constantly rely on Ekikyō for that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Thankfully, Ekikyō didn’t press. They paced a few more laps in their room before Ekikyō finally stopped them. “Just put your costume on and run a quick circuit on the other side of town to avoid Eraser. No one should be looking for you there. If you run into trouble, call it quits for the night. At least then we’ll have done something productive.” When Izuku hesitated still, Ekikyō pulled out the big guns. “I know you want to test out Mei’s new shoes.”

Izuku let himself be convinced. Really, he wanted to be responsible, but Ekikyō was such a bad influence.

“Uh huh, sure,” Ekikyō said, unimpressed.

They knelt and pulled the new box out from under their bed. They opened it while leaning away, just in case. When nothing immediately exploded, they examined the contents. Hatsume had leaned into the black theme they’d started with their spray-painted shoes, but when they turned one of the shoes over in their hands, greens, blues, and purples shone where the light caught. “They’re iridescent…” Izuku muttered in awe. “How…? Did she seriously invent a new paint just for this?” After marveling at the color for another minute, they noted all of the oddly overlapping metal plates. Those looked like they could do some serious damage if he kicked a person. (Ekikyō approved.)

They slipped the shoes on to test their fit; they were snug but comfortable, allowing plenty of room for their extra toe joint. The shoes were heavier than they expected, but given Hatsume’s influence, they were sure the weight would be worth it. Then they pulled out the little instruction booklet sitting in the bottom of the box. After skimming the directions, they laced up the shoes and tapped their heels together.

Mechanisms whirred, and the plates shifted. They watched with mixed trepidation and fascination as the plates aligned and started climbing their ankles and calves until they stopped just below the knee. According to Hatsume’s booklet, the greaves served both as armor and as shock absorbers when they freeran. One of the last plates slid over the shoes’ laces to keep them from catching on anything or coming untied while the shoes were in use.

Other features they looked forward to trying out were the “super” traction soles that should give them a solid grip even on wet or icy pavement, steel toes to protect them and give their kicks that extra oomph, and the boots were supposedly “hyper-durable.” They fully intended to stress test that feature.

“Well, don’t just stare at them all night. Move around. See if they pinch anywhere. And check if the motorcycle pants will fit over them.”

Izuku nodded. “It probably would be best to have these hidden. They actually look like support gear.”

A few minutes later they were fully dressed in their costume and synched up in a deep dive. They snuck out and made their way to the rooftops. They gave one last, longing look in the direction of the warehouse district before turning and heading the opposite way.

The only real landmark of interest in this direction was Hitoshi’s house. Maybe they could stop by and give their friend a heart attack while patrolling. They grinned at the mental image of Hitoshi surprised and flailing as he fell off of his bed. Then they grimaced, remembering how careful the boy had been to not wake his foster mother, how terrified he’d been of his foster father’s approaching footsteps. Maybe they shouldn’t tempt fate by startling him. But they could still check on him. Quietly.

Decision made, they shifted their course to take them past Hitsohi's block, leaping from a commercial building to a shorter residential one and barely feeling the two-story fall. Their landing was so much smoother and less jarring with the new shoes. 10/10 would recommend to another vigilante.

They were only three streets away from Hitoshi’s place when they paused on the lip of a building. There was something in the alley below them. They tilted their head as they listened and tried to see through the shadows. Slime crept from their skin and through the air ports in their costume to help. They finally picked up faint vibrations that sounded like a wheeze and a quiet cough. Whoever was down there was injured. Maybe they’d been mugged?

Naisho hooked a grappling hook to the roof’s edge and rappelled down, landing a few meters from their target. The person startled when Naisho’s shoes crunched broken glass and tried to move away. The movement was aborted as soon as it started, and the person groaned.

Naisho froze as they matched the sound to a memory of training in the park and pealing Hitoshi up off the ground after throwing him for the fifth time in ten minutes. Their heartrate sped up as they took a cautious step forward. “Hitoshi?”

The person stiffened for a moment before slumping against the alley wall. “‘Zuku?”

Naisho rushed forward and fell to their knees beside their friend. “We’re here…” They shook their head and pulled down their mask. “I’m here, Hitoshi.” Their mind split apart into Izuku and Ekikyō as they gently moved Hitoshi to lay in the light cast by the street lamp and surveyed the damage.

“What’re you doing here?” Hitoshi asked, voice slightly strained.

“Trying a new patrol route. It’s a good thing Ekikyō talked me into it, huh?” Izuku gave his friend as reassuring a grin as he could muster. “Just relax and let me check you over, okay?”

“Kay.”

Hitoshi at first glance didn’t look too bad. There were no visible injuries. If not for his friend’s pale, clammy skin and the way he wrapped one arm protectively around his abdomen, they might not have known any better. But they hadn’t trained under Eraserhead for ten months for nothing.

First, triage and first aid; he could do that. He started with checking Hitoshi for a concussion, then for broken ribs, as any threat to his brain or lungs was a serious concern. When everything turned up normal there, he gently pealed Hitoshi’s arm away from his torso to lift his friend’s shirt. What he saw made him grimace. There was a lot of bruising and swelling. His eyes lingered on one bruise that looked suspiciously like a boot print. Gentle prodding had Hitoshi hissing and gagging. Izuku hurriedly rolled Hitoshi onto his side and supported him while he vomited, grimacing again at the red tinge to the fluid that came up.

Izuku moved Hitoshi away from the mess and checked one more thing. He pressed down on one of Hitoshi’s fingernails and watched as the pink color slowly returned to the nail bed. Too slowly. “Damn it,” he swore softly.

“What?” Hitoshi asked.

Izuku gave his friend a pained expression as he fished his vigilante phone out of his pocket. “There’s a good chance you have internal bleeding. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Hitoshi protested, grabbing Izuku’s hand with his phone, then screwed his eyes shut at the pain the sudden movement had caused. “N-no hospital.”

Izuku begrudgingly accepted that. “What about Recovery Girl?” Eraserhead did owe him a favor. (The pro refused to accept saving their lives at the docks as repayment for the USJ since they “shouldn’t have been put in that position to begin with.”)

Hitoshi shook his head and swallowed, eyes pinched shut.

Izuku started getting nervous. “The underground clinic? Please, Hitoshi, this is serious. You need to be seen by someone, and please stay awake,” Izuku added, patting Hitoshi’s cheek. If Hitoshi passed out, Izuku was dragging his friend to a hospital whether he liked it or not. No one else was dying in an alleyway. Izuku’s second friend (and first one his own age) was not allowed to die on his watch.

Hitoshi scrunched up his face and tried to wave Izuku’s hand away, giving up halfway through the gesture with a hiss of pain. “Fine.”

Izuku let out a shaky exhale and sat back on his heels, debating how to best go about this. Cross’s clinic was halfway across town, and moving Hitoshi too much or the wrong way could make things worse. But he needed to get Hitoshi there as quickly as possible too. Izuku ignored the shaking in his hands as he bent to scoop up his friend. “I’m sorry; this might hurt.”

Ekikyō had been surprisingly quiet throughout Izuku’s evaluation of Hitoshi, but he spoke up now, “Wait.”

Izuku paused. Ekikyō grumbled to himself, and Izuku could feel the mixed concern and uncertainty coming off of his best friend. There was also resolution.

“Carrying him could jar something and make the bleeding worse, but there is a safer way.”

Izuku caught on immediately and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The pair looked back down at Hitoshi who was watching them closely. “Ekikyō have as idea?” he guessed.

Izuku nodded. “Here, I’ll let him explain.”

Ekikyō took over and gave Hitoshi his trademark smile before starting. “Hey, kid. You’ve got us both real worried. Now, we could carry you, no sweat, but that’s risky with the shape you’re in, not to mention it’ll hurt like hell. The option I’m about to suggest is just that, an option. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.

“But…I could switch from possessing Izuku to possessing you. I can stop up internal bleeding and numb things for you until we get to the clinic or make you sleep for the trip if you prefer. You would feel pretty awful for a few hours while our immune systems settle, but you should be fine after that, depending on your injuries.”

Hitoshi stared at them with raised eyebrows without saying anything, and Izuku grew anxious (and a tad defensive). “I-it’s perfectly safe as long as you don’t panic during the possession process. Not gonna lie, it kinda burns the first time, and the immune response s-sucks. But a-afterward, he can speed up your healing. It’s a pretty good tradeoff all things consid—”

“Okay.”

Izuku blinked at Hitoshi. “What?”

“Okay,” Hitoshi repeated. “You trust Ekikyō, and if he wants to help…I trust him too. Just, um, how does this work?”

“Oh! Right. Well, Ekikyō will de-possess me first. His body’s kinda amorphous. Ah…you might…recognize him from the news?” Izuku grimaced. “I swear he’s not like that anymore, and he only was because of his quirk’s withdrawal effects getting worse two years ago. He hadn’t had a willing host for a solid decade before me.”

“Izuku.”

“Right, sorry.” Izuku smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “A-anyway, he’ll de-possess me first. Um, it works best across mucous membranes, so throat and stomach primarily. You can breathe the whole time except for a few seconds at the beginning of a de-possession or the end of a possession. You’ll get why when you see. Ekikyō handles breath control for that part, so all you have to worry about is breathing slowly the rest of the time and not panicking. Panicking’s a good way to accidentally inhale some of him, and that’s not fun.” Izuku scrunched up his nose, recalling his bout of pneumonia.

Hitoshi scrutinized them for a few seconds more before sighing. “Let’s get it over with then.”

They nodded before moving to sit against the alley wall a few meters away but still in Hitoshi’s line of sight. Then they got to de-possessing. Izuku mostly kept his eyes closed and pretended his friend/maybe crush wasn’t watching. Quirks, what was his life?

Once they were fully separated, Izuku took a deep breath and opened his eyes, hazarding a glance at Hitoshi. Hitoshi for his part was staring at Ekikyō with a slightly nauseated expression.

Ekikyō waved a tendril of slime and said, “Hey.”

That seemed to snap Hitoshi out of his stupor. “What the fuck? How on earth did you fit inside Izuku? He’s a shrimp.”

Izuku sputtered. “I am not!”

Ekikyō laughed before grinning. “As Izuku would say, ‘quirk bullshit.’ I can compress my slime quite a bit. Izuku’s a pretty comfortable fit these days; you should have seen how tiny he was in middle school.” He ignored Izuku trying to punch him and asked a little more hesitantly, “You having second thoughts?”

Hitoshi shook his head, expression returning to normal. “Nah, I’m already committed.”

Izuku gave up getting revenge for the tiny comment and scooched over to sit beside Hitoshi. He grabbed his friend’s trembling hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay?”

Hitoshi squeezed back and said in as deadpan a voice as ever, “Let’s get this show on the road and all that jazz.”

Ekikyō sidled over and wrapped some slime around Hitoshi’s chest and arms before getting started. Two minutes later, Hitoshi and Ekikyō released their death grip on Izuku’s hand and cleared their throat. “Oh, that was weird. I get what you mean about the burning. Ugh.”

Izuku chuckled. “Yeah, it gets worse before it gets better. I usually let Ekikyō knock me out for the whole acclimation time.” He turned off his oxygen concentrator while waiting for his friends to feel up to walking.

“I thought…” Hitoshi stopped for a second, expression shifting to blank then surprised. Izuku guessed meant he was talking to Ekikyō. “Wait, you’re going to have to go through this again because he’s helping me? Izuku!”

“If a few hours of discomfort are the price I pay to make sure my first friend my age lives, then I’ll pay it gladly,” Izuku insisted. “What’s the damage report, Ekikyō? Is he safe to move?”

Hitoshi’s expression shifted to something smug and haughty that didn’t look quite right on the boy. Ekikyō said in Hitoshi’s voice, “Yeah, it’s safe. He’s pretty banged up in here though. I don’t think there’s a single organ in his abdomen that isn’t bruised, but I’ve got the bleeding stopped for now. What the hell happened, kid?”

Ekikyō could have just asked Hitoshi mentally, so asking it out loud probably meant he wanted Izuku to think about the question too. Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “Was it your foster dad?”

Hitoshi flinched at the question and slowly, carefully sat up. When he seemed to feel no pain, his shoulders relaxed. “He wouldn’t go this far. It…it wasn’t just him.”

Izuku helped Hitoshi to his feet and hovered while his friend found his balance. “What do you mean? Who else?” Izuku wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do with any names, but he didn’t think it would be something he’d regret.

They slowly walked out of the alley while Hitoshi collected himself. Or argued with Ekikyō. It could have been either. It wasn’t until they reached the end of that block that Hitoshi finally spoke up again. “Some kids from my middle school watched the Sports Festival and saw me. They figured out my route home, and because UA’s classes let out later than general schools’, they had time to run over from theirs and lay in wait for me. I avoided them the first few times they tried. They caught me Friday. Then Dad got back from his trip today.”

Izuku ground his teeth as they walked in silence. He wondered how hard it would be to hack into the local traffic cameras or the business’s security cameras. He wondered how long they kept backlogged footage. What were the chances those bullies were stupid enough to get caught on camera? What would happen if he anonymously sent that footage to Detective Tsukauchi? Their parents? Their high school’s principle? Nezu? They were the easy ones. What could Izuku hope to do about Hitoshi’s foster dad? Maybe the guy was doing something else illegal that Izuku could find evidence for? He had so many questions, but he could explore them in detail later.

“Was it the same ones from last year?” he asked instead.

“The two you beat and tied up are still in juvie. The coward and a few others found a new hotshot to follow around at his high school, I think. I didn’t recognize the leader of the group anyway.”

Izuku bit down on his anger and pushed it aside for now. He needed to get Hitoshi to Cross now. He could figure out justice later.

After a few more minutes Hitoshi and Ekikyō stopped and flexed their hands. “Hitoshi decided to take the out. The fever was starting to edge him toward a migraine, and I can’t really help with those,” Ekikyō said in Hitoshi’s voice as he shrugged. “Just give me a minute. I learned my lesson with the Iida kid.”

Izuku obliged, waiting while Ekikyō took a few stilted steps as Hitoshi. After a handful he seemed to figure out Hitoshi’s stride and balance. “Alright, let’s go.”

The rest of the walk to Cross’s clinic consisted of awkward silence punctuated by Izuku’s vigilante phone vibrating as he texted back and forth with the doctor to tell him what to expect. Having Ekikyō with him but in another person was beyond weird. Izuku kept expecting to hear Ekikyō’s voice in his head or caught himself trying to reach for his friend mentally. The constant reaction and tug of the slime under his skin was disconcerting too.

Wait… “Ekikyō?”

“Hm?”

“How long do you think it’ll take for the slime you left in Iida to go away?”

Ekikyō frowned with Hitoshi’s face. “Not sure. I left as little as possible, and his injury was pretty extensive. It might have all gotten used up healing that depending on how it interacted with any healing quirks used.” He pointed a finger at Izuku. “When you had your shoulder burn, you had less left in your system than usual, so I’d bet he has not much or none by now. Why?”

“Because Hitoshi is in the same class as Iida.”

Ekikyō tilted Hitoshi’s head and frowned. His eyes shot wide when he got it. “Oh. That could be bad. He’ll be able to feel me.”

Izuku nodded, expression grim. They needed a plan. He focused on that the rest of the trip. As the clinic’s warehouse came into view, Izuku snapped his fingers. “Okay, here’s the plan: you and Hitoshi take tomorrow, maybe two days, off. Do your voice altering thing to call him out sick. I’ll poke around 1-A, saying I’m there to collect Hitoshi’s homework and see if Iida reacts to me, since I have some of your slime left. It’s not foolproof, but it’ll at least let us know how bad things might be. If he does react to me, I can try to desensitize him to it by hanging around 1-A a lot. Hopefully, he’ll write it off by the time you two come back to school.” Izuku didn’t like the idea of being so close to Bakugo, but he valued Ekikyō’s freedom and his and Hitoshi’s safety more. He could deal with being chased by Bakugo once or twice if it meant his friends would be safe.

“That might work, but how do you know Aizawa won’t have the class rep or Uraraka bring us our schoolwork? It makes more sense for it to be someone from our class.”

Oh, that was weird. Hearing Ekikyō use “us” and “our” with someone else was strange, and Izuku did not know how to process it. He shoved the matter aside and focused back on the problem at hand. “Easy. Say Hitoshi has the flu or something else highly contagious. I’ll wear a mask tomorrow to help sell it. Oh! And tell whoever you speak to that Hitoshi lost his id badge while fever addled. Anyway, when I go to pick up your homework, I’ll say I was already exposed and know where you live. Hitoshi’s pretty private; everyone knows that. I shouldn’t have much trouble getting them to believe he doesn’t really want anyone else over.”

They knocked on the door to the clinic while hashing out the finer details. Once they were inside, Izuku had the unique experience of being told to stay in the waiting room. He wondered if this was what Eraserhead felt like earlier in the week: anxious and antsy. The frequent shifting of the slime in his blood didn’t help.

Ten minutes later, he was allowed into the room. Ekikyō as Hitoshi was seated on the exam table with their shirt off. Izuku’s eyes lingered on their swollen and heavily bruised abdomen. It looked so much worse in the doctor’s office lighting. Cross was busily writing some notes on a clipboard.

Cross glanced Izuku’s way as he entered and nodded a greeting. “Thank you, both of you, for convincing Shinso to come in. He and Ekikyō will need to stay for a few hours, so I can supervise them. And they are not to go back to the home this—” He gestured at the bruising. “—happened in for at least a day. I’d be happier if they never did. I have half a mind to call an anonymous tip in to police or CPS.”

Cross shook his head exasperatedly; everyone in the room knew Hitoshi wouldn’t go for it. They couldn’t afford to alienate Hitoshi when the boy was so injured and in need of medical care. “Once Ekikyō has settled in properly, I’d like to go in and suture one or two places to reduce the amount of scar tissue Shinso will have. Too much scar tissue could cause strictures on the damaged blood vessels when the scar starts shrinking, and we still don’t know how scars with Ekikyō’s slime incorporated fare after prolonged de-possession,” he added, looking pointedly at Izuku’s shoulder. “The scars might lose their unique elasticity or weaken and risk reopening.”

Izuku rubbed at his shoulder. The scar was perpetually numb, but his fingers could feel the odd rubbery quality of the tissue whenever he checked it with his shirt off. Something like that on a vein or artery probably wouldn’t be the best. He made a mental note to pass that warning along to Aizawa. Iida had had a rather important artery repaired by Ekikyō. He should probably have that monitored at best or reconstructed at worst.

“Now, before you leave,” Cross said, drawing Izuku from his thoughts. “Let me give you a once over too. Ekikyō already told me about the irritation from that quirk spreading to your spine and brain.”

Izuku put up with a long string of tests geared toward testing his neurologic functions: reflex and balance checks, vision tests, reciting tongue twisters, answering memory questions, and being poked and prodded for signs of any loss of sensation. The works, basically. Everything seemed to check out alright, though Cross stared at Izuku’s head with his quirk active for an awfully long time before finally declaring Izuku fine.

“You should get heading back, Izuku,” Ekikyō said, pulling Hitoshi’s shirt back over their head. They were sweating, and their skin looked a sickly pale even worse than when they were in the alley. “The doc will take good care of us. We’ll text you in the morning with that ‘sick’ text and send an actual update to your vigilante number.”

Izuku really didn’t want to leave, but he said his goodbyes and walked out anyway. It felt like a piece of him stayed behind in that waiting room.

Outtakes:
Ekikyō (possessing Shinso): “I know Izuku likes Shinso, and now I’m possessing Shinso. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be not to spill the beans while I’m in here? I don’t want to deal with all the hormonal pining and bullshit, but I also don’t want to betray Izuku’s trust, ya know?”
Cross: wrist-deep in Shinso’s abdomen suturing a blood vessel on their spleen and regretting not knocking Ekikyō out for this “Hm, sucks to be you.”
Cheshire: squeals “Ah, young love. Tell me more!”

Iida on Tuesday: chatting with Momo at the end of class until he feels an odd tug and the vague sensation of being watched “Midoriya’s behind me again, isn’t he?”
Momo: glances behind Iida before nodding
Iida: sighs, thinking about what an odd quirk the boy must have to set off that feeling in some people but not others “Hello again, Midoriya; how may I help you?”
Izuku: “Just picking up the notes for Hero Law and Ethics.” grabs notes from Uraraka
Bakugo: freezes when he hears Izuku’s voice and turns around slowly “Deku…”
Izuku: “And that’s my cue to leave.” bolts out of 1-A with Bakugo on his heels

Chapter Text

Ekikyō had experienced worse possessions. Shinso wasn’t that bad compared to any of the unwilling ones from the last two years. He wasn’t sure off-hand if the Iida kid was better or worse. His mutations had been fairly straightforward at least. Shinso’s mutations were in his larynx, brain, and several nerves running between the two that Ekikyō had never encountered in other hosts. He was reasonably afraid of touching those nerves or the kid’s brain after the initial acclimation. Brains were incredibly touchy, and Ekikyō was glad this wasn’t going to be a long-term arrangement.

Cross thought they should be in the clear to separate on Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. That gave Hitoshi’s body time to start healing from the beating it took and the surgery to repair the leaky blood vessels on his spleen and intestine. It also gave Ekikyō time to recoup some of the energy spent acclimating to a new host and speeding up the healing process.

Really, Shinso wasn’t that bad. Ekikyō still preferred Izuku. It was just weird having to keep secrets from a host again (well, more secrets) and not having the way their brain worked figured out. He’d gotten used to Izuku enough that he could predict the kid’s responses most of the time and read his smallest mood changes.

And for the first time in a long time, Ekikyō had to remind himself not to take over and do things without asking. That was honestly the hardest adjustment. Just like Ekikyō had gotten adept at reading Izuku, Izuku had gotten good at reading Ekikyō and knowing when Ekikyō wanted to do something. After they’d established their boundaries, the kid had never complained or begrudged, instead shifting aside to share or surrender control almost before Ekikyō could move to take it.

Shinso didn’t have that sense or trust (yet). Sudden loss of control freaked Shinso out. He was still cool with Ekikyō doing things, but he needed to give the guy a more blatant heads up and wait for consent before pushing Shinso aside and sliding into the driver’s seat.

It was a learning process.

By the time they returned to UA on Wednesday, they’d about figured out how to not step on each other’s metaphorical toes. They were definitely looking forward to their last check-up with Cross that evening though. They just needed to get through the day first.

Ekikyō stayed on guard throughout their classes, unwilling to let their walls down in the same room as Bakugo. Shinso tried to reassure him that the explosive blonde had never tried anything on him or Uraraka, but Ekikyō couldn’t completely ignore him. He remembered Izuku’s scars and flinches and absent stares at rooftops too much for that. Shinso must have caught a hint of his thought process, because the heroics student didn’t try to stop him from idly plotting revenge.

(Izuku had said in one of his notebooks that Bakugo hated spiders. Hadn’t Ekikyō met that one chick in Osaka who could control arachnids? Or was it insects? He might have to look into that.)

Classes passed without much of a fuss until the last period before lunch. Bakugo was called out to go to the principal’s office halfway through class and didn’t return by the time class ended. They didn’t think anything of it until they fell into step beside Uraraka and walked out of the classroom only to be stopped by Aizawa standing outside the door. “You two,” he said, pointing at them and Uraraka. “With me.”

Once they were secluded in Aizawa’s office, the man sighed. “Has Midoriya told you anything about the cases on his behalf?”

“Just that he’s a…ward of UA now,” Shinso said, side-eyeing Uraraka. She didn’t know about Aizawa being Izuku’s guardian.

Uraraka nodded. “Yeah, something was going on between him and his mom, and he’s been removed from her care because of it. Why? Is he okay?”

Aizawa held up a hand to forestall further questions. “Midoriya is fine. That’s not why I pulled you two aside. Normally, I wouldn’t tell you anything I’m about to, but because you’re his friends, you’re likely to tell him unless I warn you not to. There is a case against his mother, but there is also a case against his middle school and, as of this morning, a case against Bakugo.”

Uraraka gasped and put her hands over her mouth. Shinso’s eyes widened comically, but his expression remained the same otherwise. Ekikyō suppressed his own vindictive glee.

“Bakugo has been temporarily moved from 1-A to 1-C pending that investigation and trial, but there’s enough evidence he isn’t likely to be returning. And if he’s found guilty…” Aizawa smiled one of his not-so-nice smiles.

They got the picture. If Bakugo was convicted, he wouldn’t be at UA anymore, either because he was expelled or because he was serving time. “And you don’t want us to tell Izuku, because he’ll try to poke his nose into it or do something stupid like try to talk to Bakugo,” Shinso concluded.

Aizawa nodded. “I’ll speak to Midoriya after school when he’ll have time and space to process, but I want you two to not tell him until I get that chance. The rest of 1-A will be hearing about the move after lunch.”

