Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being taken from the ruins of Jaku City was a relief at first. It promised safety and survival. Field medics treated the worst wounds. Med-evac teams stabilized bodies where they could and soothed minds. None of them knew yet that Central Hospital was a horror all its own. 

Every hallway he'd seen was lined with occupied stretchers. Supplies were low. Staffing was lower. When was the last time he saw a person with a staff badge? Or any non-patient at all?

Cries of physical and emotional pain were constant. It was louder here than on the battlefield. The hospital's walls trapped the sounds inside. Wails and moans echoed and filled the narrow space to overflowing. 

Those walls that held screams too close were also too white. The fluorescent lights reflected sharply off of the glossy paint. It made it both hard to see and hard to not see. The person on the opposite side of the hallway had been writhing before but had become still. His brain screamed at him to watch, to know if their chest was still rising and falling. It screamed at him to block it all out too. To ignore the way blood gathered on the hem of the saturated and disheveled sheets. To stop watching as each drop became too heavy and fell into the large pool forming on the floor. 

Did he have his own pool? Probably. Every single part of him felt like it was both freezing cold and on fire. The scattering of scrapes were his mildest injuries, but they stung the most. Nothing was muted at all so his hazy thoughts couldn't be blamed on lingering pain medication. 

He realized that, after everything that he had said and done and felt, he was probably going to die in this random hallway. He would slip away without witness, staring at a person that he refused to accept had already met a similar end. These thoughts should probably make him laugh, or cry, or scream. Instead he simply released another shallow wheeze and wondered distantly how many more he'd get. 

It didn't really matter how many. They had failed. Shigaraki had escaped. Those who survived their hallways today wouldn't get many more breaths anyway. Neither would the people that avoided injury, or weren't caught within the crossfire. They may survive today. But tomorrow, death will come for them too. Or the next day, or the one after that. 

He thought of his colleagues. His friends. His love. His students. His little girl. Rage ignited in a brief, incandescent flash, before blackness enveloped him. 

He didn't remember waking. It was more accurate to say that he noticed that the scene was different now.

It seemed that his personal purgatory was still in a hospital. Fair. He did always hate them. 

He was in a private room. Low murmuring sounded from outside the door, but it was quiet inside. There were no monitors or tubes in sight. Evening light slanted in through a large window to his left. It made everything look soft. Deceptive, since the hospital sheets were as stiff and scratchy as ever. 

It sank in that he had been looking around with both eyes. He ran his finger under his right eye and the skin was smooth. There was no uneven half-moon marking his survival after the USJ. Feeling bolder, he moved the blanket aside and pulled up his right pant leg. He poked at the flesh of his shin. Maybe he looked like the mental image of himself in this place, and the damage to his eye and leg were too new. If that were true, though, he should have his scar. It proved his commitment to protecting his students and that made him surprisingly proud of it. 

With a sigh, he wondered what to do. Could he leave this room? If he could, did he want to? He was in no rush to see whatever might be out there even, or maybe especially, if it was a hospital hallway. 

Instead, he fixed the sheets and blankets and lay back on the pillows. He let his eyes close and his head loll to one side. He felt strange, almost high, but that wasn't quite it. After a few minutes, he realized that it was the feeling of not battling bone-deep exhaustion for the first time in years. He wasn't tired at all. 

Upon realizing that sleep wasn't happening, he stood to look out the window instead. Sleep wouldn't be necessary now, so maybe it was impossible. Insomnia would fit with every other hospital experience he ever had. 

When the door slid open, he stood still and watched in the window's reflection. 

Nezu walked in and closed the door behind himself. He didn't look right though. No suit jacket, vest, or tie. His rumpled white dress shirt and pants matched his unbrushed fur. He barely lifted his feet as he moved toward the bedside. He looked up and startled. 

“Pup!” The voice was right but the tone was wrong, and Nezu hadn't called him that in years. 

Shōta didn't react to Not-Nezu talking, just watched him evenly. Not-Nezu hurried over and held Shōta's right hand in both paws. Shōta wasn't sure why he expected them to be cold, but they weren't. His paws were warm. Soft. Familiar. 

Not-Nezu's ears flattened. “Say something?”

Wishing Nezu was actually with him would mean wishing him dead, wouldn't it? He tried to ignore how badly he wanted it. But each time he pushed it away, it pressed back harder. He took a few steps to be further apart. Maybe not touching would make it ache less.

Not-Nezu held the end of his tail and let his shoulders slump. He looked small. It reminded Shōta of when Nezu first met Eri. Nezu could rarely let himself look small, speak softly, or be gentle. The lab taught him that those things were vulnerabilities he couldn't allow. 

Not-Nezu's voice matched that memory too. “You know that you're safe now. Don't you, Shōta-kun?”  

The behavior was unusual for Nezu, but it was also exactly as he remembered it. It made Shōta uneasy. He pressed his back to the cool glass of the window. The cold was too short-lived to be grounding. He sat heavily on the floor instead. 

Their faces were level with each other's now. Shōta examined (Not?) Nezu's face, watching the tiny shifts in his expression. If this was Nezu, then Nezu was dead. If Nezu was dead, was Eri dead too?

Shōta's stomach flipped and his lips went numb. He closed his eyes tightly. It seemed unfair that panic attacks were still possible here. 

He felt soft paws running through his hair, and he felt 12 all over again. “It's okay now, pup. I found you.”

“I…don't…understand.” Shōta whispered each word between gulps of air.

“What don't you understand?” (Not?) Nezu asked, carefully detangling a knot.

He had to work himself up to the question. “Am…”

(Not?) Nezu hummed his encouragement.

“Am I…alive?”

The paws stilled in his hair. “Yes, pup. I found you in time.”

The crash of emotion was disorienting. This was Nezu. Nezu was alive. He was alive, but Eri wasn't here. Was she safe? And the battle. They failed. And at least 6 UA students were injured that he knew of. Did the students get help? Did they get lost in their own hallways?

The hallway.

Would he ever really leave that hallway?

Chapter Text

Shōta remembered waking up this time.

He felt pressure - no, weight - near his feet. He opened his eyes. The head of the bed was lifted just slightly. It was a relief to be able to quickly see all around. 

He was still in the private hospital room, only now the blinds were partially closed to dim the mid-afternoon sunshine. Nezu was right against Shōta's leg. He was completely asleep. 

Everything about that was jarring. Shōta had never seen Nezu sleep around other humans. He also usually hid his rat behaviors, like the way he was curled into a ball and nestled into Shōta's leg for comfort and warmth. Of course humans hadn't stopped mistreating him after the lab. Discrimination against mutant quirks and quirked animals was pervasive.

The more Shōta looked at Nezu, the more it eroded his sense of knowing. 

He scanned the room - both eyes intact. He touched his face - still no USJ scar. He sat up to poke his shin - his leg was there. 

Was the Jaku raid real? Was the hallway real? Was the conversation with Nezu real? Was this real? 

How could he know? Really know?

It suddenly struck Shōta that if his USJ scar wasn't there, maybe this moment was real but the entire school year wasn't?

No Hell Class. No Problem Child. No All Might. No Shigaraki. No All For One. No Shirakumo-is-Kurogiri. No Stain. No Overhaul. No Eri. 

He looked at the dry-erase board hung on the wall. The date under his name was March 24. 3 days since Jaku, if Jaku was real. 

Hoping he'd had some kind of quirk accident or psychotic break would mean that he'd been delusional for 11 months. That would be…not ideal. 

He thought back to asking Nezu if he was alive. That didn't tell him much. An illogical question. Not that he was thinking logically. Shōta wasn't even sure whether he'd gotten back into bed and went to sleep, or if he had just hyperventilated and passed out on the floor.

Shōta's hands tightened around the blankets. 

The door slid open and Naomasa walked in carrying a drowsy Eri. When Shōta's eyes met Eri's she gasped and tried to wiggle out of Naomasa's arms.

Naomasa walked over and put Eri on Shōta's lap. The crying girl latched onto him. He was reflexively angry that she learned to cry silently. 

If this was real.

He shuddered and clung to Eri just as hard. 

After she had mostly settled, Eri pulled back enough to hold his face in both of her small hands. “Daddy.”

“Eri.” Shōta searched her face like it would have some solution in it. 

Naomasa cleared his throat and Shōta turned his gaze to the other man. “Nezu-san said you were confused last night. And you look a little confused right now.”

After years of (probably) working with Naomasa, of befriending him, Shōta's filter was faulty. He blurted out, “I have a leg.”

Naomasa pursed his lips and gave a small, singular nod. “Eri, hum for me?”

Eri pouted but began to hum when Naomasa's hands pressed over her ears.

“She didn't see or hear anything, and she didn't know it was you,” Naomasa hedged. “By the time we found you, we weren't even sure if she could Rewind you enough to save you.”

Shōta looked from Naomasa to Eri, eyes wide. 

Shōta let out a slow breath. “How bad was her quirk exhaustion?”

“Rough, but not terrible,” he answered. “Someone with a healing quirk had only reattached the major nerves and blood vessels in your leg, but since it was there at all, it took less out of both of you.”

Eri's humming went from melodic to more of a grumble as she got impatient.  

Naomasa lowered his hands, then asked Shōta, “Better?”

“Yeah,” Shōta replied. 

Naomasa flinched. 

Shōta gave him an apologetic look before holding Eri's face in his hands like she was still holding his. “So you're a hero too, huh?”

Eri beamed. “Yeah! Jiji and Tsuki-san helped! I got a tummyache and was real tired after, but they helped with that too.”

“I'm so proud of you, bug,” Shōta said as he smoothed her hair. He could feel the shake in his breath but thankfully it wasn't audible. “I'm sorry I couldn't turn it off for you like usual.”

“That's okay, Daddy,” Eri said with a grin. “Jiji said you had to do lots of scary hero things too, but I didn't ask because of his ears.”

Shōta looked at Naomasa, who looked just as perplexed. 

“What do you mean about Nezu-san's ears?” Naomasa asked. 

“You're the detective and everything,” Eri teased. “Daddy told me before that Jiji's ears get the nervous wiggles.” 

Eri put her hands up by her head and demonstrated the way his ears flick.

Shōta stared at her. “How are you so good, Eri-chan?”

“You always say how important it is to use my eyes and my ears,” Eri shrugged and settled herself against Shōta's chest.

“She would make a good detective,” Naomasa said with a smile. 

“Yeah!” she cheered. “I got to spend a lot of time with Tsuki-san while Jiji waited for you to wake up. I made lots of police friends.”

“Speaking of,” Naomasa cut in. “I have a lot to catch up on. Will you be okay until Nezu-san wakes?”

“Of course,” Shōta answered, running his hands through Eri's hair. 

A flinch made Naomasa ask another way. “You don't need me to stay?”

Shōta sighed. “No, Nao.”

Naomasa relaxed at the non-ping of his quirk. “I don't mind if–”

“Go.” Shōta waved Naomasa off, wanting to avoid more questions. “And…thank you…for all of it.”

Naomasa's face twisted briefly. Then he looked over the two of them and his muted, determined smile took over. “Happy to do it.”

After Naomasa left, Shōta rested his chin atop Eri's head. 

Eri yawned loudly and he chuckled.

“Chiyo-san said I might still be extra tired for a few more days,” Eri said indignantly. “So don't make fun of my hero naps.”

“I would never. Who would understand hero naps better than me?” he asked, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. “You can sleep. I've got you.”

This moment might be a delusion. If it was, he decided it was a delusion he wanted to stay in. 

Chapter Text

Shōta growled. 

He was asleep. What idiot with a death wish was poking him repeatedly in the cheek?

A snicker. “Come on, come on, come on!”

“Mic.”

“Eraser.”

“Why?”

“Why what, baby? Why am I so irresistibly charming?”

Shōta groaned and opened his eyes to give Hizashi a flat look. “Why are you like this?”

“That's the same question,” Hizashi said with a mischievous grin and a wink. “I start by being ridiculously handsome…”

Shōta tried to pull the blanket up over his head to hide his blush. 

“Aww, don't go back to sleep!” Hizashi whined, stopping the blanket’s climb at Shōta's nose. “The doctors said they want to get you up and moving around today.”

Shōta narrowed his eyes at Hizashi. 

“I'll buy you coffee. Reaaaaal coffee,” Hizashi sing-songed.

“No,” Shōta answered immediately. 

“They just want to see if everything works, just in case something didn't rewind right,” Hizashi said, waving a pair of slippers at him. “Then you can go home.”

Shōta lowered the blanket but didn't immediately grab the slippers. 

“Never thought I'd see the day where I'd be convincing you to leave a hospital room instead of wrestling you out of an open window,” Hizashi laughed, swinging to hit Shōta in the chest with the slippers.

Scowling, Shōta caught the slippers before they struck him. Hizashi was just a little too slow dodging the return swing at his arm. He yelped. Shōta cracked a small smile and hunched his shoulders before remembering that he didn't have his scarf to hide in. 

Hizashi's smile turned a little less Present Mic and a little more Yamada Hizashi. “I told them that you'd try to spike any monitoring equipment with extreme prejudice, so they said we just have to do a few laps around the ward first before visiting the caffeination station.”

Shōta smirked wickedly. “You know me too well. I'll have to find some other hospital property to destroy instead.”

“There's the slightly deranged Eraser we know and love,” Hizashi laughed.

Familiar warmth filled Shōta's chest. Despite his high energy, Hizashi had always managed to make him feel calmer. More himself somehow, in all the best ways. 

Hizashi yanked the bedding off his legs. “Come on, grumpy pants. Fancy cappuccino awaits!”

“Insufferable,” Shōta complained as he put on the slippers and got to his feet. 

“Exceeept you've been suffering my company for over 15 years,” Hizashi teased. He grabbed Shōta's arm and pulled him toward the door. “Kinda makes it hard to believe that's how you really feel.”

“Whatever, “ Shōta mumbled, letting himself be dragged. 

Hizashi walked through the door. “One of the nurses said the cafe has really good strawberry cake too, if you're hungry.”

Shōta shrugged and stepped into the hallway.

Too bright.

Shōta focused his narrowed vision on Hizashi's swaying ponytail as he was pulled forward.

The smell and taste of iron.

His mouth went dry.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He forced himself to swallow.

The person stopped writhing.

He stopped too.

Spinning to glance back, Hizashi's grin quickly disappeared. 

Shōta couldn't understand what Hizashi was saying. He felt like he was going to pass out, but he desperately did not want to be unconscious here. Each breath was a battle as he rested his hands and his head against the wall. Realizing that what he wanted was irrelevant, he carefully lowered himself to the floor. He was vaguely aware of Hizashi's help, and his head came to rest on something soft. 

When he resurfaced, Shōta didn't know how much time had passed. He was laying on his back with his head in Hizashi's lap. The sights around him were blocked by a curtain of Hizashi's hair, and it was abnormally quiet. He reached up to his ears and realized he was wearing Hizashi's noise-cancelling headphones.

Hizashi's eyes shifted at Shōta's movement, but he didn't move his head. Shōta realized he didn't want to risk the visual blocker of his hair.

“Where are we?” Shōta signed with shaky hands.

“Hospital,” Hizashi signed back.

Shōta shook his head. “But where?”

“Near the nurse's station.”

The cries.

Shōta quickly signed, “No hallway. Anywhere else. Now.”

Hizashi's eyes crinkled, then widened in understanding. He nodded and motioned for Shōta to close his eyes. 

His legs were rubbery underneath him. Hizashi put Shōta's arms over his shoulders and lifted him into a cross-body carry. Shōta pressed his face into Hizashi's neck and tightened his hold. 

Hizashi took a few steps before halting abruptly. Shōta could tell by the intensifying vibrations of Hizashi's voice that he was arguing with someone. Then his long, confident strides resumed.

Shōta focused on the sense of safety. The feeling of Hizashi's skin. His sweet natural scent mixed with the woodsy soap he'd used since high school. 

This was a different all-consuming ache.

After an elevator ride and a half-flight of stairs, Hizashi stopped. They'd been stopped for a few minutes when Shōta tapped his shoulder. Hizashi moved the headphones off one of Shōta's ears. A loud mechanical hum replaced the normal hospital background noise. 

“Sorry,” Hizashi muttered, clearly frustrated.

“What…?”

“I'm trying to pick a lock.”

Cautiously lifting his head, Shōta saw that they were on a nondescript stairwell landing. He got back on his own feet and put the headphones around his neck.

“Let me,” Shōta said, nudging Hizashi out of the way. The latch clicked within seconds. “Who brings a lockpick set to a hospital anyway?"

“Someone who knows what his friend likes and plans accordingly.” Hizashi stuck out his tongue and pushed the door open. 

Air rushed past them as they stepped onto the roof. 

Shōta closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The wind was gentler once they were all the way outside, but still strong enough to blow the hair back off of his face. Shōta released a full exhale for the first time since they'd left for Jaku. “Okay, I take back half of the mean things I've ever said about you.”

“Only half?!” Hizashi squawked.

Chuckling, Shōta answered, “take it or leave it.”

Hizashi sighed dramatically. “Fiiiiine.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Hizashi spoke again. 

“We didn't know,” Hizashi said quietly. “You were so messed up that we thought you must have been unconscious before you even got here.”

"I didn't think..." Shōta huffed, frustrated by his own struggle for words. "I thought I could handle it."

Shōta turned his head to look at Hizashi, who shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

“Your class is fucking metal, by the way.” 

Hizashi was redirecting to what should have been a safer topic. Shōta managed to not visibly twitch. There was no safer topic when you struggled to trust anything you thought you knew.

“Oh?”

The other man lit up. “Nobody's told you yet? Ahhhhhh!”

Hizashi was clearly clicking into his Present Mic storytelling mode. 

“Class 1-A, the class that survived villain attacks at the USJ and their summer camp! The class whose work study students took down part of a drug ring and raided the yakuza! The class that helped capture the Hero Killer and All For One! The class that refused to be shown up by their teacher, a badass that literally cut off his own leg in the middle of a battle to keep his own quirk in the fight!”

Shōta raised an eyebrow.

Breaking character for a moment, Hizashi said, “who the fuck even does that, by the way? And like…HOW?!”

“A person that knows the stakes and pays attention to tantō maintenance.”

“I honestly don't know what else I expected you to say.”

“Doesn't matter. We lost anyway.” Shōta crossed his arms and shrugged.

The Present Mic persona fell away entirely. “Shō, you don't really think it was meaningless.”

Shōta looked at Hizashi blankly. Hizashi took Shōta's shoulders and turned him so they were fully facing each other.

His eyes were so bright they were practically glowing. “It wasn't meaningless. Do you know how much harder everyone there fought because of what they saw you do? How much harder everyone else has been fighting since, because of the way that story spread?”

As Hizashi spoke, anger built up until it came out screaming. “Great! So glad it helped everybody else! But when I thought that help had arrived for everyone that was bleeding and broken, that we would finally be safe, I still died alone in a hallway!”

“You didn't,” Hizashi said, his voice tight and high pitched. “You're right here. I'm holding you.”

Shōta's mind caught up with what he'd said. 

This was real. He decided this was real. Or real enough. A delusion he'd go along with, at least. Apparently deciding wasn't the same as convincing yourself.

Hizashi, always the more expressive one, burst into tears. Shōta, always the more reserved one, temporarily froze.

And then the guilt nearly knocked him over. 

“I'm sorry, Zashi, I'm sorry.” He tried to wipe away the tears but they were flowing too quickly down Hizashi's cheeks. “Please, don't…”

Hizashi hiccuped and pulled Shōta into a crushing hug. “You're here. With me.”

“I'm here. With you,” Shōta repeated. He didn't really believe it, but even he knew it's what Hizashi needed to hear. Maybe it was what he needed to hear too.

“I should have gone with you when you went after the kids.”

“No, we made the right choice. You needed to finish the mission,” Shōta replied firmly. “For all of us, and for Oboro.”

“I would never have let them lose you,” Hizashi insisted. 

“Hey,” Shōta pushed Hizashi away a little so he could see his face, hands on Hizashi's shoulders. “I know you. You would have fought just as hard and been as incapacitated as the rest of us. It went the way it needed to go. Okay?” 

Shōta surprised himself by completely believing what he'd said. His hands dropped to his sides. The touch made the swirling emotions too intense for him to withstand.

“What you did matters. What happened to you after matters,” Hizashi gave him a weak smile. “You matter, to so many people.” 

Unsure how to deal with the genuineness of the statement, Shōta looked down and shook his head.

“God, Shō, how do you still think so little of yourself?” Hizashi scrubbed his face with his hands rapidly to wipe away the remaining tears.

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“Look at me?”

Shōta didn't lift his head, but lifted his gaze slightly.

Hizashi smiled. “You matter to me.”

“Fine, okay, can we please move on?”

Giggling, Hizashi shook his head. “Not til you believe it.”

“We'll never leave this roof,” Shōta deadpanned and looked out at the skyline.

“Come on.” Hizashi poked him in the chest. “Shōtaaaaaaa.”

Shōta smiled a little but didn't look.

“Shō,” Hizashi said in his most obnoxious whine, poking his chest faster. “Look at meeeeeeeee.”

The smile widened. He still didn't look.

Upping his assault to using both his index fingers, Hizashi's giggles became nearly hysterical.

Shōta gave up to a full smile, even showing his teeth. 

Hizashi's giggles stopped, and Shōta finally turned his head. Hizashi was still watching him. 

“What?” Shōta asked.

“I love getting you to smile like that,” Hizashi answered sheepishly.

Shōta's smile faded to a more reserved, close-lipped one. Hizashi was going to kill him with all these earnest little statements. They poked at the carefully contained feelings that managed to keep growing stronger.

Hizashi sighed and bit the inside of his cheek. 

Shōta narrowed his eyes at the blonde. “What?”

A head shake. His clenched jaw worked side to side.

“You'll hurt yourself,” Shōta said gently. “Whatever you have to say, however you need to say it, it's fine. I'm a grown up.’

When Hizashi didn't answer, Shōta reached out to massage Hizashi's overworked jaw muscles at the joint. Shōta's fingers worked back toward Hizashi's ears and then down along his jawline.

“Come on, Zash,” Shōta encouraged. 

Shōta stopped, his fingers hovering in place. Hizashi usually closed his eyes on the rare occasion that Shōta did this, but not today.

Hizashi took a deep breath and kissed him.

It was barely a press of their lips, really. Now Hizashi was watching Shōta's reaction, or lack of one. 

Hizashi's eyes turned dark and he began to withdraw. Shōta's hands resettled to hold Hizashi's face just before he could go too far. Shōta drew Hizashi back toward him, holding his gaze. He wrapped one arm around Hizashi's waist and pulled him close before pressing a gentle kiss of his own to Hizashi's lips.

Shōta didn't release him when their lips separated. Hizashi's hands rested on Shōta's chest. Hizashi's fingers tightened on Shōta's shirt and they moved back together. 

When Shōta stroked Hizashi's cheek with his thumb, the other man opened his mouth. Shōta deepened the kiss slowly. He had waited over 15 years for this after all. 

He needed this to be right. And he needed it to be real.

Chapter Text

Shōta stood in the hospital lobby and looked toward the tall glass doors leading outside. He hooked a hand in his capture scarf. 

Just touching the fabric released a floral scent. It had done the same when he'd thrown it around his neck this morning. Suzuki Keiko, a frequent nurse of his, admitted to having taken it home to wash when she figured out his plan the previous day. 

The ward's staff had apparently all panicked when she shared the realization. It was always dangerous to travel in scrubs while carrying a plastic hospital bag. It was like putting a sign on your back that said “easy target.” They said it had gotten dramatically worse due to prison breaks, plus many other departing patients were the heroes that the public was becoming so disillusioned with. 

Between them, the staff assembled a variety of clothes that were close to his size. What fit best was a dark pink t-shirt, black track pants, and black athletic shoes with yellow soles. Not what he'd typically leave home in, but the clothes were comfortable and the gesture was comforting.

He took out the earplugs and turned to the nurse who'd given them to him. “Thank you, Suzuki-san, for…getting me past all that. Down here.”

“Keiko, please.” She smiled at him gently. “I saw how it went earlier this week. I couldn't let you go through it again without your friend.”

“Shōta, then.” He hunched his shoulders and looked down to hide his face, feeling infinitely more himself with his scarf back where it belonged. 

“Oh,” the nurse said, quickly putting a hand over her mouth to cover her giggle. “Now I see why you do that, with that on.”  

His scarf couldn't save him from the blush that moved all the way to his ears. 

She took a canvas bag off her shoulder and held it out to him with the top open wide. “Put those earplugs somewhere easy to find in case you need them again.”

He looked in the bag and found a small side pocket to deposit them in. Despite the damage it had taken, his hero suit had clearly been carefully washed and folded before being placed at the bottom of the bag. The floral-scented softener wafting up gave away that it was Keiko's doing too. On top were his goggles and utility belt, also cleaned. The belt's first-aid pouches looked restocked. Tucked alongside it all was a card-sized envelope and 5000 yen. 

Keiko settled the bag on his shoulder and looked him over with one corner of her lips pursed tightly, and he felt distinctly but not unpleasantly mothered.

“You'll stay in touch, won't you Shōta?” She patted his cheek. “We want to keep good track of you from now on.”

His eyes burned, but stayed clear. The dry-eye had been more intense since he'd woken up and he was momentarily glad for it. Unable to speak with the tightness in his throat, he nodded to Keiko.

“Go on, before I make a scene,” Keiko said, blinking rapidly. 

He stepped back to bow, then pushed through the doors. 

Now to convince himself. If this was all some delusion, it would be imperfect. Nezu, Eri, and Hizashi had described an unrecognizable UA. It had changed so much that going directly there wouldn't help clarify anything. He needed to go to other people and places he knew well. He had to see if an inexcusable number of incongruities stacked up, or if he could otherwise strain the delusion to its breaking point. Only then could he feel sure. 

Hizashi and Nezu didn't fully grasp what he was struggling with. They would have said it was too dangerous, and tried to devise some other way. But Shōta couldn't wait another moment to look for answers.

Shōta took the train as far as he could and saw few people. By the time the damage to the line stopped his progress, the previously bustling area was largely abandoned. Most buildings had been damaged and some had collapsed. 

Locating a building with an intact fire escape took a few minutes. He climbed to the top and sat on the cement to sort out the bag. He nearly choked when he saw that it was emblazoned with, “chaos coordinator, because miracle worker isn't a job title.”

He put his goggles onto his head and placed the utility belt down. Cash was stored into one of the pockets that still held his hero license and wallet, and the earplugs were stuffed alongside some gauze in another pocket. He'd like to dispose of the damaged hero costume, but that would need to wait until he could do so securely. 

The card had a kitten with a bandage on the front. It was signed in multitude of colors by all the doctors, nurses, and assistants on the floor. The inside had no pre-printed sentiment, but someone had written in its place, “Take good care of yourself!” The word “yourself” was traced over in a second color, emphasized with starburst-like lines surrounding it with a third color, and underlined by what seemed to be all the others. 

Carefully, the card and the feelings it generated were tucked away within the folded hero suit, and the canvas bag was wrapped snugly around it. Once he loosened the utility belt, he used it to secure the folded bag against his lower back. 

He looked around himself to get his bearings while he stretched. His first several jumps were short and careful, but he quickly returned to his normal speed and difficulty. As he approached a gap created by a collapsed building, he sent out his scarf before he could overthink it. He landed after the graceful arc through the air and kept running.

15 minutes later, he came a stop in front of the warehouse storefront he'd been looking for and was glad to see it was mostly intact. He lifted his goggles to his forehead as he opened the door.

Hotta Ichiro shrieked. His brother, Jiro, ran out from a back room wielding a baseball bat. 

“Eraser!” Jiro said, lowering the bat. “You aren't dead!”

Shōta leveled him with a skeptical look.

“He means that of course you're not dead,” Ichiro jumped in, figuratively and literally. A hop placed him between Shōta and his twin. “We just…we heard that you died like a week or two ago. In Kyoto.”

The story being too long and too much, Shōta simply said, “I'm undercaffeinated.”

Jiro laughed loudly. “The pink shirt made me worried it was an evil doppelganger, but that's definitely him.”

Ichiro shrugged. “I dunno, the pink kind of works.”

He glared at them. “Fix it.”

Jiro sprung behind the counter dropped the bat. He hurried to pour Shōta a cup of coffee. Shōta sat down in front of him and took a drink even though it was steaming.

“Surprised you're still here,” Shōta said looking at Jiro over the top of the mug.

Ichiro answered from behind him. “Naruhata’s always been kind of a mess. But it's our mess.”

Shōta grunted in reply. 

“It's been different lately though, even before the big fight,” Jiro admitted, leaning on his elbows. “Things have been a little rougher since Ingenium passed his title. It's a good thing Crawler took over or it would be even worse.”

“You were friends with Ingenium, right? He doing okay? He doesn't come by anymore.” Ichiro sat on the stool next to Shōta.

Shōta shrugged and gave a “so-so” wave of his hand.

“I wonder if baby Ingenium will come to Naruhata when he's done training?” Jiro wondered aloud. 

“If he does, he'll definitely keep you honest,” Shōta answered. He looked up at Jiro with his most sadistic smile. “He's my student.”

Jiro held his hands up. 

“We've been good since you left,” Ichiro chipped in. “We even sponsor a kids’ baseball team.”

“Hmm. Good,” Shōta conceded, taking another drink of coffee. 

“Why do you always have to be so scary, Eraser?” Jiro asked as he lowered his hands again. 

“I don't want you getting sucked back down,” Shōta grumbled. 

“Big bad Eraserhead loves us!” Ichiro exclaimed. 

The energy behind Jiro's manic smile tipped over into repeated hopping. “Awwwww!”

Shōta finished his coffee and stood. Tiredly, he muttered, “get over yourselves.”

“He didn't deny it!” Ichiro crowed.

Cash on the counter, Shōta stalked toward the door.

Ichiro's confused voice called, “You're leaving already?”

Shōta held up a hand in dismissal without turning. 

“Wait!” Jiro landed beside Shōta.

Shōta stopped with one hand on the door.

“You know how much we love Miss Midnight,” Jiro said. “Have ever since you two first started comin’ around here.” 

Jiro's suddenly calm and serious voice set off alarm bells in Shōta's head. 

Ichiro walked over with a newspaper in hand. “It never said nothin’ about you, but the Times said that Midnight died fighting that giant man thing. But it could be wrong too, right?”

Shōta spun and took the paper from him and skimmed the section of the article Ichiro pointed to. 

After reading it three times, he shoved the paper back into Ichiro's chest and opened the door. “Sorry, fanboys. The Times doesn't print anything that they don't independently confirm multiple times over.”

The door slammed behind him and he launched himself up. The city was damaged, but nothing about the Hottas seemed off. Nothing to put what he'd just read into doubt. He needed the quiet of the rooftops.

Chapter Text

Shōta had asked Nezu at least once about Nemuri visiting. What answer had he gotten? The memory was all out of focus, like much of the past 11 days. No doubt that the rat had made use of that to distract or redirect the conversation. 

Or maybe they had told him about Nemuri's death, and Shōta's rattled mind had blocked it out.

The fact that Shōta wasn't stable enough to know was horrifying.

He tried to puzzle it out, to be rational.

All he could think about, though, was the overwhelming and very irrational need to hit something. To make it hurt. To feel like it mattered.

All For One and the Doctor took Oboro from them. Now the man's successor and their “pet” took Nemuri.

The only one not yet captured? The successor. Shigaraki landed him in that God forsaken hallway. Shigaraki nearly killed Midoriya and Bakugo too. Now, because of it all, Shigaraki was stealing away Shōta's sanity.

Unless he wasn't. Maybe his sanity had gone somewhere else along the way, and Shigaraki was just his mind’s excuse for it.

Confusion. Pain. Fury. Without a vent, it filled his chest and flooded his senses. 

He nearly tripped for the second time, this time when launching himself across an alley. He was a danger to himself like this. He scowled and sat on the edge of the rooftop that he'd stopped on. 

“Get out of here, you!”

He glared down at the street below, trying to locate the source of the voice.

“We don't want any more drifting hooligans around!” 

He startled when a rock bounced off his chest. He looked down the street to where it came from and made eye contact with an elderly woman. She stood in the doorway to a small store with rocks of various sizes hovering in the air around her.

Shōta's eyes widened and he actually looked at the street. He hadn't meant to, consciously at least, but he'd ended up in Sanya. The damage to surrounding neighborhoods meant he hadn't noticed either.

He jumped down the fire escape, barely leaping out of the way when a rusty crossbar broke away under his feet.

He grumbled to himself, stuffing his hands into his pockets on his walk towards the woman. “Peak Sanya.”

She threw another couple rocks at him. 

“Stop that, Oba-san!”

“I'm no Oba-san to you, troublemaker!” she scolded and threw a half-dozen larger rocks. 

Shōta activated Erasure and the rocks clattered to the ground. He blinked the effect away quickly.

The woman's manner shifted and she put her hands on her hips. “Shō-chan?”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Mita-san.”

“So now you reappear after, what, 10 years?”

Shōta sighed. “4.”

“Come closer, boy, I can't hear you!”

“I said it's been 4 years, Mita-san,” he said louder. 

When he got close enough, Shōta gave a long and respectful bow. Mita-san hit him in the back of the head with a newspaper for his effort.

He took a slow breath in before straightening.

“I will make an effort to visit more often,” he said stiffly.

Mita-san seemed satisfied with that and pulled him inside the convenience store. “I saw you on that press conference a few months ago. Hot-headed as always. You might have pulled one over on those reporters, but I could see it in your eyes.”

Shōta huffed. “Because you're the model of tranquility.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, pointing to a seat at the small table in the back room. Shōta sat obediently and Mita-san poured them both tea. 

“You haven't been back since your grandmother passed away. And it's been over a week since the rest of the city got a makeover to match Sanya. So?” She dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred, waiting for his answer. 

Shōta looked at the tea. “So why now?”

Mita-san hummed and lifted the cup with unsteady hands.

He frowned. “Are you unwell, Oba-san?”

“Just getting old. Wondering if I'll ever get to meet a little Sho-chan,” she said with a wink. 

He took out his wallet and put a small photograph on the table, pushing it over to her.

Her whole demeanor lifted when she picked it up. She perched a pair of glasses on her nose. Mita-san squinted at the photo and then at him.

“This girl is more than 4, and she looks nothing like you.”

“Are you accusing me of carrying around a fake picture, so that if I happen to end up in Sanya getting pelted with rocks, I can trick you?”

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” she said leaning back. 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I adopted her. This year.”

“I, not we?”

“Oba-san.”

“Fine, fine,” she waved. “Just seems like a lot to take on.”

“UA has dorms now, for students and staff,” he answered. He sipped Mita-san's tea and tried not to make a face when it was as awful as he remembered. “My whole class adores her, plus a few upperclass students. And the rest of the staff help out too.”

“And that mouse that took you?” 

Shōta knew better than to react. It was a sore spot that would never heal. “He's a good Jiji to Eri.”

“Eri, hmm?” she smiled and lifted the picture to examine it again. 

A clatter came from the store behind him.

Mita-san didn't seem to hear. Shōta stood and looked at the mirror pointed over the aisles. Someone was stuffing a backpack from the shelves.  

“I'll be right back, Oba-san,” he muttered, sliding out of the back room. 

Silently, he lapped the store to make sure there was no one else. He crept back toward the teen once he was sure.

The boy turned to leave as Shōta turned down the aisle. Screaming, the alarmed teen started to back away while whipping canned goods at him. At least the kid was smart. 

“Hey!” Shōta snarled.

Now past the canned goods section, the teen resorted to condiments. The teen pushed back his hood to look for his best exit. 

Shōta stopped advancing and slapped a plastic bottle of barbecue sauce out of the air. “Naoki-kun?”

The boy froze with a bottle of soy sauce reeled back. “Do I know you?”

Shota relaxed and pushed his hair back so Naoki could see his face. 

Naoki paled and bowed. “Sensei.”

“I didn't teach you so you could get out of stealing cup noodles, Naoki-kun,” Shōta said flatly. 

Naoki straightened, his fists at his sides. “The only place that would hire me got destroyed last week! What do you want me to do?!”

Shōta took a deep breath and nodded. “I see. Do you have anyone? Any place to stay?”

A stare at the floor. The answer was no then. His very first Problem Child was back to being a problem.

“Come.” Shōta walked toward the back room, watching his peripheral to make sure Naoki was following. 

They stepped into the back room together. It looked different than it did before. Dark. Cluttered. Chairs thrown aside. No teacups. It looked like it had been deserted for a day or two based on the mold starting on a plated piece of toast next to where his wallet lay. He picked up the wallet and returned the photo to its place.

“It's all wrong, isn't it? Mita-san would hate it.” Naoki said with a grimace. “They killed her in the early looting. If it wasn't so early, she probably wouldn't have even gotten a proper burial.”

Shōta swallowed. “Right…well, come on Problem Child. Let's get you figured out.”

Shōta pushed Naoki through the door in front of him. 

“Eraser missed us already!” Jiro chirped.

Ichiro lifted his head from where he'd just set coffee down in front of a customer. “Ha! He definitely loves us!”

Naoki looked around the space as Shōta steered him to the counter. 

“I already regret everything,” Shōta groused.

Jiro put a cup of coffee down in front of Shōta. 

“Except this," Shōta amended, gratefully downing half of the steaming cup.

Ichiro, back behind the counter with his twin, began to brew a fresh pot. “Still terrifying that you can do that, Eraser. What can we get you, kid?”

Shōta was relieved they spoke to Naoki. It meant he was really there. He shook the vision of Mita-san from his head, and nodded to Naoki.

“Hot chocolate?”

Jiro nodded energetically and got to work.

Ichiro put a slice of strawberry cake in front of Shōta. “About before–”

“I need your help,” Shōta cut him off, taking the proffered fork.

Ichiro looked at Jiro, then back to Shōta, in disbelief. “Uh…sure. Whatever you need.”

Jiro placed Naoki's hot chocolate down. The teen seized on it, and Shōta wondered when Naoki last ate.

Shōta glanced at the pastry case. “Chocolate for him, with lots of that caramel drizzle shit.”

Naoki lit up. “You remembered my favorite?”

“Course, kid,” Shōta answered around his mouthful of cake.

“Told you he's a big softy,” Ichiro said to Jiro.

Naoki laughed. “They got you there.”

Shōta sighed instead of protesting.

“Soooooo?” Jiro asked, hopping foot to foot.

“You two know what it's like to get shit for your quirk,” Shōta said matter-of-factly.

The brothers nodded.

“Met this kid when he was 7, when I first came to Naruhata,” Shōta explained.

“He's not a Naruhata kid. We know all of ‘em,” Ichiro said with a touch of pride.

“I'm from Sanya,” Naoki piped up. “Like Aizawa-sensei.”

Jiro raised an eyebrow at Shōta. “You're from Sanya?”

Instead of answering, Shōta picked up his empty mug and wiggled it at Jiro. 

Naoki rolled his eyes. “He grew up 3 blocks from me, off Kyu-tokaido.”

Grinning, Ichiro said, "Ooh, Eraser lore.”

“Now I get why he's scary,” Jiro mused, refilling Shōta's mug.

Ichiro smacked his brother in the chest with a towel. Jiro suddenly noticed that he'd spoken.

“Anyway!” Shōta's patience was getting thin. “I met Naoki-kun, here, at my old dojo. I taught him how to defend himself, and how to fight when he had to. Midnight used him against me to get me to teach at UA. Said I was already doing the work.”

They all fell silent.

Shōta quickly filled the increasingly heavy air around them. “He can't find a job. With most places falling apart, you're probably busier. Can you help him get back on his feet? Assuming he's kept up with his training, he'd also be able to help you defend the place.”

“You don’t usually help people that ain't helping themselves, Eraser. So why?” Ichiro questioned. “There's plenty of work, especially with all the rebuilding going on.”

“Nobody will hire me because I'm quirkless,” Naoki admitted quietly.

The brothers’ faces softened in perfect synchronization. They nodded to each other.

Jiro hopped beside Naoki, putting his arm around the teen. “All right, kid, you're an honorary Hotta for as long as you need to be. What can you do in the kitchen?”

The brothers began talking rapidly to Naoki and each other. Shōta reached over the counter for the fresh carafe of coffee, topped off his mug, and set it on the counter within his reach. 

He was left to his own thoughts, to figure out what the hell happened to him in Mita-san's shop.

Chapter Text

Shōta decided to stick around the Hottas’ café for a little while, in part to be a familiar presence while Naoki got to know the brothers. He could gather his thoughts, decide his next moves. By then, he'd need to leave. Naomasa would think to check with the Hottas once they realized he'd left the hospital.

He wordlessly set himself up at a corner table. He tapped the pen in his hands on the small stack of blank paper. How do you start deciding what's real or not without falling into circular logic?

He let his eyes close for a moment. If this were one of Nezu's puzzles…

Imagining himself slouching into a chair in Nezu's office was easy. He spent so much time there it was as natural as breathing. The smell of aged leather and fur conditioning oil. The slightly cooler temperature Nezu preferred. Window shades tilting the sunlight up, onto the ceiling. The light clink of teacups.

He wanted to linger. He wanted the comfort of this space, even if he didn't dare to imagine his Otōsan into it.

He tilted his head to crack his neck. A physical sensation prompting him to disconnect just enough. He reminded himself that he needed to get back to his knowing first.

He imagined looking to Nezu's dry-erase wall, usually hidden by moveable panels. On it, the question. “If you completely lost touch with reality, where do you start re-anchoring yourself?”

Was that what he'd done? Completely lost touch with reality? Before the crushing fear could paralyze him, he pushed that thought away. 

When was the last time he knew? Where he felt confident, without doubt, sure of what was?

That hallway that he may have physically left, but definitely had not been able to leave behind. 

Of course the only thing he knew was agony, uselessness, and the steady approach of his end. 

“Want a refill, Eraser?”

Shōta physically recoiled, his eyes wide. Ichiro stood a couple feet back, holding up the coffee pot, with a sympathetic expression. Shōta slowed his breathing and clenched his hands into fists to still them. 

At Shōta's nod, Ichiro stepped forward and poured. “If the case you're working has you this jumpy, maybe we should switch you to decaf.”

“Do you really want to see what I'm like with caffeine withdrawals?” 

Ichiro considered it. “That depends how long it would last before you crashed.”

“I'd last long enough to track down the fool that tried to switch me to decaf and hoped that I wouldn't notice,” Shōta returned, eyeing the orange rim to the coffee pot in Ichiro's hand. 

Ichiro looked at the coffee pot. “Oh! Silly me, grabbed the wrong one. I'll be right back!”

Shōta shook his head as Ichiro returned to the counter. 

He returned to his thoughts, but a little clearer for the interruption. Was the only thing that he knew from the very end?

Shōta watched a stretcher to his left get lifted from the ground. He looked at the military field medic nearest to him. “We're going with my kids, right?”

“That blonde one?”

“And the green one,” he pointed at Midoriya, who was awake but not exactly aware.

“I'll make sure,” the medic answered. “Don't worry. We need you to keep up the slow and steady breaths, okay?”

The medic spoke quickly into the radio on his shoulder. Midoriya's stretcher was lifted and moved next. 

Shōta grasped urgently at the other man's arm. “Hibino.”

“We're going now,” Hibino assured. Nodding to another medic, Shōta's own stretcher raised and started to move. “This is Furuya Eri. Her quirk can remove biological impurities.”

He looked to the woman. “Your name is Eri?”

She smiled and nodded. “I usually help with transplants, but I heard there's some kind of biological agent we need to get out before you'll let Hibino start on your leg.”

He nodded. “From another Eri. My Eri.”

Furuya smiled in the soothing way medics do to move through a crisis without getting a patient worked up.

Hibino pointed out Bakugo and Midoriya once they were aboard the helicopter. The teens were getting help from their own teams of one or two.

He watched them, detached from time, until Hibino got his attention again. Hibino leaned close to be heard over the rotors.

“Furuya's got your leg ready. We're landing at Central Hospital in about 30 minutes. I'm going to do as much as I can to save it.”

Shōta nodded.

“I'll reattach the major blood vessels first, then I'll move to nerves. Not sure I'll get much past that, but it should keep your leg viable until Central can treat you,” Hibino continued. “I'm going to give you some pain medication. We can't risk it knocking you out so it won't do nearly enough, especially when I get to the nerves. I'm sorry about that.”

Hibino injected something into his IV line and got to work. 

Shōta only had bleary memories of landing and moving through Central. Hibino's description was spot on, and shock had set in full force.

The first 10 minutes, spent on repairing major blood vessels, were bearable. Reconnecting nerves was slow, detailed work, plus it had everything to do with sensations. The last 20 minutes of the flight were torment.

“How does he manage to consume that much coffee and not have his heart explode?” Jiro whispered.

“Better question is how does he do it, but still manage to fall asleep immediately after?” Ichiro whispered back. 

“He's always been like that,” Naoki said at a regular speaking volume.

The brothers shushed him loudly.

“You know he can hear you, don't you?” Naoki asked. “He's not actually asleep right now.”

Shōta was comfortably nestled in a chair with his arms crossed and his face ducked partially into his scarf. His feet rested on the seat of another chair. He wasn't in a rush to move.

He waited until the twins had moved closer to examine him and gotten overly sure of themselves. Only then did he open his eyes, quirk activating immediately. “Well done, Problem Child.”

The brothers tripped over each other in their scramble away from him. Naoki laughed and shook his head as he wiped down a table.

“Scary!” Jiro squeaked, pointing at Shōta. 

“Mmm.” His quirk shut off when he closed his eyes in a yawn. “Time's it?”

“11:30. Don't you have to get back to like…masterminding a war or something in Shizuoka?” Ichiro asked. 

Shōta tilted his head. “Is there a reason you're especially anxious to get rid of me?”

“Uh. No…?” Ichiro replied.

“You sound unsure.” Shōta said blandly.

“No. Not unsure. Or anxious. At all,” Ichiro laughed uncomfortably. 

Shōta looked at Naoki. “Keep these idiots out of trouble.”

Naoki bowed his head. “Yes, sensei.”

Jiro looked at Naoki, then at Shōta. “I thought we were looking after him?”

“You are,” Shōta agreed. “I caught him taking food out of an abandoned store. Alone. In this whole mess.” 

“I can take care of myself!” Naoki protested.

“Sure,” Shōta said, unimpressed. “I don't trust any of you on your own. The opportunity is too high for the Hottas to easily keep their noses clean, and the risk is too high for Naoki to survive entirely on his own. Keep each other out of trouble.”

“He loves us!” Ichiro crowed, jumping up onto a table. “I told you!”

Shōta rolled his eyes. “I mean it. I'll be checking up on you.”

“They got your cell number already?” Naoki asked. “We can text you updates. And…like…check back. With you.”

“You're a good kid, Naoki-kun.” Shōta ruffled his hair. “Don’t have one though. You'll have to live in suspense until I get back.”

He turned his gaze to the Hottas. “Never know when I might drop in, yeah?”

“We can stay good,” Jiro said confidently. “Gotta hold Naruhata together.”

Shōta's small smile was genuine. “Good team for it.”

“He's a cuddly lobster!” Ichiro called.

“What does that even mean?” Naoki demanded.

“He's got a hard shell, but he's soft underneath!” Jiro explained, bounding around the seating area to gather dirty dishes.

As the door closed, Shōta heard Naoki call back, “What? No! Nobody wants to hug a lobster!”

Shōta went to a dodgy corner ATM in East Naruhata to empty his bank account. Surveillance cameras would be sparse and lower quality, plus the location fit with his history. He still ducked down an alley and into a sewer as quickly as possible. He headed toward Sanya, looking through drainage grates from time to time to correct his course.

He climbed back to the surface after he was solidly back in Sanya. Even in its best days, Sanya was not the kind of place covered by surveillance cameras. Most residents actively distrusted their presence. The few installed by the city were routinely destroyed as soon as they were installed or repaired. Any privately owned devices were smashed by looters that were smart enough to realize there must have been something worth stealing inside those spaces.

He napped in Mita-san's back room until night fell, then quickly got back to moving.

Most places were abandoned, so it didn't take long for him to gather what he'd needed. The emptied “chaos coordinator” canvas bag fit the items he'd taken from the abandoned pharmacy. No one had thought to loot a resale store, which provided him a duffle bag and street clothes. He ended his “shopping trip” at Mita-san's store, which could provide the rest of the immediate needs.

He threw out the moldy toast and laid out what he'd need for tonight on the back room table. He lay the plastic drop cloth down in the adjoining bathroom. 

Shōta looked in the mirror and separated from himself. He moved mechanically after that. 

He carefully parted the top third of his hair and tied it neatly on the top of his head. He picked up the scissors and clipped the loose hair in sections. The trimmer did the remaining work, cropping it close to the skin. The ponytail was shifted back into a more natural position away from his face, and cut to just a few inches long.

He folded the drop cloth in half before moving to the next step. His remaining hair and eyebrows were bleached, then dyed turquoise, within an hour. He tied the hair back again and checked his work.

Now to cover any tracks. The drop cloth was carefully bundled and taken into the alley, where the trimmed hair was dumped directly into the sewer. The used dye & packaging, as well as the drop cloth and the clothes he'd worn, were tied up in 4 plastic shopping bags from the front of the store. Shōta dressed again and left to dispose of the bags in dumpsters and trash heaps scattered around the ward. 

Around 3am, he dropped the last plastic shopping bag into its own dumpster and leaned against the alley wall. The part of himself that he'd separated collided back into him. He was suddenly and overwhelmingly nauseated. 

Someone approached and started talking while Shōta was doubled over. He’d decided not to care until the man broke his nose. The red of blood dripping onto his hand contrasted with the turquoise hair dye that had seeped into his nail beds.

“I said to hand over the other bag, bro!” The man was easily twice Shōta's size and already holding the duffle bag.

Shōta spit out the blood that had drained into his mouth.

The man looked bigger somehow. “You ignoring me?!”

Shōta's manic grin doubtless looked more unsettling with the blood he was allowing to flow freely down his face.

“Are you nuts, man?” The man reached out his hand. “Just give it and you can get out of here.”

“Okay, fine.” Shōta wrapped the straps of the canvas bag tighter around his hand to better leverage the weight. “Time to coordinate some chaos.”

He swung the bag into the giant's chest with his full force, making the attacker crash into the opposite alley wall. Kicking off the man's solar plexus knocked the wind out of him and launched Shōta to a perch on top of the dumpster.

The man dropped the duffle bag and readied both fists. He charged, screaming, and Shōta hopped up to grab onto a lower bar from the fire escape overhead. He lifted his legs out of reach just as the giant lunged for them.

The giant growled from where he'd crashed into a pile of trash bags. This time Shōta watched as the giant's muscles gained mass in time with his frustration.

“That's an interesting quirk,” Shōta mused as the giant rounded back toward him. “Except muscles won't do much for you in a couple spots.”

Shōta swung back on his fire escape trapeze, gained forward momentum, and kicked the attacker directly in the throat.

The giant deflated to an average build and fell to the ground. His hands grabbed his throat. 

Shōta dropped back to the pavement unevenly as the fire escape partially released from the wall. Shōta looked up at the fire escape and muttered, “peak Sanya.” 

He picked up the duffle bag, leaving the man and the alley behind.

Chapter Text

It was still a little early for a bar, but Shōta didn't want to be there for the first time when the place was in full swing. He knew many gray spaces well but not this particular one in Saitama City. He walked in as though he'd been a thousand times before anyway. Not necessarily apathetic, but routine. He put on that his scan cataloging the space was to find a friend.

A leggy woman with short golden hair and a shorter skirt sauntered close. “Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?”

He grinned. He feigned interest by raking his eyes over her slowly, starting from the skirt's hem, lingering in some places as his eyes slowly slid back up to her face. “Maybe you, later…first, I gotta drop something off to Kimura-san.”

She popped her gum and jerked her chin toward a corner booth. “That's him. Maybe find me at the bar after you finish your business.”

Shōta hummed. She winked at him and walked away. He watched her for a moment before turning his head. He made eye contact with Kimura, who nodded for him to approach.

Kimura smirked as Shōta took a seat across the booth from him. “You like Yoko?”

“I'm only human, Kimura-san,” he shrugged. 

Kimura laughed. “No need to be so formal. Jem sent you, so you're a friend of a friend.”

Shōta leaned back in the booth. “A few degrees removed, but yes.” 

Kimura was quiet, and the two assessed each other. They were interrupted when Yoko walked past. She stopped just long enough to place 2 beers and 2 shots on the table. Shōta raised an eyebrow at Kimura.

“Nothing funny, just hospitality,” Kimura explained. “You can pick your own glasses.”

Shōta crossed his arms. “Take a sip out of all 4, then I pick.”

Kimura gave a short, wry laugh. “Cautious. Fair enough.”

Kimura took the same size sip out of all 4 glasses, so it seemed he was probably being truthful. Shōta chose one of each, held the beer glass up in a toast and sipped it.

Kimura smiled. “Now then, what can I get my new maybe-friend?”

Shōta pushed over a sheet of paper with his requests diagrammed out. “I'm doing some traveling. I'd like to pick these up in Maebashi.”

Not feeling any ill effects, Shōta drank about half of the beer while Kimura closely examined the sheet.

“The plain coloring should make this pretty easy to locate, at least,” Kimura said finally. “Still expensive, though.”

“Especially if you don't rely on the trash that Detnerat is flooding the market with,” Shōta agreed. 

Kimura looked up at him from the sheet. “You're surprisingly well-informed.”

“You have to be if you don't want to explode,” Shōta observed. “I can pay for the higher quality.”

Kimura watched with an amused look while Shōta tested the shot too. He dipped a finger into the liquid, paused after touching it to his lips, and then licked it.                                      

Kimura's eyes returned to the page briefly, before he leaned back and crossed his arms. “120k. 80k now, the other 40k at your Maebashi pickup.” 

“Add these support items,” Shōta countered, laying down another sheet of diagrams. “I'll give you 90 now and 50 in Maebashi. Pickup in 2 days.”

Again, Kimura examined the page. 

The radio crackled as Yoko tuned it and turned up the volume. “-7625. Get those calls rollin’! I shared with ya'll last week that you're not alone, that my love is missing just like lots of your friends and family are.”

Shōta took the shot. 

“Folks called and shared who they were lookin’ for, in the hopes that the right person hears ya. I've seen a couple posts on socials sayin’ this worked! If that's you, call to share the hope with the rest of us, yeah? And if you're still trying to find someone, listeners, call in and tell us about ‘em. Let's kick it off-”

Shōta fought fiercely to block out Hizashi's voice. He covered the intensity by picking apart the growing number of patrons.

When Kimura put the paper down, he reached out his hand, “I think we'll be friends all on our own, Okino Katashi. Reasonable, decisive partners are rare.”

Shōta shook Kimura's hand. “Friends.”

He handed over the agreed upon amount and a piece of paper with a date, time and address. 

Shōta checked his watch. “Gotta run, Kimura. Apologize to Yoko for me.”

Then he ducked out of the bar before the song could end. Just hearing his voice hurt. 

Shōta bought a few necessities, then boarded a mid-morning train. He arrived in Kamisato by 1 and was surprised by the cooler weather. He pulled a winter hat over his head as he walked and buried his hands in his pockets.

True to the rural town's nature, the cemetery was hidden away and quiet. He carefully navigated the pathways until he found the haka he sought. He crouched down to run his fingers over the fresh engraving. Simple, only her given name and the year. A third piece of evidence. Truth.

Shōta kneeled to light incense and arranged a few boughs of plum blossom before the stone. He poured a small glass of red wine, placing the glass and the bottle near its base. 

He moved back, still on his knees, and bowed his head to the grass. Shōta whispered apologies, pleas, and pain into the dirt until he was exhausted. 

Finally, feeling stiff and empty, he stood. He nearly ran into a man when he turned to leave. The blood drained from his face when he saw that it was Kayama Yasuo. How long had Yasuo been standing there?

Yasuo simply said, “It's too late to leave, so you'll stay with us. Kazumi will be pleased to see you.”

Yasuo walked towards the gates without looking to see if he was being followed, merely assumed that he was. 

They walked in silence as the shadows lengthened for nearly 15 minutes before turning down a long lane and approaching a small home. 

Yasuo pushed open the door and called. “I found a guest visiting with Nemuri.”

Kazumi walked out, drying her hands on a towel, her blue eyes sharp and clear like her daughter's. “Shōta…?” 

“Kazumi-san,” Shōta said hoarsely. He offered her a small smile and a bow of his head. 

“Oh, that won't do,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Yasuo, open a bottle of wine. I'm sure we all have plenty of new stories to share with each other.”

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Shōta's trip to Maebashi was completely more hungover than he had planned, but also more settled than he'd expected. 

He found an area where the apartments were in decent shape, but seemed to be abandoned. Perhaps the residents had moved into the newly announced shelters organized by hero schools. 

After sleeping through the afternoon, Shōta found an internet café. He worked his way through the firewalls at Central Hospital. He printed his record summary, as well as Midoriya's and Bakugo's. Midoriya's record listed the arrival time of the helicopter as 1:42 PM, and that he was in surgery beginning just before 2 PM. Bakugo's listed 1:42 PM, and the helicopter's call sign of 1836. He was in surgery by 2:15 PM. His own record didn't record his arrival, and he wasn't listed as a patient until 3:34 PM.

Grinding his teeth, he searched next for Kyoto flight records for a helicopter with the call sign 1836. This was harder, but Nezu's pup didn't give up easily. He found one that arrived in Nagano on February 8, from Maizuru Naval Base. Voting records listed a Hibino Yutaka being permanently stationed at the base. He printed that information too.

He wanted to know more about the investigation into his disappearance, but he knew that was too far for now. When he'd left Central Hospital, he'd said goodbyes and calmly walked out the front doors. He'd disappeared into familiar territory and withdrew money. Would they have ruled out foul play already? How careful did he need to be?

He shook his head and shoved the papers unceremoniously into his bag. He covered his work well but if his information gathering got flagged, he'd be too restricted. This whole thing would just take longer. He needed to pick up his gear and get the hell out of Maebashi. 

Shōta returned to Sanya the next day, but didn't go back to Mita-san's store. He found a tall apartment block that would give him a good vantage point and found a dry corner. He kept moving around the ward every few days to avoid getting too comfortable or predictable.

He needed to get used to the new gear in a familiar place before he could get back to his search. He did a few nighttime patrols of Sanya. As it became a habit, he'd go into Naruhata too.

24 days after Jaku, though, he found himself on a roof in Minato, overlooking the major road connecting the neighborhoods of Rappongi and Azabu. He didn't remember deciding to go, and he knew it was stupid. The chances were slim anyway. 

He needed to leave. 

Shōta's eyes remained focused on the sidewalk below. Now that the sun had risen, the number of pedestrians was increasing rapidly. He repelled down to a lower building to see them more clearly. 

His eyes caught on one pedestrian. Cursing himself, he watched them for a few seconds. He told himself again that he should leave.

Instead, Shōta dropped to the sidewalk. He removed his helmet and tugged the mask portion of the helmet liner under his chin. 

He looked across the street, dodging the early traffic, and jogged into the park. 

“Why are you following me?” 

Shōta couldn't even answer for himself.

Hizashi spun in place, his blonde hair whipping around his shoulders. He was ready to fight until recognition dawned.

Hizashi reached out and took a step closer. “Shōta?”

Shōta took a step back. “Hizashi.”

“Come home,” Hizashi said, his voice cracking. 

Shōta looked away so he didn't have to see Hizashi's reaction. “I can't.”

Hizashi took another step forward. “Are you safe?”

Shōta looked back at Hizashi. “Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain.”

“Yes.” Hizashi answered, his face crumpling.

“I'm sorry, I should have-,” Shōta began. He stomped a foot in irritation. “I should…I wish…”

Hizashi waited patiently, like always. Waiting for him to smooth out his feelings enough to find words.

“I wish that I…could have helped you carry it,” Shōta forced out. “We should have. Carried it together, I mean.”

The blonde nodded. His eyes were full of sorrow. “I know you would have done it, if you could.”

Hizashi took one last step forward, the two of them less than a foot apart. He examined Shōta slowly. Carefully. Noticing the gear Shōta wore.

He spoke so softly that Shōta almost couldn't hear him. “Is someone making you stay away? Making you do things?” 

Shōta's breathing convulsed at the feeling of Hizashi's hand in his. 

Hizashi's gaze was steady, and his voice was soothing. “I can get you away. I can keep you safe. Let me help you.”

“I can't,” Shōta said, shaking his head and trying to back away. “I shouldn't be here.”

Hizashi held Shōta in place by a handful of his shirt. 

The whole world felt like static. The colors too bright, the sounds too loud, the touches too strong.

When Hizashi kissed him, everything quieted. He dropped the helmet onto the grass to hold onto Hizashi like a life raft. The kiss held all the devastating urgency they both felt.

Hizashi rested his forehead against Shōta's.

“Stay,” Hizashi whispered. “Please, Shō. Stay.”

The static flickered back into the edges of his awareness. 

“I can't,” Shōta repeated. “Not now, Zashi.”

“Please.” Hizashi cradled Shōta's cheek in one hand, melting when Shōta leaned into the touch.

The static encroached closer, intense and unknowable.

Shōta kissed him again. “I'm sorry. Please don't follow me.” 

In a blink, he grabbed the dropped helmet and disappeared into the tree cover.

Chapter Text

Tokyo Metro had over 37 million people, and he still couldn't keep himself away from one.

Unbelievable.

Shōta wanted to leave right away, but of course Naoki was starting to go out looking for problems to solve without the skills to be safe. 

Which is how he had ended up hovering a few feet over the oblivious boy's head, helmet on and voice modulated. 

“Kid.”

To the teen's credit, Naoki barely showed how startled he was. “Old man.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Shōta grumbled.

“And I told you to stop sneaking up on me,” Naoki complained. 

“And I told you that being so easy to sneak up on is dangerous.”

The thief awkwardly started backing away. 

Shōta watched, waiting to see if Naoki would notice. 

The teen growled, throwing out the scarf and pulling the thief back. 

“You're starting to live up to your stolen suit, Baby Eraser, ” Shōta mused. 

The woman cackled. “You're a thief too? Hypocrite.”

“I didn't steal it!” Naoki snapped at the thief. “I was entrusted with it.”

Shōta looked at the thief. “Entrusted. Which included using it. Obviously.”

“Sounds like stealing to me,” she said, sullen.

Naoki scoffed. “You’re making friends with the thief now, Old Man?” 

He turned back to Naoki. “Again, with the ‘Old Man’.”

Naoki zip-tied the thief to a bench on the sidewalk. “You've literally never given me anything else to call you. And do you actually plan on helping, or are you just here to troll me.”

“I prefer to think of it as allowing you to learn by doing,” Shōta bit back. He still flipped off of the fire escape to the alley floor, then walked the couple feet out onto the sidewalk. 

Shōta took out his burner phone and reported the information to a tip line. Naoki started to walk away, and Shōta followed him as he finished the call.

Naoki glowered at him. “Why do you keep following me?”

“I'd rather you didn't die,” Shōta said casually.

“Except you don't teach me anything. You just criticize me.”

Shōta smiled, not that Naoki could see it. “Do you want me to teach you?”

“You offering?” Naoki asked dubiously.

He bit back his first response. This was too important. “Yes.”

“Where do we start then, oji-sensei?”

“Ruse.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Ruse.”

Shōta spent the next 5 days with Naoki patrolling Edogawa. Neither of them were familiar with the area, so Shōta explained how he learned a new district. By the 6th night, he was exhausted by talking and exhausted by hearing his own voice.

As soon as Naoki joined him on the roof, Shōta said, “we're going to Saitama tomorrow. We'll stay a few days.”

“What? Why?” Naoki protested. 

“I want you to show me that you can analyze a completely foreign district on the fly,” Shōta replied. "And we're going to buy you your own get up.”

“There's nothing wrong with what I've been wearing,” Naoki spluttered.

“You did a great job making it work, kid, but you're basically wearing knee-length breeches,” Shōta said, pointing to Naoki's calves. 

Naoki crossed his arms. “So?”

“It's a safety issue, kid.” He answered. Then he added, “I'm buying.”

Naoki paused. “Am I actually going to see your face then, Ruse-sensei?”

“No.”

“Hear your real voice?”

“No.”

“Ugh, come on!”

“Before we meet my broker, you'll need your own code name. Think about it.”

“You want me to pick one in the next 24 hours.”

“Yep.”

“I hate you sometimes,” Naoki grumbled. 

“Uh-huh. Go home and figure out whatever you have to. There's a freight line running to Saitama tomorrow. Leaves the rail yard near Naruhata at 6 PM. We need to be on it so we can meet the broker at 10.”

“Yoko will be disappointed that you're hiding your face tonight, Okino,” Kimura smirked. 

For the thousandth time, Shōta was glad for the helmet hiding his face. He still had to act, but didn't need to manage his facial expressions. “I can always talk to Yoko after Amplitude leaves…”

Kimura turned his attention to Naoki. The teen wore jeans, an oversized hoodie to shadow his face, and a medical mask to cover the part of his face not cast in shadow by the hood. 

Naoki didn't move an inch. Good.

“He doesn't know your face. Or your voice, if you're leaving the changer on,” Kimura observed, a smile cracking. “Sorry if I gave away your name.”

“Don't sound so pleased with yourself,” Shōta retorted. “I can go elsewhere.”

“Aww,” Kimura said with a false pout. “I thought we were friends!”

Shōta waited.

Sighing, Kimura said, “fine, fine. You're no fun. To business then?”

Shōta passed over the list. 2 linked & encrypted earpiece communicators with voice modulation, 2 fully secured phones, a fully secured laptop, and the specs for Naoki's own suit.

Kimura read over the pages provided. “You two some kind of team now?”

Naoki snorted, and Kimura quirked an amused eyebrow.

Shōta leaned on his elbows on the table. “Something like that, for now at least.”

Looking between the two of them, Kimura asked, “where and when did you want this stuff?”

