Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come!”

Bakugo doesn’t think.

He flies.

As he rocketed through the air, howling winds tangling his hair, Shigaraki’s scream of fury at his back and blood roaring in his ears, Bakugo has only eyes for the mismatched mass of bodies held together by fear and determination reaching for him, calling him amongst crackle of green lighting, a shark-toothed grin and a desperate cry. As he reaches his classmates in the sky, he’s too busy joining hands with a redhead to look back at his captors watching his ascension.

Because of that, he does not see.

He does not see All for One’s face, impassive and unmoving behind the black mask as he watched Bakugo get away. He does not see the villain roll his shoulders, he does not hear the low, satisfied hum coming from the man’s lips, as if happy with a task well done. He does not see All for One turn away to face All Might, ignoring as his League of Villains scrambled all around him to try and get the blond back in their grasp.

(He does not see, and everyone pays the price for it.)

.

.

.

The moment one Bakugo Katsuki touches the ground, he regrets ever taking Kirishima’s hand. If he had the ability to rewind time, he’d just go back to the battlefield and face Shigaraki and his gang of knuckleheads again.

Anything was better than this.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

“Kirishima language.” Iida wheezes somewhere on their right like a dying animal. The class representative was starting to look a little too pale, edging towards green. Katsuki sure as fuck hopes he’s not going to throw up, because he’s pretty sure he hadn’t drunk or eaten anything in the past three days and the smell of vomit wasn’t going to help his case.

The redhead was having none of Iida’s reprimand, practically bouncing up and down against Katsuki whom, no matter how much he fought, couldn’t get him to fuck off.

“We did it!” His classmate shrieked, smile wide enough that it revealed all of his sharp, triangular teeth. Fucking hell, didn’t he know what personal space meant?! He was practically screeching right into Katsuki’s ear. “Holy crap we did it!”

Katsuki snarls, shoving a hand into the other’s face.

“Get off, dipshit!” Kirishima only laughs harder and clutches him tighter, hardened skin brushing off weak explosions and Katsuki can only begrudgingly accept that yep, this was his fucking life now, he might as well just lay down and accept the fact he was going to die with a red-haired leech dangling off his shoulders.

It’s not all that bad, a small part of him wonders as Kirishima continues to attempt manslaughter via asphyxiation.

It’s almost comforting to go through Kirishima’s particular brand of torture but like fuck he was going to admit it. He’d rather jump off a bridge than to believe that so that tiny, minuscule warm thought is promptly banished, thrown over a wall and into the dark pit that was the farthest corners of his mind.

After three days spent chained up like a rabid animal, half-conscious and with Mr.Handsy talking his ear off about joining them while simultaneously whining to his master about his lack of progress, it felt good to see familiar faces. He’s somewhat thankful that he spent a sizable chunk of it asleep, his loud snarling and bitching having driven them into leaving him the hell alone.

So overall, being free and able to snark at some familiar faces felt good.

Even if fucking Deku was part of the package.

At least he looked less like shit, Katsuki mutters internally. The other boy seemed a lot better, his arms bandaged but no longer bloody and mangled nearly beyond recognition.

“We need to get out of here.” Deku exclaims in front of them. His eyes are wide and just the slightest bit bloodshot. His breathing was hard and loud; Bakugo tracks the way his shoulders move up and down with each inhale.

As if sensing his gaze, Deku turns his head towards him. Their eyes meet, the shorter boy’s softening into something less panicked and more relieved.

Between the two of them, there’s things that need to be said, Katsuki realizes darkly. A lot of things. Things Katsuki didn’t really want to touch on, wants instead to keep locked shut in a corner of his mind -things that after tonight, after the training camp, had inevitably surfaced.

But that, thankfully, would be for later.

They still had to make it back home.

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.

.

All Might wins.

To Katsuki, who watched a frail, emaciated man stand over the faceless villain, skeletal fist raises in the air, it is a loss.

There’s a hole in his stomach, a trench that digs deeper and deeper in his gut as the realization that this was the end of All Might spears him right in the gut, cleaves him open and leaves him numb and raw and as if he was slowly being crushed.

Not even the roaring cheer of the crowd changes this. Their cries and applause around him do nothing to lessen the weight in Katsuki’s chest -the understanding, the horror at the fact that this was his fault could not be washed away.

Deku’s shaky, hiccuped sobs by his side only make it more painful.

.

.

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All Might is dead.

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Screams.

Yelling.

Sirens.

People cheer and cry and he can only stand there and take it. Watch as the world around him is torn apart and stitched back together again.

“Kacchan, the police’s this way…”

He goes, docile.

.

.

.

I killed him.

It's my fault.

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Later, after he’s escorted into a police station, reunited with his parents and sent off home, Katsuki stumbles into his room, bleary-eyed and exhausted. The old hag escorts him all the way there -he can feel her eyes on his back, watching him silently. Hands tucked at her sides but twitching in a aborted attempt to reach forward.

Guarding him.

The fact she, a civilian, is doing that should make his skin crawl, but he’s too worn down to protest. Too tired to cuss her off, to have another of those shouting matches that made the roof rattle over their heads.

Just the thought made him nauseous, and it's not because of his wounded pride.

“Goodnight, brat.” She tells him from the door, her voice softer than he’s used to. Not exhausted, just soft. It’s almost alien to Katsuki, who is used to her biting remarks and sharp words.

He merely hums in response, sharing her weariness. “G’night, old hag.”

And with that, he’s alone.

And with that, the weight comes crashing down on his shoulders, harder than ever before.

The light is shut off, the only light filtering into the room coming from the cars passing by the bedroom window. His phone is left on his nightstand; Katsuki doesn’t even bother turning it on, too tired to deal with what likely was a flood of messages from his classmates. Mainly Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido and Sero.

Fuck, he was not looking forward to coming back to class. He knows what to expect. The stares, the whispers, the attempts at watching over him like he was a child and not-

Shushing those thoughts away, he mechanically dumps his clothes on the floor, puts on a shirt and boxers and flops onto the bed, heaving the thick comforter over his head.

Immediately, he feels too hot. Too restricted.

The feeling tugs at something in his head, making his fingers twitch restlessly under the covers.

Grumbling, Katsuki kicks the comforter off himself and lays there with only a thin sheet over his body. There’s a faint pressure in his belly, something that has nothing to do with his empty stomach.

The weight of his own failure pinned him to the bed more effectively than the villains’ chains had kept him bound to that chair. And damn, didn’t that comparison remind him of how much shit had occured in the last three days. The camp, the capture, the chains, Shigaraki, All for One, All Might.

If only he’d been stronger, if he had been smarter, he wouldn’t have gotten caught. The heroes wouldn’t have had to come save him.

It was his fault Kamino happened.

His fault that All Might was nothing but a skeleton -a ghost of his former self. Dead and gone with only a weak, fragile man left in his wake. That all those people died when All for One faced the Number One Hero and tore most of Kamino down in their fight. That the world lost their greatest hero, their first line of defence.

It was all his fault.

Katsuki squeezes his eyes and tries to sleep.

.

.

.

By doing so, he does not see the shadows twisting against the walls as he falls into a restless sleep, swaying to the rhythm of his breathing.

Chapter Text

Hands. Pushing down, crushing him. 

“Hold him down!” 

“Fuck off!” 

Something hard presses against his back -a chair, hard and cold like ice that bit down on his exposed skin as he’s pushed into it.

he can’t breathe he can’t breathe someone please-

He wakes to cold sweat dripping down his back and a chest that feels too tight. 

Something awful twisted in his gut and a sleep-heavy Katsuki could only roll to his side, curl up pitifully into a tight ball and groan pathetically into the soft sheets, unable to do anything but ride out the muted waves of nausea.

Time passed by. 

He's not aware of their passage, barely able to silence himself by biting his lower lip enough to bruise and squeezing his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing as the uncomfortable, tight feeling faded away on its own. The process is painfully slow, and he can only clutch his belly and lay there in a pathetic heap of sweat and trembling limbs.

Freed from the pain his body slackened, relaxing into the bed sheets. Katsuki takes a full breath. Then another. His frazzled mind worked slowly to figure out what just transpired.

What the fuck was that?

Was he sick?

Had to be because of the League bullshit, he thinks sourly. His stomach must be messed up from the lack of food. They hadn’t fed him during the entirety of his stay, his body’s internal clock must have gotten all messed up because of their less than stellar guest service.

...fucking great. 

Just the kind of crap Katsuki needed atop of the already revolting shit pile. 

Groaning, he rolls over and buries his head into his pillow. For once, he allowed himself to rest past his usual waking hour.

He had two days off before classes started up again.

He could fucking afford to sleep in for a little bit. At this point, he fucking deserved it.

.

.

.

“You look tired, brat.”

His response comes almost like a reflex. “Morning to you too, old hag.”

“Hmph.” The small huff is the only response his mother deigns him with as she turned back to the stove. A pot of vegetable soup simmers gently on the oven under her sharp surveillance. “Sit down, kid. I'll have a plate out for you in a second.”

Katsuki is silent, focusing instead eyeing the soup on the stove. The kitchen air is thick with the smell of broth and vegetables. His insides squirm uncomfortably at this. He gauges this sensation versus the small amount of hunger his stomach was complaining about.

Finally, he decides throwing up whatever he’s able to swallow down would be unproductive. And unsightly.  And a few more things he didn’t want to get into.

“I’m not hungry.” The response came after a few beats of silence.

Mitsuki pauses, then turns to look at him. Katsuki fights the urge to look down at his feet, something he hadn’t done since he barely reached her hip. Her gaze is softer than he's used to. More gentle. Pitying.

(squirm squirm squirm like a nest of snakes were living in his guts-)

God damn it, what was wrong with him?

“Katsuki.” He hates how soft her voice is, like he's four again and stuck home with a cold. “The police told me you haven't eaten since the camp. You need to eat.”

He just stares in response.

“They had a doctor call. Told me to make you something light to begin with.” Silence. “It's alright if you don't finish your bowl, I just need you to eat.” A small smile slips onto her face, encouraging. Like he’s a child who needed comforting after falling and scraping their knee. It’s wrong. Feels wrong. She’s not one to smile like that to him. “Can you do that for me?”

The snakes falter, settling into a pile. Katsuki quietly stews in place.

Inevitably, he can only sit down on one of the counter stools and crosses his arms, looking at her expectantly. 

His mother makes a soft noise and turns back to the stove. She’s quieter than usual, quieter than Katsuki ever saw her be. 

It’s unsettling.

Just like him,Mitsuki was normally really loud, always taking up space and demanding more. So seeing her so subdued gave him even more incentive to keep his mouth shut and his head down. The usual remarks and grumbled comments he would make when it was her turn to cook were nowhere to be found. 

He’s just too worn to deal with her shit. Thankfully, he doesn’t get called out on it.

Instead, his mother stirs the soup and tells him in that unnaturally collected tone; “Your teachers are stopping by tomorrow.” She informs him, tapping the stirring spoon gently against the side of the container to get rid of the excess soup clinging to it before setting it aside. “Something about added security to the campus. They're building dorms for the students.”

Dorms? Somehow, the idea doesn’t surprise him.

“Hm.”

She tilts her head, just enough for their eyes to cross. “You’re going to be on your best behavior, right brat?” His mother chides him. The soup starts bubbling, so she picks up her spoon and stirs some bit more to check if its warm enough.

Katsuki eyes a passing bird through the kitchen window. He swallows as he feels words squirm their way up his throat, heavy and choking:

“...which teachers are coming over?” 

Despite the resistance, his voice comes out surprisingly leveled and calm. Still, the hand stirring the soup falters.

“Eraserhead and All Might are coming.” Mitsuki says it in a way that Katsuki doesn’t miss the silent are you alright with that?

“...hm.”

His mother, upon seeing his less than enthusiastic response, returns to the soup instead of trying to coax more from him, less he blow up from the constant pressing. As they wait for the food to warm up Katsuki crosses his arms and sets his head on his forearms, eyes sliding shut to catch a minute amount of rest.

Though he would never voice it out loud, even on his deathbed, he’s grateful for this moment of quiet. 

.

.

.

A day later, he meets again the man he killed.

All Might seems even thinner and frailer in person. The videos circulating online -that Katsuki definitively did not sit and watch on loop- couldn't compare to seeing the real thing in the flesh....and sitting across from the man in his living room, Katsuki had plenty of time to examine All Might’s shadow.

The hollow, sunken eye sockets. The dry, downed hair that was more of a pale blond than the vibrant gold he remembered. The thin, wiry frame that seemed to oscillate side to side like a creaking, ancient tree even when standing still. There's no trace of the tall, boisterous hero Katsuki had faced for his final exam. None of his spark, none of the smile. Even his hair seemed duller, the gold locks faded to a tired blond color in this form.

There’s not much he can say. Just keeping himself from openly staring required a conscious effort, so he tucks his hands into his pockets and tries to stay out of the way. His parents, thankfully, do most of the talking.

It’s a small mercy.

What is not, is the fact he shoved into the couch and stuck between the two of them. 

Nor what bullshit his mother started sprouting in from of his teachers. 

He shouldn't have expected anything else, really, but he still quietly stews in his seat between his parents as Mitsuki pats his head like he’s some sort of pet and regales Aizawa and All Might in some colorful language about how the extras early in his life propped him up on a pedestal and how that's why her shitty parenting skills failed her and blah blah blah if he could be anywhere else he would-

His teachers seem slightly horrified by their family dynamic. Katsuki’s only glad he can’t see their expressions from how his gaze is locked on the ground in front of him. That, regrettably, doesn’t save him from having to sit through the rambling.

“...see, the thing is, my son is pretty fearless and tends to be good at everything he tries, so people fawned over him regardless if he deserved it or not.” Mitsuki speaks over his head, and Katsuki glares at her from the corner of his eyes because like fuck it was his fault the extras were so pathetic they hanged off him like opportunistic leeches. “This gave him a big head.”

He bristles as her words, but again doesn’t speak up, only looking ate her. His mother’s eyes away from him to look at his teachers. Katsuki follows her gaze, but keeps his eyes low enough so he doesn’t have to look at All Might or Eraserhead’s faces.

“Regardless of what people say, Yuuei’s been good to him from the start. I trust you to guide him along and help him become a good, strong hero.” His mother pauses, taking a breath.

It’s his father, to Katsuki’s surprise, who picks up the ball afterwards:

“We saw the conference. It only confirmed that Katsuki was being watched and cared for at your school, so we have no issue with the dorms.” His father swallows, ever emotional. God, if he starts crying Katsuki was going to stand up and walk out. He already looked enough of a kicked dog as it was. “You brought my son back safe and sound, so it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

Katsuki soldiers through his father’s speech, keeping his expression composed and blank. He thinks he hears All Might cough discreetly, but he tries to ignore it.

The meeting ends shortly after that. 

His parents bid the teachers goodbye and let them out the door. Katsuki stands in the shadow of his home, watching the two men amble towards the work car. All Might was adjusting his brace; Aizawa was ahead, already about to climb on the car.

In this split second, both he and All Might are virtually alone. It’s just enough time for...

In that moment, he feels the urge to go after All Might and ask. Let loose the questions that had been festering inside him, bring everything out into the light and settle some of the chaos in his head.

(Maybe if he did, his stomach would stop hurting.)

Ask what was going on with him and Deku, if their Quirks were really one and the same and if all of that had something to do with the Kamino Villain-

‘Have you come to kill me a second time, All Might?’

The snakes squirm again, a coiled mass in his guts that twist with revolution.  It’s painful, almost.

...no, it definitely is.

A low, steady burn that has him clenching his jaw in stoic defiance.

“Bakugo?”

He blinks. All Might had halted, having felt the weight of his stare on his back. Emaciated form tall yet hunched as he waited for Katsuki to say something, the silence stretching between the two of them like a chasm that just kept growing no matter how much Katsuki wished he could soldier through the odd ball lodged in his throat and speak.

 It’s something he eventually does, when his body settled and all he could feel was a heavy lethargic feeling and a familiar prickling at the back of his throat he doesn't like.

“Nevermind.” He murmurs, voice low.

He can see the confusion in the man’s dark, hollowed eyes at his words. Refusing to let the man he’d looked up to for so long to see how much his appearance was bothering him, Katsuki spins on his heels and walks back inside without another word. 

He can feel All Might’s gaze on his back; the sorrow and the pity digging into his spine and crawling through flesh and nerves to reach his brain where it settles there as a prickly, ugly mass of feelings.

Katsuki doesn't dare look back.

Instead, he walks inside. Past his parents, past the living room. Ignores their questioning call of his name as he goes up the stairs and a right turn to reach the room across his bedroom.

He makes it to the bathroom just in time to close the door stealthily behind him, flop to the ground in front of the toilet and proceed to empty in it the meager amount of soup he'd managed to keep down since yesterday. It feels utterly vile on his tongue, a burn that bubbles out of his throat and scorched everything in its path.

When he’s done hacking out a lung and a half into the toilet, he sits back on his heels and rests his head against the toilet’s rim. God, the aftertaste was horrendous.

Fucking League. 

Fucking Shigaraki. 

Fucking stupid body that can’t even fucking work right-

The door behind him opens. Katsuki stills as he hears the familiar click of his mother’s heels echoed against the tile.

“Katsuki?”

-guilt pain there was so much more I could have done he’s not fine-

He blinks. 

As fast as that strange, wandering, illogical thought strayed in, it was gone, like the afterimage of a flash of light. 

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder and it’s quickly forgotten. Over the thick smell of vomit, he catches a whiff of his mother’s perfume. Her voice is quiet as she speaks up behind him:

“Katsuki-” 

“I'm f-fine.” He tries to growl, but it only sounds pathetic to his ears. There’s nothing menacing or composed about how the bathroom smelled acidic or the way his hands were trembling on the edge of the toilets. “...just, just...fuck off. I’m fine.”

It didn’t even sound like a lie to his own ears.

It was just sad.

He was fucking sad. Pathetic.

(Useless.)

With that, he pulls himself up and passes by her. He doesn’t look at his mother, feeling her hand slide off his shoulder as he stood up and walked away. She said nothing, so he quietly makes his way to his room and locks the door shut behind him.

This time, his mother doesn't try to go after him.

.

.

.

...looking back, Katsuki really should have questioned it more.

Chapter Text

It's laughable, how the world keeps spinning afterwards.

He arrives to the dorms alongside the others, slipping in at the last moment to avoid meaningless conversation he doesn’t have the time or energy for. They’re all clustered around the entrance to their dorms, anxiously fidgeting and looking at their feet. 

Katsuki almost doesn’t blame them for acting like kicked puppies. Aizawa’s glare truly was something to fear. Stoic, impenetrable like a castle, it was impossible to know what the man was thinking.

He knows however that there was no reason for him to be wary of his teacher. In fact, as Aizawa’s gaze slowly glided over the assembled teenagers, the scarlet eyes completely ghost over him like he’s not even there.

Katsuki feels his own eyes narrow at this.

“You’re all here.”

There's a long pregnant pause where none of the students speak up. Shame permeates through the air as all of them refuse to look at their teacher in the eyes.

Even if Aizawa’s ire wasn't directed at him, Katsuki feels his body make an aborted attempt at fidgeting that he quickly kills before it becomes noticeable.

“Yaoyorozu.”

Ponytail flinches. 

There’s a prickly tingle in Katsuki’s sides as their teacher says this, an odd reaction the explosive blond is too tired to dwell on and just files it as Exhibit 10 in Shit That Was Wrong With Him.

No one dares to talk as Aizawa turns his eyes to a familiar group of students. “Midoriya, Iida. Todoroki. Kirishima” The teacher continues in that flat, dead tone the man had learned to wield like a weapon.

The cogs in Katsuki’s brain turn quickly at this. He’s starting to get a feeling about what was going on and what Aizawa was honing in on -and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“You directly defied school rules and Hero laws and went after Bakugo in Kamino.”

Katsuki fights the urge to bite his lower lip. There’s a snarl building up in his throat, but no sound ever breaches his lips, locked down and restrained by exhaustion, shame  and a general growing impatience to see this over with.

Fuck the lot of them, it’s their fault anyways. They’re the ones that poked their heads into what was decidingly not their business -they could reap what they sowed. Katsuki never asked for them to come. He’d even told Deku not to follow with the last rasping breath of air he had left in his lungs as Dabi dragged him through the swirling black of Kurogiri’s portal.

He would have gotten out on his own at Kamino.

He would have.

Could have flown away, could have blasted the villains back. He could have done it.

Images flare to life in front of his eyes. Blue hair, tightness around his neck, the bite of cold metal against his wrists, All Might thrown back like a ragdoll and he was just in the way-

Don’t think about it, Katsuki reprimands himself.

He keeps his face impassive, but after a moment he gives up and bites the inside of his lower lip just enough to feel the flare of pain from there outshine the one in his abdomen.

“...by doing so, you put yourselves at risk of being injured or ending up like Bakugo. There was a million ways your plan could have gone wrong,” As he says this, Aizawa’s eyes laser focuses on a certain green haired brat.

From his position at the back of the pack of students Katsuki can’t see what Deku’s face looks like, but the slumping shoulders and the sudden ducking his head like a cowed puppy told enough of what he would find if he cared enough to. Katsuki would bet his left foot that the nerd made that plan. He was certain of it.

Only Deku would do something this crazy and somehow not get his ass killed.

His arms though, Katsuki suddenly thinks as he notes the bandages peeking out from Deku’s sleeves. Those are another story. Not one that Katsuki cared to look at deeper though -he got the basic gist of it.

Idiot Deku.

“By the lack of surprise, I can surmise all of you were in on this plan.” Aizawa’s droning voice startles him out of his revery. “Frankly, I should expel everyone here except for Bakugo, Jiro and Hagakure.

The students shift again, this time even more uneasily. Someone lets out a stifled whimper. Katsuki is usually shit at social cues -or rather, he generally does not care- but he can taste the tension in the air, the apprehension of his fellow classmates as Aizawa prepares to deal his next blow.

“Because of All Might’s retirement however, this will not happen. Consider yourself lucky.”

Just like that, the tension snaps.

Shoulders drop and exhales of relief are let out. Kaminari looks like he's about to deflate like a balloon. Kirishima slumps and Iida looks like he's a hair's breadth from falling over or bursting into tears, the crybaby. Even the normally impassive fucker Todoroki looked stiffer than a surfboard, only the movement of his chest betraying the fact he wasn't, in fact, a walking discount Pinocchio that Endeavor had somehow breathe life into.

Wasn’t that a funny thought.

“For now,” Aizawa begins once more, and every student stands in attention. Katsuki thinks he hears Kirishima gulp. “...I’m just glad that we were able to bring Class 1-A back together again.”

This time, Eraserhead’s eyes land on him. There’s little doubt at whom he was staring at, and the class around the blond shifts, uncertain.

Katsuki feels odd, being at the center of attention. It’s a cold, creeping feeling that unfurls from his guts and crawls up his spine like the sea’s tide returning to a shoreline.

They’re all staring.

The snakes squirm, pressing against his stomach. The nausea is there, but faint. He flares his nostrils as he exhales to mask the pain.

I have to get out of here, a small, vulnerable part of him musters, and Katsuki found himself agreeing. Fuck their staring like he was some sort of circus animal.

With nothing else to say, Aizawa’s already turning around and walking into the door; seeing this opportunity Katsuki follows, briskly moving forward while stomping his feet.

The crowd of students part easily, sensing the dark aura hovering around him like a cloak. He doesn’t meet any of their stares, refusing to look anywhere else but his teacher’s back and the door of the dorms.

Nevertheless, he can still feel Deku’s eyes as they seemed to linger on him. From a young age he’s always known when the dumbass was staring at him; by now, it had become second nature, a sixth sense that ingrained itself into Katsuki’s psyche against his own will because if anything, the green haired fucker was a stubborn asshole.

Even though he’s not looking at the nerd, he can feel those big green orbs staring right at him, dark and wondering. Trying to dissect him down to his base components in a vain attempt to figure out what he was thinking.

It feels more unsettling than it should be.

He wants to grimace and turn away, or maybe even walk up to the nerd and punch him for making him feel like this, but the lethargity he’s been carrying since Kamino keeps his anger down and chained, too cold and heavy to let it bubble over and burst through like it normally would.

What the hell would reacting even amount to? He had other shit to do than get inevitably getting yelled at by Aizawa and given extra assignments on hero relations and the importance of teamwork and such other fucking bullshit he didn’t want to even think of.

And so, he keeps walking all the way to his assigned room, locks the door behind him, and promptly collapses on the bed, completely ignoring the boxes and his suitcase that the movers had brought earlier in the day and he hadn't had the time to unpack.

Facedown, nose mushed into the mattress, Katsuki takes a moment to think about this development.

On one hand, getting out of the old hag’s house was a good thing. There’s only so much pity party he can handle within the span of a week. While he was going to miss his home, living in the dorms cut down travel time considerably, which also cut down the time he spent shoved in a small train cart where strangers side eyed him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

...honestly, all and all the dorms were the best fucking thing ever.

Then Katsuki hears laughter through the walls, quickly followed by footsteps as what seemed like a group of elephants trampled across the floor.

A hiss leaves him through gritted teeth as irritation flares low in his belly, curling unpleasantly within his guts at the unmistakable, utterly grating sound of girls giggling. He rolls over to his side, curling up and drawing his knees to his chest. A part of him wants to grab his pillow and stuff it over his head to block out the chatter from the common room, but he doesn't allow it on sheer principle. 

He's being too much of a basic bitch as it was.

The dorms were supposed to be the start of something new. Maybe something better. Katsuki wasn’t optimistic, but he was a realist. Things could only look up after hitting rock bottom, right? At least that was what logic dictated.

(It was kind of pathetic, that this was what his fucking life was reduced to.)

.

.

.

too hot too cold where was he 

tight arms can't move a chair 

camp?

he can't think his thoughts stray in the breeze and there is nothing to hold on to-

there's a hand on his chest and everything 

scarred, inhuman face and pearly white teeth.

“Be grateful, Katsuki.”

He wakes up covered in sweat, bed sheets a pile on the floor. The sky was still dark outside his window.

What was that? 

He tries to recall his dream, but the details slip between his fingers like water leaving him grasping at nothing and with a big headache for his troubles. Katsuki can only lay there, staring at the ceiling, an almost familiar lurching nausea squirming in his guts as he ponders the strange feelings that were left over from his nightmare.

Because it was a nightmare.

(...what else could it be?)

Groaning, he crawls out of bed. His feet dig into the bed sheets accumulated on the floor and he grumbles, sitting back down on the bed and reaching to pick them up-

He blinks.

There’s a big tear on one of them. Katsuki frowns, turning it over to get a better look. The tear is large, spanning horizontally across the sheet and big enough for him to crawl through. 

Mitsuki was probably going to chew him out if he told her. Motherfuck, how did he cause this? Did he tear it up during his sleep?

At least it’s a clean cut, he grumbles in his head as he stretches it out in its entirety, examining the damage closely. Good thing I know how to use a fucking needle, I can probably stitch it up.

Like hell Katsuki was going to sleep after this, especially with how filthy the accumulated sweat felt on his body. It stuck to his sleeping clothes like a second skin. Muttering under his breath, he throws the torn bed sheets back on the bed and goes for his closet. 

Might as well start the day early.

.

.

.

As it turns out, crawling down the stairs and going to the kitchen doesn't grant him any kindness as upon entering the room, he's greeted by the worst sight of them all -a dozen faces turning upon hearing the sound of the door opening.

Expressions light up upon seeing him, others have a weird face wobble, torn between greeting Katsuki like proper etiquette would require them to but then remembering who exactly they were about to try and be polite to. So in the end, the blond gets several mumbled hellos and how are you doing.

They look like they don't know what to say or where to look.

Good, Katsuki thinks as he beelines for the kitchen counter. The less they bothered him, the better. They’re still looking at him like he’s an odd duck, but at least his classmates are wise enough to stay silent.

...not.

“Bakugo!” Kirishima’s obnoxiously loud voice pierces through the thick black cloud swirling around inside his brain like a spear. Katsuki fights back the wince. He can taste the looming headache threatening to bloom into existence. “Heya man, good morning!”

“Hm.”

The redhead falters from where he’s standing by the kitchen counter, but then smiles lopsidedly. Determined fucker. “Want some eggs? Sato’s just done making the last omelet, but I’m sure he can-”

“I’m good.”

Silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

(His empty stomach lurches. Snakes twist in their sleep, an uneasy feeling.)

Katsuki ignores further whispers and staring as he goes for the one thing that attracts his attention -the shiny new coffee machine on the counter.

As a rule, he fucking hates coffee. It dehydrated him easily and given the fact his Quirk relied on his sweat, Katsuki could count on one hand how many times he’d taken the horrible drink. Today however, he looks at the coffee machine with a bit of quiet hope.

Caffeine was supposed to perk you up, right?

The coffee machine pings loudly, the beep enough to make his lips twitch with the urge to snarl. Stewing quietly, Katsuki takes the cup out of the machine -it’s warm, but not too hot against his heat-resistant skin- and for a moment he stares down at the brown, near black goop inside the black cup.

It’s as appealing as a rotten apple.

He hears Kirishima speak up again, a desperate attempt at quelling the uneasiness of the room.

“Here, let me get you the milk-”

Katsuki tosses his head back and drinks the coffee in four, large gulps.

Silence.

Katsuki swipes his tongue over his lips, forcing his facial expression to remain neutral at the horrible taste. The coffee settles uneasily in his stomach, warm and heavy -but his insides aren’t twisting with the urge to regurgitate this shitty breakfast so Katsuki takes it as a win.

Turning around, he bypasses a frozen Kirishima, goes to the sink and washes his cup. Then he sets it to dry on the side and stalks out of the kitchen.

No one’s talking yet. There’s more than one set of wide eyes following him.

Gulp gulp, motherfuker , Katsuki thinks and it's a silly, utterly stupid thought likely born out of sleep deprivation and the newly added dose of caffeine in his system, but it gives him the power to ignore the stares and stomp out of the room.

None of his classmates call out after him. 

No one follows him.

(He's alone.)

.

.

.

All Might is dead. 

Katsuki sees Yagi Toshinori stand in front of the Heroics class, looming despite his slumped posture and unsteady figure as Aizawa begins talking about the upcoming Provisional Exam. 

Life goes on.

Chapter Text

Aizawa lays everything out bare for them, their teacher never failing to not mince his words.

“We have ten days until the Provisional Exams. After that, the next semester will begin.” The underground hero continues, unperturbed by the nervous glances students exchange. “We won’t be the only ones taking it. There will be multiple schools attending as well.”

“Other schools?” Someone mutters to Katsuki’s right, but he doesn’t tilt his head to look at them. 

He stares right past Aizawa’s head and at the board on the wall, silent and only half paying attention at his teacher’s words, merely filtering what he was saying and classifying the important parts.

At one point Midnight, Cementos and Ectoplasm come in. They drone on about fighting techniques and ultimate moves, a concept Katsuki had long become familiar with. Howitzer Impact qualified so technically he already had one.

Unlike most of his classmates, he’d practice his Quirk long before he’d come to Yuuei -almost from the first spark of nitroglycerin that ignited in his hands in kindergarten. 

That didn’t stop you from being taken though, did it?

His stomach does an odd flip flop motion. He has to bite his lower lip to keep his focus away from his body’s innability at keeping itself the fuck together like it should.

Stop it, you fuck.

“-you’ll be working with us to be in tip top shape for the Exam.” Midnight’s sly voice echoed through the room. She has her hands on her broad hips and a confidant, reassuring smirk on her lips as she winks to her audience. 

The excitement and apprehension amongst the students is palpable. Mineta is probably salivating somewhere in the class. Katsuki is nonplussed.

The board makes for a nice, boring thing to look at.

“We’ll be working alongside you closely to make sure you are ready for the exam.” Aizawa speaks up as he surveys them one last time, eyes sharp and mouth hidden behind his scarf.

None of the students spoke. Some were almost shaking with excitement, fidgeting with the urge to speak up and cheer at the knowledge they were reaching a hallmark for their careers as Pro-Heroes. Others were more nervous, and even more were silent, grasping easily the importance of what they were about to undertake.

“Dismissed.”

Katsuki’s the first one out the door.

.

.

.

He’s the first one out of the changing room too.

It doesn’t take him long to slam his case down, get changed, stuff his things in his locker and walk out just as the first of his male classmates enters. As he leaves, he stubbornly refuses to look at Deku, who was changing next to the door with suspiciously slow movements.

Whether it was because of a calculated scheme from the nerd or simple coincidence, he did not care. 

He has bigger things to worry about.

Still, he can't deny he puts on his hero costume for the first time in a few weeks, Katsuki finds himself able to breathe more easily. The suit fits him perfectly; the gauntlets are nice and heavy on his arms, the weight centering him. Combat boots that could break bone support him as he follows the other students to Gym Gamma.

He doesn’t feel safer, per say - why the fuck would he think that? - but he feels more like...himself.

And he'll prove it at the Provincial Exams.

.

.

.

As it turns out, the world is not done fucking him right over.

Training is rough. His explosions felt...weaker, somehow. Dimmer. They didn't pack the same punch as usual, and it takes more effort than Katsuki likes to produce enough nitroglycerin to create them. He struggles sometimes to stay in the air as he practices a new aerial move.

The dehydration must play part of it, Katsuki thinks sourly. Had to be.

Fucking Shigaraki.

Fucking League.

The rage mounts within him, overwhelming and dark and so angry.

With a roar he dives down like a falcon, the explosion he lets out instantly destroying Ectoplasm’ clone before the Pro-Hero can dodge the massive blast radius. Concrete chunks fall to the ground around Katsuki as he lands, heaving, teeth clenched and arms twitching in a familiar manner that has that dark cloud of anger burning higher.

Annoyed, he turns to the real Ectoplasm and snarls out. “Oi! Ectoplasm! Your clone died! Give me another!”

Katsuki’s shout echoed through the sprawling gym, startling more than one of his classmates. He thinks he sees Sero jump up and trip on a stray piece of tape he’d laid out between two pillars at the sound of his voice, but it’s hard to focus when there’s blood roaring in his ears and pathetic sense of frustration surging through him the longer he is standing still.

At the call of his hero name, Ectoplasm turns away from where he was standing by Aizawa to look at him. His dark, almost alien face made it impossible to judge what the man was thinking; his narrowed pale eyes however told Katsuki that there was at least a hint of disapproval at his rude interruption.

Ha, joke’s on him because its not like Katsuki gave a fuck about his opinion.

“Well?!” Katsuki adds in an exasperated yell when Ectoplasm fails to respond or spawn a new clone in that moment. What was taking the man so long?

Ectoplasm is too far away to say anything without shouting too. Instead of responding however the Pro-Hero unhinges his jaws and spits out a glob of luminous vapor that twist and swirls as it rises from the ground. Within a fraction of a second there’s a new clone standing by its creator. It stays there for a moment, before slowly making its way to Katsuki’s platform -dodging the wayward students running around like children on a sugar high.

One of Katsuki’s classmates wasn’t moving, though.

Deku was looking at him from the ground, squinting. He’s far from the only one, but the quiet, soft intensity of those green eyes send something cold and sharp down Katsuki’s spine. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Shouldn’t he be busy putting that oh so mysterious Quirk of his to use?

It’s then that Katsuki spots a familiar tuff of golden blond hair making its way into the gym. It’s wilder than he’s used to, but undeniably unmistakable.

‘Have you come to kill me a second time, All Might?’

Snarling, he turns around and stomps away. Ignoring the weight of his classmates’ eyes, the blond rolls his shoulders and gets back into it.

.

.

.

They all settle into dorm life with the grace of a bird learning to fly for the first time. 

Right off the bat Katsuki knows it’s going to be hell, and less than two days into this it’s all but confirmed.

Kaminari is fucking loud at night, he discovers with the slightest bit of horror. Kirishima randomly works out in his room so loudly he can hear him wailing on his training equipment through the walls. Dark Shadow is an absolute monster and if Katsuki could he would shove that little shit demonic thing into the nearest box and throw the whole cage into the ocean, Tokoyami included.

Yayorozou fucking eats the entire kitchen during the afternoon and continued to eat like she was a vacuum cleaner. After dinner Iida put the dishes in ‘alphabetical order’, whatever the fuck that means. Shouto filled his assigned cabinet with soba and when Katsuki overheard Jirou ask how he bought so much of one kind of food, the fucker has the gall to shrug.

Of course he would though, with daddy dearest footing the bill.

The thought made him reflectively curse said Pro-Hero inside his head. Fuck Endeavor, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling of his dark room.

It’s 11 pm, and he’s not asleep yet.

Try as he might, he has no idea why he’s still awake. Time was ticking, the sky was as dark as it could be, but still Katsuki found himself staring emptily at the ceiling of his new bedroom, utterly unable but very much willing to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep already.

His stomach churns.

Oh hell no, he thinks, more to his stomach than himself. You better fucking not, you little shit.

Thankfully it soon settles, but Katsuki isn't satisfied. He'd been feeling too much of it constantly. The nausea came and went with the regularity of a stray cat, returning at the least opportune moments and disappearing before he can even process what was happening.

It's annoying. 

Annoying and debilitating and pathetic .

He was better than this. Or at least, he was supposed to. Instead, here he was laying on his bed, quietly contemplating the fastest way to known oneself out because like fuck his body was going to let him sleep in such a condition.

Groaning, he finally admits that maybe he should do something. Grab some tea, go out on a run, something to get rid of that horrible prickling under his skin. It’s concentrated mostly on his face for some reason, digging around the corner of his left eye like a nasty bruise. Had Kirishima grazed him there during their spar during class?

Katsuki can’t remember. 

Fuck, he doesn’t have the strength to remember.

Just fuck me, he thinks, glaring up at the ceiling. If you’re so dead set on fucking me sideways with a rusty knife, universe, might as well get it done with.

Of course, the universe doesn’t answer. It’s probably busy fucking someone else’s day.

...bastard.

Angrily, the blond rolls over and half flops off his bed, pathetically picking himself up with limbs that feel like they were filled with lead. He stumbles towards his door, reaching out for the doorknob.

Maybe if he went to the kitchen and grabbed a-

“-out don't get to talk.”

His hand halts over the doorknob. Every part of Katsuki’s body freezes at the low, hard voice.

That voice - Todoroki?

Just as he thinks he's hallucinated it, he hears the low, familiar voice through the closed door:

“No, I won't mind my tone at all.” A pause. “Get over it. I don't answer to you anymore.”

Who was he talking to? Katsuki feels himself sink down to the floor. The half and half bastard was just loud enough for him to hear -not like he wants to hear this. Fuck no.

That doesn’t stop him from getting curious, though.

Is it Endeavor?

“You don't get to talk.” Todoroki hisses into the phone. More shuffling. He’s farther away now. “I’m not under your thumb anymore. Back off.”

(The snakes convulse, bright and dark and angry.)

Katsuki slams a hand over his mouth as another wave of something washes over him. It’s dark, bitter and ugly, nausea coiling in his guts alongside it in an extremely familiar way. His body jolts, something crawling up his throat that he only barely manages to force down.

What wasn’t familiar however was the way the skin around his left eye startled prickling, a phantom sensation that had him squirming unpleasantly in place, 

In that moment, Katsuki wants to scream.

...how was he going to stay atop of the class with his body deciding it wanted to fuck with him?

.

.

.

“The students are well, are they not?”

Toshinori says nothing at first, busy gulping down a mouthful of tea. “Y-yeah. It could be better, but they seem to be adjusting to the dorms wonderfully.” He can’t help but smile softly. “Its the best we can hope for.”

Nedzu hums thoughtfully. ‘They’re adapting remarkably well, given the circumstances.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“...how is Mr.Bakugo?”

“He’s...alright.” There’s a pause in which Toshinori takes too long to answer. “Recovering. He’s more quiet than he should be, but I think he’ll settle with time.”

The words taste bitter on his tongue, but he still finds it within himself to push them out.

Nedzu tilts his head, gazing at him over his own tea cup. The principal’s tail was a rigid thing behind the Pro-Hero, betraying a darker mood than Toshinori would have hoped.

“Time?” The mouse-like creature purses his lip, black eyes flicking down to his cup. “-well, I guess us hoping he came out of Kamino unscathed was unrealistic. Children are easily shocked.” The principal takes a sip, the sound far too loud in the still room. “I’ll have Aizawa sneak in some mention of therapy, but we both know Bakugo is too stubborn for that.”

Another sip. Toshinori feels his shoulders slump further.

“I guess we’ll have to have patience.” Nedzu pauses. “And faith. In ourselves and our students.”

Toshinori makes a mild grimace.

Try as he might, he can’t shake off the image of Bakugo standing in the doorway of his home, dark circles around shadowed red eyes and looking like he wanted to talk but something was holding him back. He’d looked so small, then. So unlike the boy Toshinori had come to know and admire. 

This is my fault, he thinks. As his teacher, I am responsible for him. It is my responsibility to guide and protect this boy.

In that moment, he thinks of Midoriya.

Strong, resourceful, reckless Midoriya. Toshinori already had words with his successor about his actions at Kamino and now, well, he hoped it would stick. Especially given he couldn’t truly protect the boy anymore. He would have to provide guidance in other ways from now on.

While Midoriya was important as his successor though, Toshinori refused to neglect his other students. Every last one of them needed his guidance, his advice, his experience -those were the only things he could provide from now on, and like hell Toshinori wasn't going to give it his best to ensure his students graduated and became successful, well rounded individuals.

-and that included Bakugo.

Reclusive, quiet Bakugo, so unlike anything he was used from the blond. If anything, Bakugo was usually bright and loud. Like a literal explosion, Toshinori thinks with a mental chuckle.

And yet now, things were different.

It’s just shock, he told himself after that first meeting since Kamino. He needs time to settle.

But then class rolled around and that faded aura still hung around Bakugo like a shroud. The boy still barely looked at anyone and he was quiet. Too quiet. Would shock lack this long? 

Maybe Bakugo was more sensitive than he’d previously expected his student to be. 

Maybe Kamino had left more of an impact than he’d hoped.

….for some reason, this brings to mind the memory of Shigaraki’s warped smile, greasy locks and yellow teeth. Toshinori shudders.

.

.

.

Aizawa was about to slide into his bed early -a rare, precious opportunity that should never be ignored- when his phone rings.

His shoulders slump and a disgruntled huff leaves his lips. It was nearly eight in the afternoon, who on earth was calling at this hour?

Nevertheless, he takes the phone off the nightstand despite his irritation and faint urge to toss it out the window. It was an unknown number. He all but stabs his finger into the accept button.

“Yes?”

There’s a lapse of silence.

“...hello? Is...is this Eraserhead I’m talking to?”

Male, not someone Aizawa recognized. Dissatisfied, the teacher glared up at the ceiling. If this was an emergency that cut into his sleep he swore-

“Yes, you are talking to him. What do you want?” At this ungodly hour? Aizawa bites back the last part  by channeling years’ worth of working with rowdy, accident-prone children. “It’s late.”

“A-and I apologize for that!” The voice stammered, nervous. “I just -you’re the homeroom teacher for Class 1-A, right? I wish to talk to you in person.”

Aizawa feels himself frown. “Why? If you are a member of the press, then no and I'd like to know how you got your hands on-”

“My name is Hanazawa Mikio. I was Bakugo Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku’s homeroom teacher in middle school. I think there are some things you might need to know.”

Aizawa’s heart skips a beat.

He jolts up on his bed, sitting up and staring at the ground as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. For some reason every part of his body was suddenly awake and attentive, pulled taunt like the string of a bow.

What would this man possibly want?

Gritting his teeth, Aizawa speaks authoritatively in a voice he only used while working as a Pro-Hero:

“Tomorrow. Five o'clock. Go to the Yuuei main entrance and ask for my name. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Text

The third day is marginally better. Classes pick up again, and Katsuki drags his sorry carcass to each everyone of them in time. 

Anything solid is ignored in the morning. He grabs a coffee early before anyone else gets to the kitchen, drinks it quickly, then does his morning run. If he feels the urge to throw up, he forces it down, crushing it through sheer willpower until only a faint sense of nausea is left.

He sits his ass through Aizawa’s lectures and takes notes on everything, because like hell he was going to lose his rank in the class to a lack of sleep. Fuck, Ponytail should watch out, because Katsuki was coming her spot next exam season.

After the shitshow of the summer camp, he wasn’t going to allow himself anything less than perfection.

.

.

.

“Fuck you.” Katsuki gurgles pathetically. “Fucking fuck you.”

The toilet remains silent. Clearly, the porcelain god is having none of his shit today.

Katsuki had to shove his head back into it to keep himself from staining his clothes. He tries to keep his mind empty and distracted as his pathetic breakfast comes back up. Apparently coffee wasn’t meant to be ingested alone in the morning when you were doing a lot of physical activity. And it didn’t agree with him in general. Figures. Fucking figures. What a genius he’d been. 

Never fucking again.

When he pulls back to sit on his heels, the acrid aftertaste of coffee burns at his tongue. Katsuki winces, left hand reaching up to massage his throat. 

Fuck, shit couldn’t get worse, could it?

The clatter of the bathroom door opening has him freezing in place. Footsteps followed as someone walked into the bathroom and passed through the stalls. Any moment now he would be seen.

Katsuki tenses up. Crap, if it was an extra he could spook them off, why the fuck didn’t he close the door to his stall-

“Kacchan?” 

You’ve gotta be shitting me.

The soft, questioning voice was unmistakable. He doesn’t turn around, glaring at the toilet with utter revulsion. Shame burns at him as he hisses out:

 “Kind of busy here.” Katsuki finds himself grumbling, fighting another bout of nausea. Thankfully his stomach was now utterly empty, so he doesn’t have to worry about putting himself through more humiliation than he already was in. “Fuck off.” He adds as an afterthought,

“Busy.” Deku says flatly.

Somehow, the green haired brat sounded both bemused, dubious and worried. What a delightful combination that Katsuki did not want directed at him.

“Yes.” 

“Kacchan.” 

It’s the slight exhausted tint to the other teen’s sigh that does Katsuki in. 

