Chapter Text
The moment Sero’s feet touch solid land, he takes off running.
He’s probably one of the fastest members of the Dawnguard without any magic accompaniment, aside from Iida, but the adrenaline from the past twenty minutes or so plus the weight of having both an elder scroll and leaving someone behind make his feet feel lighter than air. Strange oxymoron.
The snow has stopped, but it’s still cold, and Bakugo told him not to stop running until he found people. He has an elder scroll, a literal elder scroll, tucked away under his coat, and no gold in his pocket. How the hell is he supposed to make it all the way to Fort Dawnguard from here?
He doesn’t slow down until he reaches a cobblestone road, although his breaths are heaving and his spicy food from earlier is threatening to come back out the wrong way. He’s sweating under his coat from the exercise, but he refuses to take it off lest the elder scroll stand loud and proud. That would put the biggest target in the world on his back.
If Sero follows the road for long enough, he’ll eventually run into either an inn, a mill, a city, or something of the sort. It’s the rule of law here—always stick to the roads unless you have a death wish—and, for once, he doesn’t feel like breaking a rule.
He walks for hours, until the snow completely stops and the clouds begin to part for a beautiful sunset. Bakugo was right—he’s definitely in Haafingar hold, home to Solitude and most of the imperial loyalists. It’s familiar territory, and Sero braces himself for old wounds to rip open as the tree line becomes more and more familiar.
If it were up to Sero, he would have waited another six years before even going near his hometown again, but he supposes nothing that’s happened recently has really been up to him. The townsfolk were always kind, and Sero has never held any ill intent towards any of them, but, well.
Staying in a town full of nothing but pitying and sympathetic whispers would drive anyone insane. Especially a recently orphaned teenage boy. It took less than a week of grieving in the bloodstained floors of his house while people cleaned and whispered around his unmoving stance before he got the hell out of there.
He wonders if the townspeople have sold the house yet. He wonders if they all think he’s dead, too, driven mad by grief and getting slaughtered by a bandit or a dragon or, well, a vampire. Wouldn’t that be ironic?
Sero is so lost in his daydreaming that he doesn’t process the stars now in the sky until he stands face-to-face with the namesake of his hometown.
Dragon Bridge is a town known for being… well, for being small. It’s known for being an outpost for imperial guards to stop by, and it has a decently well-earning mill. The inn has good food and drink, the stone bridge shaped like the skeleton of a dragon is fun to sit on and spit into the river, and the people are nice enough.
Up until six years ago, the Sero family was the biggest family in the town, both in size and fame. Even a good amount of the prissy rich folks living in Solitude knew who Mimiko and Hjera Sero were. After all, it was rare for someone to marry outside their social class, and yet esteemed Solitude diplomat Mimiko and skilled Haafingar guard Hjera were head over heels in love with each other.
With six children, five daughters and one son, the Sero family was rich with success and overflowing with love. For years, as long as one of the Sero children were around, there would never be a truly boring day in Dragon Bridge.
Perhaps a majority of Skyrim remained blissfully unaware as the world kept spinning, but it only took a few days for the entire Haafingar region to hear about seven members of the family gone in one fell swoop. It would have been suicide of the psyche if Sero stayed.
It’s a bit jarring to see the town still as quiet and peaceful as it always had been. No vampire group has ransacked the town, no bandits have plundered it, no skirmishes from any wars have happened here to the naked eye.
Sero wonders if he should be more emotional than he is about this. Maybe he’s gone numb from all the emotions of being kidnapped, trapped for a couple weeks, and then watching as the one vampire he’s ever truly had sympathy for was ripped from his one shot at humanity.
He stops in front of the inn and pushes through the door, sighing in relief as the warmth of a fire tickles his weary body back into awareness. It isn’t too late at all, and the inn is at its busiest, full of exhausted guards and merry mill workers and everyone in between. The air smells of roasted pheasant and grilled vegetables and the sweet scent of honeyed mead. In the corner, a bard plays a plucky tune on his lute, and Sero feels like a stranger in his own home.
Still, he lifts his chin and walks up to the bar, where the innkeeper looks a bit grayer than he used to. “Welcome to Dragon Bridge, traveler! What can I—”
The innkeeper pauses wiping a tankard, and it clatters to the ground loudly. The music stops, and everyone turns to stare at the commotion. “By the divines… Hanta Sero, is that truly you?”
“In the flesh, sir.” It’s a physical struggle to smile, but he does so anyways. “You look well.”
The entire inn breaks into hushed whispers and piercing stares, and it takes all his willpower not to shrink his shoulders up to his ears. He really isn’t in the mood to play nice right now. Not after the day he’s had.
