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The floor is cold and Natsuo’s legs are numb.
He sits in the silence, only accompanied by the beating of his heartbeat. The door is locked, but it does not make him feel better, anxiety crashing through him in waves. He bites down on the bandana around his mouth, counting each breath, each second. Three, four. He can’t see anything through the blindfold, but he keeps his eyes open and alert. It would take the heroes ten seconds to run to the room from the main entrance of the building, seven if they navigated quickly. Nails dig into his palm. Ten, eleven.
A yell echoes through the thin walls before heavy footfalls shake the ground under him. Fifteen, sixteen. Natsuo bows his head down now. His act drapes over his shoulder as his mind defaults to every rehearsal they went through, even though it hardly feels false with his cramping legs and bruised wrists. A precaution, Touya had called it while he tightened the handcuffs to the point where Natsuo’s fingertips tingled and placed his hand across his throat. “Makeup and acting don't provoke quality pain,” he said, tilting his head as Natuo struggled for air. “This performance must be flawless, little brother, or it will not just be your life on the line."
The concrete is cold under him. Sixteen, seventeen. The wall behind him trembles as a door down the hall slams open. Natsuo stares into the black abyss of the blindfold and it doesn’t take much to force tears from his eyes. Eighteen, nineteen. Natsuo closes his eyes.
Twenty.
The door opens.
Natsuo forces himself to breathe calmly through his nose, even though the room reeks of dust and his heart is in his throat. He makes no reaction to the footsteps that follow the door banging into the wall, not even as they draw near to him. Someone— presumably male, by the deeper voice— curses and something clicks.
“Eraser here. There is a hostage, check every room.” The footfalls stop. “Hello,” the voice says, softer and obviously directing him. “I am the underground hero Eraserhead. Are you conscious? Nod yes, if you understand.”
Natsuo clenches his jaw harder in an attempt to stop his trembling and gives an unsteady nod. If he knows one thing, it is that the word “hero” is not defined as safe. Fabric rustles and the person in front of him comes closer, before dropping onto the floor. “Okay, I am sitting about two feet from you. Will you allow me to take the restraints off you?”
Natsuo blinks heavily against the blindfold, his mind fogging and the words barely filtering through his mind. Something wet drips down his forehead and under the cloth over his eyes. Oh, that’s right, he’d forgotten about that. A dull, echoing drum beats against his skull as he raises his head toward this Eraserhead. Natsuo can’t hear anything from him: no breathing, no shuffling or shifting in weight, not even a creak of his shoes and it only causes the drum to beat louder. Slowly, cautiously, he nods once again.
“Thank god,” Eraserhead murmurs. A rough hand comes to rest gently on Natsuo’s cheek and, despite all of the training for this exact moment, he can’t hold back the violent flinch at the touch. Eraserhead backs off, his hand hovering only centimeters from Natsuo’s face. “If you don’t want me to do anything, just shake your head. I’m just going to untie the blindfold from your eyes, is that okay?”
This time Natsuo only nods because he knows he must, Touya’s hushed warnings reverberating in his mind. The hands come much slower this time, sure and steady but ready to pull away at any time. Eraserhead says every action before he does it, being mindful of the gash across Natsuo’s forehead. Finally, the knot loosens, but Eraserhead doesn’t let the cloth fall.
“Before I take this off, I am going to use my quirk on you. It won’t cause any harm to you; all it does is temporarily disable your quirk. This is purely a procedure of safety for both me and you, and if you do not wish for me to do so I’m going to need you to wait here until the other heroes come. Do you want me to continue?”
After Natsuo agrees, Eraserhead slowly guides the blindfold off. Immediately, his eyes are assaulted by the dim lighting of the room, pathetic as it is. After a moment he forces open his eyes, his chest tightening at the prospect of being vulnerable longer than he has to. The man in front of him sits and observes quietly, red eyes boring into Natsuo’s soul through slitted goggles. Long, black hair floats above his head as though it was caught in a gentle wind and a heavy looking scarf lays wrapped around his neck.
Natsuo has heard rumors of this underground hero; of course he had, any villain worth mentioning had encountered the man at least once. The stories painted pictures of a man covered in shadows and a ruthless record, one who couldn’t be identified until the last second when the black of the night was illuminated by glowing red eyes. Even when described by murderers and wanted criminals, Eraserhead was a man that everyone knew was cold-hearted and merciless.