Ekikyō nudged at Shinso, and Shinso obligingly shifted aside. “He’s not going to take this well,” Ekikyō warned with Shinso’s voice.

Aizawa sighed. “Sadly, that’s expected in cases of suspected abuse. I’ll handle it.”

They nodded and ceded control back to Shinso. “So…I take it training’s canceled today?”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes at Shinso. “Take it as a rest day. I’ll make you run suicide sprints tomorrow to make up for it.”

Uraraka and Shinso both groaned. Ekikyō laughed once. “Just be glad I’ll be out of your hair by then. Hasn’t been a problem yet, but you’ll tire quicker with me in here.”

Shinso sent him the impression of a question before seeming to get it. “Oh! That’s why Izuku wiped out so early in training after you showed up.”

“Mhm. Oh, you should warn Aizawa to talk to Todoroki too. He knows about Bakugo.”

“Wait, what?! Well, that does explain how…extra cold Todoroki’s been to Bakugo lately. But how did he…when…?” Shinso blinked a few times before catching Aizawa’s eye.

Something in their expression must have given away that they wanted to say something, because Aizawa asked, “Yes, Shinso?”

“Um…you might want to have this talk with Todoroki too. I’m not sure how, but I think he knows about Bakugo. He’s been joining our group for lunch the last week or so, and he’s been shooting Bakugo looks.”

Aizawa rubbed a hand over his eyes. “All my Problem Children in one basket, huh? Figures. I’ll catch him on his way into class. If I pull him from your lunch table, Midoriya will know something’s up.”

With that, they were dismissed. After the wait for the lunch line, Shinso and Uraraka headed for the library. Izuku, Hatsume, and Todoroki were already there. Todoroki raised an eyebrow at them as he slurped his soba noodles. (Seriously, did the guy ever eat anything else?)

Izuku spotted them next and beamed, waiving. “Hey, guys, everything okay? Todoroki mentioned Aizawa held you back after class.”

Ekikyō was all set to help Shinso lie, but Uraraka surprised them both by jumping in before they needed to, “Yeah! He was just checking how we were settling in; it’s been a few weeks since the transfer.”

Izuku tilted his head ever so slightly. Ekikyō recognized the gesture to mean Izuku wasn’t entirely fooled but couldn’t quite sus out why Uraraka was lying. “Oh, that’s…nice of him?” Clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but unwilling to call his friend out, Izuku pulled a classic move: the abrupt topic change, “Oh, hey, did you guys get assigned that paper in Kayama-sensei’s class too? What topic are you going to use?”

Ekikyō let the conversation wash over him, taking the relative safety of lunch break as an opportunity to check on Shinso’s progress healing. With the influx of nutrients, he needed to know where to focus repairs while he was still here. He wanted the kid in as good of shape as possible when he de-possessed him.

The conversation made pleasant background noise, and Ekikyō ignored it. Right up until he felt annoyance and a hint of anger from Shinso. Ekikyō tuned in in time to overhear the kid think, “Why does he always do that?”

“Do what?” Ekikyō asked.

Shinso twitched, caught off-guard by the question. The kid got wrapped up enough in whatever it was to forget Ekikyō was here. He relaxed a second later and answered, “He keeps talking and acting like he’s stupid when he’s literally one of the three smartest people in our year.”

Ekikyō hummed and ignored Shinso’s slight shudder. “How much do you know about what Izuku’s life was like before UA?”

“Not much? I know it wasn’t great. He had to deal with Bakugo.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just Bakugo.” Ekikyō debated how much to say. He didn’t want to betray Izuku’s trust, but Shinso needed to understand this. Otherwise, the two were going to end up fighting about it at some point, and that would arguably hurt both of them (but especially Izuku) more. “He had no one in his corner before he and I worked out our deal. The first time I stood up to his bullies for him, he dissociated for a few hours. The idea of him going a day without being hurt was that foreign to him. And the teachers weren’t any better. Several went out of their way to make his life worse, be that stirring up Izuku’s bullies or purposely screwing with his grades. For ten years he was the kid who could never get an A or B no matter how hard he tried.”

Shinso chewed on that for a while. “He…genuinely believes he’s not smart?”

“In analysis? Not anymore. In school? Yes. It took months to get him confident enough in his analysis to offer it to others, so have patience with him. We’re working on the whole self-worth thing. If you could reinforce things now and then, it would help.”

Something warm and determined welled up in Shinso. “It’s no skin off my back. You already know I like to tell it as it is. I don’t mind telling Izuku how terrifyingly smart he is every now and then.”

Ekikyō took a few seconds to place the warm, gooey feeling seeping through his current host. “Oh, you like him back.”

“What?”

Ekikyō froze. “Shit. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Ekikyō, unfreeze me! And what do you mean, ‘like him back?’”

Ekikyō released his accidentally gained control of Shinso’s muscles, shooting the teen a wordless apology. This was exactly what Ekikyō was afraid would happen. Damn it! Izuku was still coming to terms with the fact he liked someone, and here Ekikyō was spilling the beans to the person Izuku liked.

…And judging by Shinso’s stunned silence he picked up on more of that than Ekikyō intended. Their separate panics resonated and fed off of each other as they fought to maintain their cool façade.

The bell rang, giving them a brief distraction. They woodenly picked up their lunch tray and walked toward the door, not noticing the worried looks Izuku sent their way. They didn’t notice how Izuku fell into step beside them or how the green-haired boy gestured for the others to keep going until it was just the two—three—of them.

Izuku snapped them out of their feedback loop by grabbing their arm and quietly asking, “Hey, are you two okay? I can cover for you if you need to leave and go see Cross.”

“Shinso likes you back!” Ekikyō blurted out as if spilling Shinso’s secret to Izuku would make up for spilling Izuku’s to Shinso.

Shinso wrested control back and sputtered, “I-I mean—I well…” He coughed, blushing from ear tip to collar bone as he looked everywhere except Izuku. “He’s not wrong…”

Ekikyō gave the kid some credit; he was owning up to it. Ekikyō respected that. And he could feel something fierce under the warm feeling Shinso got whenever he glanced at Izuku. If anyone could convince Izuku he was worth caring about, potentially more than caring about, it was Shinso. This kid was just as stubborn as Izuku.

Izuku’s eyes shot wide, and he started panicking and stuttering too. Great. Perfect. Lovely. Both boys were blushing horribly now, and Ekikyō just remembered to get Shinso’s under control when they heard a set of footsteps approaching.

Briar-sensei rounded the corner and took one look at the scene before smiling smugly. “I was wondering how long it would take for something to happen. I’m happy for you two. Just remember, if you ever have any questions, ask Kayama or Yamada.” She winked at them before continuing on.

Ekikyō couldn’t help it; he started laughing in Shinso’s head.

Apparently, the prospect of someone laughing at him was what Shinso needed to break out of his embarrassment. The boy glared at a spot on the wall, but both of them knew who the kid was actually glaring at. “Shut!”

“I’m not saying anything,” Ekikyō insisted.

“You’re thinking it.”

Izuku interrupted their not-quite-a-fight, “Okay, I see what you mean about being able to tell when we’re arguing. This is really weird to watch from the outside.”

Ekikyō and Shinso looked at Izuku. He was still blushing a little, and Shinso’s heart did something funny at the sight of his shy smile. Shinso hid the feeling under a smug mask. “Yeah? Welcome to the club. Pretty sure we’re all weird here.”

---

Izuku couldn’t stop grinning as he packed up his school supplies. His last class with Nezu had wrapped up, he’d handed in his analysis assignment on 1-A and 1-B, and Ekikyō should be rejoining him either today or tomorrow. And Shinso liked him. That totally wasn’t responsible for the majority of his happiness. Nope. Not at all.

“Oh, Midoriya?”

“Hm?” Izuku looked up at Nezu-sensei.

“Stay a moment. Aizawa is on his way up.”

Izuku’s grin sank into a frown, picking up on something in the air and the angle of Nezu’s ears and whiskers. “Sensei?”

Nezu gave him a sad smile. “It’ll be alright, Midoriya. Let Aizawa explain.”

That only made Izuku worry more. Had he done something wrong? Was this about his staying with Aizawa? Did Aizawa not want him anymore? Too many questions circled in Izuku’s mind like a flock of hungry buzzards.

He slowly packed the rest of his things, eyes occasionally flitting between the door and Nezu. His watch vibrated—a warning that his vitals were getting close to a level where an alarm would trigger. (Hound Dog had suggested he set that feature up to let him know when he was spiraling and give him a chance to pull himself back from the edge before he was too far gone.) Izuku closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting off the seconds between inhaling and exhaling and refusing to think about what-ifs. The vibrations stopped, but Izuku kept up the breathing exercise a minute longer, only stopping when he heard Nezu’s door click open.

“Aizawa,” Nezu greeted.

Izuku opened his eyes and looked between his teacher and his guardian. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice a bit smaller than he wanted.

Aizawa’s eyes snapped to Izuku and softened ever so slightly. “You’re not in trouble, Problem Child,” he assured as he took a seat next to Izuku on the couch instead of the armchair he tended to favor.

Izuku nodded but couldn’t quite shake the tension coiling through his chest and shoulders. (A part of him wished Ekikyō was here, comforting mental presence, internal hugs, manually regulated heartbeat and all.) He tried to make himself relax visibly but thought he didn’t do a very good job of it. It didn’t seem to fool Aizawa, anyway.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you, Midoriya, but do you remember when Nezu talked to you about what would happen when the investigations progressed to the point of pressing charges?”

Izuku vaguely recalled that, but he’d mostly been asking about the case with his mom at the time. And that had already come to pass.

Aizawa continued, “Well, all of them have reached that point, and we need to tell you a few things, so you won’t be blindsided later.”

“He means if other students or a member of the press asks you,” Nezu chimed in when Izuku only furrowed his eyebrows.

Aizawa huffed. “Or if you see the case on the news, which is likely. Nezu is taking great pleasure in ripping Aldera Middle School and its staff apart, and reporters are just as bad as sharks when there’s blood in the water.”

Nezu gave a sharp, completely unrepentant grin.

“M-my middle school?” Izuku asked. He’d known on some level that they were being investigated, but he’d honestly not expected it to go anywhere. Trying to report things never had before.

Aizawa’s hand found Izuku’s shoulder. “Yes, Midoriya. What they did was wrong on multiple levels, and they weren’t doing it to only you.” At Midoriya’s widening eyes, Aizawa squeezed his shoulder. “They won’t be getting away with it any longer though. We’ll do our best to keep your name and the names of the other victims out of the news, but you know how reporters are. If anyone asks you about it, get their name and tell me, but don’t say anything else to them. We’ll take care of it.”

Izuku nodded, swallowing. Okay, that…this wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but with how little Izuku was out in public alone (outside of his daily runs) he was pretty sure he could deal with a few nosy reporters. He had memorized most of the decent hidey holes and escape routes this side of Musutafu anyway; if worse came to worst, he could lose them easily enough.

“Okay,” he said, relaxing for real as he met Aizawa’s eyes. I can do that. “Is there anything else?” Judging by the grim set of Aizawa’s jaw, there was.

“That…wasn’t the only ongoing case. Yes, there’s the case with your mother, but there’s one more.”

Nezu spoke up here, “It was my decision not to tell you until now out of concern for your mental health at the time, but now you need to know.”

Izuku frowned again. “What is it?”

Aizawa sighed. “The last case was against Bakugo Katsuki. Formal charges were pressed this morning.”

“What?!” Izuku asked. This…this couldn’t be real. Could it? This had to be some sort of joke, right? Izuku felt Aizawa’s hand squeeze his shoulder again and distantly wondered if he’d been mumbling.

“No, Problem Child, it’s no joke. When gathering evidence for the Aldera case, the team got a lot of security footage from the school. Bakugo was in plenty of it, we have definitive proof that he’s used his quirk to injure you multiple times, and his hand dimensions from the start of term match the scar on your shoulder,” Aizawa said, gaze shifting away from Izuku’s eyes long enough to land on his shoulder before returning.

Izuku’s scars itched, and he didn’t stop himself from reaching up to grip his left shoulder over the handprint branded there. “But I’m—”

“No buts, kid,” Aizawa said, voice as soft as when he lured Maneki out from under that dumpster. “It makes no difference if he hurt you or someone else, if the person he hurt has a quirk or not. It’s still wrong, he knew better, and he’ll be held accountable for it.” Aizawa hesitated for a moment before carefully pulling Izuku into a hug. “It’ll be okay, kid.”

Izuku felt strong arms wrap around him, and Izuku, equally hesitant, let himself sink into it. After a few moments, he shifted his grip from his knees to the back of Aizawa’s costume and pressed his face into the man’s capture weapon. “It won’t though,” he said, voice partially muffled by the material strong enough to stop villains. “He’s supposed to become the greatest hero. He promised.”

The sky was blue, gravity made objects fall, and Bakugo was going to be the greatest hero. Bakugo was mean and cruel and never had been Izuku’s friend, but he always kept his word. (Except at the Sports Festival, a traitorous voice in the back of Izuku’s head reminded him. The blonde had claimed he would win but lost to Hitoshi.)

This couldn’t happen. Even if Bakugo wasn’t convicted—and that seemed a slim chance given they had Aldera’s video footage—this would show on his record. How could Bakugo become Number One like he’d promised if this got out? And if he was convicted? No hero school in the country would touch him. Not only would Bakugo not be Number One, he wouldn’t be a hero at all.

And it would be Izuku’s fault.

Too many thoughts raced through Izuku’s mind. He almost didn’t hear what Aizawa said next.

“He’s not convicted yet, Problem Child, and if he is, it’ll be because of his own choices and actions, not because of anything you did.”

Izuku wanted to argue, but Aizawa’s arms tightened around him as the pro continued, “Did he score well on the entrance exam?”

Confused, Izuku nodded.

“A sizeable section on the written test covered quirk law, and you’re right, he did well. Nezu checked. Bakugo didn’t lose a single point on that part of the exam, even on the questions regarding civilian quirk use. He knew better, Midoriya. He simply chose to ignore the law.”

“But—"

“Did you tell him to burn you?”

Izuku sniffed and shook his head. “But I kept getting in his way…”

“No, you didn’t,” Aizawa gently countered, rubbing a hand along Izuku’s spine. “You actively tried to stay away from him in all that footage. And even if you did get in his way, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be punched or kicked or burned or belittled. Or suicide baited.”

Izuku tensed. They’d seen that? They knew? Izuku started shaking, struggling to keep his tears at bay.

“You don’t have to go through that anymore, Midoriya. Izuku.”

Izuku stilled at the man’s use of his given name, everything else momentarily forgotten. He blinked owlishly, vision watery as he looked up at Aizawa.

“I won’t let him hurt you. I’ll do my best to keep anyone from hurting you again, Izuku. That includes you,” he added with a wry, almost teasing grin.

Izuku let out a small, silent laugh. Ekikyō told him the same thing. Izuku buried his face in Aizawa’s capture weapon again, wishing once more that his best friend was here as tears began to fall. This was all so much.

“I want to see you safe and thriving, Izuku. Even if you weren’t my responsibility and ward, I’d want to see what places you end up going with that big brain and heart of yours. With that in mind…” The pro hesitated a moment before finishing his sentence, “I filed a restraining order against Bakugo.”

“What?!” Izuku jerked away from Aizawa to stare wide-eyed at him. He wasn’t sure if he felt more indignant or relieved or ashamed. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming. “W-why would you…how? What even…” Izuku’s thoughts refused to translate, and he scrunched his face up in frustration. He lowered his head into his hands and grabbed fistfuls of hair as the Midoriya tears started in earnest. This wasn’t what he wanted. (Was it?)

Calloused hands carefully disentangled Izuku’s fingers from his curls. Aizawa held onto one of his hands afterward, running soothing circles over the back of his hand with his thumb. The man used his other arm to guide Izuku back into a hug.

Izuku fought for breath through his tears, distantly feeling his watch vibrate again. He couldn’t bring himself to care or focus on the rumble of words under his ear pressed to Aizawa’s chest. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He couldn’t. He… He didn’t have to.

Without thinking about it further, Izuku pulled away mentally, letting his connection to his senses sever one by one until he was alone in his mind. Alone. The knot in his chest twisted at the reminder. Ekikyō wasn’t here. There was no one here to comfort him or push him down into the dark for a break. Izuku felt like his mangled mix of emotions might choke him. He didn’t bother trying to name them, but they were all burning ash and barbed wire winding too-tight through his heart and lungs, scorching and cutting with every movement.

A fresh wave of shame had Izuku curling in on himself even more. He was a coward. He couldn’t handle something upsetting and ran to get away from it.

On instinct, Izuku reached out, half-expecting to feel the familiar brush of his friend’s mind. His wordless plea was met with empty silence. The loneliness ached in all the spaces the ash and barbed wire didn’t reach.

Chapter Text

Shota knew Izuku wasn’t going to take the news well, but he’d been the unfortunate bearer of bad news plenty of times in the past. He knew how to handle emotionally distraught students. Izuku being his ward, essentially his foster son, made things more complicated and painful, required more care and a personal touch. Still, he was confident he had it handled. Right up until Izuku went from clinging to him and sobbing to limp and quiet in the space of a few seconds.

“Kid?” Shota shifted Izuku to lean against the back of the sofa, so he could get a look at the boy’s face. His eyes were open but unfocused and continued to leak unnervingly silent tears. His breathing was too fast and a little too shallow for Shota’s comfort. And worst of all? The teenager was unresponsive.

Shota ran through everything he could think of to ground the kid, but nothing seemed to work. It was like Izuku had completely checked out. He shot Nezu a concerned look. Then both of their phones blared loudly as they received the same message. Izuku’s vitals had gotten out of hand enough to set off his tracker.

“I’ll page Recovery Girl,” Nezu said, rapidly typing on his computer.

“And I’ll call Nemuri.” If Izuku didn’t come out of this episode on his own soon, they’d likely need to sedate him. It would be cruel to wait for his panic attack to make him pass out.

The ladies arrived at the same time, though Midnight was more winded. “What’s the situation?” Recovery Girl asked.

“Midoriya was verging on a panic attack when he seemingly dissociated, though it isn’t a typical presentation. He’s still in the middle of a panic attack right now. You can check his vitals on his watch,” Nezu said helpfully. The only tell of his own distress was the way his ears lay back against his head.

After a quick once over, Recovery Girl frowned at the numbers flashing on his watch and sighed. “Kayama, if you would?”

Nemuri stepped forward and held her hand in front of Izuku’s nose and mouth. Pink vapor rose from her skin for a few seconds. She looked to Recovery Girl where the hero was still watching Izuku’s vitals. When she nodded, Nemuri pulled her hand away, waving it to dissipate the remainder of her quirk.

At least the Problem Child’s eyes were closed now, and he wasn’t crying anymore. His breathing had evened out and deepened too. Some of the worry drained out of Shota at the sight.

“Alright, let’s get him down to the infirmary,” The older woman said, strolling back toward the door. “I want to make sure he wakes up alright before I send him home.”

Shota nodded and picked his kid up to follow her. Izuku weighed more than he expected, but the boy did have a lot of muscle on his small frame. The pro just wished the infirmary wasn’t on the opposite end of the building from Nezu’s office.

As they stepped into the hall, Shota realized Nemuri was following them. She had Izuku’s backpack in one hand. She gave Shota a grin and said, “I’ll bring you your things and a cup of coffee from the lounge. He’ll probably be out for a few hours with the dose I gave him.”

This woman was a godsend and an angel regardless of what the media vultures said about her. “Thanks, Nemuri. Careful with the bag; Problem Child’s school laptop is in there.”

Nemuri gave him a two-fingered salute before splitting off from their group to head for the teacher’s lounge.

“Is there a chance he forgot to take his anxiety medication this morning?” Recovery Girl asked as they walked.

Shota frowned and thought back to that morning. He was pretty sure he remembered Izuku taking his pill with breakfast. “No, he took it.”

The old heroine hummed. “His having an episode this bad despite that is worrying. Do you think something in your conversation might have been a trigger for him?”

Wasn’t that the question? Shota sighed. Izuku had seemed accepting if not content, at least until the topic of Bakugo came up. Given everything Shota had seen of Izuku and Bakugo interacting, he didn’t regret applying for that restraining order. He did wish he’d found a better way to break it to Izuku though. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

The next few hours passed in tense silence as Shota camped out in the infirmary, graded papers, and waited for his kid to wake up. When Izuku did there was no fanfare or sobbing. The kid just rolled onto his side and curled in on himself.

“Izuku?” Shota asked, setting his grading aside.

Izuku hummed, though his voice somehow managed to crack in the middle of it.

Shota resisted the urge to grin and leaned forward to run his hand through Izuku’s hair and brush the curls back from his face. “Hey, Problem Child. How are you feeling?”

Izuku’s red-rimmed green eyes drifted closed again for a moment, seeming to enjoy the attention. “Tired.”

“I bet you are. You had a panic attack earlier.”

Izuku frowned, probably remembering (or trying to remember) what said attack had been over. He burrowed his face more into his pillow and asked with his voice muffled, “Can we go back to your apartment?”

Shota sighed silently. There was the proof of what Oguro had talked about. Izuku didn’t see Shota’s apartment as home. Yet. Shota was going to keep working to help Izuku change his perspective. “Yeah, Izuku, we can go. Recovery Girl just has to check you over first. I’ll let her know you’re awake.”

---

Izuku spent most of that evening curled under his covers. After getting a text from Hitoshi and Ekikyō that Cross wanted them to wait one more day to separate, he debated even bothering with his evening run. That is, he debated it until Aizawa knocked on his doorframe and held up his sneakers with a raised eyebrow.

Izuku stared at him in confusion for a minute before the man sighed and gestured for Izuku to get up. “Come on, kid. We humans have this annoying habit of avoiding the things that help us when we feel down.”

Izuku knew he had a point, but it felt like everything dragged and was too slow as he stood and walked toward the front door. As he slipped his shoes on, he was surprised to see Aizawa was lacing up his own. “Where are you going?” he asked. Aizawa didn’t have patrol tonight, but Izuku knew he had a meeting with Tsukauchi planned later.

Aizawa glanced up at him without stopping. “With you on your run.” Izuku must have made a face, because the man huffed. “You dissociated pretty badly earlier, and you’re not back to 100% yet.”

Izuku stared at Aizawa for a bit longer before deciding it wasn’t worth the energy to argue. The pro didn’t talk much as they jogged through the city. Aizawa let him lead the way and stuck to his side, matching his pace the whole time.

There was something a little…settling about having someone with him, even if they weren’t in his head talking at and teasing him the entire time. Izuku found himself relaxing more as they moved. He didn’t even realize where he was going until they slowed to a cool-down walk through the park with the stagnant pond and the willow tree. Izuku came to a stop under the familiar tree, still breathing a bit hard.

“This is one of the places I like to rest before heading back,” Izuku said absently, staring out over the water. It was warm enough now that the insects stayed active despite the setting sun, buzzing and flitting just above the still surface. A few birds darted through the air too, spending those last rays catching a late meal.

“It’s a peaceful place,” Aizawa acknowledged, lowering himself to sit on the grass. The breeze shifted, and the pro’s nose scrunched up the tiniest bit as the smell hit him.

Izuku tried not to laugh as he sat down too; he mostly succeeded. “Yeah, the smell’s not great, but my bullies never bothered me here,” he added, winding his arms around his knees. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he added, “Kacchan and I used to come to this park when we were little, before…before he got his quirk and I didn’t.”

Izuku closed his eyes and rested his chin on his knees. “One week we played heroes and villains nearly every day and promised each other we’d become the best hero duo ever. The next, Bakugo was using his amazing quirk to pick on another boy. I told him it wasn’t right, that he was being mean, and he turned his quirk on me for my efforts. It took a really long time for me to realize my friend, my Kacchan, was gone. If he ever really existed…”

Izuku scrubbed at his cheeks. “I’m so stupid. It took me a decade and making my first real friend to realize how messed up what we had was, but some part of me still believes…or believed…that he’d be an amazing hero.”

An arm gently settled over his shoulders, and Izuku let himself lean against Aizawa’s side. He could feel the man sigh before he spoke, “Heroes don’t hurt people, Izuku.”

Izuku shook his head. “Not good ones, but not all heroes are good, Aizawa.”

“No, I suppose not,” Aizawa acknowledged, tightening his side hug for a moment.

“I…” Izuku continued. Maybe it was this place and the odd sort of safety and comfort he’d started associating with it and the friend he usually met here, or maybe he was just tired of holding it all in and Aizawa was conveniently present. Regardless of the reason, Izuku couldn’t seem to stop talking; he wasn’t sure he really wanted to. “I don’t know what to do with this. Even if I couldn’t keep my half of the promise, he could. That made everything…maybe not ‘worth it’ but understandable? The strong became heroes, and the weak got out of their way. It made sense. And now he can’t be a hero either.” Izuku leaned his head on Aizawa’s shoulder, weary in more than one sense. “So, what was the point?”

