Chapter Text
The ground leveled out under Izuku's feet. He kept running, trying not to trip, waiting to hear footfalls coming from behind.
Instead, he heard incoherent shrieking.
For as long as he could remember—which admittedly wasn't very long—Izuku had been scared of a takeover phrase. He knew they'd been messing with his mind, trying to get him into a state where he'd do what they asked because he wanted to. He hadn't been able to keep them from wiping his memories away, turning him into a blank slate, but he'd been able to keep them from filling him up with anything else. They were at a stalemate.
But sometimes, Izuku imagined that if he gave enough trouble, some higher up might show up, speak a secret phrase, and instantly destroy the rest of his mental defenses. It didn't seem like a particularly realistic fear, especially since it was the kind of thing that would have saved everyone a lot of trouble if it was used from the beginning. Still, in an age of quirks anything could happen.
It was happening to Izuku now.
There was no handler here, no other villain—even Kacchan seemed to have lost control of him. But the instant he heard that screaming, Izuku's feet turned him around and carried him back the way he'd come. He almost didn't realize it had happened until he hit the incline again, and the effort of climbing started slowing him down. Probably, he should be more upset, or even more concerned about his lack of emotional response. Loosing control like this was the only thing he could remember to be afraid of. But Izuku wasn't complaining—if he was going to turn into the puppet of some villain, then at least he didn't have to be in constant anguish about it.
When he made it back to the road, up and over the guard rail, there was a lot going on. There were two cars, one with headlights on, illuminating the area. Three people stood near it, backlit, one of them sobbing hysterically.
"It was too fast!" she cried, "You were going too fast!"
"Uchiyama," one of the others said, "Uchiyama, you have to calm down!"
"You hit him!" she—Uchiyama—continued, "You ran right into him!"
"Excuse me!" Izuku said, loud enough to be heard.
All three of the figures jumped, startled. In hindsight, Izuku realized that it was pretty unexpected for somebody to appear like he had.
"It's okay," Izuku said, moving closer.
"Don't step there!" the third person exclaimed.
Izuku stopped, looked down at the ground. The lighting was weird, but his eyes were adjusting. There, splayed out on the road, was a fourth person.
"Okay," Izuku said, the situation clicking together in his mind, "It's all going to be fine."
"No it's not!" Uchiyama shrieked.
"And who are you?" the second voice said. He'd been trying to comfort Uchiyama, but now he moved closer, defensive. He was wearing a high school uniform without the blazer.
"I'm Deku," Izuku said, not quite sure where that had come from, "I'm here to help."
Uchiyama suddenly went quiet. All three of them looked at him, expectant, like they knew something Izuku didn't.
This wasn't really the time to question it. "We need to move that man out of the road," Izuku said.
"Isn't that bad?" the other boy said, the one who'd told him to watch his step. "I thought you weren't supposed to move people who could have a head or spine injury."
"Normally, yes," Izuku said, "But this is a dangerous area—another car could whip around the corner in the dark like you did. Do you guys have anything in your car that we could use to—"
"No," blazer-less boy said, "I'm not doing it. What if we hurt him worse—what if we get him killed? Then it would really be our fault!"
"Shibuya, you already hit him!" Uchiyama insisted.
"Don't say that!" he shot back, "Nobody saw it! Nobody knows what—"
"If you stand here and let him die, then you've still killed him!" Izuku interrupted, "It doesn't matter what else happened! But—Shibuya, right? Shibuya, that doesn't have to happen. You don't have to do that. Instead—you can be a hero."
When Izuku stopped to take a breath, nobody said anything—all three of the kids stood transfixed.
"Miss," Izuku said, looking at Uchiyama, "I need you to call an ambulance."
Uchiyama nodded, then slowly stumbled into motion, hurrying back into the car.
"Shibuya," Izuku said, "Take the car and park it off the road. Leave a gap between yours and the other one, about the size of another parking space. We'll move this man there between them."
"How do you know I can drive?" Shibuya insisted, not very convincingly.
