Chapter Text
It’s hard to believe sometimes that a person like you can forget how cruel the world you live in can be. You forget that life isn’t always kind, isn’t always giving. More often than not, life is nothing if not unforgiving, forever unforgettable. The moments that people tend to remember the most tend to be the most beautiful or the most traumatic.
You forget that despite the way Heroes exist, wield the power to save the day, change the world, to simply do the impossible, it’s still not enough.
It’s still never enough.
Heroes are still human and the thing about humanity is that it is incredibly fragile, incredibly flawed. Heroes can’t save everyone. Heroes can’t be there at every assault that occurs behind closed doors. Heroes can’t be there for every domestic battle that’s kept hidden in the dark, noticed far too late. Heroes can’t protect anyone, can’t protect themselves, from a society that does nothing but fail them, over and over and over again. Heroes are shiny pawns used for bigger battles. And even then, the casualties tend to always weigh heavier than normal.
They fail and fail and fail, again and again. Lives are constantly slipping through their fingertips. Blood is forever rooted underneath fingernails, stained in red no matter how many times they wash their hands and scrub their skin raw. So many of them are out there seeking fame, yet so little stayed when the time of need came.
When it truly comes down to it, those so-called heroes we look up to aren’t always going to be there for the insignificant cases. They simply can’t catch everyone, can’t get to everyone on time, can’t see all the bodies dangling and in danger. And whilst the authorities are helpful enough in the shadows, they too have bigger fish to fry in a world where the big and powerful have the limelight.
Some of us—the victims—are left holding onto the cliffs’ edge, clinging to a fruitless promise of a faint tomorrow, begging that the piece you’re holding on to doesn’t break away. No matter how many Heroes are dispatched from the streets, how many await to help from the bottom, how many take flight and help from the skies above, despite how many Heroes—policy man and the likes—align together to help and serve and save and protect. Some people fall through the cracks those who are meant to protect us simply can’t fill.
Blind spots that are so easily missed. Those endless could have been but never were.
Heroes can’t save everyone, for not every evil lies in plain sight.
The world is not black and white, it is colorful, endlessly so. But we’ve been told before that an animal that’s radiant in color, tends to also be the most poisonous.
Pretty things tend to hurt.
Because as you stand underneath an endlessly sunny sky you repeat those known words in your mind like a mantra. It’s a beautiful day despite the loudness of the sirens and the way red and blue flashes of color grow closer and all the more aggravating.
Eyes roll over the scenery, taking in the rubble at your feet, the smell of gasoline, dirt, and blood clinging to the air. You look around in a daze, unsure what to do with such a mess on such a pretty day. Your eyes briefly land on your uncle—a man you haven’t seen in years save for the pictures online—as he speaks with the officers, words you fail to hear behind the ringing in your ears. His eyes constantly flicker back to you, worried and panicked. There’s fear there too, whether it is for you or because of you, you cannot tell.
The paramedics look over you as you stand there, it takes a while to notice them, it takes a while for you to notice anything. Their fingers ghost over your skin, prod and heal whatever they can, clean whatever wound they find, and leave your broken hands for last. Damage they can do nothing about.
“The damage is too extensive,” You hear one say, his voice cracks over the static, it travels as if underwater.
You’re responsive to an extent, but the look in your eyes lacks reaction, light, and understanding. You’re there, seeing everything, analyzing everything as the information comes slowly into your brain, senses shot and fried from overdrive yet unable to compute a single thought. So far gone from the present, dissociated, exhausted, in disbelief that you did that. You did that.
I did that.
I did this.
I leveled a block and my parents with it.
David Shield watches you from the sidelines, trapped by the officers asking redundant questions he can’t answer, looking for answers he does not have. He was told to come to you, to save you, a message he didn’t understand at first, but the desperation of the request was clear as day. But he had no idea this was what he was going to find.
If he had listened sooner, would he have made it in time? Would he have saved you the way he was begged to do?
Do you even realize the situation you’re in? The fear that’s still spreading through Dave’s veins as blood continuously rolls down your eyes like tears, down your nose and ears, that fear wraps itself around his chest, not at you, for you. The way your hands, mutilated from the wrist straight down to the tips of your fingers, lay lifelessly at your sides. You leveled half a block, your family home, your parents, and yourself inside and you don’t even seem to realize where you stand.
On top of the remains of everything you grew up with.
You’re present physically, but for once, your mind is so overwhelmingly empty.
It’s quiet.
Even as everything begins to filter back in full volume, the voices inside your head are no longer screaming in pain. There’s a darkness that clings to you, a numbing cream of sorts that latches on and refuses to let go. Protects you when it becomes too much and numbs your nerve endings until the pain is only secondary.
Adrenaline isn’t enough, so your mind protects itself in the only way it’s ever known how. Lock it up tightly and destroy the key—it’s quiet.
It takes a while for the medics to clean and wrap the injuries they can heal all the while straining themselves to hear your one-word responses.
“Does this hurt?”
“No”
“Can you feel this?”
“Yes”
“Can you recall what happened, anything at all?”
“…no.”
They share looks, responsive but numbed, she’s in a state of shock is what echoes in their heads and it hurts, because when your own mind is so deadly quiet, everyone else’s is so devastatingly loud.
You barely notice when other hands roughly push you aside, take you away from the paramedics who shout in protest. You barely notice when cuffs are forcefully clasped around your wrist, the searing pain doing little to nothing to jolt you back to your full senses. The darkness clings tighter.
While everything is too much, it is also too little. Sensory overload to the point of numbness. For all the brightness of colors and emotions all around you, there’s too much dust that covers it all too well.
When the air tastes sour and metallic, pushed into a room with only three walls and a one-way mirror, you still can’t focus on the finer details around you, there’s too much dust in your eyes.
