Chapter Text
Spinning.
The world is spinning.
Fyodor covers his mouth with the back of his hand, the constant, violent movement doing nothing but make him nauseas. Blood spinning with him, corpses flickering in and out of existence as the swirling vortex in the centre of the room pulls him closer. There isn’t anything to hold onto, the walls and doors are too far away—the portal is winning this battle.
Nikolai doesn’t seem to be faring much better, clinging onto Fyodor with all his might and hunched over, as if he’s about to throw up.
His breathing is stuttered, as is Fyodor’s, who is currently filled with the overwhelming desire to slaughter the fucker standing in the other side of the room. Their hand is raised slightly, shaking as the world warps around it. Their eyes are blown wide, tears streaking down their face.
This is clearly their first time using their ability—or this version of it.
Fyodor gives them a death stare, but trying to train his eyes on the one stable thing in this room sent a wave of nausea over him, and the weakness in his legs was enough for the portal to finally pull him in.
He heard Nikolai shout out suddenly, his voice panicked, before the vortex suffocated him.
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He was spat out onto a dirty concrete floor, immediately sitting up, the vortex only swirling above him for a moment, in which Nikolai also fell out.
His hair was undone, the braid having fallen out. Fyodor was only able to look him over for a second before the nausea came back full force, and he threw up to the side. Squirting away, he wiped his mouth. A pathetic whine left him, and he flopped over next to the clown.
Said clown looked just as disoriented, blinking tiredly and reaching out to grab Fyodor. The dark haired man permitted it, leaning into the touch slightly.
He felt weak, and confused. The alley they were in was small, the night sky overhead casting everything in shadow. He couldn’t hear anything beside the ringing in his ears, and something felt off. He didn’t know what, until he squinted at Nikolai and realised-
-they were shorter. And softer. And unmistakingly teenager.
Fyodor shot upwards, his companion squeaking in discontent but followed.
“Fedya~” Nikolai complained. “My head hurts.”
“You hit it on the concrete, imbecile.” He hissed in response, trying to stand up. The world spun, and he only fell back down with a grunt. “Where are we?”
“How would I know?” Nikolai huffed, trying to stand as well. He also fell back down, hair drifting around his shoulders. He leant his head on Fyodor’s shoulder. “Didn’t you say this one would be easy?”
“I didn’t know anyone there had an ability, let alone one like that.” He muttered in response. The mission was supposed to be easy. Steal a stupid serum a lab full of oddities created, one that supposedly gave people watered down abilities, kill everyone and run. But no, instead he was stuck who knows where with a literal clown.
He needed to figure out where he was. If he was even in the same universe, timeframe, anything. Fyodor chewed on his thumbnail, reciting a prayer in his head. He needed something to fill his thoughts, otherwise he’d spiral.
Nikolai suddenly batted his hand from his mouth, and he realised he was bleeding. He bit too hard.
“So, what do we do?” Nikolai’s head tilted to the side. His eyes were open wide, and Fyodor realised his card wasn’t covering his eye. The dark-haired man looked around, seeing it and the clown’s hat pushed to the side. He scrambled over, grabbing them and handing them to his companion, who took them with a giggle.
“I’m thinking about that, Kolya.” He mumbled, chewing at his nail again. Nikolai batted his hand away.
Before he could muse out loud, a man stepped into the alley. He was shrouded by shadows, but there was a distinctive scarf resting around his neck. Folds of grey fabric on folds of grey fabric, the rest of his attire looking like a homeless man’s. He stepped forward, getting closer, and Fyodor stiffened. Nikolai did as well, hand slipping into his cloak as if preparing to pull out a gun.
“Hello?” Fyodor tried in Japanese, hoping to God they were still in Japan. He spoke several languages, but Nikolai didn’t. “Who are you.”
The man’s voice was rough. “Aizawa Shouta, pro hero Eraserhead. I’m here to help.”
Fyodor stiffened, biting his tongue. He couldn’t tell if this was a homeless man with psychosis, a drug addict, or if they’d dimension hopped. None of those were very good, considering how weak he still felt, as did Nikolai if the lack of dramatics was any sign.
“Huh? Fedya what-“ Nikolai started, only to be quieted pretty fast.
“Play along.” Fyodor whispered, turning to the man. “I don’t speak much Japanese.”
He hoped his accent would carry him along his lie, and Nikolai seemed to understand. The clown nodded, saying something in Russian. Somewhat. He butchered the pronunciation, but Fyodor knew it was supposed to be ‘I love you’. The terrorist wanted to laugh, but he instead muttered a short bible verse back in Russian. It’s not like the man would understand, his posture (slightly confused) told Fyodor that much.
“Oh uh. Can you come with me? I’ll take you to the hospital.” He was speaking slowly, holding out a hand. His eyes were clearly trained on the faint bloodstains and the bruises likely mottling their visible skin.
“No hospitals.” He hissed, nose wrinkling in distaste. On the off chance they were in the right universe, he was still a wanted terrorist. Nikolai clearly agreed.