That might be the strangest thing about this whole thing, Natsuo thinks, because he knows what a person’s eyes look like when they have no soul, not a droplet of humanity left in their veins. The red eyes that have sparked fear in the worst of mankind, the same that glow menacingly back at him, may be the kindest eyes Natsuo has seen in a long time.
Eraserhead steadily unties the bandanna around his mouth. Once the nasty cloth slides away, Natsuo opens and closes his jaw, wincing at the soreness. All the while Eraserhead’s hair continues floating in a halo above his head, not letting his guard down for even the briefest of moments. His hand reaches into his belt and something metallic clangs inside. Natsuo stiffens.
“It’s okay,” he assures, drawing his hand back out in front of him. Natsuo watches him carefully, not allowing his gaze to stray from those glowing crimson eyes but following the man’s hand in his peripheral vision. “I need to break those cuffs, and to do so I need to use one of my tools. Is that alright?" Natsuo hesitantly nods his head, lifting his hands up for the hero. Eraserhead draws out a long tool that resembles a pair of scissors and delicately cuts through the center of the cuff. Immediately, Natsuo draws his hands to his chest, rubbing the bruises on his wrists. Eraserhead doesn’t say anything for a moment before his hair falls over his face and the glowing behind the goggles ceases. “Can you speak?” he asks quietly.
Natsuo swallows thickly. “Yes.” The single word cracks in his throat, out of breath and ragged. Eraserhead doesn’t react to it, giving a grunt of acknowledgment.
“Okay, can you tell me your name?”
Pause. Hesitate just enough to not be suspicious. “...Natsuo.”
“Do you have a family name? Anything that can be useful to bring you back home, if it’s safe?”
Natsuo pauses longer, twisting his fingers together. His surname bounces around in his brain, taunting and overbearing. He swallows and directs his gaze to the ground. “I- I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”
Eraserhead releases a puff of air through his nose, quiet and short enough to be mistaken as a deep breath but Natsuo has heard that same noise too many times to not know what it means. The hero was becoming annoyed and soon Natsuo would be nothing but an inconvenience, another name to add the the “Job Well Done” list. “That’s okay.” Lie. “We can work through that when we get the chance.” Lie.
The hero studies him for a moment and Natsuo can’t help but tense under his gaze. “Can you recall anything before they took you?”
Natsuo opens his mouth, the practiced words rolling on his tongue before slipping through the cracks of his mind like water. He inhales a sharp breath as the dull thrumming in his temples becomes a slamming pain that travels to his eyes. The world blurs and tips for a moment and before he knows it, Natsuo is plummeting toward the floor. Instead of crashing into concrete, a pair of hands jolt him up, gently resting on his shoulders. Natsuo blinks heavily, slowly looking up to see two Aizawa’s kneeling in front of him. The dark outline of his suit muddles and washes away like watercolor. A tight band wraps around Natsuo’s head, blood pulsing in his eyes as he tries to focus.
His stomach heaves, just once, and Eraserhead moves quickly to readjust him. Natsuo squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe through his nose, dizzy spells washing over him in waves.
“Alright, no more questions,” Eraserhead says quietly. Despite the soft tone, the words grate on Natsuo’s ears harshly, much too loud but somehow only barely piercing the deafening drum against his skull.
The door slams again, cracking obnoxiously against the wall, shattering the small control Natsuo had as his brain explodes and his stomach flips inside out. Pathetically, he gags and fights back tears as other people stomp throughout the room. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Touya hit him so hard.
A large hand rubs circles on his back as he shutters, clasping his hands to his mouth. The people who had entered spoke around him, but nothing could be processed into words that he understood. Dark spots fill the corners of his eyes but Natsuo desperately tries to keep a grip on his consciousness. It wasn’t the best idea to fall asleep with a head injury along with several other untreated ones, it wasn’t safe to fall asleep with complete strangers in an enclosed space, it wasn’t safe…
His limbs fill with lead and he nearly slumps into his own sick before Eraserhead wraps a strong arm around his waist. “Come on, kid, let’s get you safe.”
Natsuo blinks heavily at the man as he is taken off the ground and cradled close. His skin burns raw at the touch, aching with something he can’t name. Other people gather around him and Natsou desperately tries to keep his head high in case something happens. As it was, the pulsing black at the edge of his vision spreads with each pound against his skull and lures him in with it’s intoxicating siren’s call. They barely make it down the hall before Natsuo can’t hold his head up any longer, collapsing into the hero’s large scarf.
