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Aizawa Shouta was used to waking on a moment's notice, if he'd even truly been asleep in the first place. It was an important skill for a hero to have, especially an underground one, when things could happen in an instant and he needed to be fully alert when it happened. And most people didn't notice the difference between when he was lightly dozing versus fully asleep, anyway.
But every so often, it would have been nice to be able to wake slowly, to come to terms with his environment, take slow stock of his surroundings and body. Dangerous as it would have been, it might have been nice to be given that today, rather than wake in a rush and realize he didn't know where he was.
He was reclining on a firm surface that felt like a medical chair, with his arms raised on its arms and capture scarf missing from its proper place around his neck and shoulders, leaving him feeling as bare as if whoever had brought him here had stripped him of uniform and all.
And it took less time to notice that than it took to realize that he was strapped to to the chair, at chest and wrist and elbow, waist and knee and ankle.
The realization was akin to a cold punch to the stomach, jolting the last of the fuzziness (a drug? A quirk? That hadn't been natural sleep, Shouta was an expert on sleep and he knew it hadn't been) from his mind.
Think. Be rational. Ignore the fear and use logic. You can't afford to give in to the fear.
Because while Shouta knew his face wasn't giving him away, he could feel the fear settling deep, the instinctual urge to fight against the restraints and to panic. It was cold, gripping him tightly and making it hard to continue to be rational.
He had to keep calm, hold on to the logic he'd fought so hard for, or he wasn't going to get out of this.
Wherever 'this' was.
He wasn't blindfolded. As much as he hated blindfolds, that usually didn't mean anything good. If they weren't hiding their identities, then...they had no intention of letting him out of here alive.
This place smelled sharply of antiseptic, and in the dark Shouta could just make out lights overhead, the bright, movable ones they used in medical offices, off for now but all of them pointing towards the chair.
A door opened behind him, footsteps sounding out like gunshots in the silence, a voice coming clearer as they entered.
“...waste of time and resources. Their failure is unforgivable,” they were saying, and Shouta's blood ran cold as the voice registered.
Overhaul. Chisaki Kai.
The raid. Eri. Midoryia. Stopping Eri. The attack once everyone was distracted...Chronostasis...being unable to move, and the blindfold, Chronostasis talking, the prick of a needle and the burn of a drug and everything going dark.
What happened?
Shouta closed his eyes, peering out through slits, hoping they'd think him still out of it and keep talking. Thankfully they hadn't come close yet, moving around behind his chair and out of his line of sight.
His realizations had taken little more than a split second, which meant Chisaki was still talking. “They got themselves caught, they'll have to deal with that. We'll have to make sure they don't talk. Unlikely, but it's still a concern. Besides, they deserve whatever happens to them at this point.”
So much for yakuza loyalty.
There was the sound of glass clinking against other glass, of metal being rearranged against other metal, picked up and placed down as it was examined.
After a moment, footsteps came around to the side of Shouta's chair, and a gloved hand ran through his hair in a sickening parody of a caress, feeling almost possessive as the hand gripped a fistful, twining the hair around gloved fingers and pulling his head up. “I know you're awake, Eraserhead.”
Feigning grogginess, Shouta inched his eyes open, as though the drug still held him under somewhat, just barely conscious.
Chisaki hummed lightly, gloved fingers tilting Shouta's chin up, the ones in his hair loosening. “Your little raid ruined everything. We had the finished product ready to ship and the process all worked out, slow and expensive as it was. But now, with Eri gone, we have to start again from scratch. You've put us back, severely so, but you haven't stopped us. Not now that we've got you. Your quirk isn't as effective as Eri's would be, and yet... Either way, discovering how to extract it should go faster this time. We've got the process worked out by now, we just have to...adjust it.”
The hand still in his hair tightened once more as the hand on his chin tilted Shouta's face from side to side. Chisaki drew close, his eyes searching Shouta's as if searching for the spark of his quirk. His thumb came up to brush against the scar under Shouta's eye
“Such an attractive power you have, this 'erasure of quirks',” Chisaki said, his fingers not leaving Shouta's face, eyes glittering with fervor. “We'll put it to better use than the heroes did, I can assure you of that.”
