Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oh, yeah, Midoriya wanted to go to U.A. as well, right?”

In another world, where Izuku Midoriya is quirkless and the punching bag of his collective peer group, this statement sparks laughter. It sparks cruelty. His classmates openly jeer, openly taunt, and openly show their disdain that a powerless nothing like him would even dare to have aspirations for his future. It’s one giant joke to them.

Here, the room goes silent.

Every set of eyes turns to look at the boy whose existence flickers like a bad reel of film, and they whisper instead. Those who sit near him scoot away like he’s diseased.

Izuku Midoriya, in this world, has terrors under his skin. His smile curdles blood. The shadows that cling to him whisper, legions of voices that blend together in a buzz that feels as unnatural as his very presence. He is not a punching bag, but he isn’t welcome. He is alien. Other. Subtly terrifying in ways no one can aptly articulate, but everyone can feel. His classmates whisper to themselves in a different kind of buzz, casting judgment but looking away if his eyes find them. Here he is something they despise in a different way.

“Is he serious? A hero?”

“He’d fit in better as a villain.”

“U.A. would be out of their minds if they even let him on their campus.”

“I heard he carries knives around; the kid’s nuts.”

“Some kind of psychopath.”

In his seat, Izuku clutches his pencil and says nothing. He silently commands his shadows to stop their chatter and avoids looking away from the surface of his desk. He’s long since gotten used to this. This is only one incident in a long line of unfortunate days.

Izuku has terrors under his skin, so it’s only fitting they mock the monster.

Eldritch

In another time, another world, Izuku shows no signs of developing a quirk at age four and is certified quirkless by his doctor. He goes to school and his lack of power turns him into a social pariah. An example of the weakest kind of person one can be in the new age of super humans. He starts his life already a rung below everyone else and he has to fight against the label of useless branded on him his entire childhood.

Izuku, in this time, this world, does not have this experience.

That is not to say the experience he gets is any better.

Izuku is not powerless and has not been since the day he skinned his knee and watched in amazement as his skin sealed itself with the flicker of a shadow he could barely see. Since the day his shaky hands helped his mother fill out his registration with a smile. Izuku has a quirk of his own. A quirk he’s glad he possesses, even for all the misfortune it brings him.

“Oh, yeah, Midoriya wanted to go to U.A. as well, right?”

Bakugou hasn’t changed since they stopped being friends. That’s a constant here. Despite having power, despite not being the weakest, he still lost his friendship with someone he once looked at as if they were the sun. The circumstances are different but the results are the same.

When the class looks at him with suspicion and disdain, Bakugou doesn’t hesitate to show his fury.

Izuku doesn’t flinch when Bakugou slams his hands on his desk, setting off explosions that blacken the wood. He merely looks up, blinks, and sighs. It’s the same song and dance as always. His heart picks up the pace, though, an age old anxiety making his ribcage ache and his hands tremble. A lifetime of living by Bakugou’s rules has left him with old instincts he never can seem to get rid of.

“What makes you think you can rub shoulders with me, huh, Deku!?” Bakugou roars in his face. “Some creepy shit like you with a useless quirk that terrifies people has no place bein’ a hero!”

Izuku lets a beat pass, hoping the teacher will step in, but nothing happens. Lazy bastard.

“Hey, Kacchan, you want a Tic-Tac? Your breath is atrocious.” Izuku summons up a box from his hand with the quickest flick of a pencil sharpener blade, shaking it for emphasis, and suppresses a smile when he sees the vein in Bakugou’s head pop. The box is slapped out of his hand and winds up nailing someone in the head a few rows over. “Rude.”

Bakugou explodes again, this time blowing up his desk so effectively it gets tossed aside.

Izuku’s backtalk is a development that’s rather new, in the grand scheme of things. As a child, he was loud but he quickly learned to talk only when Kacchan felt like he should. He spent years being seen but not heard. But if there’s one thing Izuku learned from his former friend before it all went to hell, it’s how to have a smart mouth.

 “YOU TRYIN’ TO COMPETE WITH ME? I’LL BLOW YOUR ASS ALL OVER THE WALLS!”

“Competition implies you actually think I have a chance, Kacchan,” Izuku replies. Man, he wishes he hadn’t lost his Tic-Tacs. He wants one now. Looks like Hayato’s keeping them, though, since he can see the guy eating them like popcorn at the circus.

Which: fitting. Kacchan is about the same level of spectacle as a rampaging elephant.

“YOU DON’T, THAT’S WHY YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ IDIOT!” Bakugou’s hands go off in a symphony of explosions, making Izuku flinch if only to cover his ears. “YOU’RE WEAK! YOU TERRORIZE EVERYONE JUST BY EXISTING! CREEPY FUCKS LIKE YOU HAVE NO PLACE WITH THE GREATS, SO GIVE UP, YOU FUCKIN’ LOSER! STOP CHASING YOUR SHITTY DREAMS!”

The teacher finally has the sense to call the class back to order then, and Izuku rolls his eyes as he retrieves his desk from its sideways position.

That day would stand out, if it weren’t so constant with how his life has been since middle school started. Every other day Bakugou is screaming in his face, showing off his power.

Every other day the teachers stand aside and let it happen, because Bakugou’s the top student. Izuku’s natural unsettling aura means they’re hesitant to intervene at best and ignore it entirely at worst. If it weren’t for the fact Izuku’s grades were also good, they’d have probably expelled him to take care of the problem ages ago. They make no secret of the fact they don’t like him. Izuku doesn’t really care anymore anyway. He only has another year before he’s on his way to his dream, and Kacchan can go fuck himself if he thinks he can keep getting his way by screaming.

Izuku doesn’t say any of this out loud, but it’s a nice vengeful thing to think about until the final bell rings.

He packs his things slowly, checking his phone and simmering in excitement at all the blog posts about the fight he caught on the way to school that day. He takes his time flipping through his usual news apps as the classroom empties. He’s always the last to leave, since he knows his classmates hate it when he walks close to them, and—

“We ain’t done, Deku.”

 —and of course, because of Kacchan.

“What’s it going to be today, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, allowing his phone to vanish into his personal abyss. “Gonna scream at me? Hit me? Throw me out the window?”

Bakugou’s lackeys always find him hilarious, judging from the laughs they always muffle when he talks. It works in his favor sometimes. It’s harder to hold someone down when you’re trying not to laugh.

“Tch. That fat fucking mouth of yours ain’t enough to cover up the fact you’re pathetic.” Bakugou snatches his notebook off his desk, idly looking at the title scribbled in pencil before snorting. “Notes for the future? Really?”

“What’s it to you?” Izuku asks, trying to keep his tone casual even as his hands clench his bag.

Bakugou smiles at him, menacing and cold, and blows up his notebook before throwing it out the window. Izuku’s mind screams—those are his notes, his data, his future, his passion—but he keeps his face stoic. A reaction is what Bakugou wants.

Besides, his lackeys always look uncomfortable when he doesn’t emote. His face is terrifying all on its own, like a young Hannibal Lecter appraising them for mealtime. Or so he’s heard from the people who talk about him when he walks by.

Izuku bites his own tongue, staring at Bakugou’s eyes, and he decides today he wants to go for the low blow. Might as well rile him up immediately instead of dragging it on.

“Does that make you feel big? Like when you shake down the quirkless kid from 3-B for his lunch money? Big strong Kacchan, beating up people who can’t fight back.”

There it goes. Bakugou’s grin is wiped off his face, and Izuku’s cheek blooms with pain before he can anticipate the hit.

In another world, Izuku is already leaving the classroom and retrieving his notebook from the koi pond. He meets his idol that afternoon and his journey into heroism begins with a flourish. The most hurtful thing Bakugou does to him is tell him to kill himself with the light air of a child who has yet to understand a single thing about consequences.

Here, he runs his mouth and Bakugou spends the better part of ten minutes making him hurt all over. Which is for the better, because he knows if Bakugou weren’t tormenting him, he’d be after someone else. Izuku walks home long after the sludge villain is captured. He doesn’t meet his hero. Bakugou is never in danger and doesn’t begin his journey into learning about his own pride.

No one comes to help him, and he walks home nursing his bruises.

No one stops to ask him what’s wrong.

No one ever does.

Izuku wasn’t always like this. Once, Izuku was a bright child with bountiful energy. He couldn’t say a bad word about anyone, wanting to give endless second chances. His faith in others was blinding.

He isn’t sure how to describe himself now. Bitter, maybe.

Hateful and disrespectful, if he took the words of others into mind.

They called his quirk Eldritch at the suggestion of a volunteer who worked in the hospital. She was a college student with bright blue hair and multiple studs in her ears, and when little Izuku described his quirk while eating a lollipop from the doctor, she told him the name would be a perfect fit. He thinks it’s absolutely spot on and that time has only made it more fitting.

Eldritch: weird, sinister, ghostly. A word for the strange that invokes terror, or a horror that surpasses age and human understanding.

The way it works is that inside of Izuku is nothingness. When he skinned his knee, he saw a wispy sort of blackness before his skin closed itself up, and further tests showed that that was all that’s inside of him. He doesn’t bleed like a normal person. Izuku opens his skin and inside is ether so vast and empty people can barely comprehend the never-ending blur of movement that is the shadows who call it home.

It doesn’t show up on x-rays, and a camera fed into his stomach showed his internal organs are still very much there. It’s just cutting him open only leads to emptiness. To moving things that whisper and chatter in a language no one knows.

It’s not totally useless, though. He found out very quickly he can store things inside himself with no issue. Cutting his skin open hurt a lot when he was four but now it’s barely a pinprick; the pain fizzles away almost immediately. It’s nothing at all to open himself up now.

His mother isn’t home by the time he trudges to the door, so he flicks out a pocket knife and cuts open his palm. The shadows hiss and his keys are presented without much fanfare, the cut sealing itself as he unlocks the door and takes his shoes off. He’s glad she isn’t there. His face aches from where Bakugou let him have it and he doesn’t want her to worry. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell her he hasn’t been friends with Kacchan in years. He can’t imagine how badly she’d take it if she knew what Izuku went through every day just for existing.

He cuts himself again to deposit his keys back where they belong and exchanges them for his phone before grabbing the little first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. With practiced ease he wishes he doesn’t have, he goes about fixing himself up. His uniform goes into the wash so his mom can’t smell the smoke and burnt sugar twinge of nitroglycerin. A bruise reducing cream goes on his cheek. The surface burns Bakugou likes to leave him with are treated with ointment and bandages.

His terrors chatter as he works and Izuku seamlessly joins them as he mutters to himself over what to do about his notebook. The burnt edges he could have dealt with but it was in the water for a long time. The damage is too extensive to continue using it; he’ll have to grab another notebook and transfer over what he can. His notes being written in pencil may mean his data hasn’t run off the pages, but that doesn’t mean some pages aren’t stuck together too much to be separated. Ugh, that means he’ll have to use a hairdryer to dry it thoroughly; that’s going to take a while—

His phone beeps and he startles, but he’s happy when he checks what pinged him. He has an e-mail.

Hisashi Midoriya has not been present in Izuku’s life since age two. He doesn’t remember what the man looks like and he has no memories of the supposed closeness they shared when he was a toddler. But Izuku still knows him. Maybe not as well as some sons should know their fathers, but he knows him. He knows him as the wise voice behind a screen who’s essentially Izuku’s pen pal.

Maybe Izuku should feel bad his father is nothing more than an anonymous face on the other side of his screen. Maybe he should feel more guilt over hiding his suffering from his mother. But Izuku doesn’t. He smiles, reading over the message on his phone, and puts away the kit under the sink before locking himself in his room.

Posters and collectables stare down at him as he flips on the light. Every surface is covered in heroes. All Might. Endeavor. Best Jeanist. The area around his desk has become a shrine to up-and-comers, with postcards of heroes like The Magic Hero: Puck and Earthshaker covering the wall around his corkboard. His shelves are filled with action figures and statues that cost more than his limbs. Collectable trading cards stand in freshly dusted frames.

It’s the room no one expects from a child as gloomy and mouthy as he. It’s a refuge, a safe place for the little part of himself his peers haven’t managed to crush.

Izuku breathes, releasing the tension in his shoulders, and relaxes. The chattering that echoes inside his skull dulls a bit now that he’s home. Safe. Alone. He pulls on a comfortable set of house pants and a shirt that isn’t crinkled by rough hands before sitting down at his desk; the next notebook is awaiting him inside the drawer and Izuku has a lot of work to do if he wants to transfer everything. Once he labels this one, he’s going to spend all evening drying out pages and going over his notes for anything he might have missed the first time around. Maybe he can mock up a reply to his dad while he works.

His eyes catch on a photo on the corkboard as he writes, one that’s remained in the corner since the day it was taken.

Kacchan’s smile is facing the camera, with a younger Izuku’s unsettling grin matching just behind his shoulder. They’re in their brand new gakuen in front of the school gates. Even in photos, Izuku looks like a ghost. His skin is washed out and colorless compared to the excited flush on Kacchan’s face.

Izuku stares at it for a long minute. The aches all over his body throb.

He turns to the first page of his new notebook and rips the photo down without looking at it again.

In another time, in another place, this is the day Izuku embarks on his quest to become a hero thanks to a chance meeting with his idol. He performs an act of bravery and is told he has what it takes to achieve his dreams. Today he met no one. He experienced nothing he hasn’t before. This day is one of many exactly like it, where he crawls home licking his wounds and locking himself away in solitude.

The difference here is Izuku ends this day angry. He crumples the picture of happier times gone by, throwing it in the waste bin with more aggression than it deserves, and his pencil angrily begins scratching the paper as he thinks about the words his former friend screamed in his face.

Useless, creepy Deku, no business becoming a hero, no chance of making it, no chance of ever standing with the greats.

Izuku ends the day angry. He ends it angry, bitter, and as he shakes under the watchful eyes of his many, many posters, he ends it spiteful and filled with drive.

I’m going to become a hero.

There’s nothing anyone can do to stop me.

Izuku isn’t powerless, and he hasn’t been since he was four. He has what it takes. He knows he does. He’s going to prove them all wrong. He’s going to make it to the top and look down at everyone who said he couldn’t, and he’s going to be better than they ever were.

He’ll either make this dream a reality, or he’ll die trying.

Chapter Text

A catalyst is defined as a trigger of sorts; the beginning of a sequence of events that grow and eventually snowball into a situation much bigger than expected. The catalyst for Izuku’s journey is not a villain here. One could say the catalyst is Katsuki Bakugou and his constant torment serving as a starting point. While that is a great contributing factor, it is not quite the spark that sets off Izuku’s fuse. One could say the catalyst is Izuku’s teachers and their passive attitude toward his suffering. That isn’t it, either. One could even say it’s the video Izuku committed to memory as a child of All Might saving those people, but that would also be wrong.

The catalyst that truly sets Izuku Midoriya off is simply this: he finds a jogging partner.

Izuku meets Mr. Yagi, not long after that day at school, on his jogging route. Fate seems to smile on Izuku, who makes this particular connection despite so much being different in this world. No amount of shadows can prevent this sort of bond. Not that Izuku or anyone else knows that.

One thing easily overlooked about Izuku is that at heart, he is still very much the sweet little boy who wanted to be a hero. He wants to help people. He wants to be a shining beacon of good, like All Might. It’s just that thanks to his quirk and the life he’s led, that sweet little boy is hidden under a nest of barbs. Adults hear him open his mouth and think he’s a disrespectful brat.

It’s a step up above “psychopath” and “future serial killer,” so he takes what he can get.

He meets Mr. Yagi along the jogging route he’s been using for the past year. It’s a simple route, one frequented by middle aged mothers and young college men, so Izuku is used to seeing other people. He normally pays them no mind. The few times he engaged others they thought he was about to gut them for pocket money and ran away threatening to call the cops.

He stops for Mr. Yagi because the man coughs up blood.

“Sir, are you okay?” Izuku stops mid-jog, tentatively stepping toward the gaunt man and wondering if he should call an ambulance.

Normally, this is the point where people see Izuku and are made viscerally uncomfortable. But the tall emaciated man doesn’t notice, possibly because he himself tends to make people skittish just by existing. Not that Izuku knows this. Yet.

“I’m fine!” The man coughs, holding up one large hand. “Just fine. This happens; it’s nothing to worry about.”

Hacking up copious amounts of blood isn’t nothing, but Izuku trusts adults know their bodies well enough to know what an emergency is. After all, he cuts his own body open every day, so for all he knows this is just something the guy does.

Still, he worries.

“If you’re sure…” Izuku hovers anxiously, watching the poor man get his bearings, and he takes a pocket knife out of his jacket. “At least take this, I always have extra.”

The void in his arm produces a water bottle still cool from the fridge, and the man’s sunken eyes widen when the hole seals itself.

“That’s some quirk you’ve got there, my boy,” the man says, taking the water bottle and graciously gulping about half of it down.

“It’s useful.” Izuku shrugs. Storage is about the plainest of what Eldritch can do, but it’s the most frequent use and has been since he was four.

“Still. better a useful one than not,” the man replies. Izuku chuckles a little, since he’s right. Better his quirk has a handy function instead of being completely useless and ruining his life for nothing.

It’s a friendly relationship after that, unusual but prized all the same.

Mr. Yagi isn’t out every day. The way he wheezes and sputters limits his movement, but he claims the fresh air makes him feel better, so Izuku tends to see him at least three times a week. They wave to each other when Izuku laps around the older man. They chat, occasionally, when they stop for breaks. They nod politely, talk about the weather, and comment on each other’s run.

Some other kids would be sad the closest thing they have to a friend is a skeleton in a track suit who hacks up blood, but Izuku is grateful he has a living person who willingly talks to him that isn’t his mother. The fact this person doesn’t know his reputation makes it all the sweeter.

“I haven’t seen many kids your age on the path,” Mr. Yagi tells him one morning, taking his rest on a bench. “You in training?”

Izuku almost chokes on his granola bar but recovers and tries to play it cool. Key word: tries.

“Ah, yeah.” Izuku rubs his neck awkwardly, shame crushing his insides over how many times this conversation has gone sour. How many times he’s been the subject of scorn for a simple dream. “I. Really want to go to U.A.”

Instead of the derisive laughter he’s used to from Bakugou, or the silent judging he always gets from adults who either pity him or think he’s stupid, Mr. Yagi smiles brightly. “A noble choice! The heroics program, I take it?”

“Yeah…”

“Excellent!” Mr. Yagi praises, frowning when he sees the pinched look on Izuku’s face. “Stop looking so down; your goal is an admirable one!”

“I know. I’m just… Not used to actually being praised for it?” Izuku shrugs, casting his eyes into the distance as his mind replays all of the terrible things he’s been told over the years. His shadow hisses beneath his feet and he stomps on it to quiet it down. “My quirk isn’t a very friendly one, so people find me too creepy to really be hero material…”

Mr. Yagi nods understandingly, giving his sympathy. “I’ve come to understand that kind of feeling.”

“You don’t look that bad!” Izuku protests. He barely even noticed that technically Mr. Yagi is a rather intimidating figure—a lifetime of being accused of being the next subway bomber means Izuku’s standards for being creeped out are raised above the norm. He doesn’t think it’s very fair such a sick man gets taunted for his looks. “You’re far from the worst I’ve seen; people are just rude.”

“You’re too kind, Midoriya, my boy,” Mr. Yagi says, smiling. “You know, you should pick up more than just jogging if you’re aiming for the top. The U.A. exam is rather brutal.”

“I’ve heard…” Izuku mutters. “I’m still trying to figure out what sort of plan I should do.”