"He can drive," the other boy said.
"Great!" Izuku said, glad he didn't have to belaber the point. "And what's your name?"
"Masuda."
Behind them, Shibuya got back into the car. From inside, Uchiyama saw him and reached over to pull the open doors closed. Izuku could see the light of her phone, pressed up against her face.
"Nice to meet you, Masuda," Izuku said. Then he looked down, found the person on the ground and crouched near him, "If you could bring over your phone light—"
Masuda jumped into motion, flicking his screen to pull up the flashlight, but the light from the headlights was already enough for Izuku to know, had been enough the first moment he looked down.
"Hi Kacchan," Izuku said, trying to see if he was conscious, "How's it going?"
"Is he okay?" Masuda asked, quiet. He had the light angled now, shining down to show Kacchan clearly.
Kacchan's eyes snapped open, caught the glare of the light, fixed on Izuku's face. "I'm gonna kill you," he spat. There was blood in the spittle.
"Yeah," Izuku said, trying not to laugh, "I think he's gonna be fine."
The kids had a tarp in their car, and with Izuku's direction, they all used it to carry Kacchan over to the ditch. Izuku knelt next to him now, holding his head and neck steady. Kacchan might have had a spinal injury, but his wost problem right now was whatever the blunt force trauma had done to his lungs. Izuku was hoping they wouldn't have to turn him sideways to help him breathe. It would be hard to balance him in the ditch.
On the other hand, it was nice that he wasn't trying to talk right now.
"I don't know," Uchiyama was saying, still on the phone, "He got hit by the car—I don't know what else to tell you."
"Masuda," Izuku said, "Reach into his right pocket and pull out his wallet. See if you can find out his blood type."
Obediently, Masuda bent down and found the wallet. He flipped it open, started sorting through the cards.
"I found something!" Shibuya said. He hurried over, squeezing past Uchiyama, and set a small object down on Izuku's knee.
It was an earbud, probably the one Kacchan had been using to report back. It must have fallen out in the crash.
"Thanks!" Izuku said, smiling up at Shibuya. He'd had something of a change of heart over the last ten minutes or so—now he was trying to make up for his original reluctance, even though mostly everything was already done.
"Did you find anything?" Uchiyama asked.
"Um," Masuda gulped, "Yeah." He ran over too, set the whole wallet down on Izuku's knee beside the earpiece. One card had been pulled out, laid over the rest.
It was a hero license.
"Type A," Izuku told Uchiyama, "And tell them he's a pro hero—they'll be able to look up his medical history."
Uchiyama started repeating what Izuku had told her. Shibuya walked over to her, started hopping from one foot to the other nervously. But Masuda was still beside him, looking up at him, troubled.
"You okay?" Izuku asked.
"Aren't you," Masuda started, hesitant, "Aren't you friends?"
"I hear it!" Shibuya shouted, pointing down the road. Sure enough, Izuku could hear the siren, coming closer to them.
"Come stand behind the cars," Izuku instructed, "You don't want to get in the way of the paramedics."
Masuda moved with them, question unanswered.
The first thing that Izuku did after handing Kacchan—well, Bakugou Katsuki, if his licence was to be believed—off to the paramedics was take the earpiece and crush it down into the mud. Then, in the chaos before the ambulance left, before the police could get a good headcount, he slipped into Bakugou's car.
The keys were still in the ignition.
Quietly, Izuku closed the passenger door, sat down and changed the gear from park to reverse. As the car slowly slid backwards, Izuku eased it onto the road.
The ambulance was turned the other way, headed back toward the town and the nearest hospital. It was loud and bright, built to catch the eye. With everyone's attention pulled elsewhere, Izuku got the car past the edge of the hill, turned it around, and drove off toward the national route.
Besides the hero license, which Izuku had left with the paramedics, Bakugou's wallet had a credit card, a debit card, a library card, a punch card for what looked like a hero themed ice cream store, and about ten thousand yen. Izuku had to use about half the money right away to buy gas at the next exit. From there he decided not to get back on the national route—it would be an obvious place to check, as soon as they got over saving Bakugou and remembered to come looking for him.