Or maybe that’s just your mind attempting to atone for all the damage it’s done by suppressing the day your world ended and simultaneously begun. Give you peace of mind even if everything else explodes and collapses around you.
You barely remember being interrogated.
You barely remember because you choose to forget it.
Lock it up tightly and destroy the key—it’s quiet.
****
A few hours later find you blinking in surprise at the white popcorn ceiling, lying on white cotton sheets, soft and scratchy all the same. A hospital robe with bunnies of all colors engulfs you in warmth, it’s clean and soft, and despite television advertisement, your backside is thankfully covered.
No dirt or blood covers your body in grime. An I.V. is poking sensitive and bruised skin around your forearm, the area seems like someone had difficulty finding a suitable vein.
There is no rubble, no chaos, no dust tainting your vision. You must be quite some distance from others for no foreign emotions are clinging to the air either. It’s not exactly quiet, the voices, the worries, and the thoughtless thoughts still echo, but it’s far more peaceful here than you’re used to. It’s a slow start, as all your senses come back to life.
Whilst you can hear people’s distant thoughts echo inside your mind, it takes a little longer for your ears to pick up the background noises around you. It’s like you’re waking up after an endless slumber, sixteen years stuck inside a very bad dream.
You hear the rain softly hit the window next to you, turn your head, and watch as the water droplets flow down the windowpane uninterrupted. Soft rain, a light shower that will no doubt leave behind a beautiful rainbow in its wake, the aftermath of what was once a bright sunny day. You blink and your vision clears a little more like whatever sheen or dust was left is finally washed away.
You make out your uncle’s faint voice from beyond the door and find yourself clinging to the voice that saved you. Despite the initial quietness and slowness, the longer you’re awake the more your mind begins to stuff itself with life. Voices bounce around your head, whispers and yells, inconsolable pleas, and angry bargaining. Though the emotions don’t manifest as vibrantly around you, their essence is still there, from sad to happy to desperate and terrified. The foreign memories that overwhelm others flash briefly behind your eyes, those moments in time that flash behind a dying person’s eyes, or a grieving loved one's.
It all starts coming back, but even then, something about it all no longer feels as suffocating.
Your quirk never sleeps, it never shuts off, not all the way. You build walls to keep it contained and create a maze so that getting in becomes a challenge, but it’s a beast that never sleeps. The jarring way it slowly stirs awake makes you anxious it makes you flinch with every new voice that gets picked up. Hospitals are your least favorite place for this very reason.
You can feel the life that happens all around you just as much as you can feel life ending. It’s not as intense or as loud as it normally would be, but slowly grows as your mind becomes more conscious. It likes to cling to sound, it likes the chaos even when you don’t.
The sound of the rain, the TV playing a random kids’ show, the monitors beeping away to the faint beat of your heart, all mundane noises muffled by the overwhelming presence of everyone and everything around you. Unprotected and foreign thoughts, stupid memories that aren’t fucking yours, filter through your head, further messing with the rotten mess that is your mind. Little by little it grows, shaping uncontrollably against your will.
Every wall you had built crumbled down at your feet, every twist and turn no longer keeping you safe within its confined space. Every defense shattered and beaten down to ashes. In all your messed-up life, you’ve never felt as broken and exposed as you do right now.
“She has no one else,” Dave looks back at the young girl lying in bed, skin lacking warmth under the lights, eyes focused on the rain. Bandages wrap around your head in a single strip that covers the gash in your hairline, more bandages wrap around your arms and legs and even more hide underneath your hospital robe. Though physically you are fine, there’s still no telling how everything has affected your already fragile mental state. And with a quirk like yours, the fear of permanent mental damage already has him on edge. “I’m all she has left.”
“Mr. Shield, ultimately, it is up to you if you wish to take the child in.” The detective offers Dave kind eyes.
“No,” though Dave is beyond secure about taking his niece in, his answer doesn’t waver. The decision was final from the moment he pulled you out of the rubble. “I’m not leaving her. Not in the foster care system and not so close to turning eighteen. I’m not leaving her alone, not—not again.”
“Very well, I will get the social worker to arrange everything for you.” The detective gives Dave a curt nod, hand lightly squeezing the man’s shoulder in reassurance before walking away.
Dave stalls for a moment, taking a deep breath before gently knocking on the door, when you answer, he walks inside your hospital room with small, tentative steps. Your only acknowledgment of his presence is the way your head tilts towards the sound. Your eyes, trained on the rain that falls outside, look as dull as they were when he pulled you from beneath the wreckage that is now your old family home. There’s a sense of acceptance that emits from you, like whatever happens today you’ll take. Be it death, which you had so easily allowed to hold your hand before he saved you, or be it a chance at a new life, which he offers with an outstretched hand he hopes you’ll take.
He'll help you, even if you don’t want to help yourself.
Dave never got the chance to officially meet you before today, though he’s always known you existed, has known for he was there the day you were born—that’s the only time he was ever there. His brother, your father, made sure to keep you and himself as far away from the Heroes as possible following the wish of your mother, a woman his brother loved even if it killed him. So, when Dave still affiliated himself with All Might, his brother cut all ties.
When your quirk manifested, his brother made sure he disappeared from the face of the world. Hiding behind his wife’s family name, erasing his and your very existence from any and every database. Then again, Dave can’t place all the blame on his brother. He knew of you for years and still never tried to reach out, to save you, to save him. For as much as searching might have been for nothing, Dave left it at that and never looked back.
He didn’t think you, a child raised to be a weapon would need him. Selfishly, he was too busy dealing with his own life to worry about his brother and his family.
Dave has only himself to blame for allowing another innocent life to fall through the cracks of this society. Once the sidekick of the greatest Hero the world has ever known, yet still, a coward that only has himself to blame for his shortcomings. Another mistake added to a list of many. But he will die trying to atone to you, to make sure you get another chance at life.
He just hopes he’s not too late.