“Saitama is fine this time. What's the best you can do?”

Kimura tapped the page thoughtfully. “Can you pay for the best I can do?”

“Try me.”

He wrote down a figure. “This is for tomorrow. Cut 30% if you can wait 4 days.”

“Cut 20%, 3 days,” Shōta countered.

Kimura smiled. “Cut 15%. You can walk out of here with the communicators tonight and get the rest in 3 days.”

Shōta reached into his pocket and put down the required 75% exactly. 

Kimura counted the money, then counted it again. “You knew where we'd settle,” he said a little bitterly, like it spoiled his game.

Shōta reached up to adjust the voice modulator to a low volume and leaned forward. “We're friends, Isa Hataki. It's important to me that I know my friends.”

“Touché, Okino,” Kimura nodded, smoothing over his shock. “I'll get those communicators then.”

2 nights with the communicators meant 2 nights of in-the-moment feedback. Micro-corrections. Naoki looked exhausted with the whole thing

The third night was worth it. They picked up Naoki's new suit and it all came together. 

They'd kept the basic design the same so he wouldn't have too much of a learning curve. The black jumpsuit, but with full length pant legs. The utility belt. The capture scarf. The goggles, except Naoki's were orange and reflective from the outside, yet clear and unobstructed from the inside. They'd chosen the design for better field of vision. 

The high was short-lived. The pair had just called in a tip for an attempted sexual assault and needed a break. Naoki wandered the conbini aisles looking for some kind of chips, but wasn't really looking at the bags at all. Shōta stopped in front of a TV tuned to a 24-hour news station. It showed UA, or rather what UA had become. 

“Can you turn it up?” he asked.

The clerk looked wary, but Shōta couldn't really blame them. It was harder than ever to tell hero, vigilante, and villain apart. The clerk raised the remote and increased the volume a few notches.

“I can confirm 2 things at this time,” Nezu said into the camera, looking wrung out. “First, the security issue we encountered was fully resolved.”

Small. 

Rumpled.

Exhausted.

Like the hospital.

The uproar of the reporters temporarily drowned out his voice.

Nezu spoke loudly, indirectly commanding that remaining conversations cease. “Second, a young girl was taken in a highly-targeted kidnapping from UA. Again, there is no evidence of risk for other residents of the shelter at UA. We are doing everything we can to secure her safe return.”

A newscaster came onto the screen. 

“UA and the Shizuoka police are asking that residents across the nation do not engage, but report any further information or sightings of this child immediately.”

A grinning Eri looked out from the screen. 

He didn't know if it would last. But all the loose pieces of himself, the puzzle that he was assembling, abruptly locked into their places.

The fury ripped through his veins like wildfire.

He resolutely walked to the chip aisle, grabbed Naoki by the collar, and pulled him outside. 

“Ow! Ruse, what the hell!” Naoki yelled, struggling.

“We're hotwiring a car.”

Naoki's voice jumped an octave. “We're what?!”

Chapter Text

Shōta ran back to the rail yard, his mind going as fast as his legs. Naoki was close behind. 

When they finally stopped, Shōta dug into their hiding place and threw Naoki's bag into his chest.

“You gonna tell me why you went from Mr. Calm and Collected to whatever this is?” Naoki asked, letting the bag fall back to the ground. 

“I need to go to Shizuoka,” Shōta said, double-checking that everything was still where it belonged in his own bag.

“Shizuoka is a disaster. It's the center of…all of the…” Naoki gestured in the air. “You know.”

“Something happened and I have to go back now. That's my city and my people,” Shōta answered, throwing his duffle bag onto his back. “I know Tokyo is your city and your people.” 

Naoki put his goggles on top of his head, furrowing his brow. 

“You can get on the 6 AM freight to Tokyo. You keep the suit and the phone that we came here for. We stay in touch, help each other where we can, ” Shōta said. “Or you can drive to the middle of it all with me right now.”

Naoki hesitated, then held out the earpiece he'd been wearing. “I don't think I'm ready for Shizuoka.”

Shōta took the earpiece and nodded. “You'll do good in Tokyo. Let me know when you get there.”

Naoki laughed. “Okay, dad.”

“I'd still rather you didn't die,” Shōta joked. “You've been a good student.”

Naoki bowed. “Thank you, Ruse-sensei.”

Shōta ruffled his hair. 

Naoki straightened. “I'd rather you didn't die either. Don't let Shizuoka get you, okay?”

The entire 2 hour and 15 minute 90 minute drive to Musutafu, Shōta struggled with where to go when he got there. 

Fear of the static decided for him. He couldn't go to UA yet. 

Shōta set up, as usual, in a poor and undersurveilled neighborhood. Then he started changing his appearance again. He wanted to be able to move around without his full suit, but also without being connected with his civilian movement in Tokyo, Saitama, or Maebashi. At least this time, the change felt much less traumatic. 

The sides of his hair had grown in some, so he just trimmed it to be a tousled mop on top that could fall into his eyes if needed. The new color was a pale pink. 

The first day, he also picked through the security of the Shizuoka Police and transferred the department's entire electronic file on Eri's kidnapping to his secure laptop. Seeing that Naomasa was considered too close to the case to be lead detective, he pulled everything he could from, or about, the person who was taking lead. 

That night, he scavenged for new civilian clothes while refamiliarizing himself with the changed streets.

By the end of the second night, he had read the entire file. The biggest red flag was the departure of Midoriya Izuku.

His Problem Child had left the school the night that Eri disappeared, after leaving Yagi Toshinori a note. Midoriya wrote that he didn't want to make the school a target anymore. 

A few days and nights of looking for Midoriya hadn't worked yet, but he was tracking reported sightings. He needed and wanted to find this kid. 

It was only a matter of time, he supposed. Uraraka, Shoji, and Sero were helping a family get to the UA shelter. 

Shoji was in front of the group as lookout and luggage carrier. Uraraka followed with 4 kids, and a couple was behind them. Sero was supporting the grandfather at the end.

“The walls are sooooooo big,” Uraraka said, waving her arms as wide as her grin. “They keep all the bad guys out. And there are other kids. You'll get to play outside again!”

The kids were laughing and watching Uraraka. He could feel the energy radiating off of them from the third story balcony. 

Shōta flushed with pride and moved to follow them.

Moving down to a second floor store canopy, he could hear Shoji's soft voice. “You'll be treated well.”

The mother had caught up to him and was looking around anxiously. “You're s-s-s-sure?”

Looking closer, he could see the scales dotting her face. Some kind of snake quirk?

Shoji bobbed his head. 

Meanwhile, Sero stopped to let the grandfather rest. 

Shōta's head jerked to the side, catching movement. Just a brief lapse in their tight formation, and a person had edged out of an alley. He looked back to Sero, whose full attention was on the older man that was holding his own chest. 

He lowered himself to street level just as the other person broke into a sprint toward them. 

Shoji dropped the bags he was holding and lunged at Shōta. Sero cried out to Uraraka to shield the group while he prepared to fight the person running at him. 

A spray of knives were flying directly at Uraraka who was spread too thin as she managed 6 panicking civilians. 

Shōta wrested an arm free from Shoji's hold, reaching toward Uraraka. He heard his own distorted voice screaming “NO!”

The knives stopped in mid-air. Everything froze before it all started moving too quickly again. Sero restrained the other person with his tape and Shoji restrained Shōta in a tight bear hug.

Once she was sure that the threat was over and she'd called for backup, Uraraka checked on the family behind her. 

Shōta didn't fight Shoji, still processing what happened with the knives. Uraraka could use her quirk to add gravity now? That wasn't right. The knives had hovered, not fallen. Did she make a forcefield by manipulating the gravitational waves around her?

Sero walked over after thoroughly taping their attacker to a wall. “You're that quirkless vigilante from Tokyo, right? Reece? No…Rise?”

Shōta looked at Sero. The boy had liked gossiping about celebrity news with Ashido and hero news with Midoriya…did people in Tokyo actually notice Shōta? It had only been a few weeks.

Sero snapped his fingers and pointed at Shōta. “Ruse! You were trying to help us, right, Ruse?”

Shōta nodded slowly. He bolted as soon as Shoji let his arms fall.

His secure phone pinged. He'd set up alerts for certain news articles and police reports. There was a new report including Midoriya. He completely lost track of time while repeatedly reading the report and watching the online videos. All of the videos showed only one fighter. Midoriya was doing things he'd never been able to do before. That was confusing, but some of the comments were absolutely chilling. People were asking if Midoriya was a nomu.

Hizashi stood on the beach, staring out at the water. He must be patrolling soon based on his clothes and that ridiculous cockatoo hair. 

Shōta walked up beside him, having just finished another fruitless night looking for anything at all on Midoriya or Eri.

They stood there together, both shielded by the personas they wore.

Hizashi broke the silence first. “The kids haven't shut up about you.”

Shōta clicked off the voice modulation and opened the helmet just enough for his real voice to be audible. “About me, or Ruse?”

“Ruse,” Hizashi said, turning his head to look at Shōta but he could only see the helmet. “Sero asked why Amplitude is in Tokyo without you.”

“Amplitude has his own obligations.” Him missing the kid was clearer in his voice than he wanted it to be. Hizashi always had that effect of bringing Shōta's feelings closer to the surface.

“Too bad,” Hizashi sighed. “If you couldn't be with us, I was glad that you weren't alone.”

They were quiet while Shōta sorted his thoughts. He turned his head slightly towards Hizashi, not daring to really look at the man. “Did you tell the kids it was me?”

“I didn't tell anyone,” Hizashi answered. “If they knew you were in Musutafu but not with them, I don't think they'd understand. It would break them.”

Shōta nodded.

Hizashi looked back to the water, hurt in his voice. “And I didn't tell anyone about seeing you in Tokyo, so less reason to suspect.”

Just the mention of it made Shōta's stomach plummet. His voice was thin. “Thank you.”

Hizashi turned his body to face Shōta fully. He crossed his arms tightly against his chest. “I didn't do it to be nice. I did it so you wouldn't disappear forever.”

Arms slack and head hung low, Shōta turned to fully face the coming wave of Hizashi's emotions.

“I know you. You hide when you hurt. I was ready to help. I was ready to be there as much or as little as you needed. But I didn't think that you'd decide to go so far.” Hizashi's arms weren't crossed anymore but were flying around wildly.

Shōta couldn't wrap his arms tightly enough around himself. But he stood still and endured it anyway.

“Do you remember the promise the three of us made the night before the raid?” Hizashi was whispering now, his posture rigid.

“The promise we always make before missions.” Shōta whispered back.

“3 classes, Shōta. My general studies kids with no idea how to help. Nemuri's kids. Some shattered, some with the desperate need to work to fix it somehow, some out for vengeance. And yours, with their sensei and four classmates hospitalized. I had to carry 60 traumatized kids!”

Hizashi shoved Shōta in the chest, hard, with both hands. Shōta stumbled back and Hizashi did it again. And again.

“You were supposed to come home, and we could hurt together. I had to hold on just a little longer. JUST A FEW MORE DAYS, BUT YOU LEFT ME.”

Shōta tore off the helmet and dropped it to the sand. He stumbled back a few steps with his hands pressed over his ears. The helmet liner was quickly soaking through. Controlling his breathing didn't help with the waves of nausea or dizziness. He fell to his elbows and knees.

Hizashi's hands were on Shōta within seconds, sitting him up. Shōta barely managed not to vomit on the other man. Hizashi looked horrified and was talking rapidly, based on his mouth. Shōta tried to get his watery eyes to focus better.

Shōta winced when he shook his head. It wasn't the first time he'd nearly or actually had Hizashi damage his eardrums. He should have known better than to move his head like that, especially so early.

Hizashi sat back on his heels. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he opened his and signed. “How much can you hear?”

Shōta released the pressure against his ears and waited a few seconds, then lowered them to sign back. “Nothing. Even no ringing.”

The fear of deafening another person was clear in Hizashi's panic. “We have to take you to the hospital. Right now.”

Terror of his own drove Shōta to shake his head vigorously. He only stayed upright because Hizashi had grabbed his shoulders. 

Hizashi let go again after a few seconds. His signing got quicker, more pprecise. Angry, sad, or both. “I know you won't go to UA to see Chiyo, so what else are we supposed to do?”

Shōta's mind was strained by the injury and emotion, and he wasn't nearly as fluent as Hizashi. It made it frustrating to search his mind for the signs he needed. He decided to just finger spell.

“I can't lose r-e-a-l again. Hospital will take it.”

“Real?” Hizashi signed back, looking baffled.

“Yes! Real.” Shōta signed emphatically. “Need real to find Eri. Need real to find Midoriya. Need real to stay with you.”

Hizashi stood and began to pace. “Would you go to UA to stay away from the hospital?”

Shōta chewed his lower lip, thinking. Could he hold off the static? Finally, he signed, “afraid.”

Hizashi stopped in front of Shōta. “What if Chiyo met us at my off-campus apartment? Would you stay long enough to sleep off Chiyo's healing?”

Shōta's head felt like it was in a vice, and the ringing came in and out. “You won't tell her?”

Intense sadness came over Hizashi's features before he shook his head. “I won't."

Shōta clenched his jaw, making his ears twinge. Hesitantly, he signed, “okay.”

Chapter Text

Shōta stirred where he'd been tucked into Hizashi's couch. The clock showed it had been a few hours since Chiyo's healing. His mind was still fuzzy with sleep until he saw the other man.

Hizashi was sitting on the floor across the room. His back was mostly toward Shōta while he thumbed through a crate of old records. Something must already be playing, because his head was bouncing along in a distinct rhythm. He'd changed into civilian clothes and put his hair into a loose bun, which bounced along too.

It was such a distinctly Hizashi moment that Shōta didn't move at first. He couldn't imagine interrupting it. He tried to memorize every detail.

Hizashi yelped in surprise when he eventually turned his head to check on Shōta. He adjusted the wide-rimmed red glasses on his face and glared. “How long have you been awake?”

Shōta shrugged and reached up to rub his eyes. 

“Want a shower? Chiyo left earplugs for you to keep the ear canals dry.” Hizashi jumped up and grabbed them from the table to show him.

Getting in the shower right after getting up was not what Shōta wanted to do, but he had crashed with the bloodied helmet liner still on. He took the ear plugs and trudged off towards the bathroom. Hizashi had already set out a towel and a change of clothes.

It had been a while since he'd had a long hot shower. It barely took any time to get clean, especially with his hair so short. He was just lingering after a while.

The loose sweats and old t-shirt smelled like Hizashi. Despite the man's love for fashion, everything he had for around the house was well-worn and comfortable. He wrapped his head in the towel and wandered back into the living room.

Hizashi looked up at him from the spot he'd retaken on the floor. After a second to process, he stopped what he was doing entirely and took another, longer look.

Shōta signed, “what?”

Hizashi stood up with a grin and pointed at his own eyebrows. 

The helmet liner had kept his eyebrows completely covered. They were pink. And now Hizashi could see them. 

Shōta smiled mischievously and walked over to him. Hizashi raised an eyebrow in reply. At the towel’s removal from Shōta's head, Hizashi descended into hysterical cackling.  

Once he'd calmed somewhat, the blonde held Shōta's face in both hands, turning his head side to side. “The cut and the pink thing…actually kinda works.”

Hizashi's smile was genuine. Shōta gave a barely there, but deeply relaxed, smile in return. 

Hizashi shifted. “Still nothing?”

“No, but no feeling sick or d-i-z-z-y now,” Shōta answered.

Hizashi looked away, clenching his jaw.

If only he knew more sign language. Instead Shōta bapped Hizashi on the nose.

Hizashi looked at him, wide-eyed. 

Shōta held up one hand at his side like a paw, and the other up by his head like it was an ear. He had no idea how loud he was being, but risked actually making the sound for the reaction it could earn. “Meow.”

Hizashi was laughing so hard the tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

The pen glided smoothly across the notebook page. Shōta had reread the information so many times that he almost didn't need to write it down. Except he very much did need to.

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Eri is my daughter

• Hospital, March 24
• Located adoption record, April 22
• Kidnapping & case files, April 26

He'd been staring at the page when Hizashi sat beside him. He quickly flipped the notebook closed and looked to see Hizashi's reaction. There wasn't much of one, so he probably hadn't seen. 

“We should make p-a-n-c-a-k-e-s for breakfast,” Shōta suggested.

Hizashi smiled, a sad tinge to it. “For Oboro's birthday?”

Shōta nodded. 

It occurred to him that Oboro wasn't actually dead. Or he was, but he was also alive. Sort of. What did it mean to grieve a person so destroyed that you couldn't even say whether or not they were alive?

Shōta seized Hizashi's hand and held it tightly as the static threatened. It stayed only in the corners as they stood and walked to the kitchen. Hizashi gave his hand an understanding squeeze.

Ruse: You have a fan in Shizuoka.

Amp: Rly?

Ruse: UA student. One of Eraser's.

Amp: r u fucking w me rn

Ruse: No. You good?

Amp: Yeah. You?

Ruse: Gonna disappear for a while. Wanted to let you know since we're known online or whatever. Can only text.

Amp: old man.

Amp: y only txt?

Ruse: Eardrums burst. Long story. 

Ruse: See ya.

Amp: wait wtf Ruse?!

Ruse: Need a new helmet visor. Cracked.

Kimura: That should be impossible.

Ruse: “Should” doesn't change that I need a replacement.

Kimura: Sure. I'll ask about materials that can survive a nuclear blast. 

Ruse: Very funny.

Kimura: Saw you've been in Shizuoka now. You want it there?

Ruse: You have contacts in Shizuoka?

Kimura: It's my job to have contacts everywhere, Kata.

Kimura: Can I call you Kata?

Ruse: I don't care.

Ruse: Can they install or do I need to figure that out?

Kimura: They'll install. That’s just good customer service. 

Ruse: Send me cost and meet up info.

Kimura: I'll get back to you in 20.

Shōta had woken up around 2 AM because his ears had started crackling. He'd read through Eri's case file entirely again and didn't feel any closer to finding her. There was nothing new on Midoriya either. 

Normally patrolling would give a vent to the irritation and helplessness that Shōta was feeling. Standing on the apartment balcony as the city awakened helped but not enough. He hit his forehead with the heels of both hands.

Hizashi startled him. He gently pulled Shōta's hands away from his face. From force of habit, the embarrassed man hunched his shoulders and ducked his face. Without the scarf to hide in, Shōta moved to hide his face against Hizashi's shoulder instead. 

Words weren't possible, and that was strangely soothing. 

Hizashi scratched the back of Shōta's neck where the hair was cut short. He paused at Shōta's shiver, but resumed with a small laugh when Shōta nuzzled against his shoulder. 

The feeling of being this close to Hizashi was intoxicating. 

Shōta pressed a tentative kiss against Hizashi's collarbone. Pleasure shot through Shota when he felt the hand on the back of his head curl just a bit tighter. Another kiss, this one more confident. Hizashi leaned his head away, exposing more of his neck. 

There was no resistance when Shōta pinned Hizashi against the railing and nibbled on Hizashi's earlobe. The rumble of a moan was unmistakable. Hizashi's fingers ghosted across the skin of Shōta's lower back. 

When Shōta moved to kiss Hizashi's lips, he didn't expect to be pushed back. At least it gave him a chance to appreciate Hizashi's flushed cheeks. 

Hizashi lowered his hand just slightly. “RG is on her way. 10 minutes.”

Shōta sighed heavily and nodded. He headed off in search of the helmet liner to hide his face.

Helmet in hand, Shōta walked into the warehouse. He glanced back at the heavily disguised Hizashi at his heels. He wanted to be annoyed that the other man insisted on coming along but knew that was foolish. His hearing was still fuzzy after Chiyo's second healing session.

Kimura descended the stairs along with a woman. She held a small box.

“Kimura? I thought you were having an associate manage the hand off,” Shōta said. His guard was immediately high.

Kimura smiled. “I thought I'd introduce the two of you, Kata. She calls herself Ultraviolet.”

Shōta's gaze slid over to the woman. She was tall and lithe with glowing purple eyes. He gave her a nod. 

Ultraviolet replied with a predatory smile, staring Shōta down. 

“And you're a delightful new addition.” Kimura spoke to Hizashi, seemingly oblivious to the power struggle happening next to him. 

Hizashi, however, had very much registered the fight for dominance between Shōta and Ultraviolet. “Delightful maybe, until I need to be otherwise.”

Kimura laughed. “You're much more spirited than Amplitude. And more Kata's age. What are you, then? Associate? Friend? Lover?”

“He's none of your business, Kimura,” Shota said coolly, holding out his helmet to Ultraviolet. 

Ultraviolet took it a little rougher than necessary and got to work.

“You're a good friend, and I like making new friends,” Kimura whined. “You don't share well.”

Shōta shrugged. “I'm territorial. It's best not to mess with what's mine.”

“Your current territory is a little wild,” Kimura observed, leaning against the wall. “What's up with that freaky green lightning kid?”

“No idea, can't figure it out,” Shōta answered honestly. 

Kimura tilted his head. “Does that mean you've been trying to figure it out?”

Shōta deflected, “what person in the city isn't?”

“True,” Kimura assented. “Did you see he took out Muscular yesterday?”

Hizashi suddenly came to life behind him. “What?!”

Shōta held a hand out at Hizashi. 

Kimura smirked. “He's fun. It's much easier to tell what he's thinking.”

Ultraviolet had let out a dark giggle. Shōta was back to glaring at her. 

Kimura held out a hand for the cash. Hisashi handed it to him as Shōta grabbed the repaired helmet. He inspected it carefully while Hizashi kept watching the other two. 

Shōta nodded. “You two leave first.”

“So cautious, Kata,” Kimura teased. 

Shōta turned to Kimura. “I don't trust that one yet.” He pointed to Ultraviolet.

She finally spoke for the first time. Her voice reverberated, but Shōta couldn't tell if it was a quality of her voice or a reflection on his still damaged hearing. “That's wise.”

The confusion on Hizashi's face was clear when they landed in a park instead of going back towards his apartment. 

“What's goi-”

“Fucking hell,” Shōta growled. 

“Oookay…”

He put down the helmet and stomped away a dozen yards. Hizashi followed, keeping an eye on the helmet itself. “Anyone from UA patrolling right now that's good with support or technology?”

Hizashi took out his phone to make a call. “Is it a bomb or something?”

Shōta looked blankly at Hizashi. “If it was, they would have blown us up already.”

Lifting the phone to his ear, Hizashi remarked, “I thought you said that broker was trustworthy.”

“He is, but she–”

“Ecto, heyo!!!”

Just the slight increase in volume had Shōta covering his ears. They stayed well covered until the phone was back down.

Hizashi moved close to talk softly. “2 minutes out. You'll have to stay silent when they get here without the voice changer, yeah?” 

“They'd know me?”

Hizashi's grin was lopsided. “From the nightmares you gave ‘em sometimes.”

“I don't give students nightmares, Hizashi,” Shōta groaned. 

“How many people have you expelled again?” 

“They aren't students anymore. They don't count.”

“They so do! And you wonder why some people call you a sadist…”

Shōta crossed his arms. 

“Now shush,” Hizashi said. “They'll come up any second.”

Shōta could hear Kaminari and Ashido's approach well before they were visible. Hizashi walked over to meet them while Shōta turned his back to get his eyes to stop watering first. 

Maijima had been patrolling with Ashido and Kaminari, which was a relief because otherwise he would have worried about them being paired up. Maijima was the one inspecting the helmet. 

Ashido squealed when she noticed Shōta's approach. “Kami! You were right! Mic-sensei does know Ruse-san!”

“I told you so! I recognized the helmet,” Kaminari boasted.

Shōta's eyes crinkled with a tiny smile he'd definitely deny later. 

“Can we ask you a question, Ruse-san?” Mina asked, bouncing on her toes. “Or a couple maybe?”

This felt different than when he'd seen Uraraka, Shoji, and Sero. Then he mostly watched them. They really hadn't spoken.

Kaminari jumped in. “Your partner or whatever, the one in Tokyo?”

If he could speak, Shōta would point out that there wasn't really a question there, but he just nodded.

Kaminari added, “Do you know where he got his suit?”

That was a complicated answer for non-verbals, especially since his helmet liner even covered his eyebrows. He tilted his head.

Ashido jumped in. “Okay, so we think Amplitude got it from someone we know! Or knew, maybe?”

“Bro, you did not just say ‘knew’!” Kaminari looked appalled.

Ashido sniffled. “Right, sorry. We know them. The person…they went missing a while ago. And maaaaaybe Amplitude knows something?” 

Kaminari nodded his head. “We’re not saying Amplitude did anything, we just don't have many clues to follow. It really sucks…”

Ashido gave Kaminari an encouraging smile. “Hey, remember we all decided that's actually a good sign?”

Kaminari brightened again. “Yeah! Cuz who's sneakier than our sen-

Ashido smacked Kaminari in the chest. “So can you ask Amplitude about it? Please?”

Hizashi walked over and handed Shōta the helmet while he was still trying to process. Shōta put the helmet on and flipped on the modulator.

They were still watching him, their eyes so wide and hopeful. How could they have seen everything they had, lost everything they'd lost, and still look like that?

“Assuming everything you kids say is true,” Shōta said carefully, “then I can see why you're asking.”

“So you'll talk to Amplitude for us?” Ashido asked excitedly.

Shōta nodded. “I'll ask him to contact you.”

Kaminari cheered and pumped his fist in the air. 

Ashido screamed. She crashed into him with a hug. “Thank you, Ruse-san! You can't imagine how much this means to us!”

Shōta felt like he was floating in the static that had been building since the previous morning. Hugging Ashido back with one arm anchored him through its latest attempt to drive him away. 

Chapter Text

Ruse: ashido.vcf

Ruse: They have questions about your original suit.

Amp: no thx

Ruse: They noticed you were “entrusted” with it. I said I'd ask you. 

Amp: they Eraser's?

Ruse: Yes.

Amp: ugh, fr?

Amp: r u friends w all of UA now?

Ruse: If I said yes, would you be jealous?

Amp: obv

Ruse: I try to avoid them but it keeps happening. 

Amp: do i have 2 call?

Ruse: No.

Amp: liar

Shōta flung the bolas after one thief. When the person hit the ground, Shōta turned to chase the other. He laughed to himself when they turned down a dead-end.

Shōta stopped laughing when the thief turned to face him, picked up a 2-ton chunk of concrete rubble and threw it. All he could do was brace for impact. 

When nothing hit, Shōta looked up. The concrete was just hanging there. He slowly lowered the hand that he'd instinctually raised to protect his head. The concrete lowered along with it. He froze.

“You okay, Ruse-san?” Sato plucked the concrete out of the air effortlessly and threw it aside. 

Kirishima pulled Shōta to his feet. “How'd you do that? Aren't you quirkless?”

Yaoyorozu looked horrified. “Kirishima, you can't just ask people that!”

Kirishima smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, ignore me. I'll just…go grab the other one real quick.”

When Kirishima ran out of view, Shōta looked to the other assailant. They were already quirk-cuffed by Sato and Mineta. “Thank you.”

Yaoyorozu smiled warmly. “No, Ruse-san, thank you.”

Shōta was puzzled. It was an uncomfortable trend. “For what?”

“Giving us a chance to repay you,” she replied as though it were obvious. “You've helped several of our classmates before.”

Mineta added, “yeah, you've been looking out for us, like some kind of creepy but protective uncle! Or a stalker, but a good one.”

“Dude, what the hell,” Kirishima laughed from behind them, holding the thief firmly with one hand. He handed the bolas back to Shōta.

“Just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em,” Mineta grinned.

Yaoyorozu huffed. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“I'll show you–”

Sato snickered when Shōta took Mineta down with the bolas. 

Hizashi tried to get out of bed. He was stopped by Shōta's arms tightening around him, and Shōta's face nuzzling in between his shoulders.

“We have to get out of bed eventually,” Hizashi teased.

“Too comfy. You stay.” Shōta wrapped a leg around Hizashi's for emphasis.

“I have a patrol today.” Hizashi relaxed despite the protest. “5 more minutes, kitten.”

“Hmph.”

“10. No more.”

Shōta nodded into Hizashi's back. 

Shōta looked skeptically at the playground swings in front of him. He took a few steps further back so he was standing about 20 feet from where they hung at rest.

He felt preposterous, but he needed to know. Shōta waved a hand forward as though to push one of the swings.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, and still nothing. 

He frowned. Did he imagine it? And if he did, what else was he imagining?

“Pick up the pace, fuckers!” A very recognizable series of pops in the distance.

He turned quickly to locate Bakugo, then turned back at the clanging sound. The swing was wrapping itself around the pole, only stilling again when it ran out of chain.

He gave a tentative flick of a finger and it unwound. 

Well then.

Shōta took the paper from an interior pocket of his jacket and added an entry.

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Eri is my daughter

• Hospital, March 24
• Located adoption record, April 22
• Kidnapping & case files, April 26

Secondary quirk strengthened

• Froze knives, May 3
• Stopped rubble, May 6
• Playground swings, May 7

Shōta was not waiting on the causeway for long. He stepped out into clear view. The braking car skidded sideways. It didn't stop quickly enough. Shōta jumped onto the hood and flipped onto the other side of the sliding vehicle. 

When it came to a stop backwards against the median, Shōta ripped open the door and yanked out the still disoriented driver. The skeletal man fell to the pavement awkwardly. 

“All right, guilty conscience. Start talking.”

The man sat on the ground, leaning back on his arms and looking for a way to defend himself. 

“I said talk. Now.”

“I don't know what you mean!”

Shōta crouched in front of him. “Midoriya Izuku was any other quirkless kid, and then he met you. You start at UA when he does. He develops multiple quirks before leaving the school. And now you're the only person not in a patrol team to leave UA regularly. For a former #1, you are surprisingly un-subtle.”

Yagi Toshinori tried to hold his gaze, but couldn't decide where to look because of the helmet. Shōta laughed at him. A full belly laugh that sounded incredibly deranged due to the modulator. 

“Are you…threatening me?” Yagi asked.

“No.” Shōta stood and held out a hand to help the man to his feet. “I could. But I think you'd rather get some things off your chest. You've been carrying an awful lot on your own.”

Yagi frowned. “Let's say you're right. You're not the person I'd go to.”

“I figured out his pattern. It won't be long until someone else does too,” Shōta reasoned. “And when that happens, while the kid is still out here alone, some group will band together to find him. And his blood will be on your hands.”

“Then tell me the pattern!”

Shōta sat on the hood of the car with his arms crossed. “No.”

“Why?”

Shōta huffed. “I don't trust your judgment.”

“I was the number one hero. You are a vigilante. And you think you have better judgment?” Yagi countered.

“You're convinced he's in mortal danger, you have dozens of powerful allies that you could ask for help, and yet you've stayed silent,” Shōta spat. 

Yagi blanched. 

“Nobody has pressed you or even looked at you closely, because you're The Symbol and would never make a mistake, or lie, or get yourself into a bad situation. But I looked. And I'm pressing you now. That kid deserves better. So. Start. Talking.”

Amp: u r back & attacked All Might

Ruse: I didn't attack him. 

Ruse: We talked. 

Amp: u made him crash 1st

Ruse: He was driving too fast for conditions.

Amp: like u jumping out @ him

Ruse: Anyone could have.

Ruse: Did you call Ashido yet?

Amp: y?

Ruse: So no, then. 

Amp: u said I cld not

Ruse: It sounded like you were going to. 

Amp: fine

Amp: mean old man

Ruse: :)

Amp: how do u make emoji scary

Ruse: It's a gift.

Hizashi laughed when Shōta got wrapped up in the blanket and fell off the couch. The glare he got for it only made him laugh harder. 

“You're an asshole,” Shōta grumbled, untangling his legs and getting to his feet. “You know what it's like after Chiyo heals you…”

“So?”

He was preparing to say something snippy back until he noticed the anxiety in Hizashi's voice. Hizashi wasn't trying to push him, he was afraid. 

“I can hear fine now, loudmouth,” Shōta answered, tossing the blanket onto the couch. 

Hizashi grinned, then sighed dramatically. “You must be sooooo relieved that you can delight in my full vocal range again.”

Shōta paused. “You're probably going back now, right? To UA.”

The grin and the dramatics disappeared. “I don't know.”

“Don't they need you?” Shōta asked softly.

Hizashi hugged himself. “They need you too.”

Shōta shook his head. “I would disappear. That would be it.”

“So you won't even try?”

Frowning, Shōta considered the question. “If I went with you, it would be the same. I would be gone anyway.”

“So now what?” Hizashi asked, walking over and holding out his hand. 

Shōta took his hand without hesitation. “I keep looking.”

Hizashi looked down. “So you're going to leave?”

“We both leave. This wasn't meant to be more than a few days.”

“I…wanted it to be,” Hizashi admitted, leaning into Shōta's chest. “I really, really wanted it to be.”

“I want to be here, Zashi. I have to go for now, but I'm not leaving you.”

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Eri is my daughter

• Hospital, March 24
• Located adoption record, April 22
• Kidnapping & case files, April 26

Secondary quirk strengthened

• Froze knives, May 3
• Stopped rubble, May 6
• Playground swings, May 7

I'm in love with Hizashi

• First kiss, March 27
• Tokyo, April 14
• Beach & Healing, 5/4-5/9

Chapter Text

Ruse lifted the phone and turned off the alarm. He rolled back off of his side with a whine. His ribs were killing him and he couldn't remember why.

He forced himself to sit upright. Lifting his shirt revealed a mottling of red, blue and purple bruising. No yellow. Fresh. Stretching and twisting didn't reveal any other injuries. Not that the ribs weren't enough.

He looked at the phone's lock screen. 

7:48 AM

May 16

Miyazu

Mostly Cloudy

62°F/17°C

Miyazu?

He rubbed at the back of his head and dragged over the backpack. It was stuffed with his laptop, some random bits of technology, and a truly unreal amount of paper. 

The notebook listed some things to fact-check. The next one that wasn't crossed off was at Maizuru Naval Base. That was in the next city over. So today he was breaking into a heavily fortified military installation with probably-broken ribs. Perfect. 

He cleaned up, carefully wrapped his ribs, and re-dressed. Once he'd found a new place to crash and hid his bags, he headed out.

As he approached the guard house, he took out his phone and remotely activated the protocol he had created the night before. 

A military police officer stepped out to greet him. He casually removed his service cap and waved to the officer. The advantages of knowing that he wouldn't appear on the recordings.

“I'm here from the joint base to digitize some records,” he explained, holding out an ID. 

The officer examined the ID and nodded. “I'll just confirm that you're expected, Sakai.”

“Of course,” he beamed. 

The officer stepped into the booth, talked to a colleague briefly, then returned. “You'll be going to Building Kappa. You know where that is?” 

“Sure do!” Ruse replied, returning the cap to his head. “Thank you!”

The officer waved him off and he strolled across the base. 

He had planned thoroughly, but Ruse still kept his guard up. That was...easy.

Building Kappa was a long brick building, clearly with extra fireproofing and weatherproofing. When he walked in, he simply acted as if he was supposed to be there. If anyone got looked his way, they got a friendly but not too cheery hello. He didn't want to be remembered.

Behind the office area in the front was an extensive warehouse. Files were stacked meticulously on shelves that were 15 feet tall. Innumerable rows that seemed to go on forever. 

He walked with purpose to a specific area and began to look through the files. After about 30 minutes, he found what he was looking for. Records from a flight of JN1836 on March 21.

There were multiple versions. 

He took photos of all of them. Reading them here was too high a risk. He returned the file, then went in search of the archived personnel records for Hibino Yutaka and Furuya Eri. He'd found digital records for Hibino but none for Furuya, and that made everything feel suspect.

He held Furuya's file now, though. He photographed it, then moved on to Hibino's. There was nothing obviously different about Hibino's, but he'd have to compare them carefully.

Fast footfalls, coming in his direction. He'd hoped to get copies of the other crew's information, but there was no time for it. He replaced the files and their boxes carefully, then flipped up onto the top of the row. 

As military police spread out and searched, he carefully picked his way back toward the administrative area. He made sure to tell the office manager to have a wonderful day on his way out the door.

The plan had been to review the paper records, then find Hibino and Furuya. It was time for a new plan.

He walked with purpose, but without rushing, to the medical complex. He texted as he went.

Ruse: Kid, you need to go underground. Now.

Amp: y?

Ruse: Something is off.

Ruse: I think that I just kicked a hornet’s nest. 

Ruse: People know I'm connected to you. 

Ruse: And people know you're connected to Eraserhead.

Ruse: It's all mixed together somehow. 

Ruse: Just do it.

Amp: ur freaking me out, sensei

Ruse: Gotta go. Be safe.

He picked the lock on a door directly into an office space, skipping the reception area. A left. 2 rights. Then he went through the next door, closed it, and turned around. 

“Eraserhead?”

Shōta leaned back against the door to weather the waves of nausea that seemed to come from nowhere. The fluorescent lights hummed too loudly. His skin crawled. But none of those sensations held a candle to his confusion. 

He was looking at Hibino Yutaka.

Why was he looking at Hibino Yutaka?

“Eraserhead, we need to go. Now.”

Shōta shook his head and refocused his eyes on Hibino's face. He was terrified.

“Okay. Just…” Shōta closed his eyes.

Ruse opened his eyes again, grabbed Hibino by the arm, and pulled the both of them through the maze of hallways. He pulled down his hat as they walked to a nearby parking lot.

“Get in,” he directed, pointing to a car. “Do whatever I tell you to do. No questions.”

“Okay. Yeah,” he agreed with a shake to his voice. Hibino was mostly mute with fear after agreeing.

The two men changed cars twice more, changed clothes, and boarded a train to Osaka. They changed clothes again before doubling back to Miyazu for Ruse's bags. 

They got into a final car and got on the road. 

Ruse pulled over when they turned south, shortly after Tsuraga.

This time, Shōta came back to himself by throwing up on the side of a highway. He could still feel Hibino's eyes on him though.

Shōta leaned with his hands on his knees and took a few slow, deep breaths. “Okay, start talking.”

Hibino's laugh was wrought with manic fear.

Shōta turned his head to look at the distraught man. 

“Where do I even start?”

Steady enough now, Shōta straightened. “The last 20 minutes of the flight.”

Hibino looked at him, eyes wild. Whatever was happening was way outside of his context as a medic. Shōta needed to call back to something familiar.

“Lieutenant, report.”

“Sir.” The man's eyes cleared. “Primary nerve repair completed within 5 minutes of arrival. Ensign Furuya was tasked with transfer to hospital personnel. She proceeded indoors with the patient. I was advised that her services were needed by the hospital due to low staffing and assented. I was unable to contact her after that time.”

“How long until you were able to contact her?”

Hibino's eyes softened again, the fear returning. “She never came back. Nobody will talk about it. Last week, the Vice Admiral told me to stop asking.”

Shōta got out of the car in Shizuoka, but well outside of Musutafu. He leaned down to the driver's side window. 

“When you get to the gates at UA, ask to speak with Present Mic. I think Nezu would be a little too…enthusiastic,” Shōta said. 

Hibino nodded. “Got it.”

“He means well,” Shōta added. 

“Okay.”

“He's just been through a lot. I mean, we all have, but–”

Hibino's eyes showed a tired that had nothing to do with needing sleep. “I get it. He will be struggling, and I should give him grace.”

“They'll take good care of you. And they'll keep you safe from whatever it is we got dragged into.”

A nod. “Thanks.”

Shōta snorted. “Not sure you should be thanking me, but…you saved my life. I wouldn't have lasted until they found me.”

Hibino grimaced. “Not sure you should be thanking me either.”

“Hmm.”

Hibino looked to the road ahead. “I'll see you again sometime.”

Shōta nodded. “Til then.”

Naomasa was pulling open the door to his building. Shōta flicked a finger to close it. The alarmed detective turned around.

“Hello, Detective. I hear that you can corroborate a ghost story.”

Naomasa frowned. “All Might said you'd be coming. Ruse, right?”

“That's me,” Shōta nodded. 

Naomasa rubbed his forehead. “Do you want to come in then?” 

“I'm not a fool, Tsukauchi,” Shōta said flatly, gesturing to a bench. “I'm sure you can keep your voice down.”

Naomasa doubled back to the bench and took a seat. Shōta leaned against an adjacent tree.

Naomasa looked at him. “What he said was true.”

“Give me the quick overview, like I hadn't heard it before.”

“All Might inherited a power passed down for generations intended to kill All For One,” Naomasa said as he removed his hat. “He passed it to a new wielder before he learned that All For One was not dead as previously believed. That new wielder is a UA student named Midoriya Izuku.”

Shōta nodded.

“He was seriously injured in Jaku. After a child was kidnapped, he felt responsible for the school being targeted by All For One's followers and left. He's still at large.” Naomasa's shoulders slumped. 

“Why didn't you say anything before?” Shōta asked, his muscles painfully tight. 

“It's a state secret, Ruse.” Naomasa got up and walked back toward the apartment building's door. “I'm amazed that you got All Might to tell you. That makes you, quite frankly, more than a little terrifying.”

“Using a person's own guilt against them is surprisingly effective, Detective. I'm sure you know that.” Shōta said, following him. “You have any guilt of your own about it?”

Naomasa flipped through his keys. “What do you mean?”

“You know people at UA, you have friends there. Kids were targeted. People almost died multiple times.” 

“I couldn't have said anything,” Naomasa sighed, turning.

Shōta punched him right in the mouth.

Chapter Text

Hizashi turned his head slightly at the sound of Shōta's boots hitting the pavement. He looked back and forth down the road. He was dressed for patrol but his directional speaker sat on one of the half-demolished café's tables. 

“Nezu is pissed at you, Ruse,” Hizashi said, tossing a piece of popcorn up in the air and catching it in his mouth.

Shōta walked to stand beside him and cracked his visor. “I'm assuming that means he's pissed at you too?”

“I'm too cute for anyone to stay mad at, baby,” Hizashi said with a wink.

“While that's true,” Shōta said ruefully, “I don't want to cause extra problems for you.” 

Hizashi waved a hand. “RG didn't know who you were and she didn't ask, bless her. She understands plausible deniability. The only thing I had to explain away was Maijima inspecting your helmet & nuking the extra sensor Ultraviolet put in it.”

“And?”

“I said I saw you cursing and stomping away from it and thought it must be a bomb. Tsuki was right there and knew I was telling the truth. He just didn't know I left out a bunch.” Hizashi smirked, clearly proud of himself.

Shōta huffed in amusement. 

“I am curious about your ‘conversations’ with All Might and Tsuki, though.” Hizashi elbowed him in the ribs.

“Any more attacks or attempted attacks on the school?” Shōta asked.

Hizashi shook his head. “Even Nezu commented that it's been oddly silent the last few weeks.”

Shōta nodded. “Then I don't want to make you responsible for knowing. Especially if they've decided to maintain their silence.”

Hizashi frowned. “All right. I'm supposed to ask you to call Nezu if I see you.”

“Consider me asked,” he said blandly.

“Are you going to call him?” Hizashi moved a little closer.

“Maybe. I have to do something else first, or else he'll just want to talk to me again.” Shōta looked at Hizashi in his peripheral.

“Do I want to know?”

“Again, not unless you want to be responsible for knowing.”

Hizashi leaned into Shōta's side. 

A smile twitched on Shōta’s lips. “You alone out here? You're risking your own plausible deniability.”

“Kids aren't supposed to meet up with me for another 20 minutes,” Hizashi answered.

Shōta put an arm around Hizashi's shoulders and pulled him more snugly into his side.

The Hizashi smile contrasted with the overall Present Mic appearance. “Let me see you?”

Shōta swallowed, looking away down the street. Hizashi had always cared this way. Prodded at him when he hid himself away for too long. Pulled his hair back to find his eyes. Heard the things that he didn't say. 

Why did it feel so different now?

Hesitantly, he removed the helmet, holding it loosely at his side. Hizashi twisted in Shōta's hold to look at his face. The discomfort of being so seen made Shōta's shoulders tense, and it only got stronger when Hizashi gently turned his face.

Their eyes met and the tension bled away. Shōta closed his eyes and leaned into Hizashi's hand. The man's other hand lifted to touch the sensitive skin under his left eye. Hizashi clicked his tongue at the half-healed black eye.

“You're being safe?” Hizashi asked.

“Safe as I can be.”

“You promise?”

Shōta opened his eyes to give a small smile. “I told you, Hizashi. I won't leave you again.”

Hizashi nodded, his smile tight. 

Shōta smirked. “Iida's coming. I can hear the engines. Only 15 minutes early is an improvement for him.”

“Well, he's had to learn to rest. Can't live your life in 5th gear all the time,” Hizashi answered.

“Mmm. Good.” Shōta rested his forehead against Hizashi's for a long moment before springing away.

Midoriya.

Shōta wasn't ready to see Midoriya, even though he was the one waiting on the projected path through the business district.

Reading reports. Seeing photos. Watching videos. None of it could have prepared him.

The teen's suit was almost black from the dirt and blood that had dried into it. How much of the blood was Midoriya's? How many other people's blood had caked into it?

The kid himself honestly looked half-dead. Green curls hung limp and flat. Fatigue weighted his movements. The way his arms swung was wrong somehow. 

The one thing that remained was the intelligence and determination in the boy's eyes. Those eyes were trained on him now. Picking him apart. 

Shōta waited for Midoriya to speak first. 

“You've been helping my friends.”

Simple, precise answers only. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I'm fond of them.”

This answer surprised Midoriya. Shōta smiled.

“Why are you here?”

Shōta smiled wider and held out a small package. “I'm fond of you too, Midoriya.”

Midoriya took a small step back. “What is that?"

“Arm braces.”

Midoriya looked at him suspiciously. “I don't need them.”

Shōta just snorted. He put them down on the rooftop between them and backed away slowly. 

“I don't want your help.”

Shōta turned his back to the boy. “You can't afford to break yourself before your big fight arrives.”

Before Midoriya could get too spooked by that statement, Shōta withdrew. He made sure Midoriya could easily track his departure. As much as he wanted to know, he didn't look to see what the boy chose to do with the gift.

Ruse stood outside of the gates to UA and stared up at the camera. 

“I've contacted Nezu. He is on his way, Ruse-san.” Thirteen's voice.

Nezu walked out of the gates, alone, several minutes later. Calm. Composed. Well-groomed.

A curious change.

“I heard that you wanted to talk,” Ruse said, his boredom clear.

“Yes, I'm quite concerned about your recent actions, Ruse,” Nezu said in his typical chipper tone. “Your interactions with my students, staff, and allies have been quite…chaotic.”

Ruse crossed his arms and almost wished Nezu could see his eye roll. “And?”

Nezu grimaced. “I'm territorial. It's best not to mess with what's mine.”

Ruse leaned down, hands on his knees, to be eye level with the rat. “Oh my,” he said mockingly. “Did someone forget to teach you that you don't own people?”

Nezu bared his teeth and his hackles raised. He fully growled. 

Ruse laughed. Truly, deeply laughed.

The rat's launch at him was unexpected but easily dealt with. Ruse flicked his wrist to fling him away. Nezu skidded to a stop on all fours, still growling.

“I don't want to fight you, Nezu-san,” Ruse said coolly, keeping his posture relaxed. “If there's something that you would like from me, I'm happy to help.”

Nezu slowly straightened upright, onto to his back paws. “Get away from my school.”

Ruse chuckled. “Sure thing. If you decide you want something, you can call.”

Ruse leaned forward, put a piece of paper in Nezu's vest pocket, and patted it.

Nezu bit Ruse through his glove. The rat's jaw locked.

The two froze. Before it could escalate again, Cementoss opened the door behind Nezu. 

“Sir, you're needed inside.”

Nezu unhooked his jaws and wiped the red from his snout with a handkerchief. He disappeared back inside the gates under Cementoss’ wary gaze. 

Chapter Text

“Um…excuse me?”

Shōta lifted his head. “Hey kid.”

A small anxious smile. 

Midoriya would need a lot of reassuring feedback. That was tough with the helmet on. Shōta's posture was already comfortable and non-threatening. Maybe part of why Midoriya had approached at all? He was leaning against the roof's ledge with one leg stretched out, the other knee raised with an arm across it.

“You need somethin’?”

Midoriya shook his head. “No. I wanted to say thanks.”

Shōta tilted his head. 

Midoriya held up his arms, clad in the red arm braces.

“Mmm. They look good with your suit.”

“Oh.” Midoriya looked down at himself. He clearly hadn't even considered that. 

Shōta chuckled. 

“They'd probably look even better if the rest wasn't filthy,” Midoriya admitted with a nervous laugh.

“Maybe,” Shōta agreed. “You'll also get more out of the suit if you take care of it. I imagine it's a little stiff.”

“You think?” Midoriya asked. “I guess I didn't consider the impact of fluids or particulates getting into the fabric, but it definitely makes sense that build-up would affect the pliability. And depending on the types of each, there's probably different effects. I wonder how they interact with each other in different amounts? Sweat and blood have different viscosities, so–”

Shōta found himself relaxing as the kid settled into one of his rambles. It was jarring when he cut himself off. “Why'd you stop?”

“Oh, sometimes it freaks people out when I do that,” he laughed nervously, folding his arms.

“Don't apologize for being smart, kid,” Shōta yawned. “So do you have anywhere safe to clean up?” 

Midoriya tensed.

Shōta held up both open palms to the teen. “Not suggesting anything. Just a question.”

“Right. Not exactly. Or else I probably wouldn't look this way, right?”

“A lot of the office buildings in the business district had exercise facilities. If you spend time there, you might be able to find a relatively intact locker room that still has running water.”

Midoriya's eyebrows furrowed and he took a step forward. “Are you homeless, Ruse-san?”

Was the kid really worried about Shōta, like he wasn't also homeless at the moment? “I have a home, I just…can't go there right now. Like you.”

The sadness in the kid's face had the intensity and draw of a collapsing star.

Shōta didn't want the kid falling into those feelings too hard. “You got anything to write on?”

Midoriya straightened up. “What?”

“I have a secured phone. I'll give you the number. In case you're ever in trouble.”

Midoriya wrung his hands. 

“Or not, kid. It's not a big deal. Even if you take mine, you don't have to give me yours.”

Midoriya pulled a pen and a small pad of paper out of one of his belt pockets. He flipped through it, and of course the pages were filled with notes, diagrams, and calculations. Shōta waited for Midoriya to find a blank space before he listed off the number.

“Don't feel like you have to use it, okay? Just…don't feel alone out here either,” Shōta said gently.

Midoriya nodded as he pocketed the notebook and pen again. He went back to wringing his hands. He might be an incredibly powerful person, but at the end of the day, he was also an isolated and terrified child.

“You want me to leave first again…?”

Midoriya bit his lip in thought. “If…if you don't mind?”

Shōta nodded. “I'm gonna get up then.”

Midoriya took a few steps back. Once the teen stilled, Shōta climbed to his feet.

“Stay safe.”

“You too, Ruse-san.”

Shōta nodded and disappeared from sight.

Snarling, he yanked on the black cloth wrapped between his fingers to pull the intruder into the light.

“I'm not gonna lie, Shō-chan, this throwback is pretty hot,” Hizashi giggled.

“Go away,” Shōta answered, releasing the other man and recoiling the cloth around his forearm.

He turned his back to the other man. He held his arm steady and visualized the cloth wrapping around the can 10 feet ahead. It reached out but knocked it over before it could wrap properly.

“Maybe you're pushing yourself too hard?” Hizashi suggested.

Shōta only shook his head and tried for the next can. That one fell too. He took a slow, centering breath. This time he crushed the can.

Hizashi laid his hand on the outstretched arm. “Hey…take a break.”

“Can't.”

“Shōta.”

“I said ‘go away.’”

“Why?”

Shōta turned to glower at the blonde.

“No, really,” Hizashi said, crossing his arms. “Why? So you can bury yourself in training? Hmm, what does that remind me of?”

Shōta's eyes sparked red. “It. Is. Not. The. Same.”

“Feels the same,” Hizashi said with an almost casual sharpness.

“This time it's possible to actually fix something. And I've done a shit job at it so far.” 

Hizashi raised an eyebrow. “You think you're doing a shit job?”

“Okay, fine. Let's go through the last 4 weeks,” Shōta hissed.

“Shō…”

“First, I discovered evidence that I was supposed to die at Jaku, several times over. In the process, I put Amplitude directly into the line of fire.” Shōta paced around the space. “I also ambushed the former #1, punched one of my best friends, and got bit during a physical fight with my father. Meanwhile, Midoriya is still out there by himself and I have literally no clues about Eri.”

“You're a real asshole to you sometimes,” Hizashi said, shaking his head sadly.

Shōta flopped down into the chair. “What the hell does that even mean, Hizashi?”

“You survived Jaku even though you ‘weren't supposed to’. You mentored a new young hero that's been keeping Naruhata safe. You came home, even though it terrified you, because even UA couldn't keep Eri safe like we all presumed. You found out part of that was some secret to do with Midoriya, and you made Yagi & Tsukauchi tell you about it. You wouldn't let Nezu intimidate you away. You're the only one that's managed to track Midoriya, nevermind talk to the kid. And I've seen how ragged you're making yourself trying to find anything at all about Eri.”

Shōta looked down.

“Right,” Hizashi said smugly. “So stop being an asshole to you, because I love you.”

His head snapped up. “I need you to be really, really clear about what that means."

“You couldn't tell? I'm gonna have to seriously step up my game then.” Hizashi smiled. “Aizawa Shōta, I'm in love with you.” 

Shōta searched Hizashi's face.

“What, you don't believe me?” Hizashi's smile morphed into a smirk. “I'll yell it, and you know the whole district will hear me.”

“Shut up for once, idiot,” Shōta growled. “I'm in love with you too.”

The blonde laughed. 

Ruse: Who else do you know in Shizuoka?

Kimura: You still won't talk to UV?

Ruse: I told you when I got the arm braces from you. I will not work with UV.

Kimura: I still think you should give her another shot, Kata.

Ruse: She bugged my helmet the first time we met.

Ruse: Push it again and I'll make sure people know what kind of friend you are, Hatake.

Kimura: Fine. What did you need this time?

Ruse: Information. Anything worthwhile you can tell me about that UA kidnapping.

Kimura: Aww, between that and who's been caught on video wearing the braces…are you trying to make a new young male friend? 

Ruse: You had better not be implying what I think you are. 

Kimura: I would never. 

Kimura: Besides, my money is on the person you brought for your helmet repair. You were protective of them. 

Ruse: Will you look into the kidnapping or not?

Kimura: You know that I take care of my friends. 

Kimura: I'll let you know if I find anything.

Chapter Text

Shōta followed the sounds of the screaming. 

Midoriya was surrounded by civilians. Civilians with improvised weapons. 

Why was he letting them beat him? If these were some organized group of troublemakers, he shouldn't have any problem subduing them. Unless…

Shōta scanned the wider surroundings. 

There. 

He swung into the square, well behind the crowd of civilians, aiming a direct kick to Dictator's chest. Because of the man's stooped posture, Shōta's boot crunched into his face. As soon as he could tie up the villain, he turned to Midoriya.

The civilians had fled, essentially unharmed because Midoriya refused to fight back. 

“Kid, you okay?”

Midoriya wiped his bloodied nose. “You're here.”

“‘Course. You needed help.” Shōta walked toward him.

“How did you know?” Midoriya watched him warily, taking a few steps back.

“Huh?” Shōta stopped. 

“It's just…awfully convenient that you happened to be nearby.” He took a vaguely defensive stance.

Shōta went against all his instincts to relax, especially since the villain behind them was stirring. “I've been around for weeks, and there were a dozen screaming people. Kinda stands out.”

“I looked into you more” Midoriya said, looking increasingly attack-ready. “You showed up the day after I left UA.”

“Okay?”

“You've been helping my classmates, and you offered to help me. But you know too much. And you attacked All Might, and the Detective, and my principal.”

Shōta grimaced. “All Might put you in this position by giving you his quirk. The Detective covered for him. UA and its principal failed to protect all of you, and it failed to protect Eri.”

Midoriya's eyes were bright with anger. “And you could do so much better?”

“No. Mistakes were made. A lot of them. I made them too.” Shōta shook away the increasing static. “That's why I'm here now, why I'm reaching my hand out to help.”

“I'm as powerful now as All Might was at his prime,” Midoriya bit back. “I don't need your help.”

Shōta sighed. “All Might had David Shield and Nighteye. No person can be an island, kid. I've tried. Just…let someone help you.”

Unknown: I thought I told you to get away from my school.

Ruse: I have.

Unknown: Yet you keep speaking with Young Midoriya.

Ruse: He's pretty clearly separated from the school.

Unknown: He's still a student, officially, so he's still under UA protection.

Ruse: Let me know when that starts meaning something.

Ruse renamed Unknown to Stoat.

Stoat: I am a rat, not a stoat. Are you being intentionally obtuse?

Ruse: No, it just amuses me to make you angry.

Stoat: You're a fool. My staff and students have been instructed to capture you on sight.

Ruse: On what grounds?

Stoat: I don't trust you to stay away from my school and its people.

Ruse: And if you find out that someone connected to UA ignores or contradicts that clearly illegal directive?

Stoat: I think you'll find my people are very loyal. 

Ruse: Except for the “security issue” that you “fully resolved.” How do you know there aren't others?

Stoat: I've personally reviewed every person within these walls over the last 4 weeks. 

Ruse: None of that helps the little girl they already took from right under your nose, Stoat.

Sunshine: [location.gpx]🫢🥳🤩

Shōta quickly gave up on deciphering what the emoji were supposed to mean. He just focused on getting there. 

He landed on the roadway a few buildings away from the pinned location. Hizashi waved him over excitedly. 

“Mic. I hear that you're supposed to be apprehending me, not greeting me with the enthusiasm of a 6 year old.”

Hizashi blew a raspberry in response. 

“Hey boss.” Naoki leaned in the doorway behind Hizashi.

Shōta examined his protégé. Once he was sure the teen wasn't injured, Shōta crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one hip. “Why are you here?”

“Uh oh, little listener,” Hizashi teased. “You made him all grumpy. Look at his unimpressed lil pose!”

“Didn't you miss me?” Naoki smirked. 

Shōta sighed. “Whatever.”

Hizashi whispered loudly, “that's Ruse for ‘yes’.”

Naoki cackled. “So I can stay with you for a while then?”

“No,” Shōta answered. “You know I don't keep a place.”

“You and Mic aren't roommates?” Naoki asked, genuinely confused.

Shōta turned slowly to look at Hizashi.

Hizashi was bright red. “You were stressed out, so I asked him to come?”

“And there were emoji, and they weren't scary, so I knew it wasn't you?” Naoki volunteered.

“And then I deleted the messages so you wouldn't know?” Hizashi giggled.

“The two of you have been in the same space for less than 30 seconds and I'm already exhausted,” Shōta complained.

Hizashi patted his chest. “Sorry not sorry, babe.”

“Babe?” Naoki cracked up. “Oh my God, are you that kind of ‘roommates’?”

“Well this was fun. Goodbye now,” Shōta grumbled as he started walking.

“Wait, wait,” Naoki said, struggling to control his laughter as he walked alongside Shōta. “Sorry. I…whew. Okay.”

Hizashi was clearly enjoying the whole dynamic too much.

“I thought maybe we could patrol together for a little bit. There's this person that has been seriously creeping me out in Tokyo,” Naoki explained. 

Shōta stopped walking.

Naoki continued, “I figure that if I'm here for a while and they don't show up, I was just being paranoid. And if they do show up, then my sensei can help me kick their ass into next week.”

“You can stay at my apartment,” Hizashi piped up. “Only one condition.”

“What?” Naoki asked suspiciously.

Hizashi's grin broadened. “I get to call you Baby Eraser.” 

Shōta laughed.

Naoki made a face. “I'd rather be homeless.”

“Ugh, Amplitude, you really are like him. You know that?” Hizashi sighed dramatically. 

Naoki smiled. “Kinda proud of it, actually.”

Shōta flipped through the pages, putting down a stack and sticking the pen under the edge of the helmet liner. He picked up another to re-read a section.

Hizashi sighed, laying with his long legs hanging over the arm of the couch.. “Are you going to insist on wearing that any time you're here now?"

Shōta huffed.

“It's been 3 days,” Hizashi whined.

Dropping the papers to his lap in irritation, Shōta signed back, “you asked the kid to stay here.”

“I didn't realize that he'd never seen or heard you without the helmet, you dingus.”

They realized Naoki was listening from the bathroom when he choked on his toothpaste. 

Shōta snorted and went back to his reading. 

“At least you're getting better at signing,” Hizashi muttered.

Naoki spit out the toothpaste and called out, “if it's going to make Mommy and Daddy fight, I can find somewhere else!”

“Nah, kid, I just have to convince him that other people won't spontaneously combust if they see his face!” Hizashi called back. “It's a shame that he's depriving the world, Naoki-kun, he's actually very handsome!”

Shōta glared at Hizashi, but the impact wasn't nearly as strong with only his eyes visible.

Naoki came out and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Shōta. “Ignoring that for my sanity. What are you working on, sensei? Some kind of reports?”

Hizashi rolled to sit up. “You two never did any kind of investigation together? I'm surprised. He's a great fighter, but investigations are his real specialty.” 

Naoki leaned over a stack to read the top page. “You've been holding out on me?”

Shōta's shoulders dropped and he stared at the ceiling in frustration.

Hizashi pushed the helmet onto Shōta's head. “Go on, Ruse-sensei,” he prodded.

Naoki straightened up. “Wait, you're looking for Eraser?”

“Not exactly,” Shōta answered, modulator active. “I'm looking for the little girl that was kidnapped from UA.”

“But this one is about Eraser's disappearance,” Naoki pointed. “I recognize that detective's name. He – nevermind.”

“What do you know about the kidnapping, little listener?” Hizashi asked.

“Not much. Fresh eyes, I guess?” Naoki offered.

Hizashi frowned, his voice gentle. “That little girl…she's Eraser's daughter.”

“Aizawa-sensei's a dad?” Naoki said with a small smile.

“Yeah, kid. A really good one.” Hizashi sniffled. 

Shōta cleared his throat. 

The room fell quiet as Naoki read. He carefully reviewed each stack before returning it exactly as he found it. He would ask an occasional question about the timeline, or why Shōta had put something into one place over another, or comparing small details. They'd spent more than half the day that way. 

Hizashi was working on making a late lunch when Naoki broke the silence again. 

“Hey sensei, there's a lady in this picture that matches a stack over there?” Naoki held up a photograph.

Shōta looked up. “Hmm?” 

Naoki pointed. “She's way in the background, and a little blurry, but I'm pretty sure – “

Shōta took the picture from Naoki, his hands shaking minutely. He called to Hizashi, “Furuya was at the press conference on April 26.” 

“April 26…wait,” Hizashi practically tripped over his own feet as he reappeared from the kitchen. “You're not talking about the one after Eri & Midoriya?”

“Whoa, whoa…who's Furuya again?” Naoki asked. 

Hizashi looked at Shōta, then back to Naoki. “She was supposed to transfer Eraserhead to the staff at Central Hospital after the Jaku Hospital Raid. But…something happened. She disappeared, and so did all the electronic records of her. That was March 21st.”

“And this is from April 26.” Naoki said slowly.

Shōta closed his eyes. Put all his energy into staying focused. Pushing back the static. Not panicking.

Hizashi's voice was close now. “We have a lead!”

Naoki whooped.

Shōta focused on Hizashi's glee and Naoki's pride. 

They could do this. 

He could do this.

Chapter Text

“A quirk deleter!”

If Shōta dropped Erasure for even a fraction of a second, Shigaraki would gain the upper hand. Shigaraki could win. Eri would live in his world. And if Erasure was lost permanently…

No. 

Shōta would make sure that his girl could keep smiling. Any cost was worth paying to keep her smiling.

No time to hesitate. 

The bullet hit his calf. The burning started to spread. 

Be rational.

Shōta drew his tantō, flipped it in his hand, and pulled it hard below his knee. 

Flesh and bone was nothing for a knife intended to cut through carbon fiber alloy. Even knowing that, the ease and smoothness of the cut was disconcerting.

Pain receptors caught up with what he'd done but Shōta refused to blink. He held the image of Eri's smile in his mind as he maintained Erasure. 

Shigaraki was on Shōta in seconds. His hands were caked in the dust and decay that he'd wrought. Shōta turned his head, trying to both maintain eye contact and to keep his eyes away from the monster. Now those fingernails were gouging into his right eye. The eye gave way with a searing heat and a sickening pop. At least Shōta still had one eye. Maybe it could be enough to save Eri's happiness.

He heard himself scream. 

His throat was raw. 

“Hey, hey…kitten, you're safe. Whatever you're remembering, it's only a memory.”

Hizashi. Hizashi was talking. 

“It's June first. It's 3:17 AM. We're at my apartment in Musutafu.”

Hizashi was holding him.

“We're safe, and healthy, and whole.”

Shōta curled his body tighter. He felt his feet and calves touch each other, and it felt wrong. He remembered the clarity that allowed him to cut off part of his right leg. He remembered the aftermath. 

It shouldn't be there. 

Cutting it off was supposed to keep her safe. 

Some part of his mind wanted to cut it off all over again. Maybe doing that would make Eri safe. Maybe it would bring her home. 

He knew it wouldn't but that didn't stop him from being disgusted at his leg's wholeness. 

He felt furious about his solid, functioning eye too. He remembered half his vision going dark, and the other half dimming. He remembered the desperation for it to be enough.

His fingers curled against his face. Hizashi pulled them away. 

“Having both eyes and both legs will help you find her, my love,” Hizashi whispered, his own voice strained. 

Shōta gasped. “What if…they already…and she was scared…and alone…”

“They'd be rubbing UA's nose in it publicly if…if that happened,” Hizashi replied unsteadily. “And with everything they went through to take her alive...”

Shōta closed his eyes tightly. He wished it was enough to block the static, but it wasn't. Instead, he focused on the sound of Hizashi's heartbeat until exhaustion took over.