Snarling, he swallows down excess saliva from throwing up and then stands up abruptly, stoically ignoring the slight headrush he feels at the sudden movement. Turning around, he glares at the nerd.

“What of it, eh? The fuck do you want? Do your shit and leave, Deku.”

The idiot flinched slightly as the furious snarl, but he doesn’t shy away as much as Katsuki wished he did. Deku was doing so less and less -the spine he’d lacked during the entirety of their childhood was finally starting to show, and it was only a matter of time before he stopped putting up with Katsuki’s bullshit entirely.

Whoohoo, look how much the fucking nerd grew.

He had to wonder when the nerd would stop trailing after him. Probably fucking never, at least until Katsuki did something drastic. And wasn’t that a fucking thought.

“I don’t want to go to the bathroom!” Deku exclaims in response to his growled command, stumbling over his words -probably realizing how utterly fucking hilarious and pathetic they sounded. Ha. Ha. See, Katsuki was laughing. On the inside. Maybe. “I just - I saw you leave the gym.”

So he followed him?

Great. He’s stalking me again.

“What do you want.” This time, Katsuki doesn’t hide his exhaustion. He’d long crossed the line of fucks to give.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. Deku falters, shoulders slumping slightly.

“I wanted to see where you were going. You weren’t heading for the Support building so…” Katsuki’s glare deepen and Deku bites his lower lip, cutting himself off. “-I just want to know -are you okay, Kacchan?”

Katsuki feels the sneer on his face falter.

Are you okay?

...no, he’s not. 

He’s smart enough to know that.

But it's not like he would admit it. Especially not to Deku. Or anyone else, for that matter. It’s enough that his parents noted that something was off. Katsuki could deal with a bout of sickness on his own.

“What’s it up to you?” Katsuki ends up hissing out.

“You’re crankier than normal, but you’re shouting less.” Deku immediately replies, brows furrowing that certain way Katsuki just knows a verbal diarrhea was incoming. “You’re also hanging out with Kirishima less. You barely left your room since we got to the dorms unless it was to train. And I-I don’t think I’ve seen you use the kitchen yet, apart from making yourself coffee.” Deku suddenly pauses, eyebrows crinkling further. “Kacchan, you hate coffee.”

Somehow it’s that last part that has Katsuki clenching his fists, an urge to leave rising within his core at this almost accusation. God, he almost wishes he hadn’t left the gauntlets by the door. He really, really wanted to threaten Deku with them. Maybe that’ll get the nerd to fucking leg it and leave him alone.

But things don’t work like that anymore, do they? A tiny voice whispers, sneering. He’s not going to put up with your shit anymore.

“I can drink whatever the fuck I like, nerd. And since when did you think that?”

“Tsubasa offered you some, once.” Deku replies quickly. “You went on a rant about it. Plus, it affects your Quirk. Coffee causes dehydration.”

Katsuki can’t reply. The silence feels suffocating.

“So that’s that, eh?” He mutters.

“Kacchan, if you need help Recovery Girl can take a look.” Deku starts in that familiar, whimpy fucking way that makes Katsuki’s blood boil.

He’s fucking done with Deku crap. Hell, he’s been done years ago but somehow the little shit stuck to his side like fucking glue, always nearby, always worrying, always fucking worrying if he could just wrap his hands around that stupid fucking neck we could finally shut him up

Katsuki blinks.

What the fuck.

What the fuck was that.

“I deal with my shit and you deal with yours, got it?” His mouth almost moves on his own, the tone oddly calm compaired to how every nerve in his body was hitting the let’s get the fuck out alarm. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

He walks forward before Deku can interrupt him, brushing past the slightly shorter boy hard enough to make him stumble. The nerd’s back hits one of the stalls in a way that reminds him far too much of how often he’d shoved Deku around in middle school.

Simpler times.

Deku reaches out with a hand, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Kacchan wait-”

Fuck it. 

Nuclear option.

“-wouldn’t want to disappoint All Might, would you?” Katsuki sneers. Ugly, bitter satisfaction rises up within him at the way the other boy freezes mid stride, hand half-risen from his side to reach for him. Deku’s wide, surprised and slightly guilty eyes told enough.

Fucking gotcha.

He hadn’t forgotten what Deku had blurted out that second day of school. 

‘My Quirk was given to me by somebody else!’

It was hard not to after Kamino.  The mere name popping up in his head immediately had his blood turning cold. Black mask. Dark suit. Large, scarred hands. 

A toothy smile hidden between a contraption of metal and tubes. 

‘Have you come to kill me a second time, All Might?’

Katsuki’s memory jumps forward. Black tendrils with glowing red inlines, slicing through the air and reaching Kurogiri’s prone form. Digging in, searching.

‘Forceful Quirk Activation!’

His chest hurt. He feels a pressure there, faint but present. It has him clenching his abdominal muscles and exhales slowly. He closes his eyes.

(It almost feels like little needles stabbing into his skin.)

“....Kacchan? You’re spacing out.”

Katsuki’s eyes snap open to meet green.  Deku’s there -like he always was. He looks only a smidge less guilty now, the surprise of Katsuki’s declaration having faded. The expression of concern on his face was starting to become too familiar for his taste.

Katsuki feels something within him harden at the sight.

He didn’t have time to waste on this crap. The teachers were probably wondering where they fuck they were. The Provincial Exam date was getting closer and closer and it wasn’t waiting for anyone.

He’ll get his licence then and fucking show everyone there was nothing to speculate about -that he was still the fucking best.

(If so, why did that feel like a lie?)

“I don’t have time for this.” Katsuki ends up muttering.

With nothing more to say, he picks up the gauntlets left by the door and walks out. Deku doesn’t follow him.

The last glimpse of the other boy that Katsuki catches is of Deku standing slumped against the stall he’d shoved him against looking at him not with fear or worry but with dark, speculative eyes, like he’s some sort of puzzle the boy was determined to figure out.

(The snakes hiss.)

.

.

.

Aizawa finds Hanazawa standing by the Yuuei gates at five in the afternoon to the dot. 

“Welcome.” He tells the man stoically when he takes him past the great steel doors and into the main building of the campus. “Give your bag here,” Aizawa points to one of the small sentries inside. 

“W-why for?” Hanazawa murmured, staring at the robot warily. Like he was expecting it to snap at him. He’d forgotten how unused civilians are to Yuuei’s mechanical staff. Aizawa barely fights back the urge to roll his eyes. 

“It’s a scanner drone. It will check to make sure there is nothing harmful amongst your things or on you.” He explains, pausing to narrow his eyes at Hanazawa slow shuffling towards the robot. “Hurry up. I have a patrol tonight.”

“Right! I apologize.”

After that, it doesn’t take long. The scanner drone’s light flickers over Hanazawa’s tall, lanky frame, then turns to the bag. 

It then beeps cheerfully, too loudly for Aizawa’s taste.

“All good, Eraserhead!” 

Aizawa quickly steers them to the second floor. As they walked down the hallway to Aizawa’s office, he couldn’t help but find that the middle school teacher looked horribly out of place with his hunched shoulders, nervous eyes, soft blazer and fidgeting stature. It contrasted with his own swift gate and the tall, wide halls of Yuuei.

Nobody stood in their way during their journey, which Aizawa was grateful for. He’d already notified Nedzu about this visit as per regulation, but he’d rather have few people know about this unless it became worthwhile.

...which he had the strangest gut feeling it would be.

Still, if they could not accidentally run into Bakugo or Midoriya, that would be great.  At this moment they should be in gym Gamma with Cementoss, Midnight and All Might, but Aizawa couldn’t expect them to keep the students in that building. Given how the first years were running back and forth between the training buildings and the Support Department wing, there was a chance it might happen. 

Small, but possible.

This thankfully didn’t come to be, as he reached the teachers’ lounge without further problem. Aizawa opened the door, made sure none of his fellow teachers were inside and nodded for Hanazawa to walk in, which the middle school teacher did very quickly.

“Now that we are here.” Aizawa sits down on one of the couches, spine ramrod straight. Hanazawa sits in the one opposite of him, bag on his lap and feet drawn in like a turtle retracted into its shell. “What is important enough to call me at 8 in the afternoon?”

Hanazawa had at least the manners to duck his head, sheepish as he speaks:

“I apologize for that,” He fiddles with his bag, fingers clenching on the leather. “But, huh, I had a bit of an epiphany and after reaching out to the police, I got your contact and thought it would be best if I spoke to you directly.”

Aizawa fights off the urge to raise a brow at the sudden cascade of words, each ringing more and more alarms inside his head. Epiphany? Police?

His gut feeling was right.

“You spoke with the Musustafu police?”

Hanazawa nods, the bright yellow hair on his head that was disturbingly similar to Hizashi bobbing with the movement. “Yes. I contacted them yesterday morning, and I was directed to a detective called Naomasa? After I spoke with him, he told me to contact you and forwarded me your information.”

Aizawa tenses. Naomasa, All Might’s police contact and head of the League investigation, had forwarded him? This had to be pertinent, then.

“Why me?”

Hanazawa looked down at the ground. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Aizawa could see the conflict in the way he sat there, tense and uncomfortable.

“I had a while to think about this.” The middle school teacher began, voice soft. “At first I dismissed it -after the lunacy of the Festival, I thought it would just a normal thing. But then I started having doubts when it was the only time it happened.” 

A pause.

“Then Kamino happened.” Hanazawa softly continues. “I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Without any further word, the man reaches for his bag and starts shuffling around.

“I was approached by someone two weeks after the Festival. His name was Uramoto Jiro. He introduced himself as a reporter for the Musutafu Hero Daily. He asked about Bakugo.”

Aizawa’s stomach lurches.

“I didn’t think much of it at first.” Hanazawa shuffles his feet, further retreating into himself. His hands are still in his bag, but he’s not moving them. The guilt was oozing off the man. “There were some reporters that approached staff members at Aldera after the Festival, so I answered what I could. He then went on his day.”

A pause.

“Then the Summer Camp Incident happened. The media was in chaos. And...a-and I felt something. Like I was missing something important. So I reached out to the Musustafu Daily.” Hanazawa swallows, then exhales.“T-they told me that there were no Uramoto Jiro working there.”

He then pulls out his hands from the bag.

A bird flies by the lounge’s window, it’s shadow slicing through the room and across Hanazawa’s neck. No one speaks. Silenced, Aizawa lets the the man stay silent, his gaze shifting to the object the teacher was offering him.

“I saw the reports after Kamino, and well…”

It’s a small picture.

He takes it, stomach dropping at what he finds. A man with a scruffy blond hair, a dark stubble, eyebags and most importantly a long, straight scar on his forehead. The Pro-Hero recognized the man immediately.

“Jin Budaigawara.” Aizawa finds himself saying without willing to. He flicks his gaze up to look at Hanazawa. “Twice.”

Hanazawa nods. “He’s the man that approached me.”

“What did he ask you.” Aizawa’s voice was harsher and blunter than he’d like, but at this point every nerve in his body was screaming at him. This was not something that he was expecting.

The League had done some sort of background check on Bakugo. They’d gone above and beyond -Aizawa had thought they had used the Festival as justification to take his student and try to sway him to their side...something that thankfully, clashed with Bakugo’s sheer stubbornness.

This meant something more intricate.

There was something else to this, he was certain. Possibilities zipped by Aizawa’s head, one faster than the other, and he has to restrain himself from calling Nedzu right away.

Hanazawa bites his lower lip. “That’s the thing that has me confused.”

Aizawa feels himself freeze. 

“As in?”

“Well,” Hanazawa takes a breath, brows furrowing. “...strangely enough, he was more adamant to talk about Bakugo and Midoriya’s relationship rather than Bakugo himself.”

.

.

.

“You know the drill, All Might.”

He nods, eyeing the massive metal door in front of him. “Yes. Will the security of the cell be ensured?

The head guard bobs his head. “Yes sir. We will be able to see you, but we won’t hear anything.” Toshinori watches as the man reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small, smooth disk with a clicker button on it. He extends his arm in offering and Toshinori can only grab it with a murmured thank you. “Here’s the panic button. Hit that and a drug in the villain’s packet will be instantly administered. We will be alerted automatically. The guards are on standby; it’s all ready to go.”

Toshinori looks down at the tiny button in his hand. It almost seemed to glare at him.

That’s right. He needed to be careful now. He was the one that needed protecting from now on.

...it was such an odd thing.

But it was his new reality.

“Ready?” The head guard’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Toshinori looks up and gives the man a ghost of his heroic smile, but it feels too bitter.

“Yes, thank you.”

He’s guided to place his hand of the scanner by the gate. Immediately, the door in front of him slides open with a hiss. Toshinori steps through, mindful of his cape. It feels odd, wearing it now with this thin, emaciated body, but he finds it fitting.

There was something funny about showing up to meet his nemesis while wearing his old suit. A final middle finger, sort to speak.

It was like Gran Torino said -All Might was still alive. He may not be a Pro-Hero anymore, but Toshinori liked to think he was still a hero. That he was still useful.

The room inside is cold and bare save a single chair and the big, wide glass splitting the chamber in half. On the other side of the reinforced glass sat a figure dressed in white and bound to an upright stretcher. 

There’s a pole on wheels next to him, with a single Iv bag hanging from one of it’s hooks, connected to the captured criminal. A softly buzzing machine was on the man’s left and was feeding the criminal clean oxygen through a breathing mask.

At his arrival the man’s scarred, eyeless, noseless face twists grotesquely as lips move to form a polite smile. Toshinori already feels a burst of anger and cold fury rise up in him at the sight.

“All Might.” His title is spoken politely, like they were two old colleagues meeting again.

It was revolting. He couldn’t let his anger show, though. It would only further feed the monster and like hell he was giving the man such satisfaction.

“All for One.” Toshinori replies, trying to hide the hostility in his voice but failing at it, if the slight widening of those thin, cracked lips was anything to go by.

“It sure took you a long time to come visit, Yagi Toshinori.” The monster on the other side of the glass uttered, sounding almost hurt. “I was starting to get worried that you’d forgotten about me.”

I’ll love it if it was that easy, Toshinori thinks sourly.

“We met a few days ago.” He instead retorts evenly. “I hardly think that’s a long time.”

There’s a soft, chuckle. It’s ear-grating.

“Maybe.” All for One tuts softly. “How’s that successor of yours, All Might? I’m curious to know about him.”

Toshinori feels his eyes widen. Midoriya?

No.

Like hell he was going to let All for One know anything about his student. “You know nothing of him, at it will stay that way.” Toshinori tells him sharply.

“I know you have no control of him, and that’s enough for me.” All for One replies without missing a beat. “I also know he’s a reckless child, too enamored by the ideals of heroism and nobility to realize how real life work.” He pauses theatrically. “You know how long those lasts out there in the streets.”

Toshinori bristles at the implied threat.

“You dare-”

“I dare what, exactly?” All for One interrupts in a light, unbothered tone. “As far as I see I am here, in Tartarus. I cannot dare something I can’t do. I’d hate to be labelled a liar.” A beat passes. Toshinori silently boils as the other man takes his time. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

“You are a liar.” Toshinori snaps back, voice rising. “You are a cheat, a thief and a murderer too.”

“Now you are just hurting my feelings.” All for One replies, sounding almost hurt. “I wonder what your student would think.”

“Don’t bring him up again.”

The criminal’s response was immediate and nonchalant. “Why not? As my future nemesis, he’s as important as you are in this conversation.”

Toshinori feels something snap in himself. Some distant part of him knew that he shouldn’t be getting this riddled up, but All for One just knew what buttons to press and the words just came flowing out:

“Midoriya will become the next Symbol of Peace.” Toshinori tells him, eyes narrowed and voice hard as his mind goes back to Midoriya’s reckless rescue at Kamino. So much courage, such bravery, if only the boy would be just a bit more careful… . “He will become great while you rot in here for the rest of your miserable life. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

All for One doesn’t press, so Toshinori finds himself baring his teeth and telling him smugly:

“I’m going back to my school.” He states, turning up his nose at the scarred, inhuman criminal on the other side of the glass.  “To my student, who is safe and flourishing.”

All for One merely hums, the tone calm and uncaring like they were having a quaint little discussion . Toshinori takes it as if the man has nothing else to add, so he gets up and starts walking away.

He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. The cell might be secure, but still, it was foolish of him to speak of Midoriya. He should know better. 

He was better than this; to fall to such a trick was pathetic of him.

All for One always had a knack for sinking under his opponent’s skin. Even in the middle of a fight he wou-

“Is he, though?”

Toshinori freezes, hand over the scanner.

 Slowly, he turns his upper body to look back at his nemesis. All for One is smiling, looking too calm and too happy for someone who was bound and loaded up on Quirk suppressant drugs.

“Is he safe?” The man continues, his twisted, gnarled face tilting to the side as much as he could given the binds. 

The smile continues to grow on those parched lips -and the worst part? Toshinori knows that smile. He knows it very well; had seen it numerous times in his nightmares.

It’s the same smile the man had given him before he’d torn a hole in his gut.

Toshinori’s stomach drops. Spinning around he leaves the room without any further word, All for One’s laughter following on his heels, clinging to his shadow.

Chapter Text

“Here.”

Hanazawa takes the tea cup gently. “Thank you.” The man says meekly.

He did that a lot, Aizawa thinks as he sits down on his own couch, his tea cup on the low table between the two of them. Likely, the civilian was intimidated by him. Not something that Aizawa minded -it was better.

He didn’t need to put much effort in making it clear to the man that he wanted everything the middle school teacher had to offer about Midoriya and Bakugo. Thankfully, Hanazawa seemed more than willing to answer this question.

And he started with the obvious.

“They never did really get along.” 

No wonder. Aizawa had summed that up within the first few hours spent around his students. The animosity had calmed somewhat after that final exam with All Might, only to rev back up after Kamino. He keeps quiet though, and lets the middle school teacher talk.

Hanzawa continued, unknowing of Aizawa’s thought process. “Bakugo has always been a straightforward kid. Very driven and very smart.” He smiled, but it was bitter. “Midoriya was as well but he was just so shy and awkward around other kids, he often slipped through the cracks. It didn’t help that he was, well, Quirkless as far as anyone was concerned at the time.”

Aizawa blinks. “Quirkless.”

Hanazawa shifted in his seat. The fingers he had wrapped around his cup were white from how he clenched the ceramic. Aizawa filed that away. There was definitely something there.

“Y-yes. Extra toe joint and everything. It was a surprise that he passed.” Hanazawa took a sip of his tea. He made a small grimace. “-an even greater surprise when we saw him during the Sport Festival. He was quite something.”

This time it was Aizawa’s turn to grimace.

I’ll bet.

If it wasn’t for Hizashi and the fact Nedzu would make his life a living hell, he would have climbed down his seat during the boy’s fight and Todoroki and expelled him outright in front of the entirety of Japan. Chiyo was livid when she had operated on the boy afterwards, and it had taken all of Aizawa’s willpower not to chew out when the students returned to class the next week and Midoriya’s hand was a mess of scars. 

That boy. He’ll end up dead if he doesn’t stop throwing himself headfirst into danger.

“It caused conflict. M-Midoriya always wanted to be a hero, and Bakugo…” Hanazawa paused, looking deep in his thoughts. Aizawa let him ramble. It made it easier for the man to accidentally let things slip if he forgot to watch his words. “...well, there were the hard facts. Midoriya was Quirkless. And not that physically fit. There was no way he could be a Pro-Hero, but he still answered with that every time someone asked what he wanted to do. He did it so earnestly too, like it was set in stone. It drove Bakugo nuts.”

  No doubt. Aizawa nodded along, letting the other man speak.

“Apparently Bakugo and Midoriya were friends during their early years. After Quirks started presenting and Midoriya didn’t though…” Hanazawa took a deep breath, as if what he was about to say next weighed heavily on him.  “It went sour. Fast.”

Aizawa clenched his teeth, a ugly thought creeping up his mind. 

“Bakugo bullied him.” He guessed, lips pursing.

Hanazawa nods, expression sour and resigned. “Yes. He was far from the only one, and far from the worst.” The man sighed. “The other kids were so much worse. With Bakugo though, it was more personal. I think he was just frustrated that Midoriya was hanging to what everyone believed was a delusion.”

He stares down at his cup. “I mean, what he did was wrong, but I think there was something more to it. He kept the meaner kids from doing a lot worse things than shoving Midoriya into lockers or stealing his notebooks. But it was still…” Hanazawa stops again, trailing off. He falls quiet, sullen.

It’s the kind of silence that tells Aizawa he has nothing more to offer. They’d been here for nearly an hour. Soon enough he had to go and relieve Cementos and All Might from his students to work on rescue techniques.

Instead of filling the silence Hanazawa had created Aizawa mules over what he learned today, letting the man wait.

Some of what he uncovered did not surprise him. The animosity had always been there between Midoriya and Bakugo from day one -but alongside it was a familiarity that Aizawa rarely saw.

Bakugo’s response to Midoriya’s optimism was unsurprising as well. When not blinded by anger, the boy tended to be a realist. In a way, he reminded Aizawa of himself -just with an attitude that would make Endeavor proud.

Can’t fault him for that. But clearly, his approach to dealing with Midoriya was wrong.  

“And where were you?”

Hanazawa blinks, startled as he looks up to the Pro-Hero. “Huh?”

“When Bakugo,” Aizawa waves a hand. “-was bullying Midoriya? And how about the rest of the students that joined in?”

“I couldn't be everywhere.” Hanazawa splutters, surprised. “Believe me, I tried There’s just so many kids-.”

“Hmm.” Aizawa takes a polite sip of his drink. “I’ll bet.”

Hanazawa says nothing in response, wilting in his seat. They sit in silence; Aizawa’s mind already discarded the man’s presence after it was clear he wouldn’t be of great use, rather turning to the new information he’d gotten. 

Most of it were things he was expecting. Some were not. Either way, he had work cut out for himself.

Midoriya and Bakugo.

….why is it always you two?

….though, this was different. Something was different. Aizawa can feel it, an underlying tension that had grown since that day he’d gone with All Might to the Bakugo household only to see Bakugo quietly sitting between his parents. At this memory, Aizawa’s mind can’t help but remember Bakugo’s pale skin, darkening eyebags and visible exhaustion. To Kamino, to Twice, to Midoriya.

No.

Something wasn’t right at all...and the fact that Aizawa doesn’t have a clue as to what it could be scared him more than anything.

.

.

.

There’s someone knocking on his table.

He wants to groan and tell the person to fuck off, but given he was in the library he’s not really looking forward to getting a fight with the librarian right now. Or ever. As if he was going to antagonize the one person who gave the students access to one of the biggest hero-centred libraries in Musustafu. 

But fuck, he’d hunkered down in the library during the rest of dinner for the express purpose of not being around other people. 

Could he at least get that? Even some scattered minutes of rest sounded like heaven just about now.

“Hey man, you good?”

The quiet but cheery voice was instantly recognizable. It was Kaminari. 

….at least it's not Deku. 

Small things, Katsuki. Think of the small things.

“Fuck off.” Katsuki mutters through his crossed arms, too tired to bother looking up beyond peaking an eye out to look at his classmate. Between training, a stomach that randomly choose between doing what it was meant to do and resend everything back upstairs as well as the last four nights spent barely sleeping,  Katsuki was fucking done.

...which makes him all the more miffed that one of his classmates had found him. Fuck, only the Heroics students were on campus apart from the teachers, what were the odds that someone found him in this secluded corner of the library?

At his dismissal Kaminari makes an odd, kicked puppy kind of face.

“Dude, I'm asking cuz you look like a skeleton.” When Katsuki stares at him, lifting his head from the nest of crossed arms, the electric blond reiterates. “Eyebags, dude. You have the biggest eye bags I've ever seen save Aizawa-sensei.” The teen says, pointing at his own eyes.

Katsuki almosts wastes the energy raising an eyebrow at the other teenager. 

That's a high bar.

“I’m serious.” Kaminari reiterates, hand dropping to his side as a frown starts taking over his features. “....have you been sleeping?”

Oh, Katsuki already fucking knew where this was going. The worry in Kaminari’s eyes was evident. The teen was open book to read, even worse than Deku.

“I have.” Katsuki responds, but it comes out fainter than he’d like it to be.

Kaminari’s frown deepens. Slowly, creeping in like the night during a sunset, the ugly feeling returned, restless and unpleasant in his gut.

With it, came anger.

“I-”

“Now screw off, I have things to do.” He barks, louder than it should in the quiet, empty library. “I need to study.”

“Great! I’ve been having trouble with Aizawa’s lecture yesterday and I think we can have a study sess-”

“ I need to study.” Katsuki empathized with a growl, the pressing urge to get the other boy away growing. He wanted fucking peace, was it too much to ask? The dorm was always so goddamn loud, he could barely sit in his own bedroom without getting the urge to lash out. “You can go away. Pay more attention in class and you won't have this issue.”

Kaminari’s expression spasms, evidently hurt. “Dude. That’s mean.” The blond mutters lamely, shoulders dropping. “Not cool.”

That last part is not whined like Katsuki was used to when he hurled an insult at the other boy. It was darker ...more tired, and it made something inside of him twist uncomfortably. It’s the most affected he’d ever seen Kaminari been, and for a moment he considers backing off. They’re all pretty stressed with training. Katsuki should give him a break. Hell if he himself needed one.

His stomach suddenly lurches again. There’s no noise, but his abdominal muscles tense at the sensation. He digs the nails of his right hand into his left forearm.

Just like that, any attempt at salvaging the conversation fly right out of his mind, replaced with the urge to tell Kaminari to fuck off in the fastest way possible. And so, instead of a placating response two words leave Katsuki’s mouth in a grumbled manner:

“It's life.” 

With that, Katsuki  drops his head back into his arms, ignoring the other boy. 

Kaminari doesn’t stay long; he hears him walking away, feet dragging on the wood floor of the library. It’s slow and deliberate like he was waiting for something, but Katsuki doesn’t deign him with that something. He’s sure he’s gonna get shit from Ashido and Kirishima later today for this.

With that thought, he half heartedly checks his phone’s alarm then goes back to his attempt at a nap.

He's fine.

He doesn't need him.

Doesn't need any of them.

.

.

.

“My, that was something.”

Katsuki pauses at the bottom of a staircase. He knows that sly, mischievous voice; how it drags across the air and digs its nails into his ears, making him reflexively clench his hands into fists.

Turning around, he glares at his fellow student. Monoma smiles back, wide and pleased like he’s a cat that caught a canary. Katsuki narrows his eyes at him, refusing to say anything. 

He still hadn't quite forgiven the little shit for the Sport Festival. 

Fucker could have dealt permanent damage to him; if the 1-B student’s hand had been sweatier, he could have permanently disfigured him. His copycat Quirk likely came with some form of instinctive restraint, but that paled in comparison to the years of training Katsuki had to go through to make sure his Quirk would not end up mutilating a person.

“I thought Kaminari was going to cry!” The 1-B student exclaimed, walking down the stairs and stopping next to Katsuki in a flourish. The gleam in his eyes is anything but friendly. “You're good at that, hm? If you ask me,” Monoma leaned closer, lips spread into a wide, innocent smile. “...that speaks of practice.”

Katsuki says nothing.

“They had to have thought you were the perfect fit.” Monoma continued, digging. His eyes scanned Katsuki’s face, darting, searching. It’s almost chilling with how unnervingly intense that gaze was. “Why else pick you? To go through all the trouble they did, they must have been pretty certain of their chances of success.”

But they failed, Katsuki wants to snarl at him -wants to shout from the rooftops, really, shriek until his vocal cords broke and keep screaming until it pierced the thick skull of the media, because while he hasn’t looked at he news too much he sure as hell had an idea as to what they had to say on the matter.

Instead of pitching a fit like part of him really, desperately wanted to, Katsuki switches tactics for something more subtle that wasn’t going to land him in detention and potentially bar him from the Provincial Exam.

“Maybe it's because I’m not fucking useless without someone else’s Quirk.” Katsuki retorts, choosing his words carefully despite the disgust he feels at his own comeback. The next words are thought of carefully, but they still tasted like bile when they left his mouth; “League’s filled with elites, right? No wonder they wanted me.”

Monoma’s grin drops and his expression sours.

Katsuki doesn’t steal it. His lips remain a flat, unimpressed line. He spins around on his heel and walks away. Down the hallway, not a specific direction other than leaving Monoma’s vicitiny.

There’s no response from the blond boy behind him. He can feel a burning glare drilling a hole into his back but Monoma is, for once, silent. 

Which is good, because Katsuki is unsure what he do if he stayed in the other’s presence any longer.

Just standing in the other blond’s presence felt vile . 

Like ants were crawling under his skin. Like Monoma was exhuming some form of aura that stank of that fucking self importance and jealousy, and it smelled like death for his nose. Fucking Monoma, the little shit always had it out for him and if he could just fucking leave and get his horrible fucking stench away from us-

Katsuki blinks. 

Alright.

That was the second time that happened.

What the fuck was w-

As he’s starting to dig into what exactly just ran through his mind like a speeding train, his stomach begins churning in an unpleasant, familiar manner that had his eyes widening. His abdominal muscles clenched at the pain. 

Fuck, now?

He makes it to the nearest bathroom, kicking down the stall door just in time to throw up what little he'd been able to keep down for the day.

It’s like there was something lodged in there that didn’t want to get out and instead was dragging him down like a ship’s anchor. Katsuki gripped the edges of the toilet and snarled at nothing, frustrated at his own helplessness.

Fuck.

Fuck.

A small, chortled laugh leaves him as he leans forward, resting his forehead on his crossed arms on the toilet rim. He stared emptily at the ground, the cold of the ceramic crawling up through the fabric of his pants and up his legs. It didn't help the god awful squirming of his guts.

In that moment, Katsuki is certain he would be puking again if there was anything left in his stomach.

.

.

.

It’s what you deserve.

.

.

.

He drags himself back to class. Eventually.

Aizawa says nothing when he shows up five minutes late. Katsuki walks in, goes to his desk, sits down and opens the correct manual after stealing a glance at Kirishima’s desk. They're discussing rescue maneuvers. 

Huh.

Was that going to be on the Provincial Exam?

He can feel the weight of his classmates’ eyes on him, which he deliberately ignores. Show’s over, they could fuck right off and focus on Aizawa like they should be doing, otherwise good luck on that fucking Provincial Exam, right?

His stomach rolls again, heavier. There’s nothing there though, and he can force it down with little outward reaction. It’s become practice now.

He can’t let it show.

He can’t let anything show.

(From now on, anything less than perfection was a failure.)

.

.

.

“Bakugo, stay after class.”

Katsuki barely resists the urge to drop his head onto his desk at the drawled command. 

God fucking damn it.

The other students pass by him. Glances are made and things are whispered just below Katsuki’s hearing range, grating at his sanity. Kirishima gives him a nod as he walks past his desk, while Kaminari makes a garbled attempt at a sympathetic smile. Clearly the other teenager hadn’t quite forgiven him for his outburst around midday. 

Great, another thing to add to the already overflowing shitpile.

Deku’s one of the last ones to leave; Katsuki spies him from the corner of his vision looking back at him. He refuses to make full on eye contact though, still pissed from the bathroom incident this morning. The nerd was probably blowing a fuse trying to figure out why Aizawa was holding him back when every moment of this week was precious given the Provincial Exam’s rapidly approaching date.

Not soon enough the last of the students leave and Aizawa gently closes the door behind them. Katsuki watches him from his desk through half lidded eyes. The Pro-Hero stays in front of the door for a moment, pausing, then turns around and walks over to sit on the chair of the desk in front of Katsuki. 

It’s disturbingly approachable of a position for a man like Eraserhead. That observation does little to quell the unrest in Katsuki’s stomach. If anything, it grows worse. There’s no nausea quite yet, but the blond can feel the familiar churning in his gut -moreso than usual.

Just don’t throw up, asshole.

“You’ve been acting volatile.” Katsuki quirks a brow, because if anything volatile was his default setting so he’s not sure what the man is going on with ...or at least he hopes its not what he thinks it is. Aizawa remains unfazed by his expression. “Normally I’ll tell you to knock it off. Something tells me that’s not going to work now.”

Katsuki can’t stop his face from making a small, minute spasm at Aizawa’s calm words. The flash in the man’s eyes tells him that he’d caught it. Fuck.

Aizawa twists his hand into one of his pockets and rummanages its contents. The wait was almost agonizing and Katsuki wanted to be anywhere but here, though he could do little but sit and wait until finally, his teacher pulls out the item he was looking for.

It’s a little white slip of paper. A card, which Aizawa wordlessly hands over. Something twists in Katsuki’s chest as he takes the offered paper without saying anything. He looks down at the card.

...and immediately blanches, stomach dropping and a mixture of embarrassment and anger rising up his spine.

“Fuck no.”

“Think about it.” Aizawa responds smoothly. No doubt expecting such an answer, the bastard. “Heroes are most effective when they are of sound mind, it would be preferable if-”

Katsuki bares his teeth, glaring at the man. 

“I’m not fucking crazy!”

“No you’re not.” Aizawa exhales, and Katsuki is surprised at the fact that the Pro-Hero sounded frustrated . Huh, who fucking knew. Their teacher had limits. “But you have issues, Bakugo. If I had my way I’d have thrown you into some anger management classes already, but you have been improving during the semester. Until now.”

Until now.

Katsuki looks down at the card. The little phone number under the title of Yuuei Therapist seemed to almost taunt him. Quickly looking away, he clenches his teeth as he gazes down at the floor, the shadows of his desk stretching over part of his body.

“I have no idea what’s wrong, and clearly you won’t talk to me about it.” Aizawa continues over him. Katsuki listens to him halfheartedly, keeping his eyes low to the floor without ducking his head because like hell he was going to act like a beaten dog. “But at least talk to a professional. For your own sake. They can do wonders.”

Katsuki finds himself huffing. Frustration and shame swirls low in his guts, adding to what was already there. Movement below him catches his eye, a shift of dark colors on the already darkened floor, but it’s just his own feet tapping against the side of the desk. 

At least he hopes it is, it’s too early for dementia.

“Bakugo.” Aizawa seems to lean closer, and Katsuki finally tears away to look up. “Promise me you’ll at least think about it.

The strangely intense way his teacher was looking at him -almost caring, almost worried- had Katsuki swallowing. His fingers clench around the little card. The shame grows in his belly, and he wants to get out of here more than anything.

The images of All Might’s pale, emaciated form standing above the Kamino Villain dances at the edge of his mind.

“I will.”

Not.

.

.

.

By the time the third day neared its end, Katsuki found some form of stable ground. Namely, by doing what he did best.

“Fuck yeah!”

He grins at the large gaping hole he'd managed to make on the concrete wall, satisfaction welling up inside him like a fountain about to burst. If was in a slightly better mood, he would have yelled out in joy.

Long range attacks were a difficulty for him without his gauntlets but after today, he might just have found a way to circumvent this weakness. Sure, it needed to be a bit less lethal given the concentrated blast had torn a hole in a five inch thick wall of asphalt, but gee the proof of concept was there!

AP Shot was an ultimate move, alright. 

Katsuki can feel the grin growing wider and more feral on his lips, exposing his teeth. With Howitzer and Stun Grenade, that made three ultimate moves. Take that, fuckers! That’s double than some of the people in his class had, and this was just the start-

Crack.

He freezes.

Katsuki catches sight of the left side of the damaged wall breaking off, falling straight down off the side of the platform and hurling down the floor below.

Straight towards a particular mop of messy, dull blond hair.

Chapter Text

He gently knocks on the door. The response was instantaneous.

“Come in!” A familiar voice calls out.

Upon confirmation, Toshinori slowly opened the principal’s door, shuffling in while taking care that it did not jostle his recovering arm, which had finally left the sling but he was still under strict orders not to strain from Recovery Girl. Nedzu was sitting at his desk, phone next to him and a small stack of papers in front of him. 

The principal smiles upon seeing Toshinori, his tail flicking twice. “All Might, wonderful!” The creature exclaims cheerfully. His head tilts to the side slightly. “You’re early.” He denotes, tone softer.

Toshinori does a half hearted shrug. “Well it’s not like I had anything else to do.” The former Pro-Hero says with a weak, lopsided smile. “There was a bit of a...incident at the gym, but everything is fine!” He finished that last part faster, raising his hands apologetically at the sight of Nedzu’s fur briefly raising up, betraying the principal’s reaction.

Nedzu’s eyelids drop halfway. “I see.”

Toshinori grimaces inwardly.

He couldn’t fault Nedzu’s reaction. He’s sure Aizawa will be giving a full report to the principal as soon as he had the opportunity, so meticulous the underground hero was. As for Toshinori, well, he wanted to put it behind them as quickly as he could.

Hell, the main reason he came to this meeting early was because of what happened. For the sake of everyone, he had to stay out of their way. Toshinori had known the lost of his mentor -he did not want to do it to Midoriya as well. Not this soon. Not like this.

And Bakugo’s wide eyed expression -made worse by his paleness and the dark circles in his eyes, did the boy get any sort of sleep?- had only cemented that ugly feeling prowling in his guts. Not even his successor’s new fighting style had done much to clear it away.

He’s a liability now.

Nedzu’s calm hum gently guides him back to the present. “Hmm. Eraserhead is working with the kids, isn’t he?” Toshinori nods. “Good, that leaves us plenty of time to talk. Take a seat.”

 It’s polite, but it was also not a question. Toshinori was kind of expecting it. He goes and sit on the chair opposite to the principal. Nedzu promptly crosses his arms and rests on his elbows as he pins him in place with an impassive, scrutinizing stare.

“About what, sir?” Toshinori finds himself asking carefully. He fidgeted for a moment in his seat, hating how small everything now. Before, the chair would have creaked slightly under his weight. Even with the fact that he spent most of his days in this form since his incident, somehow the permanency of this state made it even worse.

“I’d love for this conversation to be just pleasantries, friend, but I’m afraid it’s anything but.” Nedzu links his hands together and peers up at Toshinori, expression melting away to something more serious. What remains of Toshinori’s stomach drops. “It’s about the League, and Bakugo. Some new information has found its way to us and I’m afraid it makes for some chilling allegations.”

Toshinori’s breath falter. Bakugo?

“....what did you find?” 

Nedzu’s nod only makes the dread curling in his belly grow worse. “Yesterday while you were away, Aizawa made contact with a man called Hanazawa. He was Midoriya Izuku and Bakugo Katsuki’s homeroom teacher in middle school. Apparently, he has been approached by Twice under the guise of a reporter, right before the Summer Camp.” 

Toshinori can’t help the hitched gasp from leaving him, fingers digging into the armrest of the chair. Nedzu continues, unruffled -except the slightly raised fur on his tail and around his neck told otherwise.

“The League villain with the duplicate Quirk.” Toshinori finds himself breathing out,remembering the compiled notes his friend Naomasa had gathered on all the villains right after the Summer Camp. “...why would…”

Nedzu leans back against the back of his chair, hands dropping to his lap. “That’s an important question.” The principal admits. His tail flicks again, more angrily now. “Well, Hanazawa had something very interesting to say.”

“I had Aizawa send Hanazawa to Naomasa for proper interrogation and to file his statement. The transcripts are here.” The principal picks up a small stack of papers and sets it in front of Toshinori on the desk, who takes it numbly. 

Toshinori takes a quick glance, then looks up to his employer questioningly. Nedzu nods, quickly continuing:

“I also took the liberty to pull up the file pertaining Bakugo Katsuki’s statement regarding Kamino.” Nedzu eyes flick up from the paper he'd offered him to look at Toshinori. “According to him, Shigaraki kept him restrained and sedated for most of his capture. It's only around the third day that had a full discussion.” A beat passes, followed by one quick, snappy flick of a pale tail. 

Somehow, that action is enough to make Toshinori unsettled.

“...it's odd, don't you agree? If I was Shigaraki, I would have started working on the boy right away. Bakugo is smart. He can be talked to.” Toshinori promptly frowns at the dark implication behind his fellow hero’s words, but Nedzu continues unprompted. “I'm not saying that he would have turned to the villains, but I think that a few minutes’ worth of conversation after more than 48 hours of captivity is strange.”

Oh.

Toshinori looks down at the papers in his hands. There’s two sets; both are small and their subject is easily assessed on the margin. One is the report on Katsuki’s statements of Kamino and his time with the villains, the other is the middle school teacher’s interrogation by Naomasa. There were even notes clipped on from Aizawa. 

That last part had him frowning. How did he not know about this? The fact the underground hero hasn't notified him of any of this even though they were seeing each other on a regular basis around the campus was troubling.

Did the other man believe his opinion on the matter wasn't of importance? That maybe..maybe Toshinori was not needed in this?

That last idea sat like a lead weight in his heart, uncomfortable and cold.

I need to talk to Aizawa about this.

“Back to Hanazawa,” Nedzu twists the direction of the conversation so suddenly that Toshinori can only blink and tense up. “...during his conversation with Aizawa, he said that Twice didn't ask about Bakugo, per say.” 

What?

Wouldn't that be the whole point of this sort of reconnaissance! To figure out Bakugo as a person? To find out how to dig under his stubborn armour and reach his heart, twist him away from Yuuei and everything the school stood for?

Toshinori frowns at this oddity. “Then what…?”

Nedzu cuts him right off. “He said that Twice was more insistent on asking questions about Midoriya and Bakugo, specifically.”

Toshinori’s blood grows cold.

“Their childhood, their relationship, that sort of thing.” “It's an odd angle for him to go for, if they were looking to turn Bakugo to their side.” Nedzu’s dark eyes shift back to meet his, something cold and serious lurking within their depths. “None of his questions were about Bakugo as a person. Rather, they centered around how he behaved around Midoriya.”

The message in his gaze was clear.

This was about One for All.

“Bakugo doesn't know, does he?”

“No.” Toshinori responds immediately, while his mind flashes back to that second day when he caught his successor speaking with the blonde. He'd ignored the badly hidden tears on Bakugo’s face more for the sake of his student’s dignity than his own inexperience, but now looking back, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd walked into. Midoriya had sworn up and down that he hadn't said anything… 

He's suddenly smacked in the face with his memory of Bakugo’s expression as they left the boy’s residence.

Tired. Worn. Haunted.

Lost.

No expression a child under his care should ever have. Especially Bakugo.

“...he might have an idea, I think.” Toshinori ends up adding, swallowing afterwards.

Nedzu frowns. “That's inconvenient. The less people know, the better.” The principal denotes quietly.

It's strange how he suddenly feels himself disliking that notion.

“But you know.” Toshinori responded, finding himself agreeing with the sudden whirlwind of emotions surging up within himself. “Recovery Girl knows. Gran Torino knows. N-” He pauses, hovering over the cliff as guilt, weariness and longing surges up from the abyss. “....Nighteye knows.” Toshinori pauses, swallowing again. His mouth felt too dry. “Midoriya needs someone too. Someone his age, who can support him.”

“I won't deny that.”  Nedzu says in a calculative manner, shifting on his seat. “It is an idea worth merit. It carries great risk, but it is something to consider.” 

“Not now though.” Toshinori guesses, rightly so if Nedzu’s slumping shoulders were anything to go by.

“No, not now. I'm afraid Bakugo has already enough on his plate.” A pause. 

Somewhere in the distance, Toshinori hears the chime that marks the end of today’s classes. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall, reading the hour. The shadows on the clock were stretching down across the wall, deeper than Toshinori thought they should be.

It's odd.

“-Aizawa might have mentioned it to you, but he referred Bakugo to the school counselor.” Nedzu continues, voice even but tinged with the slightest bit of resignation that Toshinori found himself sharing.

 It’s only been one semester so far and even he knew what kind of response their wayward student would have to that suggestion. 

“Hound Dog hasn't heard anything back. For now we will have to wait. Unless something drastic happens, it's better to let Bakugo come to us.” Nedzu leans back on his chair. He speaks up again, softer now. “A volatile child like Bakugo needs space.”

“Caging him won’t do any good.” Toshinori agreed, shaking his head. 

A thought suddenly came to him, giving him pause. 

It was a stupid idea. Likely Bakugo didn’t want anything to do with him, he knew that. The child was a recluse compared to the rest of the class. Approaching him would not be easy.

Toshinori knew through Midoriya and the few brief conversations he’d had with Bakugo that the boy admired him. Maybe before, this idea would work. But now? He’s not sure the boy would want to be approached by a weak retired hero.

“I could talk to the boy.” 

Nedzu’s nose twitches.

“Maybe. It could be worthwhile.” He admits calmly. Or make it worse. Toshinori was certain the principal shared such thought. “That’s all for now, I think.” Nedzu continues more firmly, crossing his arms on the desk with finality. “Aizawa already spoke to him. Pushing him won’t help matters, I’m afraid.”

Toshinori shakes his head as he stands up. “ No, it wouldn’t. Thank you for informing me of this.”

For the first time in a while, Nedzu’s eyes twinkle. “Of course, friend. These children are your students. They all need attention -not just Midoriya.”

It was far from a reprimand, but Toshinori still winced inwardly at his friend’s statement. “I know.” He finds himself saying reflexively in a soft manner. 

Nedzu’s tail sways once in response. He doesn’t say anything else. Toshinori takes it as his cue to leave, turning around after a small bow and making his way to the door. He opens it, walks out, closes the door behind him-

-and leans against it, exhausted.

This week was a mess.

In this moment, he feels every bit of his years. It wasn’t just Kamino, dealing the Commission and the media and everything that came with retiring as the Number One Hero of Japan.

It was this, too.

Aizawa should have told him -or maybe Toshinori should have put his foot down more and been more present. He should be more involved. He had to -what else could he provide to the world now, than to take care of the next generation?

Toshinori leans back against the closed door, hand curled tight around the documents he still has in his hands. He looks at the again -at the paper on top, with Katsuki’s statement. There's a picture of his student on the front page -it's the one from Yuuei’s student profile.

Bright red eyes look up at him, the determined scowl heightened by the narrowed stare and thinly pursed lips. Bakugo looks disturbingly different than he does now, Toshinori notes with a growing tight feeling in his chest.

