Archive of Our Own

There was a splinter underneath Izuku’s left thumbnail. It was itchy. It was also the least of his problems right now. He should ignore the splinter and take stock of his other injuries.
This seemed to be easier said than done. Izuku’s whole body felt like one big bruise. There was blood slowly dripping down the back of his neck and pooling in a little puddle underneath him, soaking the top of his robe. He distantly hoped that the gods wouldn’t be angry at their property being dirtied. On second thought, the splinter seemed pretty important. Better than focusing on his rapidly approaching death, at any rate.

- 3 hours earlier -

Izuku had been having a fairly good day. In hindsight, this should have warned him. Bad things always seemed to come in threes. First, last week he had been notified by letter that his mother had passed on from an outbreak of smallpox. This neither surprised nor particularly saddened him.
She had always been sickly, worse than him, even with all her fussing over him when he was younger. They had been close, once, but after his father left, they had slowly grown distant. She had been bitter against his father, which conflicted with his hope that his dad would come back. However, regardless of their relationship, she was still his mother, and he had gone through most of that week with an odd emptiness in his stomach.
Second, two days ago, his best friend had left. Izuku and Katsuki had been joined at the hip when they were younger. Their mothers had introduced them, and they had been pushed together by almost everyone else in the small village where both of them had been born. They were the only two children in the village who were born into Lineages.

The gods did not descend into the realms of mortals often, but occasionally, they did choose favorites among humans. They chose seemingly randomly, but each person would inevitably go on to do something that astounded the world. (Even rarer were the people who were chosen quietly, spirited away to the home of the gods to keep their patron company for the rest of time)
The descendants of these chosen few were supposedly more likely to be chosen themselves, and thus were held below only the ruler of the land in importance. Izuku had doubts about the validity of Lineages, but he couldn’t deny the benefits of being part of one.
Even from the start, in that little village with no one to compare against but Izuku, Katsuki stood out. He was better, faster, stronger, more determined than any other child in the village. When they eventually learned from Aunt Mitsuki who their Lineage Ancestor was, it made perfect sense to Izuku, even as his mother gaped and stammered.
Izuku and his parents had moved away from the capital where Lineage families usually clustered because they were not a powerful enough Lineage to really be missed. Katsuki had because his could not be missed. All Might’s Lineage was distinct for being both one of the most powerful, and for being one of the only Lineages that had actually had multiple people chosen from it.
Katsuki had gotten to grow up away from all the people who would try to inflate his ego or ingratiate themselves, and Izuku had missed most of the teasing about his weaker Lineage. However, eventually, the newest Lineage Upholders would need to return to enroll in the training program for prospective High Priests. To be a High Priest of your Lineage Ancestor’s temple was the ideal goal for a Lineage Upholder. It was a highly respected position, a way to show that your family was still acknowledged by the god, and a way to put yourself out there as a candidate to be chosen by the god. Izuku had wanted to be one from the moment he knew what it was.
He had left with the Bakugo family in their cart. His mother had stayed behind in the village, which he was secretly glad for. She had waved goodbye with tears streaming down her face, though they hadn’t really been close by then. It was the last time he had seen her.

He and Katsuki had entered their training together. The explosive blond had kept people from bothering Izuku when he could, which wasn’t often. Katsuki continued to excel, and was considered a prime candidate for All Might’s next Champion. Izuku, on the other hand, was unpopular with his classmates and generally disliked by his teachers, who frowned upon his friendship with Katsuki. After Katsuki had exploded at a teacher for trying to separate them, the active attempts to sabotage the friendship were abandoned, but Izuku knew that they still thought he would hold Katsuki back.
Eventually, it stopped mattering because Katsuki had to leave anyway. All Might’s main temple was up high on a mountain, as fitting for the god of the day. Katsuki would finish his training there. They had said goodbye in the entrance hall of the temple, standing on the mosaic of All Might and his mortal enemy, All For One, the god of the night, locked in battle.

