Chapter Text
“Five salamander eyes, and… a goat’s tail.”
“Check.” Shigaraki drawled, spotting the ingredients in the side pocket of Sensei’s bag.
“The dragons root? There’s meant to be a bundle in there?”
“Umm… Yeah, about five sticks tied up? They’re in your leather bag, the one with the black cross, Sensei.”
“Thank you, young Shigaraki.” Sensei gave him one of his rare smiles, patting the boy on the head as he strode past, finally tying up his travel bag. Shigaraki watched dully as he cast a ward charm onto each one, protection against thieves. It was a complicated one; any person that attempted to steal a bag would have the words ‘thief’ magically branded onto their foreheads for the rest of their lives, an unnecessary precaution but one that seemed to give Sensei great pleasure in creating.
“I don’t see why I can’t go with you. I’ve finally perfected that disarming technique you taught me, so I won’t be dead weight or anything. You always keep telling me I should get out the house anyways.” Shigaraki tried to reason with his master for the fourth time that day, following him around the low room as Sensei leisurely checked the cupboard for any last-minute items, shaking a glass jar of fireflies in amusement. “I’ll carry your bags, and I can do all the cooking. You even said so yourself, my onion soup’s better than yours.”
“We both know that Kurogiri will be the one who would end up carrying both our bags after the first day.” Sensei’s voice had a hint of humour to it, but his reply was firm. “I’m afraid that my decision is final, Shigaraki. You’ll stay here, and I’ll make sure Ujiko will check on you half-way through my absence. And I promise you that he won’t stay longer than a couple of hours, I know that you dislike the man.”
“I hate him, actually.” Shigaraki grumbled, ducking beneath a tangle of roots that had emerged in a clump from the ceiling. “I don’t understand why you’re so paranoid this time, you’ve been gone for longer than this before. You haven’t asked Ujiko to look after me for years.”
“Yes, but I’ve never travelled so far.” Sensei’s voice now sounded slightly irritated and he turned to the white-haired boy with a sigh. “My boy, please, go set the table I’m tired of this conversation. I understand that staying here will be boring for you but try to think of it as a rite of passage. Next time I’ll bring you with me for all my trips, I promise. It’s just that I definitely need to bring Kurogiri with me this time, so I need someone responsible to manage the house.”
“Yeah, right.” Shigaraki snorted and rolled his eyes, turning and trudging through the aged archway to the next room where Kurogiri was stirring a broth, flickering in the warm candlelight. He raised an eyebrow at the sulky boy. “Well?”
“Nope. Still not allowed to come with you guys. Bet you didn’t even try to convince Sensei.”
“I… made an attempt. But you understand that he had made up his mind about this a long time ago. Arguing with him is pointless.” The shadow elemental cocked his head and gave Shigaraki a wink. “I overheard you even offering to cook for him, you must’ve been desperate.”
“Hm.” Shigaraki wasn’t in the mood. He dropped into a chair and picked at the gnarled wooden table, watching distantly how the splinters dug under his nails. “Sensei wanted you to set the table.”
“He wanted you to set the table, but alright.” Kurogiri sighed and walked over to his young charge, sitting opposite to him and attempting to catch his down-trodden gaze. “If it makes you feel any better, I wish you didn’t have to stay here either.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? You’ve been acting antsy all week.” Shigaraki lifted his head to fix him with a sharp gaze, the self-pitying façade dropping from his face. “You never get all this nervous before a trip. What’s different this time?”
“Are you interrogating me, Shigaraki?” Kurogiri waved his hands with a chuckle, but Shigaraki narrowed his eyes at the edge of nervousness within his voice.
“Yes.” Shigaraki held up his hand, lowering his fingers one by one as he spoke. “One, you’ve been letting me avoid most of my chores for the whole month. Two, you’ve only been cooking my favourite meals, even though it takes you forever to find eggs for omelettes. Three, you’ve barely even talked about the details of where you’re going or why, even though you usually over-share because you think I worry about you both. And four, you hang around outside my room when you think I’m asleep. I can hear you behind the door.”
