Chapter 1: Introductions
Chapter Text
It’s an old story. You’ve more than likely heard it before.
A child is born, the circumstances may change but that fact stays the same.
This is an important fact despite its mundanity.
Sometimes it’s a boy, sometimes it’s a girl, sometimes it’s a happy occasion, others it’s a sad one. In some worlds the child’s father is a loving man, willing to go above and beyond to provide for his family. In others he’s uncaring, merely providing for the people he got involved in his life due to some form of misplaced pride or nascent sense of responsibility. In a few he’s a mixture of the two, someone unprepared for fatherhood but willing to treat it like the gift it is.
In some worlds he’s a villain, in others a hero, and in a special few, the greatest hero of the age.
These facts are unimportant.
Regardless of how the birth occurs the child’s mother is loving. She cares for them, loves them, and even in death guards them with the memories of that love. She is a bright light in that child’s life, no matter how dark it may become.
These facts never change.
But here and now, in this time and in this place, there is a, dissonance. A wrong note in a symphony, or maybe the right note in an improvisation. A fracturing of fate perhaps, or if one were to become poetic, a visit down a path not often traveled.
For here and now, in this world where powers are common, where dreams are reachable, where anyone can become a hero, a child is not born.
Two are.
&
“Mi.”
“Izu.”
Inko looked down from her seat on the couch, smiling at her boys as they continually repeat their first words at both her and each other. She laughs a few times, almost incredulous as the two of them seem to be having a serious conversation despite using only one word. She dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, already damp with tears.
Without prompting Hisashi passes her a dry one, his own eyes trained on his sons with a mixture of disbelieving wonder and a bit of petulant disappointment.
“Isn’t their first word supposed ta’ be da, or ma?”
Inko wipes her eyes and gives her ‘husband’ a coy smile. “Oh, how do you think I feel you great goof. Still though to be talking at their age?”
Hisashi has to smile at this, getting off his chair and kneeling near his sons. “Yeah, these two are bright little guys aren’t they? Huh, aren’t you?”
Izuku, giggling, waves a hand at his father, leaning forward to move at a crawl so he can reach the mop of almost black dark green hair hanging down to a stubble filled jawline. Mikumo on the other hand simply looks at him, before offering a very self satisfied “Izu.”
Inko breaks out into another giggling fit at the look on Hisashi’s face.
“Well, I see where your sense of humor went.” Hisashi’s reply was deadpan, even while Izuku did his level best to tear his father’s hair out from the roots. Even through the pain he was smiling, almost giddy at the sight of his sons, his sons , alive and well and happy. It was almost too much to bear, too much to hope for considering.
The thought of his and Inko’s marriage sits like a stone, causing his smile to slide off his face.
“Don’t.”
He looks up, Inko’s eyes hard and filled with determination. Through that though he could see the flames of affection she always held for him throughout their lives, and her smile, while sad, was one made with compassion as well as bitterness. “You didn’t force me into this you know.”
“I know, but-”
“No buts Hisashi. I don’t regret it. Not a single bit.”
“You didn’t get to choose,” Hisashi began, before a damp balled up handkerchief bounced off his forehead.
“Oh be quiet you big oaf. You couldn’t force me to do anything when we were kids, what makes you think you forced me into this.” Her smile softens again, and she rubs Mikumo’s head reverentially. “I know you had to choose someone, for the sake of your family, but don’t think for a minute I regretted anything.”
Hisashi nods, and though his eyes prickle with pain he doesn’t cry. “Thank you Inko. You didn’t-”
“I will smack you with a pencil, see if I don’t.”
Mikumo giggles at this, almost as if he can understand what they were saying, and his giggling set off his brother. He couldn’t have done it intentionally of course, he was only a baby, but the timing was enough that the melancholy air of the previous conversation dissipates like fog in sunlight.
Hisashi looks at his little family with wonder, and he feels a flame burn in his chest that put his quirk to shame.
“You’ll want for nothing. I can promise you that, all of you.”
“Hisashi-”
“No Inko, no. I, I need to say this. One day, one day we can break this off. Maybe you’ll find someone better than me, someone who can make you happy. But until then I promise you. For this, for you and my boys, I’ll do whatever it takes to make all three of you happy.”
Inko starts tearing up again, dabbing at her eyes with bare fingers. Of course to do this she had to stop rubbing Mikumo’s head, and Hisashi watched as his son’s face turned into an adorable scowl. He turned to look at his father and with the most offended voice a not a year old baby could muster said “Da.”
It was enough to make Hisashi cry laughing.
&
Katsuki first meets the Midoriya brothers when he is 3 years old.
For a time that’s it really. They don’t stand out that much to him among all the other kids who like to hang around him for whatever reason. When he decides he wants to play they join in, when he wants them gone they leave, when he says something they agree.
Well, not always.
Izuku, he agrees easily enough. He hangs on Katsuki’s every word, almost in awe of him. To Katsuki such awe is both gratifying and annoying, but he allows it because he knows he’s just that great.
Mikumo on the other hand pisses him off. He’s quiet, disturbingly so, and he always stares at everyone like they don’t really exist. He doesn’t interact with anybody besides his brother no matter how many people have tried. A lot of the other kids say he’s mean, that he just doesn’t like anyone else.
But then someone falls off the jungle gym or scrapes their knee or does something stupid like get in Katsuki’s way when he’s jumping off the swing and he’s there, with a band-aid in hand and quiet as a statue. He’d patch someone up, pat them on the head, and then wander off again. If he wasn’t doing that he’d either hang around his brother or sit somewhere and just, not move.
To an adult such behavior would be considered odd, but admirably mature despite the antisocial tendencies.
To a kid it’s just downright creepy.
To Katsuki it’s confusing and therefore it makes him angry.
It goes on like this until everyone gets their quirks.
Katsuki’s is of course as awesome as he is. The explosions he can make from his hands garner praise from everyone, kids and adults alike. It’s validation he didn’t need, but appreciated all the same because it showed just how worthless everyone else was compared to him.
He had no problem proving this too, showing everyone who didn’t know how powerful he was just where they stood on the pecking order. It went on like this for years, everyone moving out of his way and trailing behind as was their proper place. It would have stayed like too, if Izuku, if Deku , stayed where he was supposed to.
He protected another worthless person, he thought he was strong enough to fight back, that he was stronger that Katsuki. That couldn’t stand, and Katsuki wasn’t about to let it. He trounced Deku, trashed him, showed him just how worthless a quirkless loser like him was.
He went home sure in the knowledge that Deku wouldn’t pull that shit again.
Then Mikumo found out.
Unlike Deku Mikumo got a quirk, it wasn’t as good as Katsuki’s but it was strong too. Like his dad (That Katsuki had rarely met and couldn’t really remember) he could breathe fire, but from his mom he got the ability to control it. From what he could tell Mikumo could make fire bend, breathe it some distance, and that was about it. Katsuki wasn’t worried about him, he was sure he could take him in a fight.
The resulting fight that took place at the local playground torched most of the grass, a good few trees, and most of Katsuki’s hair. If it wasn’t for intervention from the adults around them he was sure it wouldn’t have stopped there either. Mikumo came after him like a monster, howling, spitting fire from his mouth and his nostrils, and using his quirk to turn that fire into tentacles which he tried to stab Katsuki with.
By the the time the adults managed to restore some semblance of order Katsuki had lost two baby teeth and got a black eye, along with a smoking haircut and scorched clothes. Mikumo on the other hand was wheezing heavily, smoking still trailing from his mouth, and half of his face was one giant bruise from where Katsuki tried to take him down with the biggest explosion he could muster.
The adults talked a lot after that, his parents most of all. In the end he only ended up grounded, and most of his hero stuff, comic books, and video games were confiscated. He also had to sit down to a very long lecture on why he wasn’t supposed to use his quirk on people, and learn what discrimination meant. The only silver lining was that he was informed by his parents that Mikumo had to do the same thing.
That silver lining turned sour once he was told he had to apologize to the Midoriya’s.
&
“I swear to god Katsuki, I will ground you until you’re thirty if you say one thing out of line.”
Katsuki answered his mother with sullen silence, his teeth grinding audibly in his mouth.
There was a knock on the door, hesitant, but insistent all the same. His mom spared him one more glare before getting up and then walked toward the door. His dad simply sat there silent, his gaze firmly fixed on the back of Katsuki’s head. If anything the disappointed look his dad gave him when the whole thing first got stopped hurt more than losing his toys. He wasn’t going to tell the man though.
He could hear from his chair when the door was opened, his mom’s voice carrying into the living room.
“Hello Inko, I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”
“It’s, it’s fine. Our boys are both safe and no one’s gone to prison.”
He hears his mom laugh, and he notices a pained undercurrent in it.
“Shooting for the stars aren’t we?”
His mom leads the Midoriya’s into the living room, the family walking into his home with the ease that comes with familiarity. Deku, no, Katusiki has to call him Izuku again, has been over here more than once. His brother usually followed him here in that creepy way he always did and his mom picked them up if they stayed too long.
Mikumo was out in front, his mother’s hand firmly placed on his head. His one visible eye was staring at Katsuki, not glaring in anger, or even that dead way he used to look at people. He was watching him like he was just now seeing Katsuki there, and like he was something to examine . He stared like he wanted to take Katsuki apart and see what made him tick.
It was creepy as fuck.
Izuku by contrast stood beside his mother’s legs. He still had some bruises too, but nothing as bad as what Mikumo had. Katsuki didn’t need to go all out to take him down, just enough to show him where worthless people are supposed to stand; although he wasn’t supposed to think like that anymore.
He stared at Katsuki with wariness, but also with that same creepy way that made him feel like he was on a slab waiting to be cut up by some mad doctor.
Inko (auntie, she’s been auntie since Katsuki was little) looked at him like she didn’t know who he was anymore. Like she didn’t know what he was anymore. She looked at him like he attacked her personally.
It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.
“Mikumo?”
The boys one visible eye turned to look up at his mom.
“Don’t you have something to say?”
He blinked, then looked down. He stared for a few seconds more, before seeming to come to a decision.
“Are you a hero or a villian?”
Everyone in the room turned to look at him with shocked expressions and Katsuki’s brain seemed to stop mid insult.
“What?”
“Are you a hero or a villian? I need to know so I know what to do about you.”
“Who the Fuck-” He was cut off by a smack to the back of the head.
“Language you little-”
“Dear,” his dad’s voice cut in, interrupting his mom mid admonishment.
“Devil. I was going to say devil.”
“We’ve been married for over ten years and Inko’s known you since childhood. You weren’t.”
Why were the adults still talking about this? This wasn’t important!
“I’M NOT A VILLAIN!”
“You act like one.”
Explosions play across Katsuki’s palms, crackling light causing smoke to drift up to the ceiling. That is until Inko puts her hand on her son’s head.
“Mikumo.”
Said son looks up at her again. “I need to clarify where he stands so I know which approach to use. I’d rather not waste words.”
“Mikumo, honey, people aren’t-”
“Classifiable? Yes they are. They did the same for him,” here he points at Katsuki, who’s palms are beginning to crackle again. “They did it to Izu. Why can’t I do it back?”
“I don’t understand.” Katsuki’s father says, looking down at Mikumo. “How would calling my son a villain help this conversation?”
“People say he’s going to be a hero because of his quirk. That’s wrong.” Mikumo says this so matter of factly that it cuts Katsuki deep. “His quirk won’t make him a hero, just like Izu’s lack of one won’t stop him from becoming a hero.”
“WHAT!” Katsuki’s yell was so shrill it almost broke his father’s glasses. “That quirkless-”
“Katsuki!” He winced at his father’s yell but he powered through. This had to be said. This needed to be said.
“Everybody knows that quirkless people can’t be heroes. That’s a fact!”
“Just like people with flashy quirks always become heroes?”
“Yeah!”
Mikumo looks at him. “That’s stupid.”
“What?”
“That’s stupid,” he repeats, looking Katsuki in the eye. “Being a hero isn’t about what quirk you have, it’s about what you do. People always get that wrong.” He sighs, shaking his head as if the sheer weight of society’s failings was resting on his shoulders.
“You’re a hero when you decide to, fix, things. When you see the darkness and try to lead people out of it. When you see the hurt and the bad and the wrong and the rot and say no.
“You want to be a hero, but you, no, but everyone keeps telling you you’ll be one for the wrong reasons.
“You lead. For good or bad you lead and everyone can feel it. You’re driven, and strong, and fearless, and smart, and all of that, all of it, doesn’t have a thing to do with your quirk. Even if you were quirkless you would become a hero because nobody could have stopped you.
“People keep saying how good your quirk is, how awesome your quirk is, how flashy your quirk is, that they throw you away.
“That’s wrong. That’s wrong and sick and rot and I hate it. I hate it because it made you hurt my brother, I hate it because it made you hurt people who didn’t know that they could fight back. I hate it because it made you part of the problem and part of the rot and if it kept up it would drag you down and destroy everything about you that made you a hero.”
He pauses, smoke curling from his jaws as he pants and and coughs and tries to hold back tears of frustration. Everyone else in the room is looking at him like they’ve never seen him before. Katsuki is looking at him like he’s never seen him before because this is the most he’s heard the other boy talk in all the years he’s known him.
“You want to be a hero, then remember who Bakugou is. Remember who leads, who thinks, who’s smart and brave and headstrong. Remember what made people want to follow you before you got your quirk. Then be a hero.
“Because if you don’t? If you let the world drag you down to its level? Then you’ll just be a Villain with a flashy costume and empty praises.”
Mikumo shudders, coughs wracking his body as the smoke sets off the fire alarm. As Inko reaches down to try to comfort her son and Izuko pats his brother on the back through his coughing fit Katsuki's dad gets up, walks into the kitchen, gets a glass of water, and turns the alarm off. It takes him thirty seconds to do and by the time he gets back no one else has moved an inch.
He gives Mikumo the glass and goes back to his seat, still silent. It stays like this for a few seconds more, before Katsuki speaks.
“I’m going to become a hero.”
Mikumo looks up, and whatever he sees causes him to smile. Katsuki doesn’t let that stop him.