He knows Bakugou’s plan because he was there when Bakugou developed it. Hell, he’s the one that tossed in suggestions to strengthen Bakugou’s shoulders for the recoil his quirk caused. But Izuku’s entire life has been all about watching others and seeing what worked for them. Studying pros who have already unlocked success. He’s behind on his own development and he knows it. Compared to some of the other kids that are preparing for this exam, he’s undoubtedly one of the worst.

His father had pointed that out in his last e-mail. It wasn’t in a cruel way, it wasn’t written with malice, but Izuku still felt his heart drop when his father pointed out he should have gotten serious about preparations months ago. Bodies take time to change.

“From personal experience, I’d say find a gym. Start a new diet. Do quirk strengthening. All heroics academies want their students to be in top form,” Mr. Yagi suggests. Izuku nods along, filing away the information for later, before he mentally doubles back.

“Experience?” Izuku tilts his head back to look at Mr. Yagi, really absorbing the gaunt man and what he’s just implied.

Mr. Yagi has the sense to look a bit bashful, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “You could say I know my way around the business.”

“Wow…” Izuku’s eyes widen. If Mr. Yagi has the experience he’s implying, then his advice really is valuable. “Any gym recommendations, then?”

“None that are local. I’m new to the area. I’ll get back to you, though.”

Izuku nods, disappointed but not discouraged. This is the first real help he’s ever been offered ever since his quirk came in. “Any help is appreciated, Mr. Yagi.”

“Please, my boy. It’s only being decent.” The man waves Izuku’s thanks off, tossing his empty water bottle into a nearby garbage can. Izuku can’t help but notice the slight twinge in his tone, some emotion running through his words, but he can’t begin to fathom what it is.

It’s not exactly pity, but Toshinori feels an age old wound open at this kid being written off so easily. Maybe age has made him sentimental. Maybe the dwindling clock dangling over his head is weighing on him worse than he thought, with the way something in his brain lights up when he sees the determination in one boy.

Or maybe he’s just soft. He always was too much of a bleeding heart to let things go.

The months that follow are not a breeze, not even close, but they go by faster than Izuku plans and he sweats the entire way.

The exercise part of preparations turns out to be the easiest. He looks up diet plans for athletes, he studies and crawls through forums for local muscle jocks, and his father winds up imparting advice that morphs into a fully-fledged routine for him to follow. Jogging becomes one small part of a larger plan.

Squats, pushups, pull ups, weights at the local community gym—he feels like he’s dying for the first few weeks, but he refuses to give up. His muscles ache every time he begins his stretches, but with every passing day it’s more bearable.

He looks up parkour online, and he starts taking time out of his weekends to brave the concrete jungle. Scrapes and concrete burns are nothing when his skin seals him back up no problem. He keeps tabs on the hobbyists who do their runs throughout the city and he wheezes his way through their routines until he can copy them without plummeting to the ground.

Mr. Yagi imparts a list of gyms he’s heard good things about, and with eight months until the exam, he spends three days of the week after school being yelled at by a trainer who runs him ragged. The cross country club at school starts complaining when he uses the athletic field to continue the pain on his free days, but he doesn’t relent. He runs until his legs give out.

Every moment of exhaustion, where his bones want to wither away to dust and his muscles burn and ache, is a breeze compared to the other half of his training.

Eldritch is something Izuku once wore as a badge of pride. He used to feel nothing but joy that this was his power, his very own unique quirk he was lucky enough to have. He told anyone who would listen about it and how he was going to use it to become a hero one day.

He doesn’t remember when he started to feel shame instead. He supposes maybe it was around age six, when the color began to vanish from his skin and his seat neighbor in class screamed when he offered her his crayons.

Or maybe it was around age nine, when his shadow moved on its own and the club he’d been talking to decided they didn’t want him coming around anymore.

Or maybe it was age twelve, when he fought with Bakugou and was left all alone with a school full of new people who already decided he was too Other to be allowed peace.

Regardless of when it happened, he’s stuck dealing with it while trying to train himself. The echoes of all the times he was called useless or a menace fog his mind and make it difficult to really move forward. It’s the knowledge trying to take the exam without using his quirk whatsoever will undoubtedly fail that motivates him to finally begin unlocking Eldritch’s secrets.

Storage was only one part. Inside Izuku’s body are writhing, whispering shadows, and he knows he can use them somehow. He goes out to the woods, empty now that the neighborhood kids are all grown up, and he slices open his arms so his shadows can pour out.

For the first few months, he only gets as far as getting them out, where they gather around his body in a loose circle of fog and whisper—whispering terror-fear-things greater than a mortal should know—but refuse to do anything else. He goes through the motions of trying to wield them or blast them like he’s seen Bakugou do a million times, telling the whispers to shut up and do their jobs, but his arms just seal themselves and everything vanishes. Each time he shakes, with fear and with shame and with disappointment, but he just clenches his teeth and tries again.

He eventually stops and decides to work on the shadow under his feet for a while. That goes nowhere until the day he launches himself face first into a tree.

“I don’t have the greatest understanding of quirks like yours, but maybe your problem is how you’re approaching it,” Mr. Yagi advises him one day, jogging at a slow pace and giving him sympathetic looks. Izuku’s face is covered in multicolor band aids. His face is the one place he bleeds like a normal person, which was a lovely discovery made with one memorable dentist appointment when he was five. “How do you usually approach your quirk?”

“I don’t even think about it,” Izuku explains. “The void inside me isn’t something I turn on and off; it’s always there.”

He studies quirks as a hobby, but examining a hero’s quirk through news clips and interviews is different than trying to unlock whatever power is hidden under his skin. He’s never had to ponder the process of activation or how someone learned all the facets of their quirk. He’s taken to reading quirkology papers and scientific studies to help but the jargon is so above him he just gets more confused. Quirks like his are also the least examined in proper academia, so he’s flying completely blind on how it’s supposed to function aside from educated guesses.

“Then maybe it’s the same for everything else. You’re overthinking it.”

Izuku is about to tell him that not thinking about it won’t get him anywhere, but Mr. Yagi chooses that moment to vomit blood and terrify the other people on the path, so he never gets to say anything.

If anyone at school notices Izuku is gaining muscle and spending all his free time exercising, they don’t comment. It would be unusual if they did, really. He’s never been the subject of concern unless it was about the newest rumor he was going to go postal and kill his class. Izuku’s status as the creepiest student at Orudera gets worse, actually, since he’s so wrapped up in his own mind he doesn’t notice his surroundings anymore. His own muttering joins Eldritch’s whispering, and after a while, his teacher stops snapping him out of it with the declaration his pay means he’ll only go so far for one problem child.

He also gets considerably more catty. It’s probably unfair of him to take his frustration out on other people the way he does. But the backtalk has never been something he had complete control over, his mouth running off before his brain can stop to think, so he knows it’s pointless to pretend he can stop it.

His drive for the heroics program of his dreams means he’s taking more offense to Bakugou than ever. Izuku sees his former friend—former center of his universe, his mind taunts—singling people out for trying to commit the crime of existing in his presence when he puts all of Bakugou’s focus on him with a well-timed insult. His usual trainer at the gym comments on his bruises in concern, bless her heart, and Izuku skims the truth to just admit his classmates don’t like him much. He’d probably be given more praise if he admitted what he’s really doing, but if Izuku is one thing, it’s too humble. Bakugou's beatings become more tolerable the more he works out anyway. The more muscle he puts on, the less the surface damage stings.

The career counselor the school brings in after a round of mock exams tells him his grades can take him far. His pinched expression when Izuku announces his plans for heroics winds up cutting their meeting short. The principal isn’t happy about him telling the counselor to go fuck himself, but Izuku doesn’t budge on the matter.

The entire way through, spite burns inside his chest, driving him along.

It isn’t until a month to the exam when he has a breakthrough.

The beach park close to his house is a dump. Literally. Years earlier people started dumping their trash and now it’s cluttered to the point no one can see the water beyond. But it’s always abandoned and full of broken things, so Izuku thinks it’s a good place to practice his quirk’s combat potential.

Also, the cops were called about some hoodlum jumping the fence into the woods. He has to lay low for a while. Goddamn grandmas, always accusing him of delinquency.

He’s been mulling over what he could be doing wrong. It’s not he’s never used his quirk in a physical way before, because he has. Once. He thinks. He just hasn’t really attempted it since. He can’t remember what it was that spurred him the first time, and it itches in the back of his brain like the world’s greatest unsolved puzzle.

In all the time he’s spent preparing for the exams, he’s only figured out how to use the shadows under his feet to launch himself forward. And even then, half the time he does it he slams into something. He’s running out of time to figure himself out. Bakugou’s been merciless lately, too, for all the band aids stuck to his face and the way Izuku’s borderline falling asleep in class.

The anxiety that always wedges itself deep into his chest roars to life, reminding him he only gets one chance to make it into U.A. He needs to be better than this.

Izuku loses himself in piles of garbage, unleashing his quirk and shaking with the terrifying thought his dreams are going to crash and burn before they even get to start. He’ll be a useless Deku like Kacchan always said. He’ll never get to be a hero, and he’ll just be alone forever with the horrors that live under his skin and make him unfit to even be around people—

His shadows wafting around him, he doesn’t notice when a seagull bumps into a stove that’s been teetering at the top of the garbage pile to his side.

The sound of metal creaking is what tells him to look up.

Izuku sees the mound of rust and wires about to crush him, and he screams before lifting up his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself. This is it. This is how he ends. A pathetic excuse for a future hero, dead from his own stupidity. He’s going to die in garbage and no one will even know. No one will even care except for his mom and maybe Mr. Yagi.

Except the metal never makes contact.

Izuku opens his eyes, breathing heavily and shaking, and peeks out from behind his arms.

His shadows form a straight line, going from the fine mist they usually are into something somewhat solid. A long barb ending in a point hovers in front of him.

The stove is skewered entirely through.

Izuku shakes, heaving, and when he puts his arms down something seems to click into place. The whispers in his mind form a single hive command. His shadows put the stove down and dissipate.

Izuku doesn’t notice when he collapses into the sand. His heart beats so fast he thinks it may explode. He stares at the stove for what could be hours. The burn of the sun on his washed out skin doesn’t even register with his senses. The mindless chatter that lives inside him stays in sync with his thoughts and for the first time, Izuku is filled with excitement at the idea of exploring what he can do. He wants to try again.

When he leaves that day, he’s skewered fifteen more appliances and has the beginnings of a real quirk training plan forming in his head.

Chapter Text

The way Eldritch works is this: the whispers that surround him, the ones that flutter around his ears and echo in his skull, are the key to control. The first time it was an accident. He lifted his arms to shield himself and instinctively speared the stove. It took him a few more tries to figure out how, and once he did, he examined it from every angle to be sure.

The whispers don’t speak any language Izuku knows, but mentally he gathers them all together and turns their endless chatter into one voice. A voice made of infinite voices, the command of the Legion. In his mind he gathers them all in a net, nice and neat, and then whispers back.

It isn’t a solid word or command that beckons their action, but he reaches down deep and pulls on pure intent.

He can do more than he could before. Spear things. Launch his body forward for a running start, using the shadows under his shoes. The drifting smoke that pours from his body is capable of doing whatever his imagination can shape itself into, and Izuku yearns to figure out just how far he can push it before exhaustion takes hold. But, with the clock ticking, he can only pour his efforts into a few little tricks. It will have to be enough. It needs to be enough.

It’s not much. But it’s better than he had. Better than what he started with months ago. As the day of the exam looms ahead, Izuku uses his shadows to destroy broken appliance after old tire after abandoned car, and hopes his hard work will pay off.

Despite the circles under his eyes, sleep never evades Izuku. He’s never had a problem going to bed on time. His mother even described him once as the easiest child she’d ever met to put to sleep. Once he’s safe in the darkness of his room, his shadows’ faint whispering lulls him to sleep in a manner he can only describe as gentle.

He has, however, never remembered his dreams. He supposes maybe that’s for the best.

Instead of his anxiety keeping him awake the night before, he wakes on the day of the exam well rested. He’s pleasantly drowsy when his alarm goes off. He rises and yawns as his mother knocks on his door to tell him breakfast is ready and the terror doesn’t hit him until he’s staring at his reflection in the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Today is the day. Today is the culmination of all his efforts.

From then on his morning is a bit more difficult. He dresses himself with fumbling hands. He eats despite his stomach protesting every bite. He smiles at his mother, wincing on the inside because his smile has never been reassuring before and why would he think it would start now, and stiffly accepts her hug as he puts on his shoes by the door.

“Do your best, honey! I believe in you,” his mother tells him, cupping his cheeks and giving her best smile.

He tries to maintain the brief happiness of his mother’s support on the way to U.A.’s campus.

He doesn’t.

He mumbles to himself the entire train ride, going over his personal stats from his notebooks and theoretical moves he could pull with what training he’s accomplished. He doesn’t notice the wide circle around him where Eldritch has decided to whisper and scare away other passengers.

He eats dirt outside the doors. He wishes he could say he expected better, but he doesn’t. The skin of his hands pieces back together slowly and Bakugou laughs at him as he passes, shouting out that, “You’ll die in the exam, Deku! Just you wait!” like the asshole he is.

Izuku flips him off. It isn’t as insulting as he wishes since Bakugou doesn’t turn around to see it.

“Oh, my gosh, are you okay? I saw you trip but I was too far back to help—”

What Izuku doesn’t expect is a girl willingly walking up to him and talking. He looks at her and her smile physically hurts. She’s full of life and color and sunshine—everything Izuku isn’t. It must be embarrassing for her to talk to someone so gloomy and washed out. But she looks at him, dead on, and doesn’t so much as wince.

“Oh, your hand! That’s so neat—is that your quirk?” she asks, blinking down at the skin that’s finished sealing itself with a final shadowy wisp. Izuku dumbly nods. “That’s so cool!”

Izuku can only stare. He can’t remember the last time anyone said the word “cool” around him without making it a cruel joke.

“It’s good to see you’re okay, then. Best of luck on the exam!” The girl waves at him as she skips ahead, smiling the entire way. He thinks it may really be genuine and not just politeness.

When she disappears inside the doors, Izuku holds back the tears of happiness that threaten to escape. He talked to a girl! A real one! Maybe today won’t be terrible!

He has to sit next to Bakugou during the assembly. His good mood dies a horrible death. A horrible death with lots of maiming and screaming. The kind that appears on the evening news boasting multiple casualties on the side and billions in property damages. When Eldritch’s whispering causes him to get yelled at by some guy, Bakugou laughs at him and it takes everything in Izuku not to kick him.

At least the school has the common sense to send them to separate testing grounds.

Izuku foregoes the jacket of his track suit, baring his arms in a tank top and braving the chill. Wrapped around his hands is a makeshift hold for some razors he can use to slice his arms open. The shaking he does as he waits for the test to begin can only partially be blamed on the fact it’s February and he doesn’t have sleeves.

Izuku pulls his hair back and tries to breathe as he looks over the other examinees.

Most of them are walls of muscle. How are these people fifteen? They look like they eat steroids for breakfast! Some do stretches, flexing their arms and legs as they move and succeeding in intimidating Izuku by size alone. Some glare at everyone who looks at them. Others are shiftier, eyeing the competition and strategizing. Most loiter around the doors to the gate. The rush when the exam begins is going to wind up with someone getting trampled. A good number boast what seems to be actual support equipment.

Izuku stops and looks at his hands. The razors in his palms had to be rigged up with hair ties and athletic tape. How do these people get their hands on genuine equipment? He shakes his head and tries to shove the question to the back of his mind for another day. He can’t go off on a tangent before something this important; he’ll lose his concentration.

He spies pink in the corner of his eye, and he perks up a bit. Short brown hair, rosy cheeks; the girl! The nice one! He should thank her for earlier; that’s what people do right? Wish her luck on the test? He should try to be more sociable to what could be a future classmate after all—

“She appears to be meditating. Are you going to disturb her? Throw off the competition?”

A large hand clamps down on Izuku’s shoulder. He turns, seeing the crowd start to watch in the corner of his eye, and he has to tilt his head upward.

It’s the glasses boy from the assembly. The one that told him to shut up.

And he’s absolutely jacked.

He looks Izuku over, taking in his razor blade hands and his general gloominess, and his eyes narrow. The familiar judgment Izuku is used to rolls off of him in waves.

“Don’t tell me: you’re the kind of character who uses every dirty trick to get ahead, right? People like you should really think twice about sullying U.A.’s fine reputation.”

His glare would be absolutely scathing if Izuku’s mind would move on from the fact this kid is built like a brick house. How does that even happen? Did he come out the womb doing pushups? How does his school uniform hide that muscle volume so well?

Like so many other situations in his life, Izuku’s mouth works faster than his brain and instead of declaring his innocence, what comes out is—

“My god, you have the face of an accountant and the body of a Hemsworth.”

The kid blinks at him, mouth open, and barely utters out a stupefied, “I beg your pardon?” before Present Mic’s voice announces the start of the exam.

Izuku’s trampling prediction is correct. The poor bastard who was directly in front of the gate is face down in the dirt by the time Izuku gets in and he’s sporting footprints all over his shirt. Izuku has the decency to yank the guy upwards before darting inside the gate.

It is, for lack of a better word, a clusterfuck.

They have ten minutes to destroy enough robots to pass. Izuku doesn’t know what the point requirement is to constitute a pass. He also doesn’t know how the school expects success against robots when most school kids, by nature, have probably only had schoolyard punch-outs with other kids their own size and public quirk use is illegal. He slices his arms open cleanly as he runs, turning his head trying to look for a robot that’s still standing, but the opening area is littered with metal and he knows he’ll have to go deeper. The other kids have undoubtedly destroyed everything closest to the gate.

In the time it’s taken him to get a look around, he only has six minutes left.

The shadows under his shoes launch him forward and his heart begins beating in his ears. Anxiety and anger—rage, how dare he fail, how dare he give everyone a final chance to mock him—mix into a palpable drive that keeps him moving. Keeps him alert. Keeps him from realizing he’s got tears streaming down his face in panic and the whispering in his ears is now desperate shrieking.

A one pointer smashes out of a storefront and Izuku barely dodges it, his shadows spearing its body cleanly before he darts away.

That’s one.

That’s not enough.

He keeps running, his heartbeat thumping in his ears so loudly he can’t hear much else.

He sees one, but a bright beam destroys it before he can get close. He sees another, but the jacked kid from outside smashes into it with his legs (are those engines?) and launches himself in another direction.

Eldritch whispers to him and Izuku’s body moves before he thinks, shadows spearing outward with the command only halfway formed in his mind. The whispers have never said real words, never been legible, but he feels the pull of suggestion tearing him further into the artificial city and Izuku doesn’t have the mind to question it.

He’s mentally barely there, as his shadows dart out at any sign of metal.

Three.

Five.

Not enough, not enough!

Seven.

Ten.

Better. Not good enough, not when he hears others shouting numbers like thirty or forty, but better. He can keep his wits about him easier. He’s about to consider springing himself to the top of a building to survey his surroundings when the rumbling starts. Buildings collapse and dust fills the air, choking Izuku and distracting him enough to stop moving.

The other examinees are running the opposite direction. Izuku finally hears real noise, noise that isn’t his own blood rushing in his head, and his arms shake.

The zero pointer looms above them all. It’s. So much bigger than the diagram made it out to be.

Present Mic announces they have less than two minutes. He needs more points. He’s going to fail. He can’t get distracted by a worthless challenge now.

