Chapter Text
Never take advice from someone who's falling apart
Izuku hadn’t seen Bakugou all day.
The cell felt emptier for it, colder, quieter, the shadows longer. He kept expecting the door to scrape open and that familiar scowl to appear, red eyes flicking over him. He had gotten used to the other man's presence.
Mirio, at least, kept appearing, always with food, always with that easy, bright smile and Izuku guessed immediately whose doing it was. Gratitude sat heavy in his chest for Katsuki.
“Could you check on the general too?” Izuku asked softly one afternoon, pushing his plate away only once he was sure he’d eaten enough. “Please. And… give him some of this. I don't think he's been getting special treatment.”
Mirio nodded without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy food for him too.”
Izuku shook his head quickly. “No—no, Katsuki doesn’t have any more money. Just… give him some of mine. Please.”
Mirio’s eyes crinkled with quiet amusement. “Katsuki doesn’t have to know.”
He stayed while Izuku ate, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor like they were sharing lunch in a sunlit courtyard instead of a dungeon. Izuku found himself talking. Small things at first, then more. How he grew up in the palace, the library he’d practically lived in, the way his mother used to sneak him extra sweets during long council meetings.
Mirio listened, then shared his own stories too. His childhood, the places he’d been, stories that were light and ordinary and comforting. Izuku listened like it was oxygen. His head felt quieter when Mirio talked.
“I’m surprised Dynamight lets you call him Katsuki,” Mirio said once, amused.
Izuku tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Mirio just chuckled and changed the subject.
Sometimes Mirio left and came back with updates. Aizawa was still alive, still refusing to cooperate, still himself. Izuku clung to those words like a promise, like a lifeline.
They talked in hushed voices about Eri too, about escape routes and timing and guards. Mirio was determined, focused, but he shut down Izuku’s suggestion of getting her out immediately.
“Too risky,” he said gently. “We do this once and we do it right.”
Izuku hated it, but he trusted Mirio’s calm certainty.
Eventually exhaustion pulled him under, Mirio’s quiet “Sleep well, kid” the last thing he heard before darkness took him.
He woke to voices again.
They came from beyond the wall, muffled but clear enough to make his heart stutter.
“The general remains unbreakable.”
Touya’s drawl was unmistakable.
“Just kill him,” another voice muttered. This one was gravelly and rather impatient.
“No. We’re going to use him for leverage.” A pause. “I don’t know why Dynamight’s acting so useless lately.”
“Who cares about that kid. Just use the prince. The prince will break.”
Touya snorted. “No… the prince is a tough nut to crack as well."
"Oh?"
"Yes. And it sure as hell doesn't help that he's somehow convinced Dynamight to help."
"I don't know your obsession with the Dynamight kid is Dabi."
"He appeared out of nowhere!" Touya snapped. "And Enji Todoroki is a foolish man. He won't know a traitor when they're right under his nose!"
The other voice laughed softly. “Wasn’t Dynamight the one who captured the prince, though?”
“Yes. He follows orders well,” Touya admitted, then scoffed. “But something about him is wrong. He’s an assassin with a conscience.”
"That can't be too bad, can it? Surely the disappearances bother him too."
"Assassins can't have moral compasses Tomura." Touya said flatly. “You of all people should know that.”
"Eh?" A pause. “So you think he’s onto us?”
"Dynamight?" Touya hummed. "Nah. But he's definitely growing affections for the Alderan."
Tomura barked a short, rasping laugh. “How do you figure that?”
“The prince doesn’t eat,” Touya said, voice dropping lower. “Even the general cracked eventually...had to eat that shit to stay alive. It’s impossible to hold out that long without help.”
“I’ve gone longer,” Tomura muttered. "So, what's the plan then? Did they find Shouto?"
"No. The mission failed. But I believe the general’s soft spot is the prince. Surely seeing his student in pain will get the man to talk?”