“I’m going to become a hero, the greatest hero any of those fuckers have ever seen. I’m going to be number one, I’m going to be better than FUCKING ALL MIGHT AND I DARE ANY OF THOSE FUCKERS TO STOP ME!”
Mikumo’s smile turns into a grin. It’s not a pretty grin, an ugly gash of gums and teeth if Katsuki was going to be honest, but the sight of it causes him to grin back ferally.
“Good. Good. Aim for the top Bakugou Katsuki, you might even give Izu a challenge.”
This causes his gaze to slip from Mikumo to Dek- to Izuku. The boy was still looking at his brother in awe, tears rolling down his face. When he felt Katsuki’s gaze on him he looked back, and with tears still in his eyes nodded at him.
“I-I’m not going to make it easy for you Kacchan.”
At that moment, when those words were said by a shaky voice, while a creepy kid with a creepier grin looked on, while the anger at the world that would throw him away burned behind his eyes, Katsuki gained a rival.
He would look back at this moment with something akin to fondness, if anyone was stupid or brave enough to use such a word in his presence.
Chapter 2: Childhood Days
Notes:
Muse is still pumping away at this so might as well ride the wave and see where we end up.
Honestly I didn't expect this to be so easy to write as it is.
Chapter Text
Izuku ran between the trees, the tall trunks breaking up his silhouette in the dim dawn light. He tried to control his breathing even as he kept his body as low to the ground as possible. His equipment, the salvaged and homemade tools strapped to his waist and back, were as secure as he could make them without it restricting his movement, he’d have to hope that was enough.
With a roll he landed behind a particularly large tree, its branches bare with age. Not much cover, but he didn’t plan on staying here long in any case. He just needed to catch his breath and get his bearings before-
“FOUND YOU RUNNER UP!”
The duck is instinctual, the twitch of his neck and shoulders barely saving his head from a roundhouse kick that he’s sure would have taken his skull clean off. With a roll Izuku gets to his feet, hands shooting to his waist to grab the two hilts strapped there. Without a word he draws his Shinai, the bamboo swords heavy in his hands and stares down at his opponent.
Kacchan stands there with a cocky grin and a hand on his hip. His foot, clad in a rather impressive looking light up sneaker, slams into the ground, setting off a few seconds of light. He grins down at Izuku, his expression not unlike a wolf that’s found a rabbit and saw the fluffy creature bare its teeth in a desperate attempt to stave off predation.
Izuku snorts, not taking the bait, and merely raises his swords in response. Kacchan’s tried that trick one too many times for it to work anymore, not with the months of training all of them have done together. At the petulant expression on his face Kacchan smiles even wider, explosions crackling in his palms.
There’s no signal, no agreed upon moment, just stillness. The air is filled with the sound of bird song, the rustling of leaves, the silence of nature at rest. Then, as a thin twig falls from the tree that suffered Kacchan’s surprise attack hits the ground, they move as one.
Izuku’s body is still only that of an eight year old, no matter how hard his and his brother’s devised regimen might have trained it. That being said the shinai his brother found for him were lightweight things, their shape and weight designed for kids his age. He was no master, nowhere close, but he had been using weapons like these for months, so often that they now felt like extensions of his arms than simple practice blades.
His first swing aims for the armor Kacchan was wearing around his torso, the bright red of the polyester covering providing a tempting target. With an explosion from his hand Kacchan spins away, twirling on one tiptoe and leaning close to the ground. Without warning a second explosion spins his rotation even faster, and a uppercut kick heads straight for Izuku’s face.
With a jerk of his own he dodges the blow, but his initial lunge made him too committed, too close to his explosive opponent. Said opponent took advantage of this mistake viciously, using the distance to attack Izuku from every angle. It took all of his training to block most of those attacks with his shinai, but one explosion too many pushes the already worn bamboo past the breaking point and his weapons are reduced to smoking stumps.
With a growl he tosses the hilts at Kacchan, buying himself precious moments as the other boy slaps them aside. He takes a move out of Kacchan’s playbook and tears into the boy’s personal space. Fists flying he aims at the head armor, the torso, even sneaking a few kicks to the other boy’s shins for good measure.
Far from daunted Kacchan gives as good as he gets, his explosive quirk giving him an edge in close combat. Even through the armor his brother scavenged for him Izuku could feel the bruises forming. The fact that these were ‘weak’ explosions didn’t help much.
Side aching Izuku quickly reached for another tool at his waist. Pulling out the hollowed out eggshell he threw it with all his might at Kacchan’s face. Almost by reflex the quirk user aimed an explosion at the projectile, destroying it utterly and releasing the smokescreen Izuku was hoping for.
“GAH! Dammit you bastard! I hate these fucking things!”
With a roar Kacchan explodes the air in front of him, dispersing the cloud of dust, pepper, and other assorted odds and ends. Of course by the time he does this Izuku is long gone, tearing into the undergrowth again. It takes all of his self control not to laugh at Kacchan’s roars of rage and frustration.
Of course that’s when his brother clotheslines him in the chest from his hiding place behind a tree trunk.
&
Katsuki was tired. He was sore, covered in scratches, had twigs and sticks in his hair, and his clothes were singed around the edges. He had been battered, bruised, tricked, and ambushed multiple times in the last few hours.
He couldn’t have stopped smiling even if he wanted to.
On either side of him the Midoriya brothers kept pace, their own appearances just as battered as his was.
Mikumo was sporting a black eye, the bruise hidden behind that odd fringe of hair that always seemed to fall over his face. His clothes were torn, from Katsuki’s explosions or Izuku’s traps it was hard to tell, but whatever the reason they had obviously seen better days. He was also wheezing, not heavy enough to be worrying, but it was loud enough to be gratifying to Katsuki. It meant that whatever the case he had been pushed, if not to his limit then at least close to it.
Izuku (Runner Up, Katsuki mentally corrected in his head) by contrast was almost insultingly put together. Not clothing wise of course, his shorts were almost black with soot and his shirt was hanging on with spite alone, but his demeanor. He wasn’t stumbling sore like Katsuki, or wheezing like Mikumo, he wasn’t even dragging his feet. He was almost bent double over an open notebook, pencil in hand, and scribbling furiously while his mumbling filled the air like the humming of cicadas in spring.
It would have pissed Katsuki off if Mikumo hadn’t explained things to him.
When it came to goals, once Izuku found one there was no stopping him. Everything he had would be consumed by the drive to complete it, to succeed, and in doing so anything that could be considered an obstacle that could be ignored would be ignored. As of right now pain was that obstacle. Izuku wanted to study Katsuki and Mikumo’s quirks in order to do better against them next sparring session and to improve his own skills, he was also (arguably) conscious, therefore he would study said quirks personal injuries be damned.
So no, the mumbling wouldn’t piss Katsuki off. What would, and what currently is, pissing him off is the thought of Izuku falling over something, passing out cold, or getting hit by a truck because he decided to be an idiot.
“Oi! Runner up!”
Izuku kept mumbling.
“Izu,” Mikumo tried, the word coming out in a smoky haze.
Izuku continued to mumble. In fact it appeared that his mumbling increased in volume.
Mikumo and Katsuki shared a look. Then Mikumo did an odd movement with his shoulders and neck that seemed to give a wordless reply of ‘you’re closest so you might as well.’
Needing no further prompting Katsuki gleefully proceeded to smack Izuku upside the back of his head.
“Ow! Kacchan, what was that for?”
“You were leaning into the street dumbass.”
“Oh.”
With care Izuku moves closer to the center of the sidewalk, until Katsuki grabs him and forcefully places him into the middle of the group. He has to give up his de facto leadership position in order to do so, but Izuku is so stupid that having him walk on either side was a risk neither Katsuki or Mikumo wanted to make. If he wasn’t in mumble mode it’d be a different story, but Katsuki knows from experience that the minute he or Mikumo stop actively trying to pull Izuku out of it the little weirdo would fall right back into scribbling notes and muttering to himself.
Katsuki sighs, the things he puts up with to make sure he gets to the top fairly.
The three of them continue to walk home, their messed up appearances somehow not garnering any attention. That fact wasn’t particularly weird to Katsuki until Mikumo had pointed it out to him after a very intense training session. Three kids who looked like they lost a fight with a campfire should have at least gotten some looks of confusion, but most adults seemed content to ignore them as if they didn’t exist.
That was fine as far as Katsuki was concerned, he didn’t need to be bothered by background characters anyway.
The lack of talking (Runner up’s mumbling didn’t count) didn’t bother any of them. Mikumo was dead silent 90% of the time regardless, and Katsuki didn’t like wasting words at all. Izuku was the one who would normally start conversations, usually on how either Mikumo or Katsuki used their quirks, what changes they felt while using them, any new tactics they might have come up with that they wanted to try, or some kind of experiment that he thought up that he wanted to run by them.
Almost all of their walks were either a full on shouting match of conflicting theories, claims of Izuku planning some sort of trick for the next battle, ideas for new moves using their quirks, how Izuku could make up for his lack of quirk with some new technique that Mikumo somehow kept finding on the internet (he was strangely good at finding weird shit online; that’s where Izuku got that shitty eggshell smoke bomb idea), or dead silent trudging along.
It felt strange to Katsuki, to have someone this close to being an equal. To have two people that close in fact. Even stranger it felt like every fight they were closing that gap and he had to work even harder to stay on top. He hadn’t felt this happy since he found out what his quirk was.
Then Mikumo had to sour his good mood by grabbing him by the back of his shirt collar.
“Gaak! Fucker! The hell did you do that for?!”
“Brother?”
Katsuki turns to stare at Izuku, finding the boy actually voluntarily looking up from his notebook. He follows his gaze to see Mikumo, the side of his face angled towards them covered with his dark hair. Before he can get a word out Mikumo raises a hand and points across the street. Both Katsuki and Izuku follow the finger to find a boy leaning against the wall of a building.
His hair was pale, almost white, but it still contained a bluish tint. His clothes were threadbare, almost as bad as the ones currently on Katsuki and the others. The difference was this damage seemed to come from them just being that old instead of deliberate destruction. His feet were bare, the soles red and sore from what Katsuki could only assume was a very long time walking barefoot.
The worst thing though were his eyes.
He stared at nothing. His head was tilted back, face gazing upwards, but he wasn’t looking anywhere. They almost had a glassy sheen to them, as if the light behind them was gone and all that was left was an eyeball stuck in a socket. He looked half dead, he looked like he needed help, he looked like he just escaped from a torture chamber.
Nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention.
Adults walked around him, teenagers walked over him, kids simply avoided him. It was like he didn’t exist. No, no that wasn’t right, it was like he was a doll, a rock, something not alive that could just be ignored.
Katsuki’s hands were bleeding. He looked down, just noticing how he had made a fist so hard his fingernails stated to cut into his palm. Izuku made a low sound, almost a whine but not quite. Katsuki didn’t have to look up to know it wasn’t directed at him.
Mikumo did nothing, simply dropping his hand before turning to look at the other two boys again.
They shared a glance and without words had a conversation. As one they nodded. As one they crossed the street.
As one they decided to be heroes.
Because somebody fucking has to.
&
He’s warm.
That’s the first thing Tenko thinks as he wakes up.
He blinks, eyes adjusting to the warm orange glow of sunset. As soon as they focus he’s greeted to the sight of an off white ceiling, the colors darkened to almost brown due to the light filtering through the uncovered window. He blinks again before realization hits and he starts to panic.
He throws the blanket off of him and rolls to get off the futon-
Only to fall to the floor because apparently the bed he was put on was a western style one.
The resounding thump echoed through the floor and no doubt already alerted whoever captured him. He had to get up, he had to get away, he had to run. He couldn’t let them catch him again, he wouldn’t go back, he wouldn’t go-
“Calm down.”
He looks up.
Seated a few feet away from him is a kid. His hair is an uncontrolled mess of hard angles that give it an almost sharp appearance. One eye was covered by a fringe that trailed almost to his mouth and the other eye was trained right at him. Beside him a computer screen was still covered in colorful pictures of costumed fighters, almost like a Manga, but even from his spot on the floor Tenko could spot the differences.
That didn’t matter though.
He gets up, scrambling to get to his feet. If he used his quirk he could get out the door. No one could stop him. No one could take him back. No one would take him back.
“No one’s taking you anywhere.”
Tenko looked at the strange kid in shock. Could he read min-
“No, you’re just mumbling out loud. Don’t worry my brother does it all the time. Again, you’re not going anywhere you don’t want to. You’re safe here.”
“Where, where is here? ” Tenko coughs after he speaks, his throat almost painfully dry.
The boy scratches the side of his face. “Here is home. My home to be exact. Midoriya Mikumo by the way.”
He gives Tenko an expectant look, waiting for a response.
Tenko thinks. He could say his name, but then why would he? There’s no one looking for Tenko Shimura, his dad is dead, his mom is dead, he has no other relatives. If he says his name, the name he was given, then they could find him again. They know to look for that name. That name was dangerous, it was, it was a debuff.
Yes, that’s it. His name was a debuff and if he used it he would just be making things harder on himself than it has to be. If he got rid of it, then the debuff would be gone too, and then he could play without having to worry about it. He just had to come up with a different name, a better one.
He looked up at the boy again. Mikumo hadn’t moved, simply staring at him patiently. He was like an NPC waiting for input. At that thought Tenko relaxed a bit, if this was like a game then he could figure it out.
Everybody tried to make things complicated, but once you realized that life was like a game then everything got so much easier. He was the PC, he had choices that would determine where he would go. He got caught, he got used as a despawner, but he had found the right choices and broke out, killed the midbosses, killed the raid boss, and escaped. So this was, this was just the start of another game.
A new game plus.
This was just the character creation screen. He could, he could decide where he was going from here right? He couldn’t change his face, he knew that such a feature was locked to almost everyone who didn’t have a quirk like that, but his name? He could change that.
Tenko Shimura was captured. Tenko Shimura had no one. Tenko Shimura had killed almost twenty people just to escape from killing more.
Tenko Shimura was better off dead.
“Shigaraki. Shigaraki Tomura.”
