Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Somewhere, a tape recorder turns on with an audible click.

What sounds like multiple voices can be heard in the background. They sound far away, mumbling to each other.

One of the voices slowly becomes clearer, it’s owner presumably moving closer to the recording device. The voice sounds acutely annoyed, but not concerned.

“Is that you?” The voice asks. It’s young, but deep and smooth. Velvet wrapped razors. Gossamer strings. Fields full of lilacs.

“Hm?” Another voice. This one sounds younger, still with the subtly sweet, sing-song cadence of childhood. There’s something strange about this voice, some impossibly unexplainable resonance that sets your teeth on edge. When the voice is heard again, static seems to cling to its words like cobwebs. “Oh, the recorders? No, thats not me. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” The first voice again, exasperated.

“Well, I’m not the one listening.”

“What?”

There’s a noise of dismissal from the second. “Never mind that. Bring it over here, would you?”

Rustling, as the recorder is picked up and moved closer. The voices become much clearer.

“You’re seriously going to record this?”

“Why not. Nejire doesn’t mind, does she?”

“…”

“See?”

The first voice comes back, an undercurrent of worry cutting through their words. “Senpai?”

Someone else speaks up; a new voice answering. This one is much more effeminate, and irrefutably older than the first two. Solemnity sounds distinctly unnatural in the tone of a voice much more used to bubblegum cheer and fizzing warmth. “…It’s fine Shinsou-kun.”

“Exactly. It’s fine.”

“…Ok.”

The second voice—the childish one— makes a pleased sound. “Good. Now, you wanted to know about Michael, didn’t you?”

“What? No, I wanted to know how Nejire met you—Who’s Michael?”

“Who?”

“Wha—Michael, you just said—“ A pause as the first voice lets out an irritated sigh. Fabric rustles as they shift. “That’s the name on that file cabinet, isn’t it? The one you won’t let me open.”

“Oh. Yes, well, I can’t have you drawing too much attention, honestly Hitoshi-kun, you’re like a magnet. God knows what you’d become if the spiral were involved.”

“…I’m so confused.”

A sigh. “Agreed. Izuku, please stop running Shinsou-kun in circles. This is going to be bad enough without more confusion.”

“…Sorry, Nejire-chan.”

The first voice sounds concerned. “Hado-senpai, you-you don’t have to tell me
anything, really. I was just wondering, but—“

“Shinsou-kun, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just—this might be hard. It was hard. But, you should probably know this. And it’s not fair that I heard your statement, and you don’t even know how I became an Assistant.”

“…I guess. But—wait, you’re making a statement? Like a statement, statement? With Midoriya going all spooky Archivist on your ass?” They sound wary.

“What have I said about using the S-word? Also, Midoriya is right here and he can hear you.”

The other two ignore the staticky one. His pout is almost audible through the device.

“He needs it.” Simple. “You heard what Bakugo said about him being hungry. This will help.”

“…Oh.” They manage to convey their disturbance through the sole, one syllable sound.

“Quite famished, actually!”

“…”

“Yes, Nejire, quickly please.”

“Thanks.” More rustling, and footsteps.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to need a cup of tea, if I’m doing this. Do you want one?”

“No, thank you, that’s alright. Wait—uh, Hado-senpai?”

The footsteps pause. “Yes, Shinsou-kun?”

“Do you—why do you care? If Midoriya’s hungry. I mean, you said this would help. I just—don’t understand. Aren’t you trapped here too? Why give a shit about him?”

“I am still here, you know.”

The first voice scoffs, a derisively bitter thing. “Cover your ears then, if you don’t want to hear. If you do, then you’ll just listen anyways, no matter if we pretend there’s any actual privacy in this place.”

“…Hm. I suppose, you have a point.” There’s a quiet hum of contemplation. “Say, Hitoshi-kun, if you were listening in, would you prefer some structure?”

“…What?”

“Yes?”

“Issomeone listening in?”

“How do you mean?”

“Is there someone listening to us?”

“Someone? What would you constitute as someone?”

“Something, then?”

A static-laced chuckle, melodic and amused. “What would be the difference? One thing, someone, something, one thing.”

A long, confused pause. The first voice can be heard whispering bewildered expletives to themselves in the background.

“…Nevermind,” the third voice says. There’s a creaking of hinges, like a door being opened. “Yes, I suppose that some structure would be helpful here, considering the subject matter. And Shinsou-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“I care about Midoriya’s health because he’s my friend.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Mhm. Isn’t he yours?”