Izuku is going to run. He’s going to launch himself as fast as possible in the other direction like a sensible person, but he hears a noise that isn’t the crunching of rubble beneath treads. It’s a scream of pain. Izuku looks behind him, to the destruction left by the zero pointer, and the dust parts just enough for him to see the girl.

He could leave her. The school surely won’t allow any students to die. He could take off and try to gain some last minute points in the chaos while everyone is running.

(The voice that tells him this sounds like Kacchan’s, and really, that’s exactly what he’d do. It’s what he does, over in his own testing area, refusing to help anyone who gets caught in the path of destruction. Izuku doesn’t know this fact but deep inside, he knows what his choice would say about himself).

He doesn’t even think before he’s charging.

Izuku slices new cuts into his arms, shadows pouring out in droves, and he grits his teeth with the knowledge he’s going to fail the exam if he goes through with this. He’ll run out of time. He’ll be a failure. Bakugou will be right and he’ll be a stupid Deku forever. He’ll never live his dream.

But the look of relief on the girl’s face when she sees him coming makes him think maybe that won’t be so bad. He can at least be a hero to one person.

The zero pointer advances, its treads coming so dangerously close to the girl, and Izuku’s heart spikes in absolute terror at the idea of not being fast enough—

Toshinori enjoys watching the exams, even if he twitches in his seat with the old instinct to jump in and help the kids who stumble into danger. The other teachers talk, pointing out the applicants who show good instincts and who get more creative with their attacks, and he finds himself almost lost with the sheer amount of action happening all at once. He wonders how the school used to judge this sort of thing when he was a student. They probably spent all day reviewing footage from the old cameras. The robots have certainly become drastically better at posing a challenge.

Back in his day, the zero pointer couldn’t move far. It was more of a fortified death ray tower than a moving destruction machine. Ah, nostalgia.

“The zero pointer always seems to put them in their place.”

“Mm. Look at that one, he’s already gotten to the other side of the testing grounds. He’ll have hoarded points by the time the rest arrive.”

“You can really tell the most promising students apart from the rest when it comes to the final challenge.”

“Oh, look, someone’s charging it.”

Toshinori turns to look at the screen Midnight points at, and he almost startles. He knows that head of hair.

Midoriya is running full speed toward the robot, tears streaming down his cheeks. There’s a girl trapped in the rubble in its path. He consults the results, quickly finding the boy’s examination number, and he sees the kid is well below passing.

And yet, he’s giving it his all for someone in peril.

It doesn’t come as a surprise. Toshinori smiles, seeing the boy shows the right kind of virtues he’ll need for this line of work, and keeps his eyes planted firmly on the screen. All the focus in the room is on the single young man daring to charge ahead instead of run. Toshinori’s hands clench in anticipation. He’s watched Midoriya prepare for months, seen his growth; he finds himself cheering the boy on as the camera zooms out to catch the scene in full. He wants to see just what the boy is made of, if his efforts are going to pay off.

The sequence that follows is one Toshinori will find himself re-watching many times that afternoon, just to make sure he saw it correctly.

The zero point robot continues its slow advance, and in its shadow Midoriya flickers.

The small silhouette of the boy expands outward, turning the ground dark, darker than a shadow has any right to be in daylight, and once it hits the robot it seems to climb upwards—the camera feed emits a high pitched noise that barely resembles a human scream and everyone in the room winces as their ears ring.

Toshinori can hear someone demand the problem be fixed over the feedback, and his sunken eyes widen as the head of the robot explodes.

In the testing grounds, the zero point robot has wispy trails of dark smoke follow as it tumbles to the ground. If anyone could hear over the wailing, they would notice the trails whisper in a language that doesn’t exist.

The inhuman wailing continues. Glass rattles in fake storefronts. Examinees clasp their hands over their ears, begging for release. Terror seeps into their collective souls. The scream that shakes everyone to their bones, that steals the breath from their lungs, sharpens to a high note that abruptly stops and seems to steal all sound in the aftermath.

No one has the energy to even breathe.

Izuku, dizzy and finding himself remembering nothing of the past minute, pulls the girl out of the rubble with sluggish limbs and hits the ground as the timer hits zero.

Izuku is in despair for the next week.

He’s certain he failed. He ruined his only chance to get into the school of his dreams. Bakugou is going to rub it in his face, how he was doomed from the start because he’s a stupid fucking Deku and he should know better than to have things like dreams and aspirations.

He didn’t even get to see the girl again. The first person his age to look at him and not act like he was a monster in years, and he didn’t even get to thank her.

He locks himself in his room at first, if only to sit in the dark and let Eldritch whisper to block out the world. He messages his father about the exam but there’s always a gap between each mail, so he doesn’t get a reply. Then his mother gets concerned, so he starts sitting in the living room instead. He fidgets. He paces. He watches the TV without paying attention. He lifts his weights and stares into nothing, mind replaying the exam over and over again as he hopes maybe the brief blackout of his memory contains something that made him pass.

He doesn’t get his hopes too high, though. The bitter tang of failure stings enough without adding delusion into the mess. He’s barely left the house at all in his depression. Oh, Mr. Yagi’s going to be disappointed in him when he hears about Izuku’s horrible failure. Thank goodness he hasn’t been jogging; the letdown would hurt too much.

He winds up making his mother worry even more like this. Everything he does is just doomed for failure, isn’t it?

If his mother notices how far the depths of his depression go, she doesn’t say. She tries to stay positive to cheer him up and it would work if he weren’t so content to stew in his mistakes.

“Waiting for the results is always the worst, huh?” She pats his shoulder as he stares at the wall the next Saturday, twiddling a pen between his fingers as his notebook lays empty on the coffee table. Her touch only somewhat brings Izuku back to reality and his shadows curl around her fingers. She doesn’t recoil and allows them a moment of exploration before pulling back. “I remember when I started taking my college exams. I think I startled the mailman a few times when I applied for my dream school.”

“Did you make it in?” Izuku asks.

She pauses, then looks bashful. “Ah. No. But the school I did go to was even better than expected, so I think it all worked out. It’s how I met your father.”

She smiles at him, encouraging and sympathetic, and Izuku smiles back despite the little voice in his mind telling him his expressions are too much for his poor mother to handle. She’s trying. That means more to Izuku than he thinks she’ll ever know. Even if her son is a failure and a monster, she’s still supporting him. That’s more than enough.

He’s staring down at his notebook, plotting his next move, when his mother shouts from the door and scrambles back into the living room on all fours.

“Izuku! You got a letter! I think it’s your test results!”

Izuku’s heart leaps to his throat, and he’s scrambling to snatch the thin envelope from her hands. He barely hears what he says to her—stammering out he’s going to open it alone—and he tries in vain to control his breathing as he shuts the door to his room.

It’s a thin envelope. Looks like a regular letter. That’s bad, right? He heard from people applying to other schools that thin letters mean rejection; you get a whole pamphlet when you get accepted. U.A. isn’t that different, right? It’s still an institution of learning, so there’s got to be some protocol—

He rips the letter open and a disc falls onto his desk. His confusion is immense before it lights up and he’s staring at the holographic image of his greatest idol in an unspeakably ugly mustard suit.

“THIS IS A PROJECTION!” are the first words out of All Might’s mouth, and Izuku fumbles for his desk chair before he falls whole body into it.

“I’M PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE THAT I, THE NEWEST STAFF MEMBER OF U.A. HIGH SCHOOL, HAVE YOUR TEST RESULTS!”

All Might? Is teaching? Is this real? This can’t be real; this is the first dream Izuku is actually mentally present for, that has to be it.

“IZUKU MIDORIYA! Despite having passed the written portion, getting only ten points on the practical exam naturally results in failure—”

Izuku’s heart clenches. Of course. Of course, his dream school gets his idol as a teacher just in time for him to start, and he fails the exam. This is the universe laughing at him. He’s a failure. A horrible failure. This is his hell, his personal torture, the nightmare scenario to end all nightmare scenarios.

Bakugou is going to get to go to U.A. and be taught by All Might, and he’ll live the dream Izuku’s been reaching for since he was old enough to walk. His name leaves the mouth of his hero just to tell him he’s a failure.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair it isn’t f a i r—

“BUT!”

Izuku’s head whips up, hands clenching his knees.

“Let me direct your attention to the screen!” All Might takes out a remote from his suit pocket, directing the camera to his side.

It’s the girl. The one from the exam.

All Might (and it’s really All Might, his hero, his role model) explains she came after the exam. She begs that some of her points be given to him. Izuku could cry, is crying, when she begs he be given some of her points because he helped her. He saved her.

“Here at U.A., we do not only award points for villains!” All Might pauses the video, and something inside Izuku is threatening to burst. “After all, what kind of heroics institution would we be if we didn’t reward those who do the right thing?”

Izuku sobs, the dam inside breaking and a smile tearing its way to the surface. There’s no way. He actually…?

“For your brave actions during the exam, you have been rewarded in RESCUE POINTS!”

His point tally is so much. So much. For stopping to help the boy that had been trampled at the gate, for running to the girl—

All Might, his hero, his idol and inspiration, welcomes him to U.A. Izuku’s silent scream is wet and clogged with heaving sobs of sheer joy.

He cries, he cries so much his throat hurts, and when he tears open his bedroom door, his mother sees his smile and she starts crying, too.

He’s done it. He’s made it in.

Chapter Text

Orudera congratulates him and Bakugou for their success. Izuku doesn’t feel sorry for the glare he gives his teachers as they offer him their congratulations. They’re still the same teachers who never stepped in to help him. The same teachers who conveniently looked away when he needed support. The same teachers who blatantly thought he wouldn’t make it all year long. Instead of voicing his lack of enthusiasm toward their fake niceties, he swallows his tongue and nods. He won’t see them again anyway.

Izuku is bitter, but he isn’t so bitter he needs to prove his anger to everyone who wronged him. He’s going to be better than that. He’s going to move on, and when he’s succeeded, he’ll be able to look at them all and go, I didn’t need you anyway.

Bakugou is bitter enough, though, and he slams Izuku into a wall and demands to know why he felt the need to upstage what was supposed to be Katsuki Bakugou’s greatest moment.

“What did you do!?” Bakugou demands, hands clenched in Izuku’s shirt and palms sizzling with barely controlled anger. “How the fuck did you get in, you creepy little bastard!?”

Izuku doesn’t answer at first, because Bakugou keeps slamming his back against the wall and he doesn’t want to bite his tongue. He actually bleeds there. Bakugou has all the tact of a rabid dog, shaking Izuku extra hard for good measure and only becoming more infuriated when Izuku maintains the guise of stoicism the entire time. It’s taking a considerable amount of willpower to not flicker and let his shadows rise off of him in wisps, with the whispering that lingers around him getting considerably chattier as Bakugou rages.

“I was supposed to be the only one who got in! I was supposed to be the only person in this shit ass school who was good enough! Why the fuck didn’t you apply somewhere else!? Do you have to follow me everywhere, you pathetic little shit!?” Bakugou screams, demands, because of course Izuku actually succeeding at anything was against the natural order.

The fear, the numbing anxiety that lives inside Izuku with his shadows, claws at his heart and grips so tightly Izuku can barely pretend to hold it all together as he answers.

“Obviously you weren’t the only person who was good enough.”

This is the wrong answer. Bakugou is angrier than ever.

“Deku, you little—”

“Are you threatened by me, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, staring somewhere in the middle of Bakugou’s forehead so he doesn’t have to make direct eye contact.

He doesn’t mean to even say it out loud. But it’s a thought he’s been mulling over, ever since Bakugou stopped being his friend. Ever since he started going out of his way to make Izuku’s life hell. He hasn’t the faintest idea why Bakugou would be threatened by him, but he’s never truly understood why Bakugou acts the way he does in the first place. The logic Bakugou runs on is the kind that can only be understood if he somehow managed to have Bakugou’s brain for a day.

He understands how Bakugou works, what makes him tick, but he’s never had the faintest idea as to why.

Ever since Bakugou’s pride grew bigger than his head, all the way back when they were little, he’s been trying and failing to play catchup.

He finds he doesn’t regret accidentally asking, since it knocks Bakugou off-balance and he stops threatening to hit Izuku to instead stare at him like he’s an idiot.

“Why the fuck would I be threatened by a shitty little Deku!?”

“Well, you’re yelling at me for something. If I was really such a shitty little Deku, the great and mighty Kacchan wouldn’t even stoop so low as to talk to me,” Izuku fires back.

Bakugou curls his lip, shoving Izuku back against the wall one more time and getting in close to his face.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you lying piece of shit,” Bakugou growls. “How the fuck did you trick your way in? No school in their right mind would take you.”

Izuku hardens his eyes, keeping his voice level even though the whispers in the back of his mind are starting to become agitated. The anger that’s driven him all these months flares to life. Every insult that’s been thrown in his direction slams into the front of his mind and he seethes at the idea he didn’t earn his way in like everyone else. That he didn’t work himself to the bone for success. “No tricks. I fought in the exam the same as you.”

It’s not enough. It’s never enough, with Bakugou. He doesn’t believe Izuku for a second.

The thing is, he’s so tired. He’s tired of this. He’s tired of trying to justify existing. He’s tired of the way Bakugou looks at him, with hatred and disgust and contempt—he’s tired of the sting that comes with looking at his former friend and receiving nothing but hurt. He’s tired of this school. He’s just… he’s exhausted, and his skin is itching with the urge to let his shadows loose like he’s been doing all these months, and he’s been holding on to the happiness of finally succeeding at something to get him through the last days of middle school without losing his mind.

So he acts without thinking, smiling nice and wide the way he knows terrifies his classmates, and he relishes the way Bakugou tenses.

—Good, some part of him whispers, some dark corner that holds every dark thought he’s brushed away, some little hidden pocket where advice he usually ignores sings into his ears in velvety tones. Let him feel just one iota of the fear he’s caused all these years—

“Did you really think my quirk was completely useless? That I wasn’t preparing just as hard as you? It’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

He can feel the whispering intensify, the voices in his ears goading him on, and when Bakugou lets go of him, Izuku manages to hold off shaking until he’s walked far enough away he can break into a run without anyone seeing.

His nerves threaten to make him pass out the first time he dresses in his new uniform.

Izuku has always been gloomy to look at, but middle school made it worse with his gakuen being pitch black. The color only seemed to accentuate his lack of life. People looked at him, at his chalky skin, at the bags under his eyes and the dark shine of his hair, and more often than not they thought he looked undead. He’d found “zombie” written more than once on his desk and the joke never seemed to wear off since he only looked worse as time went on. His new uniform is blessedly full of color and Izuku could sing.

Until he sees himself in the mirror. Good god. He looks even worse. Actual color makes him look like he came from a printer steadily running out of ink. Izuku sighs, brushing his teeth and doing his best to fix the mess that is his appearance. He ties his hair back and slaps his face a bit to give his cheeks a rosy glow, wincing when all it does is give his cheeks handprints.

He slips on a comfortable headband to at least try and improve it all. It’s in pleasant pastel greens, so it makes his hair look less dead. It’ll have to do.

He eats his breakfast slowly, gnawing at his lip and eventually packing food away in his void for later. His mother seems as nervous as he does and he can’t even blame her.

She tells him she’s proud of him, and it takes every ounce of him not to cry as he boards the train for his very first day of school.

The last time he started a new school, he was still friends with Bakugou. The both of them had been excited, talking about how great life was going to be now that they weren’t small anymore, now that they were growing up. They were excited to be in the same class again. They were…happy, he thinks. He knows Bakugou was happy. Bakugou was in an amazing mood the entire first day. When Izuku thinks about how he felt, he thinks he was happy. He must have been; he remembers not feeling so awful like he did the rest of his middle school years. He remembers actually smiling as he and his precious Kacchan walked home together.

The memories are tainted with the bitter sting that right after the school year began Bakugou suddenly despised him. But it’s different now.

He enters U.A. alone, with no friends, but it’s a new start. A new chance. He has the opportunity to start all over. No more “creepy Deku.” No more “Deku’s going to go postal.” No more tacks in his shoes and no more graffiti on his desk.

He finds the classroom for 1-A, and as he stands outside the door, he tries his best to stay positive. After all, just because Bakugou got in doesn’t mean they’re going to be in the same class again.

He opens the door to walk in and the first thing he sees is Bakugou arguing with the Hemsworth Accountant.

His hopes wither and die right there.

The guy who’s too muscled for any sensible fifteen year old gestures with his hands at Bakugou’s legs, taking up Bakugou’s entire desk with the heel of his slippers planted firmly on the surface. “Take your feet off of that desk this instant! You are disrespecting the property of this academy by scuffing your shoes on it—”

“Hah? The fuck’s it to you? You got some kind of stick up your ass?” Bakugou throws back, smiling, carefree as ever.

The jacked kid stops, taking a moment to breathe as the anger drains from his face. “Let’s start over. My name is Tenya Iida, from Somei Academy—”

“Somei, huh? Can’t even stick to your guns? What, you think your private school ass is better than me?”

Izuku is already tired. So tired.

The newly named Iida, who already is facing the age old exhaustion all humans gain from arguing with Bakugou, finally notices Izuku at the door and abandons his attempts to fix Bakugou’s behavior to speed-walk over, eyes firmly planted on Izuku’s face. Izuku feels fear for the faintest of moments, at the idea of this kid picking up where he left off at the exam, but Iida instead extends his hand in greeting.

“I am Tenya Iida, from Somei—”

“I, uh. I heard,” Izuku cuts him off, shuffling his feet awkwardly. He isn’t used to talking to someone his own age and he’s sure it shows in how his eyes go everywhere but Iida’s face. “Izuku Midoriya.”

“Midoriya.” Iida nods. “I must apologize.”

Izuku’s eyes widen. He must what now?

“I completely misjudged you! You perceived the true nature of the exam, you were clearly the superior candidate, and I apologize for judging your character so harshly!” Iida gestures wildly with his hands as he talks and Izuku doesn’t bother trying to follow them, instead staring at Iida’s face to see if he’s suffered some kind of head trauma. No one has ever apologized to him like this before. Not even when teachers stepped in and gave halfhearted attempts to bring order back to the class.

Izuku doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he holds up his hands to try and tell Iida it’s okay, it’s fine, he didn’t perceive anything—even though part of him is relishing in the idea someone is honestly being nice for once.

He doesn’t get the chance when a new voice joins in, bubbly and bright despite the early hour.

“Oh, it’s you!” Izuku whirls around and his heart soars when he sees the nice girl from the exam, smiling at him. “The freckle boy! You got in!”

Izuku can feel his face warming up and he thinks this is how he dies. It’s too much. First he gets an honest apology and then he’s greeted with a smile? It’s too much for him to handle; he’s done, he can die happy. He’s achieved all he could ever ask for and class hasn’t even started.

He swallows and tries not to fumble too much as he speaks, holding back the grin that threatens to push its way to the surface. He doesn’t need to scare anyone and ruin something nice. “H-Hi! I’m sorry I never got to talk to you after the exam—”

“It’s no problem. What you did was so cool! I’m just stoked you made it in!” The girl waves her arms, as if to imitate an explosion. Is that what happened when he blacked out? He barely remembers the tail end of the exam, just passing out and waking up on a cot. “I’m so glad we’re in the same class. It’s just orientation and guidance today, right? I’m so nervous…”

Izuku is about to nod, barely holding back his smile because this is the first normal conversation he’s had with someone his own age in years, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“If you’re here just to socialize, you’re free to go.”

The small crowd of teens at the door freeze. They look down.

A man in a sleeping bag stares at them with bloodshot eyes from the floor. He sips a juice pouch.

Izuku’s establishing character moment in front of all his new peers is to not-so-quietly ask, “Holy shit, did he crawl all the way to the door in that?”