For the last two days, he had been mostly ignored. Now that Katsuki was gone, the teachers had no reason to call him out constantly for petty reasons. As long as he did not associate with powerful Lineages in their sight, he would be fine. The students were a different story. At this point, he had simply given up on eating lunch at all, preferring to avoid the unsupervised crush of people in the eating hall.
He had managed to make a few friends with Lineages that weren’t so stuck up. Tokoyami, who belonged to the wind god, Hawks, ate dinner with him in the courtyard when he could get most of a tray out of the eating hall without somebody tripping him or spilling something on his food, and shared his own food when he couldn’t. Iida, who introduced himself as the acolyte of Ingenium, patron of the swiftfooted messengers, and Jirou, rising star in the temple of Present Mic, god of music, studied with him in the library.

One benefit of attending courses in the capital’s main temple was the library. Izuku had never seen so many scrolls before in one place. He tried his best to inhale as many as possible before he was inevitably kicked from the temple. It was the first time in his life that he had access to material on his family’s god. Iida helped him to find the scrolls he wanted, and he spread them out and devoured their contents.
His god’s name is Eraserhead, the patron of teachers and protector of children. That was all he had ever known about him until now, and he threw himself into learning as much as possible. He liked the sound of his god’s titles. Unfortunately, neither of them help him at all. He always seems to have bad luck with his teachers (he refuses to believe that they aren’t lowering his grades on purpose) and since he is 15, he probably doesn’t count as a child anymore.
His god’s name was mentioned in conjunction with Present Mic’s more often than not. Izuku wondered vaguely if they were courting. It wasn’t unheard of between gods. His god seems to be a generally kind one, but strict. He was fond of wandering the world as a homeless human and rewarding the good or punishing the bad that he sees people do. Izuku resolved never to be rude to anyone on the street ever again.
Eraserhead was also protective of kids in bad situations. Izuku liked the story of Shinsou, the poor boy who did a kind deed and was swept away to live happily away from his unfortunate life. He sometimes catches himself daydreaming of being taken away like Shinsou was, to a place where he would never have to skip a meal again. He tried not to think about it. It’s rude to expect too much from gods.

