Chapter Text
In retrospect, this was a terrible idea.
Midoriya gulps, the sound instantly swallowed by silence. He had promised himself — promised his master — to only explore the outskirts of Yuuei's forest. After all, all of the fauna he'd ever need for medicines grew abundantly in the tame edges of the woods.
And yet! It had taken just a fire fae’s fleeting flicker to chase common sense from his head.
"Hello?"
His voice is alien to his own ears, hopelessly small in a maw of yawning darkness. He’s armed with a sword he can't wield and a satchel; gear ill-suited for fending off a hungry beast. Gloved hands furl into anxious fists as he glances in the direction of the fading light. The stirring night would soon devour the last dredges of day whole.
But with magic...
He laughs at himself. What a empty fantasy. But Hollows, after all, are exactly that.
Nowadays, you weren't killed for it. Being branded as a breathing omen of misfortune was punishment enough. It was a fool’s errand to try and find work in his village, and without magic he couldn’t become an Adventurer either. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, left to linger on society’s outskirts.
It was fortune beyond comprehension that he'd caught the eye of the elusive Master Toshinori. He was a respected but secretive man, with ferocity in his eyes that didn't suit his reedy body. His medicinal skills were second to none, and the miracles of his proficiency brought many a desperate traveler to the village’s humble doorstep. Being taken under his wing had been Midoriya’s greatest stroke of fortune in his otherwise blighted life.
And he’s squandered it, swallowed by the forest. A hollow end for a Hollow man.
Midoriya bites down hard on his lip, willing away the tightness in his throat. The sword at his back grows warm in its sheath, and he exhales shakily.
A burst of orange light flashes in the corner of his eye, and the hair on the back of his neck raises with instinctive alarm. Besides the rumor of voracious beasts, there was another thing that kept Yuuiens from wandering too deep into the forest.
Fire.
The chosen scourge of the Endeavorian Empire. There wasn't an ear that hadn’t heard the horror stories of their senseless brutality. The degrading peace between their kindgoms was fragile enough to dissuade most from exploring too close to the borders, the forest included. Even Master Toshinori's enigmatic embarkations had lessened, his master looking frailer and frailer each time he returned.
Midoriya stops running only when his legs buckle, lungs on fire as he leans against a tree. The sheath at his back bites into his slumped shoulder, heavier than ever. It would be practical to abandon it. It’s not like he could use it, anyway. But to leave it? He would sooner lay on the blade himself.
A roar shakes his frame like a clap of thunder, the abrupt clamor rattling the stoutest of trees down to their roots. The ground seemed to curdle as the roaring continued, entirely too close. Midoriya clamps a gloved hand over his mouth to muffle a scream, eyes wide with horror. Heart hammering, he races away from the sound and into the underbrush. Bits of bramble tear mercilessly at his exposed skin. He doesn't slow for what feels like ages, only stumbling to a stop after he breaks in a grassy clearing. An enormous oak towers in its center, bark bleached bone white. Its branches spiral upward with endless gnarled hands, as if to pluck the stars out of the sky. Thick snarled roots poked out of the ground, hemming in the entire area.
He focuses on the few wood faeries fluttering about the strange tree, their wings pearlescent under the moonlight. A few flit towards him, tiny faces alight with perfect smiles. Midoriya scowls, swatting at a daring fae tugging at his curls as he holds his chin thoughtfully.
”Mmm. If I climb, I might be able to see which direction the village is in. But if I injure myself, I'd be left defenseless. But all things considered, it still makes more sense to — ”
He realises he's rambled aloud as tiny peals of laughter echo around him, and his ears flushed red. With hurried embarrassment he approaches the tree. Each step leaves the sword hotter and hotter against his back. Curious. Was the tree itself magic? It certainly looked the part under the moon’s glow -
The blood freezes in his veins. There's a body slumped against the oaken trunk.