The door closes shut behind her, footsteps receding.

Another long silence can be heard, broken after a few moments by a quite, “Huh,” from the first voice.

The second one sounds baffled. It sounds baffled that it is baffled at all in the first place. “Hm.”

Once again, silence. This one, almost tangibly awkward.

Voice #1 clears their throat. “Uh, what did—you were saying something about structure? What the fuck did that mean?”

“Oh. Like this.”

TRANSCRIPT

[click]
HITOSHI: Like what?
ARCHIVIST: Hm?
HITOSHI: Did you just do something?
ARCHIVIST: I don’t know what you mean, Hitoshi-kun, you’ll have to be more specific. Really, and you badger me about being vague.
HITOSHI: I hardly badger you. Jesus. And you are vague! You totally just did something!
ARCHIVIST: Don’t worry about it, Hitoshi-kun. Gosh, you’re so curious all of the time!
HITOSHI: …Please don’t say stuff like that.
ARCHIVIST: Like what?
HITOSHI: Like you’re constantly so terribly pleased with yourself! I’m not…your toy, or something! I’m not something here just to keep you entertained, that you can watch all hours of the day because you know I won’t complain, because—because I can’t! Seriously, what is wrong with you?! [agitated, heavy breathing]
ARCHIVIST: Are you done?
HITOSHI:
[a pause]
ARCHIVIST: Hitoshi-kun. I’m—I was unaware you felt that way.
HITOSHI: Yeah? What, you couldn’t see it?
ARCHIVIST: Contrary to what you might believe, I don’t actually enjoy perusing through my subordinates minds—
HITOSHI: [snorts derisively] Perusing . That’s a hell of a polite way to say creepy snooping.
ARCHIVIST: As I don’t enjoy perusing your thoughts, I’d quite appreciate if you would cut out the agitation and just say what you actually want to say.
HITOSHI:…What?
ARCHIVIST: The question at the forefront of your mind. Ask it.
HITOSHI: I-I seriously don’t know what your talking about. There isn’t any—
ARCHIVIST: [sighs] Fine. Would you like some assistance? You’ve been wondering if I’m human.
HITOSHI: I told you not to—!
ARCHIVIST: I’m not looking. Honestly. And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry that you feel so uncomfortable around me. Believe me, it is never my intention. I’d much prefer my assistants were at least passably comfortable around me.
HITOSHI: …Ok.
ARCHIVIST: So.
HITOSHI: What?
ARCHIVIST: Your question.
[gentle static intensifies]
What brought this on?
HITOSHI: Stop that!
ARCHIVIST: Sorry, sorry. It gets—difficult to control. When I’m in need of a statement.
HITOSHI: When you’re hungry.
ARCHIVIST: Ah, yes. When I’m—hungry.
HITOSHI: …Is that why you’re acting weird?
ARCHIVIST: Weird?
HITOSHI: Yeah. Well, weirder than normal, I guess. I mean, you’re acting like-like a bastard.
ARCHIVIST: You don’t say.
HITOSHI: Like that! All…mild, and shit. I dunno. You’re acting more like a manipulative douchebag than usual, that’s all.
ARCHIVIST: Hm. Yes, I suppose…If you feel I’m acting weird, as you say, it would be advisable to assume it had something to do with my recent deprivation of sustenance. I apologize for any discomfort, Hitoshi-kun.
HITOSHI: …It’s fine. And, uh, what you were asking before. Or, what I was asking I guess. Is—I mean, are you? Human?
ARCHIVIST: No. I’m afraid I haven’t been human for quite some time.
HITOSHI: But, you were. At-at one point. You were human. A human person.
ARCHIVIST: [chuckles] Yes. At one point I was a human person. I’m afraid I won’t be able to provide any baby pictures as proof, however if you were to ask Bakugos mother, I’m sure there are some floating around.
HITOSHI: [huffs a laugh, disbelieving] I can’t believe you and Bakugo Katsuki are actually friends.
