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“Didn’ Tsukauchi say Corruption was spos’ed to be here?” Toyomitsu mutters into his communicator, eyes skimming his surroundings. The public garden looks anything but corrupted. The late summer flowers are in bloom, stems heavy with full petals that threaten to fall under their own weight. Their colors are engulfed in darkness, though some are lucky enough to be bathed in the park’s path-lights. They ignite clusters of flowers with harsh white light, bringing their hues into sharp relief against the shadows. Along the path there are pools of deep, spicy reds; cool, creamy blues; yellows that could rival the yolk of an egg; each wrapped in different shades of green. Vines, ferns, leaves, and stalks bleed into one another behind the colors before slipping into the deep shadows thrown over them by trees that create a thick canopy overhead. No sliver of moonlight has any hope of making it through, leaving Toyomitsu searching through dark trunks as he looks for his partner.
“That’s what the intelligence said, yes.” Aizawa’s voice comes as a murmur in his ear, the receiver tucked into the hood of Toyomitsu’s gray hoodie. It’s smaller than his usual hero gear, though he himself is smaller than usual as well. Losing weight isn’t something he normally does, but trying to hide in plain sight at his full roundness is practically impossible.
He still thinks it would have made more sense to use someone better suited for undercover work, but Aizawa had refused. Toyomitsu is one of the only heroes that know this area well enough to be of any use --according to Aizawa-- and any others that could help are already busy dealing with the fallout from Corruption’s most recent spore outbreak.
So he’s in the limbo of sizes, still round enough that he can absorb some decent hits if he needs to, but nowhere near his usual larger-than-life self. At least not in girth; he can’t do anything about his height, but it’s not like being over 8 feet is that strange in a world of quirks.
“I don’ see anything off,” he grumbles before taking a swig from the bottle hidden in a brown sack. It’s nothing more than soda-pop, filling him with calories as he pretends to sway from the sugar.
“They may not have infected anything yet.”
“Guessing those glasses of yers aren’t showing anythin’.”
“No signs of abnormal heat signatures.”
“Great.” Toyomitsu takes another drink, gaze moving lazily over the winding stone path and the few bodies that inhabit it. There are a few vagrants in the park this late, the daily bustle of families and other park patrons having ended hours ago, leaving behind benches and patches of softer earth occupied by sleepy transients. His chest constricts as he watches a woman covered in silvery scales roll over on her sleeping tarp to cough onto the ground. It’s hard to judge how old she is, but she can’t be much older than him, possibly even younger.
“We can tell her about the shelter after we’re done here.” Aizawa’s voice is soft, both in volume and tone.
Toyomitsu glances upward. If Aizawa can see him, then Toyomitsu should be able to find Aizawa. At least, that’s the theory. All he finds are shadows.
“How do ya always know what people are thinkin’?” Toyomitsu murmurs into the bag.
“Not always,” Aizawa replies.
Toyomitsu gives a little snort. “Seems that way with me.”
“Maybe you’re just easy to read.”
Toyomitsu ducks his head, making it look as if he is dozing. In reality, he is grinning his wide, bright grin. No matter what form he’s in, it’s the one thing that people recognize the most, and that is not what they need right now.
He stares down at the paved path, listening to the summer wind as it tries to knock the thick petals and leaves to the ground in vain.
“I remember patrolin’ this place,” he says after a while. “Wasn’t as nice back then.” Toyomitsu looks over the new walking paths. “Nothin’ but weeds and a cracked bike path.”
He waits for Aizawa to tell him to stop talking. He doesn’t.
Toyomitsu glances towards one of the older trees.
“Had a bust just over there,” he motions subtly with the bottle. “Caught a guy selling bad quirk suppressors. Made a lot of people sick; even killed someone. Turns out he’d just been mixing the shit in his basement.”
“You must have been pretty new to the force.”
“Yeah, had just started,” he confirms before he takes another drink, eyes on the tree. “Was a couple years before they made suppressors free to the public. Crazy it took as long as it did.”
“The American pharmaceutical companies didn’t want to lose out on too much money.” A tinge of bitterness hangs on the words, and Toyomitsu’s again tries to find the man in the trees.
“I’m behind you.”
Toyomitsu chuckles and shakes his head.
“I really am easy to read.”
“Only if I look for it.”
Toyomitsu grins. “Guess that means you're checkin’ me out often.”
No sound comes over the headset, and he wishes he could eat the sentence back up as he feels the backs of his ears and his neck begin to burn.
“I mean, studyin’ my tells,” he quickly clarifies. “S’what ya do, right? Study people? Look for their weaknesses and all that so ya can take me ou— I mean them, out.”
“You think I want to take you out?” The question is bland, Aizawa’s voice giving nothing away as Toyomitsu mentally kicks himself over and over.
“No, I mean— Come on, ‘Raser, you know what I mean.”
All he gets is a quiet grunt that could mean almost anything before they lapse into silence.
Toyomitsu sighs and turns his eyes back out to the garden. He finds himself looking at the young woman again as she gives another series of harsh, hacking coughs. Something dark dribbles past her lips, barely illuminated by the nearby path-light.