It isn’t his proudest moment. But it isn’t his worst, either.

The man rises from his sleeping bag, throwing the yellow material over his arm and surveying the entire room as all the background chatter grinds to a halt. Izuku wonders if he should make his way to a desk before he remembers he doesn’t know which one is his yet. Also, the question burns inside his mind.

Did he crawl all the way to the door in the sleeping bag? Did he roll? Did he walk, only to stop and lie down and get back in just for the sake of a dramatic entrance? If so, why?

“It took you all eight seconds to get quiet. That won’t do. A lot can happen in eight seconds, so you shouldn’t waste time if you want to be half decent heroes. It’s only logical.” The man scratches at his stubble, bored and ignoring the wide eyes of everyone in the room. “My name is Shouta Aizawa. I’m your homeroom teacher.”

Izuku pinches himself. It hurts. He isn’t dreaming. Their teacher is a ball of exhaustion wrapped in a sleeping bag.

Mr. Aizawa opens his sleeping bag back up and pulls out a gym uniform, which really gives Izuku a lot more uncomfortable questions, and holds it up for everyone to see.

“Put these on and head to the grounds.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice.

Uneasiness follows the class as they assemble outside and Izuku can only swallow when they’re told what they’re going to do.

Quirk assessment. The usual gym class examination tasks, with free reign to use their quirks however they please in order to boost their scores. Bakugou sends a ball sky high with his power and Izuku’s stomach wrestles uncomfortably with its breakfast when the results come in and he sees the sheer disparity between Bakugou’s middle school score and what comes up on the device in Aizawa’s hand. The rest of the class cheers, excited to be given that kind of freedom, and Izuku is the only one watching when Mr. Aizawa catches on to what they’re saying.

He frowns at them, contemplative, and Izuku can see him come to a decision milliseconds before he opens his mouth.

“You all think that your three years here will be fun and games.” Aizawa’s voice is low, low enough Izuku can see Bakugou straining to hear him somewhere to the side, trying to read his lips through his scarf, but Aizawa’s face is absolutely stone cold. “Right, I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong up front. These tests will show me your potential and room for growth, so it’s only logical that whoever comes in last will be the most hopeless of you all.”

Izuku has an inkling of what’s coming next, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Whoever comes in last will be expelled. Welcome to the hero course, children. Give it your all.”

The first event is the fifty meter dash. Aizawa goes from his low, threatening voice to an apathetic one at the drop of a hat, supervising them all in groups of two as they take to the track. The threat of expulsion hangs over everyone’s head and the class is much, much less excited than they were just a few minutes ago.

Izuku does what Izuku does best, and he thinks.

The objective set before them is to do whatever they possibly can to raise their middle school scores with quirk use. It’s been drilled into them all that quirk use in school is forbidden, so they’ve never had the opportunity to test their quirks in this setting unless they’ve done so in their own time. Really, it’s a question of how would you cheat, and have you already considered how to do it? They’re being tested not just on physical ability, but versatility in how they wield power. The best of the class are going to be the ones who prove to be well balanced. Whoever can’t figure it out isn’t worth teaching.

It’s really a testament to the modern school system. If you aren’t what they already want, fuck off, Izuku thinks.

Izuku surveys his classmates as they run and takes note of how they approach the challenge.

Iida shoots ahead, since his quirk is for speed. He doesn’t need to get creative.

His opponent, however, doesn’t run and instead hops to the end since her quirk gives her incredible jumping speed. The girl from the exam (he really needs to learn her name, he can’t keep missing it) uses her gravity quirk to lighten her clothes. One kid Izuku recognizes from the exam uses a laser to shoot himself forward.

On and on it goes. Some run regularly, others get creative, and Izuku files it all away. He burns their methods into his mind and thinks about himself and how he compares. He thinks about what Aizawa must be looking for in untrained teenagers.

When it comes time for him to go, he forces his hands to stop shaking and takes his place next to Bakugou. He focuses solely on his own performance and not the poisonous way he’s being looked at to his left.

Bakugou uses his explosions to fly ahead. His feet don’t touch the ground. Predictable.

Izuku, when the time begins, commands his shadows to shoot him forward. Hard. Bakugou flies ahead, a smile plastered on his face as he zooms across the finish line in record time, and Izuku clenches his teeth as he comes to the end of his initial speed boost—

Bakugou turns around just in time for Izuku to command the shadows under his feet to spear, and keep his momentum going. Again. And again. He’s slowing, he knows he is, and his balance is falling apart the longer he keeps at it, but he crosses the finish at a respectable 5.40 seconds and it’s a start.

It goes from there. Grip testing. Standing long jump. Side stepping. Izuku watches his classmates, watches how they approach each one and whose quirks make which task a breeze, and does whatever he can to give himself an edge. He won’t be thrown out on day one. He refuses. He’s worked too hard to be thrown out on a stupid technicality.

The grip test is a lost cause, but his score is better than his middle school record if only from all his weight training. He launches himself at the long jump and crumples on the landing, but he manages to clear most of the sand. Side stepping almost breaks his ankles and he’s forced to resort to doing it normally after he tries to use his shadows to make himself go faster.

Mr. Aizawa watches him carefully the entire time, and Izuku doesn’t know what to make of the man’s stare. That in itself unnerves him.

Izuku is used to teachers. All kinds of teachers. His kindergarten teachers were nice but patronizing, hiding their meanings behind sugary words. His elementary teachers were tired and unsure, never quite meeting his eyes. His middle school teachers never could hide their distaste. All of them never knew how to deal with a child like him and their confusion meant they couldn’t fake their way out. They were all transparent in some way toward him and Izuku was used to it. Izuku learned their tells and how to get around them. But Aizawa isn’t transparent. Aizawa is a brick wall.

Izuku’s never had to deal with a brick wall before, and that worries him.

The ball toss comes and the brick wall collides with him with no time to prepare.

Izuku approaches the ring for the toss mulling over how he wants to do this. In the other events he’s gotten by on just the shadows under his feet. He weighs the ball in his hand, judging its weight and durability, and he reaches into the pocket of his gym pants for the tool he slipped in while changing.

“Midoriya. You should know the school has a strict policy on weapons.”

He almost drops it, the way Aizawa is suddenly right there and peering down at him with an unreadable expression.

“Um,” Izuku starts. “I—I know. Sir.”

Aizawa continues staring at him.

The tool in his hands isn’t his usual pocket knife or a razor he jimmied off of a sharpener. It’s an exacto-blade tip he fashioned into an old eraser, using athletic tape to keep it snug and give the “handle” some grip. The plastic casing is still on the blade and everything. He figured it would be the safest option instead of possibly losing a loose blade while exercising while remaining outside the technicalities of the rule against pocket knives.

“I. Need something sharp. For my quirk, sir,” Izuku fumbles on the words, crumples under the intense stare of a teacher for the first time in years, and he actually kind of wishes he could melt through the ground so he could leave this situation and never come back. This is truly a first. He’s never had a teacher who genuinely intimidated him before. “It’s only for use on myself, sir.”

Aizawa’s so close Izuku finally sees the goggles hidden under his chin in the folds of his scarf. His heart skips a beat with the realization of just who is towering over him right now.

Aizawa—Eraserhead, the pro who can take away his quirk without even moving, holy shit—stares at him for a little more time, possibly trying to kill him through gaze alone, before he nods. “I’ll be taking that after this, then. If you need it again, tell me, and once this assessment is done, I’m confiscating it. Petition for an official support item. No more homemade shanks.”

He leaves Izuku alone, then, and Izuku has to shake out the nerves that have made his hands so unsteady.

Confusedly, he realizes he just had an interaction with a teacher that actually ended fairly. Huh. That’s… That’s really new.

To his side, his class watches eagerly. Iida and the nice girl (what is her name?) and a few others actually seem encouraging. Izuku looks from them back to his tool, and he hopes this doesn’t ruin his reputation before he has the chance to make at least one friend.

Izuku takes the casing off the blade and cuts an even line over the palm of his hand, allowing thick shadows to spill out. They swallow the ball in its entirety and he reaches back for the throw, a plan in mind.

He reaches inside, for all the whispers, all the voices that flitter about in his mind, and he commands—

Go.

Deku’s freaky shadows have never made sense. Not once in all the years Katsuki’s known him. He’s seen them before, dark and slow and churning like thick smoke, and it’s almost familiar as he watches them wrap around the ball and launch it skyward as Deku mimics the throwing motion. It’s a huge step up from the way they usually just float around. Useless and creepy.

He isn’t impressed by it. He’s far from it.

“Holy shit, did he just cut his hand open!?”

“That’s manly as hell!”

“Oh, wow, it’s going so far!”

“Isn’t he the one that blew up the zero pointer?”

The useless peons standing around him talk so loud he doesn’t have a problem hearing them. Katsuki clenches his fists inside the pockets of his gym pants, glaring as fucking Deku’s distance is put on record and the little creepy shit hands over whatever thing he used to cut himself to Aizawa. Fucking knife nut. The thick clouds that threw the ball dissipate into the air like they never existed in the first place. Little nerd makes a face as he walks back like he’s smug. Like he’s too good for this. Hiding behind a fake little twitch while he lords himself around, the lying little weasel.

One of the extras, some chick with brown hair, acts all worried when Deku makes his way back. It’s sickening. “Is your hand okay?”

“Oh, it’s fi-fine, it already sealed up…”

It isn’t right. Fucking Deku—useless Deku fucking weak ass Deku little “Kacchan” spewing shit—gets to come to this school and what? Make like he’s better? Act like he isn’t doing this all just to piss Katsuki off? Instead of Katsuki showing all these extras how strong he is they’re all fawning over a mealy-mouthed little worm who doesn’t even belong at this school. He’s the furthest thing from a hero. Can’t any of these idiots see the lie? Are they all so fucking stupid they can’t see what’s in front of them?

Katsuki runs his tongue over his teeth, catching on the cap of one and glaring as hard as he possibly can at the back of Deku’s head.

The cap is three years old, but the memory of how he got it is fresh.

I know what you are, he thinks. Your little act doesn’t fool me.

Monster.

The events go on as planned. Endurance running. The seated toe touch. Upper body training. Izuku gets his blade back and even as his nerves rise from the way his classmates watch him cut himself open, he waits on baited breath as he pushes himself to the limit for the sake of not being thrown out. He tells himself being friendless is a price worth paying to stay in this school. He even half believes it.

The final tally is posted, and everyone’s eyes immediately go to the bottom slot before finding their own.

Izuku cries a little, seeing his name not there. He isn’t anywhere near the top, either. This isn’t great, he’s got a long way to go to catch up with most of the class, but he isn’t last and that means too much to him to make him feel bad. The chatter around him picks up as his classmates find their names and either breathe sighs of relief or mutter to themselves about their results.

“Last place goes to Minoru Mineta,” Aizawa reads off in a rather bored tone as the rest of the class looks for the fateful student. “Go back to class and pack your things.”

Mineta turns out to be the tiniest person in the class, the boy whose head is grape shaped and who had dominated the side stepping challenge. His wail of despair at the command to pack up is absolutely horrendous. Izuku can certainly sympathize with that emotion.

A girl to Izuku’s side raises her hand to her mouth, shocked. “Wait, he actually meant it?”

“You thought he wasn’t serious?” someone else asks. “What part of him makes him look like he plays jokes?”

“I thought he was bluffing!” the girl defends.

Izuku looks and sees the rest of the class sharing a unified expression of unease. Teachers have always threatened expulsion, in his memory. It was just so rare that that sort of thing was really followed up on. Izuku isn’t above them with that panic, watching as Mineta begs and pleas with Mr. Aizawa to be given another chance, please sir, he really doesn’t wanna go—

They’re released to change and go home and Izuku doesn’t expect the hands that grip at him, holding him from running ahead. The rest of the class moves on toward the locker rooms but a small bubble moves at a slower pace, surrounding Izuku and preventing him from butting through.

“Midoriya!” Iida’s eyes are wide, concerned as they run over Izuku’s bare skin. “Are you alright after all of that?”

“Ye—Yes?”

Sweat beads on the back of his neck, his fingers fidgeting with unease and Izuku prepares for the usual reactions he gets to casually stabbing himself. Maybe this time it won’t be so bad. Maybe it won’t be as big of a deal here.

“I can’t believe you just cut up your hand without even flinching!” Iida continues, his hands flailing about as he talks. He doesn’t seem disgusted. He seems…concerned? “Your resolve must be even greater than I predicted.”

“And it sealed up so fast!” The cheerful girl (what is her name?) takes Izuku’s hand in her own and examines it closely, beaming. “That’s so cool! But doesn’t it hurt?”

He’s never had this reaction before.

Well, that’s a lie. The first time he sliced himself open, with a crayon sharpener in kindergarten, Kacchan and the others had gaped at his open stomach. They gasped, and oohed, and Kacchan announced he was actually pretty useful when Izuku showed he could store ice cream sandwiches in the void without them melting.

He used to carry everyone’s things. He used to be a little impressive. It’s just that somewhere along the way, it went from useful and Carry my bag, Izuku to What a fucking creep, what a psycho.

It’s been so long he doesn’t think it’s real, having someone not immediately intimidated.

“Not really? It stung when I was younger, but now it’s like…um. You know when you’d use safety scissors on clay? Kind of like that.” Izuku stumbles his way through an explanation, half expecting his new audience to turn on him. He’s so amazed, so grateful, when he gets an understanding nod in response.

A boy, one of the few who hung back to slowly walk with Izuku’s sudden corral of escorts, speaks up then. Izuku finds himself impressed by the mound of spiky red hair on his head. That must be a pain to take care of. “What was that thing you were using?”

“An, uh, arts and crafts blade I stuck in an eraser?”

“Shit, man, you’re hardcore.” The kid smiles at him, all sharp teeth and no visible mockery. “Eijirou Kirishima. It’s a shame Aizawa took that from you, bro.”

Iida waves his hand again, chopping the air while his other hand adjusts his glasses. “I disagree. Such a tool is an easy path to an infection or an accident! Official support items are better suited for something as delicate as controlled incisions. It’s a good thing Mr. Aizawa removed it before something unfortunate happened.”

“Uh, yeah, he said I should petition for something. I’ll get right on it,” Izuku mumbles, shaking a little under all the attention. He tries to tamper it down and look approachable but he isn’t sure how well it’s working. “Um. Izuku Midoriya. Pleased to meet you.”

“We really didn’t get introduced properly earlier, huh? Sorry about that.” The nice girl releases Izuku’s hand, finally pointing at herself. “Ochako Uraraka! Pleased to be here!”

Izuku could cry in relief at finally knowing her name, but the rest of his little bubble starts going off and he’s too occupied trying to follow the conversation. He hasn’t had this many people actually talk around him in years. Not since Kacchan and his lackeys actually tolerated his presence.

“Man, that was so cool what you did for the seated toe touch. I’m impressed,” one boy praises. Izuku remembers him from the grip test challenge. “Good to meet ya. Hanta Sero.”

“I didn’t get to see that one, what did he do?” Uraraka asks, bouncing on her feet.

“He sliced his back straight open, right on the small of it? Whatever that area’s called? He was like a torn up rag doll. He got another five inches that way and had his hands wrapped around the toes of his shoes,” Kirishima says. He seems genuinely impressed. At the very least his mocking is at a level Izuku can’t pick up on yet.

“Oh, wow, that’s so cool!” Uraraka punches the air, enthusiasm showing in full. “I can’t believe you didn’t score higher, you were way more creative than I was.”

Izuku’s ears prickle with heat. “Um, thanks?”

“It is only the first day, and Mr. Aizawa wasn’t forthcoming on how he judged our rankings. We aren’t sure of the criteria he used in the first place,” Iida points out.

“Oh, that’s true.”

It’s…new. What’s happening here. This day has been full of new things but this is the cherry on top.

They make their way inside, climb the stairs to the locker rooms, and the entire way they all talk like normal people. They talk about the tests. They talk about what they did, toss out ideas for what they could have done, and the entire conversation is so low stress Izuku doesn’t know how to handle it. His classmates smile around him. They joke. They include him. Uraraka waves at them when she reaches the girls’ entrance and she doesn’t seem so eager to leave like so many other girls Izuku’s been around.

“Do you really think he sent Mineta home?” Sero asks, when they finally reach the boys locker room entrance. Kirishima looks behind them, out toward the direction the training field should be, and frowns.

“No way, it’s gotta be a joke, right? This is a top tier school. They can’t just expel people for no reason.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sero shrugs, scratching at his head. “He’ll probably be in class tomorrow. Hey, when do you think we’ll get to wear costumes?”

That sets off a whole new round of conversations, joined in by the boys that are taking their time changing. Izuku laughs, anxiety peeling away just a bit, and joins in.

He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Congratulations!
To:  [email protected]

Izuku,

I’m so happy to hear you passed your exams. All that hard work truly did pay off in the end. Your mother and I are so proud of you. I may not be the hero fan that you are but I think you’re going to cause quite a stir, so I’m excited to see how you grow from here on out.

If an old man can impart advice: don’t let your lack of experience or training slow you down. You have a brilliant mind and it is your greatest weapon. A strong hero can take down a villain, but a witty one can topple an empire. From what you’ve told me of your quirk, you have so much versatility at your disposal, so your creative mind will definitely give you an advantage and take your power to new heights.

Also: you should send your old man pictures of you in your new uniform. I want to be able to show my colleagues how far my boy has come.

On my end, things are rather dull at the moment. There’s a new project coming up but red tape is keeping us from moving on to the next stage…

>>Click to read more                                         

Izuku ponders his father’s words as he sits on the floor of his bedroom, looking over the stash he has laid out in front of him. His hair is pulled back by a rainbow headband to keep his eyes clear.

Air horns. Rubber bands. Marbles. Butter spray. Silly string. A jug of vegetable oil. Chattering teeth, unwound. Bouncy balls. Toys and random objects alike, all heaped together.

A considerable sized pile of supposed junk, amassed from the depths of his closet and local shops.

His father’s advice is always good. He’s never led Izuku astray, not once in all the messages they’ve exchanged over the years, and Izuku is so, so thankful the latest one gave him such a burst of inspiration. He has an armory at his disposal. He should have considered it first thing.

His void is supposedly endless. Izuku’s never experienced it getting too full, or filling it to the point things spilled out without him wanting them to, so he has the perfect place to store equipment. Not just official equipment, but any equipment. Anything that could reasonably help him. Official support items are helpful and welcomed, but one day he could beat someone by reaching inside and pulling out a nice blunt object to smash upside their head.

Not very heroic, but it is practical. Aizawa seems like the kind of guy who would say that’s a good merit to consider.

Izuku slices his stomach open and gets to work loading it all in, humming to himself as he does so. Maybe he can ask the support department for more stuff once he’s gotten the chance to practice with what he has. From all the ice cream and cold water bottles he’s stored, he knows items don’t seem to age or change, so he could hide anything they make without worry.

Maybe smoke pellets. Smoke pellets might be nice…

It’s odd, how normal mornings are at U.A. Izuku takes the train and walks to class, nodding at Uraraka and Iida and the others as they make their way through the gate, and they talk about normal things. They put their shoes in their lockers. Uraraka has opinions about some game show she likes to watch, and Iida mentions meeting a friendly dog during his evening jog the night before. It wouldn’t be out of place at any other school, except every staff member remains in costume all day and they pass Midnight in the hallways running papers out of the teacher’s lounge. It’s enough to remind them of just where they are and what they’re here to do.