Naoki put a cup of coffee down in front of Shōta. 

Shōta had woken up early and been unable to fall back asleep, so he was reviewing his file on Furuya. It was mostly her military paper file, with a few additional things he'd been able to recover.

“Hey boss,” the teen said, sitting down with his own cup of coffee. 

Shōta looked up and nodded to him. He eyed the mug of coffee before resuming his note-taking.

“You, uh…good?”

Sighing, Shōta ripped a page from the back of his notebook and wrote. He didn't look up after, just slid the page over. “I'm sorry for waking you up last night. Nightmare.”

The teen turned the page, read it, and then nudged the coffee closer. Shōta looked from the coffee mug to the boy. 

“Hot liquids help with sore throats,” Naoki explained, fidgeting with the handle of his own mug. 

Shōta pushed the file away as he considered the teen. Naoki had always been more than his sassy exterior. They really were alike in a lot of ways. 

He pushed the mask up onto his nose. It wasn't the most comfortable. The fabric gathered too close to his eyes and put too much pressure on his still healing nose, but that was bearable. He sipped the coffee. 

Naoki smiled and raised his own mug to his lips again. “I just saw part of your face and I didn't spontaneously combust.”

A snort quickly turned into coughing on coffee. Laughing, Naoki rushed into the kitchen and then back to the table with a handful of napkins.

“Sorry, sensei,” Naoki said as he held them out. 

Shōta shook his head as he wiped his mouth. He pulled the mask back down so he could see well enough to write. The notebook paper hadn't been spared droplets of coffee.

Naoki scooted over to read as Shōta wrote.

“Everything around me…I break it somehow. I always have. Worse than usual lately.” He paused to choose his words. “I've already put you in danger. You don't need me adding more to it.”

“Mic obviously knows who you are,” Naoki argued.

Shōta sighed. “He's the only one, and he's managed to stick around for years. He's like rubber. Bends not breaks.”

Naoki snickered. “Bet that's nice in your private ‘roommate’ time.”

Shōta's eyes widened. He pushed Naoki clear off the chair. The teen just laughed harder on the floor. 

Hizashi wandered into the living room with comical levels of bedhead. “What's so funny?”

Naoki opened his mouth to answer. Shōta hissed at him.

“Really?” 

Shōta and Naoki stopped at the voice, dripping with disappointment.

Naoki lifted his goggles. “Oh, it's that radioactive broccoli from UA.”

Midoriya made an indignant noise. “What?”

“Radio. Active. Broccoli,” Naoki said slowly, over-enunciating.

Laughing, Shōta grabbed Naoki's arm. “Leave the kid alone.”

“He started it!” Naoki protested.

Shōta was exasperated. “You don't even know what he was going to say. You don't need to look for fights where there isn't one.”

Naoki crossed his arms and huffed.

Shōta turned to Midoriya. “So what were you going to say?”

“Nevermind,” Midoriya muttered.

Naoki rolled his eyes. “Lost your nerve, eh?”

“Excuse me?”

Shōta closed his eyes and reminded himself that they were teenage boys. “Say something or don't, so we can all move on.”

“Last time I saw you, Ruse-san, I told you all the reasons that I don't trust you,” Midoriya began.

Shōta opened his eyes and watched Midoriya gain steam. 

“Which is honestly fair, I think, because your whole thing is super suspicious. You tell me nobody can be an island. And you're all genuine about it, and I honestly was thinking that maybe…” Midoriya took a deep breath to continue. “But then he shows up. Having your younger sidekick come from Tokyo to make it seem like you're walking the walk, and to be generally less threatening? That's a pretty good idea.” 

Shōta looked at Naoki, who looked both perplexed and irritated.

“Only one problem,” Midoriya continued, pointing at Naoki. “You really came to Musutafu, to Eraserhead's city, like that? He's missing. His kid is missing. His class is a wreck. You both should be embarrassed that you thought that cheap play on my sensei would trick me into trusting you more.”

Naoki's voice was sharp but quiet. “He was my sensei first, twerp. I was one of the last people to see him before he disappeared. And I'm helping Ruse-sensei look for his daughter. So watch your goddamned mouth.”

Shōta held Naoki tightly by the upper arm.

Midoriya tilted his head, his whole demeanor shifting. “He was your sensei too?”

“Yeah, your ears broken?!” Naoki clearly hadn't quite caught the change. “12 years ago, way before he was yours.”

Midoriya mumbled to himself counting on his fingers, before speaking at full volume again.  “So he was…18? Was that when he was working in Naruhata, on the string of trigger cases?”

Naoki finally keyed into the excitement in Midoriya's voice. “Uh…yeah?”

Midoriya bit his lip. “So he was a sensei before he was a sensei…at UA, I mean.”

Naoki nodded, finally relaxing. “Yeah, we grew up in the same neighborhood. Heroes and police avoided it. So he started teaching a bunch of us kids how to defend ourselves and whatever, because of the instant villains.”

“Did you ever have to fight one?” Midoriya asked, his eyes bright.

“I was 7 when I started, man,” Naoki said, shaking his head. “But he did stick around until I was 12.”

Shōta observed the volley between them. It was personally unsettling to hear himself talked about like this. More importantly, it was also working. He waited.

“So your fighting style being like his makes a lot of sense, then. Even if you had other teachers after that, it was a solidly built foundation. You obviously must have had other teachers, really. To be a vigilante now, you'd have needed to keep training…”

Naoki nodded and finally let a smile creep up a bit. “Yeah, I was still in martial arts until the raids went bad. Same dojo that Eraser trained in as a kid, and that he trained me in.”

“That's so cool!” Midoriya froze. “Wait, wait. Did you say that you've been looking for Eri-chan?”

Shōta cleared his throat. “Yeah, kid.”

Naoki's eyes widened. “Oh my God, I just put it together. That night, in Saitama, you heard the news. That's why you were suddenly ready to hotwire a car.”

Midoriya spluttered. “You what?”

“Nevermind,” Shōta said, waving his hands. “Not important.”

“That's why you've been here all along, Ruse-san?” Midoriya frowned in thought. “You came to Musutafu to look for Eri-chan?”

“Yes,” Shōta replied. “As soon as I heard about it.”

“Why didn't you say that the first time you saw me…?”

Shōta shook his head. “You've doubted everything I've said from the start. You would have assumed I was lying.”

Midoriya nodded. “That's fair. But maybe, if you want people to believe you, don't name yourself ‘trick’?”

Naoki laughed at the insight and the earnest way that Midoriya suggested it.

“So can I help?” Midoriya asked nervously. "Eri-chan is really special to me."

Shōta acted unaffected, despite the full feeling in his chest. “If you want to.”

For the first time in months, Shota saw Midoriya's full, megawatt smile. Naoki beamed right back. His two students, working together, and with him.

Another piece clicked back into place.

Chapter Text

Upon opening the roof access door to his own apartment building, Hizashi was already complaining. “I know you have this whole rooftop aesthetic, but why –”

He froze as he turned the corner. 

“Mic-sensei?”

Hizashi exclaimed, “Midoriya-kun!”

“You're Ruse-san's…uh…” Midoriya trailed off.

Hizashi looked at Shōta, who was unreadable behind the helmet's visor.

“They're ‘roommates’,” Naoki fake-whispered with exaggerated air quotes.

Hizashi squeaked. 

“They still need to have the ‘so what are we’ talk,” Naoki continued in his fake-whisper.

Midoriya scratched his head. “Oh. I always thought…well…uh…nevermind what I thought. You're not going to make me go back to UA. Right, Mic-sensei?”

Hizashi smiled, knowing how to answer this one. “Nah, little listener. Not unless you want to. And we are very not at school, so you can call me Hizashi here.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said, turning red. “Izuku then, I guess?”

Hizashi and Izuku both grinned. 

Naoki covered his eyes. “Those two are going to give me a tan…”

Shōta snorted. 

Hizashi shoved Shōta playfully. “So Ruse collects another Eraserhead fanboy, and I get a new roommate. Is that about the score?”

“Oh,” Izuku said. And then it clicked and his eyes went as wide as saucers. 

“We'll need to figure out some other long-term plan,” Shōta clarified. “People will watch us more closely once they connect that the three of us are working together.”

Hizashi frowned, thinking through what that really meant. “Naoki-kun, do you want to show Izuku-kun the room you'll share until we sort things out?”

Naoki looked between the two adults, and landed pointedly on Shōta. “See you both inside soon?”

Shōta nodded.

“Thank you for sharing your home with me.” Izuku said in a rush before bowing and trailing inside after Naoki.

Once the door closed, Shōta took off the helmet & liner and put it down on the ground. 

Hizashi laughed. “Helmet hair's on point today, babe.”

Shōta grunted but didn't complain. He tossed his gloves on top of the helmet. 

“You're happy,” Hizashi said with a knowing smile. 

One corner of Shōta's mouth ticked up into a smile of his own. “On the way here he called me 'Ruse-sensei.'”

Hizashi held one of his hands. “Felt right?”

“Yes. Or closer to right, at least,” Shōta agreed. 

Hizashi tilted his head. “Naoki was really laying it on thick about us being ‘roommates,’ huh?”

Shōta shrugged, his cheeks turning as pink as his helmet hair.

“We don't have to call it anything,” Hizashi began.

Shōta bit the inside of his lip and turned his head to look away. “Oh. Right.”

Hizashi leaned a little to catch his gaze. “But we can.”

Shōta licked his lips, thinking, and Hizashi waited patiently. 

“I want…” Shōta's eyebrows crinkled in thought. 

Hizashi rubbed his thumb over the back of Shōta's hand. Shōta looked at that, then at Hizashi's face. 

“This...it's something to me,” Shōta landed on. 

Hizashi's face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We always joked that we were platonic life partners, but…it's never really been platonic for me.”

“You didn't have a hard time with those words,” Hizashi teased. 

Shōta shifted uncomfortably. “I've been thinking about them for a while.”

Hizashi kissed the tip of his nose. “I wasn't trying to embarrass you, kitten. I'm really happy that you knew what you wanted to say about it. So…‘partners’?”

Shōta nodded with a small smile. 

Hizashi jumped up and wrapped his legs around Shōta's waist, one fist up in the air. “Partners then!”

Shōta kissed him, his fingertips rising under the hem of Hizashi's shirt and along his spine. 

Hizashi arched his back. “Shō, babe, you can't touch me like that if you're gonna keep bringing home kids like stray cats.”

“But if I do, you'll let me keep them,” Shōta smirked, dragging his nails lightly back down. 

“Mmm,” Hizashi agreed, with a little quiver. “You keep that up and I'll let you do a lot of things.”

Shōta's breath caught at that. His hands wandered slowly back up, watching Hizashi's reaction to the sensation against his bare skin. Hizashi's eyes were bright with heat by the time Shōta kissed him again. 

When Hizashi moaned into his mouth, Shōta's fingertips pressed firmly into his back. Hizashi gently pulled Shōta's head back by his hair and Shōta's mouth opened wider all on its own. Shōta couldn't remember ever having made the low rumbling noise that escaped him then. 

Hizashi spluttered in confusion. Shōta had abruptly hidden his face in Hizashi's chest. Hizashi hadn't heard the door open behind Shōta. 

“Hey, I was going to show Izuk- oh my God.” Naoki was laughing loudly. “Sorry to interrupt special ‘roommate’ time.”

Hizashi hugged Shōta's head, put his own face down on top, and giggled nervously. “Yeah, yeah. We're adults. Both of you, go to your room or whatever.”

When the door closed, Hizashi unhooked his ankles but Shōta's grip on him only tightened. “Where do you think you're going?”

They all sat in the living room early the next morning. Shōta hadn't slept, his mind running about next steps instead. He grumbled internally about wearing a 5-pound tactical helmet first thing instead of sipping coffee. 

“I need to do some fact-finding and get some supplies. We also need to delay people realizing that we're acting as a unit,” Shōta explained. 

Seeing the others nod along, he went on. 

“What I think we should do is this. Hizashi, you go back to UA as usual. Naoki-kun, you go over the investigation so far with Izuku-kun. Stay here, inside. Share & combine our information. Let people wonder where Izuku-kun went.”

“When you say ‘supplies,’ you mean seeing Kimura?” Naoki asked.

Shōta nodded. “Izuku-kun will need a secured phone and a communicator. And I will probably have to overpurchase so Kimura doesn't get nosy. Is there any other gear we need to replace?”

Naoki shook his head. 

Shōta looked at Izuku. “Let me see your stuff. You definitely need repaired, replaced, or upgraded gear.”

Izuku shook his head. “I can't ask you to do that, Ruse-sa…er, Ruse-sensei.”

“It's a safety issue, kid,” Naoki said, dropping his voice and making it sound like gravel. 

Hizashi snickered. He added, “if you don't, he'll just go overboard instead.”

Izuku nodded. 

“I'll be traveling in a few different prefectures. Naoki, I'm going to take your gear with me & go out in that instead occasionally. People will assume that you and I are traveling together.”

Naoki pouted. “It's gonna be so weird not to have it.”

“Yes. But it'll also save you the temptation to go out when you're supposed to be laying low,” Shōta added. “Izuku-kun, you'll give your gear to Hizashi for the same reason. He'll store it somewhere safe until I get back."

Izuku frowned. “I wouldn't try to go out.”

“You're a stressed out teenage boy that will be getting cabin fever,” Hizashi said kindly. “Keeping that impulse control up is gonna be hard.”

“Some of it is also…” Shōta sighed.

“A safety issue, kid,” Naoki supplied with a sharp smile.

Shōta threw one of the couch pillows at Naoki's head.

Izuku perked up. "Wait, can I make requests?"

"Yeah," Shōta answered, already seeing the rising wave of enthusiasm. "I'd just need you to diagram it out. Is there anything else we urgently need to do or talk through before I get ready to go?”

Naoki cleared his throat. “I have a question.”

Shōta looked at him. “What?”

Naoki leaned forward. “Is your hair naturally pink?”

“No. Anything else?” Shōta crossed his arms. 

“Now I have a lot more questions,” Naoki plowed forward. “Why pink?”

Shōta glared, not that Naoki could see it. “No.”

“It's his favorite color,” Hizashi chimed in.

Izuku started giggling hysterically but tried to muffle it. “Really?”

Shōta growled.

“That brings up my next point,” Hizashi jumped in. “You aren't leaving until you've actually slept. You're at least half-feral right now.”

Shōta huffed and stomped off to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

By the time Shōta woke, the rest of them had come up with arguments for him to wait a few more days. It wasn't too hard to convince him. He had no idea how long he'd have to be gone, and this had come together earlier than he'd expected. He could think it all through more carefully while in a safe place before charging out.

This was also the most peaceful he'd felt in at least 3 months. It was almost certain that Hizashi knew that but was letting Shōta keep that to himself.

His hands suddenly dropped to his lap. For the first time since waking up in Central Hospital, he desperately wanted to stay somewhere and the thought didn't leave him adrift in overwhelm. 

Izuku's laugh drew him back to the present. The teens were creating a complicated timeline on the wall with 2x3 post-its and had just opened the 3rd pack. The event descriptions were getting increasingly odd & meme-laced. Hizashi asked them to put a few explanatory words that Shōta would be able to understand too and they'd let it go. 

Izuku waved to get his attention. “Hey, sensei?”

It sounded just like before. Joy bubbled up. Shōta felt just a touch too warm. “Yes, Izuku-kun?"

Izuku held up a packet about Furuya. “Most of the information you have on the key players is limited to the past year. Do you have information going further back?”

“That was everything I could find on Furuya. She only joined the military about a year ago, and I wasn't able to recover much else,” Shōta explained. “Who else? Are you looking for something in particular?”

Izuku opened a notebook and found the page he was looking for. “I don't know yet. But just looking at a few people that I do know more about…Naoki hadn't seen Eraser for almost 8 years before appearing as Amplitude. His persona choice only makes sense if you go further back. Eraser can be kind of abrasive to his students, and he expels a lot of them.”

Shōta leaned forward to avoid stiffening suspiciously.

“But he lost one of his best friends 14 years ago on a hero work study. He just wants his students to be safe.”

Hizashi was bent down to place a plate of snacks. His voice was quiet, but its vibration was intense. “I didn't know that he told you about Oboro.”

Shōta stood and put a steadying hand on Hizashi's back. The man straightened a bit robotically.

Izuku startled and looked up from the notebook. “I th-thought you were s-still in the kitchen, Mic-sensei, I'm s-so s-s-sorry!”

“It's okay, kiddo, I was just…surprised. It reminds me how different your class is. Shō doesn't usually talk about Oboro…to anybody.” Hizashi smiled sadly and leaned into Shōta. “And it's Hizashi here, remember?”

Izuku nodded quickly. “S-sorry Hizashi.”

“Keep talkin’, kid.” Shōta said softly, rubbing Hizashi's back with his thumb.

Hizashi looked at Shōta and tilted his head in question. Shōta nodded.

“Oh. Uh,” Izuku began. “Right. Sometimes when I panic, I forget to use my quirk even though it's powerful. That only makes sense if you knew that I didn't develop a quirk until the UA entrance exam.”

Shōta looked at Naoki, whose pupils were blown wide. “Naoki! You're forgetting to breathe, kid.”

Naoki's eyes slid to Shōta and he took a very intentional-looking, small breath.

Izuku's fingers buried into his curls. “How am I managing to upset everyone right now?!”

“You grew up quirkless…?” Naoki asked.

Izuku lowered his hands but his body stayed tense. “Yeah. Why?”

The older teen gave a small, unsteady smile. “I don't just fight quirkless because that's how I was taught. I am quirkless.”

Shōta tossed a box of tissues at Izuku. Izuku looked down at them in his hands and started sobbing. 

Naoki released a watery laugh.

Shōta sighed, not wanting to break the moment they were having. “I think you should tell them about your quirk before I go, Izuku. They need to know what you're up against.”

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Eri is my daughter

• Hospital, March 24
• Located adoption record, April 22
• Kidnapping & case files, April 26

Secondary quirk strengthened

• Froze knives, May 3
• Stopped rubble, May 6
• Playground swings, May 7

I'm in love with Hizashi

• First kiss, March 27
• Tokyo, April 14
• Beach & Healing, 5/4-5/9

O4A

• Yagi, May 8
• Tsuki, May 17
• IM, June 4

The timeline on the wall now stretched around the room, over 2 walls. 

Hizashi had left for UA earlier that morning. Shōta was pretending to read a report while the two teens talked.

“Aizawa-sensei started at UA 7 years ago,” Izuku said, sticking the post-it to the wall. 

“Right,” Naoki said. “And we know that he started in Naruhata 12 years ago. Started as a student at UA 15 years ago.”

“Do we know anything from before that?” Izuku asked.

Naoki frowned. “At some point I learned that he grew up 3 blocks from where I lived, but he already moved away before UA. And when one of the kids got swept up by the cops after this big brawl, he gave this scary talk about what it was like to live in juvie.”

Shōta turned the page to keep up the illusion that he was reading.

Izuku looked horrified. “That had to be one of his ‘rational deceptions’, right?”

Naoki shrugged. “It felt pretty real, but who knows.”

They both looked at him. He didn't react, just underlined something on the sheet he was holding.

“Ruse-sensei?” Naoki ventured.

“Hmm?” 

“Do you know more about Eraser, from before UA?” Naoki asked.

Shōta shifted to look at Naoki. “Like what?”

“You weren't listening?” Izuku asked doubtfully.

“I was,” Shōta admitted. 

Izuku grinned, proud of himself for noticing. “Ha! So did he get sent to juvie, or was he just trying to scare the kids into staying out of trouble?”

Shōta put down the papers and tilted his head to the side to crack his neck. “6 months, and then the charges were dismissed.”

Izuku's mouth fell open. “How old was he?”

Shōta tilted his head the other direction too. “12. It's not relevant to what we're working on.”

Naoki stared. “You're seriously going to just drop it there?”

“The charges were dropped,” Shōta said flatly.

“It just seems like it would be pretty…formative?” Izuku suggested.

That was an understatement. 

“If I don't tell you, you're going to try to find out anyway, aren't you?”

Izuku grinned and shrugged. “Probably.”

Shōta wrinkled his nose. All the reports he'd find were very one-sided. He crossed his arms and leaned back. 

The apartment had gone quiet. Shōta pressed his ear to the door to make sure before venturing out. Hopefully Dad didn’t throw anything that would block the closet door from opening.

He slowly opened the door, just enough to look towards the living room. The lights were on but cast at the wrong angles. The yelling and banging had stopped, so it was time to help Mama. 

He had to shove the door a little to open it enough. He squeezed out and padded slowly down the hall, stopping every few seconds to listen. By the time he'd snuck behind the couch, he'd been holding his breath so much that he was a little dizzy. He stopped to listen one more time, and to take a few deep breaths.

He crawled around the side of the couch and froze. Mama was lying on the floor, totally still. His fingertips rested just inside the puddle stretching out from underneath her head. Her dark hair floated in the red liquid.

He opened his mouth to scream, but suddenly his mouth was held shut without any touch at all. He was hanging, limp, a few feet off the ground. 

“I knew you'd come out eventually,” Dad growled at him.

He felt himself separate. Some other part of him was watching now. Deciding now. Doing now. 

The next thing he remembered, Shōta was in an interrogation room with a police officer. They were yelling at him about his villain's quirk killing his parents. He looked down at himself and realized he was covered in blood.

“How would Eraser kill his dad with Erasure?” Naoki asked.

Izuku was quiet and looking at the floor. “Secondary telekinesis quirk. It's why his hair and his scarf float.”

“Yes.” Shōta's jaw tightened.

“I didn't think it was strong enough to do anything…big.” Izuku continued.

Shōta sighed. “Have you heard of hysterical strength?”

Naoki spoke up. “You mean like a mom lifting a car that's crushing her child?”

Izuku looked up, tears flowing down his cheeks. “He saw his mom. Plus he knew what his dad was going to do next.”

Shōta nodded and stood. “Like I said, not related to the kidnapping.”

Izuku hugged him. 

Shōta stopped and swallowed hard. “Uh…you okay, kid?”

Izuku hugged tighter for a second before stepping back. He sniffled and wiped his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Sure…” After a pause, Shōta walked into the kitchen to get a little distance between them.

Stoat: What have you done with my student?

Ruse: I don't know what you're talking about.

Stoat: Midoriya Izuku hasn't been seen in 2 days.

Ruse: You mean the kid that was constantly being attacked by villains?

Stoat: Also the boy that you were trying to manipulate.

Ruse: I wasn't trying to manipulate him. I was trying to help him.

Stoat: Give him back.

Ruse: Still forgetting that you don't own people?

Stoat: I care for the child.

Ruse: I'm sure he's around somewhere. He's a smart kid.

Stoat: It almost sounds like you're trying to reassure me, Ruse-san.

Ruse: Oh, fuck off, Stoat. Don't you have a surveillance state to manage?

Shōta stood at the door with his bags over his shoulder. “I'll check back as often as I can.”

Izuku nodded. “We'll be ready when you get back.”

Hizashi released a shaky exhale. “Stay safe, ya dig?”

“Yeah,” Naoki agreed. “I'd still rather you didn't die.”

Shōta chuckled. “Feeling's mutual. Don't do anything stupid.”

Naoki raised an eyebrow. “You're gonna say a real goodbye to your ‘roommate', right?” 

“Partner!” Hizashi corrected. 

Naoki rolled his eyes. “Whatever, partner. We're not little kids. And we've…seen it before.”

Izuku giggled.

Shōta tapped on the visor.

Naoki and Izuku exchanged a glance. Then Izuku stood up straighter.

“I figured it out,” Izuku said firmly. “I knew when I was reading your case notes. I recognized the way that you write my name.”

Shōta lowered the bags from his shoulder. “And did you discuss your suspicions?”

“Yeah, we did,” Naoki said more hesitantly than the other teen. "Got pretty obvious once we knew what we were looking for."

Izuku nodded. "Ruse, for 'logical ruse.' Right, Aizawa-sensei?"

Shōta pulled off the helmet & liner with a grin. “Well done, Problem Children.”

Then he stepped past them, back toward the living room.

Izuku turned on his heel. “Wait…what?”

“I wasn't really planning to leave today,” Shōta called over his shoulder. “I just wanted the two of you to spit it out so I could have a couple days where you weren't needling me with questions.”

Hizashi stared after him. “What the fuck, Shō!”

Chapter Text

Naoki wiggled out from his place on the couch, between Izuku and Hizashi. The older teen went into the kitchen looking for Shōta. 

“Hey old man,” Naoki said, poking him in the arm. “You good?”

Shōta was leaning on the counter with both hands. “Yeah…I think so.”

Naoki frowned. “Suuuure.”

Shōta pressed his lips together thoughtfully. 

“You're used to hiding out in that helmet,” Naoki pointed out.

“Maybe,” Shōta answered. “I also just kind of…suck at…words.”

Naoki leaned his back against the counter. “I'll take good care of the Broccoli, sensei. And the shrieky one.”

Shōta laughed. “I know you will.”

“So what then?” Naoki asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I wanted to tell you something before I go,” Shōta said, pushing away from the counter.

Naoki wrinkled his nose. “That's not ominous at all.”

“I'm glad that we met that day in Mita-san's shop,” Shōta said, glancing at him quickly before looking away again. “You turned out to be a pretty good Baby Eraser.”

“Oh,” Naoki said, relaxing. “You think?”

“I do,” Shōta nodded. “I'm…”

“What?”

“Can it,” Shōta said, giving him a playful shove. “It takes me a minute, sometimes. When I really…mean something.”

Naoki mimed locking his lips closed.

Shōta sighed and looked away. “I'm proud of you, kid. Really proud of you.”

Naoki didn't immediately react.

Shōta waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, I made it weird.”

“You wanna hear something sad?” Naoki said quietly. “Nobody's ever said that to me before.” 

“What?” Shōta said, turning to fully face Naoki. “No.”

Naoki shrugged. “Guess we're both a little messed up, sensei.”

That statement hung in the air for a few fragile seconds.

“Well I guess I should get less weird about saying it then,” Shōta said with a grimace. 

Naoki snorted.

Shōta held his arms open and Naoki hesitated before stepping forward into the hug.

Shōta was face down at the table with his hand wrapped around a mostly empty cup of coffee. He heard shuffling but couldn't make himself wake up enough to care.

He did lift his head slightly at the sound of pouring. Izuku gave a small smile and put the entire carafe down on a pot holder.

“Mmmpf.”

Izuku nodded, then took a drink of his tea.

Shōta pushed himself onto one elbow and squinted at Izuku. The kid had learned well from homeroom. He just waited. 

Once Shōta drank ⅔ of the cup of coffee, he refilled it and leaned back in the chair. “Need something?”

Izuku perked up immediately. “I wanted to talk to you before everybody else was awake.” 

“Mmm?”

“Right,” Izuku said. “So you made All Might crash his car.”

Shōta grinned, all sharp edges. “Hell yeah, I did.”

Izuku laughed nervously. “Um. Yeah.”

“You're asking me why?”

Izuku nodded.

“Okay. I'm not awake enough to have a filter.” Shōta drained the rest of the coffee cup and rubbed his face. “Also, I see what you've had to become in the last few months. So I'm going to talk to you like you're a hero in your own right, not a kid.”

The teen paled, a little intimidated by that. 

“You and Eri had been missing for 12 days already,” Shōta said. “Nobody was saying anything. But Yagi Toshinori left UA every night looking for you. Do you know why?”

Izuku bit his lip. “He was worried about me?”

“He felt guilty,” Shōta corrected. “I'm not saying he doesn't care about you, kid. He does. It's the reason he ultimately told me about the quirk. But he could have gotten so many more people to help him. He could have told people why you blamed yourself, who you were running from, and why. He could have explained why it was so important to find you. But he didn't do any of that.”

“Oh,” Izuku said shakily. “Did you tell him to stop going out after that?”

Shōta scratched his cheek. “No, Izuku. I don't know if that was his decision, or if it was Nezu's. But what I can tell you is that if it were me and Nezu tried to stop me, I wouldn't have listened.”

Izuku's lips pressed together and he sniffled. 

“I thought for a long time about what I'd tell you when we got to talk,” Shōta continued. “I don't think you did anything wrong, at all. Yagi put a lot of pressure on you from the beginning. Those power dynamics were nightmarish, so how could you say no? And you've just kept trying your best anyway.”

Izuku looked up at him, eyes bright. 

“He picked the right kid. He just…” Shōta paused to clear his throat. “He just didn't do much else right after that.”

“Th-thanks,” Izuku said with a watery smile. “For looking for me and…and I guess for making All Might crash?”

Shōta smirked. “Sure thing, kid. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

They were quiet for a few minutes when Izuku looked back up with that determined glint in his eye. “Hey, sensei?”

Shōta refilled his coffee cup. “Yeah?”

“We're gonna find Eri,” Izuku said firmly. “And if we have to, we'll help her remember how to smile again.”

“Goddamn, kid…” Shōta swallowed hard and lay his head back down on the table. “I know we will. But goddamn.”

Izuku moved chairs to sit right next to him but didn't speak. 

Hizashi squawked when he walked into the kitchen around dinnertime. “Shō, babe, your hair!”

He turned to look at Hizashi. “Go clean up from patrol and I'll let you braid it after dinner.”

Hizashi ran his fingers through the long, light gray strands. “Is it actually yours?”

Shōta smiled. “Yeah, I found someone with a hair growth quirk. And with this shade, I'll be able to change the color more easily with temporary dyes.”

“Smart,” Hizashi said distractedly, twisting a strand around his finger.

“You are…really into this,” Shōta observed with a slow smile.

“I've always loved your hair, Shō-chan,” Hizashi purred.

Shōta chuckled. “Get out. Take a shower.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” Hizashi pouted, kicking his boots off and letting them thud loudly against the genkan wall. 

By the time Hizashi reappeared with a bag, the teens had settled onto the couch and started a movie. Hizashi put the bag on the table and pulled a chair out. Shōta happily moved to the other seat when beckoned. Just the feeling of Hizashi finger-brushing his hair almost put Shōta to sleep. 

“Feel more like yourself?” Hizashi asked, quiet enough to not disrupt the movie playing across the room.

Shōta nodded. “For now.”

Hizashi parted a tiny section and started to plait. “You're afraid of ‘losing real.’”

Shōta didn't answer. 

“Do you want to tell me what that means for you?” Hizashi asked, tying off the braid and starting another.

“Sometimes it's like I can't believe what I think I know. Or what's happening around me. Like there's no way to truly know anything,” Shōta said, playing with one of the hair bands. “It was…really bad before. At the hospital.”

It took him so long to put all that into words, and he was pulling on the hair band so roughly, that the thing broke. He grumbled and tossed it onto the table. 

Hizashi handed him another and returned to carding his fingers through Shōta's hair. “Do you know what helps?”

“You do.” Shōta tilted his head back to look at Hizashi. “Every time. It's always you. It's why I found you before, in Rappongi.”

“I know you won't just stay here. And even in the most normal times, it wouldn't be healthy to trap yourself like that,” Hizashi replied with a gentle smile. “But you can always call. Or come home. Or tell me where you are, and I'll know to come get you.” 

Shōta gazed up at him quietly, soaking up the moment. 

“I love you so much, Sunshine.”

“I love you, Kitten.”

There wasn't much left unsaid by the time everyone went to bed that night. So rather than putting everyone through painful goodbyes, Shōta just waited until everyone was asleep. He gathered his bags and slipped out of the apartment.

Chapter Text

Shōta walked from the helipad to the oversized elevator and pressed the call button. Not even glimpses of memory had returned from when he'd last arrived at Central Hospital. Maybe there were too many differences. He was healthy, and upright. No helicopter sounds. It was dark and drizzly, where March 21 had been bright and dry. 

He stepped inside when the elevator car arrived. It smelled strongly of disinfectant, but otherwise looked & felt like any other elevator. He examined the bank of buttons. 3 had a star beside it. Maybe their acute trauma department? 

He'd been so afraid that memories would come back too easily. Too quickly. Too vividly. Now he was irritated that it was taking too much, assuming it worked at all.

Shōta grabbed the fire extinguisher from just outside the elevator doors. He positioned it in the way of the safety sensor so the doors wouldn't close on him. He couldn't afford to be any more vulnerable than he was about to make himself.

He considered how a gurney would be positioned in the space. Shōta sat on the floor, closed his eyes, and lay back. This should give him a similar view to that day. He took a deep breath and forced his left eye open. 

The elevator doors closed, and Furuya leaned down to look at him intently. “Nagamine Eri,” Furuya said.

His eye focused on her. 

“I remember you from the news. You were part of getting her away from The Eight Precepts. From Kai.” Her eyes were wide. And red. 

He could barely hold her gaze, but he tried. 

Furuya took that as confirmation. “You said ‘my Eri’ before, so you're taking care of her?”

He tried to answer but couldn't make a sound.

“Is she…happy?”

Thinking of Eri. Her smile. That smile that made it easy for him to do what was necessary. His own lips gave an attempt at a smile.

“Right,” she said, hitting the 5 button. “I'm supposed to just leave you somewhere. But…she's been through so much because of me. I can't make her lose someone else.”

She lay her hand over his chest. “I can't help much. We don't have enough time.”

Golden light emanated from under her helmet. It wrapped around her arm and flowed down into his chest in warm waves. He felt a little less drowsy, but he could also register a lot more pain without the haze. 

He looked into her eyes and rasped, “not Eri. Ariko.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I'll make sure they can find you. Take good care of our girl, Eraser.”

The elevator door opened. Furuya Eri Nagamine Ariko pushed the gurney out into the hallway.

The elevator door kept trying to close, beeping in error, and trying again. He lay on the floor, looking up at the bright fluorescent lights. 

He took his phone out of his pocket. 

Ruse: Send me the photo of Furuya from her military file?

Amp: [image.jpg]

Shōta zoomed in. Her eyes were brown in the photograph. Contacts, or maybe the photo was edited? There wasn't any other resemblance. Maybe Eri took most of her looks from her father's side. He'd have to find a photograph of him.

He dropped his hands back to his sides and tried to think how the information fit. 

His thinking was interrupted by another new message.

Amp: hi btw

Ruse: Hey kid.

Amp: u also forgot bye b4 u left

Ruse: We both know I didn't forget. 

Amp: wtf sensei

Ruse: I'm sorry. 

Amp: now ur being all /gen & shit

Amp: just wanna be mad @ u

Ruse: I'm going to send you more on Furuya soon.

Amp: When?

Ruse: I don't know. Soon.

The wind whipped Shōta's hair across his face. He pulled it up into the high ponytail that Naoki usually wore on patrol, then replaced the orange goggles. After nearly 3 months as Ruse, (sort of) being Eraserhead again felt odd. It was like wearing someone else's shoes. The broken-in spots didn't match up. 

He rested his hand on the capture scarf and scanned the Naruhata streets below. 

“Oi! Amplitude!” a teenage girl yelled.

Shōta stood and looked around her. Nothing concerning.

She waved and smiled. “Glad you're back! Michi was starting to think he could get away with his usual again!”

He waved back, doing his best to imitate Naoki's energy. He'd have to ask Naoki who Michi was. He'd have to do something, but this whole act only worked silently and at a distance. Maybe Ruse could step in instead.

He moved through another active pedestrian area of Naruhata quickly, hoping that that would make him sufficiently visible. When he was backlit enough, he let a few people take photos of him posing with his fingers in a victory “v.”

Then he swung into the familiar and relatively abandoned Sanya. He had planned to do much more that night but crashed as soon as he got to his current hideaway. He had a few more days in Tokyo to figure it out. 

Shōta stepped into Kimura's place in Saitama wearing street clothes. It was late and the place was near capacity. Kimura was already speaking with someone, so he found his way to the bar.

Yoko shrieked and jumped halfway onto the bar to hug him. “Okino-san!”

“You have one hell of a memory, Yoko-san,” he replied, returning the hug with one hand low on her back. “You've only seen my face once.”

She let herself slide back onto her feet and popped her gum. “Oh, sugar, you never forget a man who looks at you like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Give us a spin then?”

“Mmm…what do I get?”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm.” She leaned forward onto the bartop. 

His eyes flicked down, then back up. 

She giggled and tapped her cheek with a long fingernail. Shōta leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek and lingered close. 

Yoko held him there by his shirt and whispered. “Ultraviolet was furious when they came back from Shizuoka. Kimura hasn't been right since.” 

She released him and winked. “You should meet my friend, Okino! She'd just love you.”

“I don't know if I can handle another Yoko-san,” he answered, holding her gaze. 

“She can't hold a candle to yours truly, but I think you'll like her. Smart, loyal, dependable. And good. She likes more heroic types,” Yoko said, writing on a napkin. 

Shōta watched her face carefully. “She won't kiss and tell, will she?”

“Never, but now I'm a little nervous about just what you've got in mind, Okino-san,” Yoko said with a pout. “You better treat her nice, or I'll come to Shizuoka to teach you a lesson all by myself.”

“Only the best for you and your friends, Yoko-san,” he said, taking the napkin and kissing her cheek one more time. “Gotta go.”

She twirled a strand of her golden hair around her finger. “Kimura-san will be sad to have missed you. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to catch up to you.”

Shōta nodded. “Tell him I said hello and goodbye, yeah?”

Yoko nodded and gave a little wave.

He walked directly to Lake Sai.

Ruse: You said pepperoni pizza, right?

Hopefully Naoki would remember that code, or ask Hizashi. As soon as the message was confirmed as sent, he threw his phone into the water.

Chapter Text

He walked to a payphone and dialed the only number he'd ever bothered to memorize. 

“You're on the line with Present Mic, yo! Tell me somethin’ good!”

“Did Naoki destroy the phone?”

“Right away, my friend! Too much for ya or somethin’?”

Shōta had hoped Hizashi would be alone, but no such luck apparently. “Kimura's compromised. Yoko warned me.”

“Whoaaaaaa there!” Hizashi exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Shōta said tiredly. “Trashed all the tech except my helmet. Make sure Naoki does the same with anything else he might have. I'll call back again soon.”

He hung up quickly. The rat could be listening or tracking. Just in case, he hopped on the train back to Tokyo. 

It was much easier to find information about the daughter of a past yakuza boss and a socialite than a random naval ensign. Especially when the latter was a false identity. 

He quickly found a photo of Nagamine Yoshiro and his young family. Eri looked just like her father, except for her mother's glistening red eyes. The three of them looked so happy. 

Shōta scooted himself back into a corner of his sleeping space and hugged his legs to his chest.

Eri killed Yoshiro. She had killed her father with her quirk. Shōta had killed his father with his quirk too, but his family had never been that happy. 

Eri had done it on accident. Shōta couldn't remember if it was an accident or if he had done it on purpose. He had always told himself that it didn't matter to him. It suddenly mattered to him. A lot.

Eri had been destroyed by what she'd done. Shōta thought he should probably feel guiltier. 

He thought of the times that his father would disappear for weeks at a time, and his mother could actually let herself be happy for a little while. That had ended so--

Eri's mother was alive, though. She'd been at the press conference. 

She could have found out that he hadn't gone straight back to UA. She could have decided that she shouldn't have helped him. She could have decided to take her daughter back. 

And what if Eri was happier, back with her mother? Ariko obviously loved her little girl, back then and when she risked helping him at Central. 

If his mother could have reappeared, wouldn't he have given up everything to go back to that shabby apartment? Even if it meant going back to all of its most horrible parts?

The cement wall held him up, the coolness in contrast to the tears that had started to fall at some point. He tried to hold off the thought but it rushed in anyway. 

He wasn't a good enough father. He should stop looking for Eri.

Exhausted. Hungry. Dehydrated. He hadn't moved in…a while. At least a day.

He kept telling himself that he was assuming the worst about Eri & Ariko. That he was being needlessly cruel to himself. That this was exactly why his mind had walled off the information. He couldn't make himself believe it.

Midoriya, though. He knew Midoriya was still in danger, and he'd promised to do better for him. Maybe he could make up for everything else if he could make things even a little easier for Midoriya.

That was the only thing that got him to knock on the door. It opened the smallest amount. A cocoa brown arm reached out and dragged him inside.

The door slammed behind him. The woman had darker skin and a full head of naturally curly orange hair, but there was no doubt about who she was. Her hands were on her hips, coveralls tied around her waist, and her pupils shifted like a camera lens. 

“Hatsume Hitome?”

“Okino-kun!” she crowed. “Come in. My Yoko is excited to see you! Aren't you so glad that she got away from that bar?”

Definitely related to Hatsume Mei somehow.

Yoko was sitting in the workshop, tinkering with a miniature robot, but she looked up as soon as he entered. She smiled warmly and looked much more comfortable. In her element.

He smiled despite himself. “Hello, Yoko-san.”

She waved her hand, “Just Yoko. We don't have to keep up that nonsense here.”

“Okay, Just Yoko,” he said with a bow of his head. “Katashi then. Or Kata.”

Hitomi pushed him bodily onto a stool in front of Yoko. “So let's talk about–”

Yoko laughed. “Hito-chan, pleasantries. What do you want him to call you? Small talk. I'll get tea.”

Hitomi groaned. “But that's not interesting, Yoko-chan!”

“I know,” Yoko said, kissing her head before moving to a side table set up for tea service - probably to avoid leaving the workshop.

Hitomi flopped down on the stool next to him. Her voice was dull and robotic when she spoke again. “My name is Hatsume Hitomi, I'm a freelance support designer. Tell me about you?”

“Um. Okino Katashi. I've lived in Tokyo and Shizuoka,” Shōta said, shocked into hesitance by the sudden shift in demeanor. “I also hate this part.”

“And who else are you, Kata?” Yoko called.

His eyes went wide and his muscles tensed. Ready to get out however necessary. “What do you mean?”

Yoko turned and leaned against the beverage cart. “He's jumpy today. And he's Ruse.”

Hitomi jumped up screaming. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. “Where is it? Did you bring my little masterpiece?”

Shōta almost had a heart attack. He probably would have if he didn't know Mei. He pushed her away. “Wh-what?”

“She fabricated your suit,” Yoko explained, bringing over the tea now as things calmed. “All the little extras in your helmet were because she couldn't help herself.”

“Oh,” Shōta said, willing his heart to beat a little slower. Yoko was right. He was jumpy. And now he was also light-headed from all the jostling. He really needed to eat something.

Hitomi leaned into his face. “Who made the schematics that jerkface gave me?”

Yoko mouthed, “Kimura.”

He braced himself. “I did.”

Yoko looked mildly surprised.

Hitomi grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks so hard his lips puckered. She very solemnly said, “You. You are my new favorite, Kata-kun.”

“Hey!” Yoko pouted.

Hitomi straightened up and let him go. “After my lady love, of course!”

Shōta wasn't a tea drinker but this whole exchange had him craving the calming practice. He hunched his shoulders as if he could hide in his capture scarf and held the cup with both hands.

Yoko shook her head and pushed a bag over to him. “The tech you ordered from Kimura, plus all the basics that you should have nuked after we talked. Replicating the helmet will take longer.”

“Wow,” he said, looking down at the bag. “You already had these made, but hadn't delivered to Kimura?”

“JERKFACE!” Hitomi howled.

Yoko laughed and shook her head. “Yes. I was hoping I'd see you first. You did nuke all the tech that passed through his hands, right?”

“Except the helmet,” Shōta confirmed.

Hitomi flopped over the table in relief, nearly knocking over her own tea cup. “Thank goodness my masterpiece is safe.”

“Why didn't you toast that too?” Yoko asked skeptically.

“Oh, after the meeting with Ultraviolet, I knew something was off. Power Loader inspected it for me. He took care of the extra sensor she'd installed,” he explained.

Hitomi grabbed his hand. “You know Power Loader. Do you know other people at UA?”

He nodded a little hesitantly. 

Hitomi's words tumbled out rapidly. “My niece is there, but we haven't heard from her. She's probably just working too hard. She does that sometimes. Terrible habit. But…”

“I can pass a message. Maybe something small,” Shōta offered. 

“FAVORITE!” Hitomi immediately scrambled away to a drafting table and started mumbling to herself while she sketched.

Shōta looked at Yoko, who was leaning onto the table with her chin in her hand. She was watching Hitomi's every move.

A few seconds later, Yoko returned her gaze to him and patted his hand. “I could tell you were a good man, Kata. Wandering eyes aside.” 

“Yoko, I understand the need to hide in plain sight,” he answered with a small, genuine smile.

Her smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes just slightly. “Ah, I see. So we can let go of that silly dance?”

Shōta nodded. 

Yoko spat out her bubble gum in a napkin and threw it into the trash. She settled back onto her stool and poured herself some tea. She took a deep inhale, and exhaled slowly.

Meanwhile, he finally looked inside the bag. He was so relieved at the sight of the secured phones. Their conversation was reminding him just how much he needed to be able to talk to Hizashi.

“Also, I'm glad you're not a woman,” Yoko said once her teacup was empty, stretching and reaching for her earlier project. “Otherwise, I'd be nervous about how much our ‘shared experience’ would increase your ‘new favorite’ status.”

His smile softened, a little weary as everything caught up to him. “Even if I was, I get the sense that you wouldn't need to worry. Seems like she knows what she likes and claims it.”

Yoko looked up at him over the top of magnifying lenses. “I liked you before, Kata, but I like this you even better.”

Shōta looked into his now-cold tea and wished he could say the same.

Chapter Text

“Hey, sleepy peepers,” Hizashi teased, scratching Shōta's back. “This is not a bed.”

Shōta reached blindly for Hizashi with one arm. 

Hizashi moved a little closer, pulling on Shōta's arm. “Come on, up.”

Instead of being pulled up by Hizashi, he pulled Hizashi to him. He leaned heavily into the other man's stomach. 

“What are you, part sloth?” Hizashi grumbled without any heat. 

Warm. Comfortable. Safe. 

Shōta pushed himself to a sitting position just as he pushed away the feeling. Otherwise that feeling could settle in and weight him to the floor. Shōta rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand.

“New phase,” Shōta mumbled. “Got things.”

“Sensei only has 2 speeds…’total crashout’ and ‘fuck you in particular’,” Naoki said, grinning as he put down a cup of coffee in front of him. 

“Oh, that's nothing new. We used to call him Energy Saver in high school,” Hizashi laughed. 

“You should have seen what class was like, Naoki,” Izuku added. “I learned a lot but it was also kind of terrifying all the time.”

“So glad to be back,” Shōta said flatly. 

“Can't fool me, cuddly lobster,” Naoki said confidently.

“Cuddly…lobster…oh!” Izuku laughed. “I get it. That's good.”

“Naoki, do not ever tell the Hottas that Izuku liked that joke or it will never die,” Shōta said, standing to grab the bag from Hitomi & Yoko.

Hizashi peeked into the bag. “I thought Kimura was compromised.” 

“I was able to connect directly with the team that had already been fabricating our gear. Hizashi, please find a way to get this to Hatsume Mei as a favor to them.” Shōta sat back down and slid over a 2 inch cube. “No, I don't know what's in it.”

Hizashi examined the box, frowning. “You want me to deliver a random cube of who knows what to a student inside UA?”

“Yes,” Shōta said simply.

Izuku could tell there was something more. He was pressing his lips together to hold in a laugh at Hizashi's increasing alarm. 

Shōta added, “it's from her Aunt Hitomi.”

“I should really just always assume you're at least 10% full of it,” Hizashi whined. 

“Up the percentage,” Naoki said seriously. 

“These comms are linked and encrypted,” Shōta continued, giving each a small box. “They're in sets. One should always be charging. They link up to satellites, so we could hypothetically use them even if we're in different prefectures.”

Izuku pulled one and was studying it carefully. His face looked like a kid in a toy store. “Do they only have one channel?”

“Multiple. I know they're cool, but do not take them apart, Problem Child,” Shōta said pointedly. 

Naoki snickered and poked Izuku in the ribs.

“Regular communications with these, though. Also fully secured. Do not junk it up with stupid games filled with hackable back doors, other Problem Child,” Shōta said with an eyebrow raised at Naoki as he gave each a phone. 

The older teen grumbled and it was Izuku's turn to laugh.

“Getting these were the second half of the trip, right?” Hizashi asked. “What was the first part?”

“I went back to Central Hospital,” Shōta answered. 

Hizashi pursed his lips. “And how are you feeling?”

Naoki and Izuku both stopped. He could feel them watching him.

“I'm…not. Not right now.” Shōta scratched at a discoloration in the table.”I lost 2 days. I had to put it all away to come back.”

Naoki looked from Hizashi to Shōta. “The text about Furuya?”

Shōta looked at Izuku. “Do your thing finding & analyzing information. Her real name is Nagamine Ariko. She's Eri's mother.”

Izuku nodded his head rapidly. “Okay.”

“She might have escaped a bad situation and managed to take Eri with her,” Shōta explained. “It's more likely that she's stuck alongside Eri, or that she got killed for helping me instead of letting me die.”

Naoki stared through the table. “If they're stuck together, at least they're together…?”

“That's a good point, little listener,” Hizashi said softly.

Shōta stood, then paused. “And Izuku? Think of something to call yourself other than Deku. I know where it came from now. If I have to say it even one more time, I might undo Bakugo's whole character building arc.”

“Even justified murder is murder, sensei,” Naoki joked before his mind caught up with him. His hand clapped over his mouth. 

Everyone went stock-still.

“I know you were going for some comic relief,” Shōta reasoned indifferently. “But it's still a good thing that all my emotions are locked up in a box.” 

He patted Naoki's head and went out onto the balcony. 

“We need to get Izuku back to training, including in wide open spaces,” Shōta said to Hizashi, jotting something down in his notebook. “He will need to be ready whenever All For One, Shigaraki, or their crew resurface.”

“Can we do that in Musutafu without drawing too much attention?” Hizashi asked hesitantly, hanging on Shōta's left arm.

“I need to give it some more thought, but I don't think so.” Shōta shifted his attention back to his laptop screen. “Nezu's been rebuilding his personal panopticon steadily. It only accelerated once he finished vetting everyone inside UA and the sightings of Izuku stopped.”

Hizashi nodded slowly and held a little tighter. “Where would you go?”

“Not sure yet,” Shōta replied briefly.

Hizashi sat up. “Shō, can you let just the snuggles out of the box?”

Shōta looked at Hizashi. “If I crack the lid, it's shut down or separation.”

Hizashi shook his head. “I was so excited that you got home yesterday. But you didn't really, did you?”

“I know that you want more, that you need more.” Shōta clicked the computer shut and closed the notebook. He turned his body to face Hizashi. “This is what it looks like, right now, for me to not leave you.”

Hizashi shook his head and looked down at his tightly clasped hands. 

“I know I'm failing, Hizashi. Please see that I'm trying.”

“I can't decide if this is better or worse,” Hizashi sniffled. “It's like, I can touch you but I still can't reach you.”

The tightly closed up box of emotions was juddering. “I'll let it go. If you want.”

“I can't ask you to suffer for me, Shō-chan,” Hizashi said, wiping his cheeks.

“You're suffering for me instead,” Shōta answered immediately. “Whether I hold on, and you feel like I'm keeping you out…or I let go, and you have to pick up all the pieces of me. I hurt you either way. That's why I usually run.”

Hizashi gave a sad smile. “Being with you when you hurt is hard. But Shōta, that's when I get to sing the song of your heart back to you. When I get to show you what the rest of us see. That isn't making me suffer.”

No amount of thinking could make it make sense to Shōta. The whole argument rested on emotion. The lid of the box strained.

“So you want me to let go?” Shōta asked.

“Yeah, kitten,” Hizashi said softly. “Let go.”

Shōta gave a small, stiff nod. Then he took the lid off the box. 

Chapter Text

Ruse was waiting on the bench near the door to the apartment building. He sprung up as Naomasa approached.

Naomasa tilted his hat back so he could see better. He stopped on the walkway and waited.

“Lovely evening, isn't it Detective?” 

“It was,” Naomasa said tersely. “You want something from me?”

“Not exactly,” Ruse said. “I want to offer you something.”

Naomasa shook his head. “I'm not interested in anything from you.”

“It's information, Tsukauchi-san, not a bomb.”

“Your information is useless if I don't trust you,” Naomasa pointed out.

“I have proof,” Ruse offered. “You would be able to verify it all yourself.” 

Naomasa frowned. “I don't need you doing my job for me.”

“Actually, it's your boss' job. And they aren't doing it,” Ruse said, pointing at him. “That affects the integrity of your work, and the department as a whole.”

“Why do you care?” Naomasa demanded, more weary than irritated.

Ruse stepped closer, so they were only a few feet apart. “I have a couple reasons. Aside from keeping certain things quiet, I think you're a good person and a good detective. I think you'll do what the information requires of you.”

Naomasa's brows crinkled. “True. And?”

Ruse crossed his arms. “I've been working on this case for a while, and I care about how it turns out. I think this person is disrupting the case from the inside.”

“Also true,” Naomasa said softly, mostly to himself.

“So?” Ruse asked. “Do you want it or not?”

Naomasa nodded slowly. 

Ruse held out a piece of paper with his phone number on it. 

“I don't need this,” Naomasa said, still taking it. “I have your contact information from Nezu. Although he said that you've been ignoring him.”

“Oh, how nice that you two share,” Ruse said curtly. “My number changed. I presume you'll give him the new number regardless of my feelings on the matter. I'll admit that I have missed his frequent accusations.”

Naomasa rubbed his forehead. 

“The lead investigator on the UA kidnapping is affiliated with at least 3 yakuza members and has been receiving suspicious payments to a secondary account,” Ruse said. “I'll give you access to the proof directly, not electronically. If you don't message me by tomorrow night, I'll bring it to the media instead.”

Ruse turned on his heel and moved toward the shadows beside the building.

“Wait!” Naomasa called. “Are you Aizawa Shōta?”

“No, I'm Ruse,” he shouted back over his shoulder. 

Naomasa blinked rapidly in disbelief. “True…”

Shōta lay halfway propped up on the couch with one foot on the floor. He'd been awake and on the couch for at least two hours, although he had no idea how that time had passed.

“Shō, I'm cutting fruit!” Hizashi said. “Want some?”

He made some kind of noise back. Even he wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not. They both knew Hizashi would try to give him some anyway.

Shōta's phone lit up and he was reflexively annoyed. Still, there were very few people who had the number, and only for very specific reasons. He groaned and rolled over to pick it up. Even then he let it sit on his chest until it buzzed another two times. 

Unknown: Ruse-san, thank you for approaching me and for entrusting me with your findings. 

Unknown: I look forward to confirming your information. I will act promptly for the benefit of the case and for the integrity of my department. 

Unknown: Please let me know when and where you would like to meet.

Shōta reread the messages a few times. Findings. Case. Department. What the hell was he not remembering?

Hizashi put a plate down next to Shōta.“Is that Tsuki?”

“Huh?” Shōta asked, looking at Hizashi for a second before his eyes focused. 

“The phone. You said it went well with Tsuki last night,” Hizashi said, sitting down with his own plate.

“Oh,” Shōta looked back down at the messages. “Yeah. He asked for meeting details.”

Ruse changed Unknown to Hat Man

Ruse: Why do you text like you're writing an email?

Ruse: 9 PM, Dagobah Beach.

Hat Man: Tonight?

Ruse: That a problem, Mr. Act Promptly?

Hat Man: I'll figure it out. 

The phone dropped back to Shōta's chest and his head dropped into the back of the couch. 

Hizashi held the plate right under his nose. Apples. Of course it was apples.

Shōta pushed it away. “Not now.”

“Just one.” Hizashi bargained. 

Shōta shook his head.

Hizashi laid a hand on Shōta's calf. “Shō?”

Shōta buried his face in the back couch cushion. 

“Sensei?” Izuku interrupted a few minutes later. “Sorry, you're both ‘sensei.’ I meant Aizawa-sensei. Er. Shōta. It's just still kinda weird to use your given name. Especially since we'll hopefully get back to school at some point.”

Lifting his head to look at Izuku took monumental effort. 

“Right, so I brought some blueberries instead. Just in case that would help.” Izuku held out the tiny bowl that couldn't have held more than 15 berries. 

This kid would be the death of him. 

“Thanks,” Shōta murmured, taking the bowl and eating a berry.

Naoki looked at Izuku quizzically as the younger teen sat back down at their work area on the table.

Before getting back to work, Izuku explained in a hushed voice. “Eri really likes apples.”

Ruse stood on the wide open beach, waiting for Naomasa. 

Ruse: Did the cube delivery turn out as intended?

Yoko: Yes! Hito-chan is so happy. 

Ruse: Good. 

Yoko: She's working on the barrier.

Ruse: That's an interesting tidbit. 

Yoko: Isn't it?

Naomasa's approach was apparent from a distance. Shōta looked up and put the phone away. Naomasa took off his hat as he got closer.

Ruse was surprised to see Tensei at Naomasa's side. The wheelchair's roll didn't even stutter at the transition to the sand. Was it on well-hidden broad wheels, or was it hovering?

Ruse put his hands on his hips. “What, worried you couldn't take me on your own, Detective?”

Tensei raised an eyebrow. “Was that a swipe at me?”

Ruse turned his head to Tensei. “Not at all. I know who you are, Ingenium. I don't doubt your ability to be effective in a fight.”

“Oh,” Tensei said, his trademark bright smile returning to his face. “I did pass on the Ingenium name, though.”

“Seemed premature to me,” Ruse shrugged. “But your choice. What should I call you instead?”

“Iida Tensei,” Tensei answered. 

“No new hero name?” Ruse asked incredulously. “Thought you were a quick thinker too, Iida-san.”

Iida laughed. “I actually hadn't thought about it at all.”

Ruse just looked at him for a long moment. “That's dumb.” Then he turned to Naomasa. “Why is he here, Detective? You didn't tell me you were using a phone-a-friend.”

Naomasa was dragging his hands down the side of his face. 

Ruse crossed his arms. “This is the part where you talk. Why shouldn't I walk away?”

“Iida-san has been helping the department with internal affairs investigations related to the yakuza,” Naomasa explained. “He would be best equipped to ensure that your information is handled ethically and efficiently.”

“You could have included that in your email,” Ruse replied.

“You mean my text message?”

Ruse waved a hand. “Same thing, the way you use it.”

“Right. We're here now. Either give him the information or don't." Naomasa gestured to Tensei. "I thought you'd like to meet him, and that the hand-off would be more above-board if it never touched police hands. I'll give him your number so he can contact you with any questions.”

Ruse dug into his pockets and handed Tensei a safe deposit box key & instructions, plus 2500 yen. “Get him a coffee or something, he's bumming me out.”

Tensei laughed. “Will do. Come on, Tsuki.”

Naomasa put his hat back on as he walked away with Tensei. “I'm a grown man, I can get my own coffee…”

Chapter Text

“We need to leave soon,” Shōta rumbled. His arm covered his eyes where he lay on the couch. 

Naoki jumped, his knees cracking on the bottom of the table. Shōta snickered at being able to startle him. 

“Mean old man,” Naoki groused. “What did you say?”

“We need to leave soon,” Shōta repeated, hauling himself to a sitting position. “You two need training and experience we can't get here. And every day we stay, even being nearby, we put Hizashi at risk.”

“You waited for him to have to go to UA today to bring it up,” Izuku said slowly, processing. “Do you not want to upset him, or do you not plan to tell him?”

“I've brought it up twice, before…this, “ Shōta answered, gesturing to himself. “It upset him then, so it would definitely upset him more now.”

“But we're going to tell him, and we're going to say a proper ‘goodbye for now.’” Naoki was telling more than he was asking.

“Yes,” Shōta grimaced. “I hoped we could figure out the plan itself together first, instead of me telling you what to do.” 

Naoki stood, walking while he thought. “You two overthink better than me.”

Izuku giggled. “Thanks?”

“Uh, you're welcome?” Naoki said, throwing a balled up piece of paper at Izuku's head. “I'm calling you smart, take a goddamned compliment.”

Izuku batted the paper ball out of the air mindlessly while he turned to a new page in his notebook. “So do we want to start with the parameters we need to meet, or by comparing and contrasting any known options?”

Hizashi was playing music. 

Watching Hizashi listen to music had always been unlike watching anyone else do it. It was a full-body, full-face experience. 

Four on the floor animated every muscle. The exhilaration of that movement showed through his eyes. 

Anticipation built in a room when he played dub step. When the beat dropped, it would shatter. His face would relax while his body moved faster.

Acoustics were usually closed-eyed affairs, his body and brows swaying and lifting with the progressions of pitch and rhythm.

Each genre and style had their own manifestations. After so many years, Shōta could probably tell what he was listening to without hearing a note.

The only songs that tended to be muted were the quiet, sentimental songs. His hand might move, gliding up and down the scales. He usually seemed too lost in thought to be lost in the music.

Shōta stood to refill his mug just as one such song was beginning. The abrupt end of Hizashi's movement gnawed at Shōta. It just didn't fit. 

Shōta pushed the coffee table back with his foot and put the mug down on it instead. He took Hizashi's hand and assumed a closed position. Hizashi's other hand moved to Shōta's shoulder. 

Hizashi's hands tightened momentarily as Shōta began to lead him through a waltz. Then Hizashi's tentative smile slowly bloomed, light and energy flooding his face. 

“Shō,” Hizashi whispered, like he was afraid that speaking would break the moment.

“Hmm?” Shōta responded, as though this were an entirely typical moment.

Hizashi moved his hand from Shōta's shoulder, stroking his cheek. “How do you do that?”

“What, Sunshine?”

“You make it seem like these kinds of things…unexpected things…are just obvious.”

“They've always made sense to me, with you.”

Hizashi laughed softly. “Oh yeah? For a man who has a hard time with emotions…”

Shōta made a face. “With saying them. Or hearing them. I think I'm pretty good at doing them.”

“Okay, okay, I'll give you that.”

Shōta halved the formal distance to wrap his arm around Hizashi's waist. 

“Oh!” Hizashi turned pink, not really having meant to say anything. 

“Am I making you antsy, Yamada?” Shōta asked, eyebrow raised.

Hizashi turned pinker. “You're being a tease, Aizawa.”

Pulling Hizashi the rest of the way, their bodies pressing into each other, threw Hizashi off rhythm for a few notes. Shōta smirked.

Hizashi huffed. “You're proud of yourself, aren't you?”

“Mmm.”

“Thought so.”

The song faded and they held still for a few more seconds. 

Shōta kissed Hizashi's cheek and released the blonde to pick up his own mug.

“Bro, that was the part where you're supposed to actually kiss him. Like, on the lips!” Naoki called from the hall as Shōta went into the kitchen.

Izuku was standing awkwardly in the kitchen already, cradling his own mug. “Um.”

“What, Problem Child?” Shōta asked, pouring his coffee. 

Izuku smiled nervously. “I've been kinda trapped in here since that song started?”

He watched the boy with an even expression. “Go then, be free.”

“Um.”

“What?”

“You can dance,” Izuku said. “Like, actually dance. I never would have guessed that…”

“Shouldn't assume. Assumptions can make you vulnerable.” Shōta said tiredly. “To answer your next questions, I started classes when I was 3 and kept it up until the USJ. Good for agility. Now go away.”

Izuku laughed and scrambled out of the room. 

Unknown: While Iida-san is reviewing your information, I am reviewing the totality of the compromised investigator’s communications to determine the possible impacts on the investigation. 

Unknown: I don't know why you approached Tsukauchi-san, but thank you.

Unknown: I have great hope that this will assist us in locating my grandpup. 

Ruse changed Unknown to Rat.

Ruse: You know what motivated my actions with Yagi and Tsukauchi. Do you have some other reason to think I'm not a decent person?

Rat: Midoriya-kun is still missing.

Ruse: Exactly. Your judgment is clouded.

Rat: I'm a highly intelligent individual, Ruse-san.

Ruse: You still bit me when you felt threatened. You're not a robot.

–

Rat: I'll consider your words.

Mama's dark hair. Floating in the pool.

Bloody sheets. Dripping. The pool growing.

His hands in the pool.

The pool's gone. He's covered in it.

That person across the hallway. Not breathing.

His father at his feet. Not breathing.

Shōta pulled his hands from the water and took a step back. He stared at the stream and tried to dry his hands off on his shirt. They didn't feel dry. 

“Hey, boss?”

He took a sudden deep breath and held it. Why couldn't he get the blood off his hands?

Naoki approached. “I'm gonna reach around to turn off the water, okay?”

Shōta didn't acknowledge him. Naoki turned off the water then stepped slowly into his field of view. He reached for Shōta's hands.

The blood would get on him.

Naoki held on just tightly enough that Shōta would need to put effort into withdrawing, but could.

Naoki squeezed Shōta's hands to get his attention. “Hey, sensei?”

Shōta looked at his face, pupils blown wide and breathing shaky.

Naoki put on a smirk he didn't quite feel. “That dance the other day was a pretty smooth move. Can you teach it to me?”

Shōta's eyes focused on him a little more. 

“I'll count. 6, right?” Naoki asked.

At Shōta's stiff nod, Naoki started counting aloud. On one, Shōta's feet moved. Forward, side, together. Back, side, together.

At first, Naoki watched their feet to follow along. When he looked up again and met Shōta's eyes, the older man stopped.

“We're dancing,” Shōta said, still sounding a little disconnected, but definitely settling. “In the kitchen. In the middle of the night.”

Naoki nodded, dropping his hold on Shōta's hands.

Shōta looked at his hands. Normal. Clean. Dry. Then up at his protégé. “Thank you.”

Naoki patted his shoulder. “Sure thing, boss. Gonna go back to bed…?”

Shōta swallowed, his throat still feeling tight. “Yeah…”

Naoki filled the cup that had been dropped in the sink and held it out. “Goodnight then.”

Chapter Text

“Fix your feet, that's closer to third than fifth,” she teased. “I know you can do it properly.”

“We've just been practicing for a while.” Shōta closed the distance between his feet. 

“And sauté,” she said, modeling the jump. Her perfect bun stayed motionless, but the loose curls at her neck sprung as she landed. 

He followed his mother's smooth movements.