---XXX---
Chisaki was careful, was so very, very careful, very deliberate, with every part of his sick work. From the way he carefully sliced away Shouta's sleeves, careful and delicate as if the skin underneath was fragile as glass, not to be touched by an errant slice even as the blade traced along Shouta's skin, phantom promises of what was to come, leaving the pieces of fabric under the straps alone rather than tugging them out.
All the way to the meticulous precision of each slice and cut he made to the bared skin, watching carefully as he cut away bits of skin and reformed Shouta's arm again with his Quirk.
Shouta gritted his teeth, soft noises of pain escaping, unable to hold back them back despite himself. And after awhile, he didn't bother trying. Chisaki's Quirk was agonizing to be on the receiving end of, and he was unrelenting, not giving Shouta a chance to catch his breath between slices and cuts until it was all unending haze of pain.
There was a brief pause once Chisaki had his fill of flesh for the moment while he and Chronostasis finished placing them into various sample containers and machines, sending them whirring to life.
Chisaki complained briefly of having to use the substandard equipment – it seemed the best had been at the main base, and this was older and not as efficient – but Shouta was too busy panting, reeling from pain, to pay attention.
One elbow was unstrapped once they were finished, but not until a new strap was fastened around Shouta's bicep to keep him still as they slid an IV into the crook of his arm with the ease of long practice, carefully filling bag after bag with blood, leaving Shouta dizzy and feeling as though his life were draining out through that tiny needle, drop by drop.
Chisaki watched the bags being filled with cold interest gleaming in his eyes while Chronostasis did the work of changing the bags.
Shouta was beginning to have difficulty breathing by the time they were satisfied. There were things he could have said while they did, but they would be useless, so he saved his breath for now. At least this wasn't painful and gave him a moment to think.
Chisaki's gloved hand cupped his chin, tilting his head into the light. “This scar...I wonder if the original wound damaged his Quirk. Do you think it might make the blood we took less potent?”
“It shouldn't,” Chronostasis said, carefully labeling the last bag and placing it with the others. “It would be the work of a moment to fix it if you think it might.”
Chisaki gave a small, considering hum. “I don't usually care much about appearances, but the scar itself fits him, don't you think?” He released Shouta's chin, and his head dropped, focusing on breathing, trying to get enough air. Chisaki pulled off a glove, the sound of the rubber loud as a shot in the silent room. “You're right, though. It'll be easy enough to fix, and leave the scar for...aesthetics. Get the bags ready, we'll bleed him again to test the differences once I'm finished. Do we have any Trigger left? I want to give him that for the third test batch. We have no idea how it'll interact with Erasure.”
The touch of his fingertips was almost gentle as they laid against Shouta's bare arm. “I can hardly wait to find out.”
And then there was nothing but pain.
---XXX---
Shouta had no way to keep track of time down here. They weren't letting him have a room the way they had Eri – there weren't enough people left to keep a guard on him, and he wouldn't go quietly to the chair the way Eri had, if they tried to take him to another room between sessions.
Only Chisaki and Chronostasis were left, if what he was hearing when they spoke while waiting on the machines to finish their tasks, low enough that they must have thought he couldn't hear, if what he'd seen so far from his position in the chair, was the truth. That somehow, Chronostasis had dragged Shouta out of there in the confusion after the fight and gotten Chisaki away from the police escort taking him to Tartarus before the two of them dragged him to this hidden Shie Hissekai hideout. There were no other footsteps, no one else had spoken, only ever the two of them, and though Chisaki was putting out feelers for new recruits, he wasn't getting responses.
Shouta wasn't sure if the hideout he'd been somehow dragged to was one of the ones the other heroes had discovered of not.
Shouta was starting to lose hope. He was watching for an opening always, but it was so hard. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. Even if Chisaki could 'fix' him, give him back the blood they'd taken so they could take more, he didn't always. And even when he did, Shouta was still exhausted from the draining, from the pain that came of having his blood drawn to dangerously low levels, of having his arms sliced up again and again, and the searing pain of Chisaki's quirk.
They hadn't done a marathon session again like they had that first time – it was, from what he'd picked up from their overheard conversation, too hard on his body even with Chisaki's ability to 'fix' what they did, and they needed him alive and well as long as possible.
The Trigger, however, they had used again, more than once, and they had enough to keep using it. Shouta wasn't sure what, exactly, it did to Erasure – they blindfolded him each time they used it, just in case, so he couldn't do anything to their Quirks.
