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Chapter Text

Vaguely, very vaguely, he remembers a time where his days were not silent and grieving messes, were not aches of bones against the cold house, were not tightly contained limbs and the constant battle to stay silent. 

Fumikage remembers that time, if only barely. 

Now all he knows is nights of darkness, locked in that concrete box and days of hard training. Of being forced to eat cooked meat that made him want to vomit. Of bound wings and too tight shoes. Because he was shameful. 

He was grateful, he really was. He knew this was more than he deserved. He knew, he knew. But he couldn’t help his pain. He couldn’t help Dark Shadow and their own words, their own actions. He couldn’t help what he thought. But there were good days, when Dark Shadow would work in tandem with him, would agree to stay inside until they were alone, would agree to follow the rules. But there were bad days too, when no matter how much he tried, they could not be calmed, could not stay inside. Fumikage understood, he really did. How could he not, when his wings itched and chafed under the ropes, when he kept them pressed to his back at all times, when his own body was restricted in what it could do. 

So he did not fight them on those days, but he often wished he would, because no matter how much the punishments for letting Dark Shadow out outside from training, for talking to Dark Shadow, for Dark Shadow, not having them was worse. His hands traced the quirk suppressor cuffs. His wrists were not linked, the cuffs being essentially individual bracelets that he could not remove. He used to cry. Sometimes he still does. 

It's just so quiet. It’s never quiet with Dark Shadow, their monologue always a running background noise he listened to when he could afford it. They would always comment on one thing or another, how the sun shined, how they saw a bird fly by. The point was, Dark Shadow was always there. They were his best friend, his only friend. And he could be taken away, leaving him with a torn apart soul and an emptiness in his brain. It was too quiet. 

He never learned how to be loud, not in the way that Dark Shadow seemed to inexplicably know how to be. So he never was loud. He kept himself in check, made sure his emotions were subdued, because last time, he let them go was the longest he had ever been without Dark Shadow. He traced the lengths of his arms with his talons, up and down the pale skin, some of it raised in valleys and ridges, leftover scars dug deep into the scaly skin. 

His guardian hated his avian features, possibly more than anything. She forced him into long sleeves that hid the feathered skin of his arms. Had him wear gloves that limited his dexterity but at least they hid his talons. How do you expect to be a hero? She would ask. When you are a monster?

A silly dream of his, he’d admit, with no Dark Shadow there to contradict. Because she was right. He was villainous, without her, he would have been destined to a life of villainy. He could never be a hero, but at least he wouldn’t be a villain. Small comforts, he supposed. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if that could possibly replace the constant weight of Dark Shadow. As if he could live without them. He was wearing a tank top now, because he wasn’t allowed to be out. Because it was cold and this was supposed to be a punishment. Because it was a punishment. If he twisted, he would see deep scratches pulled deep into his back, from those nights in the dark rooms, where Dark Shadow raged and he could not do anything but pull his talons down his sides and feel the warm blood dripping from the scratches as his only solace. And it was so, so quiet. 

He didn’t know how long the punishment lasted, how long he was alone in that empty room. It had no windows, no furniture, nothing. Just a locked door mocking him and a pair of quirk suppressing cuffs that drained him and it was too quiet.

It felt like an hour had passed when he started panicking. There were bugs crawling on his skin, his feathers felt ruffled. He was being watched, he was alone, he wasn’t alone he was never alone, but he was alone now. This wasn’t natural, none of this was natural. It was too long. Dark Shadow had never been gone this long. He started scratching at his wrists, lightly at first. The bugs kept crawling across his skin, across his arms and he knew they weren’t real but they felt like they were there and they wouldn’t go away. His talons dug into his arms, deeper and deeper, red blossoming into red across his wrists. He felt something tugging inside his chest and he stopped his desperate scratching. His hands were red and slippery with blood, and it was dripping onto the concrete, already stained red from all the other times. He curled up into a tight ball, all energy drained from him. His shoulders slumped, and the silence pressed harder into his head than ever. It was too loud, too quiet. He looked down at his wrists and wondered when he grew so weak. He hadn’t done that in so long. He thought he had been over it. The door unlocked. He didn’t look up. 

“I expected better from you,” she said. He nodded. Stayed quiet, kept his wings tucked in and didn’t look up. 

“You’re allowed out. Come,” she said and he stood. Followed with blood dripping from his wrists and a pair of unscratched quirk suppression cuffs. 

“Do you know why I do this to you?” she asked, her voice becoming soft. Her hand rested on his shoulder and she guided him to the table, bandages already waiting on the table. He nodded. 

“Words, Tokoyami,” she hissed, hand tightening. Sharp nails dug into his shoulder. 

“To make me better,” he said, voice dull and emotionless. “To keep me controlled.” 

“Good. Now let’s wrap those up, monster,” she said. Her hands were quick and efficient. The bandages were neat and clean, the bleeding stopped. He rested his now wrapped hands in his lap when she grabbed his hand. Her brown eyes examined his hands, without gloves and shown to the world. She examined his black talons, slightly curved and sharp. She sighed. Shame crawled up into his eyes, curled around his ribcage, tightened around his neck. He looks up for the first time and catches her face, all angry lines and glinting eyes, a promise of something coming later. He looks back down, at the cuffs, at bandaged wrists, at taloned hands. All his shortcomings laid out there, needing to be fixed.

“Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?” she said, disappointment evident in her voice. She pulled out a key and unlocked the cuffs, placing them on the table. A familiar warmth returned to his chest, Dark Shadow. His soul was one again, he was one again. He could exist and it isn’t quiet anymore. His wrists sting, the pain of his own talons finally registering, the desperation, the fear, fading from his chest as they returned to him. As they became one again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. He was sorry to Dark Shadow because they could not be free, could not be real the way he was sometimes allowed to be, because he could not get them out. 

It’s okay, Fumi. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, they whispered in the back of his mind. He wanted to smile, to laugh, to scream, because those times without Dark Shadow were worse than anything else. Because even if he felt them there, he had to know, had to make sure that they were there. Had to make sure that it wasn’t quiet. They did nothing but stare at their hands, now uncuffed and the white bandages covering them. 

“It’s late. I can’t believe you made me get up,” she sighed again. He curled in on himself. He felt blood creep up into his face and for once, he was grateful that his feathers hid his expression, that his head was not human. Because otherwise his shame, his emotions would be evident. She unbound his wings and shooed him off to his room.

He stood slowly, walked to his room, with its bed and desk and not much else. It was small and it was barren, but he supposed, it was theirs. It was the only place Dark Shadow could really be let out without retribution, besides from training. And that didn’t count. 

There is a thing called salvation, called rescue. Some nights, as he would lie in that dark room, tracing accusing silence of his arms, feeling for the scars that ran along the lines of his muscles. He had canyons in his skin, and they would never go away. He would feel the downy feathers of his wings, trying to right the ones that were pushed out of their shape. Trying to fix the unstoppable itchiness that never left, did his best to stop the pain, however little. Dark Shadow tried to help, but neither of them learned how to be birds, and neither of them were allowed to be birds. 

And there is this thing called salvation that would never come. Fumikage knew this, deep in his bones, held the shattered glass truth in his hands and let them bleed. He knew that he would leave this estate when his guardian said he could, and would leave this room when she said he could. Could be free when she said he could, and he knew in the bone deep aching of his muscles, in the black talons that curved ever so slightly, and his wrong feet that he could never be free. 

I’m scared, Dark Shadow whispered to him, despite their mental bond. We’re stronger than her. 

I know , he replied. He waited. Said nothing. Dark shadow curled up across his shoulders and nuzzled his face. He let his wings relax, let them flare out and flop and stretch. They ached, but not as much as the emptiness of his chest. Not as much as the knowledge that Dark Shadow could never free. That both of them could never live free. 

I’m sorry, Fumi. I should have stayed hidden, they said after a long pause. 

You wanted to be free. He replied and neither of them said anything for the rest of the night. 

///

He woke up early in the morning, despite having no windows in their room. Made his bed, stretched a little. Changed into his uniform. Today was a school day and no matter how much his guardian didn’t like his mutant features, she still sent him to school in accordance with the law. He tested out his wings, sore and aching from being bound all day. Dark Shadow was inside of him now, a warm weight that seemed to take the weight off of his shoulders, if only for a moment. They were still there, still with him, still alive, however alive an incorporeal being made of shadows could be. 

He ran his hand across them, still trying to right the itching, hurting feathers, knowing it was fruitless. There were too many of them, too much pain, too much itching and no matter how much he tried to preen them, he didn’t know what he was doing. Giving up, he brushed the fallen feathers away beneath he bed and left his room, tucking his wings tight against his back. He was just lucky they hadn’t bee clipped. 

“You’re going to apply for U-A,” his guardian said, the second he left their room. She was looking at a laptop screen, at a blue and white website proudly boasting the U-A logo. He stared at her, dumbfounded. He could actually be a hero? Which meant if he got his license, Dark Shadow could be allowed out. They could be free, and could live. Could be together more than a mental connection and shared pain. More than just a quirk. 

He nodded. Carefully hid his excitement away, but he couldn’t ignore Dark Shadow’s joyful shrieking in his head, their joy blossoming through his body. 

“Don’t just stand there, go to school,” she snapped. “And don’t mess this up for me. No one needs to know how much of a freak you really are.”

So he got his bag, pulled on his gloves and left the house. 

It was only when he got a good distance away, that he was alone in a empty street that he let Dark Shadow out and laughed. He wanted to cry. 

“We can be heroes, Fumi!” Dark Shadow crowed. He nodded and hugged his best friend. 

“You can be free,” he said, almost choking on the emotion that overcame him. He let his wings relax from their constant state of being pressed together. He tilted his head up to the sky. He knew he was villainous, he knew he would have been a villain, driven by desperation, but this meant…

This meant he could be a hero. He could help people, they could help people. This meant something that he didn’t realize yet. 

(And there is a thing called Salvation.)

He passed children walking with their parents, looking happy. Looking normal. He tugged his sleeves down, hiding the bandages covering his wrists. They didn’t need to know how broken he was. 

And what are his scars, if not reminders, if not the memory of a once open wound?

///

He doesn’t get to go to the exams. Instead, he is let in on recommendation. His mentor is a well regarded retired Pro-Hero after all. Regardless of that fact, his guardian teaches him as if he is doing the exams. He learns all that could be on the written exams, and trains his body to be a weapon. To be optimized for fighting, for doing what he commands it to. He’s lucky. The only choice he does have in the situation, however grateful he is to be going to U-A in the first place, is that he gets to design his own hero costume. Which of course, means Dark Shadow gets to design the costume with his input. They do this at night, with the lights on because his guardian doesn’t care much what he does in his room, as long as they don’t disturb her sleep and he doesn’t leave the room. 

Their costume is practical. Black with a cloak, designed to both hide and give Dark Shadow power, he adds a request for a bladed weapon, preferably a katana, as a note to the submitted design. Conveniently, the cloak is also large enough to cover his wings. Dark Shadow added their own additions though. Rich black designs embroidered into the fabric and a hidden silver crow etched into the cuffs, little moon designs hidden into the collar. An open back for his wings. Just before they submit the design, he adds gloves and doesn’t mention shoes. 

It’s the day before he begins school that he gets a gift from his guardian. 

They already had everything, a uniform and all the books and notebooks and other supplies needed for school. They had sent emergency forms (said with a warning that they should never call her), his psychiatric evaluation due to the nature of his quirk. The paperwork was done, so of course he was surprised when she called him over. She usually didn’t talk to him much beyond training, meals, and punishments, although they had lessened recently. So he walked over, tilting his head. 

“Here, take this,” she said, pressing a red ribbon into his hands? He stared at it. It was a soft material, silk possibly.

“What do I do with it?” he asked, unsure of why he now had a red ribbon in his hands. 

“It’s for your neck, if we can’t hide your mutations, then we might as well make them look as normal as possible,” she said. “Make sure to put it on before school.” 

“Thank you,” he said. 