He thinks of Bakugo’s pale face, eyebags and tired expression. The frustrated exhaustion that seemed ever present in his eyes since Kamino. The frozen look of terror when Midoriya had saved Toshinori from the stray falling chunk of rubble. 

He used to be so much livelier.

Suddenly Toshinori doesn't imagine his student anymore; instead his mind brings up scarred, chapped lips curled back to show blinding white teeth and a eyeless, noseless face that dripped with inhuman cruelty.

‘Is he safe?’

Toshinori shudders, for he does not know the answer to that question anymore.

(Or who it was meant for.)

.

.

.

“You look absolutely disgusting.”

The tiny piece of squid says nothing in return. Katsuki squishes it a bit more between his chopsticks, watching the way the soy sauce dripped back onto the package container.

  Senile’s a good look on you, a part of Katsuki thinks and great, this was exactly what he needed. Voices in his head.

Then again he's talking to his food, so maybe it was deserved.

Grumbling he opens his mouth and shoves the squid in, chewing harshly and crunching the poor food between his teeth. It's childish, disgusting even, but it takes the edge of the festering ball of anger and frustration in his gut.

He almost fucking killed the old man. 

Again.

Fuck, he thinks for what felt like the hundredth time in this very same day. I’m a fucking pathetic disgrace.

The fact he was eating his supper alone on the rooftop of the school was also clue enough. Everyone else was probably back at the dorms now. The day had ended. They were all likely eating together in the living room area after nearly setting the kitchen on fire.

Meanwhile he was eating shitty takeout because like hell he was going into the cafeteria.

He’s not sure why, but the mere thought of going around so many fucking people after what happened at Kamino -and what happened right fucking now- set him on the edge.

Going to the dorm kitchen was out the window as well. They were all probably there, and he didn't feel like being around any of them. Especially Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari and Ashido.

Fuck, he hadn't talked to Kaminari yet. Not since the library incident. At this, a thought strikes Katsuki. It's a sudden, quiet realization.

... when was the last time I talked to any of them?

He looks down at his crappy meal. It's eerie, how he doesn't know the answer to that question. Disturbing.

I told off Kirishima two days ago. He thinks after a long pause. Kaminari today. It hasn't been that long.

Why did it feel like an eternity, though? As a general rule he has a pretty good memory. Now, looking back felt like swimming through tar. As if there was too much in his head and doing anything else than moving forward was an exercise in futility. 

It was unsettling, this uncertainty.

...or maybe they didn't want to be around him.

The thought shouldn't be as distressing as it was. If anything it should be comforting. It meant that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him and they really were avoiding him after all. Maybe they even finally got the hint that he’s not exactly the most outgoing person.

Yeah.

Maybe.

Monoma’s face flashes in front of his eyes, the memory of sneering face so strong that if he were any less tired he would have recoiled. Katsuki feels the hand holding the chopsticks lower to his lap. 

There’s a growing nausea clinging to the memory, one he wishes he had the will to repress. But he can't. Because there was a bigger, uglier part of him that thought that this, right there, this was exactly what he deserved.

Clink .

Katsuki blinks, eyes slowly drifting to the side at the sound of the roof door opening.

“You didn't go back to the dorms.”

It's a familiar voice. 

He should probably find it creepy, how Deku can sniff him out like a bloodhound so easily.

Katsuki’s too tired to bristle. “I'm in the fucking campus, am I not.” He states flatly, then adding to his statement by plucking up another piece of squid and eating it. This is a rather sad attempt to act busy, and Katsuki knows it. He’s not throwing it up though, which is good. He’s already done that once in the past hour when he first opened the container of food.

Deku probably realizes that he’s just trying to look busy, too, if the way his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

Disgustingly smart little shit.

“Right.” The other boy responds with a similar tonality. Katsuki digs the nails of his right hand into his palm, so tightly he curls that hand into a fist. “You should be back at the dorms, though. The school’s practically closed.” Deku continues with a softer tone, jerking his head up as if to point at the darkening sky. 

Like it wasn't fucking obvious that the sun was about to set.

He wants to say I can do what I fucking want, but a five year old could probably pick up on the childishness of that statement. Never mind how the nerd was talking to him. Katsuki almost sneers at the almost cajoling undertone.

In a single, hopefully smooth movement, Katsuki stands up and tosses his chopsticks and food on the bench. Immediately, Deku almost imperceptibly tenses.

Against his previous reactions back at Aldera it was minute, meaningless almost, but it gave Katsuki just a bit of fire -just enough to fight off the nausea and lock it away, ignore it and the weight in his stomach in favor of something else.

Namely, to take some of his frustration off on the idiot in front of him.

“What did I tell you earlier, Deku.”

He likes to think its the flat, cold tone that makes Deku falter. It’s lethal quietness that even he was surprised by. Deku’s hesitation however dims a second later, if the way the other boy takes a breath has anything to say. Katsuki can feel it in the air, somehow. It’s an odd thing to think, but it’s the only way he can describe this sensation; a quiet, rising candlelight, edging on turning into a full blown fire.

Distantly, the back of his neck prickles.

“I-” Deku pauses. Not faltering, merely looking for words. Katsuki holds his gaze throughout. “Is it wrong to worry about you?” Deku finally responds, faintly defensive. 

There it is. He’s standing his ground, leaning his upper body forward as if to act like a physical barrier and stop him from getting away. Katsuki finds himself liking this. There’s no one else on the roof so this would be the perfect place to at least punch the fucker a few times in his freckled face.

God like he needed some form of stress relief.

Like a predator stalking his prey he pushes forward, right into Deku’s space; so close their noses nearly bump together. The green haired boy freezes, composure breaking. That’s when Katsuki delivers the next blow, tinging his voice with just enough disgust to sell it:

“It is when its coming from you, Deku .”

Somehow, the words form on his lips without any real input from his brain. It’s like he knows, immediately, instinctively, what to say, what to use as a weapon to stab into the other. It should be odd -Katsuki certainly felt jittery, off key somewhat. Almost in auto pilot.

Deku wilts like a flower. Katsuki can almost feel his confidence crumble, can see it in the way the other boy takes a step back, the way his shoulders hunch and his expression shift to something more guarded.

A mixture of relief and frustration swirls within his gut at the sight. He should enjoy it. He should be happy about having the other finally get the message.

“But..” Deku began, but it's stumbled and weak. Far too muted compared to his previous responses.

Katsuki knew in that moment that he had, even if temporarily, broken the other’s resolve. Maybe this way he’ll finally leave him alone and everything will be fucking quiet and we won’t have to hear any of them anymore

THUMP!

Katsuki jolts away from the other boy like he’d touched hot oil. Deku does the same, his expression of frustration and apprehension twisting into surprise, shock and apprehension as he turns to the source of the sound. Katsuki does the same, turning his head to the left, hands rising and nitroglycerin smoking-

Only to find nothing.

His lunch was still there on the bench, unfinished. His bottle of water was on the ground, water spilling across the concrete. Katsuki eyes the bottle, wary. 

There's no fucking way that was the source of the disturbance. It had been loud, noisy, like something metallic hitting stone. Katsuki’s eyes sweep over the rooftop, confused.

He blinks.

...was the crack on that planter always there?

It's a long, diagonal cut in the stone. Perfectly straight, sliding through the asphalt planter and growing deeper towards the bottom of the object. There were a few small pieces of cement on the ground. Katsuki stares, watching the way the shadows caused by the setting sun crawled over them slowly.

He swears it wasn't there before. He would have noticed it.

Right?

….then again, he's barely been sleeping. Fuck, maybe he was going crazy. Sleep deprivation could be a real bitch. This was far from his first tussle with it ...though it was the worst one yet, by a sizeable stretch. 

Fuck, why was his neck itching? He reaches back to rub against the nape of his neck, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Things were going to hell. He doesn’t need to have a mind reading Quirk to notice that.

Daring, he sneaks a glance at the other source of his growing headache.

Deku was frowning, his green eyes inspecting the damaged planter as well. Katsuki watches, silent and muted, as his darkened eyes look at every inch of the rooftop like he was looking for danger. Like he was expecting a villain to pop out from a flower pot and attack them.

..maybe he was. He was wearing his hero costume still; for some reason Katsuki finds himself carefully observing the way his muscles shifted under the black and green fabric, tensing and relaxing only to tense up again.

Those muscles hadn't been there, a year ago. 

In middle school Deku had been a twig that barely reached his shoulders. Wide eyed, easily made to cry, shoulders hunched and shrinking into himself. The perfect target for bullying, the proverbial blood in the water for every asshole in Aldera High, Katsuki included.

Now look at him. He's almost as tall as Katsuki himself, and has the muscle strength to stand toe to toe against him.The new costume looks good on him, he finds himself thinking. It's darker. More mature. More practical. A far cry from the little turquoise jumpsuit Katsuki had trashed during their first match. 

A long road from the messy, cluttered drawings they used to share as children.

He's grown, Katsuki finds himself realizing. He's grown and I....

...haven't.

It's that thought that snaps him into action.

Wordlessly he slides past Deku, grabbing his unfinished lunch and the fallen water bottle without a single sound. He tosses both in the nearest trash can, picks up his bag, slings it over his left shoulder and then turns around.

His childhood...whatever they used to be was still there, standing tall and proud in the rapidly dying daylight. His costume almost seemed to gleam under the sunlight. Katsuki finds himself pausing as his eyes flick up to meet green.

It hits him that while he’d been examining Deku, the other boy had been doing the same.

Katsuki feels faintly nauseous just with the thought of what he must be thinking. His grip on his things tighten. Nitroglycerin slides between his fingers; he feels the sweet caramel smell waffe up to his nose. It’s torture on his nearly empty stomach.

“Move.” He says, quieter than he wanted it to be. More sullen. More...defeated.

Deku studies his face for a moment. “Is that what you want, Kacchan?”

For some reason. Katsuki finds it hard to hold his gaze. 

“Yes.”

He dislikes the fact he sees something akin to disappointment in the nerd’s eyes. He hates the fact he feels any sort of shame at Deku’s reaction. His own reaction burns at him, eats at his soul the same way the tension between the two of them did.

Pushing through it, he walks forward, twisting past Deku. Silent, the other boy steps aside and lets him walk off, shoulders barely brushing. They’re the same height, now.

Walking away doesn’t feel as relieving as it should be.

.

.

.

He gets back to the dorms -only to avoid the common room like the plague and locking himself in his bedroom after a quick shower.

He can't fucking believe he'd done that. He hadn't meant to threaten Deku like that. At all. He'd thought he was different now. Better? Argh. He didn’t know anymore.

He didn’t know anything anymore.

Angry little shit, a voice mutters inside his head. Unsurprisingly, it sounded like his mother. Always looking for a fight, brat.

As he pulls on his sleepwear, Katsuki’s eyes drifts. The little card Aizawa had given him was sitting innocently on his desk, seemingly taunting him. 

Against his better judgement, Katsuki reaches out to pick it up, turns the seemingly little paper around to look at the contents etched on its surface.

Hound Dog -Yuuei Student Counselor

Office Hours 6:30 to 7:30 AM, 6:00 to 8:00 PM

For a moment, he finds himself imagining it.

Going tomorrow in the afternoon, after training. Waiting outside the door until the Pro Hero let him in. Sit down and talk. Or try to. Tell everything -Deku, the Sludge Villain, Yuuei Kamino All Might-

But as he thinks that, the ugly truth forms in front of his eyes. 

..what would he even say?

I killed All Might because villain wanted me as one of their own.

He can see the writing on the wall for that one. Deflated, he looks up at the ceiling. Shame and frustration twist inside his gut, mixing in with what was already there.

Aizawa would be disappointed.

In truth, Katsuki already was.

He tosses the card into the trash and flops down on his unmade bed, wrapping himself in blankets until shadows swallowed the world around him and let him fall into deep, quiet darkness.

.

.

.

To strive forward, right? Plus Ultra, that was the school’s motto. Fuck what they think. I just need to pass the Exam.

I pass that and everything will be right again.

Chapter Text

The next day, he wakes up early, gets dressed, and just about makes it halfway down the stairs before he smells his classmates’ breakfast and has to take a detour to the bathroom for his daily morning prayer to the porcelain god.

.

.

.

In between training and breaks, Aizawa drags them to class to have study lectures in a last minute attempt to cram as much as he physically can into their heads before the Provincial Exam date comes. It’s a bit late in Katsuki’s opinion, though he keeps his mouth shut.

From what he could gather, all of this -this is what the training camp was for.

And that party was most wonderfully crashed.

By the time the lecture is over, Katsuki’s glaring holes at his notebook. The material is nothing he is unfamiliar with and while it would be a good idea to go through it again, Katsuki wanted to do it alone. Preferably in his room.

It felt childish -fuck it, it was childish- but Katsuki was cranky, hungry and tired. His stupid hormonal classmates running around like headless chickens were not helping his mood.

At least class time was spent in relative order. 

Nobody ever even thought about fucking with Aizawa.

Too bad that didn’t follow outside of class. 

Against his best efforts can tangibly feel them watching him. Katsuki’s not sure if they are looking on with pity, annoyance, worry -or maybe even happiness given that karma was serving his own ass to him on a shiny silver platter.

He doesn’t know, and it’s too much energy to bother with them.

It’s not like I don’t deserve it anyways.

He slams his locker close, fighting back the urge to mutter under his breath. A few of his classmates side eye him but Katsuki disregards them. There’s enough on his plate, he doesn’t want to deal with their bullshit.

Deku was enough.

And just as he thinks that, a tall body smoothly slides in front of him, blocking his path. Katsuki pauses.

It’s Monoma. The lanky little shit was smiling at him, all teeth, wrinkles and pure elation in those pale blue eyes. He’s holding his school bag over his shoulder. Standing tall, shoulders hunched back in a facade of relaxation, smugness radiated from his body.

He can feel it.  Taste it.

Something sickly sweet was in the air. It made him feel nauseous. Irritated. Angry. All without even a single word. Monoma looks like he’s about to speak though, his smile growing as he looks down at Katsuki. He’s choosing his words, getting ready to try and slide under his skin and pick him apart.

Katsuki didn’t know why just the sight -the thought- of the other boy has something curling in his gut, moving as if it was alive. He’s not sure why his skin is crawling, why the nausea is inching closer, taking over, making him feel clammy and cold and off balance. And his skull, god his skull, it felt like it was going to break. Katsuki fight the urge to claw at it.

Please, if he could just make things quiet-

Monoma’s blue eyes are gleaming with arrogance as he opens his mouth. The feelings, the sensation, the pain surges.

“Aren’t you looking-”

(The snakes scream.)

The next thing he knows, he’s standing there, fist extended forward. Voices were shouting around him. He doesn’t hear them well. Not above the static in his ears.

Not above the mind numbing emptiness he feels at the sight before him.

Monoma is slumped like a lifeless doll to the ground, crumpled in a heap of limbs. He's not smiling anymore. He's not doing anything really, just laying there with glazed eyes. 

Katsuki stares, dumbfounded. His gaze travels upwards when he spots something odd and he pauses at the sizeable dent on the locker behind Monoma. 

There’s red on the metal.

How ...did I do that?

(What even just ...happened?) 

A loud yell startled him; Katsuki froze as the nausea came crashing back, worse now. It felt like fire was running up and down his veins. Spinning around, he nearly loses balance as the nausea crawls up his throat, threatening to escape.

Through blurry eyes, he spotted the pale haired teen with the metal hardening Quirk push through the crowd of students and lunge towards him. Shit.

He can’t think; he froze like a deer in the headlights, watching the taller student rush towards him with sharp teeth bared and eyes burning with rage. There’s a metal fist heading for his face.

His back hits a locker; a broad body and familiar scarlet suddenly blocks his vision. Katsuki stares at it, blankly. He can’t think.

His chest hurts.

“Hey, back up!”

“Get out of the way, Kirishima!”

“Like heck, so you can beat him up? Back up! Now!” 

“Did you not see what that asshole did to Monoma?!” The other person roars out. “I don't know how you class works Kirishima, but I'm not going to stand aside when my classmate gets attacked!”

“What do you think he's doing, dipshit??” A new voice speaks up. Katsuki jolts. Sero. The boy’s tall, lanky frame comes to stand next to Kirishima, his familiar dark hair and body shape registering to Katsuki’s blurry vision. “I'm not going to stand by neither!”

“All of you stop it!” A new, female voice shouts, young but authoritative. The chatter lessens. “Tetsu, back off!”

“But-”

“If you really want to help Monoma, help me get him to Recovery Girl!” The voice -that girl, the one with the hand Quirk. She’s pushing the silver haired student out of the way and moving towards Monoma’s downed form.

“Hey, Mono, hey.” Katsuki watches, detached from his own body, as the girl tries to coax the blond teen back to awareness. It's useless. Monoma’s pale blue eyes roll uselessly in their sockets before sliding shut. “Fuck, he's got a concussion. He needs medical attention now.”

Concussion. The word burns. 

Students start whispering. 

At the sight, Tetsutetsu seems to soften. He turns to look at his body towards the two Class B students -though not before turning his eyes to glare a hole into Katsuki’s head. 

He holds the glare, well aware of the other boy’s fury but finding himself unbothered by it. He doesn’t feel like glaring back either -he just takes that hatred in, lets it clog his throat and weight in his already heavy chest.

They're all looking at him. He wants to throw up. He wants to run. He wants to hide. He wants them to stop looking at him that way.

quiet quiet quiet why is it so loud

The urge becomes too much. He slides past Kirishima and darts away away, stumbling for a few feet before the sheer embarrassment at his jittery movements gives him the energy to straighten up and walk away from the commotion with some of his dignity left-

Green.

Deku was in his path, brows furrowed and biting his lower lip like he wanted to say something but was unsure if Katsuki wanted to hear it. Something that, of course, was always a big fucking unwanted no and yet, the familiar call of that childish nickname began breaking the silence:

“Kac-”

(The snakes returns. Spitting and hissing and not settling down-)

This time the shoulder past is less of a push out of the way and more of a hard shove; Katsuki hears the nerd let out a quiet yelp at the impact. He thinks he knocked the other against a locker, but he doesn’t look back to take account of what he’d done.

He also hears Iida made a noise and Uraraka curse under her breath. They’re not the only ones; Katsuki can feel the weight of his classmates’ eyes on him, all around him, almost choking with their presence. The feeling in his stomach only grows and he bites back a strangled cry, focusing instead of getting away from the commotion.

...getting away. 

Yeah, he needs to leave. No one’s stopping him.

In that moment, inexplicably, he feels a burst of hope.

The urge grows grows and grows, guiding him through hallways and rooms and staircases. He’s blind to anything but that urge; his body feels like it's moving on its own as his thoughts swirl within his head like a rumbling storm, chaotic. Ripping everything from the ground and scattering them to all four directions.

Somewhere calm? Something shift inside him, pleased with the idea. Yeah. Somewhere calm. Safe. Where he can be alone. 

Where it can be quiet.

Distantly, he is aware that his brain was misfiring on all cylinders. That’s he’s moving nearly without his accord; his mind’s higher functions shutting down in favor of focusing on survival. And he does not know why. And it terrifies him.

Katsuki thinks he’s at the bottom of the staircase when he feels himself swaying. Air gets lodged in his throat and fails to make its way down to his lungs-

He loses balance.

The end of the staircase rushes up to meet him and he flails. One of his hands catches onto something cylindrical and gives. He catches himself in time, but his knees protest as his feet meet the ground of the first floor.

Fuck.

Sighing, he pulls his hand away from the railing...only to pause when his fingers doesn’t slide off the metal quite right. Despite his nausea, despite the urge to leave that claws at him, Katsuki turns his head towards the stairs.

...the railing’s bent.

The cylindrical form is twisted, pushed downwards in a faint imitation of a clenched fist. Katsuk’s heart stutters at the impossible sight.

I did that.

He squeezes his eyes shut, then open them again. His vision swims for a moment and he hopes -but the railing is still there, unnaturally bent. Practically laughing at him.

...I did that .

His vision swims.

Nausea and exhaustion coils in his gut, spreading like a fungus. Katsuki takes a step away from the stairs. His chest felt tight and he can’t breathe. Something cold and sharp crawls up his spine, stretching into his arms and legs and filling his head with static.

Distress.

That wasn’t right. What the fuck. He couldn’t have made that -it didn’t make sense. There was no way he’d done that. It was impossible.

...and yet, he could remember feeling the railing twist in his grasp.

It didn’t make sense, and yet-

What’s wrong with me? He thinks, looking down at his hands. What’s happening to me?

He can’t find an answer. The world doesn’t give him one either.

But his body does. 

In the form of another bout of nausea that had him clutching his stomach and gritting his teeth. God, in this moment he’d nearly forgotten but now it was back, a pressure building up like something’s trying to crawl out of heart.

hide hide hide just somewhere qUIET

Katsuki gives easily.

Stumbles towards the staircase -but doesn’t climb up. Rather, his feet carried him towards the side, where there was a tiny section of space left from the construction of the twisting staircase. It’s a small space.

Minuscule.

And yet, Katsuki finds himself ducking under the structure and crumbling into the small space.

It’s dark. 

...it's good.

Things are more quiet here.

Sighing, he leans the wall and waits until, hopefully, the world makes more sense.

.

.

.

He’d passed out.

Katsuki hadn’t even known he’d passed out. He blinked slowly, his eyelids feeling like they had weights attached to them.

He’s not even sure why he’s awake...or maybe not.

The feeling from just before  he’d punched Monoma was coming back. A cold, choking numbness and nausea, swirling in his gut and begging to be let out. Wincing, Katsuki tucked his legs closer to his chest and tries to shove his head down to try and mute everything out.

But the nausea stayed, and a familiar sound dragged him away from his personalized hell.

Footsteps.

Just above him, on the staircase.

It’s multiple people, all rushing down. A part of Katsuki wants to hold his breath until they passed, but he can feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest. He’s not sure if he stops breathing he’ll be able to do so again.

They’re loud as they scatter around. The vibrations over his head come and go. It makes him feel sick.

“You’re sure the kid said he went this way?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure!”

Another voice, female. “Maybe he’s outside!”

He knows these people. He’s sure his does. His mind swims in and out of consciousness and he’s uncertain of the names these voices are attached to. The hiding spot didn’t feel so safe anymore. Not quiet.

Not good.

His insides squirm, angry and almost alive. He’s going crazy, he has to be, but that’s what it feels like. He can’t fight the cut off sound of pain as he tightens his arms around himself. He’s going to get ripped from the inside out. It’s a stupid thought, but the only one that made sense.

God, just get it over with…

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to breathe.

Nothing helps against the pressure. It’s claws its way up its throat, goes back down as if to offer him mercy, then turns back around and rises again. Like he’s going to throw up but not. It’s maddening.

...since when were the footsteps so close?

He lifts his head from the crook he’d made between his knees and chest.

He thinks he should feel fear when he spots shoes stopping in front of his hiding spot. Their owner pauses there. Time passes. Things are quiet.

(Not quiet. Still loud so loud loud loud-)

A moment later, exhausted red met worried scarlet.

Kirishima was kneeling at the edge of the staircase, looking down into the tiny space Katsuki had found for himself like the coward he was. His brows were furrowed, his eyes wet and he was biting his lower lip.

Embarrassment flooded his veins, but nowhere near enough to fight off the odd weight clinging to his limbs. He can’t move.

He can’t do anything. His limbs feel like they were filled with something heavy like lead, suffocating him. Katsuki can feel it inside him, feel it in his stomach his lungs his heart his skull , something foreign that wouldn’t leave and he’s silently choking on it, helpless in the face of the unknown.

There were tiny, little black and white spots in front of his eyes -he blinks, slow, too slow what is wrong with me but they were still there, fidgeting little things that moved through the air in clusters like buzzing bees.

Oddly, most of all, they seem to gather around Kirishima.

He’s hallucinating, he has to be -but the anomaly stayed there, present, filling his vision and drowning out the red of Kirishima’s hair. Black and white, purple, they almost looked like mist. Katuski blinks, still there.

He does it again, nothing.

Senile. Fucking senile.

His head feels like it was going to cave in. He ends up squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them closed. Even as he hears Kirishima speak, even as he hears more movement...

"-hey, hey, Bakugo.” Warm voice, warm hands. He blinks blearily. Pink assaults his vision. Eyes. Black and yellow.

It’s familiar.

The dots are there too. Loud. Popping. Frizzy and there.

“...’shido.” He slurs, head lolling. 

There’s so much noise. His brain can’t make sense of it.

quiet make it quiet fuck please someone make it stop

“- wrong with him?

“-don't know, we should-”

“Recovery Girl needs to look at him. Something’s not right, man.”

“Fuck, Bakugo…”

Hands on his face. Warmth. He blinks again, drowsy but slightly more aware.

“Hang on, okay Blasty?” Ashido’s tone was eerily soft, too soft to be directed at him. There’s a waver in her voice though. “We’ll get you some help, just sit tight okay?”

He jolts slightly at this. No, no. He didn't need any help. He didn't want any help. Why were they doing this?

He didn't deserve any help.

Katsuki tries to voice those frayed, splintering thoughts out loud, but he cannot. His mouth is just as heavy as the rest of him, and he can do nothing as he feels Sero and Kirishima’s large hands on his body, gently tugging him out of his hiding spot.

Drowning on this strange sensation, on the invader residing inside of himself, Katsuki can only gaze up at the ceiling above their heads. He doesn’t even resist or feel embarrassed when Sero hooks an arm under his knees and one under his back and picks him up with little trouble.

The other boy feels soft and warm against him. He can’t hold himself back from melting on Sero’s shirt, from having his weakened body lay slack in arms which tighten around him in response. He’s not sure when was the last time he felt anything good. Everything’s heavy and wrong.

Why am I even awake? Katsuki finds himself thinking, stupefied. Why is this happening to me?

No one answers. If his friends are talking, he can’t hear them anymore. He’s slipping, down down down, farther and farther away even as Sero carries him away. Even as he’s held tightly against the other teen’s chest, he feels the distance growing between them. His gaze falls down to the floor.

As Katsuki lets go, the last thing he thought before he closed his eyes was an odd one, odder than anything he’d witnessed yet. 

Part of him swore that when he’d hid under the staircase… 

...somehow, the shadows were felt alive under his fingers.

Chapter Text

When he was called from his office to go to the infirmary, Aizawa wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find.

‘Bakugo got into a fight.’ Cementos told him over the phone. ‘I stumbled into the scene after he left. Sero Hanta, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki and Ashido Mina went after him. He’s at the infirmary.’

The man had paused, and Aizawa could only wait with baited breath and a growing feeling of wrongness in his stomach.

‘He attacked Monoma. Without provocation. The boy has a concussion.’

Vlad was going to have his hide. The other Heroics professor had a soft spot for the Copycat Quirk user.

But still, the infirmary? Why would they bring Bakugo there? Why would Bakugo even allow himself to be brought to it? Unless he was injured, but there had been no mention of Monoma retaliating.

You know why, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. Aizawa, reluctantly, had to agree with it. He’s not fine. This might be the breaking point.

Bakugo’s physical and mental health hadn’t been the best since the start of the Provincial Exam training. That much was obvious to anyone with working eyes. Fuck, he should have handed the kid to Hound Dog days ago. 

His belief that Bakugo was practical enough to realize there was something wrong and reaching out to get help was now biting him in the ass. Pushing Bakugo wasn’t the best idea but given the fact that he assaulted another student, letting him be was no option either.

What am I going to do with you? He thinks as he finally reaches the infirmary hall -only to find a group of four students sitting by the door, waiting.

Its Bakugo’s friends and fellow classmates. Kirishima, Sero, Ashido and Kaminari, all huddled against each other. Ashido and Kaminari were leaning against Kirishima’s shoulders, half-dozing, and Sero was sitting on Denki’s other side, his tall frame slouched as he stares at the ground empty.

All four look up as he comes into view. Ashido swallows and their expressions are vaguely afraid -not an unreasonable reaction, as they were skipping critical training time. 

“You should be training.” He tells them sternly. He doesn’t really feel like reprimanding them for staying here and eating up their afternoon waiting instead of being at the gym. They could make their own choices.“There’s nothing for you to do here.”

Recovery Girl is taking care of Bakugo, you four don’t need to be here at all.  

If they were anything like Hizashi though, Aizawa knew they would not leave.

With the Provincial Exam only four days away, them doing this was infuriating. They needed to train, especially them -who had done poorly in their finals. Denki, Kaminari and Kirishima had outright failed and the only reason Sero hadn’t was because of Mineta, a student Aizawa was only a hair trigger away from throwing out on his ass.

Kirishima is the only one courageous enough to speak up. There’s some hardness in his eyes, a dark gleam that was far too serious for the usually cheerful student.

“We’re not leaving.”

Aizawa wants to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knew why they were doing this. It didn’t alleviate the growing headache any bit.

“Fine.” He exhales. Immediately, the four students seem to melt in their seats. “Stay here for all I care. It’s up to you.”

If they failed the Provincials, he was going to have their hides. Bakugo’s actions and illness was no excuse to slack off -this kind of thing happened sometimes as an adult, and there was no need to stop everything to take care of one person, one person who was already being taken care of. 

They all seem to read his thoughts, for they look down at the floor and refuse to meet his gaze. There’s nothing here for Aizawa to do -they made their choices, and he hoped the consequences wouldn’t be severe. And so with that, he heads for the infirmary and steps inside.

He’s nary entered and closed the door behind him when he spots him.

The first bed is occupied.

The short, blond hair flat against its owner’s skull made the person easily recognizable. That’s as far as it went however -Monoma’s face was a ugly mess of blooming bruises, yellow and red beginning to take over the teenager’s pale skin.

It looked like he’d gotten a baseball bat rammed into his face.

What the hell did you do, Bakugo?

And just as he thinks that, his eyes spot another person on one of the infirmary bed, a safe distance from Monoma’s and right next to the windows. Bakugo had his knees pulled up to his chest and was simply sitting there, looking out the window. His fluffy, pale hair kept Aizawa from his face, and he had most of his back turned on them, partially facing the window instead. 

It’s unsure if he heard him walk in. There was no reaction at all.

“Eraserhead.”

The quiet, hushed voice of Recovery Girl takes his attention away from the 1-B student. She’s standing by her office desk, near Monoma. There’s no anger or frustration in her expression -only weariness. 

“Chiyo.” Aizawa greets quietly with a small nod. He glances back to Katsuki. “...how is he?”

Recovery Girl shifts on her feet. Aizawa eyes how her hand tightens on the grip of her cane.

“He’s tired.” The elderly retired Pro-Hero replies with a voice nary higher than a whisper. “He might be developing a fever...and he hasn’t been eating.” Her eyes narrow as her head tilts towards the lone student by the window. 

“There’s only so much his body can take.”

Recovery Girl purses her lips and turns her head back to peer up at Aizawa. “Do something. The other kid has a broken nose and an orbital fracture. Bakugo could have killed him.”

“I understand.”

The nurses tuts. “I’ve taken the liberty of getting blood samples from him. I’m doing the tests tonight.”

“...he allowed you?”

“Didn’t say a peep.” Recovery Girl’s expression softened. She turned away, to Bakugo’s slouched figure. Her next words are uttered with cautious softess. “He’s not right, Shota. Not right at all.”

Understatement of the year.

He leaves her be, walking forward up to the infirmary bed. Bakugo doesn’t turn around but he’s awake, so he has no doubt the teenager knows that he’s here. Bakugo not looking at him was a conscious choice -an odd one, given his typical behavior.  Bakugo was not a person to back down from anything, ever.

...and yet here he was, pliant, sitting curled up in an infirmary bed of all places whilst watching the darkening sky outside.

Aizawa opened his mouth to speak up -and paused. There was really nothing to say, to be honest. Nothing but the truth. So that’s what he did.

“Bakugo.” He stops, waiting for a reaction. Nothing. The stretching silence sends cold up his spine. “You attacked a student.” 

The kid doesn’t even look at him.

“I know.”

The response, immediate and blunt, throws him for a loop despite its characteristic honesty. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, dreading, or even hoping for. It’s not something that he was anticipating at all.

Bakugo never was a liar. He deflected and screamed and cussed at things, but he never lied. Maybe he thought it was beneath him, or the mere idea of doing so was insulting. So this answer should have been something Aizawa expected.

The tone wasn’t.

The lack of emotion wasn’t.

Like the kid was only going through the motions, body working on autopilot.

It’s terrifying. This is not the Bakugo he knows, the kid with anger issues and an even greater superiority complex. This is not the Bakugo he got at the start of the semester or the one after the Final Exams.

This was the Bakugo after Kamino , and he seemed so alien to Aizawa he felt like the person in front of him was a completely different being.

“Unprovoked.” He adds after a moment, seeking a reaction.

Finally, Bakugo makes a sound like he’s going to object. Aizawa braces for it, feeling ridiculous at the burst of dim hope he feels at the idea that Bakugo was finally going to argue back. To act like he normally did. He even turns his head towards him, red eyes meeting his-

But then the kid falls silent again, head down. Just accepting.

What am I going to do with you, kid?

It takes all of his strength to keep himself from deflating. Nevertheless, he had a job to do. If he wasn’t going to do it, Vlad would try, and Bakugo was far too delicate right now for the hotheaded homeroom teacher of class 1-B.

“I can’t just overlook this. That was assault.” He breathes out, stepping around the infirmary bed and sitting down next to Bakugo. Fuck, the kid looked so small. Aizawa finds himself stricken with something akin to grief. Kamino shouldn’t have happened. None of this was right.

Nevertheless, he pushes on.

“You’re on dorm arrest for the next four days. When the semester starts, you will come to me for an extra assignment on Pro-Hero relations.”

Bakugo flinches. It’s a small, minute reaction. Aizawa feels like there was bile climbing up his throat. He turns his gaze away for a moment to collect himself -and then something moving catches the corner of his vision, making him look towards the floor cornering the nightstand.

No. There was nothing there. Might have been a trick of the light due to the shadows.

I need sleep, he thinks sourly, returning his attention where it should be -on his student.

“We can’t have this happening again.” He stresses in as calm of a tone as he can muster.

Bakugo is quiet for a moment. Then he whispers. “I need to train to pass.” 

“You should have thought about that before attacking a fellow student.” Aizawa answers immediately. “There’s only so much I can tolerate, Bakugo.”

The boy’s fear were founded. By doing this he might as well have fucked Bakugo’s chances of passing the exam ...but at the same time he was of the belief that Bakugo would have failed the Exam either way. The kid just wasn’t in the right mental state to do this.

It might be dangerous to even allow him.

If he wasn’t better in four days, Aizawa would have to pull him out and making take the alternative training course. The more that he thought about it now, the more he realized that might be the best solution. Bakugo might hate him for it but it was for the kid’s well being.

He didn’t voice any of it out loud however. Bakugo was not in a state where they could have a sound conversation about it. Maybe in four days, before the Exam.

“I want to go to the dorms.”

Aizawa blinks. What-

Oh.

Right.

Staying overnight at the infirmary might be too much for the kid to bear. Aizawa considered it for a moment. “You need to rest.” He reminds him.

“I can do it here.” Bakugo responds with that demeanor, quiet voice that almost seemed to not belong to the kid at all. “Please.”

Please.

In the months he’d know the kid, Aizawa had never heard him say that word. He wasn’t even sure it was part of Bakugo’s vocabulary -but here it was. Now. In a one on one conversation. Said in such a resigned manner that Aizawa had to consider it.

Despite his state, the kid wasn’t exactly kneeling over. It would be up to Chiyo though. Aizawa turns his head to look for the nurse -only to find her leaning against her cane, looking at them with pursed lips. She must have heard everything, if the displeased look on her face was any indication.

Aizawa silently questioned her with a look. The nurse’s nose crinkled.

“He can go.” Recovery Girl admits, looking every bit like she wanted to object but the fact that she wasn’t, not really, told Aizawa that Bakugo was in enough of a good state to be allowed out. Her eyes narrowed as she looks at Bakugo. “I’ll running the blood tests tonight. You need to come back tomorrow morning, kid. No exception. Be here at 7 or I’ll have Aizawa drag you back here. Understood?” 

“Yes.”

Bakugo doesn’t look up to meet her eyes. Aizawa swallows.

This was getting out of control. It had to end. Now.

.

.

.

It’s raining.

The sky was dark and thunder rumbled in the distance. He watches as water drips down the windows, following the raindrops idly. Even from the infirmary bed, through his school uniform,  he can still feel the frigid, unforgivable cold.

The kid’s a fucking mess. What has Eraserhead done?

Recovery Girl had long given up trying to talk to him. Maybe his silence off putted her. Maybe she was too tired to deal with him. Maybe maybe maybe. There were so many possibilities and none Katsuki had the brain power to really ponder on. Regardless, she seemed to be instead fussing over Monoma. The boy had yet to move from his bed, and his head was wrapped in bandages. 

Katsuki’s not sure what to feel about that.

He’s not even reacting. Too quiet. Fuck.

He’s not sure what to feel about anything, really. His thought process feels slow and clunky and he can’t quite remember how he got here on this bed. One...one of his classmates brought him here. Or maybe. Yes, many. Sero. Kirishima. Ashido. Kaminari.

The names tasted odd on his tongue. He’s not sure why.

He’s not sure of anything, really.

He digs his feet into the mattress and curls up into himself. The bed covers were still in place under his body; he’s wearing his school uniform still. He doesn’t want to pull it off. Katsuki’s mind might be drowsy, might be breaking into pieces but he knew that getting comfortable here would finally cross an invisible, unnamed line he most certainly did not want to cross.

Recovery Girl didn’t press him. She barely paid him attention; took temperature, checked his eyes and mouth and took a few blood samples. His silence might have unearthed the woman. He’s not sure of it, but there’s not much energy inside himself to think it through.

The silence stretches, and he takes this opportunity to do..nothing. Just look out the window and ignore the nurse’s shuffling in the room. 

This is beyond my expertise. Eraserhead should have kept an eye on him!

He digs his nails into his pant legs, hard enough to feel it. It’s not enough though. Not enough to block those odd, stray thought that he’s too tired to question -thoughts that weren’t his but somehow, he can’t find it in himself to address that impossibility.

There’s too many things that aren’t going right. Too many for Katsuki to question it.

Like how in the window, he sees his reflection. Or not.

The body on the bed isn’t the same. It’s taller, hunched over. Gaunt. Dark, matted brown hair spills down a back clad in a torn, dirty grey shirt. It’s not him.

It’s not him and Katsuki feels nothing, says nothing. 

He just watches.

The figure is looking back at him, imitating his movements. Like she’s him and he is her and it’s too confusing to think about. It’s female, with the narrow face of someone of asian descent. The woman’s face is hollow. Empty, devoid of anything remotely human. Her eyes were black, absence of color, and her lips were as dark as obsidian. 

Her skin is pale and greyed.  She barely looks human. More of a ghost, an apparition, maybe a first hallucination. 

And as Katsuki drowsily thinks that, the woman lets her jaw drop open.

Black.

The almost oily liquid drips, down and down,  slipping down her chin as if it responded to gravity. As it began falling as thin strands towards her lap however, it twisted in the air, arching upwards. Katsuki watched, mute, as threads of black mass twined together to form something sharp and triangular, followed by square, sharp-edged forms that interlocked together.

The strange thing rose up into the air, swaying like a snake from her mouth.

It’s not the only one. Katsuki lowers his gaze to her lap and sees more of those triangular heads sliding over the woman’s skin like lazy, languid snakes.

He blinks.

The woman’s gone. Only his own face stares back.

(Were his eyes always that dark?)

The sound of a door opening and closing echoes behind him. Katsuki doesn’t react and turn around to see who it was, trying to focus on the rain outside and his own breathing. Cold, icy and stinging, crawls up his back, pressing against the heaviness.

Prickling follows, washing up against his spine like the waves of a stormy beach. Katsuki knows that if he turns around, he’ll see the dots. There’s already some of them hovering at the corner of his vision. Black and white, purple, fuzzy spots in his vision he wishes he could ignore.

“Bakugo.”

Aizawa.

“You attacked a student.”

“I know.”

“Unprovoked.”

“I...” His eyes meet dark red and Aizawa could see how words were suddenly lodged in his throat. His stomach flips and twists. He says nothing, falling silent. He can’t look at the man -can’t bear it- so he numbly looks away.

Aizawa sighs.

What am I going to do with you, kid?

Katsuki bites his lower lip. There it was again.

“I can’t just overlook this. That was assault.” The Pro-Hero told him, and if there was still some part of him that could feel something other than heaviness Katsuki would have flinched. It’s even worse when he senses  his teacher moves closer, sitting right next to him.

He failed. He let his anger -whatever the fuck this was- take over. It was inexcusable. He never assaulted another student to this extent before.

“You’re on dorm arrest for the next four days. When the semester starts, you will come to me for an extra assignment on Pro-Hero relations.” Aizawa starts back up.

Katsuki feels like his chest was just caved in by a hammer. It hurts to breathe.

“We can’t have this happening again.”

Katsuki swallows softly. He feels the faint pain of his own nails digging into his legs. “I need to train to pass.” He whispers quietly.

“You should have thought about that before attacking a fellow student.” Aizawa answered without skipping a beat. “There’s only so much I can tolerate, Bakugo.”

Katsuki says nothing.

What could be said?

What could be his defence?

“I want to go to the dorms.” He breathes out, looking down at his lap.

Aizawa shifts at his side. “You need to rest.”

“I can do it there.” He responds softly. “Please.”

He feels the man move on the bed, twisting away. Recovery Girl’s voice then pierces through the fog, displeased but not furious:

“He can go.” The nurse speaks up. Katsuki gathers up the willpower to turn to look at her. She looks as displeased as she sounded. There’s a few stray grey hairs sticking out of her bun messily. “I’ll running the blood tests tonight. You need to come back tomorrow morning, kid. No exception. Be here at 7 or I’ll have Aizawa drag you back here.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Understood?” 

Katsuki doesn’t meet her gaze. “Yes.”

The prickling intensifies, nearing painful levels. The urge to scratch at the back of his neck lurks, insistent. He digs his nails into the palm of his hands discreetly.

Aizawa speaks up, his voice chasing away some of the burden away. “Kirishima can escort you to the dorms.”  At his confused expression, Aizawa continues. “They’re waiting outside.”

Katsuki feels a frown form on his face.

“They...they haven’t left?” He whispers, looking at the door. His voice sounded alien to his own ears. Scratchy and odd. Washed out.

Aizawa’s expression was unreadable, but the prickling ebbed. If slightly.

“Not even once, kid.”

.

.

.

The wait was maddening.

The fact that the chair was the stiffest, most uncomfortable thing ever only made things worse. Part of Eijirou wanted to get up and pace. To take off some of the restless energy swelling up within him, choking.

Kaminari sniffles at his side, quiet. 

“....think he’s going to be okay?” The blond boy asks softly, not to anyone in particular.

At his other side, Mina makes a noise. “He’s Blasty. He can get through this.” She replies. 

Despite her reassuring words, Eijirou can feels her nails digging against the fabric of his pants. He says nothing. Sero breaks the silence hovering over them for the past hour next, whispering low under his breath.

“But he’s just…”

So dead, he thinks, and it might be the same think his friends were thinking because Kaminari makes a soft noise and looks down, dejected. 

At his side Kaminari sags, leaning against him. Kirishima holds part of his weight with little trouble. He likes it even, like how he can feel Mina’s warmth on the other side of him. Sero shuffles against Kaminari, humming low in his throat. It reminds Kirishima that they are here. That they were with him.

With Bakugo.

“He was just so...limp.” Sero murmurs nearby, the words barely loud enough for Eijirou to pick up. “Didn’t even fight back when I picked him up.”

Eijirou fights back a shudder at the wrongness of it.

He hadn’t even hear Monoma say anything before Bakugo struck. His friend had just done so the moment he’d registered the other blond in his path. Like the mere sight of Monoma was enough to snap what little sanity he had left. 

He’s not sure how Bakugo managed to bend the metal locker with his punch. It had been terrifying. It was surprising what adrenaline could do.

From one moment to the next, Eijirou went from minding his business to physically having to protect Bakugo -Bakugo, who did nothing but stare afterwards, so lost he wanted to wrap him up in a hug- from Tetsutetsu’s wrath. The silver-haired teenager had been hellbent on getting to the explosive blond and for once, Eijirou was certain that if he hadn’t stepped in his friend would have landed in a worse position than Monoma.

Fuck.

This was all wrong.

He wanted -needed- to be there for his friend.

He’d given Bakugo enough space this week. They all did, for the sake of the blond’s sanity. But clearly that hadn’t been the way to go. Not if they wanted to help.

Bakugo would probably hate them all for it, but Kirishima was going to fight him on it. If they had to force him down and shove food into his mouth for him to eat, they would. If they had to do vigil shifts to make sure he slept, he had no doubt in his mind that Sero, Mina and Kaminari would willingly jump into it.

Anything to make Bakugo look less of a corpse and more of the person he was before Kamino.

What even happened then?

The villains hadn’t hurt him. They’d just held him, right? If they had hurt him he would have been hurt when they rescued the blond. When they rescued he only had a few bruises and cuts, and those were from the fight with the villains. So no, nothing physical happened.

No -the damage Kamino brought upon Bakugo was mental.

There’s no doubt in any of their minds that the boy felt responsible for All Might. That he thought it was his fault that the man was now retired. It only took a few months of knowing Bakugo to figure out he was a prideful person who hated having to rely on others. It made him feel weak.

So being forced to take their help to escape had worn on him.

All Might’s retirement had been the killing blow. Kirishima visibly flinches at that sordid thought.

“Are you okay?” Mina’s voice reaches his ears, quiet and soft against his collar bone. Eijirou swallows.

“...yea.” He murmurs, looking out into the hallway that felt too quiet and too big for his taste. “Just worried.” 

The words really didn’t feel like enough to describe what he was feeling.

Sero shifts against Denki. No doubt he heard Eijirou. Maybe he was thinking the same thing. Eijirou knew for a fact that every last one of his friends felt as lost as he did. They’d agreed to give Bakugo space thinking that he would stop lashing out when he got room to breathe and cool down; and yet, despite their efforts to walk on eggshells without looking like they were walking on eggshells, Bakugo got worse.