For people who claimed to see Quirks as a disease, they relied on theirs heavily. And Chisaki was pleased with what Trigger did, it seemed, and it was another agony among the others. He knew that when he was drugged, he couldn't turn Erasure off, even with the blindfold on and his eyes closed, his entire body aflame and heart pounding until it felt it would tear itself free, adrenaline spiking until he was shaking in the chair, and he had heard through the haze Chisaki taking notes and video of it all.
Being drugged left him gasping for breath on top of the cruel draining of his blood, feeling as though he'd run a marathon alongside the exsanguination. The blood loss wasn't painful, in and of itself, but the end result was, and it was exhausting.
To think of them doing this to tiny little Eri had what little blood Shouta still had boiling.
But it was becoming clear that without a miracle, Shouta wasn't going to be able to get himself out of here.
And with each passing hour, he was more convinced that it was possible no one would come for him.
Old demons he'd thought long vanquished were resurfacing, asking if anyone cared enough to come looking for him, if he was worth the time and resources that it would take to mount a rescue.
He knew Hizashi loved him. Knew Nemuri did as well, knew that he could count most of the other teachers as friends, as nearly family, even count some other pro heroes in the select group of those he cared about...
but the hero commission wouldn't mind too much if he were gone. And with all the manpower they'd raised to save Eri...what would they have left for him, when he was a pro hero and should be able to save himself?
His kids...what were they going to tell his students? And Nezu? The principal was something akin to a father figure to him, and they both knew it, knew that was why he got away with so much...
Shouta struggled against the straps again, skin that had been rubbed raw and healed he'd-lost-count-how-many-times over grating painfully against the leather.
He was going to have scars to match little Eri's if he ever got out of here. What they needed flesh for, he wasn't sure – he didn't have Eri's power. Could Erasure even be made permanent, with flesh and blood?
He didn't want to know. He knew they were trying to make more of the bullets, but they had to start from scratch, would his even do what Eri's had done, or were they going to find out this had all been a waste of time? And what then?
He doubted they'd just let him go...or even kill him. They'd try something else, and given what they were willing to do already...
Shouta hated to admit it, but did need rescue, was unable to rescue himself this time, when he was so lightheaded and weak even after being 'reset'. He was an underground hero, he'd gotten himself out of bad situations before...but this time they knew what he could do and were keeping him far too incapacitated to fight. Made it clear that the miracle of an opening wasn't coming.
On the other hand, they had to let him recover, which took more time, or else use Chisaki's quirk to 'fix' him in between sessions and let him recover from that, so there was a brief period he might be able to do something – or at least not be dead weight if the hoped for, unlikely rescue should arrive. And the two were always careful to disinfect everything, the stink of antiseptic always present no matter what they did.
Whether that was because of Chisaki's germophobia or an unwillingness to waste time with their test subject getting sick or infected or the most likely reason of a combination of all of them together, Shouta had a feeling it would be a long time before he could smell antiseptic, feel a needle, or hear the sound of a rubber glove without spiraling into a flashback.
Shouta had fought in worse conditions than being tired from blood loss. If the opportunity came, then he was taking it, probable (most likely, more likely than escape if he was being logical and honest with himself) consequences be damned. The alternative was better than being used as less than human, a resource to make more of the quirk-destroying bullets that Chisaki was making.
And if Shouta got out of here and found out about heroes using the bullets, whether made from him or Eri, then there would be hell to pay, no matter what the damn commission said.
His mind drifted for a moment to a daydream of how to take down the hero commission if they used the bullets – and he knew damn well they would if they had the chance. How ironic, that the League of Villains claimed they wanted change and were getting in the way of all the plans that had been in motion to make the same changes they'd been after...
The sound of Chisaki's footsteps entering the room broke Shouta out of his vague planning. He'd figured their tells out out quickly, and this time, Chisaki was irritated with something.
“This is so irritating. People just never know when to keep to their own business,” Chisaki said, striding across the floor as he adjusted his gloves. He took Shouta's jaw in one gloved hand – Shouta had noticed that Chisaki did that quite a bit, if only to examine Shouta's eyes clinically, though he avoided all other contact and made sure he was always gloved. It left Shouta with the terror that one of these times, the flesh Chisake would take would be his eyes, the one thing that terrified him more than anything else when it came to fears for himself. “We just got started recruiting. People aren't keen to join the yakuza anymore, not with you heroes all over. Much more interesting and profitable to be a villain. But the ones around here just won't keep to themselves, and now we have to pick up and move. Again.”