ARCHIVIST: What? [laughs again] No, no, me and Kacchan aren’t friends.
HITOSHI: Wait, what? You literally call eachother cutesy nicknames.
ARCHIVIST: Me and Kacchan were childhood friends.
HITOSHI: …And now?
ARCHIVIST: We aren’t. Is this truly what you wanted to ask me about?
HITOSHI: No. I mean, I didn’t actually want to ask, you know, you kind of just pulled it from me—
ARCHIVIST: Semantics. So, correct me if I’m wrong, but it appears that meeting someone who knew me before Becoming…what I am, unintentionally reminded you that besides being your monstrous boss, I am actually a sentient being with an entire life. That at one point I must have had a home, with little baby clothes and report cards and a white picket fence and a mother, and now I am this. And that thought is distressing to you.
HITOSHI: Yes. I mean—yeah. I guess. Is—Is that what you think of yourself?
ARCHIVIST: Is what?
HITOSHI: Monstrous. My monstrous boss.
ARCHIVIST: …
ARCHIVIST: “Is a thing evil if it’s only obeying its nature?”
HITOSHI: What?
ARCHIVIST: No. Of course I don’t see myself as monstrous. But monsters never do, do they?
HITOSHI: So, what are you? You said you used to be human, but-what are you now?
ARCHIVIST: The Archivist.
HITOSHI: [irritated huff of breath] Yes, but that’s-thats just a word. It doesn’t actually mean anything.
ARCHIVIST: Of course it does. Every word is just a word. What gives them meaning? I am The Archivist. The Archivist is me. I used to be human, and now I am this. Subjectively, I might be monstrous, or eldritchly horrifying, or—god forbid— spooky, but those are simply adjectives. Objectively, I am The Archivist.
HITOSHI: Ok, fine. Fine, you’re the Archivist. What is the Archivist? And I know that it’s not just whatever you do here, recording statements, cataloguing knowledge, etc, etc. It’s something more, right? Something to do with eyes, and-and Watching, and there are others. There are others, too, right? Like-like that band, the one that makes you violent, and then that statement about the soldiers, and the bagpipes. They’re—they’re the same, aren’t they? All of those categories, your idiotic filing system. It’s all the same!
ARCHIVIST: [clapping] Oh, wonderful! Yes, Hitoshi-kun! Hm, that’s—I was not expecting things to move this quickly. You really are very curious, aren’t you?
HITOSHI: [huffs, irritated] No! I’m not! I don’t—I don’t want to want to know. I just want to forget about you, and your stupid files, and every shitty, spooky fucking thing in the shadows—shut the fuck up, I’m saying spooky—but, but I can’t. So, yeah, I want to know, because I need to know, because I want to be a hero and I can’t fucking do that if I’m eaten by worms or-or vampires or something before I can even graduate!
[a long pause, silent but for HITOSHI’s heavy breathing.]
ARCHIVIST: ….
ARCHIVIST: Come in, Nejire.
[NEJIRE enters, the door creaking on its hinges.]
NEJIRE: Sorry. I can…come back?
HITOSHI: [sighs] No, it’s fine. Whatever. I’m fine.
ARCHIVIST: Hitoshi-kun is fine.
NEJIRE: …O-kay. Should I-do you want to take my statement now?
ARCHIVIST: Yes. Please.
[footsteps come closer. shuffling as a chair is pulled out and sat on]
NEJIRE: And it’s still going to work even if you were there? I mean, you already know everything that happened.
ARCHIVIST: Of course. Your fear of being vulnerable will be enough to keep me satiated.
HITOSHI: (muttered) that’s not creepy at all.
NEJIRE: Ok. Right, ok. Yes. You can—start, I guess.
ARCHIVIST: Wonderful. [clears throat] [static instensifies]
ARCHIVIST: Statement of Nejire Hado, regarding her first encounter with the supernatural. Statement taken directly from subject.