“Hey,” He takes a seat next to you, careful not to jolt you, calling out your name gently. “How are you feeling?”
Your eyes are glossy when they land on him, color dull and bathed in sadness—no in despair. It breaks his heart to see such a young life have such little light inside. But the flame in you hasn’t died, not really, there are ashes in the downfall and those ashes still have every strength to ignite given the right motivation. He sees hope there though small, he sees the way your body recognizes the promise of safety he offers.
Sees it in the way you beg for something, anything, to lend a helping hand.
You’ve always craved warm arms to pull you close and provide that cocoon of warmth and safety you never got from your parents. What kid doesn’t want a hand running through their hair, pushing back the fear with soft and practiced movements? What kid doesn’t want love, even when they fail to understand the meaning behind the words? What kid doesn’t want to feel safe?
Dave looks like a father who cradles his daughter and shows her that he is there and will always be there. He looks like a voice of reason and comfort, a parental figure, a protector. He looks like someone who cares for others too much, too hard—the type that might do all the wrong things for all the right reasons. All the things you’ve craved and have only ever heard of. All things you’ve craved and have only been deprived of from the two people who created you all for their own, selfish reasons.
There’s the taste of guilt that swallows Dave whole. There’s a dark purple hue that colors him like a bruise and lights him up in all the guilt he’s probably felt and ignored for years. But there’s also determination, a white, hot flash that lights up his eyes, extends over to you in a silent offer, a need to atone that’s so easily spotted amongst his set shoulders, his clenched jaw.
And despite how fragile you are, of how fragile you’ve always been, you want to take his hand and hold on forever.
Your fingers tremble with the need to accept the help, but the monster that manifests from your fears holds tightly onto your shoulder, keeping you in place, digging talons deep into your skin. That darkness that refuses to go away still clings to your skin. controlling that hope you didn’t think was so strong inside of you. It makes you aware that the possibility of being left alone, thrown to be someone else’s problem is still very much possible. You suppose it is as good as it is bad, at least if the worst happens, then you’ll be prepared.
The darkness takes the shape of a person as it looms over you, it blends into the world like a shadow, with no facial features. It’s a darkness that’s always been with you, it is a being you created unintentionally. A coping mechanism that manifested when you were too young to understand it. You call it the Shadow and dub it an object since you can never tell what it is, or who it is meant to resemble. They have been by your side for as long as you can remember, they used to aid you when things got too complicated and when your emotions erupted out of control. They can numb your feelings and reset the timer back to nothing, stopping the ticking bomb inside of you from imploding.
But over the years they’ve gotten greedy, and the negative emotions it so easily takes away from you quickly became something it needed to survive. In turn, they now edge you on as much as they calm you down.
You can’t tell what’s worse, the fact that it can turn you into a shell of yourself, or the fact that the very same thing it is meant to protect you from is also the very same pain it inflicts on you the most.
You like to believe that Dave is here for a reason, the world, something, has given you the chance to start again. He might not have been there before, but he also had no obligation to care for you, not back then and definitely not now. But something sent Dave your way, and for whatever it was you will forever be thankful. Because here he is explaining his plan, letting you know that he will be taking over custody, here he is saving you for the second time today.
You like to believe that now that he’s here, you’ll be okay.
That, however, doesn’t stop the fears, the dread, from towering over you, shadows nearly engulfing your whole body in their darkness. Manifesting into a being that stands hauntingly beside your bed, the more they eat, the bigger they get. You can’t see their face, it has never had one, but you can feel the way their smile widens, sharp teeth gleaming, you feel the way they lick their lips as they feast on your pain, enjoy, and devour your hopes. You can feel the shift in their facial expression despite not having any distinct facial features.
Dave notices immediately, the way your eyes flicker back and forth between your demons and the conflicts that battle against your own mind.
The hope and the desire to have better. The fear of allowing the impossible to fester inside your chest. So many possibilities, so many what-ifs, and so many unknowns.
There’s hope, and there’s fear and you can’t tell which side the scale tips higher.
“You know what’s funny?” Your voice, though soft and low, feels heavy and loud inside the all-white room. It weighs around the both of you, and you can only blame the way that thing leans down closer to your ear, sharp teeth nearly cutting skin, a scratchy voice whispering all your fears in loud muted screams against your ear.
Like the voice inside your head, no matter how loud it screams, the volume never changes but the effect doesn’t lessen.
Dave can’t possibly take you under his wing. He can’t handle you, no one can, no one wants to.
They stay curled at your side, stretching as high as the roof in this room. It’s been a long day and they’ve had a feast. Now it’s their time to purge.
“At the start of today, the day was beautiful. The start of the worst day of my life was sunny and lovely. The air was fresh, not a cloud in the sky.” You take a deep breath in as you slowly sit up still facing the window and still tracking the water as they roll down the windowpane. You’ve never seen rain, you notice. You let the thought clench over your already aching chest before pushing the pain of that realization away.
You’re quiet for a second, head tilting back, eyes dropping close, mind replaying the memory of this morning, turning the plain hospital room into the dark tones and even plainer bedroom you called your own for years, with its one large window made of impenetrable glass with a fake view of the outside world so you can’t escape. It was usually stuck on the same view, a grassy, endless field with one lone apple tree sitting pretty in the smack center of it all. It was meant to be a joke. You just never found it funny.
The only thing that felt real was the sunlight that it let in whenever it was sunny outside, your parents let you at least have that much. It almost feels like you’re back there, back to when the day began and nothing hurt, and no one died. “It felt almost mocking how they picked a nearly perfect day to ruin the world. Ruin my whole world.”
Dave moves closer, his heart cracking at the sight of you succumbing to your demons, taking their hand the way he’s observed his own brother do so many times before you. He sees them in your eyes, the way they flicker back and forth around the room unable to focus on anything. It hurts to think that such a young girl has gone through all of this, you never deserved any of it. No one deserves any of this.