“There wasn’t one,” Aizawa said, voice a soothing rumble. “I’ve seen a lot of senseless violence in my line of work, Izuku. Sometimes, one person wants another to hurt or feel small, and that’s all there is to it. Maybe they have some convoluted reasoning that justifies it in their mind at the time; maybe they don’t. It doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong. The victim didn’t deserve it.”

Izuku gave a non-committal hum.

“There is one thing I can say for certain though.” When Izuku shifted his head to glance up at Aizawa’s face, the man continued, “Hurting someone else doesn’t make a person strong, but it takes strength to survive that type of hurt.”

Izuku frowned, chewing on that idea.

Aizawa let Izuku think for a minute in silence before saying anything else, “It’s ironic. Bakugo spent 11 years treating you as less than everyone else, but you’re still standing.”

Aizawa’s brow pinched for a moment as he thought. “With the likelihood of the Aldera case making the news, you might hear people say that going through what you and their other victims did ‘made you strong,’ but I want you to know that they’re wrong. You were strong already to survive losing your only friend, let alone everything that followed.”

Oh. That…sort of made sense? Izuku could see the logic, but it wasn’t the type of strength that really counted, was it? “He was right though. I can’t be a hero.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Izuku made a confused noise in the back of his throat.

“What makes a hero, Izuku?”

“Heroes save people and stand up to villains, stop them. They make people feel safe.”

“Sounds like what you did at the USJ, kid.”

Izuku blinked, processing that for a moment. Then he straightened up and turned toward Aizawa to protest.

Aizawa cut him off before he could. “It was your flare that got the heroes to the USJ so quickly, stopping the villains from doing more damage than they did. Everyone in the building saw and heard that flare go off and knew what it meant, that heroes were on the way. It was you who got me out of harm’s way at the plaza—despite being badly wounded yourself.”

“But that’s not—” He caught himself just before mentioning the Deadman’s switch each of the teachers carried; he wasn’t supposed to know about those. At least, he didn’t think he was? It was getting hard to keep track of what was and wasn’t a secret. “Anyone would have done the same in my position,” Izuku protested.

“But no one else was in your position. You were. You could have stayed safe and undetected in the control room. Arguably, you should have. Instead, you gave yourself away to get everyone help.”

Izuku’s frown deepened. How could he get Aizawa to understand? Izuku was quirkless; he couldn’t be a hero. Sure, he could help people right in front of him, but he’d never be able to do what a hero does. He couldn’t fight the villains he saw on the news every day. He couldn’t save people with a smile or win every battle he walked into with his head held high. Who would ever feel safe if a quirkless deku showed up to rescue them?

Izuku shoved the last thought aside a second after it formed, knowing it was the type of thing Ekikyō would chew him out for thinking if his best friend was here. He couldn’t help but think the thought was accurate though.

Aizawa studied his face for a few seconds before asking, “Izuku, do you think I’m a hero?”

“Yes!” Izuku declared without hesitation, turning enough to look at his guardian. Why would the man even ask that? Eraserhead was an amazing hero.

“But I’m not stronger or faster than baseline human. I can’t lift a bus or burn my opponents with a thought and gesture. I can’t yell villains into submission or make them fall asleep on command.”

Izuku suspected he was being led somewhere, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d had this discussion one too many times on the online hero forums. “You’re an incredible hero, Aizawa! You don’t need any of those powers. You’re plenty capable on your own. Your quirk—"

“Only levels the playing field against villains with emitters and transformers. It does absolutely nothing against mutant-type quirks, and even those Erasure works on can still fight back.”

Izuku shook his head, huffing. “You’re skilled. Your fighting style is unique and a perfect example of technique trumping brute strength.”

Aizawa gave one of his creepy smiles, though it was softer than usual somehow. (Maybe Izuku was just developing an immunity to it.) “Exactly, Izuku. Power isn’t everything.” He let the smile fall as he held Izuku’s gaze. “I think that if a hero can be strong without being good, the inverse is true as well. You can be a good hero without an excess of strength. That’s the better of the two in my opinion.”

Izuku gaped at Aizawa.

Aizawa huffed and pulled Izuku back in for one more side hug. “I know it’s a lot, but think about it, okay?” Then the man released him and stood, offering a hand up to Izuku. “Let’s head back. I left some pork cutlets thawing in the sink.”

He took the hand and let the hero haul him to his feet. “What are you making?” Izuku asked, accepting the out.

“Katsudon. Want to help?”

Izuku offered Aizawa a small smile. “Can we make it spicy this time?”

Aizawa’s hand found Izuku’s hair and tousled it. “Sure, Problem Child.”

Outtake:
Aizawa: “You know what emotional conversations call for?”
Kayama: “Wine?”
Nezu: “Tea.”
Yamada: “Some relaxing jams?”
Aizawa: slams down a bowl of fresh katsudon “Good food.”
Izuku: is buried under Komainu, Mausu, and Maneki “And cats!”

Chapter Text

Izuku felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest when he went to school on Thursday. He didn’t realize how much he’d been looking over his shoulder whenever he met Hitoshi by the heroics building until today. Now, every time he scanned the area, a little voice in his head reminded him Bakugo wasn’t in this building anymore. It was still weird to think about, but Izuku shoved it and his creeping guilt into a mental corner and ignored them with practiced ease.

(Yes, it was Bakugo’s actions that got him in trouble, but Izuku was the reason the teachers looked into him in the first place. Izuku knew he shouldn’t feel guilty—he’d done nothing wrong—but since when were feelings rational? Inui-san said his emotions were valid, even the irrational ones, but Izuku didn’t really want to deal with this one. Not right now anyway.)

Apart from the world-shifting knowledge that Bakugo was no longer enrolled in the Hero track, the day was as mundane as any other. Maybe his friends sat a little closer to him at lunch, maybe Todoroki gave him a knowing look and a barely-there smile. Maybe Izuku had to answer a few texts from Ciupan on his vigilante phone asking about why he’d missed practice the day before, but that was it. Until he got to Nezu’s office for his Cybersecurity class.

“Ah, Midoriya! Good to see you in better spirits.”

Izuku smiled sheepishly at Nezu and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “S-sorry about yesterday, Nezu-sensei. I-I just…”

“You don’t need to explain. Though, if I may ask one question?”

Izuku nodded, uncertain what the principal wanted to know.

“How you tuned out at the end—that wasn’t standard dissociation, was it?”

Izuku blinked. Dissociation? What? It clicked after a moment. “Oh! That. I actually didn’t realize I could do that without Ekikyō being present. I kinda…” Izuku made a pulling gesture similar to how his mom used her quirk. “…pulled back from everything, disconnected from my senses until I was alone in my head and couldn’t feel anything. Well, except my emotions.” He grimaced.

Nezu frowned. “Is that something you do often with your friend?”

Izuku studied Nezu’s posture for a moment. His ears and whiskers were cupped forward, and there was a little furrow between his eyebrows. (Were they still called eyebrows on creatures with fur?) A very slight tilt to his sensei’s head and lash of his tail were what finally made it click. Nezu was worried about him.

Izuku shook his head vehemently. “No! I mean, the only times we’ve done it were when I was really hurt—like the USJ—or having a panic attack. I guess that first possession might count too? The time he kidnapped me. The only things I had access to then were my vision and hearing, but I wasn’t in control. And it was really easy to just…not pay attention to outside stimuli at the time.”

Izuku frowned a little. That wasn’t normal, was it? Going by Nezu’s reaction, it wasn’t normal. Was this another instance of Ekikyō’s quirk doing things without Ekikyō really thinking about it? That sort of disconnect between a host’s mind and body would make things easier from the possessor’s point of view. Ugh. Izuku loved Ekikyō’s quirk, but it really was one of the most—

Nezu cleared his throat, cluing Izuku in on the fact he’d been muttering (and about to swear!) in front of his teacher. Izuku blushed all the way to his ears and hurriedly got his class notebook out. “S-so firewalls? Hehe.”

Nezu raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled. “Yes, firewalls.” He opened his notes and got started.

They left the previous topic alone until their last class ended for the day. As Izuku packed his things, Nezu left his desk and walked over to set a paw on Izuku’s knee. Nezu grinned and said, “Do take care of yourself, Midoriya. The brain is a marvelous thing and yours in particular. Neural pathways tend to be easier to follow or fall into the more they’re used. That’s the basis of how humans learn…and how conditions like seizures worsen. Whether Motsu intended it or not, he’s taught your brain how to detach your mind from your body. Try not to use that option too often for your own sake.”

Izuku swallowed. He understood why Nezu was worried now. “Don’t worry, sensei. Ekikyō will personally call me out on that now that we know it could be dangerous. Thank you for the warning.” And for not just deciding Ekikyō was a danger to his student that needed “dealing with”. The consideration meant a lot. He bowed deeply.

“Anytime, Midoriya.”

Izuku hurried out after that to make it to training. Aizawa-sensei seemed to be in an especially sadistic mood, deciding to start them off with suicide sprints. The way the man smiled at Shinso when he announced that made Izuku suspicious this was Hitoshi and Ekikyō’s fault. It was pretty funny watching someone else run out of stamina for a change though. That almost made up for it.

The end of the day was the best part by far. Izuku and Ekikyō met up in their favorite park right after Aizawa left for his patrol to allow themselves time to finish reacclimating before the man got home. They didn’t want to make him suspicious by taking another sick day so soon after the last one.

Something in Izuku’s chest eased as soon as he laid eyes on his best friend. He didn’t even mind the burn of the possession or the rapid-onset fever; he was just happy to have his friend back (and that having him back meant Hitoshi was out of immediate danger).

They caught each other up on the walk home—and maybe cried a little—and called it a night as soon as they got back to the apartment. Well, Izuku called it a night. Ekikyō stayed awake until they finished acclimating before falling asleep himself.

Friday passed quickly…after they got another new id card for UA. (Nezu gave them a knowing look but didn’t ask.) Then it was off to his appointment with Hound Dog. Ekikyō acted as silent support while Izuku and his therapist talked about what had happened on Wednesday. They also delved into the topic of Izuku and Bakugo’s relationship—but only after Inui-san promised it would stay between the two of them. Izuku knew Bakugo was in trouble, but that didn’t mean he wanted to give people more ammunition to use against him.

Izuku had known for a while that what he and Bakugo had wasn’t healthy, but hearing Inui-san ascribe the terms “codependency” and “abuse” to it verged on overwhelming. When their time was up, Izuku took the sheaf of papers the counselor handed him, shoved them in his backpack, and didn’t quite bolt. At least until he was off school grounds.

Izuku sprinted through the city until they ran out of breath. Then they walked the rest of the way to their training session with Ciupan, Izuku trying the whole time to think about anything except what he’d talked to Inui-san about. He had just about shoved his therapy session from his mind by the time they headed back to the apartment to cook dinner with Aizawa. It wasn’t anything complicated tonight—just omurice and some leftovers—because Aizawa had to leave early to swing by the Musutafu Police Department for a meeting before his patrol.

Izuku and Ekikyō took the alone time as an opportunity to readjust themselves to each other and practice with their disguise. It also gave them a chance to talk about everything that had happened now that one of them wasn’t half-delirious with fever. Ekikyō broached the topic while pushing slime through their skin for the tenth time that night. “Izuku?”

Izuku delayed answering, watching slime seep through their arm to coat it in a thick second skin. He opened and closed their enlarged hand, contemplating the strangeness that was feeling both his underlying hand and the superimposed slime. As distracting as the doubled sensation was, with Nezu’s warning fresh in mind, any ideas they’d entertained about blocking out the feeling of Izuku’s body when like this were thrown out as too risky.

Izuku sighed as Ekikyō lowered their arm. He didn’t fight the motion, sensing Ekikyō wasn’t going to let this go. He knew they needed to talk about it too, reluctant as he was. “Yes?”

Their slime pulled back under their skin, and their minds drifted apart, so they could hold a proper conversation without influencing each other’s thinking. Ekikyō asked, “So, how’s it feel knowing your bully’s finally getting what he deserves?”

“Not great,” Izuku admitted. His thoughts returned to Inui-san’s explanation of how codependency could grow hand-in-hand with an abusive relationship and winced. He didn’t want to believe it, any of it, but he wasn’t sure how to argue against it either.

“Maybe having concrete points to look at would help?” Ekikyō suggested, focusing their eyes on Izuku’s backpack.

Izuku conceded that point and pulled the slightly crumpled packet of papers from their bag and sat down on their bed to look through them. He’d look over what the packet said, then he could relax. Surely Inui-san had it wrong. He only knew Izuku and Bakugo as they were now. He hadn’t seen them grow. He was missing context. That had to be it.

The first page defined what codependency was and had a bullet point list of possible ways it could present itself in a person or relationship. He scrunched up his nose as he read the first few. He didn’t pity or love Bakugo… (Admired him and idolized him at one point? Yes. Maybe at one point loved like a brother. But pity? Never.) He let out a held breath, relieved. Maybe Inui-san was wrong after all.

That hope lasted him until he read the next bullet point. And the one after that. His heart fell somewhere around his stomach and kept sinking. All but that first were disconcertingly on point. He had spent years alternating between justifying and feeling responsible for Bakugo’s actions and…Despair and resignation warred for prominence as Izuku read further down the list. When had things gone so wrong?

Ekikyō pressed closer to Izuku’s mind, offering comfort and stability, though shock zinged through his half of their mind when they read the last point on the list: your mood being influenced by the thoughts and feelings of others. Ekikyō took control of their eyes to stare at that last item before hurriedly re-reading the whole list. A frantic sort of energy that they were more used to feeling from Izuku built in their shared mental space the further he read.

It took Izuku a minute to figure out what was going through his friend’s head, but once he did, he yelled, “No! Don’t compare what we have to my relationship with Bakugo. We’re not like that.”

“But if the shoe fits…” After a few moments of silence, Ekikyō said, “I did pity you at first. I don’t now! But I did.”

Izuku let out a long breath, feeling torn. This was one of the few good things in his life. This couldn’t be bad too. And yet… “I maybe thought about rescuing you when I first agreed to this. No one deserves to suffer through quirk withdrawal.”

“What about the emotional stuff? We do influence each other, but it’s kind of hard not to. I can literally feel your emotions. Of course, I’d want you to be happy because I’m gonna feel it too.”

“I doubt the author had telepathic or empathic bonds in mind when they wrote this,” Izuku pointed out. “We should probably take any suggestions or problems with a grain of salt.” Neither of them bothered addressing the other bullet points. They were keenly aware of how well they fit. “What do we do now?”

Ekikyō tightened their grip on the papers Hound Dog had given them. “Maybe there’ll be something in the packet?”

Izuku nodded and flipped to the second page before quickly flipping it to the third. (He didn’t need the second page’s information on how abuse and codependency could go together, not right now.) The answers they were looking for were on the third page in another conveniently bullet-pointed list. “Well, we’re already being honest with each other and trying to cut back on negative self-talk, so there’s that.”

“Are we…changing each other?” Ekikyō asked uncertainly as they stared at the next point.

“I don’t think our deal counts, though we have changed since starting this…” Had Izuku tried to make Ekikyō change?

Ekikyō mentally nudged him. “Hey, if anything, I’d say we’ve changed for the better. You’re more confident and care more about yourself, and I’ve cut back on my less-than-legal activities. And I haven’t killed anyone! Those are all positives in my book.”

Izuku frowned, worried. “Are you okay financially?” He knew that Ekikyō acquired most of his money through illegal means; he wanted Ekikyō to be able to take care of himself.

Ekikyō sent a distinct impression of a head pat Izuku’s way. “Yeah, kid. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay, I guess we can write that one off as a difference in our situation then.” They returned to looking over the list of suggestions, making a face when they got to taking breaks and counseling. How would those even work for them? They already did take breaks between possessions; Izuku wasn’t sure how they could do better in that area. Maybe with Hitoshi being in the loop, Ekikyō could possess him instead every now and then? But then he’d still be around Izuku, even if he wasn’t in him, and he didn’t think that was what the article meant. Did Ekikyō even have any friends outside Izuku and Hitoshi?

“Hey, I’ll have you know that Cross and Cheshire were my friends before I ever met you,” Ekikyō protested in mock offense.

Izuku snorted and grinned, moving to the next point: counseling…Group or relationship counseling wouldn’t be all that helpful unless they could both talk to their therapist. Would Hound Dog be duty bound as a hero to turn Ekikyō in if he found out about him? Nezu and Eraserhead hadn’t but…Izuku blinked as a thought occurred to him. He groaned and flopped back on their bed to stare at the ceiling.

Ekikyō sent him an impression of a question.

“Hound Dog tracks targets by scent, and I’ve been to see him with and without you.”

It took three seconds for Ekikyō to catch on. “Oh…”

Scent had given him away three times now. You’d think Izuku would learn after a while. He pulled their pillow over their face to scream into it before sitting back up. “Okay, nothing we can do about it now. He already knows something’s up with us. Maybe we could ask Nezu if he’s trustworthy? Before we tell him anything else.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a plan,” Ekikyō agreed, steering their eyes back to the list. “Online support groups?”

“They’re anonymous. That could work, actually.” Izuku had his laptop and could wait to log in when Ekikyō was away, and Ekikyō could borrow their body while Izuku was asleep to log in under another account to talk to people when he was here. He didn’t even have to tell Izuku his username if he didn’t want to.

Ekikyō picked up on most of Izuku’s thought process and added, “And if you ever need to talk to someone while I am here, I can just check out for a little bit, or you can put me to sleep. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to someone or ask for help if you need it while I’m here.”

Izuku still wasn’t keen on the idea of knocking Ekikyō out, but he could accept the compromise in this instance. After all, he had intended to offer the same to Ekikyō if he needed to talk to someone. They could look into the forums and chatrooms later. There was a list of options on the paper.

The last suggestion on the page was about establishing boundaries. They sort of already had, what with their deal and all, but Izuku wasn’t sure if they were the healthiest, all things considered. How were they supposed to know with their own views likely biased? Oh. This was probably where a therapist was helpful. Yeah, they’d have to look into that.

Ekikyō silently agreed.

They skimmed the rest of the packet together (additional articles and links for more resources) before setting it aside on their nightstand. Izuku frowned and hoped one of the cats wouldn’t decide to shred it. The nightstand only had one drawer, and it was filled with unused notebooks to protect them from that exact fate. “We really need to get a desk,” Izuku said absently.

“Yeah. We can look into that later.” A sense of concern and guilt drifted from Ekikyō’s side of the bond. “Listen, Izuku, about what Nezu said—”

Izuku interrupted his friend, “It’s not your fault, and I’m not mad at you. Neither of us knew.” He pressed close enough to Ekikyō to be sure his bodymate felt his sincerity. “Now we do, and we’ll be careful.”

Ekikyō only hesitated a moment before pressing back. “Damn right we will. I just don’t like…”

Ekikyō couldn’t find the words, but partially overlapping as they were, Izuku got the gist of it. Ekikyō felt responsible, like this—all of it—was his or his quirk’s fault.

“Hey. Bakugo already messed me up long before you came along. I don’t think your quirk made us codependent on each other. I…I think I may have had this problem with any real friend I made, only you came along first.”

Ekikyō relaxed ever so slightly. “And latched onto me like a barnacle,” he joked. “Yeah, I’m probably not much better off, realistically. You know my childhood wasn’t that different from yours. The bullying was just less physical because they didn’t want to touch the gross, scary, villain. I latched onto my friend back then pretty quickly too.”

Izuku felt sadness, regret, and something like longing coming from his friend but didn’t press. He knew Ekikyō had had another willing host back when he was Izuku’s age, but he suspected there was a reason that friend wasn’t around to help Ekikyō out when quirk withdrawal became a problem two years ago. Izuku hummed instead. “I guess we were both already prone to it, and your quirk just made it easier for us to fall back on our bad habits.”

“Yeah, I’d believe that.” Ekikyō said before seeming to shake off the negative emotions. “Alright enough of this touchy-feely stuff. Back to practice?”

Izuku almost agreed before he had an idea. He smirked. “Oh no you don’t. You don’t get to wheedle all the details of our time apart out of me and not tell me anything about your time with Hitoshi.”

Ekikyō’s mind bristled defensively. “Kid, I am not telling you about what goes on in Hitoshi’s head. You ever hear of privacy?”

Izuku blushed before pouting. “Oh, I don’t want to know about that. What I want to know about is how Hitoshi found out I liked him.” He pulled a smile that would have fit better on Ekikyō’s face as his friend quailed.

---

After Izuku had thoroughly teased Ekikyō about his time with Hitoshi they did get back to practicing. They were only an hour in before Ekikyō couldn’t stand Izuku’s underlying excitement anymore and had to ask, “Okay, Izuku, what’s up? I haven’t felt you this wound up since that time Fat Gum came to Musutafu for a fan meet and greet.”

“Talking about those online anonymous chat groups reminded me of something.”

At Ekikyō’s unspoken question, Izuku smiled and lifted Maneki off of his closed laptop where it had been sitting beside the outlet to charge. He stroked the disgruntled feline and woke up his laptop. They hadn’t touched it the night before, which meant it had been running since before they rejoined. Hopefully everything had finally loaded. The poor thing had struggled with so many programs running at once and frozen up a few times while Izuku was working on it the day before.

The screen lit up and showed a lot of code and several windows open, a few of which were familiar from the last time they’d hacked into the MPD’s server. Instead of the USJ files, this time the quirk registry was open. Izuku silently cheered at the lack of a crash.

Izuku wasn’t completely confident in his ability to hack a government office like the Quirk Registrar directly, but why take that risk when MPD had access? A few of the precinct’s employees never even bothered to log out of their accounts. From there Izuku could run all the searches he wanted, as long as he deleted his search history afterward. A short list had compiled from his last set of searches. Izuku grinned and checked the other windows, seeing various downloads had completed.

“Izuku?”

“How do you feel about cyber vigilantism?”

“Kid, I’m going to need more context than that.”

Izuku laughed and opened one of the downloads. A grainy video taken by a street camera popped up. Izuku fast-forwarded until a group of teenagers appeared. They were all wearing the same uniform. After pausing on the sidewalk for a few minutes to talk, one of the teens pointed toward an alley, and the group of five headed down it and out of sight. Until Hitoshi walked into frame wearing a UA uniform. Izuku stopped the video when two of the teens jumped him and dragged him into the alley.

Izuku’s anger burned like hot coals, ready and waiting to catch but contained. Ekikyō’s anger ran hotter and sharper, stoking Izuku’s back to full life, so they burned together. The pair pulled up the other windows and tabs, showing the school that used the uniform Hitoshi’s assailants wore, the school’s partially hacked student files (that school filed quirks under their medical information, locking the information behind extra protections, hence the quirk registry search), and a list of police officers’ email addresses with Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa’s highlighted.

Ekikyō eased their face into a vicious smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Sending our dear detective an anonymous tip. And maybe sending the video to Nezu and the bullies’ principal too,” Izuku answered while organizing the chaos on his laptop screen. Izuku paused in his typing when he felt their anger slough off to be replaced by something distinctly uncomfortable from his bodymate. “Ekikyō?”

Ekikyō sighed with their body. “Izuku, you do realize what you’re doing, right?”

Izuku made a confused sound and frowned.

“I get that you want to protect Hitoshi, really, I do. But this is exactly what you were upset about with Nezu and Aizawa going after Bakugo without telling you.”

Izuku recoiled at the accusation. “What?! No, I—” Izuku clamped their mouth shut before Ekikyō could and continued mentally, “That’s different!”

“Really? I’m not seeing it,” Ekikyō replied, sounding far too smug. Then his tone and mental presence shifted to something more serious. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do this. I just want you to realize what you’re doing. And I want you to think about how just like you were mad about Nezu and Aizawa going after your bully—even though you can understand it—Hitoshi is probably going to be mad at us if we do this. Probably more so, because he’s been vulnerable around us before this. There’s a level of trust involved there that your teachers are still trying to earn from you.”

Izuku turned Ekikyō’s words over in their head for several minutes, despairing a bit when he saw Ekikyō’s point. Izuku wasn’t too mad at Nezu and Aizawa for doing what they thought was right, but he hadn’t asked them to stay out of it. He hadn’t even considered that they might get involved, that they would care enough to. In a way, them doing this proved to Izuku just how much they did care.

But with Hitoshi, he already knew Izuku and Ekikyō cared, and he had asked them in all but words not to tell anyone. Even though Hitoshi didn’t feel the same way about his bullies that Izuku did about Bakugo, this would be so much worse. Hitoshi would feel betrayed if they did this.