We shouldn’t have to hide, Dark Shadow said. He could feel their rage grazing at the edges of his ribs, in the tensing of his shoulders. He knew that they shared feelings and forcibly tamped the feelings down. He went quietly to the bathroom, his feet in his house shoes, made to keep his talons hidden and not break his feet. He looked into the mirror, at where his head went from bird to human, where the feathers faded away, a ugly gradient and he understood what she meant. It would disturb some people, surely, with his mutations being so out, the transition being so clear. So he wrapped the ribbon as well as he could, keeping it neat with the same hands that had bandaged himself up, with the hands that stayed steady and clawed. He tied a small knot where the two ends met and he tucked the end into the wrapping of the ribbon. It wasn’t choking, but it was something against his neck and he didn’t like things by his neck but he couldn’t complain when his guardian was just trying to protect him and those around him. When his guardian had gotten him into U-A and given him more than he deserved. A lesser person would have kept the cuffs on all the time, would have let him bleed, wouldn’t have trained him or taught him how to fight. Wouldn’t have done the necessary things. 

And oh. He was crying. He couldn’t tell why he was crying, didn’t know what warranted this display of dramatics. They were silent tears and his eyes barely stung. 

He was grateful, he really was. Because a lesser person would have let him fly. 

///

He entered the school, scanning in with his ID at the entrance. Dark shadow was coiled with excitement. They were actually there. They were here and they had a chance. They had the chance to prove that they were more than monsters, more than animals. That Dark Shadow was more than a quirk. Still, Fumikage remembered the last night, cutting holes into the backs of his uniform to let his wings pass through. They had considered asking for a custom uniform, but that would cost more and it was already so much that his guardian was paying for them to go to U-A. Paid for all the necessities, paid for uniforms and a new school bag. 

Although he had read the rules about quirk usage over and over again, he didn’t dare to let Dark Shadow out beyond the confines of the shadows of his wings. Just in case. But he let them out, let them be free, if only for a little. Just how he let his wings relax, just the slightest bit. It ached, to keep them in that position. There was a cooling in his gut that wasn’t just Dark Shadow’s excitement. He follows the map that his guardian had printed to his classroom. It was a talk door that read 1-A. He took a deep breath and entered the classroom. 

Scanning the board, he saw his name written in the corresponding seat at the back of the room. At least he wouldn’t block anyone’s view that way, with his wings and all. He was one of the firsts in the room, alongside a tall kid with glasses, sitting properly in the seat labeled Iida Tenya. He recognized that name, but he didn't remember what it was. There was also a girl with dark green hair, in the seat labeled Asui Tsuyu. They were the only ones in the room at the moment and Dark Shadow was begging to be let out. 

Not yet, he said to them. He wanted to, he really did. He wanted to talk to them freely and let them play and draw and do other things that he could do, but he didn’t let them out. 

( Do not let that thing out, unless you’re training.)

He shuddered, remembering the last time that he had spoken to Dark Shadow in public with other people. Before he had learned to keep things quiet. Before he had learned that people would fear and he did not want them to fear. 

He kept himself small as he could make himself, which wasn’t hard, considering he was relatively small to begin with. At his last doctor's visit, they said something about malnourishment and not getting enough nutrients, but he wasn’t really paying attention, more focused on trying not to panic. At this point, he wondered if he should pull out his emergency supply of dried apples that he tried to keep on him, considering that he was shaking at this point and had very much not eaten breakfast. Although the shaking was mostly nervousness combined with Dark Shadow’s excitement combined with a lot of other things that he was very much no going to address right now, such as the fact that his wings itched so much and he just wanted to tear all the feathers off, but he would not do that because that would definitely be irreparable and he would also look stupid. 

People entered the room. In front of him was Todoroki Shoto, with his half white, half red hair, looking indifferent to the world. To his left was Yaoyorozu Momo. Funny, they were the three students let into the Hero Course on recommendation. He listened in on people introducing themselves, talking, some loudly, some quietly. He tried to suppress his flinches when the blond boy, Bakugo Katsuki shouted. Dark Shadow stayed as a comforting presence, laid across his shoulders. It was loud, almost overly so. But he would manage, because he had to. His actions reflected back onto his guardian and he could not afford to reflect badly. There were a few mutants in the room, Mezo Shoji and Asui Tsuyu to name a few. Even Ashido Mina, who had pink skin and a few nonhuman features, however, looked normal enough, human enough to pass. None had the same animalistic mutations that he had, he was certain. Asui looked human enough, if her frog like facial features were ignored. Almost all of them had human faces, capable of expression.

None of them looked scary in the way that they did, when they were out together, him and Dark Shadow. He rolled his shoulders, trying to release some of the built up tension in his shoulders, pulling on his wings. He picked at the gloves, pointedly ignoring the new scars that had built up around his wrists. They were too short to cover them, just enough to cover his claws and keep him from scratching others, even on accident. 

The green haired boy and a girl who seemed very excited were talking at the entrance, with Iida standing to the side.

Fumiiii… Dark Shadow began. He sent a questioning feeling through their mental bond. 

There’s a-

“If you’re going to play at being friends, do it somewhere else” grumbled someone from the door. He peered over to see a man in a yellow sleeping bag.

Giant yellow caterpillar…

I can see that now, he replied, looking at the man who appeared to be extremely tired, which, mood.

“This is the hero course,” he said and stepped out of the sleeping bag. “It took you all eight seconds to get quiet. You students aren’t rational enough.” 

He turned to the rest of the room. 

“I’m your homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shota,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

A majority of the classroom gasped, shocked that such a tired man could be a pro-hero. He carefully didn’t react. Dark Shadow however, had immediately fixated on the loose wrappings around the man’s neck. 

I want to chew.

No.

Pleaseeeeee.

Please don’t. 

“This is kind of sudden, but put this on and go out onto the field,” Aizawa said, holding up a sports uniform. He ran a gloved hand over the ribbon around his neck and realized that the arms of the uniform were on the shorter side. And that they would be changing together. His weaknesses, his shames, his freakishness would be seen. They would know. They would all know and kick him out because who wants a weakling such a good school and worst of all, they might think that it was Dark Shadow’s fault and he didn’t want Dark Shadow taken away. He wouldn’t live without them. Couldn’t live without them. 

Ignoring his inner conflict, he followed the teacher down to the changing rooms. He changed as quickly as possible, ignoring the thing called existence and keeping Dark Shadow hidden. For now at least. He struggled a bit with the wings, considering the whole not-a-buttonable-shirt thing, but he managed. Somehow. Still, he was out as one of the last and ran to the field, not wanting to be late. It was only when he managed to knock someone in the face with his wings that he realized that he had let them flare out a little, had lost the usually tight control he had over them. Apologizing, he took note of their appearance. He hadn’t gotten to see the person’s name while they were waiting in the classroom, but they were a tall person with a rocklike head and soft looking eyes. They waved their hands.

“It’s okay,” they whispered, voice quiet like a wind whisper in a forest. 

“I should have been more careful,” he said, and tucked them back tight against his back, no matter how much his shoulders and back muscles ached from keeping them there for a long time. He stood towards the back. 

“You’re allowed to use your quirks,” Aizawa said and Fumikage almost laughed in joy. Dark Shadow was allowed out. If only for a little, they would be free. 

“Oh and the lowest scoring person will be punished with expulsion,” Aizawa said. Which, unsurprising, but also he really hoped he wouldn’t be the lowest scoring person here and that Dark Shadow combined with his own strength would be enough to keep him in. Surely there were people with some incredible quirks here, especially physical ones that would give them a leg up. 

There was a ball thrown, Bakugo screaming “die” at the ball, which, odd choice, but he lived with Dark Shadow. Who was he to judge? Which was the demonstration, and then they went on to the actual evaluation/tests/whatever this was. 

He mostly managed to hide at the ends of lines and away from others, trying to cover his arms with his still gloved hands as if that would do anything. Luckily, no one asked, so he didn’t have to make up a lie, didn’t have to pretend it was a nonexistent cat or something, although cats wouldn’t leve this many deep scratches and his cover story made no sense. 

He made one anyway. 

Then it was their turn for the sprint. He was plenty fast on his own, used to well… running away from people who really wanted one of his feathers or though he was a villain who had to be subdued or something else entirely. He couldn't think of how Dark Shadow could help him with this, so of course, he asked them. They deserved to have an input, obviously. 

Can any part of you cross the line to win?  They asked him. 

Oh! That will certainly work, he thought. Dark shadow would race ahead, because they might be weak in the sunlight, but strength didn’t matter here, speed did. Dark Shadow was very fast. So when the little machine told them to start, he didn’t move. Instead, Dark Shadow raced ahead, and crossed the finish line in almost no time. 

“3.5 seconds!” the machine said cheerfully. Fumikage walked over to them and pressed his forehead against the one they had materialized before they hid back in the safety of his wings. 

It was when he heard murmuring that he remembered that hey, not everyone knew what his actual quirk was. Sure the bird head and wings and the other bird things might make them think otherwise, but those weren’t his quirk, not really. More like unfortunate side effects. 

“Isn’t that cheating?” someone called out. 

“Tokoyami, why don’t you tell us more about your quirk?” Aizawa asked, pointedly turning towards him. There was something in the man’s eyes that scared him, some unmistakable power that rested beneath there, something undeniable. Indescribable. 

“Their name is Dark Shadow, also the name of my quirk. They are part of me. They were registered as finishing,” he said plainly. “You did not say our physical body had to cross the line.”

“That works for me,” Aizawa said, shrugging as he turned his eyes away from him. “Let’s keep going.”

His classmates kept looking at him, curious. They looked like they wanted to approach him, so he didn’t look back, beyond glances. The next test was grip strength. He took the machine and gripped it, as you do. Dark Shadow covered his hand and squeezed alongside him. Unfortunately, they must have gotten too excited because… it broke. 

He stared at the broken grip strength machine, unsure of what to do, now that it had splintered apart. Dark Shadow was out now and grinning in the shadow of his wings. 

“Dark Shadow,” he said, exasperated. “Why did you break it?” 

“I forgot how fragile human contraptions are, okay,” they whined. “Besides, it wasn’t just me.”

Of course they tried to also pin some of the blame on him. That little shit. He smiled and shook his head at Dark Shadow when he heard the breath of footsteps on the ground, he slowly looked up to see Aizawa’s thunderous expression. He swallowed, but kept his hands steady, kept his shoulders semi-relaxed and did everything he could to not immediately apologize. Usually breaking something meant twenty minutes with the cuffs on and being locked in that concrete room with its locked door mocking him and its lights that buzzed too loudly.

“Those are meant to be quirk resistant. They’re not meant to break,” he said flatly. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I will pay for a replacement,” he said, fully ready to be reprimanded, ready for something to happen. For anything to happen. There was silence, full and complete silence for a few seconds. 

“No need, this was expected to happen eventually. We can’t predict everything.” 

And he walked away as if it was alright. As if nothing had happened. Dark Shadow had shrunk in size, now coiled around his wrist, a gentle weight against his arms, something quiet and reassuring. Fumikage was pretty sure he was this close to snapping into full on panic. He wanted to tear those godforsaken gloves off and cover his arms. He did none of that, instead, gently setting down the now broken grip strength machine, and flexed his hands once, twice, three times. There was still a horrible feeling on his hands, he didn’t want them covered. His hands felt clumsy. The test went on as normal.

Until the ball throw.

Chapter Text

The ball throw in and of itself was nothing significant. They were throwing balls with their quirks. Uraraka got infinity, and everyone else performed relatively well for people using their quirks and showing off their best. Fumikage was towards the end of the line, right behind Midoriya. He had gotten most of their names through catches of conversations and Dark Shadow’s eavesdropping. 

The boy seemed ready to throw with all his might as if building up for something and if he really looked, he could see red lighting gathered around his arm. As the ball left his hand, it simply landed a normal distance of someone not using their quirk. And Aizawa looked absolutely furious. 

“I erased your quirk,” Aizawa said, and something clicked. The boogeyman of their childhood, the one person they feared more than anything, despite having never really met the man. Because the quirk cuffs could be removed and they took time to put on. They could fight back if they wanted. Eraserhead: the Erasure Hero. 

We can’t make him mad, he said to Dark Shadow. I don’t want to lose you. That means no chewing. 

For now, Dark Shadow said. It was the best he was going to get. 

There was a speech about hurting yourself, about self-incapacitation, about saving people and he did pay attention, but he was too busy thinking about the broken machine and how lucky he was. Unless retribution was coming later and this was part of it, leaving him to panic, leaving him to wonder. He wanted to spread his wings, and make himself bigger. He wanted to make loud noises right back, to show that he was not to be threatened. He did none of that because what would that say about his guardian? What would that say about how she raised him? 