At that the NPC smiled. Tomura thought it was a nice smile.
“Hello Shigaraki-san. Would you like to play a game with me? We’ve got time to kill before my mom and Izuku get back from talking with the Bakugou’s.”
“A game?”
“Yep! I’ve got some fun co-op games around here somewhere. A game's always more fun when you play it with friends.”
They ended up playing a game about a little pink creature and his friends saving his world through teamwork, friendship, and unimaginable levels of violence.
Shigaraki Tomura decided he liked this minigame so far.
His favorite was the one in the jester’s hat.
Chapter 3: Adjustment Period
Notes:
Well, here's another one.
I don't know what it is about my muse that keeps pumping these out but I've decided not to fight the current and just let it take me.
I'm not sure where this nonsense is going to end, but what the hell I might as well enjoy the ride while I'm here.
Chapter Text
Hisashi sipped at his coffee, the liquid thick and piping hot as it went down his throat. Not that such a thing bothered him of course. A perk of his quirk was that no matter how hot something was as long as he was eating or drinking it it wouldn’t burn on the way down.
He won a lot of childhood bets and a lot of birthday money that wasn’t his that way.
With a yawn and a rub at tired eyes he looked over at the clock sitting on his desk. It’s glaring red 3:45 pulsed like the eyes of a demon from hell and he had to stifle a groan at the sight. He swallowed more coffee and made his way toward the desk and the computer waiting there, his bare feet barely lifting from the carpet underneath them. He didn’t walk so much as slide forward, legs shuffling back and forth to propel him jerkily but consistently to his rundown second hand swivel chair.
He sat down with an almost audible plop, cushions wheezing as he shifted around to settle himself. With the care of a holy man handling an artifact of his god he placed the coffee cup and its precious contents on the desk beside a laptop computer, before lifting the lid and turning it on. As the appliance pushed itself towards wakefulness Hisashi once again contemplated the value of working overseas away from his family and more natural waking hours.
Like every other time he did the math his family’s well being won out over his comfort.
Still it would be nice to see Inko and the boys more than a few times a year, more than a handful of snatched holidays and birthdays. With any luck that promotion he had been aiming for would open up and he could travel back home, work in a local office. He knew better than to overly hope for much, but that thought is what kept him going on those bleaker days.
Well, that and this.
With a beep the laptop’s screen finally ignited, bathing the dark room with the pale blue glow of a login screen. The flash of light caused him to squint his eyes nearly shut and hiss for a second, but with the practice of long use he blindly typed in his password. With a beep the blue screen went away, replaced by an image of four smiling faces. Hisashi sighed a happy sigh at the sight.
Hair in a loose ponytail over her shoulder Inko sat on their old couch, the one they had before he landed this job and had it replaced. On her lap sat a young Izuku, his grin so large it looked like it would swallow his face if he let it. Beside her sat Hisashi himself, still stuck in that same ratty suit he had to dig up for the job he managed to land, and in his lap sat Mikumo, his face still that same deadpan he had as a baby. He would have looked dour if it wasn’t for the small smile, the two fingers he held up in a peace sign, and the silly face he made as he stuck his tongue out to the camera.
Inko always hated when he did that, but it never failed to make Hisashi laugh.
With a few deft finger strokes he guided his mouse cursor to the chat client and opened it. As he waited for it to connect he took another deep draft of coffee to stave off the exhaustion from the previous week and grinned in anticipation. Soon all those days of sleepless nights, dull office cubicles, meaningless meetings, and asshole supervisors will be vindicated.
A click on the picture of a smiling Inko and a few seconds later another window opened up. He was greeted to the smiling, but also visibly tired, face of his wife of nine years.
“Inko! How are you?”
She squinted at Hisashi for a moment before she noticed the overly large mug of coffee in his hand and nodded in understanding. “I’m fine, but not as fine as you apparently. How many of those have you had?”
Hisashi looked down at his mug and thought back to the last hour or so of semi wakefulness. He seemed to recall trying to put the grounds into the coffee pot, crying at the thought of not having coffee for a whole five minutes while it brewed, cursing god for making a three a.m., drinking coffee from the coffee pot, making more coffee, thanking god for the gift of coffee, and then a haze of repeated actions until he got to the point of sitting in front of the laptop.
He pursed his lips in contemplation. “I honestly have no idea. Enough to think I’m awake I suppose?”
Inko sighed, amused and exasperated in equal measure, before hitting him with a smile that made him fall in love with her all over again. “It’s good to see you again Hisashi.”
“Not as good as being there.”
“Hisashi we’ve been over this,” Inko began before Hisashi held up his free hand in concession to her point.
“I know, I know, I still want to be there.”
“And we all want you here, but we’re always happy when you come home.”
Hisashi grimaces, “Keyword being when. I’m surprised my own sons’ remember my face-”
“Hisashi,” Inko warns, wagging a finger at him across hundreds of miles and multiple time zones.
He sighs and nods, eyes peeking surreptitiously to the side. On a little coffee table in his studio apartment sat stacks and stacks of well worn books. Each one was about child rearing in some way. Each one had stressed the damage an absent father could do to a child’s development. Each one, he was certain, was another nail in his coffin.
But everytime he tried to bring up this fear Inko would simply shush him and smile in that enigmatic way of her’s.
She seemed to notice his mood because by the time he raised his head again she had that determined look that made him instinctively sit straighter in his chair.
“Midoriya Hisashi if you start doubting how good a father you are again I will personally book a flight just to come over there and smack you.”
Hisashi contemplated this before giving her a hopeful smile. “Is that a promise?”
Inko snorted. “You wish.”
Hisashi smile grew wider. “You sure it’s just me? You and me, alone, in a nice quiet apartment for hours and hours with no interuptions?”
“Stop trying to tempt me you caffeine-addled devil.”
The two of them shared a laugh, the noise flowing easy and free like a breeze in summer. No matter how often he talks to her Hisashi will never get used to this feeling. This sheer weight of contentment settling in his bones has to be illegal to feel this good.
“Speaking of devils how are our little hellraisers doing?”
Inko gives him a look. Hisashi stares back unrepentant. She sighs and shakes her head.
“The boys are out back experimenting with Katsuki-kun and Tomura-kun.”
Katsuki… The name was familiar. That was the blond one, the boys’ shared friend for most of their lives if he remember correctly. It had been some time since he’d last seen the kid, but once you met Katsuki the impression tended to, last, for some time afterwards. Tomura, Tomura was a new one though.
“Remind me again which one was,” he stopped himself, a mental lightbulb going off. “Ah, yes, Tomura, I remember the last conversation we had. That was the boy Izuku, Mikumo, and Katsuki found a few days ago right?”
Inko nodded, her face going solem. “Yes, it’s been about 4 days now.”
“Any word from his parents, other relatives?”
Inko shook her head, before giving a tired sigh. “So far nothing. We haven’t given up hope, but,” Hisashi didn’t have to wait for her to finish.
“No reason to give up just yet, but it might be time to consider alternatives.”
“Such as?”
Hisashi shrugged. “Foster care might be an option?”
Inko looked to the side, no doubt looking out the glass window toward the backyard and the boys presumably ‘experimenting’ there. Hisashi didn’t like the look on her face, it looked, haunted.
“You didn’t see the state he was in when the boys brought him home Hisashi. He looked like he just escaped a cage.”
“Weren’t there pro heroes around? Police? Anyone?”
Inko shook her head again. “As far as the boys told me there was no one. They took it upon themselves to save him because, well, no one else was going to.”
Hisashi grimaced, hating the fact his sons had to learn such a lesson this early in their lives. That they had to learn this lesson at all, and that he was stuck hundreds of miles away from being able to help them deal with it. He sighed, forcing himself to focus, he had to deal with the problems he could deal with and hope the rest sorted itself out.
“What would you recommend then Inko? If not foster care then where would he go?”
She stared at him.
The thought clicked.
“You want to adopt him?”
She looked to the side, squirming a little in her chair. “I know it’ll be a bit difficult, adding another child to our expenses, but the thought of making him leave…” She shook her head resolutely. “He needs stability Hisashi, knowledge that someone cares for him. I can’t in good conscience just give him to the foster care system and hope for the best.”
“You think money would be a problem,” Hisashi asked, mentally going over their finances and adding another child to the expenses. So far as he could tell it would be a bit rough for a while, but if they cut back on a few things... They could ditch the internet, with how often Katsuki and his sons travel between houses he doubted his kids would notice the loss, and there was also some of his own expenses he could lose. His shoes were a bit worn, but with care they could last for another year, and his suit could be sewn by hand if he looked up the right tutorials.
Inko brought him out of his introspection.
“The boys are getting older now, and with Mitsuki and Masaru’s help I could take a job myself-”
“No.” Hisashi cut her off with a wave of his hand. “It’s not your responsibility to worry about this stuff.”
Inko narrowed her eyes.
“Not that you wouldn’t be great at it,” Hisashi hurriedly clarified. “But you need to worry about our boys. All three of them now apparently.” He rolled that idea in his head and nodded, decision made. “You shouldn’t have to do that and worry about the bills too.”
“Hisashi,” her tone became worried, almost soft. “You shouldn’t have to work yourself to death just to keep us comfortable like this.”
Hisashi shook his head again. This was an old argument, one often brought back up due to the care Inko felt for him. Time and again he would argue that he had a duty to his family to keep them happy and safe, and this would be no different.
“Inko, I can always take extra hours, and I’ve got a good feeling about this promotion coming up.”
“You’re getting a promotion?!” Inko’s eyes lit up in excitement for him and he had to shush quite loudly to get her to calm down.
“Tentative Inko, tentative promotion. Nothing set in stone, but the paperworks been filed and all it’s waiting for is word from the head office. With luck I can finally get a posting in Japan.”
He smiled, his grin so wide that no one could doubt where Izuku got his smile from.
“I can finally come back home.”
&
Tomura hated how his quirk felt whenever he used it. It hurt, like it was a thousand undetectable fractures crawling out of his hand to attack whatever it was he was touching. He could feel it as it wormed its way into something, pushing it apart, spearing through whatever it was that held it together and doing it again and again until only the smallest most inseparable parts were left.
The dust that had once been a rock fell from his hands to land in the glass bowl sitting beneath him, the dish itself resting on an electrical scale.
“5.6 Kilograms.” The voice of Mikumo, the first NPC he met once he woke up in this place spoke from over his shoulder. For whatever reason the guy stuck nearby Tomura whenever he was able. Tomura wasn’t sure, but he thinks he might have added Mikumo to his party without noticing, that or this was a tutorial level that wouldn’t end until some unspecified goal had been reached.
He still wasn’t sure how to access his party list in his head yet.
“5.6 Kilograms,” the more energetic voice of Mikumo’s brother, Izuku replied back, startling Tomura out of his menu dive. He had to fight off the flash of irritation that followed, it wouldn’t be good to attack the sibling of his party member, at least until he figured out what the goal of this minigame was. For his part Izuku was unaware of the potential danger he was in, happily jotting down the stated information in a small yellow notebook. From where he sat Tomura could see his name written on the cover and the small feeling of unease in his stomach grew.
“I still don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said aloud, addressing no one in particular. On Izuku’s right side the blond NPC, Katsuki if Tomura remembered the name right, snorted.
“Trust me, better to get it done now than have these two fuckers hound you for days trying to figure out how your quirk works.” The kid was lounging on the patio edge, elbows resting on the wood while the rest of him was spread out over the grass of the backyard. In his mouth a popsicle stick was steadily waving back and forth as he chewed on it.
Izuku tapped him on the head with his pencil, not looking up from his notebook. “Language Kacchan, you know mom doesn’t like to hear you swear.”
Katsuki manages to snort even louder as he swats the offending writing implement away from his hair. “I learned everything from her asshole.”
“Exactly, she rather not hear you mangle her art,” Mikumo shot back, raising the glass bowl off the scale and taking a pair of tweezers off the tray next to him. With care he used the metal pincers to grab a small bit of the rock Tomura just destroyed and put it on a small piece of glass he had lying on the same tray. He then took that glass and placed it under the cheap plastic microscope in front of him, staring at the speck of dirt intently.
“Aha. Just as I thought. Izuku write this down. ‘Test shows that Shigaraki-san’s quirk does not in fact destroy the target as age the target. Test shows marked decay from control group, and significantly less damage than from the sample group tested by Katsuki’s quirk. Hypothesis of Shigaraki-san’s quirk nature should be updated to include target’s natural lifespan as a factor.’ “
Tomura scratched at his neck in agitation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Without looking up Mikumo waved a hand in his general direction. “It means Shigaraki-san, that if you entered the scientific sector you could make more money than Katsuki has enemies.”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki nonchalantly fired back, earning another tap from a furiously writing Izuku.
Tomura just looked at him confused. His prolonged inaction to this dialogue tree finally got Mikumo to look up from his microscope and explain excitedly, “Essentially Shigaraki-san you’re a living time machine.”
This did not lessen Tomura’s confusion. If anything it just made it worse and to his dismay the scratching at his neck wasn’t helping. Mikumo noticed this and frowned, before gently grasping Tomura’s forearm and pulling his hand away from his slowly bleeding neck.
“Izuku can you grab a band-aid from the house?” Mikumo’s voice was low, and the look he was giving Tomura made that uneasy feeling in his stomach twist more. Izuku for his part merely looked up from his notebook for a second and met Mikumo’s eye. They seemed to have a conversation that Tomura wasn’t privy to and then without a word Izuku handed his notebook to Katsuki and walked into the house.
Katsuki for his part merely let the notebook lay in his lap and continue chewing on his popsicle stick.
Tomura looked down at where his party member grasped his forearm. Mikumo gave it one last squeeze before letting go. “If this is making you uncomfortable Shigaraki-san we can always stop.”
“Why?”
Mikumo tilted his head, his covered eye becoming slightly visible at the motion. Tomura decided to ask again.
“Why are you even interested? My quirk destroys things. That’s all it does.”
Katsuki and Mikumo snort at the same time. “No quirk is just what it appears to be Shigaraki-san.”
“Yeah, I’d listen to Ashbreath over there. He may be an overbearing prick, but he’s right about that much.”