Izuku looked back at the traffic camera footage that plainly showed Hitoshi as the one being beaten up. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He muffled a second scream with his palms before running his hands through their hair.

Maneki sat up in his lap and put a paw on his chest to meow in his face. Izuku shushed her and started stroking her instead of pulling on his hair like he wanted to.

To make sure Hitoshi was safe, they’d have to break his trust. If they did that, there was a good chance Hitoshi might hate them. But if they did nothing, Hitoshi would keep getting hurt. What if Hitoshi’s bullies and foster dad went too far again? What if Izuku and Ekikyō weren’t there to save him next time? What if he didn’t make it to Cross in time? Izuku’s heart felt like it was tearing in half at the thought of either option, but at least Hitoshi would be safe in one scenario.

“This is a catch-22 of the worst kind,” he complained to his best friend as he carefully hugged Maneki to their chest.

Ekikyō gave Izuku an internal hug and curled around his mind. “Yeah, I know.”

Izuku dejectedly moved the video and everything else to his “Evidence” folder before closing out the windows on his laptop. He wouldn’t email them to Tsukauchi tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete them either. What should they do? He didn’t think he could stand seeing Hitoshi come to school self-bandaged and hiding injuries again, but the thought of Hitoshi glaring at them and refusing to speak to them felt just as bad, maybe worse.

“Maybe you don’t have to be the one to do it,” Ekikyō said after a few minutes.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the teachers got you out of that mess; why can’t they get Hitoshi out too?”

Izuku scoffed. “If they were going to, don’t you think they would have? He’s come to school with bandages enough times I don’t know how the teachers keep missing them.” Izuku couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his mental voice. The teachers had only noticed something wrong in Izuku’s case because he’d lost his shirt on national television. What, did he need to bribe Inouye into disappearing Hitoshi’s shirt in front of the teachers or something?

“I mean, that would work, but Inouye just got back from being suspended over Mineta tricking him into doing that to Ashido, so good luck there.”

“Wait, what?!”

Ekikyō ignored Izuku’s interruption entirely. “I was more thinking about arranging for one of the teachers to find out without you explicitly telling them…”

“You have an idea,” Izuku stated, feeling the gears turning in Ekikyō’s hivemind.

“Yeah, but it might involve a lot of waiting…”

Outtake:

Izuku: “Yeah, you’re right; that will be a lot of waiting.”
Ekikyō: “Know what we could do in the meantime?”
Izuku: “Hunt villains?”
Ekikyō: “Well, that too, but I meant shopping.”
Izuku: “Oh! Right. Let’s see…we need a chair and a desk, and a voice changer…Do they sell those online, or should I text Giran? Anyway, we also need to order more pencils for finals and a new Thirteen eraser and oh! Hitoshi’s birthday! How could I forget that?! This has to be perfect…”
Ekikyō: mentally shakes his head fondly and settles in to listen to Izuku ramble

Chapter Text

It was several days later when Izuku and Ekikyō finally decided they’d laid low for long enough. Eraserhead hadn’t updated them on the case, so they were going to track him down for some answers. Izuku also wanted to know if the almost kidnapping victim recovered okay. And they had a few things they needed to tell Eraser themselves. Finding Eraserhead on patrol wasn’t as hard as it had been a year ago, and they caught up to him only 30 minutes after setting out.

The pro saw them coming and stopped to wait for them on a ramshackle apartment’s rooftop. “Naisho.”

“Eraser,” they greeted as they rolled to their feet.

“You two been taking it easy?” the pro asked, eyeing them.

Naisho rolled their shoulders and nodded. “Don’t worry; we’re fully recovered. And we haven’t done anything strenuous since we last saw you. Just some investigative work, maybe a stake out or two.”

Eraserhead gave them a single raised eyebrow. “Anything I should know about?”

Naisho shook their head. “Not yet. Once we have something concrete, you’re the first person we’ll call,” they assured. “Oh, and Cross wanted us to let you know to have Iida get his shoulder checked out again. We’re not sure how well the scar tissue will hold up once the residue from Gokaku’s possession leaves his system. Cross is worried about a possible stricture or rupture on the healed part of his subclavian artery.”

Eraserhead sighed resignedly and rubbed his hands over his face, shoving his goggles up onto his forehead. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. I’ll pass the word along,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Now things were just kinda awkward. After a few moments, they broke the silence to ask, “Did we miss anything on your end?”

Eraser glanced back out over the area surrounding them. “Not really. It’s been quiet since the arrests.”

Naisho frowned. “Do you think they moved cities?”

“Maybe, but they’ll have a harder time setting up operations again either way. Selkie’s been read in on the case, and he passed the heads up on to the other oceanic heroes and his contacts in the Coast Guard and ports.”

Naisho raised their eyebrows. Eraserhead and Nezu being heavily involved in the case made sense—they both cared about quirkless people—but Naisho could barely wrap their head around so many others getting involved, so many others caring. Then again, Nezu was extremely intelligent, and Eraser was a strategist. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising they’d found a way to frame the case that got others’ attention. Did they emphasize the quirked kidnappings or the human trafficking? Either of those was plenty alarming.

They shook the question off for now. “Is the victim recovering alright?”

Eraserhead hummed. “Yes, they were released from the hospital a week ago.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Eraserhead turned away from the street to face them. “There has been another development in the case though.”

“Oh?”

The hero did something with their phone before their own vibrated with a text received. They pulled their vigilante phone out to see Eraserhead had sent them a document. As soon as they read the title, they stiffened. “This is…”

“Yeah.”

Naisho split apart as they scanned the list of Trigger cases. There were more than Izuku had thought when he briefly did his own research on the topic.

“Do any of the names match the kidnappings you already had on file?” Izuku asked, almost hoping the two cases were unconnected.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Well, that explained the quirked kidnappings. Those hadn’t really made sense attached to the quirkless trafficking, but if this was a Villain Factory style operation…Izuku imagined both those with “interesting” quirks and the quirkless could be useful to whatever medical experimentation was going on. The idea made him feel ill.

Ekikyō shared Izuku’s sense of trepidation as they went back to reading, though he pulled their face into a frown halfway down the list. “There’s one missing.”

Eraserhead gave them an intense look before stepping up beside them. “What do you mean?”

Izuku took a backseat as Ekikyō pointed out two events that had a larger time gap between them than the others. “Okinawa two years ago. Someone spiked the drinks at a downtown party with Trigger. The police probably misfiled it as a rave gotten out of hand or maybe a riot, but there was Trigger,” he said decisively.

“How do you know?” Eraserhead asked, scrutinizing them out of the corner of his eye.

Ekikyō gave the man a crooked grin. “Because I was one of the people who drank the spiked punch. Gokaku, that is. The stuff messed with my quirk.”

“Your quirk withdrawal…” Eraserhead said, straightening.

“Yeah. Didn’t have an issue with it before that point.”

Eraserhead quickly typed something in his phone. “I’ll look for matching incidents in Okinawa in that timeframe and check for missing persons reports after. Anything else to add?”

Izuku and Ekikyō had continued reading over the Trigger incidents while Eraser did his thing, and they’d finally reached the end. They stared at the USJ attack and its 15 Trigger cases. If the League was involved…Izuku really hoped they weren’t the ones behind the kidnappings, because if they were, that meant all those people might be getting turned into Nomu. And…that would also mean they’d just served Ekikyō’s whereabouts up on a silver platter.

“Problem Children?”

They pulled their eyes away from the report to look up at the hero, chewing their lip behind their mask. “We…might have a problem…”

Eraser’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“We maybe infiltrated a villain group using Gokaku’s identity…but, after looking at this, they might be connected to the Trigger cases…and the kidnappings.”

Eraserhead stared at them, expression perfectly blank. “Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

“You see, we would, but that would be a lie,” Ekikyō said, refusing to make eye contact with the hero.

Eraserhead turned away from them as his hair rose.

Izuku hiked their shoulders up around their ears, and they tensed to run.

“You infiltrated the League.” Eraser said it like a statement, but his tone demanded an answer.

“Yes…and they’re planning to attack your class again.”

That got Eraserhead’s attention, and the man whipped around to face them. Thankfully, his eyes weren’t glowing anymore. “What?”

They held their hands up. “We don’t have the details yet, just that Shigaraki’s planning something for over the summer. Sounds like he wants to kidnap a few of the kids he thinks have ‘villain’ potential.”

Eraserhead practically growled. “The summer camp.”

“Huh?”

“Every year the heroics classes have a training camp. Each year group gets their own week at the camp, one right after the other.”

“They’d be isolated,” Izuku said, realization dawning on him. “But how would they find out the location?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll take extra precautions this year given your warning. Your tips have all been good so far,” the man acknowledged. “But that doesn’t get you off the hook. What were you thinking? You have no experience with undercover work. If you make a mistake, they will kill you.”

Ekikyō pressed forward and answered, “It was my idea, but Naisho refused to let me go in alone. I shouldn’t have let him come along.”

Izuku, fueled by protective anger, retorted, “As if you could have stopped me.”

Ekikyō directed some exasperation Izuku’s way and mentally pointed out, “I could have just shown up without a host.”

“Yeah, and then they would have expected you to stay at their base like the others. How would you have contacted me to tell me anything you found out? What excuse would you have made if they tried to give you another person to possess? Or a Nomu?”

Ekikyō recoiled in their mind. “I would never possess one of those meat puppets. The air around them tastes like death and formaldehyde. And I would have figured out some way to get out long enough to contact you.”

“Are you two okay?”

The duo snapped their attention back to Eraserhead where he stood watching them. The man furrowed his eyebrows as he searched for something in their face.

Izuku recovered first. “Sorry, I know that must have looked weird from the outside. Just had a bit of a…disagreement with my bodymate.”

“Right…” Eraser eyed them critically for a moment longer before shaking his head. “The damage is done at this point. You can’t pull out, can you?” the pro asked, face resigned.

Izuku shook his head. “I don’t think so. And they’d just change their plan if we did. At least this way you have some warning, and we can try to sabotage things when the attack happens.”

Eraserhead closed his eyes as his shoulders sank under an invisible weight. “This is a mess. I need to talk to Tsukauchi about this. He’s in charge of the League case.”

---

Shota left the UA conference room in little better mood than he entered it. It had taken a few days to wrangle everyone into a meeting without alerting anyone outside of UA, but the rest of the UA heroes on the League case and Tsukauchi now knew about Naisho’s idiotic decision. At least they wouldn’t kill the kid by accident whenever that next attack happened.

When, not if. Nezu had agreed with the vigilante’s stance on pulling out. “Forewarned is forearmed,” after all.

Shota just hoped they could extract the kid safely after the impending summer attack. Even waiting that long had him feeling on edge. He didn’t like the idea of one of his Problem Children (technically two of them) being around Shigaraki, let alone All for One. The idea of that monster hurting Naisho or getting ahold of Gokaku’s possession quirk…

Shota shuddered and scowled at the sidewalk in front of him. There was nothing he could do at this point, and he hated it.

As his apartment came into view, he took a deep breath and forced down his frustrations and misgivings. He didn’t need Izuku to pick up on his mood. The kid had enough problems of his own without Shota adding to them, and Izuku was scarily good at reading people. (It probably helped him avoid getting hurt in his former school.)

Shota knew something had happened with Izuku in the days following Bakugo’s removal from the Hero Course, but after everything else Izuku had been through recently, he decided to let the kid be. Izuku could come to him when he was ready to talk about whatever was eating at him. Shota was content to leave it at signing him up for a few extra sessions with Hound Dog (on top of his weekly scheduled visits) and keeping watch for any worsening signs of emotional distress while continuing to be there for him. It had only been a week, after all.

The kid didn’t come out to greet Shota when he stepped into the apartment which was out of the norm, and his bedroom door was closed when Shota walked past it to go change. Writing it off as Izuku most likely being engrossed in some assignment from Nezu, Shota went about his business and started setting out ingredients for their dinner. Perhaps Izuku utilizing his right to privacy was a good sign.

He did draw a line at whatever Izuku was doing in his room to cause a series of loud noises followed by muffled curses. To be on the safe side, Shota knocked and waited a few seconds before opening the door. “Izuku?”

“I-it’s not what it looks like!”

Shota blinked lazily before raising an eyebrow. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t his Problem Child sitting in the midst of a half-assembled…bookshelf? Why were there wheels? Then he spotted the multiple boxes and instruction packets. Ah, it was supposed to be a desk and rolling chair. Izuku’s attempts looking nothing like the pictures on the packaging.

Izuku ducked his head, probably to hide a blush, and fidgeted with the tiny allen wrench he was holding.

Shota surveyed the mess once more before deciding to take pity on the kid. “Would you like some help?”

Relief and despair warred in the kid’s eyes as his shoulders sagged. “Please? None of this makes any sense…”

And so, they spent the next few hours unbuilding and rebuilding a desk and rolling chair, taking a break to make and eat dinner when Izuku clearly started getting frustrated partway through. Why one piece of furniture needed five different types of screw (that all looked the exact same), Shota could not understand, but he was used to encountering and dealing with things he couldn’t understand. He worked under Nezu after all.

It was only when they were standing the desk up that Shota broached the topic of why Izuku had been so nervous when he’d walked in. “Any reason why you were setting up a desk in secret, Problem Child? I didn’t see any hidden compartments or booby-traps on the blueprint.”

Izuku flushed dark enough it didn’t look like red, but it was gone a second later. “Because I-I…got the desk myself. I wasn’t sure if I was okay to rearrange the furniture, but I really needed the desk with finals coming up and all the studying I have to do and—”

Shota frowned and glanced between the desk, the chair, the unopened boxes, and his kid. How had…? Shota froze for a split second as it occurred to him that he never asked Izuku if the boy needed anything for his room. Izuku had bought the desk and chair himself—with his own money. Where had Izuku even gotten the funds for this? Neither item was cheaply made. Should he be concerned?

Shota ran a hand down his face. He’d really dropped the ball on this one. He should have outfitted his kid’s room, and…should he be giving Izuku an allowance? That was a thing parents did with teenagers, right? Quirks, he needed to call Tensei later. That was the closest thing to a parent his friend group had. He should know. What if Shota was missing other, equally obvious things?

Okay, first things first. He’d clearly made an oversight, which Izuku had seen fit to correct. “Izuku?”

“Aizawa?”

“Next time you need something, talk to me first. I should have asked if you needed anything for your room. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m supposed to take care of you, buying stuff like this included,” he said, waving his hand at their finished project. “I’m just as new to this as you are. I know that’s not an excuse, but I’d like to do better.”

Izuku studied him through his lashes for a moment before nodding firmly and lifting his head to meet his gaze properly. “O-okay.”

“How did you get this thing up the stairs by yourself anyway? It weighs nearly as much as you.”

Izuku smiled one of his blinding smiles. “Oh, that’s nothing compared to hauling the tractor tires and refrigerators people left on Dagobah.”

Shota stared at Izuku. Izuku who was maybe a bit short for his age but very fit, muscular, and who didn’t have a gym membership as far as Shota knew. “You hauled all of the trash off of that beach yourself?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even.

“Yes?” Izuku asked, expression wavering as if he sensed something wrong but had no clue what it was.

Shota rubbed a hand over his eyes. “When was the last time you had your tetanus vaccine? Or hepatitis? Hepatitis is something kids get vaccines for, right?”

“Uh…”

“Come on; I’ll call ahead to tell Chiyo we’re coming for a visit.”

“But your patrol starts in an hour?”

“You’re more important, kid. Now, come on.”

Izuku didn’t say anything in answer, but he grinned and shook his head as he followed Shota out.

Outtake:
Aizawa: “Nezu?”
Nezu: “Hm?”
Aizawa: “By any chance, do you own a furniture business on the side?”
Nezu: tilts his head “No, if I did, furniture more appropriate to my size would exist.”
Aizawa: narrows his eyes, because he knows that is a lie; he’s seen smaller desks (Nezu just enjoys how imposing his large desk is.) “Why do I not believe you?” casts a suspicious glance at Ikea

Aizawa: “Need any help with the other boxes…and posters?” picks up a sealed cardboard tube
Izuku: snatches the tube away from Aizawa “No! I mean, no, the rest of this doesn’t require assembly.”
Aizawa: raises an eyebrow and shrugs “I’ll get you the hammer and nails. And the step stool. Don’t stand on your rolling chair.”
Izuku: blushes “Um…actually, this one isn’t for me. It’s for Hitoshi’s birthday.”
Aizawa: narrows eyes before nodding “Wrapping paper’s in the hall closet if you need it.”
Aizawa: walks back to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee “Damn it. Nemuri was right.”
Aizawa 5 minutes later: eyes widen in horror “Wait, does this mean I have to give him The Talk?”

Aizawa: “Tensei.”
Tensei: “Shota, it’s 4:00 in the morning. Why are you calling me right after your patrol? Most people sleep, you know.”
Aizawa: “I need your help.”
Tensei: glances to the side of his bed where his wheelchair is “Uh, Shota, did you get a concussion on patrol? I can’t get over there as fast as I used to. How about I call Hizashi for you and—”
Aizawa: “No, Tensei. I need your help. You practically raised Tenya yourself while your parents were active heroes. I need parenting advice.”
Tensei: …
Aizawa: “Tensei…”
Tensei: laughs loud enough to wake up Tenya in the room next to his

Chapter Text

“Alright, Izuku. Just like you planned. You got this.”

“If I’ve got this, why do I feel like this?” Izuku asked, trying to ignore the tremors in his hands. He could feel his best friend roll their eyes despite them being closed.

“Because you’ve never done this before. Trust me, however bad you think this is, it isn’t. It’s just a first date,” Ekikyō said.

Izuku couldn’t tell if he was teasing or trying to be assuring.

“Yes.”

Izuku rolled their eyes this time, blinking them open to look in the mirror. He’d picked out one of his nicer shirts and a Mirko hoodie to wear over his faded jeans. He noted with some annoyance that he’d need to get some new shirts soon. They were fitting tighter than they used to. Downside of putting on so much muscle in the last year and a half.

He brushed one stray curl back from his face before tearing his eyes away from his image. He headed back to his room and grabbed his wallet, civilian cellphone, and backpack with Hitoshi’s present sticking half out of it. With that he was all set.

He ignored his nerves as best he could as he walked out into the living room. Aizawa glanced up at him from the papers he was grading at the dining table. After a few moments, the man nodded in what Izuku might hesitantly call approval. “You remembered to take your escitalopram this morning?”

Izuku blinked and wracked his brain. Yes, yes he did. He nodded.

Aizawa hummed and looked back down to his papers. “Remember your curfew and have fun, Izuku.”

Izuku grinned, relaxing just a little. “Okay, Aizawa. Be back later.” He waved at his guardian and crouched to scratch along Maneki’s spine for good luck; then he was out the door.

They hurried through the city until they were a block away from the park they were meeting Hitoshi at. They stalled and shuffled off to one side of the sidewalk as Izuku focused inward. “Are you sure about this?” Izuku asked.

“Yes. Go ahead, Izuku. Hitoshi’s waiting for you.”

Izuku huffed and sent a feeling of appreciation his best friend’s way. Then he leaned on his friend, pushing him down until the second presence in his mind blinked out. It felt just as weird as the last time they’d done this, but at least this time Ekikyō wasn’t half-dead. And Izuku wasn’t in horrible pain. That was a plus.

Izuku took a deep breath and set out again, walking slowly at first to make sure everything was fine. Aside from the quiet in his skull and the nagging feeling that he should be asleep, he felt totally normal for one of their possessions. He’d about gotten used to the difference when he reached the park and spotted Hitoshi there waiting for him. He was wearing a nice dark blue button-up with rolled sleeves and a pair of dark jeans. Izuku suddenly felt a little underdressed.

He smiled and waved his arm over his head, smiling wider when Hitoshi caught sight of him and waved back. “Hey,” Izuku said, trotting up to his…boyfriend? Was it too early to call him that? What else would he call him if it was?

“Hey yourself,” Hitoshi said. The taller boy glanced around before asking, “So, is it just you today, or…?”

Izuku got what he meant. “Ekikyō’s still in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “But he’s asleep right now. He didn’t want to third wheel our date.”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows rose. “You can do that?”

Izuku shrugged. “Yes? This connection’s a two-way street, though I suspect if we ever actually fought, Ekikyō would be the stronger one.”

Hitoshi hummed and moved to stand beside Izuku instead of in front of him. “Makes sense. What’s the plan?”

Izuku started walking, taking the lead. “I was thinking Meowstafu Cat Café. That alright?”

Hitoshi smiled, and Izuku resisted the urge to laugh. His friend’s smile was funnily close to Aizawa’s scary smile. “Where have you been all my life?” Hitoshi asked dramatically.

Izuku did laugh at that. They fell into a companionable silence as they walked to their destination. Once they’d ordered their drinks and food, they settled at a table next to one of the cat trees. Izuku took the opportunity to pull the wrapped cardboard tube from his backpack and shove it across the table to Hitoshi. “Here. H-happy birthday.”

Hitoshi eyed the present quizzically before pulling it closer and finding the edge of the black and white wrapping paper. When his glance was met with an encouraging nod, he started unwrapping. He got down to the tube and teased one of the end caps free. Gentle pulling revealed the roll of poster paper inside the tube. Hitoshi started unrolling it and froze, staring wide-eyed at it. “This is…”

Izuku grinned crookedly, suddenly nervous. “He doesn’t know I took that picture.”

Hitoshi looked between Izuku and the poster a few times before he beamed. “I love it.”

When Izuku had debated what to get Hitoshi, he kept circling back to how much Hitoshi loved Eraserhead as his favorite hero. Merch for the underground hero was scarce, so Izuku had browsed his vigilante phone pictures while debating what to commission one of the craft-oriented hero fanatics to make. (He knew a few trustworthy ones from his All Might fanboy days.) Then he’d stumbled upon this one picture.

He’d forgotten that he’d even taken it, but it was from one of their first patrols together. Aizawa had stopped to pet one of the stray cats that lived on his patrol route. The brown tabby leaned into the ear scratches while Aizawa remained alert in his crouch, looking around for trouble. It was just so…Eraserhead. Izuku couldn’t think of a better picture to ask someone to draw. The artist had taken a few liberties, of course, changing the setting to a rooftop ledge overlooking the nighttime skyline rather than a dingey alley. They’d also added a faint red glow to the hero’s eyes, but those only added to the Eraserhead-ness in Izuku’s book.

Hitoshi seemed to agree judging by his continued smile.

Izuku hadn’t seen Hitoshi smile like that…ever really. Not even when his friend had finally been offered the transfer into UA’s heroics track. Izuku drank in the sight, deciding he’d do just about anything to see it more often.

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured, glancing down and blushing when he realized he’d been staring.

Izuku blinked in surprise when a hand appeared in his vision. He didn’t flinch away from it as it tilted his chin up with a feather-light touch. Hitoshi studied him for a moment with brows creased. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before.”

Izuku glanced away, blush climbing higher. “Ah…Ekikyō usually hides it when we’re together. Normal people don’t blush black.”

Hitoshi continued to stare at him for a few moments before nodding his head. “It’s cute.”

Izuku pulled back just enough to cover his burning face with his hands. He resisted the urge to whine. Unfair use of compliments. Izuku called foul. You know, just as soon as his face wasn’t as dark as Tokoyami’s feathers.

Hitoshi chuckled at his misery, the fiend.

There was only one thing to do in this situation. Izuku held onto his mock offense and squared his shoulders as he lowered his hands. “You’re one to talk. I don’t know how you make red and purple look so good together, but you do.”

Hitoshi looked a touch confused, but he still blushed lightly.

“See, there you go again. Too cute.”

Hitoshi finally caught on and blushed harder as he looked away.

Something equal parts proud and fond welled in Izuku’s chest, and he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. Who knew revenge could be so sweet?

The pair spent the next few hours sipping their drinks of choice and talking while petting whatever cats decided they were interesting. Unfortunately, all good things came to an end, and theirs ended with their impending curfews. They walked out of the cat café after sundown tentatively holding hands. They paused on the corner that marked the divergence in their paths, neither willing to be the first to pull away.

After a few minutes spent in companionable silence, Hitoshi broke the silence first. “This was nice. We should do it again sometime. And thanks for the poster.”

Izuku grinned, ignoring the feeling of blush rising on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”

Hitoshi pulled his hand free to clutch the cardboard tube to his chest with both hands. “Like it? It’s my most prized possession.”

Izuku laughed once before remembering they were in public and slapping a hand over his mouth. A few passersby glanced at them, but no one asked what they were doing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have a nice laugh,” Hitoshi said, bumping Izuku with his side. “I had a good time today.”

“Mhm. Me too,” Izuku mumbled, refusing to meet Hitoshi’s eyes as he shuffled his feet.