Your hands are icy in his, as icy as they were when he held you earlier and carried you to safety— when he promised to never leave your side.
The thing that hovers over your shoulder hisses and backs away, its tight grip falling away from your shoulder, shadows lifting off your body. It begins to shrink, terrified of the warmth your uncle emits, angry at how easily you find shelter. But going with the flow is all you’ve ever known, after all, you were trained to adapt and survive no matter how. A follower and never a leader. You take what’s given without asking any questions.
It’s how you’ve lived life for a long time.
“You’re coming home with me, (Y/N). Back to I-Island, Melissa, and I, promise to always look after you.” Dave has made so many mistakes in his past, from broken promises to hurting his loved ones, he betrayed the trust others had in him. He’s human, bound to make mistakes. But this, this he swears he’ll do right.
You watch with odd fascination as he begins to flicker with determination. The emotion wraps around him like a tight suit of armor, it glows against his crazy mane of hair, reflects against his glasses, and enhances those eyes that match your father’s so well. He’s easy to read this way, loud with all his senses, his emotions speak for themselves, and whilst it hurts to watch, it helps you know when he’s lying.
He doesn’t lie to you, not at all.
There’s a flicker of hope that lights up beneath your ribcage, dangerous, but a flame that’s always been stubborn. You’ve never been outside of the U.S., never even left your state, at least not consciously. You’ve been inside of a car a total of 5 times in your life. You’ve been confined in darkness. you’ve been in places you can’t name, can’t distinguish, teleported into the unknown but whether those places were across the street or the world, you wouldn’t know. Your parents guided and you followed.
“Why would you take me in? I’m no different from them, not after today.” Your hand clenches around his, keeping him close despite your words, despite the small push of your free hand against his chest. He doesn’t let go, “They didn’t make me a good person.”
With a shake of his head, he squeezes your hand back, that sad little smile of his only making him more approachable. There’s no pity, no judgment, but there is guilt and there is sadness. You wonder if this is worse, but as it stands, whatever turmoil is going on inside your chest, you can’t put a word to it. You’re grateful and scared, confused and hurt, a cat cornered and caught.
You want to trust him, but there’s a part of you that can’t. You want better, but there’s a part of you that’s screaming; I don’t deserve to be here.
When you find yourself wincing in pain, your hands loosen their hold on him twitching involuntarily, you stare down at your hands in horror. The tightness from the compression gloves adjusts against your hands, straightening broken fingers, and keeping together the stitches you feel scraping against the soft fabric. You stare with wide eyes watching as your hands flash momentarily, one moment they’re shattered bloodied, limp, and lifeless, the next they’re solid and healing, bandaged and clean.
Oh yeah, I had to break them free. Nails are lightly grazing your cheek; it scrapes at your skin and travel until it is digging at the pit in your stomach from the knowledge that your hands will never be the same. But just as the thought strikes, the shadow resets you back to nothing, and the thought of broken hands is easily pushed away. There are more important things to discuss. As broken as they might be, at least you still have your hands.
The little entity you’ve created helps as much as it hurts you.
When you look back at Dave, all you can feel is that flicker of hope growing just slightly brighter.
Stubborn indeed.
“My brother and I grew up together, but we both chose to go our separate ways. Who he became was his choice and his alone. Your choices will always be your own, influences aside, you dictate your own fate, and walk your own path. You are not, nor will you ever be your parents’ sins.” The more he talks, the more he accepts you, the brighter that spark gets, and the smaller the shadow becomes, dimming until they’re the same size as you. For the first time in days, you almost feel free. Almost like you did that month you managed to escape. Secured inside the home of a family that took a stray, tainted child into their arms. They risked their lives saving you, that sacrifice is one you can never find worth in. You have never been worth saving, yet here you are once again, being saved. “I’m not doing this out of pity, or because I have no other option. You are family, you will always be family. Mine and Melissa’s, I wasn’t there before, and for that, I am beyond sorry. But I am here now. And I will always be here from now on. Got that?”
When the shadow finally lets go of you it yells in frustration as it shrinks into a corner, it weakens. You take your first full breath in greedy gulps. While their presence will never leave you—for they are a part of you, you don’t know how you created it, you do not know how to destroy it—with it as weak as it is now, you’re no longer sharing half your breath with something else. You feel a little warmer, terrified all the same but safer.
Dave is safe.
Dave is safe.
“I don’t—” It’s as if for the first time, you’re greedy for air and the need to inhale doesn’t go away. Lungs expand to their fullest, taking what they’ve been lacking for years. Dave waits patiently, watching you slowly gain back control. Emotions flicker around him with bright earthy tones of happiness and pride. “I don’t want to end up like them. I don’t want—“ you gasp, stop and try again, “I don’t want to be like them. I want to be normal.”
There’s a crack in your voice that matches the ones in his heart as he watches you struggle to accept the help you want but think you’ll never deserve. Like you understand what’s good for you, but fail to accept it, nonetheless. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you close, mindful of the bruises and bandages. You flinch at first, but the discomfort gives way easily, you hug him back twice as hard soon after.
You’ve never been hugged before.
The realization only makes you hug him harder.
Maybe, just maybe, you’re holding onto this blind hope far too easily, far too quickly. But there’s no doubt in your heart, no fear in your mind as you melt in your uncle’s arms as tears roll freely down your face, feelings you can’t name, can’t understand overwhelming your senses. You can’t remember when the tears started, and you doubt that they’ll end anytime soon. But Dave feels the way all good things do, warm and solid, flickering with hope and illuminated in golden hues. So, you cry without a damn care in the world, you cry and sob and scream for the first time in years.
You feel everything at once, not understanding any of it, but feeling it all, nonetheless. There’s something wrong with you and you have theories but not answers. For the first time in your life, you’re allowing yourself to feel without trying to analyze and without trying to push it down. You’re confused, emotional, and broken. But here, being held and protected, you feel a little more put together.