“Shit,” he whispers, physically having to restrain himself from going over to her as he watches it trickle from the corner of her mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
“Think scales over there is really sick. She’s—” he pauses as he watches the dark substance slip from her lips. There is just enough light for him to see how it disappears into the soil when it hits the ground.
“What?”
“Somethin’s happening,” is what he mutters back. The flowers that had once been as bright as fresh butter are turning orangish in the light, right around the stamen and radiating into the veins of the petals.
“I’m getting a heat signature. What did she do?”
“Coughed something up.” Toyomitsu stands, body swaying dangerously as he plays his part. He stumbles forward, eyes half-closed but trained on the woman.
“Be ready with your mask.”
“Doooon’ wery,” he slurs, voice coming out louder as he gets closer. “Mmmmmfine.”
As he approaches, Toyomitsu can see more of the flowers starting to change, their stems going from green to muddy browns.
“Buh you,” he points at her with the hand holding the bottle. “You don’ sound s’good.”
She shifts on the ground, and as Toyomitsu gets closer, he finds that what he had thought were scales are, in fact, tiny leaves. They cover her body, silvery and spade-shaped, becoming grasslike around her face.
“What do you want?” she grunts at him. Her voice is rough, but the tonality isn’t right for someone who is ‘sick’, sounding more like it’s her natural timber.
“Jus’ tryin’ ta be friendly,” he replies. There isn’t a trace of the dark liquid on her lips, despite the amount that had dripped from them. Off to his right, he sees movement, one of the other people sleeping in the park getting up from under a tree; a large guy, almost his height, even taller with the horns that grow like branches from his skull.
“One behind you,” comes over the headset.
Damn.
“I suggest you move on then, friend,” she says, and there is enough venom in the one word that it could make the flowers around them wither.
“Awww, c’mon. Don be like that. I knows of a shelfer— shaller— a place that—”
“Lady said to get goin,” comes from behind him. Toyomitsu looks over his shoulder and finds a shorter person, quills growing from their head. Their arms and legs are open to the air, and Toyomitsu can see how their body hair stands up like needles on their skin.
“Fat Gum, move; I don’t have line of sight,” Aizawa hisses.
Toyomitsu holds up his hands; bottle still held tight.
“Mmmy bad. Don’ wanna make trouble.”
The horned man gets closer, face becoming discernible. His nose is nothing but two slits that take up the entire center of his face, moving up between his eyes. They flare as Toyomitsu tries to move away.
“That isn’t booze,” Horns says in a wisp of a voice, “and he’s showered in the last twenty-four hours.”
Toyomitsu gives a little smile. “Like said, the shelt—”
Horns suddenly turns as the breeze shifts. “There’s another in the trees. There!” Horns points.
Toyomitsu hears the quills let loose before he sees them, and they disappear into the shadows. He sees movement and watches as a silhouette lunges out of the tree. Next to him, more spines fire off. He spins around without a thought, fist already up. The quilled villain looks up at him with a snarl before swinging his head towards him.
Nothing happens.
“The hel—” They don’t get to finish as Toyomitsu’s fist connects with their jaw, and down they go.
“I’ve got eyes on Corruption,” Aizawa says.
“Roger.” Toyomitsu turns, a grin on his face as he watches Corruption frantically spit at the plants around them, but all that comes out is clear saliva.
“Sorry, friend.” As he goes to throw the punch, he feels something drill into his back with enough force that he stumbles.
“Shit,” he hears through the headset as he is knocked to the side. He tries to regain his balance, but it’s easier said than done as Horns lowers his head and swings one of the long, thick horns at him.
Absorbing direct attacks are Toyomitsu’s specialty. He’s meant for up close and personal; taking the hits and rolling with them. The surface area of a punch is easy to absorb, the impact of a body, but precise points of pressure are different. He can take them, but there is a distinct, sharp pain with each puncture; bruises blooming over his skin as his body tries to absorb the impact. It doesn’t help that with his reduced fat he can’t make the points stick in him, not with how shallow the layer is.
The horn catches him in the stomach, and while he can absorb some of the kinetic energy, it still hurts with his depleted fat. The force is also enough to take him off his feet for a moment, sending him stumbling to the side.
“Go,” Horns hisses at Corruption before he swings his head at Toyomitsu again.
Toyomitsu manages to catch the horn, though one of its many points stabs into his palm. The meat of his hands isn’t thick enough to absorb the impact, and he feels the skin split.
“Damn it,” he grunts as he feels the point tear down his palm as Horns tries to pull away. Toyomitsu doesn’t let go, though, instead gripping tight and gritting his teeth. Over the villain’s head, he sees Corruption heading into the trees.
He starts to call out to Aizawa but is cut off as a band of white wraps around Corruption before she can get between the tree trunks, the binding cloth going tight around her upper body and mouth before pulling her to the ground with a jerk.
“No!” Horns yells, his voice a high rush of air as he tries to pull away from Toyomitsu.