What can we do now? What can I do?

Eijirou’s stomach did flips. He’s reminded, quite unwillingly, of that time in middle school when Mina had to step in to redirect a villain away from two girls while he stood frozen, quivering in his boots and unable to do anything. The helplessness he felt now was just as strong if not worse. 

Because Bakugo was his best friend and Eijirou was being fucking useless .

Footsteps dragged him out of his spiralling thoughts, turning his attention to the real world. Someone was approaching -and Eijirou’s heart drops to his stomach when he spots them turning around a corner, heading right for them.

It’s Aizawa. Their homeroom teacher stops to look at them, expression blank but clearly befuddled by their presence. By all means the day was ending and they should be at the dorms or adding some extra minutes training at the gym. But they were not. And that fact clearly annoyed the Pro-Hero.

“You should be training.” The man starts, voice stern but subdued. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”

None of them respond. Kirishima knows they should be working, but he can’t bring himself to care about training right now. So he fixes his teacher with the calmest stare he can offer and says gravely:

“We’re not leaving.”

Mina’s nails dig into his tight for a moment. Denki swallows. Kirishima’s own heart was beating faster than he thought it ever would. Still he holds his teacher’s gaze, feeling almost like shrinking into a ball and disappearing.

“Fine.” 

Every one of Eijirou’s entourage proceeds to slump in their seats. He’s not excluded.

Aizawa regards them carefully. “Stay here for all I care. It’s up to you.” The man says, eyes turning towards the closed infirmary door.

Then...nothing.

Silence crawls back in. Long. Slow. Encompassing. 

None of them find the will to fill the quiet with their voices, to let out the swirl of emotions weighting in their gut.

Then they heard it. The sound of the infirmary door opening.

Eijirou snaps his head up so fast that something in his neck ached. Mina untangled herself from his side, perking up, her yellow and black eyes wide and searching for news. 

Their teacher is the first thing they see, the man’s piercing red eyes roving over them as he steps out into the hallway. Aizawa regards them for a brief moment gauging their expressions, and then he moves aside, showing them the infirmary door.

Bakugo was standing there, looking far too small for someone who used to be so loud and alive in Eijirou’s eyes. His eyes are low to the ground and he doesn’t acknowledge them save a glance.

Warmth presses against his forearm as Ashido grabs onto him, giving a small squeeze, a silent demand for comfort that Eijirou wanted to offer to his childhood friends but the sight of Bakugo left him too numb to follow through.

“Recovery Girl cleared him to go to the dorms.” Aizawa speaks up, breaking the silence.  “Make sure he eats and sleeps.”

Sero straightens up, nodding furiously in a way that and Kaminari following along. “Y-yes, Aizawa!”

They all make similar noises of confirmation, Eijirou included. The Pro-Hero pauses, looking at Bakugo. The fact that the blond doesn’t even look up has Eijirou’s stomach twisting with unease. 

Down the hall, one of the light fixtures flickers.

“You will come in at 7 tomorrow to catch up on the time you missed.”

Kaminari makes a cut off sound of misery. Even Eijirou wants to wince at that because there went his sleeping schedule, but he holds his teacher’s gaze. The man was searching for weaknesses, no doubt. For them to snap back at this punishment, to see if they would hold onto that promise. 

Eijirou wasn't going to allow it.

“Yes sir. We will.”

.

.

.

“Who needs seconds?”

“I do!”

Students buzzed around the common room, trying to find a place to sit around the tables. Words are exchanged, comments are made about the food and in the middle of it all, Izuku found himself lost in the storm.

Asui and Uraraka were making sandwiches for those who hadn’t gone to sleep yet or hadn’t eaten at the school. Yaoyorozou was helping, though her inexperience showed in the way she attempted to take over the role of mayonnaise dispenser. She’d made a bit of a mess on the counter when she’s accidentally smeared some of it across the counter instead of the buns Asui had cut open.

The taller girl apologized profusely, face red with shame as Sato moved over to help her. After a few pointers and a hasty clean things were back on track again, with the sandwiches being dispensed out to the hungry students in a quick manner.

Izuku stares down at his own food that Uraraka had put in front of him. The ham, cheese and lettuce sandwich looked pretty appetizing, but he can’t find it in himself to eat. His stomach felt small and full and he’s not sure he can even drink a bit of water, even with his throat feeling parched. 

It was a strange, uncomfortable contradiction.

...one that grows worse when the object of his worry steps into the common room. 

Kacchan looks even worse than he did this morning. 

His shoulders are slouched, his head is down and he’s not looking at any of them, barely reacting to his surroundings. His school uniform is rumpled and slightly dusty. Kaminari, Kirishima, Sero and Ashido are circling around him, none too discreetly forming a physical barrier between the blond and the rest of the class that were still in the common room.

Izuku watches them, heart tight, as Kirishima leads the troop down the common room and into the hall holding the elevators. All four of them were working together without a word, herding Kacchan away from the common room without saying a word.

The look in their eyes though, they said more than any words could.

Exhaustion. Worry. Anxiety.

All emotions Izuku was feeling now.

All things his classmates were feeling, too. No one in the common room spoke during the group’s passing, and it continues.

Up until they are out of sight. Then the bombs go off.

“Fuck, he looks worse…”

“-why is he here, shouldn’t he be at the infirmary-?”

Izuku feels his hands clench around his sandwich; he drops it into his plate with less care than he should have for a meal prepared lovingly by his friends. He doesn’t miss how Uraraka sneaks him a glance, but he doesn’t address it either.

No.

Instead, his attention was on the corridor where he’d last seen Kacchan’s pale blond hair.

He wants to follow him to his room, he wants to ask, he wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and demand answers out of him -but all of that, all of those desperate ideas reeked of danger, of destroying what little of the bridge Kacchan had allowed him to rebuild between the two of them.

And the last thing he ever wanted was to damage that fragile, fledgling bond.

He cared for Kacchan. More than he thinks he should, after all that happened. More than anyone believes he should. Uraraka had called it unhealthy once, after the Finals...and she’d been right, in a way. She’s seen how Kacchan treated him at the start, how little hesitation he’d had in turning around and slamming his gauntlet into his face.

But she hadn’t really seen what came after.

She hadn't seen Kacchan swallow back his pride. When Kacchan decided to work with him -when he’d taken that olive branch Izuku had been so desperate to gift him- everything just clicked in a way it had never done before. And while their teamwork had been rusty and chaotic and missing quite a bit of communication…

...it had felt right.

More so than anything else.

And when All Might had Kacchan pinned, his childhood friend too exhausted and injured to fight him but still trying futilely, just for the principle of it….

...Izuku had felt anger. Anger like he’d never felt before. It wasn’t the fear that he’d felt when the Sludge Villain grabbed Kacchan but something much worse, much crueler, something that reared up like a snake ready to strike and gave him the strength to ignore his aching body in favor of going after Kacchan.

And strike he did.

He’d spent a good few minutes after the exam huddled in a bathroom silently freaking out about the fact he’d punched his mentor. In the face. At full strength.

Recovery Girl dragged him to the infirmary by the ear.

And now?

Never before had he felt so helpless. Kacchan wasn’t talking. Kacchan isn't acknowledging him anymore. He was pushing everyone away, pulling himself in in a way Izuku had never seen before, refusing to come in contact with people and taking every step to distance himself from the rest of the class.

And they all noticed.

 Every last one of his classmates noticed.

Like they noticed the deep, growing bags around his eyes or the way he moved slowly outside of training, like an animal trying to conserve energy. Kacchan looked washed out nowadays, his fair skin even paler, greyer, his eyes dull and his hair floppy. Even his lips seemed darker.

Monoma was the tipping point. The attack had been senseless, even by Kacchan’s standards. And the fallout...Izuku knew Kacchan was strong, but the way the metal locker was dented inwards from the force of the blow -that was something else. Something that sent Izuku on edge.

Adrenaline didn’t do that.

What's wrong, Kacchan? He thinks to himself, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the blond from here. How can I help you? Why can't you let me help you?

There's no answer.

But high above their heads, the lights flicker. Then, the building shakes.

.

.

.

He’s too tired to go out on patrol, so instead he chooses to recluse back to the teachers’ offices to catch up on work before the semester started.

Nemuri and Hizashi were there, both hunched over papers and working on their own course plans for the following semester. Their conversation was quiet as they passed ideas and wrote out possible techniques with dealing with their students. Their heads turn when the door opens and he steps through.

Hizashi’s voice was far too loud for how late it was. Normally Aizawa was far more tolerant of his 

“Shota, there you are!”

“Coffee?” Nemuri asks him instead of greeting him like Hizashi, immediately noticing his visible exhaustion.

Aizawa can only offer a grumbled sound of acknowledgement. The M Rated Hero huffs lowly before getting up and shuffling towards the coffee machine in the corner, her shoes clicking loudly through the quiet room. 

Silence takes over, broken moments later by Hizashi’s cough. “How’s Bakugo?”

Aizawa pauses as he sits down at his desk. He fights back a grimace. Somewhere behind him, Nemuri makes a hissing sound like she wants to reach over and hit their fellow teacher on the back of his head.

“He’s…” He waits for a moment, trying to find words that were more acceptable than what he had in mind. “...recovering. Chiyo allowed him to go back to the dorms, but he’ll be back to the infirmary tomorrow.”

“Oh. So it’s not that bad?"

“We don’t know yet.”

Hizashi frowns, looking down at his class work.

“-think the kid will be able to do the Provincials?”

Aizawa sighs. “At this point?” He wonders out loud, hearing a tint of exhaustion in his own voice that he wasn’t expecting. “I don’t think so. He’s too much in a poor state of health. Letting him go would reckless.”

The coffee machine stops. He hears Nemuri pouring the coffee into cups. He keeps his attention forward though, on Hizashi’s growing grimace.

“The kid’s not going to like that at all.” The blond man reminds him like Aizawa hadn’t thought about that future shitshow. “From the top of the class to the bottom? He’ll pitch a fit.”

Now that, I’m not sure about, Aizawa thinks to himself. That will depend if he even has the energy to shout at me.

Given what happened this afternoon, Bakugo’s reaction to his dorm arrest, he thinking otherwise. The old rules on how to deal with the explosive blond did not apply anymore. Not after Kamino.

“It’s for his own good, Hizashi.” Nemuri’s footsteps echoed behind him as she walks over his desk and steps a steaming cup of coffee next to him. She walks around the table, handing a cup to Hizashi which he takes gleefully with a murmured thanks. “At this point it’s not his choice. Kid needs help.”

With that she goes back to the coffee machine, likely to grab her own cup. Nemuri rarely indulged in coffee but when she did, every cup she had she savored like a dragon protecting her hoard.

Aizawa is left nodding along her words, finding himself agreeing with everything she said. Nemuri was right -it wasn’t Bakugo’s choice anymore. None of this was, if his state was to be believed. The kid was a mess and he needed the help. He was no longer in a position to refuse.

He should have been more diligent.

“That’s going to be a nightmare to deal with.” Hizashi wonders out loud. He turned worried eyes to Aizawa. “Shota, do you want me to be there? Or are you going to get Hound Dog to help you?”

“I’ll deal with Bakugo myself.” He retorts, lifting his head. “He’s my responsibility, and he’s not someone who trusts easily. The less people confront him, the better.”

Hizashi nods along, growing silent. “Right. Best luck then, Shota.”

“We’ll be here if you need us.” Nemuri comments.

Aizawa nods and says nothing. While them offering assistance was a nice gesture, he’s certain that it was a bad idea. Adding another teacher to the conversation when the last time he spoke to Bakugo was like pulling teeth was one of the worst decisions possible.

Or worse, if I brought in All Might. 

Aizawa could see how that conversation would go. There’s no doubt in his mind that Bakugo would clamp up and dig his feet in.

What a mess , he thinks as he picks up his coffee and taking a long sip. Nemuri moves behind him, heading for her desk while balancing her own cup. 

That’s when his phone starts ringing. Aizawa quickly sets his cup down and reaches for it. The number on the screen is easily recognizable -it’s Recovery Girl. It makes him pause.

What now?

“Everything ok, Shota?” Hizashi pipes up on the other side of the table.

“It’s Chiyo.” He murmurs, taking the phone up to his ear and pressing accept to the call. Hizashi grows silent. ‘What is it?”

“Go get Bakugo.”

The sharp, abrupt way the elderly nurse said it bring his mind to a screeching halt. He’d never once in his life, heard Recovery Girl sound so brisk and stressed.

“What-”

“NOW!”

The screech of static nearly had him dropping his phone. Nemuri who was passing right behind him does end up dropping something, her coffee cup shattering at her feet. Aizawa barely notices over the cold pit growing in his gut.

“Chiyo-” He stands up from his seat and Hizashi mimics him, his blue eyes darkening as Aizawa’s gaze meets his. There’s no doubt he can hear Recovery Girl too. “Slow down -what’s wrong?!”

Recovery Girl makes a hissing sound through the phone.

“We don’t have time to explain. Get him to the infirmary now -there’s traces of Trigger in the kid’s blood!”

.

.

.

He’s about to sleep when he feels it.

The tiniest tug from the smallest of threads still connecting him to that Quirk so easily offered to him. He has no control over it anymore, no true power over it, and yet, All for One feels nothing but quiet satisfaction at sensing it.

No doubt it was ravaging through the boy’s body like a lightning storm. Chewing on his brain, making him see things that weren’t there, throwing his immune system into chaos. Humans were not meant to have two Quirks, and the deterioration would be quick. The signs of it would be even quicker.

The child would bear it, though. He was stubborn. He would try to hide it. 

That was why he’d picked him after all.

He’d never been able to use the Quirk himself. Not for a lack of drive, but for how dangerous it was. It had been a long time since All for One had turned his attention to it. Decades it had spent inside him, deactivated and asleep, subdued. A living bomb lodged deep within himself.

And now it resided somewhere else.

In all of his long, long life, he'd seen many Quirks. Many unfortunate ones, many precious others. Quirks were plentiful and varied and wonderful, each and every one of them, an incredible step forward in evolution that had propelled humankind forward.

This Quirk however, this Quirk-

All for One had never seen one so ugly . 

So brutal, so utterly vicious to its owner and those around it that despite its power he would never allow himself to use it. He'd never even dared to try, or put it in a Nomu. The creature would have been torn apart before the second Quirk was ever added.

No, this ugly, terrible, broken Quirk had no place in this world.

But it did in his chessboard. And All for One was quite happy where he'd moved his pawn.

Smiling gently, he looks up at the metal ceiling above his head. For a moment, he wishes he had his eyes once more, even if it was to witness the smooth expanse of reinforced steel over his head.

All Might had taken his eyes.

He would take his pupil. Every last one of them, Midoriya Izuku especially. He would leave Yagi Toshinori a broken, powerless old man, forced to sit back and watch as his legacy was destroyed and everything he worked hard to protect was burned to the ground.

The ninth One for All user will die tonight. All for One was certain his plan would work. 

How could it not?

History was always prone to repeating itself.

Chapter Text

The closer they got to Bakugo’s bedroom, the more restless Eijirou gets.

He’s not certain why. Sure, his best friend was in a less than desirable state and looked like death warmed over, but it was something else. Something that sank under his skin and left him nervous and looking at corners, unsure of himself.

It’s only made worse when a light flickers over their heads when they’re on Bakugo’s floor. Kirishima sideyes it, torn between being creeped out and irritated. That was the third one he’d seen today. What the hell.

Seriously, what was wrong with the lights?

They come to a stop in front of Bakugo’s room. The air between them shifts as the owner of the room and current source of their worry reaches out and rested a hand on the doorknob.

Kirishima’s not the only one who holds his breath when Bakugo tilts his head just enough to look at them. His expression is as worn as the rest of him.

“Stop following me.” 

“We’re just trying to help, Bakugo.”

Tired, dark red eyes narrow at them. It’s not a good sign. Kirishima quickly realizes that even if he has no idea how to handle this sleep deprived, sickly blond.

“I can go to sleep on my own.” Bakugo responds with little animosity, the delivery so dry it wouldn’t be out of place in a desert. Eijirous swallows. 

Well.

He had a point.

Frustration flares in his chest, no matter how much he tried to reign it in. He’s certain he’s not the only one here feeling this unpleasant feeling of helplessness and frustration. Still, they’re kind of all leaning on him as the resident Bakugo handler, so Eijirou pushes through this and brings his friend’s attention to him with a throat clear.

“Bakugo, man,” For a moment there’s a spark of anger in those red eyes and Kirishima finds the sudden surge of relief he feels at the sight of the familiar expression to be pretty pathetic. Hey, he’d also passed more than two weeks without being yelled at by his best friend, so he was kind of missing hearing the other reprimand him.

 Or was it Stockholm syndrome?

He hasn’t really done it since the Summer Camp…or anything Bakugo-like for that matter….

Eijirou tosses that thought away. Quickly. Better focus on the present. It was less depressing and there was a good chance they could make it through the walls Bakugo had built around himself.

“...I know you don’t like people helping you, but please .” He stresses that last word, not with pity or desperation because that would be the fastest way to getting Bakugo to leave. Instead he says it gravely, trying to convey the sense of urgency they all felt growing within themselves. “At least let us in, okay? You’re really not looking good.”

That was an understatement, and apparently the wrong thing to say; Eijirou mentally kicks himself when Bakugo’s expression changes. Still droopy, still tired, still terrifying in its blankness, but there was something more to it now. Irritation.

After nearly a week of seeing him looking like a zombie, the familiar reaction was kind of relieving to see.

“You’re stating the obvious.” Bakugo responds stiffly. Eijirou was taken aback by the honesty of his words. Bakugo hated admitting weakness to anyone.

And yet, he’s not even denying it.

“But he has a point.” Kaminari pipes up, picking up Eijirou’s slack. At his side Mina nods, lips pursed and arms crossed uneasily over her chest. “You’re not alone here, bro.”

As an answer, Bakugo closes the door on their faces. Slam . Just like that.

Eijirou’s shoulders weren’t the only ones that slump in defeat.

“Fuck.” Sero mutters under his breath, turning away and leaning his forehead against a wall. Eijirou can only agree with him.

“We tried?” Kaminari adds, lifting a hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“It’s like trying to talk to a wall.” Mina hisses, raising her hands as if she was trying to claw at the ceiling. “Blasty is stubborn, but holy fuck, has he seen himself in a mirror lately?”

I think he has, Eijirou thinks sourly, looking at the closed door. I don’t think he cares anymore.

“I think we should just call it a night, guys.” Kaminari interrupts quietly. The blond tucks his hands into his pockets and shifts on his feet, shoulders slumping. “We can give it a go tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a good idea.” Sero responds. “We do have to wake up early anyways.”

Kaminari blanches. “Right. Aizawa.”

“You guys can go.” Kirishima finds himself murmuring. 

They all stop and peer at him with a hint of worry at his soft, placid tone.

“Ei?” Mina asks.

“I’m staying.” Mina’s face grew pinched and dubious at his declaration but Eijirou refused to bend. “Just a bit longer ...I…” He inhales, gathering his strength as he thinks of the daunting task ahead. “...I’m gonna try to talk to him.”

His three friends share a glance. It wasn’t a secret that out of all of them -out of everyone in the class, really, save Midoriya- he was the most in tune with their resident hair-trigger classmate. If anyone here was going to get through to Bakugo, it was Eijirou.

At least that was what happened, usually. Mina or Kaminari would set the blond off and Eijirou would have to calm him down and Sero would be on restraining duty if necessary. This situation was alien to their usual interactions however. 

It just...didn’t feel like the normal rules applied here.

“Are you sure about this?” Sero presses.

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves them off, grimacing on the inside as he turns his eyes to the closed door in front of him. “I can wrangle him. Can you guys get some food ready for all of us? Bakugo too.”

Might as well get him to eat something. 

Bakugo could be sneaky when he wanted to, Eijirou was sure, but in the dorms it was hard to hide things. No one in their class had been blind to how Bakugo sneaked to the bathroom during training breaks on a regular basis. They were just too polite to say anything. 

That had to change, too.

Kaminari opens his mouth to respond -but he then suddenly blanches at points a finger at the tallest member of their group. “Sero can do it.” The blond demands, eyeing Mina warily. 

There’s no mistaking what he was alluding to. They were all there when it happened -and were the ones that put out the fire after Mina managed to nearly burn an entire casserole of rice into a crisp. At Kaminari’s accusation, the pink-haired girl ducks her head sheepishly. 

“That’s fair.” She doesn’t even try to defend herself, or argue. “As long as you don’t do anything either.”

“I’m banned from the kitchen anyways. Iida’s orders.”

Sero, who had been watching from the sidelines quietly, frowns at the blond. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, the toaster did!”

“...is that why it got replaced?”

“Maybe?”

For a brief moment, the tiredness and exhaustion festering in Eijirou’s heart lightened under the pleasant warmth of fondness he experienced at their bickering. His lips curl upwards, a faint, true smile forming on his face for the first time in the day.

There’s no need for much arguing after settling onto their game plan.

Eijirou watches on as they take their leave, Sero taking the lead. As she goes around the corner towards the stairs Mina pauses and looks back. Warmth spreads through his chest as his childhood friend smiles at him softly and jerks a thumbs up, the look in her eyes communicating everything he needed to know.

Good luck. We’ll be here if you need us.

Then she’s gone.

Leaving Eijirou standing in front of a door that felt closed in more than one sense. He looks at it, fighting back the urge to sigh. If he did, he was sure the blond on the other side would hear him and that would get him shut out permanently for sure.

I need to be careful.

He takes a step closer to the door, resting a hand on its surface.

“Bakugo?”

No response. Eijirou nevertheless heard something shifting behind the door. Was Bakugo leaning against it? Or was he standing near the door? Clenching his teeth, he rests a hand against the wooden surface. 

“Hey, buddy,” He swallows, trying to find the right words. It’s hard when he doesn’t know where to start. 

...how does he even start? He can’t just go ‘Hey Bakugo, you’re kind of in a slump, can you stop that?’ Eijirou knew what it felt to feel like shit —that’s how he’d felt during his three years of middle school. Simply telling people that things will get better wasn’t going to do anything.

He could try Mina’s approach... but he quickly dismisses it. Part of it, at the very least, because he knew Bakugo well enough to know that her in your face approach would only make the blond more distant.

Eijirou needed to be careful. Tactful. Caring without coddling.kills that he was unsure that he even had, but like hell he wasn’t going to at least try . That’s what friends are for, after all, and Bakugo had dealt with enough of his shit during Finals and throughout their first semester. 

He could at least be man enough to return the favor.

“Bakugo, I know you’re in there, man,” he says to what felt more like the door than the person hiding behind it. Eijirou forces his way through the nerves and continues more firmly, yet keeping his voice soft. “I know you’re awake, I can hear you. Please open the door.”

Then he catches it. 

A quiet, soft sound of distress.

Ice crawls up his veins. Eijirou takes a step back, looking at the door differently. Was Bakugo having a fainting spell or was he sick in there? Maybe he should have stayed at the infirmary after all!

What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt? Should I break down the door?

Voice rising, he calls out:

“Bakugo, are you-”

The sound of wood splintering reaches his ears too late. 

The last thing Kirishima sees and hears is the loud crash of splintering wood and then a multiple of hard things slam into his chest with the strength of a speeding truck.

Darkness follows soon after.

.

.

.

He hears them walk behind him as he goes up the stairs to his room floor. They weren’t very subtle when they entered Height Alliance, and they still weren’t once Katsuki was out of the prying eyes of their classmates.

Part of him wanted to tell them to fuck off. It’s a big part of Katsuki. The desire to be alone -to be somewhere quiet- was nearly overwhelming.

It hadn’t left since he crawled under the stairs like a pathetic wreck. And it's not the only thing that stayed when he first opened his eyes in Yuuei’s infirmary.

How should we approach this?

Blasty looks so tired, fuck. He needs to sleep.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this exhausted.

I don’t know what to do anymore.

Katsuki wants to snort. That makes two of us.

At this point, he doesn’t even try to make sense of those stray thoughts that most definitely were not his. His mind is numb and empty and trying to dwell on this impossibility costs more energy than Katsuki could muster. 

The dots were dismissed just as well. Or were they still dots? They were fuzzier than before, more vague, transparent shapes than just dull spots, swarming over people like little clouds. Katsuki pathetically tries hard to not look at them, keeping his gaze away from those around him where they seemed to swarm.

His body is on autopilot. He’s not really aware of himself until he feels the coldness of metal under his hand. Blinking, Katsuki realizes he’s standing in front of his door room. 

Ashido, Kirishima, Sero and Kaminari are standing behind him, still following since the infirmary.

There’s not enough strength left in him to sigh.

“Stop following me.” 

“We’re just trying to help, Bakugo.”

He nearly feels like laughing. “I can go to sleep on my own.” 

“Bakugo, man,” There it was, the lecture. “...I know you don’t like people helping you, but please. At least let us in, okay? You’re really not looking good.”

As if I didn’t know that.

He tries to quell the surge of irritation he feels at the comment.

“You’re stating the obvious.” 

And yet, he’s not even denying it.

That’s Kirishima. Had to be. That or he really was senile. Katsuki’s really too tired to think about this -or anything, for that matter. He just feels so goddamn tired and heavy; his body feels like it's made of lead.

God, he just wants to curl up in his bed already. Just go to sleep and pray the next day was slightly less shitty.

“But he has a point.” Kaminari interrupts. Ashido’s nodding gently at his side, fixing Katuski with eyes that silently pleaded for reason -like a child that needed to be appeased. “You’re not alone here, bro.”

Katsuki feels a rare surge of emotion go through him. It’s warm and bristly and makes his palms heat up. It’s a ugly feeling with an uglier urge that he follows without much push -by slamming the door closed on Kirishima’s face.

Silence.

….or so he thinks for half a second, because soon enough it is back again.

Might as well get him to eat something. 

Damn it. He reaches up for his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp in a vain attempt to get it to just stop . He clenches his teeth hard enough to hurt.

None of this helped distract him — just as expected. Part of him wanted to scream at the injustice of it, but he’s just too tired to try his hand at it. Too… numb. Or was it overwhelmed? He’s not sure anymore.

He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

Scowling silently, Katsuki let his hands drop at his sides. Defeated, he goes for his bed. Maybe some sleep will help fix things. At worst, Recovery Girl could figure out what was happening tomorrow.

He’s only halfway there when his legs promptly buckle under him.

The noise that leaves his lips as he barely catches himself from crumbling face first onto the floor. He lands mostly on his side, a quiet omph escaping him as he lays there, stunned. His vision swims for the longest time.

Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds and then opens it again.

The dots are there as always, thinner now in numbers. He hadn’t turned the light on, so his room was plunged in mostly darkness and shadows.

Grimacing, he places his hands flat on the floor and moves his legs under him to support him. Katsuki manages, but it’s slow and tedious. Just moving his legs felt like moving lead weights. Unusually so. What was…

Twisting his torso, he looks down at his legs.

And promptly freezes.

Black.

It’s dripping from his exposed skin, emerging from hair-thin cuts in the form of fracture patterns. Katsuki watches, feeling detached from his own self, an observer absorbed in the way his pant legs grow darker and darker and start tearing in place, threads sliding out like snake amongst the fabric and sliding slowly across the floor like living snakes.

And just like that, it happens.

He’s back in his body and it hurts . Wetness gathers in his mouth and he chokes, opening his jaw and feeling something drip out of it. Katsuki feels his eyes widen as they begin to sting, something akin to tears running down his face but he knows that’s not it, those aren’t tears at all-

It’s dripping out of him -out of his mouth, out of his eyes, out of his nose and ears and he feels like he’s going to burst. He is going to burst, Katsuki realizes numbly as he watches skin on his arms split open with tiny cuts from where more black drips out.

It ...doesn't hurt. Not as it should. Katsuki stares at the black sludge, watches as it creeps down his arms and legs, pooling on the floor. It's more of a sting. 

Like fractured glass his skin breaks, allowing more of the oil to seep out.

The shadows curl around him, twisting, shifting shape. There’s long, black whips that grow wider, thicker, and Katsuki can only watch as they suck up the matter dripping from him and grow and grow and grow-

From the corner of his eye, he spots one of the black whips rising up, hovering in the air next to his head, pointing towards Deku. Mute, silenced by something other than himself, he can only watch as the tip of the tendril unfolds like a flower, growing to shape an arrowhead the size of a fist.

Then it compressed itself into a familiar shape. The triangular blade from back in the infirmary. 

The one he saw in his reflection.

Katsuki watches as it lifts itself up, swaying in the air like a blade of grass bending to a gentle breeze. The arrow head was pointed at his face. 

It almost seemed to be looking at him.

His head swims. The wetness is in his throat, clogging it. His left hand grips at his throat in a feeble attempt to stop this. 

 He can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe

A soft, familiar voice reaches his ears from beyond the door.

“Bakugo?”

Is he alright?

It’s Kirishima again, both voice and thought, invading his brain with something that has him shaking. He can’t respond. He’s not sure he doesn't want to respond, there’s a part of him that’s kicking and screaming for him to make noise, to get someone to notice -but he’s terrified, rooted in place, mind slow to react to what was happening to him.

The way the oily darkness was sliding off his skin was familiar. 

Too familiar.

If Katsuki focused on that sensation out of the hundreds that he was feeling right now, he could imagine the black matter dripping out of him to be shiny and green.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bends his head low, fighting back the nausea as pressure builds up in his head and he feels like he’s about to burst and if only he can make them quiet-

Shut them up

Silence them

The thoughts manifest in his head and he makes no move to block them out, to kick them away like he’d done previously. More muffled sounds come beyond the door. 

“Bakugo, I know you’re in there man.”

There’s the prickling again. Running up and down his spine, almost stinging in its intensity. Worry creeps up his nerves, a cold that does nothing more than to add to the conflicting clouds of information his brain struggled to sort through.

A burst of unexpected anger rushes through Katsuki, and he has to stop himself from-

...what, exactly?

“...don’t you want it to be quiet?”

Katsuki’s eyes snap open.

Black meets his eyes.

The woman.

Pale as alabaster, just when he’d seen her in the infirmary window. Her eyes are dry, bloodshot things, her lips as dark as the oil -shadows, they were shadows- dripping out of Katsuki’s body. She’s kneeling in front of him, bent low, her thin, skeletal frame almost engulfing his.

She never blinked, not once. Her demented eyes pinned Katsuki where he was, silencing him.

“So loud, all of them. So many things. So many thoughts. So many feelings. Soak it up until we burst.” The apparition murmurs like she’s thinking back to a time far away, nothing but more black visible in her mouth every time she spoke. “ Everyday. Any day. No stop. Ever .”

She pauses, head tilting. Almost considering, the first of a normal emotion Katsuki sees from her. Those bloodshot eyes roll in their sockets to meet his. Katsuki feels no fear. He feels nothing, to be honest. Nothing but cold and heaviness.

The same feeling reflected in her eyes. Only, if less worn. Less torn down. Younger.

Not quite there yet.

“He told me if I do it, he’ll make it stop.”

The woman looks down. 

Katsuki follows her gaze. There, cradled tightly by a spindly, emaciated hand lay a pair of goggles. The square lens were cracked and dirty. He looks up again, to her black, oily, dead eyes.

“You make it stop too.”

She leans closer, so close, face to face to him now. The dots are gone and the only thing he can see is her wide, bloodshot eyes and her dark lips. Her face was frightfully blank and dead. If she was real, Katsuki was sure he would be smelling her putrid, rotten breath.

Her eyes were turning dark, white shifting to grey shifting to black until finally, the entire orb was a deep, beetle-black color. 

“You can make it quiet too. He promised me. He can do the same to you, too.”

Katsuki’s own eyes hurt. They prickle and sting and he can feel something wet gather at their edge.

He hears a voice beyond the door behind him. It’s distant. The voice in his head though -that, that is loud and clear.

What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt? Should I break down the door?

Kirishima’s thoughts were just a distant chatter now, growing fainter and fainter, lost in a sea of feeling and thoughts Katsuki knew now with certainty were not his and he wanted them out

And just like that, something snapped inside him.

The woman with the brown hair was gone. Instead, the shadows around him rise up in a swirl, swallowing his body until the only thing he can see was a deep, black void. They’re alive, squirming, condensing, twisting into familiar narrow shapes that gleam in the faint light coming from his window.

Katsuki was tired. He was worn. He felt fragile and slow and he wanted nothing but to

MAKE IT ALL QUIET-!

-sink.

The sound of splintering wood and a choked scream are the last things Katsuki hears before his mind fractures and dissolves into a whirlwind of pain and noise.

.

.

.

Shouto's on the stairs when the building quakes.

His hand on the railing tightens, securing his balance during the split second that the stairs shook under his feet. Befuddled by the way the building rattled all around him Shouto peers up the stairs, frowning.

Behind him, in the common room, he hears his classmates start to get up and speak, their conversation having been abruptly silenced by the quake.

“...what just…?”

“Was that Bakugo?!”

“Crap, I knew Kiri couldn’t handle Blasty-!”

Shouto blinks, looking back towards the main room. Ashido? Were they back? Did they come down from the elevators? Wait, they left Kirishima with Bakugo? 

Alone?

He has to clench his teeth at that realization.

I should go see what’s going on.

A part of him still hesitates, even if it feels like the right thing to do because, in a way, it felt like getting in between things. If it was an argument between Kirishima and Bakugo, Shouto was certain the redhead had the ability to stop his friend. But Bakugo should also know not to let off an explosion like that inside a building.

It could be something serious...

More murmurs. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor as its user gets up feel unbelievably loud to Shouto’s ears.

“-I’ll go see Kacchan.”

Shouto hears footsteps following that quiet, but firm declaration.

Midoriya is standing at the bottom of the staircase. Their eyes meet, the older boy’s green ones alarmed yet holding a weary dullness. Like he’d accepted whatever mess they would find up there.

Wordlessly, Shouto moves forwards and climbs up the steps, hearing Midoriya follow close by.

The climb takes only ten seconds at most given the way they rushed up -Shouto caught his classmate jumping a few steps- and within moments his hand is on a door that’s he’s pushing open eagerly, giving them access to the third floor.

All at once, the smell hits Shouto first.

Dust. 

Drywall. 

And something cold and faintly metallic that he couldn’t quite place.

When he steps forward, into the hallway, his feet collide with something small. It draws his attention down. There’s little brown objects strown across the floor, in between pieces of what looked like drywall and dust.

...wood chips?

Shouto’s gaze travels upwards as he walks forward -and he freezes at what he finds, heart skipping a beat.

Bakugo was standing in front of his now destroyed door, slouched, hands dangling in front of him.

There’s something at his feet, half-buried in the broken wall in front of the blond. Shouto’s heart makes a nauseating lurch when he spots a bright burst of red on the person’s head. It was an unmistakable shade.

Kirishima.

Did they fight?

Todoroki turns his gaze back to Bakugo. The shorter boy wasn’t moving. Merely standing where he was he was… eerie with his placid complacency, his unmoving figure cutting a sharp contrast amongst the pale walls of the hallway.

At Shouto’s side, Midoriya makes a soft noise and steps forward, almost passing Shouto. His voice is hesitant but unyielding as he calls out to his childhood friend:

“Kacchan.”

Bakugo seems to grow even more still. He was mostly with his back towards them, but there was something in the rigid way he was standing, the way his shoulders were drawn tight -Todoroki could see the way his muscles were bunched under his uniform. A uniform that was splattered in black marks, like he’d taken a tumble in a muddy ditch.

Why were his clothes dirty?

It’s too dark to be dirt.

“I just….”

So soft, so tiny, his ears barely picked those whispered words up. Shouto fights a shudder.

The light fixture above them flickers. He quickly glances up at it, eyeing the lightbulb. The uncomfortable feeling only grows and grows,  like a parasite.

Bakugo’s shoulders twitches, a spasm that has the hair at the back of his neck rising up. It only grew worse when he heard the blond speak again, this time a little less vacant and a little more lost:

“...t-to make it stop… ”

Slowly,  Bakugo turns his face towards them. Midoriya lets out a hitched gasp. Shouto’s body freezes in place at the sight of Bakugo’s face. Nausea rises up his throat.

His eyes are black .

It’s dripping out of his eye sockets, dripping down his shirt like slime or pus or some other uncomfortable things Todoroki didn’t want to consider. There’s no red or white in sight -just deep, deep black, inhuman and devoid of emotion, set on a face that was alarmingly pale and blank. His lips were as black, and the oil-like substance came out of his nose as well in tiny slivers.

Bakugo turns the rest of his body towards them; a movement that is stuttered and rigid, nothing like Shouto learned to expect from the blond. He does not speak at all, just watches them.

And does nothing.

...was he expecting them to react first?

Was the person in front of them even still Bakugo? There was something clearly wrong with the blond, something horribly wrong, but he was still Shouto’s classmate ...right? 

That didn’t matter. Not as much as the realization that they had to get to Kirishima. Shouto scans the corridor, trying to find a solution...and that’s when he spotted it.

The shadows were moving.

Shouto freezes in realization. It’s on the ceiling. On the floor. On the walls. Its prowling closer, slinking like snakes about to strike.

Bakugo’s face suddenly twists into the most inhuman look of hatred and he screams .

-and the shadows on the walls become real and solid , detaching themselves from the walls and savagely lunging straight at them, tips as sharp as a blade.

Shouto reacts on instinct - Ice rises up from the floor,  a thick sturdy barrier of gleaming white separating them and Bakugo.

The things slam against the improdumpt wall with enough force to make the floor -no, the building- shake. The ice forms cracks on its surface -on his side, no less.

That’s when Shouto’s wariness fully blooms into panic. He’d made the ice thick to absorb the blow, if it could do that with one hit…

They needed to get out of here.

Now.

“Run!” He barks at Midoriya, who is frozen in place, shocked. 

He tightens his grip on his friend’s shirt and hauls him in front of him. Midoriya makes a weak, lurching attempt at going back but Todoroki’s grip is unyielding and the wall of ice he keeps shoving behind him as he runs ensured that there was no way his friend could go back.

Hopefully Bakugo would be too interested in chasing them to care about Kirishima.

Shouto keeps running, body working on autopilot as he shoves Midoriya into the staircase and goes down by two steps at the time. His friend flounders at first, but Todoroki is heavier and full of adrenaline, so he has no issue practically carrying down the other boy.

And that’s how they burst into the common room . 

Stumbling, gasping, pale and out of breath.

Shouto’s too frazzled to pay too much mind at their reactions; he drags Midoriya with him, unsteady on his feet like he’s run several miles. He’s stopped by a large form stepping in his path and a hand resting on his right shoulder, steadying him. A glance up allows him to see blue eyes and a pair of square glasses.

Iida.

“Todoroki!” The other boy says far too loudly for his tastes, expressions full of concern. “What’s going on?!”

“We need to get out.” Shouto explains, out of breath. “Now- we need to get out of here, now .” He knows he sounds crazed, but Midoriya is catatonic from shock and he’s probably still thinking of Bakugo and Kirishima and shit, they didn’t even know if the redhead was still alive but if they go back Shouto knew they were dead- “Grab everyone and get out of the building, now! We need to contact the teachers!”

“Wha-”

The ceiling over their head cracks.

Long, jagged marks suddenly spread across the ceiling like a spider’s web. They all freeze, staring.  Shouto hears the sound of clinking metal. His blood turns cold.

It’s coming.

Iida is the one who breaks out of his stupor first.

“Go!” He orders, spinning around and grabbing Yaoyorozou and Mina roughly by their arms before shoving them towards the front door. Within seconds he’s picking up Mineta and grabbing Kaminari by the arm, dragging them forward. “Come on, we need to evacuate now !”

The rest of them are slow to react, but Iida is a terrifying presence. Soon they’re all up from the seat and slowly being pushed towards the front door. There’s yelling and jostling and digging their feet, wary glances thrown upwards and Iida’s loud barks to move it!

Seeing that everyone was finally following protocol, Shouto grabs Midoriya by the arm and starts tugging him after the group. At the jostle, some of the numbness in his friend’s eyes fade, replaced by fear and panic. He makes a move towards the stairs.

“No, Kacchan-!”

Shouto plants his feet to keep him from going towards the stairs -towards what he’s sure is certain death. 

“Midoriya, don’t!” He hisses, insistent. Midoriya shakes in his arms, eyes wide. He wasn’t even using his Quirk. Todoroki understood. He was confused and lost, too, but unlike the green-haired boy, he managed to keep himself together.

Unfortunately, Midoriya’s call was heard by the other students.

“Shit.” Kaminari exclaims, pausing as the realization struck. Both Sero and Ashido do the same. Part of the group of students stop moving, which only makes Shouto grit his teeth.

They don’t have time for this!

“Where is he?!” Ashido speaks up, head turning wildly back to the elevators. “Where’s Ei? And Bakugo?!”

Ei.

Eijirou.

Kirishima.

Shouto’s heart stutters when he remembers the twisted, sprawled body at Bakugo’s feet, half buried into the wall. The mop of red hair was unmistakable in its familiarity. It had to be Kirishima -who else would be lurking around on Bakugo’s floor? Shouto didn’t remember him coming down before the building shook.

The body had been Kirishima, no doubt. 

If he was alive or not, that Shouto did not know.

….and he’s uncertain if it’s even safe to go up to look. In a small, confined area like this his Quirk was the weakest; his defensive capability with ice is the only reason he and Midoriya hadn’t gotten skewered by that thing coming out of Bakugo like a parasite.

His ice only blocked one blow, though. If he ran straight into the thick of it again, Shouto was certain he wouldn’t be so lucky.

This is a life or death situation. We can’t do anything here -we need the teachers.

He catches Ashido looking at the stairs, eyeing them with wide, panicked eyes. Her shoulders tremble and her legs are shifting under her. He moves immediately, intersecting her as she lunges for the stairs.

His hand clamps around her upper left arm and he stops her short, now holding both her and the still shocked Midoriya. Ashido makes a snarled noise and tries to tug away, but he holds firm.

“Let me go!”

“You can’t go up there.” He tells her, breathless.

“What are you doing?!” She growls, eyes full of worry but her lips curled back in desperate, protective anger. “They’re up there aren’t they? If its villains then they need our-”

“We need to go. Now.”  Shouto cuts her off immediately. Time was ticking and they couldn’t frolic around, not now. “I don’t know what that villain is, but we can’t wait.”

Someone makes a frantic noise.

“...villain?”

The air grows thicker now, more panicked as students exchange glances. Sero, Kaminari and Ashido especially looked restless. They were probably worried about their sickly classmate but how could Shouto explain things? How could he say that this was all his doing? 

That Kirishima might be dead and they were all in danger?

At his side, Midoriya makes a soft noise. He’s still in shock, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling like his brain still can’t believe what he had seen. Shouto can barely believe it himself. Bakugo’s big, black, oily eyes seemed like they had been straight from a nightmare. Or an illusion.

But it was real .

“Kacchan’s not a…” Midoriya starts, but his voice breaks as he shakes his head. “No, he’s not-”

Kaminari makes a garbled noise. “Wait, you’re saying Bakugo did-”

Midoriya tries to tug away, a weak attempt but still one. Shouto feels a flare of heat coil up in his belly. 

“Stop dragging your feet! All of you!” He snarls, turning his attention to his classmates. He can’t believe they are still writing, especially after what just happened. “We need to leave now and get the tea-”

The ceiling explodes.

Students scream and leap away as dust and pieces of drywall rained down on them. Shouto jumps back, dragging Midoriya with him. He looks up, spotting a familiar black thread speeding out from the gap in the drywall.

No, not a thread.

It’s a chain.

Black as night, oily almost -the same exact texture as the shadows that had spilled out of Bakugo’s body. It tears through the ceiling and slams into the floor, ramming straight through like a bullet tearing through flesh. And keeps going. Big, sharp, three-sided chain links the size of his hand fly by at blinding speeds, their sharp edges eating through the flooring with ease.

It’s under their feet now, Shouto realizes with a sudden sense of numbness. It’s trying to circle them. 

Trap them.

He turns to his classmates and shrieks:

“Go!” 

Wood and drywall explodes just above their heads, right in front the front door. If it wasn’t for Iida’s quick thinking, the two students at the forefront of the group -Jirou and Koda- would have been ripped apart by the sudden volley of chains tearing through the ceiling and slamming into the wood floor.

...effectively blocking their main way out.

Fuck .

“The windows!” Uraraka yells over the loud, screeching sound of metal scraping together, pointing at the huge glass panels.

Shouto moves forwards towards them but then there’s a flash of crackling green and Midoriya is there, faster than any of them, a loud cry leaving him as he punches one of the glass windows open. It shatters into a million pieces.

Another crash. More parts of the ceiling break above their heads, plunging them into further chaos. Shouto sees the sharp triangular heads and thinks of the only he can do in his panic; he sends his Quirk out, covering the ceiling and walls with ice.

There’s a moment of silence.

Then it starts up again. The clinking of metal against metal, all around them. In the walls, the ceiling, under the floor. There’s not knowing where it would come next. Shouto can only reach out with his Quirk and attempt to reinforce the ice he’d created with more ice.

“Fuck, fuck!”

“What’s happening!”

“Someone set off the alarm already! We all have one in our pho-”

“I did! Teachers should be here soon!”

“The windows we need to-”

“I’m on it, get close to me!” Uraraka speaks up again, gesturing them to come close as she stands close to the now broken window. “I’ll use my Quirk to get us all down!”

They don’t need further encouragement. Uraraka grabs the firsts to get there -Ashido and Aoyama- activates her Quirk and throws them out with a war cry. The sky outside is dark but Shouto catches a quick glimpse of them landing below in the grass.

They could make it-

“Wait!” Sato yells as Mineta is send out alongside a trembling Hagakure. There’s panic in his voice, which is somehow heard over the crashes of the things slamming over and over against Shouto’s ice. “Tokoyami and Shoji aren’t here, they’re in their room! Someone has to go get them!”

Shouto’s stomach drops. Fuck.

Kaminari speaks up in a panic, waving his arms. “We can’t do that!”