“That’s it,” Eraserhead murmurs, so quiet that even Natsuo can hardly. “Get some rest.”
It only takes one more blink before his hold on consciousness slips through his fingers completely.
Someone is talking, Natsuo thinks. Loud and rumbling and so very annoying. Grumbling, he shifts on his bed to drown out the noise. Probably Shigaraki screaming at his video game again.
That is, until bump rattles the car and Natsuo is wide awake, fumbling forward on the stretcher he lays on. A nurse jumps and rushes towards him, but Natsuo shoves himself away, trying to grasp the small string of knowledge he knows. Does he know? What happened? Where is he?
Natsuo’s eyes dart around, clutching the sheets below him tightly. A small window shows thousands of colors blurring together as they move and the cot rumbles underneath them. An ambulance?
A man-- Eraserhead, his groggy mind provides-- gets up and walks slowly to the end of the bed. “Hello, Natsuo,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
Natsuo rubs his jaw and tries to swallow against his dry throat. Everything fell like it was submerged in water, blurry and muffled and slow. The top of his head still pulses with his heartbeat, along with the bruises across his wrist and throat. He lifts his head slowly, meeting Eraserhead’s expecting eyes. Huh, he thought, his prior thoughts bleeding away, his eyes aren’t always red. Must be a quirk thing.
Eraserhead sighs. “You have to get some sleep, at least before we start the questioning.” Natsuo tries not to stiffen. Of course there was going to be questioning, he was in a suspected kidnapping case of a steadily growing villain group. He turns his head to the cot in an attempt to hide his trembling. He knew what to say, they’d practiced it, they practiced it.
The memory of burning blisters and suffocating smoke reminds him to stay in character.
The lull of the vehicle threatens to drag him into unconsciousness anyway, and obeying the hero would only look better on his part. Natsuo slumps back down, stifling his groan as his head spikes with pain from moving so quickly. Eraserhead huffs with a small tone of amusement above him, giving his shoulder a firm pat.
“We’re almost there, but if you need to sleep when we get there we can postpone the questioning.” The cot dips ever so slightly as Eraserhead perches on the edge of it.
“Okay,” Natsuo mumbles groggily, his eyelids growing heavy. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but Eraserhead felt… different. He felt safe.
Fuyumi turns and gives him a wide smile. “Let’s go play, Nat!”
Natsuo blinks, then shoves the warm feeling that fills his veins in the brief moment into a box and locks it. That wasn’t safe. That wasn’t home.
He doesn’t have time to think much more of it before he finally lets himself close his eyes and sleep washes over him.
Natsuo steps forward quietly, making sure to avoid that one squeaky tile. Not that dad would care anyway, but the rest of his family was still asleep. Touya mumbles to himself as he shoves miscellaneous clothes in a duffel bag, voice trembling with hysteria. Natsuo hesitates, peeking his head out from behind the door frame.
“Touya? Why, why are you up?”
Blue eyes snap up, puffy and red. Concern fills Natsuo and makes him shy out from his hiding spot completely. Had he been crying? Glancing behind him, Natsuo walks up to Touya. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Dad will get super mad if he sees you.”
Touya blinks at him, eyes glazed and dull. “Natsuo,” he says desperately. His voice is raspy and rugged, a toy left out in the rain too many times and worn down. “Natsuo, come with me.”
Natsuo swallows, saliva thick in his throat. The house is quiet around them, illuminating the blood pounding in his ears and the burn of Touya’s gaze. “Where are you going?” Natsuo whispers.
Touya scoffs and breaks his stare, aggressively shoving clothes back in the bag. “Away,” he seethes. “I can’t stay here a moment longer. This- this home is killing me; I can feel something rotting from the inside out and I can’t, I can’t…” he trails off, panting harshly towards the ground. Natsuo grips the end of his shirt with trembling hands.
“Oh, oh, okay. Why do you want me, me to go?” Natsuo ignores the shakiness in his voice. He shouldn’t be scared, this was only his big brother. Touya always did what was good for him.
Touya zips the bag. “It’s not safe here. Dad doesn’t care, Mom’s gone. I—“ Touya’s voice cracks and dissolves into a quiet laugh. “I can’t do this anymore!” He looks up at Natsuo, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like this”.
The words get caught in Natsuo’s throat. “But… Dad’s a hero.”
Something dark and bitter, dangerous, flashes through his brother's eyes. “No,” Touya spat, a heat just as hot as his quirk’s flame behind the words. “That man is not a hero.”