Thankfully, the innkeeper is as perceptive as ever, back when he used to slip Hjera extra bread rolls if she’d had a particularly long day, or toss little gemstones to his crafty sister when she looked bored. He hollers something at the gawking crowd, grabs Sero’s arm, and pulls him out through the back entrance.
It’s quiet outside, and he can hear nothing except crickets and the faint hum of nirnroot as the innkeeper presses something into his hand. “I’ll bring you some food later, kid.”
“But I don’t have—”
The innkeeper swats Sero upside the head, and he yelps loudly. “Don’t be dense, Hanta. The long distance carriage comes by in an hour.”
Sero opens his mouth to thank him, but the innkeeper just squeezes his arm, something warm yet pained in his gray eyes. “Come back when you’re ready,” he says gruffly, and then he walks back into the inn.
Cradled in the palm of Sero’s hand is a house key—his house key. One he didn’t even care about leaving inside his own home, because he was too focused on getting the hell out of there and away from all the prying eyes.
His feet carry him across the cobbled street, unflinching even as the wood creaks underneath them. It’s stupid, really, to think that the decomposed bodies of his family would be on the other side of the door. He knows he’d be able to smell them if that were the case. He watched them be buried, for crying out loud, seven gravestones in a neat group right next to the rushing waterfall.
He sat there, knees soaked in blood, as the guards all around him clashed with the vampires until they ran away. He remembers cradling the cheeks of his youngest sister, only ten years old, and begging every single divine god and daedric prince he could think of to switch their places. He’d switch with all of them, any of them, take all their pain and triple it just so that they wouldn’t have to die.
He remembers Mimiko whispering something softly under her breath, even as blood trickled down her mouth, the way she reached out to stroke his cheek and smear her blood all over his face.
“Hanta,” she’d whispered, one of her dying hands still clutched in the deceased embrace of her wife, “Hanta, oh, Hanta, my sweet little boy.”
He’d blubbered something useless and stupid, probably some sort of unintelligible begging, and she had just smiled so sweetly as the life left her eyes one moment at a time.
Even in his death, his family was so close, all huddled together in a frightening amalgamation of clutched limbs that refused to let go even after death. Sero had curled himself up in the lifeless arms of his family until all the warmth had left their bodies, and even then it took four guards to rip him away.
Sero unlocks the door and walks into a pristine house.
Someone has been cleaning it in his absence. There isn’t a speck of dust on any of the furniture. Sero pokes his head into each and every bedroom, taking count of all his sisters. Nothing is out of place, and all their bedrooms open a window into how they lived their lives.
A shelf full of books and dozens of filled parchment in one room, belonging to ink stained hands and the inability to make proper eye contact. Wooden swords and practice dummies in another room, from a girl who swore she’d be an even better warrior than mama. Trinkets and curios in another one, with shelves full of history books and the remnants of a woman who promised she’d be the most renowned scholar in the world. Three more rooms for the siblings who didn’t live at home yet still held little shards of their frequent visits—spellbooks and crystals, needles and thread and a half-finished birthday dress for Mimiko, cookbooks and a cute little chef’s hat.
Sero opens his own bedroom door and feels both everything and nothing at all. He never had a set career in mind, not like his brilliant sisters. All he wanted to be was an adventurer, someone who traveled all across the country and even the world to uncover mysteries and help those in need and fight undead and bandits and everything in between.
In some strange, twisted way, he supposes he is an adventurer. Being in the Dawnguard has sent him to different places all around the country, and he’s made connections in some of the strangest places.
He quickly leaves his room and walks into the bedroom at the end of the hallway, falling into the bed and pretending like he can still smell Mimiko’s mountain flower perfume and the leather scent that always followed wherever Hjera went.
Hot, sticky tears drip onto the pillows. His body shakes without permission, trembling on the bed that’s too big for one person and doesn’t smell like anything anymore. What would his family say, if he’d joined the Dawnguard and they were alive? Would he have even joined in the first place?
Hjera would clap him on the back and tell him it was too honorable of a profession for someone like him to have, but there would be a twinkle in her eyes that would spell mischief and soothe any sting that teasing might bring. Mimiko would pout and pretend like she didn’t care, but she would simultaneously love it and worry for his safety.
His sisters would beg for a free place to stay in the castle if they ever came by, probably, although some of them, like Vivi and Hana, would probably nonstop worry about his own wellbeing. He doubt they’d be satisfied with letters any less than twice a month.
The tears flow even faster, and Sero curls himself into the blankets and gasps out a wrecked, heaving sob. The elder scroll feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as he takes it out of his coat and lays it on the bed. How would his family react if they were still alive? If he stumbled into the house with bandages all the way up his arm and glassy eyes and an elder scroll in his coat? He imagines everyone sitting around the fire in the main room, cups of tea or mead in everyone’s hands as they stared at the scroll in awe.