“You won’t. You have the potential to be great, on your own terms. You are not them; you will never be them. Become better, no matter what you do, just stay true to the person you want to be, the one you would always want to look up to.”
“Be great? You mean like you used to be, with All Might?” As a curious child, you stumbled upon a few things, many of which left you wishing you’d never seen. Stored away in the attic was a box inside a bigger box, where pictures, newspaper sheets, and magazines with Dave’s face on them were kept hidden. Your father kept tabs on his little brother up until the day he no longer could. “I don’t think I’d want to be a Hero in a world like this. I wouldn’t fit in. I wouldn’t do it justice.”
You’ll love to help people, change, and be better. Be a good person and show it off for the whole world to see and praise your good deeds. But the reality is you’ve seen Heroes fail you too many times to keep trust in a system that’s too flawed to be just. You want to help kids like you, who had no choice, and never even had a voice. You want to help the little and the big guys, satisfy this need to prove the world wrong, and at the same time, selfishly aid those like you. The ones that fall through the cracks, the ‘could have been, but weren’t.’
But doing it the way you want, for the reasons you want, would make you no better than those who do it only for fame.
You’ll be doing it to prove to yourself and the world that you’re the thing you were created to be. Selfishly, you’ll be doing it to prove a dead person wrong, to make yourself feel better, or to be biased in a justice system that will not work 100% with you.
“Only if you want to. I won’t stop you, but I won’t encourage you. What I will do is be here for you.” You nod, letting him talk some more about his home, walking you through the possibility of a new life, a new home, a better home. Letting him talk about his daughter, a blurry face that’s clearing the more he talks the more he remembers her voice and her smile. You let his memories of a little blonde girl running around and laughing, screaming in joy as she’s picked up, hands grasping her smaller ones in their hold spinning and lifting the child as she giggles in utter joy swirl around in your head.
You fall asleep to the sounds of happiness, the yellow tones of the sun enchanting the edges around Dave’s perspective in every memory Dave has with his daughter. You fall asleep in warm arms cocooned in safe memories that might have nothing to do with you, but provide you comfort anyway. You fall asleep with the hope of a better tomorrow.
Eventually, Dave stops talking, feeling the rapid drop of your head against his chest, asleep, peaceful, and warm at last.
*****
“Hey,” Melissa’s tone holds a light tint of humor, but her voice is soft, tentative, and careful. A chuckle leaves her lips as she knocks on your door once more, slow taps that vibrate against your back. You can almost feel her hand against the door, see her face, lips tilting upwards, kind and encouraging but amused, nonetheless. “You can’t officially meet my favorite Hero if you stay locked up in your room forever, you know.”
With your hands turned, palms flat against the door, you feel more than see her as you close your eyes and tilt your head back. Facing the ceiling, and through the darkness, you can feel her reaching out to you mentally. Doors being opened carefully, pushing a little harder to get them to budge but finding no other restrain either way. And while the action tends to be invasive when you’re not feeling like sharing, you also understand that this is the only way she knows how to get through to you when you get like this, distant, scared—closed off.
You won’t let her into your room, but the bond will never block her out of your mind, for she is the only one who has ever been able to master the ever-changing maze of walls inside your mind.
Persistent little shit.
Part of your quirk allows you to speak to people’s minds after you’ve touched them, the effects last for 24 hours, and for the most part, it’s a one-way street. Or a better explanation would be you standing outside a single door that can only be opened from the inside and only by its owner. With enough time things can change, depending on the connection and the trust that the other person has with you and vice versa. They can keep opening that door and let you in until you’ve become a normal, almost vital, part of their mind. Touching will no longer be necessary, a bond can be forged allowing you to see them, and connect to their minds, in turn, the bond allows them to have a piece of you, where you have access to their minds, and they will have a permanent fixture—or room—in yours. All restrictions fall away for both sides.
Vulnerability will be clear as day to them.
Of course, every person will be different, and some choose to keep certain parts of themselves locked away no matter how much they might trust you. Some people have secrets they would rather take to the grave and their will to hide things from the outside world will be one no bond or an endless amount of trust can ever destroy.
If someone wants to keep certain things from you, they can.
But Melissa is different, for she knows you better than you know yourself. She accepted you the very moment you limped through the door of her home.
Melissa never allowed you to push her away, has never given up, never tried to hide anything from you, has kept that door open from the very first moment, and has unlocked every single space within herself. She’s the older sister you never thought you wanted; never thought you’ll need either. She and Dave saved you, despite them denying it, claiming they didn’t do much of anything. The way they took you in with open arms, no questions asked, no judgments given, it all saved you. Acceptance—even with Dave’s constant guilt shimmering whenever he looks at you—it all saved you.
You can never forget the way Melissa held your hand the night you moved in, took you into her room, held you as you wept in your sleep, and cried all the tears you had to hold back for years. She refused to leave your side. She never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to, wasn’t ready for, let you stay in your room for as long as you needed, or eat as little as you could handle. She never judged you. Never rushed you. Never gave you reasons to doubt her or Dave. Never let you leave without making sure you knew how much you were loved and wanted. She did force you into the shower when you couldn’t make yourself move, but that was something of an emergency, so you let it slide.
Effortlessly they forced the shadow that loomed over you to slowly back away, reducing it to a small smudge that now sits on your shoulders, or hides in the pockets of your pants. Never straying too far, ready to pounce at any opportunity to make your life simultaneously harder and easier. Manifest, enhance and take away your pain all in one go. Dave and Melissa managed to keep your demon at bay.
But even behind bars, demons can still talk, they can still haunt you. And yours is a permanent stain that will never wash away no matter how happy you think you are in life.
You can feel them whispering in your ears now, the fear of disappointing your guests grows with every word they grit against your flesh.