Midoriya threw the ball and got a very injured finger out of it.. 

He was right , Dark Shadow commented. He didn’t incapacitate himself.

He heard muttering from behind him. He turned over and saw All Might(?). Or at least a blond, muscular man that looked like All Might in a yellow-striped suit. He noted the possible hero’s position and checked the field. It was open, too open, but at least he had Dark Shadow, and if not that, well he had his claws. That was a minuscule semblance of comfort he supposed, as the two of them stepped up to throw the ball. No part of him could leave the circle and it was decided that Dark Shadow was part of him, so they wouldn’t leave the circle. He thought of a week spent in a too-light room, a feeble creature hiding in his shadow. Of sleeplessness and training that never stopped. Of too little food for two bodies sharing one and blood and blood and blood. 

He threw, Dark Shadow twisted over his hand, their body wrapping his hand, as part of him as he was them. They were two and they were one, and there are thirteen ways of looking at the blackbird, but one way of looking at a monster. 

“894 meters,” Aizawa read dryly. He nodded and stepped out of the circle. 

The rest of the assessment passed, and no one got expelled except for some kid named Minta, who was frankly, acting creepy and gross toward those who presented or looked female in the class. But it probably had more to do with his behavior, than his ability. He was to be replaced by the next day.

He kept Dark Shadow in and couldn’t stop thinking about metal cuffs and red eyes that would never blink. 

///

They returned to the changing rooms and thanked all the gods that the daily uniform, not the sports one, was a button up. He didn’t need to go through the struggle of trying to put on a shirt like that. Changing was one of the few times that he let his wings stretch out and it felt so good, like scratching an itch you can’t reach. He kind of had to move them to get the shirt on, as they were big enough to hypothetically let him fly, which meant they were too big to normally put a shirt on. He somehow managed to not crash into anyone by sticking to the back of the locker room, towards the ends where no one really was. 

Eraserhead scares me, Dark Shadow said. I don’t want to go there.

Fumikage knew what they were talking about. The place that they went whenever his quirk was suppressed. They had said it felt like choking, it felt like being in the rooms with too bright lights and no food, it felt like death for a shadow. It hurt them as much as it hurt him. 

I don’t want you to go there either, he said. He pulled a glove off, checking his claws, before yanking it back on. They would need to be trimmed down soon, probably. In nature, he knew, birds didn’t need this because their nails had constant contact with different materials, meaning that they would wear down on their own. His nails were essentially in the state of a bird in captivity, which meant they had to be trimmed lest they become too long, too sharp, or simply sustain damage. He had learned all he could about birds and bird care when he was in junior high, considering his similarities and how little he knew about his own mutations. 

“What happened to your arm?” someone asked. He tensed up, slowly turning to see a yellow-haired boy with some sort of black symbol pattern thing in his hair. Kaminari Denki was his name, he was fairly certain. 

“I have a very nervous cat at home,” he said, lying through his teeth. Which he had, because his face was some unholy fusion of human and bird-ness. Of course, he was made for both human and avian speech which made speaking both incredibly awkward as he barely processed both. Thankfully, Dark Shadow had no vocal chords and in case of an emergency, he knew that they would at least be there. 

“That is… one scratchy cat,” Kaminari said, dubious. 

“Indeed. There is darkness in her soul,” he replied, ignoring the fact that he was sweating under his gloves. 

“Well, what’s her name?” he asked, as they started to walk out of the changing rooms, some of the last to leave. 

“Poly,” he said, still lying through his teeth, knowing full well that the scars on his arms didn’t look like cat scratches. They were too deep, too big, and too many. 

“Cool. Cool,” Kaminari said, looking very suspicious of him. Which is fair, he was very obviously lying to them, but what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? Preposterous. They walked back to their homeroom in awkward silence. He picked up his bag, black and utilitarian, except for the pin of his favorite hero, Dark Crystal pinned on a safe spot. He doubted anyone would know of them, since they were notoriously secretive and he only knew about them because of an accident. 

It was a journey to hell and back to get that pin, since he had to search on the internet for a very long time to find anyone who even knew who Dark Crystal was, much less knew what they looked like, could make pins, and were willing to sell him a pin of them. Somehow, after about three months, he had managed to find someone and get the pin. He had treasured it ever since, keeping it safe until he was out of junior high where people were more likely to take his things. He only pinned it on the new backpack he got for U-A, and even then, he was careful of where to pin it. He might genuinely cry if he lost it. The only reminder of the hero that saved his life. Saved both of their lives. 

The ribbon was red, just like the one around Dark Crystal’s neck. He flexed his hands, in and out. In and out. Rolled his shoulders. He had barely even thanked her. Guilt washed across him. He had barely realized that, caught up in his excitement of going to U-A, caught up in Dark Shadow’s joy and the lessening of something that had buried itself deep in his back. Hands tightened, opened. He promised to himself that he would thank her later. He thought of them, their pure black eyes and that bright red choker wrapped around their neck. The red fingerless gloves held his hand and led him out and away from that dark cave. 

They, who had told him that Dark Shadow, that the darkness was nothing to fear. He just hoped that he would meet Dark Crystal again, and could properly thank them for saving not only him but Dark Shadow. 

“The darkness is never your enemy, chick. Keep your flock close.”

He checked the handouts and curriculum that sat at his desk, someone must have put them there while they were doing the assessment. 

Required classes in the morning, math, English, Japanese, history, etc., and then lunch and then hero training, taught by All Might, of all people. Actually, all of their classes were taught by Pro-Heroes, which made him wonder if they had to get licenses and training and other normal teacher stuff, maybe not because they were heroes? Maybe they already got that kind of training when they learned to be heroes?

He tried his best to focus on classes, unfortunately, Dark Shadow was incredibly excited about the hero training and kept complaining about how boring the classes were. He sat through English, taught by Present Mic, who was very loud. He asked about verb conjugation and when no one replied, he shouted at them to “get the party going.” 

Fumikage wasn’t sure which party the hero was talking about, since it was a school and they were in class, but he didn’t question it. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t get bothered by any of the teachers, even when Dark Shadow poked their head out when someone said something interesting before quickly retreating the second that someone looked their way. He knew people saw Dark Shadow as scary, although they really were just a young shadow, considering it took them a few years to be even able to speak and he had to teach them. Considering that he had to teach himself to make those foreign sounds that he could force out his beak and eventually, taught Dark Shadow to do the same. 

As his guardian said, people fear monsters they don’t understand, more than the ones they do. 

Then there was lunch, with Lunch Rush cooking which, damn. They really did go all out everywhere. He already knew that, but it was still surprising to see that a majority of the staff were Pro-Heroes. How did that work? Were a majority of them heroes that patrolled at night? Rescue heroes maybe? But then he thought about All Might, who was supposed to be teaching Hero training. Surely the hero was too busy to teach a bunch of stronger-than-average high schoolers? He wasn’t sure. They knew what they were doing, he supposed. He bought food with the money his guardian had given him in the morning. It was equal to about 2,000 yen. To be used for lunch and nothing else said in a tone that threatened that he better not waste her money. Not that he would ever do something like that. That would be downright disrespectful. It would be enough, looking at the prices. 

He got his food, with Dark Shadow’s input, considering that he didn’t have much of an appetite and also didn’t have anything he particularly wanted to eat. Normally, he just ate what his guardian made or what was served at school, but here there was choice and he really didn’t want to make a choice. 

As an afterthought, he got an apple. 

///

So, hero training. With All Might. He appeared to be incredibly enthusiastic about teaching, and while he was loud, he seemed kind. Which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Is the no.1 hero in the country being nice? Unspeakable, he thought sarcastically. Of course All Might wasn’t going to be a complete ass, heroes got where they were for a reason. For example, All Might’s reason was that not only was he incredibly strong, but showed empathy and genuine understanding with the people he saved. He was almost certain Aizawa got away with it because he was an underground hero and didn’t have to pretend. 

But it didn’t seem like a facade with All Might. He seemed to genuinely care, so there was that. As they were randomly paired up, he was put with Asui. 

“Greetings, Asui, it appears we are a team,” he said to her, figuring it would be good to introduce himself and Dark Shadow, just in case. 

“Call me Tsuyu, kero ,” she said, smiling at him. “Do you think we’ll be heroes or villains?”

“I’m not sure, but we’ll find out, I suppose. I ask that you consider Dark Shadow as a part of our team, rather than my quirk,” he said, because if they were going to work together, he couldn’t have surprises with his teammate. Transparency was important when working with someone, and Dark Shadow was separate from him so he might as well explain that. 

She nodded, before considering. 

“Will Dark Shadow be helping us strategize then?” she asked, 

Dark Shadow popped out.

“Fumi?” they asked. He nodded, it was only fair, for them to have been denied so much freedom, and to take away that much from them. After all, he was fairly certain that they wanted to be a hero more than he did. 

“We will watch the match from the monitoring room. The villains have five minutes to prepare before the heroes enter the building,” All Might said, having already explained the objective and rules of the training exercise. He walked off, leaving Bakugou, Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya to prepare. The class followed, Dark Shadow, Tsuyu and himself walking together. His cloak swished as they walked to the monitoring room, something that the two of them had included as a way to provide Dark Shadow cover during the day. It hung a little awkwardly over his wings, but it wasn’t like he used them anyway, so it didn’t really matter if they were covered or not. But better covered, he supposed. The first match was… certainly something. 

Each match was analyzed, and the flaws and successes were pointed out equally, until it was their turn. They were the heroes, and as he looked at the building, he realized it was dark, which put him and Dark Shadow at an advantage. They were against Kirishima and Sero. 

“The goal is to get the weapon or apprehend the two. We probably want to avoid as much destruction as possible,” he said, Tsuyu nodding along. 

“Sero-kun is at an advantage here, since his quirk is Tape, he’ll be able to set up traps, we’ll need to be careful. Kirishima-kun’s quirk is Hardening, so he’ll probably be guarding,” she tilted her head. “I’ll go ahead since I can move faster, and clear the way for you and Dark Shadow to do the physical fighting?” 

It was a good plan, open enough for improvisation, and Dark Shadow agreed. 

“That sounds like a favorable plan. Dark Shadow is stronger in the dark, and I’ll only slow you down if I go with you with my wings, we’ll watch your back,” he said. 

He checked his belt for the flashlight he had requested to be in the costume, just in case. There was no telling what would happen in his first battle against someone who wasn’t a trained Pro-Hero, especially when it was dark. Better to be safe than sorry. 

There was a quiet beeping sound from Tsuyu’s watch, marking five minutes, and they entered the building. He let Dark Shadow out and they seemed to unfurl, becoming larger and they followed Tsuyu through the building, whose layout they had been looking at just a moment earlier. The first floor was cleared by Tsuyu and then they climbed up the stairs, Dark Shadow and himself listening for sounds, looking through the dark with their heightened eyesight for flickers and any obvious flashes of the white tape-like substance that Sero produced from his elbows. 

Presumably, Tsuyu was doing the same, scanning the building. She didn’t seem remotely affected by the darkness. She stopped suddenly, head turning back and forth until she zeroed in on something that he couldn’t see. 

“Villains down the hall, get ready, kero,” she said, voice calm and level. She was hunched over, legs planted on the ground, ready to leap. They switched positions, him in front of her with Dark Shadow above, protecting them from anyone that might want to come down from the ceiling. And true to her word, a line of white tape flew past them, touching the ceiling and they only had a second to prepare before Sero came flying past. He landed behind them, and there were running heavy footsteps and Kirishima appeared in front of them. He trusted Tsuyu to hold her own, she had gotten in normally after all and had scored relatively high. He focused on Kirishima. 

Kirishima lunged towards him, hand already hardened into a rocklike structure. He ducked down, ramming his forearm into his unhardened side, under the arm, before ramming a fist into his throat. The other boy choked, coughing as his airways were temporarily cut off. With him temporarily distracted, he asked Dark Shadow to check on Tsuyu. 

Fighting via avoidance, they’re at a stalemate.

He nodded at Dark Shadow’s metal relay as he considered his options. He had about two seconds until Kirishima was recovered and back to fighting, and if they were at a stalemate, he made a decision. Shoving Kirishima aside, he sent Dark Shadow ahead to scout out where the missile was. Tape flashed past his head, above him and he heard thundering footsteps behind him. He couldn’t outrun Sero, but his plan had succeeded, Dark Shadow racing back to him, unconfined by such things as space and time. 