That's how Izuku found himself back on the escape road trip, this time alone.
He could have turned on the radio, but Izuku wasn't sure where the button was, and he had a nagging—probably irrational—fear that because of Bakugou's situation, everything coming through his car might be propaganda. And anyway, even if none of that were true, his thoughts were too loud for him to listen to anything else.
The override hadn't stuck—he was himself again, thinking through his actions before he took them. It had made sense while it was happening—Bakugou worked for them, so they'd want to make sure he was safe. It was probably hard to get the leverage needed to make a pro hero defect. Though apparently they had their hands on entire police departments, so maybe it wasn't actually that difficult.
The point was, the override had ended. Izuku had assumed that wasn't possible.
The other odd thing was that Izuku didn't regret it. He'd been sure that if he ever let his guard drop an inch, he would find himself doing something terrible, hurting another person in some irreversible way. But all that had happened, this time, was that he'd been able to help someone. Even if it was one of their operatives, Izuku couldn't regret it. Bakugou was still a person. And sure, he was a little annoyed with the guy for betraying him like that, but he wasn't taking it personally. They had one of Bakugou's friends in custody, after all. And under that kind of pressure, all Bakugou had done was dash his hopes a little. That in itself was its own kind of desperate kindness. If anything, Izuku should have tried harder to make rescuing his friend a priority. But—how did it go—there's no pushing somebody who ain't ready. He shouldn't beat himself up about it.
Still, if he was really going with the sci-fi mind override word theory, that meant they had made the trigger a generic sound of distress, which didn't seem that smart. The other, really more logical thing to assume was that Izuku had decided to help on his own, that in that desperate situation some kind of instinct he didn't remember building had kicked in.
There was only one thing thing that didn't make sense under that theory: he'd introduced himself as Deku.
Izuku knew Deku wasn't his name. It was the thing they'd always called him—even Bakugou said it sometimes, when he wasn't concentrating hard enough. And there was something visceral about it. In his gut was the memory of a memory, the echo of the things he had forgotten—he knew the term was meant to be unkind. He couldn't imagine why he'd walk himself up to a random emergency situation, looking to help, and introduce himself like that.
The first thing Izuku did the next day was find a library, if it could be called day. He used the paper map to track it down, got there at four in the morning, and took a nap in the car until the sun rose and woke him. Then he waited another fifteen minutes or so for the workers to arrive and open it.
One thing that not everybody knew about libraries was that you could use a computer there for free. And Izuku needed to do some research—the last time he'd tried to ask for help, it had completely backfired. He needed to get a better handle on the situation, figure out some of the contents of his missing memories. So as soon as he got inside, Izuku found a computer with a screen facing the back wall and googled his own name. He was hoping to find some kind of article about his disappearance.
The first result was his very own Wikipedia page.
Izuku had to bite down on his knuckles to keep from screeching in a very undignified kind of way. He'd always kind of hoped he would do something niche and significant enough to get a Wikipedia page—he'd forgotten until now. Of course, in those daydreams, it hadn't happened because he'd been abducted. But, well, at least there were some benefits to getting kidnapped.
Then he opened the page, and his excitement turned to confusion. There was no mention of his kidnapping—the article was all about his career as a pro hero. It opened with a description of some kind of bizarre quirk shenanigan that had gotten him into hero school as a teenager. Normally that was exactly the kind of thing that would have piqued Izuku's interest, but right now it was a distraction. He scrolled down to the bottom of the career section, trying to see if there would be something there. But no—just a mention that he was taking a break from his work, again.
He went back to the top, determined to read it more carefully this time, and that's when he noticed something that really should have stuck out to him right away. The beginning listed his full name, then his hero name after. Midoriya Izuku. Pro Hero Deku.
Dread curdled in his stomach. Automatically, he closed the browser window. Then he sat there staring at the default desktop background, knowing he should run, not sure where or how.