Kurogiri stilled, fluctuating slightly as he searched for the right words, suddenly aware of the intensity of Shigaraki’s crimson eyes as he glared at him, waiting for an answer. “S-Shigaraki, I-”
“Stop targeting my assistant, Shigaraki.” Sensei’s voice boomed out from behind the boy, who jumped slightly at the tone. “If you must keep picking at the topic like one of your scabs then I’ll make Ujiko babysit you for the entire duration. You really must let this one go.” The man circled the table, silver eyes glinting in the warm light, reaching for the chipped bowls on top of one of the cabinets. “I guess I’ll set the table, as you seem unable to complete this one task for me.”
“Why!? Why are you acting as if I’m the unreasonable one here!?” Shigaraki’s voice rose to a screech, suddenly standing up, nearly knocking over his chair. “You both are acting weird! You’ve barely talked to me for months! And Kurogiri keeps acting as if you’re both going off to die!” He took a deep breath, feeling his neck beginning to burn as his hands had already begun to scratch at the scarred skin there. “I hate when you go and leave me alone, but this time is all wrong. I deserve to go with you, I’m ready!”
“You’ve been worrying about us, my boy?” For some reason, Sensei’s understanding tone just seemed to set Shigaraki off more.
“I DON’T CARE! Seriously, what gives!? I overheard you last night! Why are you doing that?!?”
Sensei stopped in his tracks, pleasant expression becoming frozen. “Last night? You-”
“I overheard you planning to lock me in.” Shigaraki hissed, a triumphant expression blooming on his face, pleased that he had caught his Sensei out. “Trapping me in the house like I’m some sort of dog. Even when I was just a kid, you trusted me, you NEVER locked me up when you left. What’s changed? What’s going on?!?” Shigaraki finally stopped, feeling himself shaking with sudden nervousness. He’d shouted at Sensei before, but voicing his recent anxieties suddenly choked him up, as if finally putting them out in the open had confirmed some terrible truth.
A beetle crawled across the dirt wall. The kettle whistled on the fire.
Sensei reached out for him, but Shigaraki already had enough. Trying to hide his hot tears of frustration that had welled up within his eyes, he turned and stormed out of the quiet room.
----
As far back as Shigaraki could remember, he had lived with Sensei and Kurogiri, within a hovel in the woods. It wasn’t exactly comfortable nor easy living, but it was hidden. Which was perfect for Sensei.
When he was twelve, he had asked Sensei during story time why they didn’t live near to anyone else. It was dangerous to live so far out within the wilderness; werewolves prowled through the night, giant leeches lived openly within the swamps around their house and basilisk snakes sat hidden within the tangled brambles that nearly suffocated their own home. Sensei had sat him upon his lap, shadows from the fireplace shading his face ominously and smiled.
“I’ve killed people, Shigaraki. People don’t like me, so it’s better to stay far away. They’ll hurt me otherwise. They could hurt you, too.”
Since then, Shigaraki had slowly been introduced to Sensei’s ‘job’ which had started his whole exile in the first place. Sensei had been a necromancer, so powerful he had been known throughout the world as All For One. He had pieced together monsters from the body parts of others, created diseases that could raze the population of a village to nothing, even cursed a distant royal family to only be able to eat their own bloodline, reducing them to cannibalistic, incestuous savages. Although that was all in the past, Sensei had spun his tales into imaginative, colourful stories, and soon Shigaraki was begging him to teach him his secrets. Sensei had only been all too happy to comply.
So, by the time he was eleven, Shigaraki was arms-deep in the open cavity of a corpse’s ribcage, digging through the entrails and placing cold hearts into glass jars. He’d almost regretted it; the smell was horrific, and he would spend each hour after dinner trying to stop himself from hurling what he had eaten. However, the approving comments, the warm pat on the back, made it all worth it. And he’d seen how some days Sensei struggled around the house, how he’d go days without eating. Shigaraki vowed that he would make up for all that Sensei does for him daily by at least helping Sensei with his profession.