He barely missed a kick to the head as Sero swung above him. He let Dark Shadow grow bigger and bigger, when there was a strong pain in his ribs, he was hit. Dark Shadow surged forward, throwing Kirishima off of him.

“Down the hall, two doors down!” he shouted at Tsuyu, focusing on keeping Sero and Kirishima occupied and away from chasing Tsuyu. Him and Dark Shadow blocked the hall, sliding past Sero. He let his wings flare up, physically blocking the doorway and it felt so good to stretch them out. But that was secondary. 

Dark Shadow and he fought like second nature, they were one after all. There was only hesitation when Fumikage had to use his wings, each time thinking fuck it . It was almost too easy. 

Soon, he had Sero pinned down with Kirishima held in Dark Shadow’s grip; they had grown to fill the hallway. There were some cracks on the wall, but the building seemed secure. There was a loud beeping, announcing the end of the match. He let Sero and Krishima go, holding out a hand to Sero to help him up, which was thankfully accepted. 

He hoped that the two didn’t decide to hate him because he beat them. 

They waited in the hallway for Tsuyu to join them.

“Dude, that was so manly!” Kirishima shouted, clearly enthused. 

“Yeah! That was cool, your quirk is pretty powerful,” Sero said, much more calmly. 

“Thank you, we are flattered. You both fought well. And thank you, Tsuyu, for being a wonderful teammate,” he said. Dark Shadow didn’t want to go back in, clearly reveling in the darkness and power. He let them. 

“Thank you, with your plan, we completed both objectives, kero. Thank you, Dark Shadow, for finding the room for me,” she said. He grinned internally. 

“Aww, thanks! Anytime!” Dark Shadow said, enthused at being addressed. They seemed to perk up, eyes becoming a little brighter and the sharp feathery shapes of their head softening.

I like her, we should become friends with her, they said to him mentally. 

I agree. She would be a favorable ally, he said. And a good friend, he thought, but didn’t relay. The four of them walked out towards the exit of the building. 

“Tokoyami-kun?” Tsuyu asked as they stepped out to the light.

“Hm?” he replied. 

“Why don’t you use your wings more?” she asked and his heart stuttered. “Like I use my tongue a lot, I know you have Dark Shadow, but wouldn’t it be helpful to use your wings as well?” 

“Well…” he started. And Tsuyu looked at him, no judgment evident in her eyes, nothing but curiosity and kindness. The other two were also looking at him, as though they had the same question. 

“I’m not allowed to use them,” he whispered, voice rustling over gravel, a dry leaf crumbling in the wind. 

“Why not? Doesn’t that put you at a huge disadvantage?” Sero asked, and there was still no judgment in any of them. Not in their bodies or eyes or voices. 

“I’m just not,” he said, in a tone that hopefully told them to drop the matter. They were quiet for the rest of the walk back, blessedly. 

As they entered the monitoring room, the four of them were all congratulated by All Might for their ability to take advantage of their strengths, weaknesses, and teamwork. Three of the students had been excused from the exercise since there wasn’t a perfect twenty, and it had been mentioned that once they had gotten their new student that was supposed to come the next day, the three of them would be doing the exercise as well. 

So it was Aoyama and Ashido vs. Sato and Koda. He was interested in seeing how it went since Aoyama and Ashido had harmful quirks that they would struggle to use against their classmates. Meanwhile, Sato had a time-based quirk, since his sugar boost would only last a certain amount of time, and Koda, well there were lots of ways to utilize his quirk, considering that they had to be mice and bugs everywhere, with how big the combat simulations zones were. 

Something stayed in his mind. 

“Wouldn’t that put you at a huge disadvantage?”

Aoyama and Ashido were going ahead, clearly unaware of the army of mice that were reporting back to Koda. As the two approached the room, he watched, raptured by what exactly their plan was in taking the weapon, since unless they relied on only physical combat, capturing their opponents would be difficult. Koda, who he had found to be a timid and quiet person, showed clear attributes of a hero, his gaze stealing as he seemed to direct the mice to confuse the other two while avoiding the path of Sato. It was a clever ploy, while Sato, charged up with sugar, protected the weapon. And clearly, Ashido and Aoyama were aware of the disadvantage they were at. 

However, Aoyama, for all his flashiness, was clearly more agile than he seemed, dodging the attacks and reaching the weapon, blasting a hole in it with his laser. Which… worked, he supposed. As he watched Aoyama recover from his stomach ache from his quirk. The only other person in their class to experience such consequences from such short and small usage of their quirk was Midoriya. Even Uraraka could use her quirk for a sizable amount of time before experiencing the drawbacks. 

Quirk exposure training existed for children who had harmful quirks so that they could actually use them without harming themselves. Which he supposed would have been unnecessary for the two since they could simply choose to not use their quirks, but they were in the hero course, which meant surely they expected to use their quirks if they had them. He supposed it wasn’t necessary to have a quirk to get into the hero course. 

So yes, it was strange, but not as strange as his situation he supposed, a bird who cannot fly and a spirit that is never free. 

They discussed the battle, All Might taking notes. Yaoyozoru mentioned that Ashido and Aoyama were also taking advantage of the fact that it was training, which he was fairly certain was a good thing. After all, didn’t you want to take advantage of everything you have?

“ Why don’t you use your wings more?”

They gathered in the monitoring room, and All Might went over their general performance. 

“You all did well, on your first test. You worked together quickly and understood the assignment, taking advantage of your opponent's limitations and your own strengths. There were no major injuries aside from young Midoriya and a limited amount of damage to the buildings, aside from the first matchup. Now I GOTTA RUN,” he shouted towards the end and rushed off, down the hall. Sort of just… leaving them in the simulation building. 

“Are all the teachers this irresponsible?” Shoji wondered out loud. 

He shrugged. 

There were no teachers which meant no one could report back to his guardian. He let Dark Shadow out. 

They immediately flew toward Tsuyu, and he chased after them. They bonked their head gently against hers, clearly having lost all sense of decorum and control. 

“Dark Shadow!” he said, mortified. “I apologize, they get excited sometimes, and they can be a bit immature.”

He pointedly stared at them.

“It’s alright, I have lots of siblings, I know how they get,” she said, looking at him with understanding. 

“Dark Shadow is still young, they don’t know how to behave yet,” he said, still staring at them. 

Apologize, he told them, thoroughly embarrassed. 

Ugh, fineee, they whined. 

“I’m sorry, but Fumi and I really like you and want you to be our friend and Fumi hasn’t had any friends other than me so would you be our friend?” they asked so quickly that he barely caught it. Why did they insist on being a menace? 

“Dark Shadow,” he growled, mentally yanking on their tether until they returned to be at least closer to him, and not so much in her space. 

He knew that he couldn’t completely reign them back in, not at this point, but at least he could stop them from being even more annoying (physically that is. They’re plenty annoying without contact (affectionate)). 

“I’d like to be your friend too if you’ll let me,” she said softly. Their classmates were talking among themselves, as they began the walk back to the building to get changed back into their uniform. 

“I’m not very good at this, but of course. Dark Shadow does too,” he said. He lived in the dark, was the dark, but maybe, he could let some of the light in. Was this how you made friends? Dark Shadow didn’t hesitate and seemed confident and they were generally better at this socializing thing than he was, so he hoped so. 

She smiled and he wished he could smile back.

Chapter Text

There was a gentleness to the horror that was having two minds within one, Fumikage figured, and there is a gentleness to being hated, scorned. To be a monster that does not hunt. These are the thoughts that went through his mind as he walked home. There is a question about the existence of him. A bird that cannot fly, a trapped shadow, a darkness kept in the light. He wonders if he should just be let go insane. 

Those inane things, the holding of your chopsticks and nail trimmings become something bigger when given those old superstitions. Don’t you want to be there when your parents die? Child, heartless, monster. He thinks, if he were to carve out his mind, would it be the virtue of his physical existence that made him a monster? If it were any other time, would he be hunted? ( Take a step, carefully, be quieter than you would be, don’t let your claws scratch the floor, keep yourself dull, do not be a danger.)

(But be a weapon, listen and follow and do not think, because good weapons do not think and even the sharpest blade needs a sheath because you are a weapon and a monster because there is not only one mind, but two hidden in there and there is nothing left for you to be.) 

Why do you want to be a hero?

Take a step. 

Boots against concrete, pay attention to your surroundings. 

Take a step. 

Be something you don’t want to be, hide away that mind of yours, stay average do not be special, you will never be special, keep your wings tightly hidden, be normal, be understood, no one likes a monster that they can’t understand, do you see?

Take a step.

And a step and a step and a step. 

He doesn’t realize where he is until he blinks himself back into existence and subsequently wants to scream. He is the infinity and the emptiness between the clapping and its pauses. He is the breath between sinking and drowning, he is desperation, whole and unfiltered.

There isn’t blood on the floor anymore, but the shadows are just as strong, in the receding light. He can still smell the vomit, the bleeding and raging and he remembers. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He remembers, always remembers and always the wrong things. 

He takes a step, harsh sounds against the asphalt, the sounds of fabric against fabric. Rustling, the wind blows the leaves into each other, the trees stand tall and gentle. He stops. 

He remembers and doesn’t, knows the feeling of long scratches down his hip, the stones becoming cubes, he is found, starving and dying by a hero that, from the kindness of her heart, takes an orphan home and vows to fix him. 

She forgets that he is not the only one that is there. And do you think you could really handle more? That you could really handle freedom?

He shakes his head. He wants to turn, wants to leave, his feet are frozen to the ground. Dark Shadow is whispering in his mind, telling him to leave. 

The place isn’t anything special. The underside of a bridge, its walls lined with brick and a river rushing past the retaining walls. There are concrete steps leading down towards the water on the side of the sidewalk. The river runs quietly, splashing against the stones and mud and grasses that grow and live and settle by its surface. He used to read about yokai, and remembers the kappa. When he used to sleep by the river bed, curled up with nothing but underdeveloped wings and a body too small for a six-year-old, he would wonder if they would come and snatch him in his sleep. Make him fight, or drown him deep into its depths, hold him down by the neck and make him breathe water. Wouldn’t it be funny? A bird grounded in death, before it could ever fly? 

A crow caws from the distance and somehow, that is what breaks him from his stupor. He lurches forward, wings flaring out to not fall into the river. He breathed, slowly, heart beating like footsteps in his chest. His bones were so cold, he was so cold. He turns around, slowly too, and walks away, the gentle promise of something whispering on the back of his neck. 

///

Shota sat in the teachers lounge, looking over the files of his students. Admittedly, he should have done that before school began, but he didn’t. Which was his problem but too late to change what he hadn’t done, so here he was, doing it now. He started with the students that had been let in on recommendation in his class. Todoroki Shouto, Yayozoru Momo. and Tokoyami Fumikage. Todoroki and Yayozoru were relatively well known, born and raised in influential families, Tokoyami however, was odd. His guardian was the pro-hero Poly: the Geometric Hero, civilian name being Nakamura Ayashi. She was popular in her time, before she retired, and it appeared that Tokoyami was adopted soon after with almost no record of any biological parents or relatives.  He looked at the papers that they had submitted to the school.

A physical evaluation, a quirk evaluation, a psychological evaluation, the last one catching his attention. He didn’t know much about his student’s quirk, besides the fact that it was some sort of shadowy manifestation that worked as an extension of him. That’s what was said in the files, at least, but something felt off. The kid seemed a bit too light for his height, had relatively okay grades, and ultimately there was nothing concerning in the files. But in person it was a slightly different story. He had long scars running up and down his arms, far too deep to be some sort of accident. That wasn’t mentioning the wings. He didn’t know his student well enough to determine anything and chose to pay attention to Tokoyami, and moved on. 

Next was Ashido Mina…

///

He enters the house quietly, feathers rustling against each other and changes into his house shoes. Something crawls beneath his skin, up and down his arms, along the vertebrae of his spine, the smaller bones at the joints of his wings. He is built of structures, his teeth are those of his ancestors, and he hasn’t figured out how yet, but he doubts he ever will. Did it even matter? 

( And you are a remnant of the gods who wished not to exist, can you live with that?)

He enters an empty house, his feet making the slightest of vibrations against the ground. His heart pounds in his chest, rabbit-quick. Blood rushes to his head, behind his ears, it feels. Black lines swim across his vision, it flickers back and forth, a tv screen with a bad connection. He takes a careful step forward, head tilted, as if it would help him ear. 