This was a public library, randomly chosen. So either they were controlling the information on the web, or else they had created their own search engine and installed it here. Either option was terrifying—they hadn't just bought off the police department in their own city. This was everywhere. Izuku didn't even know where to start looking for something he could trust.
Maybe he should just go completely off the grid. He had a little money—more, if he could work Kacchan's credit card. He could buy some supplies, find a national forest, and just disappear. That didn't give him much of a re-entry path to society, which wasn't ideal, but it was better than the alternative. He wasn't going to hurt anyone, not if he could help it. He wasn't going to let them control him.
That isn't how you win, idiot. The thought came unbidden, unconnected. It demanded to be considered. If he just left, cut himself off from everything, then he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone, but he wouldn't be able to help them either. It might not be the absolute worst outcome, but it was still a concession. It still gave them total power over him.
Izuku closed his eyes, leaned back in the rolly computer desk chair and tried to slow down his breathing. It didn't make any sense. If they had enough power to control the information he was accessing now, then all of society was in their grip. Somehow, Izuku doubted that. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd come from somewhere safe—that's why he was reacting so drastically to this attempt at brainwashing. If he'd grown up in a world they controlled, then he never would have known any different.
Cautiously, Izuku opened his eyes, pushed the chair forward, and opened up the browser again. He had to at least try out the other paradigm—hold up the information and see if it fit, if it could have arisen on it's own, without tampering.
This time, when he googled himself, he switched to the image results tab. Most of the pictures were of him in costume. In the newer ones his suit had gone all metallic. Izuku wasn't really sure what that upgrade meant, and he had other things to sort out at the moment.
Past him seemed really happy, which was nice. In some photos he stood with other people, two or three or twenty. It was weird to think that he'd probably known them, one way or another. He didn't recognize anyone now.
Then he started seeing Bakugou.
Technically, that wasn't weird. He already knew Bakugou was a pro hero. If he was too, then they'd probably worked together at least a few times. But Bakugou had always acted—almost overly familiar. He'd introduced himself as Kacchan of all things. Izuku had taken it as some kind of ploy, another attempt to get him to let his guard down. But if they really did know each other, then maybe it wasn't all that strange.
Aren't you friends? Masuda had asked. And that was kind of the kicker—frankly, it was a little ridiculous to assume Masuda was a plant. If they'd been that involved in the car accident, then they could have recaptured Izuku right there. The more likely explanation was that this was common knowledge, common enough to be on the internet.
So Izuku's next search was deku AND kacchan. Too late, he realized that he'd put the nickname Bakugou had told him to use, and not the man's real name. But the first result had Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight in the title—a hero name too stupid to be forgettable—so it seemed like the nickname was working just fine.
His search also brought up an excerpt from the same page, a quote attributed to his past self. Authenticity? Kacchan's belligerence is anything but. He's actually a very kind person. And if he had the guts to admit it, then he wouldn't be tanking his own rank for no reason.
Izuku couldn't quite parse out what that meant, though he appreciated the frustration with Bakugou’s attitude. Still, the thing that really stuck out to him was the nickname. Until now, he hadn't quite been able to imagine anyone using it naturally—he'd only done so himself because it was the only name Bakugou gave. But if this article could be believed, he actually had used it—not just when they were hanging out together, but when Izuku was talking about him to whatever reporter had written this article. That didn't seem like something work acquaintances would do. Were they actually pretty close?
I have this friend, Bakugou had told him, He can't believe that he's safe.
Izuku closed his eyes, not sure if he wanted to keep reading. This perspective made more sense, and that terrified him. What if this was the brainwashing, finally taking him over? But for the first time, he could see his choices clearly. He had to trust something, or else go on never trusting anything again. And he'd already come to the end of the line—there was no source of information less controlled than this. It was now or not ever.
And if he kept on doubting his whole life then, in a different kind of way, he'd still be under their control.