“Fuck you too Katsuki,” Mikumo replied with a smile, earning a raised middle finger in response. He looked back to Tomura. “Like Katsuki says, a quirk is rarely what it appears to be, and it doesn’t define you.”
He looked down at his lap for a second, his face contorted in thought, before looking up at Tomura. “A quirk is, starting equipment that levels up with you, if that makes sense?
“Like, you could be born with a sword, shield, and armor, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a fighter. Similarly just because you were born with a quirk like yours doesn’t mean you destroy anything. Nothing, no matter how small you make it, is destroyed. It’s merely, transformed.
“Your quirk isn’t a weapon Shigaraki-san, no matter what you had to do with it or what you’ve seen it do. It’s a part of you, and it can change with you too. That’s why me and my brother do this, to show people that quirks are just that, quirks . Not all-defining things that label what a person is supposed to be or force them into a role they don’t want to play.
“You’re the Main Character in your video game, you don’t have to use a sword just because the game gave you one at the start and everybody else says so.”
“Damn right,” Katsuki growled from his seat on the dirt, spitting out a popsicle stick that had been almost bitten in half. “I’m gonna be the greatest hero this world’s ever seen, and it’s gonna be because I’m just that fucking awesome, not because a bunch of extras think my quirk is good for it.”
“And I’m not going to let my lack of one stop me either,” Izuku gently said, walking towards Tomura with a band-aid in hand. He knelt down and waited for Tomura to shift his head to let him get at his neck. After a few moments of thought he did so, if only because denying the white mage the ability to heal is stupid.
“You can be whatever you want Tomura-san, and we’ll help you get there.” Izuku’s voice was still gentle as he applied the bandage, but Tomura could hear an undercurrent of steel there. He definitely had some levels in combat skill if Tomura was any judge.
Tomura blinked, processing what had just been said. “Does that make you guys my party members?”
There was a round of silence, broken only by the sound of birdsong and the occasional car driving by. Then Izuku breaks the silence with a smile audible in his voice.
“Yep.”
“Of course,” Mikumo broke in, nodding at Tomura.
“Thought that was fucking obvious Mophead.”
“Oh.”
Tomura placed three of his fingers on the bandage on his neck. For the first time in a while he didn’t feel the urge to scratch there. He wondered, not for the first time, how he managed to add people to his party roster without opening it.
He wondered if this was what leveling up was supposed to feel like.
“So, what do we do now,” He asked, looking at each of them in turn.
“What we’ve always done Shigaraki-san,” Mikumo replied with a smile, “try to take over the world!”
“Mom said she’d ground you if you made that joke again.”
“Worth it.”
Chapter 4: From the mouth of babes
Notes:
My brain is being held hostage by this fucking thing, send help.
I'm serious it's been like three weeks and this is the only thing that I can think about.
I've got other stories I want to work on dammit, and I've only got so much time in the fucking day.
Chapter Text
Izuku didn’t particularly like society.
A bit of a heady thing to say out of the blue, but the truth often is. Now he wasn’t some anarchist that wanted to burn down the establishment, nor was he some self styled vigilante ready to take to the streets and dole out unsanctioned justice. He was simply a teenager who had seen the world and found it very, lacking.
His disillusionment started in elementary school.
He was ten at the time, and as far as he was concerned life was perfect. His dad, after years of working overseas, finally managed to get a job where he could commute from home. It would take him hours of driving, and sometimes he had to go away for business trips, but for all intents and purposes he was home, he was there, and that made all the difference.
Tomura had settled in, claiming the room that Mikumo used to have by himself. Mikumo hadn’t minded, telling Izuku that he could simply float between that room and Izuku’s whenever he wanted to. The one sour moment between them came when Tomura had voiced his disgust of All Might, and Izuku wasn’t ashamed to say that it almost came to blows. Mikumo had explained it to him though, and as much as it hurt Izuku understood. All Might didn’t save Tomura, he, Mikumo, and Kacchan did, and to someone like Tomura that made all the difference.
Izuku claimed that All Might’s inspiration is what led them to become heroes and find Tomura in the first place.
Tomura said that if All Might was such a shitty Number 1 Hero that he had to rely on low level pre-evolved heroes to do his missions for him that he didn’t deserve the credit.
They agreed to disagree when Mikumo threatened to set their hair on fire because it was 4AM, they’d been arguing since 5 o'clock the previous afternoon, and he was trying to sleep.
That one disagreement aside life was pretty good for one Izuku Midoriya. He had a new brother, he had a twin that was willing to help him understand said new brother, he had a best friend, and he had a group of people who were willing to support his dream of becoming a hero even if he was born quirkless. His Dad was back home, his Mom was the happiest he’s ever seen her, and his family was one big ball of contentment.
The only problem was his school life.
Now he wasn’t bullied, or at least, not physically. When the other kids had tried either Mikumo dealt with it, or Kacchan dealt with it, or even Tomura dealt with it. How they dealt with it almost got each of them expelled and he was pretty sure that only their ages kept them from being arrested but the point remains. Izuku had to finally put his foot down and tell them that he could protect himself.
He had to beat each of them in a 1 on 1 fight (in Tomura’s case it was a fighting game) but he proved his point and they agreed.
Even so the message had been stated quite clearly, mess with the quirkless kid and you’d get attacked by three psychopaths with little in the way of morals and a lot of pain to give. The bullies avoided him after that and Izuku’s three allies considered it a job well done. The only problem was that the job was done too well.
No one would talk to him. In fact people went out of their way to avoid him whenever possible. Either it was because of what his brothers and friend did, what they might do, or the fact that he was quirkless Izuku was never sure, but the results were always the same. Without his brothers or Kacchan nearby the only thing Izuku could do was focus on his studies.
That’s when the trouble started.
You see Izuku was always a curious person by nature. He liked to examine things, see how they worked, imagine what the possibilities and limitations of them were. Mikumo often encouraged this, calling it one of his greatest strengths, and even Kacchan was willing to admit that his insights were useful. (Always through gritted teeth though, cause getting Kacchan to say thank you was like getting Tomura to delete a 99% complete save file.) Naturally he took this advice to heart and he could often be found writing in one of the various notebooks he kept on hand.
His interest in various subjects would wax and wane, but the one constant he kept was his examination of the various quirks he would come in contact with in his day to day life. Now he mainly focused on various pro heroes and how they used their quirks in hero work, but from time to time he would find himself examining his classmates, if only because there were only so many hours in the day and they happened to be right in front of him. He tried to be polite about it of course, non-invasive, but after a few months he began to notice a trend.
Some people with really awesome quirks thought they were worthless or were being treated like they were.
There was one girl in his class, Kimura Konatsu, who had a quirk that let her learn things extremely quickly. One day with a book and she would become, if not an expert in the subject, at least as good as someone who had studied for years. Her quirk was one of the most versatile he had ever seen, and the amount of things he had considered she could use it for bordered on the ridiculous. She took up two pages of his potential hero notebook by herself.
She was being bullied for being a ‘know it all.’
There was another boy in his grade, Isobe Keizo who had a quirk that let him bring stuffed animals to life. By itself that would sound pretty weak but Izuku had hit a thought the minute he examined the quirk for a few seconds. What exactly defined a ‘stuffed animal’? Did it have to be made of fluff? Could it have a skeleton of metal, ‘muscles’ of cotton, and an exoskeleton of more metal and still count? What about weapons, could anything attached to the stuffed animal become animated as well? Could a stuffed bird fly, a stuffed fish swim, a stuffed mole dig? How big did the stuff animal have to be before it stopped counting as one, was there even a size limit?
He was being bullied as a crybaby who still clung to his teddy bear.
More and more often Izuku would see people with awesome quirks, versatile quirks, almost scarily useful quirks, and they wouldn’t even realize it. It astonished him, how people couldn’t see the awesome things they could do and accomplish, the possibilities they could explore, the ways they could use their quirk to be a hero, or heck not even that. They could use their quirks in becoming movie stars, or great teachers, or lifeguards, or whatever else they wanted to do, but for some reason they just couldn’t see it themselves.
Like most problems he couldn’t figure out he took it to his friends and family.
His Mom and Dad stared down at his notebook with puzzled looks on their faces, his dad idly scratching his stubbled chin in thought. Kacchan merely waved it off saying, “If the fucking extras can’t see how to be awesome heroes then they weren’t meant to be heroes idiot.” Tomura simply ignored it, giving a nonverbal grunt that seemed to imply that he couldn’t care less about what Izuku found, not that he expected much else.
His brother was the one who managed to put what everyone was seeing into words though.
“It’s basically All Might’s fault.”
They all looked at him, except for Tomura who merely gave a self satisfied “Ha!” and returned to his handheld video game. At their looks Mikumo shrugged and tapped on the notebook with his index finger.
“Tell me Izu, what’s the one constant in all of these quirks that you see?”
He thought about it for a moment before it hit him like one of Kacchan’s fists to the back of the head. “They’re subtle!”
Mikumo nodded. “Exactly. What’s happening here is the same thing that happened to Katsuki when we were very little. People see a flashy quirk and they think ‘this is meant for hero work.’ Once they see and decide that then that’s it. It’s the same in the opposite direction, once people see someone with a quirk that’s subtle they often say ‘being a hero might be a bit tough for you,’ and then the dream dies.
“Some folks manage to fight past that first threshold, deciding to become a hero anyway. They might do it for the wrong reasons, fame and glory, spite, or simply for the money, but the fact remains that they do. The problem is a lot of folks, well, don’t. That’s not to say that this is an entirely bad thing.”
He breathed out a puff of smoke and made it swirl along his index finger until it became a sphere. He let it rotate, staring at it while he gathered his thoughts. Izuku was a little proud of that, seeing as he was the one who suggested that Mikumo could possibly control whatever came out of his mouth and not just the flames. There was no luck with spit, but tests were still ongoing.
“Being a hero means that you’re willing to put it all on the line to save someone,” he finally continued, letting the smoke ball dissipate. “And like Katsuki said if they can’t find the drive to do that then they shouldn’t risk their lives to become heroes. The thing that Katsuki doesn’t see is that All Might set an almost impossible standard that all of society now holds us to.”
Kacchan scoffed at that, batting a hand in Mikumo’s direction. “If they can’t measure up then they aren’t worth the time. Heck Runner Up is working without a dang quirk and he’s miles ahead of these guys.”
Izuku had to fight down the self satisfied shiver that ran up his spine whenever Kacchan gave him recognition of his skills. He didn’t have to do it for long before his brother spoke up again.
“That’s a fair assessment Katsuki, but keep in mind this isn’t just for hero work. Like Izu has pointed out these kids have, time and again, been told their quirks were unremarkable compared to a ‘proper’ hero's quirk. They’re going to hold themselves up against All Might or Endeavor, or heck even you and find themselves, lackluster.
“Something like that lingers, and what they could have been is going to drowned out in their self doubts and unjustified dismissal of their own worth.”
“Maybe a club,” Izuku’s mom said softly, her own face creased in thought. They all looked at her and she had to fight off a blush. She gave a gentle cough and continued. “What about a club, a place where they can explore their quirks? Like Izuku’s written down a lot of these kids have amazing potential, but nowhere to figure out what it is.”
Everyone blinked, except for Tomura who was at a very difficult bossfight at the time and wouldn’t have blinked even if someone stabbed him in the eye.
Izuku had smiled then. It was like all of his other smiles, wide and bright and full of joy. Only the fact that the people in that room knew him for years let them see what was lurking underneath that smile.
Such things are usually found in deep waters, covered in razor sharp scales, and have a very pronounced fin on the top of their spines.
They often make such smiles when they smell blood and it happens to be very close by.
&
Katsuki thought this was a waste of time.
No scratch that, he knew it was a complete waste of time but apparently he was the only one who thought as much. Considering the amount of time and effort Auntie, her husband, his own parents and the Runner Up put into making this happen they sure as fuck thought this distraction was worth it. He wasn’t sure which side Ashbreath fell on the fence but since he was the cause of all of this Katsuki was willing to consider him guilty by proxy.
It’s a sad fucking day when Mophead was his favorite by elimination.
They were in an open field, the area devoid of trees or obstructions of any kind. Benches and chairs of various sorts and sources had been set up in a rough semi-circle on the grass, most of their seats occupied by either curious adults or younger children watching their older siblings and relatives on the field. In front of these seats, their butts on the grass, were about 10 kids of various ages.
Each and every one of them were staring at Runner Up like men in the desert looking at water for the first time in days or like someone who just found a rabbit that began to scream at them in english about clocks. For his part Katsuki’s rival either didn’t notice or paid them no heed, dissecting their quirks in real time and asking them a dozen questions in a single breath. In his hand his notebook was going a mile a minute, pages being filled and swapped so fast Katsuki wasn’t sure if he was writing in it or simply willing the words to appear on the paper.
Heh, maybe he had a quirk all along and it was just the ability to not breathe as long as he was in full study mode.
As soon as he got done with one person he would take the page in question and hand it to a mousy looking kid sitting at the far end of the little group. Said kid would touch the paper and then a blank sheet sitting beside him creating a perfect copy. For his part said kid was still blushing furiously from when Runner Up had gushed on and on about how his quirk was devastating for undercover work, record security, or espionage.
When a copy was made he would hand it to the kid in question, keeping the original record for himself. Said kid would stare at the page, look up in shock, read it again, and then sit like someone had set a bomb off in their head. It had happened so many times that the parents of said kids weren’t even shocked anymore, some of them reading their own copies of said papers with thoughtful looks on their faces. Katsuki wasn’t sure, but he thought one or two of them looked at them with regret, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it considering he rarely even knew what regret felt like let alone how it looked.
This had been going on for the last hour or so, and Katsuki was getting restless. This was eating up valuable training time dammit, and the only reason he was here was because Runner Up had guaranteed that he would get some training, even if it was only him personally as a demonstration.
“Oi, are you finished yet Runner Up?!” His voice was a growl of frustration and some of the extras looked at him with something akin to fear. Good, they should damn well be nervous around him, he’d been training to be a hero for years, and if these scrubs thought they were anywhere near his level then they’d get another thing coming to them and no fucking mistake.
