Chapter Text
“If we’re going to be heroes,” Izuku says slowly, looking at the circle made around the common room.
It isn’t something they had to do, but it’s the middle of the night, they’re in their pajamas, and Izuku’s never felt more excited to be at school than he does right now, looking each of his new, ah, classmates in the eyes.
They’re going to be heroes.
The underground heroes that don’t have to worry about the press and don’t have to worry about the Hero Commission and the corruption it leaks out, blood from the corpse of the ideals hero society once held.
“Then we need to have allies,” Izuku finishes finally, watching each reaction with glee.
Everyone is sitting in a circle, with varying degrees of alertness; him, Katsuki, Uraraka, Todoroki, Shinsou, Yaoyorozu, Kirishima, Toga, Kaminari, Ashido, Sero, and Iida. Too many people for him to have kept track of this whole time, but he’s glad that they’ve decided to venture out of their dorms for this.
Katsuki’s just annoyed at having been woken up in the middle of the night, but his irritation is mostly dulled by Kirishima, by his side, despite the fact that Kirishima still seems somewhat troubled and lost; Uraraka and Toga are sitting remarkably close together in matching pajamas, with the gleam of mischief in their eyes that mean they want to know what he’s planning now; Shinsou’s sitting alone, legs crossed and face blank, as it always is whenever Izuku is in the room.
The two he’s keeping an eye on are Todoroki and Ashido.
Todoroki doesn’t want to be a hero, that’s true; Todoroki doesn’t want to be what he was meant to be in the first place. How is it rebellion if he’s still doing exactly what his father wants? Something like that. He seems more comfortable with himself, though, and the bruise on his face is worn with honor rather than scorn.
Maybe he and Uraraka talked or something.
And Ashido, for just a second, glances at the little group they’ve made here - and he can almost pretend he sees the girl he used to know.
Then she’s back to the scorned glances and crossed arms, but it’s something.
“What do you mean?” Uraraka says hesitantly, the silence weighing down like fog on a winter night; the little light let in by the windows brings the volume down by default.
It’s the middle of the night.
And while most of them have made their dwellings in the dark, in the horrors it has to offer, now that they’ve had a taste of the sunlight it feels wrong, out of place. Izuku certainly doesn’t feel the same certainty as he used to, in green pajamas rather than the ill-managed suit he’s gotten used to.
“We’ll need allies,” Izuku echoes again, shrugging. “We’re going to be rejected by every single hero that’s already licensed. The only support we’ll get and can count on is from Aizawa. From the day we agree to this, we'll be targeted, by villains and by heroes.”
“Then we’re in low supply of allies,” Iida says quietly, and shit, Izuku jumps; he’d forgotten Iida was there entirely. It’s a habit of Iida’s, and one that he’s clearly gotten too comfortable with if he’s getting startled.
No one points out Izuku’s ship, though; this isn’t the same game of weaknesses as it used to be. “We are. And there’s no guarantee our jobs will be to senselessly hunt down villains - we can help. We’ll be heroes. There won’t be any dirty cash involved.”
Denki grins. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
“There won’t be any unsanctioned dirty cash,” Izuku corrects, sitting criss-cross and resting his head in his hands, his elbow digging into his knee. “But as I said, we’re low on allies and we’re low on selling points. We don’t really have anything going for us, do we?”
“Keep fucking talking, nerd,” Katsuki grunts, but his voice lacks the usual bite, perhaps from how his head is rested against Kirishima’s shoulder. Kirishima seems alright with it, for now; he’s treating Katsuki like one would treat a stray cat that’s decided to take up residence with them for the day. “Anything else you want to complain about?”
Izuku shrugs as best as he can with the way he’s sitting. “Not at all, Kacchan. I was just thinking that we could extend our invitation to some, ah, other individuals.”
“... You want to invite more people to the class?” Yaoyorozu sounds questioning, but her voice is firm; he used to know her when she was meeker and indecisive, and Izuku will never stop wondering what happened in the three years they didn’t speak that led to this.