Izuku had come this way in the dark, distracted, trying to make his path confusing. And he'd succeeded—it was incredibly difficult to backtrack. Eventually, he just followed the map back to National Route Four and started heading south. Then, soon enough, he found the exit they'd taken last night to get gas.
From there it wasn't too hard to find the spot where the accident had taken place. The cars were gone now, the road cleaned up, the only evidence of last night's events found in the torn up grass on the roadside. Izuku parked next to it, pulled out the map, and puzzled out his current location on it. Then he ran his finger over the paper, spiraling outward, until he found the closest hospital.
"Excuse me," Izuku said.
The receptionist looked up at him and didn't react further. That was interesting—between his past career, his escape escapades, and his actions last night, Izuku hadn't been sure if he'd be recognized.
"I'm looking for someone," Izuku continued, "Do you have a patient here named Bakugou Katsuki? He would have come in last night."
Instantly, the man's face closed off. "I'm sorry, but we can't give out patient records."
"Ah—okay," Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck. That was inconvenient, but also a good thing. If Bakugou—if Kacchan really was a pro hero, then it was probably good that random strangers couldn't waltz in here and figure out where he was recovering. If he was here.
"Can I help you with anything else?" the receptionist asked, but it was more dismissal than question.
"Yes," Izuku said, obstinate, "If you do have someone with that name here, would you tell him that Midoriya wanted to see him?"
Izuku wasn't sure if the receptionist would really relay his message, so he sat himself down in the waiting area and started to wait. Now, if they wanted to get rid of him, then they'd have to arrest him for loitering. So they'd probably at least tell Kacchan he was here and see if that got rid of him first.
Still, it was hard not to be unnerved watching the receptionist watch him. He was speaking quietly enough that Izuku couldn't be sure exactly what kind of phone call he was making.
Ten minutes later a man with bright red hair came out of the elevator and walked purposefully toward him.
Izuku stood up, heart pounding, not quite sure if this was about to turn into a fight.
The other man stopped and held up his hands, trying not to look like a threat. "Hey man," he said, smiling in a strained kind of way, "Did you want to see Bakugou?"
Izuku blinked, not quite sure how to answer. This felt like a trick question.
"You're not giving me a lot to go on here buddy," the man continued, lowering his arms. It didn't feel like a threat—just like he was getting tired of holding them there.
"Sorry," Izuku said, and he meant it. This was awkward for both of them. "Um—who are you?"
"Oh!" the man said, and his shoulders dropped a little, relaxing. Then he pointed at himself with one thumb. "I'm Kirishima! And you?"
"Midoriya," Izuku said, bowing slightly, "But, um—the receptionist probably told you that."
Kirishima laughed, a little nervously. "Yeah—that he did. Want to come up with me?"
Izuku's eyes widened. "Up—the elevator? Is that where Kacchan—I mean, where Bakugou is? Is he okay?"
"Yeah," Kirishima said, nodding. "He'll be alright. Come on—I'll take you there."
The elevator ride was awkward, mostly because Izuku couldn't shake the worry that this was a trap. He was going to have to walk into it if it was—and probably it wouldn't be a true kidnapping, just some doctors trying to get him under control long enough to check if he was sane. Izuku couldn't blame them. He still wasn't particularly looking forward to the experience.
However, he was starting to wish that they'd sent a better actor to draw him in. Kirishima kept shifting from one foot to the other, clearly nervous.
"Why are you scared?" Izuku said, unable to stand it any longer, "You don't have to be."
Kirishima stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his jittering fingers. "What do you mean?"
Izuku looked at him.
"Aw man," Kirishima said, deflating a little. "Look—I'm just going to level with you. The last time we saw each other, you tried to take out my eye with a plastic spoon."
"What?" Izuku blurted, unsure how to process that, which part to process first. "We've met before?"
The doors opened, and Kirishima strode out first, leading the way.
"Wait!" Izuku said, hurrying after him, "Did you come to see me in the hospital?"
Kirishima nodded. "Just the once."