“I don’t know, Dabi… the general is stony. He’s refused to give up a single piece of info. And the Kaminari brat went nuts with the electrocuting too.”
There was a pause again this time.
“We’ll see.” Touya said.
Footsteps faded down the corridor and Izuku saw a blue haired man outlined in the light.
Was he another guard? Izuku thought. He wasn't wearing Endeavour colours, he noted.
Izuku curled tighter under the thin blanket, stomach churning, heart hammering against his ribs.
He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth to keep any sound from escaping.
Hours went by once again. Izuku felt like he was going mad in the silence.
Mirio slipped into the cell like a ghost, the door creaking softly behind him. His usual bright smile was gone, replaced by deep shadows under his eyes and a slump in his broad shoulders that made him look smaller than Izuku had ever seen him.
“The general’s not doing well,” he said quietly, voice heavy with exhaustion. “They… did something to him.”
Izuku scrambled upright, blankets falling away, chains rattling as his eyes flooded. “W-what?”
Mirio lowered himself onto the edge of the cell, exhaling heavily. “It took hours to heal him. Don’t worry—he’s holding on. Barely, but he is.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to hold the sobs back.
Mirio reached into his satchel and pulled out two slightly squashed cream buns wrapped in cloth. “This is all I could manage today,” he said, offering them.
Izuku took them with shaking hands, the sweet scent turning his stomach even as gratitude flooded him. He tried to smile.
“He’s a strong man, Prince,” Mirio said gently. “Don’t cry.”
Izuku wiped his face with the back of his wrist, nodding mutely.
“On a brighter note,” Mirio said, his voice softening, “I talked to the girl today.”
Izuku’s chest lifted slightly, the tight knot of anxiety loosening just a fraction.
“You did? Is she…?”
“She… her name’s Eri,” Mirio continued. "She's a tough little girl."
Izuku’s chest tightened. She had to be a tough little girl, he thought.
“Apparently your general has discovered her too. He’s been talking to her through the walls, trying to comfort her.”
Izuku felt his heart roar with something fierce and warm, love, pride, gratitude all tangled together. Aizawa-sensei, even broken and chained in his own cell, was still protecting someone. Still being the hero he’d always been.
He pressed a hand to his eyes, tears slipping free despite his smile. “He’s… he’s the best,”
Mirio nodded, understanding completely, and Izuku knew he did because he had heard stories about Sir Nighteye.
“She’s thirteen,” Mirio added quietly. “They’re doing… experiments on her, I think.”
Anger flared hot and sudden inside Izuku, his hands balling into fists.
“You have to get her out. We can’t leave her here.”
Mirio’s face was grim, but his eyes held steady resolve. “We won’t. Don’t worry. If Dynamight is back by tomorrow, I might have a plan. I’ll need his help, though. Only he knows the palace layouts as well as the guards do.”
Izuku nodded, his mind already spinning with possibilities, holding onto the fragile hope that they might actually get her out safely. He picked up his bun again.
“Hang in there a little longer, Prince. Things are moving.”
Then Mirio’s expression shifted, something uneasy passing through his eyes. “The guards were talking on my way here,” he added. “They caught another Alderan.”
Izuku froze mid bite. His head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”
“I don’t know anything else,” Mirio said. “Just overheard it.”
Izuku sank back against the wall, the buns forgotten in his lap. Nausea rolled through him as he forced himself to eat.
Mirio stayed a little longer, quiet company in the dim cell, then slipped out with a tired wave and a promise to return when he could.
The door locked.
Izuku was alone again.
He curled into himself and cried silent, wrenching sobs for Aizawa, for the new prisoner, for everyone waiting outside the gates who had no idea if he was even alive. He missed his mom. He missed All Might.
An hour later, maybe more, commotion erupted outside.
Shouts echoed down the corridor, guards yelling orders, boots pounding, something heavy crashing against stone. Then a roar, furious, defiant vibrated through the underground walls.
Izuku surged to his feet, heart pounding.