“Into arabesque.” 

The lines of her body were so effortlessly clean. Shōta grumbled, his recent preteen growth making it hard to sense if he was moving with anything like grace.

Mama looked over at him, her playful smirk growing. “You're earning your nickname over there.”

He dropped the dance position entirely and whined, “Mama!”

With the same smoothness of movement as her dance, she pounced toward him with her hands poised. He grinned back, dodging her hands and springing back at her. She giggled and pushed him back. Soon they were just a noisy jumble of limbs.

Mama's bun had fallen out halfway. Her hair stuck to her forehead and her bright red cheeks. “Yield! I yield!”

“Ha!” Shōta stood and stalked away from their tickle fight like a proud cat. 

She tackled him as soon as his back was turned, wrapping him up in a tight hug with all four arms and legs. “I love you, my sweet little Stormcloud.”

He blew his hair out of his eyes and tolerated the embrace.

Ruse: I need a hand.

Eidetic: FAVORITE! Name it. 

Ruse: I want to get a digital file into a civilian resident of the UA shelter, but I don't want to risk my other contact.

Eidetic: You always have the best challenges.

Ruse: Let me know what it would cost.

Eidetic: Pfffffft. I'll do this one for fun!

Ruse: If you don’t give me a price for your time, I'll just ask Yoko.

Ruse: I assume this will only work once.

Eidetic: Maybe! Maybe not! There are lots of factors. 

Eidetic: 1 - How quickly is the infiltration flagged?

Eidetic: 2 - How long are security logs kept?

Eidetic: 3 - Can the logs be tampered with?

Eidetic is typing…

 

Ruse: Sorry for setting Hitomi off.

Yoko: Please, this is when she's most herself.

Ruse: I know exactly what you mean, actually. 

Yoko: Next time you come, maybe your partner can come along?

Ruse: I doubt that's something your other clients do.

Yoko: You aren't our other clients, Kata-kun.

Ruse: Don't tell me you're also on board with “fun” as payment?

Yoko: I’d give you the “family and friends discount.”

Yoko: Even though you gave Hito-chan a fun code name but not me. Sure, we've known each other longer, but…

Ruse: Are you joking?

Yoko: A friend would know.

Ruse: Oh hell.

Ruse changed Yoko to Splice.

Splice: It'll do. 

Splice: Now, your other goodies. We were finally able to source the materials. They'll be ready in a week.

Shōta sat on the ground outside of the UA barrier, waiting.

The door clanged as it opened. Nezu walked out, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were observing. Calculating. “An oddly vulnerable position to put yourself in, Ruse-san.”

“It's just polite,” Shōta responded with equal coolness.

Nezu’s nose twitched in consideration. 

“If I stand, then I'm looming over you. It's rude.”

“That's…surprisingly thoughtful,” Nezu conceded. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Hibino Yutaka and Furuya Eri.”

The hair on Nezu's neck lifted almost imperceptibly. “Hibino is under our protection.”

“And what do you know of Furuya?” Shōta asked.

“We were able to save the life of my injured pup because of an anonymous tip. That mystery was part of why I was so suspicious of you and that lookalike boy,” Nezu said. “But Hibino immediately recognized the voice of his dead colleague.”

Shōta was glad that he was already seated. “No.”

“Unfortunately so. We just got confirmation yesterday. She washed ashore in Sendai in early May,” Nezu went on. “We didn't make the connection because of the distance from Maizuru.”

Shōta leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His mind racing but not getting anywhere. 

Nezu took a step closer. “Why is this affecting you so strongly?”

“You didn't discover Furuya Eri was an alias, did you?”

Izuku met him on the roof when he returned. “Sensei?”

Shōta tore off the helmet. “Your mom. The two of you are close, right?”

Izuku's eyes met Shōta's and his words sank in. It was a miracle of science, particularly to Shōta, how quickly Izuku's eyes could overflow with tears. 

“Okay,” Shōta said, taking off the liner. “I'm going to say something.”

Izuku watched as Shōta put down the headwear. 

“I really, really need you to hold it together,” Shōta's shoulders rose. “And I need you to be quiet til I'm done, or I might not finish at all.” 

“Um…okay.” Izuku sniffled.

Shōta closed his eyes and tried to loosen his jaw muscles enough to talk. “It's been 3 months today since I saw Eri. And in 2 days, it will have been 2 months since I knew she was safe. Saying that it hurts is…it's such a ridiculous understatement. Like your insides are just shards of glass…” 

Izuku whimpered.

“No. Shh,” Shōta said shakily, opening his eyes to point at Izuku. “It's been almost 2 months since your mother saw you, and just over 3 weeks since she knew you were safe. We can do something about that. She can feel a little less broken. You're going to record a video and Hitomi is going to get it to her.”

“I know I can't tell her where we are, or what we're doing, or who I'm with…so…”

“I trust your judgment. Let me know when you're ready to send it to Hitomi,” Shōta said, picking up what he'd dropped and turning to leave.

“Wait, I need your help figuring out what to say,” Izuku squeaked.

Shōta shook his head. “It's your mom, kid. You'll know what was left unsaid.” 

“The whole reason that you thought of this is because you know what she's feeling! I'll trip all over my words, and it will come out wrong. I want her to feel better but I don't know what it feels like…to be all broken glass.” Izuku grabbed his hand before he could walk away. “Please?”

He closed his eyes again. Everything ached. “Sure, kid.”

“Thank you.” Unsurprisingly, Izuku's hugs were as full of feeling as the teen himself. 

They stood that way for a while, quiet and still. Izuku pressed into Shōta's back, evidence that being a hero doesn't mean that you can't show your feelings. Shōta looked up at the clouds, one hand holding firmly to Izuku's arm, evidence that those feelings can be endured and made to mean something.

Chapter Text

The door opened and Shōta suddenly had armfuls of Hitomi.

“HELLO, FAVORITE!”

Hitomi leaned back, still hanging on Shōta, to examine Hizashi. Her pupil-lenses shifted as she took in various features. Then she abruptly ran off.

Izuku was very used to another Hatsume and seemed unfazed. Hizashi knew Mei by reputation and was just a little disoriented. Naoki, completely unprepared, looked shell-shocked.

“Come on then,” Shōta said, walking inside after Hitomi and toward the workshop.

“YOKO-CHAN!” Hitomi's screaming could be heard down the hallway, followed by laughter.

As they entered, Hitomi pointed. “SEE! I told you that Kata-kun's partner was Present Mic!”

Hizashi pointed to himself as if they could be talking about anyone else. 

Yoko approached and circled him. “You're never wrong, Hito-chan, but how did you know this time?”

“⅛ inch scar over his left eyebrow. It looks sort of like a star,” Hitomi said proudly.

Yoko stopped back in front of him. She pulled his face down by his chin to look for the scar. She hummed when she found it and popped her gum bubble right in his face.

Hizashi choked in surprise. He tried unsuccessfully to cover it with a strained laugh. “Hello.”

Yoko released Hizashi's face and smirked. “Can I call you Mic?”

Hitomi lay across the work table and pretended to snore.

Shōta's malicious grin appeared and Izuku couldn't evade quickly enough. Soon he was out from his hiding place behind Hizashi. “Hito-chan, this is the boy that your niece calls–”

“TEN MILLION!!!!!!”

Shōta winced at the volume, which was impressive since he was accustomed to Hizashi.

Hitomi seized Izuku. “Mei-chan's gloves, but with new features. Come on, let's go. I've been dying to see how they work!”

Izuku pulled back, thinking of the other Hatsume. “I won't burn to death or lose a limb, or anything like that. Right?”

“Nah, nothing new in this would damage a limb,” Hitomi said dismissively, dragging him along. Either she was much stronger than she looked, or Izuku had given up entirely. “And our test room has an automated fire suppression system.”

Naoki was obviously, though not surprisingly, unsettled. Shōta caught the older teen's eye and jerked his head after Hitomi and Izuku.

“Really?” Naoki snipped, crossing his arms. “I'm on Broccoli protection?”

“Hitomi will be absorbed with Izuku,” Shōta pointed out. “And Yoko will be moving on from Hizashi any second now.”

Yoko's head turned, and her smirk sharpened. “Oh, Amplitude! Unlike at the bar, I can see your cute lil face today…”

“Nope!” Naoki shook his head vehemently and hurried off into the corridor.

Yoko's smile and posture relaxed. “That desperate for some adults-only time, Kata-kun?”

Shōta shrugged noncommittally. Hizashi's eyes were fixed on the corridor, the echoing voices still clear. Shōta nudged the blonde.

“You're sure they'll be okay?” Hizashi asked.

“Yeah,” Shōta answered. “Hitomi's chaos is well-controlled. Mostly.”

“Hito-chan absolutely loves Kata-kun,” Yoko assured Hizashi, scanning a shelf of boxes. She picked a box up off the shelf and turned back to them. “She would never let anything happen to his kids.”

Hizashi nodded, working his jaw. 

Shōta tapped Hizashi's jaw joint. “Sunshine, it's okay. I trust them.”

“Did you just say that you trust someone?” Hizashi's head whipped to the side to look at Shōta.

Yoko threw the box on the table to seize Shōta by the shoulders. “And did you just call him ‘sunshine'?!” 

He looked between them. “I've made a terrible mistake. My irritation at being conscious is immeasurable.”

“You brought it onto yourself.” Hizashi giggled before he added, “Kitten.”

Yoko howled with laughter. Hizashi wrapped his arms around Shōta, who was undeniably sulking. 

Yoko's smile softened as she settled. “Jokes aside, you have a very sweet little family, Kata-kun. And you look much better than a few weeks ago.” 

“Thank you again for looking after him, Yoko-san,” Hizashi said, resting his head on Shōta's shoulder.

“They're your boys, right Kata?” Yoko righted the thrown box and checked its contents. 

“Not like you're thinking. He just brings home troubled strays,” Hizashi said fondly.

“Except…” Shōta's stomach clenched. He shook his head and looked down. 

Hizashi lifted his head, keeping his eyes trained on Yoko's. “So what's in the box?”

Yoko put on a small smile and pushed it toward them. Inside were 2 neat bundles of black fabric, each 3 inches wide. A small device and a group of electrodes lay between them. Yoko waited for Shōta to look back up at her before saying anything. 

“You weren't able to control the cloths effectively with your telekinesis because of the constant quirk use to hold them in place,” Yoko began. “These will synchronize with your neural network. When your quirk is inactive, they will automatically increase tension within the fabric itself to secure themselves around your arm. Their passive properties will protect and reinforce your arms. When your quirk is active, they will loosen and become pliable.”

Shōta picked up one bundle, turning it over in his hands. “How does it know?”

Yoko grinned, picking up the pack of electrodes. “We duplicated the fiber that you gave us and infused it with nanotechnology. These electrodes connect to that. We're going to train the nanotech to recognize what each neural state looks like. May I?”

At his nod, Yoko began applying electrodes to his neck and face. 

“Neural states…how broad is that mapping?” Hizashi asked.

“It has to be broad. We're learning how much the idea of a ‘quirk center’ in the brain is flawed,” Yoko explained. 

“How does it deal with variations?” Shōta frowned.

She stuck the last electrode and flicked Shōta in the forehead. “Relax, you. I've already overthought all of it.”

Hizashi muffled his laugh at Shōta's scowl.

“We build a profile, basically. The more ‘training time’ the tech gets, the more refined the profile becomes and the more fine control you'll have.”

She tapped one bundle against Shōta's wrist like a snap bracelet, and the cloths automatically wrapped themselves up his arm to his shoulder. His eyes went wide with surprise.

“Cool, huh?” She laughed and repeated the process on his other arm. “Do they feel okay?”

He moved his arms, flexing and bending them. “Yeah, this is the pliable mode?”

“Yep. That’s what they'll feel like when your quirk is active.” Yoko picked up the small device from the box and pressed a button. The cloths covered the same area, but felt snug like the sleeves of a compression shirt. “When it's inactive, the weave itself tightens and the areas of overlap temporarily fuse together.”

Shōta looked at his arms while he checked the ease and range of motion again. 

Hizashi looked at Shōta, but was speaking to Yoko. “What would happen if he used his quirk differently, or it changed somehow?”

Yoko leaned against the table and crossed her arms. “You have something you need to tell me, Kata-kun?”

Shōta scratched his cheek as he thought. 

Hizashi rolled his eyes. “You already let the kids walk off alone with her partner, and justified it by saying that you trust them. In those words.”

“I know, I was deciding what to share.” Shōta said grumpily, reaching for Hizashi's hand. “I have a complex mental emitter quirk with two effects.” 

Yoko perked up. “Telekinesis and…?” 

Shōta's jaw muscle ticked. “It's unique and very recognizable. It makes me a target. It's dangerous to know what it is.”

Yoko looked between the two of them. “You're being serious right now?”

Hizashi frowned. “Yeah. Deadly.”

“The primary effect is very distinct from the telekinetic effect,” Shōta added. “But when I use the primary effect, there are limited involuntary telekinetic effects.”

Yoko rubbed her hand over her mouth. “When you use your telekinesis, is there any involuntary crossover effect?”

“No,” Hizashi piped up. “I know what the other one feels like, and it's not there when he uses the telekinesis.”

“Okay. You might have that backwards then.” Yoko paced back and forth as she processed the information aloud. “Secondary effects typically aren't strong enough to bleed into the primary effect.” 

Shōta carefully maintained his appearance of neutrality. 

“If this is your weaker effect, your primary effect must be stupidly strong. Or!” Yoko pointed at him. “If your other effect was strong enough to be misidentified as a primary, then your telekinesis has a scary amount of room for growth.”

Shōta's jaw clenched. Hizashi's foot tapped against the floor. Yoko lowered her hand. 

“Oh...sensitive topic?”

Hizashi nodded quickly.

You think you can win with half your strength?

It's yours! Your quirk, not his!

“It's fine, Hizashi. The order is irrelevant. I asked Yoko to make these because I have to work through it. If it will help bring her home…or tip the balance...” Shōta closed his eyes and rubbed them. “What's next, Yoko?”

Chapter Text

Naoki's knee crashed into Izuku's chest, pinning him to the test room floor. A familiar sadistic grin creeped across his face. 

The purple smoke dispersed around where Naoki had been standing before the attack.

Izuku frowned. “Wha–How did you know?” 

“Your smoke blocks vision,” Shōta explained from his place against the wall. 

Hizashi snickered at Izuku's surprised twitch. The blonde elbowed Yoko, who was watching intently from beside him. 

Naoki stood and extended a hand to pull the younger teen to his feet.

Izuku shook his head. “What did you say?” 

Shōta repeated himself flatly. “Your smoke blocks vision.”

“Right…” Izuku wrapped one arm around his belly, resting the opposite elbow on it. His index finger tapped his lips as he thought. 

“And what do you know about Naoki's fighting experience?” Shōta prompted.

“Naoki is used to poor visual conditions because he works at night…and when people aren't able to access one sense with regularity, their brains make up for it by strengthening other senses.” Izuku smiled slightly. “Which means he either heard or smelled me.”

Hizashi smiled. “Ding ding ding! So what do you need to do to use your smoke effectively, little listener?” 

“I could try dispersing my scent by dropping pieces of my suit, but I'd risk losing pieces of my suit forever that way…not ideal…”

Hitomi took off a glove to inspect it. 

Izuku didn't even register the loss. His eyes lit. “Could we collect my sweat, like Bakugo's gauntlets, and mix it with the smoke at a low level? It would disperse the smell.”

“Except you wouldn't use it regularly, so your gloves would be a biohazard,” Naoki said, wrinkling his nose. “And they'd smell like stale b.o. all the time.”

“Maybe some kind of olfactory disruptor cartridge,” Hitomi mumbled to herself. “But it would have to be easy to flip on and off, or else the cartridge would add too much weight, need too many refills…low cost-benefit…”

“Maybe a concentrate, depending on what the smoke is composed of?” Yoko suggested.

Hitomi's eyes gleamed. “YES!”

Shōta waved a hand. “Shelve the scent issue. They're clearly on it. What else?”

Izuku lifted his head to look at Shōta. “I need to be stealthier.”

Naoki laughed. “Oh, Zuzu, this is gonna be fun.”

Izuku laughed too, but much more nervously. 

The workshop was much quieter without Hizashi in it. The sound of Yoko occasionally tapping on her keyboard felt loud within the silence. 

“What's that?” Shōta asked, pointing at the spiked reading on the screen. 

“You activated the telekinesis there, see?” Yoko brought up a video of the workshop that she'd taken for reference and a neural map that lit as the box on the table lifted.

“And here is when you put on your helmet to hide your turbo-secret effect,” she said excitedly, fast-forwarding and showing the very different pattern of brain activation. “So no worries about the cloths getting them confused.”

Shōta nodded. “Good…”

“But?” Yoko flipped back to the other screen and blew a bubble.

He leaned on the wall beside the computer station, looking at her. 

She popped the bubble and looked back at him just as evenly. He sighed in resignation, and she smiled triumphantly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “The way it lights up…it would be different when you're in different mental states, right?”

“Well yes, but I already taught the nanotech to recognize basic physiological responses,” Yoko answered, squinting at something on the screen. “That information, plus your neurological profile, can account for those changes. Even in conditions of extreme stress, you're still you.”

“What if I'm not?”

“Not what?”

He glanced up at her. “Not still me.”

Yoko put her hands in her lap and turned to fully face him. “Like, you totally lose control in a fight?”

“Not exactly?” His nails dug into his neck. “It's like some other me steps in. Sometimes I can see what's happening and remember it, but not always.”

Yoko pressed her lips together. After a hard swallow, she said, “you and your challenges, Kata-kun. Are you able to make the change on purpose?”

“Yes, one way, but not in front of Hizashi. And I can't decide when it ends, but seeing him usually brings me back.” Shōta shook out his hands.

“That's adorable, actually.” Yoko patted his cheek affectionately.

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

Her face softened at his discomfort, but her voice was cheerful. “We already figured out two quirks, so we can figure this out too! Let's see what happens when ‘other you’ uses telekinesis.”

“Right now?”

“If you can, before Hizashi comes back.” Yoko said. “Anything I should know first?”

“Not really? It's mostly the same…”

Ruse scrutinized Yoko. “I guess it was a functional choice.”

Yoko looked up from her screen. “Hm?”

“I was trying to decide if you were special somehow.” Ruse pushed off the wall to walk around the workshop. “He's never actually talked about me before. We just let people see me as ‘getting shit done’ mode.”

“Oh, hi. Do you…have a name of your own?”

“Not really. I was Ruse, because people didn't notice me. But now it's also the name he uses for vigilantism or whatever, which gets confusing. They'll say ‘Ruse’ but they aren't talking to me, they're talking to him-in-costume.”

“So I should call you Ruse then?”

“You're asking like you expect us to talk a lot. I'm not normally a talker.” He finished his circle around the work table and came back to her. “Although I suppose that you do put a lot of emphasis on knowing what people want to be called.”

“So?”

“Call me whatever you want. Can we move on?” He yawned, sitting down on one of the stools and leaning on the work table.

“Fine, you're Hisoka now.”

“What?”

“I needed to label these readings, and Hisoka felt appropriate. It means ‘secretive.’ Lift this with telekinesis,” Yoko said, putting a pen on the table.

“Normally I step in to break into military bases or mess with beings of terrifying intelligence, but today I lift a pen. Joy.” He lifted a finger and flicked as he activated telekinesis.

Shōta sat at the park table across from Tensei.

Tensei grinned. “Hi Ruse.”

“Hi Not-Ingenium.”

“You know my name.”

“I know your civilian name, but you're doing hero work right now,” Shōta crossed his arms. “So I'm not going to use your civilian name.” 

Tensei chuckled and shook his head. “I don't know that I'd call this hero work.”

“It's not civilian work, and you're not in any police or military role. So what is it?”

Tensei frowned thoughtfully at that.

“Mmhm. So, Not-Ingenium, what did you want to tell me?”

“Right. That investigator is still on the case right now, but only because we're chasing bigger fish,” Tensei explained, pulling a sheet of paper from his shirt's chest pocket. 

Shōta grit his teeth. “Better be a really big fish.”

Tensei nodded. “I was also able to tie him to the League of Villains.”

Shōta leaned forward. “How?”

“Compress,” Tensei answered, placing the transcript on the table and sliding it toward him. “Tsukauchi confirmed his testimony was legitimate.”

Shōta looked down at the page. “How high in the League?”

“At least up to Kurogiri.”

“It's hard to imagine anything Kurogiri did happening without the explicit direction of Shigaraki and his Sensei.” Shōta said coolly.

Tensei shivered involuntarily. “Yeah, he's not the independent thinker he used to be.”

Shōta frowned. “Right. You knew him. Before.”

“I try not to think of them as the same person, but sometimes it does sneak up.” Tensei's smile was tight.

Shōta tapped his fingers on the pages. “Do you think the connection to Kurogiri is relevant to the kidnapping at all?”

“Not entirely sure, but I wouldn't rule it out yet. All For One and the Doctor have directly targeted her father at least once before,” Tensei said tiredly. “When they arrested the doctor at Jaku, he said they'd wanted Erasure but settled for Cloud.”

Shōta's ears were thrumming, but he took a deep breath before asking, “what?”

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Tsuki said you legitimately care about the case,” Tensei hedged. “When Present Mic brought the Doctor in, he was raving about how they'd created the whole encounter back then to capture Aizawa. We thought maybe he was just trying to get a rise out of Mic, but the Doctor repeated it later in front of Tsuki.”

“Can I keep this?” Shōta pointed at the transcript.

“Sure,” Tensei said. “I'm sure you'll keep it safe?”

Shōta folded it and put it into his pocket. “Next time I see you, give me something to call you besides ‘Not-Ingenium.’”

Tensei grinned. “I'll think about it.”

Chapter Text

Shōta carefully applied the butterfly bandages close to her hairline. “How much did Dad bring home with him this time?”

Mama touched the wound, wincing, before he pushed her hand away. “Barely enough for rent. I guess he's supposed to be delivering on some project, and it's taking longer than planned.”

Shōta frowned. “Okay…Mita-san asked when we'll pay our tab, so I'll just ask if I can do anything to help at the shop.”

“Stormcloud, that's sweet,” Mama said with a sad smile. “But when will you find time to do that?” 

“I'd stop going to the dojo, but Dad would be so mad. So I'll have to stop my dance lessons,” Shōta said, packing up the first aid kit. 

“But–”

He gave Mama a bright smile. “It's only until he finishes his project. And you're a better dancer than Matsushita-sensei anyway. We can practice at home after Dad leaves again.”

She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Promise me you'll go back as soon as you can?"

Shōta nodded immediately. “Promise. I like dance better anyway.”

She chuckled, but it sounded hollow. “Okay.”

He climbed to his feet and shuffle-ball changed his way to the bathroom to put the kit back on the shelf. The knot in his chest loosened at the sound of her genuine laughter.

Nagamine Ariko had been completely drained of blood before she died. Then she'd been burned almost beyond recognition.  

The medical examiner estimated that she'd been killed between April 28 & April 30. Days after Eri was taken. 

If they'd “replaced” Ariko's quirk with her daughter's, then the same people that would kill that savagely had Eri now.

Ariko knew she was putting herself in danger. Did she know that she was putting Eri in danger too?

Take good care of our girl, Eraser. 

Right. She thought Eri would be safe with him. With the other heroes. At UA.

The guilt was choking.

He snatched up the other reports he'd pulled. Might as well add insult to injury.

“Where is he, Yuki?”

“I don't know.”

“Bullshit,” he growled. 

Shōta hid deeper in the storage closet, tucking himself into a corner underneath some coats that had fallen from their hangers.

“What are you going to do, Kazuo?” Mama's footsteps, running. 

“He was never yours to keep anyway. You knew that.” The sounds of the kitchen cabinets flying open and hitting into each other. “Father's tired of all your delays, tired of waiting, and he's taking it out on me.” 

Shōta's hands wandered up towards his ears, but he pulled them back down. He didn't want to hear, but he couldn't risk not being ready if Dad came down the hallway.

“Please, no.” She must be pulling on his hands because the banging stopped for a few seconds, until the cracking sound and her scream.

“He told me to get rid of you years ago, but I didn't listen. I told him the kid would need a caretaker while I worked, and it might as well be you. But all you do is poison the boy against me.” A louder bang, from the living room.

“You can't even bring yourself to use his name!”

“I don't need to. He's a tool. A weapon. Those don't need names, Yuki.”

A smash. Clattering. Dad roaring. Shōta's hands tightened near his ears, but he wouldn't cover them.

“Don't you understand the life we could have? We hand him over, Father has what he needs to return to his rightful place, and it'll be because of us.”

“It'll be because you sacrificed our child in some petty play for power!”

A scream.

Quiet.

When Shōta returned to Yoko & Hitomi's, he grabbed his new gear and went into the test room to burn off some emotional energy. He did not expect someone else to already be there.

Naoki was dangling from the ceiling by his capture scarf.

“Hey, you're back later than we thought,” Naoki said, sliding down to his feet.

“Stopped back home. In Sanya,” he muttered. “Why are you up?”

Naoki drew the scarf back up in his hands and wrapped it around himself. “Old habits I guess. Sometimes I just wake up ready to go, ya know?”

“Naoki, do I strike you as a man that has ever woken up ‘ready to go'?”

“‘Ready to go’? No,” Naoki snickered. “Maybe ‘ready to punch something.’”

“Better.” Shōta activated his telekinesis and the thin bands of capture scarf cloth hovered around his arms in loose loops. He lifted an arm and looped the cloth around the ceiling truss. 

“I've tested them all. You won't pull the building down on yourself,” Naoki offered.

“Good thinking.” Shōta used telekinesis to pull the scarf back up the length of his arm and he lifted up smoothly to the truss.

He looked down to Naoki, who was smiling. 

“How's it feel to be using it again, kind of?”

Shōta frowned, flipping himself upside down by catching his feet on the truss. “Less wear and tear on the joints, maybe, but still feels like a grappling hook. Just quirk based. ”

Naoki crossed his arms. “You would find a way to complain about cute little puppies.”

Shōta looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “They're loud, they do their business everywhere, and they bite with those needle teeth when they feel literally any emotion.”

“You didn't need to prove me right,” Naoki whined.

Shōta huffed. “You're complaining about my complaining. Felt appropriate.”

“Shut up already! Try swinging around with the other one.”

Shōta sent the other cloth to hook around another truss, then released the first. As he swung forward, something snapped back into place and for just a moment, he forgot why he was so upset to begin with.

At least until Naoki grabbed the trailing cloth and yanked him to the mat. It knocked the wind right out of him.

The teen smirked down at him. “Gotta get used to reeling the excess back up or you're vulnerable, boss.”

“You're a little shit,” Shōta wheezed.

Naoki started to run, but Shōta didn't need to stand up to send one of the cloths after him and yank his ankle.

At least they were both wheezing on the mat now.

Hizashi wandered into the workshop around 6 AM, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hitomi has some wacky contraption making breakfast, you should see it,” he said with a yawn. “It's one of those things where you drop a marble, and it knocks over a stick, which makes a weight fall–”

“Rube Goldberg,” Shōta interrupted without looking up. 

Hizashi blinked. “A who what?”

Shōta put down his pen with a frustrated sigh. “It's called a Rube Goldberg machine. A series of items set up in a chain reaction to accomplish some mundane task.”

“Okay then, Grumpy Gus,” Hizashi said as he put down the mug of coffee next to Shōta. “How late did you get back from Tokyo anyway?”

“2 AM. No, I didn't sleep yet. Yes, I know it's unhealthy. No, I can't be convinced to go take a nap right now.”

“Oooooookay then. And why, exactly, are you making that my problem?”

Shōta crossed his arms and looked at Hizashi. “Were you ever going to tell me about what Garaki said to you?”

Hizashi suddenly looked very awake. “Huh?”

“I know you heard him because, according to the report, 3 people had to hold you back.” Shōta glowered at him. “So, were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course I was,” Hizashi said softly, avoiding his eyes. “Eventually. I just didn't know how. And you were already hurting so much, so I was putting it off…”

“Until when?”

Hizashi's hand rested on his own chest right at his collarbone. “Until I had to, I guess?”

Shōta shoved himself away from the table, into a standing position. “You didn't think it might have been necessary when Eri was taken? You didn't think you ‘had to’ then?”

Hizashi didn't say anything.

“God dammit, Hizashi.” Shōta started shoving all the papers back together and into his bag.

Hizashi's face turned blotchy. “You were barely talking to me for weeks, and even then, you only stayed at first because I blew out your eardrums the day before Oboro's birthday! Was I supposed to punch down, to tell you then? Or maybe I should have told you when you weren't even fully healed, but decided it was a good idea to attack Yagi, Tsuki, and Nezu? Or right after the kids found out about what happened with your father? You know, you're right. I passed up so many splendid opportunities to tell you the one thing that would guarantee you leaving.”

“Right, instead you kept me here and let me pull more people into my disaster of a life,” Shōta spat back. “Why would you let me put you, put them, in danger like that?”

Hizashi threw up his hands. “You can't do this by yourself. I love you too much to let you try.”

Shōta took a few steps backwards. “Maybe you shouldn't.”

All the fight drained from Hizashi. “Oh, babe, I tried that for over 15 years. And here we are anyway.”

Shōta closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“You beat the tar out of me on international television, and my heart sang, ‘that one! I want that one!’” Hizashi gave a small, hopeful smile. “So maybe don't expect the most rational decisions out of me when it comes to you, ya dig?” 

Shōta covered his face and his shoulders started shaking. Hizashi's smile fell and he stepped toward Shōta. 

“I could still beat the tar out of you,” Shōta said, the sound of hysterical giggles finally escaping. 

The relief got Hizashi giggling too. “Don't threaten me with a good time, now.”

Shōta leaned his forehead on Hizashi's shoulder. The blonde put an arm around Shōta and kissed his head. 

“You're an idiot,” Shōta said with a sigh.

Hizashi hummed. “An idiot that you're madly in love with.”

“Tried not to be for over 15 years.”

“And here we are anyway.”

Chapter Text

The Rube Goldberg breakfast machine amused Naoki and Hizashi. It absolutely delighted Izuku. 

Shōta took up residence near his own preferred machine, smiling into the cup of coffee it had produced. Izuku and Hitomi were dreaming up increasingly complicated modifications and additions. Naoki had taken a seat in the corner of the room and had fallen asleep against the wall. Hizashi was trying to reposition Naoki so he didn't wake up with a miserable pinch in his neck, but the teen was heavier than he looked. A wooden spoon that was haphazardly added to the mechanism flew off and was barely caught by Yoko before it could hit an unsuspecting Hizashi in the head.

Hizashi withdrew from the danger zone, coming to stand beside Shōta. “Whatcha smiling about under there?”

Shōta leaned into him. “The last month has not been great, but this part of it has been…”

“A joy? A delight? A source of boundless pride?”

Shōta blinked slowly and sipped his coffee.

Hizashi lowered his voice and imitated Shōta's flat affect. “Not terrible. Fine. Bearable.”

A useless attempt to stave off a yawn.

Hizashi elbowed him. “Well?” 

“Mmm…forgot. Should probably take a nap.” He straightened up as if he were going to leave.

“No! Come onnnnnnn,” Hizashi whined, poking him in the ribs. “You're messing with me.”

“Maybe. But it's so easy. And fun.”

“Fine,” Hizashi said, turning up his nose and looking away dramatically. “Be that way.”

“This. It's been…good.” Shōta thought for a moment. “Important, and good.”

Hizashi smiled. “Yeah. It really has.”

What I Know

The hallway, March 21

Nemuri died at Gunga Mountain

• Hotta Brothers & Tokyo Times, April 1
• Multiple news articles, April 2
• Visited haka and family home, April 3

Eri is my daughter

• Hospital, March 24
• Located adoption record, April 22
• Kidnapping & case files, April 26

Secondary quirk strengthened

• Froze knives, May 3
• Stopped rubble, May 6
• Playground swings, May 7

I'm in love with Hizashi

• First kiss, March 27
• Tokyo, April 14
• Beach & Healing, 5/4-5/9

O4A

• Yagi, May 8
• Tsuki, May 17
• IM, June 4

Found Family

• Reveal, June 7
• Lid off, June 18
• One month, July 3

Izuku sat down next to him, at the work table. 

The kid was either gathering his thoughts or his nerve. Shōta wasn't sure which, but it didn't change what he had to do. He waited, only paying partial attention to the transcript of Compress’ interview.

It took a few minutes before Izuku spoke up.

“You've been on that page a while.”

Shōta's lip twitched. “Distracted. I was wondering what the kid next to me wanted to talk about, but didn't want to rush him.”

“Oh.” Izuku flushed. “Right.”

He lowered the papers. “It's fine. You ready, or you still working on it?”

Izuku picked at his fingernails. “I was just wondering. Shigaraki took Ragdoll's quirk, so wouldn't he know where I am? Why aren't they coming after me yet?”

“They've been hard to predict all along. It could be that they're just messing with you.”

“Oh…well, I guess it's working then.” Izuku's voice shook.

Shōta tensed and put the papers down entirely. “I don't actually think that's it, though, Izuku-kun. I don't think they know where you are at all. Without being sure, they can’t risk showing their hand.”

“Wh-what makes you say that?” 

“Shiretoko was in the same class as me and Hizashi. When we'd spar, she'd complain that Erasure would reset Search. She'd lose all her pre-existing ‘tags’ on people.” Shōta smiled at the memory of 15-year-old Ragdoll having a fit mid-spar. “Shiretoko developed her quirk control so she'd only lose a few ‘tags’, or not lose any at all. I doubt Shigaraki spent that kind of energy on it, though, so it's likely he doesn't have that advantage for now.”

Izuku drummed his fingers on the table. “You really think so? You're not just trying to make me feel better?”

“I know that I was….creative?...with the truth sometimes when we were still at UA.”

Izuku laughed. “Creative?”

“Yes,” Shōta said, shooting him a sharp look. “I wouldn't do that here, now, about this. This is your safety, and everyone else's here. It's the fight. I will never be anything less than honest with you about that.” 

The laugh quickly gave way to solemnity. “Yeah.”

“You've had to…” Shōta huffed, scratching his cheek. “You've grown up too quickly. All of this, it forced it. And the things you've…”

Izuku looked at Shōta as the older man chewed on the inside of his lip. 

“You've had to do things no kid should have to. And you'll probably have to do more before this is over.”

“But I can do it, sensei,” Izuku insisted, clenching his fists.

“I don't doubt that. I just want you to be a kid for as long as you can. To keep as much of that innocence as we can manage.” Shōta rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So let me take what I can off you, yeah?” 

Izuku's voice was quiet. “Yeah…okay.”

Izuku resumed picking at his fingernails. 

“Hey, Problem Child?”

“Hmm?”

Shōta grinned mischievously. “See if you can sneak up on Naoki and hit him with some of the whipped cream left over from breakfast.”

“Huh?!”

“Go.” Shōta picked up the transcript to resume reading. “Ask Hizashi to record it.”

Izuku giggled. “Okay.”

The stairs were more uneven than he remembered. Had they gotten worse, or had Shōta just forgotten how bad they'd always been? They groaned and squeaked under his feet. There wasn't a rail to grab onto if they gave way. 

He walked into the 3rd floor corridor. Yellowed and peeling paint covered the walls, lit by equally yellowed lights. The carpet looked brown, but not by design. It smelled damp. 

He stopped when he reached the door to 3F. 

Shōta ran his hand through his hair. It was black today. He'd need to bleach it back out before leaving the neighborhood, but that was fine. It felt wrong to be here if he didn't look like Mama. If he didn't look like her Stormcloud.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door behind him flew open. “Oi! Who are you and what do you want?”

Hands visible. Slowly turning. Taking stock of the situation.

A man around his age in ripped apart jeans and a t-shirt. A frying pan in his hands at his side. A cigarette hanging from his lips. 

“Zat you, Tsubasa? Never thought I'd see you again.”

Shōta frowned. 

“They haven't been able to rent that apartment out for more than a handful of weeks at a time since you left.” The man leaned in his doorway. 

“Left?” An oddly clinical way of describing what happened.

“Yeah.” The man snapped his fingers. “Your mom was a dancer. Yuka?”

“Yuki.”

“Yeah, that was it,” the man said. He took a drag on the cigarette. “Yuki, Kazuo, and Shōta. And then, one day, all gone. Replaced by a swarm of cops.”

This guy's face was looking more punchable with every passing second, so he should stop looking. Shōta closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then his mind snagged. 

“What did you call me before?” he asked, opening his eyes. 

The man looked puzzled. “Uh…your name? We were in the same classes at school for like 6 years, Tsubasa.”

Shōta squinted his eyes. “Right, uh…Kurakawa?”

The man gave a small nod. “Yep. Kurakawa Ito. That's me.”

“Anyone living here now?” Shōta pointed over his shoulder. 

“Nah. Pretty sure I'm one of the only ones left in the building. That's why I opened my door with the welcome mat, here.” Kurakawa lifted the frying pan. 

“Great. Nice talking to you Kurakawa.” 

Shōta lifted the door by its knob and checked it with his shoulder. The door popped open easily. Some things never change.

He glanced back at Kurakawa, went into the apartment, and shut the door behind himself.

Chapter Text

Shōta leaned against the closed apartment door.

It was a coincidence. 

It had to be a coincidence. 

He needed it to be a coincidence. 

He knew that it wasn't a coincidence. 

His mind wouldn't make him forget his own birth name for that. His mind would make him forget to avoid the rising tide of horror. The rush of implications.

Did Nezu know about the experiments back then? Is that why he'd actually gotten involved?

Was he only taken in by Nezu to keep him away from the Doctor?

They tried to get to him the first time he spent any amount of time in the field, in his work study. 

They got Oboro instead. Made him into…that. Into Kurogiri. Oboro really was killed destroyed because of him. 

What would they have done if they'd actually gotten him? He was already a “tool”, a “weapon,” at 12. 

What even was he?

Ruse (Hisoka?) stepped in. Shōta knew now. That was enough. Letting it spiral too far, too fast, while they were alone - that wasn't necessary.

Looking around the apartment, it clearly had aged without care. No surprise. The flooring had been pulled up. Spots on the wall had unpainted plaster repairs that had been left alone, chipping without paint to cover them. Half the kitchen cabinets didn't have doors anymore, and the others barely held on. 

The subfloor of the living room had never been replaced. There was a broad, red-brown stain where Yuki had fallen. 

He looked across the room at the other, much smaller, red-brown stain against the wall. He remembered the desperation and rage that Shōta had felt in that moment. 

Flinging Kazuo into that wall with impossible speed. Hitting the floor when the man was forced to drop him. Scrambling to his feet. Thinking he'd just delayed the man's advance. Noticing the spray of blood on the wall. Creeping closer.

“A mas’erpiece,” Kazuo slurred. “He'll be…s’ happy.”

Stumbling back away. “No!”

He clenched his fist. The man struggled for breath, but he couldn't release his hand. Couldn't go where Kazuo wanted. He waited for Kazuo's struggling to stop.

Shōta lay down against Yuki, shaking, heedless of the blood soaking into his skin and clothes now. Desperate to absorb any of her remaining warmth. 

Hisoka couldn't let that through now. They had to go now, before Shōta could try to resurface. He'd never been able to push him out of the way before, but...

Things were changing.

Hisoka walked back into Yoko and Hitomi's, hands in his pockets. 

“You look like a creamsicle, boss,” Naoki said, smacking the low bun of pale orange hair. 

“Flaw or feature?” he asked dispassionately.

“Depends how long we're staying and how many creamsicles they can fit in their freezer.” Naoki's implied question was clear. 

“Hizashi's birthday is the 7th, and he's always been big on birthdays. So in 3 days, on the 8th. You can tell Izuku but that's it.” Hisoka waved him off. 

Once the teen disappeared, he walked into the workshop. He gave a small salute to Yoko and jumped to sit on the work table beside her. She was making adjustments to one of Izuku's gloves. 

“Did you get what you needed, Kata-kun?”

He didn't answer immediately, so she lifted the magnifying lenses she wore to look at him.

“Hisoka,” he corrected. 

She smiled warmly. “Oh, you like the name?”

He shrugged. “It clears up some confusion.”

“You can admit that you like it,” she said, blowing & then popping a gum bubble. “So you had to get shit done?”

“That's not the only time I step in, just the most impossible to miss.” Hisoka leaned back on his hands. He looked at her. “Kata-kun is trying to decide if you're trusted associates, or if you're friends.”

Yoko laughed, loud and long. Hisoka waited. 

“Oh,” she said, laughter fading. “You're serious.”

“I typically am.”

She put down the glove and the magnifier lenses entirely. “Right. If I tell you something, will he know it too?”

Hisoka raised an eyebrow. “If I decide that he should.”

“And you know everything he knows?”

Hisoka nodded. 

“Okay, so Kimura had no idea that Hitomi and I worked on the orders together. My biggest role at the bar was knowing what Kimura’s clients did, both before and after they left. You know Kimura would work with some pretty dark gray people, but he had boundaries,” Yoko kicked her feet idly and gazed up at the ceiling. “I'd screen clients, and then watch to ensure they didn't cross one of those lines.” 

Hisoka considered her. “You played the ditzy barmaid but held a lot of power.”

She laughed. “Yep. I found very little information out there about anyone named Okino Katashi. It's spotty and inconsistent at best. Pretty clearly not his real name, which isn't unusual, but no red flags. And then he was one of the few people that really noticed me.”

“You saw and absorbed everything,” Hisoka supplied. He yawned involuntarily. “Your noticing made you noticeable.”

“I try,” Yoko answered with a grin. “About a week or so after the meeting in Shizuoka, I noticed Kimura was acting weird. Then he crossed one of his own lines with Ultraviolet. That's when I knew that I had to leave.”

Hisoka calculated quickly in his mind. “Why did you stay for another month?”

Yoko scoffed. “Neither Kimura nor Ultraviolet is a person you just walk out on. We got a new workshop and moved out bit by bit. And in the meantime, I considered the client list. Kata's the only one that I even warned.”

“That was a terrible idea, Yoko.” Hisoka shook his head in disbelief. “We're clearly being targeted. So why would you do that?”

She smiled. “Because of what I saw you do as Ruse, and because of what you just said. I don't know who you managed to piss off or how. I don't need to know, because I know you're a good person. Good people.”

“Yoko, this is dangerous for you, and Hitomi,” Hisoka reiterated. “Really dangerous.”

Yoko leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yes. Hitomi also knows the risks and she agreed. We don't abandon our friends.”

That statement hung in the air.

“And for what it's worth,” Yoko added. “Hito-chan wasn't sure at first. No scar, a poorly healed broken nose, different hair. So she didn't say anything to me until 2 days ago. But we know that Kata-kun is Aizawa Shōta. I didn't say anything cuz I thought it would spook him.”

Hisoka nodded. “I think he'll accept that you're friends, and so he won't be scared off. I'll let him know about this conversation."

“You know, at first, I thought you were like a numbed out version of Kata. Well, Shōta. But you're not, are you?” Yoko pulled on a strand of her metallic hair thoughtfully. “You're like a shield, Hisoka, or a guard. You come out when things are threatening his mind, but can't be stopped.”

A name. A role. He was not used to being so seen. He didn't hate it, but he wasn't sure if he liked it either. 

“Yes, I suppose that's accurate.” Hisoka slid off the table and sat on a stool beside her. “But things can stop right now, so I'll step back. That's always easier than a snap transition.”

“But he'll need Hizashi,” Yoko answered. 

“Yes,” Hisoka agreed. “Most definitely.”

She quickly sent a text message and waited to receive a reply. She put her phone down on the table and turned to Hisoka. “Hizashi's on his way from the testing room.”

“Bye for now, then,” Hisoka said and lay his head down on his arms. 

Yoko leaned over to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Bye for now, Hisoka.”

Ruse: Meet me in Akabane.

Rat: Oh, is that where you've disappeared to?

Ruse: Not exactly. 

Rat: Why would I want to do that?

Ruse: I'm asking nicely. 

Rat: While I am delighted that you're learning manners, that is a very long trip and conditions are quite troubling. 

Rat: Try again. What's in it for me?

Ruse: An honest, straightforward conversation.

-

Ruse: I'll take off the helmet. 

 

Chapter Text

Shōta was practicing the alternating motions with the cloths that would allow him to move through the air. With enough focus and effort, it felt almost like traveling along a zip line, smooth and totally horizontal. Even when there was an occasional poorly timed transition, that felt like his previous capture scarf use. It was a little dip in height, or closer to a swing, depending on how off his timing was. 

Hizashi walked into the training room and watched him for several minutes before speaking. “Are you going to start taking the kids out soon?”

Shōta swooped down and picked up Hizashi. The blonde yelped in surprise and wrapped his arms tightly around Shōta's neck. Shōta tightened his hold around Hizashi in return. They hovered about 15 feet up.

“I was thinking we'd start out tonight, no particular goal. Just being in less predictable space,” Shōta answered.

Hizashi grinned. “Can I come along?” 

“In what? Your gear and how you use it is way too recognizable.”

“You, my love, have been out a lot,” Hizashi said with a giggle. “Especially with Hito-chan and Izuku in one spot for extended periods, do you really think you're the only one that's gotten some new toys?”

Shōta raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you practiced enough with all of it to not be a hazard?”

“You're worried that I'll be a ‘hazard in the field,’ even though I've been at this as long as you have.” Hizashi rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. I made sure that I practiced enough. Especially since I knew that you'd ask.”

Shōta grumbled.

“Unless what you're actually worried about is lil ol’ me,” Hizashi teased.

Shōta reeled them all the way up, to about 25 feet. “I will drop you.”

Hizashi gave him a quick kiss. “No, you wouldn't.”

Shōta dropped them 5 feet and stopped them suddenly just to make Hizashi screech again. 

Shōta laughed and lowered them down gently to the floor. Hizashi smacked Shōta in the chest as soon as their feet hit the ground, which only made Shōta laugh harder. The other man's irritation melted into a smile.

Hizashi wrapped his other arm back around Shōta's neck and tilted his own head. “We were all worried that you were going to be a mess, but you actually seem a little better somehow?”

“I realized that nothing actually changed,” Shōta answered, looking away but leaving his arm firmly wrapped around Hizashi's waist. “Just got clearer and more…explainable.”

Hizashi moved to make eye contact. “You didn't just box it up?”

“No, Zashi,” Shōta sighed. “If I had, then I wouldn't have been so frozen up the first couple hours back.”

“Okay.” Hizashi looked at him intently.

Shōta could feel the increasing tension in Hizashi's muscles. “What is it?”

“Shō,” Hizashi started hesitantly. “Tell me about Hisoka?”

It felt like a bucket full of static was dumped over his head. His eyes locked on Hizashi's. 

“Ouch, too tight,” Hizashi said gently, shifting in Shōta's grasp.

Shōta shifted so he was gripping Hizashi's shirt instead of Hizashi himself. “Sorry,” he choked out. “Didn't mean to.”

“I know, love.” Hizashi cradled Shōta's face with both hands. “Tell me. Please.”

“Yoko told you." Just speaking made Shōta feel nauseated.

Hizashi nodded. "She thought I already knew."

“Right. Well, he's me. But different.” Shōta looked down. "He protects me. If something is too much.”

“Hey, it's fine,” Hizashi said, stroking Shōta's cheek. “I'm not judging or anything, okay?”

Shōta released a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Have I ever seen him and just not realized it?”

The confusion was clear on Shōta's face, and his eyes snapped back to Hizashi's. “No, never. I don't need him then. I have you.”

“Ever worry that you're putting too much confidence in me, there?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” Hizashi chuckled, dropping his hands to Shōta's chest. “Can I meet this other protector sometime?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Oh.” The other man's face fell. 

“No it's…when I see or hear you, it's like something throws him out. Hard.” Shōta scratched his cheek. “I don't know if it's even possible.”

“Gotcha.”

“I also never wanted…” Shōta paled. “Maybe now that you know…I don't know.”

Hizashi kissed his cheek. “Breathe, kitten.”

“I'm sorry that I'm such a mess.”

“You found a way to survive. Don't ever apologize for that.”

Shōta was already dressed except for the headwear under one arm. Hizashi hung on his other arm, excited to see the teens’ reactions. 

Shōta grinned, and both teens looked at one another with concern. Hizashi snorted.

“Go suit up," Shōta said. "You're going out too.”

Naoki didn't need to be told twice. He immediately ran off through the door behind the teens. 

Izuku stayed rooted, vibrating in place. “Really?”

Shōta raised an eyebrow. “Depends. You have a new code name?”

Izuku's eyes lit up. “I do! So De-, er, the other one. I was trying to reclaim it, but it still meant useless. It still came from lacking something.”

Hizashi nodded. “Yes, little listener, it did.”

“But I'm not lacking. I never was.” Izuku's determination was palpable. “Plus, now I've got multiple quirks, multiple tools to use to help people.”

“So what are you, then?” Shōta prompted. 

Izuku beamed. “I'm Rife!”

Shōta smiled, a small and genuine thing. “Yes, kid. You are.”

Hizashi bounded to him. “All right, Rife! Let's go get changed!”

Izuku let Hizashi pull him along. As they ran out, Yoko caught the door and walked over. 

“They obviously hated the news,” Yoko smirked, handing Shōta their communicators. 

Shōta hummed. “Just gotta keep them safe tonight. We're finally unleashing two hyperactive, hypermotivated teens after they've been cooped up for a month.”

“I didn't even think of that. Guess that's why you're the teacher, Aizawa-sensei,” she replied with a laugh.

“You and Hito-chan are never going to stop being proud of yourselves for figuring that out, are you?” Shōta groaned.

“Absolutely not. It feels like some serious spy shit.” Yoko winked playfully.

"With all the danger that entails," he said, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“That's why we're watching out for each other, right? So tonight, one or both of us will be listening in, in case you need anything. And we can call things into the police for you, using a signal scrambler,” Yoko said. “So you & Hizashi can focus on the kids.”

Shōta nodded. “What did you make him anyway?”

“Oh, it's adorable, like wearing coordinating ties to a wedding.” Yoko laughed. “You're gonna die when he comes back. I might even record it.”

He scoffed and focused on the communicators. He put one in his ear. “Hito-chan?”

“FAVORITE!”

“I'd joke about blowing my eardrums out, except I actually know what that feels like…”

“Ohhhh you have to tell me that story sometime!”

“It's happened more than once,” Shōta replied ruefully. “Side effect of more than 15 years with Hizashi. Hold on.”

He switched to another earpiece. “The first time it happened, we were only 15, but it was mostly just ringing. I could still hear.”

“Baby Ruse!” Hitomi squealed.

“Well, baby Eraserhead anyway,” he mumbled. “I like Ruse better. Hold on.”

Another communicator switch. 

“It happened a couple times at UA because he was still refining his quirk control. Sometimes it was due to pitch more than volume.”

“He can do damage with pitch too? Wait!” Hitomi stopped talking and there was suddenly a lot of background scuffling. “Okay I have paper now. Tell me!”

Shōta chuckled. “He doesn't advertise those skills so they can be more effective when he needs to use them. But he has much more versatility than he lets on. He has the best control over volume, pitch, and amount of vibrato. Last one.”

He put in the final earpiece. “The last time was just a few months ago and it was the most complete. We weren't sparring, so he wasn't paying as much attention. He was telling me off, and I deserved it.”

Hitomi whistled. 

“Yeah. Thankfully we know sign language,” Shōta sighed. “Tag this one as mine, I'll just leave it in.”

“You got it!” Hitomi cheered.

The teens bounded back in with Hizashi following behind. 

Shōta scanned Hizashi, and scowled. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

Naoki cracked up and shoved Izuku. “I told you he'd be all pissy about it.”

“Aww, come on! Imitation's the highest form of flattery!” Hizashi pointed at the teens. “And you two traitors agreed it was a good idea!”

Shōta rubbed his forehead. “Coordinating ties…”

The blonde's forehead creased. “Huh?”

Hizashi's suit was basically a copy of his, with deep blue on the side panels where Shōta had dark gray. 

Yoko giggled. “His helmet is also soundproofed - which, yes, I am amazing, thank you for noticing!"

Izuku shoved Naoki back. “And he has these speaker discs, kind of like Kaminari's targeting discs, and when he screams they become highly localized sound bombs!”

Shōta looked back at Hizashi. “Nezu knows that I'm Ruse. He hasn't said it, but he knows. If you use your quirk tonight at all and it gets back to him, he'll know you're complicit. You won't be able to go back until and unless we all go back. Are you prepared for that?”

Hizashi walked up to Shōta and crossed his arms. Their eyes met, and Hizashi's face set into an uncharacteristically challenging expression. “Listen, Shō, I know you were planning on leaving me behind in the next couple days. But I was never going to let that happen. You're stuck with me, so get used to it.”

"Okay." Shōta turned and pulled on his helmet liner. 

"That's it?" Hizashi grabbed his hand.

The helmet settled onto Shōta's head. "Unless you want all of them to hear me tell you exactly how hot that was, yeah. That's it."

Hizashi turned bright red. "SHŌTA!"

Chapter Text

July 5

Rat: Try again. What's in it for me?

Ruse: An honest, straightforward conversation.

Ruse: I'll take off the helmet.

-

Today, July 7

Rat: You lied to me about Midoriya-kun.

Ruse: I very explicitly did not. I will admit to misdirection.

Rat: What exactly are your plans for him?

Ruse: Same as before. To help him.

Rat: You really think you're better equipped for that than UA?

Ruse: At least for now, yes.

Ruse: He went more than a month without being attacked, for the first time in over a year.

Ruse: Now he's actually healthy. Calm.

Ruse: Safely training for the fight that never should have been his anyway.

Rat: Quite the justification for kidnapping a child.

Ruse: Well, if we're making false accusations, what were your justifications?

Ruse: Deprogramming? A game of keep away?

Shōta slammed the phone down on the counter and picked up the bag of frosting again. He'd had to scrape it off and start over 3 times already.

“You want a hand?” Naoki asked from the doorway.

Shōta rubbed his chin. “What makes you think I need it?”

“Well, it's 4 AM,” Naoki ventured, “I saw what you just scraped off. And I've never seen someone angrily try to pipe frosting onto a birthday cake before, but it seems like bad juju.”

“And you can do better?” Shōta demanded, tossing the bag back onto the counter.

“Yeah, remember when you kicked me to the Hottas before embarking on your whole vigilante arc?” Naoki replied, picking the bag up with equal attitude. “I frosted a lot of cakes over the next 6 weeks.”

“Sorry my best wasn't good enough, kid,” Shōta bit back.

Naoki grimaced.

“I'm sorry, that -,” Shōta rubbed his face again. “That wasn't okay.”

Naoki sighed and leaned down to start piping. “It's fine, I-”

“It's not fine, Naoki. You're trying to help me.”

Naoki started piping so he wouldn't have to look over. “Right, well, thanks for saying sorry I guess?”

They fell silent as he finished piping along the base of the cake.

“Sometimes I forget that I'm not 7, and that you're a person not some idolized perfect hero,” Naoki muttered awkwardly as he assessed his work.

Shōta's brows furrowed. “That's…understandable.”

Naoki looked up and cracked a small smile. “How did you get frosting on your eyebrow, boss?”

“Just a person, right?” Shōta said, running his hand under the sink before wiping his eyebrows.

“Looks that way,” Naoki agreed, moving to pipe the cake's upper edge. “But you did a better job with the rest of the frosting than I'd expect from someone that barely manages instant ramen most days.”

Shōta dried his hands. He pressed his lips together in thought. "Huh..."

He picked up his phone again.

Ruse: Can we try this conversation over?

Hizashi, Izuku, and Naoki were sitting at the kitchen table and eating cake. Again. 

“You had cake for breakfast, and now you're having cake for lunch?” Shōta asked flatly.

“It's my birthday, Shō!” Hizashi whined. 

Naoki made direct eye contact while taking another bite in an explicit challenge. 

Izuku looked penitent briefly, before it turned into a warm smile. “Did you know that 1-A calls you Dadzawa? Not to you, obviously. That would have been terrifying. Or in front of other teachers. But yeah. Started over a year ago already. I think in April.”

“DADZAWA?!” Hizashi shrieked. “Zuzu, this is the best birthday present. Do not stop talking.”

“I thought you didn't get Eri until September?” Naoki asked. 

“We didn't,” Shōta confirmed drily.

Naoki's eyes glittered with anticipated mischief. 

“I know!” Izuku answered, grinning so wide his eyes were barely open at all. “Aren't you curious?”

“Please no,” Shōta grumbled. “I don't even know what you're about to say, but just no.”

Hizashi put down his fork and leaned forward. “Please yes. It's my birthday.”

Izuku giggled and scooted his chair closer to Hizashi's. “Okay! So, on the first day back at school after the USJ, Hagakure heard sensei talking to Recovery Girl.”

“7th school day, little listener,” Hizashi whispered to Naoki. “Shō almost died protecting his class from a villain attack.”

Naoki's eyes widened.

“That was a Wednesday, and he insisted on coming back to the school on Friday morning like everyone else,” Hizashi practically growled. “Idiot.”

Subconsciously, Shōta reached to touch where the half-moon scar should be. 

Izuku followed his hand's movement. “You told RG that you didn't trust anyone else to train us.”

Shōta dropped the hand with a scowl.

“So you've proven that I'm a curmudgeon that should probably trust my colleagues more. This is not some great psychological insight.” 

Izuku shook his head and looked back to Naoki and Hizashi. “RG teased him about expelling half of his last class before the USJ trip, but now he couldn't take a single day away from a still-full class. Most of us just wrote it off at first. But then he didn't expel anyone by the end of the month.“

Hizashi glanced at Shōta and giggled. Shōta just closed his eyes and rubbed them. 

Izuku was picking up speed. “Plus I realized that he was grumpier on days where more of us had gotten hurt during training the day before. And he twinkled on days that we did really well.”

Naoki cackled. “Twinkled?”

Shōta cracked one eye to look at Izuku.

Izuku waved his hands towards Shōta. “Aoyama's words, not mine! I would've never said that you twinkle. Maybe something else though? Um. Anyway…right! So I think Kaminari said it first, in the group chat, and it caught on there. But nobody said it out loud until a week before the Sports Festival. Ojiro was really upset at lunch because you told him he needed to put more energy into cleaning up his back sweep kick.”

“Was I right?” Shōta closed that cracked eye again. 

“Well yeah, that's part of why it bothered him,” Izuku said. “But then Uraraka told him, ‘Dadzawa just wants you to be able to kick their butts harder!’ And she did that fist pump thing she does when she gets all fired up?”

Hizashi grinned and demonstrated for Naoki. 

“Most of us called you Dadzawa after that, at least sometimes. Except Iida.”

“Of course not Iida.” Hizashi and Shōta both said it - Shōta with gratitude and Hizashi with exasperation.

“Iida's…a little serious,” Izuku explained to Naoki.

“A little?” Hizashi said with a snort. “He's as rigid as his armor.”

Shōta slouched against the counter. At least they all knew he cared for them. Hopefully they'd forgive him for leaving eventually. 

Today, July 7

Rat: Quite the justification for kidnapping a child.

Ruse: Well, if we're making false accusations, what were your justifications?

Ruse: Deprogramming? A game of keep away?

Ruse: Can we try this conversation over?

-

Rat: I don't see why I should. I'm seriously questioning your intentions at this point. 

Rat: I'm now seeing reports of a second Ruse. That would be Yamada-kun?

Rat: In addition to your lookalike, you now have a UA student and a UA staff member.

Ruse: I don't “have” them, they are here entirely by choice. 

Ruse: I wanted to have this conversation in person, but both of our phones are sufficiently secured.

Ruse: Let's stop pretending that you don't know who I am, Otōsan.

Rat: Very well, Shōta-kun. 

Ruse: Now say what you mean. 

Rat: I'm concerned that you may have been compromised in some way. 

Ruse: You can't be serious.

Rat: It's my responsibility to consider all possibilities.

Ruse: It isn't your responsibility to accept the worst possible conclusion.

Rat: I merely have yet to rule it out.

Chapter Text

“Sensei,” Naoki's voice was low and unsteady. None of his usual bluster. “I've got eyes on the person that was following me before. In Tokyo.”

Hitomi's voice clipped in immediately. “2 blocks northwest, Shōta-kun.”

Shōta was already running. “Hizashi, Izuku, hold back. Naoki, have they seen you?”

“Not sure.”

“Description?”

“Feminine, late 30s. 6 foot, 175 pounds. Moves like she's floating. Pale skinned. Long black hair. Purple eyes.”

Shōta's chest twinged and he forced himself to run faster. “Naoki. Hide. Now.”

“No! Hitomi, where are they? That's–”

Hizashi cut off at the dark giggle that went through the comms. It echoed off the buildings. 

“ULTRAVIOLET!” Shōta roared.

He launched himself off the top of the building. He collided with the woman just as she turned. She'd made it to the 7th floor out of 10 on the fire escape. The speed of their combined impact into the metal landing made the structure groan. 

She ran her tongue over her teeth, which were coated in blood. “Oh hello, Tsubasa. You didn't want me to play with your young protégé?”

“What do you want?” Shōta demanded, wrapping her up in his cloths.

“You're lost property, sweetheart,” Ultraviolet purred. “I'm here to reclaim you.”

“Did someone forget to teach you that you don't own people?” he growled, slamming her head back into the metal grating again.

Her eyes began to glow and the air around them thrummed. His mind slipped back to last night's dream. He was saying goodbye to his mother before his first visit to his grandfather.

The creak of the fire escape brought him back to the present. He activated Erasure and the glow dulled.

She laughed. “It's only a matter of time. Why fight it?”

He laughed back, tightening his cloths around her. “I've fought it my whole life. Why stop?”

“He'll outlive us all. Your struggle is meaningless, Tsubasa.”

She vomited sludge and disappeared. The warp quirk from Kamino.

He collapsed onto his back on the fire escape. “Fuck.”

“Sensei, is she gone?” Naoki whispered.

“Yeah, kid, she's gone for now,” he wheezed.

That pain in his chest wasn't from running, or from striking something on the fire escape. He could feel it fully now as her presence faded. He reached up, grasping something hard and thin. 

“Zashi, you close?” Shōta asked as his vision spun. 

“3 more blocks. What's wrong?”

“Dipped knife I think,” Shōta struggled to sit up against the brick wall despite risking quicker spread. Maybe being upright would make it easier to stay awake longer. “Not alone…again...”

“Naoki!’ Hizashi cried. 

Naoki yelled back, “already moving!” 

“Can’ lose real ‘gain,” he mumbled.

“You won't!” Hizashi's voice was too strained to be reassuring.

The hammering of feet on the fire escape jostled him, but the pain kept him awake until Naoki was kneeling next to him. He sighed in relief before passing out against the teen. 

“I'm sorry, Stormcloud.” Mama adjusted the straps of his backpack. “You have to go. Just…remember who you are while you're gone. Do you understand?”

“‘Kay, Mama. I'll be good.” Shōta beamed at her.

Mama sniffled.

He wrapped his arms around her neck. “Why so sad?”

She held him tightly. “It's the first time you're going to meet your Gramps. It's a big trip. And long. I'll miss you.”

“Only 2 days, silly.” He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Yuki!” Daddy sounded mad.

“I love Mama.”

“Mama loves you, sweet boy.”

Hisoka scowled at the door that had suddenly appeared in the space. Nothing fancy, it was just a standard wooden door. He just didn't know what it meant. This room had always been plain. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

He stood as tall as possible. Even though the red eyes didn't have a quirk effect here, they could still be intimidating. The scowl intensified. 

He slid the door open just enough to see out. 

The green kid, swathed in black fog, and a white-haired man in his 20s. 

“What are you doing here?” Hisoka growled. 

Izuku's eyes were so wide it looked painful. “Uh…I was worried about you, and the first time I talked to the other users of my quirk, I was in this floaty limbo space. Oh! This is First, by the way.”

“Yoichi,” the white-haired man said softly, with a slight bow of his head.

Hisoka's eyes flicked suspiciously to Yoichi, but returned immediately to Izuku. “And?”

“Yoichi could sense that you had a floaty limbo space too,” Izuku said.

“Liminal inner world,” Yoichi corrected gently.

“Right! I went to mine when I was unconscious, so Yoichi suggested we could try connecting them,” Izuku said. The kid was absolutely beaming. “And here we are!”

Hisoka dropped the theatrics and relaxed his posture. “Okay. And?”

Izuku slumped. Or seemed to. It was hard to tell with the fog. “We were hoping we could say or do something to help?”

Hisoka frowned. “He's caught up front with whatever is happening, kid. It's freaky, but there's nothing we can do.”

“What does that mean?” Izuku asked.

Before Hisoka could come up with some kind of explanation, Stormcloud wiggled out from around his legs. 

“Whoa, two new different people!” he cheered. “Can we play?”

Izuku's eyes widened at the 4-year-old version of Shōta in front of him.

“Great job squirt.” Hisoka flung the door the rest of the way open. “Come on in then.”

Stormcloud reached up. “Your hair is so green and fluffy! Can I touch it?”

Izuku crouched down and let Stormcloud run his hands through Izuku's hair. Stormcloud giggled with delight.

Hisoka rubbed his face and pointed across the room at Shōta, who was curled up in a ball and mumbling. “You know that guy. He's been freaking out like that for however long it's been since Ultraviolet.”

Izuku looked up. “The knife had a hallucinogen, not any kind of poison on it. I think it's quirk-based.”

Hisoka nodded. “Right.”

Stormcloud tugged on Izuku's fingers. 

“That's Stormcloud,” Hisoka explained. “He's 4 forever."

“And Hisoka is a big meanie now, just cuz he got to grow up.” Stormcloud pouted. “Says he had ‘spo'sibillies.”

“Responsibilities,” Hisoka huffed.

“Meanie.” Stormcloud stuck out his tongue and pulled on Izuku's hand with both of his own. “Wanna play?”

Izuku looked at Yoichi, who simply shrugged. Stormcloud paraded over to his handful of toys with his semi-willing new playmate. 