And Natsuo… can’t find the strength to refute him. “What about Shouto and ‘Yumi?” He asks quietly.
“They’ll be fine. Shouto is dad’s pet and Fuyumi is too much like mom to be cast away. But we…” The tears clouding Touya’s eyes fall down his cheeks. “My body is broken and you don’t have a quirk. They don’t need us.”
Natsuo bites down on his trembling lip, directing his gaze to the ground. “Hey,” Touya says softly. Natsuo looks up. A smile lays on his lips, even as his eyes pour in despair. “Let me be your hero, okay?”
Even at eight years old, Natsuo knows that smile isn’t right. But nothing is right in the Todoroki family, so he gives a teary smile back and whispers, “Okay.”
Eraserhead eventually has to shake Natsuo out of his slumber and somewhat drag him out of the ambulance. Natsuo stumbles on his steps, wincing every time he steps too hard and moves too fast, and his head spikes with pain. He finally catches sight of the other heroes on the scene as a few of them also come out of the ambulance, but he can’t recognize any of their costumes.
“We’ve rescued a potential informant,” Aizawa starts. He gestures to where Natsuo sits, and Natsuo stills, trying not to fidget. Don’t give anything away.
“Potential?” The detective speaks, giving a curious glance towards him. His heartbeat drums a little louder in his ears as he forces himself not to look up from the table. It was well known that this detective had some kind of truth-seeking ability, though quirk or not.
Aizawa nods in his peripheral vision. “He was found tied up in the warehouse we invaded, just after the villains fled. Medical believes he had some kind of head trauma, resulting in a concussion, but most importantly memory loss. They weren’t sure if the amnesia was caused by head trauma or brainwashing.” Aizawa turns to Natsuo now. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”
Natsuo clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap, trying to rid the foul taste in his mouth. If his job wasn’t done right the entire league would be exploited. He takes a deep breath and looks up. “Hello.” Voice quiet, non-threatening. “My name is Natsuo, I hope I can help you.”
Look fragile, pathetic. Become the perfect victim. The words pulse through his skull along with the blood roaring in his ears. He won’t be useless, not this time around.
The detective raises a brow at him, but not unkindly. “It’s nice to meet you, Natsuo,” he says pleasantly and professionally. “I’m here to ask you a few questions, is that alright?”
Natsuo nods, knowing that if he voiced an affirmation it would automatically come across as suspicious. The detective nods as well, gathering the papers in front of them and gesturing to a device laying flat on the table. “The conversation will be recorded, but only for legal reasons, and will not be shared with anyone outside of the vicinity. Would you still like to continue?”
Natsuo hums in agreement and the detective clicks the recording device on. “This is Detective Tsukauchi, along with Pro Hero Eraserhead and Natsuo. Today I am going to be questioning Natsuo, who was found recently in a villain incident. This recording is not to be monitored by any other than those present at the time of the action or those that have permission from the Head Chief. Natsuo,” Detective Tsukauchi turns to him now, “you confirm that your name is Natsou?”
Natsuo nods again before remembering that a verbal response was required. “Yes, sir.”
Detective Tsukauchi marks a small note on a paper beside him. His blood freezes for a second, even though he knows that what he said wasn’t a lie. He knows what his name is, he doesn’t need to overthink some quirk that might not even be there.
“Do you remember what happened before?”
Natsuo scrunches his eyebrows and looks to the table. It’s not hard to feign confusion when every breath follows the world tilting every so slightly. “They… they wanted me for information. I think- I think I was studying something?” True. While Touya was praised as a villain because of his quirk, Natsuo was only used for his ability to stubbornly soak up every piece of information that came his way.
“Touya I-I think I want to be a doctor. I don’t want to do villain stuff anymore.”
Piercing blue eyes snap to him. Natsuo freezes, refusing to let his mind draw comparisons to another pair of sharp eyes. Touya looks at him for a moment, before scoffing. “Good luck trying to go to school while quirkless. Remember Natsuo, no one wants you.”
Natsuo grits his teeth and glares at the table.
It doesn’t take much longer from there, only a few more questions to barely skid by and twist to his advantage. His words taste like ash on his tongue and his stomach clenches through every lie, but he pushes through. Eventually, Eraserhead leads him back out to the car, a thoughtful frown barely hidden behind his curtain of hair.
“Where are we going?” Natsuo asks hesitantly as he starts the car.
Eraserhead glances back at him. “Do you have a place to go?”