He imagines Akira’s little eyes (not little anymore, though, would they be? She’d be sixteen now) blown wide as she scribbled in a little book about every single detail she can see from its surface level. Amethyst would caution everyone against even touching it. Vivi would probably cook an entire feast out of stress, while Nana and Hjera would try to hit it with hammers or some ridiculous shit. Hana and Sylvie would try and research into Bakugo’s family name to see if he has any living relatives or anything of the sort, while Mimiko would ask all her connections for any possible information about a pattern between vampires and elder scrolls.
He would have a treasure trove of help and support and an outpouring of love. Nana and Amethyst would probably try to come with him back to Fort Dawnguard. They would argue, and then hug, and then cry, and then he would be on his way.
Sero doesn’t have his family, though.
They aren’t here to help him. They’re gone, mangled skeletons sitting in coffins while he cries into his moms’ pillows like a scared little lamb.
“Mom,” he chokes out into the pillow, muffled through his tears and feathers. “Mama.”
He hears the door creak open, and the innkeeper’s heavy footsteps as he sets a plate of something on the table in the main room. Sero holds his breath until the footsteps fade away, and then he stands up shakily. His legs feel like a newborn deer as he takes a few steps.
They wouldn’t want him to wallow in his misery for too long. Vivi, Hana, and Akira would probably hug him for hours if they could, but the others would tell him to get his shit together.
Perhaps it was cruel of Sero to leave so abruptly. The dead deserved to be respected and honored, not run away from like a coward. No matter how much it hurts him, it hurt his family even more to die. They don’t deserve someone who keeps running from them.
Sero finds himself digging through his moms’ wardrobe for one of Hjera’s outfits. He grabs a plain adventuring shirt and brown pants, both of which are probably much too big on him. It’s nice to know that even though he’s gotten taller, he still isn’t as tall or big as Hjera was.
Her clothes still smell like leather.
Next, he digs through their jewelry box and pulls out Mimiko’s favorite hairpin, sharp and silver with a little sapphire on the end. Hjera always joked that it was sharp enough to double as a weapon. Sero spends the next ten minutes or so methodically going through each sibling’s room, picking out one item of theirs to keep on his person at all times.
A beautiful yellow crystal from Amethyst’s room that hums with faint whispers of her magic. A scrap of white fabric from one of Vivi’s aprons that he ties into one of his belt loops. A needle and thread from Sylvie that he tucks away into a little pouch. A second dagger and sheath from Nana’s room, her favorite one that was allegedly from an ancient Dwemer city. A silver necklace from Hana, sleek and beautiful (perhaps he’ll ask Iida to melt Amethyst’s crystal into the necklace). Finally, a silver ring dotted with engravings from Akira’s room.
He feels warmer than he has in years. The innkeeper’s food is mediocre at best, but it tastes like home. He takes a bath in the freezing river under the thousand stars in the sky, lays a flower at each of his family members’ graves, and promises to come back again soon.
Sero catches the carriage driver just as he’s going through the town, and he watches as every townsperson stands on their porch, staring but not saying a word. A few of them wave, and he hesitantly waves back.
“Can you take me to Riften?” he asks the carriage driver.
“Depends. How much gold do you got?”
Sero opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s preparing to run back inside his house and find something to trade, but before he can, the innkeeper stomps up to the carriage with two pouches of gold. He thunks one of them in the carriage driver’s hands (way too much gold, even for a ride to Riften), and then the other in Sero’s.
The carriage driver lights up and says they’ll be there in four days. Sero blinks something fuzzy away from his vision and opens his mouth in a silent question.
“From all of us,” the innkeeper grumbles. “Come back.”
Sero mumbles under his breath that he will, he promises, and climbs into the back of the driver’s wagon without another word, sandwiched between boxes of food shipments and a slumbering elderly man.
He feels warm, now.
-
Riften is a shithole, just like he remembers. He’s glad nothing has changed in the past week (two weeks? He doesn’t know) he’s been gone.
Mina had been fascinated by Riften and all the stories he told about it. When he described each major city in detail, Yaoyorozu had gushed about how fascinating the history of Markarth would be, Kirishima wondered how many crazy monsters he could find in Falkreath, and Mina had, for some reason, fallen in love with the concept of Riften.
A city on the water had immediately caught her interest, and not even the talks about its deep-rooted corruption and crime scene had deterred her. She would certainly brighten up the city, he supposes, but then his arm starts to sting and he decides maybe she wouldn’t.
When they stopped in Ivarstead two days prior, Sero had finally rid himself of his bandages, and what met him was a scar even uglier than Todoroki’s, somehow.