Probably too much to cover in one conversation.
Oh, they’ve all changed so much since when Izuku first met them; hell, even since just being at U.A., they’ve changed more than they’ll admit.
“Do you think Aizawa will be willing to go and find more fucking people?” Katsuki says, again, lacking bite.
Sero shrugs. “I dunno, man. The class is already big enough, isn’t it? There’s, what, twelve of us? Isn’t that enough? And why couldn’t we have this conversation at, like, a normal human time?”
That’s where Izuku grins, intentionally mimicking the sleepy, dopey look on his face from everyone else. “That’s what I’m suggesting. I don’t think Aizawa wants to extend the invitation, but I think we can. If you all have any suggestions, I’m sure we can find them…”
That grants him a lot of reactions all at once.
“Woah, Midoriya, are you suggesting we-”
“Why do you think we can -”
“-Escape U.A. -”
“- there’s so much secur -”
“You don’t know when -”
But the only reaction Izuku pays any attention to is from Yaoyorozu, who calmly asks, “Who do you suggest we bring on? You’re the original. It’s only fair if you get first pick.”
Izuku beams. “I do have some suggestions. But what about you? Fire off some names, and… if we can find them, we find them, and we offer to let them join. Alright?”
Before Izuku can recognize what he’s started, the names start pouring in, and most of them he recognizes; people he’s met here and there, perhaps none that he’d write down himself simply because he has a gap in his knowledge relating to them.
“Kyouka Jirou.”
“Tsuyu Asui.”
“Mezou Shouji.”
“Tokoyami, Tokoyami!”
“Ojirou would be a nice addition…”
“I think Kouda would be a good fit…”
“D’ya think Aoyama would think this shit twinkles enough to accept?”
_
They spend less than thirty minutes on the topic, but eventually, it’s narrowed down to those seven names; Jirou, Asui, Shouji, Tokoyami, Ojirou, Kouda, and Aoyama.
Izuku doesn’t know Shouji well at all; he’s heard of the man in passing but they’ve never met face to face. Perhaps that’s a good thing, given that Shouji’s specialty is reconnaissance missions; something Izuku usually does on his own.
Tokoyami Fumikage is a powerhouse of his own right, with the calm, collected control of Todoroki with the explosive temper of Katsuki’s that resides in Dark Shadow.
Mashirao Ojirou is a martial arts expert with a history of doing odd, dangerous jobs every once in a while for the cash, but he always seeks them out, they never come to him. He’s a good person, just in a bad place. He’d be perfect.
Kyouka Jirou is a mystery to him.
Kyouka Jirou is a recommendation from Yaoyorozu, in the tone that insists that Yaoyorozu already made up her mind; apparently, the girl works with Yaoyorozu, working mostly in organized crime due to her quirk being specialized for stealth and information; and Shinsou”s apparently heard of her.
Then again, Shinsou’s heard of everyone. He’s able to fill in every and all gaps that Izuku has.
Information pays, isn’t that how the saying goes? An information broker through and through; hopefully the skill will serve him well.
Once they have their targets established, Izuku stands, bowing dramatically as though his audience isn’t a group of eighteen-nineteen year olds in embarrassing pajamas, and brushes his hair out of his face when he stands back up again. “Now, then, shall we escape?”
_
It’s easier said than done; Izuku knew that when he thought of the idea. Still, it frustrates him; they need to be off the campus before sunrise because sunrise was when it became more difficult to hide.
Just because he felt out of place in the dark now didn’t mean it wasn’t where he belonged; he’s lived in the shadows far too long to truly leave them now.
(He is becoming an underground hero, after all.)
See, the trick to escaping is simple - knowing how to get over the barrier, and from there, how to get the quirk repressing bracelets off.
The bracelets make it easy to cross the barrier - the barrier isn’t designed like normal security measures; it’s designed to protect against attacks. It doesn’t register body scans and thermals because there are people out there whose physiology makes it obsolete.