Mineta isn’t in his seat. Izuku gulps when homeroom begins and there’s no sign of him anywhere. Sero and Kirishima catch his eye and they look just as bothered about it. Aizawa says nothing, and it’s subtly horrifying. Izuku feels a bit humbled being on the other side for once.

Missing classmate aside, things progress in the new “normal.” Homeroom bleeds into other classes, average subjects that Izuku studiously takes notes on. Bakugou, in front of him, twirls his pencil and angrily watches the clock. Lunch comes and goes and Izuku nearly sings at the fact he’s invited to sit with people, instead of finding an empty corner or sneaking to the roof.

It’s after lunch the façade of normality fades away, and Izuku nearly vibrates out of his skin when All Might himself bursts through the door.

“I HAVE…ENTERED THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

The first line, though, is so confusing he falters a bit in his excitement. What part of that was in any way normal?

The rest of the class either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and everyone starts getting loud. It’s really All Might. Izuku’s spent years collecting figurines and posters with his face on it, he can’t believe the real deal himself is there, right in front of him, even wearing his Silver Age suit Izuku could recognize anywhere! Izuku bites his lip to keep his grin contained, watching his idol—his new teacher, holy shit, this is real—make his way to the front of the class.

“Hero Basic Training!” All Might starts, with an exaggerated pose that somehow allows his cape to billow indoors. “This is where you will all learn the foundations of heroics. Training specially designed to mold you into the finest young heroes of tomorrow. Today you will be performing Battle Training!”

Izuku forgets to breathe for a moment, hands clutching the sides of his desk. Judging from the whispers around him that aren’t echoing in his head, he’s not the only one. Battle Training. On only the second day. This school really doesn’t play around.

“And to accompany such training, you will need these!” All Might whips out a controller, pressing the button and stepping back as the panels in the wall pop open to reveal numbered silver cases. “In accordance with your quirk registration and request forms, your costumes are ready! Prepare yourselves and meet on Ground Beta!”

The class cheers and it’s a stampede after that. Costumes.

Izuku shakes with excitement, as he grabs his case and runs to the locker rooms. He’s been looking forward to this.

He used to spend a lot of time designing his dream costume. Admittedly it was based a little too much on All Might, but Izuku can’t really make himself feel too bad about it. He was younger. He was riding the high of having his dreams be within reach. He wasn’t the only kid to do it, back in second grade everyone was drawing their costumes and every other boy copied All Might. He constantly updated the sketches after that, too, until the day Kacchan saw them and made fun of them for looking like some kind of messed up donkey with big teeth.

He hasn’t really drawn the costume since. That old notebook is buried deep in his desk, where no one can find it. He was tempted to dig it out for his forms but instead he just sent in his quirk information and a few requests. He left the design entirely up to the support company.

Whether or not it’s his dream costume, it doesn’t matter. It’s his very own suit. His next big step to becoming a hero. He’ll wear it with pride.

Apparently the support company took one look at his quirk registration and decided to make him look like he was there to rob the school.

Mental note: destroy the support company.

It’s not terrible, but it is…something to get used to. Black and gray make up most of it, dark shades Izuku usually avoids wearing so he doesn’t look more like a corpse than usual. Black shoes, black pants, a gray top angled like a fancy vest and dotted with shiny silver buttons. On top of it all is a sleek black coat that flairs in tails behind him, with color blessedly included in a bright red underside and gloves. His mask is barely a mask, more like a red line that traces around his eyes and does nothing to hide his face. A domino mask that doesn’t even do its job. He looks like he wandered out of an episode of Magic Kaito.

At least the support company listened to his request. His gloves have a little switch to cut his wrists open. He’ll have to keep these after class until he can get something for daily use.

He’s one of the last people to make it out to the field, nerves bubbling over seeing everyone else in their costumes. Some of them look so cool. Kirishima gives him a thumb up and Izuku’s eyes widen at his headset. Damn, that design is good. Bakugou looks amazing, as expected. He’s had his costume in mind since they were little. He catches Izuku looking and makes a face, narrowing his eyes and forcing Izuku to inch away.

Bakugou has been oddly silent since that day. He’s not looking forward to that silence being broken.

Uraraka saves him from an untimely beating either way, her smile absolutely blinding from inside her helmet. Her astronaut costume is so her it’s painful.

“Oh, Midoriya! Is that your costume? It’s so suave!” She balances on the heel of her boots, which Izuku notices seem to be spring loaded from the way she bounces, and heat prickles his cheeks.

“Thanks, I guess? You don’t think it looks too dark?” he asks, running one gloved hand through his hair. He wishes he could pull it back but his green headband doesn’t really match at all.

“Yeah, it’s dark; that’s what makes it so cool! Like Lupin, or Tuxedo Mask or something.”

His entire face heats up at that. He bites his tongue to try to keep himself from sputtering, eyes darting anywhere but the encouraging face of his new friend. “Yours is really nice, too.”

“Thanks. I didn’t expect it to be so tight, though. It’s kind of embarrassing,” Uraraka, fidgeting, admits with a bashful look.

“I think it suits you, though,” Izuku says, meeting her eyes again. His embarrassment is forgotten in the face of seeing someone as cheerful as Uraraka falter. “You seem like the kind of confident person who can really pull it off.”

He doesn’t notice, but Uraraka’s cheeks burn behind her helmet at the compliment. She smiles at him again, warm and friendly, and her shoulders perk up. “Thanks. You’re too sweet.”

“Is everyone present?” All Might calls out, looking them over with his trademark grin. “Good. Time for Battle Training!”

A voice pipes up to Izuku’s side, and he startles when he realizes the tall robotic suit is hiding Iida inside. “Sir, since we’re at the field used for the entrance exam, are we going to be fighting in a city environment again?”

“Close, but no! Today we will be performing indoor battle encounters. Contrary to popular belief, the most heinous villains lurk indoors, so it is imperative you learn how to conduct yourselves in an enclosed environment!” All Might answers promptly. “We will be splitting into teams and you will face each other as heroes and villains in two-on-two battles.”

Another voice chimes in, this time the hopping girl. Asui, Izuku thinks her name is. “We aren’t going to do basic training first?”

“Practical experience teaches you the basics!”

More questions keep coming, ranging from What are the terms? to Can’t I just blast everyone? to Are you going to expel someone like Mr. Aizawa? and Izuku wishes he could have snapped a picture of All Might genuinely looking flustered before pulling a script of all things from his pocket.

He didn’t think the Silver Age costume had the space for pockets, but that thought is quickly brushed away for the sake of paying attention to his first lesson with his hero. He can spazz out over costume design later.

Their mission is this: villains have holed themselves up inside a building with a nuclear weapon. With limited time, they must make their way inside and either subdue the villains, or capture the weapon. Teams are to be determined by drawing lots.

Due to the class being one short, one team will unfortunately be uneven. All Might appears apologetic at that, not wanting to rob anyone of training just to feign fairness.

It’s simple enough, and fairly logical. The randomness of the pairings makes sense considering heroes have to team up with each other all the time. The mission is clear without any hidden information, so Izuku’s nerves are calm at the idea. He pairs with Uraraka, which does even more to make him feel at ease.

Until the first match is chosen, and Bakugou gives him a downright chilling stare as he and Iida are ushered into the building.

The whispers, which had been quiet that day, roar inside his ears. He can barely focus on the map in his hands. Uraraka has to call his name several times to snap him out of it, his hands still shaking as he blinks at her. She’s got her visor flipped up, eyes concerned.

“Are you all right? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Izuku blinks a few more times, shaking his head to clear out his mind. His shadows hiss and he internally tells them to zip it. “Yea-yeah. It’s just. We’re fighting Ka—Bakugou, is all.”

“Do you two know each other? He was staring at you a lot yesterday.” Uraraka leans back against the handrail behind them, folding up her map. Izuku frowns at this information. He’d been so caught up in his nerves he hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve known him my whole life,” Izuku admits. “He knows all my weaknesses, and he’s always been super tough. He’s really not the ideal opponent.”

It’s an understatement, to say the least. Bakugou is the nightmare scenario as far as opponents are concerned. Bakugou knows exactly what to do to knock him down, to hurt him without his quirk interfering and fixing the damage. He’s known since they were little and age has only made him worse. Izuku doesn’t want to think about how bad the beating he’s about to receive will be, but his limbs begin tingling with the phantom sensation of all the bruises and burns he’s gotten in the past.

“Hmm,” Uraraka hums, tapping her chin with one finger. “Well, then, that’s our advantage.”

Izuku simply stares at her. “Huh?”

“He knows all your weaknesses. So that means you know his, too.” Uraraka points at him, smiling with nothing but confidence, and Izuku’s mind clicks.

She’s absolutely right. He does know all of Bakugou’s weaknesses. He was Bakugou’s friend for years; he spent his entire childhood recording everything for the sake of helping Bakugou strengthen himself. He’s watched Bakugou grow. He’s seen his failures. Even as a punching bag, he had eyes and ears and observed everything Bakugou did to give himself an edge. He’s got a lifetime of information at his disposal. Months of training Bakugou doesn’t know about.

Bakugou is insanely strong, insanely powerful, and a born fighter.

Bakugou is also prideful, angry, and an absolute brat.

Izuku smiles, teeth bared and shadows trailing out of the dark crevices of his costume, and a plan forms in his mind and tumbles from his mouth before he can even think to stop it. With every word, he feels more stable. More sure. He can do this. They can do this.

The building is quiet. Izuku tempers down the whispering of his shadows to keep it that way. They protest, hissing at the command, but quiet down so he can pay attention. A quick flip of the switch on his wrists cuts him open and soon he has his own personal fog surrounding him, ready for action.

He walks, slowly but surely, keeping his ears open.

The building layout is fairly simple. Hallways peppered with doors, empty rooms behind them, with each floor being a copy of the one beneath it with the top floor being the exception. Tons of blind corners mean he can’t see anyone coming. The stairwell being the only way up or down makes it more difficult to move quickly, forcing whoever is moving to waste time carefully taking the steps. That layout is why he sent Uraraka to the fire escapes instead of following him.

That layout also means it takes Bakugou longer to go up or down. He may have saved himself the time already by planting himself somewhere for interception. But hiding has never been the Bakugou way.

Izuku smirks to himself. No, hiding certainly isn’t what Bakugou is going to do.

He opens a few windows as he passes them, counting down the time in his head, and he’s almost too late to move when the whispers roar back to life and a blur of black and orange rushes him from the corner with a scream.

“DEKU, YOU SHITTY LITTLE NERD!”

Izuku takes a bit of the blast ducking out of the way. His mask flares up as half of it crumbles away, the smell of burned hair wrinkling his nose, and he inches back to regain his footing. Bakugou rolls his shoulders and stands tall.

Smoke billows around them both, destroyed bits of plaster coating the floor.

“You think you’ve done it, haven’t you?” Bakugou’s voice rasps out. “You think you and your creepy ass quirk pulled a fast one. I’m gonna make sure this whole school knows you’re the last thing that should be here, you shit.”

Bakugou’s been so quiet since that day behind the school. Izuku knew he’d only stay silent for so long.

Izuku’s chest tightens, age old instincts telling him to cower and run, but he stays where he is. This is what the plan hinges on. He has to keep going. He has to follow through.

So, smiling nice and wide, Izuku crumples up the fear and tosses it away.

“You aimed right for my face,” says Izuku, faking nonchalance. He raises his voice so his words are clear and just the right shade of mocking. He likes to think he’s imitating Bakugou directly, like how he used to talk to Izuku. The mirage of Bakugou’s childhood bravado being tossed right back in his face. “That’s just like you, Kacchan. You gotta be the biggest bully in the whole school very first thing.”

The one thing Bakugou has always hated was the sight of Izuku happy. Especially when he’s happy and running his mouth.

Bakugou’s smile melts away, face contorting in rage, and he reacts exactly how Izuku wants him to.

“THE HELL ARE YOU SMILIN’ ABOUT, YOU FUCKIN’ CREEP!?” Bakugou’s palms light up and he charges forward, right arm raising itself for the strike. “I’M GONNA FUCK YOU UP ENOUGH TO SEND YOU HOME RIGHT HERE—”

Izuku’s smile twitches.

He grabs Bakugou’s arm, hissing as the ignition in his palm tears through part of his costume, and he lifts.

Bakugou has led with the same right hook since he was four. Every punch, every fight, every encounter has started with his right side in a heavy swing. He’s never changed it in all these years. Really, Izuku thinks, you’d think someone as smart as you would realize he’s got a bad habit.

Bakugou hits the floor with a thud and Izuku stands tall, baring his teeth.

For the very first time in all the years they’ve known each other, Izuku has the advantage. He’s not going to waste it.

“Catch me if you can, Kacchan!”

He turns tail and runs, and he knows exactly how badly that’s going to piss off Bakugou.

His shadows follow him, and from his wrists, Izuku summons something from his void, turning the corner and dumping it out into the floor as he jumps out the window and shimmies to the next windowsill above it. The smoke pouring from his wrists covers him as he moves and by the time he hears Bakugou recover, he’s already tucked the empty marble bag in his pocket.

This is the part of the plan that’s trickiest.

Capturing Bakugou is a futile effort. Even with capture tape at his disposal it would be like trying to contain a feral cat who breathes fire, so he’s not even going to try. He’s going to poke the cat with a stick instead. Get his temper nice and boiling. Lead him upwards and keep him strung along.

“I found Iida and the weapon!” Uraraka’s voice chimes in his ear. “How’s your side?”

“Initiating the second phase now. Wait there until you get the signal,” Izuku replies, using his shadows to jimmy the window open and push it upwards. The mist easily slips through the cracks of the window and force it until it’s wide enough Izuku can do what he needs to. His suit is partly destroyed on his side and Izuku takes out the switch from his glove to cut open a nice hole into his bare skin. His void produces one of the air horns and a rubber band.

“What’s the signal?” Uraraka asks.

Izuku ties the band around the air horn so the switch is stuck in the on position and tosses it inside. “Oh, you’ll know.”

He cuts their connection and jumps up to the next window, repeating his actions.

Bakugou doesn’t know about Izuku’s training. Therefore, he isn’t aware Izuku’s been free running around town and knows how to scale things. A building like this with lots of windows? Easier than the rock wall in elementary school. The marbles should have gotten Bakugou nice and angry, slowing him down enough for Izuku to move upwards.

The air horn should draw Bakugou’s attention away from the windows. Bakugou strains a little to hear small noises so something this loud will draw him in and force him upwards. Since he’s doing it the hard way, going up the stairs, this gives Izuku more than enough time to work.

The next window has him opening the oil bottle and using his shadows to ease it deep inside the building, coating the stairs.

The window above that has him throwing in more marbles.

He climbs upwards, keeping his ears open, as he returns inside, easing his way in and listening for the telltale signs of life.

The building shakes and distantly, the air horn abruptly cuts off. Izuku smiles and summons one more item before allowing his skin to close, putting the switch back into its latch.

Uraraka’s voice comes back after that, a little more harried now that the explosion noises are coming closer. “Midoriya, are you okay? What’s that noise?”

“It’s nothing. Where’s Iida’s location?” Izuku asks, grinning to himself. Bakugou’s roars are muffled by the building but he can hear them happening. Good. He’s getting nice and angry.

“Fifth floor, in the center,” Uraraka answers. “I’m hiding away from the door so I’m not spotted.”

Izuku nods, feeling the building shake again. Bakugou grows closer. “I’m not far from your location. Go to where Iida is and stall. Keep him distracted. The signal is on its way.”

“Aye, aye!” Uraraka chirps, and the line cuts off.

Izuku is on the fifth floor, so he’s definitely close. He inches his way along, shaking the can he took from his void, and finds the wall next to the stairwell. Bakugou’s voice is getting closer. Izuku laughs, and writes “FOUND ME” with a large smiley face in silly string before tossing the can away and running. He thinks he’s got his timing just right to make it all work.

The center of the fifth floor is mid-standstill when he runs in.

It looks like Iida has cleared the entire floor of anything useful, and he’s protecting the weapon with Uraraka crumbled against the far wall. She nods at him as he enters and Izuku makes an effort to stand within view of the entrance and look calm.

He barely realizes the tingling in his nerves is only partly anxiety. He’s having a little bit of fun.

“Ah, Midoriya! I was wondering when you would make an appearance.” Iida postures, putting on what is admittedly a ridiculous voice. He must be taking this villain thing seriously. “But you cannot hope to stop me! You will not take this weapon!”

The floor shakes, and Izuku smiles. “Oh, I’m not here to take the weapon.”

Confused, Iida’s posture stiffens a little. “Oh?”

“I’m here to tell a joke. Knock-knock.”

There’s a beat of silence. Iida looks at Uraraka, who shrugs, before looking back at Izuku. “…who’s there?”

Izuku bares his teeth with his smile, holding out his arms so he’s nice and open. “Kacchan.”

Iida doesn’t have time to respond, since that’s when the entrance explodes and a familiar body shoots through the wreckage.

Katsuki Bakugou is a level of furious Izuku rarely sees and typically actively avoids. His face is red, his palms lighting up with no regard for control, and to Izuku’s pleasure, there’s oil coating his costume down the front. He doesn’t have long to enjoy it though. Bakugou enters the room with a bang, plaster and stone raining down in his wake as his bracers emit smoke, and he grabs Izuku’s costume to throw him against one of the support pillars.

“DEKU!”

Izuku crashes through the pillar, pain exploding through his back, and he’s barely hit the floor before Bakugou is upon him once more, setting off his explosions to keep Izuku flying like a rag doll and tearing hi,s costume to pieces. He clenches his eyes shut, holding back his cries of pain, and forces his next words out of his mouth.

“Uraraka, now!”

Everything after that is a bit chaotic.

Bakugou destroys everything in his path, rage powering his every move as he slams Izuku to and fro. The floor becomes rubble. Pillars break under his fists and Izuku’s body. He does what he knows will keep Izuku down, nothing but internal bruising and surface level burns and slamming him into every solid surface, careful not to break the skin but savage enough to put him in pain. Through it all, Izuku can hear him scream.

“YOU LITTLE FUCK!” Bakugou accentuates the insult by blowing up Izuku’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back. “YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OUT OF ME!? YOU THINK YOU CAN LAUGH AT ME!? STOP ACTING LIKE YOU’RE SOME HOT LITTLE SHIT—”

There’s rubble flying through the air. Good. That’s good. Izuku’s body is in so much pain, but he keeps the smile on his face where Bakugou can see it. He laughs, broken and bloody where his nose is dripping down into his mouth, and the pit of spite that hates Bakugou so very, very much cackles with delight.

Distantly, he thinks he hears Iida tell Bakugou to stop. All Might, too. Oh, shit, All Might is watching. He totally forgot. This is not the first impression he wanted to make on his idol. He may as well die right here if his favorite hero is only ever going to know him as “that kid that got thrown around like some sadistic little girl’s Barbie doll.”

“WHY WON’T YOU FUCKING FIGHT BACK, YOU LYING LITTLE WORM!?” Bakugou roars, spittle flying as he throws Izuku against the floor. “YOU THINK YOU’RE TOO GOOD TO FIGHT ME!? YOU THINK I CAN’T SEE YOU LAUGHING ON YOUR HIGH HORSE—”

Izuku cracks his eyes open, wheezing his breaths. His nose won’t let him breathe normally and copper is the only thing he tastes. His costume is in shreds. The room is devastated.

He laughs, though.

He laughs like he’s heard the world’s greatest joke, and every second of it is tinged with pain and glee.

“There’s a reason I’m not fighting you, Kacchan,” Izuku rasps. “It’s ‘cause I’m the distraction.”