Hisoka examined Yoichi. “You ever done this door thing before?”

Yoichi smiled kindly. “No, we didn't even have our own space until very recently.”

Hisoka frowned thoughtfully. “Think you could do it again with someone else?”

Gramps held a mask over his face. He looked friendly. Almost.

“Just pretend you're smelling flowers.”

He didn't want to, but he told Mama he'd be good. 

Gramps held out the mask. 

“Put it on. You know the consequences of misbehaving now, don't you?”

He knew the consequences of listening too, but he was bigger now. He could remember he was Mama's first. 

He took the mask from Gramps’ hands and put it on without any instruction. He'd remember who he was. And he'd keep remembering until he was old enough to destroy it all. He was so close. He'd be a teenager next year. 

Shōta opened his eyes.

He was looking at Hibino Yutaka. 

Why was he looking at Hibino Yutaka?

“Welcome back,” he said gently, nudging Naoki with his foot while he took Shōta's pulse with two fingers. 

Naoki roused uncertainly before a relieved smile spread across his face. “Hey, boss. I've been with you the whole time, okay?”

Shōta scrutinized Naoki before uttering a raspy, “okay.”

Chapter Text

Sweet and woodsy. Hizashi's smell. Shōta nuzzled into Hizashi's chest and released a small, pleased hum.

No. Wait. Ultraviolet's eyes. 

He sat up suddenly. Even sitting, he swayed. “Feel wrong.”

Hizashi sighed. “You're still high as a kite. Lay back down.”

“You're mad,” Shōta said, readily collapsing back into Hizashi's chest. 

“I'm not.” 

“You are.”

“I don't want to fight with you right now, Shō,” Hizashi said, warning in his tone.

“Zashi.” He wrapped his arms around Hizashi's waist.

Hizashi didn't return the gesture. Shōta rolled off him.

“What's that all about?” Hizashi asked. 

Hugging a pillow instead, Shōta mumbled, “feels wrong.”

“I already told you,” Hizashi said with annoyance. “You're still high.”

“No. Feels wrong when you're mad.”

“How am I supposed to feel?”

Shōta grunted, feeling vaguely nauseated. “Dunno, ‘m tired.”

Hizashi put his hand on Shota's shoulder. Shōta shook it off.

“Feels wrong. Don’ force it.”

The guard shoved Shōta into the yard. He tripped over his own feet and landed in the dirt. The quirk suppressing bracelets around his wrists jangled into each other. 

“Not much of a challenge for ya,” the guard said.

Shōta looked up into the face of an older teen. His hair was buzzed short and his eyes were cold. Shōta held up both hands, palms out. 

“Please,” Shōta said softly. He wasn't sure what he was begging for but he was pretty sure he should be.

The older boy's eyes settled on Shōta's wrists. “12, huh? Are they extra scared of your quirk, or is it just that freakishly strong? Not that it matters now.”

Shōta didn't answer. He got to his feet and sized up the other kid instead. He was tall and moved threateningly, but leaned too far forward. He'd had a growth spurt recently and was out of balance. Shōta remembered the feeling. An opening.

Tight fists rose around the older boy's chin. A boxer. Shōta raised his own loose fists at shoulder height.

Laughter from not just the teen and the guard, but from the small crowd that was gathering to watch.

“Funny, but with that many bracelets, I doubt you actually know how to fight,” the teen teased.

Shōta smiled, wide and malicious, and lowered his stance. 

The older boy hesitated at his expression, but couldn't afford to show weakness. He charged forward. Shōta easily dodged most of his punches with a dancer's grace. He let a downward blow land on his cheek and ducked down. The teen stalked forward, thinking he'd gained the upper hand. 

Once his opponent was close enough, Shōta launched himself at the teen's chest. The boy's compromised balance betrayed him and Shōta's weight pinned him down. He punched the boy again and again, even as the boy's face smeared red with blood and Shōta's own knuckles split. 

Shōta laughed as the guards pulled him off the older boy and the gathered onlookers recoiled. He'd survived too much. He'd lost everything. He wasn't just going to take it anymore. 

Eri and Shōta walked across the park, stopping to observe the playground area from a distance. 

Shōta grimaced at the number of other people, especially the small groups of caregivers chatting while watching their kids or playing alongside them. The thought of having to socialize with them made him itchy.

Watching Eri's developing fascination made it easier to deal with. She was carefully examining and weighing what to try first. 

She pulled him to the jungle gym without a word. Eri put one hand on a bar but hesitated. She looked up at Shōta. 

Shōta was glad she picked this one first. This was something he could do confidently. He climbed the rectangular structure a few bars up and one across. 

Eri followed him with her eyes. He held up one finger while he hooked his knees over a crossbar and let himself hang upside down. 

Shōta felt so in his element that a full smile slowly crept across his face. He allowed the falling coils of his capture weapon to hide it. Some people said his smile could be disarming. He didn't want to scare Eri before she even tried anything at the playground.

She gave a tentative smile. “You look silly.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But it feels good.” 

She climbed very carefully to a bar beside him and looked down. 

“You want to try upside down?” Shōta asked, pulling himself upright again. Seeing her frown, he added, “we can hold hands.”

Eri grinned and slipped her hand into Shōta's. They let go, falling backwards together.

“Hey,” Hizashi said. He was sitting in a chair across the room.

Shōta sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling?” Hizashi didn't lower his book.

“Normal, I guess?” he answered.

“Good,” Hizashi said, closing the book with a snap and putting it down. “I have questions.”

“Okay…”

“Ultraviolet,” Hizashi began. “She called you ‘Tsubasa,’ not ‘Okino.’ Twice.”

Shōta tried to disperse the gathering static, to remember what she'd said. “She did?”

Hizashi crossed his arms. “Yes, and you didn't correct her.”

“Oh. Well, it's how she knows me.”

“You used Tsubasa as an alias?” Hizashi demanded. “That's really fucked up, Shōta.” 

“I didn't.” 

Hizashi looked at him doubtfully. “What does that mean?”

Shōta scratched his forehead, the feeling of his nails grounding him a bit. “It's my name. It was. Maybe still…”

Hizashi stood and walked closer. “You're not making any sense.”

The static was so loud. Shōta grit his teeth and clutched the sides of his head. Hisoka's presence was pressing but unable to break through.

Shōta looked up at Hizashi. “I'm what happens when the procedure isn't rushed.”

“Remember who you are, Stormcloud.”

“When he has years to plan. To curate each piece.”

He could remember.

“When he has years to carefully assemble and make adjustments.”

He was Mama's first.

“Past the high-ends. Their answer to Plus Ultra.”

Words he was never supposed to say. 

He'd keep remembering until…

“But…”

He stared without seeing. His head throbbed and blood dripped sluggishly from one nostril. Everything in the room lifted off the floor.

“It's time. I'm going to destroy it all.”

Chapter Text

Shōta didn't spend much conscious time in this middle space, but he still knew how to get here easily. He slid open the wooden door. 

Yoichi and Hisoka nodded to one another in greeting. 

Stormcloud, meanwhile, screamed and ran over. He shoved a toy into Izuku's hands. Izuku giggled and crouched to look at the matching toy still in Stormcloud's grip. 

Shōta rubbed his forehead. “My student is playing with child-me.”

“Focus up,” Hisoka said, hitting Shōta in the chest. Hisoka turned to Yoichi. “Can you feel anything?” 

The young man nodded, pointing. “That spot has the clearest path.”

“So now what?” Shōta asked. 

“Now every one here pours their energy into imagining a door in that spot,” Yoichi said. “And you focus on the feeling of your friend.”

With effort, Shōta focused not on Oboro's loss but on what they had all shared once. His vibrance, optimism, confidence.

A metallic door gradually appeared, flickering a few times before steadying. It made Shōta queasy to realize that the inlaid design looked like Kurogiri's collar. Yoichi gestured for him to move forward. 

Shōta knocked on the door and waited. He wasn't sure exactly what to expect.

“Dang thing is stuck…”

“Oboro?” This entire experience was so surreal. Shōta thought he had to be dreaming this whole thing.

“Wha- SHŌ?!” Oboro squawked.

Shōta laughed, trying to pull on the door's handle himself. “Yes. It's me.”

“Awwww yeah! But this stupid door won't budge!” Oboro complained. “This is worse than getting locked on the roof. At least we were all on the same side of the door then.”

“Listen, we only have a few minutes,” Hisoka called, looking pointedly at Shōta.

Shōta nodded, resting his hands against the door. “Oboro, I need your help.”

A pause before his voice rang back brightly. “Anything for you, Shō!”

“We'll keep trying, I'm not going to just leave you behind this door,” Shōta added quickly. “We just kind of...broke into the research lab. To try this.”

“I've been stuck here a long time. I can wait a little longer.” Oboro's laugh. He could practically see the squint of his eyes. “What did you need?”

Shōta leaned his head against the door, hoping against hope. “Do you remember a woman named Nagamine Ariko? Or maybe Furuya Eri?”

“Oh sure! They were trying to make some kind of longevity pill from her quirk. I don't know exactly how it worked,” Oboro answered.

“Where did they do that research? An address if you can remember it.”

“In Ishinomaki!” Oboro's voice turned serious. “Ah shit.”

It was quiet. Shōta pressed his ear against the door. He could hear blows landing. 

“Oboro?”

Nothing. 

“Oboro?! Please." Shōta begged. "They have my little girl."

“Sorry! The neighbors woke up…” Oboro got closer to the door again, and he sounded out of breath. “Why'd they go after her? Ariko already had the control…”

“Ariko's dead. They needed a ‘replacement,’” Shōta huffed. “The address?”

The sound of blows returned. “8 Mikawachō!”

"Oboro, I -- thank you. So much." The joy and relief was enormous, almost painful. “I promise I'll come back, okay?”

His friend's voice sounded distant, but still impossibly cheery. “I know you will, Shōta!”

Shōta walked through Mikawachō.

It was a warehouse district. Tall buildings that all looked the same. It was disgusting to think about what these places could conceal. He turned his mind instead to the beauty inside of Hitomi and Yoko's warehouse.

“Shōta, where are you?” Hizashi's voice came through the communicator. 

He had engaged the soundproofed setting, but anxiety about being listened to anyway kept his reply short. “Izuku.”

“What does that mean?” Hizashi asked. 

“Listen,” Shōta said.

Ultraviolet stepped out in front of him. “You're alone.”

“Shōta!” Hizashi's voice vibrated erratically. 

He turned on the helmet's speaker so Ultraviolet could hear his reply. “Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I'll do whatever he wants. Just let me have Eri.”

Ultraviolet laughed. “Oh, Shōta, dear. She's too important to give up. Besides, what's to stop you from breaking your promises after you have her?”

“Then he'll lose Yoichi forever,” he hissed. “I'll make sure of it.”

Ultraviolet leaned forward. “You walk right onto his turf and think you can make threats?”

Shōta scoffed. “You think you're strong enough to stop me, now that I know your tricks? I was made to obliterate bumps in the road like you.”

She growled but didn't take action. Her hand raised to her right ear. “Fine,” she said tightly.

“Your orders?” Shōta mocked.

Rage consumed every aspect of her. Tight stance. Wide eyes. Disgusted scowl. “You can stay with Eri-chan as long as you behave. That means you do as you're told, and you don't interfere with her work. Follow me.”

Ultraviolet turned on her heel. He followed her into #8. She turned right.

“Right…so what exactly are you using her for?” he asked with a grimace.

Ultraviolet walked down a long corridor. 

“Not telling you that yet. I'm not an idiot,” she snapped.

They passed one turn off and took the next one to the left.

“You still need to prove you're really willing to follow directions,” she added decisively.

“I left them all behind the second I knew where to find you,” Shōta snapped. “That's not loyalty enough?”

Ultraviolet rolled her eyes. “Fuck no.”

Shōta flipped up the visor fully. “What's my test then?”

She turned to look at him. “I have no idea, but it's going to be good. They're furious about Gramps.”

Shōta blinked in shock. “You're…”

“Your cousin. Fumiko.” Ultraviolet turned to him and crossed her arms. “But you've always been the favorite, even when you constantly fuck everything up.”

Shōta reconsidered her, like it was the first time they'd met. The anger could be petulance. Frustration. A side-effect of rejection. “I am good at that.”

“Here.” She pointed to the 4th door to his right.

Shōta looked to the reinforced door she pointed to. “Will I be staying with her in this room, or will I have to move back and forth from somewhere else?” 

“You'll stay here. Now go. Don't make me force you into your new cell, cousin,” Ultraviolet growled.

He sighed and took off his headwear. “Right.” 

Shōta pushed open the door. Eri looked up from a small table. She was surrounded by paper and crayons. The purple crayon in her hand froze in its movements. Her eyes widened and she was on her feet, running.

“I missed you so so so much!” Eri crashed into his legs. 

He picked Eri up and held her tightly. It felt so right. “Bug,” Shōta whispered.

Eri wrapped her arms around his neck. “Fumi-chan said you were real busy, but you might be able to come soon!”

Was it too right? He turned to Ultraviolet, still standing in the doorway, and activated Erasure.

When nothing changed the woman mouthed, “fuck you too.” She slammed the door behind herself. He heard the lock turn.

“Fumiko took good care of you for me?” he asked softly.

Eri pulled back to grin at him. She held his face with both her hands just like at the hospital. “The best. She said I had to be good so you could come, and I tried super hard, and now you're here.”

He fought to hold his facial expression steady. “Eri-chan.”

She beamed. “Daddy.”

Hearing that again broke his resolve. Shōta sobbed into Eri's hair.

They got just over 20 minutes. Shōta was running his hands through Eri's hair while sitting on her small bed. She sat on his lap and chattered about how they took care of her and the things she was learning. It was strange that this had been objectively much healthier, almost normal, compared to when she was being held by Chisaki.

“How nice of you to come back to us. Eri's been such a delight.” 

The doctor's assistant. The young man he remembered was now a refined-looking middle-aged man. Short dark hair with gray at the temples. Average weight and height, but made the most of by a well- tailored suit. A stethoscope at his neck. He'd look totally generic if it weren't for the familiar goggles atop his head.

Shōta stood, holding Eri against himself. She rested her head on his chest, seeming just as satisfied to not lose physical contact if they didn't have to.

He inclined his head in an obligatory bow. “Dr. Uchida.”

The doctor smiled crookedly, relishing the control of the compulsory pleasantries, before remembering to present himself as mild-mannered.

“I've been sent to advise you of your new mission,” Dr. Uchida said jovially. “You'll have access to any resource you need, provided that it's available to us. That includes other personnel. All plans and contingencies must be explicitly approved by Sensei or his successor.”

Shōta projected disinterest. “What's the mission?”

“Your grandfather and my mentor,” Dr. Uchida answered. “He was taken away on business and has had some difficulty with the return trip. We'd like you to retrieve him.”

Shōta buried his fingers in Eri's hair. “Do I have a deadline?”

“Sensei's successor understands that the trip may suffer complications, but expects your best work.”

“I understand.”

Chapter Text

Ultraviolet opened the door. 

“Good morning!” she cheered. “Let's get you ready for the day, Eri-chan!”

Eri bounded over to her, cleaned up and dressed for the day already. “Ta-da!”

Ultraviolet looked down at her in surprise. “Wow!”

“Daddy helped me!” Eri beamed.

"What a lucky girl!" Ultraviolet patted her head.

Shōta watched the two intently. Fumiko was like a different person entirely. It was disorienting. Shōta stood, hands in the pockets of the scrubs he was given the night before. 

“Is there a plan for today?” he asked as he walked over. 

“After breakfast, Eri-chan will come with me for some quirk practice, then she'll do some schoolwork until lunch. I'll show you the library so that you can get started on your plans.” Her voice was bright, but her eyes were set.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Any way I can get actual clothes? I didn't realize I'd be able to stay yesterday.” 

Eri gestured for Ultraviolet to lean down and whispered to her. The woman's eyes turned cold as she listened. 

Ultraviolet put on a sympathetic expression as she straightened up. “Cousin, I had no idea you had such a strong fear of doctors and medical things! I won't ask why, but I will see if we can find something else for you.”

Eri smiled brightly. “Isn't Fumi-chan so nice, Daddy?”

“That's why she's my favorite cousin,” Shōta said flatly.

Eri's brow crinkled slightly but she didn't say anything. 

Ultraviolet turned back to Eri and turned back on the charm. “I'll send breakfast down in a few minutes, and then we can get our day started!”

“Are there blueberries?”

“Maaaaaybe.” Ultraviolet winked at Eri as she walked back out.

Eri walked back and hung on Shōta's hand. “Did Fumi-chan do something?”

He smiled at her. “She's very different from before. It's surprising.”

“Oh. Okay,” Eri said. “Want to play a board game?”

The cafeteria was empty when Shōta arrived. Guards pushed him down onto a seat. The wrist and ankle cuffs clanged into each other and cut into his skin. He resisted the desire to curse at the guards like he would to any of the other boys. It would only end with worse injuries. The contact sores were enough, layered atop the visible scars he'd developed in just a few months here.

He looked over when the door opened again. At first he thought these guards were alone, which couldn't possibly bode well for him. Then he caught sight of the smaller being with them. White-furred and wearing a sharply creased 3-piece suit. A rat? A bear? A dog?

It climbed onto a seat beside him rather than putting the table between them, which was odd. Didn't the guards tell it about him? Maybe not if it was here at all. 

It smiled at him. Shōta glared back. 

“You may call me Nezu. I teach hero law and ethics at UA,” it said. “I've been working for the last several months on your case.”

“Why?”

“I see what you are and what you could be.”

Shōta turned away. Just another attempt to make use of the tool they'd bent him into. Why did they keep making him meet these visitors anyway? 

“Leave me alone,” Shōta hissed.

“I just have one question for you,” Nezu replied cheerily.

Shōta shifted his eyes only.

“What do you want to be?”

After Eri was asleep, Shōta sat down at the table by the light of a small desk lamp. He opened the notebook to review his work. He'd spent the whole day mumbling to himself while he worked, just like the Problem Child, so they'd ignore it when he talked to himself otherwise. 

“Izuku?” he muttered.

“He finally went to bed.”

Shōta winced. “Sunshine.”

“Yes” Hizashi sounded deeply unimpressed. “I can't decide if you're so stupid that you're smart, or so smart that you're stupid.”

Shōta leaned his head into the palm of his hand, elbow propped on the table. He'd been mentally prepared for analysis and logistics. His mind felt chaotic and cluttered now. 

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Shōta admitted.

“It doesn't matter what you say, Shō,” Hizashi groaned. “It's that you say something. Anything. Just talk to us.”

“If I had come back from Central with Izuku and proposed this…?”

“Oh, I still would have lost my mind over it,” Hizashi agreed.

“Exactly.” Shōta looked over his shoulder at Eri's peacefully sleeping form. “But this way we get information, fast, and I can hold my girl. I won't feel bad for it.”

“I'm not asking you to,” Hizashi answered softly. “I can't imagine how it must feel to see her again. I can't imagine how wonderful it must be to reach out and touch her.”

Shōta covered his mouth and closed his eyes. Damn Hizashi for just saying the thing he was trying so hard to avoid even thinking about. 

“Listen, you've always worked alone, and I get that. But you aren't now,” Hizashi added. “Maybe we could have figured out some extra support, some guard rails. Although I'm really curious how you managed to keep the communicators with you…”

A deep breath. This he could deal with. He sniffled and cleared his throat. “My nose.”

“Wait, what?”

“While they searched my gear, I stuck them in my nose.”

Hizashi giggled. “It's both.”

“What?”

“You're so smart that you're so stupid, that you're so smart. It's a loop.”

Shōta chuckled. "Maybe."

They fell into a comfortable silence. 

“I'm going to braid the secondary communicator into Eri's hair in the morning,” Shōta said finally. “Before any other moves, we need an idea of what else is happening here, and if there are other locations.”

Hizashi sounded resigned. “That kind of information could take a long time to gather.”

“I'm hoping we can take a shortcut or two. We'll see.”

“Will you be okay?”

Shōta huffed. “Zashi, it's not my first time walking into an actively hostile place.”

“That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt you, kitten.”

Right back to the “too close” statements. “We'll make it.”

“Remember how loved you are, ya dig? By all of us.”

“I won't forget.”

“How did you even find us?”

Hisoka smirked at Shigaraki Tomura. “I don't think I'll be sharing that with you.”

“What?!”

“I said 'no.'”

Shigaraki growled. “Why do you think you have the power here?”

“You're concerned about the security of the facility,” Hisoka said, holding eye contact with the younger man. “That's smart. Considering all the people that I've seen here so far, it's one of your last and includes the remains of the Nomu research.”

Shigaraki stalked closer. “So you understand that I'll do what I have to for answers then?”

Hisoka didn't flinch at the hand's approach. “What will you do exactly?”

There were several options, but Hisoka was banking on Shigaraki never having needed to be more creative in his threats. After this, he'd probably fixate on replaying the conversation and have a real threat next time. Hisoka would need to be prepared for that. 

“You really are so cool, Eraser,” Shigaraki pouted, lowering his hand. 

Hisoka shook his head. “I haven't been Eraser since I left Central Hospital.”

“Whatever. Ruse,” Shigaraki snapped. “If you won't tell me how, then tell me why.”

“Eri,” he answered simply. 

“Because you want her quirk? Or because you want to keep it from us?”

Hisoka laughed. “Because she's my daughter, Tomura.”

Shigaraki started scratching at his neck. “And?”

“And nothing." Hisoka could see the confusion growing in Shigaraki's eyes. 

“That's…that's weakness,” Shigaraki scratched faster. 

Hisoka scoffed. “That's why your plans never work, you know. You assume that caring for others is only a weakness, and hate is only a source of power. You can't consider all the ways the opposite might be true.”

Shigaraki stopped and dropped his hand. His voice dripped with disdain. “Really? How philosophical. Are you done?”

“No,” Hisoka sighed, putting his hands into his pockets and leaning to one side. "How would you like your warp gate back?”

Shigaraki grinned. “Interesting. Tell me what you have in mind. ”

Chapter Text

“What do you think–”

Shōta spun, wrapping one cloth around Ultraviolet's mouth and one around Hitoshi's. Hitoshi, in turn, sent out his own scarf and coiled it around Ultraviolet's neck. 

Once he knew the thread Hitoshi had cast out would have dissipated, Shōta released Ultraviolet and used the cloth to bind Hitoshi's body instead. 

“What the hell?” Ultraviolet demanded. 

“Mind control,” Shōta replied. “You can't respond to him verbally.”

“Oh.” Ultraviolet's dark giggle was as unsettling as always. “We could be friends. Why haven't I heard of him before?”

Shōta pulled Hitoshi over. “He's still a student.”

Ultraviolet looked over Shōta's shoulder, her eyes catching on Hitoshi's scarf. “Oh, I see.”

Shōta released the cloth around Hitoshi's mouth now that his partner knew not to engage. “Stay calm, let us finish what we came here to do, and nobody has to get hurt.”

“How about fuck you?” Hitoshi pulled tighter on his own cloth and Ultraviolet started to choke and gasp behind Shōta.

“Let her go.” Shōta growled.

“I thought you were on our side, Ruse,” Hitoshi sneered. “Or are you just another opportunist?”

Shōta smiled to himself at how much better Hitoshi was getting at making his accusations into questions. “You're no murderer, Toshi.”

Hitoshi's cloth slackened in surprise at the nickname. Ultraviolet took a deep breath and wasted no time in disentangling herself.  Shōta pinned Hitoshi to the wall and turned to Ultraviolet. 

“You good?”

“Worry about yourself and whatever other company is coming,” she bit back, working on Kurogiri's restraints. 

Shōta looked down the hallway beside them. He could hear doors opening in the distance. “We're out of time.”

“Almost done!” Ultraviolet called. “He's too sedated to use his quirk so you're gonna have to carry him.”

Shōta apologized to Hitoshi internally, hitting the teen's head against the wall to knock him out. He lowered the boy to the floor.

Ultraviolet discarded the last strap with a clatter. “Let's go!” 

Shōta threw Kurogiri over his shoulder and ran after Ultraviolet. Ultraviolet was incapacitating the researchers and heroes as they passed them, but was clearly starting to strain as they reached the emergency exit to the roof. There were at least 5 sets of footsteps behind them. 

He shoved Kurogiri into her arms. “Get in the helicopter. I'll slow them down.”

Ultraviolet scoffed. “Really? Like you can be trusted on your own?”

Shōta flipped up the visor to glare at her, eye to eye. “You're really questioning me here, now? We both need this to work.”

“Don't fuck it up.” She kicked open the door and hauled Kurogiri after herself. 

Once the door closed, Shōta threw a smoke bomb down a few flights. He listened. Down to one set of footsteps. He could outrun or fight back against one. 

He burst onto the roof and wrapped his cloths around the airborne helicopter's runners. He pulled himself up, swinging into the helicopter fuselage. 

He looked down at Todoroki's futile attempt to meet them with a massive tower of ice. Shōta focused, breaking the tower just above where Todoroki stood, panting and furious. 

Dr. Uchida gestured to a gurney. Shōta laid Kurogiri down carefully and kept his gaze focused on his friend. Dr. Uchida noticed. 

“We'll ensure that they haven't damaged young Kurogiri,” Uchida began. “Perhaps we can give you a check-up next, Tsubasa-kun?” 

“Don't call me that,” Shōta answered, his tone crisp. 

“Would you rather I used the name you took from that weak woman?” he asked, full of false friendliness as usual.

Shōta crossed his arms. “I'd rather we never spoke at all, but I can put you in your place if you insist upon it.”

Uchida grinned. “So no check-up then?”

Shōta stared Uchida down. “I doubt you'd survive the attempt.” 

“You've barely used telekinesis in the last 15 years, and even then, you don't use it directly on people, ” Uchida taunted. “You were, and still are, a waste.”

“Plenty of other ways to skin a mad scientist.” Shōta stormed out of the procedure room. He pulled off the helmet to get a fuller breath. The bluster carried him forward despite the lightheaded, out-of-body sensation. 

He'd made it halfway back to Shigaraki when he noticed the steps behind him. Shōta turned to look at Ultraviolet. 

“Tell me when Uchida's done with him?”

She nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Shōta pulled off the helmet liner and stuffed it inside the helmet under his arm. He watched her as she began to fidget.

“Your medical baggage. Whatever. It's from Uchida,” Ultraviolet blurted out once the silence got to her.

“Partially, yes,” he answered dully. “Your point?”

“I've never seen Uchida act like that. The way he does with you.” Ultraviolet frowned. “All the others, it's like they're his precious creations. He dotes on them.”

“I'm sure they all gratefully do as they're told the first time, no questions asked, no matter what. Or else they don't keep existing.”

Ultraviolet raised an eyebrow. “Why do you still exist, then?” 

Shōta scowled at her. “Do some research before asking dumb questions.”

He walked into the office and slammed the door behind himself. 

“Do you mind?” Shigaraki paused his video game and looked up.

Shōta breathed in through his nose. “The purple one is irritating as fuck.”

“Yes. But she's good for keeping the nomu and the redshirts in line,” Shigaraki said.

“I didn't say she isn't useful.” Shōta sat on the couch opposite Shigaraki. He tossed the helmet onto the table between them and put up a foot. “A necessary evil, I suppose.”

“That's true.” Shigaraki laughed. “And you got my warp gate?”

Shōta nodded. “He's still pretty sedated. Uchida's giving him a once-over now.”

“I didn't think you'd actually do it,” Shigaraki admitted. “I thought you'd take the chance to run, or there'd be some ‘accident’.”

Shōta grunted. “You should have seen the youngest Todoroki trying to catch us.”

Shigaraki leaned back into the couch cushions. “It almost seems like you're enjoying yourself. Who knew a hero could fit in so well with the villains?”

Shōta answered with an eerie grin. “I wasn't made to be a hero, Shigaraki.” 

“Sensei hadn't told me your origin story before Jaku. I thought you were an obstacle back then,” Shigaraki said. “Now I know you're a specially designed tool to help me get One for All. You really are so cool.”

Shōta snorted and rested his head on the back of the couch. “What's next?”

He sat with his back against the metal door and knocked against it over his shoulder. “Hey, you there?”

“I'm here, Shō!” Oboro answered. “There's a lot more going on in here today though. What's that about?”

“I broke you out of Central Hospital. All the sedatives are wearing off,” Shōta answered tiredly. “Will you still be able to talk if the ‘neighbors’ are awake?”

“Probably? They seem happy to just push me aside and use me like a demented meat puppet,” Oboro answered. 

“Ugh,” Shōta groaned. “Please don't ever say that phrase again.”

“What?” Oboro said, energy rising with the opportunity to tease. “Demented meat puppet?”

“You were just…you were too good,” Shōta sighed.  

“What do you mean?” Oboro asked, caught off-guard by the seriousness.

“You were too good to leave me alone. We just had to be friends.” Shōta rubbed his face. “You were too good to let those kids get hurt. They got the one cloud you could make.”

“Those were my choices to make.” Oboro's characteristic cheeriness was faltering. 

“And now look at you.” Shōta rested his head on his knees.

"Shōta." Oboro's voice was steady and serious. “I've had a long time to think about this. I know what Sensei was actually aiming for. Since then, I've been forced to help Sensei and the League with their goals. The end of that fight with you and Mic? That was the last choice I got to make entirely on my own. And it was a choice, not recklessness or self-sacrifice.”

Shōta lifted his head. “You…chose?”

"Yeah, I chose." Oboro repeated.

"You chose it." The words felt strange in his mouth.

“I'd choose to save you and those kids over and over again," Oboro crowed. "I saw you make that same choice, ya know, when you jumped into the plaza at the USJ. That was pretty nuts, bud.”

"They deserved a chance," Shōta said. "The chance to become who they're going to be."

"Now you're gettin' it!"

Shōta jumped to his feet and away from the door at a loud bang. Stormcloud hid behind Hisoka's defensively crouched form. The three of them watched the door creak open.

An older, dark blue-purple version of Oboro poked his head out from behind the door. “Hiya?”

Chapter Text

Ultraviolet walked into Shigaraki's living space, staying as far away as possible and bowing her head. “Shigaraki-san, Dr. Uchida reports that there's some malfunction with Kurogiri. He can only forcibly activate Warp, and it's inconsistent.”

As the younger man launched at her, Shōta caught him by the elbow. “The messenger. And useful, remember?”

Shigaraki shook off his hand and stomped around the room. “What did those heroes do to him?!”

Ultraviolet looked at Shōta, her eyes wide, like she'd never witnessed this behavior before. That couldn't be right, could it?

“I'm sure Dr. Uchida will figure it out,” Shōta said blandly despite his own inner crisis. He'd brought Oboro back into danger with the assumption that warp would work. That it would get Oboro and Eri out of here, quickly and cleanly, before anything escalated. 

Shigaraki spun to face him. “Did you do something?”

“Like what?” Shōta asked. “I'm not a quirk scientist.”

“Right.” Shigaraki resumed his stomping around the room. “Uchida's a moron. He can't keep the quirks fixed properly. Where are you on the plan to get the Doctor back?”

Shōta scratched his cheek. “I'll have to develop contingencies that don't include Kurogiri's Warp. I didn't realize it wasn't reliable."

“Nothing's reliable. It all needs re-sticking periodically,” Shigaraki reached up towards his neck but froze. “Except you. Why?”

“No idea,” Shōta shrugged. “Ask Sensei.”

“Can't right now,” Shigaraki muttered. 

“What's that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. He's busy.”

“You talk about him like he's the father you'd wanted all along, but he can't be bothered?” 

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “A lecture on fathers from you? Really?”

“I dropped everything to walk into a place that I avoided for more than half my life, and I'm helping you. All because you have my daughter.” Shōta tilted his head. “Would Sensei give up anything at all for your sake?”

“Okay, recap…there have been 3 yous ever since you met the doctor?”

Shōta hummed from his place, stretched out across the floor.

“So you're here with me, and the other adult-you is ‘driving’?” Oboro asked, each hand gesturing in opposite directions.

“Yes.” Shōta raised an eyebrow. “Where are you pointing?”

Oboro scratched his head. “I don't know. The cockpit?”

“I'm not some mecha machine.”

Oboro's eyes sparkled. “But what if you were? Do you take turns forming the head…?”

“I want to act annoyed, but I missed this…which is making me actually annoyed.” Shōta groaned and covered his face with both hands.

Oboro doubled over laughing. “I've still got it, baby!”

When it got quiet, Shōta lowered his hands and followed Oboro's gaze. Stormcloud was humming to himself and dancing. 

“He never ‘drives,’ if that's what you're wondering.” Shōta sat up. “That’s why he's here. He never wanted to again.”

“So Hisoka's ‘driving’ the Shōta-bot because of Uchida?” Oboro turned back to Shōta.

“Yeah.” Shōta confirmed. “He absorbs things better somehow.”

“So you just wait?”

“Guess so. It never occurred to me to do otherwise. Is it different for you?”

Oboro sat down in front of Shōta. “Okay, so there's 2 neighbors, and we're all sort of stuck? Which is great because they were villains and they don't like me very much.” 

“That's the only reason?”

“Ugh, you're so mean,” Oboro whined. “Listen. The first guy was a teleporter. He used to fence stolen goods and launder money. The other guy was basically a human GPS. Once he learned the location of valuable items, he could sell the exact location.”

Shōta's brow crinkled in thought. “And you need them both to cooperate with you to use Warp, don't you?”

“Yeah. There's usually this big other thing that ‘drives,’ and it makes us all cooperate. It's not there right now. That's why I could come to the door. And also why Uchida's having a hard time with Warp.”

“So what's 'driving' right now then?"

Oboro gasped and leapt to his feet with a lopsided grin. “Bro, I gotta go form the head!”

“Shigaraki Tomura. I would advise against further action.” Oboro calmly removed the tubes and wires Uchida had attached to him.

Shota's hand had been resting on Oboro's arm. It fell limply back to his side. 

The indigo-colored mist coalesced around Oboro's hands and formed into his hair. The man's face was clearly visible - and his eyes. They were the same deeper indigo color but undeniably Oboro's. 

It had to be more than desperation, if Oboro looked the same here as he did in Shōta's middle space. Could he believe that Oboro was actually standing in front of him? He wanted it to be real and was terrified in equal measure.

Shigaraki turned. “Kurogiri, finally.”

“Desist.” Kurogiri said, turning his head to Uchida with an even expression.

Uchida looked to Shigaraki for direction, who nodded his agreement. “For now. Why?”

Uchida sulked but withdrew a few steps. 

Oboro stood and adjusted his garments. He smoothly stepped between Shōta and Uchida. “This one doesn't hold the solution to the quirk fixing issue. The doctor began his work on him before quirk awakening to avoid issues of rejection entirely.”

Uchida's grin was manic. “Yes, the first procedure removed his natural quirk and blended telekinesis into it. This was significantly larger in size, so my dear mentor had to create additional space to reimplant the augmented quirk. Then he artificially awakened the quirk to monitor his body's response. We have comprehensive video archives and I've reviewed them extensively. The accommodation process was fascinating. First, the –”

“That doesn't explain why everything else stuck after that,” Shigaraki interrupted.

Uchida blanched at being interrupted mid-explanation but calmed himself at Shigaraki's hand hovering over a computer workstation.

“Oh yes, we did see him several times a year thereafter. I thought the pace was excessively conservative, but the Doctor wanted to take caution during a new process.” Uchida grinned at Shōta. “You were quite costly and time-consuming to create, you understand.”

“So I've been told.” Shōta answered numbly.

Rather than panicking over Uchida's needling, Shōta remained fixated on watching Oboro. He wasn't moving quite like Kurogiri, but the underlying self-assurance remained. Just a little smoother?

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Stop congratulating yourself and get to the point, Uchida.”

“Well, the subsequent procedures merely built upon that work. Enlarging the cavity and layering additional copies of the augmented quirk. 6 times over 7 years. It would appear they all adhered seamlessly despite years without maintenance, but there's only one way to be entirely sure.” Uchida's hands flexed in anticipation. 

That finally drew Shōta's attention. He had mostly contained the sharp intake of breath but Oboro clearly heard it. 

Oboro moved to loom over Dr. Uchida, who was nearly a foot shorter. “While I understand that you take great pleasure with invasive measures, doing so would risk several projects without providing any answers.”

Uchida looked up, his expression entirely unapologetic. “Perhaps, but you are still broken, Kurogiri…”

“I'll get the Doctor back another way,” Shōta said firmly. “Until then, don't risk breaking things that you don't understand.”

Uchida glared at Shōta, a strange blend of disgusted and malignant.

Shigaraki was petulant. “We're back to just waiting?”

Shōta looked at him, feeling steadier with an ally less than a foot away. “Unless you want to interrupt Sensei?”

Shigaraki scoffed. “Work faster, or I let Uchida tinker with your old friend.”

“Shō?” Shōta was hoping it would be Hizashi. Just hearing Hizashi's voice made his heart race.

“Hm?” He was putting touch-ups on a sketch of Oboro's face with its adult features. 

“Earlier, in the lab, you were quiet so it was hard to tell if it was you or Hisoka.”

Shōta smiled. “Mostly me. Did you hear him?”

“Hear who?”

“Oboro. Did you hear Oboro?”

Hizashi replied slowly, “I heard Kurogiri, if that's what you mean.”

Shōta colored in Oboro's eyes with Eri's indigo crayon. “No, no…it wasn't Kurogiri. It was actually him. It was Oboro, Hizashi.”

Hizashi didn't speak until Shōta was halfway through coloring Oboro's hair. “Babe, maybe we should call it and get you home.”

The words sank in and the crayon froze. “I'm fine.”

“I'm not saying that you didn't hear him,” Hizashi bargained.

“I'm not crazy.” Shōta dropped the crayon so he wouldn't snap it. “Well, I am. I guess. But not about this. This…this isn't part of it.”

“Maybe your mind is coming up with new ways to deal with things, if Hisoka didn't take over,” Hizashi reasoned. “That might actually be progress, Shō-chan.”

Shōta looked down at the sketch and bit his lip. Had the other man actually said or done anything distinctly Oboro outside of the middle space? Shōta pressed his lips together.

“We moved closer. I didn't tell you, but we found a staging spot in Ishinomaki. When everything started to escalate, Naoki called us over and we were all listening. It took me, Naoki, and Yoko to stop Izuku from exploding through a wall right then. I told him we –”

“Tell me where to find you, and give me a few days,” Shōta interrupted sharply. "I'll find a way to see you."

"Shōta, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Shōta grit his teeth, his earlier excitement replaced with bitterness. “Yes. I'm sure."

Chapter Text

“Why did you step in yesterday?” Ultraviolet said, leaning in the doorway.

Shōta continued braiding Eri's hair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you didn't have to.” The older woman was struggling to be the peppy person Eri expected without saying things she didn't mean. 

Eri grinned. “Meddling when you don't need to is the essence of being a hero, Fumi-chan!”

Ultraviolet grinned, just a touch too sharp. “A hero, huh?”

Shōta calmly rested a hand on Eri's shoulder. The excitable girl blushed and settled back into place. 

“I'll meet you for breakfast, okay Eri-chan?” Ultraviolet called brightly as she left the room. 

Shōta could feel Eri's rising impatience as he tied off the braid. As soon as he was done, she turned to him. 

She whispered, “Daddy, Fumi-chan doesn't like you very much.”

She was too smart. Too experienced having to watch other people for little tells about what they wanted and what was coming. Shōta frowned, considering his answer.

“We fight sometimes,” he whispered back. 

“Is Fumi-chan a bad person?”

“I don't know, bug. I found out she grew up in a not-nice place, and parts of it were hidden so she didn't know how not-nice it was.”

“So we should keep being nice to her anyway?”

Shōta smiled and nodded. “She's been nice to you, right? So we should try to be nice back. Maybe it will help her.”

Shigaraki was lounging on the couch with his feet up over the back when Shōta entered the room. Oboro stood behind the couch, hands clasped behind his back. Once Oboro was sure that Shigaraki wasn't looking, he winked at Shōta. 

Shōta rolled his eyes fondly before looking down at the young man. “You wanted to see me?”

Shigaraki didn't even bother to pause his game this time. “Do you have a plan yet?”

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. “No. It hasn't even been 12 hours since we learned that Warp can't form a key element of the plan.”

“And?”

Shōta tipped his head back and applied eye drops. He wanted to just rub his eyes but he didn't need Shigaraki (accurately) reading into that move. “I need to confirm what facility he's in and develop a location-specific plan. If there are multiple locations that they're rotating him between, which is likely, I'd also need to determine and anticipate the pattern. Possibly come up with multiple location-specific plans."

“Whatever, just hurry it up,” Shigaraki sighed. 

“I might be able to go faster if I knew what quirks you had at your disposal,” Shōta replied as he blinked his eyes back open. 

Shigaraki laughed. “Me, on some random escort quest? Yeah, right.”

“If it is truly so vital to the progress of our mission, perhaps–” Oboro began.

“While you were gone, Kurogiri, did you forget that I'm the boss?” Shigaraki snapped. “Go away. Find something actually useful to do.”

“I will leave you to your work,” Oboro bowed and stepped out of the room. 

“And you too. I want a plan by tomorrow morning!” Shigaraki snarled. 

Shigaraki threw a pillow as Shōta stepped out. It hit the door with a faint thud. Shōta smirked and Oboro failed to contain a grin.

“For you. Directions inside,” Shota said, handing over a piece of notebook paper folded into a tiny, bulging envelope.

Oboro pocketed it quickly, just before Uchida rounded the corner.

“If you require any assistance in the formulation of your plans, you need only ask. Shigaraki Tomura will not take kindly to delays,” Oboro said, looking down his nose at Shōta.

“Understood.” Shōta bowed his head and turned, just in time to cast a scathing glance at Uchida on his way past.

Oboro left the door unlocked as requested. Hopefully that meant he'd been able to navigate the security measures too. Shōta slipped quickly out of the room in street clothes plus his capture cloths. 

He acted as though he was being followed once he got out into the open air, partially because it was smart. It would ensure any attempts at tailing him would fail. Mostly, though, it was so he wouldn't think about how aggravated he was.  

Shōta finally leapt onto the roof of the address Hizashi gave him. He was almost immediately bowled over by a hug.

“Oh look, it's that newly-minted A-rank villain,” Naoki teased. “I caught you.”

With a laugh, Shōta flipped Naoki over his head. The boy landed a little lighter with a telekinetic assist. “Nice try.”

Ozone smell. He ducked and pinned Izuku's arms to his sides with both cloths before he could land a smash. 

“Ugh, no fair, you were supposed to be distracted,” Izuku laughed.

He smirked. “Try harder, Problem Child.”

Izuku and Naoki's eyes met, and Shōta caught it just a second too late. Izuku turned his hand, shooting Smokescreen directly into Shōta's face. Naoki flipped into the air and created multiple loops in the scarf which fell neatly around Shōta from shoulders to feet before tightening. Naoki landed and pulled. Shōta hit the ground but pulled on each of them so they all landed in a tangled pile.

“Ugh, he still got us, Zuzu!” Naoki laughed, trying to figure out whether to step over or through one loop of capture scarf. 

Izuku's cheeks were red from laughing. He wiggled easily out of containment. “Back to the drawing board.”

Naoki figured out how everything was knotted and began winding the scarf back around his neck. “We'll get him next time.”

“Oh, you think so?” Shōta challenged, giving Naoki a shove.

Hizashi was holding the access door open as they approached. “You should have seen the strategy sessions today. All day. I think they missed ya or something.”

“I always said he'd be good with kids, didn't I?” Oboro chimed in through the communicator.

Hizashi's face turned ashen. 

Oboro laughed uncomfortably. “Um, hello?”

“He can hear you, Oboro,” Shōta replied. “He's just coming to terms with the fact that I didn't hallucinate you. The rest of us will take out our earpieces so you two can talk.”

Shōta put his deactivated earpiece into a pocket and followed the teens down the stairs. 

Hizashi came into the main room looking elated, and skipped right up to him. His stomach dropped, but not in the warm kind of way. It was wrong.

Hizashi leaned in for a kiss and laughed uncomfortably at being pushed back. “Right. Apologies first?”

“We finally meet, Hizashi.”

“...Hisoka?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Well, I did want to meet you, and to say thank you.” Hizashi rubbed the back of his neck.

Hisoka grimaced. “You really are like a golden retriever.” 

Hizashi looked at him hopefully. “Are you a dog person?”

“No.” Hisoka shifted his weight. “Listen, do you want me to just spit it out? It'll save us all some garbled up stuttering, but I'm not going to dance around your feelings about it.”

“Hit me.” Hizashi straightened up. “With words, obviously.”

“Okay.” Hisoka gestured to himself. “This, us, it's not typical. We know that. But that's not what's changed. There's been 3 of us for over 25 years, okay? The entire time that you've known us.”

Hizashi nodded.

“What has changed is that you know,” Hisoka went on, poking Hizashi in the chest. “And that you've seen more because you asked him to stay. It's a lot to share all of it, and it's got to be a lot to take in, so we get why you were afraid. We need you to know that we do know ourselves, though. Maybe ask questions instead of assuming?”

“Yeah, okay…”

Hisoka put his hands into his pockets. “And don't feel like you have to pretend like this isn't hard on you too. You gave up everything. Feel your feelings. Ask for help. All that.”

Hizashi's smile turned watery. “I thought you weren't taking my feelings into account?”

Hisoka rolled his eyes. “I said I wasn't going to dance around them. That's not the same.”

Hizashi laughed and wiped his eyes. “So you wouldn't make fun of me for crying my eyes out from 1 to 5 AM every Friday?”

“What the hell? No,” Hisoka replied incredulously. “You worked hard for that show, for years.”

“Okay.” Hizashi waved his hand over his eyes to dry them. 

“Great. I think I'm gonna go.”

Hizashi grabbed his hand. “Wait, what?”

Hisoka shook his head, “Sorry, we aren’t going. Just me.”

“Oh.” Hizashi relaxed slightly. “Uh, Hisoka? Are we…good?”

Hisoka raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we're good or whatever.”

Hizashi's grin returned. “Good.”

Chapter Text

Shōta had the distinct impression of Hisoka taking him by the shoulders and pushing him forward. Shōta reached out his hands in turn, holding onto Hizashi's shoulders. 

Well, that was easier than most switches in Hizashi's presence. His eyes were watering, but he wasn't nauseated or about to tip over.

“I should have tried harder. To explain. Before coming.” Shōta rested his forehead on Hizashi's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“He was blunt, but not mean. And we're all carrying too much,” Hizashi said, resting his hand on the back of Shōta's neck. “But hey, we have to enjoy the wins or the next steps will drown us for sure.” 

Shōta nodded, wrapping his arms around Hizashi's waist and pulling him closer. “Like us being an ‘us.’” 

“The boys are safe,” Hizashi added. 

“And they're getting so much smarter and stronger.”

“We know where Shigaraki and Eri are. And you're with her.” 

“Yoko and Hitomi decided to stick with us.”

“You got Oboro back somehow. Which you're gonna have to explain at some point, because he just keeps comparing it to Gundam.”

Shōta snorted. “Later. I should be getting back.”

“Mmm.” Hizashi scratched the back of Shōta's neck. 

“You're making it harder,” Shōta mumbled. “And you know it.”

“Maybe.”

Shōta stopped and turned. Ultraviolet had turned off his music. 

She seemed honestly confused when she asked, “are you really doing ballet right now?”

“I was, yes.”

“Why?”

He smiled, a real smile. “It reminds me of my mother.”

Ultraviolet clearly doubted that answer. “You've kept up dancing just because you're a mama's boy.”

“It's not the only reason,” Shōta admitted. “It also requires grace, body awareness.”

He executed a series of pirouettes, gradually moving closer to her. 

“And strength.” He transitioned to a spinning crescent kick that knocked her back a few feet onto the floor. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought heroes fought fair?”

He held a hand out to pull her up. “I don't think I qualify for that anymore, plus I go by Ruse. You expect me to fight fair?”

She accepted the help back to her feet. “A mama's boy and a dirty fighter. You're a real winner.”

Shōta picked up his towel and wiped his face dry. “We all become what we need to be, Fumiko, especially when we get put into bad situations.”

“You've never called me that unless Eri's in the room.”

“Blame the Stockholm Syndrome.”

She didn't move her feet, but she did lean away. “I feel like you're fucking with me right now.”

“Who's to say? Again, I do go by Ruse…” Shōta shoulder-checked her, making her stumble, on his way to the door. “Mind your balance, cousin.”

“You really want to know?” Shōta asked skeptically. 

Nezu leaned forward a bit. “I ask a lot of questions, but only when I'm truly interested in the answers.”

Shōta frowned at the proximity of the 4 guards. Nezu nodded and gestured for them to back away. To Shōta's shock, they did. 

He lowered his voice anyway. “Everyone's trying to find ways to use the monster they made out of me. Like what the doctors did, and what I did, will go away. But it won't.”

Nezu nodded. “I see.”

“I want…” He reached up to scratch at his head, wincing at the shifting of the shackles. “I want to be somewhere that they can't get me, and I want to remember. That's all.”

“Hm. Remember what?”

“Nevermind.” Shōta shook his head and hid behind the curtain of his hair. “I– nevermind.”

“Pup, if it's all you want, then it must be important.” Nezu laid a paw on Shōta's hand. 

Shōta looked from the paw to the rat's face. When was the last time that he was touched with anything approaching gentleness? Had it really been since they'd heard the door open and Mama ushered him off to hide?

“Before the, um…trips? Every time, she'd tell me to remember who I am.” Shōta's hands tightened on the fabric of his pants. “I don't want to forget.”

“Your mother was an amazing woman. In thought, yes - but also in movement and action,” Nezu mused. “I'm not sure that she would want you to settle for a good hiding spot.”

Shōta sniffled and hid behind his hair again. 

The warm paw squeezed his hand. “What if I could offer you the chance to not just remember, but to truly become Aizawa Yuki's son?”

“Yo, Energy Saver,” Oboro whispered. 

“No.”

Oboro giggled. “How are you exactly the same?”

“Go away,” Shōta mumbled into his arms. 

“Oh, come on,” Oboro nudged him. “Get up.”

He turned so he could look at Oboro with one eye. “Hmph.”

“Okay fine, serious voice time.” Oboro said. “Shiggy is getting all antsy that you haven't come down yet, and it's making me antsy about Uchida."

Shōta sat up from where he'd fallen asleep on the table with his hair in a rat's nest. “Did you just call a supervillain, notorious for wanting to decay reality entirely, by a cutesy nickname?”

“I mean, we all got our big dreams, Shō,” Oboro reasoned. “His are just…very dusty.”

Shōta closed his eyes and shook his head. 

“While we're talking about absurd shit, can we do something about your hair?” Oboro laughed. “You're all ‘terror of the seven seas’ on the news, but sans helmet, you look like a bowl of orange sorbet. The dissonance is killing me, bro.”

Shōta dissolved into half-delirious laughter. “I just don't care anymore.”

“I'll figure it out. In the meantime, go do your pitch before he runs out of lives in that stupid game, okay?” 

“Kurogiri is kind of like you, Daddy.” 

Shōta lifted his head and looked at her. “I didn’t know that you met him.”

She grinned. “He's been taking me for my quirk practice the last few days.”

“Oh? Are you doing something different now?”

“Uh-huh! Or, well, I will be soon I guess. But Daddy.” She grabbed his hand and shook it up and down.

He chuckled, putting down his pen. “Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Tell me.”

“He's kind of like you,” she said intently. 

“So you said,” he answered with equal seriousness. “How?”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He acts real different sometimes. Mostly when things change quick.”

Shōta frowned. “You've seen me do that?”

Eri shrugged. “Lots of times. Usually it's just a few seconds. I can tell cuz your eyes look kinda different.”

“Oh.” Shōta tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It doesn't scare you, does it?”

“Don't be silly, Daddy,” she said impatiently. “So Kurogiri today. He was super serious when he came to get me, right?”

Shōta nodded, tucking away that minor meltdown for later.

“We got outside and all the sudden he was really happy and made lots of jokes! And he took me for ice cream.” She jumped up and down. “Daddy, did you know ice cream tastes better on a cloud?”

Chapter Text

“I think…give him more…about Shimura.”

“Why's…listener?”

“There are…parallels? I think we…able to end this…Or at least less of it.”

The voices felt distant. Izuku and Hizashi? He was too sleepy to focus. He drifted back off quickly. 

“Shō, naptime's over.” Suddenly Hizashi was right next to him, speaking at regular volume and giving him a shake, but also pulling the blanket up over Shōta's bare shoulders.

Shōta squinted up at him. “Wha?”

Hizashi smiled. “Izuku's got something for you.”

Shōta rolled a little towards the middle of the futon and squinted at the teen in the doorway instead. “Go make coffee, Problem Child.”

Izuku nodded and closed the door, his footsteps receding quickly. 

“Come back to bed,” Shōta grumbled, pawing at Hizashi's belly.

“Nope,” Hizashi said, standing and rummaging around in a bag. “I brought your favorites.”

Shōta moved too slowly, catching the bright pink sweatpants with his face instead of his hands. As soon as he'd pulled them away, he got hit with boxers and then a black t-shirt. 

“How are you so bad at the cuddle phase?” Shōta complained. 

“I'm great at the cuddle phase,” Hizashi protested, pointing at Shōta. “You just think it should be way longer than anyone else, with a nap in the middle.”

Shōta got dressed and followed Hizashi down to the main floor, sulking the whole time. 

Yoko looked up and grinned. “Vintage Kata-kun. No turquoise though. Is that your natural color?”

Shōta ran his hand over his newly-cropped black hair self-consciously. “Yeah…”

“Glad you're not orange anymore. It didn't suit you. Plus it was making me feel weird to have 2 of us.” Hitomi chipped in. 

Izuku walked over holding an 24 ounce mug of coffee. 

Shōta's eyes widened. “Where did you find a mug that big?”

“I saw it in a store window and thought you needed it." Izuku shifted. "You wouldn't have to get up for refills as much. Practical.” 

Between fake coughs, Naoki muttered, “teacher's pet.”

Shōta took the mug and looked at Izuku seriously. “You are my favorite child.”

Hizashi squawked and wrapped his arms around Naoki. “Shōta, you can't have favorites!”

Shōta grunted and took a sip of the coffee. He blinked in surprise and looked at the drink, then back at Izuku. 

Izuku paled. “Did I mess it up? It's the Colombian blend that–”

Shōta's voice was rough. “You did great, kid. Really great.”

Yoko put down the project she was tinkering with. “You're about to cry. About coffee.”

“Izuku just spoke Shōta's love language with a perfect accent,” Hizashi giggled. 

Shōta's cheeks turned as pink as his sweatpants. He looked at Izuku, who was bright red himself.

“Anyway, what did you want to show me?”

“I didn't believe it when Ultraviolet told me, but here you are.” Shigaraki stalked toward him. “This really hurts your cred, you know.”

“Excuse me for not being threatened by your opinion of me,” Shōta said blandly. 

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Do you actually practice martial arts too, or just flouncing around?”

“Of course. Do you?”

Shigaraki looked disgusted. “What are you implying?”

“I'll save us some time and just say it,” Shōta said, looking him directly in the eyes. “You fight like a rabid raccoon, so I'm guessing you've never actually been taught.”

“Nobody would teach me because of my quirk,” Shigaraki growled. “Thanks for bringing it up.”

“Ah.” Shōta fell into his usual slump. “Do you want to learn?” 

“What's the catch?”

“You actually refer to me by name.”

“Huh?” 

Shōta walked a few steps closer to Shigaraki. “The first time I met you here, you called me Eraser. Then corrected to Ruse. Neither of those is my actual name. And you haven't called me anything at all since.” 

“So, what? Tsubasa or Aizawa?”

Shōta waved a hand. “No, neither of those. I want you to call me Shōta. The name my mother gave me.”

Shigaraki flinched. 

“So?”

"I'll think about it." Shigaraki slammed the door behind himself.

Oboro held open the building's exterior door. “Are you sure about this?”

Shōta nodded. “Absolutely. 15 minutes or less, okay?”

He walked out onto the sidewalk, keeping his head down but looking up through his eyelashes. The small blue car was down a block and across the street. 

He crossed the street and approached in clear view, but with a casual enough gait that nothing unusual registered. At least not until he'd opened the passenger door and taken a seat. 

“Hey Sansa.”

The cat-quirked man startled, his fur raising. A second later, it smoothed somewhat. Then it poofed back out.

Shōta softened his expression. “Is Naomasa here too?”

Sansa tried to flatten his fur again but he was still too alarmed. 

Apparently not gentle enough yet. Shōta averted his eyes and risked a small smile. “It's fine, Sansa. Call him.”

Sansa reached for the radio. Shōta looked out the passenger window, projecting disinterest to put the other man at ease. 

“Detective, please make your way to my location.”

The radio chirped before Naomasa's voice came through. “Is everything okay, Tamagawa?”

“I think so, sir, no need to call attention to yourself. Just get in the back seat when you get here.” 

After the sound of returning the radio to its place, Shōta looked back. Sansa was awkwardly holding out an open bag of potato chips. They each took a few, snacking in silence until Naomasa got into the car. 

“Sansa, what – oh my God.”

Shōta turned in his seat. “You look tired, Naomasa.”

Naomasa stared at him. “You go missing for months and that's the first thing you say to me?”

“We've talked, multiple times,” Shōta replied, licking the salt off of his thumb & index finger. “You actually figured it out, but then you let your confidence in your quirk override your intuition.”

“You are Ruse.” Naomasa said, leaning back into the seat. 

“Yes.” Shōta frowned. “I wasn't exactly myself when you asked, so your quirk didn't register it as a lie.”

Sansa looked at his paws, processing that. “They're saying you're a villain, though.” 

Shōta looked at Sansa, then back to Naomasa. “Ask me.”

“Are you working with Shigaraki Tomura or any of his allies?”

“Ugh.” Shōta hit the side of his head against the headrest repeatedly. “Not a great question.”

Sansa looked horrified. “Are you?”

“Yes!” Shōta answered, exasperated. “I am!”

“Okay, okay!” Naomasa held up his hands. “Let me think.”

Sansa turned suddenly, his bell tinkling. “Do you support the realization of Shigaraki Tomura's ultimate goals of control and destruction, in Japan and beyond?”

“Thank God for you, Sansa.” Shōta sighed. “No, I don't. I'm doing everything I can to subvert those goals and save people.”

“True,” Naomasa said, though he didn't really need to, pulling down the brim of his hat. 

Sansa leaned forward, laughing into the steering wheel. “This has been the longest 5 minutes of my life.”

“Now what?” Naomasa asked, still hiding under his hat. 

“Well, I know that you're here because an ally told me. I doubt anyone else knows because we're still talking. So I see 4 options,” Shōta began. “The most ‘by the book’ option - you keep going like you are and blow everything I've been working on. People will get hurt.”

Sansa frowned.

“Second option - you throw the investigation and act like none of this ever happened. Third is similar - you throw it but keep lines of communication open.”

Naomasa flipped up his hat. “Do I want to know the 4th?”

“I don't think you'd see it as a real option. It's going rogue entirely.” Shōta laughed. “I'd prefer number 3, myself.” 

Sansa and Naomasa met each other's eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Think about it.” Shōta picked up the notepad and pen Sansa had sitting on the dashboard and jotted down a number. “Let us know what you choose.”

Chapter Text

He caught up to them just as Ultraviolet was opening the door to the medical area. He reached a hand out, ripping the door handle from her hand and slamming the door shut.

Eri screamed. Ultraviolet spun and pushed Eri behind herself. 

Shōta scrutinized Ultraviolet. Some of the tension had drained when she registered that he was the one behind them. She wasn't preparing for a fight or using her quirk. Was the move with Eri a protective one?

His voice was low. “Eri, come here.”

Ultraviolet didn't try to stop Eri, who readily walked to him.

Eri slid her hand into his. “What’s wrong?”

Shōta held Eri's hand tightly. “Why were you taking her there?”

“A check-up. They said she'll be visiting someone sick to refine Rewind,” Ultraviolet answered hesitantly. “Why?”

Shōta crouched down. “Eri, have you ever seen the doctor here before?”

Eri shook her head. “Never.”

“I took her once.” Ultraviolet said quietly. “She wouldn't remember.”

He made himself take a breath. “What was it?”

“It was when she first came,” Ultraviolet hurried to add. “I was there the whole time, and all they did was monitor her while she used her quirk. They wanted to get more ‘realistic’ readings so I made her ‘have a dream’ about helping animals at the zoo.”

He ached as Eri's fragile heart collapsed in on itself.

“I'm sorry, Eri-chan.” Ultraviolet was just as teary. “They made me. But I'd never do anything to hurt you.” 

Ultraviolet crossed her arms - no, she was holding her own arms against herself, gripping by the elbows. Vulnerability. Self-protection. She meant it. 

Shōta clenched his jaw. He wanted to just be furious with her. Instead, he spoke gently, like he was still speaking to Eri. “Fumiko.”

“Yes.” Her answer was immediate but unsteady.

“You weren't supposed to tell us about that, were you?” He stood, Eri clutching onto him desperately, as he asked the question. 

Ultraviolet shook her head. “No.”

He reached into his pocket, reactivated the earpiece, and put it into his ear. “Rife.”

“What? What happened? Where–” Izuku rambled. “Wait. Code name?”

“Just you. Northwest door. Now.” Shōta started walking, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Ultraviolet followed. 

“Suit?” Izuku asked amidst background clatter.

“Time is more important.”

“Got it.”

“You really don't know what they were planning for today, Fumiko?” Shōta asked.

“No?” Ultraviolet answered. 

Once he reached the door, Shōta turned and held her gaze. “Uchida asked permission for limits testing.”

The noise that came out of Ultraviolet was broken. “I swear, I didn't–”

A single, hard rap on the door. Ultraviolet's hands shook as she punched the code and shoved the door open. 

Izuku squeaked at the sight of Eri. She lifted her head at Izuku's voice and wailed. Shōta kissed Eri and held her out to Izuku. The two of them latched onto each other. 

“Have your breakdown later, Rife. Please. Go.” 

He turned to Ultraviolet so he wouldn't see them disappear from sight. Shōta put the earpiece into her ear instead. “You. Listen to what they tell you on your way to #68. Do not let anyone follow you. Do not come back. It will not be safe. I'm going to throw you under the bus hard.”

Ultraviolet hugged Shōta before disappearing into the night. 

Shōta waited for Ultraviolet to get a reasonable distance away before he walked back through the doors into the medical area. 

“Ah, my dear Ultraviolet, what took you so long?” the doctor called. He exited the exam room enthusiastically. 

Shōta stopped midstride. “What the hell does that mean?” 

Uchida's enthusiasm disappeared. “You better not be here to interfere, boy.”

Shōta twitched at the term. “They're supposed to be here already, aren't they?”

The moment that the doctor's glee at causing pain won out was obvious. He adjusted the goggles on his head, catching the light, as he walked closer. “Oh yes, they must be delayed, but I'm sure they'll arrive any minute now.” 

Shōta took an involuntary step backwards. 

“I'm quite curious to see just how far we can press the little girl's quirk without breaking her. These things do go wrong occasionally though, and we must extract the quirk from an unresponsive subject.” Uchida shrugged. “But, sometimes science requires that we break an egg or two along the way.”

Shōta shook his head. “If you think that I'm going to let you even look at her, you're mistaken.”

“You don't make the decisions here. Get out.” The doctor turned his back to Shōta. “I have a procedure to prepare for.”

Shōta waved an arm and threw Uchida into the wall. 

The doctor fell to his knees. He was laughing. “Oh, finally using that quirk, are you? How exhilarating. Tell me, do you actually have it in you to do more?”

“To you? Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” The doctor rose to his feet. “I can see the way your heart races. The activity in your amygdala that you want to be anger but reads more like fear.”

Shōta activated Erasure and simultaneously held out both arms. He took a deep breath and clenched both of his own hands, telekinetically crushing the doctor's hands and wrists. 

The doctor kept laughing while tears slid down his cheeks. He curled up in a ball on the ground. “Ah, Master, if only you could see.”

Shōta kicked him in the face. “Shut your mouth.”

Blood oozed out as the doctor spoke. “What a…glorious monster…”

Hisoka threw the bloodied and half-delirious doctor at Shigaraki's feet. 

Shigaraki smiled at him. “We were pretty clear that you could stay only if you didn't interfere with Eri's work here.”

Hisoka tried to wipe his face, but all it did was smear blood around. “He has no idea where Eri is, or where Ultraviolet is. Do you?”

“Kurogiri!” Shigaraki yelled into another room behind him. “Find Ultraviolet! Now!”

“She last appears on security footage 45 minutes ago with young Eri, heading toward the medical area. Her code opened the Northwest door 30 minutes ago. That is all I can see. Things were clearly tampered with.” Oboro walked in and struggled not to visibly react to the overall scene. 

Hisoka started yelling before Shigaraki could catch it. “You…neither of you…know where my daughter is? You lost my daughter?!”

Hisoka stumbled back toward the door. 

Shigaraki stood.

Oboro put a hand on Shigaraki's shoulder. “Let him find some space, Master Tomura. It isn't as though he can leave the facility on his own. We need to find care for Uchida.”

Shōta sat against the wall in the dark training room, shaking from the sudden adrenaline crash.

What would Hizashi tell him right now?

The wins.

Eri was out of this place. Fumiko was out of this place. The doctor could never practice again. And he could keep trying to end this mess.

What a…glorious monster…

He couldn't remember after that, and he remembered Hisoka's shock when he was able to take over. Was that a good old fashioned rage blackout, or did something else happen? He kept trying to replay those moments, but nothing got any clearer.

Eri and Fumiko were out. The doctor couldn't hurt anyone else. He was still here.

Breathe.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of another person sitting down on the floor beside him.

Shigaraki held out a granola bar and a banana. Shōta's gaze lingered on them before shifting up to Shigaraki's face.

