Chapter Text
O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅb̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ didn't know what it was expecting when it woke up to a light shining directly above its face, interrupted only by the Doctor's shadow as he shuffled around. It kept its eyes closed, careful not to even twitch and let the Doctor know it was awake. Everything was easier when the Doctor didn't know it was awake. The Doctor wouldn't make it hurt more to ‘test’ things if it wasn't awake. O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅb̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ It wondered if its owner Master was watching again.
It heard an unfamiliar beeping—is that the right word? It feels like it's right, but it sounds more like a really high-pitched(?) ‘baep!’—somewhere to its right. Did its Owner order a new…—what's the word?—procedure, again? Or was the Doctor trying something new? The noise sped up, and it realised its muscles were tight to brace for the inevitable pain. So much for not letting the Doctor know it was awake.
O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅb̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ opened its eyes at the sound of talking. The voices were unfamiliar and it couldn't make out the words, though it was entirely possible the Doctor just messed with its brain enough that it couldn't recognise him. It blinked the blurriness from its good eye and glanced up at the- … That isn't the Doctor. None of them were. They wore similar white coats, but unlike the Doctor, they also wore gloves and surgical masks. The Doctor didn't particularly care about safety or infections when he could just stick it in one of the purple tanks so it could heal.
It tried to move back and found its limbs were too heavy when one of the strangers brought a mask to its face, saying things to it. O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅb̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ couldn't tell, really. It couldn't tell what they were saying, and the surgical mask blocked their lips. The mask they placed over its mouth made the air… smell odd, and it realised too late that it couldn't keep its head straight and eyes open. If this was a test, it… certainly failed. Master would… would be upset with… It didn't want to think of what its punishment would be, so it gave in to the numb, tingly feeling spreading throughout its body.
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It didn't find what it expected when it woke up to the familiar smell of medicine and the weight of restraints holding it down. Though Kurogiri hasn't needed restraints when visiting the Doctor before, it wasn't very surprised by the weight and couldn't recall why. No, the much more pressing issue was the hospital bed it was on. The Doctor's lab doesn't have any beds in it (excluding the Doctor's own bed for when he chose to stay overnight to monitor the nomu or any other ongoing experiment).
Kurogiri opened its eyes only to find what looked to be an average hospital room. Not the Doctor's lab, but just a regular hospital room, the type you'd expect to find a friend in after they pushed themselves too far . Kurogiri glanced around and down at ‘itself’. There were no restraints on it. That was… odd. It could've sworn it felt them, but the notion that it just couldn't see them was quickly dismissed when Kurogiri sat up and found that it could move all of its limbs. There was a camera in the corner, a nightstand, curtains around the hospital bed, and two doors.
Kurogiri slid onto its feet and overbalanced. It shielded its head as it hit the ground. This was very uncomfortable. It's body feels so much lighter than it is used to. Though, it found that its hair was certainly heavier than it remembered. When was the last time it… cut its… Hair? Kurogiri grabbed a fistful of what should've been mist and pulled it to where it could see.
Oh. This is certainly a predicament.
Kurogiri swallowed, pushing back the rising panic in its throat. It could see its hands. Unhealthily dull, tan skin and jagged, broken nails. Kurogiri was holding its hair, dull, pale, blue hair. It was broken and split, tangled and matted and had clearly seen better days. It felt wrong in more ways than one to see. Kurogiri is made of mist. It should not have a physical body, to its knowledge, at least. Yet there was a feeling of wrongness seeing the terrible condition its body was in. It could almost picture a brighter, healthier version of it, but trying to discern that thought made Kurogiri's brain fog up.
It stood slowly, using the bed for support. Kurogiri blinked away the fog in its mind, electing not to think any further on the subject lest it earn another punishment or operation. It glanced at the nearest door and awkwardly walked—though, waddled is likely more accurate—towards it, leaning against the wall for support. Kurogiri opened the door, finding a regular hospital bathroom. There was a low toilet, a sink and soap, a showerhead, a handlebar for the shower, and more soaps. Presumably for showering.
It stepped closer to the shower, looking at the shower soaps. Body wash, very self explanatory; Shampoo, which has instructions on the bottle explaining how to use it, so it's clearly for hair; and conditioner–honestly, who would want to be conditioned?—clearly didn't mean the first thing Kurogiri had thought of upon looking at the instructions on the bottle. Huh. So that's what they are. Interesting. Kurogiri stepped back, touching its own hair again. It probably needs to be washed. And much more. Honestly, its hair feels worse than Tomura's!