Statement begins.

NEJIRE (STATEMENT): I learned about fractals in math class. They’re patterns, never ending spirals that are infinitely complex. A feedback loop, created by repeating a simple process, over and over and over and over…

They don’t end. They never end. I mean, that doesn’t make sense, does it? It shouldn’t make sense. Something can’t just never end. But eventually, the twisting doesn’t stop, and you have to accept it. Nothing makes sense. And it never will again.

It started with a door. That parts easy. There wasn’t a door, and then there was, and it didn’t matter anymore if the door was real or not because I was already inside.

It was my first year at UA. My very first week. I’d been looking for a change room. I got lost instead.

Since everything happened, I’ve learned that the hallways have a name. Or a title, at least. The Distortion. Sometimes Michael, too. I’ve never actually met him. It. The spiral twisted into the ill fitting guise of a person. I think I heard him laugh, when I was wandering, but however hard I try, I can’t remember what it sounded like. Just how it made me feel.

I’m not sure how long I was wandering the
corridor. It must have been hours, at least. My feet were blistering in my new uniform loafers. I took them off at one point, and the leather was all bloody on the inside.

It must have been hours, taht I was walking, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if you told me it was days. I probably would have started to become delirious, if I had stayed any longer. Sometimes I thought maybe I had been. It was…so warm, and yet, my skin prickled with shivering goosebumps.

The walls were consistently uniform, one solid colour, but that was constantly changing. They would be green, I’d know they were green, and then a few moments later they would be purple, and I wouldn’t remember them ever changing. There were mirrors, lining the walls, and when I looked in them after only a few minutes, my hair was a dishevelled mess and my face was red and tear streaked. Like I’d been crying for a very long time.

I also don’t think I would have been surprised if you told me I had never started walking at all. That these corridors were just a figment of my imagination. That my mind had only been playing tricks on me.

I remember thinking that where I was, the hallways—that place—might have been Hell. I hoped dearly that it wasn’t. I wasn’t particularly afraid of death—I’ve always known the statistics for heroes, that I would one day die doing this—but I was afraid then. I didn’t want to die
in those corridors, with no one ever knowing where I had gone. I think that the only thing worse than dying there would have been not dying. Never dying. Just…wandering the hallways. Forever.

I spent a long time in that place slumped against the floor in despair. That’s where the boy found me.

Well, I say found me, but I don’t particularly think he was looking. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was my age, or at least he looked it. Maybe a little bit younger. I would have placed him in middle school, but I’ve never been very good at judging peoples ages. He spoke with a weird sort of maturity, but at the same time his mannerisms were acutely childish. I thought at first that he might have been a figment of my imagination. Like a mirage, or something. Until he spoke, and I realized if I really was hallucinating, I’d probably be seeing something a bit more comforting than the reality. Not that it wasn’t comforting to see another person. Because it was. When he showed up, everything about the hallways I’d been lost in seemed a little…less, all of a sudden.

The boy looked like he could’ve been a UA student, but for some reason, I knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, for one. And though he definitely didn’t feel like he was of that place, he also wasn’t not like it. I think it was the eyes, that gave him away. The eyes were something more than human.

The boy had crouched down next to me on the floor. The way he looked at me felt like an examination, almost. Just observing, with a mild level of intrigue. “Oh,” the boy had said. “Look what’s been caught in a web.” Then he laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, but it also wasn’t like the one I had heard earlier, though, and for some reason that made me relax slightly.

I asked him who he was. If he was going to help me.

He called himself the Archivist. It was said like a name, even though it was a title. And then he said that help was a flimsy word, but that he could get me out of there if I wanted.

I didn’t answer at first. It felt like a trick, though I had no idea what the catch could be. Something about the cadence of the boys voice, the amused crinkling of his eyes, made answering the question feel like making a deal. Instead, I asked him what he was, and what he was doing in the hallways.

The boy laughed again. “I was looking for something,” he said. He didn’t answer the first question, and I decided it was best that I pretended not to notice. He told me he didn’t mind not finding whatever he was looking for, because I was much more interesting.

He didn’t say why that was, when I asked. Instead he just pointed down the gently sloping hall. “Are you afraid, Nejire-chan?” he asked. I didn’t realize that I’d never given him my name until much later.

I said that I was. I was very afraid, and I wanted to leave.

A lot of people, in the statements that involve similar encounters with that type of fear, aren’t all that afraid during it. It’s unsettling, that unique brand of chaos, but not usually frightening.

I was frightened. I don’t think I’d ever been that scared in my life. I can’t describe why, even now, but I remember quite clearly how badly I was shaking. How my heart pounded with a bone deep sort of terror. It abated, just slightly, when the boy showed up, replaced by something else. I think that was the biggest reason I ended up taking the hand that he offered me.

He led me to a door, that was maybe five steps away from where I’d been sitting . I hadn’t noticed it before. I have no idea how. There was an exit sign above it, an honest to god, green, neon exit sign, like the type you see over fire doors and in movie theatres. The door was painted a similarly bright shade of green.

The laughter followed us out, into the UA corridor. It was nighttime.