He swallows. “No.”
The man nods, driving away from the station. “Then we are giving you a place to stay.”
Natsuo fidgets back into the seat, twisting his hands. Eraserhead says nothing else on the subject. As anxiety dissipates from his chest, Natsuo’s attention is soon directed to the world flying by the window. Like a moth to a flame, he stares out at the large buildings and bright signs. It wasn’t that he wasn’t let out much, or not allowed to see things, but…
Natsuo sits in front of a computer, tying even as his hands cramp and his eyes burn. Shigaraki sneers from the corner.
He hadn’t had much of a chance to see the city lately.
It’s incredible how much something as simple as the arrangement of restaurants and businesses could morph in such a short amount of time. In fact, Natsuo realizes with a cold stone in his chest, the place that he grew up in looks completely different. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
Shortly, the telling towers of UA shine brightly even from afar. A mix of acceptance and dread fill him at the sight. Eraserhead leads him past the iconic blue buildings, around the back, to a much smaller building.
“This is where you will be staying for the time being,” Eraserhead starts. “These are the teacher dorms for those that live far or out of town for the week days, and doubles as a place for students and wards of UA if need be.” He pauses to gesture to the keypad on the door, typing the key slow and clear enough for Natsuo to see. “That is the code, remember it because I’m only giving it once. Most of the rooms are empty, but the hallway on the left side of the second story is completely empty if that matters. Personal items are in all of the closets of the rooms.”
Natsuo follows Eraserhead closely, feeling a little like a lost puppy. This was… a lot of trust given to a stranger that they had just rescued. Why hadn’t they brought him… Natsuo pauses in thought. Well, perhaps this was the safest option, as risky as it was. Even if they technically could place him in a group home, seeing as they don’t know he’s an adult.
Eraserhead shows him the rooms and necessary rooms, before retreating up to his own room on one of the higher floors after telling him to meet him downstairs in half an hour. Natsuo now stands awkwardly in the doorway of his new room, clutching the hem of his shift. Okay… now what.
He steps through the room, kicking off his shoes and shutting the door. The carpet is gentle against his feet, squishing as he wiggles his toes. He glances down to see it’s pristine and white, not a speck of dirt or hardened clumps or shells of dead beetles anywhere to be seen. Natsuo walks to the closet, different sizes of clothes packed tightly, with all different styles. He flicks through a few of them, all brand new and big named brands.
Natsuo closes that door softly and peers in the dresser. Same thing. He scoffs, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants that look like they may fit. Of course, UA had enough money to sustain a makeshift hotel, of course, they would use the money to show off their wealth in every way possible.
(The small, vulnerable part of his mind asks why, why would such a heroic, selfish establishment build something to help other people? What do they gain from it?)
Silently, he makes his way out of the room and down the stair, tiptoeing to the living room. The couch has blankets that look too personal to be mere decoration, quilted and signed, and colorful. Natsuo rubs his hand over them, fingertips caressing the soft fabric delicately. He looks over as a floorboard creaks.
Eraserhead waves non committedly. “We need to get those injuries checked. I’m guessing you know who Recovery Girl is?”
The name rings a small bell at the back of his mind, but nothing clear comes. Eraserhead sighs. “Come on, kid.”
I’m not a kid, Natsuo thinks bitterly as he follows behind him to the main building. The sky blends in purples and pinks and oranges above the setting sky. It’s a little strange to see the school dark and without students billowing around after spending so many hours watching videos of advertisements and personal videos from past students to search for any kind of weakness.
Natsuo takes a mental note of the path they take to get to this Recovery Girl, counting the number of turns to write down later. Eraserhead gives him a couple of looks but doesn’t say anything.
When they open the door, Natsuo sees a short, older woman cleaning up what he assumes is similar to a nurse's office. She groans without even turning around. “Can’t a woman ask for a single moment of peace! It’s not even school hours, what could possibly be so…” She trails as she turns around, catching Natsuo’s eyes. He fidgets under his gaze, directing his gaze to the ground. “Ah, I see, found another, Aizawa?”
Eraserhead grunts. “Recovery Girl, Natsuo. Natsuo, Recovery Girl. He needs a checkup and possibly healing.”
Recovery Girl squints her eyes but doesn't say anything as she finishes throwing her stuff into the bag. “Alright, dearie, you sit right over there. Let me get my things.”
Perching on the edge of the cot she pointed to, watching as she mills around the office and mutters things he can’t hear under her breath. Eraserhead takes a seat in one of the guest chairs, observing quietly.