Still, it wasn’t until he turned fifteen that he could entirely take over the job of assistant from Kurogiri. True, he missed the lazy days when he could spend most of his time outside, picking wild garlic, but when Sensei had placed a dead mouse before him one day and stated that he was going to teach Shigaraki how to bring it back from the dead, he’d felt an indescribable thrill. He’d never managed it; after hours and hours of reciting ancient runes the white mouse had suddenly exploded in a splatter of red, causing Shigaraki to give a high-pitched girly scream and jump about two feet into the air as Sensei laughed. Through his tears, Sensei had explained that “this kind of magic took years to master” and not to be disappointed just yet.
Every few months, Sensei and Kurogiri had to take trips into civilization to gather supplies and sometimes cart home a dead body or two for experimentation. As a kid, Shigaraki would spend hours sitting on the doorstep, looking into the eternally-twilight thickets, waiting for their return. They didn’t have horses (no horse could crawl through the metre-thick walls of thorns or walk through waist-deep sludge) and so Kurogiri was essential for teleportation. Therefore Shigaraki had to learn independence from a rather young age, especially as he detested having ‘The Doctor’ looking after him. He never learnt how to hunt; Sensei always left cupboards and cupboards worth of salted dried meat but finding ways to entertain yourself was a different kind of survival.
He enjoyed his early independence, to a certain extent, for a while. Until he asked to go with the two and was instantly shot down. Fine, fine, he was only thirteen, he’ll ask again when he was older.
At age fifteen, he asked again. Sensei had shaken his head and ruffled his wispy hair and said no with a soft smile.
He asked multiple times by the time he was seventeen and was still denied. He grew impatient, pacing back and forth for hours when he was left by himself.
Now, after barely turning nineteen, he’d demanded that they take him with them next time they left. Sensei had been vague with his reply, and then shut himself in his study for weeks and weeks, so long that Shigaraki was worried that he was dying or had grown ill or had simply been angry at him. And when he finally remerged, stating that he was planning another expedition to a faraway village, he’d ignored Shigaraki’s request.
Two night before their expected departure, Shigaraki had been creeping towards the main room late in the evening, planning to sneak into Sensei’s study. He’d accidently left his book on rare insects in there, and he didn’t want to wait till morning to retrieve it, already planning a sleepless, insomnia-driven night ahead of him.
He’d overheard hushed voices, and stopped to listen.
----
The ceiling above Shigaraki groaned and rained dust. Living underground was warm and safe, but it did have its downsides. The dried dirt walls and roof always creaked as the roots of oaks and brambles were moved about from harsh winds and heavy rainfalls. The air was usually too humid, or too dry. And the bugs were everywhere. Once, a mole had dropped down onto Shigaraki’s bed after tunnelling through the ceiling.
He huffed, turning over and glaring at the walls. There were no windows, so it was difficult to tell time, but after years of experience Shigaraki could judge that it would soon be early morning. Sensei would be leaving soon.
Sitting up in bed, Shigaraki kicked his book onto the floor and opened his door, moving through the darkened tunnel-like corridor with a bowed head. He wasn’t sure how Sensei managed to live years in this place without developing a crippled spine; Shigaraki was far shorter but now had a constant hunched form from bowing down often. He moved through the surprisingly well-furnished living room, reinforced with partial wood walls, and moved into the upwards leaning tunnel that emerged outside. They had a sturdy trap door, but once outside he could see how unkempt their home really looked.
It was a pile of trees and thorns upon a slightly elevated mound of dirt. Nothing special. There was a small spiral of white smoke from their hidden chimney, but apart from that it just looked like unkempt wilderness. Just how Sensei wanted it.
The air was chill, and there was the slight hum of mosquitoes from the miles of swampy water and mangroves that surrounded them, but Shigaraki liked it out here. He enjoyed watching the ghost moths; their pale wings floating in the darkness like petals.