“Kurogiri always gave them to me when I freaked out. Something about blowing through all your blood sugar. I dunno.”

Shōta nodded and peeled the banana. At least the blood on his hands was dry enough now that it didn't get onto the fruit. He took a bite. It didn't taste like anything.

Shigaraki put the granola bar on the floor next to Shōta's leg. Then he folded his own arms on top of his knees. 

When Shōta dropped the banana peel onto the floor between them, Shigaraki scratched at his neck, but it was more thoughtful than frenetic. 

“I can't imagine either my father or Sensei caring enough to maim a person because of me.”

That was a concerning statement on so many levels, but Shōta couldn't manage to process it right then. “What are you going to do with Uchida?” 

“I dunno,” Shigaraki yawned. “He's a bastard. I don't want to take care of him.”

Shōta laughed. 

“What? The former hero's not going to go on about my responsibility to my organization's people or some shit?” 

“The former hero put him in that condition. Seems a little hollow at this point.” Shōta unwrapped the granola bar. 

“I guess we could drop him somewhere and let the cops take him?”

“Why bother if you plan to destroy the society that you're tossing him onto?” He took a bite of the granola bar. It also tasted like nothing. 

Shigaraki groaned. “I don't know, I have to do something with him in the meantime?”

Shōta pressed his lips together. “What does Sensei think?”

“No idea,” Shigaraki muttered. “Haven't spoken in months.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Pfft.”

“He made you public enemy number one and then just disappeared on you?” Shōta said dubiously.

“Whatever,” Shigaraki said, standing and stalking toward the door. “Take a shower. You're getting blood on everything.”

Chapter Text

5 AM. Shōta groaned. 14 hours. He'd been asleep for 14 hours. 

He pushed to his feet. God, everything hurt. He winced at the tiny amount of natural light seeping past the blinds. HIs own footsteps sounded and felt thunderous. All of it made his head hurt and his stomach seize. 

He got into the shower fully-clothed. At least the fabric would dampen the hammering sensation of the water on most of his body. He kept his eyes closed, specifically not looking at how much red-brown was going down the drain. 

After a few minutes, he'd mostly acclimated to the water pressure and temperature. He peeled off the soaked clothes and kicked them away from the drain. He scrubbed at his skin, opening his eyes just enough to see where he'd need to scrub harder. He noticed idly that a few of the knuckles on his right hand were split. 

The water was still warm but he shivered anyway. He turned off the water as soon as he could, drying off and dressing as quickly as his heavy limbs would allow. He headed back for bed but realized the bedding was garbage. He pulled it off, which reminded him to reach inside the mattress for the now-orphaned second earpiece. 

He rolled onto the bare mattress and put the earpiece in. He listened to Oboro give Naoki directions for making pancakes. Not the best subject for calming his stomach, but their familiar voices helped.

Quirk exhaustion was a bitch.

Nezu looked up at him, his ears and whiskers tilted forward. 

Shōta ran through what he'd read in his mind. That meant…interest? Or was it distaste? He looked away and hunched his shoulders. This was a mistake, wasn't it?

His clothes were new. Actually new, not new to him. He'd never had actually-new clothes before, except for the standard- issue juvie uniforms, and those had been terribly itchy. The clothes Nezu had given him to leave the facility were buttery-soft. It was a different kind of uncomfortable. 

Nezu's whiskers twitched in his periphery. “Are you all right, Shōta-kun?”

Shōta swallowed and looked down, nodding his head. “Fine.”

“I may not be very good at human body language,” Nezu mused, “but I am fairly certain that you're feeling some anxiety.”

Looking out the window at the increasingly well-kept and even well-designed buildings wasn't helping. The fashionably dressed pedestrians weren't either. They all just added to the feeling that he didn't belong. He went back to looking at his lap. 

“I tried to read some about rat body language before, but I couldn't find much in the library and there weren't good illustrations.” Shōta said softly.

“Well, this will be quite the adventure for both of us then!” Nezu chirped, his whiskers twitching again. “Perhaps we can just do our best to name our feelings so that we can learn from each other? This idea has me quite curious.”

“I'm…unsure? What if I don't know?” Shōta's brows furrowed.

“It's quite normal for preteen human boys to struggle with naming their emotions from what I understand,” Nezu said. “We'll simply do our best, pup.”

“Okay.” Shōta let his hair fall over his face. 

Nezu held his tail. “A woman in your neighborhood told me that you were an unusually dedicated student of martial arts and dance. Would you like to resume those?”

Shōta straightened suddenly from excitement, then slumped again. “I couldn't ask you to do that, Nezu-san, they're…expensive.”

The car stopped. 

Nezu chuckled. “Do not concern yourself with that. I would not have taken you in if I couldn't provide for your wants as well as your needs. Although the way that Mita-san talked about it, these lessons may rise to a ‘need’ for you. Shall we go inside and see your new room?”

Shōta stepped out onto the sidewalk and Nezu held his hand with one paw. He felt…hopeful, maybe? 

Shigaraki lounged back on the couch, both his arms stretched open across the back of the cushions. Oboro remained stolid behind the couch as usual, his hands clasped behind his back. Quiet and nonreactive. 

“When are you going to get out of whatever funk this is?” Shigaraki asked, scowling.

Shōta dropped onto the couch across from him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it's been nearly a week since you gave any updates on getting Garaki back, and you're not even keeping up with your morning training,” Shigaraki growled. “You think I'm housing and feeding you for free?”

“You sleep until 2 PM most days. How would you even know if I wasn't training?” Shōta rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. 

“Because I've actually woken up early the last 3 days and you haven't been there,” Shigaraki snarled. “It's ticking me off.”

“Why have you been doing that?” Shōta said, blinking slowly.

Shigaraki mumbled, "you’re a pissant, Shōta.”

Shōta lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Let's see your stance then.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind, I guess.” Shōta said, letting his head fall back again. 

Oboro cleared his throat, and Shigaraki sighed. The legs of the table whined as they were pushed across the floor.

“Aizawa-san,” Oboro said.

Shōta leaned forward again. In a flash of movement, he drove his shoulder into Shigaraki's stomach and swung a downward-arching punch toward his cheek. He pulled the punch before it struck though, and caught the younger man before he could actually fall to his back.

Once he'd righted Shigaraki, Shōta asked, “what about your stance let me do that?”

Shigaraki blinked rapidly. “Uh…my hands were too low?”

“Good. And why could I knock you over so easily?” Shōta scratched his cheek. 

“You were already close,” Shigaraki said.

“Partially, sure. Your feet were also too close together,” Shōta added. “Show me again and I'll move you to a better stance.”

Shigaraki dropped into a fighting stance, and it was already better. Shōta shifted Shigaraki's feet, rotated his hips slightly, and lifted his fists. 

Shōta stepped back and considered him. “Put a little bounce in your knees. You want to absorb movement, like a building in an earthquake. If you're too rigid, you're first to fall.”

Shigaraki shifted. “Like this?”

Shōta nodded. “That's it, Tomura.”

Shigaraki stood normally. “Uh…”

“Did I tell you to stop holding that?” Shōta asked sharply. 

“Right,” Shigaraki said, repositioning himself mostly as he had been. 

“Left foot half an inch back, and turn your hips,” Shōta instructed. 

The younger man did as he was directed and waited for a nod of approval before speaking again. “Now what?”

Shōta grinned. “Now we get to see how long you can even hold that.”

“This feels like an intervention,” Shōta monotoned.

“It is!” Hitomi cheered.

Yoko elbowed her. 

“What?” Hitomi asked innocently. “You literally described it using those exact words before!”

Yoko turned Hitomi's face to look at Shōta. His expression wavered, a constantly-shifting balance of betrayal and fury. She put it together and clammed up. 

“Just to be clear, we love having Eri here,” Izuku piped up, squirming a little at the reminder that he'd left her to sleep in peace. 

“Yes. It's just…there's a lot of other stuff that we're less sure about,” Naoki added awkwardly.

Shōta rubbed the bridge of his nose. “For fuck's sake, Fumiko is right there.”

“Can you help us understand why she's here, but the doctor is in the hospital?” Yoko suggested. “We want to understand what's going on and make sure you're still…okay…ish.”

Shōta got to his feet. “If you'd heard what he said, you wouldn't be asking.” 

Hizashi reached out to hold his hand. “So tell us.”

He pulled his hand from Hizashi's, pacing instead. “He said that sometimes science breaks an egg or two.”

Seeing the confusion in the others, Fumiko spoke up with a shaky voice. “The quirk limit testing he was about to do on Eri. Sometimes the person is permanently damaged, or just doesn't make it.”

“What the actual fuck,” Naoki whispered.

“And teaching Shigaraki how to fight?” Hizashi asked, sitting on his own hands. “The man literally took your eye out, Shō.”

Now those fingernails were gouging into his right eye. The eye gave way with a searing heat and a sickening pop. 

Shōta glowered at him. “You think I've forgotten?”

“No, I know that you haven't, I just…hate it,” Hizashi admitted softly.

Shōta stopped moving and took a deep breath. 

Hisoka turned on his heel to face them all. “I don't know if you thought of this as a supportive little family confab, but it definitely is not. Now that we're all here, though, let's just get one thing clear. The same people that bent us into a tool also bent Fumiko and Tenko. We were all made to do terrible things. Now Fumiko and Tenko are both questioning. Doubting. Changing. If you can't accept that they can be and do better, then you can't accept that we can either. We're damned right alongside them. Figure your shit out and decide if this is really where you want to be.”

After an oppressive couple seconds of silence, Hisoka turned and slammed the door on his way outside. He leaned against the outside of the brick building and shut his eyes.

When Shōta opened his eyes again, the two teens were on each side of him, leaning against the wall and pressed against him just enough to feel solid. 

“Hey, old man,” Naoki said casually. 

Izuku brought his gaze back down from the clouds. “Need anything?”

He smiled, ducking his head as if he still had his scarf to hide in out of years of habit. “Nah. Got everything I need right now."

Chapter Text

The door opened and Hizashi poked his head out.

The three already outside moved in sync. Naoki, nearest the door, simply turned his head to glare at the blonde. Shōta leaned forward just a bit to level his own disgusted expression. Izuku leaned further still, looking uncharacteristically dark.  

To Hizashi's credit, he didn't wince or back away. He walked the rest of the way onto the sidewalk to stand before the three of them. “So no surprise that everyone inside had their asses handed to them by UA's Hero Law and Ethics teacher, who was raised by the previous holder of that position, now principal. And each of them is in the midst of simultaneous personal and societal moral crises.”

“Growth hurts,” Shōta replied curtly.

Hizashi rubbed his chest, humming lightly for a second to feel the vibration. An old, practically extinct self-soothing habit. 

Shōta folded his arms. “You asked questions but that was like a group interrogation. Was there actually some version of events in your mind where that didn't blow up in everyone's face?”

“Yes, although I understand if you think that's bullshit. Even though it's true, it sounds like bullshit to me as I'm saying it,” Hizashi said breathlessly. “I didn't want it becoming some weird game of telephone where your words got repeated out of context or changed tone, and now they seemed like something else altogether. I think we just got too used to being able to play back recordings?”

Shōta tilted his head. “So you don't trust me to have reasonable adult relationships, you don't trust everyone else to, or both? Keep digging, Yamada, you're doing great.”

Hizashi jolted at the use of his family name. “Okay, fine, ‘shut up’ message received.”

Shōta, in turn, winced at Hizashi's choice of words. “All right, Problem Children. Inside.”

The teens exchanged glances before withdrawing. 

“Hizashi, I'm upset with you but I don't want you to shut up.” 

Hizashi sighed. 

"Ever."

Hizashi nodded.

“You're holding it in.” Shōta tilted Hizashi's chin up so their eyes met. “Talk.”

“Okay.” Hizashi looked up, blinking rapidly. “You know that I'm allowed to be afraid for you, right? Not because I think you're fragile. You're not. I know that you're not.” 

“But?”

“But you're also not invincible.”

“I know that,” Shōta replied. 

“Do you? Because you keep throwing yourself at these impossible situations alone. But you don't need to.” Hizashi's tears finally overflowed. “We're finally an ‘us,’ Shō. We can't keep being an ‘us’ if you break yourself.”

“...okay.”

“Okay?” Hizashi asked. 

Shōta licked his lips and nodded. “Okay. I hear you.”

“You actually showed up,” Tomura groused. 

“Didn't know anyone was expecting me before,” Shōta responded easily. “Now I do.”

Tomura crossed his arms. “Right.”

“Stance.”

Tomura dropped into the stance from the day before almost perfectly.

“Hips,” Shōta corrected simply. 

The younger man adjusted with a small huff. 

“Excellent, Tomura.”

A slight pink colored Tomura's usually pallid cheeks, alongside a small smile. “You just gonna make me stand like this again?”

“Not just that. But stay.” Shōta peered at his hands. “Have you ever broken anything from punching?”

“Yes,” Tomura said with an unsettling grin. 

“I meant your own bones,” Shōta retorted. "Specifically in your hands and wrists.”

“Oh.”

Shōta sighed. “Give me two thumbs up.”

“Earn it.”

“Break your thumbs then.”

“What the fuck, Shōta.”

“Listen or get out, Tomura.”

“I hate you,” Tomura said, shoving his two thumbs up into Shōta's face. 

Shōta calmly folded each of Tomura's thumbs against his middle and index fingers, pushed his hands back down, and aligned his wrists in a neutral position. “Hate me with intact bones.”

“I already mastered that.”

“Your cop friends went to the address I had for the ‘sick person’ Eri was supposed to help,” Oboro said, loosening his tie and undoing the first several buttons of his shirt. “It's abandoned.”

“And no one has reached out to you?” Shōta asked.

Oboro shrugged, straightening up the living space. “Not yet, but it's still new.  They're being cautious after the shake-up.”

“Yeah.” Shōta rubbed the back of his neck and started to pace.

“You're thinking about drastic shit. I can see it in your face,” Oboro said. “You gotta chill, bro. And I don't mean ‘nap.’ You need a middle gear.”

“I've never had a middle gear.” 

“And doesn't that explain basically everything?” Oboro said with a laugh. 

“I guess it does.” Shōta snorted. “Usually I'd train or patrol to work it out, but basically all my time right now is training Tomura. Just looking for lapses in form.”

“Then go patrol?” Oboro responded. “Blame it on other organizations encroaching too close or something.” 

“That'll make it harder for Nao and Sansa to claim they didn't find anything.” Shōta stopped walking, turned to Oboro, and grinned slowly. 

Oboro froze. “I don't know what you're thinking, but I already hate it.”

“Oh come on,” Shōta laughed. “Just spar with me.”

“All Kurogiri was ever allowed to do was look menacing and make warp gates,” Oboro answered. “I'm not volunteering to get my ass handed to me, my man.”

Shōta collapsed onto the couch. 

“Someone has been spending too much time with Tomura,” Oboro jabbed playfully. “Use Ultraviolet's door code. Go beat up Hizashi and your kids.”

“Fine, but I'm asking Hitomi about a quarterstaff while I'm there.”

“If we are going to spend a 5th day on nothing but holding a fighting stance and making a proper fist, I'm going to scream.” Tomura's words were all impatience, but his tone and his posture gave him away.

“Somebody's excited,” Shōta observed.

“Whatever,” Tomura grumbled back, sitting down to begin stretching without being prompted.

Shōta scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “We can work on throwing a punch today.”

Tomura looked at him. “So you're going to teach me something I already know?”

“You also ‘already knew’ how to stand and how to make a fist, Tomura,” Shōta reminded him. 

The younger man looked thoughtful. He was quiet for the rest of his stretches, and Shōta was in no rush to change that. He simply waited until Tomura had finished and taken up his fighting stance.

Shōta walked around Tomura slowly, looking for even the smallest correction, and didn't find any. He examined his fists next, seeing no adjustments needed there either. 

“Okay, when you punch –” Shōta began.

“You aren't going to tell me to move my head a millimeter to the right?” Tomura interrupted.

Shōta raised an eyebrow. “No.”

Tomura looked at him skeptically. 

Suddenly, Shōta thought of talking to Naoki in Hizashi's kitchen, and he understood. It still felt incredibly uncomfortable. “They're perfect. It probably doesn't feel like it, but you're learning quickly, Tomura.” 

Tomura smiled and his face looked totally different. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”  

“So, uh…you wanted me to call you the name your mother gave you.” Tomura said. He stood normally, but Shōta didn't scold him. “That was like…a thing for you.”

Shōta nodded and waited.

“My mother didn't name me Tomura. She named me Tenko. So…you should call me that. Right?”

“If you want me to.”

Tomura nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay, Tenko.”

Chapter Text

“Tenko.”

“Let me guess. You still don't feel good about this?”

“You can't see it, but you already know the face I'm making.” Shōta answered.

“It's only me, you, and Kurogiri. We need to increase our numbers,” Tenko argued.

Shōta scanned their surroundings as they walked. “Do we? Or are we just opening ourselves up to attacks?”

“It wouldn't kill you to take a risk,” Tenko grumbled, turning left down the next street. 

Shōta adjusted the settings on his helmet to speak through the earpiece only. “Amplitude, turn left.”

“I saw, Ruse,” Naoki answered quickly but calmly. “I'm watching.”

“There's more than 3 people at the rendezvous point,” Izuku reported. “I'm more than a block away and I can already see that.”

“Can you get closer without being seen, Rife?” Shōta replied. “I don't want to cause alarm over people going for a late night walk.”

“No,” Izuku responded. 

“All right. Let me know if you see anything else,” Shōta said, changing back the settings. “We're close enough now, we should stick to code names.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tenko said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We're still half a mile away.”

“I'm really close to turning around,” Shōta threatened. “Take this seriously.”

Tenko stood up straighter. “Fine, Ruse, I'm super serious now.”

“Thank you, Shigaraki.” Shōta rolled his eyes and looked to the rooftops again. They caught on movement. 

“Area Heroes. I have eyes on S-rank villain Shigaraki Tomura and A-rank Ruse. They're traveling east on Magiyama.” 

He reached for his helmet right as Izuku spoke.

“Was that Mandalay?” Izuku asked.

“Was what–” Naoki asked.

“Yes. Luckily she still sees us, or some version of us, as heroes.” Shōta replied. He pushed Tenko into the next alley.

“What the hell?” Tenko complained. 

Shota flipped up the visor. “Heroes know we're here. Mandalay just broadcast our location.”

Tenko narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

“I'll distract them. Go by the sewers. Nobody will see you, and nobody will be able to track you.” Shōta pushed Tenko toward the manhole cover behind him and hoped that Naoki got the message to leave Tenko alone.

“Really? Or do you just not want to do this?” Tenko challenged.

Shōta growled and lifted the cover. “You are wasting time.”

He replaced the cover as soon as Tenko was low enough and flipped down his visor. “Make sure he makes it back, Amp.”

Naoki's reply was a faint whisper. “On it. What are you gonna do?”

Shōta pulled himself up the building, flinging himself up over the top ledge, and started running. “I'm going to make a scene.”

He took off toward the busy entertainment district. He had no doubt there would be plenty of bar and restaurant goers to disappear amongst if he could get there.

“I've lost eyes on Shigaraki but Ruse is moving, by rooftops, northwest. Remember, HPSC orders are to capture and contain only. Keep force to a minimum.”

“Do you want me to intervene?” Izuku asked. 

“No,” Shōta said, keeping his answer short to conserve oxygen. 

Shōta could hear heavy feet behind him, so he made a point to move in an erratic zig-zag pattern. It would be harder for a bigger hero to follow his path. They were lagging, but still much closer than he wanted. 

He made it into the busy district and was about to drop onto the street.

“I think–” Shōta began. 

He was hit from the side just as he leapt. Arms wrapped around him. His cloths were already secured around a bright display across the street, so the pair swung into that building's 2nd floor first. Pedestrians screamed and darted out of the way, clearing a space for the two to slam into the sidewalk. 

The person scrambled up from on top of him, eyes wide. “That did not go the way I saw it in my head, Ruse-san, I'm sorry!”

Shōta hissed and rolled onto his back to look up at Kirishima. “S’okay, Red.”

Sato pushed his way through the crowd. He drew back right at the edge. “Maybe I shouldn't have thrown you.”

At least Shōta could look forward to reaming these kids out, because he was definitely not getting up and running away. He laughed even though it hurt. “You threw him?”

Sato kneeled down. “I mean, we couldn’t catch you otherwise. You're crazy fast, Ruse-san.”

“How much sugar did you eat first?” Shōta demanded, coughing.

“Red, call EMS. Ruse-san, stop talking. You sound…awful,” Sato said, holding his arm.

Shōta caught the distant flash of green flying toward them “Ah…sorry boys. Rife's coming. Gotta go.”

In a blink, he was gone.

“You're all over the news,” Tenko growled over the phone. 

“Yeah, well, as you'll recall…I had a bad feeling about the whole thing,” Shōta snapped back. He looked out across the rooftops and let the breeze calm him. 

“And your rescuer?” Tenko huffed. 

Shōta frowned. “He was my student and he knows I'm Ruse. I would have done the same for my sensei if it came up.”

“Whatever. What are the chances he'd even be close enough?” Tenko challenged.

Oboro cut in. “Master Tomura, the odds are quite miniscule. But most urgently, it would be very unwise to remain in Ishinomaki.”

“And if he tries to contact us?” Tenko asked impatiently.

“We will take the means of communication with us wherever we choose, Master Tomura,” Oboro intoned. “Yet if we did not, he would find a method, should he so desire.”

Tenko seemed to accept that. “Where then?”

“I'm fairly certain Garaki is inside UA,” Shōta said. “If he remains the primary objective, maybe somewhere in Aichi or Yamanashi?”

“What, did almost getting captured scare you too much to even be in the same prefecture as the place?” Tenko mocked.

“Are you in such a rush to almost get captured again that you'll take unnecessary risks?” Shōta asked, flippant.

Hizashi leaned back slightly, but not so far that he couldn't keep listening in. He signed, “is he really that easy to manipulate?”

Shōta grinned wickedly and signed back, “everyone is.”

“Kurogiri, find somewhere in Shizuoka,” Tenko said, full of bluster. “Make sure it's far enough from UA that poor little Ruse doesn't explode.”

“I require more precise guidance than that, Master Tomura,” Oboro stated. “Would 3 municipalities distant be sufficient?” 

“I'm sure UA has its hands full with the areas it patrols. Move just outside of that,” Tenko directed.

“You're a hazard to yourself, and us. You know that, don't you?” Shōta said bitterly.

“You'll be back tonight?” Tenko asked instead of replying.

Shōta used his eyedrops since he was clearly too wiped out for rubbing his eyes to make an impact. “Doctor here says tomorrow morning.” 

“Fine. Be ready to leave.”

The phone disconnected abruptly. Shōta looked at it, sighed, and put it into his pocket alongside the eyedrops. “He's less mature than my 7 year old.”

Hizashi chuckled. “So tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. Lots to do still.” Shōta rolled his shoulders. “I have to check on the Problem Child.”

Hizashi turned and his eyes flicked to the left. “Looks like he found you first.”

Shōta turned. A teary Izuku was picking at his fingernails. Hizashi patted Izuku's shoulder on his way back inside. 

“Come ‘ere, kid.” Shōta held out an arm. 

Izuku trotted over and tucked himself against Shōta.

“You and I both know that announcement's bullshit.” Shōta squeezed Izuku's shoulder.

“It's everywhere,” Izuku said softly. “C-can't get away from it.”

“It doesn't matter. Anyone who has actually met you knows it's wrong,” Shōta replied firmly. “I can't imagine anyone less villainous than you. You cried this morning over a video of a baby sleeping on a puppy." 

Izuku turned his head into Shōta's shoulder and sobbed. "They were both so small!"

"Right. Exactly." Shōta sighed, rubbing Izuku's back. "Is this moment what you'd imagine when you hear '2 S-ranked villains teamed up'?"

Izuku's sobs turned to giggles. "I'd be more sure I could win at least, if this is what they were all like."

"You'd win either way. You're a beast, kid."

Shōta's phone rang and he picked it up to look at the screen. 

Rat.

Hisoka answered. “Otōsan.”

“Shōta-kun.”

“Close enough,” Hisoka granted. 

Nezu missed a beat before continuing. “Shall we try this conversation over as you'd suggested?” 

Hisoka laughed, probably harder than he should have let himself. “You are an absurd creature, you know that?”

“Perhaps,” Nezu said impatiently. “Your behavior is causing significant disturbances on my campus, centered within Class 1-A.”

“That's none of my concern anymore,” Hisoka said brusquely. “Is that the only reason you're calling me?”

“This class had been so special to you,” Nezu bargained. “I thought you would care that they're in crisis.”

“And I thought you would care when I was in crisis, Otōsan.” 

“What?” Disbelief – no, indignance?

Hisoka grimaced, feeling Shōta's struggle against him. “I was already planning on being in Shizuoka in 2 days. Tell me when and where. And it had better not be an ambush.”

Chapter Text

He slouched into the outdoor café’s chair, an old capture scarf mostly concealed by the oversized hoodie he was burrowed inside of. Being back in town meant being able to ‘break into’ his off-campus apartment for some things. 

“You ready?” Izuku asked, over the communicator.

Shōta stared down the street. “No.”

“I thought you got along pretty well before with adopt-a-pops,” Naoki replied.

Shōta snorted. “What did you just call him?”

Naoki laughed. “I got him, Zuzu!”

“All right, quiet you two," Hizashi laughed. "He's around the corner, Shō. It looks like he actually did come alone.”

“I'm turning off the microphone,” Shōta said quickly before tapping the earpiece.

Nezu rounded the corner, walking rapidly. He looked the same as always, with his suit pressed just so and his fur carefully conditioned. His ears twitched a bit more than usual, though, and his teeth clicked anxiously. 

Shōta could feel Hisoka hovering right at the edge of his consciousness. Shōta pressed him back. He needed this to have a real chance. 

Nezu sat down, keeping his eyes averted. Shōta took the extra saucer off the top of a teacup and slid it across the table. The rat looked intently at the tea before taking a sip. 

“I have been giving significant thought to our last several conversations,” Nezu said, tracing a pad along the rim of the tea cup.

Shōta held the coffee mug in front of his face with both hands. Nezu looked up, his eyes catching on the bite mark scarred into the back of Shōta's right hand.

“These last several months have shown me just how affected I am by parental irrationalities, as well as the fact that I'm generally not seen as subject to such things.” Nezu's eyes shifted to Shota's. “I regret that my own pain and fear made me blind to the implications of your ‘false accusations,’ and unwilling to entertain your request to try again.”

Shōta set the mug on the table before his increasing grip shattered it. His jaw set. “Go back further.”

Nezu took another sip of tea. “Hm?”

Shōta leaned forward over the table. “You knew who I was when I asked to meet in Akabane. You disappeared before answering. You stayed silent even when I messaged again with an offer to show my face.”

“I miscalculated.” Nezu folded his paws.

“You miscalculated,” Shōta repeated, leaning back. 

Nezu's tail flicked in mild irritation. “Yes. I had hoped that your departure from Shizuoka was another short-term affair, so I focused my energy on the investigation with Detective Tsukauchi and Iida-san. Your interest seemed high and I hoped that it would hold until your return. I certainly did not expect you to appear in public with Midoriya-kun, and I did not handle it well.”

“Had you considered why my interest was suddenly so high?”

“I can't say that I did.” Nezu's ears flattened. “Would you like to tell me?”

“The…add-ons?...to my quirk. They aren't blocked off anymore. Not completely.” Shōta hooked both hands into the scarf, shoulders rising. “Started in May. They're getting stronger.” 

Nezu tensed. “Ah. And in July?” 

“I started to remember…things…”

Nezu reached across the table and Shōta slid his chair back a few inches reflexively. Nezu's nose twitched. 

Shōta's eyes went slightly out of focus while he convinced Hisoka to wait, that this wasn't a threat yet. When his full awareness returned, Nezu's paw rested on the table and his head hung low. Shōta stared at the outstretched paw, his hands tightening on the scarf.

Nezu's eyes lifted at the movement.

Shōta took a drink of coffee in a fruitless attempt to make it less painful to talk. “Why did you really decide to take me in?” 

“I'm going to ask you a question, but I'm not trying to be evasive.” Nezu said gently. “When you first agreed to foster Eri, what were the reasons you gave?”

“I could deactivate her quirk when it went out of control, until I could give her sufficient training to manage it herself. Plus living at UA would keep her safe from exploitation,” Shōta answered automatically. 

Nezu nodded. “Rational, practical, short-term aims. And yet, by March she was embedded in your life and your heart. To the extent that, to get her back, you've transformed from a somewhat aimless vigilante to an S-ranked villain in just three and a half months.”

“So you started with practical reasons.”

“Yes. I wanted to keep you from your grandfather's meddling, and I was unsure whether any subconscious programming might lay under the surface.” Nezu smiled. “But then, before I knew it, I realized that I saw Aizawa Yuki's son as my own son too.”

Shōta's heart soared before crashing back down. Hisoka took the opening. “That sounds lovely, but when it came down to it, you assumed the worst.”

“I feared the worst. I let that fear lie to me and make my choices for me,” Nezu answered. “I was wrong.” 

Hisoka watched the rat's every twitch. He made no secret of how underwhelmed he was. 

“I'm sorry, Shōta-kun.” Nezu turned his outstretched paw so it faced pads-up. “Would you let me try again?”

“Do you honestly think you have any right at all to ask for that?” Hisoka arched an eyebrow.

“I'm aware of the position that I've put myself in, yes,” Nezu answered unflinchingly. “I hope, but I know better than to expect anything at all.”

“You have a lot to make up for.” Hisoka challenged. 

“I do,” Nezu agreed. 

Hisoka narrowed his eyes. “So much has changed. You wouldn't get to have a vote, or even an opinion, on any of it.”

“I understand.”

“You're not entitled to any information at all about what I'm working on, how, or why. And if I did tell you something, it cannot go anywhere or to anyone without my explicit permission.”

“Yes, Shōta-kun.”

“I already have Eri,” Hisoka glowered. “You wouldn't get to see or even talk to her until I decided this is stable enough to bring her back into it.”

Nezu winced, his teeth clicking anxiously again. “I…can respect that you want to protect her.”

“I can change these terms, or change my mind altogether, any time.”

The rat nodded. “Of course.”

Hisoka inspected him for any sign of insincerity. Seeing none, he relented.

“You can try again, then,” Shōta said, grasping Nezu's paw. 

The rat nodded, putting his other paw over Shōta's hand. “I won't let you down again, pup.”

Chapter Text

Uraraka released her quirk and landed in front of Shōta. Her stance wasn't even defensive. 

Shōta crossed his arms and leaned to one side. “Aren't you bold, Uravity.”

“I was hoping you'd show up again, Ruse,” she said confidently. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“I might not answer,” he replied, looking around for any sign of others.

She put a hand on one hip. “Did you use a different name for Deku in Ishinomaki?”

Seeing no signs of lurking pro heroes or hero students, he refocused on Uraraka. “Yes.”

He watched her. It never ceased to amuse him when people didn't know where to look because of the helmet, but she surprised him by sticking to one spot. She watched him right back. 

“Why?”

Shōta sighed. “The name you give yourself matters. It tells people who you are and who you want to be. Do you really think Deku represents Midoriya?”

“Hey!” Uraraka frowned. “It was really important to him that he made that name have a different meaning!

Shōta sat sideways on the ledge of the roof, one foot hanging over the edge. If he was going to get into an ideological debate, he was at least going to be comfortable. 

Shota gave up on trying to find less corny wording, knowing she'd probably love it anyway. “You thinking the nickname was Dekiru helped him a lot last year. He needed that positivity, to see himself the way you saw him. It helped him to grow past it all.” 

Uraraka sat a few feet in front of him, mirroring his pose. Shōta let himself smile at that since nobody would see it anyway.

She leaned forward on her hands, challenging. “What about other kids that need that story, so they can reimagine themselves too?”

Shōta mirrored her pose now, leaning forward onto his own hands. “It's a nice sentiment, but most of the public won't ever know that story. What they'll know is that the hero in front of them, the one that they're relying on in the worst moments of their lives, just introduced himself as ‘useless.’ If that happened to you, would you feel reassured?” 

“I guess I wouldn't,” she admitted.

“There's also the chance that someone will respond the opposite way to the story, like I did. When I knew where Deku came from, I was furious at the person that had hurt him, even though they're changing. In that case, the story being public knowledge could risk another hero that's trying to do and be better.”

“Oh.” She pursed her lips.

“He came up with Rife, the opposite of ‘useless,’ which he never was to begin with. He was fairly proud of himself, actually.” Shōta internally groaned before adding, “it was the next important change for him, after Dekiru.”

Uraraka's smile returned. “I like it. It's close to yours, too, which is kinda cute!”

“It's what now?” Shōta demanded.

Uraraka giggled. “You really didn't notice that it's only 2 letters different from yours?”

Shōta scowled. “I doubt that means what you think it does, kid.”

“Oh, Dek- um, Rife. He's one of my best friends. And a huge fanboy. It definitely means what I think it means.” 

“Ugh. Not interested.”

“Are you embarrassed Ruse-san?!" She tried to muffle her laugh, but that just made it even more obvious when it broke past her lips.

Shōta groaned, audibly this time. “Are you done?”

“Okay, serious.” Uraraka waved her hand in front of her face, trying to cool down her pink cheeks. “I don't think you're really a villain, but then why were you protecting Shigaraki that day?”

It was nice to see Uraraka, especially as she'd been growing into herself, but Shōta's social battery was quickly draining. He was starting to slouch. “People are more complicated than they seem on the surface, Uravity. The ‘good guys’ and the ‘bad guys’ alike. Most people just need a hand.”

“That's why he likes you!” Uraraka declared, pointing at him. “Rife sees the good in everybody first. And you, Ruse, see potential.”

"Mmm...maybe."

Shōta stood at the front of the classroom, shifting his feet. He'd lived in the same neighborhood all his life, so everyone had grown up knowing each other. Being introduced to a class was never necessary. 

Well, except 6 months ago, but he'd managed to introduce himself pretty effectively. 

This was definitely not that kind of place, though. He held out the slip of paper to the teacher and adjusted his actually-well fitted uniform. She tried, unsuccessfully, to get the class to settle.

A kid at the back finally shouted, “heyo, everybody, shut up!”

Shōta winced at the volume. The other students grumbled before quieting down too. At least the boy had the presence of mind to look sheepish.

The teacher smiled at the boy. “Thank you, class representative.”

“You got it, yo!” the boy called with a toothy grin, much quieter but still easily heard.

Shōta noticed that the empty desk was beside that boy. He looked down to hide the irritated grimace on his face. Maybe if he stared hard enough out of the window on the other side, the blonde wouldn't talk to him. He wrapped his hands around the stiff straps of the new backpack and waited.

“Class, we have a new student joining us. Please welcome Aizawa Shōta, who is transferring from…” She paused before awkwardly concluding with, “a specialty school across town.”

Shōta quickly did as he'd practiced with Nezu the night before, bowing and muttering, “please take care of me.” Then he hurried to the desk and sat down, wanting the attention off of him as soon as possible.

The class representative leaned over to whisper to him. “Hey, what kind of school was it? Like arts, or language, or an international school? Kinda weird to come to a general program after something like that.”

Shōta looked at him, then back at the surface of the desk. It was neat and smooth, not covered in gouges and graffiti. This place was freaking him out. It might not be awful to have a person to talk to, and who better than the class representative to help him figure out the place?

“I moved to a new apartment, so I had to change schools. I guess this one was the best one that was close.” Shōta's answer was just above a whisper.

“Groovy. I'm Yamada Hizashi by the way.” Shōta looked up just as the boy winked a striking green eye at him.

His stomach did a little flip. 

Oboro and Tenko were sparring when Shōta slipped into the training room. He took the chance to observe how each of them were progressing.

Tenko was getting faster, his movements becoming smoother. He would never be a tank, but that was fine. He was strong and lithe. Most importantly, his confidence was growing.

Both men were enjoying the bout. Oboro's eyes were lively, honestly a little too lively for Kurogiri. He should mention that later. Shōta wasn't sure yet how Tenko would respond if the mask slipped too far.

Shōta turned his attention to Oboro's progress and realized that Oboro wasn't wearing Kurogiri's usual garb. He was wearing loose blue track pants and a black t-shirt. Add the quarterstaff and…he looked like Loud Cloud. Shōta was looking at a grown-up Loud Cloud.

Tenko stopped suddenly, staring at Shōta. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oboro cracked Tenko lightly in the back of the head for his distraction before following Tenko's gaze and adopting a concerned frown of his own. 

Their reactions made him notice the tear stealing down his cheek. He pressed his palms to his eyes quickly. “Yeah, just…strained my eyes more than I realized, I guess.”

“Go take a nap or something then,” Tenko growled, rubbing the back of his head where he'd been hit with the quarterstaff. “It's freaking me out.”

Shōta lowered his hands. Oboro, standing behind Tenko, mouthed “tsunderes” and smirked. 

“Ugh. Right.” Shōta stifled a yawn. “All ready for tonight anyway. I think I should take Kurogiri. Doc might have specific advice.”

Tenko frowned, turning to look at Oboro. “Warp is helpful, but…I hope whatever fix doesn't turn him back into a total stick in the mud.”

“I can behave according to your specifications, Master Tomura, with better guidance,” Oboro said, bowing. Shōta knew the bow was at least 30% to hide a smile at the sort-of-compliment. 

“I have no idea how to teach you to chill out, Kurogiri,” Tenko complained. 

“I can ask if his suggestions would affect personality.” Shōta scratched his cheek. “Keep in mind, he could go completely the other direction and refuse to speak to us at all.”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get some sleep so you don't blow it.” 

Shōta grunted in response and turned to leave. He was surprised by Oboro following right at his heels. The door slammed behind them. 

“You really want me to go?” Oboro asked energetically. He easily kept pace as Shōta walked down the hall.

“Wouldn't have asked him if I didn't.” Shōta unzipped his suit to below his collarbone, rolling his neck. “If the doc doesn't have a solution to the quirks not staying fixed properly, then Shigaraki's stuck with just decay, even though the original AFO quirk is banging around in there somewhere. That changes the entire playing field.”

“Uh huh…” Oboro said, biting back a grin. “Say, are you just tired from being kept up all night, or did you actually overuse Erasure so Hizashi wouldn't level a city block?”

Shōta looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

Oboro poked him in the neck. “You are covered in hickeys, bro.”

Shōta clapped a palm over the spot Oboro had poked, flushing. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, that's not gonna happen. He gets points for keeping ‘em under the high collar, though.”

Chapter Text

Oboro looked at Shōta, wide-eyed. “I thought you were going to just like…ask Nezu to let us in.”

Shōta flipped up his helmet's visor. “Really, Oboro? Say we get caught by some third party, or it got leaked, and he had just rolled out the welcome mat for us. It would be a disaster.”

Oboro pointed at the massive barrier walls. “So your solution is to break in?! To this?!”

“Sounds crazy when you say it.” Shōta pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen.

“That's because it is absolutely crazy, Shōta.” Oboro's laugh had an anxious edge that he didn't bother hiding. 

“Stop worrying. I know what I'm doing,” Shōta assured him. He looked up at the barrier wall and saw the small hatch pop open. “Come on.”

Shōta flipped the visor back into place and darted from shadow to shadow. When no shadows remained to get closer, he sprinted and dove into the hatch. Oboro followed him with a curse.

“Never thought I'd wish for more ‘I dunno, gotta think it over’ energy out of you,” Oboro said, pushing back his drifts of cloudy hair in frustration.

“Hold on.” Shōta tapped to relock the vent. He exchanged his phone for another item in one of his belt pouches. He held it out to Oboro without fanfare. 

Oboro reached out, laughing, and put the goggles on his head. They held back the wisps just enough. “Full circle, huh buddy?”

Shōta gave a fleeting smile before turning to crawl through the duct. After about 500 feet, he dropped down into a service tunnel. Shōta withdrew the phone again and pulled up a map.

He kept his gaze down longer than necessary to let Oboro keep his dignity. The taller man had a hard time maneuvering inside the vent, so he tumbled more than landed on the floor beside Shōta. He barely avoided getting clocked by the quarterstaff that fell down after him. 

Shōta tucked the phone away again and started walking quickly. Oboro jogged to catch up.

“Ah, UA, just like I remember it,” Oboro said wryly. 

Shōta sighed. “Yeah, if Mei hadn't gotten schematics to Hitomi, I'd have no idea where I was going either.”

They proceeded through the maze of pathways and tunnels. Neither spoke, silent and wary. Shota stopped in front of a door ten minutes later. 

“The detention area is right through here.” Shōta said. “Are you ready to face him?”

Oboro smirked, exuding false bravado. “Ready as I'll ever be, Shō. You?”

“Too late to turn back, Oboro.”

They looked at each other, building their individual and collective determination. 

“All right,” Oboro said decisively. “Lead on.”  

Oboro reached between the bars with his quarterstaff, jabbing the sleeping person in the ribs. The usually happy-go-lucky man used surprising force. 

Garaki drowsily cried out, holding up his hands. “Mercy, mercy!”

“Doctor,” Shōta said, the modulation masking some of the inherent anger. 

The old man lowered his hands. Oboro withdrew the staff, resting one end on the floor. 

Garaki's face turned gentle and his tone was affectionate. “Kurogiri-chan? Where are your mists?”

Shōta's hands, already in loose fists at his side, tightened. “Kurogiri cannot generate warp gates, and Shigaraki Tomura cannot access All for One.”

Garaki approached the bars, scanning Oboro. “Did those meddling so-called-heroes damage you, my boy?”

Letting Garaki approach Oboro was part of the plan. It still made every muscle in Shōta's body feel ready to snap. Oboro stood rigidly and stared past the man to the wall, which thankfully played into Kurogiri's stilted mannerisms.

Shōta wanted to look away but knew he couldn't. The feeling wasnt new, especially given hero work. With the added context, though, it reminded him of resisting covering his ears when his father came home. 

Shōta swallowed the rising bile. “He can access the base quirk only, unless forcible activation is used. Dr. Uchida reported that this was due to the other quirk factors becoming ‘unfixed.’”

Garaki's eyes shifted to Shōta. “Who are you and why are you speaking for him?”

His feet felt rooted into the floor, and his mouth went dry. He reminded himself that he was an adult now, with bars between them and the ability to defend himself besides. 

Standing in front of the engineer of so much misery, his mind was able to fully grasp what they'd accomplished in the last 6 months. The labs were destroyed and would take years to truly rebuild. His grandfather was behind bars, and Uchida would never be able to continue the work. Unless All for One reappeared out of nowhere and recovered Garaki, the entire nomu program was functionally dead.

Functionally dead.

His own mind's choice of words punched a crescendoing, manic giggle out of him. It pitched erratically through the helmet's processor. 

Shōta stepped right up to the bars and grabbed Garaki by the mouth. “You're not entitled to that information. Tell us whether they can be repaired, and don't lie. Maybe then you'll be deemed valuable enough to break out of here.”

Garaki tried to wrench himself away. “Uchida would never be able to do the procedure, even if I told you what it was. I held back certain aspects. Self-preservation, you see.”

“Doesn't matter. Your years of training Uchida are meaningless now,” Shōta said, holding his face even tighter. “I crushed the bones in his hands into dust.”

A distinctly unheroic flash of glee shot through him at Garaki's sniveling reaction. Oboro put a hand on Shōta's back out of Garaki's sight, part grounding and part warning.

“Are repairs possible?” Oboro asked. 

Shōta wasn't sure if Oboro's disconnected tone was genuine or an affectation. That was more grounding, ultimately, than the touch. Shōta released Garaki and shoved him back a few steps in the process.

Garaki stuttered. “I…I d-don't know for sure because I don't know how they became unanchored.”

“You heard the man, Kurogiri. Let's get out of here.” Shōta turned.

“A moment, Ruse,” Oboro said, his intense gaze settling on Garaki's face for the first time. “You have a theory.”

Garaki held Oboro by the forearm, his eyes desperate. “Yes! Yes. I do.”

Shōta crossed his arms so he wouldn't be tempted to forcibly remove Garaki's hand. “Get on with it.”

Garaki's answering chuckle was breathy. “The implanted quirks need to be linked to the inborn quirk factor to activate properly. If those links were damaged, the implants would go dormant.”

Oboro shifted the staff to his other hand, effectively freeing his arm. Shōta could breathe a little easier again. Garaki, meanwhile, looked stricken at the loss of contact.

Still, the doctor continued speaking. “The body naturally attacks the added quirks and their connections, which is why frequent maintenance is required. Using the connective quirk tissue of donors, I surgically reestablish those connections.”

“Donors rarely survive such a procedure, correct?” Oboro asked.

Garaki grinned with excitement. “Yes, that is why I routinely harvest their entire quirk for future uses. It would be a sin to let such tools go to waste.”

“When was Kurogiri last…maintained?” Shōta was hyperaware of the rapidly advancing static, though it was balanced for now by Hisoka's firm presence. He wanted to stay with Oboro. 

“I'd guess about 5 years ago. Being conservative lowers the risks of side-effects. Maintenance would be more frequent for an increased number or complexity of quirks,” Garaki explained, his words a rush from his clearly building excitement. His eyes adopted a dreamy quality as he went on, “to think that Shigaraki Tomura should already need such drastic maintenance after only 6 months! Sensei's quirk truly is a force!”

“Master Tomura asked about the possible side effects of your interventions,” Oboro said.

“Ah, well. Ideally we would have an affected individual that's disposable, that way we could fully evaluate the risks of such radical maintenance…”

“We don't. Best guess?” Shōta asked.

“We could damage the added quirks. We could easily overcome that by sourcing a similar quirk. Lab-generated would also be an option but they tend to be less effective and degrade more quickly. If the inborn quirk was damaged, though, they would be effectively null for life.”

Shota's jaw ticked the use of “null,” a slur for people without quirks. Harvest. Disposable. Tools. Frequent maintenance. Sourcing a quirk. Shōta wanted to throw up, or break something. 

Instead, Shota prompted him simply. “Cognitive effects?” 

“Hm. Most nomu were made quickly rather than carefully. This maximizes their production and their obedience. The importance of permanent, meaningful control became apparent relatively quickly in early subjects, you see–”

Oboro interrupted him. “But if you took appropriate care?”

“Yes,” Garaki recovered quickly. “With such important patients, I'm confident that connections could be made while retaining the current intellect, memories, and personality of the base.”

“Are there any non-surgical alternatives?” Oboro asked. 

“Not that I have discovered.” With a broad smile, Garaki added, “Perhaps with more research.”

“Very well. Let us report back to the young master then, Ruse?” Oboro turned to Shōta.

Garaki reached his hand toward Oboro again. 

“Touch him and I'll use these bars to break your elbow,” Shota threatened Garaki. 

Garaki was a little more confident, having convinced himseld of his own importance. “If you did, how would I do these mission-critical, complex procedures?”

Shōta pulled Oboro closer to him. “You're only making it more appealing.”

Garaki had no idea how to respond, so he turned to Oboro.

“Kurogiri-chan, my child? I was always good to you. You'll advocate on my behalf, won't you?” Garaki begged Oboro.

Oboro didn't reply. He turned on his heel, returned the staff to his back, and set off. Shōta watched Garaki's face fall into what looked like genuine despair. Shaking away his confusion, Shōta moved to catch up with his friend.

As soon as the door to the service passageway closed behind them, Oboro started shaking like a leaf. Shōta pulled off his helmet and put it on the ground. When that wasn't enough, he pulled down the mask portion of the liner and leaned down with his hands on his knees. 

Shōta straightened back up once he was able to get a few decent breaths in. He looked at Oboro, whose shaking hadn't lessened a bit. The mists around his hands had started to swirl too.

Slowly and gently, Shōta put a hand on Oboro's arm. Oboro's eyes met his and they hugged each other fiercely. 

“Hey, we're okay.” Shōta's voice showed the strain as the adrenaline ebbed. 

“Yeah, of course we are,” Oboro said, forcing a little laugh. “We got through it.”

“We should go though,” Shōta said reluctantly.

“Right,” Oboro answered, taking and releasing a long, deep breath.

Shōta took a step back and watched Oboro as he picked his helmet up.

Oboro looked both ways down the quiet hallway. “Not to jinx it, but hasn't this been a little too easy?”

“I have been planning this for a while, but…yes." Shōta rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Otōsan's probably been watching from his office or something.”

"Indeed I have!" Nezu's voice echoed. A vent just above them swung open. Nezu dropped from it and landed on Shōta's shoulder. 

Oboro leapt back and held his quarterstaff at the ready. 

“Fucking hell,” Shōta hissed simultaneously.  

It was a good thing that Nezu had been dropping onto him like that near-daily for almost 20 years. Instinct, especially under the circumstances, told him to throw the rat into the wall as hard as he could. The personal history made it marginally easier to resist.

“Welcome back to UA, gentlemen,” Nezu chirped, taking a seat on Shota's shoulder and holding his neck for stability. “Perhaps we can share a calming cup of tea before you depart?”

Chapter Text

“You seem too comfortable with all of this,” Shōta observed. 

“Well, you neither broke out nor seriously injured your prey,” Nezu reasoned. “You snuck in and were about to sneak back out. There was no damage to property, no panic incited. This is possibly the least troubling villain incursion I could imagine.”

“Pragmatic,” Shōta scoffed. “But you're neglecting the–.”

Oboro swayed on his feet.  

Shōta dropped his helmet to the floor without a second thought to hold Oboro by the upper arms. “Hey! ‘Ro. Sit.”

With a nod and some poor coordination, Oboro sat. Shōta crouched, assessing him. 

“Tell me what you're feeling,” Shōta ordered. 

Oboro tried to smile. “Ridiculous.”

Shōta flicked him in the chest. “You know that's not what I mean. Your pupils are enlarged and you're sweating. What else?”

Nezu hopped to the floor. “Shall I call Recovery Girl, or perhaps your friend Hibino?”

“Just…coming down extra hard from the second adrenaline rush, I think?” Oboro said sheepishly. “I'm not a very good hero or a very good villain.”

“Knock that off.” Shōta pulled a half-ounce glucose gel packet from his belt and held it out.

Oboro stuck his tongue out before slurping it down. 

Shōta checked Oboro's pulse at the wrist. “I'll check again in a few minutes, see if that helped."

Nezu sat down beside Oboro and put a paw on his knee. “I am very glad that you're here, Shirakumo-kun.”

Oboro's brow creased. “You sure? Last time I was here, we almost killed Shō.”

“Don't do that to yourself,” Shōta answered immediately. “That wasn't really you.”

“I have all the memories of my body doing it, though. I remember how much we scared your class. And you,” Oboro babbled. “It was Hisoka, at the end, that saved the frog girl. Right? Asui?”

“Oboro, you're going to work yourself up into a 3rd adrenaline crash,” Shōta answered, ignoring the feeling of Nezu's eyes on him. “We can talk about the USJ another time, okay?”

Oboro nodded. “Promise?”

Shōta rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever. Think about something good instead.” 

A little bit of color returned to Oboro's cheeks along with his smile. “Oh yeah, after this–.”

“Think. Don't talk,” Shōta cut him off. 

“Oh, my bad,” Oboro answered. “I'm just excited about our plans for later.”

Nezu's tail swished. His interest was piqued. He knew better than to ask, though, as agreed the last time he'd seen Shōta. He asked a different question instead. “Did regaining your self lead to the loss of Warp, Shirakumo-kun?”

“No, but I think it may have sealed it? After that, I could use Cloud again.” Oboro held up a hand and demonstrated. “Although it's always going around my hands now.”

Nezu held his paw out towards Oboro's hand. “May I?”

Oboro put a hand in the rat's paw. Nezu examined the damp fingertips closely. Then he gestured for Oboro to lean down to examine the matching color shift in Oboro's hair. 

“I think that an override was put into place to set variable quirk activation levels.” Nezu said, taking a step back. “This allowed them to blend multiple quirks into Warp.”

Shōta tilted his head. “The sensations tied to quirk activation would be altered. Even more so if the modulator had reduced inputs. Alarming, when you consider the potential wear-and-tear due to inconsistent or persistent activation.”

“Quite,” Nezu agreed. “However, that would be the equivalent of an isometric exercise, which would have considerable effects as well.”

“I forgot how wild it was to watch the two of you talk,” Oboro jumped in. “Can I get a translation?”

Nezu frowned thoughtfully.

Shōta took off the helmet liner and scratched the top of his head. “Dimming switches.”

“Huh?” Oboro asked.

Nezu smiled and patted Shōta's hand. “Excellent explanatory device, pup!”

Shōta smiled for a second before wiping the expression away. “To avoid accidentally turning the lights off, dimming light switches have a safeguard. You have to press harder, and there's a different kind of ‘click.’” 

Nezu continued, “you have the mists around your hands because your quirk is fully dimmed but not actually off, and the color change is the result of chronic quirk fatigue. If you learn to fully switch it off, your hair and the clouds you generate should gradually go back to light blue.”

“So I need to press extra hard on the off switch,” Oboro said. 

Nezu grinned, his whiskers flicking forward. “Yes, precisely.”

“Turning it on will also take more and different effort, but it's likely that you'll be able to create larger effects in exchange.” Shōta pointed at him. “See if you can turn it off, but don't try to reactivate it. I don't have any more of those gels, and I'm not carrying you out of here.”

Oboro closed his eyes, and the mists disappeared from around his hands. Seconds later, a small cloud formed just above his palm.

Shōta growled and activated Erasure.

“Blugh, okay, you were right. That was a bad choice,” Oboro whined.

“Shōta, you're hovering,” Oboro teased. 

“I'll stop when you stop needing it,” Shōta snapped. 

Hibino pressed the stethoscope to Oboro's back and smiled kindly. “So you're like this all the time, not just with Bakugo and Midoriya?”

Shōta grunted. 

Oboro grinned. “When were you like this for the human firecracker?”

“Jaku,” Hibino answered before shushing Oboro and shifting the stethoscope.

Nezu's paws wrapped around Shōta's right hand. 

Shōta wasn't sure why he expected them to be cold, but they weren't. His paws were warm. Soft. Familiar. 

Not-Nezu's ears flattened. “Say something?”

“-can talk?” Nezu finished.

Shōta swallowed hard. “What?”

Nezu squeezed his hand with both paws. “I suggested that we should let Dr. Hibino and Oboro focus on their exam, and we can talk.”

After a moment without a response, Nezu tugged on Shōta's hand. 

“You trust me, don't you?” Hibino asked. 

Shōta scowled, all the alarm bells going off. He hated that question.

Oboro pushed Shōta's shoulder. “Go. I'll be fine.”

Shōta gave in, walking to the opposite corner of the infirmary and sitting where he could still see Oboro and Hibino. He pushed the rolling stool as far into the corner as possible, and his mind felt a little quieter. Nezu held out a fruit pouch to him.

“Thank you,” Shōta said quietly, reaching out and taking off the cap. 

“If you're going to insist on taking care of everyone else, then someone needs to take care of you,” Nezu replied, clambering onto the nearest seat beside him and taking his hand again. 

Shōta hummed absently and sipped on the pouch. They'd done what they needed to do. Oboro seemed fine, plus he was getting checked out by the doctor that had saved Shōta's own life. He was at UA. His Otōsan was here. It was quiet. 

He'd been cracking under the effort of keeping the static at bay, but he let go now. It rushed in, flooding his senses, and he let himself just float in it. He could rest for a few minutes. 

Nezu spoke up some time later, though Shōta‘s sense of time was too distorted to know how long it had been. 

“I'm surprised that your sharper self didn't talk to the doctor instead,” Nezu said. 

The static smothered his reaction. “I wanted to be the one with Oboro for this.”

Nezu's ears gave a tic in surprise at the direct answer. “It seems to have taken a lot out of you.”

Shōta capped the empty pouch and put it down. “I wasn't prepared for him to actually care about Kurogiri.”

“Ah, yes,” Nezu nodded. “His distorted paternalism for his ‘creations’ is odd.”

Shōta turned his head slowly to look at the rat. “Does that include me?” 

The static was starting to feel less like something to float in, and more like something to drown in. 

Nezu frowned. “I'm not sure, pup.”

“Okay.” Shōta rested his head against one of the walls and closed his eyes. “Tell me when one of us needs to come back.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, is this where you hide every day at lunch?”

Shōta looked around himself. There weren't a ton of people around, and that was part of why he liked the spot. It was quiet. He was also out in the open courtyard, sitting against a tree. 

Shōta frowned up at Hizashi. “Did you lose every game of hide and seek you ever played?”

“Ha! Good one!” Hizashi plopped down on the grass in front of him. “Mind if I join you?”

Hizashi was already unwrapping his bento before Shōta said anything, so Shōta just shrugged. 

“People keep asking me about ya because I'm the only one you say anything to.” Hizashi popped a grape into his mouth. “If you want them to leave you alone, try being less mysterious.”

Shōta picked at the grass by his feet. “That's dumb. They should just take a hint.”

Hizashi giggled. The sound made Shōta feel a little tingly. Shōta shook his head as though it could stop the reaction from having happened at all.

“Do you miss your old school? Your old friends?” Hizashi offered a grape.

“It's not the kind of place you miss,” Shōta mumbled. 

Hizashi leaned forward. “What?” 

“I said it isn't the kind of place you miss!” Shōta said, a little louder than he meant.

Hizashi leaned back. “Right, sorry, I'm not trying to bother you. Should I go? Or…?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to…yell…” Shōta tilted his head forward, hiding behind his hair. “It's been…a bad couple months.”

“Oh, okay.” Hizashi smiled. “Well, maybe we can keep you looking forward instead, Aizawa. If anyone tries to bug you, I'll get them to leave you alone. Ya dig?”

Shōta tilted his head up just a little, looking at Hizashi through his eyelashes. He gave a small nod and wrapped his arms around his knees. 

Hizashi kept going like his little outburst never happened. “You got any hobbies?”

“Martial arts. And dance.”

“That's kind of a weird combo,” Hizashi replied. “Although both are about strengthening and moving your body. Does one help the other?”

A tiny smile snuck onto Shōta's face. “Yeah, I think they both help me to be better at the other. Dance focuses more on fluidity, but you have to be strong to do it right. Martial arts focuses on force but you need to be quick and flexible or you lose.”

Hizashi lit up. “I think that's the most you've said about anything since you started last week.”

Shōta rested his chin on his knees and looked away. “Guess so.”

“No, no, it's good!” Hizashi rushed out. “What kind of dance? I really like music, so...”

“All kinds. Always ballet and tap classes, and then something else. Depends on what's available and what I feel like.” Shōta licked his lips anxiously. “You like a certain kind of music?”

“I like pop and top 40 because there's always at least one song in a mix for everybody to relate to,” Hizashi answered immediately. Then he seemed to slow down. “But if it's just me, I listen to all kinds of stuff. Like I found out about bhangra-rap the other day. It's a fusion of hip-hop and traditional music from the Punjab region in India. It has absolutely wild energy!”

Shōta lifted his head. “Can…can you play some?”

Hizashi took out his phone, forgetting about his lunch completely. "Heck yeah!"

“Shirakumo-san.” Naoki pushed off the wall as Shōta and Oboro approached. “And you…”

Shōta raised an eyebrow. “Great greeting. Who taught you basic social skills?”

Naoki snickered. “Who else wasted their time on the quirkless kid?”

“You're saying this is my fault somehow?” Shōta crossed his arms. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Listen, Pancakes,” Naoki said, putting his arm around Oboro's shoulder. “If this guy was your only real positive adult influence from 7 to 12, you'd be a disaster too. Right?”

Oboro looked from the teen to Shōta with faux seriousness. “I mean…social graces wise? Yeah. Not the best. But in most other ways he's pretty great.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Naoki sighed dramatically. “I guess I'm not totally ruined.”

“Why do I introduce you to anyone, ever?” Shōta deadpanned.

“Because you're a big softie, ‘Zawa,” Oboro said, yawning. “Who's awake?”

“Izuku and Eri are making breakfast. The worst part is that they know exactly how cute they are.” Naoki held open the door. 

Shōta walked in first. Their open-concept floor meant he could see what Naoki was talking about well before he reached the kitchen area. Izuku had Eri on his hip while she added sprinkles to the currently cooking pancake. 

The girl looked up at the sound of their footfalls. “Daddy & Uncle Kumo!”

Uncle Kumo? 

Oboro broke into a full, eye-squinting smile. “I like that way better than Kuro-chan.”

“Now I know you're not really Kurogiri anymore. So it would be silly to call you that,” Eri said matter-of-factly.

The air started to vibrate subtly. Shōta turned his head toward Hizashi's door and activated Erasure. 

“OBORO!!!!!!”

Oboro turned as the blonde charged down the stairs. “Hiya, Hizashi!”

Hizashi tackled Oboro. It quickly turned into a playful grapple. All laughter, tumbles, and cries of "no fair!"

Shōta released Erasure and rubbed his eyes. 

Naoki moved to stand beside Shōta and bumped their shoulders. “Go take your time.”

Shōta lowered his hand and looked at the older teen. “Hm?”

“You're off. I can feel it.” Naoki put his hands in his pockets. “Get out of here already.”

Shōta ruffled Naoki's hair before stepping away amongst the chaos.

Shōta left most of the lights off in the training space. He cleared the floor, then moved back to the center. After a grounding breath, he put in an earbud. He began to move to the music with his eyes closed. It was an old ballet routine, one that he could clearly remember doing with Mama. It had never failed to soothe him.

The song was on repeat. He did the routine again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again.

When the music began to fade out once more, he opened his eyes at the rustle of clothing. Hizashi was standing against the wall. He took the earbud out of his ear. Without the music or the movement, Shōta suddenly realized how sweaty and achy he was. 

“Did Oboro leave?” Shōta asked. 

A small smile in reply. “Not yet. I left him to be the designated adult.”

Shōta snorted. “That's not terrifying or anything.”

Hizashi's grin grew. “I know, right? Let's just hope Yoko wakes up before Hitomi, or we won't have a cute little family to go back to.”

“That's an honestly terrifying thought,” Shōta said, scratching his cheek. “We should go back.”

Hizashi stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Naoki said he sent you off to settle. Are you okay?”

Shōta smiled tiredly. “Yeah, mostly. I will be. Is Oboro okay?”

“What happened?” Hizashi frowned. He put his other hand on Shōta's chest too, both as a signal to stay and as a show of comfort.

“A lot.” Shōta held Hizashi's cheek with one palm. “We talked to the doctor. Together.”

“You didn't tell me before you went.”

“Mmm. Didn't want you to worry.” 

Hizashi pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well I'm worried now.”

Shōta mumbled, “if you have to fuss, fuss over Oboro.” 

“I already fussed over Oboro, kitten,” Hizashi replied. “Now it's your turn.”

“I'm fine.”

“Try again.”

“I'm fine enough to talk about it later.”

“Will you?”

“Yes!” Shōta pulled back and returned the earbud to his ear. “Stop needling.”

Hizashi sighed. “I'm sorry for wanting to know what happened to some of my favorite people.” 

“I'm still…processing,” Shōta took both of Hizashi's hands. “But I shouldn't snap like that.”

Hizashi squeezed Shōta's hands. 

“I'm sorry. Extra aggravated…shouldn't have insisted it was me.” Shōta's lip curled. “We would have been back hours earlier, but…I kinda got locked in…stared at the infirmary's paint for a while.”

“Okay. I can drop it. For now.” Hizashi relaxed and pulled Shōta closer. “It was incredible, waking up to Oboro there with you and the kids. He just fit. like he'd never been gone.”

Shōta smiled. “Yeah. We thought you'd like the surprise.”

“I did. But, for giving me back-to-back heart attacks, you owe me a dance,” Hizashi said. 

“Oh, do I?” Shōta handed Hizashi his phone.

“Yep.” Hizashi scrolled through Shōta's music. 

Shōta put the other earbud into Hizashi's ear. "Are you actually going to follow this time?”

Hizashi glanced up and winked at him. “Anything's possible, babe.”

When Shōta and Hizashi returned from the training room, it was perfectly calm. Izuku sat at the kitchen table with one of his notebooks, a tablet playing footage of a fight, and a spray of colored pencils. Naoki was sitting on the couch with Eri watching cartoons. Oboro was putting away the last of the clean dishes. On the other side of the workshop, Yoko and Hitomi were debating changes to the composition of a new suit fabric with Fumiko. 

“It wasn't a disaster,” Hizashi reflected. 

Shōta looked at Hizashi. Then around the space again, and back to Oboro. A smile slowly spread across his face with the realization. “Of course not. Hizashi, think, what was Oboro doing for the last 14 years?”

“Uh…other than being coerced into villainy?”

Oboro's eyes widened at the loud curse word that came out of Midoriya's tablet. “Bro, there is an actual child…”

Izuku turned red and he rushed to turn down the volume. “Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know it was in there!”

“Hey, don't just turn it all the way down. The sound can be important for analysis,” Oboro soothed with a smile. “Ya got headphones or something?”

Izuku nodded, hurrying to his room for a pair.

“‘It's my duty to look after him’, Shōta murmured.

Hizashi jumped. “What did you just say?”

“He's been a caretaker longer than either of us, Hizashi,” Shōta chewed on his lip. “I wonder if he or Tenko see it that way.”

“Oboro, as a dad figure?”

“No, I don't think so. Closer to an important older brother, like Tensei and Tenya. Or an uncle.” Shōta looked at Hizashi. “If I’m right, convincing Tenko to make a better choice will need to be a combined effort. We're going to need the influence of Kurogiri.”

Chapter Text

Shōta and Hitoshi crashed through the plate glass wall of the office building's 11th floor. 

Shōta had grasped the plunging and half-conscious teenager on a mad dive toward the ground, and he knew a sudden stop would be more dangerous, not less. Their best option was to redirect and disperse the momentum. The heels of his boots took the brunt of the impact. Thankfully the glass had actually shattered, although that said terrifying things about the speed at which they'd been falling.