The barrier registers quirks. Everyone’s quirk is put into a database the moment it’s registered; their names and their quirks and what makes their quirk unique, because no two quirks are the same, in much the same way snowflakes are.
If you’re quirkless, it’s still registered; simply as UNKNOWN.
Unknown isn’t as high of a threat as a registered quirk, simply because it so rarely happens now with only 20% of the population being quirkless. With the bracelets suppressing their quirks, it effectively masks their identities to the barrier.
The unknown quirks and identities will be registered but won’t activate the alarm - it’s a loophole that no one thought through.
The problem, however, is that the barrier is thirty feet tall and has smooth concrete. And they can’t access their quirks to get around what would otherwise be a non-issue they could clear in minutes.
“We could always jump from the roof of the building to the barrier wall?” Kaminari shrugs, but it’s clear to everyone that it’s just a half-assed idea that he knows won’t go anywhere.
And it shouldn’t, because the building is sixty-five feet tall and the barrier is thirty and the margin of error is so high that it shouldn’t even be considered, and the landing would be brutal even if they didn’t break their legs…
“Actually,” Izuku mumbles, “I don’t hate that idea.”
Kaminari raises a brow. His expression is such a perfect impression of Todoroki’s usual deadpan that it causes Izuku to cackle, no doubt making him sound even more insane than he usually does when he discusses things like this. “That’s a good way to die, Midoriya, dude, I was joking.”
“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had... So long as we’re able to soften the landing and make sure everyone knows how to jump, it can’t be that bad, right?”
Kirishima offers a cheerful, “You could break your neck if you miscalculate, but yeah, I don’t think it’s the worst idea.”
Even Katsuki offers his two cents, not that it’s ever mattered before. “Yeah, shit could be worse. I’ll do it so long as Deku goes first.”
And that’s that.
They’ll jump it.
They just have to figure out how to create a low margin of error and how to get to the roof when the access door is no doubt locked, specifically to keep them out.
_
The solution, as the sun starts to rise, is to leave Kaminari to pick the lock on the access door, hope to God he doesn’t set off any alarms, and make Izuku take the first jump onto the barrier wall. It doesn’t turn out as badly as any of them feared; if anything his ankle aches a little and his back is sore from tucking and rolling.
Ignoring the fact that he was less than a meter away from falling another thirty feet onto the ground and no doubt breaking his spine.
Oh, well, wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s ever done.
Still, the issue remains that they need to get everyone else down, and the best solution that the revered class of villains that have made their mark on the underworld in blood and bones, is pillows. A stack of pillows that may or may not work, all brought up from each of their respective rooms.
Yeah, maybe they spent all their effort into figuring out who they wanted to extend their invitation to, or offering helpful suggestions as Kaminari picked the lock to the roof door.
_
Jirou raises a brow, taking in the twigs in Izuku’s hair and the dirt tarnishing Yaoyorozu’s silk pajama pants. “I see you were in a rush.”
Yaoyorozu simply hums, taking the thinly-veiled insult in stride as she steps forward toward Jirou, with no fear in her eyes despite the knife strapped to the girl’s thigh and the scar mottled underneath her eye, that’s been filled in with orange-pink eyeshadow to cover it up. The wrinkled skin, however, is far harder to disguise than the color. “We were. I wanted to make a deal with you.”
“Deals with you are never one-sided, Momo,” Jirou says, but yet a smile rests easily on her face. There’s history there, but Izuku doesn’t know it and won’t act as he does; he’s still got Shinsou by his side despite the fact that most of them split up.
Shinsou probably knows; Izuku can ask if he feels so inclined later. And he most likely will, if Jirou accepts their offer.
“They aren’t,” she says, arms crossed gently. “I’d like to offer to be by your side again.”
Jirou hums, taking another up-and-down glance at how dirty the three of them look together. Except for Shinsou, because he always looks exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. “I’m assuming it’ll be me by your side. And the conditions?”