“Oh, come here,” Hitoshi said before pulling Izuku into a hug. “We’ll have to do this again when finals aren’t a week away.”

Izuku froze for a second before melting in his boyfriend’s arms and hugging him back. He hummed his agreement. A half dozen pounding heartbeats, and they separated. They shared a last shy smile before heading their separate ways.

Izuku walked home in a warm, contented haze. It wasn’t until he was about to unlock the door that he paused. Wait. Frick, Hitoshi was right; finals were next week!

---

Izuku couldn’t believe he’d gotten so wrapped up in stressing over his first date with Hitoshi that he totally spaced on school. Ekikyō didn’t stop teasing him about it until the night before finals started, and that was mostly because they de-possessed while Aizawa was out on patrol.

They still weren’t clear on how long of a break Ekikyō needed before being able to do back-to-back eight-day possessions, but they both hoped the handful of hours they spent separated in Izuku’s room were enough.

Izuku flew through his finals and turned in the last of his assignments for Nezu’s classes. Probably the most stressful thing about the whole ordeal was the final exam for his Cybersecurity class. Nezu had him hack into a less protected part of the Commission’s database to find a marked file that Nezu claimed to have planted the day before. Izuku wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if the Commission knew about Nezu using their servers to test his student.

Their brain felt like mush by the end of the last day of finals, but Izuku forced himself to linger after his last class.

Nezu cupped his ears toward them. “Yes, Midoriya? Motsu?”

Izuku gripped his uniform’s pant leg and sat up straighter. “Nezu-sensei, we wanted to ask you something. How um…how much do you trust Hound Dog?”

Nezu’s tail twitched, and he blinked. “Quite a bit, I’d say. Are things going alright with your sessions?” he asked, tilting his head the smallest degree.

“Y-yes! Things are going fine!” Izuku said, waving their hands in front of them. They didn’t mean to worry Nezu.

Ekikyō nudged Izuku aside to still their hands and ask, “What he means to say is, we’re pretty sure he knows something is up with his schnozz. We want to know if he’s safe to talk to about…us.” Ekikyō gestured to indicate all of their body. More privately, he asked, “Now, was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I see,” Nezu said, sitting back in his chair. “As long as you make clear that Midoriya is unharmed by this arrangement and a willing participant, I don’t foresee any problems with telling him. Especially if you let him know that I’m in the know and monitoring things.”

The anxiety coiling in their chest unwound at Nezu’s words. “Thanks, sensei.”

“You’re both welcome. Now, go on. You’ve got the whole summer ahead of you. No need to spend more time here than necessary. Do try to stay out of trouble though,” the principal said, giving them an expression that almost looked like a smirk.

They snorted, though they couldn’t quite tell who did it. It wasn’t like Nezu knew about their vigilante activities or anything, right? “We’ll do our best sensei.” They bowed to Nezu and pulled their laptop from their backpack to turn in.

Nezu held up a paw to stop them. “No, Midoriya, that laptop is yours for as long as you attend here, between semesters included. I’ll email you next term’s syllabi the week before classes reconvene to give you a head start.

They nodded and bit back a grin as they returned the laptop to their bag. “Thanks, Nezu-sensei. Have a good summer!” One last wave and they were out the door.

They headed home, thoughts already turning to their next goal: establishing themselves more within the League. They couldn’t risk missing any details about the upcoming attack. Knowledge was power, and Eraserhead, Hitoshi, and Uraraka’s class was on the line. Fierce protectiveness that both of them shared rose at the thought of Shigaraki going after their friends or mentor.

Whatever Shigaraki was planning, they’d be ready. They wouldn’t let him get away with it.

---

Shota wondered if he should take Izuku out for dinner to celebrate his exam scores. That was something you did when your kid had the second highest core class scores of their year, right? Or was that too much?

(Shota wasn’t counting Izuku’s scores in his classes with Nezu. Even though Izuku scored lower on those, Shota was sure they were far more taxing than those of other departments. Nezu had seemed quite pleased with Izuku’s scores too, which meant he’d met or exceeded the rat’s expectations, and that was no small feat.)

Shota sighed through his nose and clicked on the next video, beginning the review of Inouye and Shinso’s practical exam. He’d already made it through five videos; if he kept up this pace, he should be able to leave campus in time to make a reservation somewhere. Izuku would probably like the American restaurant downtown.

Shota frowned as Shinso tripped himself on his own capture weapon. The kid had insisted on taking it with him into the exam despite only having trained with the weapon for six weeks. This should serve as a good lesson: a tool or weapon was more of a hindrance than a boon if you weren’t proficient with it. To Shinso’s credit, he seemed to figure that out after the first ten minutes, hanging it securely back around his shoulders and leaving it there.

Shota grinned when the pair of students finally got cornered by Nemuri and squinted, wondering what the two boys would do. He chuckled when Inouye used his quirk to steal the Nemuri’s whip. For several seconds it looked like the boys’ entire plan consisted of “Yeet rocks and taunt their teacher” as Nemuri’s quirk blanketed more and more of the terrain. Then Shinso’s capture weapon suddenly appeared around Nemuri’s face, obscuring her vision. A second later she froze, and her quirk dissipated.

Shinso had imitated Inouye’s voice while Nemuri couldn’t see who was speaking. Clever. Shota paused the video and wrote some notes on both students’ performances. He assigned their scores and moved on to the next video, this time of Uraraka and Aoyama against Thirteen.

He finished reviewing the last of the practicals and stared at his computer for a minute longer, wishing there was one more video. He’d planned out a similar exam for Izuku, but he and Nezu had decided against it on Ryo’s recommendation. Ryo hadn’t broken confidentiality, but he’d strongly advised against making the offer this term. There was some growling involved.

Shota could see his coworker’s point when he stopped to think about it. Izuku would be a perfect fit for 1-A. He was skilled, driven, compassionate, and a fast learner, but Izuku had no confidence in himself. He’d tried the entrance exam and not gotten a single point. He’d tried in the Sports Festival, but he’d been forced to choose his own well-being over competing in the third event. (Knowing what he did now, Shota was thankful that Izuku had made that choice.)

Shota hadn’t seen Izuku show any actual interest in heroics since taking the kid in.

He rubbed his eyes and turned off his computer. Ryo was right. Shota should talk to Izuku before they ever present him with a test for transfer. There had been an interest in heroics, but was it still there after so many disappointments? What if Izuku wanted to stay in Analysis after getting to experience a full semester of the curriculum? Shota was perfectly fine with that if it was what Izuku really wanted, not just what he thought was achievable.

Shota stood and stretched before pulling his phone out. He texted his Problem Child, “I got your exam scores. Second in your year. Want to go out for dinner to celebrate tonight? I should be home in an hour.”

By the time Shota finished packing his messenger bag, Izuku had texted back, “Sure. Would an hour and a half work? I just left for my run.”

Shota raised an eyebrow and checked the time. Usually, the kid ran later. He must have gotten bored home alone. Shota did feel bad he had spent Izuku’s first day of summer break out of the apartment, but the heroics exams ran an extra day to allow enough time for their practicals. It couldn’t really be helped. At least the exams were done now. “Sure, Problem Child. See you then.”

Outtakes:

Izuku: bemoans the fact his old shirts don’t fit anymore
Hitoshi: visually tracing Izuku’s muscles through his shirt “You’re fine. I mean, your shirt. Your shirt looks fine.”

Izuku and Ekikyō: are chilling at the League base
Aizawa: “Hey, want to go out for dinner in an hour?”
Izuku and Ekikyō: panic because the train ride back from Tokyo is longer than that

Shinso: “Ugh. I have a migraine. Midnight was a lot harder to hold onto with Brainwashing than I expected.”
Uraraka: “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything tonight. I’m going to take a Dramamine and sleep for 20 hours.”
Shinso: “Goals.” offers her a fist bump
Todoroki: “At least you didn’t have to take your exams solo.”
Shinso and Uraraka: shudder
Todoroki: wonders what it would have been like to have had Midoriya in 1-A’s 20th slot and as a partner for the final

Chapter Text

Izuku’s first summer break of high school was like any year prior, except in all the ways it wasn’t. Ekikyō was a constant presence, and they were constantly busy. Aizawa was around more often than not during the days, either napping or making lesson plans for the next term or wanting to spend time with Izuku. It was weird at first, the man offering to train them without Shinso or Uraraka around, but Izuku decided it was a good weird.

When Izuku and Ekikyō got antsy or just wanted to be alone, they headed out to the gym Aizawa had gotten Izuku a membership at or used said membership as a cover to sneak over to the League base. Or they hung out with Hitoshi, helped out at the underground clinic, trained with Ciupan, or did analysis requests for Giran. They had a lot going on.

After the scare with Aizawa wanting to go out for dinner, they’d avoided going to the League base much during the day, but today Aizawa was leaving early for a series of meetings that should keep him busy right up until his patrol started. They took the opportunity to don their disguise and head to the League’s base, intending to spend the rest of the day there. It was only the second time they’d gotten to head over so early on a weekday. (They’d stopped by on week nights when summoned for meetings before, but those were different.)

The first thing they saw when they stepped out of Kurogiri’s Warp Gate was the empty bar. They’d never seen it empty before. “What, the rest of the League not awake yet?” they asked, turning to glance at Kurogiri.

The bartender was at his usual post, cleaning the exact same glass as last time. Izuku could tell by the chip on the base.

Kurogiri glanced up at them before gesturing toward one of the two doors leading off the bar. “At this time, they’re usually in the training room or out handling their own affairs.”

“You have a training room here?” they asked, tamping down on Izuku’s keen interest. When the only answer Kurogiri gave was a nod, they decided to investigate. The door Kurogiri had pointed out opened onto a narrow hallway with peeling and faded wallpaper. The door to the bar must have been subtly soundproofed, because once they opened it, they could hear the familiar grunts and shuffling of a spar and the rhythmic thud of fists meeting a punching bag.

Izuku and Ekikyō noted every closed door they walked past, deciding based on the occasional decoration that they probably led to individual quarters. Toga’s was easy to pick out with the mix of cutesy and macabre stickers and magazine clippings pasted to one door. The door at the end of the dingy hall was cracked open, allowing all the sounds they’d heard to escape.

They pushed it further open as they slid into the room. Weight training equipment lined the walls, but the center of the room was open and covered in mats for deadlifting or sparring. Disconcertingly, it reminded Izuku of the weight room at UA the one time he’d had glanced inside it.

(The third years working out there had been intimidating enough to put Izuku off returning. Upperclassmen could dole out the worst beatings, after all, and these upperclassmen had survived more than two years of UA’s training. Izuku didn’t like his odds against people with so much fighting and tactical experience.)

Magne and Spinner were practicing some quirkless hand-to-hand, weapons piled safely out of the way against one of the walls. Magne appeared to be winning, if the way she suplexed Spinner and pinned him a second after Izuku and Ekikyō entered the gym was anything to go off of. Spinner tapped out, and Magne helped him back to his feet.

“Good match. You project your moves too much though. Makes you easy to predict and work around,” Magne said, slapping Spinner’s shoulder hard enough to rock him. “Keep your elbows in closer to your body to protect your torso and fists up high enough to protect your chin and throat.” Spinner did what she said, and she prodded him a few times to get him into a better stance. Then they went again.

Ekikyō had to hold back Izuku’s urge to chime in with his own advice. They really didn’t need to make the villains preparing to attack a class of teenagers more dangerous.

A loud thud distracted them from the spar in the center of the room. They glanced over to see Muscular shaking his hands out and standing over a barbell stacked with what had to be the entire room’s supply of weights. How strong was that guy?!

“He could probably splat me just as easily as All Might did in that tunnel,” Ekikyō said, edging them away from the renowned murderer. Glancing around the rest of the gym, they found another League member punching away at the punching bag. They didn’t recognize his face, but based on his build, he was probably Twice, not Compress. Mustard–still wearing his helmet–and Toga were camped out not too far from Magne and Spinner’s weapons, spectating the spar. Compress, Dabi, Moonfish, and Shigaraki were absent.

Izuku and Ekikyō sidled up next to the other two teens, waving a slimy hand when Toga spotted them and smiled.

“Hi, Sludge!” Toga cheered, patting the floor next to her. “You’re here early.”

They dropped down beside her and shrugged. “My meatsuit had off work today for…a dentist appointment. Figured I’d make use of the free time once that was out of the way.”

Toga hummed and tilted her head as she scrutinized them. “Does he get dental work often? Because his smile’s like perfect.”

Actually, now that she mentioned it, Izuku’s dentist had complimented his oral hygiene the last time he’d been. Izuku pressed a silent question Ekikyō’s way.

Ekikyō answered them both, “That’s my doing. I’ve got a killer immune system from constant environmental exposure. Any bacteria that try to cause trouble for me or my host get munched before they can do anything, plaque-building bacteria included.”

“Huh. That’s pretty useful,” Toga admitted. She pressed a finger to her chin in thought. “I’ve wondered if my quirk does something similar before, but I have no real way to test it. It’s not like I can go around asking everyone I stab if they have any bloodborne diseases before drinking their blood, and the stuff from the blood banks is already tested for those.”

Izuku perked up at the information on Toga’s quirk, and Ekikyō carefully conveyed one of the million questions flying around in their head, “Have you ever thought about donating blood?” When she shot them a confused look, he explained, “I mean, they’d check your blood for those same diseases, right? If your blood’s totally clean, there’s a decent chance you’re right. You could probably try donating while morphed into someone else too to see if your quirk changes your blood type to match your borrowed physiology. Probably should steal those blood bags back afterward though. If your blood reverts after some time limit, it could kill whoever gets a transfusion from it.”

Toga stared wide-eyed at them. Then she smiled. “You’re smarter than you look.”

Ekikyō narrowed their eyes at her. “Hey!”

Toga just giggled.

Spinner hit the mat again, drawing their attention. “Ow…”

“Need a break?” Magne asked.

Spinner nodded before picking himself back up and stumbling over to join those on the sidelines.

Toga bounced to her feet and pulled on Izuku and Ekikyō’s wrist. She had a surprisingly strong grip. “Ooh, us next! I want to see how Sludge fights.”

“Uh…” That was actually a very good question. How did they fight like this? As Naisho, they had their shoge hook, padded gloves, and steel-toed boots, and as Izuku they were small and quick. Ekikyō on his own fought in a completely different way too. They could fight that way, though they weren’t sure how much slime Ekikyō could externalize while still properly possessing Izuku.

They reached the center of the mats before they could think up a strategy. Toga finally released them and skipped a few steps away before rounding to face them with a knife in hand. “Best of three?” She asked.

Eyeing the blade, they decided keeping their body as far out of her reach as possible was probably the safest option. They nodded and pushed more slime through their skin, freezing their lungs as slime closed protectively around Izuku. Their heartbeat was kept carefully even, and Ekikyō wrapped a little tighter around Izuku’s mind, but there wasn’t any panic yet. Ekikyō separated his eyes from Izuku’s and continued pulling slime through their skin.

After a few seconds, Izuku felt like his mind was being pulled in several directions at once. It hurt. Ekikyō immediately stopped and pushed some slime back inside their body. It seemed they’d found their limit. After taking stock, they thought they were close to having 75% of their slime externalized.

Further analysis needed to wait, as Toga was throwing a knife at their—Ekikyō’s—eye. “Hey, watch it! I only got two of those, you know,” they said, moving their eyes safely aside and grabbing the knife with a slimy limb.

Toga only smiled and caught the knife when they flicked it back. All feigned innocence, she asked, “How else am I supposed to fight you like that?”

Okay, yeah, that was kinda fair. Izuku hadn’t been able to do much in the one attempted spar against Ekikyō either. Everyone involved in a spar should be able to take something from it. Like this, Toga wasn’t getting anything. Izuku probably would have pointed out that issue if… They paused and held up a slimy limb. “Right, one sec.”

Izuku felt slime shift around inside their skull, separating from the section of cortex they now knew housed his logic center. Izuku blinked his eyes open in surprise before closing them to cancel out the double vision. He moved a hand through their slime to rub his temple, but Ekikyō beat him to it, massaging his temples and the base of his skull. His mind still felt a little…stretched? Strained? Neither of those seemed quite the right word. It wasn’t a migraine yet, anyway.

A gentle mental prod from Ekikyō recaptured Izuku’s attention. Right, they were in the middle of something. He already knew what they’d both been thinking a second ago, and he considered their options alongside Ekikyō. They didn’t use words so much as images as they passed ideas back and forth. They finally settled on their memory of punching that first villain they took down last summer with a slime and blood-coated fist. Working together, they’d packed more of a punch than either of them did alone.

Decided, Izuku relaxed back into their skewed deep dive. (The creeping anxiety over his body not breathing was squashed down in an instant.) Their slime contracted and sank back inward. They hurriedly fixed their eyes before allowing the rest of their slime to settle into their usual disguise but in a slightly thicker, denser layer.

They took a deep breath and fixed their airway with the right amount of slime. “Wasn’t thinking. I’m used to fighting like that. I’ve only ever used hosts to relieve my withdrawal and hide. Haven’t fought like this before,” Ekikyō said flexing his and Izuku’s overlaid hands. They shrugged and curled their fingers into a fist. “But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Toga was still smiling; it was almost creepy at this point. “Don’t worry. I won’t mess up your host’s pretty face or anywhere he can’t hide.” Then she pounced.

They jerked out of the way, barely avoiding Toga’s knife. They weren’t as graceful as usual with Ekikyō taking lead. They needed Izuku’s muscle memory, but that meant Izuku being closer to the surface. Or…They hissed as a sharp point dragged through their slime and skin, leaving a line of black blooming across their bicep.

Toga stared at the unusual color in surprise.

They took the opportunity to throw a punch with their uninjured arm. She snapped out of her daze to dodge the majority of the hit. They clipped her arm, but that was it. They exchanged a few more blows, though nothing connected. If they didn’t know better, they’d think Toga was purposely giving them a chance to figure themselves out. Yeah, a spar was meant to benefit both parties, but they hadn’t expected that level of restraint from the person whose quirk gave them literal bloodlust. Maybe the fact their blood was all mixed up with slime made it less appealing?

Ekikyō huffed in the safety of their mind and shifted some of the slime in their brain, forging more thorough connections in the areas housing Izuku’s muscle memory and reflexes. Then he lightened up on his hold on Izuku’s logic center again though not completely releasing him. They dodged the next teasingly close swipe of Toga’s knife more easily.

Toga grinned and pressed her attack, just missing them each time as she matched their speed.

Izuku and Ekikyō’s movement improved over the next minute or two as Ekikyō figured out how to better hook into Izuku’s learned skills and reactions without having to move Izuku into even or full control. Once things leveled out, they finally started going on the offensive. They dodged another slash, twisting to carry that momentum into a kick that caught Toga across the hip.

The blonde stumbled back a step and beamed. “There you go! Now we can really start.”

Some distant part of their mind was a little worried by how eager Toga sounded, but the rest of their mind was focused on the fight at hand. On Toga’s next swing, they grabbed her wrist as they sidestepped, using her momentum to throw her…a little farther than they really intended.

Toga rolled into her landing and popped back to her feet, no worse for wear. Her next approach was a bit more cautious, keeping just out of their reach to occasionally dart in with quick jabs and slashes.

They followed the pace she set until they got an idea. Whose mind was responsible they weren’t sure, but they hadn’t gotten to try this trick since possessing Iida. Slime and blood swelled from the broken skin on their left arm and lashed out to slap Toga’s right hand. Toga’s knife fell.

While Toga reeled from the surprise hit, they pressed their advantage with a right punch that Toga redirected then dropped into a sweeping kick. Toga avoided that hit as well, but that wasn’t the main reason they’d done it. They’d pushed her further back, away from her weapon, giving them time to claim the dropped knife as their own.

Of course, their victory was somewhat negated by Toga producing a second blade from…somewhere, but they could at least parry her knife with theirs now. Things were more even for a while. They gained two more shallow cuts, but they gave Toga one as well and tore the lower hem of her sweater.

Then Toga vanished.

They whirled, scanning their surroundings for her but not seeing anything. Their slime picked up faint vibrations behind them, then they felt the tip of a blade resting on the slime protecting their back, just to one side of their spine and below their ribcage. As connected with their body as they were, they recognized the knife hovered just over a kidney. If they were separate, a hit there would kill before help could arrive.

They relaxed their stance and admitted defeat, “You got us.”

Toga squealed and bounced back around in front of them. “That was fun. Okay, round two!”

They held up a hand and shook their head. “We—I should sit down for a bit. Had to mess around in my host’s brain to get access to their muscle memory, and it’s starting to cause a headache.” The slime in their head shifted, draining away from the structures in the center and base of their brain.

Toga pouted but made no move to stop them as they walked to the sidelines. She and Magne started a spar that Izuku and Ekikyō didn’t really pay attention to.

Their focus shifted inward instead. There was a dull ache in their head and neck, and the cuts from Toga’s knife stung their skin distantly. Their mind felt a dichotomous mix of sharp and unfocused. The two feelings separated more, and Ekikyō asked, “You okay?”

Izuku. He was Izuku. He felt off, fuzzy, but his mind was getting clearer. And there was the migraine he’d been missing. “Ugh.”

Ekikyō pressed a little closer but remained separate. A wordless apology and concern drifted between them, answered by reassurance. Actually, as Izuku’s head cleared, he could tell Ekikyō didn’t feel perfect either. He pressed a silent question at his friend.

“I’ll be okay. This is…well, I guess you could call it a headache? I was micromanaging too many complicated tasks at once.”

Izuku hummed in their mind. That made sense. On top of the usual temperature and oxygen regulation and putting any of their blood that leaked out back inside their body, Ekikyō had been keeping a tight rein on Izuku while also reading what he wanted to do and how he wanted to react in their spar with Toga and translating those into actions not even a split second later. They’d gotten so in tune there for a while that it didn’t feel like Izuku was being restricted at all, at least in the fighting department. Ekikyō had done a good job keeping Izuku’s expressions off their face and his words locked behind their teeth. No nervous habits or flinches made it through either.

It was a weird thing to be proud of, probably, but they couldn’t risk the League finding out they were more than just Ekikyō when they were here. And Ekikyō had a reputation to uphold.

They’d probably need to find some time and somewhere safe to practice being and fighting like that to get past the annoying headache-y phase that doing anything new with Izuku’s brain seemed to come with. Ekikyō getting a headache from it too was a first though. Hopefully, he’d adjust as well. Izuku didn’t like the idea of his best friend being in pain.

Ekikyō mentally shoved him. “Hypocrite,” he teased. “I don’t like you being in pain either. We’ll take this slow like our deep dives at the beginning.”

Izuku could agree to that. “Yeah, we’ll get there.” He leaned into his friend in wordless permission. Toga and Magne had wrapped up their spar, and someone was likely to talk to them again soon. Best to properly be in disguise for that. Izuku focused fully on their surroundings as Ekikyō’s mind wrapped securely around his own and pulled him back in.

Toga dropped to the ground beside them as their minds and senses finished realigning. “That was fun!” she said, panting. She dragged a small cooler from where it had been nestled against Magne’s giant magnet and opened it to pull a blood bag out.

They blinked in surprise but didn’t say anything as Toga stabbed a sharpened metal straw through the larger port on the bag. She contentedly sipped on the contents as Twice wandered over to ask Magne pointers or insult her skill while challenging her to spar. They couldn’t quite tell which, but for his sake they hoped it was the former.

Glancing around, they saw that Muscular had left at some point. At least he reshelved his weights. That was more credit than they would have given him. Spinner appeared to have fallen asleep where he’d sprawled on the floor earlier. The only other person in the gym who hadn’t sparred yet was Mustard. The kid hadn’t moved at all from his post on the far side of Magne and Spinner’s weapons, but he hadn’t stopped watching the spars either. Maybe he was just shy or unconfident?

“What about you, Mustard? You gonna spar after Twice? I’m sure Magne could give you some pointers.”

Mustard startled and stared at them. Then he scoffed and crossed his arms as he looked away. “Like I need to know any of this. Between my quirk and the gun Giran’s getting me, no one will ever get close enough for me to punch them. This is pointless,” he concluded petulantly. He stalked out of the gym before Izuku and Ekikyō could think of anything else to say.

“Was it something I said?” Ekikyō asked.

Toga cast a sour look at the gym door as it closed. “Nah, that’s all Mustard.”

“Don’t take it personally, hun,” Magne said walking over to join them. Toga tossed her a hand towel and held out a bottle of water retrieved from the cooler. After nodding her thanks and downing a third of the bottle, she continued, “Toga and I have both offered a few times, but he doesn’t seem interested.”