What if All Might doesn’t like me, what if he tells Dave I’m not good enough to be a part of their family?
You know you’re not, their smile grows, cold fangs grazing the side of your face as they continue to talk, voice scrapping around your head like sandpaper rubbing together. The question is, will you ever be enough, for anyone? There’s a hand on your shoulder, fingers long and thin, sharp talons scraping back and forth across sensitive skin. You keep your eyes closed, head tilted back, not like it helps much, they don’t have a face, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling the way it looks down on you with a smugness you can never understand. They enjoy the growth of your discomfort, but they are always willing to take that same pain away and keep it from themself in a heartbeat.
You suppose that’s what you designed it for, to make the bad go away completely. The fact that it grew something similar to consciousness was not something you thought possible, but it’s far too late to do anything about that annoying little detail now.
“Come out,” Melissa’s voice is muffled by the door, but you still hear it clearly, soft and comforting as always. Ear honed towards the noise of craved vocal cords that never fail to blanket your body in comfort. She can feel the coldness around your bond, the way you want to shut down, take their hand, and just give in to the numbness.
Feeling too much of anything has always been your downfall, unable to maneuver life when there’s a pit in your stomach that makes no sense because it simply shouldn’t be there. She refuses to let you though, not when you’ve been doing so well. Her relentless need to never give up on you is probably the main reason you are who you are today. Still scared, but so, so damn willing to take that extended hand with no fear or hesitation.
“Uncle Might is the greatest, trust me he’ll love you! He and Deku are downstairs talking with Dad. You know Midoriya Izuku—Deku? I’ve told you about him, he’ll be your new classmate, your age…he’s cute too.” Her laughter reaches you like a symphony, curiosity blooming in your chest as you step away from the door, slowly turning your body towards it. The boy she mentions sparks interest inside you, not because of her claim about his appearance, but because you know that name and the stories behind that Hero.
Where All Might is Melissa’s favorite for biased reasons, The Wonder Duo is yours.
A possible friendly face from the school you’re planning to attend soon, a possible companion that could potentially aid you in your studies. You’re planning on applying for General Studies—but in a recruitment effort driven by the school, you’re being asked to take the Hero course exam as well.
Deku: The Hero that saved Japan, one-half of the Wonder Duo, will be around the island on and off for a while, Dave and Melissa figured no one else to be better suited to train than the Hero himself. The part of you that worships the Hero pair that broke down, changed, and helped mold the Hero society towards the reform it is currently going through makes your heart speed up, crashing against your ribs with excitement and fear.
“You’ll get to meet at least one possible classmate before you move there, and you are moving there, you’re passing that exam next year—no matter which one. Come on (Y/N), I promise everything will be okay. I’m here and remember,” you’re already moving before she can finish, white knuckles wrapped tightly around the door handle as you stand in front of her, face set in determination. “I’ll always be here.”
“Let’s go before I throw up.”
She laughs bright and airy before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room with ease. There’s a weight lifting off your shoulders, the shadow’s hand moves away, it slips away shifting and shrinking with every step it takes away from you until they find a spot to sit in the corner of your bed, nonexistent lips are pouting, and a faceless face scowls.
Like a child placed in time-out.
For all you know, you’re the only one that can see it. Your mother mentioned it once and laughed at you for it like the thing you created was nothing out of the ordinary. She did reprimand you for needing it in the first place, but it’s not like her reasoning matters anymore.
They don’t have much of a face or body to see, shadows constantly dancing across and around them, too dark and blurry for you to make out any distinct features. They just look human, head, arms, legs, the works, but nothing tangible, even their voice sounds too general to pinpoint it—doesn’t sound feminine or masculine, just a voice. A voice that still grates away at your head, and pains you to listen. Yet you feel every smile, every shift in attitude, every time they grow and shrink in size. Their emotions are only a larger manifestation of your own. They like it when you’re upset, doesn’t matter how much, any negative feeling is enough to feed them. But when it all becomes too much all that greed works in your favor, for every time they suck it up, it leaves you without any of it. Numb to the emotion, good or bad – a blank canvas once more.
You walk away in a haze as your emotions settle and calm themselves, closing the door to close behind you with an absentminded flick of your wrist as you follow Melissa downstairs.
It’s been a little over a year since you moved to I-Island. The switch resulted in you finalizing your first year of high school at home. Thankfully your school back in the States was kind enough to let you finalize it that way. Not that they had much of a choice, soon after the war broke out everyone was required to continue from home anyway. Now, a few months into your second year at the local High School, whilst Melissa finishes her last year, things were just starting to open back up, returning to a normal that felt so different after so much destruction.
The island wasn’t directly affected, but the damage that occurred in Japan affected everyone.
Everything progressed slowly and unsteadily at first, the war shook the world off its axis. Even now, it’s still attempting to get back on track. Japan’s entire living system was tipped off balance.
You hate imagining how much worse it affected those at the forefront of it all. At least, for once, you were away from it all, stuck on a fortified island that was constantly on the move. You were thankful, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty at being unable to do more. Not that you had a choice, you’re still just a citizen. Not even a Japanese one.
But even that’ll be changing soon.
With Melissa graduating this year the dynamic of your family is changing, you’re just not sure if the change is one you’re ready for.
Drafted into the duty of aiding in rebuilding, Melissa and Dave grew painfully aware of the way you’ll be home alone for days on end whilst they help rebuild everything that they can. Constantly traveling between countries that need their help the most, they don’t think it’ll be safe for you to be so…alone.
They decided to bring UA into the equation a few months ago. Given that they have been teaching you Japanese for the past year. And with Dave’s connection to the retired number one Hero, and one of UA’s hero course teachers, it makes sense. With the world still recovering from the chaos, having lost so many Heroes, you see why they brought it up, plant the idea in your mind. You’re powerful when you want to be, and right now, the world still needs all hands on deck. But it will also give them the peace of mind that you’re protected and safe…well as safe as one can be as a possible Hero-in-training. However, you’ve explained to them both many times that General Studies get as much security given the dorm system.