He tilted Shouta's chin back and forth under the lights, searching for something. Shouta was tempted to fight it, to resist Chisaki's manhandling, but he wanted underestimated. He needed Chisaki to think he wouldn't resist whatever was going to happen.
Chisaki's gloved fingers moved to Shouta's bound wrist, feeling the pulse.
“Hm. Waiting for you to recover from my quirk would take too long. A pity you're so much larger than Eri, she at least was easier to move at a moment's notice. Chrono could carry her. I doubt he could you.”
The last was said with a trace of humor. There was quite the difference between tiny, abused Eri and a full grown pro hero at his prime. It was amazing that Chronostasis had been able to get him here in the first place.
...somehow, Shouta had the feeling he should be grateful he'd been unconscious for that part. He had a really bad feeling about what had happened between the end of the raid and waking up down here.
“So annoying, with everything we have to move. You should be grateful you're still useful, or I'd take you apart for easier moving.”
It was said casually, in the pleasant tone of voice Chisaki normally used that made Shouta feel a bit like a pet (if Chisaki was treating him as a thinking individual at all) and was all the more chilling and threatening for that.
“As it is, I...” Chisaki paused, head tilting. “What's that noise...? The heroes can't be here already. That's incredibly rude, to be that early.”
He turned towards the door, casually tugging off a glove and standing nonchalantly beside the chair, facing the door.
He was within arm's reach of Shouta, and as he pulled off the second glove, it became obvious that was on purpose.
If it were a rescue, what better way to derail everything than threaten or kill the one they came for.
The door flew off its hinges, exploding to slam against the opposite wall. Smoke billowed into the room, and Chisaki gave a small huff.
“Such unnecessary theatrics...” he murmured, reaching to place a hand on the floor.
And pausing in shock when nothing happened.
His head whipped up to catch Shouta's eyes with his. Shouta, whose eyes were glowing bright red and hair whipping around his head in the breeze from the broken door, much more awake and ready to fight than he'd pretended to be a moment ago.
Didn't matter who was on the other side of that door.
Getting out of here was all that mattered.
Chisaki's eyes narrowed with fury.
To his credit, he didn't wait long to react, grabbing a scalpel off the nearby table and stabbing it towards Shouta, both of them knowing it would force him to blink.
But the shock and anger of having his own quirk removed, and by one he'd thought near unconscious and tortured into compliance, no matter how temporarily, took his attention away from the invasion for a critical moment.
Just long enough for a hardened fist to crash into his face, cracking his signature mask and sending him flying.
People rushed in, filling the room with noise and movement.
Shouta jerked as a blindfold wrapped itself around his eyes, thrashing and twisting to get away from the cloth as much as the straps permitted – which was very little.
“Calm down, Eraserhead!” a voice he vaguely recognized yelped, and a second pair of hands held his head in place as the blindfold tightened. “We're here to get you out! Just, a lot of the folks here don't want to be known for helping so we can't let you see us!”
“Who...?” Shouta started, grimacing. If they were willing to blindfold him to keep him from knowing who they were, then they wouldn't just say their names because he asked.
“One good turn deserves another, right hero? We all owe you. Just stay calm, we got enough to deal with with this yakuza asshole and his friend.”
The hands holding his head in place moved, their owner joining the rest in whatever they were doing, while the ones that had been tying the blindfold patted Shouta's head, fondly.
“There's a good hero. Quick thinking there, this woulda got messy if you hadn't been so quick on the draw there. You're one of the good ones, really, getting your hands dirty down here with the rest of us. Gotta watch out for the real heroes.”
Another friendly pat to his hair and the hand was removed. “You guys done yet?” the voice called over Shouta's head.
There was a clamor, and chorus of affirmations. From the mishmash, Shouta picked out that Chisaki and Chrono were both unconscious, and in stolen quirk suppressant cuffs, and that there hadn't been anyone else in the hideout.
There was conversation around him, a brief argument over a plan that had been formed but a few people objected to, before settling with the sound of a body being dragged away.
The voice was back a moment later. “Hey Eraser, we want to untie you, but first you gotta promise not to try anything, okay? And to not take the blindfold off until I say it's okay. Can you do that?”