Izuku and Ekikyō frowned. “That’s dumb. No one’s quirk is useful all the time. And all it takes to counter Mustard’s is a gas mask or an industrial fan. The brat’s setting himself up for a fall.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Twice said, dramatically throwing his arms in the air before plopping down near them and making grabby hands at the cooler. Toga rolled her eyes good-naturedly and shoved it over to him. “Who cares? I’m not going to rescue the little prick if he gets himself caught.”

The man paused with the water bottle halfway to his mouth to close his eyes and shake his head. He set the water bottle down to dig something out of his pocket. He yanked the wad of fabric over the top half of his head, revealing it to be his mask. “Ah, that’s better. Thought I might split for a second there.” Then the man abruptly shifted gears and pointed at Izuku and Ekikyō’s arm. “You need any stitches there? Not that I care!”

Izuku and Ekikyō blinked at Twice before glancing down at their arm. The cut on their bicep was the worst of the three, though none of them were too deep. They pealed the slime back from their skin to get a better look at the clotted wound. It probably could use stitching. Great. They’d need to go visit Cross before heading home. “Yeah, but I know a guy. I’ll go see him when I leave.”

“Nonsense,” Magne said waving a hand. “We’ve got a first aid kit here for a reason.” She lightly kicked Spinner, making the man yelp and jolt upright. “Spinner will fetch it. Let’s take a look at the other two now,” she said lowering herself to sit in front of them.

They’d really rather not, but Magne was using a no-nonsense tone they were too familiar with from Eraserhead. They swallowed their complaints and pulled their slime away from the other two glorified scratches but left some slime in their skin to throw off their skin tone. Really, the cuts weren’t bad at all. They’d probably be fully healed by this time tomorrow.

Magne ignored them saying so to poke at the green-tinted skin around the wounds. Magne seemed satisfied with her inspection of those two before having Izuku and Ekikyō turn to give her better access to the one on their left bicep.

About that time was when Spinner returned, large first aid kit in hand. Magne asked for various supplies, and Spinner handed them to her. They seemed rather practiced. Izuku and Ekikyō wondered how often they’d had to patch a League member up.

They barely winced at the first bite of the needle entering their skin. Ekikyō numbed the wound before the second pass. They let Magne do her work and focused on Toga, who was leaning in close to look at their wound, still seemingly fascinated by their blood.

The girl crumpled the empty blood bag and asked, “Why is your blood black like that?”

Ekikyō shrugged their right shoulder. “That’s what we get mixing red blood and green slime. It’s more slime than actual blood right now, but any of my cells can carry oxygen just as well as normal blood, so it works out.”

“Huh.” Toga sniffed and scrunched her nose up before leaning back. “It doesn’t even smell like blood.”

They chatted a little more while Magne finished giving them their 15 stitches. Izuku and Ekikyō still weren’t fully convinced they needed so many, but at least they were neat enough. They carefully re-covered the area in slime and listened to Spinner and Twice argue about which racing game was the best. They rolled their arm and idly wondered if the League was always like this.

Outtake:
Aizawa: is trying not to fall asleep in a meeting when his Problem Child sense goes off
Tsukauchi: “Aizawa, where do you think you’re going? We still haven’t gotten to the new cases your lead in Okinawa turned up.”
Aizawa: isn’t willing to say he was leaving on a hunch and sits back down, settling on texting Naisho and Izuku as his most Problematic Children. (Gokaku would be on that list too, but they don’t seem to have a phone number.)
Aizawa several hours later: sprints home because Izuku never texted him back only to find all the cats curled on top of Izuku in his bed
Izuku: pulls the covers over his head “Zawa? Turn the light off. I’va headache.”
Aizawa: shoulders sag in relief as he turns the light out and fetches the gel sleep mask he keeps in the freezer for when he’s had to use Erasure too much on patrol “Here, Problem Child. This might help.”
Izuku: grumbles incoherently and puts the mask on backwards so the iced mask is at the base of his skull
Aizawa: “That’s not how…nevermind.”

Chapter Text

Summer break rolled on, and Izuku and Ekikyō somehow continued to keep up with everything, though they did have to cut back on their patrols with Eraser to stake out Hitoshi’s place. They had to get him out of that poor excuse for a home. He’d had another bruise when they’d hung out today, and they could barely resist the urge to literally fight the man who was Hitoshi’s foster father. At least none of the bullies had turned up on this side of town since their group attack.

Izuku wasn’t convinced that luck would hold though, especially once the next semester started and made Hitoshi’s daily route predictable again.

It was on one of those nights where Naisho crouched on a rooftop two duplexes down and across the street from Hitoshi’s house when someone snuck up behind them. They only felt the additional presence join them on the roof because they’d taken to keeping some of their slime externalized and coating their skin to better sense their surroundings. The second the person landed on the far side of the roof, Naisho rose to their feet, hand unclipping their shoge hook from its holster.

They froze as their green eyes met red. Ice spiked through their veins as they took a step back, shifting from fight to flight in an instant. They didn’t want to pick a fight they couldn’t win.

“Naisho,” the vigilante turned villain said as he rose from his crouch. The man studied them, hands hovering near a set of sheathed blades.

“Stain,” Naisho greeted, edging a little closer to the roof’s edge. A jump from two stories up might hurt, but they could pull enough slime through their skin to cushion their landing. Probably. They liked their chances of surviving the fall better than their chances of surviving Stain’s blades and skill.

Stain noted the shift and grinned, hands relaxing at his sides. “I’m not here to fight you.”

“You’re not?” They asked, skepticism thick in their voice.

“No, I’m in Musutafu to see if your ideal has borne fruit.” Stain’s eyes narrowed. “What brings you to this rooftop so many nights in a row?” The man not-so-subtly glanced past them at the house they’d been watching.

Aaaannnd Stain had been watching them. Frick. Did he follow them back to Eraserhead’s apartment? Did he know their civilian identity? More importantly, Stain could not take an interest in Hitoshi. Naisho side-stepped to block Stain’s view of their friend’s residence, slime bristling on their skin. “Collecting evidence to get a kid out of a bad home.”

Stain’s eyebrows rose for a second before they drew down and inward in time with the man’s lip curling. “Abusive scum.”

Naisho hummed in agreement, not taking his eyes off of Stain, even as he relaxed a tiny bit. “It’s a delicate situation, but we have a plan.”

Stain’s eyes snapped from Hitoshi’s house to them. “We?”

Naisho blinked. Right, they’d gotten a bit lax in hiding their dual nature from Eraserhead. They winced internally at their mistake. “Green and Sludge,” they clarified, the names known in villain circles tasting wrong on their tongue.

Stain stared at them for a moment before chuckling. “So, you truly work together. You trust each other that much?”

“With our lives,” they said without hesitation.

Stain looked them up and down one last time before nodding at whatever he saw. He turned away and placed a foot on the roof’s ledge to leave.

“That’s it?”

Stain looked over his shoulder at them. “Yes. I did not come to Musutafu for you, Naisho. I came to see if Endeavor has learned his lesson.” Without further ado, Stain jumped for the next rooftop.

A small spike of panic lanced through Naisho as they lunged to follow. Their thoughts shifted to Todoroki and his scar. Despite whatever had happened, Todoroki didn’t want his father dead, so Naisho hounded Stain’s steps, intent on protecting Endeavor if needed.

Stain didn’t try to lose them. He could have easily, they were sure, but the route they followed was less challenging than that night in Yokohama. Was that a testament to their grown skill in freerunning or an endorsement of Hatsume’s shock-absorbing boots? Or maybe it spoke of their teamwork and how they barely had to think about cushioning their joints with slime for landings nowadays. Even with the shock of meeting Stain tonight, their deep dive was seamless, and they reveled in racing across the rooftops in tandem.

Adding skin breathing to the use of their oxygen concentrator, Naisho was able to keep pace with Stain for quite a while. As they slowed to a stop on a rooftop in the entertainment district, Naisho took deep breaths and kept breathing through the exposed skin of their arms for a minute to catch their breath. They watched Stain crouch low and slink up to the roof’s edge to spy on the foot traffic below, joining him a few seconds later.

Endeavor was easy to spot with his usual flaming beard and hairdo. Naisho immediately noted the added armor on the man’s torso and wondered if the additions restricted his range of movement. Well, restricted it more than his healing injury did. They watched the hero grouchily give directions to a group of college girls all decked out in matching merch, most likely from a band based on them heading in the direction of Musutafu’s few music bars.

There wasn’t much crime this late in this area, at least not much flashy crime. Pickpockets didn’t seem Endeavor’s speed, but then again neither did calling a cab for someone who was throwing up on the sidewalk after too many drinks or warning off some jerk who was harassing a lady in a skimpy dress. Maybe this was Endeavor’s agency’s idea of “light duty” to ease the hero back into the swing of things?

The more they watched, the more Naisho noted the complete lack of offensive quirk usage. The most they ever saw was his beard and hair flaring when the pro scared off that one creeper. Endeavor had issues with overheating with extensive quirk usage. His doctors likely warned him off of using Hellflame too much while healing. Naisho also picked up on the very slight limp in Endeavor’s gait and the occasional grimace.

The proud hero must be near the end of his shift for him to be letting his composure slip. Sure enough, another hero met him a few minutes later and exchanged a greeting before taking his place at the district’s busiest intersection. Endeavor slowly headed for where Izuku’s fanboy heart knew his estate lay. (Everyone who cared to knew where Endeavor lived; no one was dumb enough to try attacking him or his family. That was the solitary good thing to come of Endeavor’s reputation.)

Stain and Naisho followed from the shadows above.

Naisho wasn’t sure they wanted Stain anywhere near Todoroki, though the protectiveness they felt for him wasn’t quite as sharp as for Hitoshi. Still, they would be happier if they didn’t tail the hero all the way home. “For what it’s worth,” they found themselves saying. “His youngest son seems happier lately.”

Stain gave them a sidelong look but didn’t comment, undeterred. The walled grounds of the Todoroki estate came into view shortly after. They watched for a few minutes after Endeavor walked inside, but all was quiet.

Naisho wasn’t sure if Stain had seen what he wanted to, but they could admit Endeavor hadn’t seemed exactly “put upon” for working such a dull and civilian interaction-oriented shift. Maybe he was just too tired to feel proud? He was still recovering.

“So, what now?” they ventured to ask.

Stain stayed frozen in his hunched position, staring at Endeavor’s home. He slowly rose to his full height and turned away. “I’ll let him grow a while longer to see what he becomes. There are others in need of my blade, both hero and villain.”

Naisho nodded slowly, following Stain away from Endeavor’s home. They told themselves they were still following the serial killer solely to keep an eye on him and hopefully keep him out of trouble (at least in their city). And that was most of the reason. There was something oddly refreshing about the change of pace in racing across the rooftops after Stain compared to the methodical, more careful pace Eraserhead tended to set.

It was…challenging, exhilarating, (fun) and a part of them liked the stretch and burn of muscles that didn’t often see such use. They’d have to do this—just race across rooftops and billboards as fast as they could—again sometime. Naisho found themselves smiling behind their mask.

Stain seemed to set the perfect pace too. Naisho wondered if he’d ever done this before or worked with someone in the past. That thought led to another that abruptly killed the mood. Naisho stumbled at the sudden, horrible thought. Stain stalled a few steps further ahead and raised an eyebrow at them.

“Stain, you aren’t partnered with the League of Villains, right?” they asked, realizing how odd it was that Shigaraki claimed they were allied when they’d never heard of the man setting foot in the bar when they visited.

Stain sneered but deigned answer, “The Shigaraki brat may yet become a man of conviction, but he’s far from there yet.”

Naisho sighed. “Good. Good. Um…we should probably let you know in case you run into us, but we—under Sludge’s name—infiltrated the League…” They trailed off while holding up a hand and urging more slime through their skin to form their disguise on that arm.

Stain studied them and their barely recognizable arm before baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. Something about the expression set them on edge. “Not bad, little hero, but you’re in over your head.”

“Yeah, but—” They cut off as Stain drew a knife.

“You are one of the few good ones, Naisho, and it would be a waste to let you die.” The villain gestured with his blade toward Izuku’s holstered knife. “If you are going to prowl with wolves, you should know how to use your fangs and defend yourself. And if your blade fells that mangey fool before mine does, he should consider it a mercy.”

Izuku and Ekikyō’s eyes widened as they scrambled to draw their knife and avoid Stain’s lunge. “Not again!”

---

“Worst teacher ever,” Izuku complained as he let himself fall into bed and just lay there, appreciating the softness against their bruised, strained, and nicked body.

Disgruntled agreement flared from Ekikyō’s half of their mind as they slowly separated their thoughts and senses.

Izuku rolled carefully onto their side and squeezed their eyes shut as his senses reeled. His skin felt too tight and out of place, his pajamas abrasive against his skin, the world was too quiet and still. How would he be able to tell if someone else snuck up on them? He felt exposed and antsy.

Ekikyō brushed against his mind again, and Izuku practically clung to him until the feeling passed a few minutes later.

Izuku kept his eyes shut, even after the feeling of wrong (his skin—slime—should be further out than it was) quieted. “Ugh. Why’d that happen?” Izuku asked. His senses hadn’t been that thrown off since the first time they went on patrol in a deep dive.

“There was the time we almost drowned too,” Ekikyō pointed out, shifting some slime around their collection of new cuts.

Now that Izuku paid attention, Ekikyō’s thoughts felt a touch slow and off too. “Ekikyō?”

“I’m okay, Izuku. Think this time might be because I took the opportunity to hook into your reflexes and training.” They hadn’t really thought about it at the time–they’d been more focused on Stain and avoiding any injuries they couldn’t hide–but whenever Izuku’s body had been paralyzed, Ekikyō took the majority of control in order to keep them moving. He didn’t block Izuku from control like at the League base, but he had tapped into Izuku’s reflexes and training again.

It had actually been pretty decent practice, not that they intended to tell Stain that or wanted a repeat. Knowing Stain, they wouldn’t have much choice if they headed back out to patrol in the next few days. Izuku weighed the risks versus benefits of taking the next few nights off, but with the possibility of Stain having followed them back to the apartment before revealing himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk making the man come looking for them if he was determined to train them.

Just the thought of Stain crossing paths with Eraserhead made Izuku anxious. He wasn’t sure who would win that fight and didn’t really want to find out.

What options did that leave though? Train with Stain for however long he was in town and possibly get injured in a revealing way or stay home and risk Stain stalking them closely enough to encounter Eraserhead? The truly annoying thing was that he was losing time to stake out Hitoshi’s home either way.

“Well, Stain did wait an hour to approach us tonight,” Ekikyō pointed out. “Maybe we could talk him into training somewhere with a decent vantage point to continue the stakeout?”

Izuku frowned and opened his eyes, blinking a few times to ensure his room didn’t tilt or buck unexpectedly. Once certain of his vision and balance, he sat up, grabbed his laptop, and headed for the kitchen. Tired as he was, he didn’t think he could sleep until they had a plan. That should soothe some of his anxiety. So would food. Sparring with Stain had worked up an appetite.

Ten minutes and a bowl of microwaved leftovers (udon broth, noodles, and stir-fried vegetables and beef) later, they had the computer booted up and a browser opened to a map of Musutafu, looking for any good apartment buildings to scout out tomorrow night. They needed somewhere with a good view of Hitoshi’s neighborhood and minimal security cameras. There were a few that looked promising but needed further investigation. When they opened another window to search for surrounding businesses that were likely to have incriminating security systems, the old computer stuttered and froze.

Izuku made a sound of protest around his mouthful of noodles and mushrooms before tapping the escape key a few times in futility. He nearly choked when a voice behind him asked, “What are you doing up?”

Ekikyō saved them, easing their food down as Izuku coughed. They looked over their shoulder to see Aizawa with his capture weapon and goggles hanging from one hand eyeing them with a tired expression. They must have missed his soft footfalls, or maybe he’d purposely been extra quiet when he’d arrived home to see lights still on.

He stared at his guardian for a few seconds before his question registered. A quick glance at the time on the microwave had Izuku cringing. How was it 4:00 a.m. already? “Um, the time got away from me? And then I got hungry?” He lifted his bowl of now lukewarm udon and grinned sheepishly.

Aizawa gave him a deadpan that seemed more “dead” than usual. Then he raised an eyebrow in question. “What’s so interesting that you stayed up all night working on it? I’m pretty sure Nezu didn’t give you any homework for over the break.”

Izuku turned back around to point at his laptop screen, scrambling for an explanation as to why it was still frozen on an incriminating browser search for “jewelry shops in east Musutafu.” At least he hadn’t been looking up online fanart of Eraserhead to send Hitoshi? Yeah, small mercies.

“I mean, being a hero fan could be a decent cover. Didn’t you have all the hero patrol routes mapped out around your old place?” Ekikyō asked.

“You’re right. That could work…” Out loud, Izuku said, “I was trying to figure out what hero or heroes patrolled in this one chunk of east Musutafu. I had most of the patrols around my mom’s apartment worked out, but this one section on this side of town doesn’t seem to have near as many arrests on the crime tracker forum I follow. I can’t tell if it’s a hero dead zone or just has low crime, so I was mapping out popular villain targets to see if there’s a trend. Then my computer froze.”

Izuku frustratedly held the power button down to trigger a manual shut down. “Might have to look for a new one soon. This one is five years old now…” And he’d jostled it a lot with running around town and occasionally roof hopping with it. Really, it was a miracle it still worked as well as it did. Though he couldn’t figure out why it had waited to start having so many problems until moving into Aizawa’s apartment.

Aizawa eyed Izuku’s computer as if it might bite and hummed. He hung his capture weapon and goggles off the back of a chair and headed into the kitchen to check the timer on the coffeemaker. “There are a few dead zones around Musutafu, but most blocks see at least one patrol a day. Gotta give the rookies something to do. Show me where you’re looking at tomorrow, and I’ll see if I know who patrols there.”

Izuku smiled. “Thanks, Aizawa.”

Aizawa ruffled his hair as he walked past Izuku. “Get some sleep, Problem Child. Staying up all night won’t fly during the school term, so don’t go making this a habit.”

“Okay, Aizawa. Goodni—er, morning? Mornight? What do you even call 4:00?”

“Cursed,” Aizawa called over his shoulder while shuffling down the hall toward his room.

Izuku covered his mouth to suppress the laugh that wanted to bubble out. “We should probably get to bed soon too,” Izuku said to Ekikyō.

Ekikyō wordlessly agreed and took control to lift their half-finished udon and drink it straight from the bowl, not bothering to chew anything.

“Why are you like this?” Izuku asked, ignoring the sensations that came with that.

“Because it’s faster? Now come on, let's clean up. Then we can go sleep til noon.”

Outtake:
Aizawa: sees Izuku looking up jewelry stores “Maybe I need to give Shinso that shovel talk after all…”

Ekikyō: “You know you want to.”
Izuku: “But we’ll get in trouble.”
Ekikyō: “Only if he finds out, and he’s not going to. Because we’ll put it back exactly where we found it after.”
Izuku: gazes longingly at Aizawa’s capture weapon hanging on the back of the kitchen chair "I could finally find out what it's made of for my notes..."
Aizawa 10 minutes later: walks out of his room to fetch his support gear to hang it up in his closet and pauses when he finds his foster son thoroughly tangled in his capture weapon on the kitchen floor
Izuku: smiles innocently

Chapter Text

The following nights were just as grueling as the first, Stain invariably finding Naisho each night, no matter which rooftop they chose for their vantage point. At least he allowed them to stay on those rooftops to train after they explained their reasoning.

Izuku and Ekikyō’s headaches lessened with each night’s practice too. Their senses were still thrown for a loop when they came out of their deep dives, but that was manageable with stretching the separation process over 10-15 minutes. As they got more used to fighting with Ekikyō having equal access to Izuku’s reflexes and muscle memory, they got quicker, almost able to keep up with Stain at times.

Then it finally happened.

Naisho was in the middle of a spar with Stain when he glanced over to check on Hitoshi’s home like he had every few minutes of every night, only this time, the lights were on in the duplex. They stiffened as a shadow passed in front of the window they knew to be Hitoshi’s.

Stain stopped his assault with his knife a centimeter from their arm. The man followed their gaze and slid his knife back into its sheath. “Is that what you were waiting for?”

Naisho nodded before darting across the rooftop, launching themselves off to the lower roof of the adjacent building. By the time they made it to their original perch, a lean figure was stumbling out of the duplex’s front door. Concern and resignation wound through their heart as they recognized Hitoshi’s gravity-defying hair. Anger and determination quickly drowned out those emotions as Naisho tailed their friend.

Hitoshi kept one arm wrapped around his ribs as he moved down the sidewalk. The boy wandered aimlessly for a few blocks before allowing himself to sink down against the brick wall of a blind alley, hidden from the street by a dumpster. How often had Hitoshi done this exact thing?

Naisho was vaguely aware of Stain following them, but he couldn’t spare the man any attention until knowing no one else was near Hitoshi. Naisho closed their eyes and focused on the vibrations their slime was picking up, relaxing their shoulders at what they heard. Hitoshi’s breathing wasn’t labored, and his was the only one they could hear below them. He should be okay to wait until Eraserhead could work his way over from the docks.

They backed away to the far side of the rooftop to limit the chance they’d be overheard. Then they turned to Stain. “I’m going to call an underground hero I know to come pick the kid up. Once he sees the evidence of abuse, he’ll tear that sham of a home apart and make sure the kid gets medical care and goes somewhere safe. I’d prefer if you weren’t here when he arrives.”

Stain raised an eyebrow at them. “You could have called this hero anytime since knowing I was in town, but you didn’t.” It wasn’t a question, but it got the point across.

“I don’t know for certain which of you would win in a fight, and I’d rather this hero remain alive and able to patrol the streets. He’s one of the only ones who visits areas like the shipyards and gang neighborhoods. I can’t cover all of that ground myself.”

“So, he’s a good hero.”

Naisho nodded hesitantly. They’d avoided using those exact words for fear Stain might decide to “test” Eraserhead himself.

Stain scrutinized them for a minute before nodding. “Very well. It is about time I moved on anyway. Until we meet again, little hero, Sludge.” The villain gave them one last toothy smile before racing away.

Naisho only let themselves fully relax when they lost sight of the man four rooftops away. They walked back over to stand above Hitoshi and pulled their vigilante phone out. They sent a quick message and location pin to Eraserhead, “Come pick up your tired, purple son. Don’t tell him I sent you.”

Eraser messaged back almost immediately, “Naisho, what do you mean?”

Naisho rolled their eyes and responded, “The purple, mini-Eraser from the Sports Festival. The one with your deadpan and smile? He’s hurt, but he won’t let me help him.”

Izuku and Ekikyō ignored the slew of messages that followed in favor of circling the area by rooftop, making sure there were no shady characters around to stumble upon Hitoshi. Then they settled themselves on a balcony two streets over with a decent view of the entrance to Hitoshi’s alley and the skyline in the direction of the docks. They only had to wait another fifteen minutes before Eraserhead came flying across the rooftops and streets with his capture weapon. He was moving faster than they’d ever seen him go before. They felt a little bad, making the pro worry so much, but this needed to be done.

As Eraserhead dropped down in front of the alley Hitoshi was tucked in and checked his phone again, Naisho shook the tension out of their muscles. Once the man walked into the alley, they grinned and left. Hitoshi was safe now. He’d be okay. They only wished they hadn’t had to go behind their friend’s back to make it so. Hopefully, Hitoshi would forgive them if he ever found out.

Something melancholy settled in their chest as they made it back home. They didn’t regret doing this. Whatever might come after, they would never regret it. Hitoshi was worth it.

Naisho slipped back into their room at Aizawa’s apartment and stripped out of their vigilante costume, tapping their heels together to retract their greaves while checking over their bare arms and chest for any visible injuries from their latest training session with Stain. They could already feel where the cuts and bruises were through their slime working to speed up repairs, but they’d made a habit of doing visual checks after the time they got partially dried blood on their sheets. That had been fun to keep hidden until they could commandeer the washing machine.

After cleaning up one small trail of blood on the left side of their ribs, they changed into pajamas and settled into their desk chair to sew up the new slices in their costume. They’d probably need to order a new motorcycle shirt soon with how many patch jobs this one had holding it together. Naisho let their minds begin drifting apart as they stitched away. (Who knew doing repairs on his middle school uniforms so often would come in handy as a vigilante?)

Izuku set their needle and thread back in their sewing kit about the time their minds fully separated. He rolled his neck and massaged the base of his skull absently, taking stock of how he felt. There was barely an ache in their skull this time. Was that because they cut their training session short, or because they were finally getting used to their new technique? Either way, he wasn’t going to complain.

Ekikyō seemed to feel okay too, based on the contentment Izuku could feel wafting off of his friend’s mind. Izuku closed their eyes and sank into his chair, letting himself bask in the satisfaction of a job well done and the knowledge that Hitoshi was safe now.