The buzzer goes off, nice and loud, and Bakugou’s face twists into an expression Izuku never thought he’d see. Across the room, Uraraka proudly holds the weapon in her hands. Iida, his costume sporting dents, despairs.

Bakugou lost.

The Hero team wins.

The emotions he feels, once he’s free of the nurse’s office, are complicated.

Shame, over All Might watching him get his ass kicked. Smug, in its purest form, for winning. Disappointment in himself that his only plan involved him willingly being beaten until he dropped, because trying to actually fight would get him nowhere. There’s even a hint of glee tucked in there somewhere over how well he utilized his storage idea. He’s going to need to put together a list of things from the support department so he isn’t using cheap corner store jokes forever.

In the end, it’s not even the results of the fight that have him puzzled. It’s recounting his memories of the fight itself.

His plan was played fast and loose. Rile Bakugou up so he ignores his partner and destroys everything in a fit, allowing Uraraka to grab the weapon in the chaos. Simple. Efficient. Izuku’s been on the receiving end of Bakugou’s fist enough to know he can handle it. It’s a worthy sacrifice to make. The sharp tang of fear that lurked in his chest was pacified only by knowing he’d live through it, just like always.

But then that fear vanished.

That’s never happened before.

After throwing Bakugou down, the clamp that had always seem attached to his lungs loosened. He ran and he laughed and it wasn’t even entirely fake. It was part of the plan, and he’d played up his nonchalance and gritted his teeth through the pain; but even with all of that fire coming down on him, he’d felt good.

Climbing the building? Refreshing. His traps? Satisfying. The act of looking Bakugou in the face and smiling like he was some sort of evil genius and not desperate for victory? Priceless.

He won. For the first time in his life, he won against Bakugou. And he did it without throwing a single punch. He did it being sneaky. By being clever. By acting like he wasn’t as serious as anyone else.

It was the most un-heroic strategy possible, manipulating the fight by playing on Bakugou’s weaknesses, but he has a hard time thinking of it as the bad thing it is.

He doesn’t think anyone will be waiting for him when he gets back to class. If anything, he expects Aizawa to be waiting to tell him he’s expelled for playing dirty. He doesn’t know how to react when he opens the door and he’s bombarded with everyone’s attention.

“Dude, what you did was so sick—”

“How’d you get so good at climbing like that!?”

“That Looney Tunes stuff was insane—”

“Are you okay after all that? Bakugou went way too far—”

He’s overloaded for a moment, blinking at all the faces hovering around him. There are so many people. Classmates that look concerned and excited. He feels a little stupid, standing there in his destroyed costume while they all talk at him. He doesn’t know what to do. Yesterday had been a smaller group, an easier thing to swallow, but this? This is madness. He has people complimenting him, waiting for him, and Iida yells about the desks again—

“Hey, you okay?” Uraraka’s voice brings him back to Earth, and he grounds himself when she lightly touches his arm. He hadn’t noticed how loud his whispers had gotten until he snapped back to attention at her question. “He didn’t rough you up too bad, did he?”

“No, I’m okay. Just really sore,” Izuku answers, wincing. He’s going to be sore all over for the rest of the week, but according to Recovery Girl, he’ll be just fine. The bruising around his nose will heal up and his back should be completely fixed after visiting her tomorrow morning.

“Good,” Uraraka breathes, relieved. Then, to Izuku’s surprise, she punches him in the arm. “Don’t ever scare us like that again!”

Kirishima nods in agreement. “We thought Bakugou killed you for a second, man.”

Izuku laughs, awkward and kind of stilted, and his eyes travel to Bakugou’s desk to see how he’s holding up after losing. He didn’t get to see much after passing out on the gurney, after all. It’s empty. Izuku frowns.

“Where is Bakugou?”

The question causes everyone to pause, most looking away from him and wincing in some form. Uraraka makes a pained expression, pointing toward the window. “He left. Didn’t wanna stick around to wait. He seemed really mad so we didn’t say anything.”

Izuku considers going after him. He does. Part of him, the part that was Bakugou’s friend once, knows he’s never lost a fight before. This is new territory. Unexplored territory Izuku doesn’t know how to navigate. The things Bakugou screamed itch at Izuku the wrong way, crawling under his skin and demanding his attention, and he knows losing on top of all that will do something to Bakugou’s head. Izuku doesn’t know what will happen now.

But the other part of him…

The other part of him says good. He remembers the day behind the middle school. Bakugou yelling at him, demanding to know how Izuku cheated his way in. He remembers Bakugou punching him in the face after throwing his notebook outside. He remembers the first aid kit under the sink. He remembers throwing away the picture his mother took of them.

He remembers how exhausted he felt after all of it. He remembers the days spent crying over losing his friend. He remembers the three long years of being alone, with only his shadows for company.

Izuku looks at his new classmates, who talk to him like he’s a normal person and don’t make him feel exhausted at all.

He isn’t Bakugou’s friend anymore. It’s not his job to coddle someone who does nothing but make him feel bad. If Bakugou doesn’t take losing well, that’s entirely Bakugou’s problem.

Izuku stays, and he doesn’t think of Bakugou again for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Teaching is harder than Toshinori thought it would be. He suspected as much before he ever agreed to come back to his old school and has always had a deep respect for the educators who mold the young heroes of tomorrow; it’s just he’s had a mental disconnect over how difficult it is to apply the lessons he himself received when he was younger. It didn’t register to him he’d have to navigate the incredibly complex minds of teenagers in order to prepare them for what comes. That perhaps the way he thought as a child isn’t the same as how teens think now.

Now, frankly, it’s biting him in the ass.

His first class wasn’t terrible. Far from it. The children performed excellently and he received a good taste of what kind of students he’ll be working with. A few have stood out to him in terms of power. The search for his successor tickles at his mind constantly, flaring to life when he sees just how much potential some of the new students at U.A. have to offer. Todoroki certainly tops the class in sheer power, as expected of Endeavor’s family. Yaoyorozu has amazing analytic skills he can’t wait to see flourish. The youngest Iida son is impressing him so far with his dedication; Ingenium must be proud.

The difficulty of his first class comes from the two boys from the very first round of mock battles. Heroes pride themselves on their ability to see when things are wrong without being told, and that battle sets off alarms in his head he normally only hears while patrolling.

The most upsetting thing is thanks to his time limit, pulling them aside for a talk is harder than it should be. Damn his health.

Midoriya nearly gave him a heart attack. The performance he saw yesterday was unexpected, given what he’s seen of the boy during his morning jogs. The picture Toshinori has of Midoriya, of a sarcastic and tired but reserved young man, was replaced with a giggling lunatic. Recovery Girl gave him an earful for allowing the boy to be roughed up that badly, but he can’t say he expected the kid to willingly hurt himself to that extent.

One thing stood out, though: Midoriya knew how to exploit the weaknesses of his opponents. The kid has a good mind. He’ll have to encourage that when he manages to have a face-to-face talk.

Bakugou concerns him because he’s positively dripping with potential. He’s strong, his grades prove he’s intelligent, and his exam results paint him as an incredible force to be reckoned with. But his performance showed a major flaw that could be his downfall. Pride and anger make a toxic combination and the boy will self-destruct if he allows himself to go unchecked. A born winner suddenly facing defeat on top of that flaw will only make things worse.

Plus, as a cherry on this particularly awful sundae, there were the words exchanged Toshinori heard through the earpiece.

It...doesn’t paint a very pretty picture. It tells him there is an issue he’s going to have to keep an eye on.

At the very least, he managed to speak with Bakugou. He caught the boy leaving campus and used the last of his time for an in-person lesson.

The words young Bakugou used afterwards, though…

“Shut up. I don’t need a shitty pep talk. I’ll prove I’m the best, and I’ll show that monster he doesn’t even deserve to be at this school!”

Toshinori has the day off. He gave Aizawa the battle footage and notes on performance yesterday, so the class will be reviewing them today without him. Aizawa is a good teacher capable of drilling their needed improvements into their skulls. Toshinori doesn’t need to even set foot near the school.

But those words, and the expression of sheer disgust on young Bakugou’s face…

Toshinori groans and lays his head in his hands, his breakfast uneaten.

Teaching is hard.

The reporters outside the school are a fucking problem.

A microphone shoved this way, with a loud, “Hey! Hey you! Can you tell us what it’s like to have All Might as a teacher!?”

A boom mic nearly dropping low enough to hit his head, with a roughly barked, “What do you think about the school hiring the Number One Hero!?”

A frantic screech of, “How is he holding up as an instructor!?”

Izuku can barely focus on all the equipment being pointed his way, and it’s too early in the morning for him to even feel nervous about the fact there are cameras on him. He never looks good on camera. His class photos could be used in horror movies, so he avoids the ordeal when possible.

Izuku blinks, exhausted, and takes a sip of the coffee drink he got at the vending machine in the train station. He makes his face as flat as possible while doing so.

“I died yesterday.”

The woman badgering him for an interview halts, her brain having to take time to buffer and process Izuku’s words. He takes advantage of the momentary lull to walk away and make it through the gate where they can’t follow. Idly, as he throws away his empty can in the bin, he wonders how long the vultures have been camped outside. The news about All Might becoming a teacher is shocking, sure, but they know they aren’t going to get anything from the school. U.A. doesn’t do media interviews unless they go through the proper channels to set it up. Idiots.

Eh, it’s not his problem. The school knew what they signed up for when they decided to hire a pro on that level. Izuku yawns, making his way to Recovery Girl’s office to finish healing his back, and wonders if there’s time for a nap before class.

After things like Battle Training, it’s easy to forget that technically they’re all in high school. They do normal school things in between training.

The task for the day is electing a class representative, and the response is absolutely bonkers. Aizawa has them try to sort out the chaos on their own and the “election” is halfway to a farce, with most of the class voting for themselves in a desperate bid to win. Mentally, Izuku wonders if a Lord of the Flies analogy would be fitting for the entire situation.

The outcome is…unexpected.

“I can’t believe I tied with Yaoyorozu,” Izuku groans, picking at his lunch. “I didn’t even want to be on the ballot.”

He somehow got two votes, tying with Yaoyorozu, who seems light-years more competent than him, and Izuku can only stare into his lunch and wonder how someone came to the conclusion he deserved the job. He didn’t even raise his hand when people were nominating themselves. The final result wasn’t worth Bakugou demanding—screaming—to know who voted for him and for every eye in the class to focus in his direction. Izuku frowns and makes distressed little noises as his shadows chatter under the table.

Uraraka doesn’t seem to pick up on his despair, happily eating rice across from him. “It’s not so bad; it means people have faith in you.”

“I just don’t think I’m fit for that kind of job,” says Izuku, resting his head in one hand.

“You’ll be fine,” Iida assures him as he eats, shoulders still somewhat sagging after his loss. Much like the rest of the class, he only had one vote. It would have been zero if Izuku hadn’t shyly voted for him himself.

“Why do you think?”

“Well, I voted for you,” Iida answers. Izuku’s eyes widen at the news. That’s part of one mystery solved. “You’re clever. You showed your ability to strategize yesterday. And at the exam, you realized what the judges were looking for and outshined everyone else. You’re already ahead of the rest of us in terms of embodying what a pro hero should be.”

The compliments Iida showers his character with are incredibly flattering, but Izuku just squints at him as if he isn’t sure he heard correctly. He didn’t know anything about the exam. He expected to fail. He didn’t strategize well yesterday; Aizawa told him this morning sacrificing himself to win isn’t acceptable. The only person he’s outshining is Past Izuku, and not by much. Iida puts way too much faith in the wrong person.

Instead of explaining why Iida is wrong, what comes out is this:

“Wow, I want whatever drugs you’re on.”

Iida chokes on his food, sputtering into a napkin. “P-Pardon!?”

“Sorry.” Izuku winces, pushing Iida’s drink closer so he can recover faster. “I just mean I’m not the kind of person people like rallying under. You guys don’t think I’m…creepy?”

“Of course you’re creepy. You look like you crawled out of a grave this morning and it kind of puts my hair on end,” Uraraka answers without looking up from her rice. “But looks don’t determine personality; you’re perfectly fine.”

Izuku’s eye twitches. It’s not he expected to hear “no, of course not;” it’s just he didn’t expect her to be so…frank.

“That’s awfully blunt,” Izuku deadpans.

Iida finishes his drink, doing a small chop with his hand in Izuku’s direction. “She’s right, though. Your actions have shown you’re a rather commendable character. Despite your appearances and the bias against you, you've already done so much.”

“You are the literal first person to ever say something like that about me,” Izuku states, still flat. “My old classmates thought I was going to stab them if they looked at me for too long.”

Iida looks downright affronted at that, making a displeased little frown as he adjusts his glasses.

“Those who judge based on looks entirely are those whose judgment is shallow and untrustworthy,” he recites, somehow oozing conviction in a way a fifteen year old shouldn’t be able to. “Those students should feel ashamed that they ostracized someone for such foolish reasons. I know I personally feel ashamed of ever casting judgment before knowing your true character. You are an extremely competent candidate and I am proud to have lost to you.”

Uraraka and Izuku can only stare at him when he finishes, taken aback by the amount of energy Iida put into his words.

Uraraka, though, ends the moment with no tact whatsoever.

“Iida, you talk so formal!” she gushes, pointing at him with her chopsticks. “Are you upper class and not telling us?”

Iida freezes, face heating up as he looks away. Izuku and Uraraka lean in closer. Interestingly, Izuku’s shadows lean in as well. They’ve even halted their whispering.

“…I was hoping it wasn’t obvious. I don’t want anyone to assume I'm abusing status,” Iida mutters under his breath before speaking up again. “I do happen to…come from a family that is known in this industry.”

Uraraka and Izuku light up at this, eyes sparkling. It honestly explains a lot about what they’ve seen of Iida so far. His dedication to the rules, his skills, his quirk use—with the knowledge that the industry isn’t a new thing to him, the picture that is Tenya Iida clears.

Iida’s face continues to flush at their admiration, but a sly grin tinted with pride appears on his face. “Have you heard of The Turbo Hero: Ingenium?”

“Ingenium? He’s got like sixty five sidekicks at his agency, and he revolutionized the way heroes can use their support staff with his unique approach to dispatching,” Izuku rattles off without thinking. Iida and Uraraka both look at him for a long moment and he fidgets, bashful. “I wrote a paper on him when I was thirteen. So you’re saying he’s—”

“My elder brother,” Iida confirms. Izuku’s hands twitch and his shadows chatter excitedly. He sees it, now that he knows what he’s looking for. There aren’t a lot of photos of Ingenium without the mask but from what he’s seen Iida bears a close resemblance. “Ingenium is a hero I look up to with my entire being, so I wish to embody his best traits in my journey ahead. His adherence to the code of heroes and respect for his colleagues makes him a truly exemplary role model.”

Iida speaks with respect, a warm affection finding its way in as he talks about his family. His smile is a lot more relaxed. Until now his face has always been hard lines and firm expressions, so the change is nothing short of revolutionary.

Izuku wishes he’d do it more; Iida looks good when he lets himself relax.

“Aw, you’re smiling!” Uraraka pokes him in the side, fond and teasing. “You really look up to him, huh?”

“Of course I do! He’s been an inspiration since I was a child!” Iida sputters.

Izuku laughs, watching Iida bat away Uraraka’s hands and fumble his words as she keeps trying to poke him. Iida’s so earnest. It reminds him of himself, when he was younger and diving into his All Might obsession. All those hours spent watching clips and scouring shops for new merchandise. Recording every news interview. Flexing in front of the mirror and smiling, trying to copy his laugh—

Iida does what he does because he’s earnest and wants to live up to his hero. Izuku falters, just for a second, when he remembers most of what powered him to get this far was spite. When he remembers how he enjoyed watching his former friend lose.

It really isn’t fair, is it? That someone like Iida threw away his vote on someone like him.

Izuku opens his mouth to say something, but the alarm cuts him off.

The chaos that follows means he never does get to say his piece.

Izuku watches as everyone abandons their meals to run for the exit, bowls and trays left behind still steaming, and he grabs his friends before they join the masses as he remembers what usually happens in cases like this. In Orudera Izuku was always the last person out. He was always in the very back. His memories of middle school aren’t so old he can’t remember the view of a stampede, and he barely saves them in time from being crushed.

“We need to move!” Iida protests Izuku holding on to his coat, trying to walk with Izuku’s weight weighing him down. Uraraka stays still with her sleeve in Izuku’s other hand and looks around nervously, eyes flicking from them to the crowd that’s getting steadily larger.

“Not like this!” Izuku yells back over the chaos. “Aren’t you seeing what’s happening!? They’re panicking; you’ll get trampled!”

Iida pauses, looking to the masses and scrunching up his face as he sees just how bad it’s getting. The crowd barely moves forward with the mindless chatter of the lunchroom becoming a cacophony of panicked yells and screams. Dotted in the sea of panic are a few familiar faces and all of them are being smothered and shoved.

Izuku finds the clamp around his lungs returning with a vengeance, his shadows whispering harsher and harsher in his ears alongside the noise of the crowd. He isn’t going to last if they get sucked in. It’s too much. The buzzing drowns out the crowd, almost, and Izuku barely notices himself shaking as the chattering that lives inside him begins to roar—

Too much too much too m u c h—

Izuku doesn’t feel Iida finally rip himself out of the hold on his jacket, doesn’t hear Iida’s voice, low and steady among the chaos.

“This hysteria is going to hurt someone—”

He does tune back in when the crowd finally swallows them, and Uraraka is elbowed by a third year twice her size. Her shout is loud enough to bring him back to the present.

Iida pushes Izuku back, keeping him from diving deeper into the bedlam, and takes off his glasses to press into Izuku’s hands with a quick, “I have an idea,”that’s barely legible above the panic. Izuku watches, trying valiantly to hold his place as people on all sides push and shove, as Iida stretches to let Uraraka tap his fingertips.

He floats, unsteady and unbalanced, and Izuku throws up his arm so the shadows hiding in his sleeves can wrap their thin threads around Iida’s leg to keep him straight. Iida makes an undignified noise at the contact, but appears grateful when he looks down and sees who it comes from.

Izuku grits his teeth, forcing the roar in his ears to die down, and shouts, “Go!” as loud as he can.

Iida nods, rolls up his pants, and his engines come to life.

The thing Izuku remembers, once the crowd dies down, is Iida remains on top of the doorway until the crowd has properly evacuated. His watchful eyes stayed until the last student left. By the time he finds Izuku and Uraraka, the media that had broken through the gate are already off the campus and what little of the lunch hour left is being salvaged.

The decision comes to him easily after that.

“So, uh, we tied this morning. Before we decide how to settle that, I have an announcement.” Izuku’s voice isn’t very steady, and the buzzing in his skull bubbles alongside his nerves. Yaoyorozu looks at him with interest, not expecting him to take the lead speaking. “I’d like to officially pass off my position to Iida.”

The class is surprised, and mutterings sound off between them all at his announcement. Iida looks downright gob smacked in his seat.

Kirishima sits up a bit taller, concerned. Izuku remembers him being pleased at the results that morning. “Are you sure, man?”

The position of class rep isn’t one to be given away lightly. In any other school it would be, but everyone here knows it’s different. Izuku especially knows, from all his research. Heroes scouting for sidekicks are always pleased to learn when students take action and assume positions of leadership, and if he keeps his position, it’ll only benefit him in the long run. He’ll be seen as responsible. Trustworthy. An asset to keep around.

But Izuku looks at Iida, who spent his lunch hour making sure everyone evacuated safely, and he can’t bring himself to selfishly keep that advantage. Not when someone else deserves it.