He'd done his best to shield Hitoshi from the shards. He'd curled himself around the kid and held tight. Finally, though, the dissipating force of their landing had made them tumble apart. 

Shōta lay breathless on the floor of some cubicle maze. Everything hurt. No surprise there. He pushed one of the flimsy cloth panels off of himself. “Nighthide!”

The boy groaned. Not the best sign, nor the worst - he was at least responsive. He sounded about 20 feet away. 

A quick self-check revealed that Shōta was mostly fine, with one exception. 3 inches of plate glass stuck out of his left thigh, a quarter inch thick and an inch and a half wide. How deep did it go? 

No. Hitoshi first. 

Without something more substantial than cubicle walls and drop ceilings, Shōta couldn't use his cloths to pull himself up. It was going to be impossible to get to his feet without bending that leg and making the injury worse. A hard telekinetic push back risked further injuries from other debris. He settled for quickly but carefully pushing himself along the floor, manually, in the direction the voice had come from. 

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Shōta turned Hitoshi's head toward him, watching the way his eyes tracked. 

Hitoshi slapped Shōta's hands away. “What do you care?”

Last Shōta knew, Hitoshi could brainwash from a delayed response of up to 15 seconds, and he must have lengthened it considerably since then. Shōta silently counted to 30. During that time, Hitoshi sat up and Shōta looked the kid over. 

“You've got a concussion. Some cuts and bruises. Anything else?”

Hitoshi scowled. “Leave me alone.” 

Shōta sighed so heavily the modulator picked it up. If Uraraka wasn't up here and Midoriya wasn't on the comms, then Nagant must be a mess. 

“That assassin is yours. She's in purple just like that other one.” Hitoshi's brow crinkled. “Ultra…Ultra…”

“Ultraviolet,” Shōta supplied. “She's not. Calm down.”

“No way. I don't trust you, especially not after Central,” Hitoshi got to his feet unsteadily.

“I didn't want you to get hurt,” Shōta said, showing Hitoshi his empty hands. “I still don’t.”

Hitoshi backed away toward the opening in the wall of windows. 

“You shouldn't use your capture weapon when you’re already dizzy,” Shōta said, doing his best to make it not sound threatening. 

“Why should I listen to you anymore?” Hitoshi took up a loose end. 

Shōta turned off the modulator and cracked the visor. “I'm sorry, Toshi. For all of it.” 

Hitoshi scoffed. “Whatever. That doesn't undo the last 5 months.”

“I know, just…” Shōta sighed. “I'll move back so you can take the elevator or the stairs. Don't risk yourself because you're upset with me.”

“‘Upset’?! You think I'm ‘upset’?!” Hitoshi yelled. “You left us all, then immediately replaced me with that Amplitude kid, and now you're pals with the League. Or PLF. Or whatever Shigaraki and his friends are calling themselves these days!”

“There's a lot you don't know, that I don't want you to need to know,” Shōta responded. 

Hitoshi pulled on the mental string, catching Shōta with his quirk. “Too bad. Explain it as simply as possible.”

After a beat, Hisoka tilted his head and smiled. “Nice try, kid.”

Hitoshi shook his head. “Wha…how? I can feel the hold!”

“A real puzzle,” Hisoka agreed. “Listen, I can't explain anything to you if you hit the pavement, so come further into the building again before I have to make you.” 

Hitoshi shifted back another half step. The line of uneven broken glass right behind Hitoshi's foot probably wouldn't damage the cloths, but Hisoka wasn't going to take any risks if it came to that.

Hisoka pulled the glass out of his leg and threw it aside. He'd regret that later, but that was better than Hitoshi getting hurt or driving the glass further into his thigh. 

“You've only got about 6 inches of floor left before you tumble,” Hisoka said coolly as he got to his feet. "And you're not going to be able to aim that scarf well with a concussion.”

Hitoshi's heel crunched onto the glass line.

“Okay, you made your choice then.” Hisoka grabbed a direct hold of Hitoshi telekinetically and yanked the kid back. 

They crashed together. Hisoka immediately shoved Hitoshi in the direction of the elevator, not wanting to deal with accusations of trying to pin Hitoshi down. A small telekinetic push behind himself acted as a counterbalance to keep Hisoka on his own feet.

“One traumatized kid to another, I get it, but also…that was a special kind of self-destructive.” Hisoka righted a rolling desk chair and sat down. “Just take the ride.”

“Hey! You said you'd explain,” Hitoshi protested. 

“Are you joking right now?”

“No. You owe me answers.”

Hisoka squinted at him. “One minute you're ready to fling yourself out an 11th story window to get away from me, and the next you're refusing to leave and demanding answers. This has to be the concussion, right? There's no way you're having this much trouble picking a lane.”

“What the hell, Sensei?”

“Oh, now I'm Sensei?” Hisoka shook his head and clicked the visor back into place. He activated his microphone, his voice modulated again. “Rife, sit-rep.”

“Nagant's critical, EMS is 2 minutes out,” Izuku replied. “Uravity and I have minor injuries.“

“Whose definition of ‘minor injuries’ are you using?” Hisoka asked, examining his own leg. He rested the heel of his hand over the wound and locked his elbow to apply heavy pressure.

Izuku huffed. “Yours. You two?”

“Nighthide has a moderate concussion that's well within UA's capabilities,” Hisoka said. “I'm handling a leg wound.” 

Hisoka tapped off the microphone and dug in his belt for some supplies with his free hand. “You're still standing there. So you want the explanation.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi answered, sitting down on the floor. 

Hisoka looked over at him. “Nezu told you & 1-A that I almost didn't survive Jaku. He didn't tell you that I thought I actually was dead at first.”

Hitoshi rubbed the back of neck and looked at the floor. “Oh…that's…messed up…”

Hisoka chuckled dryly. "Right. At first, I thought I'd figure myself out and be back in a few weeks. Maybe a month.” 

“And then Eri got taken,” Hitoshi mumbled. 

Hisoka nodded. “And then Eri got taken.”

Chapter Text

Shōta followed the trio from above as they walked towards UA. It looked so normal and so abnormal at the same time. 

On one hand, the city's inhabitants had never really come back after Shizuoka was targeted so heavily right after Jaku. Much of the city was still in ruins, and the kids could walk down the middle of the road without worrying about cars. Izuku and Uraraka were covered in Nagant's blood. Every so often, Uraraka's hand darted out to help Shinso to balance or keep walking in a straight line. The back right quarter of Hitoshi's purple hair was darkened by blood from the head injury.

On the other hand, seeing Izuku with his classmates again felt right. The 3 of them walked with Uraraka in the middle. Izuku was telling a story complete with dramatic hand gestures. Uraraka was giggling away and standing close to him. Hitoshi had even given into a reluctant smile or two. 

Seeing them this way made him think that these kids, at least, could go back to some version of a regular life again. Could he go back? It felt absurd. Everything felt absurd. But at least he knew it was real. 

About a block from UA, Izuku said his goodbyes to Uraraka and Hitoshi. They began their walk to the barrier. Izuku wrapped his arms around himself as he watched them withdraw. 

Shōta turned off the modulator and cracked his visor. He landed beside Izuku and put an arm around the teen. Shōta lifted a hand in acknowledgment when Uraraka and Hitoshi glanced back over their shoulders at the halfway point. 

Izuku leaned against him. “It'll never be like before, will it? Not really.”

Shōta looked down at Izuku. He was reminded how many years the kid had spent keeping up a happy face. He'd kept up the act despite what the world had done to him and told him about himself. 

“No, but whatever it is…it will be okay,” Shōta replied. “We'll make it okay. Maybe even better.”

“You're trying to convince yourself too, huh?” Izuku asked quietly.

“Yeah, kid, I am.”

Uraraka and Hitoshi disappeared inside the barrier. The door clanged shut with am uncomfortable finality. Izuku turned to him with determination in his eyes.

“Nagant. She gave me a date and time, and an address.”

“Don't you have friends, Yamada?” Shōta asked as Hizashi sat in front of him and started unwrapping his lunch.

“Sure, I have other friends, but I have their phone numbers. We hang out after-school and on the weekends.” Hizashi smiled. “The only time I get to bug you is during school.”

“Oh.”

Hizashi leaned forward and whispered, “Aizawa, this is the part where you say ‘I can just give you my phone number.’”

“You want to talk to me outside of school?” Shōta asked doubtfully.

“Uh, yeah? You're my friend. Friends do that kind of thing,” Hizashi said casually.

Shōta stared at him, totally bewildered. 

Hizashi wiped his mouth. “Do I have food on my face or something?”

“No.”

“Then why are you staring at me?”

Shōta shook his head and dug his phone out of his pocket. He held it out to Hizashi. “I don't even know the number…”

“For real?” Hizashi's fingers flew across the phone's screen and a few seconds later, his own phone chimed. He tapped a few more times and Shōta peeked over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”

“You don't have anything on here. Like, nooooooothing.” Hizashi handed it back. “I put the music app I use on there. Now if I send you a song, you'll actually be able to listen to it.”

Shōta tapped the new icon on the screen and bit his lip as it loaded. 

“You look afraid of it, Aizawa.” Hizashi snickered.

“This is the first time I've had one,” Shōta admitted.

Hizashi looked at him questioningly. “A music app?”

“No. I mean, yes, that too,” Shōta kept his eyes on the screen. “My foster gave me the phone the morning I started school, and he's really smart, so I was too embarrassed to say I never had one before.”

“Oh! Wow, sorry, I didn't mean–”

“I know.”

Hizashi smiled. “I can give you a crash course.”

At Shōta's nod, Hizashi scooted right up against him. Shōta was grateful that his hair covered the rising blush.

“You're late,” Tenko groused, already swinging at a practice dummy. 

“Doing my best,” Shōta grumbled, already wearing half his coffee because of his limp. 

Tenko stilled. “What the hell happened to you?”

Shōta waved a hand. “I just have to take it easy for a few days.”

“That's not what I asked,” Tenko snapped impatiently and stomped over.

“I'm not a toddler, it's handled,” Shōta took a sip of coffee. 

Tenko glared. “You're my tool, and I don't like my things getting broken.”

Emotions cycled rapidly over Shōta's face. Shock, pain, anger, disappointment. He turned to leave again.

“I didn't say you could go.” 

Shōta stopped at the coldness in Tenko's voice. It was mirrored in his own voice. “Did something happen?”

“No, just…you should have done something,” Tenko said. "Had Kurogiri get someone with a healing quirk?"

Shōta rubbed his face. Of course Tenko had no idea how to deal with this. He'd just gone straight to his default.

“Sit with me.” Shōta shoved the coffee cup into Tenko's hands and carefully lowered himself to the floor.

Tenko sat cross-legged in front of him and put the cup down between them. “Well?”

Shōta took a drink of his coffee and collected his thoughts. “You know what you're fighting against.”

Tenko smiled crookedly. “Yeah. This world that pushes people down and ignores their suffering. Everything connected to that house. Everything that let that house become what it was.”

Shōta nodded. “What did you want to have instead?”

Tenko's smile disappeared. “What?”

Shōta put down the coffee cup to lean back on his hands. “You'll fight harder and make more change if you think about what you want to fight for instead.”

Tenko rolled his eyes. “Is that what you'd tell your hero students, with their perfect little lives?”

“Heroes don't all have perfect lives,” Shota replied. “When Sensei told you my ‘origin story,’ did he mention my parents?”

Tenko crossed his arms. “No.”

“My father is dead. I killed him when I was 12.”

Tenko's voice cracked when he asked, "why?”

Shōta sighed. “Fear. Rage. Desperation. Sound familiar?”

Tenko's arms fell back to his sides, his hands in his lap. He looked at them. “Huh…”

Shōta sat curled up in an armchair in the corner of Nezu's office. He was trying to focus on his homework, but Yamada kept sending him pictures of kittens. His heart lurched every time the phone chimed.

Nezu lifted his head from his paperwork. “Aizawa-kun, that is an awful lot of notifications.” 

“Oh, um, sorry,” Shōta said, rushing to turn the phone to silent. 

Nezu put down his pen. “The notifications jumped significantly a few days ago, pup. Could it be that you’ve made a friend?”

Shōta nodded.

“How delightful,” Nezu said, his ears flicking in interest. “Would you like to tell me about them?”

Shōta scratched his head and smiled despite himself. “It's the guy that keeps finding me at lunch.”

“Yamada-kun, yes?” Nezu asked. “The musician?”

Before he could answer, the office door flew open. A huge man strode in, right up to Nezu's desk.  

Nezu's tone was cheery. “My goodness, All Might, I saw reports that you were in Shibuya an hour ago. What could possibly bring you here with such urgency?”

Shōta turned his head down toward his homework but watched the two through his hair. Nezu's tail was flicking in agitation. The rat hated when people didn't bother to call ahead, or at least knock first.

“I heard that you have taken a young ward from my neck of the woods! I simply had to know more, Nezu-sensei,” All Might boomed. “And maybe this ward of yours would appreciate a little reminder of home?”

All Might's laugh was too loud, too abrupt. Shōta scowled and looked at Nezu. Nezu responded with a smile that revealed his sharp teeth. Assured of Nezu's support, Shōta shifted his gaze to the hero. 

“You have no idea if I would want a ‘reminder of home.’ And if I did, you wouldn't count. You got here in an hour, but there's never been a report of you even passing through Sanya.” 

All Might spun to look at Shōta, dumbfounded. Behind the towering hero, Nezu's whiskers twitched with glee.

Chapter Text

Shōta opened his mouth to scream, but suddenly his mouth was held shut without any touch at all. He was hanging, limp, a few feet off the ground.

“I knew you'd come out eventually,” Dad growled at him.

He felt himself separate. Hisoka was doing, but Shōta could still see, and think, and feel.

Hisoka's feet kicked uselessly against the air. All Shōta could think was ‘so much red.’ Dark red. 

Dad barely came home. Mama was always crying, always hurt. And then they'd take him, and she'd convince Dad not to take him too long. How long would they make him go without Mama?

Mama.

No more Mama.

He took Mama.

His Mama.

This wasn't Hisoka anymore. Another someone was doing. There was another someone?

Not-Shōta's eyes bore into Kazuo. He reached out a hand, throwing the man into the wall with less than a third of his capacity, but it was more than enough. 

Not-Shōta crashed to the floor when the impact forced Kazuo to drop him. He fell partially into the pool of Yuki's blood, covering his hands and saturating his hair. He got to his feet, throwing the hair back and preparing for Kazuo's next assault.

Kazuo didn't get up. Not-Shōta looked at the wall. Sure, there was blood, but not enough to kill the man.

Not-Shōta laughed and moved closer with deliberate steps.. “You're a fucking weakling.”

Kazuo laughed hoarsely. “Not ‘fraid o’ you, Sakki. Can't wi’out or’ers.”

“It doesn't have to be me, idiot,” Sakki snapped. “You're still dying today.”

Hisoka looked down at Kazuo, disoriented from having moved closer to him but not remembering doing so.

“A mas’erpiece,” Kazuo slurred. “He'll be…s’ happy.”

Hisoka stumbled back. “No!”

He clenched his fist. The man struggled for breath, but he couldn't release his hand. Couldn't go where Kazuo wanted. He waited for Kazuo's struggling to stop.

Shōta could finally move the way he wanted to move, but all he could bring himself to do was lay down with Mama. He pulled her arm over him. She was still warm. For now. 

The longer he laid there, the deeper her blood soaked into him. He couldn't make himself care. He felt dead anyway. 

The normally vacant, bright white middle space was gone. 

In its place was a dim space. It was full of rubble and broken things, some scattered and some in tall piles. Shōta crouched to avoid breathing in the dense, acrid smoke. 

A boy sat cross-legged on the floor. His wrists rested on his knees with his hands hanging down just beyond them. Blood dripped from his slack fingers. His hair was soaked in it too. Rivulets streamed down his face and dripped onto his clothes when he looked up. 

His 12-year-old self sounded hollow. “You held out for a long time.”

Sakki.

This was wrong. 

Sleeping, sandwiched between Hizashi and Eri. It was wrong. 

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have this. It made him nauseated, like he would ruin them somehow just because they were touching him. 

Shōta got up as quickly as he could.

“Shō, babe, what's wrong?” Hizashi asked drowsily, pulling the blanket back up over the little girl. 

Shōta reached out for Hisoka, but couldn't find him. Why couldn't Shōta find him? 

Hizashi was talking again, but it felt like only sounds. Shōta flinched back at the touch of his hand, turning to run out of the room and down the walkway to Fumiko's room. He burst in, relieved that she was awake. Their eyes met. 

Watch. Don't watch. 

See. Don't see.

Feel. Don't feel.

Stillness. Dark red spreading.

Why couldn't he stop?

Shōta cast out for Hisoka again, desperate, but couldn't feel him there. Only that dark, heavy coldness. His wild eyes met Fumiko's.

“Help me, Kōshi. Please.”

Fumiko looked startled but nodded, and the glow in her eyes flared.

He stood in front of Mama, giggling. 

She swept him up in her arms, swaying and singing along to the music. He rested his head on her chest and closed his eyes, disappearing in the sound and the motion.

Safe. 

Warm. 

Happy.

Hisoka blinked his eyes rapidly, watching the illumination fade. 

“Better?” Fumiko asked softly, her hands cradling his face.

Hisoka nodded slowly. 

Izuku and Naoki had been taking care of Eri together over the last 3 days. Fumiko normally took care of that while the others worked, but Shōta had refused to leave her side for more than a few minutes at a time. He also hadn't really explained any of it.

Now, at the start of the 4th day, he was starting to think it had just been a horrible, vivid dream. He hadn't remembered anything else. Hisoka and Stormcloud were ever-present, as usual. And he hadn't seen or even sensed that terrifying 12-year-old version of himself. 

He was afraid of a 12-year-old version of himself. He felt ridiculous. 

Or at least he did until he wandered to the other side of the open floor and Fumiko trailed after him instead. Apparently the whole thing had made an impact on her too. 

Fumiko sat down nearby with a book while he sat at Yoko's work table and made a few adjustments to his helmet. She was near the end of her book already, and laid it in her lap when she finished it. 

“Good book?” he asked absently. 

“It ended well,” Fumiko answered listlessly.

He looked at her. “Except?”

“I don't know. Just wasn't satisfying,” she replied, lifting the book and looking at its cover. 

Shōta shrugged. “Not all endings are satisfying. Sometimes they're just endings.”

“Ugh,” Fumiko groaned. “That is such a teacher's answer.”

He chuckled. “As advertised.”

She kicked her feet up onto another chair to stretch out. “Why'd you call me Kōshi the other night?”

He held the helmet up, checking the alignment of the visor. “I don't remember doing that.”

“You did though. It was weird.”

“It's not that big of a stretch.” Shōta reasoned. “It does mean ‘purple.’”

“Obviously, jerk. Just felt weird because my grandmother used to call me that.” Her eyes flickered, seemingly by accident. 

He scratched the back of his neck. “I can ask Izuku to figure out how we're related when all the kids get back. He loves a mystery. Give him a few days and he'll have both our family trees back to the Edo period.”

“That kid is such a nerd,” Fumiko said with a mixture of derision and awe.

“Yeah, he's smart as hell,” Shōta agreed, all pride.

Chapter Text

“Hey.” Naoki kicked the stool. 

Shōta grunted at the movement but didn't lift his head from the table.

Another kick jostled the stool. “What's your deal?”

Another grunt.

“It's freaking Pops out, so start talking,” Naoki demanded.

“Who the hell is Pops?” Shōta mumbled into his arms.

“Hizashi. If you're Dad, then he's Pops.” Naoki said. “Don't change the subject.”

Shōta lifted his head and looked at Naoki blearily. “What?”

“We all had a whole conversation yesterday about this, because Eri started calling us Nao-nii & Izu-nii when we were taking care of her. We all live like one big, happy family...blah, blah, blah. You were right there. You weren't listening?” Naoki asked impatiently.

“No.” 

“But you hear and see and notice everything,” Naoki said, his impatience shifting to a rough-edged concern.

“I don't know what to tell you, kid. I'm exhausted.”

“You're always exhausted.”

“I'm more exhausted.”

“Didn't know that was even possible,” Naoki said with a smirk. 

“Me neither,” Shōta yawned. “Don't want to sleep.”

“What? You treat sleep like a hobby,” Naoki said seriously. 

“I had another nightmare.” Shōta held his face in his hands, propped up on the table. “At least I hope it was a nightmare? Either my brain imagined something horrible in fine detail or I actually did something horrible. Either way, I'm a monster.”

Naoki broke from his thoughts. “What?! No, you're not.”

“Naoki…”

“No.” Naoki said coldly, grabbing Shōta by the shoulder and spinning him around. “Shut up for a second. You don't get to believe that little of us.”

“What are you talking about, Naoki?”

The teen crossed his arms and glared at Shōta. “You really think Izuku and I would stick around if you were a monster? Nope. And Hizashi sure as hell wouldn't. He's a golden retriever. Same with Hito-chan. And you say all the time that Yoko's a good judge of character. Fumiko has no problem calling us out. So get your shit together,  or–”

Naoki struggled a little against the crushing hug at first. “Okay, I guess I live here now…”

Shōta walked down the row of detention cells until he reached the doctor. The man's slumped, sad demeanor lifted. He stood and walked to the cell.

“You're Kurogiri-chan's associate,” Garaki bubbled. 

Shōta took off his headgear and gritted out, “I'm Oboro's friend.”

His happiness before paled in comparison to his present exuberance. “Ah, you've come home then, have you?”

“Are you listening?” Shōta snapped. “He's not Kurogiri anymore. You lose.”

Garaki giggled. “A battle in the wider war, my boy. And beyond that, I have no doubt we'll reclaim our chess piece.”

“Over my dead body.” Shōta replied. “Before you said that lab-created quirks get attacked by the body and degrade, but mine haven't. Why?”

The doctor leaned against the bars, reaching for him. “Your quirks weren't lab-created in the way that you're thinking. They were grown and harvested just for you.”

Shōta could hardly breathe. “You didn't…”

“In the early days, we were much more focused on quality than on quantity. We had the time for such endeavors.” 

“You're repugnant.”

The doctor stroked his cheek affectionately. “Erasure was such a weak, useless quirk until I saw its potential and built it up. You'd be nothing without that, without me.”

Shōta grabbed Garaki's arm and snapped it against the bars. It bent backward at the elbow and snapped. 

Garaki laughed even as his eyes watered. “What you did to Uchida makes perfect sense now that I know you're you. You've always been so splendidly brutal.”

Shōta turned his head at the approaching footsteps. If he wasn't disgusted and ashamed of himself before, he certainly was now. “Otōsan, I…”

Nezu's tail swished behind himself as he stopped beside Shōta, Hitoshi close behind. “Don't concern yourself, pup. We merely did not wish for you to be alone.”

“Sensei will be so pleased at this turn of events,” Garaki said. He cradled his arm against himself but barely seemed to register the pain.

“What turn of events would that be, Doctor?” Nezu asked.

Garaki didn't turn his face to look at the newcomers. “Sakki.”

Shōta looked at Hitoshi, begging. “Contain me. Now.”

Hitoshi's confusion slowed his response.

“You have work to do, Sakki.” Garaki bit his lip in anticipation. 

Sakki turned back to the doctor. His posture loosened and a vicious smile spread across his face. 

“Mmm, there's my boy,” Garaki cooed. “Now, kill the rat.”

In seconds, Sakki analyzed his options. He could easily crush Nezu's windpipe, but that would be such a waste. His white fur was practically screaming out for a smattering of red. 

A shard of broken teacup would make a poetic weapon. It was too bad there wasn't one nearby. His tantō would have to do. In just a few swift moves, he could have the rat bleeding out at his feet. 

Sakki lunged for Nezu, surprised by the speed at which the rat could dodge, especially in a 3-piece suit. “Oh, this will be fun then.”

Hitoshi's mind caught up and he threw out the capture scarf, but Sakki knew how that thing moved. He dodged, kicking off the wall to put more power behind his punch. Hitoshi grabbed his fist. Sakki let it happen and swept Hitoshi's feet, slamming the teen into the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

Nezu jumped onto Sakki's back, digging in with his claws, but the sharp pain didn't bring Shōta back like Nezu had hoped. Garaki cackled in the background, safe from collateral damage inside his cell. Sakki ripped Nezu off his back, heedless of the damage he did to himself in the process. He pinned the rat against the wall and reached for his tantō.

“Sensei!” Hitoshi gasped, back on his feet.

Sakki drew the weapon and lifted it to Nezu's neck.

Hitoshi seized Shōta's arm and stilled the blade. “Stop! Why are you doing this?!”

“Orders are orders. Maybe I'll get to kill you next,” Sakki mocked.

Hitoshi yanked hard on the mental string.

Shōta dropped the rat and the tantō to the floor with a sob. 

“I wonder how long that kid can hold out?” Garaki mused.

Hizashi was waiting just inside the café, his high energy looking less like excitement and more like anxiety. 

Shōta looked around them for some sign about what was going on. “Hi…?”

“Hey, um…sit with me for a sec, ‘kay?” Hizashi slid back into the booth behind him.

“We'll be late for class.” 

“Please.” 

Shōta frowned. “Are you okay?”

“YEAH.” Hizashi cleared his throat and rubbed his chest. “Sorry. It's just…you, um…”

Shōta dropped his backpack on the floor and sat down. “Yamada. Spit it out.”

Hizashi clenched and released his jaw a few times before making eye contact. “Skip with me.”

“I can't.” Shōta leaned back into the bench seat.

Hizashi drummed on the table a few times with the palms of his hands. “I don't...”

Shōta shoved his hair out of his own face and waited. Hizashi shifted his jaw side to side. It felt like they were in a bubble of stillness in the café's morning rush. 

Hizashi grabbed the sleeve of Shōta's uniform jacket just as he started to get up. “My mom got a call this morning from Koyanagi-san. Some parents are at the principal's office right now. They found out.” 

“Found out what exactly?” Shōta asked warily. 

“About the charges and the trial and where you transferred from.” The words came out of Hizashi so quickly that they all blurred together.

Shōta's vision narrowed and his hands tightened into fists on the tabletop. “If you know, then why are you still even talking to me?”

Hizashi smiled sadly. “I mean, I know you. You take school too seriously even though it looks like you're always sleeping. You let me ramble about whatever my current music obsession is way after most people would tell me to just shut up already. And you stop to pet every single cat you see. Whatever happened that day, that's not who you are.”

Shōta sat in a cell of his own, mute and still. Earplugs plus noise canceling headphones blocked anything Garaki might say to him. Quirk canceling bracelets stacked up against each other on his wrists.

Just one, ceaseless thought.

What if that is who I am?

Chapter Text

Nezu leaned a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk against the bars, then took a seat with one of his own. He considered for a moment, then began to write in his careful and precise script. 

“Do you remember who you are?”

Shōta's shaking fingers ran over the spiderweb of narrow scars across his scalp. His eyes turned to Garaki, barely 20 feet away. The doctor looked untroubled. Upbeat, even. 

Motion caught his attention. Nezu was waving a paw in exaggerated, wide arcs. He lifted the small chalkboard a bit higher. The rat was trying to get him to engage.

Shōta formed one of the few signs that the rat knew. “Sorry.”

Nezu's cheeks flattened and his ears flicked. Distress. 

Shōta's eyes tightened and he signed again, “sorry.”

Nezu lowered the chalkboard and erased it with his shirt sleeve. When the rat returned to writing, he laid down and closed his eyes. The world had to be quiet, and dark and still. Just for a little while.

Stormcloud clutched his All Might figurine to his chest. 

Hisoka made him hide before, and he didn't like hiding. Now he got to come out, but Hisoka was pushing really hard on a door to keep it closed. There was lots of yelling too, and he didn't like yelling. All of it reminded Stormcloud of Daddy, and Daddy was scary.

If his friend was here, they could play heroes. Or maybe his friend could be Hisoka's helper hero? Or maybe he could help Hisoka, then they could play after!

Hisoka let them in last time. It was okay for him to knock on the door. Right?

Stormcloud took a few steps and looked to see if Hisoka noticed. He didn't. A few more steps. Hisoka still didn't do anything. He moved to the door as quickly and quietly as he could after that. He didn't want to get too scared to knock. 

He lifted a hand and knocked gently. No answer. He couldn't even hear it over all the yelling. Maybe it was too quiet.

He knocked harder. 

“Whoaaaaa, what the heck!” A silly-sounding crackly voice.

“It appears the door isn't one way.” A serious, low voice that sounded far away.

“That is how doors usually work.” He knew that one! Yoichi.

Somebody running?

The door opened. It scared him even though that's exactly what he wanted to happen. Yoichi had a big man with goggles behind him, and a tall lady with a pretty white cape. 

“Um…can Zuku come play?” Stormcloud asked quietly.

The tall lady crouched down. Her cheeks were pink. She must have been the one that ran. She had nice eyes. “He's not here all the time, kiddo.”

Stormcloud looked at his feet. “Oh. Is he coming soon?”

“We don't really plan like that, little dude,” the big man told him.

Yoichi leaned his head to the side. “You've never knocked before.”

Stormcloud looked up at him with big eyes. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, I think Yoichi is just wondering what made you knock now,” the lady said.

Yoichi did look kind of curious.

Stormcloud smiled nervously and held up his figurine. “Zuku played heroes with me before, Miss Nice Lady.”

She smiled and laughed. It was a happy sound that made him smile back. “Shimura-san.”

“Do you know Hisoka's other friend, Shimura-san?” Stormcloud's eyes sparkled. “Hisoka says that Big Shōta is teaching him about how to fight and be nice at the whole same time.”

“That's my grandson, Tenko,” she answered. Her face relaxed. She was pretty.

Stormcloud looked at her suspiciously. “But you don't look like a granny.”

The big man laughed really loud at that, and it was a little surprising but not scary.

“So you played heroes before, and…?” Yoichi asked.

The yelling got a little louder again. Stormcloud jumped. “Um. Zuku said he's a real hero when we played. I think Hisoka needs hero help with the scary boy.”

Yoichi frowned. “Can I come in, Stormcloud?”

“Hisoka let you in before, so it's okay. Right?” Stormcloud asked.

Shimura-san smiled and held Stormcloud's hand. “You can stay with me, okay?”

“Okay Granny Shimura-san.” He held Shimura-san's hand tighter when the yelling became more and louder. Yoichi stepped around him. 

“Oh.” Shimura-san cried and smiled at once. He'd never seen anybody do that before.

“Please don't cry! Do you want to hold All Might? He helps me feel happy and brave.” Stormcloud held out his figurine. 

“Did you know she was All Might's teacher?” the big man whispered, but loud.

Stormcloud grinned, so excited he was shaking all over. “Really?”

Shōta felt…floaty. 

He hadn't let himself sleep or switch. He could feel the constant pressure of Sakki right behind his eyes. If he loosened his grip, even a little, Sakki would pounce. Who knew what would happen by the time he came back to himself? 

Soon he wouldn't be able to hold on, though. Then what?

Boots approaching. A person sitting. Grimacing. Wiping their nose. 

Toshi looked too sad. He had made Toshi too sad.

His arm felt many times too heavy, but he moved it anyway. Reached.

Hitoshi looked away but linked their hands.

It had been a long time with the door open. 

Stormcloud couldn't go over to where their big chairs were. He really wanted to climb on them. It made him frustrated. 

At least he got to spend a lot of time playing with the big guy. Stormcloud found out he was named Banjo-san and he was not a grandpa. He also got to play with Shimura-san. Sometimes he talked to the man with the deep voice, Shinomori-san. The other 3 people and the glowing man mostly sat in the chairs and talked. 

Hisoka got most of his help from Shinomori-san and Yoichi. The scary boy just wouldn't be quiet!

The man with the tall red shirt came to the door. “I think we have a window,” he called to Yoichi. 

Yoichi hurried back through the door. Shinomori-san ran back too. Banjo-san stayed to help Hisoka. That was a good thing. The scary boy got louder and pushier because of everything happening.

Stormcloud climbed into Shimura-san's lap, holding onto her tight. “Granny…?”

“It's okay,” she answered. “They think they might be able to ask Izuku over.”

Stormcloud still held her tight. Now it was because he was excited.

As soon as Zuku appeared in the doorway, Stormcloud ran and hung onto his legs. “Zuku! You're the new All Might?!”

The mix of sad and mad and scared on Zuku's face went away. Instead he had a big smile. Stormcloud could see it now.

“I heard you came to look for me when things got scary. Good job, Stormcloud!” Zuku picked him up and gave him a hug.

Stormcloud whispered, “Hisoka was working really really hard. Everything felt stuck and scary. But I knew my hero could help!”

Izuku blinked a lot and nodded. “I'm g-gonna go ask Hisoka about how to help, okay?”

Zuku put him back down by Shimura-san. Stormcloud watched him go over to Hisoka.

Hisoka looked like he needed a bunch of naps. “I'm gonna tell you the whole story first. Once you go back, you're going to have to explain and do…God, so much damage control…”

Hisoka and Zuku walked away when they talked. They were using their serious grown-up voices. That wasn't good.

Stormcloud didn't know exactly what “damage control” meant. He could guess that it was yucky from Hisoka and Zuku's faces while they talked. It looked like it was worse than only ever eating cold, mushy vegetables.

Chapter Text

He hadn't gotten to ask what he'd actually come for. Shōta had come to ask if Oboro and Tenko would be in danger if they left the untethered quirks as they were. That was the entire reason he'd returned to UA.

Or maybe not. 

If that was the only reason, Shōta wouldn't have come alone.

Did Gramps care about him like he cared for Oboro? Why had his need to know the answer to that question been so wildly uncontrollable?

Now he knew that Gramps did care, in his twisted way. What was he supposed to do with that knowledge? All it was doing so far was corroding his insides. 

His fingers returned to tracing over the scars hidden by his hair. They were razor-thin and smooth. Raised almost imperceptibly after so many years. Faded enough that he could forget them on most days. 

It had all ended 18 years ago, or so he'd thought. Shōta had managed to start over with Nezu when he was 12 and carefully rebuilt. He'd made his life mean something else, something he wanted and took pride in. 

Then it all went to shit in a handful of hours, less than six months ago, on March 21. Every move he made to regather, reclaim, or rebuild was countered. 

He should have known better. 

Tools don't get names, they are simply called by their purpose.

Tools don't get to be anything. 

Tools don't get to have anything. 

Tools only get to do as they’re told. 

His hands froze in place. 

The Sakki-shaped pressure behind his eyes had halted abruptly. Nothing to mentally resist. He felt like he'd fallen forward from the absence. 

Hisoka was there again. Fully there, beside him. 

“We need to rest now,” Hisoka told Shōta.

There was no room for argument. That was fine. Shōta wouldn't have argued anyway. He clung to Hisoka and let go of consciousness.

Hisoka was profoundly uncomfortable when he woke. He pulled himself up using the bars, opened his eyes, and stretched. Nezu was right on the other side of the bars and scrutinizing his face. Hisoka took off the headphones and earplugs. 

“‘M surprised you're so close.” Hisoka's voice creaked and strained. 

“It has been two and a half days,” Nezu answered immediately. “Some of the shock has worn off.”

Hisoka chuckled. “You're insane.”

“Your word choice leaves something to be desired.” Flat cheeks again. 

Hisoka sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because your fur is so easily ruffled.”

Nezu's whiskers flicked. “The sharper self, then?”

“Don't like that title much,” Hisoka answered. “I have a name. It's Hisoka.”

Nezu took a step back to give him some space and clasped his hands behind his back. “I'd think you'd have appeared earlier, Hisoka-kun. You must have been preoccupied?”

“Notice the current lack of attempted murder?” Hisoka snarled. 

“Ah, that's your doing? I appreciate it,” Nezu said, seemingly unaffected by Hisoka's tone. “Tell me, is his absence temporary?”

“Sakki's persistent, but he's well-contained for now. I wouldn't have risked stepping away from him if he wasn't,” Hisoka replied. “So let me out of here.”

Nezu considered his answer. “I'm not well-acquainted with you or your judgment, Hisoka-kun. I hope you understand that I'm inclined to wait until we are more familiar with each other, or until Shōta-kun is able to ask me himself.”

Hisoka scowled. “Enjoy the chaos that will happen while I'm stuck here then. It'll all be on you.”

“What kind of chaos?” 

“You're working with very limited information on what we’ve been doing. And no, I won't be enlightening you.” Hisoka crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. “But you do need to know that keeping us here will make 1-A's mutiny look like a flea circus.”

Nezu frowned. “If your containment of Sakki were flawed, I would be responsible for his actions.”

“He's driven by the orders he's given, and can only kill with an order. So if he broke through, you'd only be responsible for your own death.” Hisoka turned his head to the doctor. “That's how you made him, isn't it?”

The doctor leaned into the bars, simpering. “That's right, my sweet boy. But don't underestimate him.”

Nezu hissed at Garaki, baring his teeth. “He's not your sweet boy.”

Hisoka huffed and reached out to touch Nezu's arm. The agitated rat's head whipped towards him. 

“You don't know me, but I've been here since before we met. Just quiet,” Hisoka explained. “I need to put out these fires, but I still wouldn't ask if it would put you at risk. You're my Otōsan too.”

Hisoka watched for a reaction. Nezu smoothed his hackles carefully. Then he pulled a key from his pocket.

Hisoka jogged a few steps until some of the speed wore down. He didn't usually land that quickly. Reckless. 

Tenko leapt at him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Talked to the doctor again,” Hisoka answered casually, pushing Tenko away.

“You went alone?” Tenko scoffed.

“That was ill-advised.” The vocabulary was Kurogiri's but the voice was all Oboro's, full of obvious displeasure. 

Hisoka glanced at Tenko, who either didn’t notice or didn't react. Odd. Hisoka lifted the visor fully. “That's why it took me a few days to get back. Things went sideways.”

Oboro flinched at that. He knew, then. 

“It took some creative convincing but I got your answer out of him,” Hisoka continued. “You should have the unfixed quirks removed if you decide against ‘maintenance.’ He thinks that they will degrade with the help of your immune system, but your body will be attacking itself in the meantime.”

“So we must retrieve the doctor regardless of our chosen path,” Oboro said. 

“Looks that way,” Hisoka answered. “Tenko, have you decided?”

The younger man scratched at his neck. Oboro reached out and stopped he movement. Tenko grumbled to himself. 

“I don't know yet. Don't rush me,” Tenko said, waving a hand and stomping back in the direction of their base.

“So he's just taking you out now?” Hisoka lowered his voice to ask Oboro.

“He freaked out when you disappeared without saying anything first. I couldn't really say, ‘Oh, that's just Sho-chan!’ without a lot of questions,” Oboro answered. “He wanted to look for you, so suddenly I was partner material.”

“Well that worked out nicely.” Hisoka set off after Tenko now that there was some space between them. 

“Hisoka?” 

“Hmm?”

“I thought you knew and saw everything. So how did you not know about Sakki before?” 

Oboro kept trying to catch Hisoka's eyes. Earnest bastard. Hisoka pushed the visor back down so it was only open a crack.

“I don't know.” He focused on watching Tenko's back, making sure he didn't get too far ahead. “Did you know?”

“No,” Oboro shook his head. “The doctor always worked in his own lab in Jaku, and Sensei wasn't really the note-taking type until after the big fight with All Might 6 years ago.”

“At least it was contained in the end.”

“This time. What if there are more ‘surprises’ you don't know about?”

Hisoka's shoulders stiffened. “One crisis at a time.”

Chapter Text

“Something scary happened to you too?”

Shōta didn't look up from his seat on the floor, only nodded.

Stormcloud pouted. “You can be scared, but Hisoka said you forgot. That's breaking the rules.”

When Shōta didn't respond, Stormcloud leaned down and tilted his face low so he could see Shōta's. He looked into Shōta's eyes with unexpected intensity.

“Mama is the bestest. She teaches us how to be the bestest. Mama can't teach you right now. So you can't forget.”

Shōta nodded again.

“You hafta listen, ‘kay?” Stormcloud sat down in front of him. “So remember that one time at Mita-san's, when Mama said that we had to buy food even though candy is yummier? Then Old Man Yamamura came in. Hey, do you think he's still dirty and stuff all the time? Anyway...”

He hadn't been in charge this long for a while. It was exhausting. Hisoka wanted to rest but knew he couldn't. Not yet. Not unless he wanted the rest of the crew to run through Shizuoka like a bull in a china shop.

Had Izuku done any of the damage control? The kid had been pretty pissed when Hisoka wouldn't say where they were. He stood by that choice, though. He wouldn't have put it past Izuku to immediately devise a plan to storm the UA barrier,. 

Why were these people so ready to destroy things on a whim? Too ready. He should mention that, right?

He trudged through the warehouse door.

Why was he suddenly on the floor? Someone was sitting on his chest. And his visor was being lifted.

“You're supposed to tell somebody first when you go away, Daddy!” Eri said, poking him angrily in the chest. 

A 7 year old got the drop on him. Wow.

“Sorry, Eri-chan…”

“You mean ‘sorry everybody’, right?”

Hisoka sighed. “Yes.”

“Good.” Eri sniffed, then jumped off of him. “Blugh, you smell bad.”

“I know.” 

“And you have that different look in your eyes.”

“Smart girl." Hisoka sat up. "That might be around for a while.” 

Yoko had walked over to her computer and was putting on a headset. Over her shoulder, she called, “I'm about to tell them you're here. Do with that what you will.”

He looked intently at Eri. “Naptime?”

“You know you're still gonna get in trouble anyway, right?” 

“Yes, but I don't have to get in all the trouble at one time.” A small, mischievous smile.

Eri giggled. “Fine, but you have to take a shower first.”

He got to his feet and picked her up. “Deal.”

“Hey, are you even trying to find that kid of yours anymore?”

Hisoka guided Tenko through a kick in proper form. “Like that. Do it again.”

“So you really aren't that different from him then. Something else came up and you dropped her like Sensei dropped me,” Tenko said, aiming his kick at Hisoka's face. 

Hisoka caught his foot and twisted hard, flipping Tenko face-first into the mat. “I was trying to let your idiot question pass, but then you just had to compare me to that piece of trash.”

Tenko flipped onto his back. His face was red. “Did you just call our master a ‘piece of trash’?!”

“I know exactly where my daughter is, Tenko, and I know exactly how well she's being cared for.” Hisoka crouched beside him. “Does Sensei even know that you left Ishinomaki?”

“It doesn't matter!” Tenko protested. “He could reach out whenever he wanted, and he could find me.”

“So he just hasn't wanted to then?” Hisoka rubbed the bridge of his nose. Shōta would handle this so much better than he was. “Ringing endorsement there for ‘not a piece of trash.’” 

“Well, he's still your master,” Tenko growled, sitting up. 

“He was supposedly my master for the last 18 years too, but I didn't do what he wanted.” Hisoka stood back up. “And Eri's not here anymore. What reason do I have to listen to him now?”

Tenko got to his feet, his posture challenging. “If you're not willing to follow his orders, then why are you here at all?”

“Use your damn brain, kid.” Hisoka said impatiently. “What do I do any time that I'm here?”

“You train me,” Tenko answered.

Hisoka raised an eyebrow.

Tenko looked confused. “You're here…for me?”

Okay, maybe Hisoka wasn't totally awful at this.

Eri had dragged a still very sleepy Shōta over to the top of the stairs. Seeing the semi-controlled chaos of everyone had sped her along, but slowed him down to a crawl. Eri had dropped his hand and run into the fray. 

She had made a beeline for the kitchen where Naoki and Izuku were cooking. Hizashi was obviously losing at some video game, judging by the triumph exuding from Hitomi. Fumiko lay on the ground with her feet up on the couch while she read a book. Yoko scanned something on the computer, blowing bubbles in her ever-present gum.

Hisoka had gotten them a little closer to adding Tenko and Oboro to this too. Shōta could imagine them there, how they'd fit in. Oboro sitting on the kitchen counter and coaching the teens’ cooking. Tenko claiming next round against Hitomi.

He still couldn't quite place himself in the picture.

He shouldn't have this. Tools don't get to have anything.

But Mama wanted all of it to stop, for them to get away, to be a happy family. She'd never stopped fighting for it.

He would make it stop. He would get them away. 

He walked down the stairs and pressed a kiss to the top of Hizashi's head.

The blonde tilted his head back, his hands falling to his lap as the game was forgotten. He smiled hopefully. “Shō?”

Shōta smiled back tiredly. “Morning, Sunshine.”

Eri grinned, holding Oboro's hand. “Your hair is so much brighter and puffy, like clouds when there are rainbows out.”

“I feel more like rainbows lately, Eri-chan!” He swung the girl up onto his shoulder. “You wanna go for a spin?”

“Can I?” Eri asked, waving her fingers through Oboro's hair.

Shōta smiled. “We're both going. We have a surprise.”

Eri's eyes brightened. “Are we having ice cream on a cloud again?”

“Nope!” Oboro replied. “I think you'll like this surprise better.”

“Better than ice cream on a cloud? Is that even possible?” Eri said incredulously.

“We'll have to find out!” Oboro formed a cloud and sat Eri down on it. He formed cloud-steps and gestured to them. “All aboard, Shō.”

“Ridiculous,” Shōta replied without heat, sitting behind Eri and securing her against himself. 

Oboro backed up a bit, ran at the cloud and used his quarterstaff like a vaulting pole. He flipped and landed cross-legged in front of them.

“You’re so silly, Uncle Kumo,” Eri said, laughing hard.

“That's Captain Uncle Kumo tonight, lil lady!” he said, turning his head to wink at her as he replaced the staff on his back

Shōta snorted, tying Eri's hair up in a messy bun. “You’re in a prime mood tonight.”

The cloud started to rise as Oboro replied, “It's a good night, my man.”

They went quickly enough to be exhilarating, but not so quickly that it made their eyes water. Eri held her hands out like she was flying. She watched the world flying past, but Shōta watched her.

“Looks all clear, Shōta buddy," Oboro said as they came to a halt. “I'll watch carefully, okay? Focus on what's important.”

After a quick glance around for himself, Shōta nodded. Oboro's cloud broke into two. The cloud holding Shōta and Eri lowered down to a few feet above ground level. 

Shōta jumped down, and Eri crawled over to the edge.

“JIJI!”

Chapter Text

Hisoka had been unwaveringly confident that the barred and reinforced door would hold Sakki back, but there was no way he would be caught by surprise again. Not with anyone. Especially not with Otōsan. 

Fumiko and Yoko had created a pocket-sized auto injector of a fast-acting sedative. It sat in Shōta's pocket or at his bedside at all times now, should he sense anything unusual at all.

Even with the extra assurance always at hand, he knew that he needed to see Nezu sooner rather than later. He couldn't let fear fully take root. Especially not when the rat had literally risked his own life by trusting Shōta. And, if he was being honest with himself, he just wanted and needed his Otōsan too much.

He approached seeing Nezu again  systematically. First he'd exchanged messages with the rat, and looked for signs of disturbance. Then he'd called to determine if hearing Otōsan's voice triggered anything. Nothing.

Hizashi had come along several times while Shōta followed the rat. The blonde carried his own dose of sedative just in case as they steadily decreased their following distances. Sakki wasn't beyond sneakiness, after all, so it was possible he was just playing it cool until he had an easy opportunity. There was never any sign of stirring. 

Now they stood just a few feet apart. Shōta hung back cautiously at first, one hand wrapped around the auto-injector. 

Once the squirming girl's feet hit the ground, Eri crashed into the rat. “I missed you so much, Jiji!”

The pink of Nezu's ears darkened and he rubbed his snout against Eri's cheek. His voice was a higher pitch than usual when he answered, “and I, you, little one!”

Nothing felt off. It was fine. They were fine.

Shōta let himself drift closer and smiled at their obvious joy. He held a thumbs up to Oboro, who returned the gesture from his watchtower-cloud 50 feet or so above them.

Nezu extended an arm to Shōta as an invitation to join the embrace. Shōta shook his head and took a step in the opposite direction. If Shōta's emotions were already becoming overwhelming, touch had often turned them utterly unmanageable. Nezu knew that and simply nodded his understanding. 

The rat returned his attention to Eri. At some point they had curled up together on the park's grass. Nezu released Eri's hair from its tie and carefully ran his paws through its tangles. She gushed on about how she'd spent her special couple days with Izu-nii and Nao-nii.

Shōta decided they'd have the reunion they'd needed and not the rushed 20-minute affair he'd gotten. The late hour stretched now, though, and Eri was slowly wilting. Nezu spoke less, his teeth clicking in a contented purr-like sound. 

“She's going to be taller than you soon,” Shōta observed, once he was sure that Eri was asleep. 

“I'm just happy that she'll become taller than me, and that I'll get to see it,” Nezu replied, cradling the sleeping girl. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“We should try to make trusting each other more of a habit again,” Shōta answered as he sat down beside Nezu. 

Nezu extended his arm again, wrapping it around his pup. 

Shōta looked away, but leaned closer. 

“So, uh…why are you laying in the middle of the training room floor like a starfish, bro?”

Oboro nudged him with a foot. 

“It's my favorite place to dangerously overthink,” Shōta replied flatly. 

Oboro laughed. “The floor, specifically?”

Shōta cracked an eye to look at Oboro. “Training room, generally. Just can't do shit right now. My calf keeps cramping.”

“Well, you're consistent. Can't find moody Shō? Check the UA gyms.” Oboro laid down so his head was next to Shōta's, but his feet pointed the opposite direction. “At least here, there's only one gym to check.”

Shōta turned his head to make a nasty face, but when he turned, Oboro was ready with a goofy expression. Shōta just rolled his eyes.

“I hate you.”

Oboro grinned. “False.”

Shōta quirked an eyebrow at him. “Fine. You're right. But I'm mad about it.”

“Very rational of you, Shō-chan.”

“I'm very rational until I'm very not.”

Oboro sighed. “Can't argue with that.” 

“How's your bratty kid brother?”

“...Tenko?”

“Yes.” Shōta scratched his cheek. “You helped raise him, or at least were along for the ride.”

Oboro scoffed. "Am I obligated to have my own ‘thing’ now that I'm on the floor too?”

“‘Course not.” Shōta smirked. “Just seems like the best comparison.”

“I kept him alive, more than I raised him. Sensei and the doctor did a lot of the…moral viewpoint stuff,” Oboro said. “I mean, he talked to me about it, but I either had to agree or not respond at all.”

Shōta let his eyes drift shut again. “Not responding probably mattered more than you think. He's smart enough under all the cultivated frustration and anger. If only he'd stop clinging to it so hard.”

“He's like a little kitten that's gotten all tangled up in their ball of yarn.”

Shōta furrowed his brow. “Did you make a kitten analogy in the hopes that it would make him more sympathetic?”

“Maybe,” Oboro granted. “Is it working?”

Shōta hummed noncommittally.

“You have to admit that he’s a lot less angry lately. More low-level aggravated? He's definitely trying to figure himself out.” Oboro said. “He's been asking lots of out-of-the-blue questions. Some obvious, some not so obvious.”

“He should probably get some contact with people closer to his age too,” Shōta reflected. “Having a teacher and a big brother is great and all, but a friend is different.”

“Naoki?” Oboro asked. 

“If Naoki"s open to it,” Shōta agreed. “He's only 2 years younger than Tenko. He's dry and sarcastic, so I think their temperaments aren't too far apart. Naoki struggled with not having anyone willing to help him more than once in his life. And he started as a vigilante, not a hero.”

“What if they're too similar, and they end up fighting?”

“It worked strangely well with Hisoka,” Shōta replied with a wry laugh. “I'm not sure them fighting would actually be a deal breaker.”

Shōta snuck into Eri's room sometime after 4 AM. It was a magical hour where nobody else was awake - between when Hitomi passed out mid-invention-marathon but before Izuku woke up to exercise. 

Shōta sat down beside Eri and rubbed her shoulder softly through the blankets. He smiled to himself. One year ago today, Eri left the hospital and came home with him for the first time.

She was real, and here, and safe, and his. 

Chapter Text

The door slammed open and Tenko stopped a few steps into the room. “There you two are. We're supposed to be training.”

Shōta lifted his head from the plans spread across the table in front of them. The younger man looked agitated.

Oboro just sounded like Oboro with a thesaurus at this point. “Are you well, Master Tomura?”

“I'm fine.” Tenko dropped into a chair across from them. “What even is this?” 

“We must revise our plans to procure the doctor,” Oboro replied. “Ruse will not be able to assist us.”

“Why the hell not?” Tenko glared at Shōta.

Shōta rubbed an eye. “Last time I was there, the doctor gave an order."

Tenko waited for more. “And?”

“Ruse received programming much like I did,” Oboro explained carefully. “Mine was to forget myself in the long term to serve Sensei and yourself, and to act as your caretaker. His was to temporarily forget himself when given directives to kill, continuing until the directive is met.” 

“So you're like Sensei's feral hit man?” 

“That…is not how I would have described it…” Shōta replied. He put a hand over the top of his pocket, feeling the shape of the auto-injector there. "The doctor's order was interrupted but I have no idea when or how it might reactivate."

“You didn't say anything about any of this before,” Tenko pressed.

“When it's done, I also forget whatever I did,” Shōta admitted.

“So can you actually be sure that you didn't follow any of his orders in the last 18 years then?” Tenko stared hard at the table as he thought. 

Shōta waved a hand helplessly, his answer halting. “I…don't know. Remembering…anything at all…it's new."

“That sounds horrifying.” Tenko flinched, shaking his head, and turned to Kurogiri. He reached toward his neck but stopped himself. “Do you remember things too now? Your life before, I mean.” 

Oboro leaned forward on one elbow. “Before Sensei?”

Tenko nodded. “I mean, if he's remembering, seems like you could too. And you've been different since you came back.”

Oboro considered Tenko before answering. “Yes, I remember my previous life.”

“So, when it's just us…” Tenko began hesitantly, “should we keep calling you Kurogiri, or should we call you Oboro instead?”

Oboro's hand found Shōta's under the table, his grip crushing. Somehow, he kept his voice level and his face calm. “I would like it if you called me Oboro.”

“Okay,” Tenko said, his body finally relaxing somewhat. “Then you should call me by the name my mother gave me too." 

Shōta crushed Oboro's hand in return.

“So Tenko, not Master Tomura,” the younger man added. “Is it weird to have both Kurogiri and Oboro memories at the same time?”

Hizashi had gotten them some fancy juice drinks. They were bright green. Shōta looked from the drink to Hizashi's face, then back down. These things were expensive and he hated the idea of wasting food or money - but green?

Hizashi laughed at him, straw hanging out of his mouth. “I know it looks weird, but it mostly tastes like pineapples.”

Shōta imagined the mostly flavorless, too-chewy pieces from the mixed fruit cups he'd get in his free school lunches back in Sanya. Why would that make this green drink more appealing?

He took a small sip from the straw before leaning back and making a face. “It's sour?”

“Pineapple is sour,” Hizashi shrugged. “I can get you a different one if you don't like that. They have a really good mango one that tastes sweet.”

“No. Thank you,” Shōta said quickly, taking another drink. Pineapple was supposed to be sour? It wasn't so bad now that he knew to expect it. 

“How do you want to spend our surprise day together?” Hizashi asked excitedly.

Shōta stirred the drink with the straw and shrugged. 

Hizashi bit his lip. Shōta's eyes immediately followed the motion and lingered there. He caught himself after a moment and averted his eyes to the tiny bubbles at the top of the freshly blended juice. 

“Unless you wanted to be alone?” Hizashi asked. “I mean…you kinda had all your privacy blown up today, so I'd understand. Just tell me.”

“No, I just don't know what to do with ‘free time’,” Shōta admitted, wincing at how that sounded. 

Hizashi was looking at him like he had two heads. Everything about this morning was making him feel like he was dying inside.

“I mean, before…um, before Sunpu,” Shōta choked out. “I was always at school, or classes, or helping at the store around the block…so I didn't really have any.”

“No wonder you always look exhausted,” Hizashi said with a laugh. “You're like a 12-year-old salary man.”

“I'm 13,” Shōta corrected.

Hizashi stared at him. “What? Since when?”

“2 weeks ago.”

“You didn’t say anything?!”

“No…?”

Hizashi pushed his drink aside to lean forward. “Okay, we're fixing this. First, we're going to the comic shop…”

“Yo, Dad?”

A little zap, though not unpleasant. 

“What?” Shōta replied.

Naoki squinted at him. “Do you not want me to call you that?”

Shōta stopped with his foot on the roof's ledge. “No, it's fine.”

“Is it?” Naoki stopped next to him and looked over. “Because you twitch every time I say it.”

“I…I like it.” A small genuine smile spread across his face. “I'm just still getting used to it.” 

“It's been like a month.”

“We haven't spent enough time together lately. And it took me a while with Eri too. 1-A thought it was hysterical.” Shōta dropped to street level and walked across the road, Naoki at his heels. 

“I can't believe you convinced me that this was a good idea,” Naoki said.

“Believe it,” Shōta replied, pushing him through the door.

“You think he's gonna be okay with this, or…?” Naoki asked.

Shōta left his hand between Naoki's shoulders, guiding him toward the living space.

“He's probably going to gripe at first. Stick with it,” Shōta advised. 

Naoki stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Voices came through the door.

“I know we retain access to Sensei's funds, but we have other mission-critical expenses,” Oboro scolded gently. “That is the 3rd console in 2 months.”

“You floated in out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me,” Tenko snapped. “I'm going to put a bell on you.”

“Okay, I'm not nervous anymore,” Naoki whispered.

Shōta snorted. “I told you.”

Naoki opened the door and walked in. Tenko's head snapped up. Oboro took the opportunity to walk away with a dustpan full of decayed console.

“What is that vigilante doing here?” Tenko scowled.

“He agreed to help you get the doctor back,” Shōta answered. 

Tenko stalked over. “I don’t want his help.”

Naoki stared Tenko down. “I'm not here to help you. I'm here to help Ruse.” 

“And you. You didn’t even talk to us about this first?!” Tenko looked at Shōta.

“It's the quickest, easiest substitution,” Shōta responded. “His fighting style and in-the-moment problem-solving is closest to mine.”

Tenko scoffed. “He's quirkless.”

Naoki's face was bored, but his posture was pulled tight. “I could beat your parched ass anyway.’

“Tenko,” Shōta said as he moved between the two young men. “Go find Oboro.”

“What? Why?” Tenko growled.

Tenko did as he was told at the matching unsettling smiles he got in response.

Chapter Text

If Naomasa was a less perpetually-tired man, he might have shouted at an unexpected person sitting in his desk chair. As it was, he just halted in the doorway.

“I brought you real coffee,” Shōta said, pointing at the extra large cup at the edge of the desk.

“Are you joking right now?” Naomasa hurried to shut the door behind himself.

“I would never joke about coffee, Nao.” He sipped from his own cup.

Naomasa sighed. “You are both a missing person and a highly-ranked villain.”

Shōta smirked. “Yes.”

“How did you manage to sneak in here?” Naomasa picked up the coffee and took a drink, his shoulders dropping lower.

“I didn't. I just walked in. It's amazing what people will let you do if you just act like you belong.”

Naomasa hung his hat on the rack and shrugged off his coat. “I want to demand explanations from everyone out there, but then I'd have to admit you were here and what we talked about. So I'll just have my usual silent crisis.”

Naomasa trudged to the couch and sat. From years of friendship, Shōta knew his pause was contemplating laying down. He decided in favor of drinking the coffee instead.

Shōta leaned forward on his elbows. “At least you can do it with real coffee.”

“I'm not sure the coffee is worth it.” Naomasa said. “Though it is nice to see you.”

“I know for fact that Yagi has taken more years of your life than I have,” Shōta replied.

Naomasa choked on his coffee. “Why is that a metric?” 

Shōta shrugged. “Get to know some less self-destructive heroes.”

With a long sigh through his nose, Naomasa put his coffee cup down. “Okay, so tell me. To what do I owe this current internal panic?”

“The remaining Lieutenants of the League of Paranormal Bullshit,” Shōta answered. “I can't find reports of them, or reports that might be them, on any Japanese law enforcement database. And in addition to self-destructive heroes, you know some important people that might keep things off the books.”

“I don’t think any of them have been caught, or found dead,” Naomasa answered. “So they have to be out there somewhere.”

“Right. So why would they suddenly go completely inactive?” Shōta tapped a finger on Naomasa's desk. “They were never that disciplined before.”

Naomasa pursed his lips as he thought. 

The door opened. Sansa stood in the doorway in pressed slacks and a polo shirt, not his usual uniform. His face turned from intense to slack, and his ruff raised slightly.

Naomasa hissed, “Tamakawa, come in and close the door!”

The feline-man suddenly jumped to action and did as he was told. “What's going on?”

“Relax, it's fine,” Shōta said with a smile. "Congratulations are in order?”

Sansa put his hands on his hips proudly. “Made detective last month.”

“Well deserved, Sansa. It's about time they recognized you.” Shōta toasted him with his coffee cup.

“The department's congratulations could have been better,” Naomasa said wryly. “They assigned him a murder case that's been at a standstill since April.”

“That's rough,” Shōta said sympathetically. “What's the case? I have different contacts these days. Maybe I'll find something you haven't.”

Sansa looked a little uncomfortable. His questioning glance at Naomasa only netted a shrug, so Sansa went on. “Nishiyama Cho. She was found dead in her apartment in Azabu.”

Shōta scratched his cheek. “Why do I know that name?”

“She worked for the Commission,” Sansa offered. 

“That would explain why the case is still active with no leads since April,” Shōta said with irritation, getting to his feet. “I'll look up the file later.”

“You'll look it up later? What does that mean?” Sansa asked.

Naomasa looked at the newer detective. “Don't ask questions that you don't actually want the answer to.”

Shōta clapped Sansa on the shoulder on his way to the door. “Congrats again.”

Sansa sputtered as Shōta opened the door. He walked right back through the station and onto the street. 

“Okay, so I started with Dad, because I already knew more about his background,” Izuku said. 

Fumiko gave a predatory smirk at Shōta's flushed cheeks. He elbowed Fumiko in the ribs. Having his hair shorter had been convenient for a while, but he blushed way too easily. Plus, now that Naoki realized, he already said “Dad” as often as he could just for Shōta's reactions. 

Izuku was obliviously shuffling through his notebooks until he found the one that he needed. Or maybe he was faking it to counterbalance Naoki. That wouldn't surprise Shōta, actually. 

Fumiko looked at Shōta, blocking Izuku's view of her mouth while she mouthed “nerd.” Shōta gave Fumiko a playful shove back. 

“Ah! Okay,” Izuku laid the notebook open. “So the Aizawa family has had ocular activation quirks for generations. What exactly has activated has varied. Some lines are very consistent, indicating that the subject of activation is a dominant quirk trait, much like the ocular activation.”

Fumiko looked at the places on the pedigree chart that Izuku pointed to. “Translation?”

Shōta grinned at Izuku. “Any child with an biological Aizawa parent will have a 75% chance of getting an eye-based quirk. For some of those families, there's also a 75% chance that the quirk effect will be the same.”

“Right! So this line here,” Izuku pointed, “5 generations in a row, all of them create lasers with their eyes.”

“Laser eyes. He had relatives that could shoot lasers,” Fumiko said drily. 

“No,” Izuku corrected excitedly. “They still can!”

“The kid is, what? 6...? 7...?" Shōta looked closely at the chart, horrified. "Can you imagine the quirk counseling and training?”

“Maybe it's weak?” Fumiko suggested.

“That's the best part!” Izuku said, slamming his hands on the table. “Their father can slice diamonds. Diamonds!’

Shōta chuckled. “Breathe, Problem Child.” 

Izuku looked at Shōta with wide eyes. His voice was low and serious. “Diamond. Cutting. Laser. Eyes.”

“Your son is terrifying,” Fumiko whispered loudly.

At “your son”, the receding blush went all the way from Shōta's ears to under the neckline of his t-shirt.

“He's brilliant,” Shōta shot back.

“Oh my God,” Fumiko said suddenly. “You made him cry. How do we stop him?”

Sure enough, Izuku was wiping his cheeks. “Right, um…where was I…”

“Dominant quirk characteristics,” Shōta prompted quickly.

Izuku gave a small smile. “Oh. Right. So sometimes, they keep the ocular activation, but take on an effect of the other family line. Sometimes direct from the parent, or sometimes further back in the family tree. So this line has a whole bunch of different quirks. This person can create time bubbles around what they look at. Their first cousin can teleport to places they can see. And another first cousin can look at something and shift it to another phase of matter.”

“With that kind of predictable outcome,” Shōta thought aloud, “I imagine the era of quirk marriages must have been out of control…”

“About that. It seems that Dr. Garaki had a thing for the ocular activation trait, because he set up 2 arranged marriages in one contract. Obviously worded to skirt the ban on quirk marriages, but instead it sounds kind of like…a trade?” Izuku looked disgusted. 

Fumiko scoffed. “Gross.”

“The first was for his son Tsubasa Kazuo to Aizawa Yuki,” Izuku said, pointing to Shōta's name on the chart.

Shōta rubbed his face, pained but unsurprised. 

“The other was one for his daughter Garaki Mura to Yuki's brother, Ryo.” Izuku pointed to another name.

“Fumikoshi.” She read the name, then looked at Shōta. “Kōshi.”

Chapter Text

Hizashi was here. Shōta drew the sleeping man closer to himself. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in the silky smooth blonde hair. It was okay because Hizashi was here.  

The doctor was confident, excited. He was sure that giving an order would work. 

He forced himself to think the thought so he could make space for it in his mind. 

Sakki had killed at least once, probably multiple times, when I was a kid.

That space had to be there. Before he could be caught unaware again. Before a memory could come, unbidden, awake or asleep. Before he discovered some kind of evidence. There was no time to panic, or lash out, or shut down.

He forced himself to think it again. 

Sakki had killed at least once, probably multiple times, when I was a kid.

Then Tenko's words came back to him. 

“So can you actually be sure that you didn't follow any of his orders in the last 18 years then?”

With a juddering breath, he revised the thought he'd keep telling himself. 