Midoriya speaks up: “I can-!”

Iida’s voice quickly cuts him off. “NO!” The class president yells, commanding. He’s grasping the gravity of the situation, it seemed. Good. “We have to get the teachers! We’re only going to get in the-”

“But they could die !” Midoriya responds with a desperate voice. Shouto closes his eyes as he sends another flurry of ice to reinforce the walls. He could hear the ice crunching, shattering under the attacker’s blows. It wouldn’t be long until they pierced through.

Not long at all.

He tilts his head back to look at the lot of them. Midoriya looked like he was about to do something -something else than getting out like the rest of them, and it made Shouto’s skin crawl.

“But nothing.” He says as coldly as he can, catching Midoriya’s attention. Green met mismatched blue and grey and Shouto did his best to pin him in place with a glare. “We’re all going to die if we don’t get out of here. The only way we can hope to save everyone is if we get help .”

People might be dead before then, though, a cruel voice murmurs in his ears. It makes Shouto falter.

...which is all that was needed, in the end.

“Todoroki!”

The sound of ice splintering is his only warning before he feels a warm body crash against his side and the sudden, sharp burn on the side of his face. Eyes wide, Shouto stares at the black chain flying by him at eye level like a speeding train, unstoppable like a raging river, inches from his face as he falls over, Midoriya sprawled out on his lap.

More crashes follow. But Shouto only has eyes for the first chain that made its way through -because it was heading straight for the group of students. It’s sharp, arrow-like end was aimed straight for Jirou’s paling face. 

His stomach lurches. He tries to get up, tries to reach for his Quirk  -but he knows he’s going to be too late. Midoriya is realizing that too, if the terrified sound that leaves him as he scrambles to get up is any sign:

“No-!”

As it closes in a mere three feet away from her face, a familiar person leaps in between, shirt boldly open and stomach exposed as a bright, multicolored flare of light spills from her belly. 

Iida cries out in concern from where he’s guiding Asui out the window. “Momo!”

Clang.

Metal meets sort-of metal.

The long haired girl can only answer with a scream as she braces all her weight against the massive, huge shield she’d just created, desperately trying to avoid it from tipping over. Shouto could barely see her from his position but he spotted her suddenly thinner, frailer arms shaking furiously as she tried to hold on.

Sparks flew. Jirou, Sato and Sero all rush up to push back, arms straining as the apparition continues its trajectory, seemingly determined to break through. It ricochets with a horrible metallic shriek against Yaoyorozou’s shield, scrapes a long, deep scratch across it’s surfaces as it presses in, almost as if looking for a way in. 

Then it suddenly it jerks away, bouncing off the curved metal surface-

- and right through Uraraka’s left shoulder.

Chapter Text

Aizawa’s barely down the main staircase when his phone starts blowing up with student alerts.

He’s only brushing past the front door of the main school building, Midnight and Hizashi at his heels, when Yuuei’s alarms start to wail .

The cries of the alarm pierced through the night, echoing down the mountainside. From the furthest campus building to the city below, everyone could hear the shrieking, high pitched sound of Yuuei’s defence system activating. Already Aizawa could hear the rumbling of the palisades going up and the metallic shrieking of the surveillance robots and their more offensive counterparts activating. The machines were very same used during the entrance exams and usually in one of the Sport Festival events, just with most of their code toggled off.

The noises were only distant sounds for Aizawa, for the only thing he could hear was the thundering beat of his heart as he runs across the campus, not even looking at his phone. 

No need to look at it, not when Aizawa’s ears picked up the crashing and groaning of a building being damaged and the familiar sound of people screaming .

The closer they got to the students’ dormitories, the louder they became. Up ahead Aizawa spotted someone standing in the road, frantically waving them over. Her bright ginger hair gleamed under the street lights.

Kendou. 

The president of Class 1-B. 

At her side stood a familiar young man, his pale silver hair practically gleaming under the moonlight. Tetsutetsu. The boy with the metal hardening Quirk that was similar to Kirishima.

“Eraserhead!” Kendou cried out upon seeing them, the girl frantically beckoning them over. “It's Class 1-A, they're being attacked!”

Aizawa didn't even stop. He kept running, past them and heading towards the curve in the road that marked the start of the on campus living buildings. Behind him, Nemuri and Hizashi did the same. He could see people gathered there, young teenagers. None of them his -they looked to be from Vlad’s class, and a few more from other programs. They must have gotten woken up by the noise.

How extensive was the attack?

Kendra runs after him, similar to Tetsutetsu. Aizawa takes the opportunity to bark out:

“When did it start?”

“We heard screaming, just a few minutes ago.” Tetsutesu panted as they run alongside Aizawa and the two other professors. “It's just their building that is being hit. We’re trying to get them out of there but we can't get any closer!” He cried, sounding half angry, half frustrated.

It was a feeling Aizawa shared.

They'd just gone through Kamino. His students were supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be over, at least for now. His class should be focusing on preparing for the Provincial exam, not fighting for their lives.

Not again.

Not so soon.

Fucking dammit! 

He reaches the crowd in record time, pushing through them swiftly. They parted like water in front of him, their terrified gibberish barely reaching his ears. Their faces were one of terror and confusion, making their calls even worse.

“Mr. Eraserhead you're here!”

“Thanks god we don't know what do-!”

“Should we call the police?!”

“Oh god, it's the League, isn't it??

Aizawa grits his teeth. It better not be the League, for the sake of their own goddamn safety-

When his eyes lay on Class 1-A’s dormitories. Against his will, despite years of having witnessed the worst of the worst from humanity, Aizawa’s heart skips a beat.

It’s destroyed.

The once gleaming, brand new building is but a wretched reflection of its former glory. Every window was shattered, parts of the walls were utterly destroyed with nothing but gaping holes left behind. And from them long black shapes  circled the structure like a spider’s legs. The moonlight barely reflected on their sharp edges.

Tendrils? Shadows?

No. Aizawa squints, struggling to see with only the moon to light his way. It takes him a moment to recognize the shape.

Not tendrils at all.

Chains.

Big, black, sharp edged chains tipped with arrowheads that tore their way out the dormitories and curled around to sink back into the structure, spearing it over and over again in a frenzy. And from within, Aizawa’s ears picked up the sound of yelling and screaming.

His heart dropped.

He starts running forward again, parting the crowd of students until he reaches the gate leading into the property.

Mineta, Hagakure, Ashido and Aoyama sat on the grass lawn, holding on to each other, shaking. Mineta’s blubbering, clothes smudged with dirt, unable to get a word out to the other students around him. Hagakure is slumped against him and Aoyama is very, very still, face drained of blood. And Ashido-

-Ashido was screaming , desperately trying to claw towards the building. Only the combined efforts of Hagakure and Mineta plus a few of the crowd held her back.

“Let me go! I need to save Ei, Bakugo too! We can't leave them in there! They're going to die! Denki! DENKI ! Do you hear me?!”

One of the older students from the other programs holding onto her gasps as she elbows him in the side. It’s someone Aizawa recognizes but can’t quite put in their name in words, not with his mind being somewhere else. The blond haired third year doesn’t let go even as she shrieks at him to do so.

“Stop it! Let me go!” She snarls like a wild animal, twisting furiously in their grasp. “They said Bakugo did this but it can't be-!” Ashido’s angry screams dissolve into another row of sobs, broken.

Aizawa feels his blood run cold.

Bakugo.

Bakugo did this.

His mind runs wild. Bakugo. Bakugo sick and pale and looking dead. Chiyo’s words come to the forefront of his mind, the original reason he'd bolted from his office, Nemuri and Hizashi at his heels.

‘There’s Trigger in the boy’s blood!’

He'd failed his student. Again. All the signs that something was wrong were there but he'd put it to Kamino and how traumatic of an event it had been for the child-

...but it was now eerily clear that whatever had been happening with Bakugo was much more sinister. Beyond just shock.

The villains did this.

They did this and his students were suffering because of his negligence-

Crash!

Students scream and cry as the dormitories shake down to their very foundation, the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering echoing through the night as chains emerge from the walls of the building, sailing through the air and twisting to dive back inside with a shower of rubble.

It wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Shota!” A familiar voice calls behind him; within moments Nemuri and Hizashi were with him, pausing to gape at the destruction in front of them. Hizashi balks. “Fuck, what’s going on-”

“Bakugo might be causing this.” Aizawa interrupts, voice cold despite the thundering beat of his heart. He turns his gaze to Hizashi. “The students -they’re still in there . We need to get them out.”

Hizashi mutters a curse under his breath as he takes in the damage.

“We’re not getting in through the front door. We’ll be getting skewered.”

He stands there, helpless. There’s no way they could get in. Aizawa tries to use Erasure on the chains he sees, but it's ignored. He needed to find the user, the villain who had managed to sneak in-

‘They said Bakugo did this but it can't be-!’

...or maybe there were no villains at all. Maybe there was no extra person inside the dormitories after all. Maybe Aizawa’s failures had finally caught up to him in the worst way possible.

A crash and a sudden plume of rubble and ash has Aizawa’s eyes snapping up towards the roof of the dormitory. The chains were faster now, more furious, coiling like a spider’s threads as they aimed towards the center of the commotion.

Darkness rose from the rubble, night-kissed hands spreading wide, pushing the chains away. The tendrils try to wrap around the appendages, stabbing at them with their sharp ends while the familiar blob of dark matter struggled against them.

Even before it rose up high, a familiar bird-like head roaring up at the moon, Aiawa knew what it was.

Dark Shadow.

The Quirk shrieked in absolute fury as it batted the chains away, struggling to rise up into the sky. It’s utterly gigantic, half the size of the building, eyes tainted a deep dark red that shone like twin suns among a dark sky.

At that moment, it truly looked like a demon.

Dark Shadow was utterly rabid, smacking the tendrils and shrieking into the air as it fought to get out of the building. Aizawa couldn’t see Tokoyami from here, but he has no doubt that the boy was inside that storm of black matter. It looked like his Quirk had gone out of control exactly like how his students described it in the Summer Camp, so the teenager had to be wrapped within the Quirk, safe.

Or, as safe as he could be, for the next thing Aizawa knows Dark Shadow shrieks in anger and pain as three different chains pierces through its center, swirl back in the air and stab right through the creature’s face, merciless. More reach out, tips shifting shape like smoke to create serrated hooks that sunk into the Quirk’s belly and dragged .

The sound Dark Shadow makes has several students screaming and clutching their ears. Pain, pure and undilued, the maddening cry of something that was drowning in agony and wanted out. The earth practically shakes from the shriek; Aizawa’s ears ring as badly as if he’d been on the receiving end of Hizashi’s Quirk.

Tokoyami’s Quirk strains against the binds, shadows swirling and pushing the chains taunt. It’s entire massive body shook from the effort-

CLANG!

The black chains shatter with a sound not unlike breaking glass.

Dark Shadow twisted in the air,  it's center mass rising up high, splitting open and forming two long, slender wispy wings as well as a great, phantom bird head, more solid than Aizawa had ever seen the sentient Quirk be. The creature roared, loud and angry, it's deep bellow making Aizawa’s bones rattle.

Plumes of rubble rose from the dormitories as more chains stretched out, slicing through the air like bullets after Dark Shadow but the Quirk wasted no time, batting away the blades with it’s massive wings whilst simultaneously using the limbs to propel itself upwards, out of range. It screeched in a way that seemed almost frustrated as the chains stretched out for several meters after it.

...but then strained after a few meters and slowly, like a great whale breaching the surface of the ocean, tilted to the side and burrowed back into the dormitories, turning their attention to destroying the building.

Dark Shadow flies hazardously away, wings lagging, body tilting and wispy, a echoing cry leaving its gaping maw as it flew away from the building. Students scream as it passes overhead, nearly blending with the night sky if it wasn’t for the way its massive body blocked the stars and its bright, angry red eyes glowed like twin moons.

“Stand back!” Aizawa turns his head around and barks at the body of students standing by, watching on with horror at the carnage. “Now!”

He can barely hear his voice over the chaos. The students scramble back, terrified -but not his students, not Aoyama nor Ashido and Aizawa mutters a curse under his breath as he darts forward, wraps a arm around each of their torsos and bodily drags them away.

The blond student helps without another word, picking up Mineta with ease under one arm and Hagakure in the other. Ashido kicks in Aizawa’s grasp, screaming, mindless in her terror as Aizawa bodily drags his students out and puts them down onto the main road of the dormitories where most of the crowd of students were watching.

He quickly spots Nemuri running up to him, the woman wide eyed and pale as she tracked Dark Shadow’s clumsy flight across the sky. The Quirk’s wings beat wildly, sending the creature spiralling off to the side. Away from the destroyed dormitories, but not quite far away for Aizawa’s sanity.

It crashes into the trees next to the dormitories and grows terribly, awfully, still, shadows melting into steaming black mist as it began to slowly shrink on itself. The red of its eyes dims...then vanishes into the darkness, blind.

The closer Aizawa gets to the Quirk’s body, the more vague and faded the apparition seemed. Dark Shadow was dissolving, leaving only behind at its heart a pile of limbs.

Tokoyami and Shoji.

The larger of the two students was wrapped around Dark Shadow’s host. He was wearing casual clothing that was soaked with blood, blood that Aizawa quickly realized was coming from the multiple lacerations dotting the teenager’s skin.

The bladed chains. 

They had pierced through Dark Shadow’s defense. Not fully to rip the students apart, but enough to reach them and deal grievous damage. The smell of blood was thick in the air, growing worse the closer Aizawa got.

And close he goddamn did, rushing towards his students and pulling them apart to gauge the injuries. Tokoyami is practically untouched but Shoji got the blunt of the chains’ attacks. The lacerations are worse up close; he grimaces as he starts ripping the boy’s shirt off, trying to make some makeshift bandages out of them.

Rapid footsteps alert him of someone’s approach. He barely glances up in them to recognize the person, then gets back to work doing what little he could do.

“Nedzu and Cementos are coming, they’re bringing my equipment to deal with this.” Nemuri breathes out through gritted teeth as she rips the lower half of her shirt off and begins to secure Shoji’s numerous wounds. She wraps the tattered pieces of fabric tightly around the injured limbs. “The sleep bombs that I use for hostage situations. Hizashi’s taking care that no one gets close -the rest of the students are still inside.”

The punched out sound that leaves Aizawa’s lips is a lot louder than he anticipated. Nemuri falters just long enough to glare at him.

“Don’t you dare step a foot close to that building.” She grunts as she pulls at the makeshift bandages, securing them around the wound she was working on. Shoji groans in pain under her, but does little else. “You saw what that did to Dark Shadow. They hit you -you’re dead.”

“I know.” Aizawa growls under his breath as he aids her, feeling utterly helpless as he hears something else break inside the dormitories several feet away. “...the rest of them are inside.”

Nemuri grimaces.

“I know, Shota. I know.”

And that was the worst part -her defeated, frustrated attempt at comfort. Because there was nothing they could do for now.

You all better live, brats.

.

.

.

“Uraraka!”

His best friend screams and Izuku can do little but watch, useless, as the chain pierces right through her shoulder. Her blood splatters, something -bone- crunches and she screams in a way that Izuku had never heard someone in his life scream before.

The chain goes clean through, spearing her and crashing into the glass behind her, shattering it. It freezes moments later, as if registering the hit -then it arches up, dragging Uraraka upwards towards the iced-over ceiling and suspending her by her ruined shoulder. Her screams redouble, legs kicking and uninjured hand reaching up to try uselessly to dislodge the weapon, only to pull away as the sharp edges of the chain links bite into her palm with ease.

There’s so much blood, too much blood -it’s a macabre, horrifying sight that pins Izuku in place from the sheer savagery. Feet rooted to the ground. Stomach in his throat, threatening to get rid of its meager contents.

“Uraraka!”

“Oh my god-!”

Someone else screams, startling him out of his shock and flinging into wild, sharp terror that surges up him and demands action. He scrambles up as the chain pulls back, dragging Uraraka with it across the room like a speared fish. 

At his side, Todoroki slaps his hand down on the floor and sends a flurry of ice it’s way, managing to create a pillar of ice that freezes part of the chain middair, stopping it’s retreat. It wiggles, shaking the screaming Uraraka as it fought against the ice.

Izuku’s mind is suddenly struck with a realization. It was trying to yank her towards the other chains. Chains that were just as sharp and fast and would undoubtedly rip her to pieces-

The scream that leaves his lips is unrecognizable even to his own ears. He lifts a arm, clutching his hand into a fist and pulls it back, a roar ripping it’s way out of his mouth as he aims and lets the punch fly:

“SMASH!”

Wind howls and the floor in front of him explodes from the pressure of One for All’s fury, a path of destruction that carves its way through the room and crashes into the pinned chain. To Izuku’s surprise and relief, the not-metal shatters like glass and melts away, turning into fumes that dissipate within seconds.

The rest of the chain goes with it, not just the part that was obliterated. The disintegration runs upwards, through Todoroki’s ice and all the way into Uraraka’s shoulder.

Izuku rushes to her as she starts falling but Iida is faster, catching her and sweeping their friend up in his arms carefully. The restrained cry Uraraka made as she was caught tears through Izuku’s already aching heart. He stumbles towards her, a whimpered version of her name leaving his lips as Iida’s knees give out under him and he gently settles Uraraka down as softly as he can given the half-iced over texture of the floor.

Yaoyorozou was there without question, light spilling from her thinning waist as she pulls out a roll of compression bandages from the maelstrom of particles.

“Hold her.” She hisses to Iida as she starts ripping off Uraraka’s shoulder, exposing her upper body and most importantly, her serrated shoulder. “It’s...deep.”

Any other moment Izuku would have felt embarrassed by her state of undress, but that thought barely even registered in his mind as he watches Yaoyorozou try to salvage Uraraka’s shoulder and put it back together again. The way the shoulder sagged against her torso, the near clean cut that nearly sliced the limb off -nausea nearly got Izuku right there and then once more.

If the chain had rotated while it was inside Uraraka’s shoulder, it could have torn it clean off and ripped her apart.

Just as that horrible, disgusting, horrifying little dark thought exploded in the forefront of his mind, he hears ice shatter. Stomach dropping he whirls around, One for All screaming under his skin like it had never done before, restless as he spots a gap in the ice above their heads. Three chains had made their way through and were now heading for the bulk of the group.

Izuku lunges, but someone else was already ready.

Ice crashes into the blades, so cold Izuku feels it down to his ones. It sends the chains back, veering off their intended path and making them sink into the walls by the group. Todoroki is quick to sweep his Quirk over the gap, sealing the compromised section with even more ice. By now most of the room was covered in it, and what wasn’t was mostly destroyed by the chains.

“The windows are blocked!” Jirou cried over the chaos. “We’re stuck! We need to fight our way out otherwise-”

Her reply is drowned out by the sound of screaming metal, but Izuku knew exactly what she was saying.

They had to escape.

Or they would die-

The noise suddenly stops. It takes a few seconds for it to register to Izuku’s ears, and a few more seconds to understand what was happening.

The chains stopped moving.

Clink. Crack! The metallic sound had Izuku nearly jumping out of his skin.

He notices right away the change in the chains sealing the windows they tried to escape from. The link of the chains -they had shifted shape, more lozenge-shaped, edges sharp and paper thin. It reminds Izuku of the time he’d gone to the open market with his mother and saw a man fillet a fish with a thin knife. The flesh of the animal had parted easily, back then.

As he thinks that, the chains start moving again.

The movements are far faster somehow, tearing through the ceiling walls and flooring around them. Any time they charged at the group Todoroki bated them away with ice, but there’s only so much he could do. The bladed ends twisted into themselves like the tip of a drill, burying themselves in the younger teenager’s ice with effort -but more easily than before.

Oh.

It was angry .

Whatever it was -it was furious and wanted them to know just that. Just how much it wanted to rip them apart.

The first break comes right under their feet, slicing upwards like a spear sinking into a lake in search of a fish. It catches on the side of Sato’s foot and nearly takes it right off had the taller teen not screamed and jumped away in pain from the sudden agony.

“Gha-!”

Kaminari and Ojiro catch him as he stumbles; Todoroki ice the floor over, but there’s only so much they can do.

Todoroki’s ice couldn’t hold it back, not any longer. Izuku sees the fear in his friend’s eyes, the realization. It’s on his other classmates as well, on his other friends -every last one of them is realizing that they are quite stuck here, trapped, and living on borrowed time.

Warmth in his right hand startles him, making him look down. A hand, holding his tightly. He follows the hand up its owners arm and meets a familiar face.

Asui.

She was clutching his scarred hand tightly, her unusually calm expression twisted into something dark but accepting. Resignation, almost.

It’s a terrible, terrible sight to behold.

“We need to clear a way out!” Sero yells over the sound of screaming metal. “Midoriya, can you break through them?”

Eleven pair of desperate eyes turn to him, expecting and hopeful. Uraraka is too out of it to participate, sobbing through choked breaths as Yaoyorozou finishes dressing the gaping wound as much as he could. The sudden rush of attention might have made Izuku nervous any other day but now his blood was adrenaline and he very much wanted to get out of here, now, with everyone.

“I-I can try!” Izuku begins, sweeping his gaze back to the blocked windows. Todoroki had made barriers there as well to block an attack from there, but if he used his Quirk… “We’ll have to rush out-”

“Some of us can’t run!”

“Are the teachers even outside?!”

“Calm down!” Iida yells over the chaos, uselessly as more of them continue to panic. “We need to think -don’t panic!”

It’s hopeless. Izuku’s fear embodied and he’s certain his classmates are in his shoes. The more he looks around the more he just sees ice and gaps in the ice that showed some remains of their common room. There’s no real way out and the front doors while he could see them no longer, they had to still be blocked by the chains.

He unconsciously tightens his grip on Asui’s hand, fighting back the urge to scream as his mind scrapes together plan after plan only to-

The ice to his left explodes.

It’s not even four feet away from him, the sudden impact sending him reeling. He looks just in time to see his worst nightmare come true. A chain, long and sleek and seemingly carved out of a vast empty night sky emerges, gleaming. The blade doesn’t even stop and instead flies towards Asui, undeterred. 

Like a bullet. 

Izuku knows right there and then there was no avoiding the hit.

We’re going to die.

There’s not even half a second to prepare or try to act. Instinctively he twists around, grabbing Asui and pushing her out of the way as hard as he could, silently hoping he could at least shield some of the damage-

CRACK. THUD.

Izuku startles, head snapping up towards the sound. The chain that would have certainly killed him was gone ...or rather, there was a dark grey wall standing there instead, blocking the way.

A stone wall. There’s cracks on it, but the sudden source of his salvation held.

No, Izuku realized as he looked it over. That’s a concrete wall.

The sound of rattling metal intensified, but so does the sound of rumbling earth. The ground shifts under their feat, making them all cry out as walls rise up around them, covering the ice, blocking the blades that managed to tear through Todoroki’s Quirk. Some of the barriers crack, but they are smoothed over as quickly as it occurs.

Cementos looks almost like an angel as he emerges among the concrete barriers. His arms and shoulders are littered with cracks and his clothes are shredded, but there's a victorious, a determined look in his eyes as he extends a hand towards them and roars:

“COME!”

.

.

.

When they emerge, battered, crying, broken, from amongst the rubble, Aizawa feels relief like no other.

Cementos shoves them out as quickly as possible. Aizawa wastes no time going after him, uncaring of the danger his flimsier body would be under as he reaches the doorway and grabs the first few students up and tosses them out towards the grass where Hizashi grabs them.

The chains try to stop them from coming out. Hizashi’s there, his shrill shriek a furious wave of sound that hits the three chains head on. They shatter like glass, dissipating into fumes.

Their end tips were longer, sharper, more like lances than blades.

It’s adapting to what it needs to do. Aizawa thinks as he grabs Iida and drags the limping boy forward, past him and towards safety. I t’s intelligent.

Or Bakugo is controlling it.

The thought was terrible and sour.

One after the other his students come out, Cementos warping more and more of the structure to block the chains. Todoroki was helping, the boy’s skin pale and frigid as he stumbled out of the ruins of what should have been his new, safe home, limbs shaking from hypothermia. Still, he helped Cementos form more barriers between their soft, squishy bodies and merciless attackers.

They move as fast as they can. One by one each of his students emerge and Aizawa finds that with each new head popping up the easier it was to breathe. Even when he saw Uraraka and the river of blood she left behind as Iida ran out into the street, carrying her tightly in his arms. Nemuri rushed after him, no doubt to help. Recovery Girl was already on her way; he had no doubt that his student would be taken care of.

“They’re all out!” Cementos exclaims as he stumbled out of the dorms, rising a wall behind him to escape the chains’ wild swipes. He was shoving Sero forward, forcing the boy out even as the child stumbled on his feet, limbs locked with fear.

They’re all alive.

Aizawa grabs the last stragglers and drags them away, his fellow teachers doing the same. In Iida’s arms Uraraka looked like she would need urgent medical attention, and so would Todoroki. But they were breathing. They were alive .

Only….

Only two were missing.

Bakugo and Kirishima.

Aizawa looks through his students, quickly finding that few looked in a state that would yield him a coherent answer. Only one seemed close to it -whilst not uninjured, the way his green eyes stared at the eviscerated building

Stalking up to the boy, Aizawa blocks his view with his body and grabs his shoulder, shaking it slightly to get him to focus on him. It works. Midoriya’s bulging eyes flick quickly down to meet his.

“Where’s Kirishima?!” Shota all but commands in as even of a voice as he can muster.

“I don’t know.” Midoriya exhales with a shudder, his green eyes wide and unfocused. Turning to look at the dormitories once more, past Aizawa’s face. “We heard a crash and went up -he was by Kacchan’s feet when...when…”

Aizawa grinds his teeth together.

Shit.

He turns towards the dormitories, eyeing its state. It looked ready to collapse. Hizashi and Nemuri had started throwing her canisters into the broken building, spreading the sleep-inducing gas.

A hand grabs onto his forearm, making him look down. Green eyes filled with a mixture of pain and confusion looked up at him, silently pleading. 

“It’s not Kacchan.” His student whimpers, denying. “W-what that was -it’s not Kacchan’s fault. He wouldn’t...he’s not…” Midoriya shakes his head as Aizawa opens his mouth to respond, incoherent. “Kacchan would never…” 

Aizawa exhales.

“Kid, I-”

Green eyes meet his, full of unshed tears.

“He...he looked like he was in so much pain .” The teenager whimpers, choking on his own emotions. “He was in such -why didn’t I realize that something was really wrong? No, I knew and I still-” 

Whatever he wants to say next is buried under a pile of choked sobs and oh, does the sounds he makes reach deep within Aizawa, nestling in his heart and festering there like a terrible fever. 

‘I knew.’

No.

We all knew.

And they did nothing. They stood around and waited and chalked it up to simple trauma when it was becoming more and more clear there was something worse lurking under Bakugo’s skin -and in this case, maybe literally. His students were paying for his mistakes, his failure to assess Bakugo’s illness as more than just an illness.

One of them might be dead right now.

There’s suddenly shouting, dragging him away from those dark thoughts. Aizawa whirls around, forgetting about Midoriya as he looks towards where a few of the students and teachers alike were watching.

A chain had torn the front door apart, splintering the remains of the door. Stretching forward, the links that made up it’s sharp body seemingly endless as it reaches out towards them, slower than before.

Someone screams; Aizawa activates Erasure and finds it to be in naught once more.

And yet, the chain goes still, collapsing across the lawn.

No one dares to breathe, no one dares to get close. Aizawa stares in disbelief at the black, sleep shape spread out across the grass like a snake.

Then-

Sounds. The clinking of metal grows louder and louder-

The blade is yanked back, sliding across the grass and dragging across the pavement leading to the destroyed door. It’s dragged through what remains of the stairs, chains thumping loudly as it’s sent flying up, hitting the doorframe hard enough to make Aizawa’s body rattle. It digs into the wood, breaking it, crushing the concrete wall as it finally breaks through and rips through the whole front of the building, breaking the front wall right in the middle like an egg.

The chains were retracting.

It was over. 

Soon enough, there were no chains left in sight, no more collapsing walls and shattering glass. The sound of clinking metal faded away to nothing, leaving the mortal world to haunt Aizawa’s dreams instead. Nothing escaped the dormitory. The world went quiet.

Everything was quiet.

The only thing left was the groans of the building’s damaged frame, and the distant wailing of the school’s sirens.

.

.

.

By the time Midnight gave them the clearance to go inside the building, dawn was rising.

The building, barely just built and used by the students, was a decrepit, destroyed shell of itself. From outside Aizawa could hear the creaks and groans of its foundations, the way it oscillated dangerously in the faint summer winds.

Hizashi, Nemuri and Ishiyama walked at his side, the latter creating support beams to hold up the devastated structure. He did his best, but it was clear that the dormitories were at a loss cause.

The first floor and the second floor were practically one thing, the roof barely recognizable. All the windows were shattered. The kitchen was gone. The elevators were a twisted mess of wires and metal at the bottom of the tunnel. No place was left untouched.

Ishiyama made stairs to help them reach the second floor.

More destruction greeted them above, the shattered remains of ice structures littering hallways that were full of holes.

Quickly enough, Aizawa’s eyes catch a glimpse of familiar red hair among the rubble.

Kirishima.

Aizawa rushes forward, hearing the rest of his companions do the same. 

He falls to his knees next to the boy, quickly pulling off the pieces of rubble that fell on his student. Kirishima looked like a mess, his clothes tattered beyond repair. There’s a thin dribble of dry blood running down his face, and his chest -exposed, clothes torn apart- was a mess of bruises.

And yet, against all odds, he was breathing . Some of the tight knots in Aizawa’s stomach relaxed.

“He’s alive.” Hizashi breathed out at his side, breathless.

Nemuri’s chuckle was as fond as it was hysterical. “Tough little kid.” She murmured, trailing her fingers through the dirty red hair to check for head wounds. She turns to Aizawa. “I think he hardened before going unconscious. He’s all soft now, but it might be what saved him.”

Unable to say anything to that, Aizawa merely nods. Part of him knows he should be happy that all nineteen of his students made it out alive, but he knew better. This was a miracle.

And number twenty had still yet to be located.

“I’ll get him out.” Hizashi volunteers, quickly cementing his declaration by sweeping his arms under Kirishima and carefully prying the boy up. “Whoah, he’s heavy -nah I’m fine,” He defends when Ishiyama moves to relieve him of the weight. He cradles Kirishima against his chest, making sure to put his head on his shoulder. “He’s a bit chunky but I’m good. You guys go on ahead. My Quirk will just make things worse.”

My Quirk will just make things worse.

Aizawa knew what he was implying.

Bakugo had yet to be found, and Hizashi’s Quirk was not suited for close combat. Especially in such a damaged, precarious structure. He could trigger a collapse.

Of all of them, he was the best bet to get Kirishima to safety. To get the help the boy undeniably needed. Aizawa had to go onwards; there was still someone they had to reach. The last student left in the building and the one who, if his students’ distressed explanations were to be believed, was the cause of all of this.

Hizashi looks at him for approval, and Aizawa can only nod. 

“Go. We’ll find Bakugo.”

“You take care of yourself, Shota.” Hizashi replies, eyes dark with uncharacteristic seriousness. The kind he only saved for when he was on the field. 

“I will.” Aizawa replies a bit more harshly, gesturing him to go. “Get him to Recovery Girl. Now.”

And off Hizashi went, barely saying goodbye to Nemuri and Cementos before he darted off and left them in the ruins of what should have been a new start.

It doesn’t take them long to find him.

Bakugo was laying on his right side further down the hallway, body turned towards them. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be deeply asleep, lost to the effects of Midnight’s powerful Quirk.

And yet…

Something within Aizawa grew chilly and cold at the sight of him. 

Namely because of three things. The dark, bruise like patterns under his eyes, the unusual dark shade of his lips and...and the way the same black material that had been spread across the building was slowly oozing out of his ears, eyes, nose and mouth, even as he slept on, put under by the effects of Nemuri’s gas.

Aizawa pauses, fighting off a sudden surge of emotion at the sight. His two companions do as well, stopping short a few feet behind him.

“Shota-”

“Stay there.” He demands immediately as he takes a single, cautionary step forward, eyeing his student lying like a broken rag doll across the floor. 

They let him, so Aizawa focuses. Bakugo’s oh so very still, so he keeps approaching, keeping his movements slow. His senses were all in alert, ready to unleash his Quirk on the unconscious child. There's a small but sizable pool of ink-like substance around him. Oddly enough it doesn't stick or stain his clothes like a liquid. 

It's just - there .

What are you? He thinks as he leans over the boy. There's a distinct smell in the air -something cold. Metallic. It has the hairs at the back of his neck rising. What did they do to you, problem child?

Bakugo, of course, could offer no answer. At least, not verbally. He merely lays there, still asleep from Midnight’s pheromones. The oil keeps dripping, dripping and dripping, slow and steady. The edges of the puddle spread slowly -Aizawa denotes the way it flaked and disintegrated there, as if it couldn't survive outside of the host body for long. 

He walks closer, starting to kneel down.

Something to remember for Chiyo-

Bakugo’s eyes snap open.

Deep, oily black devoid of any humanity or emotion stares up at Aizawa, making him freeze on his track from sheer surprise. He moves to back away-

Faster than the human eye could track, faster than he should be capable, human and weighted down by Nemuri's Quirk, Bakugo’s suddenly leaping right at him, a nearly inhuman shriek leaving his lips. His face - a warped vision of pure, undiluted hatred that had his blood running cold.

“Shota!” Someone, likely Cementos, cried out behind him but he can't turn to look, can't race in time and as he goes down to the floor, he feels a pair of small hands wrap themselves around his neck and tighten to alarming, bruising strength.

Aizawa gags at the sudden pressure. He tries to kick Bakugo off, but the boy was like a boulder above him, his weight pinning him down. He resorts to raising his fists and punching the blond in the head, only for Bakugo to not move an inch and his hands to wail like he'd punched a tree.

Helpless he grabs onto the fingers digging into his neck, trying to get them to uncoil. He hears and sees Ishiyama drop down behind him, hands reaching to help. 

Nothing. It’s like he is trying to bend cold steel with his bare hands. Bakugo stares down at him with those glazed, black eyes, undaunted. The black miasma was dripping down on Aizawa’s face, colder than ice, the sensation not unlike tiny needles digging into his skin.

He’s going to lose. 

And just as he thinks that, Midnight appears at his side, tackling the child.

Only for Bakugo to stay right where he was like a heavy rock, hands still stealing away Aizawa’s air.

Through the haze of pain and quickly depleting oxygen, he watches as a curse comes from the woman and she shifts against Bakugo who ignores her completely, wrapping an arm around his head and shoving his nose into the side of her shoulder.

Within moments, his grip started to slacken. 

Dots dancing around the corner of his vision, Aizawa gasps for breath as he can finally yank at those clenched fingers, successfully prying them away from his aching neck. Bakugo collapses back to the ground with a resounding thud -more sound than someone of his weight should make.

The way he’d been completely unbothered by all three of their attempts at getting him of told Aizawa enough. He's heavier than he should be. Not uncarriable, but certainly distinctively heavier than a boy his size had any right to be. 

Midnight’s practically wrapped around him like a koala, panting and wheezing from exertion as she kept using her Quirk on the boy.

“You okay, Shota?” She wheezes, looking over to him. Her face is all red.

“....yes.” Aizawa touches his neck, grimacing. “It was close.”

“I couldn't get him to move. At all.” Cementors pointed out, gasping. 

Midnight nods shakily.

She keeps Bakugo’s face tucked in her neck, forcing him to inhale her pheromones directly from one of the strongest sources; the series of glands hidden under her skin in her neck that secreted her Quirk. Midnight had them all over her body, but these were the most effective sections at close range. Strong, but not enough was released to spread in the air and affect those around her.

Aizawa still felt lightheaded, but he knew it wasn't from her. He was going to have a nice ring of bruises from this.

But it had been done.

Bakugo had been contained. If not momentarily.

As Cementos helps him up, Aizawa can’t help but look down at his student, taking in the pale, greyish complexion of his face, the bags under his eyes, the black veins sticking out sorely under his nearly transparent skin. The boy was slowly starting to look less like a human being and more than a corpse, and it ate at Aizawa to see.

He should have done better. 

Bakugo deserved better.

Now he was hurt in a way Aizawa couldn’t even begin to comprehend and he was at a loss as to what to do. There was nothing he could do now; it was all up to Recovery Girl and Nedzu, and he wished on his parents’ graves that they would find a solution to this.

There was nothing for him to do here.

Instead, he had to comfort his students -those who he could still protect, whom he hadn't completely failed yet.

Aizawa turns his face away from the small body in Nemuri’s grasp and for the first time in a long time, he allows the wetness to gather at the corner of his eyes and fall.

I'm so sorry, Bakugo.

Chapter Text

Toshinori wakes to the blaring of his phone’s alarm.

“A phone call is here! A phone call is here!!”

There’s another sound. Not as loud, but sharp. Repeating.

It’s hard to pull himself up, his body struggling to answer the call of his fully awakened mind. It’s slowness he’d known before, that he’d fought against more and more as the years went by, but now that the warm embers of One for All had left his body for good, it had become even harder to fight against.

He knew he was getting old and his injuries were dragging him down, strength bleeding out of him. But he’s never felt every last one of his years weigh on his bones until now as he stumbles out of his bed and his bones creak, his muscles ache, and his eyes are bleary and fighting to focus.

Finding his phone in the half darkness of the room was difficult. Toshinori used the thin stream of light coming from his new apartment’s window to guide him. He grabs his phone case, turns it around and slides the call button across the smartphone’s screen, too sleepy still to check the name of the caller before answering.

“Hello?” He murmurs as he sits up on the bed, legs dangling on the side.

The response comes swift and blunter than a steel hammer. “Where are you?”

Toshinori blinks at the familiar voice, brows furrowing as he registers the other man’s tone. There’s an urgency in his fellow teacher’s voice, a sharpness that commanded attention and chased away the last remains of slumber from his clouded mind.

“Aizawa.” He greets simply, something telling him that polite platitudes were unwanted. He gets up, heading for his closet. Something tells him that he wouldn’t be coming back to bed any time soon, not with the underground hero’s tone. “My dorm. What is it?”

Aizawa exhales through the phone, an unexpected sound made even further strange by the low, docile tone he takes next. 

“You need to get to the main building. The infirmary.” 

Toshinori’s heartbeat stutters. The shoe he was holding with his other hand falls to the floor with a clatter.

“What?” He warbles, voice rougher and more lost than he’d ever expected out of himself. He looks out the window, frowning as he tightens his grip on the phone. “Aizawa, what happened?”

“It’s Bakugo.”

There’s no delicacy in the response. It’s Bakugo. Just like that, Toshinori’s heart drops and something ugly rears its head in his chest, a compressing ball of anxiety and dread that grows and grows until it fills every limb and chases every sane thought from his mind.

If it’s at this time of the night -no, dawn, he realizes as he catches sight of his clock and finds 6 AM displayed on the screen-- then it must be grave. Critical, even.

What could be urgent enough for Aizawa to call him at this time? They’d all thought -Toshinori thought it was just trauma. That Bakugo needed to adjust -or that he’d worried so much that the teengaer got himself sick.

Swallowing, he starts. “...god, he’s sick isn’t-”

“No.” Aizawa cuts him off. “It’s not an illness.”

He grows silent. 

Hesitating.

...Eraserhead did not hesitate .

“Aizawa?” Toshinori pressed, his own heart quickening as he receives no immediate answer.

Aizawa exhales again, but this time it’s stiffer. More restrained. Like he was trying to get a hold of a boiling pot of emotions and it made Toshinori even more uneasy than he already was feeling.

“As it turns out,” he begins, voice dry and quiet in a way that betrayed his nerves. “...something did happen at Kamino.”

Toshinori is out the door not even a minute later.

.

.

.

Izuku jerks awake, gasping for breath. He’s -there’s something soft under him, a bed? He sways as he pulls himself into a sitting position, eyes wide and vision blurry. Panic and the urge to get up and do something is the first thing he’s aware of. Like a fish on the end of a string he’s pulled forward, his sleepy mind and equally exhausted body stumbling awkwardly to respond to this invisible call.

He has to get somewhere -to someone? To do what? Izuku’s not sure but he lets his instincts take the reign. He moves to get up but the unmistakable sensation of a large hand pressing on his chest, forcing him back down on the bed gently has him startling and letting out a wheezed attempt at questioning this interloper.

As he tries to decide whether to fight off this person or submit to their silent demand, his eyes start adjusting. The first thing he sees are dark blue hair and similarly colored eyes hidden behind glasses.

Wait. He knew that person….

“-Midoriya?”

That voice. Izuku’s mouth moves slowly when he warbles:

“...Iida…?”

“Midoriya, thank goodness!” His friend exclaims in a hushed voice, leaning over to him. His face is paler than usual and he has eyebags. It was disconcerting to see them on his friend and reminded him of their hospital stay after fighting Stain. “You’re awake.”

Izuku sits up slowly. The hand Iida has on his chest goes to rest on his right forearm, squeezing gently in comfort. It helps him find his voice.

“Iida…” He repeats, swallowing. “...what happened? How did I get here?”

He remembered being led to the infirmary. Leaning on Iida’s side, the world failing to stay upright and tilting all around him as the infirmary descended into chaos. It had been hard to focus on anything when his mind was torn in different directions, his worry for his classmates meshing with his confusion at what happen, his horror from the events that transpired and Kacchan-

….he must have passed out.

From shock or exhaustion. Training for the Exam always left him exhausted and sore and after what happened...

“You collapsed.” Iida’s voice is soft and firm and yet full of worry. His brows are set low, twisting his expression into a frown. “Recovery Girl thinks it was just shock.”

Oh. He was right then.

“...where’s…?” Izuku starts, looking around with bleary eyes. His voice trails off as he finds that he was yes, in the infirmary, but in what looked like a recovery room with two beds.

Todoroki is in the bed next to him. The boy is swaddled in blankets, his mop of mismatched hair poking out haphazardly from the pile. There’s a bandage on his cheek where one of the chains nearly tore his head off. Izuku shivers at the memory. His eyes are closed and he seems deeply asleep, but there’s the hint of a frown on his normally impassive face. 

It didn’t look like a peaceful sleep at all.

“Hypothermia.” Iida murmurs, reminded Izuku of his presence. He turns to see his friend looking at Todoroki worriedly. “He overused his ice side.”

Izuku bites his lower lip.

If he didn’t, we would have all been dead.

“How’s...how’s everyone?” He murmurs softly, watching as Todoroki slept on.

Iida sighs next to him, shifting on his seat. “Uraraka got transferred to the Musutafu General Hospital for surgery for her shoulder.” He tells him.

Izuku flinches at the memory of his friend’s arm. There had been so much blood and her screaming…just remembering had his chest growing tight with a mixture of horror and grief. She shouldn’t have gone through that. None of them should have, especially Uraraka. She didn’t deserve that. 

Iida continues talking, persevering even though he seemed to be hesitating. The worry drips from his quiet voice as he informs him; “They expect a full recovery, although she will need therapy for the next five months to regain full mobility in her arm.” 

Five months. Izuku let that revelation sit in his head like a lead weight. That...that was a long time. Especially given how busy they were at school. There was no doubt it would affect her education. And the Provincial -it was just around the corner.

“That’s….good.” Izuku slumps, focusing on the warmth of Iida’s hand on his leg for comfort. It helps him keep his mind steady and away from a cliff of panic. “....is everyone else...?”

His voice tapers off, too hesitant to complete that sentence for fear of what he would get in return. Iida’s expression grows solemn, the older boy picking up on his hesitation and answering:

“Shoji was badly hurt.” The class president murmurs quietly. Izuku’s heart jump. Shoji. He’d been the one alongside Tokoyami that weren’t in the common room. “-he got injured protecting Tokoyami. Dark Shadow shielded most of the attacks but he still ended up pretty hurt. From what Recovery Girl told me it’s not that serious, though.” “...and Sato is undergoing surgery for his foot. It was almost severed.”

“....Kirishima?”

“Battered. But alive,” Iida informs him. A weight is lifted from Izuku’s chest that he wasn’t aware of. “His training paid off. A few broken bones, but his hardening saved him in the end. He’s fine.” Iida sighs. Faintly, Izuku feels him squeeze his leg a bit. He says nothing to remark on that. “We all survived.”

His declaration doesn’t have its intended effect on Izuku. He grits his teeth as the memory of black eyes and a hateful, madenned expression demands attention at the forefront of his mind. 

Surviving wasn’t the same thing as living.

Izuku wants to say something akin to hat, but he falls silent as Todoroki shifts slightly in his bed, a soft sound leaving the pile of blankets. His expression relaxes a tiny bit more. Quietly, Izuku wonders what he’s dreaming. 

There certainly wasn’t any reason to dream.

Time passes on quietly. Iida leans against the bed more, eyes fluttering. Izuku asks him if he wants to lay down but his friend shakes his head, stubborn in keeping watch over him and Todoroki. The gesture was heartwarming and chased away some of the heavy, prickly grief in his heart.

This moderate peace lasts up until, five minutes later, the door swings open. Izuku’s head snaps towards the door, eyes widening as he recognizes the newcomer.

All Might. His mentor looked aged ten years as he stumbled into the room, clad in what Izuku can only assume were pijamas. He’s got a tan coat on but it’s half hazardous put on him, painfully reminding Izuku of the times prior to Kamino when his mentor would walk around deflated in that yellow suit made for his powered form.

He looks tired and too pale, too lost, and that was not a look Izuku ever wished to see on the man he admired since childhood. Especially when All Might’s eyes landed on Todoroki, looking pained, and that expression only grew when his eyes locked on Izuku.

“Midoriya,” Izuku’s not ready to hear his mentor sound so rough. All Might wets his lips, nervous as he takes a step forward, and then another. Only faintly did Izuku register Iida discretely moving away to sit at Todoroki’s feet, clearing the former Pro-Hero’s way to him. 