Raised, red marred skin crawled its way up his left arm in a spiral like a snake, from the tip of his wrist all the way to about halfway up his neck. His left shoulder and chest are marked, too, a hideous and ridged red.
He looks weak.
Sero only stays in Riften long enough to pawn an entire basket of sweet rolls off the stupid baker who thinks he can raise prices and get away with it. He can’t imagine the fury that his colleagues will have after he disappeared for so long without a word, and it’s always a good idea to beg for forgiveness with a peace offering.
He has yet to decide if the elder scroll is a peace offering or a declaration of war.
The hike to Fort Dawnguard is only a couple hours, and it’s the most peaceful moment he’s had since he went into that godsforsaken cave all those weeks ago.
The narrow path in the mountains gives way to an icy waterfall, and Sero can’t help the grin that spreads across his entire face when the enormous castle comes into view. “Home sweet home,” he whispers to himself, hoisting the basket of sweet rolls and speeding up just a little bit.
It’s around dinnertime now, and the agents guarding the fort visibly perk up when they see him.
“Sero!” one of them exclaims. “We thought you were dead!”
“You and me both.” Sero winks.
“Shall we announce to the—”
Sero raises his hand and chuckles nervously. “No need to roll out the red carpet,” he jokes good-naturedly. “I don’t want to cause a scene.”
He absolutely does want to cause a scene.
It’s the least he deserves for going through literal hell and back. He’s going to scare the shit out of his friends, and then he’ll give them sweet rolls and an elder scroll as an apology. Then, he’s going to squeeze them all into the tightest hugs known to man and pretend like he isn’t going to cry.
He walks into the castle without any fanfare, and his smile grows wider when he hears the loud, raucous voices of his friends. The path to the dining room is second nature by now, and he nods his head and shakes hands with a few passing agents as he makes his way there.
When he finally approaches the dining room, he pauses at the entrance, overwhelmed by the swell of emotion that threatens to choke him up.
Jirou is shoving Kaminari’s face into his bowl of soup while he wails and begs for mercy, spluttering and sending droplets flying everywhere.
Midoriya has a magical barrier up as a shield from the splash damage as he points to a drawing in his book to a curious Ojiro, who is lending his tail to a fidgeting Uraraka. She’s petting his tail absentmindedly while chatting with Iida, who has the softest frown on his face.
Kaminari finally frees himself with a loud gasp, wiping the soup off his face with a napkin and scowling miserably. “Going after him is suicide and you know it,” he says, and the mood drastically shifts into something somber.
“One more week,” Iida agrees with a pained pinch to his brows. “And then we’ll hold a funeral.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have let him go!” Midoriya wails, which is incredibly hypocritical considering he was the first one who wanted to go. What a self-sacrificing idiot.
Sero decides to let them suffer for just a little bit longer. He grabs a sweet roll from the basket and aims it at Kaminari’s head. He hits a bullseye, as usual, and it bounces off the electric fool’s head and lands in his bowl of soup with a comedic plunk.
Kaminari yelps loudly, and everyone at the table peers at the mysteriously appearing sweet roll. Sero presses his lips together to keep from laughing—the country’s best and brightest vampire hunters, reduced to troglodyte morons who rub their chins at the sight of a sweet roll.
Might as well get his money’s worth now. Sero steps into the room fully and adjusts his grip on the basket.
“Giving up on me already?” he teases. “Come on, have some faith in—”
“Sero!”
Once again, Sero has underestimated his friends, because they are flying off the table and tackling him to the ground in a group hug faster than he can blink, and he barely saves the basket before he goes tumbling to the ground in a tangle of a dozen different limbs.
Everyone is shouting over one another, laughing (Jirou and Ojiro) and crying (Midoriya and Kaminari) and shouting (Uraraka and Iida) as they try to squeeze Sero to death. He wheezes out a laugh alongside them, warm and giddy.
“Alright, alright, lay off the precious goods!” He struggles to stand up, only fully getting his balance thanks to a helping hand from Iida. “Sorry for worrying you guys.”
“Worrying us?” Uraraka exclaims. “We thought you were dead!”
“I didn’t,” Jirou grumbles, but she’s still smiling.
“Serooooooooo!” Kaminari howls, hiccupping into Midoriya’s sobbing embrace. Iida barks at both of them to calm down, they might stress Sero out further, but he still clasps a warm hand on his shoulder.
The bodies around him are warm. Sero can feel their body heat pressed against each other, smiles and tears on their faces, and part of his traitorous brain thinks just for a moment that the vampires he met would fit so well among these people.
“Are you not boiling in that coat?” Uraraka’s voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent of worry in her tone. It’s obvious—everyone looks just a bit concerned, and Sero doesn’t blame them.