"I'm so sorry," Izuku said, feeling mortified, "I should never have—"
"Don't do that," Kirishima said, holding up a hand, "None of us hold it against you. But um, if you wanted to make it up to me, I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to jump me today."
Izuku nodded. He was pretty sure he could manage that.
"Wait here," Kirishima said, stopping in his tracks. Then he pulled open the nearest door and stuck his head through the opening. "Hey man," he said, in the same placating tone he'd used on Izuku, "There's somebody here to see you."
"Tell them to go away," Kacchan rasped.
"That's fine," Izuku told Kirishima, trying not to talk too loud, "He doesn't have to."
"Deku?" Kacchan asked, and his voice was still strained, but the quality of it was different—louder, brighter.
Suddenly, Kirishima ran into the room. Izuku rounded the corner after him, got a view just in time to see him shove Kacchan's shoulder back down onto the bed.
"You probably shouldn't fight," Izuku advised. He was no docter, but he also wasn't an idiot. He knew Kacchan needed to rest.
Kacchan froze, looking at him. Kirishima pulled his hands back, but he kept standing there, ready to jump into action.
"Izu—Midoriya," Kacchan said, with effort.
"Deku is fine," Izuku said, walking farther into the room. He'd ditched the override word theory for sure. So whatever else it was, Izuku had used it for himself, made it mean something good.
Kacchan just kept staring at him, like he was seeing some kind of spirit.
"Kacchan," Izuku said, bowing, "I wanted to apologize for—"
"No!" Kacchan demanded, "Shut up!"
Izuku straightened, a little confused. "You haven't even heard what it's about."
"I already know," Kacchan snapped, somehow smug and furious at the same time, "It's not your fault I got myself hit by a car."
Izuku shook his head. "Obviously! I wasn't even there!"
Kirishima covered his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.
Stepping forward, Izuku dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out Kacchan's wallet and threw it down onto the bed. "I'm sorry that I stole from you."
Slowly, Kacchan extricated his left arm from the blanket and picked up the wallet, held it up so he could see. He nodded, just slightly, impressed. "You took money?"
"I bought gas," Izuku said. Then he threw down the car keys from his other pocket.
Kirishima did laugh then—short and sharp, like it had gotten past his defenses.
"Okay," Kacchan said, conceding, "You can apologize for that."
"Sorry," Izuku said, but his heart wasn't in it. Kacchan had spoiled the mood.
Kacchan scoffed. Then he gestured down at himself, "Anyway, I'm busy recovering right now. If you're here to bust me out, you'll have to wait."
"I'm not escaping anymore," Izuku said, "I decided to trust you."
The room went quiet. Kirishima and Kacchan were staring at him, shocked, and Izuku didn't know what else to say.
Then Kacchan started crying.
"I'm sorry!" Izuku said, suddenly realizing, "If I'd figured this out yesterday I would have saved you so much—"
"Shut up," Kacchan choked.
Izuku shut up. He was starting to understand now why Kacchan had thought he would feel guilty.
Kacchan covered his face with his hand and kept sobbing.
"What are you planning instead?" Kirishima said, and he might not have been loosing it, but he didn't sound unaffected either.
Izuku set his hand on his chin, considering. That was a really good question. He had sort of assumed he would just stop resisting what other people told him—he wasn't prepared for them to ask him what he wanted. He tried to think back, remember what good things he had refused.
"Um," he said finally, "Wasn't there a video Kacchan wanted me to watch?"
Instantly, Kacchan's face cleared a little. "Yeah," he said, reaching for his phone.
Before he could move too far, Kirishima handed it to him.
Kacchan unlocked it, turned it sideways. "Grab a chair," he instructed.
Quickly, Izuku glanced around, found one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that usually haunted hospital rooms, and pulled it over. He sat down, leaning closer so he could see.
Kacchan held his arm out, unsteady. The screen was paused partway through the opening of some kind of cartoon, full of bright, gaudy colors.
"Okay," Kacchan said, totally serious, "So there's this great hero named All Might."