His teacher closes in the distance quickly, thin arms reaching wide and wrapping around Izuku’s body tightly. At the sudden touch, Izuku feels as if a chasm suddenly opened within his chest, an urge to grab and hold and hide that demands him to wrap his arms around his mentor and squeeze back just as tightly. 

All Might merely squeezes harder, a shuddering breath catching Izuku’s attention and making that ugly pit of feelings swell up with something even uglier. “Oh my god, my boy, I’m so sorry…”

‘Sorry.’

Izuku’s mind is swarmed by memories of black eyes and black chains and the screams of his classmates.

He thinks this is his fault.

“A-All Might…!”

The attempts at speaking get stuck in his throat, digging their claws in and refusing to get out. Izuku chokes them and the sudden wave of wetness gathering as everything that passed in the last few days surges up at the sight of his predecessor.

Kamino. 

All Might’s end. 

Kacchan .

There’s just too much to think about and Izuku doesn’t want to think anymore. He wants to go back to sleep and let his mind go blank but his soul wasn’t letting him. It was digging its heels in and screaming as it pointed to Kamino, to All for One, to Kacchan and the horrible, terrible night they’d all just gone through.

It was too much.

He can’t bring himself to speak. He starts sobbing and once it begins he can’t stop, the frustration keeping the gates open for his tears.

Izuku lets himself fall apart in his hero’s arms….because nothing feels right anymore.

.

.

.

Never before had Chiyo felt this conflicted.

She gazes down at the form spread out in front of her. The boy was strapped to the table and drugged up to his gills as much as it was possible, but still Chiyo can’t feel the slightest bit of apprehension. Metal clamps held Bakugo Katsuki’s wrists and ankles down. Propofol and suppressors had been injected into the boy to ensure he would not wake up. 

By all means, he was as dangerous as a newborn fawn. 

Drugged to sleep, chained, with Midnight standing near in case the drugs failed. Few villains ever got this kind of treatment.

And yet...the thing was, Chiyo just spent the past two hours with her elbows covered in children’s blood -the very same blood Bakugo had spilled not even three hours ago. 

She’s seen their tears, witnessed their confused terror as they were wheeled into her infirmary and helped stitch up the gaping wounds that were left in the aftermath. She signed off on Uraraka Ochako to be transported to the Musutafu General Hospital for reconstructive surgery in the hopes she would be able to regain full mobility on her mutilated arm.

So in her mind, she could be forgiven for skirting around the child.

Especially since even if he was under the influence of suppressors….Bakugo was still…

…. leaking .

A utterly revolting way to describe it, but Chiyo is dead on her feet and there is no true other way of characterizing it.

The black matter pools under his closed eyes and the corner of his lips, glinting under the bright white lights of the special cell they had to put the boy in. It’s not as bad as when Cementoss and Hound Dog carried the child out once everyone was evacuated from the street.

He’s not heavy -at least, no heavier than a boy his age was supposed to be according to the quick and tense weight in they did at the start. Chiyo trusted Nemuri’s word though; if she said that there was something wrong with the kid and he somehow managed to shrug off not one but two Pro-Heroes physically attempting to pry him off Aizawa by somehow weighing as much as a boulder, then this looked like something Chiyo would need to take a look at.

Too bad she didn’t know where to start.

This is completely unprecedented, Chiyo thinks sourly as she trails her fingers through the child’s sweaty, dust-covered hair, feeling the shape of his skull to check for wounds. Whatever the League did to him might be beyond my expertise .

It’s a ugly thought, but far from an unwanted one.

This had to be the result of a Quirk. If not something Bakugo had been struck by, then something they gave to him. Chiyo knew about All for One -she was part of the team that had to stitch poor Toshinori’s entire side together. She’d held the remains of his guts and shoved them back during an operation that lasted over nine hours. She knew . Knew the extent of the fight, knew the evil that they had to face -that Toshinori nearly died stopping. She knew -more so than most people.

While she was never in the frontlines for that fight, she had her own encounter with the villain through the wounds she had to heal, the people she fought so hard to save.

So in a terrible, morbid way, she knew what they were dealing with. Chiyo fights the urge to frown as she glances at the pile of documents resting on the small table next to Bakugo. The little classified tag at the top felt like it was glaring at her.

Has to be a Quirk the bastard gave him, most likely. But why didn’t anything show on the official records? His blood test is clear on  paper-but the one I took today...

Chiyo hadn’t been the one to take care of Bakugo after Kamino. When she was flown in it was straight to the same hospital, yes, but it was for Toshinori. The stupid, reckless man had destroyed his arms and damaged his spine with that fight and she had to work over time to save him from spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Bakugo’s medical needs and the mandated examination after being held for three days by the League had fallen upon a Commission-certified doctor. Chiyo had no idea who, but she would be speaking words with that person.

It was all building up to something she couldn’t quite confirm, but she would have to talk to Nedzu, quick. Whoever somehow fucking missed the child having Trigger in his damn system was going to haver their liscence revoked even if that was the last thing she ever did. The sheer incompetence was absurd and fucking revolting .

In perfect health her ass.

The boy hadn’t been in perfect health when he came back to Yuuei, and he most certainly is not in perfect health now.

Pale, almost grey skin, limbs twitching even in sleep, the skin around his eyes unusually dark as what she could only describe as black veins spread out under his skin like a macabre series of markins. Even in his drug-induced slumber his brows were set down, a faint expression that could only be described as in pain twisting his face.

Even in sleep, the boy wasn’t free of this suffering.

As she reaches the back of the boy’s neck Chiyo falters, fingers trailing over the nape again when she feels something soft and almost spherical that has her alarms ringing. A second, third sweep makes it clear. There’s no doubting it. 

There’s a bump at the back of Bakugo’s neck.

“Everything alright?” Nemuri’s voice draws him out of her stupor, quickly, Chiyo beckons her over with a hand.

“No. There’s something on the back of his neck,” she tells him, quickly turning her attention to the cuffs. There’s clamps on the other side of the table, so they could be transferred. Chiyo wasn’t going to have the kid unrestrained if she could help it, even partially. “Help me turn him on his back. Quickly, Nemuri.”

“Got it.” The younger woman quickly comes over and helps her, moving Bakugo to be on his belly after disconnecting the Quirk-suppression cuffs from the table and then re-latching them once the boy is back up.

His back was covered by a lacerated, black-stained shirt -Chiyo turns to grab her scissors but Nemuri beats her to it, handing it over.

“Thank you.” Chiyo says quickly as she gets to work, stripping away the ruined shirt from the boy.

Bakugo’s skin on his back is just as pale and transparent as his front. There’s black under his skin, running up his spine... and pooling around the nape of his neck, where the blackness was thickest and more present. It’s under the child’s skin and looks less like a marking and more like some kind of ingrown bump.

Her companion lets out a soft gasp at the sight. Chiyo herself can’t stop the low hiss from leaving her lips at the macabre sight.

“What the hell.” Nemuri murmurs at her side. “What is that?”

“Nothing good, I’m sure.” Chiyo answers her, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton balls from her table.

She dutifully cleans the area with the disinfectant quickly, then tosses it back to the table without a second thought. Site cleared, she takes what she needs -a scalpel and a cotton ball- before returning to Bakugo. The boy had yet to stir. She hoped it would stay that way. Even with all the drugs in his system, who knew what this thing was. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

Slowly, Chiyo presses the scalpel at the top of the bump and starts cutting.

More of the black matter flows out, dark and slick, shiny to the bright white lights. No blood. There’s something else however -something pale at mushier and the smell of putrefaction hits Chiyo’s nose, the familiarity making her narrow her eyes.

Pus.

There was an infection. Or the start of it, drowned under a sea of black tar. Chiyo frowns as she digs deeper, Nemuri hovering nearby. She doesn’t even need to tell the younger woman to clear the wound -she takes the cotton balls and does so around Chiyo’s work, keeping the leakage somewhat contained.

Chiyo feels something hard brush against the scalpel. Too hard to be anything normal and her hands immediately stills. 

“There’s something in here.” She breathes out through clenched teeth, eyes narrowing.

The nurse hears her companion take in a slow breath, heavy and full of restless energy.

“...do you think they put it there?”

Here, in the wake of what could have been Yuuei’s worst tragedy, there’s no need to wonder who they meant.

Chiyo grunts and gets back to work, replying bluntly, “Likely.”

She looks around the wound, barely distinguishing the foreign object among the pus and tar. It’s...something black, but not what is coming out of Bakugo’s eyes and mouth. It’s duller, not as dark, rough and small. Chiyo grumbles a curse under her breath as she snatches a pair of pincers from the plate and carefully grabs the object, pulling it out slowly as to not break it up. 

It comes out easily.

The first thing she noticed when it comes out was that it was round .

A rough, little black and grey sphere, nary smaller than her smallest nail. Its edges are uneven and flake away, the grey-white chalk exterior giving space to the darker section. Chiyo frowns the longer she stares at it, a ugly feeling growing in her gut. Part of her knows what this is. She’s had enough experience in the field -she did not know what it contained but she most certainly could connect the dots.

“...what is that?” Nemuri asks, hovering a metal bowl under her for Chiyo to drop it into.

“I don’t know.” Chiyo deflects, taking the cup. She hasn't set her discovery down in it yet, turning it to examine the item from all angles. The white bits flake off more and fall on the plate below.  “But it wasn’t supposed to be there-”

Bakugo spasms under her, arms flexing against their binds. Black twined under his skin like veins, threading across his pale flesh like a living, breathing tattoo. A strange, rumbling rasp leaves his mouth, the sound rough. It sends a bucket of cold down her spine.

Chiyo’s out of the way far faster than an old woman her age should move and Nemuri darts forward with a strangled hiss. The younger woman is already on him before Bakugo could do more than stir, a soft pinkish mist leaving her left arm as she wraps the limb around Bakugo’s face and shoves his nose into the pit of her elbow where her pheromones pooled.

They wait with bated breath for another reaction. Bakugo is still however and so very small on the table, strapped like a common villain. It made Chiyo’s heart ache with bitter anger.

This is not how a child should be treated.

...and yet here they were. And Chiyo’s best guess? They would have to move him somewhere else, and quick, before something like this happened again. Somewhere safer and secured. A cell.

Turning away, she looks down at the little round thing still held in her pincers, gleaming dully in the bright lights as if to mock her. Against her will her lips curl back. and while she is far from the kind of person to reach a conclusion before the results were secured, Chiyo had been in this work field long enough to know what she was seeing, as odd as the method seemed:

“I know what it is.”

“You do?”  Nemuri’s voice is quiet and firm in the vastness of the observation room.

“It’s a pill.” 

She hears a sharp intake of breath behind her. 

Chiyo can’t stop the sneer from growing on her face anymore. She takes the blob of matter and drops it with a sharp ting! into the metal cup. Black muck that still clung to it stained the brillant, clean metal.

“My best guess? A Trigger pill.”

.

.

.

“I want to see him.”

His request echoes in the quietness of the teacher’s lounge.

Barely of the three other occupants of the room twitch, tired as they were. They’re all stretched out on the couches, head tilted back, eyes closed. Only the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall and Toshinori’s own voice broke the monotony of the room.

Finally, someone moves. Present Mic leans forward, righting his spine and sitting up on the couch. His hands drop to his lap as he turns his head to Toshinori. The two other bodies on the couch -Nemuri and Ishiyama- slowly pulled themselves up as well.

“All Might,” Hizashi murmurs, voice firm but quiet in a way that shouldn’t come from such a bright and lively man. His blue eyes are dark and tired as they are levelled at Toshinori “...with all due respect, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His quiet bluntness catches him off guard. For such a flamboyant man, seeing Hizashi in such a state made Toshinori unsure of his own choices. 

He doesn’t know what to do anymore. Aizawa is off the campus, having gone to the Commission to report what happened. Toshinori had no idea where he was, but likely he was wrangling the public with the rest of the teachers. Whoever remained was either in this room, resting, or assisting Recovery Girl with settling the affected children within the infirmary.

It left Toshinori useless. -useless, powerless Toshinori .

“He’s my student,” Toshinori responds firmly, doing his best to mask his unease. He knows he’s being demanding, but he cannot let this go. Not yet. He hadn’t had a chance to encounter Bakugo since the day before during the training accident.

  This is my fault!

“You won’t like what you’ll see.”

Hizashi’s quiet response kills any sound from Toshinori’s lips. He stands there at the doorway he’d entered only a minute prior, feet rooted to the ground. Shirt still wet from Midoriya crying himself to sleep against him. It felt like a lead weight dragging him down.

Swallowing, he murmurs, “Please.”

There’s a sigh. Cementoss stands up, expression drawn and quiet. At his left, Hizashi frowns.

“Ishiyama..?”

“We might as well.” Ishiyama responds, stepping forward. He rolls his shoulders, wincing. Toshinori wonders when was the last time the man had slept -the alarm had gone in the late afternoon just as everyone had gone to sleep. It was four in the morning now.

Given the odds, it was likely Cementoss hasn’t slept since yesterday. Such realization tugged at Toshinori’s heart, making him burn on the inside with shame. As Cementoss steps forward, heading towards him -towards the door- Toshinori steps aside to let him pass as stammers:

“Thank you. I understand that this is-”

“You need this,” Cementoss cuts him off, shaking his head. There’s a dark look in his eyes that he doesn’t like, as if he knows something Toshinori doesn’t. His voice is heavy and rough as he continues, “No need to thank me.”

Toshinori breathes out a sigh of relief. Now if-

“But…” 

He freezes, faltering. Cementoss looks back at him, eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he turns around and starts walking. It’s a silent command for him to follow. Toshinori doesn’t, not yet. Not before glancing back at the two other teachers left resting in the lounge. Both look up at him with knowing, tired eyes. 

A ball of something builds in his throat and Toshinori ducks his head in an aborted bow before scurrying after Ishiyama, chest clenched tight.

They make their way out of the building, the sun just peaking over Yuuei. The sky is blue and bright, and if he had the heart and time, Toshinori would have paused to take it in. Neither, however, were on the table at the moment and as such, he scurries after Ishiyama, the Pro-Hero striding towards the west side of the campus, opposite to the dormitories.

It takes them six minutes of quiet, fast walking to get to their destination. A building Toshinori is not familiar with looms over his head soon enough. Three floors at most, with a flat roof and small, square windows. A bland, utterly unmemorable structure.

Save for the tanned man sitting at its front staircase, mask tilted up and hanging over his head, cigarette pressed between chapped lips. A deep red cloak with frayed ends rests on his shoulders, fanning around his sitting form. Dark eyes peer at them with somber curiosity as they walk up the path leading to the building.

“Good morning,” Snipe intones, voice rumbling and lacking any true light. 

Toshinori purses his lips at the bitter irony. In front of him, Cementoss tilts his head, looking up at the building.

“Good morning,” He responds softly, he as well refraining from sounding happy because in the end, there was no joy to be found here. Toshinori chooses to stay quiet, merely making a soft noise instead of greeting his fellow teacher. “Is he…?”

“Nedzu’s inside, yeah,” Snipe finishes, standing up slowly. The man grits his teeth as he stretches; Toshinori hears something in the man’s back pop with the gesture. “Second floor, room one. He’s not in a good mood.” 

That last part came out almost sounding like a warning.

In all of his years of knowing Nedzu, Toshinori had never truly seen the man furious. Nedzu tended to hide his anger, cooling it down to form an icy blade which he used to strike at just the right moment -thus a reason why the Principal of Yuuei was so feared. For what his physical strength lacked he more than made it up with his mind and his accumulated wealth.

Toshinori quietly dreaded what they would find inside.

“He’s with Bakugo?” He dares to ask, voice quiet.

Snipe regards him for a moment, something dark and tired passing through his eyes. Finally, the man sighs and takes a long, deep inhale from his cigarette like he was trying to get some strength from it. After a long while, he simply replies.

“As much as he can be with the kid.” Snipe shrugs.

That’s... not an explanation.

It’s something that Cementoss understands though, if the shoulder drop was anything to go by. “Thank you.” The man says as he steps past Snipe, heading for the door. It’s a metal door, oddly enough, with instead of a lock something akin to a card scanner -the same kind Toshinori remembers from the more heavily defended parts of Yuuei.

Tucking a hand in his left pocket, Cementoss pulls out what he immediately recognizes to be as the security pass for teachers. A single swipe and the card reader chirps in response, a loud click echoing in the quiet morning as the door unlocks. Without further ado the Pro-Hero pushes it open, holding it for Toshinori to pass.

It’s a quiet invitation that Toshinori takes eagerly, stepping up the stairs and-

A hand lands on his boney shoulder, making him falter.

Something curls low and heavy in his gut as Toshinori turns his head and finds Snipe standing next to him, face as dark and shielded as they’d found the man to be when they arrived. 

Snipe says nothing, squeezing his shoulder once and holding his gaze like he was trying to convey something. And maybe he did. 

Because the look in his eyes told Toshinori everything.

The Pro-Hero’s hand slides off his shoulder and Toshinori murmurs a soft thank you as he goes after Cementoss, who says nothing of the encounter. Snipe shrugs and sits down again, returning to his post. A swirling plume of smoke rises from his cigarette, twisting into little loops as it ascends towards the morning sky. It’s eerie how such a peaceful scene puts Toshinori even more on edge.

The inside of the building is quiet. Cold. It’s not built like the rest of Yuuei’s infrastructure; instead of favoring tall windows and broad hallways meant to accommodate a large population, the hall Toshinori ends up in as he follows Cementoss is straight and narrow. His footsteps echo each time he steps on the flat, opaque white tiles of the floor. 

The walls were a pale shade as well, more bone colored than white. The light fixtures are integrated into the ceiling, their white glow doing nothing at making the interior feel more comfortable. Gleaming metal occasionally breaks the monotony, the arching support structures on either side of the hallway spaced by a few feet from each other.

This theme continues into the elevator. More metal, more white. He lets Cementoss lead; the man clicks on the second floor and up they go, the doors closing only to open moments later as they reach their destination.

When the elevator doors open, they reveal another long winding hallway. This time there’s doors on the right side only, four in total. Cementoss walks forward, passing the first door to Toshinori’s quiet confusion. He is about to ask -but then he notices something. 

Namely, the fact that the first and third doors were reinforced.

Just as that confirms his slowly building suspicions, his fellow teacher stops in front of the second door and looks at him.

“This is the observation room. It’s one way, so you can look at Bakugo without him seeing you,” There’s a certain bitterness in the way that Cementoss said it, an irony that Toshinori can’t grasp. It sinks down to his chest and settles there, adding to the weight. “Nedzu’s inside.”

“Thank you.” The words were harder to get out than Toshinori expected. His voice was rough and quiet.

“Don’t.” 

He falters as Cementoss shakes his head. His face made it hard to discern what he was feeling, but the somber gleam in the man’s eyes more than made up for it. 

Toshinori takes a deep breath. The air felt heavy and oppressing, sinking into his remaining lung like liquid lead. It didn’t feel like there was enough air for him -and as he turns to look at the door Cementoss is planted in front of, he feels every last bit of his years.

Loud is the sigh that Cementoss lets out as he steps away, walking past Toshinori. There’s no goodbyes, no attempt at giving him good luck. Not even a hand on his shoulder. His fellow teacher leaves, and somehow that’s even worse than anything the other man could ahve said.

This leaves him standing in front of the obersvation door, conflicted.

Part of Toshinori wants to turn around. Walk away. Not see what lurked behind that door -but it’s a small part of him, a tiny, selfish one, one he squashes with a combination of weary anger and duty.

This -Kamino- was all his fault.

If he had been more ready, if he’d been there with the children at the camp instead of at home, quietly enjoying a bath while they were fighting for their lives, this wouldn’t have happened. This was all his fault -Toshinori found no joy in shouldering that blame, but he did it anyways.

Bakugo’s pain and that of the rest of his students was his to bear.

He had to face the consequences of his failure. 

It would hurt...but pain had never been a stranger to Toshinori.

With that belief, he reaches forward, hand resting on the handle of the door. Distantly, he hears the elevator click shut at the end of the hallway, marking Cementoss’ departure. He’s alone now. Not for long.

Clenching his teeth, he turns the handle and pushes the door open.

Light assaults his senses right away, far brighter than in the hallway. Toshinori blinks multiple times, squinting as he steps into the room and closes the door gently behind him. The observation room was bare and grey, turned silver under the bright white lights. There’s no table, no chair, nothing at all but a phone and alarm integrated into the wall right at his left, next to a massive glass window.

The room on the other side of the glass is white. White floor, white walls, white ceiling, built in what Toshinori could only guess was some form of reinforced metal. There’s a simple, low bed tucked against the corner of the room opposite to the observation window. 

It looks empty. 

Toshinori frowns. Stepping closer, he places a hand on the glass and peers closer at the r-

Bang!

A shape suddenly appears from below and slams into the glass, sending him jumping back with a yell, hear pounding. A human shape, with pale hands pressing at the glass like their owner was trying to claw their way through. Black lips curled back to reveal bared teeth. Long, dark stretches of veins dripping down his face under his skin like a path of tears.

Even with all that was different, there was no mistaking  the person pressed up against the glass, clad in nothing but a hospital garb.

Bakugo.

His eyes are glaring, demented, right at Toshinori.

Didn’t Cementoss say it was a one way glass?

And yet, the child was looking right at him. Or more so, towards him. The way he was staring with glazed, pure beetle black eyes, robbed the young man of the intensity Toshinori had come to associated with him. Instead of looking at Toshinori, it felt as if he was looking through him. As if he saw the vague outline of Toshinori but was too mindless to acknowledge him as a living thing existing in space.

Bakugo’s snarls are muffled behind the glass, but Toshinori’s sight of him is clear and so is the look of pure rage in the boy’s black eyes. The way his face is twisted so inhumanly so, fractal patterns of black growing around his eyes and down his cheeks would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

This wasn’t his student.

This… this seemed less of a person than a beast .

A terrible, disgusting thought, but the more he stared and Bakugo seemingly stared back, eyes devoid of humanity, the more it dug its claws into his mind. This -this wasn’t Bakugo . This wasn’t his student.

The boy was in there, somewhere.

Hopefully.

That unease, that understanding that Bakugo Katsuki might not be sane anymore had his heart clenching in his chest even further.

This felt like a waking nightmare. One that Toshinori couldn’t escape.

“He’s been like that since he woke up.”

Nedzu’s voice is soft and quiet in the emptiness of the observation room. Toshinori turns his head, following the noise to find the Principal sitting at the back of the room on the floor, legs crossed, tail curled around himself.

His hands were folded on his lap and there’s a very far off look in his eyes. At his feet, Toshinori notices a stack of folders. Documents. A small pile, but it's been messily set in front of the man, spread out in a half circle next to the Principal of Yuuei.

“No communication. No recognition. No reaction.” Nedzu’s voice is nary a murmur, but it feels so unbelievably loud here. “Nothing but... this. Rage. Endless rage. Like a rabid animal.”

Toshinori is quiet.

“There’s no awareness.”

Nedzu’s sheer finality in the way he said it breaks something inside Toshinori. He turns his head away from Bakugo -turns his back to the child raging at his direction to look at his superior.

“We need to fix this.”

“I do believe we are on the same page, All Might,” Nedzu says. His voice is still that ever quiet, ever even tone, but there was steel there too, something firm and unyielding and angry that makes Toshinori very soul shudder. “Dear Recovery Girl is doing all blood tests under the sun right now. She’s pulling all the documentation we have on the League and on Bakugo.”

Nedzu pauses, taking a breath. His tail flicks. There’s a look in his eyes that Toshinori doesn’t like, and he already doesn't like a lot about this.

“We also need to contact Naomasa,” The principal states.

Toshinori knows that’s a possibility -this screamed the League, this was something Naomasa would get on his desk within the next few hours- but the urgency and gravity of Nedzu’s declaration has him asking. “What for?”

“Chiyo thinks Bakugo’s medical record after Kamino was tampered.” Toshinori freezes. Nedzu continues on, his voice full of fire seething under a thinning layer of ice. “There’s a good chance the Hero Commission will need to launch an investigation on that regard. I’ll make sure of that.”

Tampered.

That meant-

That means the commission was somehow infiltrated. Someone squealed -someone deliberately made it so the gravity of Bakugo’s condition was waved off and remained under the radar when the boy was very much so a... a bomb , so to speak.

Fuck.

And that was only one side. There was also something else to factor in.

The media.

They already wanted Yuuei’s head on a pike. This -this was going to set everything on fire.

As soon as he thinks of the public, Toshinori casts that thought into the wind. No. He would not think of the media right now -his students needed him first. And Nedzu would need Naomasa’s aid it seemed. Toshinori had to support them in the best way he could.

He had... he had to support him in the best way he could.

“That’s all we can do for now.” Nedzu continues, voice firm but soft... no, not soft. Tired. Quiet, righteous fury weighted by desolation. “This was premeditated. This kind of security breach -this is unprecedented. I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss on what to do.”

There’s a strange firmness in the way he finishes that sentence; the Principal’s eyes turn to him, knowing, beady and black but far more bright and alive than Bakugo. It’s the look of someone who is waiting for an answer they already know.

Toshinori clenches his jaw. Rage simmered low in his belly, warming the ashes of One for All.

“I know someone who might.”

Chapter Text

He burns.

He’s tired and he’s burning, so slowly, he can’t even scream. He’s heavy and too tired and yet he can’t stop, it doesn’t stop and he wants to scream but he’s stuck and warped and there’s just too much noise too much feelings he can’t deal with any-

“Look at him!”

White white white familiar but not no not this again please

He drowns.

He burns.

“I’m already running all the tests I can do right now without getting in there, Nedzu!”

Neck hurts.

Head hurts.

Everything hurts and it doesn’t stop, it keeps building, it’s too much and there’s no stopping what was wrong where was he what happen who were they-

“I’m sorry, but this for your own good. ”

Room closed no out he tries but it’s all closed tight and he’s bound and restrained and a prisoner again

they’re not going to help

they never helped

“I wish things could be different, little one. But if he finds you...”

arms wrapped tight cannot move too tight why why why wants to move want to run wants to live

lights are too bright it hurts they know it hurts it why don’t they help talk no no talk just quiet

please you’re supposed to be my-

“....you’re the last one I have left…”

there’s no stopping this it never stops it’s never quiet she’s dying he’s a liar he says he cares but he doesn’t let her just

it burns it burns she can’t do it anymore she tried the man promised and he cares he understands she only has to-

“Why did you do it, Maria?”

.

.

.

The first time Mituski wakes up, it’s 2 AM.

She’s dragged from her much needed sleep by the screech of her phone on the nightstand. Pretty much from the moment her eyes snap open there’s a familiar simmer of rage in her body, a zip of energy that has her rolling over with a vicious hiss under her breath. She fumbles in the dark, muttering death upon the caller as she reaches for the too bright skin and slaps the refuse call without bothering to look.

This wasn’t the first fucking time that it happened this week. Thrice she or her Masaru were woken up by their phones blowing up at the most inopportune moment. Never once this week was it because of the usual reason; some ignorant fucker hiding in a different time zone while demanding their attention for a business deal.

Instead, what they’d been dealing with this past week since that fucking day were weak little fucks who she definitely did not threaten to sue thinking they could weasel out some statement or interview from them. Like hell Mitsuki was going to allow that! Twice she’d gone off on the stranger on the other side of her phone; after that mess, she just did the same method she used when some agency came to her for some less than innocent photoshoots.

Close the damn phone.

That worked a lot better and helped her blood pressure immensely. 

She just thanked god none of these leeches had her brat’s phone number. They’d had enough trouble hiding this from him already. If that ever happened, Mitsuki wouldn’t hesitate  to change it outright. Katsuki was in shape for that kind of bullshit and like hell she was going to put her little victory through that kind of hell, not when he’s already dealing with enough. 

Masaru shifts at her side, mumbling incoherently as he tries to curl up into a ball and block out the awful wail of the phone. Oblivious, demanding little bastard, leaving her to fix things instead. When Mitsuki slaps it into silence, she hears her husband let out an audible sigh of relief.

Satisfied that she had defended his sleep, Mitsuki rolls over, shuffles under the cover more. She nary needs to wrap her arms around Masaru’s shoulders before she’s out again, frustration sweeping away as sleep takes hold.

...it doesn’t last long.

The ringing of the front door startles her awake in what felt just a blink after she’d gone to sleep. 

Mitsuki fights off the urge to scream as she raises her head up, teeth bared as she glared daggers through the walls of her home and towards whoever fucking dared come knocking at -oh fuck me , she thinks as she checks her nightstand clock, 3 in the fucking morning?

They’re fucking dead . 

Fuming, she rolls out of bed, stumbling for balance as she stuffs her feet into some slippers -definitively Masaru’s they’re a bit bigger but who fucking cares, not her- and fumbling down the main staircase towars the door. Her mind swirls with rage and plots of murder as she grabs the handle, turns the lock, and yanks the front door open as she roars:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing at this-”

The moment she sees who it is, the words die in her throat. What she finds on the other side of the door smothers the flames of her rage like a bitter gust of winter winds.

It’s a familiar, dark haired man, shoulders low and scruffy hair unmistakable, even this early in the morning. Tired, somber scarlet eyes stare down at her. She feels the air catch in her lungs at the sight.

“Eraserhead.” Mitsuki’s mouth moves on its own, blunt and quiet.

The man makes no move.

“Mrs. Bakugo.” He says nothing else, and his silence doesn’t matter in the long run. 

Mitsuki is smart. There’s no real need to ask. Not when there’s only one reason why her son’s Pro-Hero teacher would show up at three in the morning at her doorsteps without her kid in sight and a thousand yard stare.

“....something happened to my Katsuki, didn’t it?”

Eraserhead said nothing.

But he nods.

He just fucking nods .

Fury explodes within her just like her son’s Quirk, igniting her blood and sending her nerves alaze with the urge to rip and tear into him. Mitsuki roars as she lunges forward, shrieking as she raises a shaking, sweaty fist:

“YOU INCOMPETENT MOTHERFUCKER!”

The hit strikes Eraserhead right in the face, twisting his head to the side.

Silence is her only answer, nary a grunt of pain coming from her son’s teacher. He didn’t even try to block her hit. He, a fucking Pro-Hero, just let a middle aged woman punch him square in the face.  Violence was something that usually fed the fire in her belly. It’s what drove her forward on hard days, what forced her to be better. 

Today, it swallows her flames and leaves nothing but smoking ashes behind.

Her strength leaves her as quick as it came. Her hand slides down his face, grabbing onto the grey scarf tightly. Eraserhead makes no move to stop her and his inaction carves a deep, harrowing pit of anguish at the core of her very being.

“You had one job. Once fucking job.” Mitsuki hisses, very much aware of the tremor in her voice and hating it with every fiber of her being, because she hates her own weakness and hates even more the deep, heavy feeling that keeps her from striking the man again. “Keep my kid safe. You failed. Twice .” I’m not even counting the fucking USJ incident!

“I’m sorry.” Eraserhead’s empty platitudes has her bristling.

“Don’t fucking sorry me, you bastard!”

“He’s alive.” 

Mitsuki falters. Her throat grows tight.

“He’s alive.” Eraserhead repeats, holding her gaze. “He’s being held in a safe location on the campus.”

Held?

“What the fuck happened?” She bites out, letting go of the scarf before she gives in to the urge to throttle the man. “What happened to my kid?”

Eraserhead’s eyes flick away, looking around. The sun wasn’t up yet. The street was quiet. There’s no one out, but the way he looks around like he’s expecting someone to be watching sends a shiver of cold dread down Mitsuki’s spine. She remembers all too well how the police told her to keep Katsuki inside during his stay home while the dormitories were being built.

Suddenly, she finds herself looking at the quiet, empty street in a whole new way. Where once she saw nothing but peaceful quiet, she sees slithering shadows. Where she saw but a normal street she lived in for years, Mitsuki finds herself looking at it and feeling apprehension at what she did not see.

Her neighbors knew her. They’d exchanged enough platitudes for that. They knew her husband.

...and they knew Katsuki.

...there’s no way anyone would...

“Not here. We can discuss this in the car.” Eraserhead’s voice draws her out of those dark thoughts, bringing her back to the painful present. She turns her head back to the man, finding him to be staring at her awaitingly. “I’ll drive you to Yuuei. Your husband...?”

Mitsuki stares.

Then what he’s saying registers and she spins around and runs inside, yelling for her partner:

“Masaru? Masaru ! Wake up, we need to go!”

.

.

.

“What did you do?”

It’s the first thing that leaves his lips and he knows that he should be more tactful when facing this disgusting monster, but Toshinori couldn’t quite find it in himself to care . Standing in front of a glass wall, glaring at the monster sitting on the other side of it, Toshinori can only let himself be swept away in his fury.

Even strapped to a chair and restrained so much he could only move his head and blink, All for One’s grin is full of smug superiority. It's a slow, terrible thing, stretching his chapped lips wide across his mangled face and grating at Toshinori’s quickly evaporating patience.

...if he had any before he stepped a foot onto Tartarus.

“How many?” The villain responds instead, the self-satisfied smirk only growing wider when Toshinori snarls, head almost pressed against the glass separating him from his bound nemesis.

Overhead, the speakers crackle with static, before the familiar voice of the warden calls out sternly. It barely reaches his ears through the red haze.

“All Might, get back from the barrier-”

Toshinori doesn’t respond; he still takes a step away from the reinforced glass barrier, abelt reluctantly. The staff of Tartarus are one of the most well trained he’s ever encountered. Former Number One or not they would still throw him out without shedding a single tear. So he complied, fighting down the urge to dig at the ever cooling embers of One for All.

Lowering himself to his nemesis’ standards would only entertain the bastard. And All for One has already shown just how far he would go.

His newfound resolve to not give the man more ammo than he already has doesn’t stop Toshinori from baring his teeth and growling:

“What did you do ?!”

“Hm,” All for One’s response is a huff, soft and uncaring, dripping with satisfaction. It makes Toshinori’s blood boil even more. “Must have been quite a peculiar reaction, if you’re this distraught.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

The villain rolls his head as much as he can within the confines of his straightjacket. If he was allowed a full range of motion, Toshinori knows the bastard would be shrugging like a nonchalant child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but cared little about it for the sweet had already been devoured.

“It's always been such a chaotic Quirk, I was wondering how it would manifest.”

Toshinori leans back slightly at the declaration, cold seeping down his spine and settling in his bones, eating away at his rage. What his nemesis just said… it all but confirms what Toshinori had been fearing. 

All for One forced a Quirk onto Bakugo.

He doesn’t know what to think. Midoriya had been Quirkless and he’d trained for a long time to receive One for All. Bakugo -Bakugo didn’t have that luxury. He already has a Quirk...and now a second one had been shoved into him.

There’s no knowing what the permanent effects were.

Nonexistent stomach twisted with apprehension, Toshinori thinks back to Bakugo awake and snarling behind the glass wall. The mindless aggression. The glazed, black eyes. The way the black material dripped down his face right under his pale, discolored skin…

...nothing about this is fair , part of Toshinori cries with restless, frustrated fury. A small, naive part of him wants to yell that at his nemesis, but he’s wise enough to know it would do little else than earn him another self-satisfied smile. 

He’s just a child.

But-

Has that ever stopped this monster before? Toshinori doesn’t think so. He can’t recall one instant where All for One has ever been merciful. The reveal of Shigaraki Tomura’s true origin is a wound that is still healing. No, Toshinori tells himself. All for One would do this, even if the collateral damage was a child’s life. 

He would even do it again, and again -just for the sheer curious enjoyment of it. The fact that Bakugo is just a boy, barely fifteen, probably only made it sweeter for All for One.

Anything goes, as long as it hurts me.

“Why…” Toshinori pauses, swallowing. All for One waits on the other side of the glass, ever patient in his smugness. “...why didn’t he show signs beforehand?”

That earns him a soft, considering sound from the older man. Toshinori waits with bated breath, forcing down the anger in the hopes of regaining some form of patience because shouting at All for One was as effective as trying to nail jello to a tree.

If he wants answers, he needs to play by All for One’s rules. The man could just as well keep silent and say nothing; Toshinori has, after all, nothing of value to offer the man.

“Who says he hadn’t?” All for One smoothly replies, the grin on his lips stretching further at how Toshinori stilled. 

“We would have noticed.”

His cold response earns him a huff.

“Would you? From what I’ve noted, you aren’t a good teacher.” Toshinori flinches back before he can stop himself. Like the cat that caught a canary, All for One’s grin grows fond. “Maybe you should just take a step back from teaching, All Might. Your students might be better off. You managed well enough without Shimura, anyways.” 

Toshinori has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep the sheer venom lurking in there from spewing out. Cursing All for One out would do nothing but feed the monster’s ego.

“Get to the point.”

All for One sniffs like a petulant toddler. 

“Rude,” he sighs like a teacher watching their least favorite student have a tantrum. “But if you must know, if you’re that desperate…”

Toshinori grits his teeth. He knows what the monster wants -he wants him to beg. 

If he doesn’t do this, however, Bakugo’s suffering will be prolonged by the lack of information. He’s stuck. Trapped in a corner and by the grin on All for One’s chapped lips, both inhabitants of the room knew it.

Bastard.

Sourly, quiet, he spits out in the most polite tone he can attempt to make:

“Tell me.”

All for One shrugs. 

“Quirk suppression drug.” He states as if it’s as simple an explanation as what color the sky was. His nonchalance is disarming but not unusual. “Long acting, that would wear off over the next couple of days.” All for One wets his cracked lips, radiating delight as he explains: “Just enough to quieten the Quirk, but keep it under wraps without compromising Explosion too much.”

Toshinori grows still at the declaration.

‘Bakugo had been having trouble with his Quirk.’

Toshinori remembers thinking that during the first day of training after Kamino. He remembers standing on the sidelines out of sight and watching the blonde stare down at his hands with furious, helpless rage. He’d noticed the way his explosions weren’t as potent as they should be…

Then the explosions got stronger.

...and stronger…

“-then, the second phase will kick in. Oh, it was such a delightful little device to design, All Might. Time flies, I think I lost a good month on it! Keeping both the Quirk suppression drug and Trigger from reaction to each other so much was quite the challenge. The auto immune responses from the test subjects were fascinating to watch.”

...and now, Toshinori knows better than to think it was just Bakugo getting better. Not with the information Chiyo had given him over the phone while he rushed to Kamino with Naomasa. The message she sent him had sent a chill down his spine and made his nonexistent stomach twist with nausea; it’s a good thing he hadn’t been the one behind the steering wheel.

‘He had a pill embedded at the back of his neck. I’m not sure about the exact components, but it already tested positive for Trigger.’

This is all planned. Has to be. From the Summer Camp to the Commission’s error to picking Bakugo. The boy was meant to be rescued at Kamino. ALl for One probably cared not about the fact he has been captured, not as long as Bakugo was returned to Yuuei.

It was a trap from the start.

Toshinori knew the man in front of him too well to believe otherwise. All for One loves playing chess with his opponents. He loves thinking outside the box and creating situations that inflict the worst kind of mental or physical pain upon his enemies. All for One usually destroyed those he hated most, but not before stripping them of everything that they held dear.

Bakugo was just another victim of his plans.

“Why?”

“Why not?” All for One sniffs like it’s the explanation for everything and part of Toshinori believes him.

“Why Bakugo?” All for One says nothing. Toshinori’s voice rises inton a growl as the anger starts seeping back in, fending off the growing pit of hopelessness in himself. “You will tell me what you did-”

“-or?” All for One cuts him off, purring that word out like a pleased cat.

Toshinori has to bite his lower lip to retrain himself from responding. The anger boiling under his skin simmers, cooled down by the glacial bite of unease growing within his heart. Now wasn’t the time to lose his cool. Not if he wanted answers.

Torino’s right, he really gets under my skin.

“You have no hold over me, All Might.” The man continues calmly, nonplussed by Toshinori’s vicious glare. “...and to be honest, watching this unfold is much more entertaining than spilling the cards early.”

Toshinori’s shoulders almost drop at the flat tone.  “So you’re not going to reveal anything to me.”

All for One clicks his tongue and replies with a perky chirrup of a delighted child:

“Nope. Let this old man have his fun.”

...your ‘fun’ nearly killed nineteen children.

Toshinori knows better than to say anything. Giving All for One further ammo is just dangerous. Better say nothing at all and hold what little cards he had close to his chest, less the other man use them against him -or worse, his students.

In fact, some part of him found cruel, vengeful delight in the idea of leaving All for One in the dark. The monster deserves it. No matter what the ancient villain thought, this wasn’t a damn game. Lives are at stake and unlike All for One, Toshinori wants to stop these poor souls from stepping towards the dark fate his nemesis had no doubt set up for them.

So…

Toshinori takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He hears nothing from his nemesis, and when he opens his eyes again, he finds a eyeless, scarred face staring at him curiously. For a moment, he can remember All for One’s face from before -not during their first fight where both lost part of themselves, but of that night.

The memory of All for One’s brilliant white hair and burning, soulless red eyes filled with pure, delighted malice is one of the clearest he has of that night. The night the woman he considers his mother sacrificed herself to keep him and Gran Torino safe. It’s perplexing, in a way, how similar Kamino had been to that night. 

Nowhere near the same scale, for both of them were past their prime, but it’s chilling to think back and remember how similar both events were. Gran Torino had been there both times, and both fights against All for One happened with the next One for All user watching.

But...there were differences. 

Namely, he lived. That fight was his last as All Might, but he lived on, unlike Nana Shimura. Toshinori never came back to Nana’s final battleground, never had the opportunity to see his surrogate mother laid to rest. He’d been forced to hide at Yuuei for a few years before going to America.

To this day, they have no idea where her remains were.

Quietly, Toshinori wonders if he’d only narrowly avoided the same fate the night of Kamino. It hurts to think about. That he’d been that close to leaving Midoriya alone -to leave all of them behind.

The thought settles in his heart like a rock, steadying him with its weight, transforming into a resolve that tempers the flames of his anger into something cooler, sharper. Toshinori narrows his eyes at All for One, lips pressing tightly together.

I’m not going to play your games. If you’re not going to talk, I’m not going to get on my knees and beg. I’ll find the answers on my own.

As if realizing the shift, All for One’s smug smile dims. There’s something else there, something Toshinori can’t quite pin down because of the man’s mutilated face, but it brings him satisfaction. Most importantly, it helps him decide.

“Then I guess we have nothing to say.” Toshinori utters, taking a step back. The smile on All for One’s face fades even more. “Goodbye.”

“You’re leaving?” All for One complains, his tone polite but there’s just the slightest bit of childish frustration there that only cements Toshinori’s choice. “Why, this is just getting interesting-”

“Rot in here for all I care.”

“Ouch.” All for One huffs. “You wound me. Deeply.”

“Apologies.” Toshinori replies promptly, barely fighting back the disgusted sneer. “I’ll aim for the head next time. It worked well enough before.”

All for One’s smile drops completely.

Got you, fucker.

If he had any eyebrows, there’s no doubt that the villain would be frowning petulantly. All for One is like a child in many ways, after all. He hates losing. Even the smallest, pettiest of things -and generally that ends badly for the person on the receiving end of his lash out.

Though in this case, All for One can’t do anything.

The villain knows it, too. The way he’s looking -though not quite, given the lack of functioning eyes- at him is enough evidence. It made him feel on the other end of a starving lion’s gaze. Not a feeling Toshinori particularly enjoys. 

If there’s ever a time to leave, it would be this one.

Toshinori lifts his head up to look at one of the many, many cameras lining the walls of the cell, gesturing towards the door with a flick of his hand. The smooth hiss of mechanical parts moving within the walls seems to snap All for One out from what Toshinori can only guess is a daydream of ripping him limb from limb.

“Give my best regards to dear Bakugo, will you?” The villain says, voice smooth and empty of the anger likely brewing in his veins.

Toshinori pauses, fists clenching as a flash fire of anger courses through him at the boy’s name being uttered by his enemy. It’s a bait. He’s not falling for it.

Not. At. All.

“I’d send a fruit basket, but I’m afraid my savings have been frozen by the government. Pity. There’s some delightful mango arrangements I’m quite fond of.”

Toshinori huffs. It’s a dry, somber noise.

“As if.” He tells him, disregarding the basket comment because he could see it for what it was a mile away, blind and deaf. Nothing more than a distraction. “You’re not getting near him ever again.”

“I don’t need to.”

The way the other man says it has the hair at the back of Toshinori’s neck standing on end. He whips his head around to look at the villain, eyes narrowing as he asks flatly:

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Mean?” All for One mock asks, like he’s surprised by Toshinori’s questioning. It grates at his nerves, but he’s able to keep himself calm. “Why, there’s no meaning behind it. It is what it is. Are you alright, All Might?”

He finishes that off with another grin -the same exact one he’d made when Toshinori stormed into the room to yell at him.

In that moment, Toshinori wants to throw something at his big, grinning smile. The fact he’s been run around in circles is not lost on him. All for One isn’t going to give it up; this was nothing more than another distraction stacked upon all the others.

He’s just wasting my time.

Frustrated, he turns around and heads for the door. All for One chuckles behind him; he forces himself to not look back.

He’s done here.

.

.

.

When Eijirou wakes up, it feels like reaching the top of a mountain.

The pain makes itself known first. His body aches, straining to drag him out of the abyss. Aches like he’d been through a grinder, crushed under the very same mountain and then spat out right off the edge of a sharp cliff. Every muscle and bone in his body burned with a strenuous agony like he overtrained… but worse. 

So much worse.

Eijirou’s chest hurts more than anything else. A steady, pulsing ache, moving his arms sent a sting of pain running up his shoulders, paralyzing him with a groan. He feels every last one of his muscles in his chest and shoulders when he inhales. Breathing hurts, too. Air drags as he breathes in, hurting his sore, too dry throat.

His ears catch the sound of something on his left moving, startling him. Crinkling. A soft, quick inhale.

Someone was there; Eijirou just hadn’t noticed them until now. Squinting and blinking quickly, his eyes adjust long enough to pick out the vague shape of a person next to him -and pink.

Pink and yellow.

Wait. He knows those colors. Eijirou knows her .

...Ashido?