He needed time to think, to escape the claustrophobic fear that had gripped him for the past few days. Perhaps he would never had noticed anything was wrong with this particular trip, and normally would have reluctantly accepted it as Sensei’s will, but too many red flags had cropped up recently. Kurogiri’s behaviour had put him on edge, and the plan to place a locking ward on the door was pushing it too far.
Huffing, Shigaraki traced the skin on his neck, chewing his lip. Was Sensei planning some mad power grab? Had he run into old enemies recently? It could explain that he wanted to lock Shigaraki up for his own protection, but that just didn’t seem satisfying enough. Maybe he was going senile?
Don’t be ridiculous. He slapped a mosquito on his hand. Sensei’s lived for hundreds of years. A few years in the forest isn’t gonna make him go mad. I don’t think.
An hour later, as the grey light slowly brightened, Shigaraki headed inside to find Sensei and Kurogiri up and about, placing luggage in a pile and eating eggs and squirrel bacon. Shigaraki warily picked at his portion, waiting anxiously as Sensei ignored him completely. It wasn’t till they were standing by the door that Sensei finally spoke up.
“Shigaraki, I won’t have Ujiko look after you, but he will stop by in two weeks to check in. You WILL treat him with respect.”
“Yeah…” Shigaraki bobbed his head despondently.
“And I haven’t changed my mind about the ward. You are to stay inside; Kurogiri has sorted out food for you into corresponding days. Do not eat any more or any less than the amount that he has set out for you.”
Shigaraki remained silent, watching a worm wiggle on the floor. He squashed it with his foot.
“I made a book for you, Shigaraki.” Kurogiri spoke up, his calm voice soft and assuring. “It’s about edible fungi; I left it on your bed.”
“Wow. Sure, I’ll have lots of time for that.” Shigaraki’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He felt a small pang of guilt; he didn’t really want to take it out on Kurogiri, but there was no way he was going to speak back at Sensei when he was in this mood.
A loud CRACK snapped him out of his thoughts, and Shigaraki watched as Sensei pulled his hand away from the now-smoking door. A charred circle of runes were engraved into it. He was trapped. Shigaraki’s heart quickened and his breaths came in short bursts.
“Goodbye, Shigaraki.” Sensei was unforgiving. Kurogiri expanded into his portal form and Sensei stepped through with his bags. He disappeared without a backwards glance. Shigaraki winced.
“Tomura.” The rare utterance of his first name took Shigaraki’s attention, his head darting up in surprise. The shadow elemental’s swirling eyes watched him closely, unblinking. There was a strange, intense atmosphere, almost like an air of urgency. His words however, were anything but urgent.
“Please. Read the book, it’s very important to me. Page fifteen is very interesting.” And with a small hurried whoosh, he disappeared.
Shigaraki was frozen, watching the unmoving air cautiously, his heart in his throat. Tomura. Kurogiri barely ever calls him that. In fact, only Sensei had ever rarely used that word! Was he worried about Shigaraki? Or something else? Something was so utterly, entirely, wrong. Kurogiri knew that their trip was dangerous, he was giving Shigaraki a warning! His mouth went dry.
It took seconds to figure out his next moves, but Shigaraki found that it seemed to take eternity to reach his room.
There. Sitting innocently on his blanket, was a thick, leather-bound book. Flipping it open to page fifteen with trembling fingers, Shigaraki barely caught the note as it fluttered out of the pages. Kurogiri’s fancy scrawl was instantly recognisable.
Tomura, please forgive me.
I don’t have much time to explain, but on the back of this note is the spell to break All For One’s locking ward. There’s a leather rucksack under my bed, take as much food as you can carry and run. The back of this book has a map; use it and leave this forest. Do this today.
Don’t look for us. Don’t ever try to find us. Take nothing but this book, your clothes and a blanket. There’s a hundred pounds under the stone beneath the fireplace.
I’m sorry.
- Kurogiri