“You’d have to come with me, for one,” Yaoyorozu shrugs. “And for another, you’d be an underground hero.”
“Why in the hell would I ever accept that?”
What Izuku doesn’t expect, however, is the fact that Yaoyorozu simply mimics his own words from earlier; “It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Except with a license. Considering the number of times I’ve seen you save someone against your own interests…”
Jirou narrows her eyes. “What happened that caused this proposal?”
As Yaoyorozu explains, with Jirou’s entire attention on her, Izuku can’t help but stand back and watch. He’s got nothing much to do and Shinsou isn’t much of a conversation-maker, not with Izuku, although he doesn’t feel the same hostility as he used to.
Regardless, when they leave the office, it’s with Jirou in tow.
And Izuku pretends he doesn’t notice the way she and Yaoyorozu are holding hands, mostly hidden between their bodies as though Izuku is going to reprimand them.
They’re only human. Misplaced love seems to be the only thing that holds sway in this world; love and hate are the only two emotions that can always be manipulated, can always manipulate, when it comes down to him.
Love for a person. Hate for an institution. Love for a concept. Hate for a past. Love for revenge. Hate for love. Love for hate.
_
Denki Kaminari doesn’t want to be wandering around in the dark tunnels underneath a warehouse, but here he is.
You’d think that being a professional hacker that’s had plenty of life experience would imbue him with more confidence, or even with a sense of ease in a situation, it doesn’t. He’s more used to being shoved into a computer screen in various secure locations with various shady people.
No, he’s with Ashido and Iida and they’re all dead silent as they wander, looking for a staircase that leads to an even deeper tunnel that supposedly is going to lead to a nest.
Denki’s pretty sure that, uh, nests aren’t supposed to actually be a thing, even with quirks, but who is he to comment? He’s seen weirder shit.
Maybe it’s the revelry in the dark thing the guy is known for.
Tokoyami Fumikage and Shouji Mezou are usually found together, if only because those with mutant quirks tend to be outcasted and they’re more likely to find kinship with each other rather than the outside world, but it doesn’t mean that Denki is prepared to meet either of them.
He’s heard of them, of course, he’s heard of them.
Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow is usually considered a last resort hire for anyone that’s looking for a quick job; he’s able to make quick work of any job he’s properly compensated for.
And Denki doesn’t know what Shouji’s known for, as he’s never even heard of the guy, but he thinks that’s probably the point given what he’s heard tonight.
Ashido and Iida, however, don’t make for great company, so eventually, Denki decides that maybe it’ll be better if he slinks ahead of them in order to find their targets first. He doesn’t want to deal with the awkward tension anymore.
It isn’t even tension - it’s the fact that Iida and Ashido have opposing ideals despite the fact that they were shoved under the same label of villain.
Iida will kill because it’s the best way to get rid of the stains on society that end up plaguing those around them, the type of monsters that are unable to produce anything other than the filth they leave behind in their footprints.
And Ashido, Ashido doesn’t care about that. Ashido cares about the power that comes from the ability to take a life because it’s the only way to gain respect; Ashido cares because power is the way to change the system that’s hurt them all by giving it no other choice than to obey.
There’s a reason no one dares to sell drugs to kids on the streets in her territory anymore. There’s a reason that there aren’t any working girls out under the age of eighteen
Denki doesn’t blame her, doesn’t find her as a failed mistake of his own like he thinks Midoriya does, from the looks he sees Midoriya giving her from time to time.
She’s right, in her own way, but in that same vein, so is Iida, which is where the problem arises.
Denki’s more than grateful when he sees the staircase leading down further, to whatever floor has no light at all penetrating the shadows that hang lowly around it; he descends without a second thought and it’s hardly difficult to get the feeling of cold slime off his back.
It’s like the shadows are sentient. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s seen, but it’d be great if it didn’t feel like goo.