“Why the blindfold?” Shouta gasped out. His voice sounded as rough as his throat felt, dry and raw from days spent either stubbornly silent despite their poking and prodding and questioning or screaming in agony.
“Someone get some water!” was called over his head before the voice started speaking again, closer. “Look, you've helped all of us, but there's a lot of us who're gonna have problems if you say they helped you back. We're trying to clean up our acts but some of us have farther to go than others. I'm the only one clean enough for you to hear me. And there's that cop with the lie detecting quirk...and if you tripped, and opened your eyes on instinct...”
He trailed off, waiting to see if Shouta understood.
And the worst part was, he did. There were voices he'd recognized among the chatter, vigilantes he worked with and people who'd been on the road to villainy before he'd helped them, people who it was more dangerous for him to know that they'd helped than it was beneficial.
Yes, some of them could have tried to use this to get a hero to turn a blind eye later, but there were still those in the commission's favor or among the police who didn't like vigilantes or redeemable villains on principle, and if he was forced to identify any of them later, than it wouldn't matter that it was a rescue mission if someone decided to take issue with it. There were laws in place they could use to hurt these people for doing the right thing. And if Shouta had a chance to see them...
It all came down to trust, didn't it?
Shouta gave a sharp nod. “Just get me out of this chair. I won't touch the blindfold.”
“You got it,” the voice said, and if he knew the owner at all than he could picture the ridiculous grin they were giving, surprised and thankful and thrilled, as metal slid along his skin, the dull side this time. They were being very careful not to catch his skin, carefully slicing away at the leather and tactfully ignoring how he tensed with each touch.
The cuts and scars and grisly trophies in the room gave silent reason enough for flinching.
“Easy there, it's almost over, but they're way too tight to undo, this is faster, and...”
How was it he kept drawing the loud ones to himself, even in vigilantes, Shouta wondered as the vigilante kept up his steady, reassuring chatter.
“There, that's the last. Think you can stand, Eraser? You're pretty pale...and that's a lot of blood, please say it's not all yours...you were supposed to say it wasn't. Hey, make sure you get all of it, we need to drop off the evidence with Eraser! I don't want to think what'd happen if we left it! Here, easy now...”
And then there were hands, hands helping him to stay steady, guiding him through hallways, and he could make out the quiet whispers around him as he was passed along.
“Careful with him, he's one of ours. He's one of the good ones.”
---XXX---
The feel of the sun on his face had never felt so good, even if half of his face was covered by the damn blindfold. He'd promised not to touch it, and so he kept his hands in his guide's and didn't resist as he was led along.
His escort dwindled by ones and twos as they entered a more populated part of town, and he could picture them drifting off into alleyways and buildings, dissipating like smoke.
From the sounds it was still early enough that most people were still in bed or just getting up, the sun just rising and very few people awake to see their strange parade.
They came to a gentle stop, the hands on his hands and arms that had been guiding him drawing him to a stop and keeping him still.
“Okay, so those two are getting dropped off on the steps in front of Fatgum's agency, plus all the stuff we could gather. I know it was messing with a crime scene, but none of us could exactly show the way, so we just brought everything we could pick up and drew a rough map of how to get back there if they have to. You go forward two blocks to get to Fatgum's. You can see it from here. We're going to let go, and you count down from thirty before taking the blindfold off and don't look back, got it?”
Snouta nodded. The hands let go, and he reached out before they could retreat entirely, lightly touching the wrist of the speaker. “Thank you,” he said, quietly but sincerely.
There was a soft snort, and the feeling of someone petting his hair again. Shouta wasn't quite sure what their obsession was with petting him, but they were taking advantage of the situation to get away with it for as long as he was letting them.
“Real heroes are hard to come by these days. Gotta keep the good ones in the game. You be careful out there, Eraserhead.”
A final pat, this time to his shoulder. “Start counting.”
And, despite every bit of his knowledge of hero law, of what he was supposed to do, yelling for him to do otherwise, Shouta did, keeping his arms at his sides where they could see him complying. Thirty seconds, counted out softly aloud, before reaching up to pull the blindfold off.
He could see the lights of Fatgum's agency from here just as he'd been promised, see the sidekicks milling around, roused from inside to find Chisaki and Chronostasis and multiple boxes on the steps, the two yakuza still unconscious. Despite his nearly overwhelming desire to turn Shouta began walking forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the agency, then on Fatgum when the hero came outside.