The two days after Katsuki leaves pass slowly, but uneventfully. Izuku, feeling raw without his friend, turns into even more of a bookworm than before. On the third day, Izuku makes a discovery.
He marches over to where Iida and Jirou are arguing quietly about the details of the latest assignment from Kokomo-sensei, who is notoriously strict, and sets a scroll down on the table. “I’ve finished going though the records on Eraserhead. There isn’t a single mention of a chosen other than Shinsou. My ancestor has got to be him.”
Iida leans forward to look at the illustration of a purple haired boy kneeling at an alter. “It seems likely. It is a good sign that the beginning of your Lineage was one who was taken with the god. It means that your connection is strong.”
“What it means is that he doesn’t have a real connection with a god at all.” A voice drawled behind Izuku.
Monoma, one of Izuku’s main aggressors, stepped out from behind a bookcase. Vlad King’s Lineage wasn’t the most powerful, but Monoma made up for it in sneering gestures.
“Buzz off, Monoma.” Jirou huffed. “See,” Monoma hummed, completely ignoring Jirou, “Shinsou was taken away, wasn’t he? He has no descendants. The ones who you are descended from are the abusive family that he was taken away from. Your god will hold no allegiance to you. I should really report this. There is no point in the temple paying for someone who isn’t of a Lineage to be educated.”
Izuku felt like he’d been slapped. Monoma, seeing that he’d made his effect, left before Jirou could make up her mind whether or not to punch him.
Izuku, distracted, tried to placate his friends before leaving as quickly as he could without making them more concerned.
He went straight for the temple gardens and tucked himself into a corner to think. Monoma was right, but did that mean that he didn’t have a Lineage? His ancestors had had their Lineage recognized. He lost himself in thought, and when he came back, the sun was lower than it had been and there was a teacher calling him.
“The High Priest wishes to see you.”
He felt like crying again. He had already been crying, and his throat itched. Why did the High Priest want to see him? Had Monoma actually told someone? It might have been his friends trying to report Monoma who had accidentally given him away.
Numbly, Izuku followed the teacher through the winding halls of the temple. The sun was shining directly through the stained glass windows on this side of the building, casting colored shadows on everything. Izuku’s surroundings looked fake and garish in the glow. He wondered if they were fake, if he would wake up back in his little village again, where Katsuki was banging on the door and the smell of his mother’s cooking filled their small house.
The High Priest’s office had a door that almost reached the ceiling. It was heavy wood lined with solid metal, and it was very intimidating. (Izuku suspected that it was also very heavy, judging by how his escort struggled to open it.)
The High Priest was sitting behind a desk covered with scrolls. Long bookshelves lined the walls, and Izuku’s feet sank into the most luscious carpet he’d ever seen. Three other high officials were sitting in chairs before the desk. That wasn’t a good sign. His escort sat down in the last chair. Izuku stood awkwardly behind them. The High Priest smiled at him.
“So this is the youngest of Eraserhead’s Lineage. Have some tea.” Izuku stuttered out an affirmation and thanks as he took the cup he was handed. He sipped gratefully, letting the warm liquid sooth his throat.
One of the lesser priests cleared his throat and spoke. “It has come to our attention that there has been some dispute about the validity of your Lineage. We have discussed it and decided that the rumors are untrue. Your Lineage was confirmed by the High Priest of the time.”
Izuku felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It was quickly replaced by another. If he wasn’t being expelled from the temple, why was he here?
The High Priest gestured for one of the others to refill Izuku’s cup. He hadn’t noticed that he’d emptied it. “Since you have been struggling to cement yourself as the new Lineage Upholder, we thought to give you a little assistance. Eraserhead, as you know, is a minor god of protection, as well as having some influence over teachers. He has a small temple near here that we, as teachers, care for. It is nearing the time of year where a sacrifice will be made to ensure our success in mentoring the rising stars of the temples. As Eraserhead’s Lineage Upholder, you should be involved in the sacrifice.”
Izuku immediately felt his cheeks flush. That was a big decision to make as someone who hadn’t officially entered Eraserhead’s temple yet. The five priests were looking at him, waiting for an answer. He managed to squeak out an agreement. He felt dizzy. The High Priest smiled again. “Excellent. You will do wonderfully. I do hope you understand why we are making this decision. We have known for some time that the Lineage of Eraserhead was not strong. As he directly affects us as educators, this would not do.”
Izuku’s head was spinning now, moving past dizziness to something that affected his balance. One of the lesser priests stood up and directed him to sit down in the chair he had just vacated. Izuku’s tongue felt swollen and heavy. “Whas happenin’,” he croaked out.
“You see,” the High Priest said, “Young Monoma was quite right about your Lineage descending from disgraced ancestors. This is why your connection to Eraserhead is feeble at best. The best way to strengthen that connection is to have another person from the Lineage chosen. However, you cannot force a connection. The only way left open to us is to attempt to mollify the god.”
Another of the others sighed. “I still think that the only way the god will show up for this pathetic sacrifice is to actually sacrifice it. It isn’t worth much alive.”
The High Priest was still smiling. “And I have decided that, as a minor protection god, Eraserhead would not approve of blood on his altar. He can do as he pleases with his sacrifice, but it is not for us to make that decision for him.”
The priests continued talking, but Izuku’s entire body felt like it was sinking into a pit of tar. The sound of the priests chatting flickers, like someone is holding his head underwater. There are hands on his arms, moving him, picking him up. Izuku sinks into oblivion.