Kurogiri searched the bathroom for something, preferably a hairbrush or some scissors. Brushing hair isn't that hard. Kurogiri has brushed Toga's many times at the girl's insistence, although her hair is much cleaner. And shorter, which is an odd thought. A brush… Kurogiri stepped towards the sink, balancing with a hand on the counter while it looked in the drawers for a brush. Is that one? It certainly looks the part. It grabbed the suspected-brush and raised the bristly thing to the top of its hair, pulling it down through its hair only for it to immediately get caught on the mats in its hair. Kurogiri winced and yanked the brush free, dropping it on the ground. Ow. That hurts a lot… Maybe it will just cut all its hair. It's never had any before, for as long as it can remember. Why would it need to care for this knotted mess on its head? The thought of getting rid of it made something in its brain twinge. Likely just the thought of not being able to subject Toga to the torture of dealing with its hair.
Kurogiri stopped thinking about what to do with its hair when it caught a glimpse of its face in the mirror. Its heart twisted painfully at the sight of the half-healed scars on its face, one particularly large set above and over its right eye. That would explain why Kurogiri couldn't see anything out of that eye. Its face was still rather youthful looking, and couldn't be older than nineteen at most. Its skin was still that unhealthy, dull tan as its arms, but the unhealthiness seemed even more noticeable compared to what it should..? What should it look like? Kurogiri couldn't finish the thought without a headache forming. It could recognise that it looked almost like a corpse, though. Its eyes were a deep, dull blue colour, with dark eyebags underneath. There was a nasal strip over its nose that was somehow still white, despite Kurogiri never changing it in at least 12 or 13 years, since that's how much it remembers. Fuck. Kurogiri felt dread and repulsion and confusion and fear pool in its stomach. How old is it? Kurogiri only has about 13 years of memories, ignoring the blanks within those years, and yet it looks younger than Tomura! Its eyes trailed along the scar just in front of its hair. It looked to have been made with surgical precision, going from ear to ear. A coronal incision, although those were typically behind the hairline. Perhaps its hair has always been this horrible? An amusing thought, really when had someone operated on Him? Why can't He remember?
Kurogiri was pulled out of its musings by a noise from the connected hospital room. It picked up the hairbrush from the floor, holding it defensively in front of it while cautiously approaching the door. It slowly opened the door, peeking its seeing eye through the small gap. Ah. Three heroes were there. Kurogiri recognises them from the USJ and Sports Festival. Eraserhead, Present Mic, and Midnight. They were talking with a woman, a doctor that Kurogiri vaguely recognised, likely from that odd, not-dream it woke up from. Hm. Why these three heroes specifically? It understands Eraserhead, given Kurogiri has attacked his class before, but Present Mic and Midnight, while both had been present at the USJ so had many other heroes and teachers. They had no reason to be here more than anyone else. Perhaps it has to do with their quirks? They could more than easily incapacitate it since it is still getting used to this lighter body and appearance. Kurogiri blinked in surprise as its yel- its blue eyes met golden ones framed by floating black hair very close to it. Ah. Kurogiri stumbled back with a shocked yelp, giving room for the hero to push the door open. This is not good. It's been spotted and it appears to be spacing out much more than usual.
“Oboro?” Kurogiri winced at the cautious voice. It had already grown used to the relative silence. The Hero's eyes narrowed, thinking. “Or are you Kurogiri?”
What kind of question-? Why else would he be here if not to harm something that has attacked his class on several occasions? What does he hope to achieve here? Does he want it to let its guard down? Kurogiri swallowed down the returning panic and fear, and the painful twinge of familiarity that made its head hurt. It shifted its stance, wielding the hairbrush like a weapon–it might as well be, given how painful it is. Why had Toga not mentioned that it hurt when brushing her hair? Surely she knew that it would have tried to prevent that next time it brushed her hair for her.
“I am Kurogiri, protector of Tomura Shigaraki.” It was taken aback by the voice it heard. Far too young and scratchy. Kurogiri could hear the shakiness from the panic and dread that seeped into it. That makes it uncomfortable. Usually, it has no problem keeping its voice calm and steady. Admittedly, Kurogiri cannot remember the last time it actually felt anything that wasn't muddied and muffled by the fog in its brain, but that was irrelevant at the moment.