“Just about Kacchan!” Katsuki’s rival replied, handing the mousy kid one last page and slamming his notebook shut. “Alright, anyone want to give sparring a try today?”
There was a moment where all the extras looked at each other and shook their heads. Katsuki scoffed, not surprised. His reputation, after what he did to the bottom feeders trying to attack his rival, was well fucking earned and he wore those scared gazes like a badge of pride. Nobody attacks his rivals and teammates, period.
Runner up gave them one last look before he shrugged. “Oh well, guess it’s just you and me Kacchan.”
“What about Ashbreath,” Katsuki asked, pointing over the green haired kid’s shoulder. Ashbreath, leaning against a tree with a plastic bubble blower in the shape of a smoking pipe merely blew a circle at them. “Nope, this is my brother’s class it’s his fight. Besides, these folks need proof about how good we got then he’s the best evidence we’ve got. Especially considering he’s cleaned your clock once or twice.”
Katsuki growls, shooting him the finger. Ashbreath for his part takes a deep breath and then blows out a smoke ball, shaping it into a symbol of his own. Katsuki was impressed despite himself, for something made of smoke it was reasonably solid.
“Ahem, right then,” Runner Up says, waving his hand in the direction of the seats and extras. “If you guys would back up a bit and if Uncle Masuru would referee?” At the sound of his name Katsuki’s dad got up from his seat, walking towards the field. Katsuki spared him a glance before focusing on Izuku. He knew from experience that the second you let the little fucker out of sight was the time the pain started.
“Alright boys you know the rules, no quirks directly at your opponent, tap out rules, understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Yeah, let’s do this already.”
Katsuki’s dad gives them both one last look before dropping his hand. The second he does Izuku is moving like greased lightning, darting towards Katsuki’s left side. On reflex he lets loose an explosion, twisting out of the way of a punch that would have slammed right into his side. Still spinning he aims a back handed fist at his rival’s head, only for said rival to duck at the last minute and grab the offending limb.
With a twist Katsuki is airborne, his own momentum being used against him. If this was three months ago the move might have worked, but Izuku’s used it one too many times and Katsuki had already figured out a counter move. Before he hits the ground he throws his arm out and lets loose an explosion, twisting in midair like a corkscrew. The force of the rotation breaks his wrist out of Izuku’s hold but before he has a chance to capitalize on the move the boy is already darting to his right, narrowly missing the downward slam of Katsuki’s fist that would have slammed into his head.
Landing in a crouch he rolls, dodging Izuku’s retaliatory kick and springing back to his feet. He has to dodge quickly, a fist moving towards his face with all the speed of a snake bite. His shoulder pointed at Izuku, he lets loose an explosion propelling himself forward like a battering ram. The hit isn’t solid, his opponent managing to gauge his intent and attempting to move out of the way, but the glancing blow was a strong one. He twirls, grunting in pain and Katsuki takes the momentary lull to turn and face him fully.
They take a moment to breathe, the two of them circling each other slowly. The world stopped existing save for the two of them, the battle between them, the clash of wills to prove which one was the stronger. Then they move as one, bodies barely managing to keep up with their intent.
A fist falls, a punch is dodged, a retaliatory strike is diverted, a grab is broken, an explosion is knocked off course, and then a flash of pain as a hit finally connects.
With a grunt Izuku falls back, clutching at his stomach. Katsuki doesn't hesitate, leaping forward to pin him, only realizing too late that it was another one of the little bastards traps. Before he could correct his course, he feels his torso connect with Izuku’s back, feels the other boy grab his legs, and then with a roar of effort slam him into the ground.
Katsuki was in pain, but he was far from giving up. Even as he was wheezing he counters the grapple that Izuku was going for, throwing the boy to the side and leaping at him with a roar. They tussle on the ground for a minute, each one giving as good as he got, before his dad blew the whistle that was hanging across his neck.
Katsuki growled audibly for a moment, not wanting to give up a fight before it could be concluded, but a shared look between him and Izuku was enough to get him to back off. The knowledge that he was just as dissatisfied as Katsuki made it easier to deal with. He was sure the two of them would be having a rematch the minute these scrubs were out of sight.
Said scrubs were looking at Izuku like he was some kind of alien, or something that defied any rational explanation. Katsuki scoffed at them the noise causing them to look away and stare at him in turn. He wasn’t one to waste words but something needed to be said.
“See that,” he said, pointing at Izuku with something akin to pride, “That’s what being worth something looks like. You extras wanna be heroes? Well tough shit. You want to get to where we are then you’re going to have to work like we did. Stop whining, stop waiting, and get off your asses. If you ain’t willing to do that then stop wasting our time.
“Unlike you I plan on being the greatest hero this world has ever seen, and so is he. We’ve got our dream and we ain’t got time for posers. Find yours and get to work.”
Katsuki wasn’t sure, but from the looks the extras were giving him he thinks he said the right thing.
The sarcastic clapping coming from Ashbreath wasn’t necessary though.
Chapter 5: Social Link Level 1
Notes:
Yep, they're in here too.
What, you thought this could be a Hero Academia fic without them?
Chapter Text
Shigiraki Tomura walked the streets of Musutafu aimlessly, arms waving loosely by his sides.
This was not, of course, his personal decision. If he had his way he’d still be in his room completing his sixth playthrough of Chrono Tragedies. But no, instead of having fun with that minigame his guardian, the NPC Inko (or Mom as his party members told him to call her) told him to go outside and “Get some sunshine before you get so pale you vanish entirely.”
The other NPC Hisashi (NotDadNotDadWouldneverbeDadhe’sdeadhe’sdeadtheykilledhim) had agreed, and so outnumbered and not wanting to pursue the Renegade option of attacking them like an idiot he complied.
Some part of him wished he was sure of his Class and progression system like his other party members, if only so he’d know what he should be doing when he couldn’t play his minigames. He did not, of course, wish to follow in their path of becoming Heroes. As far as Tomura was concerned more heroes would only hurt the world not improve it, but he couldn’t fault their decision either.
Izuku, Katsuki, Mikumo, their entire campaign would be consumed with the quest of fixing the Hero side of society from the inside out. They would be going up against decades of culture, apathy, and possibly straight up malice in order to complete their goals. There would be no telling who their final boss would be, possibly All Might himself if they were particularly unlucky.
A part of him hoped it wasn’t All Might, if only for Izuku’s sake. Taking down your personal hero during a boss fight rarely ended well for the protagonist, at least not without a whole secondary campaign to fight against the ‘true’ final boss. The thought of there being someone tougher than All Might to beat was something he didn’t want to consider.
Stopping at a corner Tomura looked up at the street sign before pulling up his physical menu/minimap. It took the form of a rather old and worn cellphone, the touch screen slightly cracked. He held it in his right hand with care, his index finger pointed away from the device. Even though his party members and their parents gave him a pair of three fingered gloves that he had since constantly decided to wear, he still took the precaution to not touch anything with all five of his fingers. It was better to keep that habit than forget about his quirk’s mechanics at an inconvenient time and screw himself over.
The phone, battered and broken though it was, came on dutifully with a press of his left index finger and he stared down at the screen. According to his map he was a good distance away from his save point/house and his heading was pointing him deeper into the city. He looked upward to stare at the sun, noting its position in the sky.
It was Noon, or at least close to it. Considering that it was a saturday that meant that his party members were busy grinding levels in Izuku’s class/training course. Why they would waste their training time leveling up NPC’s as well is beyond him, but considering how sidequests usually go he can’t really say the idea doesn’t have some merit. If things follow their natural course said NPC’s should help during the final boss fight.
For a moment Tomura considered turning to his left and walking until he hit the park to join them. His level in Quirk was pretty low compared to theirs, even if he still got some experience helping Izuku and Mikumo with their experiments. Of course doing so would mean that he would have to deal with NPC’s and his speech level was almost comically low compared to everything else.
He gave it a few more moments of thought before turning to the right and continuing down the street. No, such things weren’t for him, at least not in that way. If he wanted training he could just ask them when they all were back at home. Besides, random NPC’s weren’t important and he’d rather not waste time talking to them if he could help it. Sure one or two of them might have a sidequest hidden away beneath their unending banal babble, but he wasn’t about to waste precious game time trying to find out.
With such thoughts in his head Tomura continued on his aimless walk, drifting past the various civilians going about their business and paying them all the attention such obvious set piece characters required. Which is to say none at all. Once or twice he pushed aside someone who was in his way not caring if they were in conversation or simply standing around. The sidewalk was coded for movement not chat and he wasn’t going to be held up because someone decided to glitch out.
The fact that he wasn’t heading anywhere in particular didn’t matter.
This went on for about another thirty minutes until he hit a rather large clump of people milling about a store. Annoyed Tomura looked away from the people herded together like cattle and looked up at the sign. It read in plastic block letters “STORE CLOSING EVRYTHING MUST GO.” Tomura could believe it because it looked like someone had already taken one of the E’s off the sign, in fact when he looked back down he could see a man loading the thing onto a truck. He didn’t know what the place was selling but he could tell a ‘hidden’ invisible wall when he saw one.
“Annoying,” he hissed under his breath, before looking around for another way forward.
His eyes landed on an alleyway not ten feet away from him, resting between two stores on the opposite side of the street. He turned towards it but then hesitated. Was he being railroaded? An invisible wall in front of his chosen path and an alleyway just resting there invitingly? He stood still and thought about it for a few seconds, and then shrugged.
If he was being railroaded then it wouldn’t be anything serious considering he was just free roaming at the moment. The worst thing he would hit would be a sidequest and he could just ignore those. Besides he was only doing this to reset his minigame timer anyway.
With that thought firmly in mind he stepped across the street and walked into the alley. Around him he could see the standard assets, a garbage dumpster here, a trash can there, a few strewn papers laying on the ground, nothing special. And then he made the mistake of looking on the other side of the dumpster.
Resting against it, his head laying on top of a dufflebag, was the ganglest human Tomura had ever seen.
He blinked once in shock before turning his full attention to examining the strange NPC.
The first thing he took in was the characters clothing, black pants and black t-shirt looking rough and worn, and from a closer glace Tomura could notice tears and burn marks in the fabric crudely sewn back together. His shoes were slightly better, if only because they didn’t look particularly fried. Still the tennis shoes had obviously seen better days, the outer layers visibly fraying on the edges. A head of vivid red hair completed the ensemble, the color downright alien in the grubby shadows of the alley.
Of course the most obvious thing was the gauze.
It wrapped around almost every visible part of his body save his head and hands. His forearms, the visible part of his legs, even his neck were covered in the stuff, the white fabric tinged with an unhealthy looking yellow. Whatever status effect hit him it was obviously still ongoing. Tomura looked down at this strange being for a few moments more before he made up his mind.
This was the most blatant potential party member character he had ever seen, and he’d met Katsuki.
He tilts his head up for a moment in thought. No, Katsuki is more of a recurring boss character now that he thought about it. Or maybe he was the character you fought as a boss a few times until he finally joined the party later on in the story? Hmm, he was getting off track.
Considering just what the NPC was Tomura did the most reasonable thing considering the circumstances.
His foot collided with the boy's stomach with a meaty twack.
With a twist he avoided a blast of hot air and embers and looked back down at the now awake, and rather furiously scowling, potential party member.
“You’ve got two seconds creep before I burn your goddamn head off.”
Hmm, how did this go again?
“You’re my party member now.”
Nailed it.
The other boy blinked for a second. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Tomura tilted his head, how did he not get it? “I’ve decided you’re my party member because you look like one. Seriously, sleeping in a grungy alleyway covered in bandages? You couldn’t have been more obvious if you tried.”
The NPC, which still hasn’t said his name, merely scowled harder. “Look you maniac I don’t know what’s wrong with you but you’ve got two-”
“We should leave here,” Tomura interrupted, scratching at a bandage covering his neck. “This is probably enemy spawning territory and I don’t know how low your HP is, but with a constant status effect you’re going to be at a disadvantage once night falls.”
The boy just stared at him with an incredulous dumbfounded expression. “Are you on drugs? Is that what’s going on? Am I being punked right now?”
Tomura wanted to tear his hair out, how did this guy not get it? This is why he needs to level up his speech skill, obviously he’s not getting his point across. He blows a puff of air out of his nose and decides to try again.
“Look, I was in your same position before my party members found me. They took me in and healed me. That’s how it works get it? You look like you need a party and I’m inviting you into mine, see?” With a quick rummage into his pockets Tomura pulls out his menu and opens up a picture after a few taps of a finger.
Izuku, Mikumo, Katsuki, and their parents surround him on the Bakugou’s backyard patio. Izuku and his mother wear matching grins along with a more subdued smile from his father. Meanwhile Mikumo had an arm slung over Tomura’s shoulder while he settled for a weird expression involving his tongue stuck out and an odd hand sign that had his pinky and index finger raised into the air. Katsuki is scowling as usual while his mother and father have a restraining hand placed on his head and shoulder respectively.
If someone didn’t know better they’d probably think Tomura always fitted in that strange image.
The boy stares at it, something dark and pained flashing across his eyes for a moment before he viciously buried it. Tomura was polite enough not to point out he saw it. He didn’t have a high enough social score with this party member to attempt that level of conversation anyway.
They stand in shared silence for a few moments more before the boy speaks again. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
Tomura tilted his head, and then shrugged. “Too much effort for one. I don’t know you besides the fact you were a potential party member and you’ve never met me. If I wanted to trap you I’d try to find out more about you first before I pretended to invite you into my party.” He scratched at his neck again. “I’d have come at you with a higher social skill too. I’m hoping it’s not too low to attempt this social link as it is.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Either I’m going crazy or I’m actually starting to understand you. I don’t know which is scarier.”
Tomura shrugged again, “As long as you understand my invite I’m good.”
The boy rubbed at his face, tired blue green eyes staring down at the ground. “God, I must be insane.” He blinks a few times before blowing out a puff of air. “Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, the sound so faint Tomura could barely hear it. “I already got away from that bastard, how scary can this be compared to that?”