- Now -

Izuku blinks back into existence between one breath and another. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He feels bogged down and stupid, like he is still fighting to get out of the tar. He tries to stretch.
His arms only move about half an inch before something stops them. Blearily peeling his eyes open, Izuku looks at what he can see of his surroundings. He is sprawled out on a truly gigantic altar. Silver chains with engraved runes bind his hands and feet to the ends of the table.
His head is still spinning and his memory of the last half hour is hazy at best, but his vision is rapidly clearing, allowing him to take stock of his situation more thoroughly.
The more thorough assessment does not help. He wonders if the priests had dragged him by his wrists up the rocky path to the god’s temple. It felt like it. His head hurt. Everything hurt, actually, but it felt better to focus on one thing at a time.
Izuku, slightly more sentient now that he has shaken off most of the effects of the drug, shakes his head as much as he can with his arms pinned above his head. This does not succeed in clearing it as he had hoped, but does intensify his headache, which has the same effect. Izuku is used to pain. It is his body’s signal that he needs to think fast or else there will be consequences.
Usually these consequences involve going hungry because someone stole his lunch while he was distracted. This situation boasts slightly bigger stakes than that.
Unfortunately, Izuku’s usual method of dealing with problems is to be small, quick, mostly unnoticeable, and generally hard to hit. This will not work, because although he looks much smaller than usual chained alone on the giant altar made for massive sacrificial feasts, he is far from unnoticeable. His hair is the only color in the entire temple that isn’t some shade of white or cream. His ability to be quick and hard to hit is seriously hampered by the chains.
In summary, Izuku is completely screwed.
At least he has clothes. There are several rituals that involve the victim being naked.
Unfortunately, his clothes are not the same ones he fell asleep in, which is very reassuring. He can’t see very much of anything, but he is dressed in some sort of white robe. It feels silky. Thankfully, his underwear is just as itchy as before, meaning it’s probably the same pair.
Izuku employs the only tactic that is available to him to avoid a panic attack. He distracts himself.
The pavilion he is in is outdoors, a roof supported by pillars. He can smell flowers nearby. There is nothing other than the altar in the pavilion that he can see, meaning that the traditional stand with candles and a place for a priest to place a scroll or offerings is probably behind him. It is a simple structure as temples go. Everything is white marble.
Izuku shuts his eyes and thunks his head down on the altar. He breaths as slowly and calmly as he can. There is no sound other than him and the wind. He is alone.
He breaths for a couple minutes, then his eyes again. There has to be a way out. He immediately feels bad for thinking about leaving. He is a sacrifice to his god. He should be happy.
The wind blows harder. Izuku shivers. It is early November, and though it is sunny, it is still cold.
Suddenly, his heart drops. What if no one comes? The priests would have chanted, invoked his god’s name, but he isn’t worth enough to be a sufficient sacrifice. What if the god never shows up? The priests will not come back. They probably think he’s already been taken. He would starve or freeze to death chained on a cold altar with nothing but a silk slip to cover him.
He has nothing to pick the lock of the cuffs with.
In desperation, Izuku tips back his head and tries to shout for help. His scream comes out muffled and quiet. His jaw won’t open, and something metal is digging into his nose.
Blood begins dripping down his cheek and the back of his neck.
Izuku, the last bit of hope dying, realizes why. The priests have put the muzzle they use for sacrificial animals on him. Is that all he is? An animal?
It doesn’t matter. Like the animals, all he can do is lay here and cry. He is going to die and there is nothing he can do.
Izuku loses time after that. He cries and shouts into the muzzle, ignoring the now steady stream of blood from the cuts.
Dimly, he wonders what Katsuki will do when he hears. Will he come back and try to bring the power of All Might down on the priests heads? Izuku hopes not. He doesn’t want Katsuki to ruin his own destiny to try and avenge him.
Eventually, he runs out of tears. He lays there, panting and trying to breathe through the tears and snot caught in the muzzle.
A twig snaps. Izuku ignores it. These hills are full of deer. Another twig, and then Izuku hears rhythmic thuds. Footsteps.
Despite spending the last hour trying to attract attention, Izuku freezes like a startled rabbit. Is it a person who heard him and came to see what the racket was about? Or did he anger his god? Was Eraserhead irritated by his sacrifice trying to escape?
The footsteps become clearer. The click of boots on marble approach the altar.
Izuku can’t breathe. The muzzle seems to be growing smaller. The footsteps stop a few feet away. Someone huffs through their nose. Are they mad? Izuku hopes not.
A click. Fingers being snapped. Izuku’s chains unlock themselves from his wrists. He doesn’t move. Neither does his savior. Silence stretches for a few minutes.
Izuku decides that if he is going to die, he might as well get it over with. He sits up. There is a man standing on Izuku’s right. He has dark tangled hair and a big scarf, and looks like a homeless person who had wandered up out of the city bounds. Izuku nearly flops back down in relief. It isn’t a god. Just a more humane person than the priests. For some reason, Izuku’s heart doesn’t get the message. Fear boils up in the back of his throat.
Izuku stands up slowly. He can do this. He wobbles, the blood rushing from his head. The man steps forward, reaching to stabilize him. Izuku can’t do this. Instinct long honed by running from bullies takes over. He turns and bolts.