Sakki had killed at least once, probably multiple times, beginning when I was a kid. 

It was Sakki, not him, right? Although he still considered Hisoka and Stormcloud to be him, just different versions of him. So why would Sakki be different? Just not liking what he did wasn't a logical reason to consider Sakki as totally distinct somehow. 

Answers to that were probably in the middle space. Either with Hisoka, who had spent so much time with a constantly screaming Sakki. Or with Sakki himself. Could Shōta handle talking to Sakki? 

The tension throughout his body was making his joints ache. His temples pounded with an anxiety headache even though he'd slept soundly and just recently woken. His chest hurt from enforcing steady breaths.

He brought this on himself, for good reason, by forcing these small moments of truth. 

I'm not a monster.

“What a…glorious monster,” Uchida said.

I'm more than that. I don't need to break under the shame. 

“A mas’erpiece,” Dad slurred. “He'll be…s’ happy.”

I'm not their creation. That's why my mind kept that part separate. 

Garaki's cackling even after he'd dropped Nezu and his tantō.

I'm all right. I'm okay. There's a reason, out of my control, that I did those things.

Shōta took a deep breath through his nose. Hizashi's smell. 

Hizashi had stood for safety and survival for most of his life. He'd seen Shōta clearly even when they were just preteens. He offered understanding even when Shōta couldn't offer it to himself. 

Hizashi was here. It was okay because Hizashi was here. And it would keep being okay, because no matter what else came out, Hizashi would stay.

Hizashi loved Shōta. Shōta loved Hizashi.

He could rebuild from there. He knew he could do it. He'd done it before.

I made my life mean something else, something I wanted and took pride in.

He also had Eri, Naoki, and Izuku. He had Yoko and Hitomi. He had Oboro and Fumiko. Each of them knew everything so far. Except Eri, of course, but she understood trauma too well for her age and could intuit enough. 

While it wasn't without struggle, they were all still here.

There were people on the edges too, that knew some, or even most, and they stayed too. 

He wasn't alone. 

Sakki had killed at least once, probably multiple times, beginning when I was a kid.

But it would be okay. 

Shōta took a deep breath. Oboro took one of his own and offered a tight smile. 

“You're wearing jeans,” Shōta said. 

“Been wearin’ ‘em for hours, bro,” Oboro replied. 

“I know.” Shota looked up at the imposing building. “You've done nothing but adjust yourself since we got off the train.”

Oboro gave him a dead-eyed stare. “I haven't worn jeans in almost 15 years, I forgot how uncomfortable they are.”

Shōta nudged him. “Well knock it off and put on your warpaint. People don't answer tough questions from a person that keeps fighting with their clothes.”

“Oh!” Oboro smirked. “Is that why you wore a trash bag for years, and called it a hero suit?”

“I walked right into that one,” Shōta said with faux annoyance as he headed inside.

The building's lobby was large, almost airy due to its 30+-foot ceilings. Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. It was probably designed to make people feel less trapped, but it didn't make a difference to people that had been through what the two of them had.

Central Hospital.

Oboro followed Shōta to the elevator. He smiled and said hello to a few people as they passed. It was his natural friendliness and concern for others, but tilted into a shield.

Shōta pressed the button for the 22nd floor and leaned against the back wall of the elevator. At first, when they were the only passengers, the antiseptic smell was the only reminder of the elevator being inside a hospital. 

After a few floors, people started getting in and out. Some crying or numb-looking family members. Some patients were able to walk. Others were being pushed in wheelchairs or on gurneys. Doctors and nurses.

Oboro had closed his eyes, so Shōta trained his own on the digital display over the door. It got easier as they got higher since wards gave way to office spaces. The number of others on the elevator dropped and more of them were dressed for administrative jobs.

“Ro?” Shōta asked as they passed floor 20.

The other man opened his eyes and looked at the display. “Showtime.”

Shōta nodded. “Keep looking forward.”

“We're sure as hell not going back,” Oboro answered. His previously dull expression split into a grin.

The doors opened on the 22nd floor and they walked off the elevator together. 

Oboro tackled Hizashi in a hug when they walked into the warehouse nearly 3 hours after leaving Tokyo. How he was still vibrating at that frequency all these hours later was frankly distressing to Shōta. He was ecstatic too, but this just seemed impossible to sustain.

Hizashi shrieked and nearly lost balance, but saved it on the 4th sideways step. Shōta could see where this was going. He sighed and applied his eye drops.

“BRO! BRO, GUESS WHAT?!”

Hizashi thought for a second, still holding up his taller friend. “Uh…”

“WHATEVER, SHUT UP! I'LL JUST TELL YOU!”

Oboro leaned back to look at Hizashi's face. Shōta activated Erasure before either of them had the chance to speak again. He also covered his ears for good measure. Hopefully anyone else nearby was copying him.

Hizashi laughed. “‘Kay, hit me.”

“The lead researcher at Central was the one that got rid of the governor thing that was driving the Robo-Ro!” Oboro gushed. “AND SHE WAS ABLE TO REMOVE EVEN FIXED QUIRKS FROM OTHER NOMU!”

Hizashi's mind reeled, and then it clicked. “WAIT, WE DON'T NEED THE DOCTOR?”

“WE DON'T NEED THE DOCTOR!” Oboro cheered.

The two of them just screamed for a solid 8 seconds. 

Shōta closed his burning eyes and lowered his hands. “I'm out,” he warned.

The two of them carried on at a much lower volume. Shōta reapplied his eye drops and left his eyes closed. The eyedrops slid back into his pocket beside the auto-injector.

The click of heeled boots behind him - Fumiko. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Relieved?”

“Yeah. You?” Shōta opened his eyes and spun to look at her.

She smiled. It was...kind? No mischief, or sharpness, or defiance lay hidden underneath. “So relieved, for all of us.”

Chapter Text

“Did you find out anything else about that place in Haibori Woods?” Shōta asked, working on sorting the massive stack of papers into piles. 

“Not really,” Fumiko sighed. “It's remote and abandoned. Feels like him, but in a ‘his kind of trap’ way.”

“Can we afford to ignore it though?” he asked. “I don't want to run headfirst into a trap, but there's got to be another way to not miss it if there's a chance...”

“Pfft. You wouldn't be running in there anyway. We might as well set up a Sakki welcome wagon. Get some snacks and balloons.”

“You're right,” Shōta said. He'd been skimming the paper in his hands while they talked. He stopped, considering all the limitations Sakki's existence, or rather his re-emergence, put on him. Would he have to drop this into someone else's lap right at the end?

“Sorry, that was shitty,” she muttered. 

He looked up at her. “It's fine. Just got me thinking.”

She still looked unsure but stayed silent. He went back to his sorting and Fumiko walked to Yoko's computer. When Shōta glanced over, she was looking at satellite images of the area surrounding Haibori Woods.

Shōta's sorting slowed and then stopped as his focus slipped. How could they mitigate Sakki's impact? There had to be a way. 

Maybe he could find a way to force a swap back with Sakki. Preferably one that didn't require mind control, sedatives, or the interference of Izuku's quirk “ghosts.” Relying on sedatives during a fight would just make him a liability in the field. Mind control would require the full attention of Fumiko or Hitoshi, taking one of them out of the fight too, and creating two liabilities. If they were in trouble, Yoichi and the others had to focus on supporting Izuku. They were probably more than capable of dividing their attention, but if Izuku got hurt because of that, he'd never forgive himself.

A liability no matter which way he looked at their current methods. He needed a new method. 

Shōta was able to reach out to Hisoka. Hisoka was usually willing to step in when he asked, but his relationship with Hisoka was wildly different. Plus, there were still times that Hisoka barged in, and he'd never actually managed to do it back to Hisoka. Shōta had influenced Hisoka a little sometimes, and he'd asked for control back. But that was all.

Maybe if he had a better handle on knowing when the changes occurred, he could make notes on what was happening at the time. He'd be able to identify triggers. Hisoka probably knew all that, actually, as well as any limits - but would that provide any insight at all on Sakki? 

“You look like you're going to shoot some of those eye lasers soon,” Fumiko commented.

Shōta lifted his head. “What?”

“You look crazy intense right now.” Fumiko jerked her chin in the direction of the paper in his hand. “Did that particular page do something to offend you?”

“Oh.” Shōta smoothed his expression back to blankness. “No, I just got lost in thought. I did it all the time as a kid too. My mom said it always looked like there was a storm brewing in my head. She called me Stormcloud.”

“That's adorable.” Fumiko smiled - the gentle, kind smile that came out more often these days. “I've never heard you talk about her before.”

“I don't really, with anyone.” He felt strangely defensive. The intense look returned. He was struck by the thought that Stormcloud kept his memories of Mama close. They were safe there.

Did he just know that, or was Stormcloud actually responding to Fumiko's comment? If it was Stormcloud, then he was actually paying some level of attention to the outside world. That might not be the best thing for his child-self. Although at least parts of the outside world might feel safer than inside. Stormcloud had been so afraid of Sakki that he reached out to Yoichi on his own, after all.

There really was no getting around it. He needed to give some serious attention to his middle space and how it connected to the outside world. Who came out or not. When and how. What got communicated back and to whom. 

Could, and should, Sakki be a part of that conversation?

Too much paper. Shōta cursed his past self for printing everything. It was a necessity before he'd gotten the secure laptop, but sorting back through all of it was trying his patience.

“What's up with the resting bitch face?” Hizashi asked, wrapping his arms around Shōta's neck and leaning into his back.

“It's just my face.” Shōta grumbled. “That's why it's called ‘resting bitch face.’”

“I know, my little porcupine,” Hizashi said with a little laugh. “It's just a little bitchier than normal.”

“It probably isn't helping that I've been sitting on this stool for hours. My back's aching, but I can't justify walking away. Hito-chan and Yoko will need their work table back.” Shōta leaned his head back onto Hizashi's chest. “I just want to burn all of this instead of trying to figure out what's important, or otherwise worth keeping. My mind wasn't organized at the time so the papers aren't either.”

“Ah.” Hizashi peeked down at the stack currently in his hands. “How can I help?”

“This is helping, sunshine,” Shōta answered, lowering his hands to the desk and closing his eyes. He let his muscles loosen, using the blonde as a backrest.

Hizashi kissed the top of his head. “Okay, kitten.”

When Shōta's eyes had rested enough to stop burning, he opened them and got back to work. Hizashi's arms slowly dropped lower. He started to absently rub Shōta's chest with one thumb.

Shōta flipped between two copies of a report. The flight report from the med-evac helicopter out of Jaku. Why did he have two?

The discrepancies between the two were highlighted. One listed Furuya Eri as a passenger, and noted that she didn't join the return flight. Hibino had mentioned that the hospital had asked her to stay and assist. The other excluded her entirely. The revised copy had a cover sheet - an attestation that it was the accurate record. It was signed by one of the members of a Commission taskforce. The “Subcommittee Investigating the Affair at Jaku City.” 

It was signed by Nishiyama Cho. Sansa's unsolved murder case.

“Zashi, I need my computer,” Shōta said, abruptly standing to look over the stacks of paper. He had the report the committee had submitted. It was here somewhere.

“Okay, kitten,” Hizashi replied, heading over to the couch where Shōta's bag sat. “Slow down a little, ya dig? You'll be mad at yourself later if you have to re-sort those.”

Shōta huffed, but did slow down a little. “We missed something.”

Chapter Text

The laptop sat on the couch cushion. Hizashi looked through the various cords in the bag to find the right charger. “If you're going to be on the laptop for a while, why don't you come sit on the couch?” 

Shōta finally found the book-length report from the subcommittee and walked over with it. “Yeah…okay.”

Hizashi smiled and plugged in the laptop before sitting sideways on the couch. He held out his arms. “Come on over, sweetness.”

“This was just a long-con for cuddles.” Shōta sat in the open space, leaning back against Hizashi with his own legs up on the couch cushions. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Shō-chan. I'm just being a supportive partner.” Hizashi wrapped his arms around Shōta's neck again. 

Shōta groaned. “Why?”

“Why what, baby?” Hizashi asked with a snicker.

“I'm not feeding into this nonsense.” Shōta typed in his password and looked at the list of subcommittee members while the computer finished booting up. “Hey, Yagi is listed as the chairperson of the investigation into Jaku. Was that legit, or ‘honorary'?”

“One, you love my nonsense,” Hizashi teased. “Two, I think honorary? He was pretty preoccupied with Izuku in the early weeks. Maybe justification for giving him the information so quickly, and if All Might's on a committee…”

“Then he has to have the top seat. Ugh.” Shota didn't see any other noteworthy names on the list and tossed the report to the floor. 

First he did a basic web search. He found her name and title beside a thumbnail-sized headshot on the page for the Special Investigations Unit. She was listed as a senior investigator - neither a low-level peon nor any kind of director level. Middle management. 

He looked at the picture. The woman had warm orange hair and eyes to match, with black sclera. Maybe something on her head, but the image quality was too low. It tickled something in the back of his mind but he couldn't place it. 

He went back to the search and saw a few news articles about Jaku and a few other cases she had worked. Not much else. That wasn't a surprise. The Special Investigations Unit tried to do their work quickly and quietly, and their staff tended to keep their private lives very private. 

“Who is that?” Hizashi asked, looking over his shoulder.

“She signed off on a falsified record from the med-evac flight out of Jaku. One that excluded Nakamine-san from the crew list.” Shōta answered. “And Tamakawa was assigned her murder investigation last month even though there's been no movement on it since April.”

“Suspicious.”

Shōta navigated to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's intranet. “One more red flag without even looking at her case file. She was found dead in her apartment…in Azabu.”

“What?!”

Shōta rubbed his ear on that side. 

“Sorry, I was surprised,” Hizashi said meekly. “Does she have a secret trust fund? Otherwise she'd never be able to afford a place there.”

“Exactly.” Shōta quickly gained access to the site and located the file on Nishiyama Cho. 

The file was meager at best. The initial responding officers’ reports. A report by the lead detective that would incorporate low-resolution crime scene photography and the conclusions from forensic reports. A folder with the original, higher-resolution photographs of the scene. Another folder with the full forensic reports. After that, just routine monthly reports from the previous lead detective that no new leads had presented themselves. 

Hizashi scoffed at the tiny file. “Is somebody trying to sabotage Tamakawa?”

“Maybe. And/or bail out this Takara Ayame since she didn't find a single lead." Shōta commented, clicking on the responding officers’ report. “Are you reading along, or are you going to ask me for the summaries?”

“I'll try to keep up, but you've always been a faster reader. Especially when it's really got your focus. I'll tell you when we've reached the summary point, yeah?”

Shōta nodded and began to read. 

The officers responded to a report of a scream from the apartment late at night. The pair entered at the insistence of a frantic neighbor. They stopped in the genkan doorway into the dark living room. A still and silent body seemed to be suspended on a wall. The apartment was absolutely silent even after they'd identified themselves loudly. They cited that and the quantity of blood at the scene as the reason they called it in and went to guard the door rather than destroy any evidence. 

Hizashi's swallow was audible. “She was hanging from the wall…”

Shōta laid a hand over Hizashi's and gave it a squeeze. “You know the next one's going to be worse, sunshine. There will be pictures. You don't have to read, or look, or ask for a summary.”

“I'll let you know if I get there, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Shōta opened the detective's summary report.

Officers Ishibashi (Badge #6258) and Matsuno (Badge #2815) requested assistance from the Homicide Division at 12:42 AM on April 14.

After working so many cases with Naomasa, he was surprised at feeling a bit queasy. Perhaps he was internalizing some of Hizashi's nerves. 

He scrolled down. The headshot from the Commission website, but this must be from the original. It was much clearer. The curiosity in her eyes was visible, as were the antennae on her head. 

“Do we know her somehow?” Shōta asked. “You're better at long-term memory of faces…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I don't think so. Maybe you met her separately?”

Shōta frowned. “You know how hard I try not to meet people. Especially not Commission people.”

“I do,” Hizashi agreed, kissing his cheek. “My favorite okuri-inu, creeping after people just going about their business…”

“Rude,” Shōta complained, scrolling down further. 

A basic description of Nishiyama and her background was next. She was 26 and rapidly rising in the Special Investigations Unit. She did a lot of community service, but always in the non-glamorous background roles. 

Another picture, this one was full-length. It showed off the beautiful butterfly wings spread behind her. Monarch markings matched the orange and black of her hair and eyes. 

Next came a transcript of the call from the neighbor. The older woman emphasized that Nishiyama was single and a perfect neighbor, demanding someone check on her. The transcribed radio call from Officer Matsuno was routine. 

Then there was the picture of how Nishiyama was found. She was pinned to the wall with a sword through her middle like a scientific specimen. Her wings were torn to shreds. They'd been meticulously reassembled and t-pinned to the walls around her. 

“Fucking hell, that's gruesome,” Hizashi whispered. “Who would do something like that?”

Shōta squeezed his eyes shut, like he could unsee it. Un-know it. Because he did know her. Or a part of him did. 

“Poor little butterfly can't fly away…”

Sakki looked out the window. The sun would rise soon. 

He made sure his suit was clean, then replaced the helmet and liner. He made his way to the roof and headed off. 

Shōta felt wrong. Inexplicably, deeply wrong. And he was in Minato. When and why did he come to Minato? He needed...

He knew what he needed. Or rather, who.

He found a roof that overlooked the major road connecting the neighborhoods of Rappongi and Azabu. 

Shōta closed the laptop and held one hand over his mouth. 

“You've always been so splendidly brutal.”

There was a heartrending keening noise. 

Hizashi wrapped his arms around Shōta's arms, and his legs around Shōta's legs.

That was strange. 

Oh. 

He was the one making the sound, then.

Chapter Text

Hisoka screamed at his own powerlessness. 

Sakki had suddenly laughed madly from the other side of his door and Stormcloud panicked. Hisoka had tried to calm him. He'd partially succeeded before the laughter returned, louder and more demented. 

A door appeared in their space. A familiar closet door. Stormcloud ran to it and slammed the door closed behind himself. Hisoka talked to Stormcloud through the door, assured him that nothing bad would happen, that it would be okay. Stormcloud didn't answer, but Sakki's laughter had continued. Hisoka kept trying. Then the door had flickered and disappeared. 

Hisoka's first and most important job was to protect Stormcloud. Their little self had decided not to go out ever again, which made them perfect for safely holding every memory of Mama. They could all easily see those memories any time, but they couldn't be altered or manipulated.

Now those core memories were missing or gone. There was a general sense of her having existed, but that was all. If it hadn't been so central to his purpose, he might not even notice they were missing. Who would they be now, without them?

Feeling the wall for something, any evidence the door had been there at all, was fruitless. Hisoka stomped to Sakki's door and kicked it repeatedly. Sakki only laughed harder. 

Shōta screamed at his own powerlessness. 

They'd gotten to him so quickly. 

24 days after Jaku. 14 days after leaving Central Hospital. 

Did he have any control over his life at all? They'd almost killed him. He'd survived, but broken. He'd thought he could put himself back together with some time away from everything. Apparently, they decided that they may as well use him if he was still alive?

Whatever the reason, someone had given him an order and he'd followed it. He'd done something far more sadistic than anything he'd mentally prepared himself for. Was that level of cruelty in the order, or was that just Sakki being “splendidly brutal”?

He didn't remember getting to Minato. That made sense now. The sun had barely risen as he scanned the street below. He couldn't have left Nishiyama's apartment more than half an hour before. He'd managed to find Hizashi in the sea of pedestrians and followed him into the park. 

The whole world felt like static. The colors too bright, the sounds too loud, the touches too strong.

When Hizashi kissed him, everything quieted. He dropped the helmet onto the grass to hold onto Hizashi like a life raft. The kiss held all the devastating urgency they both felt.

Shōta had held Hizashi with the same hands that just finished pinning each ragged wing remnant to the wall. 

Shōta had kissed Hizashi with the same mouth that so recently mocked the dead woman for being unable to fly away.

All of this sank in, and Hizashi's attempts to calm him became worse than useless. The whispered words, light kisses to his temple, and the full body hug. They all felt like burning, body and mind.

Shōta's screaming turned more desperate. Hizashi's hug turned into a restraint. 

Sakki laughed at his power.

He hadn't even needed to do anything. All he'd had to do was wait. Now all these carefully constructed walls around him crumbled away. 

What was it that Shōta had told that detective? “Using a person's own guilt against them is surprisingly effective.”

Sakki rebuilt weak facsimiles of the walls around himself while the others were distracted. Then he'd gone quiet. He'd learned a long time ago to be patient. After all, Sensei's plans started long before Sakki, and they continued far beyond him. His entire life was only a blip in the grand scheme, but his blip would matter. 

Sakki could be patient if it meant making Sensei proud.

Oboro was watching him. 

Oboro was here? Even though he could go anywhere at any time, he'd only left the base twice. Even those had only happened after Shōta had talked to Tenko about it. They'd agreed that Oboro shouldn't leave, if at all possible, after Tenko realized that he wasn't really Kurogiri anymore.

That decision only got firmer since. Naoki had convinced them that they needed to start trusting Tenko with more information. He'd made an analogy to reeling in the fish only to have it flop back out of the boat. 

So they'd started with telling Tenko that Oboro had been himself since just after Central, and that Shōta had known. Tenko had been especially unsure of how much they actually cared for him. Convincing him meant keeping close, and keeping things stable. 

But now Oboro was here, and watching him. 

“Hey there, Shōta buddy,” Oboro said. His smile was nervous.

Shōta's mind felt cottony. “Tenko?”

“With Naoki.” The smile looked marginally less nervous. “They're fine.”

Shōta sat up and held his head. It was pounding. “Why you?”

“Well, this is actually the third time you've woken up. Hizashi had to knock you back out before.”

Shōta noticed the auto-injector that Oboro was flipping between his fingers. He was missing something. 

Oboro held the device still in both hands on his lap. “The hope was that you would be calmer with someone that could relate.”

Could relate? Could relate to what?

Oboro bit his lip. “Can I touch you?”

Shōta's brow crinkled and he nodded. This uncharacteristically serious and cautious Oboro was unsettling.

Oboro moved from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed. He put the auto-injector down and picked up both of Shōta's hands with his own. “Take it from the guy that was on the verge of cutting All Might in half with a warp gate. It was the programming, Shō. Not you. Okay?”

Programming. Something about Sakki then. He just couldn't connect things with his brain so slowed down. He was getting frustrated. 

“Look at me?”

Shōta looked up at the bright blue eyes. His hair finally matched again.

Eyes that matched the color of their hair. But orange, and so full of fear.

His hands tightened on Oboro's, and Oboro's eyes softened in response.

“You got it now?” he asked.

Shōta's jaw clenched.

“Okay. Keep breathing, my man, you're turning into a tomato.” Oboro said. The little hint of Oboro's light teasing helped Shōta refocus his attention.

“I went to him right after. Hizashi, I mean.” Shōta pulled his hands from Oboro's. “The same hands…”

“You weren't controlling your body then, even if you remember it,” Oboro reminded him. “And your hands, or any other part of your body? They don't hold onto the things they've done.”

“Why are you so much more okay with this?”

“I couldn't do anything, for years, except figure out how to come to peace with the things that my body was doing without my permission. As they were happening,” Oboro answered. “You're in the middle of the bursting floodgates edition with everything else happening around you.”

Shōta hummed in acknowledgment and stared at his hands.

The silence between them felt long, but Shōta knew that it probably wasn't. 

“Hey Shō?”

“Hmm?”

“How many people have you saved as a hero?”

“Huh?”

“Ballpark it.”

“No idea.” Shōta shrugged.

“Add on people that never got attacked because you caught somebody too.” Oboro sat up a little straighter as his mind whirred. “And civilians that were inspired to do good because of any of those saves. I know you're not a media guy, but you must have inspired a bystander or two.”

“That number is literally impossible to know.”

“Oh! Plus the same for your students!” Oboro crowed. “And you have so many. I swear, it's like you can't help yourself. That's even considering that you've got a hair trigger for expulsions...”

“Ro.” Shōta rubbed his face. “Do you have a point?”

“I do!” Oboro said with a smile. “Are you pleasantly surprised?”

“Yes. Make it,” Shōta groused. “My head feels like it's breaking in half.” 

“Okay, okay.” Oboro pointed to Shōta's hands. “If you're gonna fixate on the bad things that you think are stuck to those grippers somehow, at least think about how much good must be stuck to them too.”

Chapter Text

The middle space felt too big. Too empty. Shōta wasn't used to feeling alone in his own mind. 

Although he wasn't really alone. Sakki was here. Why was he so quiet without Hisoka to shout him down? 

Shōta looked at Sakki's door closely for once, rather than just staying away from it. The design on Oboro's door was significant. Was the appearance of Sakki's door meaningful too? It was made of smooth brushed nickel, or maybe an unpolished chrome? That could mean a lot of things. Too many possibilities without knowing anything about him. 

So Shōta knocked. 

Nothing.

“Why Nishiyama?”

A low growl in response. 

“So you yell and scream for attention, but when someone actually wants you to talk, you don't?” Shōta snipped back.

Nothing again.

He looked around the space like it could give him a clue, but it was the same blankness as ever. Why was it so blank, anyway? 

“Hey, how old were we? The first order?” It was an impulsive question that he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. 

So, of course, Sakki's response was immediate and cold. “5 years, 7 months, 16 days.”

That was exact. Distressingly so. About a year after his first “visit.”

Why then?

Did they wait to be sure that the telekinesis wouldn't be rejected? Was it before or after the 2nd procedure? Maybe there was something non-surgical spanning that year? Almost certainly some training with the quirks themselves. Probably something to establish orders as a concept. Maybe more.

So many questions, but would Sakki answer any of those? Another simple one on the same topic would be most likely to get a response. There was some dark curiosity pushing him forward on the topic too.

He had a date for the first order, June 24. If he knew the prefecture, he could narrow it down and maybe even find records. 

Shōta rested his back against the wall beside the door. “Where?”

Again, Sakki's answer was quick. “Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto City.”

Shōta would almost definitely find it now with a specific ward, but he may as well keep asking questions. “Name?”

“Seto Hikari.”

He slid down the wall to sit. A name. Another woman. Who was she, and, “why?”

Sakki growled. 

Shōta paused. “You don't know.”

“No.”

Shōta rested his forehead on his knees. “Do they ever tell you why?”

“No, and tools don't ask questions,” Sakki snapped. 

Shōta didn't know what to say. He didn’t know what else to ask, or what else he was even willing to ask, right now. 

The overwhelming silence of his own mind again. It was so loud. It solidified into a searing, hot pain right behind his eyes.

“Okay.”

The headache was gone, but overwhelming exhaustion took its place. 

Looking but not seeing. Hearing but not listening. Touching but not feeling. Thinking but not connecting.

Limbo. Static.

Too heavy. 

Shōta's mind focused again at the sensation of his fingertips being gently kissed. A slow and deliberate pause between each. 

With effort, Shota opened his eyes. Hizashi was lying on his side close beside him, their bodies facing each other. 

“Why?” Shōta mumbled. He wanted to pull his hand away but couldn't make himself move.

Hizashi hummed and kissed the center of Shōta's palm. “I need you to know that I'm not upset that you found me that morning.”

“He told you?” Shōta asked.

“No. I've just known you for more than half our lives.” The smile that accompanied Hizashi's words was faint. 

Hizashi laid Shōta's hand on his own cheek and nuzzled into it. Shōta's breath caught. 

“I will never judge you by the things they forced you to do.” Hizashi said firmly. “That's not who you are. They don't get to tell you that it is. Got it?”

Shōta met Hizashi's eyes, his chest aching. “Been telling me that for years already…”

“I'll say it as many times as it takes for you to believe me,” Hizashi replied with a crooked grin. “I can sign it. I can whisper it. I can sing it. I can write it. I can yell it. Let's see, what else…”

Things still felt distant when Shōta woke, but he could at least get himself to move. He wiggled his way out from under the blonde. It was a feat to do that without letting his hands touch Hizashi. 

He really did believe what Oboro said. It made sense. There was just a difference between knowing it intellectually and embracing it. It was irrational and he hated it, but he couldn't dismiss the thought. Not yet, at least. 

He grabbed his capture cloths off the bedside table and slipped them into his pocket as he left the bedroom. Coffee first, then some training time. He knew they would both help with the clinging sense of disorientation. 

After starting the coffee brewing, Shōta sat on the kitchen counter instead of the couch or at the work table. The reason was similarly irrational. He knew the other places weren't responsible for what happened, and it was unlikely that they'd trigger anything, but it was all still so fresh. 

Yoko wandered into the kitchen while the coffee was still brewing. Blessedly, she acted as though everything was normal. The golden-haired woman navigated through the cabinets, preparing for when the coffee was ready to pour.

The engineer was a steady, but not unmoving, ally in this whole journey. She was the first person he'd actually talked to directly about Hisoka. She'd just accepted it, adapted to it, and kept going. 

She pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. “You want cream?”

Shōta smiled at her subtle way of seeing who she was speaking to. Yoko had picked up that Hisoka preferred a splash of cream in his coffee, which Shōta saw as the same level of wrong as decaf. Especially on a day like today, it was reasonable to think Hisoka might be in control.

But he wasn't. Hisoka was further away than ever, for who knew how much longer. Shōta shook his head to decline the cream and took a sip. 

Yoko jumped up on the counter before picking up her own mug again. Their shoulders were close enough to bump together but they didn't touch constantly. The two of them sat in the comfortable quiet of their first cups of coffee. 

The empty mug was set down on the counter, but Shōta sat still for a few more quiet, still minutes. Once he felt the caffeine starting to work, he pulled the bundled capture cloths out of his pocket. 

Shōta tapped one of the bundles against his wrist. The familiar, now almost soothing, pressure didn't wind up his arm. Another tap with no results. 

He lifted his head to get Yoko's attention, but she was already reaching for the unresponsive gear.

Yoko was squinting at the transmission from the electrodes, overlaid on her screen with his previous averages. At just a quick glance it was clear they were very different, so he wasn't sure why Yoko was looking at them so hard.

Rather than stare, Shōta shifted a few of the partially-sorted piles of paper from yesterday. He sat cross-legged on the work table.

He opened his laptop and accessed the Kyoto Metro Police archives. There were only summaries for cases over 10 years old. It was enough to validate that Seto Hikari died in Higashiyama Ward on June 24. 

Seto was affiliated with the dominant yakuza of the time, but was low-level. She had been partially strangled, but it was a messy thing. In the end, a metal paperweight had crushed her skull instead. It was a relief that the abstracts didn't include photographs.

What he found didn't confirm that Sakki had done it, though. A flashback could have, but none came. He was both relieved and frustrated by that.

Shōta sighed and looked up. Yoko was watching him intently. When their eyes met, she popped the drooping gum bubble. She'd waited for him. 

“What was that about?” she asked.

Biometrics. She was not just looking at brainwaves, though those probably jumped around too. She was also watching blood pressure, pulse and respiration rates, and body temperature. 

He turned his screen. The only outward reaction Yoko gave was chewing her gum a little faster. 

She lifted her eyes. “This is old.”

“Yes, 25 years old,” Shōta replied.

“You think this was Sakki.”

“He said it was,” Shōta answered, closing the laptop. “I have no way of knowing if he lied.”

“You talked to Sakki?” Yoko asked, twisting a strand of hair around a finger.

Shōta nodded.

She looked at him skeptically. “And Hisoka was fine with this?”

“He's gone, looking for Stormcloud,” Shōta said.

She soaked up that information momentarily. “No wonder your neural profile looks so out of whack. The nanotech can't recognize you. We're going to have to set up a tertiary profile, at least for now.”

“But I'm still me right now.”

“Do you feel like the same you?”

Shōta frowned and thought about it. About the quiet, open space. About Sakki being so close to the surface right now, but his practically lifelong passengers elsewhere.

“No.” He rubbed the top of his head. “No, I really don't.”

Yoko smiled at him gently. “They'll be back, right?”

He stopped, his hand still resting on top of his head. “I don't know. They've never left before.”

“And you don't remember ever adding a new someone either, right?” Yoko asked. 

Shōta's hand dropped to his lap and he shook his head. 

“I have an idea,” she said. “If I could make the electrodes small and comfortable, would you be open to continuous monitoring?”

He squirmed at the thought. “I don't know. What are you thinking?”

“Well first, it could help maintain the profiles through things coming and going. That way we wouldn't have to worry about the capture cloths suddenly dropping you to the pavement,” Yoko began. She snickered and added, “it's a safety issue, kid.”

Shōta groaned. 

“We might also be able to pick out specific markers of Sakki, or even extrapolate a whole profile,” Yoko answered enthusiastically. “We could intervene if he was activated. Find you. Maybe remotely use the capture cloths to contain. Or at least deactivate them to reduce the tools he has available.”

“You think that's possible?” Shōta asked with unusual hesitance.

“I don't know, but our Kata-kun always liked to give us challenges. I never let him down, did I?” Yoko patted his cheek. “If there's a way, Hitomi and I will find it.”

Chapter Text

“Let's make it happen, Favorite!” Hitomi cheered. 

She had just been yanked out of bed, but she probably had more energy than anyone else he knew besides Izuku. 

Meanwhile, Shōta was nursing his second giant cup of coffee. Naoki stood beside him with his own mug. The two of them were mirror images of each other, observing the chaos with a combination of interest and annoyance. 

“What are they doing again?” Naoki asked. 

“Yoko is trying to make EEG electrodes that are half the size of a pencil eraser,” Shōta said slowly. “And Hitomi is writing at least 2 computer programs to digest the information and provide notifications.”

“It's 6:15 in the morning,” Naoki said discontentedly.

“They know no time or place. Only the joy of invention,” Shōta grumbled in agreement. 

Izuku appeared on Shota's other side, seemingly out of nowhere. The kid was getting too good at stealth. “Why are they so excited?”

“They want to use science to figure out my brain,” Shōta answered. 

Izuku giggled, but quieted abruptly when Shōta turned to look at him. 

Izuku cleared his throat and blew on his tea. “What exactly do they want to figure out?”

“How to not have me fall to my death if different versions of me are coming and going now,” Shōta replied with a yawn. “The capture cloths weren't working before.”

“It's not the first day of school, you don't have to choose your words for maximum impact,” Izuku said, looking queasy. 

“‘Maximum impact'? What the hell, Zuzu,” Naoki snickered.

Izuku's pupils blew wide. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I didn't even mean to do that!”

Shōta dragged one hand down his face. “Everything is loud.”

“SHŌ! I THOUGHT YOU LEFT AGAIN!” Hizashi screeched from the bedroom door. 

“Okay, now everything is loud,” Izuku observed, taking a careful sip of his tea and cursing when it still burned his tongue. 

“Comeuppance!” Hitomi called. 

Yoko cackled. Hizashi came down the stairs, the metal clanging with each footfall. Fumiko followed with much less energy, clearly aiming for caffeine. 

“I'm right here, Hizashi,” Shōta complained, turning on his heel to face the blonde.

“I see that now,” Hizashi pouted as he approached. “I just didn't need the heart attack this morning. Why are you even awake right now?”

“Woke up suddenly, was going to train,” Shōta gestured vaguely. “Then our whole everything happened.”

Fumiko groaned. “Who drank the last of the coffee and didn't start a new pot?”

Naoki stepped back a half-step to hide behind Shōta.

“Why are you lit up like a Christmas tree?” Hizashi wrapped an arm around Shōta and pointed at the electrodes with his free hand. 

“Re-tuning profiles,” Shōta grumbled.

Izuku picked up Eri, who had wandered in still wrapped up in a blanket. “Oh right! Who's coming and going?”

Shōta huffed. “Stormcloud is missing, so –”

“What?!” Izuku said.

“Yes. And Hisoka went after him,” Shōta confirmed, looking mournfully into his empty mug. “So they’re both gone.”

Naoki took Shōta's mug and stalked off to help Fumiko restart the coffee machine.

“Is you-know-who behaving?” Hizashi asked, hugging Shōta tighter in a silent plea to be held back.

Shōta wrapped his arms around Hizashi's neck, keeping his hands well away. “Yes.”

Yoko called. “Shōta-kun, what just changed?”

Shōta closed his eyes, then opened them and called back, “Izuku is haunted by very helpful ghosts.” 

Eri giggled. “Of course Izu-nii would have helpful ghosts!”

Nana put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you get overwhelmed by people as easily as your younger self?”

“Yes.” Shōta crossed his arms and hunched. “Maybe more actually.”

Nana nodded. “You just stay here with me, and let everyone else do what they do best.” 

“I really do appreciate the help,” Shōta added. “I just…I like persons, but not people. If that makes sense.” 

She laughed and pulled him against her. It was a light, warm sound. “It does. Don't worry so much. Everything's a-okay.”

Shōta put on a small smile despite the jostling. He looked around his middle space. He realized it was now easily as chaotic as his outer space. 

Diagoro was crouched in front of the spot Hisoka had told him the closet door had been. He was running his hands carefully and slowly along the wall. Yoichi stood a few steps behind him, scanning the same area visually. They were much calmer than Hisoka had been, so maybe they'd find something that he hadn't.

Hikage had immediately declared upon entering that Sakki was “scheming.” He and En were inspecting the walls surrounding Sakki's door, their discussion quiet but intense. 

Kudo and Bruce stood at the door itself. Sakki had growled loudly at the racket and Kudo had growled back. While Bruce had rolled his eyes, Sakki had stayed quiet since.

Yagi had raised a hand in greeting and Shōta had nodded back. The older man had stayed on their side of the door, though. Shōta had been relieved by the choice. He didn’t have anything particularly kind to say. It seemed especially strange to try to force pleasantries with an amorphous glowing version of the man.

“Aizawa-san?” Nana said.

He lifted his eyes from where they'd gone unfocused with thought. “Hm?”

“Thank you for working so hard to clean up the mess I left behind,” she said solemnly. “The scars passed from Kotaro to Tenko are deep. It must be difficult.”

“That's true, but your grandson could still do so much good. He just needs to decide that he wants to.” Shōta met her eyes. “Tenko is worth the effort.”

The solemn expression was replaced again by her smile, and Shōta returned it easily.

“That, right there, is why we're such ‘very helpful ghosts’,” she laughed. 

He flushed. “Yes, ma'am.”

Nezu smiled from a wrought iron garden chair set on a rooftop. “Good evening, Shōta-kun.”

Shōta didn't move his head, letting the helmet hide his eyes’ movement to check their surroundings. “Otōsan, it's dangerous to be out alone like this.”

The rat chuckled. “And yet you are doing exactly the same. Do you think I couldn't defend myself if necessary?”

“I know that you can,” Shōta said testily. 

The matching chair was beside Nezu's. Shōta grumbled and moved it to face the opposite direction, plus set back a few feet. Now they'd be able to see each other and watch each other's backs. 

Shōta sat and flipped up the visor. “It's just an unnecessary risk for you.”

“It's a very necessary risk,” Nezu said, reaching into his jacket. He withdrew a small journal and a small media storage disc. He held it out.

“What is this?” Shōta asked as he took them.

“The first time we met, you told me that you only wanted 2 things. The first was to get away from your grandfather and his associates.” Nezu's ears flicked in agitation. “The second thing you wanted was to remember your mother.”

Shōta looked at the items resting in his lap and tried to think of his mother. It felt like entire chapters were torn out of a book. He couldn't remember anything directly - what she looked like, sounded like, or moved like. He couldn't remember things they'd done together, or conversations they'd had. 

She'd been taken out so thoroughly that the loss itself was obscured. He remembered that conversation with Nezu, though, and what he'd felt as it unfolded. He knew how important she was, but without knowing her.

“I spoke with Yamada-kun and Midoriya-kun this afternoon,” Nezu continued. “They said you were experiencing some kind of partial amnesia.”

Shōta watched around them to avoid looking directly at Nezu. “Yes.”

“After our visits in Sunpu, I wrote down any details or stories that you told me about your mother in that journal. I also added any pictures that I could find at the time,” Nezu explained, whiskers flicking forward. “Then, when I brought you home, your therapist encouraged you to make video diaries about your memories of her. They're on the disc.”

“That's…thank you,” Shōta stumbled. “For keeping it. And…”

Nezu folded his paws in his lap.

“Can't imagine…without you…” Shōta's hands tightened on the items. “Who I would be.”

Nezu chirped, his ears turning pinker. “Nor I, Shōta-kun.”

Chapter Text

“We'll get you back to UA,” Hizashi offered, backlit by the rapidly setting sun. Even modulated, his tone was welcoming. “I couldn't send anyone off on their own now.”

The young boy, maybe 10 or 11, looked over at Shōta then back to Hizashi. 

Shōta finished sending the text message about the zip-tied kidnapper to the tip line. “Go ahead, Blast. It's fine. I get it.”

Hizashi crouched down in front of the boy. “You know, Ruse is the one that noticed that something was off with that guy and said we had to do something.”

The boy looked at Shōta again, this time a little longer. He was still wound tight with anxiety. “But you're like…a supervillain.”

While Shōta was still considering his response, Hizashi blew a raspberry. 

“Little man, I know they only show the scary fights in the news and online, but can I tell you something?” Hizashi asked. 

Shōta was glad Hizashi was doing the convincing. He looked up and down the street instead, watching and listening for approaching sirens.

The boy must have nodded, because Hizashi continued. “Ruse has a huge soft spot for kids. Like, ridiculous. Absolutely massive. And squishier than a marshmallow.”

The boy looked up at him curiously. Shōta crossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably. 

“See? You can't see his face, but I bet he's pouting under there. He'd got a reputation to keep up,” Hizashi said. “But he has 4 kids.”

Eri, Izuku, Naoki, and…oh. Hizashi was counting Tenko. That was a confusing mix of warm feelings. He pushed them aside for now.

“Blast!” Shōta said sharply.

“Fine, fine. We have 4 kids,” Hizashi amended, knowing full well that was not what had prompted Shōta's reaction.

A different confusing mix of warm feelings. 

“You're both boys,” the boy said.

“And?” Shōta said flatly.

The boy smiled. “My older brother like-likes boys too. I can't wait to tell him.”

“Ha!” Hizashi cheered. “Shall we then, my friend?”

The boy nodded. He and Hizashi started to walk in the direction of UA. Shōta took one more look around before starting to walk a few steps behind.

The boy slowed his walk until he was walking beside Shōta instead. Shōta looked down at the boy and stopped. The boy stopped too, his expression questioning. Shōta adjusted a glove just to have something to fidget with. He started to walk again and the boy started too.

“Someone's curious about you, Shō Shō,” Hizashi quipped through the comms only.

“You want something?” Shōta asked the boy.

The boy grinned. “My mom said I shouldn't think so because you're a villain. But your arm things are really cool.”

“Oh. Okay.” Shōta replied. “Thanks.”

Hizashi's laugh came through his earpiece. “Could you be more awkward? Actually say something back. Ask him a question. Anything.”

Shōta sighed, loud enough for Hizashi to hear but not loudly enough for the modulator to process it. “They're called capture cloths.”

“Like Eraserhead and Amplitude's capture scarves?” The boy asked, trying to play it cool but obviously excited.

Shōta grinned. Naoki was going to flip that this kid knew him. “The basic fabric is the same stuff.”

“But your capture cloths act different with your quirk. How do they do that?” he asked. 

“My support team's secret,” Shōta answered. “Sorry, kid.”

The kid groaned but didn't press. “Okay…”

“You like the gear side of things?” Shōta asked.

“Down!” Hizashi called back.

A pop, and a modulated yelp.

Hizashi was still standing.

Shōta had thrown the boy down to the pavement and partially covered him. He looked in the direction of the pop. Snipe stepped out from behind a pillar, gun raised.

“Whatcha doin’ with the kid there, partners?” Snipe asked, cocking the gun again.

Shōta sat back on his heels, raising his hands. Hizashi's hands were raised too, and blood dribbled down his right bicep. Shōta tightened one fist but held an open hand out towards Hizashi.The cloth spooled off Shōta's forearm, wrapping tightly around Hizashi's wound before blood could drip to the ground.

“Whoa there! Don't move,” Snipe warned, pointing the gun at Shōta.

"Only first aid," Shōta answered with enforced calmness. He raised the hand back up into easy view. 

The boy scrambled out and onto his knees beside Shōta. "W-wait."

“Come ‘ere, kiddo,” Snipe said, holding out a hand. 

“They were helping, though!” the boy cried. “Ruse and Blast helped me get away from this other guy that grabbed me!”

Snipe eyed Hizashi doubtfully.

Shōta looked at the boy. “It"s okay. Go on. Shinoda-san's actually a really good guy. He'll get you the rest of the way back.”

Between watching the boy do as Shōta said and the confusion at hearing his surname, Snipe was distracted enough. A one-handed gesture pulled Hizashi to Shōta, who used the remaining cloth to pull them both to a rooftop. 

Shōta could probably use the cloth to swing like he would've with his scarf. It would be faster than just one cloth. But he didn't want to give Snipe any more information.

Hizashi held on tightly while they traveled across the roofs as quickly as Shōta could manage. Nearly five minutes and several direction changes later, Hizashi tapped him on the back. Shōta slowed, then stopped. 

He set Hizashi down, lifting the other man's visor. The green eyes were clear, and the other man stood fine on his own. He was nearly as breathless as Shōta though, despite being carried. There was only one pop sound, right? One of Shōta's hands was on Hizashi's shoulder to hold him still, and the other ran over Hizashi's ribs. 

“Hey, slow down,” Hizashi joked. “If I knew you'd touch me on purpose again if I got shot, I would have found Yasu 4 days ago.”

Shōta's jaw clenched to hold in the ill-advised words building. He drew the bloodied capture cloth back onto his arm and focused on the wound. Wounds, actually. The shot was straight through. Only skin and muscle damaged.

“Sit,” Shōta said curtly, taking first aid supplies from his pockets. 

Hizashi did as directed, plus took off his helmet. He spoke softly. “Sorry that was…ouch.”

Shōta sat down beside him and shook his head. “Just you being you. Coping with humor.” 

“Still.”

The initial wave of frustration was ebbing quickly. Shōta carefully sprayed both sides of the wound with disinfectant. “Besides, you’ve always been a physical affection person. Not giving it to you…that's on me.”

“Not really, my love,” Hizashi soothed. 

Shōta cut the holes in Hizashi's sleeve a little larger. He tucked oversized non-stick gauze pads in, using the sleeve's snug fit to keep them in place against the wounds. “Yes really. I'm being irrational.”

The blonde shook his head. “It's called ‘feelings.’ You are allowed to have them.”

Unwrapping the roll bandage would give Shōta a few seconds to figure out what to say. Instead, Hizashi pulled off Shōta's helmet. 

“Why are you moving that arm?” Shōta snapped.

“I should have taken it off earlier. This is a ‘real voices and making eye contact’ kind of conversation,” Hizashi said, putting Shōta's helmet down beside his own. 

“I've had to keep my eyes on your literal gunshot wound,” Shōta said impatiently. He rolled the self-adhesive bandage around Hizashi's upper arm tightly enough to maintain pressure.

Hizashi moved his arm to make sure it wasn't too tight. “But now you're done.”

“But now we should get you stitches.” Shōta corrected. He gathered up the mess and stuffed it into an empty pocket.

“Just…give me a minute?” Hizashi asked, putting a hand on Shōta's knee. “I need a breath, yeah?”

"Okay."

With their helmet liners still covering most of their faces, there wasn't much to read. He did notice the lines of tension around Hizashi's eyes slowly loosening. 

Shōta extended his hand and laid it over Hizashi's. The other man's laugh lines emerged instead. Hizashi released a contented sigh. 

"I want to kiss you."

"Hardly seems fair," Hizashi teased. "You've never let me kiss you while we were out & suited up."

Shōta shrugged. “Want's stronger than everything else. For right now, anyway.”

"I don't need convincing."

"Then stop talking."

They leaned toward each other. Both lifted the liners up onto their noses once they were just inches apart. Shōta's hand shook minutely as lowered it to Hizashi's chest, but the kiss was steady and certain.

Chapter Text

They'd landed on the roof to avoid Eri seeing them. That didn't work out. All 3 kids had been laying down on the roof. They sat up at the sound of Shōta's boots skidding to a stop.

“We're talking about star pictures & star stories!” Eri called. “Can you stay, even just a few minutes, so Izu-nii can tell you about Orihime and Hikoboshi?”

Hizashi recovered from the surprise first, putting on a big smile, and releasing his hold around Shōta. “I would love that, littlest listener!”

Naoki stood and brushed off his pants. “You can have my spot on the blanket, Pops.” 

Hizashi took his place beside Eri. “So cozy!”

Naoki's eye caught on Hizashi's bandaged arm. His lips pressed into a thin line as he walked to stand beside Shōta. 

“I was wondering why you were back so early,” Naoki said. “What the hell happened?”

He pulled Naoki a couple yards further away. “Pops is fine. We're fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

“It's a flesh wound. He'll be fine with rest.”

“Still not what I asked!”

“Quiet,” Shōta hissed. “Do not scare your sister.”

Naoki crossed his arms and scowled. 

“We got a little too close to UA,” Shōta ground out through clenched teeth. “We ran into an old colleague. It's dealt with.”

“Who?” Naoki demanded, teeth bared.

“Put those away,” Shōta growled. ”I said it's dealt with. I made a call while he was getting stitched up.”

Naoki's hands balled up into fists. “You ‘made a call'? That's all? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes.” Shōta's cheshire grin spread wide. “Who do you think I called?”

Naoki grinned. “Does Pops know that you called Jiji?”

“Ta da!”

Yoko held up the sheet of tiny, almost entirely clear, adhesive electrodes. They were only 2mm, ¼ the size of a pencil eraser. The adhesive was supposedly strong enough to withstand anything for at least a week. 

“Ready?” she grinned, pushing Shōta down onto a stool. She put a mug of coffee in his hands before he could protest.

“I guess I am…”

“Great!” Yoko said with a laugh.

The laughter didn't last long. Applying the first several electrodes was an exercise in frustration. It went smoothly enough after Fumiko offered her tweezers. It still took almost 15 minutes to get them all in the right places.

“Last one. All good, Hito-chan?” Yoko asked.

“Working to specifications, lady love!” Hitomi called back. 

“It will go smoother next time,” Yoko said, patting Shōta's shoulder. 

“Are you reassuring me, or yourself?” he asked, half-smile hidden behind his coffee mug.

“Both. But mostly me.” Yoko poked him in the ribs playfully. “Still no Stormcloud or Hisoka, right?”

“No, still quiet except for the occasional helpful ghost checking on the ‘fortifications,’” Shōta answered. 

“Are you okay?” she asked with a concerned frown. 

He waved a hand. 

“So the answer is ‘no’ then?”

Shōta shrugged and touched one of the electrodes nestled behind his ear. Yoko smacked his hand away.

“Wh-?” Shota protested. “Why?”

“Leave them alone or else you're going to irritate the area around them.” Yoko scolded. “And they need to go on unbroken skin. Don't make it harder to help you.” 

Shōta grumbled to himself. 

Izuku held out a worry stone with a small crack running down the center. 

Shōta raised an eyebrow. 

“You can use this when you're tempted to touch them,” Izuku explained, waiting for Shōta to hold his hand open before dropping the stone into it. 

“Aren't these things supposed to be totally smooth?” Shōta rubbed his thumb on the stone, stopping to catch the nail on the crack.

“That's exactly why I chose that one,” Izuku said proudly. “You pick and scratch. It's why the scar on your cheekbone looked so jagged.”

Yoko popped a gum bubble. “Is that why he scratches his face all the time?” 

Hizashi lifted his head from inside the fridge. “He's always done that, but the USJ scar made it worse. And now it stays that bad because it freaks him out that the scar is gone.”

Shōta huffed, standing. “Well, this has been... awful...Izuku, come on, we have somewhere to be.”

“Keep track of your activities for analysis!” Yoko called after them. 

Izuku slid into the diner's booth, swimming in an oversized hoodie. “Hi Hitoshi!”

The purple-haired teen lifted his head from his arms and yawned. “Hey.”

Shōta pushed Izuku over to sit beside him, wearing a baseball hat and fake eyeglasses. “You getting enough sleep, Toshi?”

“Not really,” Hitoshi drawled. “Last time I saw my sensei, he gave me a lifetime supply of nightmare fuel and then dropped back off the face of the earth.”

Shōta grimaced. “Right.”

“Hey, no,” Izuku shook his head. “We both tried to call. Multiple times. We left messages.”

“With spoofed phone numbers,” Hitoshi bit back. “I couldn't have called back even if I wanted to.”

“But you're here now,” Izuku said. 

Hitoshi shrugged. “Never said I make good decisions.”

Shōta rubbed his forehead. “Izuku, we can't.”

“Can't what?” Hitoshi asked, leaning back. 

Izuku leaned forward in response, his hands splayed on the tabletop. “I think that, with some quirk training, you might be able to do counter-programming.”

Hitoshi snorted. “Yeah, he's right, you can't ask that.”

“That doctor and his boss? This isn't a new or unusual thing for them. It's a pattern.” Izuku's grin grew as he kept talking. “You could save so many people, Hitoshi! The people that you de-program, sure, but also all the people they would have hurt too!”

Hitoshi bit his lip.

“Plus you could keep going. Like people that got tricked into cults. Years of struggle in therapy? Nope! Nighthide's here.” Izuku continued. “You might even be able to help people just totally stop self-destructive thought patterns that they developed on their own. In seconds! So many geniuses–”

The door flew open, a half-dozen tables away, behind Hitoshi. The hair on the back of Shōta's neck rose at the wave of caramel scent that followed the movement. 

Izuku must have registered it too, because his hands clenched into fists. “Um…sorry, lost my train of thought.” 

“Something about geniuses.” Hitoshi supplied tiredly. 

He was  listening, at least. 

Shōta kept his eyes on the person who had entered. Their frame was tense under their hooded coat. They were scanning the diner slowly. 

“Right,” Izuku said. “So many geniuses are also plagued by-”

Furious red eyes met Shōta's dark ones.

“Stay here,” Shōta said, standing.

“What?” Izuku asked, looking up at Shōta and then following his gaze. “Oh.”

“I mean it. Both of you. Stay here.” 

Bakugo flipped down the hood of his coat and began walking toward them. Shōta moved toward the teen and met him halfway. 

“Get out of my way, Sensei,” Bakugo demanded, moving to go around him. 

“Leave,” Shōta countered, holding out an arm to block him. 

“Tch. You're not my teacher here. You can't tell me what to do,” Bakugo challenged, pulling himself up to his full height.

“You're right, I'm not your teacher here.” Shōta agreed. “So I don't have to put up with your shit.”

“I just want to talk to him,” Bakugo barked. 

“No.” 

“What?” The teen's hands reflexively popped with tiny explosions. 

“You're not who you were. That's good.” Shōta narrowed his eyes at Bakugo. “But it doesn't magically heal a decade of abuse.”

Bakugo's face twisted, his usual aggressive tone tinged with vulnerability. “‘Abuse’?”

Shōta scoffed. “Yes. He worshipped you, Katsuki, and in return, you hurt him. Physically and emotionally. Every day. For years. That's abuse.”

Bakugo looked down. His fists flexed, but his quirk and his mouth both stayed quiet.

“He's where he is by choice. He's safe, and healthy, and supported. And he owes you nothing. Understand?”

Katsuki growled, then looked up at Shōta. “You better not fuck it up, Sensei.”

“I won't.”

“Good. If you do, I'll fucking kill you.” Katsuki kicked a chair to vent his frustration. On his way out, he muttered, “goddamned villain.”

Chapter Text

The door closed. Shōta glanced at the server behind the counter and gave them a small, tight smile. The older man just nodded. 

“Um? We should…probably go?” Izuku said, close behind him.

Shōta shook his head. “We're going to wait a few minutes, let him get some distance. And then I'm going to go out first while you wait with Toshi.”

Izuku's voice dropped to a whisper. “But you drew a bunch of attention to yourself, and he called you a villain.”

Shōta glanced at Izuku over his shoulder, keeping the door in his peripheral vision. “Not important right now. Are you okay?

“Am I-? He never even got near me?” Izuku said.

“Toshi!” Shōta called impatiently. 

“Yeah, okay,” Hitoshi grumbled, getting to his feet and shuffling over. 

Hitoshi turned Izuku to face him, so Shōta turned back to the door. 

“His pupils are as big as dinner plates, his hands are clammy, and he's got a terminal case of denial,” Hitoshi deadpanned. “But his gaze is steady. He just needs a minute for the adrenaline to run its course.”

“Huh?” Izuku responded. “I'm not in denial.”

“Heh. Didn't know you were funny,” Hitoshi said, smirking.

Shōta turned to Hitoshi, finally satisfied that Bakugo was unlikely to stomp back in for round 2. “Look after him. I'm going to check around outside.”

“We really need to just go,” Izuku insisted.

“No, Problem Child,” Shōta sighed, pushing the door open. “I really need you to realize that you are more important right now.”

“I was starting to think you disappeared on us,” Tenko groused, barely looking up from his video game.

“I didn't think I'd have to be gone so long,” Shōta answered wryly. He took a seat next to the younger man. 

Tenko rolled his eyes. “Whatever, don't do it again.”

“Oboro was here,” Shōta said, relaxing into the couch cushions. “And Naoki was still visiting.”

“Yeah, just weird,” Tenko said, his shoulders rising as he mashed the buttons quicker. “You've been around for like 4 months now.”

“Ah.”

“And Oboro said you had some medical thing or something."

“Yeah, sort of.” Shōta swallowed hard. “I remembered an order. Doing it.”

“Oh. Uh…” Tenko put the console down and turned on the couch. “When? How old were you?”

“You were right. They still got to me after, ” Shōta said numbly. “It was a few weeks before I found you.”

“Oh shit.” Tenko reached to scratch his neck.

Shōta pushed Tenko's hand down absently. “And earlier this month, when I was gone for a couple days…they ordered me to kill a person I love. Thankfully someone was able to stop me.”

Tenko's eyes widened. 

“It isn't theoretical. It doesn't matter how much I care about someone. If they told me to kill you right now, I'd have to do it.” Shota looked at Tenko. “I wouldn't be able to stop myself.”

“Wait,” Tenko interjected. “Who can even give orders?”

“That I know of? Sensei and Dr. Garaki.”

Tenko growled. “So Sensei is still working somewhere out there, or at least some inner circle is? But they're…and we're...”

Shōta opened his mouth to speak, but Tenko got to his feet first.

“Fuck him then.” Tenko glared at Shōta. “Fuck Sensei.”

That was unexpected.

“Right…” Shōta reached up to scratch his cheek. “Fuck Sensei.”

Tenko rolled his eyes and slapped Shōta's hand down before stomping out of the room. “Oboro!”

One of the first things he'd done was digitize the journal Otōsan had kept. It felt too precious to risk. Now, though, Shōta sat on the roof with it in his lap. If he sat in one particular place, the security lights from the neighboring building provided just enough to see by.

He played with the corner of the pages as he read. Most of the memories at first were focused on when Dad had come home. How Mama reacted. Where he'd hide and what would happen. 

They became more about everyday life with time. Probably with less perceived need to convince Nezu too. Mama liked her eggs a little runny. She had a flowing yellow dress she wore on the days she was happiest. Her long hair was almost always up in a tight, orderly bun. She laughed easily. 

Aizawa Yuki sounded amazing, in the way a book or television character was. It was clear that he had truly and deeply adored her. None of the stories could return that richness. 

He closed the journal and put it down. He remembered this feeling well, though.  As a kid, he snuck out onto the roof all the time. Any time he felt overwhelmed or afraid, he'd go to the roof and wish for a miracle to just fix it. He'd wish for a hero. 

When he was very small, it was always All Might. Around 7, he wished hardest for All Might, but another hero would be okay too. 

On his 8th birthday, Dad threw out his well- loved All Might figurine. He said to grow up, because All Might didn't care about people like them. 

He'd wished for any hero at all after that, and he watched. He counted the number of times he saw a hero that year, and checked the newspaper for any stories of heroes nearby. The total for the whole year was 11.

Shōta decided on his 9th birthday to stop wishing for a hero. He went to the roof but wishing was stupid. Vague hope managed to hold out for another 6 months. 

By the time he was 10, the roof was just a place to let out all the feelings he wouldn't let Mama see. No hero was coming. 

Shōta rubbed his eyes. He was frustrated with himself. Falling into his feelings like this was irrational. It wouldn't change a thing.

Pajama pants and untied calf-height boots were right in front of Shōta when he opened his eyes. 

Naoki reached toward him. “Need a hand, boss?”

Shōta lounged on the grassy riverbank. He liked visiting this place. He came often enough that a few people waved to him, but infrequently enough that they didn't look too closely or start a conversation.

They had finally started to fix up some areas in Shizuoka in the last month or so, and this little green space had been a community project. It didn't house or feed anybody, but the connections built or reforged between locals was important. After they finished, the community used it heavily which kept the connections up and raised the neighborhood morale. 

Heavy footsteps preceded Hitoshi's collapse onto the grass beside him. “Hi Sensei.”

“I'm assuming you actually made sure you weren't followed this time?” Shōta asked flatly.

“I was so hypervigilant the whole way here that I gave myself a tension headache,” Hitoshi answered, his tone equally flat.

Shōta turned his head to meet purple eyes. “If your footsteps were any indication, you dropped that as soon as you walked through the gates.”

“I mean, yeah,” Hitoshi said cautiously. “You wouldn't still be here if there was anything to worry about.”

“What's the most important way to keep yourself and others safe, bug?” 

Eri dropped from the tree beside them. “Never stop using your eyes and ears!”

“Okay, but Eri is a kid in a tree,” Hitoshi protested. “That's not weird in a park.”

Shōta groaned. He turned away from the water as he sat up. Hitoshi turned with him.

“She's a face you know, in a place you didn't expect. You also didn't notice Izuku.” Shōta pointed at the teen, who was enthusiastically chatting with someone and petting their dog.

“Oh.” Hitoshi said quietly. 

“Or Mic.” Shōta pointed to Hizashi, who was eating ice cream on a bench despite the cool temperature.

Hitoshi turned pale. “Oh…”

Eri held out a fist. “It's okay, Hitoshi-kun! We're gonna re-teach you!”

Hitoshi hesitantly bumped Eri's fist with his own.

Chapter Text

“Aizawa Shōta!” Hizashi yelled, loud enough that he could be clearly heard in the training room. 

Shōta yawned and turned to face the door as Hizashi's noisy footfalls came down the corridor. He had his most disinterested expression on when the door opened. 

“This is supposed to be a hidden-in-plain-sight sort of place, and you're screeching the name of a missing person loud enough to shake the windows for a city block," Shōta said tiredly.

Naoki muffled Izuku's loud chortle. 

“Okay, Mister Prowls Around Entirely in Black at All Hours While Scowling at Everybody, you're right, I'm waaaaay too suspicious!” Hizashi hurled back. 

Shōta walked over to Hizashi, hands in his pockets. “Sure, and how many other loud blondes in Japan would nervously ramble in English at unexpected passersby, Present Mic?”

Hizashi poked Shōta in the chest. “Excuse me? You travel around with a kid that started out wearing your actual suit and now wears a barely modified copy of it, Eraser.”

Naoki interrupted, “are they arguing or flirting, Zuzu?”

“Uh…both?” Izuku offered. 

Hizashi threw them a dirty look over Shōta's shoulder, then pulled Shōta into the corridor by his shirt. 

“What is it?” Shōta asked once the door closed behind them. 

“You called Nezu after Snipe?” Hizashi released his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Hizashi covered his face with both hands. “Seriously? He was doing his best with the information he had.” 

“I know that. You know that. And Otōsan knows that,” Shōta confirmed. “But Naoki was livid. Can you imagine what those chaos gremlins that we call sons might have done?”

“So you 'rused' them?” Hizashi shifted 2 fingers to look at him with one eye. 

“Obviously.”

“And you're not 'rusing' me right now?”

Shōta chuckled. “No, Zashi, I'm not.”

“Then what did you talk about? Neither of you are much for small talk,” Hizashi lowered his hands and crossed his arms again. 

Shōta's shoulders rose, his arms stiff. 

“Shōta.”

“I didn't call the principal of UA, or Nezu the agent of chaos. I called my Otōsan,” Shōta huffed. “Good enough?”

Hizashi's eyes went round and he pulled Shōta closer by his arms. “Aww, babe! You got all worried and needed your dad?”

“This is why I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to…I don't know. Make a 'thing' out of the whole situation.”

“Oh, the internet already did that,” Hizashi smirked. “The kids didn't show you?”

Shōta blanched. “You're messing with me.”

“I'm not!” He switched to his Present Mic mode. “Sure, Ruse is a villain. But these viewer-submitted images show something more! Look at him carefully patching up his partner in crime - and in love?!”

“Hizashi, no.”

“Hizashi, yes!" the blonde exclaimed with a giggle. “Although, if you told me that one of us would be publicly described as ‘a gay icon,’ I would not have guessed it’d be you.”

Shōta groaned and leaned back against the wall. “Kill me now.”

“I'd rather kiss you now.” Hizashi stepped forward to close the distance again, nudging Shōta's nose with his own. 

“And if someone tries to leverage this? Us?” Shōta asked.

Hizashi smiled. “Can't change it now, kitten. Like you always say, keep looking forward.”

“I am. I just…” Shōta turned his head to glare at the floor. 

His right pocket held eyedrops, an auto-injector, and the stone Izuku had given him. Shōta's hand wrapped around the stone, and he drew his fingernail across the crack a few times.

“Hey. Shō. I am going to be there,” Hizashi stated, calm and sure.

Izuku had said that some people could “decorate” their inner spaces. He was a minimalist on the outside too, so maybe that was why the space had always been blank? In any case, being able to put an oversized hammock in the space was a welcome change. It would help with all the time he was spending here. 

Shōta had to try to sort out Sakki before something went haywire, or Hisoka and Stormcloud returned.

He hadn't let himself dwell on how long they'd been gone. It was an absolute no-go to wonder if they'd return at all.

No, not time to think about that. It was sorting time.

“Sakki?

A grunt.