Natsuo lets Recovery Girl do her thing, shifting slightly and breathing deeply when asked. A concerned frown stays on her face throughout it all, a light of pity in her eyes.
“Definitely concussed, with several lacerations. I’m sure this was quite obvious, no offense dearie, that the bruises along his neck were placed from another's hand, and the wound on his head looks like it was put there through blunt force.”
Natsuo hums, slightly impressed. “I can have it healed tonight, though it might double your sleep tonight.”
As if Natsuo has had a full night of sleep since he was 10. “Okay.”
What he was not expecting was for her to lean forward and- and kiss him, lips stretching towards his forehead. Natsuo stiffens as a strange feeling flows through him, rushing through his body and gathering into his head and throat, before racing to the other small bruises on his body. After the initial rush, exhaustion crashes over him, leaving him dizzy with the abrupt shift.
Natsuo blinks slowly, reaching for his sleeves. The blue and purple mix on his wrists has disappeared, not even sore to the touch. He presses into his ribs, which are always aching and hurting, but no pain echoes through his body. Recovery Girl gives a small huff of laughter, making Natsuo blush at whatever facial expression he had.
“Okay, Natsuo, now let’s head back to the dorms.” Eraserhead stands, guiding Natsuo off the bed even as his eyes fall closed. He might have nodded, but the world twists and floats, nothing but cotton candy spinning around him as he tries not to go to sleep while following Eraserhead.
Shigaraki slams the door open obnoxiously. Natsuo looks up from the screen, blinking against the dark room. “Sensei wants to see you.”
Natsuo’s blood turns to ice. “Why?”
“I don’t think you’re in the position to be asking questions.” Even as he says this, a grin spreads wide on his cheeks, the scabs reopening on his lips. “But don’t look so down, he has an assignment for you. Just for you.”
Natsuo sits on the edge of his bed, sinking his hands in the soft sheets. This entire thing seems unreal, a nightmare crafted to be a dream. He works his jaw, trying to get rid of the trembling there. Was this what he wanted? Was it worth it?
He presses his lips together. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the path he took was better than staying in the house he’d grown up in, yet. And yet, Eraserhead’s impossibly kind eyes come to mind, and yet Recovery Girl’s gentle touches burn into the memory of his skin, and he grapples with the kindness that UA has shown him in a single night.
Did he want this?
Touya's crazed smile surfaces in his mind, his outstretched hand and desperate eyes. The number of times that Natsuo had to come to save him, the number of times he’d iced burns and thread string through injuries for him. Hell, the number of hours he had searched online for how to do skin grafts at twelve just so he could help his hurting brother said something.
Natsuo forces a deep breath through his nose. Today, today he would get what they wanted, then escape. He squeezes the bed once more and then stands.
Natsuo looks down at the code scribbled on a sticky note on the bed and lets the breath out. Then he crumbles it and flushes the note down the toilet.
He can’t afford to mess this up.
Eraserhead is making coffee when Natsuo steps down to the common area, looking like death warmed over. “Tough shift?” Natsuo asks, nearly cringing at how awkward he sounds.
Eraserhead sighs and downs the mug, which is completely full, in one swig. “Something like that,” he grumbles.
Natsuo snorts, silently agreeing.
They go through the back of the building today, the sounds of hundreds of students talking filling the air with laughter and chattering. Natsuo watches with some fascination as Eraserhead zips a bright yellow sleeping bag over his head without breaking stride.
The energy is much more vibrant when the halls are full. Kids in all kinds of friend groups walk together in a chaotic harmony as they travel to their classes, obviously still new to the school and each other but excited for it. There’s light in each of their eyes, hoping to be the best that they can be.
Natsuo feels a small, sad smile pulling on his lips.
Then he catches sight of red and white hair.
He nearly stumbles to a stop, breath stuttering in his chest. A taller kid walks ahead of them, their evenly split in the crowd of diverse students. Natsuo hadn’t seen him since he was just a baby, almost before he could remember.
But no, there is no way that he couldn’t remember his little brother, the mystical creature that was worshipped by his parents. The holy gift that he and his other siblings were not to even dare glance at risk of tainting that child. He was the reason Touya went crazy, he was the reason their dad could never love them, he was--
He was just a baby.