“Tokoyami?” Denki calls out, but his voice seems to get swallowed by the darkness. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like something’s missing, and he belatedly realizes that what’s missing is electricity as he steps down from the final stair onto the cold concrete he can feel through his shoes.
Electricity is missing.
There’s none down here, which is odd; he’s gotten used to the feeling of electricity constantly crackling under his skin, even when the bracelet is on and he’s unable to use it. There aren’t any lights. There isn’t any heat. There’s no electricity in the air.
The shadows must have swallowed it all in the same way they’re already starting to sap his warmth.
No response.
Denki calls out again, trying both their names this time. “Tokoyami? Shouji?”
A low hissing sound, from somewhere, but Denki refuses to back down or let the chill crawl up his spine like it wants to.
“Hey,” he huffs, pulling the short sleeves of his pajama shirt down. It’s cold, alright? “If you have guests, it’s just polite to greet them. S’not like we’re down here to take your life’s work or anything. Got it?”
Another hissing sound, but this time it sounds closer to Denki’s ear and he jumps - and comes face to face with a pair of white, blinding eyes.
Why are they white?
Where’s the color coming from when there’s no light down here, none at all?
The only light that seeps into the floor is from the stairwell, and even that is dim and doesn’t provide much further than five feet down. That means it’s - well, it’s glowing.
A voice. This time, it doesn’t trip Denki out as much as the eyes did. “Who seeks out our companionship? It’s far too dark to mistakenly wander upon this den.”
Hm, that must be Tokoyami. Denki’s heard that he can be unnecessarily dramatic, but the whole posh vocabulary is more than overkill, in his opinion.
Then again, he’s been known to forget half of his sentences, and they don’t make sense without the other half that he forgot. It’s a brutal cycle, really.
Denki snorts, brushing his bangs out of his face to try and keep his disbelief out of his voice; it probably isn’t a good idea to try smart-mouthing a guy known to kill for the low low price of whatever the hell he got paid in. Feathers? “Uh, my name’s Kaminari! Midoriya sent me. A couple of my friends will be down here soon.”
A different voice, this time, low and smooth. “And what did Midoriya send you down here for?”
That must be Shouji, then. He sounds like the type of guy you would trust, just from voice alone. That’s probably a weird opinion, but Denki’s been told all his life that he thinks weird things like that all the time and so he doesn’t actually care anymore. “He has an invitation for you. Really, it’s from all of us…”
_
By the time Denki’s done explaining the reform program and the idea to become underground heroes under Aizawa’s training and how they need more of their own, Iida and Ashido have joined by his side, keeping quiet and not joining in the conversation as they glare at each other over his shoulders.
Not that there’s any light, still. He can just feel the glare.
Tokoyami hums, a strange sound that seems to reverberate off the walls that Denki still can’t see. The chill of the shadow, at least, has mostly gone away, although his toes are freezing and his pajamas were a good call.
Pajamas. He feels like he’s thinking about that a lot.
(It’s sort of… fun. It feels like being a kid again, sneaking out in his pajamas instead of being, well, who he is. Like they’re turning back the clock even if they’re sneaking out for far more sinister things than stealing snacks from the corner store.)
“We’ll… tentatively accept your invitation,” Shouji says.
_
When Izuku makes it back to the dorms, and by that he means the gate to U.A., it’s five in the afternoon the next day and he’s now joined by Jirou, Momo, Tsuyu, and Shinsou. All the other groups are already there.
Kirishima and Katsuki seem to have picked up Ojirou, and Toga seems to have found both Kouda and Aoyama, as they’re both standing next to her and apparently having a very heated conversation with a crow.
That’s everyone, then; all seven of the recruits they sought to find.
Perfect, perfect.
Izuku smiles, glancing at everyone, and walking right up to the closed, high-security, three-foot metal door, and knocking.
Like good little students, they’ve all returned, and even brought friends; he could have Kaminari short-circuit the barrier and have them get in that way, considering all their bracelets are sitting in a neat pile in the branch of a tree not too far from their dorm. But that would be impolite, wouldn’t it?