The next day they woke to three very vocal and upset cats demanding food and a series of text messages on their civilian phone from Aizawa apologizing for not being home. Their guardian didn’t outright say that he was helping Hitoshi, but the single text from Hitoshi did.

“Aizawa found me last night. You were right about him. I think if he didn’t already have you, he’d have taken me in himself. Yamada’s picking me up from the hospital later today.”

Izuku didn’t need to feign his panic as he typed back, “Hospital?! Are you okay? What happened?”

Izuku wasn’t terribly surprised he didn’t get a response by the time he finished feeding Komainu, Maneki, and Mausu. With any luck, Hitoshi was sleeping off the effects of some healing quirk. Or it could be the residual slime from Ekikyō’s quirk. That sped up healing at the cost of the person’s energy too.

After getting himself and Ekikyō some breakfast, he texted Aizawa back. “Cats and I are fed. Is your case going to keep you out all day? Let me know if you need me to bring you a change of clothes or some food.”

He didn’t get a response from the hero either, but that was okay. Izuku liked to imagine he was busy arresting Shinso’s foster failures and making sure Shinso’s not-quite little brother was safe too.

“We can only hope they resist arrest,” Ekikyō said, pushing a mental image of an angry Eraserhead wrapping two people up in his capture weapon into Izuku’s mind.

Izuku laughed as he got changed for his morning run. “If only.”

One of the nice things about having Ekikyō around was he didn’t have to wait after eating before he could work out or run. There was no food left in his stomach for it to cramp around. As they headed out, Ekikyō pushed a very thin layer of slime through their skin under their tight shirt and baggy shorts to supplement their oxygen. Skin breathing had to be one of the most useful things they’d figured out to date. It more than made up for their increased oxygen need unless they were really pushing their body.

Izuku smiled as they approached the trail following the Dagobah sea wall. They slowed as they reached the stretch of beach they’d cleaned. A few small pieces of trash and a busted coffeemaker littered the sand. Narrowing their eyes at the sight, they hopped down the stairs to grab the offending items, internally grumbling. They jogged back to one of the dumpsters they used to use for the cleaning project and dumped the trash in there.

They repeated the process two more times at various points along the beach before leaving that part of their circuit. Then they swung back into the city to start jogging back toward the apartment. Their (civilian) phone vibrated a few times in their pocket, but they put off looking at it, not wanting to break their pace. They didn’t slow again until they jogged past UA’s gate and slowed to take in the reporters camped out front.

Classes were out for the semester; what were reporters doing here? Did news of Hitoshi’s case get out somehow? Izuku bit his lip and hesitated, uncertain if he should investigate.

Then one of the reporters spotted Izuku. “Hey, you’re Midoriya Izuku, right? You’re one of the two UA students who went to Aldera?”

Izuku’s eyes widened in horror as he took a step back. Ekikyō shoved their indecision away to make them bolt down the street. A few shouts followed them, and Izuku wrenched his mind back onto the task at hand. They needed to get away from the reporters. There was a good alley for that up ahead.

Ekikyō acknowledged the idea and leaned on Izuku. Izuku leaned back, and between one step and the next they were in sync and putting on more speed. They swung down their target alley and sprinted for the dumpster. They quickly pulled themselves atop it and jumped over the fence splitting the alley, knees twinging with the landing. Then they rounded the next corner and made for one of their favorite fire escapes.

Their phone vibrated again in their pocket, and they decided they maybe should have checked those messages after all.

---

Dabi flipped through the channels on the League’s tv. He was the only one awake besides Kurogiri—who Dabi wasn’t entirely convinced slept at all. Either way, the man (Nomu?) at the bar didn’t protest Dabi’s idle channel surfing.

Dabi was pretty sure he’d cycled through the entire channel list when a news station caught his attention. He paused and turned the volume up as the reporter on screen vanished to show a clip of several adults being led out of a school building in handcuffs.

“—most of the staff were arrested yesterday in what has to be Musutafu’s largest crackdown on institutionalized quirkism in the last 40 years. Charges range from child endangerment to child abuse, and there’s at least one count of accessory to assault with a deadly weapon. With the arrests made public this morning, several families have stepped forward to share their children’s harrowing tales of time spent inside Aldera Middle School.”

Dabi’s eyebrows climbed higher the longer he watched. Some of the parents giving testimonies were obviously faking their distress, probably to save face or cover their own asses, but there were others that sounded too familiar. Students with unideal quirks being belittled, ignored, and beaten on a daily basis. And more than one mentioned that they never spoke up for fear that they’d be treated even worse.

“What do you mean ‘worse?’” the reporter asked a teenage girl in Aldera’s gakuran and her face blurred out.

In a distorted voice, the girl answered, “There was a quirkless here—he graduated last year—and he was treated the worst out of anyone. I only ever heard people call him Deku, you know, like dekunobou?”

“Further investigation revealed that while most of Aldera Middle School’s students go on to moderate public high schools, two students who graduated last year were accepted into UA, including that quirkless student we’ve been hearing about. We haven’t managed to get ahold of either student yet…” The footage cut to a brief clip of a familiar green-haired student in exercise wear staring shellshocked at the camera before bolting. “But we’re awaiting responses to our interview requests as well as a response from UA. We’ll bring you updates as the scandal of the year unfolds.”

Dabi tuned out the fluff piece that came on next, thinking about that head of green hair. Midoriya—Green—was quirkless? Dabi would have bet money on the guy having an intelligence or analysis quirk, but no, he was seriously just that smart. The blonde asshole of a hero student giving him so much trouble made more sense now. His type couldn’t stand not being the smartest person in the room. Just like Endeavor. Dabi sneered. No wonder Green had so many scars.

Dabi thumbed the seam between normal skin and scar tissue on his right hand. Green was no heroling, and he had been hurt by someone “heroic” and hero-obsessed society at large for what looked like years. He hung out at the underground clinic and gave analyses to those down on their luck. What were the chances the kid would be sympathetic to the League’s goal of shaking things up?

He glanced sideways at Kurogiri who was paying no more attention than he had been earlier. Who might be a Nomu. The Nomu had more than one quirk, right? Shigaraki never did say how they managed that. If the League’s benefactor had a way to give a Nomu more than one quirk, could they give somebody with none one of their own? And what might someone do for that sort of hope?

The burnt man rolled that idea around in his head before setting it aside for now. Shigaraki wasn’t much one to listen to the ideas of others either, though he was slowly getting better. A strategist and quirk guru would be wasted on him right now, presuming Shigaraki didn’t decay Green outright for suggesting he could be doing things better. Later though? Who could say?

Dabi was nothing if not patient. He’d waited and plotted Endeavor’s downfall for years. He could hold the little analyst’s secret for a few months to see if conditions were ever right to bring him into the fold.

Outtake:
Ekikyō: “I have the perfect plan. We get Aizawa to rescue Hitoshi and bring him home to live with us.”
Izuku: “How is that—”
Ekikyō: “Hitoshi gets out of that house, and you and your beau get to spend more time together!”
Izuku: blushes furiously but doesn’t object
Aizawa: “Shinso’s staying with Yamada.”
Izuku and Ekikyō: “What? Why?”
Aizawa: levels them with an unimpressed stare “Do you really think I’m letting two teenagers who are dating each other stay in our apartment when I’m not there at night?”

Chapter Text

Shota waited for the fickle coffeemaker to decide whether or not it was going to give him a passable cup of brew. It was a 50/50 shot on a good day and depended on who had used it last. Officer Sansa had good tastes (likely due to the increased number of smell receptors that came with his cat mutation), and coffee brewed after his tended to be fair to good. If Detective Tsukauchi had last used it though… Shota wrinkled his nose at the memory of the sludge his colleague tried to pass off as coffee. But either of those was better than whichever officer at Musutafu PD occasionally brewed decaf. (Shota had yet to discover the culprit of that sacrilege, but he was tempted to file a complaint when he did.)

The coffeemaker burbled away when another sound broke the silence of the MPD breakroom. Shota pulled his phone from his pocket to check the caller id. Tsukauchi? Did the man not realize he was here, or was he that lazy that he was calling to ask Shota to bring him a cup of coffee on his way back to the interview room he’d confiscated to do his paperwork in? Only one way to find out.

“Hello.”

“Eraserhead. I hope I’m not calling you at a bad time.”

“No, I’m actually at the station right now. Did you need something?”

“Oh. Perfect. Could you swing by my office when you have a minute? I have an…update on one of your ward’s cases.”

Shota’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. I’ll be there in five.”

Because he wasn’t a monster, he poured a second cup of coffee (a good brew today) for the detective. One of these days, he’d get the man hooked on quality stuff; the fact that in doing so he’d make his own experience with the station’s coffeemaker better was a fringe benefit.

He knocked on Tsukauchi’s door and walked in once he was called. Without preamble, Shota asked, “What’s this about, Tsukauchi?”

“Ah, Eraser, thank you,” Tsukauchi said, taking the offered coffee. “I got a call this morning from Midoriya’s case worker. His mother’s requested to have Izuku over for dinner on the 15th.”

“His birthday,” Shota acknowledged. It sounded reasonable–though he’d have appreciated more than two days’ warning–but would it be good for Izuku? Would he even want to go?

“Will I be allowed to see her again?”

Yes, he would want to go. “And Ryo and Inko’s therapist? I’m assuming they were consulted?”

Tsukauchi nodded before taking a long gulp of his coffee. “Yes, they’ve both tentatively signed off on it. The case worker would be present the whole time, and I’m sure you could arrange to be present as well or at least nearby if you go forward with it. You’re his guardian right now, so your decision will be taken into account too.”

Shota let his shoulders sag and glared at a stain in the office’s carpet. “I can’t say I like the idea of them interacting again. Izuku’s finally starting to relax and settle in enough to spend his time in our apartment’s shared spaces without prompting instead of retreating to his room when we’re not cooking or eating. He left his laptop on the dining table a few nights ago. He hasn’t left any of his belongings just lying around before that.” He sighed and rubbed at the tension building in his neck. “I don’t want this to set him back, but I’ll talk to him.”

Tsukauchi had a soft grin on his face when Shota met his eyes again. “Midoriya’s really grown on you, huh?”

“He’s a good kid,” Shota said with a shrug.

They lapsed into silence for a time, focusing on their drinks. As Shota’s coffee dwindled, he resigned himself to getting back to work. Terrible foster parents didn’t lose their licenses and get nailed with child abuse charges on their own, sadly. The faster he got this done, the faster he could go home, spend some time with his cats and kid, and sleep.

---

Izuku looked up at his old apartment building. A few weeks ago, he’d called this place home, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The place he’d grown up didn’t feel like home. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

“You’re sure you don’t want me in there, Izuku? It’s no trouble if you do,” Aizawa said.

“I’ll be okay, Aizawa,” Izuku said, offering the man a grin. “I’ll text you if I need to be picked up early.”

“Alright, kid. Remember something while you’re in there for me?”

Izuku tilted his head in question. (He definitely didn’t learn that from Aizawa’s cats.)

Aizawa’s lips twitched, and he rested a hand on top of Izuku’s head. “You are worth just as much as any kid with a quirk, and taking care of you isn’t a bother or a burden.”

Izuku nodded, uncertain what to make of his guardian’s words. He’d keep them in mind though. Aizawa’s advice tended to be worth following.

Aizawa’s hand ruffled his hair once before sliding away. “Go on, kid. I know you’ve been wanting to see your mom.”

Izuku nodded and started the familiar trip up the stairs. He made it to the door and caught himself reaching for keys he didn’t have anymore. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that either.

Ekikyō moved their hand to knock on the door instead.

Right, Izuku wasn’t alone here. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He mentally leaned on his best friend and watched the door as the lock clicked.

The door opened to reveal the woman Izuku had met in Nezu’s office the day he was placed with Aizawa. He didn’t recall hearing her name.

“Hello, Midoriya. I’m Nakasone Kazuma, your case worker. Please, come in. Your mother was just finishing up with the food.”

Izuku hesitantly stepped inside and toed his shoes off at the genkan. He paused for a moment, caught off guard by the absence of his house slippers. They were at Aizawa’s apartment. Ekikyō nudged him, and he slipped on a pair of guest slippers instead.

Izuku swallowed and left the safety of the entryway. He glanced up as the kitchen came into view and spotted his mom lifting a tray of cookies from the oven. Three bowls of katsudon already sat on the counter. “Need help setting the table?” he asked before he could think better of it.

“Oh!” Mom said, whirling around to look at him. “Izuku! Yes, dear, could you? I’ll pour the tea.”

“Sure, Mom.” And just like that, they fell into the familiar routine of preparing for a meal. Even with the extra place setting, going through the motions that he’d repeated a thousand times soothed some of his nerves. Ekikyō helped him manage the rest with his steady presence.

Soon they were seated and digging in. The sense of normalcy persisted as his mom asked, “How’s school been going, Izuku? You’ve had finals by now, right?”

Izuku swallowed the bite of pork he’d half-chewed and let Ekikyō take over on breaking it down. “Yeah, finals were last week. Apparently, I got the second highest scores in my year’s core classes. My classes with Nezu were harder, but I did pretty well, I think.” At least, based on Nezu’s smile when he successfully retrieved that file from the HPSC server. “And I had to turn in my semester projects too. I was a bit worried if I’d be able to finish all of the hero course quirk analyses in time, but it turned out okay.”

He grinned as he mentally reviewed the quirks he’d gotten to analyze. “Oh! One of them has this quirk that’s actually sentient! She has her own personality and desires apart from her person. It was so interesting getting to watch them interact. Tokoyami’s not very good at fighting yet, but Dark Shadow can grow enormous if the light level is low enough, and she has these big claws.” He curled his hand like a claw to demonstrate before spreading his arms wide. “And she can stretch a really long ways from Tokoyami. I’m not sure yet if light level impacts how far she can roam, but she does retreat under their costume’s cloak or Tokoyami’s skin whenever it’s too bright.”

They actually reminded Izuku a bit of him and Ekikyō. It was fascinating, getting to look at another symbiotic relationship, even if those two were more permanently bound together. Part of him itched to ask questions. He just had so many! Could they communicate telepathically? How did Dark Shadow slip in and out of Tokoyami so seamlessly? Where was she actually anchored? Was there a specific point, or did she just have to maintain some form of contact? If she stretched too far away, was there a risk of their connection being vulnerable to something like one of Stain’s swords? And if not, could Dark Shadow cover Tokoyami like living armor to give him that same protection? Could they fly? The questions went on and on.

“Izuku?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“That’s great, dear, but we only have an hour together today, and you’ve barely touched your food.”

Izuku glanced down at his katsudon, which was no longer steaming. Oops. Shame gripped him as he squeaked out, “How have you been?” He stuffed a large piece of pork in his mouth right after. Quirks, of course, he had to go off on a rambling tangent about his analyses. Mom didn’t care about those. There was a reason he’d stopped showing her his notebooks when he was ten.

She always got this sort of blank look in her eyes when he lost her, and she’d just say “that’s nice, dear” before continuing on with their conversation as if the tangent hadn’t happened. She grinned and did the same now. It was familiar.

Ekikyō edged into control of their body long enough to swallow their large bite of pork whole, and Izuku mentally shoved him, tuning out his mom to properly chastise his bodymate. His best friend just chuckled at the projected disapproval and said, “Well, she’s the one that asked. You just answered her question. Don’t feel bad about it, kid.” One of them raised a bite of rice and egg to their mouth, and Ekikyō had them chew it slowly in contemplation. “You know, your mom’s cooking is good, but I think I prefer Aizawa’s now.”

Izuku mentally gasped in feigned shock and betrayal. “Say it isn’t so!” In truth Izuku liked the way Aizawa seasoned his katsudon too, but this recipe was a Midoriya family tradition. It hadn’t changed since his great grandma’s time.

“Yeah, and I’m saying maybe change isn’t such a bad thing.”

Izuku could give Ekikyō that point. He retook primary control to make them chew their next bite of meat thoroughly. Then he tuned back into his mom’s explanation of what all she’d been up to. It sounded like it amounted to lots of work plus lawyer meetings and therapy sessions. Oh, and the occasional lunch with Auntie Mitsuki.

“I love what Mitsuki’s done with her hair lately. I need to ask her who her stylist is,” his mom said absently. She somehow waited until Izuku and Ekikyō were midway through taking a drink of their tea to ask, “But anyway, how are you and Katsuki?”

It was all the duo could do not to choke on their mouthful of matcha tea. They coughed as Ekikyō worked to clear the last of it out of their airway. “We’re—” Izuku cleared his throat. “I’ve only seen him once since the Sports Festival, and we didn’t talk.” Unless she counted Bakugo screaming at and chasing him through the halls when he picked up Hitoshi’s sick homework.

Mom was talking to Auntie Mitsuki. Had she not heard about Bakugo’s charges or court case yet? Or had she willfully ignored them (like Izuku’s injuries in middle school)? Izuku decided not to bring it up, though he did want her to stop asking about him as if Izuku should know how the blonde was doing. “Ai—my guardian actually filed for a restraining order against him.”

His mom blinked in surprise for several seconds. She looked like she was about to ask why but glanced off to one side—where Nakasone-san was sitting—before seemingly deciding to drop the matter. “How about your other friends? Principal Nezu mentioned that you had made a few others at school.”

Izuku smiled, and he realized it was the first time he had since sitting down. “Hatsume is in my homeroom and the Support Course. She misses school already and is planning a million things to build and blow up when we go back. Uraraka and Hitoshi are in the Hero Course now. They’re getting ready to go to their training camp next week. Uraraka’s been visiting her parents in Mie this week, but she’ll be back in town later today. And I’m actually meeting Hitoshi at the mall after this.” Izuku’s smile grew a little wider thinking about Hitoshi. “We’re dating,” he admitted, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his blush until Ekikyō had it under control.

His mom had her head tilted slightly and appeared deep in thought. “Hitoshi…which one is that?”

Izuku could feel the suspicion radiating off of Ekikyō as he carefully answered, “He’s the boy with the purple hair who tied for third place in the Sports Festival. We’ve been friends for a while and finally er…confessed to each other not long before finals.”

Something in his mother’s eyes hardened, and her lips curved slightly downward. “Oh, he’s the boy who humiliated Katsuki. He has that awful Brainwashing quirk. I don’t think he’s the safest person for you to be around, Izuku. Are you sure you’re dating him willingly?”

Izuku and Ekikyō’s suspicion melted into hurt and anger. Something protective caught in their chest, and the anger exploded into fury. “Yes, Mom, I’m sure. He’d never do anything to hurt me. How can you ask that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. She had assumed the same thing about Ekikyō, after all. Anyone who took Izuku out of the neat little box she’d assigned him was met with distrust or outright hostility.

“Sweetie,” his mom said gently, as if she was the one being reasonable. “How can you be sure? With a quirk like that, he could make you think or do anything.”

Izuku and Ekikyō didn’t quite hold back a growl of frustration. “And how can you be so sure that Bakugo isn’t an abusive, stuck-up, jerk?” They shook their head, trying to hold back tears. “Hitoshi’s been through enough, faced enough discrimination and bullying, without you doing it too. You haven’t even met him! His quirk doesn’t matter, because he is a good person. He’s going to be a good hero, Mom, and good heroes don’t hurt innocent people with their quirks.”

They glared at the woman sitting across the table from them, watching as she went from taken aback to frowning in that way that always burned Izuku. He hated disappointing his mom, but right now, defending Hitoshi’s character outweighed earning his mom’s approval. They were beginning to wonder if that approval was ever worth trying to earn in the first place.

“Izuku, I just—”

“I, I, I, I, I.” That’s all it ever was with her, wasn’t it? She didn’t care how Izuku felt about Hitoshi or the relationship they’d built. She didn’t care that Ekikyō was Izuku’s first friend since preschool or that he healed Izuku when he couldn’t get away from his bullies. She didn’t care how good they were for Izuku or how much Izuku had grown since meeting them. She didn’t like something, therefore, it had to go. It seemed about time they returned the favor.

“Thank you for the food,” they interrupted her blandly. They took a deep breath and stood from their spot at the table with their half-finished food and cold tea, face carefully blank. “We’re done.”

“Izuku?”

They ignored her and Nakasone calling after them and slid their shoes back on before ducking out of the apartment door. They took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the occasional twinge from one knee or the other. They just needed to put distance between themselves and her before they did something they regretted. (Well, something Izuku regretted; Ekikyō, not so much.)

As they reached the ground floor, they pulled their cellphone out of their hoodie pocket. They texted Aizawa as they walked away from the complex. Half a block later, they remembered why Aizawa was originally going to pick them up.

Everyone was looking at them, whispering. Some had their phones out and aimed at them. Since the Aldera story broke, Izuku’s name, face, school, and quirkless status had been everywhere they turned. Nezu had happily torn into each news station that broadcast his information—the information of a minor—and forced them to take it down, but not before someone made the connection to Izuku’s scars and linked his Sports Festival footage to one of the stories. That had spread across the internet like wildfire.

All of the clips had since been taken down, but the damage was already done. Everyone had seen his scars. Everyone knew who and what he was.

And the traffickers were still looking for quirkless people.

They pulled their hood up over their head and slipped between a gap in the fence around a construction site. They cut through the possibly abandoned project, climbed a pallet of tarped two-by-fours on the far side, and hopped the fence onto the next street over. They took a few turns before ducking into an out-of-the-way ramen shop. They sat at a table in the back that gave them a view of the front door and texted Aizawa an update on their location.

They ordered a beef bowl while waiting, because they were still hungry; there was plenty of time before they were supposed to meet Hitoshi thanks to leaving early. Hitoshi…How could Izuku’s mom even imply that Hitoshi had brainwashed Izuku into dating him? It made their blood/slime boil just thinking about it.

They were still stewing and waiting for their food when Aizawa slipped through the front door. He spotted them immediately and made his way over to their table, sliding into the chair beside them. They sat in silence for a few minutes, only broken by Aizawa ordering himself a coffee. After Izuku’s food had arrived and half disappeared, Aizawa finally asked, “That bad, huh?”

They didn’t try to suppress their growl this time.

Aizawa hummed. “What did she do?”

The next twenty minutes they spent recounting, and admittedly ranting about, what Midoriya Inko had said to upset them. The grim set of Aizawa’s jaw and the way his hands tightened around his mug of coffee assured them they had a right to feel the way they did. Their anger burned itself out about the time they drained the last of the broth from their bowl. They weren’t quite full, and they weren’t quite happy. But they were okay.

Aizawa set a hand on their shoulder and squeezed it. “Come on, Problem Child. Don’t want to keep your ‘bad influence’ waiting, do you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. The upturned corner of his mouth was barely visible above the loops of his capture weapon.

They grinned back and nodded. Something warm settled in their chest. Maybe they were better than okay.

Outtake:
Nakasone: watches Izuku’s emotions with her quirk during the visit, puzzled how the boy can feel so many conflicting emotions at once (She’d never seen anything quite like it with Visual Empathy before.)
Inko: questions Shinso’s integrity
Izuku: “What did you say?”
Nakasone: watches in morbid curiosity as twin points of dark red (anger) flare and swallow all the other emotions Izuku had been feeling “Interesting…”

Aizawa before the meeting: “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Aizawa after the meeting: wonders if higher powers are real and if he did something to tick Apollo off “I hate it when I’m right, but good job defending yourself and your crush, Problem Child.”

Chapter Text

Izuku and Ekikyō were still a bit off kilter by the time Aizawa pulled up in front of Kiyashi Ward Mall. They hadn’t even realized their minds had bled together until they were halfway there. They’d spent the rest of the drive carefully separating their minds and wondering how they’d managed to sink into a deep dive without meaning to or noticing. They were pretty sure whatever happened, it had started when they both got so angry back at the Midoriya apartment. They’d have to look into that later though.

For now, Izuku had a date to get to. Izuku climbed out of the car, moving cautiously as he got used to the feeling of Ekikyō being asleep again. The slime in their body lagged a bit behind when he moved or stayed unmoving instead of working with him. He wondered if there was any way to fix that delay. They’d have to look into that too at some point.

He had so many thoughts swirling around in his head he almost missed Aizawa trying to catch his attention through the lowered window. “Huh?”

“I said, ‘Don’t let her get in your head, Izuku.’” When the only answer he got was a confused head tilt, he sighed. “Today is your birthday, and you’re going to enjoy your mall date with your boyfriend. Then we’re celebrating with dinner and your friends at home. Try to have a good time? But not too good,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly.

Izuku giggled. “Sure thing, Aizawa. See you back at the apartment?”

“Yeah. You’re sure you’ll be fine on public transport?”

Izuku had been avoiding going out more than necessary after the media fiasco, but for the extra minutes with Hitoshi? Totally worth it. “I’ll be okay. Hitoshi will be watching my back the whole time, I’ll keep my hood up, and I’ll use the tracker if anything happens, promise.”