His guardian is almost always home when he gets home from school, usually to tell him off after the teachers called for a reason or another and lock him away and-

The point isn’t that, the point is that she isn’t home when she should be and no matter how there is a slight shake to his hands when she is there or how his stomach drops when he hears the rustling of her hands across the walls. 

Well, standing there isn’t going to do anything, isn’t going to answer his questions. He squares his shoulders and begins looking. 

The home that they live in is small, with a medium sized yard, lined with potted plants and a stone brick ground. It feels empty, even when his guardian has her friends over, the sounds of their laughter ringing by the walls, it feels unlived. It feels like a ghost of something that never was, like unused potential. 

He looks through the first and only floor, nothing. He even checks her room, knocking on the door gently, no response. There isn’t much to the house too, a kitchen, their rooms, a bathroom, and a room with tatami flooring, a television, and the table that they eat at. Emptiness. He goes out to the yard, stares at the shed. It looks normal, like any other shed, a padlocked door. He stares at it, rocking back and forth on his heels. He draws closer, raising a fist to knock. 

Shoving, tight hands wrapped around his wrists, he should fight, he should leave, he can live on his own, he knows how. He thrashes, wings straining against the ropes, cold metal cuffs. He is pushed, a hard shove on his shoulders, he stumbles back, the door is slammed shut. There is nothing but lights and concrete and cold and silence. He claws at the door, he wants to scream, and he does. One of his talons cracks against the unyielding concrete. 

His knuckles brush against the door, a whisper of a touch, and he pulls back, as though burned. She wouldn’t be there anyway, surely. A shudder pulled its way up his spine, as he turned his back to the shed, wings fluttering and nervous clicking stuck in the back of his throat. He enters the empty house once again, silence. 

His steps echo too loudly, and for once, his mind and those within it, are quiet.

///

The dirt watches, spirits imbued within it, broken down matter, everything is a corpse in one way or another. And if there are bones, there will always be stone, and there, right there, live mountains older than flesh. 

There is a faint laugh in the wind behind the sky, the kind that brushes above knuckles, carries sand and seeds away from their birthplace. The grasses form long lines down the fields, less manicured, more like something that grew from the dead. Once upon a time, the world died and lived and died again, and then something changed. A glowing child, a rebirth, a new era. 

They called them Quirks, made themselves into heroes and villains, and ultimately, isn’t it all a self fulfilling prophecy, in the way that humans have made themselves conception, built their own prisons. There are roots, digging their way into skin, cracking the bones apart. A woman falls into earth, less a body and more dust, a five fingered grip on the back of her shoulder. 

Some wind carries her remains away, but her head remains. A message, thinks the man abandoned by the world, skin cracked and blue. They need to learn, need to hear. 

The man stares down at the woman, all that is left is her head, features contorted in pain. He knows that her eyes are cruel, what she has in her home. He has been watching after all, he knows of the little black bird with bleeding arms. As he drops the head in a now empty backyard, he knows he must wait, just a little bit longer. 

///

Hawks had received a call to visit a retired hero in Musutafu from the Commision. He was to keep tabs on the kid there, apparently. He didn’t take Nakamura Ayashi as the parental type, from what he knew about the underground hero, but who knows. All he was supposed to do was get the contact information of Nakamura and occasionally get updates on the kid. It was definitely suspicious, considering what happened to him, but it wasn’t like he could say no, could he? 

He touched down in an abandoned lot near the address he was given, humming lightly. He glances at the houses around him, making sure he’s in the right place. He walked towards the address, noting that the streets were empty. Then he looked at his watch. Ah, it was one AM, that would definitely explain things. He doubted anyone would be awake at the time, but he might as well look at the house. 

It was relatively small, with a walled in yard and he expects silence because what maniac is awake at one AM when he hears labored breathing, choked back cries and a whispering voice that feels like static in the yard. He does a quick walk around the house to see if whoever is there is outside of the wall, but it’s clear to his sensitive ears that the sounds are from in the yard. He knows it’s maybe not the best choice he’s ever made, but being a public hero definitely gives him a lot of freedoms that most people don’t have so he makes quick work of the wall, climbing up and jumping down in almost silent movements, save for the slight rustling of his wings. His eyes, better than most, find the kid easily, curled up on the ground, a big pair of black wings wrapped around him. He’s breathing heavily, and there's something else whispering in that same static. A pair of glowing yellow eyes turn towards him, but he can’t see the body of whatever it is, but there is a darkness, blacker than black, all consuming and it feels like he’s staring into the void.

“Who are you?” the same static voice says, a clear edge to their voice. They position themselves in front of the kid and seem to get bigger. The eyes rise higher and he feels it, down to the beating of his heart, that this is something other. It’s dangerous the way the wolf is to the rabbit. It’s dangerous the way that old icebergs are, creaking and snapping and primordial. But he is a professional, and he has long since learned to hide who he is, what he is. His instinct has long since been cut out. 

He gives a smile, taking care to keep his teeth hidden, to stay open and harmless, even as he tenses, ready to fight. 

“I’m Hawks,” he says softly. “I mean no harm.”

He moves forward slowly, clearly telegraphing his footsteps. The kid looks up, and a pair of red eyes flash, staring into him. A yellow beak and black feathers and he sees long scars crawling up and down the kid’s pale arms. There is a clear line of tension in the kid's shoulders until he takes in Hawks and suddenly he slumps, as if some puppeteer cut his string. They keep staring at one another for a long time though, until the kid shifts away, revealing a head. 

He goes completely still, something predatory twisting in his gut. He listens and looks and feels the wind for anything off when he smells it. Decay and rot and dust. There is no blood. He goes forward, slowly, because he knows himself and he can feel the thing with yellow eyes is both a predator and desperate and any cornered animal will bite. He crouches down next to the kid, shuts off the part of his brain that is Takami Keigo and lets himself be clinical. Detached. Even though its dark, he sees well enough, and he can take a guess that the kid can too. A part of him notes that he didn’t actually get the name of the kid in the file he got, but that’s for later. He examines the head and it’s clearly Nakamura, the cube pattern that lines her cheekbones are unmistakable. Her face is twisted into agony and he wonders how long the kid was here, alone in the dark with a head left by an unknown force. 

“I’m going to call the police, alright kid? They’ll handle this. I’ll stay with you until they come,” he says, and leaves no room for argument because there is clearly a danger. 

“Okay,” the kid croaks out, hands wrapping around his shoulders. The shifting of his jacket, as he pulls out his phone from the inside project, the slight tapping of the tips of his gloves against the screen, feathers against each other. Breathing. 

“Hello, this is Pro-hero Hawks requesting CSI support at the third city block, building four. Please bring social services,” he said, quietly against the pressing silence that wasn’t really silence. Crickets sang and there was a slight wind rustling the leaves of the trees. The kid finally stands up and he notices that he’s wearing a tank top and it’s cold. There are a pair of gloves that resemble his own, thick leather like a falconer’s gloves. And it is at that moment that he realized the thing with yellow eyes is attached to the kid, the same darkness coming from his stomach, phasing through the shirt. They’re still standing in relative darkness, as dark as a city block can be, and there is a lack of words that feels like pressure on his ears. The kid starts to shiver and he tenses up, those big black wings drawing painfully tight to his body ( like he was trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide from something inevitable, but you can’t run, not really) and he goes slack again, but there’s a tightness that wasn’t there before, a slight click of a beak, and he wonders how much self control it takes to stop yourself from shivering. How much did it take to suppress the body’s natural reaction, and knows the answer all to well. 

“You look cold,” he says, pulling off his jacket. He’s a head taller than the kid, and a fair bit broader, so fitting shouldn’t be a problem. “Thank you,” the kid says, voice empty and wrung out and just so tired. He doesn’t bother to put it on, just drapes it over his wings and lets it fall around him like a cloak. The coat, which was made to be baggy in the first place, swamps the kid’s shoulders, which he noted were thin, almost frail. With how his bones jutted from his skin and so pale too, Hawks can’t help but to think that the kid is something fragile. He also can’t ignore that there is undeniable power roiling under his skin. The yellow eyed being had disappeared, but he still felt its presence. If he went to where it had been, he wonders if the air would be cold, or simply feel empty and devoid. But he also knows that this is a scared kid who was faced with something that no one could really expect and it’s not as much of a juxtaposition as one might think. The police arrive and he lets them handle it, staying long enough to be put down as a contact in case there is an issue and to get his coat back. He flies away silently and leaves the flashing lights behind. The night wind digs into the nape of his neck and it feels like condemnation.

Chapter Text

The police come and an ambulance comes and a soft blue blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. Fumikage is vaguely aware of the flashing lights and there are voices talking behind the ringing in his ears. He wonders why he didn’t call the police earlier. There was a phone in the house and even if there wasn’t, he knew the password to the computer. The weight of decay gathered on the ground, like a heavy fog, and part of his brain still registers danger, but he can’t do anything but stare at the patch of ground where her head was. There wasn’t even a body. There wasn’t even a body and how were they going to hold a funeral when there was no body to cremate. And god the funeral, he didn’t have the money for a funeral, but presumably she did, and what happened to him? His guardian didn’t have any family she was close enough for him to go to, and if he went away, he wouldn’t be in school anymore, and no matter what anyone said, it wasn’t for him, not really. It was for Dark Shadow, and he knew there were other hero schools, but U-A had provisional license testing for even the first years and it was the fastest program. Although he supposed, he didn’t ask to go to U-A. It was more of an incredible stroke of luck. 

Someone is talking to him, voice gentle and soft, and they guide him to the open back of the ambulance. He can feel their warmth next to him, but he doesn’t see them, not really. He just stares forward, eyes catching people and faces and he doesn’t recognize any of them when he hears Dark Shadow.

“Fumi, it’s okay. You’re safe,” and they’re a comforting weight on his shoulders and with a moment of panic, he realizes that they’re out in the open, visible and there. He tries to say something in response, but the words tangle in the back of his throat and he can’t breathe, there’s a crushing force on his chest and there are so many people and it’s so, so bright and she’s dead and he’s alone again. He doesn’t want to got back to curling up under bridges and in boxes, he doesn’t want to feel his ribs hollow out and he remembers the sickness, it hurt so much and no one was coming and he was all alone.

Alone, alone alone alone, it was just him and Dark Shadow and they couldn’t rely on anyone else, and it felt like something snapped inside of him and someone was screaming and shouting like some wild animal and he felt the soreness of his throat and thought it might be him. It was completely dark now, except for a pair of yellow glowing eyes and clawed shadowy arms wrapped around him. He fell to his knees, hitting the hard ground, and his hands clawed at his shoulders, and his wings ached so much and he heard shouting and it wasn’t from him this time, but he was still screaming and sobbing and his eyes burned and his face burned and all he felt was desperation. 

( A predator, something deep and primal screamed, you are a predator, and you know to fight. You are built to hunt and kill and if you wish to claw across someone’s face, do so and live, because the runt of the litter learns to die, but the cornered mouse will kill. )

There was only darkness and rage and something that snapped in the line between his shoulder blades. He could feel blood on his fingertips, and he vaguely registered that he was getting blood on his shirt. Then silence, there was nothing. No weight, no Dark Shadow, nothing.  

There was an animal somewhere, raging and something was going to die and it hurt so, so much. Wind blew and the gouges in his shoulders stung. There are hands on his wrists and shoulders he thrashed. 

Something snapped around his wrists, kept them together and there was the cloying silence in his mind, and all he saw was his guardian, cold eyes. 

“Two more hours,” she said, and closed the door. He didn’t know what he did wrong, the ground was rough and he was cold and he didn’t know what he did. He was scared. Where did Dark Shadow go? His heart. His heart was fast, too fast, he was going to die. He couldn’t breathe and it hurt. It hurt so much. Would Dark Shadow be lonely if he died? Would Dark Shadow die? He couldn’t see, it was too dark, too bright, it hurt and hurt and hurt. His hands were sticky and he could feel his spine poking through his skin, it was growing out of control. His bones would tear apart the layers of skin and feathers holding all his organs in and they would spill out. His eyes would fall out and he couldn’t see, they were squishy and too soft and he wondered if his death would let him fly. 

No. 

He didn’t deserve a heaven, monster monster weapon you do not deserve. Why would he get what he wanted when all he did was hurt and take and be selfish. Horrible, how dare he be scared, when it was his fault. He didn’t deserve to be happy, he didn’t deserve to feel, monsters don’t feel after all.