Struggling. Grunts. A sharp curse that cut off abruptly.
Izuku pressed himself to the bars, straining to see.
The dungeon doors burst open.
Five guards stumbled in, dragging a struggling prisoner between them barely able to keep a hold of him. The man thrashed wildly, muscles straining, skin flashing hard and red in patches as he fought the cuffs and chains. It took all five to hold him; one guard’s nose was bleeding, another limping. He fought like a storm, teeth bared, voice hoarse with rage.
Izuku strained forward, squinting through the torchlight.
Who needed five guards?
Then suddenly, the man went quiet.
Crimson eyes met Izuku’s through the bars.
The guards took advantage of the sudden lack of struggle, and shoved the captive into the cell across from Izuku’s and slammed the door, cursing under their breath as they retreated.
“I—Izuku?” The voice cracked, disbelieving. “Is that you?”
Izuku couldn’t breathe.
Standing there, wrists cuffed just like his own, bruised and bloodied but unmistakable, was Kirishima Eijirou.
Kirishima was on him at once, crossing the narrow corridor between cells in two long strides. His cuffed hands were awkward, but he still managed to grip Izuku’s shoulders, turning him gently but firmly, lifting the edge of his torn shirt to see the damage.
“My prince,” he whispered, voice cracking. “How are you? What did they do to you?”
The bruises, the half-healed lash marks, the faint scars from stitches. Kirishima’s face went pale beneath the blood at his temple.
Izuku still couldn’t speak. His throat felt sealed shut. All he could do was stare at his best friend...here, in chains, in this hell.
Kirishima’s eyes searched his, frantic. “Izuku… talk to me.”
“What…” Izuku finally croaked, voice raw and small. “What are you doing here?”
Kirishima let out a long, shaky sigh and sank to the floor in front of the bars, running a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know, man… I just—” He launched into the whole story, words tumbling over each other, desperate to get it all out. Izuku listened, wide-eyed, heart aching for his friend. He interrupted occasionally, with updates of his own, everytime Kirishima looked fearfully at him.
"They healed them, don't worry," he said, watching Kirishima's face crumple as he heard what the King had done.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"You were taken from our palace. Right under our eyes."
Izuku changed the subject.
“I saw her this morning,” Izuku whispered instead, remembering Ashido. “She was talking to Katsuki. Down here.”
Kirishima’s head snapped toward him. “This Katsuki… the one who’s been helping you?”
Izuku nodded slowly.
“I think… yes,” he said hesitantly.
Kirishima shook his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t think he is, man. How were the guards there so fast? Right after I told her everything? Why did they catch me then?”
Izuku shook his head dumbly, confusion swirling.
Kirishima’s gaze softened slightly, thoughtful. “Ashido and Katsuki… they looked like friends, yeah?”
“Definitely,” Izuku managed, nodding, recalling the way Bakugou had asked for money. Katsuki didn't look like the person who asked for help casually.
Kirishima’s expression hardened for a moment, then softened again. “Yeah… then I don’t think we can trust them."
Izuku’s stomach dropped, but he couldn’t argue. The man was after all... an assassin.
Kirishima forced a grin, small, but real. “But don’t worry! Uraraka and Tsu-chan are here. Outside the walls. They’re watching, planning. They’re going to help. Definitely.”
Izuku felt a spark of hope flicker in his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the second cream bun Mirio had brought. The one he hadn’t been able to stomach earlier.
“Here,” he said.
Kirishima’s eyes lit up. He took it gratefully and devoured it in three bites, humming happily.
“Thanks, man.”
They chattered after that, quietly, carefully, voices low so the guards wouldn’t hear. Kirishima told him about the hunter’s hut, about Uraraka and about Tsuyu, catching frogs for dinner and insisting they tasted like chicken.
Izuku told him about Mirio phasing through walls, about the little blue-haired girl upstairs, but he didn't speak of Katsuki.
Selfishly, he was grateful for company.
Never take advice from someone who's falling apart