Aizawa grunted and rolled the window back up. Izuku waved as his guardian pulled away from the curb. Then Izuku tugged his hood up a little further and headed inside.

Izuku and Hitoshi had agreed to meet by the fountain in the eastern atrium, and Hitoshi had beaten him here. Izuku smiled seeing his friend, er boyfriend. And for the first time since Izuku had met him, he was wearing short sleeves. There were no bruises or bandages to be seen. Izuku’s smile widened at the realization.

“Hitoshi!” Izuku called as he sprinted over.

Hitoshi turned from where he’d been watching one of the other entrances and smirked. “Izuku.”

“Hey,” Izuku said, oddly breathless as he met Hitoshi’s eyes.

The purple-haired boy didn’t seem quite so tired as usual, or maybe less guarded? Something was different, and Izuku found himself staring.

Hitoshi raised one eyebrow and leaned in just a little. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” Izuku said without thinking.

That answer wasn’t what Hitoshi was expecting, apparently, because he flushed and broke eye contact. The taller boy cleared his throat and straightened, recomposing himself. “Um, shall we?”

Izuku tried a smirk of his own as he snared Hitoshi’s hand in his and laced their fingers together. “Lead the way.”

“So…anywhere in particular you want to go? I need to pick up some stuff for camp.”

Izuku thought for a minute before admitting, “I do need to buy some more clothes. A lot of my old shirts don’t fit anymore.”

Hitoshi coughed. “Yeah, those muscles should come with a warning label.”

Izuku stuck his tongue out at Hitoshi, earning a snort. “The only other thing I really wanted to look at was the new hero merch store.”

The next two hours were spent bouncing between stores. They saved the hero merch store for last, but when they got there, they paused outside. Izuku and Hitoshi made a face and looked at each other. The store had a display of merchandise in the front window for Stain.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Hitoshi said in a deadpan.

“Maybe there’s a villain with an illusion quirk robbing the mall right now?” Izuku offered with a shrug.

They stared at the store for a while longer before mutually agreeing to turn and walk away. They hadn’t made it much farther when Izuku’s stomach interrupted their fun. Izuku curled in on himself a little, feeling betrayed by the growling organ.

Hitoshi only laughed and shook his head before redirecting them down a walkway that would lead them to the mall’s food court. “Did you skip breakfast or something?”

Izuku pouted at his boyfriend. “No, I had breakfast and lunch. My body just takes a lot more food to satisfy when Ekikyō is here.”

“You sure? Maybe you’re finally hitting a growth spurt. I hope not though.”

“Huh? Why not?”

Hitoshi hugged Izuku from behind and rested his chin on top of Izuku’s head. “Because then I might not be able to do this.”

Izuku blushed furiously but didn’t move to pull away. “H-Hitoshi, we’re in public…”

Hitoshi made a displeased sound in the back of his throat before pulling away.

Izuku missed the closeness as soon as Hitoshi did and settled for pressing their arms together as they continued walking. His blush was slow to fade.

They’d just about made it to the food court when a voice behind them called out, “Shinso!”

They both stopped and turned around to see who was there. Hitoshi’s shoulders slumped as they spotted the approaching group of Kaminari, Ashido, Sato, and Hagakure. Hitoshi groaned quietly. “Of course, they would come all the way out to this mall.”

“What do you mean, Hitoshi?” Izuku asked as the quartet slowed to a stop a few feet from them. He shifted a half step back, putting himself on guard when he remembered that his quirkless status was national news.

“1-A decided to make shopping for camp a class affair, but I missed whenever they said this was the place they were going.”

“Yep!” chirped Ashido. “But I thought you said you couldn’t make it, Shinso?”

“Are we…interrupting something?” Hagakure asked, tone ever so slightly suggestive.

Ashido seemed to perk up at her friend’s tone and trailed her eyes from Hitoshi to Izuku as if just now noticing the green-haired boy with the very dark blush standing a touch behind Hitoshi. “Oh, hi! You must be Midoriya. Shinso and Uraraka mentioned you a few times…” She looked between the two a few times before smirking. “Are you two here on a date?”

Izuku shrank back, or he tried to. Hitoshi squeezed his hand once before releasing it to drape his arm over Izuku’s shoulders while tucking the shorter boy into his side. “And if we are?” Hitoshi asked, back rigid and tone sharp.

Ashido squealed and bounced in place. “Oh my gosh, you two are so cute! How long have you known each other? How long have you been dating?”

“Mina, chill,” Kaminari said with a laugh. “I think Midoriya’s about to short-circuit.”

Izuku remained tense at Hitoshi’s side, scanning the four hero students for any signs of hostility. Izuku started glancing around for escape routes when he saw the considering look on Sato’s face melt into recognition.

“Oh, you were on the news the other day,” the tallest member of the group said.

Ashido, Hagakure, and Kaminari looked at their classmate. “What do you mean, Sato?” Kaminari asked.

Hagakure seemed to figure it out a moment later, twisting back around to look at Izuku.

Izuku hunched his shoulders under her invisible gaze.

“Wait, you’re—”

“Not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations,” Hitoshi interrupted coolly. He inserted himself between Izuku and the others and glared. “Heroes in training should get that, yeah?”

There was a hint of something in his voice that made Izuku think of a trap. Hitoshi was considering using Brainwashing.

Izuku tugged on Hitoshi’s hand, eyeing the few clumps of people who had stopped to watch their conversation. Thankfully, the far more recognizable members of 1-A seemed to be the focus for now. “Hitoshi, I’m okay.”

Hitoshi squeezed his hand in reassurance before looking over his shoulder at him. He followed Izuku’s anxious gaze and frowned. “Why don’t you go ahead and order our food and pick out a table? I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Izuku gnawed at his lower lip for a few seconds before taking the out. He nodded and let his fingers slip from Hitoshi’s. Then he turned and walked away as fast as he could without attracting further attention. His skin crawled with the phantom feeling of eyes on him.

Izuku only slowed when he reached the food court, scanning the various fast food stalls. After completing a full circuit, he settled on a tempura stand. Chicken tempura sounded amazing right now. He stepped into place at the back of the line and pulled his phone out to text Hitoshi his choice.

Izuku’s thumb froze over his screen as an arm settled over his shoulder in a familiar way. He grinned and turned his phone off, sliding it back into his pocket as he leaned into his boyfriend. “I thought you’d take longer to get rid of them. Is tempura alright?” he asked, tilting his face up to meet Hi—

That wasn’t Hitoshi.

The person beside him was the right height, but that was where the similarity ended. Pale blue hair framed a pale, flaky face with blood red eyes. The sight was familiar, but Izuku was used to facing Shigaraki Tomura from within the safety of Ekikyō’s protective mental embrace. Here, alone physically and in his head, Izuku forgot how to breathe. The four-fingered grip that suddenly slipped under his hood to wrap his neck didn’t help.

“I just want to talk. Make a scene, and I’ll kill everyone here before any heroes can stop me,” the villain whispered. When Izuku went rigid but made no sound, Shigaraki grinned. “Good. Now, this way,” the man said, tugging Izuku along by the arm wrapped around his shoulders and the hand on his neck.

Izuku stumbled to follow Shigaraki’s lead, eyes frantically scanning the crowd they waded through. No one met his eyes for more than a split second. No one seemed to notice anything amiss with a man holding a teenager by their throat. And really, what did Izuku expect?

This was familiar. No one ever saved him from Bakugo dragging him off for a beating behind Aldera’s building, and Bakugo hadn’t even bothered to hide his intentions. Really, this was better than middle school in a way. At least no one else was trailing behind Shigaraki to join in or jeer at his impending suffering. No one was going to…

His wrist vibrated.

Izuku startled and tripped. Shigaraki’s tightened grip on his neck kept him from falling. Izuku coughed and shot the villain a sheepish look. Once the villain’s eyes were facing forward again, Izuku brought his hands behind his back to quickly press the alarm button on his tracker. The vibrating cut off, and Izuku moved his arms back to his sides, hoping Shigaraki hadn’t seen the movement.

Izuku swallowed down his mounting panic and thought. Okay, his tracker would alert Nezu and Aizawa, but they were on the other side of the city. And Shigaraki could kill him in seconds or destroy his tracker and pull him through a Kurogiri portal to a secondary location halfway across the country at any time. Izuku abandoned that train of thought when breathing grew more difficult. The point was Izuku needed more immediate help than his sensei and guardian could offer.

He hadn’t gotten any further than thinking that when Shigaraki turned them down a narrow hallway. The lack of advertisements and doors and people made Izuku think this must lead back to some employee only area or storage. At least they were away from all those civilians now. Izuku’s shoulders dropped their hunch slightly, knowing no one except himself was within Shigaraki’s arm’s reach.

Well, him and Ekikyō. Ekikyō who was unconscious and defenseless right now. Izuku swallowed, trying not to focus on the feeling of three fingers pressing into his pulse point and trachea and a thumb pressing against the ridges of his spine. “Wh-what do you want?”

Shigaraki gave him a grin that was anything but reassuring as he maneuvered them to lean against the wall with Shigaraki between Izuku and the main thoroughfare. “Just a friendly chat. You’re an anomaly. A repeating background character. After a while it makes a person wonder if you’re a side quest. You’re not in the hero course, but you were at the USJ. Then you caused a stir at the Sports Festival only to drop out. Then you get a partial tragic backstory reveal on the news. And now you’re here. What a coincidence.”

Izuku took a breath to say something, but the fingers around his neck flexing stilled his tongue. Shigaraki didn’t want to be interrupted. “It’s funny. You and The Hero Killer…You’re all anyone’s talking about right now…”

Izuku tried to keep the trembling of his hands under control. He just needed to play along and wait for help…but once this conversation was over, Shigaraki had no reason to keep him alive. Izuku didn’t want to die. Maybe he had at one point, but he had too much—too many people—to live for now. If he died, where would that leave Ekikyō?

The trembling in his hands stilled for a moment. Ekikyō! That was it. Ekikyō woke Izuku up from unconsciousness after the dock incident. In theory, Izuku should be able to do the same with him. The question was how? Izuku tried to find Ekikyō’s presence in his mind, tried to find anything to latch onto…all while trying to pay enough attention to what Shigaraki was saying to respond if prompted. He didn’t want to know what Shigaraki might do if he thought Izuku was ignoring him.

Thankfully, Shigaraki seemed content to rant about Stain while Izuku had his epiphany. “…But in the end, all he’s doing is destroying what he hates. What makes us so different? Hm, Midoriya Izuku?”

“I-I…I don’t know,” Izuku started, squinting to try to maintain his focus. “I’ve never met Stain, but I think…I can understand him. I don’t accept his methods, but I can understand his dissatisfaction with the hero system and the corruption it’s led to. He’s trying to live up to his ideals.” Izuku bit back the urge to say anything about Stain’s recent change of perspective. That wasn’t public knowledge yet.

Izuku glanced sideways at Shigaraki and worried he hadn’t said enough. His head was starting to hurt from dividing his attention between entertaining Shigaraki and trying to rouse Ekikyō. He could feel something in the back of his head now, but it was just out of reach. What was he saying again? “But I…” He shook his head. “From what I could find online, Stain was inspired by All Might.” Where was he going with this?

Shigaraki scratched his neck. “All Might…why is it always All Might?” The scratching stopped, and Shigaraki turned to look at him. “What do you think of him?”

Izuku twitched—no, the slime in his blood twitched. That something he could feel in the back of his head seemed more…solid? Present? Was he making progress? He blinked hard to clear some sweat from his eyes. He needed to focus. He finally got a good grip on whatever it was and pulled. The slime in his body churned.

“I…I used to admire him. W-wanted to be a hero like him,” Izuku said to distract himself from the sudden spike of pain in the center of his skull. He smiled ruefully as he stared down at his shoes, blinking in surprise when he realized that Shigaraki wore the exact same shoes except for the spray paint. But…Shigaraki had a quirk? He abruptly remembered Oguro’s story about All for One. Could Shigaraki’s Sensei be All for One? That was unspeakably bad on so many levels, he couldn’t process it right now.

A drumming of fingers on his windpipe brought him out of his thoughts. Shoot, he’d gone too long without talking. “But people like us—me! People like me can’t be heroes. He…helped me realize that. He’s still a great hero!” Izuku defended, waving his arms, only a little distracted by the way Ekikyō’s slime moved with the motion instead of remaining static. “It’s just…” He sighed and looked down again, looked at their shoes again. “I can’t look at or hear him now without remembering…” Izuku pressed his lips together in a tight line. Shigaraki didn’t need to know about the worst day of his life.

“Heh, sounds like he didn’t save you either.”

Izuku jolted upright, staring at Shigaraki with eyes widened as much as he could bear with his headache. He cautiously said, “Not everyone gets saved…”

Shigaraki’s smile widened so far Izuku was surprised the man’s chapped lips didn’t split and bleed. There was something unhinged in the man’s eyes as they met Izuku’s. “Exactly! But do they all get that?” he asked, gesturing toward the end of the hall where they could still see people walking. “No! All because of All Might. The reason these fools can smile and live their oblivious lives is because All Might’s always got that grin on his face as if there’s no one he can’t save!”

Shigaraki’s grip on Izuku’s neck tightened. Izuku didn’t think it was on purpose, but that didn’t help with Izuku’s panic or sudden lack of air. Izuku reached up, trying to loosen the villain’s grip, but the guy’s fingers were deceptively strong. It felt like pressure was building up inside Izuku with the trapped air, and the blood and slime pounding in his ears drowned out the rest of Shigaraki’s rant.

The edges of Izuku’s vision started to go dark, and his panic only spiked higher. He couldn’t afford to pass out or withdraw into his head right now. That would get him killed or hand-delivered to one of All for One’s laboratories. (If Shigaraki saw him on the news, the villain must know he’s quirkless, and if it was The League hunting down quirkless people…)

In his panic, Izuku lost his grip on whatever he’d felt in the back of his mind. It hadn’t woken Ekikyō up, whatever it was. It was still just Izuku and Shigaraki in the hallway. His eyes started tearing up at the thought of possibly never seeing Hitoshi again. Or Ekikyō, the cats, Uraraka, Mei, Todoroki, Yūku, Cross, the girls, Oguro, Aizawa, or Nezu. Izuku didn’t want to leave any of them, but when did life ever give him a choice? (When had Izuku ever had so much to lose?)

Outtakes:
Aizawa: carefully watches as Kayama shows him how to pinch the sweet rice dough to seal a finished mochi
Kayama: “And that’s how you do it! Now we dust it with a little more sweet rice flour and put it in a liner. Once you’ve got a whole tray, they’ll go back in the freezer.”
Aizawa: carefully starts wrapping the balls of matcha-flavored bean paste he’s working with “Thanks again for this, Nemuri.”
Kayama: gets back to working on her own bowl of strawberry-flavored bean paste “Don’t worry about it, Shota. It’s not like I need an excuse to make mochi. I–”
Aizawa’s phone: gives a shrill alarm and vibrates violently where it sits on the corner of the counter
Aizawa: swears and frantically washes his hands “That’s Izuku’s tracker.”
Kayama: “Go get your kid. I can finish up with these. They’re no good if the dough dries out.”
Aizawa: bolts out the door
Kayama: finishes the strawberry and the matcha mochi before turning to the last bowl of as-of-yet unflavored bean paste; after a moment’s consideration she smiles and reaches for the cabinet above the fridge where she knows Aizawa keeps his stash of alcohol “I’ve always wanted to try a sakura daiquiri mochi.”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi was used to the slight tug and shift of the bits of slime Ekikyō left behind after dealing with it for almost a month, but he’d never felt it lurch quite like this or so consistently. He coughed to cover the surprised noise he made and waved off a concerned look from Ashido. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Hagakure asked.

“Yes, I’m…” There was the tug again as if someone had latched a few dozen fish hooks into his internal organs and started reeling him in. It didn’t quite hurt, but it was impossible to ignore. The pull was urging him in the direction of the food court. Where Izuku had gone. Izuku and Ekikyō.

Hitoshi’s expression fell, and he tightened his grip on his shopping bags. “I need to go. See you all at the summer camp.” He turned and fast-walked after his boyfriend.

“Wait, man. The restrooms are the other way,” Kaminari called.

If they said anything else, Hitoshi blocked it out as he picked up his pace until he was sprinting. Damn it, he shouldn’t have left Izuku alone. It would be just like him to find trouble in the middle of a crowded mall. Aizawa was going to string Hitoshi up with his own capture weapon if anything happened to Izuku.

He paused when he reached the hub where the food stalls were arranged. Several wings of the mall intersected here. Thankfully, the question of which corridor to take was answered with the next stuttering tug in his blood. The feeling was there more often than not as he moved, but the way it fluctuated and faded in and out was far from reassuring.

He passed the first few stores before detecting a noticeable shift in the direction of the pull. His eyes whipped to the left and scanned until they caught on a hallway between two stores. Then the pull cut out abruptly and didn’t come back. Hitoshi pushed himself into a sprint, adrenaline lending him speed.

He skidded around the corner into the narrow hallway and immediately locked eyes on Izuku and the person choking him. Izuku was struggling weakly and had a blue tinge to his lips.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“None of your business,” the person snapped reflexively before even turning to look at him.

Hitoshi yanked the man under Brainwashing. “Release him and back away!” he commanded, already rushing forward.

Izuku collapsed to the floor and continued to struggle for air. Hitoshi fell to his knees in front of him and dropped his shopping bags. He reached for his boyfriend only to stop when Izuku recoiled with wide, terror-filled eyes. Hitoshi froze, caught off guard by the look he never thought he’d see Izuku aim his way.

Izuku collided with his assailant’s legs making the guy topple. Hitoshi felt Brainwashing’s hold on the man snap, and he tore his eyes off of his boyfriend to glare at the person who’d made Izuku so afraid. He kept his left hand extended in a “stay” gesture, hoping Izuku would be able to process it. Then he reached into one of his bags with his right hand and pulled out a large can of bug spray. It wasn’t mace or pepper spray, but he’d bet anything it would burn like hell if he aimed for the eyes. He shook the can and took aim. “Okay, creep, you got a reason for me not to blind you?”

The man snarled and climbed back to his feet. Hitoshi got a good look at him finally and almost didn’t wait for a response. Of course, his boyfriend would get assaulted by freaking Shigaraki Tomura in broad daylight in the middle of a mall. Was nothing sacred or safe anymore?

Shigaraki looked Hitoshi up and down, warily eyeing the can Hitoshi had aimed his way. Then he glanced down at the hyperventilating mess that was Izuku. It looked like Shigaraki might answer Hitoshi for a moment, but he scoffed instead. He turned away from Hitoshi and Izuku before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He ignored the two students in favor of tapping away on the device.

“Who are you texting?” Hitoshi asked, trying to hide his worry. If he called reinforcements, Hitoshi was screwed. He’d left his classmates behind without telling them where he was going. No one would know to look for them until they didn’t show up at Aizawa’s for dinner.

Shigaraki didn’t answer, but he did turn to grin creepily at Hitoshi over his shoulder. A purple-black portal opened in the narrow hallway in front of the villain. He walked through without saying a word.

Hitoshi held his breath until the portal closed behind Shigaraki. Then he pulled out his cellphone and dialed 119.

As the phone rang, a raspy “Toshi” reached his ears. His eyes snapped back to Izuku who was looking up at him. Izuku didn’t look fully there, but it was progress.

“Izuku, are you hurt? Can I touch you?”

Izuku stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language before curling in on himself to press his hands over his ears and shake his head. He did so vigorously enough to whack his head on the floor.

Hitoshi winced in sympathy but resisted moving. He didn’t want to send Izuku spiraling again, so he stayed where he was and started talking. “I hope you know that the entirety of 1-A is going to know about us dating by the end of the day. Ashido and Hagakure are the gossip queens of my class, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already posted about it in the group chat. They’re going to be insufferable at the summer camp…”

It was several agonizing minutes before Izuku finally seemed able to hear Hitoshi. When he noticed Izuku looking up in response to his rambling, relief finally pushed his growing desperation away. Hitoshi asked, “Izuku, do you want me to help?”

“Please.”

Then Hitoshi was able to pull him in with Brainwashing. “Relax and breathe in this pattern: in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, exhale for eight. You’re safe. I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

Even as panicked as he was, Izuku’s mind didn’t put up a fight while cradled in his quirk. Izuku trusted him that much.

With Izuku’s panic addressed, Hitoshi moved closer and checked Izuku over for disintegration wounds or any additional injuries besides his neck. Finding none, he pulled Izuku into his arms. He settled his chin on top of his boyfriend’s head and let out a shaky exhale. He followed along with the breathing exercises he had Izuku doing, trying not to think about how much Izuku’s terror had shaken him. How close Izuku might have come to dying. He was okay. They were okay. They were going to be okay.

---

Izuku’s field of view had constricted to a distant point of color when the pressure on his neck finally lifted. The world fell sideways as Izuku gulped air and coughed. He clutched at his neck, distantly noting he was on the ground. There was no hand or fresh burn on his skin, but it still felt like someone was squeezing there. He couldn’t seem to get enough air.

An approaching hand came into focus, and Izuku jerked back violently. He collided with something, but that was fine as long as he got away from Shigaraki’s (Bakugo’s) hands. Whatever was behind him vanished, but that was okay too, because the reaching hand had stopped advancing and was staying still (in a gesture that wasn’t a deadly grasp or a clawed focus for a blast) before him.

Izuku’s tunnel vision started to expand slowly, and he blinked and squinted and tried to get everything to come back into focus as he panted. Something…something about Shigaraki’s (not Bakugo’s?) hand didn’t look right. The fingers weren’t long enough for Shigaraki or calloused the same way as Bakugo’s, and the skin wasn’t pale or dry enough or sweaty enough. There was no scent of stale dust or burnt caramel. Confused, Izuku traced up that hand’s arm and saw…purple?

“Hitoshi?” he asked. Well, he was pretty sure he asked; he couldn’t actually hear himself over the roaring in his ears, let alone the person across from him, though he could see their mouth moving. Izuku closed his eyes, put his hands over his ears, and shook his head, accidentally catching one side of his forehead on the tile floor. That reminded him how much his head hurt. He squinted his eyes open and rubbed his forehead while staring at the person. That was definitely Hitoshi. He was still there.

Hitoshi grinned at him, but his eyes were worried. Izuku kept his eyes on his boyfriend while trying to get his bearings.

After what felt like forever, he could hear and sort of focus again, and breathing didn’t feel like trying to lift a boulder on his chest with every inhale. It was enough for Hitoshi to help him the rest of the way. The world was swallowed by gentle fog, and Izuku surrendered himself to it.

Things were a blur after that, even after Hitoshi lifted Brainwashing to allow the paramedics to check him over and ask him questions. He didn’t remember actually leaving the mall, but here he was sitting in a police station wrapped in a shock blanket, ice pack held lightly against his neck by Hitoshi, and Aizawa crouching before him. He blinked sluggishly, but the image didn’t change.

“Problem Child, are you with us?”

Izuku nodded slowly. “Okay, good. That’s good, kid. Do you think you can talk?

Izuku tried to say “yes” but ended up coughing. His throat hurt a lot more than it had earlier. And the jolt of each cough made the pressure in his head spike. He grimaced and gingerly traced the edge of the tender, finger-shaped bruises developing on his neck.

“Here,” Aizawa said, holding out a plastic cup of water and a pair of pills. “Small sips. Then you can try swallowing those for your neck.”

Izuku followed his instructions, wincing and trying not to cough as the pain meds made it down. “Thanks,” he said in a small, painfully rough voice.

“Don’t mention it, Problem Child.” Aizawa let out a grunt as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he assured before walking off.

Izuku sagged a little in his chair, reaching up to take over on holding his ice pack.

Hitoshi exaggeratedly shook his arm out. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought my arm was going to fall off.” Hitoshi stretched his arms over his head before frowning. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “Seriously, though, you okay? You’ve been…spacing. We were getting worried. Aizawa said something like this has happened before?”

Izuku pressed the ice pack a little harder against his neck, focusing on that pain as he worried his lip. “S-some…” His voice cracked painfully. He cut himself off and frowned before taking another sip of his water. Then he looked at Hitoshi and tapped his temple. “Quirk?”

Hitoshi tilted his head the barest degree. “You want me to use my quirk on you?” His eyes widened a second later. “Oh! To talk. Yeah, that’s smart. Ready?”

“Yes.” Izuku blinked as he felt Brainwashing settle around the edges of his mind. Rather than swallowing his awareness whole, it stayed on the periphery, leaving Izuku in that halfway state Hitoshi had perfected. The pain in his skull dulled slightly. “Can you hear me now?”