The idea of being a Hero doesn’t appease you that much. Sure, the idea of becoming a Hero against all odds fuels a long-lost fire in you, the reason would be selfish. No matter which way you see it, no matter the many noble excuses you come up with, you’ll be doing this solely to reign some stupid form of revenge against two people who are currently dead.
Back home in the States, there was no symbol of peace, not really, he was known but barely believed in, not since he left. More villains roam the streets than Heroes, Americans forever uneasy at the prospect of change, of being better, a little more fucking inclusive. It became far too easy, much more rational, to be selfish than to selflessly put your life on the line for others.
Villains are mostly man-made creations; this you know firsthand. Your mother wasn’t always crazy, society made her that way, thought her too powerful, too invasive, they took her innocence and destroyed it. They tried to make her a tool only to end up being the one being used. Her quirk was too powerful and while trying to control it—control her—her quirk awakening destroyed her sense of reason. She became vengeful, angry in a way no one could handle, not even herself.
For a damaged person who needed help in a world like this, becoming a villain just seemed logical.
Your father was a different story, he fell in love with Crazy and followed her everywhere. Savior complexes are a curse, not a blessing. He wanted to fix something that ultimately broke him as well.
If you truly think about it—because you have, everyone else has—the villains people fear so much also tend to be the ones that need saving the most at one point or another in their lives. A hand just reaching out in time, saying they understand, that it’s not too late, that things can change, get better.
Society everywhere needed some adjustments, but the States always had a harder time adapting. You’re not quite sure how they are faring currently, you just hope losing their number one didn’t backtrack the little progress they had.
Yet, to hear the stories of the young Heroes from Japan, the personal experiences told by your family, ignited a flame you didn’t know you had inside of you. You always aimed to do better, be better than the hands you were dealt. In that regard you allowed yourself to be selfish, reach a goal you created for yourself, and keep it to yourself.
But with Melissa’s and Dave’s voices in your ear, the prospect of attending the Hero course stopped sounding like an excuse to show off how good of a person you believe you’ve become. Your doubts remain, and your main application will always be for General Studies, but the more time that passes, the more you learn about the kids your age who changed the world the more you feel like being a little selfish won’t be the worst thing you can offer this world. They’re the ones that need you, for better or for worse.
It’s not just about you anymore.
Melissa also took the chance to boost your soon-to-be classmates in every way possible, you’ve heard stories of their past so much that you can recite them back with the same joyous glee Melissa does.
The way they saved the island when they were simple first years. “First years! They were first years, and they saved my dad! Deku, Uraraka, even Kaminari, they were amazing.” The trials and tribulations she, and later you, witnessed over the news, once again children your age saving their world. She couldn’t give personal experience besides the first one, but she showed you videos and showed you the faces of the kids as they grew through the war that occurred in Japan only months ago. You’re beyond amazed every time the thought passes through your head, they were just kids, but their bravery and their strength during it all were beyond anything you could have ever imagined. Their teamwork and love for one another only built their strength. You can’t deny the sympathy you feel over their ruined childhoods, kids so young aren’t meant to face death so head-on, you never thought the lucky ones were also so damn unfortunate. You didn’t think death was so greedy.
These kids were pawns, and they knew it. Still, they fought, lost, and won.
You have no doubts about any of them.
All though, you aren’t particularly fond of meeting all of them.
You’re excited, nonetheless.
Which is funny given your insistence on staying away from the Hero course, only to know that’s ultimately the class you’ll join.
When you get closer to the animated voices near the living room you tug at Melissa’s fingers thankful when she slows down, moving in front of you so that she enters first. Your personalized shield since the day you met her again.
You grin when she glares back at you having read your mind.
“You’re not funny.”
“I think I am.”
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t comment any further.
The small frame of the retired Hero is the first one you see sitting across from Dave. He looks so different from the tall young man framed in so many pictures that decorate Dave’s home, thin and sickly in appearance, hair down and limp, but that smile’s the same one, those sunken eyes still gleam the same bright blue. You look around Melissa some more, huffing at the height difference before your eyes land on the green-haired, freckled-faced boy who sits next to All Might, a soft smile on stardust cheeks lighting the entire room. You’ve seen him before, on the news and in magazines, but never out of his uniform, and never looking so…carefree. Despite the jitters in his leg, the way his eyes are light but focused, he seems happy, and his shoulders don’t look as heavy. Dave and All Might are staring at the boy, smiling proudly as the boy talks a mile a minute, hands expressing his emotions just as much as those viridian eyes hide them.
Melissa didn’t lie, your eyes run over all of him, a blush dusting your cheeks, he’s cuter in person. You step a little more to the side, coming out from the hidden space behind Melissa’s frame, your handgrip loosening slightly. You don’t notice you’re stepping closer, body gravitating towards the pull the boy seems to hold on everyone and everything in the room.
All Might is the first to notice the two of you, eyes widening in happiness, and you quickly take that step back, hide behind Melissa once more, and tighten your grip on her hand out of pure nervousness.
A childish habit.
“Young Melissa!”
You feel her excitement spark the air around you, lighting up the room in golden colors, touching your mind with old memories that float across your vision as she lets your hand go and gently jumps into All Might’s awaiting arms. “Uncle Might!”