“I’m alright,” Sero replies. He isn’t lying, he doesn’t feel too warm at all. The coat is comfortable, and its warmth keeps him from spiraling into a crisis about the events of his time at the castle. “How long have I been gone for?”
The concern doubles. Iida’s brow furrows, Uraraka’s eyes widen, and Jirou whispers something to Kaminari, who purses his lips and nods in response. “Almost a month,” Kaminari says.
A month?
Sero’s jaw drops. He knew he’d lost count of the days as he spent them snickering with his “friends” and pretending like he wasn’t trapped in a freaky castle, but he—a month? An entire month of being cooped up in a tower? No wonder his stamina felt so low when he was running earlier.
Everyone looks about two seconds away from asking way too many questions, and Sero’s opportunity to escape presents itself when none other than Yagi Toshinori himself, the greatest vampire hunter in all of history, bumbles into the room on two left feet.
“I heard noises, is everyone al—” he pauses upon seeing Sero, and then his shadowed eyes light up. “Young Sero!”
“All Might!” Sero greets him back. He’s worked under the guy for years, and he still feels stars twinkle behind his eyes when he speaks to him.
Toshinori regains his confidence and shoos everyone away until they’re both standing face to face. Sero unconsciously straightens up, despite not being nearly as tall, and awkwardly bows. “At ease, Young Sero,” Toshinori jokes.
He ruffles Sero’s hair with one of his abnormally large hands and smiles. “You’re lucky, young man—I’ve already given the others enough scolding to last them a lifetime, and I’m too happy you’re alive to scold you as well.”
Sero grins. “I’m honored.”
“I’m assuming your so-called ‘stealth mission’ did not go as planned?”
Sero’s grin falters. “No, sir. I was apprehended.”
“They found you? That’s uncharacteristic of you, Young Sero.”
Sero bites his lip nervously. “I panicked, sir, and acted rashly.”
“Panic? Sero?” Kaminari sounds disbelieved, and the others seem to share a similar sentiment. Toshinori doesn’t comment, but he also doesn’t seem disappointed. Perhaps he can see a remnant of the fear in his eyes.
“How many?”
“Around ten.”
This time, it’s Ojiro’s turn to look flabbergasted. “You escaped ten vampires?”
Sero flinches. “Er… not exactly.”
Toshinori frowns and claps a hand on Sero’s injured shoulder. He can’t help the burning sensation that flares down his arm, nor can he stop the pained whimper from slipping out of his mouth. It’s times like these that he loathes how perceptive his friends are.
“Sero…?” Midoriya’s round eyes are impossible wide and watery.
“Are you hurt?” Iida asks.
“Oh my god, what happened?”
“Where’s the injury?”
“Did you get bit?”
“Where—”
Toshinori clears his throat loudly and the room instantly quiets. “Young Jirou, please go and finish your debrief with Mic. Kaminari, Iida, would you make sure the bunks are tidy? The rest of you, please finish your dinner and be ready for morning assignments. I know it’s exciting to see Young Sero again, but after he meets with me, I’d like him to get some sleep. Same goes to the rest of you.”
“Yes, All Might!”
“Yes, sir!”
Before everyone can run away to do their own thing, Toshinori (gently, this time) places his hand on Sero’s back and guides him through the halls to his office. It’s large and spacious, with lots of furniture and weapons and papers scattered around without a second thought.
“Young Sero, may I see the rest of your injury?”
Sero frowns and shrugs off his pack and coat. His shirt comes next, and he winces when he hears Toshinori suck in a frightened breath.
It’s gone from ugly to downright hideous, now. The skin is raised and red, rough patches of skin that burn hot whenever someone touches it too hard. It looks like the world’s ugliest serpent has crawled up his arm and won’t let go.
“They didn’t kill me,” he says, turning around so the rest of the wound is visible. Gee, obvious much? Of course they didn’t kill him, he’s literally standing right there. “They took me to a castle, north of Solitude. I think it’s where their base is.”
“Mm.” Toshinori picks up a rag in one hand, and a healing potion in his other. He pours some of the bottle’s contents onto the rag and then positions his hands right above the scar. “May I?”
Sero nods. The potion is a soothing balm on his heated skin, and he wonders how he can feel so cold all the time when his wound burns like fire all the time. “They were strong, All Might. Stronger than any of the vampires I’d fought before.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Their leader was this—this huge man, and he—All Might.” Sero cranes his neck to try and make eye contact with his boss. “Have you ever seen a vampire with blue eyes before?”
Toshinori doesn’t reply until he’s finished wiping down the injury. It tingles, now, but it doesn’t burn anymore. “You met Endeavor.”
“You know him?”