Izuku runs for the path that stretches along the left side of the tall hill that Eraserhead’s temple is on. The temple is on a natural ledge formed halfway up the hill. Unfortunately, Izuku’s path runs further up the hill, where he knows there is a cliff and no other safe way down.
Flight instinct satisfied, his logic kicks in, and he swerves around the curve of the hill before flopping down on his belly and worming his way as far as he can into the thick underbrush.
Despite the man’s appearance, he had opened Izuku’s cuffs without touching them. He could not be entirely human. Izuku had been kind of out of it, though. It was just possible that the man had opened the cuffs and backed up while Izuku was panicking. If he was a normal hobo, there was no reason to chase Izuku up the hill, and all Izuku had to do was wait until he went away. If he followed him up out of curiosity, he could wait until the man passed him and run the other way. If the man was divine, the most obvious explanation was that Eraserhead had not wanted a subpar sacrifice and had sent someone to get rid of him before he tainted the temple. If that was the case, Izuku just had to hope that leaving the temple counted as being “got rid of.”
Izuku squirmed into a little gap between bushes, his back up against the rise of the hill. The sun was setting now, and his area was in shadow. His hair would help to blend in. His robe would not. The muzzle, which was still attached to his face, was black, and would probably go unnoticed. Izuku rolled over as best he could, trying to cover the bold white of the silk with dirt and leaves.
He buried his head in his hands and waited.
For a few minutes, there was nothing. Then, along the path, there was quiet whispering and two sets of footsteps.
“I didn’t scare him, the kid looked like a terrified rabbit before I moved.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t going to try to go down the side of the hill?”
“He looked beat up enough that I doubt it. He’d break his neck.”
Izuku trembled. How had he missed that there were two? They were looking for him. They were in sight now, coming up the path slowly, peering into the bushes lining the road. He still stood out like a beacon in the white robe. If he tried to take the slip off, they would hear him moving.
Suddenly, he felt calmer than he had all day. He was going to be caught. Alright. It was probably for the best anyway. He never would have been able to get the muzzle off by himself. If he hadn’t gone back to town, he would have starved. It wouldn’t have been hard for the priests to track him down again. He wondered vaguely what these men were, if they weren’t gods. Vessels, maybe? Servants that obeyed orders given to them by the gods they serve. Maybe that is what Izuku will become.
The two men are almost level with him now. The dark haired one from before is a couple feet behind the new one, taking his time looking through the undergrowth. The new one (Izuku can only see a pair of dark leather boots) is walking faster, closer to Izuku.
The leather boots pause in front of Izuku. His calmness immediately vanishes, and he bites his lip to stop himself from hyperventilating. Maybe, just maybe?
But the boots take a step back, and then there is a whole man sitting across from him and looking straight at Izuku.

He stares at the (completely normal looking) man sitting on the bare dirt. He has long blond hair, a kind smile, and the most vivid pair of green eyes Izuku has ever seen. (Something in the back of Izuku’s mind rings familiarity) He catches Izuku’s eye and his smile broadens.
A twig cracks behind him. The dark haired man is moving slowly closer. Izuku nearly hides his face again, but as the blond man turns his head to glance back, the light catches his face at a better angle and plays off the silvery scars that trace over the man’s nose and cheeks.
Izuku stares. They had been entirely unnoticeable until now. It was almost like they hadn’t existed until then. He feels his own face hurt and wonders if his muzzle will leave the same scars.

(In the back of his mind, the same feeling that had recognized the man pushed forward memories of reading scrolls in the main temple library. Jirou had pointed out her favorite story about her god. Present Mic, notoriously kind to humans, had explored the mortal world in guise of a traveling musician. A band of mostly drunk slavers had passed by. The god in disguise had not fought, simply warned them off. They laughed and strapped a muzzle to his face to make an example of him for the other slaves. The god had made an example of them instead. The slaves, all of which had made it out, were never able to give a full description of what had happened, too terrified to speak.)