“Ok…ok. I know someone to take you to that can still check you over, will you come with me?”
Fyodor looked to Nikolai, nodded, and tried to stand again. His legs felt like jelly, but he managed to stay upright, as did the clown. He stepped closer to the supposed ‘hero’, following the man as he led them somewhere.
On the way, he saw several billboards promoting unnatural looking people in spandex, man. How fascinating.
Nikolai was half skipping along, his face a wide grin. His hair was still undone, and Fyodor was filled with the overwhelming desire to tug it. He resisted, but only because the way the strands glimmered in the moonlight was visually appealing.
Aizawa led them to a…wall. Well no, a massive gate. Towering and concrete, clearly high security. He scanned a card against a sensor, and the gate opened for him. Nikolai was whispering things to himself while Fyodor studied the surrounding area. He needed to know how easy getting in and out would be after all, without Nikolai’s ability. There were cameras in every inch of the place, blinking red lights giving their placement away. The walls had a lining of barbed wire, likely electrical, across the top points.
And, weirdest of all, the main building—Fyodor assumed it was based on position—was made of glass. It seemed dangerous. Who goes to that much trouble to secure a glass building? Glass was fragile, yet the walls implied a level of security that did not match that material.
He didn’t realise he had bitten his nails to the point of bleeding again until Nikolai nudged his hand from his mouth and stuck out his tongue.
Fyodor elbowed him in response, looking to the man in front of them. He should probably dumb down his Japanese. “Where?”
“…UA.” He sounded confused. As if everyone was supposed to know that. Fyodor tugged at a strand of hair, his normal method of nail biting pushed to the side due to the damn clown. Aizawa added an endnote, seemingly confused. “The hero school.”
Ah. Nikolai giggled suddenly, receiving a sharp glare from Fyodor in response. The clown ignored him. “Hey Dos-kun, do you think we could be heroes!”
Fyodor gave him a sharp glare. “Gogol.” He hissed.
Nikolai gasped, feigning hurt with a dramatic sob-like sound. He must’ve recovered from the portal. Unfortunately, Fyodor had not, and the leftover discomfort made him irritable. Before he could strangle the monochrome idiot, Aizawa interrupted.
“I thought you said you didn’t know Japanese?”
“Dos-kun did say that, didn’t he-?”
“It’s not my first language, but I know enough.” Fyodor cut his…co-worker…off, glancing around. Aizawa was leading them into the building, it seems. He was sure footed, at least. Nikolai was visibly getting bored, and Fyodor rummaged in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a slightly rusted nail. It was small, barely half his current pinkie’s size.
He handed it to the clown, who took it without a word and started fiddling with it.
Aizawa watched the interaction with squinted eyes. “I’m taking you two to Recovery Girl’s office. She’s not currently clocked in, but she’ll see you tomorrow morning. Until then, you two can rest.”
“Dos-kun normally needs to be chained down to his bed to rest, but don’t worry, I’ll do it for you!” Nikolai sung out, the rusty nail spinning between his fingers. “I’ve been meaning to try suffocation via chains, are you excited?”
“What?” Aizawa seemed stricken, tripping over his feet for a moment. The slight shuffle stood out to Fyodor, and he rolled his eyes. Play it off.
“He has a weird sense of humour.”
Nikolai giggled, hopping into the air for a second. “Who says I’m joking?”
“Me.” Fyodor hissed, grabbing him by his wrist and tugging the clown along. “Come on, you need sleep.”
Aizawa went along with it, speeding up. “The infirmary is just around the corner.”
The door came up quickly, the word ‘Infirmary’ in bold on a sign outside. The door was just as ungodly tall as every other door in this place, and Fyodor was reminded of the freakish mutations he saw on the billboards, shuddering. No one could be that tall, he refused to believe it.
The room itself was standard. Some basic cots across the other side of the room, a broom closet open to the side—it looked like it contained files, likely medical ones if this was a school—and an extra door to the side. He guessed it was for private patients, more serious injuries and whatnot. The lights were off, like the rest of the building, but Aizawa flicked them on. Fluorescent and harsh, Fyodor blinked, as did Nikolai.
“Well, you two can try and rest on the cots in here. Neither of you are severely injured, correct?” Aizawa muttered, sighing as if he was exhausted. Probably was. Fyodor guessed he worked at this school, yet he’d found them in an alley at—the clock said 3:00am.
“Nope! C’mon Fedya, you need sleep.” Nikolai chirped, dragging the shorter man over to the mattresses. He was thrown onto the closest to the door, and the clown hopped onto the same bed. Aizawa blinked tiredly at them, before suddenly pausing.
“Wait. What’re your names?”
“Fyodor. And this is Nikolai.” He muttered, lying down on the bed and turning to his side. Nikolai curled up with him despite the lack of space, and giggled at the tired look on Aizawa’s face. “Kolya, please.”
“Nope! ‘m cold~” Nikolai whined, clinging onto Fyodor’s coat.
Aizawa had left at this point, so he let himself drift off. Only partially, of course.