“We’ve fought twice before. He’s the strongest vampire I’ve ever fought, and he’s ruthlessly set on destroying humanity. Culling the weak, he calls it. I’m relieved to see you, Young Sero, but I can’t quite believe that he would ever let a human live. Especially one who knows where his base is.”
Sero bites his lip and shrugs his shirt back on. “Todoroki—er, his son—he convinced Endeavor to let me live. Said I would be spared if I let his father turn me into a vampire and work alongside him.”
“His son?” Toshinori frowns and sits down at his desk. “I didn’t know he had children.”
“Well, he’s a massive prick with a holier-than-thou personality and as much tact as a brick,” Sero grumbles.
“I assume you refused the deal, since your eyes are still brown. How in the world did you manage to escape?”
Sero curls his hands into fists. He doesn’t want to think about the possible punishments Bakugo must be going through right now. Maybe none, since he doubts Todoroki would tell his father about such a failure and betrayal, but being so close to escape will do enough damage to the psyche alone.
“One of the vampires helped me,” he says.
Toshinori raises his eyebrows. “Why would he do that?”
“He was a human, once,” Sero says.
“Enji Todoroki doesn’t turn humans.”
“He’s a powerful mage,” Sero continues. He doesn’t know why he feels so desperate right now, but he needs to get Bakugo out of there as soon as possible. He won’t stop until he gets him back. “I watched him create an enchanted claw out of nothing. Just like Midoriya did.”
Toshinori frowns. “That’s impossible. Young Midoriya created the spell himself—he spent months researching the components for it. How in the world did a secluded vampire recreate it?”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think that’s what we should be focusing on.”
Sero digs through his bag while Toshinori’s frown only deepens and then takes a breath. “Endeavor has been hell-bent—er, pardon the pun—on some prophecy, apparently. Todoroki told me that, with the combined power of three elder scrolls, they’ll be able to control the sun.”
Frowning doesn’t suit Toshinori very well. Sero remembers the greatest vampire hunter of all time, the one people wrote songs about and dedicated their lives to praising. The husk of that former legend may look gaunt, but all his pride and integrity still remains.
“Elder scrolls?” Toshinori clasps his hands together. “Young Sero, I have lived many years, and I have never laid eyes upon one of those. They might as well just be rumor.”
“Would you call this a rumor, All Might?” Sero asks as he slams all twenty pounds of the world’s heaviest scroll on the desk.
Toshinori’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “By the gods,” he says, gobsmacked by the legendary artifact.
“I had help from B—er, the former human. He snuck this into my boat when I escaped. We have the upper hand for now, sir, but I’m not sure how much longer we’ll keep it for.”
Sero sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Who would’ve thought that one simple stealth mission would lead him into a world-ending conspiracy? It’s a race against the clock, now, to find the other two elder scrolls, but they know next to nothing about the vampires.
He doesn’t know what the prophecy entails. He doesn’t know where the elder scrolls are. He doesn’t know how the sun can be plunged into eternal darkness, or what lengths Endeavor will go to achieve his dream, or how Todoroki will supposedly stop it.
All they have right now is one elder scroll and one boy fraying at the edges.
“This is bigger than just a skirmish,” Toshinori finally says. His voice is grim, more gravelly than it ever has been. “My boy, I’m not sure if you realize just how many lives you have already begun saving with this.”
“We haven’t saved anyone yet,” Sero reminds him, brain sprinting at a breakneck pace. “We need to—”
Toshinori holds a hand up and Sero falls silent. Right. Legendary warrior and all that. “All in due time, Young Sero. Saving the world does not take only a day.”
A warm, comforting hand rubs up and down his back, careful of his searing scar. “You were imprisoned for a month. You traveled across the nation with a target on your back and an army of vampires on your trail. Need I remind you that you are not alone?”
A weight falls from Sero’s shoulders and crashes on the ground. That’s right, he isn’t alone. Not anymore. He may not have his family anymore, but he isn’t trapped in a castle with his sworn enemies, either. He has powerful friends who will do everything in their power to bear the weight of the world with him.
Oh, shit, his friends. How the hell is he going to tell them about all this? “All Might, we need to tell the others—”
“On the contrary, my boy.” Toshinori smiles wryly and gives his door a pointed glance.
Right on cue, muffled voices hiss at each other, and there’s a loud oof as someone elbows another person. When Toshinori coughs loudly, the door swings open, and the entire peanut gallery comes rushing in, everyone talking over each other.
“An elder scroll?”
“Vampires can have blue eyes?”
“What happened to your arm?”
“The entire world is at stake?”
“You were helped by a vampire?”