Natsuo watches as the kid turns into a classroom, how they drag their feet along the floor in a way to make themself quieter and tucks their head between their shoulders. Then he is struck by the realization that Shouto would have had to live with the same father that struck eternal fear in Natsuo in a single gaze. He’s almost afraid to think of the consequences of being his “chosen one” was.
In his brief dilemma, he hadn’t noticed Eraserhead staring at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” his voice comes out small and scratchy. “I’m fine, I thought I saw something but… I didn’t.”
Eraserhead squints at him, just barely, but then nods and walks ahead into the same classroom that the two-toned-haired kid did. Natsuo hurries after him, before pausing in front of the group of students in the classroom. Oh right, people.
The hero slides into the class, completely ignored by most of the students, unlike Natsuo who just… stands in the doorway and immediately attracts the eyes of nearly every student. He shifts awkwardly.
“Um,” he croaks, clearing his throat. “Eraserhead?”
Eraserhead groans from the corner, sliding across the floor in his sleeping bag. Natsuo blinks. Okay.
Wait, Natsuo could use this. “Can I, um, use the restroom?”
Grunting, Eraserhead stands. “Down the hall, the right.”
Natsuo nods, fumbling for the doorknob behind him. “Right, okay, then just come back here?”
Now he squints and barely squints again, obviously suspicious but he doesn’t understand, Natsuo has to do this. The sooner he does the less harm there would be in the future. After an infinite second, he nods and Natsuo stumbles through the door into the hall. His heartbeat thrums through his veins as he speeds walks through the hall. God this was stupid, this was so stupid what was he doing--
Before he knows it, he’s in front of the door labeled “Teacher’s Lounge” and turning the handle, hoping against hope no one is inside. He scrambles for an excuse even as the door opens. Eraserhead wanted-- no, wait, there was a paper-- no, no he needed to print something, yeah, that should work--
The door opens against the door at a sound way too loud and Natsuo freezes, only to sigh in relief when he doesn’t see anyone.
The room isn't extravagant or huge; a long table splits the room lined with computers on both sides with colorful folders next to each. Natsuo glances around carefully, but aside from the stray paper or pencil, nothing seems incredibly important. He slides out of a chair and sits in front of one the computers, perching on the edge of the seat in case someone walked in. The computer clicks on a small mouse animation running across the screen before asking for a passcode. The code that he spent hours burning into his skull plays back, something that he’d only seen once when he’d caught Eraserhead signing into his computer to grade papers, but there was little chance that it would actually work…
The screen opens to him as soon as he hits enter.
“Holy shit,” Natsuo whispers. That worked. That worked… too easily. Natsuo pushes the fear sliding up his throat and forcing on his task.
UA School Schedule, he types into the search bar at the top of the screen.
A small grey circle spins, and Natsuo swears that every second that passes is more of a chance for his heart to leap out of his chest. Then, a list of times appears with the bell schedule. Natsuo scrolls down to Trips and Events, fingers trembling on the mouse. Business field trip, Support supply trip… oh.
Hero Course USJ Trip (Teachers: All Might, Eraserhead, No. 13)
The date was only in a few days.
Across the room, the door handle rattles. Natsuo sucks in a breath, shutting down the computer and throwing himself under the table as someone enters. His heart races, anxiety alight under his skin as he holds his mouth with a trembling hand. Black, baggy pants stop right in front of where he’s crouched. Natsuo doesn’t dare breathe.
A sigh rings out like a gunshot. “Natsuo, I know you’re there. Please come out.”
Shit, shit, shit, shit. The air in his lungs compresses into a tiny box, wheezing out of his throat as he desperately tries to think of what he could do, oh god what was going to happen to him, he failed, he failed.
A large hand tilts his chin up to face a mask of tangled tubes and scarred flesh. “Please don’t disappoint me.”
Natsuo shoves his hand harder against his mouth, tears running over his hands. The possibility that Sensei had a bomb ready to explode at any time wasn’t too crazy, he might have planted Natsuo here just to die and kill as many people as possible. He was useless, quirkless, just a waste of space that not even villains wanted him. He couldn’t do this, air was shrinking and his chest was caving, oh, oh, he was dying, All for One was already killing him, oh god--
A hand catches his wrist and pulls him slowly out from under the table. Natsuo follows limply, fear ricocheting too loudly in his mind to do much of anything. Eraserhead takes his wrists in a firm grip, saying something that is washed in the waves of his roaring heartbeat.
“I’m sorry,” Natsuo wheezes, shame tearing through him like a hurricane. “I’m so sorry.”