“Today I saw Iida in action, and I think he’s better suited for the job. I didn’t even want to be on the ballot in the first place,” Izuku throws out casually, scratching at his neck to feign embarrassment. He cocks his head toward Aizawa in his sleeping bag for the final step. “Sir, permission to give Iida my spot?”

Aizawa doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “I don’t care. Just get this over with.”

In the end, Iida stands up front with Yaoyorozu and Izuku gives him an encouraging thumb up as he takes his seat. Bakugou glares daggers that Izuku forces himself to ignore. His shadows chatter in a way he can only really describe as happy as Iida nervously adjusts his glasses and engages with the class for the first time as a class officer.

“R-Right. Yaoyorozu, since you received more votes in the initial election, perhaps it would be fair for you to take the lead…”

Izuku smiles and takes out his notebook.

He’s made the right decision. He knows he has.

Re:Re:Congratulations!
To: [email protected]

Izuku,

I’m so glad to hear you’re doing well in school, but please try not to hurt yourself so much. Your poor mother’s heart will give out. Once I was in a bit of a scrape and had to call her from the hospital and she tore into me so badly I thought I was going to have to organize my last will and testament.

Which was an overreaction, really. It was only a hairline fracture. People trip down the stairs every day and break their necks so I was one of the lucky ones.

Don’t tell her I said that. The moral of the story is please try not to kill yourself at school. That’s what college is for. I’m glad you took my advice, though! That glove you described sounds ingenious; you’ll have to make a schematic so I can get a good look at it. I may not be a huge hero fan but the engineering work involved in the support business is always interesting.

On my side of things, that project I mentioned earlier finally cleared the last bit of red tape. Waiting for the final approvals is always the worst part. When I’m bored, I tend to be a bit of a bad egg at the office. I’m not allowed to superheat my paperclips anymore so lately I’ve been trying to make the company’s largest rubber band ball, using entirely stolen rubber bands from everyone else’s cubicles. My underlings have started copying me and frankly it’s starting to turn into madness…

>>Click to read more

Rescue training is something Izuku has actually been looking forward to. When their training the next day is announced, he can’t help but feel positive.

On one part, it’s because rescue work is how he initially became a fan of All Might. That clip from all those years ago still remains imprinted in his mind, and his heart bursts at the idea of one day saving people like that. Fighting villains and punching problems away is cool, it’s flashy, but rescue is one of the noblest parts of hero work. Rescue heroes are saviors of a different kind, who tend to fight nature itself to save lives.

The second part is because he has a good advantage for certain types of rescue. Izuku thrives in dark places.

Not that he feels good being in them, or likes them, he just has a power that's useful in them. The dark is where his shadows can grow and show their strength. It’s not much on its own, but for rescue that means he can locate survivors under rubble. Pick people out of dimly lit places. That’s a positive.

He barely even minds having to wear the gym uniform today, thanks to it. He needs to design a new costume anyway. He isn’t going to go back to the classy criminal look. He should probably do some sketches after class. As the class boards the bus for their short trip to the rescue training grounds, he takes his time looking around at his classmates’ costumes. He needs to consider what he’s going to do for his next model.

Kirishima really has the right idea with the headgear. The design is amazing. Izuku needs something like that to keep his hair out of his face, but he’s unsure if a design like that would really benefit him or make him look like one of those crazy movie villains who have muzzles.

Jirou’s is trendy, and Izuku is almost jealous at how effortlessly she wears it. It seems comfortable, too. There’s a good idea. Comfortable hero suits are good to work in, plus she has the benefit of easy movement. The lack of padding is an issue, though; she’ll get hurt without her body protected.

Tokoyami’s is simple, and Izuku makes a mental note to speak with him later because from what Izuku’s seen, their quirks may be similar. The cloak doesn’t let him see what’s going on underneath, though. Padding? A bodysuit? Gloves? That would be perfect for secret weapons, actually.

Hagakure… Izuku stops and squints at Hagakure.

He sees gloves. He sees shoes. The rest of her is the same weird shape he’s avoided looking at because it pains his eyes a little. It’s almost a person. Almost. Izuku wouldn’t quite call her a void, because he’s intimately familiar with the concept and she’s definitely not it. The word sits on his tongue as one of hundreds that maybe but not quite describe the barely human shape shifting and hurting his eyes with every second of staring. If he focuses very, very hard, he can see how the shape would be of a human girl, before darkness and nothingness and what his brain tries to imprint in its place begin battling for supremacy again, and he’s left staring at something his limited comprehension makes no sense of.

He tears his eyes away as the bus starts up and begins moving and blinks away the headache. That’s something he’ll deal with later. Way later.

He fidgets with the red gloves on his hands, the one remnant of his costume he has left, when Asui turns to him and fixes her wide eyes on his face.

“Midoriya, I generally just say what I’m thinking so don’t be offended,” she starts, blunt as all hell in a way that’s somehow inoffensive and intimidating. “What’s the deal with the shadows?”

Izuku blinks, and the shadows curling around his collar chatter in his ear.

“Uh, what do you mean, Asui?”

“Call me Tsuyu,” Asu—Tsuyu demands, effortless and not letting up on her unblinking stare. “They kind of leak out all over the place. Do they always do that?”

Izuku looks down at himself, taking in the wisps that have followed him every day since he was about six. The shadow under his feet stays flat on the floor, but starting from his shoes up, they curl, gentle and weaving, making appearances in random locations. Out of his sleeve. Peeking up from his collar. Behind his ear.

He’s been asked this question before, but typically it’s with the strange, sick fascination his classmates would have that made them wary. The last time he’d been asked they’d barely hidden their dislike for him—they just wanted to know if his shadows could watch them when he wasn’t looking. But with Asu—Tsuyu, she doesn’t seem disgusted. Or fearful.

She seems flatly curious.

“I guess? They kind of lurk wherever there’s a dark place, so most of the time it’s in my clothes or my hair. When they first started, people thought I was lighting myself on fire like my dad,” Izuku answers, one of his wisps spilling out of his sleeve to curl around his arm.

“It’s kind of cool, though!” Kirishima pipes up from his seat. Sato, on Izuku’s other side, nods in agreement. “Once you’re in costume, that kind of thing is totally intimidating. Like a dragon or a really metal ghost.”

“Creepy as all hell, too,” Tsuyu states. “That’ll boost your popularity tons.”

Izuku almost snorts, raising an eyebrow. His creepiness has never made him popular. He isn’t sure how it would manage now. “Are you sure? I’d kind of rather be approachable.”

I’d rather be like All Might, is what he doesn’t say. He’s sure he doesn’t want his creepiness to be his trademark forever. He’d rather be inspiring. Be someone to look up to. Someone who isn’t a spiteful bastard, but he doesn’t think that last bit will work since spite has been the most powerful motivator he’s had in years.

“Creepy isn’t bad. It means you’ll be effective at scaring villains. Raw power is nice and all, but if you can scare them with a look, you won’t have to try as hard. As long as you don’t act like Bakugou, you’ll do great.” Tsuyu’s tone comes so offhand her insult at Bakugou could be mistaken as a comment on the weather.

The object of her insult doesn’t miss it, though, and sits up to yell from his position in the back of the bus.

“OI, THE FUCK DID YOU SAY, FROG-FACE—?”

Kaminari laughs, fearlessly looking at Bakugou’s angry expression and replying with, “She said you’re an asshole.”

This only makes Bakugou’s eyes twitch, and sparks go off in his palms on the bus railing. “I’LL COME OVER THERE AND BLOW YOUR FACE OFF—”

Tsuyu sticks her tongue out, pointing at the whole display with a frankly adorable little froggy smile. “See?”

Izuku has to pick his jaw up from the floor before he can process what he just witnessed. Bakugou being the one getting insulted. The one getting picked on. No one takes him seriously, no one sings his praises and cowers before his threats, and Izuku checks his pulse on one wrist just to make sure he hasn’t died in his sleep and this isn’t one big hallucination.

Nope, he’s alive. It’s happening. Holy shit.

The class laughs at Bakugou’s screaming, not bothering to scream back or to argue or to beg for forgiveness, and the conversation just flows.

“You might be more approachable if you did what you did before. The slapstick, I mean,” Kirishima points out. “It’s like witty one liners but funnier.”

Kaminari shakes his head. “I don’t think annoying the hell out of his opponent is a good strategy, man.”

“Why not? It worked, didn’t it?”

“STOP IGNORING ME—” Bakugou’s voice blares again, even louder. Todoroki, who had been napping in his seat, cracks one eye open in a glare and Yaoyorozu covers her mouth in annoyance. Jirou turns the volume on her music up. The rest of the class either laughs or starts spitting back lighthearted insults.

Aizawa, not amused, glares at them all and shuts them down as the bus parks.

The facility itself is huge. The outside appearance of the building is absolutely massive and Izuku’s shadows chatter in something that can almost be taken as awe when they enter the doors and the expanse of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint is bared before them. Biomes and carefully designed disasters are primed and ready for exploration. The Space Hero: Thirteen welcomes them all with a flourish.

Uraraka’s shaking and excitement makes Izuku feel more at ease with the massive urge to ask for Thirteen’s autograph.

He pauses, though, when the excitement of seeing something new wears off and he realizes Thirteen is alone. The USJ has no staff, no workers loitering around maintaining the rescue zones, so everyone in the building should be present.

“Where’s All Might? Aizawa said he’d be supervising.”

Aizawa hears him, and he takes a good look around to come to the same conclusion as Izuku. There’s no sign of red, yellow, and blue anywhere. “Good question. He was supposed to be here. Thirteen, do you know?”

“About that…” Thirteen somehow manages to appear nervous, despite their mask showing nothing. They wring their hands in their thick gloves and three fingers peak up. “He got caught up in something during his commute, so he’s a bit preoccupied.”

The class sags at the news. Someone, possibly Kirishima, groans.

“Of course he did,” Aizawa sighs, frowning. No one misses the tone laced through his words. Izuku doesn’t look forward to the talk All Might is undoubtedly getting later. “All right, then that means it’ll just be the two of us.”

Thirteen stands up taller, holding up one gloved finger. “Before we begin, I’d like to say a word. Or two. Maybe three or four—”

Izuku intends to listen. He really does. Thirteen starts about their quirks and this is information he can’t afford to miss, not from a seasoned veteran whose specialty is rescue, but something…something feels wrong. Something in his stomach curls up and the shadows hiding in his collar wrap around his neck to hiss in his ear.

“—esson today is imperative: your powers can be used to help, but they can also be dangerous. Rescue is all about being cautious—”

The whispering, the chatter Izuku listens to every day and feels inside him, ceases. There is a finite silence. He blinks, confused at the sudden change, and something shimmers in the corner of his eye.

The atrium of the USJ is landmarked by a simple fountain. Something everyone can recognize and that can be seen from any location, so finding one’s way back to the doors is easy. Izuku stares, transfixed, at the steady stream of water without hearing a single thing around him.

He doesn’t hear the end of Thirteen’s speech or the light bulbs lining the ceiling blow out.

He focuses entirely on the grotesque hole opening midair.

It flickers, at first. Like Izuku does. In and out of sight, a match in the wind, before it expands with a flourish. The shape it takes makes Izuku realize Hagakure’s nightmarish form is downright pleasant by comparison.

The rest of the class catches on and their confused whispers join the distant howling Izuku hears from the fountain.

“What the heck is that?”

Izuku realizes, but he wishes he didn’t.

The howling, distant and echoing, turns into a screech as the shadows go from a circle to something that makes Izuku’s lunch threaten to come back up with a vengeance.

There is smoke. So much smoke. The form emerging shimmers like a mirage, eyes floating in midair as the darkness spreads. Like flame, like fog over water—it spreads and consumes all, with the center opening to a vast darkness that is quickly blocked by a human hand.

Izuku stares, mouth dry, and blinks when somehow he sees something more—the visage of what once may have been a man, behind the smoke, with holes covering what is meant to be human skin and bleeding the tangible darkness into existence—before it fades into the abyss. It isn't solid but it's there, like an afterimage in his eyelids. It exists but it doesn't. A mirage in the ever-moving darkness.

The opening expands and people come through. All of them bear twisted smiles. They eye the class with a hunger that chills bone.

During it all, the portal to hell screams, and Izuku's shadows soon join it.

Chapter Text

Izuku trembles, the screaming in his head making his ears ring so loudly he nearly misses Kirishima asking, “Has the exercise started? What’s going on?”

“Those are villains—”

Izuku’s heart skips; his shadows wrap around him tighter, closer, their chattering and screeching quickly becoming overwhelming.

The class falters, looking from their teacher to the crowd of villains below, slowly advancing forward in a steady march.

“They can’t be,” Kirishima starts, clenching his fists. “There are so many. This is supposed to be a secure facility—”

“He’s right.” Yaoyorozu steps past him, hand on her heart as she keeps her eyes focused on the crowd. “Thirteen, why aren’t the alarms going off?”

“I don’t know—”

Izuku barely hears them, barely thinks, and he forces himself to deep breathe to try and gain some semblance of control back over his body. The clamps around his insides barely budge, but once he can breathe again, he takes a good, long moment to take careful stock of the situation.

 The thing controlling the portal is still down there.

He speaks, in a voice that overpowers the awful howling Izuku hears bleeding from his body, and says they want All Might. They came just because All Might was supposed to be here.

The villains approach leisurely; they haven’t reached the steps yet.

Kaminari is ordered to try contacting the school, and Aizawa slips on his goggles.

Oh, no. God no.

“He can’t go down there—” Izuku mutters, forgetting to silence himself. “Eraserhead’s fighting style is best for stealth and surprise, for taking on solitary targets. Melee combat will kill him—”

It will kill him, there’re too many—of all the information out there about the heroes of the Underground movement, even a novice would know that. They do their work in the dark, unseen, so none of them are suited for large crowds. None of them build their careers fighting large groups alone. And Aizawa’s power has a weakness that’s extremely exploitable.

Aizawa looks back at him, eyes hidden by his goggles, but Izuku knows he’s glaring. “That’s not for you to worry about. Get to the bus and leave this to me. Thirteen, watch the kids.”

With that, Eraserhead jumps into the fray with no hesitation.

Izuku watches, stomach bubbling with nerves, and jolts when Iida calls his name. Aizawa is taking care of the villains. They need to run back to the bus.

Izuku tries to run, screams at his shadows in his mind to shut the hell up so he can focus, but the pit in his stomach only grows denser and he can hardly even summon surprise when they’re all cut off long before they reach the exit.

Watching the hole open this close is disgusting—the visage of a human body is scarcely visible or tangible, hidden deep in the darkness, but Izuku sees how the holes ooze. They bleed smoke and shadow from every inch, the face never visible but coated in a permanent nest of black that Izuku's eyes hurt to acknowledge.

Whatever this thing is, he has no issues talking.

“Greetings…” the living portal says, voice like a brick hitting pavement.

Izuku’s shadows hiss, and something finally loosens the iron hold his nerves have on his insides. In the corner of his eye he sees movement. Black and orange movement.

Izuku has spent his entire life watching Katsuki Bakugou. He's spent more time than he cares to admit staring at Bakugou’s back as he braved the world. Izuku knows what it looks like when the boy gets ideas.

His fear is replaced by fury, because Bakugou is about to get them all killed, and Izuku can’t do anything to stop it. If he calls out, all that’s going to happen is Bakugou getting mad and that thing going on the defensive.

The grotesque imitation of a body shimmers, spreads his limbs wide, and multiple holes expand to pour out oozing blackness. He continues to speak, telling them all of the villains’ goals.

They want All Might. He will gladly kill them in All Might’s place, if the hero refuses to appear.

Bakugou and Kirishima jump, getting in front of Thirteen and the rest of the class, and Izuku knows their attack will end in failure when the incomprehensible mock of skin and shadow simply moves out of the way like they’re nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The holes stretch, smoke and darkness covering them all, and Izuku screams as he’s torn away from the ground.

Izuku dumps out of his temporary prison over water and he manages one bitter insult before landing.

“BAKUGOU, YOU STUPID BITCH—”

Probably not wise, considering he needs to hold his breath, but it’s satisfying. Izuku curls up when he hits the water, pushing air out of his nose as he spreads his limbs under the surface, and swallows the grimace of pain from the hundreds of needles spreading from the point of impact. He’s always hated the diving board. This experience will make him swear off swimming forever.

His shadows’ whispers aren’t impeded by the water and he only has seconds to collect himself before they screech in alarm.

Izuku sees teeth, teeth and gray skin heading directly for him at incredible speed, and before he can even attempt to swim out of the way, his savior comes in the form of Tsuyu Asui.

Izuku’s face is slowly turning purple from lack of air, so he’s grateful when she kicks his would-be-killer down and uses her tongue to drag him along. His first words after she drops him in the shipwreck zone’s boat and hacks the water out of his lungs are, “I would die for you.”

“Please don’t,” Tsuyu deadpans. She climbs into the boat and shakes off the water, looking outward toward the rest of the facility. “I think we’re the only ones who landed here. Anything broken?”

Izuku checks himself over. Aside from being sopping wet, he’s perfectly fine. “No, I’m good.”

Tsuyu ribbits, and to Izuku it sounds like her version of a sigh. “Today’s class has really sucked so far.”

It’s the understatement of the year. But somehow, coming from her, it almost takes the stress out of the fact they’re in the midst of a villain attack that could end with their deaths announced on the evening news.

Almost.

“Yeah, you could say that again,” mumbles Izuku, shaking water out of his hair. “Did you see any other villains in the water?”

“A few. I wasn’t about to engage, though.”

“Shit…” Izuku rubs between his eyes, telling his shadows to shut it when their whispering kicks up again. He doesn’t need them agitating his nerves. “We won’t have long before they realize we’re on the boat, then. If they have villains spread throughout the facility, that means they’ve really got a plan, they’re hoping to pick us off in small groups before killing All Might—if they even can—”

“They probably can,” Tsuyu says.

Izuku shoots her a look that would have withered his old classmates on the spot.

“Well, every villain with inflated pride claims they can kill All Might. But we’ve never seen any that were smart enough or sure enough to break into a facility like this for an assassination. If they went to all this trouble, then that means they’re probably on to something,” she reasons, tilting her head at him, completely nonplussed at his glare.

Izuku drops it, though, because she’s right.

Villains who think they’re stronger than they actually are aren’t rare. From children’s shows to manga to actual villain encounters—there are plenty who make lofty claims they can’t back up. Izuku has notebooks filled from all the fights he’s witnessed, and he’s heard all sorts of bragging. This League of Villains wouldn’t be the first to say they were going to kill someone as strong as All Might.

But they are the first to successfully perform a sneak attack on this level.

With a jolt, Izuku remembers the alarm from yesterday. The media swarming the school. The entire student population crammed into one place.

That’s how they knew the schedule. That’s how they knew when to enter the facility.

God fucking dammit.

“…you’re awfully calm about this,” Izuku says, trying not to tremble.

Tsuyu puts one hand on him to stop his shaking, face still blank. “Would panicking help?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Izuku breathes. His trembling subsides, and he rubs his temples so he can think. They are in what he’d call an absolute bitch of a situation so he needs to figure out how to get them somewhere where they can at the very least wait for help. “So the villains sent to this zone are water based, judging from what we’ve seen. That makes sense, but…they sent you here. You seem perfectly suited for water.”

Tsuyu hums, thinking. “That’s true. I’m at my best when I’m in places like this—what about you?”