Something slipped deep into his throat, tasting like stardust and final silence. 

I’m sorry, he thought, and slipped down into the pools of blood and organs and shadow. 

///

Nemuri often got calls for subduing and capturing villains, considering her quirk, capable of easily putting someone to sleep, so getting one such call was unsurprising. What was surprising however, was that the call was not for a villain. She was told to reduce damage, as she made her way to the scene, met with a swirling mass of shadow and a group of police officers and an ambulance crowded a distance away. It didn’t seem to be causing damage, but there was an officer with deep gouges in his chest, being treated by an EMT. Provoked, maybe? 

“What is it?” she demanded the moment she got close to one of the officers. 

“A teenage boy with some kind of shadow quirk and a mutation. Isn’t attacking anyone, but will cause harm to anyone who gets too close, as you can see with Sato-san,” the officer reported, eyes darting nervously. He’s cute, freckled face and wide eyes, but now is not the time for flirting, for keeping her persona, because a blood-curdling scream came from the shadowy mass, and she was on alert, whipping towards it. 

“Someone else is in there?” she hissed, eyes narrowed. Her hand rested on her forearm, ready to tear the fabric. 

“No, there shouldn’t be. Just the kid,” he said. 

“Any known weaknesses?” she asked. She didn’t get where she was by jumping into something blindly. No matter what anyone said, she was a professional. She had a public persona, but it was also her job. 

“Light, I think, hurts the shadow. We don’t have any bright enough, we’ve sent out a message, we can’t get close enough to get any kind of quirk suppressant on him,” he said, as a groan of pain came from the ambulance. Sato, she noted blankly. 

“I’ll try to get close and release some gas, get the rest of your group ready to restrain,” she commanded, pushing off the ground, a shadowy hand slammed down as she shifted to the side, pulling the fabric of her suit off, pink gas already spilling out. She felt the shifts of the air around her, as familiar as the sedatives in her lungs, and forced herself forward. She just had to get whoever’s quirk this was to breathe it in. 

Large yellow eyes stared at her, and she could feel the anger and the hatred lying over her skin. It shook something in her soul, but there was no time for hesitation. She moved, danced around shadow claws and screaming. She hears sobbing, quiet, but there underneath the writhing mass of anger. She inhaled sharply and dove into the shadow, saturating the air with gas, and she heard a slight thump, wincing. The shadows didn’t subside. She was close to the source now, but they weren’t stopping. There was no choice. She carried quirk suppressing cuffs on her, like any reasonable hero, although it also helped add to her theme. She didn’t get this far as a hero with just her quirk, no matter what anyone said. She wore heels originally because it forced her to learn balance, to be quick and sure of her steps. It became second nature now, as she saw flashes of pale skin through the shadows. She shoved off the ground, snapped the cuffs around a limp wrist, and there was sudden silence.

She breathed, slightly labored, but her breaths remained even. She pulled the wrappings she kept in a pouch for these situations out, covering her arm. She got a good look at the kid, and realized that this was a student she had seen recently at U-A. One of the new kids. A pair of wings splayed underneath him, blood dripped from his shoulders, saturated his hands. There were a pair of sharp talons with scaly skin. Even asleep, something akin to sobbing came from him, sounding closer to a dying animal. She gently picked him, carrying him to the ambulance. 

“Medical treatment, and for now a quirk suppressant is probably for the best. Keep me updated,” she said sharply. The officers nodded in assent as she placed the kid down at the ambulance. They left, and she went to check the scene. 

Her heels made quiet clicking noises on the concrete, as she walked around the area. There was a house there, but it was not destroyed, tiles and plasters torn apart. There was a shed too, that was, oddly enough, untouched. While the house was fully destroyed, the closest thing to damage were the gouge marks on the ground around it. It was clear that the damage was confined to the house and the ground it was on. There were people who had left their homes, were standing outside now, gaping at the destruction, but she paid them no mind. There were no casualties, it seemed, except for the police officer and the kid himself. She opened the door to the shed, expecting some gardening tools, or maybe storage for old furniture. Instead, it was a concrete box, a metal drain in the center, with bits of red staining it. She felt faintly sick. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was seriously wrong. 

///

When Shota wakes up to a call at two in the morning, he knows that nothing good will come of it. Hizashi wakes up too, squinting at his phone. Shota looks at his phone and sees the number. It was the police. He frowned as he answered the phone. 

“Hello, is this Eraserhead?” someone asked on the other side of the phone. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“What is believed to be one of your students is in our custody currently. He is currently sedated at the hospital, so we need you to come in for proof of identity.” they said.

What. 

His eyes suddenly got much clearer as he bolted upright. 

“I will be there as soon as possible,” he said, keeping his voice level. 

Was one of his students a villain? Did he miss something, was U-A compromised? 

“What was it?” Hizashi asked. 

“I’m not sure yet, I need to go to the hospital, something happened,” he said. 

“The hospital?”

“Don’t wait for me, I’m sure I’ll be back,” he said, pulling on a coat. He wrapped his scarf around his shoulders. 

He grabbed the keys from next to the little bowl that Hizashi put by their door for their keys but neither of them managed to use it. He wrapped his capture weapon around his shoulders, locking the door behind him. 

The night was far from silent, but all he could hear were his breaths, slow and quiet. 

///

He knew this dream like he knew his hands, all scaly flesh, not quite skin but not not skin either. It begins like this, he is in a glass box and he bangs against its walls and screams and screams and no one responds. He scratches at the walls with his talons but they leave no mark. He goes and goes until his throat is burning and his hands are bloody and he falls to the ground. Something settles on his chest, heavier than the world, he wonders if he is Atlas or Sisphisus, an endless task, and he feels it dig into his chest, cracking each rib one by one. 

It doesn’t quite hurt, he thinks, as he watches the cracked ribs stick out of his chest, they drip black blood and he can’t move. It's dark, all so dark and he loses control. Something bursts from his caved in chest, and it’s not familiar. Not the silent coolness of Dark Shadow, always a comfort, because they’re never there in his dreams. It’s painful and it wants to end him, he just knows. He knows how he knows that he’s wrong and how his wings are unnatural and how he flinches at bright lights and tries to hide from loud sounds. It’s malice placed into his chest, an implanted heart, because what makes someone a human? He’s not one, he’s a monster, just a little horrible monster undeserving of something as silly as a hug. He doesn’t deserve, he doesn’t deserve, he doesn’t deserve, even if he wants. He can’t hear her voice, but he feels her gaze. She’s disappointed in him, he doesn’t know where she is or how he knows, but he does. The thing yanks something that feels like fingers deep in between his joints and pulls, but it can’t unthread him, little puppet he is. It pulls and pulls and all he can do is scream. 

He can hear her sighing. He doesn’t know what he did this time.

“I’m trying,” he screams, but the thing absorbs his voice as it absorbs his blood and he can feel something red and silver and slight slither out from his collarbone and he thinks he will die here.

“I’m sorry,” he screams and knows there is no absolution.  Eyes stare at him down, angry and vengeful, and he cannot stay. He tries to move, flaps his wings and hears them beat against the wind. He claws at the air and stays in place. It’s not Dark Shadow, the thing from his chest. It’s angry and it’s chaos, he is breathing glass shards. 

Eat your tongue, little monster. Choke and die. I promise it will hurt, he can feel the thing in all its cyanide gas and bitter almond anger. It hates him, it hates the world. It hates so much and he can’t get away, please let him get away he doesn’t want to die he wants to leave be free-

He wakes up. 

Chapter Text

Police Report of Quirk Related Incident in Shizuoka Prefecture

Date: 21/4/2118

Time: 4:30 PM

Casualties

Officer Sato Akihito

Nakamura Ayashi (deceased)

Tokoyami Fumikage

Report Summary

At approximately 1:15 AM, Pro-Hero Hawks reported finding the head of Nakamura Ayashi, more commonly known as the Pro-Hero Poly: The Geometric Hero. Nakamura had been retired for ten years, evidence of correspondence with the Public Safety Commision has been found. A body has yet to be found. When police and ambulance arrived at the scene, Tokoyami Fumikage, adopted son of Nakamura, was standing in the backyard of the home with Pro-Hero Hawks. 

Tokoyami was guided to the ambulance by Officer Sato Akihito, when he was enveloped in a dark shadow, assumed to be his primary quirk. The shadow attacked Officer Sato, creating three deep lacerations in his chest. These injuries were nonlethal. Then Tokoyami was enveloped in the shadow and moved away from the ambulance. The shadow grew in size and showed aggression to anyone who got close. The shadow appeared to be fully sentient, separate from Tokoyami. An emergency call for Heroes was sent out The home of Nakamura and Tokoyami was destroyed in the shadows' rampage by the time Pro-Hero Midnight arrived. She knocked out and subdued Tokoyami long enough for quirk suppressants to be used. Tokoyami is currently sedated and under suppressants. He had several bleeding scratches on his arms and shoulders, seemingly self-inflicted. 

Later investigation of the scene revealed that the shed in the garden was a concrete box outfitted with bright lights. Quirk suppression cuffs were found among the debris of the house. The shed remained untouched by Tokoyami or his quirk. Tokoyami’s actions appear to have been a trauma response and he should not be held accountable for his actions.

Perpetrator Information

Name: Tokoyami Fumikage

Age: 15

Height: 158 cm

Weight: 40 kg

Physical Description: Tokoyami has a head resembling that of a raven or crow with red eyes. He is slender and short, with several scars on his shoulders, chest, and arms. He has a set of black wings. He has pale skin and clawed hands.

Quirk Description: Tokoyami has two quirks, although it is unclear if they are separate or related. He has a mutation quirk that gives him the head and wings of some kind of bird, although no distinct species can be identified. He also has several other distinct features resembling a bird, likely a corvid of some kind including talons and feathers on his body. His registered quirk is named Dark Shadow, an emitter type quirk that manifests as a birdlike creature made of shadow with glowing yellow eyes. Dark Shadow appears to be some kind of conjoined twin or parasite, with its own sentience. There are several records of Dark Shadow lashing out and injuring others in moments of distress. Tokoyami does not appear to control Dark Shadow fully. Dark Shadow is weak to light and can be subdued through this method. 

History: Tokoyami has no record of birth or biological parentage that could be found. Social services report that he appears to have been homeless until age six, after which Nakamura adopted him. He had a three month long hospital stay at this time, due to malnutrition and infected wounds. The source of these wounds were unclear. During this hospital stay, Dark Shadow attacked two nurses for an unknown reason. After this incident, Tokoyami remained under mild suppressants and watch for the rest of his visit. A year later, Tokoyami was admitted into the Children’s Psychiatric Ward for behavioral issues, after a reported incident of Dark Shadow attacking a classmate. Evaluation revealed that Tokoyami has a Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was noted that results may not be accurate due to the nature of Tokoyami’s quirk. At age ten, Tokoyami was admitted to the Musutafu Juvenile Detention Center for six months after seriously injuring a group of older students. 

Additional Notes: 

Suzuki Aki - Nurse in charge of Tokoyami Fumikage’s care: Tokoyami appears to be severely underweight and malnourished. His wings, while appearing to be fully developed, lack muscle and are poorly cared for. 

Tsukauchi Naomasa - Detective: Nakamura Ayashi was in possession of quirk suppressant cuffs, possibly illegally. As a retired Pro-Hero, she would not have the clearance to own these. More information is required.

///

To Nakamura Ayashi,

I congratulate you on your retirement. As per our last correspondence, we will be sending Subject 13 your way. He remains unaware of his circumstances as of currently. Due to the volatile nature of the transfer, one of our agents will deliver a set of quirk suppressing cuffs. We request that you train him as a hero and enter him into U-A on recommendation when he is of age. I cannot stress the importance of this fact, you cannot let him fly. Two weeks post transfer, one of our scientists tested him for flying, and the results were disastrous. Normally, we would not let such power go untapped, but it has been deemed unsafe. 

He may demonstrate bird-like behaviors, do not allow this to continue. Emotions appear to affect his primary quirk, and while the transfer was only successful due to compatibility, it is incredibly unstable. You may use any means necessary to prevent a major loss of controls. 

Once a month, after he enters your possession, one of our specialists will examine him. If the transferred quirk ever reveals itself, we permit you to put him down. Payment will be handsome. 