The dark haired man is behind the blond one now, standing at the other side of the path. At a look from the blond, he clears his throat. “Sorry for scaring you, kid. We’re not gonna hurt you.”
The blond chimes in. “I know he looks scary, but he’s really a teddy bear.” He leans forward, catching Izuku’s eye again. “We really don’t mean any harm, kiddo. You feel like coming out of there? I bet that muzzle is uncomfortable.”
Izuku considers. Likely, these men have the power to rip him out of his hiding spot with or without permission. Instead, they are asking. Probably better to try and correct his awful behavior from earlier and hopefully appease them by being obedient. Accordingly, Izuku begins the slow process of awkwardly wiggling himself out of the tight corner he’s wedged himself in.
The two men don’t rush him. They just shuffle back to give him plenty of space to come out himself. Once he is fully out, he pauses, on one knee in filthy robes on the path.
The blond man is still smiling at him. “Thanks, kiddo! Next step is getting that thing off you. Is it alright if I come closer?”
Izuku is about to nod like a good sacrifice when he pauses. Now that there aren’t leaves in the way, he can study the men in front of him more closely. The dark man is weirdly familiar now, and something is niggling at the back of Izuku’s mind. The blond’s hair is bigger than he had seen before, a massive swoop curving up from the back of his head like a banana. A very familiar banana. The memories of studying with Jirou and laughing at the portraits of her god’s hair slam into him.
Izuku knows his eyes are huge and he can’t seem to get his breathing under control. The blond-Present Mic!-looks concerned.
He opens his mouth, but Izuku flings himself down on his face before any words come out. Izuku was never the best at the proper techniques of worship like bowing or keeping his eyes down all the time. He’s too fidgety. It was one of his teachers biggest complaints.
This time is no different. He has never performed a bow so inelegantly. He crashes to his hands and knees and presses his body as close to the ground as possible. The muzzle makes itself known with a vengeance as his face collides with the ground.
Panicked thoughts swirl in his mind. He had run from a god. He had run and attempted to hide from a god. Thank All Might he hadn’t risen above one knee when getting out of the bushes, his punishment would already be bad enough.
Slowly, words begin to filter their way through the haze surrounding his mind. “Hey, hey, no, you don’t have to do that, sweetheart. We’re not mad. It’s okay.” Present Mic is kneeling beside him. Gentle hands touch his back.
Izuku doesn’t have the energy to flinch away. A deeper voice is rumbling quietly from his other side, warning him before someone touches the back of his head and the lock of the muzzle clicks.
Present Mic, still mumbling reassurances, gently pulls him to sit upright. The dark haired man, moving slowly, pulls the muzzle off his face and tosses it away into the bushes. Izuku, dazed and still breathing too fast, looks at the dark haired man. If this is Present Mic, then who is that? The little niggling familiar thing leaps to the front of his mind. Eraserhead, descending to the mortal realm in the guise of a homeless wanderer. Izuku feels like sobbing. He hadn’t just run from a god, he had run from his god. He wonders if Eraserhead will be kinder in his punishment because Izuku is his or stricter because someone who is his should know better.
He flattens himself again. As soon as he could make his tongue work, he rasped out a traditional greeting. “The Lineage Upholder of Eraserhead presents his greetings to his god.”