Shouta could tell the moment he was spotted as a cry went up from the people gathered. Fatgum's head snapped up from where he'd been examining Chisaki, and his eyes went wide as he caught sight of Shouta, wobbling his way towards the agency.
A second later and he was barreling towards Shouta, calling out his hero name, and Shouta was swept up into huge arms a moment later, being squeezed tight as though he'd disappear if Fatgum didn't hold him tight.
A moment later and he being carried towards the agency at a run.
Shouta wanted to protest the manhandling, but he was so tired, and Fatgum was radiating heat and safety, and he hadn't slept since he'd woken up in Chisaki's chair, not properly. So despite Fatgum's more and more frantic calling of his name, Shouta succumbed to sleep.
---XXX---
Shouta woke to the sound of a door opening, though whoever was coming in was trying to be quiet about it.
After everything, it was going to be awhile before he didn't tense at the sound of a door opening.
Fatgum stood just inside the door, sheepish and holding a tray full of food. “Hey, Aizawa,” he said, scratching at the back of his head and looking so like one of Shouta's students for a moment Shouta had to bite back a smile. “Thought you might be hungry. Sorry for wakin' ya.”
“It's fine. Sorry for passing out on you. How long have I been asleep? And how long was I missing?” Shouta asked, inching up to swing his legs over the side and sit at the edge of his bed.
His boots were missing, set near the door, but otherwise he was in the same clothes he'd fallen asleep in.
Fatgum's face fell, and he sat next to Shouta. The dip in the bed made Shouta lean into Fatgum's side, but it was fine. He and Fatgum weren't as close as he was to some others, but he was in that category of friends Shouta was comfortable being near.
Fatgum offered up the food and Shouta started to pick at it. He was starving, having not trusted the food that Chisaki had forced on him and eaten as little of it as he could manage, but he knew from experience not to let himself scarf it down.
“It's been a little over a week,” Fatgum said solemnly. “Everyone's been frantic. Th' kids won't stop blaming themselves. Don't start about them being illogical, they know it already. They've been told, but they're scared. Your kids really care about you.”
Shouta hid his flush in the bowl Fatgum had brought.
“We have ta take you to th' hospital once you're done eatin'. Figured havin' ya wake up in th' hospital would be a bad idea, seein' what the base we raided was like. 'Course, we weren't sure what Overhaul wanted with ya, but...”
Shouta winced, barely more than a twitch. “Not a bad idea, honestly. What about my statement?”
“Only once you've been checked over and feel ready. We have a ride waiting.”
“And...Chisaki and Chronostasis?”
“Already in custody and on their way to Tartarus. With full hand covering quirk suppressors for Overhaul, and good suppressant cuffs on Chronostasis,” Fatgum said, his eyes flat and hard. He softened again, his hand coming up to rest on Shouta's back after hovering for a few indecisive moments, and Shouta had the impression that Fatgum had almost gone for the hair.
“...I'm really glad you're okay, Aizawa,” Fatgum said quietly. “Been real worried about you.”
Shouta gave a small hum and let himself lean that much more against Fatgum. Fatgum could read him well enough to know what he meant.
---XXX---
Hizashi met them at the hospital. His hair was down, and it looked as though he'd barely slept for the past week.
He gripped Shouta's hand throughout the exam and debriefing, tightening his grip now and again as Shouta described what had happened.
Shouta was, surprisingly, in remarkably good health, all things considered, and it was agreed he could head back to UA in the morning, keeping him overnight for observation before giving him over into Recovery Girl's care. It was too late to risk waking everyone now.
He had a feeling Fatgum would be coming by to make sure he ate for awhile, and he was going to pass the word along. He'd been more shaken than Shouta had expected, and it sounded like the others had been, as well.
“The kids are going to be so happy to see you,” Hizashi said, shoving up his glasses to rub at his eyes. “You have no idea how worried they've been. It's going to be bedlam when we get to the dorms.”
“It's part of the job,” Shouta grumbled.
“So's the worry, and you know it,” Hizashi shot back, tapping Shouta's forehead. “How'd you get out, anyway? You said people came to help, did you know any of them? I saw you dodging that question. I think Fatgum did, too, even if the detective didn't. You're lucky it wasn't Tsukauchi, he'd have called you out on it. Might have let it drop, but called you out anyway.”