We cannot thank you enough, 

The Public Safety Commision

///

Subject No. 13 Quirk Transfer Recommendation Report

Receiver: Subject No. 13

Quirk Type: Emitter and Mutation

Donor: Subject No. 16

Quirk Type: Mutation 

Subject 13’s quirk, yet to be named, is a birdlike shadow that appears to be sentient. Subject 13 also has a mutation which makes its head appear like that of an unidentified bird’s. This appears to be vestigial. It was selected for transfer of the quirk of Subject No. 16. [REDACTED] believes that the bird-like traits shared between Subject No. 13 and 16 will allow for a safer transfer. Blood type matches and no underlying genetic conditions have been found in either subject. 

Transfer will happen at [REDACTED] in three weeks. [REDACTED] will be observing the operation, which will be done by [REDACTED]. 

[REDACTED] recommends sedation and restraints. The operation room will need to be brightly lit to prevent Subject No. 13’s primary quirk from attacking. Quirk suppression is not recommended. Refer to Document 7-B for monitor procedure. 

Chapter Text

He opens his eyes to a dimly lit room, quiet voices outside. It feels like he’s underwater and his body is so heavy. He feels like he should be moving or doing something. There’s something nagging at the back of his mind that he’s forgetting something, but he can’t remember what. He is outside his body, and in it. It’s a bizarre feeling, his body moves but he doesn’t feel in control. He blinks too slowly. He sits staring ahead of him at the wall, unblinking for an unknown amount of time. He doesn’t know what he thinks during that time period, he doesn’t know if he even thinks anything. His wings are sore, but so is the rest of his body. Probably. He feels like he’s not human at the moment, but more like a surprisingly energetic carrot. He doesn’t like carrots that much. Apples are good though. He likes apples. He feels like he should figure out where he is, why he’s in a bed that’s not his, what happened. He considers looking around, getting up, but his joints are glued together. His skin is coated in a thin layer of stone, and if he moves, it’ll crumble. And he’s just so heavy. He’s tired, even though it feels like he slept for a week, and he just wants to sink into the ground. It would be comfy to be surrounded by dirt. Maybe. Probably not. 

There’s the sound of a door opening. He feels like something is wrong, but can’t figure out what. He has all his limbs and he can’t remember blood. (rage and anger, alone alonealonealone, don’t take them away please let me go it hurts I’m sorry I’ll be good.) 

Tired eyes on a tired face are over him. A long scarf. Chewable, Fumikage thinks, although he doesn’t know why. Pale skin and dark eyebrows, messy hair. He knows this man, he thinks he should be scared. He doesn’t feel much of anything but tired. (cold metal tables, restrained, bright lights too bright he can’t see, indifference no one will talk to him, why won’t anyone look at him?) 

“Ah, Tokoyami, I see you’re awake,” the man says. He blinks slowly. The words reach him at a snails place. He looks up at the man. Oh, his name is Eraserhead. That guy. The one that- why was he scared again. (something slamming against his chest, indifferent eyes, long claws scratching at glass and walls, a pinch on his arm, fear don’t take Dark Shadow.)

“I-” his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts. “Where am I?” he asks, probably belatedly. 

“The hospital in Shizuoka. You’re under Midnight’s sedation and mild quirk suppressants. Both should wear off soon,” Eraserhead says. “Can you sit up?”

Fumikage sits up, he still feels heavy, he’s in the hospital. Hospitals are bad. Hospitals hurt. Hospitals mean that Dark Shadow is taken away and he can’t even take off the suppressors because they’re injected into his blood. His breathing stays even and he takes in the room he’s in for the first time. The walls are white, and the overhead light is on, but dimmed. There’s a window with drawn curtains. It’s dark outside. He’s in a hospital cot, a thin blanket draped over him. He’s still in his school uniform. He needs to get out, he needs to leave and find a nice corner to lie down in, he can’t be here. 

“Why can’t you be here, Tokoyami?” Eraserhead asks. He didn’t realize he had said that out loud. The sedatives must be strong from Midnight.

“Hospitals are bad,” he says, staring at the window. He doesn’t elaborate. 

“Okay. What do you remember?” 

Red wings, a head lying in the backyard, the shed that he couldn’t open. Fear and panic. She was dead. He had wanted to get away from her sometimes, but not like that. 

“Ayashi died?” he asks, although he knows the answer already. Open eyes staring, judgmental, but her face is the calmest he’d ever seen. She had bright eyes, an almost neon blue. He remembers unexpected gifts, the ribbon, a new phone, the shirt he’d been eyeing on his walks home. He remembers painful hours in the bright shed, sparring her but it was more like a beatdown, as he was forced to the ground again and again, then she’d list all his flaws and tell him to start again. She has parents, he’s pretty sure. He knew painfully little about his guardian, the only person to take care of him, she was all he had. She was gone. 

“Yes. The police are investigating her death right now.” The sharp creases of Eraserhead’s face soften. “I’m sure this is difficult for you. I can give you a few days off of school and a place to stay until the situation of your custody is figured out.” 

He has so many questions, but his head is painfully empty, how it always is when Dark Shadow is taken from him. He wants to ask why Eraserhead is doing this, what will happen to him, if he can keep going to U-A after last night. He should be thinking about the funeral, should be figuring things out, but he’s always been selfish. 

“When- When do the quirk suppressants wear off?” he asks finally. His voice barely shakes, but his heartbeat is loud in his ears. 

“I’m not sure, I’ll get a nurse,” he says and leaves the room. After some time, when the heaviness of his body is beginning to light and he feels slightly more real, the door opens to a tall woman in a hospital uniform. She pulls a cart behind her with medical equipment. His breathing hitches before he gets it back under control. He can do this. He’s not a child anymore, he can get through a stupid medical exam.

“I’ll check your vitals and make sure everything’s good. While I get things set up, I figured you’d want something to drink,” she says, handing him a bottle of water. He opens it, pouring it into his beak. He doesn’t panic when she takes his blood pressure and he doesn’t panic when she shines a light into his eyes, although he does stiffen. She asks him if he has any injuries. He says no. She tells him that both the suppressants will wear off in about an hour. She leaves. 

He pulls his knees up to his chest, curling up into a miserable ball. He idly rubs the odd patch of scarred skin on his ankle. It’s quiet and far too loud, because hospitals are never silent. At least the lights aren’t bright, like the-

He stops the train of thought before it can get too far, shoving it off into the muffled piece of his heart. Hero, he thinks bitterly, remembering bloody bodies and the bruises on his stomach. 

///

A man stands in a dark room. The only light is a TV with the news on. In front of the TV is a coffee table, low to the ground, covered in papers and photographs. He hums lightly, leaning down to pick up one of the papers. The incriminating evidence printed on it looks like any hospital form. It’s not time yet for his plan to unfold, but he can be patient. He turns to the TV, where a reporter is giving the weather report. It’s supposed to be sunny all week, not that the weather means anything to him. Too bad his pupil does not hold the same virtues of patience as he does. Things are rushing along, but it means nothing. After all, he has plans upon plans. Nothing but the sound of filtered breathing fills the room.

///

Tsuyu hums as she sips on her can of iced coffee. It’s the sweet kind in the light brown can. The days are still warm. Her desk is next to an open window, which she left open to let fresh air in. Her parents are coming home in a week or so, but she doesn’t mind how often they’re gone. Her siblings and her are old enough to be left home. She doesn’t mind having to get up early and go to be late to keep up with laundry and cooking and cleaning the house. She understands. She wishes they would stay more often though. 

She looks at her homework and groans. She doesn’t understand English grammar, it makes no sense. She does fine in school, not the best, not the worst, but she always struggled with English. Or with talking in general, if she was being honest. Even with her speech, unable to stop the occasional croak or trill. She was lucky, she looked human enough after all. Her parents tried to hide it from her and especially her siblings, but she saw the looks they got when they went out sometimes, or how their wide grins and webbed hands were greeted with glances that remained a little too long. She knew her father had it worse, skin and a face like a toad. She knew when Satsuki came home crying about insults written on her desk, that there was only so much protection she could give her younger siblings. That night, the three of them sat on the couch together and called their parents. She looks back at her English homework. She was supposed to translate a page of conversation and answer questions about going to a restaurant. It seemed that going to a prestigious hero school didn’t mean she got to get out of schoolwork. She put in a pair of headphones, blasting heavy metal, and got to work. 

///

“Hello Tokoyami, my name is Akai Watanabe and I’m a social worker. I wanted to talk to you about your future living conditions,” A man walks in, sitting in the chair that’s next to his bed. Fumikage puts his book down, Dark Shadow coiling around his ribs, silent, but glaring at the man. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, looking away from the man’s searching gaze. 

“Your former guardian, Nakamura, didn’t list any secondary guardians. U-A has dorms for students who might live elsewhere in the country and you’re welcome to stay in them. While you stay in the U-A dorms, you would be considered their ward and be under their custody. Your other option is to go to a group home.” 

“I-” he is a monster but he remembers a full meal and the warmth and how much he wants. He imagines being left alone in a room and he wonders if they’ll take Dark Shadow away from him too. But U-A has loose quirk use rules. He wants to. He shouldn’t but he does. 

“I would like to stay at U-A,” he says.

“You’ll be discharged tomorrow morning, I believe your homeroom teacher, Aizawa is going to be taking you to your home to get anything you might need before setting you up. He’s here right now, do you want to speak to him?” Watanabe asks. He doesn’t want to. Fumikage knows he’s been bad, and more than that, he knows what Eraserhead can do to him. God, he doesn’t want to. He nods anyway. 

The man leaves the room. He looks down at his hands, without gloves, the scaly yellow of his hands are ugly. There are patches of feathers crawling up his shoulders and they look dull and broken. There are raised lines of scar tissue, and he can almost feel it again, the silence. The silence, only the silence. He blinks, and looks at his hands again. It feels like nothing, like he is floating just behind his brain. He is watching a movie with a wretched protagonist, he wonders if it's a tragedy. His shoulders ache, on the periphery of his mind. He feels Dark Shadow, small and silent, for once, wrapped around his wrists. 

“Hello again,” says the voice of Eraserhead. His eyes snap up, and he can’t look away. Threat, threat, threat, his mind screams at him. He want to run, fling himself out the window and let his wings snap open-

“Hello, Aizawa-sensei,” he says, inclining his head. He doesn’t move, and hopes that his stillness will hide the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing past his ears. 

“I- I understand if the school will take disciplinary action,” he blurts out, and his voice almost doesn’t shake. His eyes don’t move from Eraserhead’s face. 

Eraserhead looks at him for a long time, something unreadable crossing his face. 

“That is ultimately the choice of principal Nedzu to decide. I will help you move into the U-A dorms in the morning, the hospital want to monitor you for another day to make sure that there was no lasting effect of the sedatives.” 

He can’t look away, eyes trained on Eraserhead’s shoulders. He can’t help the jumping of his heart every time the man moves. 

“I’m sure you’re tired, so I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tokoyami,” he says, finally turning his back to him. The door shuts quietly behind Eraserhead, and his shoulders finally slump. There’s still the fog clouding the back of his mind, and Dark Shadow is weak, barely a wisp. 

///

Shouta stands outside the closed door of his student’s room. What a mess. Not even the second day of school and things were going haywire. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate his headache, unsuccessfully. Despite the record, he was sure Tokoyami didn’t have bad intentions, Nakamura on the other hand, he wasn’t sure what was going on. The underground hero, commonly known as Poly, had retired several years back, and was known for being efficient and professional. He knew, from the rare instances they had worked together, that she wasn’t exactly the nurturing type. Definitely not the kind of person to adopt a child out of the goodness of their heart. And the quirk suppression cuffs were highly suspicious too. Not to mention the shed with bright lights, looking like a prison with the exact counter to Tokoyami’s quirk. The whole thing was suspicious, and he had a very bad feeling about it. He looked at his watch. It was five in the morning. It wouldn’t be very long until he was to take Tokoyami to move in, and to go back to the rubble of his former home. It didn’t make sense to go home, so he left the hospital to get a coffee. Hizashi was sure to scold him for it, but again, what a mess. He had a feeling things would be going very wrong. It was the dark lightness that happens in the early morning, cars driving down the road. He kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, he went to the vending machine that stood outside of the hospital. Putting in 500 yen, he presses the button for a can of black coffee. A cool wind blows, sending leaves rustling along the pavement. His coffee hits the bottom of the vending machine with a loud clang. He kneels down and gets it out. 