As Eijirou slowly crawls back to the real world, his ears pick up a soft gasp, feminine in nature and further cementing his suspicions that his still blurry eyesight couldn’t quite lay to rest. Moments later, he’s met with familiar dark eyes peering down at him, relief evident on their owner’s face.

“Oh god, Ei.” 

His name is softly called out of his friend’s lips, as if speaking any louder would break him. There’s no doubting that voice; it is Mina. It gives Eijirou the strength he needs to force himself to stay awake.

“Mina…?”

He moves to sit up, feeling lost.

Immediately his friend moves forward; he feels the warmth of her hands on his chest and almost instantly he hisses as a sudden burst of pain pulses through his ribcage, making him wince. Mina lets out a muttered curse under her breath. Her trembling hands quickly move away from his torso, fingers gently curling on his upper arms and steadying him to stay down.

“Oh -don’t move.” She stammers quickly, shaking her head. She moves closer, Eijirou feels something warm touch his hair, lightly fluffing it. “You’re okay, just don’t move, you dumb, dumb rock.” Mina hisses out that last part, part scolding, part a relieved exhale.

He grimaces at her command, hating the way changing his expression makes his upper torso twine with ache. Fuck. Everything hurt. Letting himself fall back to sleep is almost too tempting.

Why, though?

Why am I here?

“Hurts.” Eijirou rasp. “...wha…?”

A cough cuts him off. Dammit, he really needs water.

“Most of your ribs are broken.” Ashido informs him, voice wavering before she recovers. “Recovery Girl got them mostly fixed, but you’re not up for moving around yet. Her orders.”

That.. .explains the chest pain.

“Ah.” He swallows. “Shit.”

Mina gives him a flat stare. “Yeah. Shit.”

“...water?”

“Eh?” Mina blinks, faltering. Her eyes suddenly widen when she connects the dots. “Oh. Oh! Here-”

She darts to the side, scrambling for something. Eijirou wants to turn his head to follow her along, but the way his torso was hurting he’s pretty sure it’s a very bad idea to move too much.

Thankfully Ashido returns quickly, this time carrying relief in the shape of a little plastic cup. Eijirou slowly raises his hands and quickly relaxes back into the bed as a scolding glare is sent his way. Right. As dazed as he feels, the message is received. She lifts the cup and gently touches the rim against his lip. 

Eijirou almost salivates as he practically feels the cold from the precious water inside. Ashidp hums, encouraging.

“T-thanks.” He mutters around the cup before drinking.

Eijirou slurps awkwardly on the water; relief blooms as he feels the cool water go down his parched throat, chasing away some of the pain. When he leans his head back, Ashido is quick to set the cup away somewhere on his left. Eijirou wants to turn and look, but moving his head means jostling his chest and honestly, he’s not looking forward to doing any of that.

Ashido’s face quickly comes back to his field of vision. She’s less pale than before, a bit more composed but no less watery. Eijirou squints, uncertain and at a loss.

“...you o-okay..?” He asks, stumbling as he licks his too dry lips.

Mina shakes her head, frowning in disbelief. Her eyes are fond.

“Have you looked at yourself?” She gently chastises him. “Don’t think about me, I’m good.” 

Eijirou can only offer her a wavering grin. “...liar.”

She shakes her head again; Eijirou doesn’t miss the way her eyes grow wet and shiny. It makes his chest ache and this time, it’s not from the pain of his broken ribs.

“C’me here.” He slurs out, weakly tugging with his functioning hand at the wrist he can reach. Ashido’s hand gently grabs at his own, holding on carefully. “Were you crying…?”

“You scared all of us, you shit.” 

“...scared?”

“You got beat up bad.” Ashido sniffs, eyes growing darker. “A lot of us did.”

Eijirou frowns. Hurt…? 

...wait…

Images flash through his mind. A hallway. Red eyes that are dull and grey that vanish behind a closing door. His own guilt and hesitation as he’s torn between helping and giving space. Then he heard the noises. Eijirou remembers reaching out to the door, thinking of forcing it open, being scared of what he would find inside-

Splintering wood and a cold, hard weight driving into his chest, sharp and vicious that his Hardening only just kept at bay.

..oh.

Oh god.

Bakugo. A villain made their way into the dorm-

“...is...is anyone-” He can’t quite get the words out, for they stick to his throat like molasse, clogging his airway.

Silenced, he looks at her with pleading eyes.  

Please let her say no.

He’s not sure what he’d do if she says otherwise. If after everything they went through, after the USJ and the camp it’s in Yuuei’s walls that one of his friends-

“No, no one’s…” Ashido hesitates, an expression of faint nausea flickering through her teary face. “-n-no one died. We’re all alive. A bit busted, but alive. Sato’s got a big cut on his foot and Uraraka had to go to a hospital  for her arm, but we’re...okay-”

Eijirou cuts her off before she can continue:

“-and Bakugo?”

Her change is immediate. Ashido freezes, mouth opening. Then closing. Like she can’t get the words out. The deathly silence hovers like a shroud over the two of them, growing thicker as time goes on. He doesn’t like it; doesn’t like it at all.

Strength born out of a mixture of frustration and anxiety floods through his body, making him grab onto her wrist tighter, to remind her she is here, looking at him -talking to him. When he speak, Eijirou finds himself talking with one of the sterner tones he’d ever let out:

“Mina, what happened to Bakugo?”

She looks away. Kirishima’s heart breaks all over again. His resolve wavers, if only for a fraction of a moment before he remembers that if he went through everything he’d gone through at Kamino, he can bear the truth.

As horrible as it could be.

“Mina, please, what happened?” He presses. His friend sniffles quietly, refusing to talk. “Please, I need-”

“We don’t know.” She suddenly breathes out almost as a hiss. Frustration lights her eyes like a restless, caged flame. Eijirou feels her own hand wrap around his in return, tight but not too fight, nails resting against his skin. “We don’t know anything . The teachers -they’re running around and they’re not telling us anything.” Ashido continues, voice growing with something dark yet sad. “We’re not even allowed out of the infirmary.”

Eijirou falters. Her frustration is evident; her distress, even more so. She didn’t seem to even notice the way her nails pressed against his arm. Bringing it up doesn’t even cross his mind for a second; no, that little pain is nothing compared to what he feels in his chest -in his heart.

The sense of loss is nigh overwhelming.

“So you don’t know…?” Eijiroy tentatively finds himself asking.

Biting her lower lip, Ashido bows her head.

“No.” She mutters, shoulders slumping in resignation. Her eyes flick up to meet his, filled with emotion. “They’re not saying anything about B-Bakugo. Recovery Girl… s-she says that they have him locked up somewhere.”

That has Eijirou nearly sitting up on his bed. Locked? As in caged? Why? Why Bakugo? He’d done nothing wrong, why would they do that? If the teachers brought him somewhere else, was it because he was injured worse than the rest of the class?

If I got attacked through his door, that meant that the villain had to be hiding in his room. 

Do they think he had something to do with the villain? Eijirou dismisses the thought as quickly as it came. No, he had to be more hurt than them. After all, his buddy had already been sickly before the attack, if the villain was in his room then he wouldn’t have been able to fight them off…  

“Locked up?” He presses, heartbeat picking up upon spotting the way Ashido flinches at his question. “Why? He was attacked by the villain, like us-”

Mina holds up a hand. His mouth snaps shut immediately.

“Ei,” Ashido whispers, voice sad. “He was the villain.”

The words reach his ears but don’t quite connect. Instead, they tumble and fall and get loss somewhere on their way to his brain, leaving behind only a vague idea of their meaning. Eijirou finds himself staring at his friend blankly. Ashido waits, body tense and apprehensive, her face a pale shade of her usually pink.

Slowly, the crumbled pieces meld itself together in Eijirou’s mind, forming something he can understand. Or, rather, something he doesn’t want to understand.

“...what..?” His voice sounds alien to his own ears. Rough and flat with disbelief, he rasps out; “Mina, the hell are you saying-”

“You were right. Something really was wrong with Bakugo.” Mina cuts him off, jaw clenching. “They did something to him. The villains -they used him to hurt us. And now…” 

She trails off, perhaps unsure, perhaps lost, her voice giving away to a cold, heavy silence.

Eijirou can’t find anything to say to that. He’s reeling. If it isn’t for Ashido’s grip on his wrist, he feels like he would float away. For the ache in his chest has nothing on the one growing within his head, his heart.

The summer camp. Kamino. Hell , even the USJ just a month ago -anything and everything that occurred since the beginning of the semester rises up within Eijirou’s memories and strikes upside the head with the force of a lightning bolt. The weight nearly crushes him.

God.

Has it really been just one semester?

And now… 

Bakugo. God, Bakugo. Eijirou had known deep down something had been wrong -he’d seen it in the way the other boy held himself away from others, more so than usual. How his eyes would occasionally glaze over, as if he was too tired to keep focus. Temper that had been once furious and wild had been but a dim flame since the kidnapping, fading to embers even if they all tried to give him space, to step back and reevaluate the situation-

A choice that now proved to be the wrong one.

Fuck. The villains, they did something to his best friend, forced something on him that made him ill and weak and then -and then whatever the hell happened at the dorms, happened . Eijirou looks up at the ceiling, feeling wetness in the corner of his eyes.

This feels like a nightmare.

...and if he feels like that, how is Bakugo feeling?

I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, buddy.

“Ei?”

Yellow and black framed by pink invades his vision, calling his mind back to his body. Slowly, lethargically, he lowers his gaze to watch Ashido. Her eyes are leaking tears. It’s difficult to ignore his own distress when faced with hers; Eijirou can’t avoid or deny the wetness dripping down his face anymore.

He looks at the hand still holding his wrist, the pink of her skin contrasting with his own paleness. Watches quietly the way her hand slides down, threading their fingers together, squeezing lightly in a faint, hopeful attempt at comfort.

The warmth doesn’t come.

It’s all cold.

“Everything is wrong.” He murmurs.

Ashido doesn’t answer. She just leans forward, rests her head against the mattress of the hospital bed, and silently cries with him.

.

.

.

Five hours passed since the incident.

Shota’s dirty, caked with dirt and sweat. He’s sure there’s a bit of blood on one of his sleeves from helping with Uraraka’s transport. His hair feels plastered to his face and neck. A tiny, selfish part of him wishes he could just go to his dorm and take a long bath before sleeping for the next ten hours.

A fleeting, impossible wish. 

His work is far from over, and as he leads Bakugo Katsuki’s parents to a familiar, tall building in the outskirts of the campus, he knows deep down he’s in for one of the worst parts.

...and that’s counting the meeting all of the staff will be having in an hour.

Contemplating about his future is a sour, frustrating thing, so Shota turns his attention back to the two civilians easily matching his quick pace. Bakugo Masaru trailed a bit behind at his right, opposite of his wife. Bakugo Mitsuki, on the other hand, made the source of his student’s more headstrong tendencies known by practically stomping towards the end of the road, almost leading the three of them even though it was Shota’s job.

The Pro-Hero doesn’t blame her, instead forcing himself to match her quick steps. Soon enough however her pace falters, gaining doubt when they finally reach the end of the road, entering the holding section of the campus.

He knows exactly the cause of her pause.

Giant, black metal titans stood around the building, almost dwarfing the structure. The Zero pointers gleamed under the rising sun, their deep dark green hulls contrasting with the grey of the building. The bright red camera eyes of the machines were poised outwards, scanning the surrounding property.

Even from several feet away, Shota hears the mechanical whirr of their lenses adjusting to focus on him.

So Nedzu did bring them here. He’s not wasting time.

These weren’t the near harmless robots used at the yearly Entrance Exam and the Sports Festival. They were fully active and set to guard protocols at their highest level, which meant authorized individuals that entered their combat range would see their life cut short by a hail of bullets after a single warning.

Luckily, the badges Shota had given to the Bakugos prevented them from meeting such a fate. Looking at the two parents -and making sure they notice his staring- he makes a show of prying his badge out of his pocket and lifting high up, the front aimed towards the nearest machine.

His companions quickly do the same, raising their visitor badges in the air for the Zero-Pointers to scan. The machines don’t react outwardly, but the lights from the lenses dim.

Shota still waits a full five seconds before stuffing his badge back into his pocket. 

The Bakugos mimic him.

“Extra security?” Bakugo Masaru murmurs at his side when they start walking again. 

Shota nods. “Having just one teacher keeping watch isn’t as effective.” He says.

Or intimidating. Only the most suicidal would dare step this close to the active guards and given how far it’s from the main campus, into the restricted area of Yuuei, there’s no risk students might stumble into them. If that ever did happen -which would be a fluke, given that there were clear warnings and signs that stepping into this area is grounds for automatic suspencion- the Zero-Pointers were programmed to let out a warning.

On his left, Mrs. Bakugo keeps quiet. 

At the steps of the building, Shota spots Snipe watching them approach. The improvised guard greets them with a silent nod, standing up to let them pass. The man was alternating guard shifts with Cementoss and Hound Dog to make sure no one got to Bakugo -or Bakugo got out. Not that it was possible given how many restraints the boy was under, but Shota didn’t trust that at all.

They still didn’t know what was wrong with the child. Shota had a few ideas, none of them good, but he kept it to himself. 

At least until later in the day; Nedzu set a meeting for them to figure out how to move forward, before they had to deal with the Commision. 

A whole other ball game, that will be.

Mitsuki stalks quietly into the building the moment Shota swipes his access card over the entrance. He barely leads the woman, pointing towards the elevator and following after as she stormed to it, her husband quiet and sullen at her heels. Despite his timid demeanor though there's urgency behind Bakugo Masaru’s nervous movements.

It’s almost fascinating to watch the contrast between their behaviors.

When the elevator opens on the right floor, Mrs. Bakugo steps out and looks around. Shota watches the way her eyes pause on the reinforced metal doors, then the small window at the end of the hall. Her scarlet eyes, so similar to his student’s, turn to look at him.

“This isn’t a temporary dorm.” She notes, voice low.

“No,” Shota says, for it is true and there’s no need to hide it. “-it’s not. 

“...what the fuck are we walking into?”

For once, there’s hesitation in her voice. 

Aizawa briefly considers letting them down gently. That thought is dismissed pretty quickly given Mrs. Bakugo’s temperament, and he decides for a direct, but gentle approach.

“You wanted to see him. Make no mistake though,your son is not waiting for you.” He pauses, wondering what was the most delicate way of getting her son’s current condition across without crossing a line and going with a crass he’s gone rabid , which while somewhat accurate made Shota feel utterly sick in the stomach to just consider as an answer. That’s not what his student’s parents deserved, or Bakugo. 

And Shota would prefer to avoid another punch in the face. He’s already grimmy and bruised enough as is.

“He’s not in a state for interactions.”

His somber, flat tone seems to soothe some of Mrs. Bakugo’s fury. Anxiousness darkens her eyes and she glances at her husband. She opens her mouth, then closes it -then clenches her jaw as her partner speaks up softly:

“What are you saying?” Mr. Bakugo says, watching Shota wearily.

“Our medical staff is still running the appropriate tests, but from what we-”

“Fuck off with that!” Mrs. Bakugo suddenly hisses, jamming a finger his way. Shota doesn’t react, holding himself back from responding as the woman snarls out; “Just say it to us straight, fucking damn it!”

The silence holds this time, long and drawn out and filled with tension. Mrs. Bakugo’s blazing red eyes all but drill holes into Shota’s and once again, he learns where his student got the worst of his temper. Unlike her son though, Mrs. Bakugo’s rage is more than warranted.

He can’t blame her for this, not when he knows what’s just feet away from them, locked behind a thick, padded metal door.

“Fine.” Shota breathes out, finding that his own patience is wearing thin.

Mr. Bakugo speaks up, hesitating. He reaches for his fuming wife and lands a hand on her extended arm, gently lowering it as he turns his eyes back to Shota. “Sir, we just want to see him…”

“Your son is incoherent.” Cutting to the chase is his only option, given that politeness would soon be out the window. So Shota lets it all out. “He’s being held in a B-class containment cell because he literally attacks anything that moves.” Mr. Bakugo makes a tiny, wounded sound; his wife stands straight and rigid. Shota doesn’t miss the way her nostrils flare. “That will include you. So when we walk into the viewing area, you will do exactly what I say or I will kick you out.”

That earns him a growl from Mrs. Bakugo.

“You can’t be serious-!”

“There’s not knowing what we are dealing with yet.” Shota cuts her off, stern.  “But I have it on good, personal experience that your son will not care for familiar ties. He will attack you. He will try to kill you.”

At his warning, both parents falter. He watches as Mrs. Bakugo’s face goes through a myriad of emotions, none of them good, before settling on a cold, pinched look. She opens her mouth and asks, voice firm but lacking the rage from before:

“...what’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know.” Shota responds. “Recovery Girl is working on it, and an investigation is being launched. The Commission has been contacted. We’re doing everything we can-” Mrs. Bakugo snorts. Shota ignores her.  It’s not her fault in the end, and he can clearly see where her son got his temperament. “-but until we find a fix, these are the measures we had to take to ensure his safety and ours.” 

Mrs. Bakugo looks like she wants to say something far from polite. Her husband interjects before she can though, piping up quietly at her side:

“...can we go in now?” Mr. Bakugo asks softly, tired, anxious eyes meeting Shota’s. “I want to see my son. Please.”

That has Shota’s throat tightening, and he doesn’t miss the way Mrs. Bakugo visibly deflates at her partner’s plea. A flicker of worry passes through her eyes, briefly washing away the anger and frustration. 

… Shota’s really not looking forward to her reaction, even if there’s no way of stopping what is about to happen.

As an answer, Shota just heads for the right door leading to the observation room. The two parents follow him, watching as he unlocks the door and opens it, walking in and gesturing for them to follow, which they do silently.

Shota’s attention leaves the two quickly, latching onto the reinforced window and the contents of the adjoined room. 

He spots Bakugo almost instantly. 

The lump on the bed wrapped in torn, shredded linens is hard to ignore. He’s not moving, but no alarms are ringing so he’s definitely breathing. Bundled up, hidden under the covers until only the faintest tufts of dirty, ashen blond hair peaked out from the pile, he almost looked harmless. 

His parents certainly seemed to think so. 

The sight of the tiny, motionless lump certainly takes the wind out of Mrs. Bakugo’s sails. They falter at the lack of movement from their son -Shota was starting to think they were expecting to see him screaming and throwing a temper tantrum. 

He can only watch and wait with a sick feeling in his stomach, knowing the upcoming reaction, as Bakugo’s father rests a shaking hand against the glass and murmurs out with a pleading voice:

“Katsuki-?”

It’s near immediate.

The moment he -seemingly, for Shota has it on good authority the cell was sound proof- that Bakugo hears his father, he moves . Springing into action faster than a tiger leaping onto prey, he uncoils from his curled up position to springing towards the glass like a striking viper. The blanket is ripped off to the side as a palid, corpse-like face with beetle-black eyes emerges from its depths, teeth and black gums bared.

Bang!

Shota closes his eyes as the reinforced glass rattles something horrid from the impact of the teenager’s body against it. When he opens them again, Bakugo is stumbling back, dazed but no less hateful, a puppet to an unnatural force they had not even begun to understand.

Besides the likely concussion he’d just given himself, the young boy is still livid as ever. Black, endless pits of void stare at them, unseeing. The veins under his skin seem to ripple. Shota quietly wonders if those are blood veins at all, but rather like the chains just another part of the phenomenon moving freely under his skin like an eager parasite.

He barely reacts to the impact of his body against the glass, the boy presses himself up against it, fingers clenched against its surface and eyes aimed vaguely at the direction of his two parents. The low, animal growl that leaves his throat echoes in Shota’s ears.

Part of him hoped there would be some positive reaction upon seeing his parents, but it seems that was just a hopeless wish on Shota’s behalf. It looks as if Bakugo is just as intent to throttle his parents as when he’d tried with Shota.

At the sight of his son’s face, Mr. Bakugo lets out a choked, wounded noise. He’d jumped back at the initial attempt at a tackle, but now took a step forward only to stumble back when Bakugo made another mindless tackle, head slamming against the glass without reacting at all to the pain. The man raises a hand up to his mouth, at a loss for words. 

Shota’s ears barely pick up the tiny, whimpered sound he lets out.

Chest tightening uncomfortably, he discretely glances off to the side to the third person in the group. Mrs. Bakugo is rigid at her husband’s side, staring blankly at the boy pressed up against the glass, dark nails dragging across the surface and leaving a faint, fading smear of black across the glass. She’s a stiff, frozen form, soundless as her partner reaches out with his right hand and carefully touches the glass separating him from his son, a pleading sound of disbelief leaving him:

“Oh, oh god no…” Mr. Bakugo whispers. “Katsuki….”

For all he’s seen in his long career as a Pro-Hero, this is still painful to watch for Shota. There’s no recognition in Bakugo’s eyes, even as his father silently falls apart in front of him. Just hate, hate and more hate, endless and predatory, a rabid, furious emotion that held a raw intensity that made Shota’s stomach twist into knots. 

Shota has little doubt that if the boy wasn’t contained, he would not hesitate to attack his own distressed parents. His own neck still has the necklace of black-blue bruises from the assault hours ago.

Familiar, dripping black pulsing under the boy’s skin catches his attention. The memory of that cold, icy liquid dripping on his skin returns. Shota touches his own face distractedly, remembering the burn. 

There’s nothing there anymore but bruises, but it was an experience he would never forget.

Mrs. Bakugo moving near him draws his attention to her; Shota watches as the woman takes a step forward, as if to go towards her son, but Bakugo lets out a snarl that is more animal than human and she wavers. 

What happens next is something he’d expected to happen. With nowhere to turn her anger to, she whirls around and looks at Shota with a look of utter betrayal.

“You fucker,” she hisses and Shota takes it, because the end result of his mistakes is right there staring at them and there’s no hiding from the consequences. “-you said he would be okay, that the fucking dorms were going to make him safe! What the fuck is this!?”

Shota clenches his teeth. “We don’t know yet.”

That’s not the answer Mrs. Bakugo is looking for at all. She takes a step forward towards him, teeth bared and for a disturbing moment, Shota feels like he’s seeing a weak reflection of his student’s current expression on her face.

“What the hell is wrong with my kid?!”

“We’re not sure yet Ma’am, but we believe his condition is tied with the League of Villains.,” Shota tries to explain quickly and diplomatically, but he knows it's going to fail because the dangerous fire in Mrs. Bakugo’s eyes only grows. “I know it’s difficult, but we are doing everything we can right now-”

He never gets to finish his sentence.

“SO!? THAT MEANS SHIT TO ME? YOU WERE THERE ON THAT MOUNTAIN WEREN’T YOU?! AND YOU DIDN’T SAVE HIM THEN?! AS A MATTER OF FACT -HOW THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID ALL OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS MISS THIS?!”

Shota’s ears rattle from the shout. He grits his teeth. “We’ll have results in-”

“FUCK THAT!” Mrs. Bakugo screams and Shota’s headache returns full bloom at her fervent scream. “YOU PROMISED HE WOULD BE SAFE-!”

Suddenly, her partner’s alarmed voice rings out:

“Mitsuki!”

The sickening sound of something cracking cuts off Ms. Bakugo’s howl and her husband’s sharp attempt at getting their attention. Shota himself nearly jumps out of his skin at the noise -and then he connects the noise to what he knows and blanches, because that’s the sound of breaking glass and now that’s he’s looking there’s a fucking fracture on the viewing window.

Shota doesn’t think; lunging forward he carelessly shoves a frozen, wide-eyed Ms. Bakugo to the side, reaches the panel integrated on the walls and all but punches the emergency button next to the phone.

Metallic hissing reaches his ears as the emergency release of tranquilizers into the cell begins. Bakugo is already under effects of similar, lower dosage drugs, and part of Shota knows it could cause a bad reaction if they kept stacking them, but the alternative is letting Bakugo out and that’s a big no. 

Especially with the two civilians that are here who just add to the casualty list, and Shota knows Bakugo would never forgive himself if that happened.

The drugs work fast. On the other side of the glass Bakugo sways, unsteady on his feet. Lips bared back,material black eyes glazing over all of them, stubbornly trying to stay up.

He’s already under tranquilizers, Shota thinks in disbelief. He’s been under Quirk-suppressors since he woke up -and I just administered a more potent dosage.  

This isn’t possible.

How are you up?

Soon enough though, Bakugo loses the fight of will versus body.  He crumbles, falling to his side like a doll. Shota can only watch, unable to do anything but look, as Bakugo struggles to raise himself back up, head swaying like an injured bird as he fights against the drugs. The black under his skin is even stronger now despite the Quirk-suppressor drugs being pumped into his cell. It squirms under his skin, filaments flailing under near transparent skin like thin spidery legs.

After several seconds of struggling, his eyes flutter shut and hsi head hits the ground for good. Shota exhales, blood roaring in his ears, drowning out the alarms.

This isn’t normal. 

If this is a Quirk like they believed, or multiple Quirks, then this… Shota’s not sure what to think. He stares at the downed form of his student, fists clenching as he sees Mr. Bakugo lower his head and sniff quietly. His wife is silent, her gaze fixed on her son, body stiff and rigid, face pale and distressed.

Not a trance of anger is left in her eyes.

Shota’s ears pick up the sound of the viewing room door opening; he turns around, finding a familiar man standing in the doorway, heaving, gun clenched in one hand and aimed low.

Snipe looks at the glass -then double takes, and looks at Shota. Then back at the glass. His gun lowers. “He’s out?”

Shota walks over to the emergency panel and deactivates the alarms as he answers. “Yes. We need to move him.” He responds gruffly.

“That's reinforced glass.”

“I know.” Shota hisses out. He’s in no mood to dance around the subject  “We have another chamber with Tartarus grade materials down the hall. The gas will dissolve in two minutes.” He stops, grimacing on the inside. “Inform Nedzu so he can set it up. I’m escorting them out.”

At that, Mrs. Bakugo seems to wake up. She startles and looks at him, surprise washing away the distress in her eyes. It’s quickly followed by indignation as she barks:

“What?! No!” She says, shaking her head. Her voice is quieter than before, more subdued. “I’m not leaving.”

“Can we please stay?” Her husband speaks up with an empty voice, not once looking away from Bakugo. 

Shota shakes his head. “Too dangerous.”

Mrs. Bakugo’s face scrunches up. “If you have a stronger cell why the fuck didn't you put him there beforehand?” Despite her anger, she kept her voice low -which does wonders on Shota’s returning headache.

“That room has never been used.” Aizawa responds quickly as Snipe turns around and walks out, likely to get the equipment needed to carry Bakugo to the other room. “We’ve never had to hold someone this dangerous on campus grounds. They’re usually taken in by the police before it's needed.”

“...I see.” Mrs. Bakugo’s voice is quiet.

She falls silent afterwards. Shota doesn’t wait for her to blow up at him anymore, ripping out his phone from his pocket to contact Nedzu and let him know of this latest fiasco. As he dials the number however, he finds his eyes straying towards the couple.

Mr. Bakugo leaned against the cracked glass, head resting on its surface, body heaving with near silent sobs. Behind him his fearsome wife stood, a quiet presence for once. Shota spots movement at her side, and he can only watch as she lifts one trembling hand, hesitates, then rests it on the glass too, next to her husband’s.  Her other hand lands delicately on Mr. Bakugo’s shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Shota looks away, throat dry and a heavy, uncomfortable feeling growing in his heart.

There’s nothing he can say.

Chapter Text

Wind chimes in his ears, ruffling his hair, sending the dark, curly locks flying in front of his eyes. He brushes them away, tucking them behind his left ear with his only available hand. Tree branches creak around him, verdant green peppered with the red and yellow of ripening mango. 

It’s peaceful.

Quiet.

He closes his eyes. Just the two of them sitting under the pleasant shadow of an aging tree, quietly bathing in each other’s presence just like they used to do as little children. As it should be.

But.

It doesn’t feel right. He frowns, fiddling with his hair, trailing his hand down over the swell of his chest to adjust the...

No.

This isn’t 

Right.

No

No

this isn’t me

Why would he think this is right? The more he feels the more he knows this is wrong this is wrong this body its too small too big too different

there’s ants crawling under his skin but its not his this is not his this is different what why where was he

“Maria? You’re shaking.”

shaking? 

she’s not shaking

they’re breaking

The person at his side shift, worry thick around his body, clogging his nose and blinding her eyes she can’t see the trees anymore he can’t see anything only that ugly ugly color why he knows he shouldn’t 

he knows he knows why doesn’t he take care not to feel

“Nena, do you need me to go get your doctor?”

the feeling explodes no no not the doctor he doesn’t want to him doesn’t want anyone just him just him he makes it right but this time he doesn’t why why why

this isn’t right

this isn’t how it's supposed to be 

this is not what he promised-

A hand lands on his wrist, large fingers curling around the circumference of the limb.

Katsuki looks down. 

In his hand, there’s an object he’s never seen before, but at the same time, it feels familiar. A pair of googles lays on his palm, lenses cracked and dull with black grime. The hand holding his wrist is massive and pale, fingers digging into his tan skin. 

Slowly, Maria looks up.

A man smiles, red eyes gleaming.

“Why would the ninth be any different?”

.

.

.

“I believe that I can start this conversation by saying this is an utter shitshow.”

Present Mic’s flat declaration the moment everyone sat down hits like a hammer, silencing every last Pro-Hero in the room. 

Sometimes, Shota didn’t particularly like Hizashi’s brand of energetic bluntness. It could be unwarranted and crude, usually too loud for the time of day his fellow alumni choose. But sometimes it was alright. It was warranted . Glances are exchanged, sighs are made; the statement was absorbed by all of them with somber acceptance.

Because there was nothing truer at the moment than the fact that they had fucked up, Shota especially. He’d turned his back to Bakugo until the last possible moment. Wrote off his distress as just a phase the boy needed to go through in order to grow up, to realize things were different now that All Might is retiring. He’d been worried about the boy’s mental state, yes, but he’d tried to keep him at arm’s length until a concrete plan was set.

Shota knows he failed. In the worst possible way imaginable. He’d caught a glimpse of Bakugo’s mental state and instead of dragging him to Hound Dog and Recovery Girl he let him stew in it. Bakugo would have never sought help by himself -given his temperament, the boy would have tried to do everything on his own. 

Hell, he did try, but what was really going on had been beyond him. Beyond everyone except the villains who did it to him. And still… 

Coward. Aizawa thinks to himself, not a first in the last few hours. I am a coward.

Even now still, his ears rang from Bakugo Mitsuki’s wailed screams and her son’s eerie, deranged shrieks. His face still aches and a bruise is forming on the better half of it, courtesy of his student’s mother. While he could press charges for the assault, Shota found it somewhat fitting. Mrs. Bakugo had been in distress and her son is without a doubt going through a lot worse.

The bruise from her attack was slowly matching the color of Bakugo’s handprints on his neck, where he nearly managed to break Shota’s neck. His capture scarf kept it from being seen, but Shota knew he couldn’t hide it for long. The bruises reached up to his chin; part of him wants to go to Recovery Girl to get it fixed, but another wants to leave as it is. 

The school nurse already has enough on her plate and in a way, the burning ache is a constant reminder of how much of a utter failure of a teacher he’s been this semester.

“That’s crass-” Sniper interjects, waving a hand. “-but true. There’s nothing left but moving forward, and quickly. Who knows what else the League is planning?”

“Let’s skip the formalities.” Nedzu interrupts before Hizashi can respond with something that without a shadow of a doubt would only put all of them on a even greater edge. “We shouldn’t repeat what we all already know. Recovery Girl?”

The nurse clears her throat, drawing the attention of all faculty members. Shota takes a moment to examine her, looking at her ruffled clothes, the strands of grey hair falling from her normally perfect, professional bun. She’s exhausted, and it shows. But through those thick glasses, her sharp gaze swept across the room, betraying her somber, but determined state of being.

“Tests are running right now.” She begins, voice rising. “I’ll need another two hours before they come back with results. Until then we can only wait on that front.” Chiyo takes a breath; Shota doesn’t miss the way her fingers clench on the table. “Bakugo woke up from sedation due the emergency dosage, but he’s...unreactive.”

Shota fights the grimace.

Unreactive. That is...one way to describe staring at a wall blankly. Shota’s seen him only once in the past three hours, and that was right after Snipe informed him of his awakening. The man was still keeping guard and according to him, the young teen returned to what he’d been doing before Shota dropped in with his parents; gazing out at the empty space in front of him with an empty, placid expression, like a robot that had been turned off.

It had been eerie. Extremely so. Shota’s not looking forward to going back there again, but he will. It’s his duty; he owes Bakugo that, at the very least.

Hizashi coughs, “Right. Students?”

Nedzu speaks up. “In the long stay wing of the infirmary.” The principle explains, hands clasped together. He almost looks like the picturesque image of calm Shota knows him for -if it wasn’t for his ruffled fur and too still, too droopy tail. “We should keep them there until...until the dorms are rebuilt.”

“ If we get the chance to get them rebuilt.”

Shota grimaces as a chorus of noises travel the teachers at the interjection. Across the table, Nemuri hisses out. “Hizashi!”

Said Pro-Hero winces at the fierce glares thrown his way. Only Shota himself, Chiyo and Nedzu didn’t react negatively, though Shota spots the way Chiyo’s head drops slightly at the comment. If All Might was here instead of on his way back from Tartarus, Shota has no doubt he would be doing the same.

A poor choice of words, yes, but apt, Shota thinks darkly.

“What?!” Hizashi snaps defensively, hands raised on either side of his body. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Look around you -this is one of the worst positions the school has ever been in. We’re going to need a miracle to regain some of our credibility, nevertheless keep the campus open!”

This only sets off the other teachers all at once. Hound Dog’s bark might as well be a roar for how deafening it sounds.

“Yuuei won’t close!”

“You can’t think that-!”

“Cementoss, you’re smart, you can see the writing on the wall for this s-”

“Stop.”

Something in Shota’s chest drops at the firm, flat command from their principal. 

The room instantly goes quiet, heads turning towards Nedzu. The animal has nary as much twitched since the chaos began. His head is tilted low, as if he’s at peace… but the way his dark, beady eyes run across every one of the faces of his employees tells Shota that whatever the creature is thinking, it’s far from peaceful.

“If we work thinking we’re going to lose, we won’t get far.” Nedzu begins, firm in a way that yielded little to interjections. “We need to work together with a single focus and resolve to do our best at it.” 

Silence.

“Plus ultra.” Someone calls out with the enthusiasm of a eldery man being asked to walk up a flight of stairs.

Nedzu’s tail flicks for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. 

“Correct.” The animal says. Shota stiffens up when his head turns towards him. “Now, in regards to image, how are Bakugo’s parents?”

“Staying in the guest dorms.” Shota hears himself say, the words leaving his lips automatically. “They’re unwilling to leave and after what happened, and I thought it would be best to keep them on the campus for now.”

Hizashi makes a soft noise of questioning. “Is that safe?”

“Bakugo Katsuki was used by the League to target our students.” Nedzu cuts in before anyone can speak up. “His parents could be targeted next. Until the Commission decides what to do in regards to potential protective custody, it’s best that they stay here.” 

“That’s good.” Hound Dog mutters. “We can’t have anything happen to them.”

Shota bites the inside of his cheek at that comment.

“Right.” Their principal agrees. He tilts his head up, taking a deep breath. “Now, about the Commission.”

More than one teacher groans. Chiyo visibly rolls her eyes behind her glasses and sits back, clearly irritated at the sheer idea of bureaucracy. Shota doesn’t blame her for such a reaction. He hardly kept himself from hissing out a noise at the mention of the organization.

Dealing with Bakugo’s parents is one thing. The public is another. The Commission is a whole new beast. No matter how prepared Yuuei will be going in, no matter how hard they worked to right the wrongs that occurred tonight, dealing with the Commission will be a difficult, terrible battle. They won’t have mercy -and likely, the public won’t, either, Shota denotes.

Beset on all sides. We’ve got our backs against the wall.

Part of him wonders if this is the League’s real aim, after all. Not killing his students,  or planting seeds of distrust between them and the public -but practically carpet bombing that bridge and lighting whatever remained on fire. As crass of an analogy as it is, it's also perfect regarding what will happen within the next few hours.

“They’ve already been contacted. In fact, after this meeting I will be going with Hizashi to their office for questioning.” Nedzu continues. “It’s crucial we gain a solid footing before then. We need to reach an agreement together, should we want to face the media and come out on top.”

At the mention of the public, not one teacher in attendance makes a noise. The air is somber -everyone knows what’s coming.

Soon, Yuuei will be fighting for her life.

Nedzu tilts his head, and switches topics, as if sensing the distraught atmosphere. “Has anyone heard anything back from All Might?”

“He’ll be back in thirty.” Cementoss pipes up. “He didn’t get much. Apparently, All for One decided to shut his trap for once.”

Nedzu exhales harshly. “Pity.”

“He said he has some interesting information for Recovery Girl, but nothing that will help us with...well, this.” Cementoss trails off, frowning.  

“...are we even sure whatever that was is a Quirk?” Hizashi pipes up, voice quiet. “I mean, that… that was something. I’ve seen my fair share of crazy stuff guys, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Quirk like that. “

An uneasy air covers the room. 

“It is a Quirk, strange as it might look.” Hound Dog’s rumbling, steady voice fills the void Hizashi’s leaves behind. The man has his arms crossed, golden eyes dark and deep in his thoughts. “Emitter would be my guess, but given Shota failed to affect it, it might be a transformation class.”

“Maybe not, I am leaning towards Emitter. Or, it could be unclassified.” Chiyo pipes up. “If we’re dealing with something All for One caused, it might be an old Quirk he kept on him. First-generation Quirks were more volatile and hard to classify. Might be the reason he did not use it at Kamino, given how... effective it is.”

She trails off, jaw clenched tight. There’s a far away look in her eyes.

She’s making a good point, horrifyingly enough. There’s a reason the time after humanity gained Quirks was considered to this day one of the darkest days of the 2000s. Quirks might be stronger now than their ancestors, but the first generation of Quirk users had the highest rate of unstable, erratic Quirks. It had led to lots of death, and while the erratic Quirks bloodlines died off over time due to their own lethality, they had left their mark.

“Right.” Hizashi agrees. “That too. First gen, damn. There’s no knowing what we’re dealing with.”

“We can’t underestimate this Quirk.” Cementoss says. He looks down at the table, hands clenched into fists. “I was barely able to stop it. We won’t be so lucky next time.”

There’s a soft noise across the table. “If we had been any slower…” Midnight trails off, expression pinched.

We would have had casualties. 

Bodies.

Nedzu closes his eyes. Aizawa watches as he exhales -and seemingly deflates even more. The exhaustion is palpable -exhaustion Aizawa feels through his own body intimately. It's been hours since he’s gotten more than a few minutes of rest.

“We cannot let the mistakes we’ve made drag us down.” The principal murmurs. “Stay vigilant. For now, we have to work with what we have, even if it is too little.” 

His eyes flick up, sweeping across the quiet room. Nedzu pauses to look into the eyes of every last member of Yuuei’s staff. Never before has there been such a somber air in this room, not during Aizawa’s tenure.

“For our students’ sake, we must push forward.”

Quietly, Shota agrees.

We’re not going to let the League get away with this.

.

.

.

The news hits mainstream eight hours after the attack.

It ignites like wildfire, spreading through the internet and news network with fury Toshinori has rarely seen. Even news of his retirement which had been playing on loop for the last few days and clips of the Kamino fight are momentarily drowned out by the news of another attack within Yuuei’s walls.

The details are kept vague because despite what the media thought, they weren’t allowed 

Yuuei fails again! is a trending theme across social platforms.

Toshinori tries to not look at it, but it's hard when he’s trapped in a car with only a phone in hand and a stone-faced, dark-eyed Gran Torino driving. 

“You shouldn’t have gone to Tartarus.”

Quietly, Toshinori wonders if he should have just informed his former teacher instead of going out of his way to pick him up on the way back to Yuuei.

“I reacted.”

“You reacted poorly,” Gran Torino corrects him with that same sharp, brunt way he did years ago, back in the days Toshinori barely reaches his shoulders and Nana oversaw their training to keep her best friend from roughening him up too much. “-of course you got nothing out of him. Bastard enjoys that kind of desperation. You went all that way just to get laughed at.”

Toshinori clenches his teeth. “I got something out of him though. The Trigger pill.”

“The very same that nurse already dug out of his neck before you reached Tartarus?” Gran Torino snaps back, recalling to the rushed explanation Toshinori gave him over the phone that he, himself, obtained through a phone call with Nedzu. “All for One knew you would find it. He didn’t want to do anything to hide it, he just wanted your reaction. And he got it. Front row view.”

Toshinori’s closed fist collides with the side door, his mentor not even blinking as the loud bang echoes through the enclosed space. Grimacing, Toshinori ignores the pain from his still healing body, snarling:

“What he did-”

“-is fucking terrible, but you can’t lose sight of his end goal.” Sorahiko stops him immediately as the car takes a turn. “He wants to have the last laugh. And at this rate? He’s getting it.” 

If he bristles at the declaration, Sorahiko doesn’t mention it. Toshinori sucks in a breath, ignores his aching ribs that were still not fully healed from Kamino and grunts out:

“I know.”

“Ignore the bastard for now.” His former teacher continues, voice growing slightly quieter. “You need to focus on figuring out what the fuck happened to the kid, and what he’s carrying now.”

“Chiyo thinks it's one Quirk.”

“Could be fuckin’ ten of em swimming in that poor kid's insides and we wouldn’t know.” Gran Torino interjects crassly, voice rising back up again. “There’s no tests for that, and the one person we have on hand that could detect it doesn’t have her Quirk anymore.”

Toshinori stays silent, stuck.

“Awfully convenient, isn’t it?” His mentor’s sudden pipe up makes his nonexistent stomach curl.

“Very much so.” He bites out, hating the clenching feeling in his chest at the idea that the theft of Search had been, once again, just another cog in All for One’s complex plan.

As he stews in his frustration, Toshinori feels his phone buzz in his hand. Blinking, he flicks his gaze away from the outside world and down to his lap. Logging onto his phone, he grimaces at what he sees.

Another article.

Against his better judgement, he clicks on it. Toshinori reads the news in silence, then the next one that pops up, then the next, collecting the articles on his phone. Eventually, he hears his less than polite driver make a snarled noise.

“Stop looking at the damn phone.”

“I’m reading the news.” Toshinori defends himself blandly. He’s surprised at how exhausted he sounds.

“You’re letting it get to you, that’s what you’re doing.” Sorahiko hisses out. “Toshi, don’t let him win.”

The sudden shift to a gentler tone forces Toshinori to look up and at his left, towards his teacher. Gran Torino stares resolutely ahead, lips pinched tight. Refusing to look at him, out of stubborn pride.

Toshinori looks down at his phone, and with clenched teeth, he closes the window and shuts off the device. His friend is right. He’s always right. This is just added suffering onto himself, punishment for his negligence at protecting the children -protective Bakugo . Poor, young Bakugo, who had been reduced to a pawn by the monster that already stole Nana from him. Bakugo, who is suffering right now because of his failings.

Toshinori can’t afford the time or energy for this.

He needs to focus on what he can do now.

Exploring avenues he couldn’t change will only slow down their progress. He won’t save anyone if he lets it get to him, lets the trap All for One spranned around him close shut and drag him down to the depths of the ocean. He needs to stay sharp. Stay aware. Contribute .

Scrolling through the latest news watching it all implode won’t help.

Gran Torino is right, this is what the bastard wanted-

The phone buzzes. This time however, the familiar vibration is joined by a ping. 

It’s not a news alert, it's a message. Toshinori swipes his phone open and lifts it back up to read it, quickly noting the Nedzu scrawled atop the messenger section.

Did something happen?

Toshinori clicks on the message. His heart drops when he reads the contents. There's few people who are aware of this phone's existence, much less its owner.

Almost as if sensing his unease, Sarahiko grunts out:

“What is it, boy?”

“There’s been a change of plans.” Toshinori doesn’t even try to hide it. Such a thing would be unproductive versus someone as sharp and keen as his former teacher.

“Ah?

“Taking the 9th avenue. Naomasa says the Hero Commission wants to talk to me.”

.

.

.

When he finally wakes up, Izuku feels empty.

There’s a giant, endless hole in his heart, a chasm that grows and grows and sucks up all the light within his body. He feels heavy yet light, tired beyond all means despite not feeling tired at the same time and it's such a dichotomy that he stays where he is, laying on his side in his infirmary bed.

The skin around his eyes feels crusty with dried out tears. Did All Might hold him until he cried himself to sleep? Izuku can’t remember. Shame bears down on him at the thought of his mentor wasting his time tending to him, as comforting as it felt, instead of doing something more productive like figuring out how to move forward -how to help Kacchan.

Heart heavy, Izuku focuses away from those somber thoughts with great effort. He looks around slowly, taking in his surroundings. Still in the infirmary wing it seems, two other cots stationned alongside his own. One held a pile of blankets that Izuku now knows hid Todoroki under there, and the other… 

...the other is occupied by several people, sitting quietly on the cot and heads hung low as they whispered among themselves.

Iida’s dark blue hair is unmistakable, as is Ashido’s short bubble pink hair. Kaminari’s yellow mop of hair is without rival either, and the person next to him has bright, spiky red hair that left no doubt of their owner’s identity, and filled Izuku’s aching heart with warmth.

“Kirishima.”

At the sound of his voice, the group snap their heads at him, eyes widening. Iida takes a sharp breath upon noticing that he’s awake.

“Midoriya!”

They tumble off Iida’s bed to get to him.

Kirishima gets there first, unmistakingly unsteady on his feet and paler than he should be but he’s so quick and excited that Izuku accepts him with trembling arms, a choked laugh leaving him as the redhead wraps him up in his own arms. He’s  a bit buried into Kirishima’s face, his nose might be squashed but it's fine. This is fine. Kirishima is okay and alive and that’s all that matters.

“You’re o-okay,” Izuku hears his own voice croak out. There’s a tiny, breathy laugh full of disbelief somewhere above him. “Y-you’re really okay.”