The retired Hero’s laughter booms around you, different in pitch yet the same as you’ve heard over and over in the videos of him, smile still so bright. You never stopped looking up to him, even when your faith in Heroes was so far sparse and little. There was just something about him that made that hope in you burn even when the match was nearing its end. That flame managed to gain force towards the end of All Might’s career, where he risked his life to save the life of a kid he believed was worth all the trouble despite the way the world opposed the idea. You still remember watching the news back then, hidden from your parents as you watched wide-eyed and frozen in the corner of the room. You were unable to look away, seeing the way everyone quickly labeled the kid with the explosive quirk and personality to match, a villain. Mesmerized by the way those who believed in him quickly defended him, Heroes from UA, the people who knew him, refused to let the reports taint the boy’s name. Because despite his attitude, he was the furthest from a villain you’ve ever seen. And All Might knew that, risked his life for him, understood that whatever the villains had planned for him, just like Eraser Head said, was never going to work.
Now, every time Bakugou appears on your TV screen, you can feel your chest exploding in admiration over the young explosive boy that took endless losses and continuously grew from them.
You wonder if All Might, if anyone, will see the same worthiness in you.
As your wide eyes watch Melissa and All Might hug and talk, you start to feel a pair of eyes on you, apprehension, and curiosity shifting the air emitting from the corner in which the young Hero stays seated. You shift a little to the side so that you can see better and momentarily lock gazes with those viridian eyes. His head tilts in curiosity, face carefully soft, not particularly welcoming, but not closed off either, curious if not calculating. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his gaze, feel it spread to the tips of your ears when he offers a slight tilt of his lips. You’re quick to look away, lowering your head so that your hair covers the side of your face.
You hug yourself by your elbows, eyes diverting everywhere that isn’t Midoriya Izuku, and landing on your uncle, face screaming for help, some guidance on what to do. Being around kids your age has always been hard, and one mention of your name is enough to have people stay away. Needless to say, you don’t have much social experience with anyone your age. The last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of the two Heroes. But Dave only gives you two raised thumbs pairing the stupid gesture with an encouraging smile. You frown, shaking your head and mouthing the word ‘help’ hoping he understands that you just don’t know what to fucking say and he’s not helping.
‘You got this.’ He mouths back, thumbs only rising and now you and Midoriya stare at him in question.
This man is no help.
Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire when you notice Midoriya’s subtle smile rise a little higher.
All Might calls your name, the distraction much appreciated, “Nice to finally meet you!”
All Might’s arms open wide for you stealing your attention away from your nerves as your excitement overwhelms you, allowing you to forget your uncle’s helplessness and Midoriya’s too-green eyes as they follow your now glowing form. You’re vibrating, smile impossibly wide as you jump straight into his mentor’s arms.
“Nice to meet you too!” You speak slowly, carefully making sure not to butcher the pronunciations. Your understanding of the language is nearly perfect, however, your accent isn’t the greatest, so you speak slower, words measured.
All Might places you down carefully, smiling brightly and lightly pats your head. There’s a small voice at the back of your head begging you to flinch away, begging you to stop this stranger from touching you. But Melissa trusts them entirely and that alone is enough to let yourself trust them too.
The introductions go better than expected, with questions flying out your mouth before you can stop yourself. Newfound confidence ignites within you the more you speak, everything fades away and all you can focus on is your conversation with All Might. You ignore the wide eyes he gives you and appreciate the way he tries to keep up with all your questions.
“Okay guys, don’t forget we do have another guest.” Your uncle grins, pushing the green-eyed boy towards you and his Sensei. He pats Midoriya’s shoulder, pushing him forward some more and the boy begins to shake his head, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck.
Funny, how adorable he looks despite the darkness that coats the undersides of his eyes. The shift of apprehension that never seems to flicker away, it bends and dulls any remanence of happiness or excitement he might have. It flickers and it shimmers lowly, but it’s been there, consistently since you walked into the room.
He looks so much sharper than the pictures Melissa showed you. Less innocent, less naïve, far more mature, and so incredibly tired.
But his smile is still warm, his eyes still soft, and pretty, and despite the way there seems to be little to no trust directed towards you, he still looks so, so inviting.
“I really rather not interrupt,” his smile doesn’t waver, but it does shift into something with a lot more nerves than before. When he looks at you, you feel your heart kick start inside your chest. It beats quickly, a weird sense of excitement you haven’t felt in years. “(Y/L/N)-san looks like she’s enjoying herself.” His blush doesn’t go away, “I can certainly relate. I was the same way when I first met All Might.”
“Deku here is quite the fanboy himself.” Melissa chuckles as she bumps her shoulder against the boy, who only blushes harder, not denying the accusation and only begging Melissa to not talk about it.
You stand straighter on shaky legs, deep breaths filling your lungs with some sense of bravery. You’re not the most social, and I-Island isn’t known for its population of teens, so going to school really isn’t much practice even if the students weren’t so scared to approach you, they’ve known each other for years and you’re the new kid invading their territory—one with a twisted past at that. But you’ve rehearsed this enough, repeated introductions in the comfort of your bathroom enough times to memorize a script—one you can’t remember half of at the moment.
“Nice to meet you,” you bow your head respectfully, watching him quickly straighten up and do the same. His smile remains, softening as you get closer, turning up the heat in the blush that already decorated your cheeks. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Shyly you tilt your head to the side, eyes friendly and body relaxing as your hand slips into his. An action you didn’t realize you were doing until your gloveless hand touched his bare one “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Your eyes look down, focusing on the scars that run up his right arm. Your fingers reflectively rub back and forth over the scars that run across his palm. Rough against your fingertips and yet, oddly enough, really soft. You can’t tell if it’s the way your hand is much colder than his or the way you look back up at him, but you feel the shiver that runs up his body and instantly smile brighter. His hands, though bigger and rougher, look and feel a lot like yours.
There’s a certain type of calculating haze that coats his eyes, a certain type of carefulness in the way he holds and stares at your hand. You ignore it, only because you know half of what it means, and can feel him withdrawing some of the warmth he emitted before. It happens whenever someone meets you; once you know what you can do, there’s suddenly a film wall that gets either ticker or thinner with time.
“Yeah,” a pause, a step forward, a heartbeat skipped, “so do I.”