He looked up, staring Tomura in the eye with a glare that would have burned if Tomura could notice such things. “If this a trap I’m killing you first, got it?”
Tomura nodded. “Alright then. What’s your default name?”
The boy blinked before huffing out a tired chuckle. “Just call me Dabi for now. You don’t have a,” and here he paused, rubbing at his chin for a moment, “a high enough social link for anything else.”
That was fair, they have just met after all. Tomura turned around, preparing to walk back the way he came. “Follow me, we’ll reach home before nightfall.”
Staring over his shoulder he could see Dabi grabbing his bag. “How long,” he asked, hefting the thing over his own shoulder.
Tomura did the math in his head.
“Two hours more or less.”
“Yay,” Dabi deadpanned before the two of them began their journey.
Unseen by the other boy Tomura smiled. Play his campaign for a few hours and he already had a new party member. Maybe he should play his main storyline more often?
...
Nah, the minigames are more fun.
&
“Come on honey it’ll probably be fun.”
Shinsou closed his eyes at the sound of his mother’s voice and sighed. His head resting on the cool surface of the car’s passenger side window he tried to rustle up something resembling enthusiasm, if only to prevent his mother from worrying about him. It was hard, but he had years of practice pretending, he can manage at least a smile.
It came out more like a grimace, but baby steps.
“I still don’t see the point of this Mom,” he replied, his eyes staring blankly out the car window.
His mother sighed, taking a hand off the wheel to run through her hair. “I know you’re unhappy and I know it’s because of your quirk.” She continues, her voice sounding tired, “Your quirk is nothing to be ashamed of. But because of what that fuckin-” She cuts herself off, her grip on the steering wheel tightening so hard he could hear the leather squeal in protest. She takes a deep breath before letting it all out in an explosive gust of air.
“I know you want to be a hero Shinsou, you want to be one more that anyone I’ve ever known and I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you get there.”
Shinsou closes his eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. It wasn’t anything new to him, his mother had told him as much almost his entire life. The fact that it was only her that believed in him shouldn’t matter. But a part of him always resented that fact, resented the way his mom had to fight the entire world by herself just to show them the truth.
He could still hear it, the hope in her voice when she brought home the flyer on her way back from work. “Izuku’s Hero Prep,” it had read, the lettering large and bold. “Anyone can become a hero and we’ll happily help you do so!” She had gushed for hours as they did research on it, finding a social page filled with recommendations from not only kids Shinsou’s age, but parents, and even a few minor Pro Heroes.
That last part is what sealed the deal for his mother, but Shinsou was still hesitant. Something like this, a place that said they’d help anyone become a hero, it sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch, something hiding in the shadows. They’d probably turn him away the minute they heard what his quirk actually was.
But for his mom? He’d be willing to try if only to validate her faith in him. He could do that at least.
They rode in silence for a few minutes more before they came to the park listed in the flyer.
To call it a park was something of a misnomer, the large field not legally called such. It was simply a patch of dirt that somehow was too worthless to build on but too troublesome to turn into a parking lot or something. In other words a perfect place for a bunch of kids to group together and try something stupid.
After his mom had rolled the car to a smooth stop on the grass where the other cars were located the two of them stepped out and walked toward what looked like the informal entrance to the place. Resting there was a large white plastic table, the surface covered with paper of various shades of color. Sitting behind the table was a kid with black hair, one eye covered by a fringe of it and a plastic smoke pipe resting in the corner of his mouth. Groups of people, usually parents with kids, young teenagers by themselves, or even Pro Heroes in uniform would walk up to the table, exchange a few words with the kid, and then either take a form to fill out or walk to another area of the park.
Shinsou and his mom shared a look, shrugged in unison, and walked toward the table.
“Next,” the boy shouted out, blowing out a smoke ring directly upward.
“Hello, I’m Hitoshi Hitomi and this is Hitoshi Shinsou, I found one of your flyers?” The boy looked at Shinsou’s mom, visible eyebrow raised.
“New blood huh? Well what can I do for you?”
Shinsou and his mom shared another look. This time he took the lead. “It said you’ll help anyone become a hero?”
At this the boy smiled, the green plastic smoke pipe wobbling at the motion. “Yes indeed. My brother’s particularly proud of that fact. He’s aiming to be the first quirkless hero after all.”
At this it was Shinsou’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “A quirkless hero?” The thought seemed almost ludicrous, but then he stopped himself. Who else would know better how hard it was to be a hero when the world called you otherwise other than a quirkless person?
“Yes indeed. I can see the surprise on your face. Trust me you go one on one with him in the ring you’ll see how little a quirk matters when you’re up against someone dedicated.” The boy shuffled some more papers on his table, before selecting a white one. “Here you are, basic intro page. Just fill out the blank spots at the top, name, quirk and/or lack of one, anything you know about said quirk if you’ve got it, any personal skills and whatnot, and my bro will take care of the rest.” He points toward the largest clump of people.
Standing in front of them was an animatedly talking green haired kid, his arms moving a mile a minute as he scribbles down notes on a clipboard. Before him people were sitting slack jawed, one or two of them doing their best to follow his lead and take down notes of their own. Once he was done with one page he would hand it over to presumably the person who’s quirk he was talking about. Once that was over he’d be handed another sheet from another person and the process would begin again.
“That’s Izuku then,” Shinsou’s mom asked, looking at the kid as he went about his work.
“Yep that’s my bro alright. Don’t worry he’s harmless.” At this the boy pauses, looking off in the distance at some memory only he could see. “Well no, he’s not harmless but he won’t really hurt you unless you get into a spar with him.”
“Speaking from personal experience,” Shinsou asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Why do you think I’m sitting over here. I’ve sparred enough with him today thanks. I’d rather go up against Bomberman again.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder at “Bomberman.” Shinsou’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in the fighter.
He’s standing in a ring, the outer edges seemingly maintained a large man in a Pro Hero outfit. His opponent, a rather singed looking girl is currently covering herself in a layer of water and doing her very best to keep her distance. It doesn’t work.
With a vicious lunge and a blast that Shinsou could feel the girl is catapulted straight out of the ring, landing on the ground in a hastily made bubble of water. The Pro Hero raises a hand, “Victor by ring out, Bakugou Katsuki!”
Shinsou looks at Bakugou Katsuki, then back to the still scribbling and talking Izuku, and then back to the boy sitting behind the table.
The boy for his part merely nods and puffs out another smoke ring. “Like I said, I’d rather fight Mr. I can make shit explode with my hands instead of my brother. At least he doesn’t start fighting dirty until you prove you can take it.”
Shinsou looks back at the kid, the quirkless kid, that seemed to have enraptured an entire crowd, be more threatening than a guy that made explosions at will, and was so knowledgeable about quirks that even (admittedly minor) Pro Heroes were coming to him for advice.
He took the form from his mom and began to fill it out without comment.
After all, what did he have to lose?
Chapter 6: A Sudden Discussion
Notes:
Well I wanted to write something short and sweet, a nice little fun chapter where everything is calm and people have fun.
Then this shit came out of nowhere.
Seriously brain what the fuck.
Chapter Text
Shinsou was in his own personal hell.
“Come on man, is that seriously all you got?” The voice of his tormentor mocked him, the dark haired boy’s head hovering over his own and blocking the sun. A part of him wanted to snark or possibly give him a one finger salute, but his back hurt too much to talk let alone move.
He settled on giving Mikumo a glare that would have scraped rust off steel. If it bothered the other boy he gave no sign, merely blinking placidly at him. He offered Shinsou a hand, and after the purple haired potential hero in training gave a resigned sigh he took it.
With a grunt he was pulled off his impromptu resting place among the grass, rubbing off some of the stray blades still clinging to his clothes. Mikumo gives him a once over and a couple of friendly pats, getting the pieces of plant matter that he misses. He rests a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder, giving the boy a large grin.
“So, ready for round two or do you want to do the assessment now?”
Shinsou narrows his eyes at him. This gets him a raised eyebrow and a shrug. “Alright assessment it is then.”
He gestured to the side, pointing to the small crowd surrounding the crude dirt ring that had served as the arena. It had grown smaller since Shinsou and his mother had first arrived, the main mass of people leaving as soon as Izuku had got done with his examination and suggestions for their quirks. Those who remained to sit near the arena were the people who wanted to play with the ideas that Izuku had put in their heads, who wanted to test their mettle against their peers in a (presumably) legal setting, or were simply there for a free show.
He took his place in the designated spot, sitting on his legs in front of the crowd. Mikumo had moved to sit cross legged beside him, resting his hands on his thighs as he stared at the people sitting nearby. He spoke with an easy grace, his breath not even labored after the brief match the two of them had.
“Alright, anyone want to say what went wrong with Shinsou’s match?”
There was a brief pause before a hand shot up. The person who spoke was a well dressed boy, his hair a mass of twitching and twisting tendrils. “You were able to throw off the effects of his quirk?” The tone was unsure, as if the thought of beating Shinsou’s quirk was unusual.
Shinsou still wasn’t used to how casually his quirk was being discussed or how highly the people here were praising it. When Izuku had first read his file he expected disgust, fear, even caution. He didn’t expect the boy to gush about his quirk for almost thirty minutes, ranting and raving about all the things he could do with it. He never even considered becoming a personal trainer, or a teacher, or a police officer, or a hostage negotiator. It just went on and on, the boy seemingly to be able to talk without taking a breath.
After that people were asking him all sorts of questions, how often did he use it, what the limits were, some even asking if he would use it on them , just so they could see what it felt like. Even Izuku asked for it, claiming that “A hero should be prepared for every eventuality, and unfortunately we might not get so lucky to have someone awesome like you having a similar quirk.”
He absolutely did not blush, no matter what his mother might have said.
Unaware of Shinsou’s continuing internal confusion Mikumo nodded at the speaker. “Yeah that’s one reason, but it’s not the only one.” He waggled a finger at the boy, “And don’t think it was easy either, biting my tongue hurt like hell. It’s gonna be sore for days.”
Another hand, this time from a heavy set girl with two strange pulsating growths on her shoulders. “Well he didn’t have any close combat skills either. When you ran up to him he didn’t know what to do.”
Mikumo nodded smiling widely. “Exactly. Because he knew my quirk Shinsou was ready to dodge a ranged attack like a fireball, he wasn’t ready for me to close in and go for a grapple. That split second of confusion cost him and I took advantage of it.”
“So using our quirks is a bad thing?” Asked a small orange haired child sitting in his father’s lap, his antenna faintly twitching.
Off to the side of the ring Bakugou Katsuki scoffs. “No, what he means is when people expect you to do shi-,” he cut himself off, eyes narrowing as he takes in the child’s apparent age. “When they expect you to do something doing the opposite throws them off.”
He raises a hand, a small explosion dancing in his palm. “My quirk hits hard up close, but the further you are the less it hurts. Because of that people think I’ll just rush in as quick as I can to do the most damage.” He shrugs, still staring at the kid. “They’re usually not wrong, but if I decide to do this,” he says, pulling a small metal ball out of a pants pocket. Placing it in his palm he holds it in place with his fingertips and aims at the ground some distance away. Without a sign of movement he sets off an explosion. The force of the detonation propels the small ball so fast that when it hits the ground it sends dirt and grass flying in all directions. It rests in it’s small crater, faintly smoking.
He points to the crater, “Now they’re sitting there with a concussion because they thought I suck at range. It ain’t about what you got it’s how you use it, and if you use it only one way then people can take advantage of that.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at a faintly smiling Izuku. “That fuc-, that friend of mine over there taught me that one too many times.”
Izuku smile only grows wider. “Don’t act like you didn’t get me just as much Kacchan.”
Mikumo claps his hands, “Teaching first rivalry later. We’ll have time to beat each other senseless after we help these folks.”
There’s a round of laughter at this and Mikumo continues. “Right then, does anyone know what he did right?”
After a moment of silence the small child raises his hand eagerly. “I know I know! He tricked you at the beginning so he could hit you with his quirk!”
Mikumo points at the kid with a smile. “Dead on! Good job,” he says in surprisingly small accented English. “What he did is something you all should take to heart. There’s no such thing as a fair fight. Especially when it comes to hero work.”
Mikumo levels his gaze at each person, staring them in the eye. “When you go out to be a hero it’s not just your life on the line, but every man, woman, and child in the area. The longer you take, the more you grandstand, the more you focus on how you look instead of what you do you put those lives at risk. If saving a civilian means you have to fight dirty then you need to be the filthiest fighter that ever lived.”
He points at Shinsou again, “When he hit me with mind control at the start of the match he wasn’t playing fair. By doing that he almost won and it was only because he forgot to lock down my mouth that I was able to bite my tongue and break free. If this was a serious battle he would have already locked me down and taken me out of the equation. Quick thinking like that can put a villain in cuffs and save lives.”
There’s a round of silence at this, various people in the crowd obviously thinking on what Mikumo had just said. Off to the side Izuku chimed in, his voice breaking the self imposed quiet. “My brother’s not wrong, but he’s not entirely right either.”
Mikumo turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “This argument again bro?”
Izuku merely stared back. “I’ll keep making it because I’m right and you know it. A hero can’t just be effective, they have to be inspiring too. Trying to take you down that way was the right thing to do but fighting dirty can’t be the only way we do things.”
Mikumo snorted, a puff of smoke coming out of his nose. “That’s a lot of talk coming from a Ninja in training.”
Izuku shrugged. “I’m not saying that fighting dirty is wrong, but it can’t be the only way a hero does things. If all we do is use underhanded tricks then we send the wrong message to the heroes that will follow after us when we’re gone.”
Mikumo flips a hand, gesturing towards the city. “Yeah, but doing it the flashy way is what people do now, and we’ve already seen how effective that has been.”
Katsuki sets off a small explosion in his hand, causing the two brothers, not to mention everyone who was following the argument, to turn towards him. “You’re both wrong. It ain’t about being flashy or fighting dirty, it’s about being effective. You hit hard, you hit fast, and you make damn sure the fuckers know who did the hitting.”