There were two hands on his back now, gently trying to raise him up. At his words, one of them jerked abruptly off and the stream of reassurance paused.
Izuku cursed himself. They hadn’t been mad, but he had had to open his mouth. “I-I apologize for my behavior. I did not mean to disrespect either of your honored persons.” He continued, desperately trying to appease them. His voice felt like sandpaper, and his throat was dry. He needed water. He hoped he could be understood. Incoherence would probably make them madder.
“It’s alright, we’re not angry. It’s okay.” Present Mic was still trying to ease him out of his bow. Izuku let him, figuring that going with what they wanted would be better.
Present Mic cooed at the tears streaming down Izuku’s face and the cuts that ran over his cheeks. The next thing Izuku knew, he had been pulled into the god’s lap, his face cradled in his neck.
Izuku froze. Was he supposed to hug back? He was going to get the god’s clothes dirty, and he didn’t want to anger the other any more by making another mistake.
Suddenly, the other hand on his back is there again. “It’s alright, kid. Neither of us is angry. We’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe.” “Poor baby.” Present Mic murmured over his head. “You’ve not had a very good day, have you?” Izuku wondered how young he seemed to the ancient beings cradling him.
Izuku didn’t know how long they stayed there, collapsed on the hillside path. When his tears had finally run out, the sun was fully set. He carefully pulled back from Present Mic, who just smiled at him.
“Ready to go?”
Izuku sniffled. “Go where?” He stiffened when he realized he’d just dared to question a god. Eraserhead’s hand ruffled his hair. “You’re allowed to ask. We’re going home. Back to our realm.”
Izuku felt his cheeks flush. He scooted off Present Mic and stood up, proud of how he only wobbled a little. Present Mic stood too, brushing off his pants. Izuku stepped back and bowed slightly, ignoring the frown Present Mic gave him. “Thank you for staying. I apologize for how I have acted.”
“Sweetheart, we meant you too.” Present Mic held out a hand. “We aren’t just going to leave you here like this.” Izuku stared, uncomprehending. They wanted to take him with them? Like a chosen?
Eraserhead, who hadn’t really said much compared to the voluble Present Mic, leaned down to look Izuku in the eye. “Kid, you’re one of mine, yes?” Izuku nodded quickly. “Then that makes this a personal insult to me that you were treated like this.”
Izuku sniffled again. “But I-I’m not worth choosing. I’m a-a sacrifice.”
Eraserhead’s jaw tightened and Present Mic lost his smile. “If you were sacrificed to me, you are mine to decide the worth of. This is unacceptable treatment of my Lineage. Thus, it is logical to remove you from this situation.”
Present Mic gently snagged Izuku’s flimsy sleeve and drew him closer to the two gods. “Kiddo, this was not okay for anyone to do, much less high ranking priests. If you don’t want to come with us, you don’t have to, but we’re not just going to leave you on this hill to freeze. You’re shaking already.”
He was right. Izuku was frigidly cold in the thin robe. He looked at the two gods. Two faces looked back. They weren’t scary or angry. They didn’t look divine at all. They looked like two normal people, excluding Present Mic’s hairstyle.
Izuku looked past them at the lights of the capital. The priests who had chained and muzzled him like a dog were getting ready to go to bed, probably. In their giant rooms with the plush carpets.
Izuku looked back at Present Mic and Eraserhead. “Okay.” He whispered. Present Mic drew him in against his side. In a blink, the three were gone. There were no flashes of light or sound. They were simply gone between one blink and the next.