Midoriya’s greedy hands inch toward the elder scroll on the table, and he is swatted away last second by Iida. Uraraka looks just as curious, using her magic to float above Midoriya as her wide eyes stare at the ancient artifact.
“Don’t touch artifacts you know nothing about,” Iida says.
“Yeah, or else you’ll end up with five broken fingers and a hostile ghost!” Kaminari chirps.
Midoriya pouts. “That was one time,” he grumbles.
Sero feels light pressure on his wrist and turns to meet Jirou’s dark eyes. “Can we see your injury?” she asks, and the atmosphere instantly dampens.
He pushes down the insecurity that threatens to bite and sends her a cheeky grin. “If you want to see me shirtless, you need only ask.”
“Yes, sir!” Kaminari purrs. He reaches for Sero’s nipples when he takes off his shirt and is only batted away last second.
Rather than call him hideous (unlikely, but still possible), or give him pitying frowns (more likely), everyone just… stares at it. Uraraka runs her spongey fingers lightly across the marred, leathery skin with a thoughtful look.
“That’s no normal burn,” Midoriya quips, pressing his finger against Sero’s neck. “I’ve never seen a burn scar quite like this.”
Sero has. He’s seen it on the face of someone who uses apathy like a shield, whose own strange, backwards idea of kindness and mercy was to keep him as a servant.
“It must have taken quite a while to be healed, if it left a mark this bad,” Uraraka says.
Sero bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to shiver at the warmth of his friends pressed so close. “It was healed only a few minutes after I got it,” he corrects her.
Midoriya gawks, calloused fingers pressing all over Sero’s face without any regard to personal space. He isn’t sure what symptoms the mage is looking for, but he lets him continue his examination with little complaint.
“Will you let me check your wound for any leftover magic?” he asks.
Sero scoffs—it’s impossible to refuse Midoriya when he gets all wide-eyed and breathless with his thirst for knowledge. It’s also impossible to refuse Midoriya in general, truth be told.
Before Midoriya can drag him away to his evil magic lair, Iida grabs him by the collar of his robe like he’s scruffing a cat. Midoriya yelps and struggles, kicking his feet like a petulant toddler, but Iida just clicks his teeth. “Let him rest, Midoriya,” he scolds.
The parade of ragtag fighters then hoists Sero into the air, frog-marching him through the halls and into the bathing rooms, where enchanted coals fog the humid room with steam.
“You smell like a horse,” Ojiro teases once they’re all settled in the large bath. He tosses a bar of soap with his tail that Uraraka stops in mid-air.
Kaminari’s nails pleasantly scratch his scalp as he rubs a scented oil soap into Sero’s hair, and he sinks just a little further into the hot water. “You try sleeping in a carriage for multiple nights in a row,” he retorts.
The door creaks open, and Sero opens an eye and smiles when Tokoyami walks in with a polite bow. One of his arms is trapped in a sling still, but he looks leagues better than he did when Sero first left.
He wonders if Tokoyami would’ve been more successful with the mission.
“Fortune smiles upon you, friend,” Tokoyami says. Sero smiles back and watches the bird man sit cross-legged on the ledge of the bath. “I am glad to see you in good health.”
“Good is relative,” Sero replies, gesturing awkwardly to the scar-shaped elephant in the room. It’s hard to keep his eyes open when Kaminari’s nails feel so good.
Tokoyami picks at his nails and hums thoughtfully. “Scars are a symbol of willpower, Sero. They are a testament to perseverance and duty.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Sero admits. Hard to think like that when you spent the whole time screaming and crying on the ground in pain, but he appreciates the sentiment.
A small splash catches Sero’s attention, and he grins when Midoriya surfaces from the water right in front of him. He looks like a wet dog with his shaggy hair in front of his eyes. Sero resists the ridiculous urge to pat him on the head.
“I have a ton of scars,” Midoriya says with a sheepish smile. He’s not wrong—little white lines, giant tears of white flesh, and everything in between cover his arms and torso. “I used to be embarrassed about them, because I thought they meant I was weak.”
Kaminari laughs and removes his hands from Sero’s hair to turn around and show off his own scars. His entire back looks like a jagged tree, with thin pink and white lines spreading from his spine to the rest of his back. “These aren’t weaknesses, man. They’re awesome! It meant we went through the craziest shit in the world and lived. What’s more badass than that?”
“He’s got a point,” Jirou pipes up, surprised at her own agreement. Kaminari barks out a hey at her, but it goes entirely ignored. “You escaped an entire castle of powerful vampires, and now you have a sick scar to prove it. Wear it with pride.”
“It looks like a snake,” Ojiro agrees. His tail swishes back and forth in the water as he sidles closer to the group.
“Probably because you were in a den of snakes,” Iida says. He pinches at Sero’s stomach and tuts disapprovingly. “You’ve lost weight.”