The three of them glared at each other, until Shinsou coughed into a fist. They turned, giving him their full attention, and he was hard pressed not to wilt under their combined laser like stares. He silently took a deep breath, calming himself down, before he spoke. “What’s wrong with how heroes are doing things now? Why are the three of you, well, talking like the whole system is broken?”
They blink at him, before speaking in eerie unison. “Because it is.”
They turn to look at each other, some strange silent communication seeming to pass through their shared gazes. As one the two other boys turned toward Izuku, Bakugou giving a scoff and a jerk of the head while Mikumo twists a wrist in a lazy circle. Izuku took his cue and elaborated on their answer to Shinsou’s question.
“The Hero system as it is, works , but it’s lopsided, wonky. It’s clumsy and it hurts people even as it supposedly tries to help them. I mean look at you,” he gestured towards Shinshou, waving his hands enthusiastically. “You’re quirk is amazing, versatile, and in an untold number of situations the ideal tool in order to save, preserve, or even just improve lives. Yet when you came here you were honestly shocked that anyone would think that.”
He gestures again, pointing to Bakugou. “Even Kacchan was almost messed up by the system. They were so concerned about his quirk they completely disregarded him as a person! His leadership skills, his determination, his quick thinking and natural fighting skills, none of that mattered. The only thing they cared about was how suitable his quirk was for hero work.”
Bakugou grimaces at the speech, his face giving the impression he tasted something foul. “Yeah, the fuckers were ready to just throw me on a pedestal because of what I had, but not because of who I was. I was getting an easy ride to the top and by the time I actually got into the real world I would have already been behind everyone fucking else.”
A number of people look at him confused, before Mikumo chimes in. “Villains don’t care about how good your quirk is, and there's a very real chance other potential heroes wouldn’t have gotten the easy ride Katsuki would have gotten. They would have all been training, would have had the drive to improve their skills with their abilities, quirk or otherwise. Because the world kept telling Katsuki he was on top…”
“They would have made me a damn second rate wannabe. ” He growled out, small explosions peppering the inside of his clenched fists. “And that’s not even going into the other bullshit.”
“Other?” Shinsou asked, mind buzzing with the opinions currently floating in the air.
“Shinsou, what’s the difference between you and me?” Izuku asked, his voice calm and level.
Shinsou turned to look at him, surprised. He had an answer on the tip of his tongue, but he held it in, a flash of sudden guilt making the sentence bitter in his mouth. Izuku only gave him a tired smile and nodded, no doubt already seeing the answer he was trying to hide.
“Yep. I’m quirkless, but you have a quirk right? That should be it, should be all that separates you and me, your path and mine. That one fact should make you becoming a hero an attainable dream, while me doing it the daydream of a child too naive to wake up right?”
Izuku’s eyes narrowed, his voice coming out as hard as sharpened flint. “Wrong.”
“You can’t fly, you don’t have super strength, you can’t shoot lightning or call down a tornado, you can’t make trees come to life or move mountains, but you can still be a hero.” He raised his arms, shrugging his shoulders. “I could beat you in a fight easily, at least at the level of training you’re at right now. I’ve been sparring with my brother and Kacchan since we were five, and we’ve all only improved since then. I’ve got the skills, the experience, and just like you, the drive to do what it takes to be a hero. If that’s the case then why am I considered worthless?”
Before anyone could answer Mikumo spoke. “It’s because the Hero society we have doesn’t care about who you are, only about what you have and don’t have. You could be the greatest potential hero since All Might, but if you have a quirk that’s villainous, or god forbid were born quirkless, then you’re screwed from the get go. You could have an amazing quirk, but if the world throws you on the fast track like they did Katsuki you could never learn everything your quirk could do, coddled into a false sense of superiority while your skills stagnate.”
“Or worse, you could be hurt, but because there are heroes around, nobody else will give a damn to help you.” Bakugou spat out, his red eyes flashing with anger. “You could be hurt and bleeding, lying by the side of the road dead to the fucking world, but because everyone says that heroes save the day then you ain’t their problem now are you? No, you’re the heroes problem, even if they never show up to save you.”
Bakugou looks away, his face twisted into an ugly scowl. Mikumo closes his visible eye, slumping his shoulders. Even Izuku looks weary, breathing out a long sigh. He looks up again, the strength in his gaze just as hard as the one in his voice. “The system is messed up, but because we can see it that means we can fix it. It won’t be easy, but we can do it.”
“We just have to become the strongest heroes in the country to do it,” Mikumo pointed out, his voice dry.
“We’re going to do that anyway so quit complaining Ashbreath,” Bakugou shot back, the scowl on his face still present but somewhat blunted.
“Not complaining, just pointing out how much work we’ve given ourselves with this.”
Izuku patted his brother on the shoulder, giving him a weary smile. “If not us Miku, then who?” He turned and looked at Shinsou again. “Besides that’s why I made this class up in the first place. If the world won’t tell people they can be heroes, then I’ll do it. And the more heroes there are, the more people see that anyone can be a hero, the more they’ll see that they can make the world a better place than what it is.”
“And the more you can rub their noses in it when you, a quirkless kid, reach the number one spot.” Mikumo cut in, tapping his knuckles on the side of his brother’s head.
“Like hell he is,” Bakugou barked out, trusting a thumb at his chest, “I’m number one. The two of you can fight for second place.”
Mikumo snorts at Bakugou, blowing out a blob of smoke. “If you think we’re letting you get to number one that easily you’ve really got a screw loose Bomberman.” He waves a dismissive hand at him, “Meh, enough with your boasting, we’ve got people to train and time’s burning.” Before he could say something else his mouth screwed up and he squinted his eyes, as if he were suddenly lost in thought. “Yes, yes, that might work. Izu,” he pointed at his brother, “I think Shinsou here would benefit from the Spiderman program. Go grab the comics will you?”
“The what?” Shinsou looked at him confused as Izuku got up with a smile and headed toward a bag sitting by the tables near the entrance. Shinsou could not contemplate what the next exercise would be without a small amount of dread.
The smile he got in return for his question did nothing to alleviate the feeling.
“My dear, precious, new student, it’s time you learned the ancient hallowed art of witty banter.”
&
Unknown to the boys their conversation was recorded by a number of the people sitting in the crowd. For a few this was merely incidental, their main focus of recording gathering intel and doing their own research on their quirks and possible applications thereof. For some it would even be detrimental, taking up valuable data space they could have saved for more mock battles or Izuku’s quirk discussions.
For the remainder, it would be passed along from person to person, doing it’s rounds on social media sites until it gets posted on youtube and the link plastered on a hero forum. The words spark a serious discussion, some for, some against. The arguments stay civil, but there’s an undercurrent of heat when many forum posters start to share their own stories, backing up the claims of the three boys on the screen.
Others denounce them, calling them children, naive to the way the world works. Claiming that their ideals, while noble, are seeped in innocence, that they could by themselves fix the problems they claim to see. The words are patronizing, but to some, not without merit.
For a select few though, these words would hit home.
For a man sitting in a home stocked with swords and knives it would be validation, a sign that the rot he saw was not imagined but very real, and that he was not alone in his fight.
For a gentleman villain it would be a balm, a salve on a wound he had long since thought closed over. He would shed a few tears as the video played while his partner looked on with worried adoration.
For a masked man in wait it would be an interest. Something that would put the boys names in his memory, locked away like a file in a drawer, ready to be recalled when needed. Perhaps one of them would be the instrument he sought, the tool he would need? Only time would tell.
For a strange creature, sitting behind his desk, daintily sipping tea from a fragile china teacup it would be, intriguing.
Hmm, who should I send, who should I send?
Chapter 7: Settling In
Notes:
Not a lot going on in this one, but then again it can't always be collapsing buildings and giant firestorms.
Those happen later.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hisashi sipped his tea calmly, closing his eyes to savor the taste. He wasn’t particularly fond of tea, much preferring coffee and usually having said coffee about as strong as All Might and as black as his humor. Considering the circumstances though he was willing to put said desire to the background.
With care he set his cup on the table, the liquid inside gently streaming. Across from him two boys sat, clasping cups of their own and fidgeting awkwardly. Oh they thought they might have been containing their unease, putting on a brave face, but Hisashi was a salaryman of many years. Through his arduous climb up the corporate ladder he had encountered many a man or woman who thought themselves iron, only to either have to personally break them of said notions when under his command or watch them crumble under the weight of the terrible machine that is bureaucracy.
Compared to witnessing that for years, two teenage boys are about as easy to read as a picture book.
“So, Dabi was it,” he asked, keeping his voice low and, if not gentle, then at the very least non-confrontational. “Touma-kun has informed be that you needed a place to stay?” He didn’t say that in so many words exactly, using phrases like ‘Save Spot’ and ‘HP Regen’ but Hisashi had lived long enough with his adopted charge to understand his language.
Dabi for his part eyed Hisashi warily, his blue green eyes filled with suspicion. Hisashi wasn’t sure what exactly the teenager was running from, but he didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that it was serious. The young stranger stared at him for a few seconds more before deciding to nod. Hisashi took this in silently, taking another sip of his tea to give the boy a bit of space, metaphorically speaking.
Shigaraki merely looked between the two of them slightly annoyed. He fidgeted with nervous energy, as if he was certain something would go wrong and he’d have to fix it. It took more self-control than Hisashi would like to admit to not ruffle his hair and tell him to calm down. Even if they would have to find some other accommodations for his new friend Shigaraki had to know that Hisashi would never just tell Dabi to sleep on the street.
Inko would skin him alive with a paperclip for a start, and that wouldn’t even get into what his kids would try to do to him afterwards.
Once again he silently thanked whatever gods had watched over his kids that let them grow up properly even when he was barely there.
He set the cup down again with a gentle click. “Well, I’m not sure about permanently, I’ll have to talk to my wife about that. But I can say that for now you’re welcome to stay in my home. Now, do you have a change of clean clothes or anything of that nature?”
Dabi squinted his eyes at him before nodding again slowly. Hisashi only smiled in response. “Good that makes this easy. Down the hall, first door to the left you’ll find a bathroom. Feel free to take a shower.” Dabi’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed. Hisashi only shook his head.
“Kid, you’re a teenager, not to put too fine a point on it but you stink on a good day. As it stands right now you’re way past ripe. Not to mention those bandages look at least three days overdue for a change and I don’t know how you managed to keep whatever’s under there from getting infected.”
He smiles again, fatherly humor bubbling up as Dabi gives a look of offended pride. Ah to be young again, when a spritz of some overpriced body spray was as good as a bath. Dabi turns to shoot Shigaraki an offended look.
Shigaraki merely raises his eyebrows. Hisashi sighs and cuts the argument off before it can even begin. “Tomura-kun often spends days in his room if we don’t coax him out, and don’t get me started on how he smelled after he tried to 100 percent that latest rpg game.”
Now it was Shigaraki’s turn to look offended. “It had multiple endings and character specific storylines, I couldn’t just stop.”
Hisashi sighs again. “What are the rules Tomura-kun?”
“Always eat once a day.”
“And?”
“Never mix Redbull and Monster.”
Hisashi palmed his face. “The other rule Tomura-kun?”
Shigiraki Tomura tilted his head like a puppy confused at a new command. Hisashi blinked once and then decided to just spell it out for both their benefits.
“Always bathe at least once a day. That goes for you, Izuku, Mikumo, Katsuki, and if you’re staying here for any length of time, Dabi. You’re teenage boys, your pits are basically toxic waste dumps at the best of times and if you leave that alone you’ll make a miasma cloud so large it’ll take out half the block.” He claps his hands, giving them both a wide smile and speaking with a voice that was so full of gentle authority it brooked no argument.
“So Dabi you shower first, then Tomura-kun you go next. I’ll get started on dinner and when Inko gets back we can all sit down and-”
There was the sound of a key rattling in the lock and the tones of conversation going on behind the door. From the sheer volume of the voices it could only be Katsuki and Hisashi’s two boys back from their club meeting at the park. Of course as usual they were in an argument, Inko’s gentle tones and Mitsuki’s laughter provided counterpoints to the muffled thunderstorm raging behind the painted wood. Hisashi merely shrugs.
“Or of course they could come home a bit early and we do this now.”
&
“And I’m telling you it ain’t gonna work!”
Izuku tapped his phone, rapidly looking through various websites, wikipedia articles, and scientific journals. In front of him Kacchan and his brother were arguing, neither of them backing down. He dropped a tab and pulled up a youtube video, found that it didn’t have what he wanted after a few seconds of looking, and went back to his google search. Unbeknownst to him he was muttering as he did so, giving Mikumo’s and Kacchan’s argument a background hum that only served to make it more aggravating to anyone not involved.
“It will work. For the last time smoke is not a gas, but a loose collection of solids.”
Kacchan scoffed, waving a hand. “Look, it doesn’t matter if it’s made solids, if I can blow it away with one blast how useful can it be?”
“That’s what the hoses are for! To build up pressure.” Mikumo turned to look behind him while his mom unlocked the door. “Izuku back me up on this.”
Izuku looked up from his screen and shook his head. “Sorry Miku, I’m going to have to side on Kacchan with this one.”
“Hah!”
“Oh come on,” Mikumo whined, throwing his hands in the air. “You know my smoke is made of carbon, heck it’s practically all there is of the stuff!”
Izuku nodded his head, “Yeah, but unless you can rearrange the molecules it’s still just going to be smoke, and even if you somehow managed to raise the durability of it, by the time it was of any use as armor the pressure on your limbs would be so strong you’d crush your bones.”
His brother scoffed out a cloud of dark smog at this, crossing his arms and glaring at Kacchan’s smug look. “I still say I could make armor out of this.”
“And I’m saying by the time you did you’d basically be chunky soup.”
Mikumo gave a dejected sigh, “Fine, cross it off the list. What’s next?”
Izuku put his phone in his pocket and opened up his notebook. On the bookmarked page were a number of crossed out, circled, or underlined phrases. With care he crossed out “Smoke Armor”, put an underline under “Smoke Weapons”, and gave a cursory glance at an unmodified “Steampunk Armor” before leaving it alone and turning a few pages.
“Alright, next on Kacchan’s list,” he blinked, “Explosion Flight?”