“I’m too manly to stay down. ” Kirishima responds with a slightly hysterical tone. “Not the first time Bakugo’s hit me, I’ll always walk it off.”

 The mention of Kacchan makes Izuku’s heart hurt, but the relief at seeing his classmate alive and well soothes the pain somewhat. As is Ashido, who slithers around Izuku and Kirishima like a snake and wraps herself like a blanket against his back. Izuku feels Iida’s hand on the back of his head, a gentle pat that fills his heart with warmth. Kaminari fights to get in there too, ruffling his hair and bouncing slightly on the mattress from elation.

“Good to see you’re awake.” A voice calls out from nearby, extremely familiar.

Izuku peers behind him and spots a familiar mop of red and white on the bed nearby. Todoroki is awake, peering at him from the comfort of his bed. He looks better than before, but still a bit miserable. It's a relief. 

He smiles at Todoroki. His friend doesn’t smile back -that was, after all this time, still a work in progress- but his expression visibly relaxes and there’s a fond little gleam in his mismatched eyes that might as well be described as his own version of a smile.

As he’s distracted by Todoroki, Izuku is startled when the bed jolts under him. Kaminari stands up away from the bed suddenly, grinning like mad. 

“While you smother him,” He says, heading towards the door. “-let me tell the others!”

Izuku freezes. All of them were still in the infirmary? Could they even fit inside this room? He pokes his head out from between Ashido and Kirishima and yelps; “Wait, don’t-”

Izuku’s complaint falls upon deaf ears when Kaminari tears the door open, shoves his head out and bellows:

“He’s awake!”

The response is instant.

Izuku hears something crash in the distance, then a yell, a curse, and whoop, followed by the sound of thundering feet that grows closer and closer. Izuku feels his body grow tense, conflicted between being anxious and excited with the realization all of his classmates were about to pile in on him.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Kaminari rushes back to the bed as the first of their classmates burst through the door. Sero is there first, followed by Toru, then Mineta, and then the rest. One after the other they walk in, their relieved voices flooding the once quiet room with sound:

“Midoriya how are you doing?”

“Hey move out of the way, I wanna see him!”

“Toru, watch for Sato’s foot!”

“You scared us stiff!”

“Another one’s up!”

“Had a good rest?”

Izuku takes them all in with wide eyes. He doesn’t miss the bandages wrapped around Tokoyami’s middle, or the way Sato hobbles with a crutch, not wanting to put weight on his newly fixed foot. Mineta has slight cuts on his face, small and barely noticeable that Izuku’s sharp eyes only barely picks up. 

More than a few have bags under their eyes. They look tired. Exhausted. Mentally drained.

But they look at him and they smile, making it feel as if at least some things were okay.

His classmates sit at the edges of his bed, piling up in the room the best they can. Izuku’s tongue feels heavy and his eyes tear up as he counts them one by one, spotting Momo, Sato, Jiro and many more rushing in. Sato’s walking with a slight limp, but he looks fine. They all look alright, although tired.

They’re all alive.

...but… 

“Where’s Uraraka?”

“Ah. She’s still at the hospital.” Iida answers after a pause. Upon seeing Izuku’s startled and probably terrified face, he waves his arms hurriedly. “S-she’s fine! Recovery Girl went and took a look at her arm, according to her she'll be okay. The cut -wound was pretty clean, apparently. It helped.”

Izuku opens his mouth, then closes it when he takes in his fellow classmates’ expressions. More than one looked uneasy, and for plenty enough reasons. God, he wishes he could forget that. Her screams will haunt him for the rest of his life.

I want her to be alright.

There’s no way she’s not going to have trouble moving her arm. The chain practically sawed the limb off. Reduced mobility in the arm is more than possible and-

Oh.

A strange, odd thought suddenly strikes Izuku. Something he’d nearly completely forgotten about.

The Provisional Exam is only two days away. God, Izuku nearly forgot about it. The thing he’d been training so hard for had been reduced to nothing but a footnote at the back of his mind, and shamefully he finds that he doesn’t care much for it anymore. In all likelihood, the exam is the last thing on his classmates’ minds, too.

“Midoriya?” Ashido’s voice is closer to his back; he feels her run a few fingers through his hair. “-are you okay?”

“I’m…” Izuku licks his lips, finding himself struggling to answer. Uraka, Exams, Kacchan. It all swirls together in his head like a bad storm and he can’t make sense of it. “I don’t know.” He ultimately admits.

By the looks he gets, it's a feeling that’s shared.

“I’m sorry.” is heard from the pile of blankets called Todoroki Shouto. Mismatched eyes somehow still manage to stare down at Izuku as their owner shifts under the covers, looking utterly miserable. “I should have been-”

Is he-

“Don’t.” Iida’s sharp voice cuts Todoroki’s declaration before he can begin with his apology. “Don’t finish that sentence. This is not your fault.” His eyes darken. “If anything, it’s mine.”

“Iida, no…“

“I’m the class president, it’s my job to look out for all of you.” Iida says, straightening his back up and looking at not just Todoroki, but all of them. He then bows his head, expression somber but resolute. “I failed with Bakugo. Horribly. And in turn… we all got hurt.”

“No.”

The rebuttal leaves Izuku’s lips as a surprise to even himself. Iida looks at him as well as the rest of the class, confused. Izuku swallows.

“The teachers didn’t suspect anything.” He starts, growing more confident as looks of understanding are exchanged between the students.  “The blame isn't on you -and it shouldn’t be on them. It’s on the villains who did this to Kacchan.”

“Still,” Iida shakes his head. “I can’t help but feel responsible.”

Izuku blows out air through his nostrils. “Then how do you think I feel?” The bitter words leave his lips before he can reign the frustration back.  “I-”

“What’s with all this ruckus?”

Izuku startles at the familiar voice. He hears heels click on the ceramic floor, as well as the tapping of a cane. The crowd of bodies parts like the red sea; Recovery Girl emerges, her tight pinched expression softening when she sees Izuku.

There’s bags under her eyes. It adds to the guilt.

“Ah, Midoriya. Good to see you’re awake, child.” She says, shushing Kirishima and Ashido away as she gets closer to the bed, peering into Izuku’s eyes with narrowed ones. “Any dizziness?”

“N-no?”

She purses her lips. “Pain?”

“I’m fine.” Izuku stresses, feeling just the slightest bit frustrated by the detour in the conversation. He doesn’t hate Recovery Girl -in fact, he very much so admires her for her dedication to keep them all healthy- but he can’t keep the frustration from bubbling up at her interruption. “I’m not in pain, at all.”

“Ah, that’s good.” taking a deep breath that Izuku is more than sure is of relief, Recovery Girl’s eyes soften as she looks at him. “well, if that’s the case, I’m sure you’re feeling a bit hungry. I’ll ask Dinner Rush to warm up some food for you. Anything you need?”

“Can….can we see Kacchan?”

The words leave his lips without any real input and yet, Izuku is behind them one hundred percent. Even as they seemingly flick a switch in the nurse’s behavior. Recovery Girl’s expression grows somber, more closed off. 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Midoriya.”

“But-”

“No.” The sharpness in her voice silences him utterly, ripping the air right out of his sails. “That’s the end of it, I’m afraid. Bakugo is off limits until the Principal reaches a decision.”

Izuku grits his teeth internally, stuck between unease at her order and the desire to see Kacchan, to see with his own two eyes that he is alright. Kacchan hasn’t been alright since Kamino, but the memory of the night before -of those deep, dark eyes and dripping darkness and black lips twisting his friend’s face into something that can only be described as nightmarish- digs its talons into his mind and keeps his attention hostage.

As so, his ears barely register the chatter around him until he hears someone speak up over everyone else.

“So he’s on campus.” Todoroki’s louder than normal voice pierces through the silence. His voice is followed by murmurs of agreements from the rest of his classmates, who quiet down.

“He is.” Recovery Girl looks unhappy, but not in the normal way. If anything, she looks faintly uncomfortable. Her tone is firm, however, as she sweeps the room with her gaze. “But my point still stands. Bakugo is not open for visitation, not any time soon. His condition is…” She pauses diplomatically, taking a breath. “...is unstable.” 

A shiver crawls up Izuku’s spine.

“So for your safety, we cannot allow this.”

Her answer does little to quell the room full of students. Even Todoroki looks faintly annoyed under his blankets, and Kirshima looks almost betrayed.

“We have to!”

“He’s our friend !”

“He’s a danger .”

Silence. The tension is so thick in the room, Izuku might as well be able to cut it with a knife. Recovery Girl doesn’t look happy -but she’s not alone. Everyone’s expressions from even the bubbly Ashido to the usually solemn Todoroki range from aghast to resigned. Haunted, even.

Many emotions Izuku feels down to his bones.

“I’m sorry, kids.” Recovery Girl whispers, and she means it. Izuku knows she does. She’s not a heartless person so her refusal hurts even more. “I really am. But this is serious, and I cannot allow any form of leeway when it comes to Bakugo.”

“...is he safe?” Kaminari asks quietly. Izuku wants to know, too.

For a moment, Recovery Girl looks pained.

“Behind the best defenses Yuuei can provide.” She assures them, though it does little to help quell the tension. “No one is getting to him unless we allow it.”

Izuku is horribly, painfully aware of how she isn’t saying yes . She's skirting around the answer, avoiding it masterfully. The knowledge weighs in his chest like an anchor, dragging him down.

“For now, I suggest you all rest.” The nurse continues. “I’ve done what I can, but you need sleep. So no more fooling around, I want you all on your beds resting, understood?”

Izuku watches as his classmates hang their heads low, properly chastised.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Get better.” Recovery Girl orders them, narrowing her eyes as a few at the back start scampering towards the door, dragging their feet. She looks back at Midoriya, holding his gaze as she continues; “That’s what you can do to help. We’re keeping Bakugo safe in the meantime.”

Izuku holds her stare, heart sinking at her declaration. 

Even the deaf would be able to hear the tension in her voice.

.

.

.

“Has the recording started?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Let’s get this started.”

Hizashi barely fights off the urge to slouch.

He hates this kind of meeting. The conference room’s stuffy, too cold and too impersonal. It’s one of the last places he would like to be in, and that’s not even taking into account the current subject of the meeting.

For Hizashi has no doubt that what will happen in the next few hours could very well decide the fate of not only Yuuei, but Pro-Heroes as a whole in Japan.

This is fucking insane, he thinks as the members of the Hero Commission lay down the final details.

A man opposite to where he stands -right behind Nedzu, keeping watch over his principal zealously even if within the safety of this government office- clears his throat and begins speaking. Hizashi only recognizes him among the representatives. Matsui Akihiro, head of the Kanto region of the Hero Commission:

“I’ll repeat everything so we are all on the same page.” He starts, and already Hizashi doesn’t like his tone. “Seven hours ago, Yuuei suffered an attack from inside it’s walls; the dormitories for Class 1-A were attacked. The culprit, or rather, the source of the attack came from Bakugo Katsuki. The report from Principal Nedzu-” 

Matsui waves a hand towards the two of them, and that combined with the slightest narrowing of eyes crosses another checkmark of not like in Hizashi’s mental book. 

“-says that Mr. Bakugo lashed out against his classmates with what he describes as ‘black, metal chain-like appendages’ that resulted in the near levelling of the dormitories.”

There’s whispers across the aisle. “The students?” A woman at their left asks.

“Alive. One is in critical condition, but the rest only have medium to no injuries.” The first man says, eyes sweeping over the papers Hizashi knows for a fast Nedzu spent the last hour and most of the car ride compiling before they reached the office and had to print it out as is. “They were lucky.”

“They reacted well for their age.” Nedzu commends.

“They shouldn’t have had to react at all.”

Hizashi nearly bites his lower lip. You motherfucker.

Nedzu, to his credit, doesn’t even react to the open jab. Barely even blinks. Hizashi wishes he had his self control.

“Another part of your report that catches my attention is what you think happened to Mr. Bakugo.” “-it states that the likely cause of this attack is a Quirk given to Bakugo Katsuki by the unranked villain All for One, leader of the League of Villains.”

If there were whispers before, now it's full of chatter. Hizashi watches as representatives lean towards each other and talk in a quiet voice, their eyes shifting and expressions as closed as they could muster given the news. It makes his stomach curl.

The information Nedzu had given them during the staff meeting is very much fresh in his mind, adding to the tension.

‘There is Trigger in Bakugo’s system. According to Chiyo, there is no possible way that no one noticed while giving Bakugo a check up.’

Hizashi was already tormented with the idea that someone within Yuuei has been squealing; not it's even worse, even though it's expected. There’s a mole in the Commission, no doubt. For such a large organization, especially compared to Yuuei, there is bound to be someone doing shady business with less than stellar individuals.

Money. Blackmail. Threats. Hizashi has seen plenty before in his lifetime.

Any one of these guys could be the one behind the medical manufacturing.

“So the myth is true.”

“Hardly a myth.” Nedzu speaks up, not even blinking. His tone is calm and even, though not in the normal manner that Hizashi has come to expect. Anyone not acquainted enough with the Principal would think this is his normal voice, but Hizashi can feel the cold tension radiating from his superior. He’s nervous and frustrated, but hiding it well.

“This isn’t the 1900s. We have official records from the end of the Pre-Quirk Era, and of All for One’s existence.” Nedzu continues. “While he is considered an urban legend for the public, there was evidence that he existed long before Kamino.”

The first man huffs. “Which brings us to that. Kamino.”

Every head turns back to Nedzu, who doesn’t even blink.

“Bakugo hasn’t left protective custody or Yuuei since Kamino. There’s no way anything could have happened during the time he was in my care and this incident.” Nedzu pauses, eyes never leaving the man. “That means that this grafted Quirk was implanted during Bakugo’s kidnapping.”

That earns another reaction from the businessmen around them. They’re sharp people, Hizashi knows. Matsui Akihiro especially; he did not get to become head of this regional branch of the Commission by being oblivious. He knows what Nedzu is silently accusing him of. 

“Official testimony from the victim states that he was unconscious for most of his kidnapping.” Matsui retorts. “Under the influence of drugs, in fact. His medical check up after Kamino showed traces of sedatives-”

“-but it somehow didn’t show any signs of an additional Quirk.” Nedzu responds.

“There’s no test for that.” Matsui fires back. 

“There certainly is for Trigger , though.” Nedzu says, and it feels good to see the way Matsui clenches his jaw like he’s just eaten something particularly foul. “But in my formal opinion, there’s no way a grafted Quirk wouldn’t have repercussions on a person’s physical health. Since he returned to Yuuei, Bakugo had shown clear signs of not only trauma, but illness.”

Silence.

Matsui doesn’t look happy, and neither 

“....who did the physical examination of Bakugo Katsuki after Kamino?”

There’s some shuffling of papers from a man in their right. “Doctor Ohori Sawao was the one assigned to look over Mr. Bakugo.” 

Matsui flares his nostrils.

“Great.” He says, voice full of barely repressed anger. “Tell him to get here within the next hour and a half or I’ll be sending Hawks after him.”

Hizashi raises a brow, impressed. Someone in the assembly lets out an odd noise. A few of the bureaucrats look faintly scandalized.

“Sir?!”

“Actually, no, send Hawks in with a team. I want Ohori here within the next two hours.” Matsui turns to one of the men on their right, who stiffens up under his stare. “ Now .”

The entire room is quiet as the man scrambles up, leaving his papers on the desk, does a small quick  bow to his superior before all but speed walking out of the chamber like a man who has the very hounds of hell nipping at his heels. Everyone watches him go without a word. Then, one of the representatives turns to Matsui.

“Are we going with the idea he is a traitor?”

Yes, Hizashi thinks quietly to himself. Yes you are. And get on with already. 

“Let’s not dance around the issue here.” Matsui leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, crossing his hands together. He sweeps his gaze across the room, unflinching and set like stone. “This -this is catastrophic . We’re going to have to make a conference again, and this time there’s no aha moment where we get the damn League.” He pauses, lips pinched. “This is going to be a slaughter.”

Silence. Nedzu nods. “The public is going to demand answers.” “Has the incident leaked to the media yet?”

“Yes.” A woman speaks up, not the same as before. This one is an older brunette with bright, electric blue eyes. From that feature and her hair peppered with grey, Hizashi recognizes her as head of communication. “I had my employees on standby. Articles are starting to appear on the web. There’s no hiding it, not something this big. We need to be firm about our response.”

“I know.” Matsui lets out a sigh, then he turns to Nedzu. “How about the boy himself? Is Bakugo…?”

There it is.

“At Yuuei. After containment, we put him under Recovery Girl’s care, as well as under a watch of rotating staff.” Nedzu answers. From his spot behind the principal, Hizashi spots the way his tail flicks and slaps the air under the table. “He’s in no shape to be transported, or in any way shape or form able to interact with people.”

Quick and to the point, permitting no room for further discussions.

Another thing they discussed in the staff meeting is the chances of Bakugo being moved from Yuuei. From the start, they all know how much of a bad idea it is. Yuuei might have been breached twice but it is the safest place for Bakugo to be, security wise. The League won’t get in there a third time, her staff learned their lesson. Not to mention, keeping him on the campus meant easy access from people who know about All for One and close to people Bakugo could recognize if -once he becomes coherent.

It's the safest choice.

“He’s not?”

“You can find out about the most updated medical file for him here, done by Recovery Girl.” “Since awakening he’s been aggressive, and has constantly lashed out at everyone he sees. The Quirk that All for One gave him is still very much so in effect, I’m afraid.”

Matsui doesn’t respond, staying silent. It’s another member of the Commission that speaks up, hesitant:

“...what kind of Quirk causes this?”

“It’s origins are unknown.” Nedzu answers, and Hizashi has a few choice ways of further describing just how little in the know they all are right now. “We know All for One most likely implanted it into the child, but we don’t have anything else. It’s type is unknown, though I am leaning towards it being a precursor to modern Emitter Quirks, given how erratic it is.”

Looks are exchanged across the table. It spells nothing good.

“Right.” Matsui mutters. “We’ll look through the Quirk registry for matches.”

Good luck with that, Hizashi thinks sourly.

If the villain is as old as Nedzu told them he is, if it's really a first generation Quirk and if the Kamino villain really is the All for One from those old urban myths, then in all likelihood this Quirk will remain unidentified due to its age. 

For all the Commission brags about the usefulness of the Quirk registry, the program is only forty six years old. A baby compared to how long since Quirks came into existence -and the Registry isn’t even a standard implemented worldwide, with different countries having completely different systems to account for Quirks, or having nothing at all.

If All for One got this Quirk from someone from outside of Japan, they could be shit out of luck.

He probably banked on that shit, too. There’s no way to track this thing, regardless of how unique it is.

“Until we can reach a better understanding of his situation, Bakugo will remain where he is, under our guard and care.” Nedzu’s voice is calm, but firm.

By the narrowing of Matsui’s eyes, he knows exactly what Nedzu is trying to convey. Bakugo is staying within Yuuei’s walls, even if it's the last thing the Principal ever does.

 “Right, then let’s continue.” Matsui responds. 

Nedzu smiles. “Agreed.”

The man across the desk narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly as a result.

Matsui opens his mouth to retort when the communications representative taps lightly on wood on the other end of the long table, drawing all of their attention. The woman pauses once she has all of their eyes on her, then clears her throat and calls out:

“With all due respect, we should focus on how to deal with the public…”

Hizashi feels unease at the way Nedzu’s tail all but quietly slaps against the side of his chair with barely repressed frustration.

This isn’t good.

Chapter Text

It’s a busy midday in Musutafu.

The sun is bright over her head. Birds are chirping, the sky is blue. Cars zip past as she walks through the crowds, hands in her pockets as she heads deeper into the mass of officers standing by, up to a six story apartment complex.

She slides by one of her companions, flashing her laminated license attached to a necklace as she heads up the staircase, the click of her low black business heels being the only sound permeating through the building. The staircase is narrow, slightly unclean, the sharp angle a strain on her forty-five year old legs. 

Nevertheless, she perseveres.

Up the stairs, second floor. There’s two officers there, hands resting gently on their weapon. She steps past them, walks by three doors, then stops at the first. Reaching up with her left hand, she knocks three times, hard. Each thump echoes through the hallway. The officers behind her shift uneasily; one is dressed in uniform, the other in a dark green suit, more akin to a Pro-Hero costume.

“Ohori Sawao? I am Lilla Faux from the Hero Commission. I need to speak to you.”

Silence.

She waits with a sharp ear and bathed breath, trying to hear movement through the door. Narrowing her eyes, she waits five seconds then knocks again, three clear times.

“Ohori Sawao, I have to speak to you. Open the door.”

Waits. Five seconds pass by. Nothing.

Faux steps back, gestures her two companions. The man in the green suit walks forward, reaching out with one hand towards the lock on the door.

There’s a flicker of light as his hand touches the handle, a zip of lighting she barely catches sight of before the man flicks his hand to the left. Click . As one, the handle on the door spins as if pulled by a ghost’s hand, and the door opens.

She turns her head to the sidekick, nods once in acknowledgement.

As he steps back, she lifts her right arm up, checking the old, silver watch on her wrist. She shifts one of the dials, turning it all the way back to start a timer. Setting it to two minutes, she then steps inside.

It’s quiet. The apartment is small, tidy, a living room leading to a kitchen, three doors further back -one likely a bathroom, the two others study and bedroom. Faux looks around, pausing as she passes by a small, low center table in the middle of the living room.

Trailing a finger over it, she lifts her hand up to look at the grey residue on her fingertip.

Dust.

...Faux is getting a bad feeling.

They haven’t called the doctor beforehand. This is supposed to be a surprise, to keep him from running; today is an off-work day for the man according to the schedule the Commission supplied, so Ohori should not be at work. They’d have gotten the message he was detained otherwise, and the police were one phone call away from starting a search.

By all means, he should be home.

She tilts her head towards the doors at the back of the quiet apartment. Faux walks forward, into the kitchen, calling out:

“Ohori Sawao?”

Nothing, again.

She stops by the first door, slowly opening it, ready. A bathroom. Small. Nothing inside. She glances around, then closes it.

Second door. It’s not closed, not fully, a inch of space between the door and its frame. Faux stands in front of it, reaching out to gently push it open. It goes easily.

On the other side, two blank eyes stare down at her, glazed and robbed of humanity.

Faux freezes.

Monster and human stare at each other in silence, surprised.

The creature, crouched as it is in front of a bed, slowly stands up. It’s lanky, skeletal, gigantic mass looms over her, scrapping the ceiling as a mangled set of lips curl back, teeth exposed.

“...yessss…?”

Faux immediately activates her Quirk.

A split-second later, she’s standing in the hallway, in front of a closed door. She doesn’t wait; Faux whirls around, looks at the two officers and barks out, running towards them:

“NOMU!”

A bellow echoes from within the apartment. 

Both officers jump at the screech that reaches down to Faux’s very bones. Their feet move before their minds catch up, rushing them towards the staircase and Faux runs right after them, already, reaching to her side for her radio. She unclips it, pulls it to her mouth and activates the device to call out:

“Pro-Hero backup immediately needed!” “Hawks -there's a Nomu!”

She senses it coming long before she sees it. The entire floor shakes under her feet as the lumbering beast makes its way through the apartment, likely heading right for the door but she’s not going to look back. She can hear every single of its rapid, furious steps and the-

Wood spindles and flies behind her as the door she is running away from shatters into tiny pieces. Against her better judgement, she glances back in time to see a familiar beast emerge, corded black muscles shining under the lights as a large, bulbous head with soggy pink-grey brain matter rams the door into little pieces.

It shrieks at being discovered, loud and wheezing like a person trying to breathe through a painful sickness. It's flanks heave with the force of its screams.

Then its head turns towards her.

Both the officer and the sidekick at her side lift their weapon up; Faux doesn’t pull hers; she knows bullets won’t affect it, not after Kamino.

She also doesn’t need to, for moments later the glass side of the hallway explodes and the Nomu is assaulted by a hail of very sharp, blood-red feathers.

.

.

.

Slowly, Izuku watches as his classmates pick themselves back together.

Sato is on his feet in a matter of hours, hobbling around on his healed foot stubbornly. From what Izuku pieces together, the chain had been so thin and sharp it had partially cut the limb in a way that made it easy to put back together.

Uraraka is still not here, though. She’s still at a hospital in town, Izuku hears from Iida, getting her arm fixed with surgery. The thought of the damage being enough that Recovery Girl can’t address it leaves a cold, heavy weight in his heart. He hopes she’s alright. He wants her to be alright.

He’s tired of all this pain. He’s tired of seeing their tired faces, dark shadows around their eyes from lack of sleeping, the tousled hair from twisting and turning on the unfamiliar hospital beds. He wishes he was back in the dorms. The high of moving in had yet to fade even after nearly a week, a feeling that had gradually dimmed the more Izuku watched Kacchan and noticed everything that was off -everything that grew worse, everything wrongness that piled up until… 

When are they going to let him see Kacchan?

The teachers were very tight lipped about him.

How is he?

What is his condition?

Is he still like….?

His thoughts wander to hours ago, to black eyes and black lips and shadows coming alive. Wrapped up warmly in blankets in his bed, Izuku still shudders, stomach lurching.

What did All for One do to him?

There’s no doubt in his mind that it was the villain who is at fault for this. A Quirk did that, a Quirk turned his childhood friend into….into that. It was either a Quirk All for One used on Kacchan, or a Quirk he gave to Kacchan; and Izuku is starting to believe in the latter. He wishes he’d spoken more to All Might instead of crying uselessly against his mentor. He could have tried to help. He could have done more.

I’m useless. Izuku thinks somberly, eyes straying to Todoroki’s sleeping figure in the nearby bed. Back in the forest, and now. I wasn’t fast enough to help Kacchan -I failed to help him now, when he needs it the most-

A ringing noise startles him, yanking him out of that dark thought process. Izuku looks around for the noise, finding his phone on a small nightstand by his bed. It’s the source of the sound -someone is calling him.

Mom? He thinks as he reaches for it. Recovery Girl told him she came to visit, but he’d been asleep then. Is she calling me?

Curious, he picks up the device and chels the number. It’s familiar -and when it clicks who it is, Izuku slides the Accept Call button across the screen and all but shoves into his left ear:

“Uraraka?!”

A voice comes out on the other side, hesitant but extremely familiar:

“Hello?”

It’s her.

It really is her.

“You’re alright. You’re really okay…!” “How -how are you?!”

“Huh, well, hanging in there.” She laughs; her voice sounds a bit dry and parched. Tired. “G-glad to tell you, I’m keeping my arm. ”

Izuku’s breath catches. “Really?!” he breathes out, voice higher pitched than expected.

Uraraka makes a noncommittal hmm noise on the other side of the phone, just the right kind she does when she shrugs. Or trying to, because Izuku is more than sure she should not be moving that shoulder.

“It’s a bit fucked, but the doctors say that with some Quirk work and physical therapy, I’ll gain most of my mobility back in a few months.” She says, each word reaching through the line and plucking a pound of weight off Izuku’s back one by one. His friend laughs, voice dry but happy.  “H-helps that the Principal pulled some strings. A-and is paying for well, huh, everything. Even my parents’ flight here. They came quick.” She warbles at the end, like she’s remembering a memory far too overwhelming, one she’d rather not take a closer look at.

Remembering his reunions with his mom after Kamino and the mall incident, Izuku agrees.

“That’s -that’s good.” He says into the phone, fighting the tears back in his eyes. He tries to keep his voice even as he talks to her; “I’m happy they are with you.”

Uraraka makes a soft noise on the other side of the phone. “Mom’s stepped out to talk to the doctors and dad’s on a snack run. I chased them out so I could call you.” She informs him. Uraraka then pauses, hesitation clear in the silence that follows. “...how are you?”

Izuku grimaces. He’s glad this is a phone call.

“I’m...I’m okay.” He informs her, forcing his voice to be as unwavering as he can afford. It’s a bit of a failure, as the pitch of his voice wobbles when he speaks, “I-I’m fine.”

He can hear Uraraka frowning through the phone.

“No you’re not.” She declares, voice soft but firm in a way that tells Izuku she’s never going to buy it, not now nor ever. “Don't need to explain it, Deku. I get it. It...it was a tough night. Especially for you.” She lets out a breath, tone shifting to something softer, more melancholic.

No doubt remembering what happened. What she’d gone through, needlessly, if Izuku had been more careful. If he took what he noticed and forced the teachers into acting -or if he’d confronted Kacchan directly, more firmly, and...and…

...there’s a lot of possibilities. 

Of what ifs.

He hates it. There’s so many ways this could have gone better if only he’d…..he’d done something . But now? It’s too late. His friends are hurt, some really badly, and Kacchan… 

“It’s fine.” Izuku sniffs, trying to be strong but he feels like he’s shattering all over again. “Y-you don’t need to worry about me. Just get better, okay?”

“I am.” There’s shuffling on the other side of the call, the sound of what must be shifting bed sheets as Uraraka struggled to find a comfortable position in her bed. 

There’s a pause.

“I’ll be on my feet in two days. I’ll be out in time for the Exam.” 

Izuku’s glad Todoroki is asleep, otherwise the other boy would have heard the horrified squawking noise he lets out:

“You are going to what?!” He exclaims quietly, heart lurching. “But your arm !”

Uraraka lets out a nervous little giggle on the other side. “Don’t worry. Shoulder’s a bit busted but what hero doesn’t have a few scars?” She retorts with confidence that Izuku could never hope to match.

“It nearly came off!”

“Nearly, that’s the key word right there. Heh.”

“You could get even more hurt!”

“Not if you guys keep an eye on me.” Uraraka retorts, her tone still determined but gentler. “I’ll be fine.” She reassures him. Or tries to. Izuku’s thunderous heartbeat decides otherwise.

“But-”

“Deku, we need to take the Provincial Exam.” His friend shuts down his protest once more, her voice gaining strength and silencing Izuku with it. He’s never heard her make this tone before. “If we don’t, we’ll all be set back -we’re going to make the Summer Camp meaningless.” Uraraka tells him; part of Izuku agrees, a silent part of him he tries to squash down as he remembers the past night -the horrors that occurred. Surely, Uraraka couldn’t be ready-? “They -they took our camp, what was supposed to be a fun week and they hurt Bakugo -I know this might seem stupid but I don’t...I don’t feel like-”

Izuku’s mouth opens of its own accord:

“Letting them have this, too.” He finds himself saying. Izuku blinks, startled at his own words, yet nevertheless agreeing with them. “...right?”

“Yes.” Uraraka says, sounding happy with his agreement.“That’s right.” She coughs.  The sound makes Izuku’s stomach lurch, torn between voicing his concern and letting her unveil her thoughts that he finds himself almost wholly agreeing with. “I’m -I’m going to ask the doctors if I can go back to Yuuei tonight. My parents are telling me it's crazy, but I think I can convince them. We have a day at most left before the Provincial Exam Day, we need to make it count.”

Izuku bites his lower lip. “Your arm-” he starts, voice weak; resolve waning.

“I’ll shove it in a bind.” Uraraka cuts him off, sounding so sure of herself Izuku is almost jealous. “Perfectly safe. It w-will be fine as long as I don’t move it!”

Izuku takes a pause, breathing in, out, then looking up at the ceiling of his infirmary room. He can’t believe what she’s saying -what she wants to do, and more so that he sees her point, that he agrees with her in some way.

“You’re crazy.” He finally says in disbelief.

“Says you.” Uraraka chuckles on the other side, tone knowing. “You ran out after Bakugo with two broken arms, remember?”

“Your arm nearly fell off .”

“And there’s worse things out there.” His friend hums. “I wanna do this, Deku -and I know you do too.” Uraraka denotes, quite accurately. 

Izuku swallows.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks after a pause.

“You know.” Uraraka states knowingly.

And she’s right. Izuku does know. There’s a few thousand ideas zipping through his head and he’s sorting through them as quickly and efficiently as he can muster; already, he knows his next step.

“...I’ll talk to Aizawa. And the class.” Izuku tells her, voice growing more steady as this ridiculous plan starts taking shape. “You -you just make sure you come back to school, okay?” He repeats, wanting reassurance.

“I will. Don’t worry about me, Deku.” Uraraka chuckles on the other side of the call. 

“You’re my friend.” Izuku admits softly. “I worry.”

“Well...trust me on this one. I’ve got this. Handle Aizawa on your side.” Uraraka murmurs, voice growing softer but no less determined as she continues, “We can’t let them win.” 

Izuku bites his lower lip. “I-”

“My parents are coming back. I gotta go.” Uraraka suddenly interrupts, startling him. “Take care. Give a hug to the other guys from me, will you?”

He nods in response; it takes him a second to remember she won’t see him do so, and when h does Izuku stutters into the phone. “Okay. Take...take care of yourself, Uraraka. I’ll -I’ll figure something out with Mr. Aizawa.” Izuku pauses, taking a breath. He speaks more firmly; “You can count on me.”

Uraraka chuckles through the phone.

“I always can, Deku.”

The call ends.

Izuku is left staring at his phone, frowning. This call was a surprise, her declaration even more so, but he finds himself to be grateful for her calling. Not just to inform him she was alright, that she is going to get better, but because...because in truth, Izuku understands where she’s coming from.

What she wants to do. What she wants him to do for her, for all of them.

For Kacchan.

Uraraka is right.

Izuku narrows his eyes, flicking his gaze up to the closed door of their infirmary room. He keeps his eyes on it even as he pulls the covers off himself, and only tears his attention off it in order to grab his slippers next to the bed.

He still feels exhausted. Still tired, worn and frail, but there’s a familiar fire that has nothing to do with All Might’s Quirk in his chest, spurring him to move, to do what is needed. To do what is right.

Because his friend is right, even if she doesn’t realize the full extent of the situation; even if she doesn’t know what Izuku knows, what he’s responsible for ever since that day months ago at a lonely little beach, less than an hour away from taking the Yuuei Entrance Exam.

He can’t let All for One win. 

Not again.

.

.

.

The Nomu doesn’t stand a chance, not against the unofficial new Number Two Hero of Japan.

Hawk’s wings shone a deep, bright red as the man came flying down from the heavens like a brilliant comet. Sharp feathers held like swords dug deep into the Nomu’s head, spearing clean through the pale, human brain growing atop of its skull and ripping through its throat.

The beast tries, it really does, but Hawks goes for the joints and even with all of it’s terrifying strength, if it can’t move its limbs.

It’s not regenerating, Faux thinks as she watches from the sidelines.

A Nomu of lesser stock than the one encountered by All Might during the USJ, then. More like the ones Endeavor faced. Thank god.

It means that Hawks can bring it down -and she’s right. The man ducks and weaves in between the creature’s clumsy swings, feathers slicing tendon and disabling limbs with frightening efficiency.

A large primary feather slicing through the pulsing, exposed brain and staying there ends the fight. The Nomu jolts from the impact, gnarly, gigant hands twitching -and then it collapses on the street, body awkwardly twisted on its side on the blood soaked pavement.

Hawks lands in front of the defeated Nomu, red wings spread out wide. His golden eyes dart around quickly, finally landing on Faux, who was hiding by the doorway of the complex with some of the police. He nods at her, feathers rustling.

“Any injuries?” For someone splattered in blood, he sounds completely calm, if not, slightly upbeat. There’s still an undertone of seriousness there though, one Faux respects.

“None.” She shakes her head as some of the police file out around her. “You were just in time.” She turns to the men and women around her. “Broaden the perimeter!”

Hawks bobs his head as he watches the officers do their job, feathers rustling as he closes his wings on his back. “Goodie.” The man chirups, blinking as he looks down at the fallen Nomu. His nose wrinkles. “They really aren’t messing around.”

His comment is almost muttered under his breath. Still, Faux hears it.

“I’ll contact the Commission.” She informs him. “They’ll need to know about this new development.”

Thankfully, no one was hurt during this operation. A upside of bringing a high ranked Pro-Hero, Faux knows. While they’re not oh so easily available, their presence always makes Quirk related incidents easier.

“Alrighty!” Hawks hums, turning his head upwards to the complex. “I’ll check out the apartment, if you don’t mind.”

Faux nods. “Feel free.” 

Maybe you’ll find something I missed. Though, Faux knows she will need to look around the apartment again anyways, given how little time she’s had to do so before she stumbled on the Nomu.

“That’s good!” Hawks steps away from the Nomu. Faux doesn’t miss how the primary embedded into the creature’s skull remains where it is, or the little red feathers hovering in circles around the beast’s corpse, guarding it. Her attention on them is torn away as Hawks gives her a toothy grin and a nod. “Eh, always a pleasure to work with you office folks.”

Office folks. Faux wants to snort. Just because she isn’t an active Pro-Hero did not mean she stays in her office all day.

Hawks straighten up, wings flaring out. Streaks of red detach from the broad wings and zip across the hallway and going through the destroyed front door of the apartment. 

“I don’t think we’ll find any more surprises.” Faux says.

Hawks shrugs. “Maybe, that was a heck of a present they left for us.”

“That Nomu was weak.” Faux points out, sullen.  “It wasn’t meant to kill us.”

“Hmm, it’s a message.” Hawks hums, nodding nonchalantly. Despite his relaxed posture, Faux doesn’t miss the way his feathers are zipping up and down the hallways of the complex. She can see them through the windows, streaks of bright red darting like arrows across empty halls. “If they wanted us dead, they would have put a stronger one.” “Still, looks like one last middle finger from the League.

Faux purses her lips. “It spoke when I found it.”

“Hm?” Hawks quirks up a brow. “Really? Thought these guys couldn’t.”

“I was calling for the doctor. It answered, saying yes.”

The younger Pro-Hero doesn’t react, at least not with his face; Faux catches the way his wings twitch, the smaller feathers that are still connected to his body and not floating around fluffing up briefly, then relaxing.

The control he has over his reactions is certainly something to admire. Hawks tilts his head at her, then back where the police are trying to collect what remains of the beast. His expression is almost owlish, at odds with the small smear of red on his left cheek.

“You think it was-” Hawks starts, but she cuts him off.

“It’s a theory.” Faux interrupts. “The Commission did say the Nomu are made from people.”

Hawks’ nose scrunches up.

“Well.” He mutters, looking around the barren street. His eyes linger on the dead Nomu -then they flick upwards, towards the apartment. 

Faux has a sinking feeling they won’t find anything worthwhile.

“One hell of a middle finger, indeed.”

Faux agrees. It’s hard not to think that the League of Villains won this round, too.

.

.

.

Toshinori knew that people were waiting for him at Musustafu’s head Commission office, but he’s still surprised with the speed he’s accosted at.

First, he’s led to park the car in the underground parking lot, away from the prying eyes of the public. It’s not the first time he’s had to do so -it's almost routine, but what is not is when he steps out of the vehicle with his former teacher, he finds Nedzu and Matsui Akihiroat the entrance of the elevator.

The first thing he notices is the set frown on Matsui’s face. The second is the low, almost unnoticeable lashing and flicking of Nedzu’s tail.

“Principal Nedzu.” Toshinori greets, bowing his head. “Mr. Matsui.”

Nedzu nods in response, the rapid discrete flicks of his tail pausing for a moment. He seems as if he’s about to speak, but the man at his side interrupts, stepping forward. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you, All Might.” Matsui Akihiro greets quickly. He gestures a hand towards the elevators of the underground parking lot. “Please follow me, there’s very little time to waste.” He pauses, eyes flicking down to Gran Torino. ‘You’re-?”

Sorahiko gives him a raised brow in response. 

“Gran Torino.” He grumbles. “Can we get going?”

“Of course.” Matsui tilts his head towards Toshinori, lips pursed. “Your mentor.”

Toshinori isn’t liking his tone. His hands clench on his wooden cane, and it’s not to keep balance. At Matsui’s side, Nedzu’s left ear twitches.

“Yes. He’s staying with me.” The director looks a bit off-put at this declaration, but Toshinori is quick to play the offensive before Gran Torino can butt in, because he’s certain his former teacher would say what he’s about to say a lot less politely. Already Sorahiko is looking like he’s going to reply, and Toshinori knows the man well enough to know it won’t be polite. Not at all.

“What you want to tell All Might, he should hear.” Nedzu speaks up, voice soft but no less attention grabbing as if he were yelling. The principal of Yuuei just has that talent, Toshinori thinks. “Gran Torino has plenty of experience fighting All for One.”

Sorahiko squints up at the director, unimpressed, and said person on the other end of that unyielding staredown returns it. The two men stare at each other, neither backing down. Toshinori fights the urge to sigh.

“His expertise is invaluable.” Nedzu adds helpfully. 

“He’s dealt with All for One’s machinations for a long time.” Toshinori adds as well.

That seems to sway Matsui. His shoulders relax. Sorahiko leans back, expression still set in a quiet, grumpy manner, but Toshinori can tell he’s satisfied.

“All right.” He says, turning towards the elevators. “The more to handle this mess with, the better I guess.” He taps on one of the up buttons; it doesn’t take long for the elevator doors to open.  “Get in, please.”

They pack into the elevator. The director stays by the door, pulling out a key from his pocket and using it to select the top floor of the building, which were all locked not behind buttons but locks. Silence fills the small chamber as the elevator begins to move upwards with a slow rumble. 

Toshinori discretely bites the inside of his mouth when his knees buckle at the sudden start of movement. It’s been almost a week, but his wounds from Kamino are still too tender for his liking.

Once more, he silently curses his weakened state.

“We’ll be having a conference in forty minutes.” Matsui’s voice cuts through the silence. The man stands at the forefront of the group, watching the doors. “We need you to speak then.”

Toshinori blinks at the man’s back.

“Forty-?!”

“There’s no time to waste.” To his surprise, it's not Matsui who responds, it’s Nedzu. His gentle voice fills the elevator, the quiet worry clear as day. “The public is restless and needs answers we don’t really have right now. We’ll give you notes.” 

Matsui nods in front of them.

“We just need you to do your job once again.” The man adds.

Ah. They needed him to be the Symbol of Peace.

“You’re retired, but that doesn’t mean for many that you aren’t still All Might, the Symbol of Peace.” “While we investigate the incident, you need to quell the public.”

“I can do that.” Toshinori assures. In his head, he starts mentally taking notes for the upcoming speech. It’s not the worst sudden public speech he’s given -as All Might, he’s found himself on the receiving end of more than a few dozen microphones shoved suddenly shoved into his face time and time again. He’ll manage. 

It’s not the reason for the uncomfortable twists and turns in his nonexistent stomach, after all.

 “How’s the investigation going?” Toshinori asks, turning his eyes to the director. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s shoulders draw up at the question. It’s not a good sign. “... Bakugo’s doctor?”

“Status unknown.” Matsui says, voice forced. So that’s it. “The supervisor that went with Hawks to apprehend him has informed me that his apartment is empty.” The man pauses. “Save a Nomu.”

Toshinori’s heart seemingly skips a beat in his chest.

“A Nomu?”

“Parting gift from the League.” Sorahiko mutters from his corner.

The director looks over at the older man, then nods and lets out a tiny sigh. “Yes, it seems so.” “On that point, I think the investigation will stall. There’s only one other route to consider.”

Toshinori feels himself tense up. From the corner of his eyes, he spots the way Nedzu’s tail acts up again, flicking in the air. The fluffy white fur at the back of the principal’s neck is up, flexing and relaxing almost imperceptibly.

“We need access to Bakugo.”

Matsui’s following words echo through the elevator.

Toshinori knows he’s right. In some part, it’s the right choice to make. The safe choice, to keep Katsuki away from his classmates, away from Midoriya, and reduce the chances of something worse happening that would leave one of his students dead. In a secure facility meant to house him, Bakugo would no longer pose a risk to those around him -at least, not to people who can’t defend themselves.

It’s the most logical choice.

Remove Bakugo from Yuuei, remove the risk to Midoriya.

But remove Bakugo from Yuuei, and they could be sealing his fate.

The security at Yuuei is now absurd; no way the villains would be able to get in, not without alerting every single Pro-Hero on the campus. Nedzu didn’t waste time using the break to overhaul the security protocols and patch the holes the League used to get in last time. 

Taking Bakugo to another facility could open them to the risk of something happening. Either Bakugo breaking out, or the League catching them in the middle of transport and stealing Bakugo right back, or even just unleashing him to the surrounding populace with a fresh dose of Trigger in his veins. 

He’s seen footage of what this forced Quirk caused; Toshinori does not want to witness it firsthand. He’s rarely seen Quirks so lethal. To have the League release Bakugo into a city… 

It would be worse than the Nomu attack at Hosu, months ago. It would be carnage on a scale that pales to Kamino .

“We can give you that.” Nedzu’s tone is curt and blunt, politeness only barely softening the slight edge to his voice. “But he is too volatile to be moved.”

“I’m sure we can acquire the appropriate retrains for him.” Matsui responds, his tone equally blunt. Toshinori doesn’t like it. “It would be safer for the students if he was off the campus.”

“We needed to use our Tartarus-grade cell to contain him.” Nedzu answers back just as quickly. “He’s on the complete opposite side of the campus, far away from the students and guarded by a rotating cast of teachers and machinery.” He takes a pause, then speaks again more softly. “Right now, he’s calmed down, but if he’s transported off campus, I’m afraid there’s a high chance he’ll become volatile again, and as of now we do not have anything to counter his power.”

Matsui tilts his head. “Aizawa Shota is his teacher, is he not-?”

“Erasure won’t work on the Quirk.” Toshinori pipes up.

Matsui goes still for a moment.

“...I see.” He says, slowly. “We can use a Quirk suppressor drug.” He offers, tone considering.

Wavering.

That’s good, Toshinori thinks.

“That, we can look into later.” Nedzu continues, no doubt picking up on the uncertainty and latching on to it as diplomatically as he can. “He is currently still testing positive for Trigger. It would be unwise to add more drugs to his system, especially one that could conflict with another already in there.”

Matsui sighs. It’s a quick, quiet thing, but a good sign.

“I see.” Matsui repeats, and just then the elevator lets out a loud bing and the doors open into a  hallway. “We’ll.... revisit the topic later, then.” 

That, Toshinori doesn’t doubt.

No matter what happens, he cannot let Bakugo leave Yuuei.