“Uh, aside from storage, I’ve learned to punch holes in things and springboard myself? I’m still figuring it out.” He frankly feels a little useless in comparison to Tsuyu. She’s versatile and useful, while he can…? What? Punch the water? “You’re perfectly suited for water; it makes no sense that you’re here. If they knew your power beforehand, they’d have to be stupid to drop you in this zone. They must not know what any of our quirks are.”

“That’s an advantage if I’ve ever heard one.”

“And it’s an advantage we’ll lose as soon as we engage. We need to think of something.” Izuku peers over the side of the deck, biting his lip as he spots floating dots in the water. There are a lot of them. Goddammit.

It’s going to be okay. He’ll think of something. What does he have? He has himself, his glove, and Tsuyu. He has a boat.

Izuku blinks. He has a boat.

The shipwreck zone is mostly a large pool, with a waterslide-like structure towering over the side filled with rocks and fauna that pour directly into a whirlpool. That must be the filtration system keeping the water pumping. Still water breeds bacteria; constantly moving water keeps things cleaner and provides a challenge for rescue. The average swimming pool has at least one filter and every kid is taught to avoid it so they don’t drown.

Izuku is no expert on water, but he thinks he has a decent idea.

“Asui, do you know how to drive a boat?”

“I told you to call me Tsuyu,” says Tsuyu, more insistent than the last time. “I haven’t before, but they’re not hard to figure out. Why?”

“This facility is created to replicate disasters accurately. So this boat is probably functional. I need you to drive it straight into the whirlpool.” He distantly squints at the slide structure to gauge distance. They’re too far at the moment but once they breach the whirlpool, maybe…

Tsuyu nods, seemingly satisfied by this. “That seems doable. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to scream internally and pray we don’t die,” he answers honestly.

Tsuyu accepts this and hops upwards, climbing to the driver’s seat. Izuku gets to work.

The villains in the water finally notice they’re in the boat, and they’re going to lose patience quickly. He needs to be fast.

He hears the boat engine roar to life, which is good; that means the keys were in the ignition and the boat is ready to move. The figures in the water start swimming closer, though, and that’s bad. Villains intending to kill teenagers aren’t going to let a boat drive to safety.

Izuku searches for anything to use. There are no harpoons. No weapons. He finds the life vests, which are useless here, but keeps them in mind just in case. The dots in the water get closer and his shadows chatter in distress. He doesn’t want to know if any of the villains have quirks strong enough to sink the boat.

They’re moving, at the very least. Just slowly.

Izuku thinks. Surely there’s something. This is a shipwreck zone; it’s supposed to simulate water disasters—

Clarity comes with the memory of a news clip Izuku saw when he was seven. That’s it. That’s exactly what he needs. He runs to a door on the deck and throws himself in it, thundering down the steps into the bowels of the ship. It has to be here. It has to be around; he knows they exist. He scrambles through the lower deck, tearing everything apart until he finds what he’s looking for.

He finds it hidden in the lowest part of the lower deck, and he almost cries tears of joy as he lugs it back topside. Flipping the switches on his gloves, he allows his shadows to pour out as he sets up everything. Unpack, unfurl the dish, plug this in, bat a shadow away that wants to explore the new thing he’s holding— All the while, he spreads out his chattering passengers. He keeps open the holes in his wrists, slicing new ones into his arms, making sure the deck is absolutely coated in darkness.

The villains in the water halt in their procession, looking toward one another in confusion. They’re seeing his shadows and second guessing themselves. Good.

“Tsuyu, how close are we to the whirlpool?” Izuku yells upwards.

Tsuyu’s voice answers, calm and collected. “Almost there. The villains in the water don’t look very happy, though.”

“I’m working on it!”

Izuku checks the water. He counts the dots waiting, circling the ship—there’re quite a few, even if they are cautious.

With shaking hands, he aims the device he took from inside the boat and flips the switch.

The news report Izuku remembered happened to be this: support companies graciously building and supplying transport ships and private vessels with a special sonar device that aims high frequency noises at pirates and/or attempted villains. The noise is invisible to everyone but the target, and at the right intensity it can shatter eardrums.

Izuku guessed a boat meant to simulate real life water disasters would include one, and he wasn’t disappointed.

He doesn’t hear whatever it is the dish is doing, but the villains in the water react immediately. Technology truly is amazing, for such instantaneous pain. Some duck under the water to escape the noise, others clench their hands over their ears, and quite a few scream. Izuku smiles and turns up the frequency.

Some try to swim out of the device’s range but Izuku has his shadows follow him as he moves, covering his location. The screaming intensifies. Heads peek over the water, testing, and Izuku whips the device back around to send them under once more.

The boat tilts, suddenly, and Tsuyu’s voice sounds from above. “We’re in the whirlpool. What next?”

Izuku keeps a firm hold on the device, aiming it at a villain trying to swim closer. The whirlpool isn’t a strong one; its pull is slow-grabbing the hull of the boat, but they’re definitely turning. He doubts this will be enough to sink it.

But it’s enough for what he wants, so good enough.

Hope and pride bloom in his chest, seeing his plans work, and Izuku allows himself to smile. They’re going to make it out. They’re going to beat this.

His smile freezes and slowly withers when, mid-turn in the whirlpool, a large hand emerges from the water. The sonar panel in his hands drops with a clatter to the floor.

“Fuck.”

Eijirou’s opinion of Katsuki Bakugou is a bit divided.

He doesn’t hate the guy. He really doesn’t want to be the asshole who makes judgment calls too early without knowing people; that’s just rude, so he definitely doesn’t hate Bakugou.

On one hand, Bakugou is amazing. He’s ridiculously strong and confident and has a power that’s perfect for heroics and showing his manly spirit, and if Bakugou has any second guesses about his strategies, he sure as hell doesn’t let them show. That’s the kind of self-assured manliness Eiji wants to covet one day. The kind of strong will that will turn into a perfect heroic spirit. In a lot of ways Bakugou is kind of like Mina; he’s the exact kind of person who was made for this and inspires him to work harder.

On the other hand, Bakugou’s kind of a dick. The whole class has picked up on it. He’s loud, rude, and on the second day of classes, he went really far beating up Midoriya when the guy wasn’t even fighting back. That’s not cool. Midoriya didn’t seem to be mad about it, so it makes Eijirou feel a bit better, but still. The observation room had gone dead silent when he threw the little guy through a pillar.

So, yeah. Divided.

He can’t complain when he and Bakugou are dropped into the same disaster zone, though. The guy is so efficient it’s scary and Eijirou would have to be a special kind of stupid to complain about having one of the strongest guys in class by his side.

The villains in the earthquake zone aren’t that difficult to defeat. Eiji hardens his body and punches until they drop, Bakugou sending the rest to the floor or through the flimsy walls of the destroyed building. Rinse and repeat. He doesn’t want to call it easy, but…

It kind of is.

Weird.

They fight for what feels like ages, dropping body after body, until finally no more come forward and Eijirou has a minute to breathe. Bakugou pants but he’s smiling with the thrill of victory. His hands crackle and pop with the promise of more explosions to come and he shows no sign of being tired.

Eiji can’t really find it in him to smile, knowing the rest of the class is in danger because he decided to do something stupid. He hasn’t seen anyone else yet, so maybe he and Bakugou are the only ones here, but it’s hard to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Just how thin are they spread? Did anyone get thrown somewhere alone? How many more villains were warped into the facility than just the crowd in the atrium? Has anyone managed to call for help yet?

Bakugou, seemingly unaffected by the situation, kicks an unconscious villain and makes an unimpressed noise. “This is too friggin easy.”

“All the better for us. We should help the others out since it’s our fault they’re spread so far.” Eijirou wipes the sweat from his brow, casting a worried glance out the window of the building. He can’t see any of the other zones from their floor but he needs to find out how everyone else is.

Bakugou makes that same unimpressed noise, glaring at him and baring his teeth. “If you wanna bitch out and play support, then go ahead. I’m gonna find the bastard who looks like Deku’s messed up cousin and take him out.”

See? Kind of a dick. This stuff is why a little part of Eiji's brain tells him Bakugou needs a kick in the ass. He's already failed one attack and gotten them in this mess and now he's trying to do it all again.

“Are you serious!?” Eijirou snaps. “It’s our fault everyone’s spread out and in danger. We should take responsibility! If someone gets hurt, it’s on our shoulders!”

“Cram it!” Bakugou yells back, palms sparking. “That smoky asshole is how they’re getting around. If he’s knocked out, they’re fucked and have no way out, and we can end this shit all at once.”

Eijirou is going to fight him on this. They're students, they barely have any experience—they've already proven they're not up to this just yet.

He doesn't get the chance.

There's the slightest shift in the air and Bakugou snatches a villain from midair, slamming them into the ground and knocking them out in one fell swoop. Eijirou barely has time to react before it's all over.

“Besides…if they're all weak shits like this, then it'll be fine. We're not their fucking babysitters.”

Eijirou only stares. Bakugou is contemplative, hand still on the back of the villain's head, and his words make Eiji think for a long hard second even as Bakugou rises and starts to the door.

“Do you actually believe in the class? That they're strong enough to fight back?”

Bakugou looks back at him and pulls a face. Eijirou takes that as a yes, since Bakugou's expression seems to say Don't ask me stupid questions.

Eijirou smiles, and his opinion of Bakugou improves a little. He hardens his arms and smashes his fists together, ready to move.

“All right then. Lead the way!”

It's amazing how in the span of two minutes things got infinitely worse. Murphy's Law truly is a wonderful thing in the world of heroics.

It doesn't feel wonderful, Tsuyu's tongue holding him aloft as they climb the waterslide to escape certain death, but sarcasm is the friend of trauma everywhere and the world can pry that from Izuku's cold, dead hands.

The boat is absolutely destroyed. Tsuyu hardly had time to grab him before the water-hand smashed through it like a toy. Even now it's still working, smashing through the lower levels of the slide to varying degrees of success as the villains in the water group together waiting for their fall. Tsuyu dodges a harpoon—what the fuck, why, does the water theme really need to go that far?—and takes them deep into the belly of the structure, scaling the piping and support beams as if they were monkey bars.

Izuku thinks, during it all, because he can't actually do much else.

The water-hand isn't all that effective at destroying the slide. At least, not quickly. Chunks of the slide itself break, floating away toward the whirlpool, but the support structure seems to be firmly held together. Izuku keeps an eye on the destructive progress, just so he can warn Tsuyu if she's distracted, and thinks.

“Any ideas?” Tsuyu asks, sounding more like abby ibea with her tongue stuck so far out. She takes them higher, depositing Izuku at the very top of the slide before performing a flip off the last support beam and crouching to survey below.

Izuku makes an unsure noise.

“That's helpful.”

The slide won't stand up to assault forever. They can't camp out up here. They could just leave the area, since these villains clearly don't want to leave the turf where they have the advantage, but then someone else might come along and get hurt. Or there are more villains hidden to keep them from leaving. Either way, in the distance, Izuku can see the main plaza is still filled with people and they'd be walking into a melee battle.

Tsuyu keeps her eyes on the villains, still smashing the slide, and tilts her head. “It's odd how they don't want to leave the water. I like being in it, myself, but I know I have to learn to fight away from it to actually be useful. Versatility is the key to success.”

Izuku is only half listening, lost in thought, but that last statement hooks him.

Versatility. That's it. That's exactly it.

“…yeah, actually,” Izuku says, dazed. He lifts his hands, staring at his arms, and an idea begins to form. “You're right.”

Tsuyu ribbits, watching him. “Thoughts?”

“More of a hypothesis.” Izuku pulls the switch on the glove, then detaches the mechanism to cut even lines down his arms.

His shadows spill out, their chatter filling the air, and instantaneously they speed off in different directions below his feet. Tsuyu watches with interest as they disappear beneath the platform they're on. Izuku cuts more lines, tongue peeking out in concentration, and commands them all to go—go further, go down, go down to where the support meets the ground and the waterslide structure is most reinforced.

He can do more than just punch. His shadows aren't fists. He's got versatility, and he's got an imagination.

“Grab on to the railing, and don't let go until I say so.”

Tsuyu follows the order without question. Izuku gives his shadows time, commanding them to get into place, before he puts the mechanism back and holds on to the railing himself.

Now.

The structure creaks.

Tsuyu listens, quiet, and the platform lurches.

The villains continue to beat at the slide, yelling, and then quiet when the sound of breaking fills the air. Screaming takes its place.

Pipes burst. Plastic and steel bends.

Beneath them all, nearly hidden, Izuku's shadows slice through and weaken as much of the base as they can. The wisps of darkness whisper among each other as they follow orders. Slice. Dent. Pull. Spear. The damage done by unfriendly hands only helps, the broken slide listing forward with its frontal base supports already broken.

“Midoriya, what exactly is your plan here?” Tsuyu asks, as they begin to tilt toward the water.

Izuku's smile is desperate and the slightest bit manic. It's terrifying and entirely teeth. “Have you ever seen Titanic?”

Tsuyu blinks. “Oh.”

There is a loud groan of man-made metal collapsing, and they fall forward.

The Titanic reference has a point, in the grand scheme of things.

When boats sink, they drag down the people caught in the water around them. The slide may not be a several ton boat in the vast void of the Atlantic, but it is large and anyone would be hurt if it fell directly on top of them. If it happens to trap the villains in its wreckage, that's just a bonus. The whirlpool, at the very least, makes it much more difficult to swim directly out.

Tsuyu thinks Midoriya's pretty smart for thinking of it.

She also thinks he must have a death wish and will die by thirty, but judging from all this, he'll go out in a blaze of glory. She'll pour one out at his funeral. It's the least she can do.

Impact hurts the second time Izuku falls into the water, this time accidentally landing flat on his back after flipping in midair.

The entire structure comes down with a crash, burying the villains in one fell swoop and sending Izuku and Tsuyu airborne. They jumped before the platform could hit the water to avoid being dragged down with it. Izuku groans in pain underwater, his entire body sore from impact, and when he resurfaces, he makes a warbling death croak.

“I can't believe that worked,” Izuku hisses, swearing at the tingling in his muscles as he begins the swim over to dry land. Tsuyu's head pops up nearby with a ribbit and she easily catches up with him.

“So what now?”

Izuku almost stops swimming. “Why are you asking me?”

Tsuyu stares at him, and in his peripherals Izuku sees the former waterslide.

Ah. Right.

“Okay, fair,” Izuku concedes. “I'm not sure yet. My main goal at the moment is to get to dry land. The main plaza is still filled with people, so if we can find a way to not die, maybe we could sneak to the entrance?”

Tsuyu seems to approve of this, nodding. “You don't want to help Aizawa?”

He does. He really, really does. He knows pros and he knows an Underground hero like Aizawa isn't capable of long term combat against multiple targets. His bones ache but they're also thrumming with energy, high off the fact he just won a real fight against real villains—but he's also still telling his shadows to shut up so their whispering doesn't distract him. He's still thinking about Bakugou failing to attack the portal creator. He's thinking about the fact the alarms never turned on. There's something much more pressing than maybe taking out a few extra targets while their teacher isn't looking.

Izuku is very good at thinking, and he's very good at compartmentalizing. It's a skill one has to develop when their childhood playmate-turned-bully is Katsuki Bakugou.

“I… I'd like to, really, but I think the better option is to get backup.” Izuku trips a bit, when his feet touch solid ground, but he's relieved to finally reach the shallows. He and Tsuyu wade to the edge, keeping low, and peer out at what's happening.

Aizawa really is something amazing.

Footage of Eraserhead's heroics is rare. The few clips that exist are tied to U.A., or diehard enthusiasts who manage to get a glimpse in the late hours that Underground heroes prowl the streets. None of those clips really hold a candle to the real thing.

Aizawa's agile, fast, and merciless. His capture weapon flies with precision, capturing villains and swinging them to and fro—Izuku hisses when one gets caught only to fly directly into Aizawa's fist. The villain drops like a sack of bricks.

There're piles of downed opponents. The main plaza is large, but if they can inch their way along the edge of the battlefield, they may be able to make it to the decorative foliage and hide there. From there it should be easy to get back to the entrance.

Izuku is about to suggest they move, that they keep low and blend in with the bodies on the ground, when things go bad.

The man who led the charge isn't one to miss. He's lanky, pale, and has been watching the fighting while scratching his neck since it began. Visually, he doesn't look like much. Izuku is as surprised as anyone when he jumps into the fray and doesn't go down.

He's fast. Ridiculously fast. He dodges Aizawa's hits, bypasses the capture weapon—

A kick. “Twenty four seconds.”

A twist that misses Aizawa's fist by millimeters. “Twenty seconds.”

A move that leaves him crouched low, and Aizawa whirling around trying to land a blow. “Seventeen seconds.”

“Your times are getting slow, your health bar is dropping—”

Izuku barely stops himself from screaming when the villain taunts Aizawa and grabs him. The disintegration of skin is horrifying to see, bare muscle twitching with its exposure. Izuku doesn't feel himself moving until Tsuyu holds him back, keeps him from charging.

Aizawa frees himself and continues fighting, but it's—his skin is gone and blood flows freely, and Aizawa scarcely has time before the villain covered in hands gestures and it comes.

The wall of muscle that had stood still off to the side was something none of them were sure what to think about. Its eyes stared in different directions, beak open but not seemingly breathing, and its brain… Well, the less said about that the better.

It grabs Aizawa and throws him to the ground like nothing. With only one large hand, their teacher’s arm shatters, and Eraserhead falls.

The shadow, the one from earlier, flickers to life next to the man with the hands. Izuku trembles, shadows quivering and making distressed noises in his ears. The living portal ignores them, focused only on the apparent leader.

“The worst has occurred. One of the children has managed to escape. We should leave before the professionals arrive.”

The news sends hope, desperate and fleeting, through their minds.

“Someone got out?” Tsuyu whispers, shoulders hunching.

The man, Shigaraki, doesn't like this news. He scratches at his neck fervently, hunching over.

“You had one job, Kurogiri—what are we going to do now? All Might isn't even here!” Shigaraki's raspy voice cuts the air like broken glass, hands tearing bloody streaks across his skin. “It's game over for all of us; if the pros show up this whole thing is going to be a Bad End!”

The shadow—Kurogiri—offers what might be considered an arm to placate him. “Do not fret, Tomura Shi—”

“Shut up! If you weren't our warp gate, I'd disintegrate you right now!” Shigaraki snaps, suddenly unbending from his hunched over scratching fit. “This raid is over. We need to go. We're leaving.”

“Just like that?” Tsuyu murmurs. They're both stock still, waiting, neither willing to move.

It doesn't make any sense. They've come this far. They've invaded a UA facility. They've done so much damage, but they'll just cut their losses and run this fast?

“But first…”

The next few seconds blur together, and Izuku can't recall them later no matter how hard he tries.

“Let's leave a message for the party.”

Shigaraki moves. He moves faster than they can anticipate, faster than any of them can react for, and Izuku only does what he does because the shadows curled up in his collar screamed at him before it was too late.

(He hadn’t known they were seen. He hadn’t known they weren’t safe. He hadn’t known—)

He holds Tsuyu close and pushes himself in the way, arm raised, just in time for Shigaraki's fingers to wrap around his skin.

Aizawa, unseen, is a few seconds too late to activate his quirk.

Shigaraki smiles as Izuku's arm falls away to reveal the void hidden inside.

Izuku watches it all, horrified, but something deep in his mind clicks into place and instinct prepares him for what comes next. His grip on Tsuyu tightens. His eyes glaze over. He doesn't have the time or the mental presence to tell anyone to run, to warn Shigaraki of what he's done.

The horrorterrors that live in him burst from his chest, and the world goes dark.