Slowly, the door opens, mechanisms whirring as they struggle to let the security measures release; and out steps Shouta Aizawa, his eyebags worse than usual and a smudge of what seems to be ink on his forehead.
The man immediately glares at them all, but Izuku takes another step forward and takes the heat for them before either Todoroki or Katsuki gets any ideas. They seem to be the most impulsive, strangely enough. “Hey, Eraser. Sorry for breaking curfew.”
“Breaking curfew? You think what you did was breaking curfew?”
“Breaking curfew with a couple of friends,” Kaminari smiles, walking up and draping his arm across Izuku’s shoulder; although he lets it drop when Izuku flinches away, subtle and yet noticeable at the same time.
“What the hell were you thinking? How’d you escape? And how the fuck did you get your quirk suppressors off?”
Izuku gets the sneaking feeling that Aizawa doesn’t mean to curse in front of them and it just happens, slips out with how pissed he’s feeling, but he ignores that in favor of grinning, the sort of shy grin that used to piss Katsuki off so much when they were younger. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Now, Eraser - you gathered our program together because I gave you a list and a requirement. You remember, yes?”
Most likely knowing that Izuku’s more than willing to close his mouth and never open it again if he doesn’t, Aizawa decides to fall along, although his grip is still steady on his capture scarf. He doesn’t trust them.
Or he doesn’t change the new arrivals. But that’s all fine and dandy because Izuku likes all of his distant allies at least somewhat afraid of him.
“...Yes…?”
“I’ve decided to extend the deal,” Izuku nods, gesturing around to everyone that accepted their offer. Jirou offers awkward finger guns, whereas Shouji tilts his head in greeting with a blue mask glinting in the evening light; Ojirou crosses his arms and Tokoyami narrows his eyes.
“And you want,” Aizawa starts slowly. He slowly lowers his hand from his capture weapon. “Everyone here to be part of your miracle list?”
Izuku nods.
“After all, the only thing that changes is a license. Or isn’t that what you said?”
_
“They’re destined for disaster,” Nedzu says cheerfully, a cup of tea in his hand as his small little legs dangle off the couch he’s sitting on.
Across from him sits Shouta, with another teacup in hand despite the fact that he doesn’t like tea, the morning sun glinting off the glass coffee table between them. “Who? The reform class?”
Nedzu smiles. “Of course, the reform class. Morality is a ticking time-bomb for them. They’re young enough that their ideals aren’t set in stone yet, but the clay is drying, and with the blood on their hands already, it’s hard to reshape something formed from grief.”
“Children’s lives should never be formed by grief, by anger,” Aizawa mumbles, slurping his tea. It makes the disgusting liquid go down easier, in his opinion.
The creature’s smile never sways. It’s unnerving. “And yet, they are. I’m sure I know a rather tired homeroom teacher who’d know as such. Now, they’ve each got their problems, but together… you might be onto something.”
“I know I am.”
“And you want to get them through three years of U.A.’s toughest curriculum when most of them dropped out in middle school if they attended schooling at all?”
“Yes.”
“And you really, truly believe, this is the best option? When they’ll never be able to walk in the daylight again with the warrants and the death certificates and the worried family members that don’t know a thing about where their child is now?”
Shouta hesitates.
He’s done his research. He knows Inko Midoriya is alive and well; she’s the one who reported her son missing all those years ago. Aya and Chiyo Kirishima mourned a son dead from a suicide that never happened. Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou haven’t made a public appearance since the private funeral of Katsuki Bakugou.
Tensei hasn’t seen Tenya in years.
With the way the reform program is structured, all the laws they’re skirting already by harboring the kids in the first place… No, none of them are going to see their kids again. Tensei won’t see his brother.
That weight will belong on Shouta’s shoulders, and no one else’s. He holds his head high as he answers - “Yes, I do.”
_
One story comes to an end, and another swings into motion.