Shouta smiled faintly, already on his way toward sleep. “Remember that big argument we all had? About villains and if we could change things before they got started?”
Hizashi nodded slowly, remembering with a shudder. Several of the heroes involved had been vocal and unmoving in their ideal that a villain was a villain, born that way, and evil needed stopped immediately, without nuance. Shouta, as well as several others, had been of a very different opinion, that 'evil' was a label that only a few truly deserved and that things could be changed. That it was as much desperation or circumstances that could push people into crime, and things needed to change. That they needed help and justice, not punishment.
Shouta's smile turned to a faint smirk. “I was right,” he said smugly.
He fell asleep to Hizashi's amazed and slightly hysterical laughter, knowing he was going to need his rest.
His kids were going to be so loud when he got home.
---XXX---
They checked in on Eri briefly before starting back to UA.
She was awake at the moment, but she'd fall asleep again soon.
She watched both of them warily as they came in, keeping across the room from her so they wouldn't crowd or scare her more.
“The...the nurse said you're heroes?” she asked, in a tiny, tiny voice.
“We are,” Shouta assured her.
“Eraser here is teaching the ones who saved you how to be heroes,” Hizashi chimed in.
Eri's eyes went wide, and she mouthed a silent “Wow.”
Her eyes traveled down to the bandages wound around Shouta's arms, and her hand hovered over her own bandaged arm.
“Did he...”
Shouta nodded, holding out his arm so she could see it better. “But it's okay. He's never going to hurt anyone ever again, Eri.”
She reached out a tiny hand, pulling it back as Shouta sat, patiently unmoving, until she reached out again to lay her hand on his arm.
He laid his hand on hers, gentle and light, so she could pull away if she wanted.
“No matter what he told you, neither of us deserved what he did, Eri. It's going to take a long time to believe, but it's the truth.”
---XXX---
Class 1-A was louder than he'd expected, erupting into cheers as he and Hizashi walked into the dorms.
Tsuyu, Uraraka, Kirishima, and Midoriya were quiet, watching him as though he'd disappear again, and Shouta made a note to talk to each of them later. They were kids still, they couldn't start shouldering the burdens of heroism yet.
“How'd you get away?” Tsuyu asked quietly once everyone had finally settled down and begun to head off to their rooms. The other students, who hadn't been in on the raid, knew that he'd been in danger, but Shouta knew they didn't know just how much, and were more easily reassured that everything was fine now. But the four involved who'd been involved knew much clearer what kind of danger it had been, and they weren't. They might not have heard yet why Chisaki took him, but they were smart, and he could tell they'd already guessed.
“...There are things that underground heroes have to do, can do, that limelight heroes can't,” Shouta finally answered, thinking back to the group who'd come to help him. “Things that brought help from somewhere unexpected.”
He hadn't thought what he'd done had been much at the time. A few words here and there, encouragement or scolding or smoothing the way, turning a blind eye here or there, working with a vigilante rather than chasing them.
He hadn't done it expecting...this.
“It's something we'll talk about more later, when we talk about the differences between the types of heroes,” he said to the four who watched him with huge eyes. “But this is one area that is up to the hero. Something that doesn't get talked about. I'll tell you more about it later.”
“It has to do with the people in the cracks, doesn't it,” Midoriya asked solemnly. “And you can't say more without getting them in trouble.”
Trust the problem child to see right to the point.
Shouta nodded. “It does. Now, I need to go rest, and I suggest you do to. Fatgum and Mic both told me how you four in particular haven't been since the raid.”
They nodded slowly, but reluctantly, and didn't leave.
Shouta waited. He'd glare at them as he usually would, and it wasn't that he was going soft (he'd always been soft, he just hid it behind the hardest shell anyone at UA had seen and no, Hizashi, these kids weren't cracking it) it just felt like kicking a puppy to glare at them when they were still so concerned over him.
He was the teacher, it was supposed to be the other way around.
“...can we hug you?” Tsuyu finally asked in a tiny voice. “It's just...still hard to believe you're really back, kero.”
The other three nodded, looking up at him pleadingly.
...ugh, Hizashi was right and he was cracking, Shouta thought as he opened his arms and was buried under students, each pressing their heads to his chest or back to hear him breathe and feel his heart beating, squeezing tight as though he'd disappear if the let go.
...he didn't regret it one bit.