Midoriya's feet move before his mind acquiesces, drawing closer with bated breath. The man is young. His hair is an untamed explosion of conspicuous ash-blond, every lock defiant in its own right. Green eyes follow the strong curve of a solid jaw, skim over the intricate jade and carnelian bead necklaces slung around a thick neck. Each strung tooth whispers of wild triumph, gleaming menacingly in the pale light. Most alarming are the man's hands, weakly clutched to his abdomen and stained a virile red. Fresh blood seeps between knitted fingers, trickling crimson trails into the hem of low-slung trousers. His torso is bare save for a magnificent fur-trimmed cloak. The only sure sign he clings to life is his chest, heaving in frantic increments.
Beautiful.
The word is entirely unbidden. Ludicrous, even. And yet, bathed under the moonlight, the planes of the man's form fall nothing short of ethereal.
He stirs with a shuddering intake of breath, and Midoriya remembers himself.
"Oh gods," he blurts out, hot panic bubbling in his gut. "You're — gods, you're bleeding out, wait — "
Midoriya drops to his knees, crawling to the man's side to inspect the injury more closely. The stranger's fingers are crusting over, obscuring the wound beneath. His eyes flit up to the man's ashen face before he takes off his satchel. He might only be an apprentice, but he would have to do in lieu of his master's own hands.
"J-Just — please, just hang on, okay?”
He moves to peel the stranger's fingers away from his wound, but startles as his wrist is snatched from the air. Heart in his throat, his gaze flits up to the man's face again.
The man’s gaze is molten magma. Midoriya freezes on instinct, rooted by the bloodied hand that grips his wrist. They are both human, but nothing alike. There's hardness of countless wars in those eyes, and Midoriya understands in his bones that this man is someone, something, beyond his understanding.
"My name is Midoriya Izuku," he stammers out. His heart bangs against his ribs, hammer to nail. The stranger's eyes narrow into slits, body tensing as a a painful warning is squeezed into Midoriya's wrist.
Ouch.
"I — ” he swallows, “— I just want to help you.”
The man's death grip cautiously loosens, only falling away after what seems like an eternity. Safe for now. It seemed he understood enough common tongue. His lips part open as if to speak, but close as his flinches on a ragged inhale.
"You're really hurt," Midoriya offers bashfully. "You shouldn't try to talk."
The man glowers, rattling off something raspy and unintelligible under his breath, but falls quiet. Midoriya takes this as his signal to proceed, hastily procuring a plethora of balms and bandages from his satchel. He eyes the stranger’s bloody hand with caution before gesturing at it.
"I need to see underneath," he says, all softness.
The man curls his lip, but lets his fingers fall away. Permission granted, Midoriya immediately tears off a shred of fabric from his own sleeve. He pays little mind to the wary eyes that follow him and uses the scrap of cloth to lightly mop away the bloody mess. The man flinches at the touch, a pained sound of disquiet escaping from between clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry," Midoriya says, furrowing his brow anxiously. The wound, now visible, is ghastly — a deep and lengthy laceration, with strange burns around the outer edge. A failed attempt at cauterizing? Irrelevant. It would have to be stitched shut, and quickly. He didn’t have proper anesthetic, but Midoriya at least had the good sense to bring a bit of numbing balm with him.
"This'll definitely sting for a moment," Midoriya warns, popping open the container.
It’s pungent, and both of their noses scrunch as he applies the balm around the wound’s mouth. He doesn't have much time to stitch the wound shut before the numbing effect wears off, and with that in mind he procures a needle and thread from his bag.
"I‘m a a bit sloppy at this," Midoriya jokes, voice breaking with nerves. The man is far beyond paying his words any mind: those bright red eyes are swimming with pain, lidded and distantly focused on Midoriya's cheek. "Try to relax."
Whether he's listening or not, the man's eyes flutter shut.