He runs his fingers along the rim of the can, the cool metal under his fingertips. He feels his hands reach towards his pockets by habit, before he catches himself. His hand hovers over the pocket on his right side for a moment. He drops it with a sigh. Shouta cracks open the coffee, and the sound is almost surprising on the quiet street. He looked up at the sky, not that there were stars visible. There was just the lightening sky and the bright moon, a thick crescent floating above all the buildings. He could feel the dryness of his eyes and the active deepening of his eyebags. He takes a long sip of his coffee. It’s cold. 

///

A week passes, and things continue as normal. The sun sets and rises, he goes to class. Fumikage takes off his gloves in his room and lets Dark Shadow out and the world does not end. He spends the first few days in a tense haze, flinching at bright lights. The gnarled and twisted flesh on his arms stands out during training, but he pretends its not there. He thinks he makes friends, with Tsuyu and Mezou. No one corners him in the halls or pulls at his feathers. If it wasn’t for the ever growing ball of terror sitting in his chest, he could almost enjoy it. No one checks his room, as far as he knows, but he still maintains it with military precision, making sure the bed is made neatly and the floor is clean. He is told that the communal kitchen is his to access and use, but he does not dare take anything. He closes the door and collapses in a shaking mess every day, before spending hours on homework. He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to impress, who it truly is that controls who is in the dorms, so he settles for everyone. He forces Dark Shadow to hide during his classes, studies math and English until his vision swims, trains until it gets dark. His grades stay good, and there have been no incidents. It’s still not enough. He knows he has to earn the comforts he has, the lock on the door, curtains to block out the sun, the comfort of having Dark Shadow at his side. What he does is still not enough, so he does all and any extra credit he can, spends even longer training, in the dark now. He can’t stop flinching at random touches and the bright lights that stay on all day in the building despite the natural sunlight and the eyes of his teachers.

During lunch, he finds himself thinking. Because, despite everything, he thinks this is the most freedom he’s had in a long time. He doesn’t know what disciplinary action U-A takes, but he’s yet to see any of it. And the people are kind, no one has pulled at his feathers to shoved him around. Even so, guilt still wracks him. He doesn’t know if he loved his guardian, or even liked her, but she still gave him everything. If it wasn’t for her, he would be on the streets, or dead, or maybe in Tartarus. And he can’t shake her empty eyes, the grimace on her face, a body that was never found. If only, he thinks, and doesn’t know the end of that sentence. He remembers the shed, bright lights and all encompassing silence, but he also remembers how she would bandage his arms afterwards, or how she sometimes bought apples, if he did well on a test.

He doesn’t know if he loved her, but he did care. Somehow, that makes it worse.

///

Fumikage is reading at one of the tables in the communal dorm room, when someone sits next to him. He glances up. Shoji, he remembers, one of his quieter classmates. He doesn’t say anything as Shoji gets out some math homework. He remembers struggling with the packet the night before. He seems to have no issue with it. Two of his arms are on the desk, while the rest remain folded in his lap. They work, in what he might call companionable silence for some time, until they are both rudely interrupted by Dark Shadow.

“Fumiiiiiiii,” they whine, creeping from his stomach and floating by his head. “I’m hungry.” He doesn’t quirk a brow, having no brows to quirk, but he sends the image to Dark Shadow.

“You don’t have a stomach,” he reminds, in the dryest tone he can muster.

“Then you’re hungry, problem solved!” they exclaim. And now he thinks about it, he is hungry. He remembers there were apples in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what possess him to do so, maybe its the choice to sit next to him, maybe its the fact that he wears a mask, is hiding something, but he turns to Shoji.

“I’m getting a snack, would you like to join me?” he says.

“Good idea.”

They walk to the kitchen in an awkward silence. He gets a paring knife and two apples, cutting them into slices.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Shoji says. “I’m Shoji Mezo.”

“Tokoyami Fumikage,” he replies. “and this is Dark Shadow.”

He sets the plate of sliced apples between them.

“Have some if you wish,” he says with a gesture. He feels Dark Shadow’s surprise and indignation, but it would do well for him to bond with his classmates. His comrades.

“Thank you,” Shoji says. His expression is unreadable, especially with the mask, but his hands fidget with the hem of his uniform shirt. He spots the slightly frayed edges. Fumikage takes an apple slice, relishing in how it crunches under his beak and its sweet taste. After a moment, Shoji takes one two. He conjures a mouth, and its somewhat bizzare to see, the flesh growing and changing, to take shape of a mouth. It reminds him of Dark Shadow’s own malleability. He looks at the frayed edges of the uniform shirt, the slight jaggedness that betrays how they got there.

“Are you ready for the test tomorrow?” Shoji asks.

“I believe so, I- would you like me to hem your shirt?” he blurts out. He can’t stop staring at the frayed edges. “Your uniforms will last longer that way.”

“Sorry?” Shoji stares at him, brows furrowed.

“Leaving a frayed edge like that will make it wear down faster,” he says. His wings flutter behind him, betraying is nervousness. His stomach churns uncomfortably.

“If you are willing,” Shoji says, as if choosing his words carefully. “Could you show me?”

Relief floods through his hindbrain, and almost subconsciously, he can feel how he relaxes, shoulders and wings drooping.

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

The boy lies on an uncomfortable looking cot, a thin mattress on a block of plastic affixed to the wall. The lights in the room are bright, with no windows. He is curled up, a blanket wrapped around his little form. He can’t be older than five. It’s night, although the boy has no way of knowing that. He knows it is time to sleep though, although the lights never turn off and they make his head ache and his sleep restless. He pulls his single blanket over his head, and in the vague darkness cast by the blanket, a small being of shadow creeps out. Neither the boy or the shadow say anything, they simply lie there in silence. Eventually, the boy falls asleep and the shadow remains, like a vigilant protector, but helpless against the brightness beyond the blanket. 

Night goes, the boy is woken up by the sound of a door sliding open. A tray of food is pushed into his room, and he gets up. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling the absence of his shadow friend strongly. The friend is safe, hiding away in his body. There is a small piece of gauze taped on the inside of his forearm, that if it were to be lifted up, would reveal a scar made by repeated intrusions of a needle, a small scab forming next to it. On the tray, there is miso soup, rice, and grilled fish. The scent of steaming rice always reminds the boy of something, a warm idea of a memory that he might have once had. He remembers weathered hands brushing through the feathers on his head. He doesn’t know what he looks like. He never has. He brings his tray of food by his desk and eats on the floor, leaning against the plastic sides of his bed. It doesn’t taste like much. Next to his bed is a small nightstand, with a change of clothes in the bottom drawer and paper and some crayons in the top one. The boy’s small hands struggle to eat his meal, his talons don’t hold the chopsticks well, and the food doesn’t fit well into his beak. It takes him a long time to eat, but he has time. He doesn’t know what time is, not really. All he knows is the periods of time between the people in white coats and room with all the machines and time with nothing and nothing and nothing. The rumbling under his skin gets too much and he stands up, wanders the small confines of his room. Opens the door to the bathroom and shower that is attached. He remembers the nice lady that took care of him. He doesn’t know where she went and at the thought of her, he starts crying. He is alone and he is five and helpless. He knows nothing but some blank walls and a woman who might have loved him and she is gone. He wails, somewhere in between a child’s screams and a baby bird’s chirping. The boy wants safety, you see. He does not get it. 

///

The boy is lying on a table, a tube running out of his arm from the heavily scarred spot in the crook of his elbow. He is sleepy, and the friend in his chest seems worried. He’s worried too. His limbs are heavy, and he can barely move. His eyes struggle to blink. He can’t think. He feels something that barely feels like a pinch, and he can’t stay awake anymore. 

///

The boy wakes up screaming, warbled cries ripping from his throat. He is on his stomach, restrained by heavy hands. It hurts like nothing has hurt before. The friend inside him rages and even manages to come out in the bright lights, although the boy sees none of this. All he registers is pain coming from his back. It burns, it hurts, he is being turned inside out. He can’t see, his vision turns white. 

He cries out for the nice lady, for those weathered hands, for someone, anybody to help him from the pain. He is alone. 

Clawed hands dig into the table under him, screeching and screaming and crying. 

Every sound, every movement feels like acid down his nerves. It hurts, it hurts it hurts. He wants someone to hold him. 

He thrashes and his bones turn around and around, blood pours down his back. A thing of flesh and skin grows from his back. 

He is torn in half, emptied out, he is broken against the floor. 

Please let it stop, and he screams and screams. His eyes burn and he fights with all his strength but he is only five and alone and even his friend, so seems so large and kind cannot help him here. 

His screaming lasted for hours, says the reports, until his voice turned hoarse. The security footage of the room has audio, and it is the sound of imploding. 

Clinically, a scientist in the corner writes down the occurrences, fleshy growths forcing themselves out of the subject’s back, rapidly taking the form of wings. The skin has large goosebumps, like chicken skin, and surely some feathers will grow in. Blood pours down the subject’s back, its talons leaving gouges in the table. 

It takes an hour and a half for the fleshy growths to become wings, or something like it. The boy’s screaming and gasps don’t end when it’s over. Later in the night, the researchers celebrate. A success, finally. And a miraculous one. They didn’t expect the foreign quirk to manifest so quickly. A shame it hurt the little boy so much, but it’s the cost of science and advancement, they console themselves. They are doing the right thing, surely. 

///

No one knows what happened at 8 PM, nine years ago, in the lowest level of Tartarus. All prisoners were accounted for, no staff deaths were recorded. The public story about the intense destruction is that a group of villains attempted an unsuccessful jailbreak. No pictures were ever published, no reporters allowed even close to the prison for the next six months. If one had been at the scene, they would see a bloody trail leading out the building, walls and floors wrecked beyond what should have been possible. If one knew more about the things that went on in Tartarus, they would know about the deep underground levels, cells that once held many people, children, adults, corpses. They would see the cutting edge scientific equipment and cabinets full of records. They would find a bloody operation table, restraints, if they were not shredded, would have been just the right size for a small child. They might find a room with bright lights and an uncomfortable bed and an extra pair of child’s sized clothing, white and cotton. 

However, everyone who knew anything about the lowest levels of Tartarus have long been silenced. The staff know better, and they’re too well paid for that anyway. The prisoners, well everyone knows better than to listen to the worst of the worst. 

What happened at Tartarus nine years ago at 8 PM is the Commission's greatest shame, and they will do anything to prevent anyone from finding out. 

///

Three years after the classified Tartarus Incident, a man, cloaked in shadowy mist, steps into the heavily guarded archive rooms of the Commision. His steps are hurried, his hands flicking through the files efficiently. The metal brace that helps hold his body together gleams in the light of his flashlight. The archives are well organized, and he looks through the files by year. Eventually, he finds a file, labeled Population Report . The file is far too thick, however. He takes the file, humming considerably. He steps back through the black mist trailing after his footsteps. 

A security alarm rings an hour later. 

///

The boy stares with wide eyes as a tall woman leads him into a pristine building. He tugs on her hand, he wants to leave. He doesn’t trust the bright light whites and the smiling men in uniforms. She squeezes his hand, a bright red ribbon wrapped around her neck and forearms shines. He wants to leave, a feeling he cannot name building in his chest. But he is so hungry and she said there was food there and he knows better than to trust adults but there is nothing else he can do. 

He remembers the ribbon. He doesn’t know why he is afraid of the woman. He doesn’t know where the bandages that wrap around his back and wrists, now dirty and worn, came from. He doesn’t remember anything, but pain and fear and the protection that his shadow gave him. There is something about the fluorescent lights that make him want to run, and the men in uniforms make him afraid. His skin itches and he wants to run. There is a sound that catches at the back of his throat. A cry maybe, whispering flock-safe-help-flock , and it comes out, barely. He sits on a bench at the building with lights, the woman sitting with him. She talks to him quietly. His feet swing above the ground. His shadow sneaks under the bench and neither of them say anything. She gives him a bowl of something warm, and he holds it in his hands for a long time. He’s always so cold. It doesn’t taste like much, or maybe it did and he doesn’t remember. 

He thinks he falls asleep at some point, as he sits and waits for something to happen. The woman leaves at some point and he is alone again. She tied a red ribbon around his wrist with a smile, telling him a gift from me, a good luck charm.  

The boy sits there, and does not remember.