The boy—The Archivist— had looked at me, and smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said. And then he just walked away, disappearing down the hallway before I could open my dry mouth to say anything. The teachers showed up not long after, though I don’t remember wether I told the truth about what happened. Nedzu knew, though. He must’ve covered it up somehow, because after the initial period of questions by the teachers that found me, nobody ever asked me where I had gone.

I have no idea what would have happened to me if the boy hadn’t stumbled upon me in those corridors. Sometimes, I think maybe he had been looking for me, because I never would have become an Assistant if he hadn’t found me. Sometimes I think maybe he’s the reason I was in those hallways in the first place. I don’t think it really matters. I owe him my life, regardless.

He showed up at my house, the next week. Sitting at my desk when I got back from school. It sounds creepier than it felt at the time. I don’t remember being at all surprised to see him, actually, even though I hadn’t been expecting it. He’d been playing pokémon on my nintendo when I showed up. I didn’t scream or anything, though that’s probably what you should do if you find a strange boy you just met in your bedroom. I just asked what he was doing there, and he told me he had an offer. That I could agree to be his Assistant, or I could say no, and the door would come back for me. He said that I was a Wanderer, now, and the only way to stray from that path was to become something more.

I said yes. Obviously. Probably, too quickly, to be honest. But I haven’t gotten lost since, or heard that dreadful laugh. And I might be tied here, to something I know hardly anything about, but at least I know where I am. That I’m sane.

I still double check every single door I have to walk through. My feet sometimes still ache with phantom pains, and I can’t walk too long through the hallways at school or I’ll throw up. But I’m sane, and I’m still me, and as long as I’m here I will stay that way.

ARCHIVIST: Statement ends.
ARCHIVIST: Hm.
HITOSHI: [shaky exhale] Wow.
NEJIRE: Yeah. [huff of laughter] Wow.
HITOSHI: (to the Archivist) You look better already. Less…skeleton-y.
ARCHIVIST: I certainly feel better.
[pause]
NEJIRE: What, no supplemental? No research follow-up?
ARCHIVIST: Well, I was there.
NEJIRE: Yeah, I remember. That—I didn’t know that’s what it would feel like. Giving a stement.
HITOSHI: It’s weird, right?
NEJIRE: Kind of…freeing.
ARCHIVIST: Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I’ll try not to visit you in your dreams, Nejire-chan.
HITOSHI: Wait, what.
NEJIRE: It’s fine. I…don’t sleep very well anyways. And I guess it would be kind of nice not to be alone in my nightmares.
ARCHIVIST: Oh. I guess that makes sense.
HITOSHI: I’m sorry, how exactly are you visiting people in their dreams?
ARCHIVIST: ….
HITOSHI: [sigh] (muttered) Jesus fucking Christ. Never mind. [pause] So, what—what was that?
ARCHIVIST: I just took Nejires statement.
HITOSHI: No, not—you know what I mean! She called it the distortion. And Michael. Are you ever going to tell me who the hell Michael is?
NEJIRE: I would actually like to know that as well.
ARCHIVIST: Most likely.
HITOSHI: …can you tell us now?
ARCHIVIST: I could.
HITOSHI: …
NEJIRE: [laughs] But you aren’t going to. Of course. Even after three years?
ARCHIVIST: [sighs, drums his fingers on the desktop] Would you like to know? Think about it. If knowing might set you on another track, would you really want to know? Once you know something, my dear Assistants, you can not un know it. Surely you’ve learned at least that much in your time here. If there was a chance, even a minuscule one, that by knowing, you could possibly turn out like me, would you still ask?
NEJIRE: …
HITOSHI: …
ARCHIVIST: That’s what I thought. [pause] It is very likely you will find out quite soon, anyways. Things are…progressing. Quickly. And I can’t stop them, but I can prepare you as best I see fit. Just not yet.
HITOSHI: What things?
ARCHIVIST: …
HITOSHI: [ angry scoff] You know for someone who’s all about knowledge, you sure have a lot of goddamn secrets. [a chair screeches against the floor as it is pushed back. sounds of HITOSHI leaving]
NEJIRE: I think…I’m going to go. Make sure he’s ok. Um. I’m glad you’re feeling better now. [footsteps recede behind the creaking a door swinging shut]
ARCHIVIST: …
ARCHIVIST: [sighs] (whispered, muffled into hands) fuck.

click.