Midoriya’s fingers tremble slightly throughout, heart in his throat, but as he closes the final stitch he’s relieved to find the man still breathing — albeit ragged. The stitching is terribly crooked and reeks of amateurism, but it’s working.
Now what?
Traveling back to his village with an injured and bloodied person in tow would be perilous at best. A massive wound would be a siren’s call to any starving creature, and the man would no doubt require support to walk at best.
Pursing his lip, he abandons those thoughts. That was a plight for tomorrow’s Midoriya.
Gingerly, he peels the fur-trimmed cloak away from the unconscious stranger’s shoulders, balling it up into a makeshift pillow. Midoriya lowers the man’s head onto the cloth with delicacy. He can only hope the man would pull through the night.
“Sleep well,” Midoriya says futilely. The man's face is still a touch ashen, but far less pained — a small relief. As he draws away, he registers a curious heat radiating off the stranger in waves, chasing away the chill of the night air.
Magic?
It’s comfortably warm next to him. And coupled with the quiet chattering of the wood fairies, Midoriya curls up and soon finds himself adrift.
Midoriya is roused by the feeling of something solid and hot on his torso. The pressure on his stomach is not entirely unpleasant as his eyelids flutter indolently.
“Mmm...?”
The sudden touch of cold steel at his neck, however, has his eyes flying open.
The stranger sits astride him, gaze as tempered as the blade’s edge that presses against Midoriya’s throat. He resists swallowing, blinking back a bout of instinctive hysteria.
“Um — ”
”Deku."
The unfamilar term is seethed through gritted teeth. Midoriya slowly, slowly raises his hands, palms up, before speaking again.
“I don’t have anything valuable,” he wheezes out, not breaking eye contact. A half-truth. “I only wanted to help you. I’m not your enemy — ”
“Shut up,” the man sneers, shocking Midoriya into silence. “You think I’d trust anything out of an Inlander’s magic-forsaken mouth?” The venom in his voice is sharper than his saber, and it takes Midoriya aback. Hadn’t he just saved this man’s life?
“Wh-Why would I have helped you then?” Midoriya argues back, cheeks flushing an indignant red. “I could’ve left you the way I found you, couldn’t I?”
Realization sparks across the man’s face, and he curls his lip in disgust. After a moment of deliberation, he sheathes his saber with a delicate flick of his wrist. He doesn’t move from his position atop Midoriya, leaning in until they’re nose to nose.
“What do you want from me, Inlander?” he growls. Midoriya only blinks mutely in response, incensing the stranger further. “I won’t repeat myself, Deku.”
Midoriya stares up into those angry eyes. They send a nervous twist through his gut, but strangely enough he doesn’t fear for his life.
“I want you to get off me,” he says after a pregnant pause. “And I want to know who you are.”
There’s a weighty pause before the stranger grumbles, acquiescing as he rises to his feet. Midoriya doesn’t miss how he flinches with the abrupt movement, a hand flying to the bandages wrapped snugly around his torso. Midoriya pushes himself up to a sitting position and brushes blades of grass clinging to his clothes, still watching the stranger out of the corner of his eye.
“Well?” Midoriya insists. “Who are you?”
The man’s expression morphs from cross to haughty. “Bakugou Katsuki, of the Burning Desert.” He flashes a wicked grin, displaying a set of sharp canines before clarifying. “Your kind call it the Outlands.”
Midoriya’s heart stops.
An Outlander.
They were long-banished savages who had magic coursing through their veins in lieu of blood. Wild, merciless warriors who thrived in the empty and arid wastelands. Beasts, with little interest in the matters of the civil kingdoms. Those foolhardy enough to venture into their territory were promptly annihilated. So scarcely seen that they were naught but distant boogeymen to scare Yuuien youth into betterment — and yet here one stood.
”Why are — why are you here?” Midoriya whispers. “What do you want?”
Bakugou snarls, his hands sparking with magic as his face twists with a murderous fury.
”Emperor Endeavor’s head.”