“Where do ya think you’re goin?” he asks as he jerks Horns back with his bleeding hand. Toyomitsu grabs the base of the other horn, gripping it tight as he forces Horns to face him. Pain radiates up his arm, begging him to let go as Horns fights against him. Despite his strength, he can’t stop some of the horn’s branches from ramming into him, leaving throbbing points where they connect. He hears the cloth of his hoodie rip and feels some of the skin around his joints and shoulders tear where his fat is the thinnest as Horns screams at him.
“Her work will continue. Her corruption runs deep!” He swings his head low and catches Toyomitsu in the side of the leg, right below his knee. The denim and thin amount of fat do almost nothing as the horn makes his leg cave, sending Toyomitsu to his knees. “She will—”
Horns cuts off suddenly, his eyes going wide before they roll up into his head. Toyomitsu guides his body down to the concrete, though the landing is not gentle.
“Shit,” he grunts as he finally lets go, though his punctured palm sticks for a moment before the muscle and minimal fat releases with a slight squelch. He stands up with a groan, his leg not wanting to support him, though he makes it.
“Damn it.” The words are a sharp hiss over the communicator, and in a moment, Aizawa is in front of him, mask over his face and two pairs of goggles hanging around his neck. He yanks the mask down, revealing a frown as one of his much smaller hands grabs Toyomitsu’s by the ring finger; the other rummages around in his clothing. In a moment, it comes out holding a thin bottle.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Aizawa says, his voice echoing in Toyomitsu’s headset.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Toyomitsu jokes before Aizawa pours the substance over his hand. He hisses, instinctively wanting to jerk away, but he forces himself still. “Still, he got me pretty good.”
“I’m getting you food after this.” Aizawa moves on to his leg, barely having to stoop to get to the cut.
“You don’ have to do that,” Toyomitsu says through gritted teeth as the wound is cleaned. “I can get something when I head home.”
“I know.” Aizawa shoves the empty bottle back into his clothes before bringing out a couple of bandages. He starts to make quick work of his leg, a patch job but good enough to stop the bleeding.
“Then, why?”
“I want to get you back up to your normal size,” Aizawa replies, though he doesn’t look up as he moves to bandage Toyomitsu’s hand, wrapping it with a precise flick of his wrist and fingers. Toyomitsu wonders if it’s how his hands work with his capture weapon before quickly dropping that thought. Being wrapped up in the man’s binding cloth is not something he’s ever thought about. Not at all.
“Why? Got another job for me?” Toyomitsu teases, doing his best to distract himself.
“No.” Aizawa squeezes the end of the bandage against the side of Toyomitsu’s hand, making it adhere. He doesn’t let go once it does, just holds Toyomitsu’s hand tight as he stares down at the patched wound.
“Hey, ‘Raser, is—”
“I’ve seen you thin, and it doesn’t sit right with me.” Aizawa’s voice is low, but it comes in over the headset loud and clear. “When you’re your full self, I don’t have to worry about you as much,” he says, eyes still on his palm.
“You... worry about me?”
Aizawa looks up at him, finally, but his face is cast in shadow and Toyomitsu can barely see his eyes. The two feet of height he has on the other man suddenly feels like a mile. He fights the impulse to lean down and close that gap.
“Come on.” Aizawa moves, breaking the moment as he lets go and steps past. “Let’s get them ready to go; then you’re coming back with me to U.A.”
“After the hospital?” he asks, though he is slightly distracted. While his hand is hot and pulsing from the wound, it feels cool where Aizawa’s was.
“No. I’m taking you to Recovery Girl.”
“Why?” he asks after him, watching as he goes and stoops behind horns.
“So she can kiss it better.” Aizawa cuffs Quills and Horns together.
Toyomitsu flexes his fingers around the bandage. “I’d rather you do it,” he murmurs to himself.
Aizawa pauses before he turns to look over his shoulder. In the lamplight, Aizawa’s cheeks are a beautiful ripe red beneath his stubble, accenting his thin lips. Toyomitsu wonders what they would taste like.
Aizawa steps away from the villains on the ground, presumably to go check on Corruption, but instead, he stops in front of Toyomitsu.
“‘Raser?” he asks as Aizawa gently takes Toyomitsu’s palm in his hands.
“Your communicator is still on,” Aizawa says so softly that his voice is only audible through Toyomitsu’s headset.
Toyomitsu’s whole body goes as hot as his hand.
“I-I, Uh, I. Wow, okay, I—” Toyomitsu cuts off as Aizawa lifts his hand and presses a kiss into the fresh bandages at the center of his palm. Toyomitsu doesn’t even notice the pain that flares, his brain too preoccupied with registering the fact that it is Aizawa doing it.
“Good to know I wasn’t misreading those signals,” Aizawa’s murmurs against his palm, his voice muffled even in the headset. “Was afraid I wouldn’t get to take you out.” He looks up from Toyomitsu’s palm.
The compulsion to close the two feet between them comes again, and this time, Toyomitsu doesn’t stop it.
Aizawa’s lips taste divine.