“Natsuo, please, calm down,” Eraserhead says calmly. “We already knew. I already knew who you were working for and what you came to do.”
The statement shocks Natsuo enough to put a dent in the fear. “What?” he whispers.
“We’ve had eyes on the League for weeks.” Eraserhead continues. “I haven’t been able to stay with them consistently, but I’ve seen you with them. I know you work for them.”
Tears blur the hero into a mess of color. “Then why didn’t you arrest me?”
Eraserhead sighs, a heavy look crossing his face. “I saw enough that I know that you don’t want to do this. Let me help you, Natsuo.”
Natsuo shakes his head, pulling his wrists away from Eraserhead’s grasp. “No, no, you can’t save me, I’m too far gone.”
Eraserhead doesn’t say anything for a moment, only giving him a long look. “Do you really believe that, Natsuo, or did someone tell you that?”
Remember Natsuo, no one wants you. “What are you trying to do?”
An empathic look crosses his face, raw and open. “I want to give you a chance.”
Fury twists in his chest, even as hope flickers briefly against his ocean of despair. “You want to make me a hero, another soldier,” he spits, voice trembling. I would rather be arrested than become like him- like that.”
Eraserhead doesn’t falter. “You know who Todoroki was, earlier. I saw that you did; you’ve been lying about the memory loss.”
He doesn’t flinch at the name, he doesn’t. “I lie about a lot of things,” he says lowly.
Eraserhead lets out a groan, finally showing some of his true colors. “Natsuo, you’re a kid in a lot of shit that you don’t understand. Just let me help you--”
“I’m not a kid!” Natsuo yells, frustration turning into more tears. “I’m nineteen! You want to know why I’m a villain?!” He heaves, breath hardly coming into his mouth as he grapples with his words. “My father couldn’t care less about me, about his family. He was, he was so obsessed with his goal of having the perfect child that he disregarded the rest of his family. I couldn’t, we,” the words stick to his throat and make it painful to say. “He hurt everyone but he still got away with it. No one should be able to get away with something like that if heroes are true.”
“Who is your father?”
Natsuo looks Eraserhead dead in the eyes, hatred spilling from his voice as he says, “The Number Two hero.”
His eyes widen but Natsuo can see the doubt, the disbelief. “Then little baby Shouto was born!” A laugh, broken and sad, so sad even to his own ears, escapes from his throat. “The perfect solution! The solution to his addiction!” The laugh breaks. “Then we became old toys.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” Eraserhead says slowly. “That shouldn’t ever be acceptable.” He pauses. “But every hero isn’t like that.”
Natsuo opens his mouth to refute, but the words die on his tongue. Eraserhead hadn’t been like that. Recovery Girl hadn’t been like that. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t even want to become a hero,” Natsuo spits. “I’m not like that. I don’t want to be some, some two-faced, glorified celebrity.”
Eraserhead hums but doesn’t reply immediately. Natsuo glances up at the man, only to find that he is looking past him. “Do you not want to become a hero, or do you not want to become your father?”
Natsuo snaps his mouth open, but his words freeze and create a block inside of his throat. “I don’t even want to become a hero,” Natsuo spits. “I’m not like that. I don’t want to be some, some two-faced, glorified celebrity.”
“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” he assures. “But it’s a new chance for you, something that you can make into your own. It doesn’t have to be about your family or your past.”
“I don’t want to do villain stuff anymore.”
His lips tremble and he meets his eyes. “Tell me what I have to do.”
Eraserhead smiles.
Eraserhead-- Aizawa gets him into training, not through UA but a different, more private course. Once he comes clean about what he was sent to do, Class 1-A does not go to the USJ that fateful day and the League escapes again. There are days that Natsuo can’t help but wonder where his brother is in the world.
He does, however, know where one brother is. The day he met Shouto, really, truly met him was a hard day and one of many tears. Shouto leads to seeing Fuyumi again, seeing her eyes widen with recognition and crash into him with a full body tackle.
“I had no idea what happened to you,” she had whispered through sobs. Natsuo only held her tighter.
After a year and a half of legal pains, training, and the world flipping, Natsuo stands proudly in his own personal ceremony as he is handed a single, plastic card.
Rebound: The Persevering Hero.
Aizawa rests a hand on his shoulder. “A start of a new beginning.”
Natsuo turns the card over in his hands. Barely the size of his hand, yet it contained an entire future. He smiles, the words becoming blurry and mixed. “Yeah, I think it is.”