———————

The first thing Izuku registered when they reappeared again was a blaze of light and heat.
He had to close his eyes against the light, blinding after the dark hillside. The heat sunk immediately into his skin. It felt wonderful. Once his eyes adjusted, he peered around at his new surroundings.
It was a house. It landed somewhere between mansion and manor house, not overly opulent, but definitely rich. They were in a hall lined with doors. A staircase swept up to a second story. The place was brightly lit and fires were laid in most of the rooms that Izuku could see into.
It was one of the nicest places he’d ever been in. Present Mic was walking away now, heading for the staircase. Eraserhead lead him towards a room with big double doors, through which Izuku saw bookshelves, couches, and a thick carpet. It was a little like the High Priest’s office, but somehow Izuku felt much more comfortable. “Mic is going to go tell our kids you’re here and find the first aid kit.” Eraserhead explained quietly.
Izuku felt like an owl, craning his neck around with wide eyes.
He sees a little face poking out of a room upstairs. Eri, his mind supplies, taking note of the familiar single horn, the little goddess of rebirth, rescued from her father, Overhaul, god of death, by the protector of children currently leading him into the living room.
Eri, eying him curiously, scrambles down the staircase as Eraserhead sits Izuku down on one of the couches.
“I am going to get you something to drink.” He tucks the fluffiest blanket Izuku has ever felt around him, then leaves, ruffling Eri’s hair as he goes. Eri peeks into the room. She’s holding a stuffed rabbit.
Izuku smiles as best he can. “Hi. Who’s that?” She brightens immediately and scampers over to sit beside him on the couch. “This is King Carrotcus. Hitoshi gave him to me!” The little girl chirps.
Izuku solemnly shakes the bright red rabbit’s paw, then pauses. “Who’s Hitoshi?” No legend that he had ever read mentioned a Hitoshi in relation with Eraserhead.
“Me.” The voice comes from the doorway.
Izuku looks over and nearly has a heart attack. In the doorway is the boy whose picture he had stared at so often in the main temple’s library.
Izuku’s ancestor strolls into the room, raising an eyebrow at the wide-eyed stare Izuku is sure is on his face. He turns to Eri.
“Papa needs to help Izuku’s face. Can you go get a stuffed animal to help him feel brave?” Eri takes this duty seriously, and goes running out of the room after assuring Izuku that she will find the best one in her entire collection.
Shinsou-Hitoshi can be no one else-sits down on the couch in the spot Eri had vacated. “She’ll take a good 15 minutes to find the best one. Her collection-hey, are you okay?” Izuku knows there’s tears running down his face again.
He can’t help it. Shinsou looks uncertain, which makes Izuku cry harder. He can’t even not make his ancestor uncomfortable. Shinsou awkwardly tries to pat his knee. “What’s the matter?” And just like that, the floodgates open.
Izuku spills everything in a rush of words and tears. The bullying, the discovery of Shinsou being his ancestor, Monoma and the priests. At some point, Eraserhead and Present Mic come back and listen quietly from the background.
When Izuku is finished, Eraserhead makes him drink water, then pulls Shinsou off to the side, probably explaining where they had found Izuku.
Present Mic crouches in front of Izuku and holds up a bottle of clear liquid. “I need to clean out the cuts before I can heal them, kiddo.”
Izuku nods obediently, lowering his face to make it easier for the god. Back next to him on the couch, Shinsou nudges his hand with his. Izuku looks over to see Shinsou holding out his hand. Slowly, not sure why Shinsou wants his hand but unwilling to deny the godling, Izuku places his hand in Shinsou’s. Present Mic, holding a towel that he had pulled from nowhere beneath Izuku’s face, poured the stinging liquid over the cuts on Izuku’s nose and cheeks. Izuku bit back any sound that wanted to escape his mouth, but instinctively tightened his grip on Shinsou’s hand. He released it immediately, glancing over to see if Shinsou is angry. Shinsou just smiles crookedly at him.

Present Mic mops Izuku’s face with the towel, then cups his face in his hands and brushes his thumbs over Izuku’s cheeks. His face immediately feels better. “That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.” Present Mic sighs. “Tomorrow, we’ll get Recovery Girl to take a look at you.”
Izuku wondered why they would waste the goddess of healing’s time on him, but refrained from saying so out loud. “Thank you, sir.” “You’re welcome, but none of that. Call me Yamada.”
Izuku blinked. Had Present Mic actually just given him his name? He considered the possibility that he was actually dead on that hilltop somewhere. This would be a very convincing hallucination.
Eraserhead (“call me Aizawa”) shepherded him off the couch and down the hall into the biggest bathroom Izuku had ever seen.
There was a tub full of steaming water and a pile of clothes on the counter. Aizawa told him to take his time and left him alone.
Izuku wanted to drown himself in the heat of the tub, but restrained himself to scrubbing himself down quickly. The gods were being very kind, but it was unwise to test their patience.

Dressed in very comfortable clothes, Izuku made his way back to the living room. Eri had returned with a forest green bear which she presented proudly. Izuku accepted it with a solemn promise that he would take care of it.
She dragged him back onto the couch, where he ended up between her and Shinsou. At Yamada’s call, Eri scrambled off to help him carry plates of steaming rice into the room. Shinsou took the opportunity to nudge him and tell him firmly that regardless of what the priests said, what Shinsou’s family had done did not reflect on Izuku. “You’re part of my Lineage regardless of what those stuck up windbags say.”
Izuku, predictably, cried. When he tried to thank Shinsou, he was told that he should call him Hitoshi and he could go stuff his apologies up the chimney.
Izuku thought that Hitoshi would be fun to listen to when Eri wasn’t around. As the three ate, Eri asked if he had any friends, and Izuku shyly told them about Katsuki, Jirou, Iida, and Tokoyami. As Eri chattered about her best friend and her toys, the older two looked on from the doorway.
After dinner, Izuku was tucked into a spare bedroom. He fell asleep with a full stomach and an extra blanket at the foot of the bed.

Izuku never becomes a High Priest. He doesn’t need to.

The muzzle does not leave scars.