The tentative hope that had been in all three's eyes shattered at that—why had they been hopeful?—and Present Mic—out of costume, Kurogiri is realising—turned to the Do- to the doctor they had been talking with previously. He seemed angry and upset, oddly enough. “I thought you said he was better, doc!” His voice was strained, and he was clearly trying to keep quiet.
“I said he might get better. As I was trying to explain, we were able to mostly revert his body back, but nobody has any idea where to start on fixing what was done to his brain.” The doctor explained for what must have been the umpteenth time given how frustrated she was. Either that, or she was frustrated since she couldn't figure out his issues. Perhaps both. Kurogiri wondered who it was they were talking about. It couldn't be it, because it is not a person, just its Master's servant, an object he owns. Perhaps Eraserhead? The hero did ask him if he was… what was the name? The more it tried to remember the more its head hurt. The doctor sighed, “Kurogiri, could you come here?”
It hesitated for only a moment.
There are three pro heroes who are very aware of what it is and who owns it.
It is in an unfamiliar, scarred, young body with far too much empty space in its memories and fog in its brain.
There was no debate that they would absolutely beat it. Especially with a civilian here. Kurogiri couldn't risk killing an innocent person. It prefers not having to clean the blood out of its portals (disregarding the fact that its portals are mist and blood doesn't actually get stuck in its portals, just transported). It did not flinch when the Erasure Hero's hand landed on its shoulder to gently guide it to this doctor. It allowed itself to be pulled along like a doll. There's no point in fighting when it will just lose. Kurogiri could focus on gathering information for Tomura and figure out what these heroes want from it. Although, there is a window in the room that it hadn't noticed in its distraction earlier. It doesn't have to fight, just escape. Kurogiri needs to actually be there in order to protect Tomura, after all.
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Evidently, throwing itself through a glass window without checking to see what story they were on while in the room with three highly trained Pro Heroes whilst having no clue what drugs it was on and what was done to its quirk was a bad idea.
Hizashi ran a hand through his hair, the unconscious “villain”’s head resting in his lap. His red eyes flickered between him, Shouta, and Nemuri. This was so fucked up. He wants to scream. He wants to murder someone, preferably All For One, those LOV fucks, and whatever bastard helped do this to Oboro. Obviously, he can't do either of those, so he was stuck fuming with one hand working on separating the mats in his dead best friend's hair.
The doctor was talking about something or the other, Hizashi wasn't paying attention. Why did something like this have to happen to Oboro, of all people? Why couldn't Oboro have just gotten the peaceful, honourable death that he deserved? Anyone who would take a dead kid's corpse to use for their own purposes was fucking disgusting, but even more so when it was Oboro's body. It's selfish to think, but Hizashi would have rathered anyone else die that day. Hell, he'd rather Oboro would've protected himself instead of those kids, and it was so selfish and he felt like shit for thinking like that. He wished someone else died that day, but more than that, Hizashi wished Oboro never came back. The kid never deserved any of this to happen, and Fuck. Oboro is still fucking seventeen. He hasn't aged at all. His brain never finished fucking developing because of what happened. He's seventeen and a brainwashed slave to the worst villain in history! Fuck. Hizashi should've known the minute they first met. Maybe then he'd at least been able to get him here sooner. Hizashi should've at least figured out something was up when watching the footage of Kamino when All For One had no problem stabbing Oboro's unconscious body to force a quirk activation in front of the news crew, amd the heroes, and the fucking LOV, the group Oboro's basically been a slave for for months now! Hizashi wants to beat them and maybe use his quirk to ‘accidentally’ collapse their lungs and boil them inside out. He legally can't, but he's pissed enough to think about actually doing it. Shouta would scold him for it, of course.
He wonders how Shouta feels about all of this. Oboro was his first actual friend at UA, after all. Oboro's the reason they all met. Shouta had been there when the building collapsed on him. He hadn't even realised he'd seen his friend die until he found Oboro's bottle gourd and wanted to return it. And Nemuri… Fuck. She had known Oboro the longest. They had been neighbours even before UA and had gone to the same schools most of their lives. Fuck. He had been a year younger than her. Now Oboro was fourteen years younger than them. Hizashi won't let them be hurt like that again. None of them. Never again. Oboro's moms are dead now, one died not too long after him VIA car crash after she'd been drinking and didn't want to worry her wife with picking her up. Like that worked considering she died from her grief and lack of self-care just a couple years ago now. Would telling him that bring back enough for him to start remembering? Or would Hizashi have to do something more drastic? He won't let this chance be taken away from him, from their friends.