“We’ll hit the grounds extra hard tomorrow. Get those muscles back!” Kaminari pats his uninjured shoulder comfortingly.
Sero rolls his eyes. He’s never been as stocky as someone like Iida, or even Kaminari and Uraraka to a certain extent. His muscle has always been lean on his lanky frame—he’ll never have the glistening abs of someone like Ojiro or Midoriya, but he has enough to make him look healthy.
How bad is he right now? How pathetic does he look? How exhausted does he look in the eyes of his friends, for them to all be sending worried glances his way when they think he isn’t looking?
“The food was actually pretty decent,” Sero muses quietly. Everyone starts getting out of the bath and drying off, and Jirou yells at Kaminari for accidentally grabbing her pants and grumbling at how they’re way too tight.
“You said there was a vampire who used to be human,” Uraraka points out. “Maybe he had experience cooking human food before he was turned!”
Something wraps itself around Sero’s gut and squeezes. Bakugo should be anywhere else in the world right now, cooking food and attending the College of Winterhold and going home to his family every once in a while. Is his family still alive? Does he know if his family is alive? He’s chained to his own immortality, now, permanently bound to Todoroki’s side.
“You told me that you think vampires can be good.” Uraraka and Midoriya both glance over at Sero when he addresses them. “They—I believe you.”
The bath slowly empties out as everyone makes their way to the barracks, but Sero feels rooted to the ground. “The others didn’t hurt me. They were nice to me, and they fed me, and they…”
Sero sighs and tugs his pants on. “I don’t want to fight them,” he says lamely.
“They were nice to you?”
Midoriya and Uraraka both shove their faces way too close to his own for comfort. Their combined eyes could put an entire litter of puppies to shame, all sparkling and curious and full of undeterred fascination.
“I mean, it makes sense logically,” Uraraka muses, floating behind Sero as they start making their way to the barracks.
Midoriya quickly follows suit with his own magic, and Sero feels like he’s being trailed by two overenthusiastic birds. “Most vampires we deal with are practically feral. They’re starved for blood and weak for their species, likely due to the strain that a sudden genetic mutation would put on one’s mind.”
“If you were to erase the constant urge to feed and spill blood—”
“If you were a vampire from birth, or had a particularly iron-willed brain—”
“Or perhaps belonged to some sort of pure-blooded species, which could explain the blue eyes Sero mentioned—”
Sero cuts them both off with a loud groan as he shoves open the barracks door. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” he practically begs.
The sight of his two friends snapping their mouths shut and flushing almost makes him feel bad, but one glance at his sweet, beautiful, clean bed throws any guilt out the window. He shouldn’t feel so comforted by a small bed, barely big enough for his body, but it feels like home just as much as his house in Dragon Bridge.
His chest at the foot of his bed has everything it normally does—a few dagger sheaths, his spare crossbow and bolts, a handful of books he will never read—with the addition of a few little gifts from his friends. Something warm blooms in his stomach as he pushes past a cool gem (likely from Kaminari or Midoriya) to grab a pair of his own clothes. Finally.
There’s a palpable silence in the room, stretched thin and awkward like a taut string. One look at his friends tells Sero exactly what’s going on, and he can’t help the little chuckle that slips out of his mouth.
“Ask whatever you’d like,” he says, and then, like the sadistic asshole he is, adds, “tomorrow.”
A collective groan cuts through the tension instantly as the room descends into loud complaints. Jirou plucks a gentle tune on her lute, Iida almost immediately falls asleep, and Tokoyami has his face buried in a book.
Sero settles into his fur blankets and finds drowsiness easier than most nights. The quiet hum of activity, from Kaminari chatting with Ojiro on his left to the rustle of turning pages from Midoriya on his right and the sweet chords of Jirou’s lute, have his eyes slipping shut almost instantly.
Even with drowsiness guiding him to sleep quicker than usual, he still finds himself thinking about Todoroki. Is he still angry? Will his father punish him for allowing a prisoner to escape? Does he regret letting him live in the first place?
They have a common goal. Despite how much he hates that vampire prince’s stupid, pompous face, he wouldn’t be completely against working with him. Neither of them want to see the death of the sun. If he can find a way to help Bakugo escape his eternal prison and give Todoroki some faith in human strength, then they’d be practically unstoppable together.
Surely, if he can convince Todoroki to join him, the others would follow, too, right? Kirishima doesn’t seem like someone who would want all humans to die, and certainly Yaoyorozu wouldn’t, either. Having people as powerful as them on their side would make them a force to be reckoned with.
Whatever the case, Sero is certain of one thing—Todoroki hasn’t seen the last of him yet, and he’ll make damn sure of that.