“Fuck Yeah!”
“Put that down as a certainty,” Mikumo replied, only slightly sullen. Izuku and Kacchan both looked at him. He shrugged. “Katsuki’s explosions are powerful, and in theory they should be strong enough to get him airborne.” He raised a finger, “The trick is doing it in such a way that he doesn’t crash head first into a wall or fall from a great height and snap his neck.”
They all wince as they consider this. “Practice,” Izuku asks the group.
“Practice,” they reply back in unison. Izuku puts a circle around the idea.
“I’m Home,” Izuku’s mom called out, a cool breeze washing over the boys as she opened the door.
“Welcome home,” came the voices of his Dad and Tomura in sync. Izuku smiled at the sound for a moment and then paused. Normally Tomura sounded, if not ecstatic then at least cautiously, if not almost surprisedly pleased to say those words. If of course he wasn’t in the ‘zone’ or fighting a particularly hard boss in one of his games.
Izuku wasn’t sure, but Tomura actually sounded, worried.
He shared a glance with his brother to confirm it, and from the silent look he gave back Izuku knew he was right. Something was bothering Tomura and as such it was their duty as his brothers to figure out what it was. Kacchan merely gave them a long suffering look. He might not know exactly what the two of them were thinking, but he had been their friend long enough to know when Twin Talk was going on.
The five of them stepped into the air conditioned house, Inko and Izuku visibly sighing in pleasure as they got out of the heat. Aunt Mitsuki merely patted her friend on the back with a cheerful, “wimp.” Inko knocked the hand aside with a good natured side eye and turned the corner. She stopped when she took in the living room and her sudden halt almost made the small train of people following her collide into each other.
Curious at his mother’s sudden stop Izuku gave his brother and friend a look. Mikumo merely gave a shrug in response and Kacchan glared at him as if silently asking what the hell he thought Izuku expected him to say. Izuku was spared answering when his mom started talking.
“Oh, who is this?”
There was a smile in his father’s voice when he responded. “Inko I’d like you to meet Tomura-kun’s friend Dabi. Dabi this-”
The rest of what his father was trying to say was drowned out by Mikumo having a sudden coughing fit. Alarmed everyone turned towards him as clouds of smoke began to spurt from between the fingers covering his mouth. He waved the worried looks away and spoke with a hoarse voice, “Sorry sorry, *cough* swallowed some spit the wrong way.”
That seemed to satisfy his parents, Aunt Mitsuki, and even Kacchan, but Izuku knew his brother their entire lives. His twin was lying, or at the very least not telling the entire truth. He resolved to talk to him about it when everyone else had gone to sleep. There were no secrets between the two of them, or at the very least he’d like to think so, and the thought of Mikumo hiding something made his gut churn.
He swallowed down the unease though, after all Tomura brought a friend- wait. Tomura made a friend! The idea of Tomura going out on his own, talking to people, making a friend.
Izuku’s smile took up his entire face and he was so excited he didn’t notice his brother and Kacchan shielding their eyes.
“Katsuki, put weaponized happiness down on the list would you?”
“ Way ahead of you asshole.”
&
He called himself Dabi.
It wasn’t his actual name of course, but as far as he was concerned that person was dead and better off staying that way.
The room he found himself in was dark, the off white ceiling turned into a murky blue from the dim light of street lamps filtering in through closed shades. His bed, if it could be called that, was a futon rolled out into the center of the floor. He laid there prone, arms folded across his torso and mind racing.
He was for the moment safe, or at the very least safer than sleeping on the street. The funds he had stole from Enji Todoroki would last for some time if he left them alone. He was tempted to burn it all though, spend it quickly. The lingering fear that it could be used to track him, to find him, bubbled in the back of his mind.
He was careful though, extremely so. His escape had been planned for months. Days of painful ‘training’, nights of silence in a room that was more a prison than anything else, the endless expectations thrown upon his shoulders, all this and more he suffered through. All for one chance, one moment when the bastard would be overconfident, would be distracted.
He had his little brother to thank for that. No, no he wouldn’t allow himself that luxury of a lie. To Dabi the boy he left behind in that hell was nothing more than a sacrifice, a body placed upon the altar so that he would have a chance to be free. After what he had done he didn’t deserve to be considered that child’s sibling. Not that it mattered anyway.
His mother would protect him, of that Dabi was sure with an acidic and bitter certainty.
She had protected the others after all, all of them execpt for him. But then again, why would she? They didn’t look like the monster, the thing that trapped them all and used them to fuel his own twisted desires. But Dabi, oh he was blessed to look like the bastard, so every day, every moment, every time he looked into the fucking mirror he would see that face.
His face.
Could he honestly blame her for wanting nothing to do with him? For throwing him to the wolves just like he threw his younger brother, the next head for the chopping block?
No, no, maybe he would be lucky. Maybe he would be another failure, another reject. It would be a gift if he was, if he was thrown away early like their sister was. He might get a childhood then, from whatever scraps he would manage to scavenge among the ruin of his innocence.
Maybe he would be smart and run like Dabi did? It would be risky if he was the youngest, but their father was nothing if not thorough. If he proved to be a failure, well, there was always plenty of time to breed another.
It took all of his self control not to snicker disgustedly at the thought. Cause that’s what is was at the end of the day wasn’t it? Not love, not family, no just breeding stock and a house full of freaks.
It might have been a mercy to take the kid with him, risk a life on the run. He threw the thought away the minute he contemplated it. No, Enji, Endeavor, would never allow a potential asset to escape, not while it still had possible use. Taking the kid would have only destroyed his own chance at freedom, at least for now.
Maybe, if he was thrown away like Dabi was, maybe then.
Dabi stared at the ceiling, contemplating the dance of shadows across its surface. Beside him the freak that brought him here snored gently, twitching on occasion like a puppy dreaming. If he wasn't so damn crazy Dabi might have thought it was cute.
He looked at the freak, at Shigaraki some more, curious in spite of himself.
Why did he take the offer? A place to sleep, food, a working shower? He could have gotten all of those things in time, after he ran a bit farther, got a bit more distance between him and that cage. It might have took some money to get a hotel room and a burger but he had the means.
So why?
Was it loneliness? He never had any friends, or at least not people he would call that. There were sycophants of course, mewling parasites that would latch onto him, hoping to ride the coattails of the Number 2 hero’s son. There were girls who tried to slink up to him, heck even some boys tried their luck. There were the presents, the favors.
But no one really saw him. They saw the Todoroki name, they saw Endeavor’s son, but they never looked at him.
But this guy, this crazy idiot who spoke in a language that sounded like it was crafted on a fucking chan board, he saw, in some insane fucking way he cared.
It was enough to make him want to laugh, or cry, or possibly puke.
He settled for turning his gaze away, closing his eyes, and trying his best to not remember how he used the word cute in reference to a guy twitching in his sleep.
He failed, but at least he was free enough to think such things. Even if it wanted to make him tear his hair out.
Notes:
Hisashi internal monologue: Okay so here's another one. Fuck is this a thing now, is this a fad? Do kids just randomly adopt each other off the street? Okay calm down we have space, money's good, it's fine. It's not a girl so at least we don-
Wait does Tomura-kun even like girls? Does he like anyone? Fuck I'm going to have to give the talk aren't I? Do I do the straight one, the gay one? Both?
Fuck I have three kids, wait, four kids now.
Am I going to have to give the talk four times? Both of them?!
*Inko comes home*
OH THANK GOD
Chapter 8: Recognition
Notes:
Might be a few typos in this, unbetated after all.
That being said it's like 4 am and I've been working on this thing for the last 2 weeks.
So, you know, just a heads up.
Enjoy and all that.
Chapter Text
“Why am I here again?” Shouta Aizawa’s voice is a dull drone, seemingly devoid of any emotion save for honest to god weariness. It’s the kind of voice that would drain the energy of those around it, a black hole of apathy that would consume the world if it wasn’t such a chore. It was as if the very void between the stars had gained the ability to speak and its first words were “five more minutes.”
Nedzu takes another sip of tea.
“I assume you’re aware of one Midoriya Izuku?”
Shouta blinks. Then his eyes narrow as his brain kicks into motion. The name seems familiar to him, but in an offhand kind of way. He’s heard is somewhere before, the only question is where? His eyes flash for a moment when it clicks.
“Hizashi talked about him once, said something about a video?”
Nedzu’s near constant smile widens a little more. “Indeed. That video, along with a few others, have started to do the rounds and have gotten quite a bit of attention.” He sets his teacup gently on top of a small platter resting on his desk before steepling his paws. “In fact I’ve learned from a few acquaintances that several such parties are very interested in him, along with his two fellow instructors.”
Shouta raises an eyebrow. “Instructors? Aren’t they supposed to be kids?”
“Early teens if my records are correct,” Nedzu replies with a wave of a paw. “Besides, age is not a reflection on one’s abilities, merely their experience.” He steeples his paws again. “Their results speak for themselves.”
He pushes a slim manilla folder towards Shouta, indicating with a paw for him to open it. He does so, staring down at the dossier inside. On the top right-hand corner is an image, the I.D. photo of a hero to be specific. He looks away from it, scanning the relevant information.
“Hirota Yoshisada, Male, Hero Name: Dustblower, Current rank 68, potential rank increase to 67, age 24, Quirk: dust manipulation.” He looks up from the folder. “Pretty generic stuff, why show it to me?”
Nedzu simply pushes another folder towards him. He sets the first one aside and opens it. At a glance the two dossiers look exactly the same, then he sees the difference. “Potential rank increase to 43?”
He looks up at Nedzu. “How long?”
Nedzu’s reply was prompt. “Six weeks after joining Izuku’s club for regular meetings. It turns out the children had ideas about Mr. Hirota’s quirk that even he didn’t realize.” His eyes flash. “It seems that ‘Dust Manipulation’ covered a lot more territory than anyone knew.”
Shouta set the folder down. “Alright, I can see why you’re interested, but why me?”
“Who did you expect?”
Shouta’s expresion didn’t change. “Someone more famous, a high ranked hero, a public figure.”
“Ah, you think I intend to impress them.” Nedzu’s grin widened just a hair, so small anyone who hadn’t worked for him would barely even notice. As it was Shouta had to repress a shiver of apprehension. “I’m not sending you there to impress Aizawa-san, though you really do sell yourself short in that regard. I’m sending you to observe.”
“Observe.” Shouta’s eyebrow raises again. “From the sound of things you’ve already done your research.”
Nedzu waves a paw. “That information, while valuable, is not what I require. No, what I want to know is if these three are Hero material. No one on my faculty has as exacting requirements as you do.”
“I’m a hardass you mean.”
“Crude, but accurate.” Nedzu grasps his teacup again before bringing it up to his face. “Do you accept?”
Shouta narrowed his eyes at the white furred principal. “Who else is going to be there?”
Nedzu took a sip of tea before replying. “That I do not know. All I was able to acquire was that Ketsubutsu, Shiketsu, and Isamu were all sending out, observers.”
“Isn’t Isamu an all girls school?”
“No, you’re thinking of Seiai. Though I’ve heard rumors of them sending someone as well.”
Shouta blinked. “So one of them is a girl?”
“No.”
&
Toshinori sighed deeply, his body aching as he leaned back in his chair. It had been a long day. Hell it had been a long week, and as much as he would hate to admit it he was getting older.
More than that, he was getting slower, weaker. The clock was ticking and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t outrun it forever. He had a responsibility, a duty, to make sure One for All did not die with him.
That did not make things any easier.
He sighed again and closed his eyes. He didn’t have time to wallow in self pity, besides Sorahiko-sensei would beat him senseless if he tried. He needed to find a successor, someone to accept One for All, someone to pass the torch to.
Someone who could weather the burden.
There were already some candidates, promising young heroes whose names have been passed to him by trusted friends and compatriots, but all of them seemed, wrong. Not that they wouldn’t be capable heroes, not even that it seemed they would buckle under the weight. No, every single one of them would take the responsibility handed to them and do exemplary with it, of that he was certain.
So why was he hesitating?
Was is selfishness? Did he not want to give up what made him All Might? Did the fame call too sweetly to him, the glory, the adoration and satisfaction of knowing that he and he alone stood at the very top?
No.
Was it fear? Fear of doing to his successor what was done to himself? Of dying, of breaking that bond? Did the fear of that pain cause him to falter?
No, for he knew that even if he were to fall the monster that plagued Japan was dead at his hand and no more would his home country be forced to live in that bastard’s shadow. Even if he were to die it would be to someone that his future student would be sure to conquer in their own time and under their own right. The pain would be a burden, but it would be one that they could bear, just as he had.
So why? Why did none of them feel, right?
As he sat in his lonely apartment and thought a suspicion rose in his mind. Maybe it wasn’t that they wouldn’t be exceptional heroes with One for All, perhaps it was the exact opposite. None of them needed One for All to be the best heroes they could be, in fact if Toshinori was going to be honest his quirk would be more of a hindrance than a help.
His quirk would be a lead weight against their necks, a burden that would drag them down until they acclimated. It would be a responsibility that they did not need to shoulder, and if he were to be completely honest, one they should not need to shoulder. He would be asking too much of them.
But they would agree, and that was the worst part of the whole mess.
His fame, his rank, everything he had accomplished would mean that whatever he told them, asked of them, they would seriously consider. Even if he told them the dangers they would agree. Even if he explained to them the cost of being the Symbol of Peace, the burden that they would have to pay, they would accept.
In his hand he held the life or death of a promising young hero, and even if they survived the burden they would carry would be with them until the day they died. Even when they too hopefully pass One for All to the next generation, they would still be the Symbol of Peace, with all the responsibilities and duties that title carried with it.
If only he could find someone where the burden of One for All was turned into a gift, just like it was for hi-
The thought flashes through his mind like lighting, causing his eyes to snap back open. That was it, that was the answer he needed. He just had to find someone like he was back then, someone with the drive to become a hero, someone with the nerve to face impossible odds, someone willing to put it all on the line to achieve their dream and protect others. He needed to find a quirkless hero-in-training.
Which, of course, wouldn’t be any easier.
Toshinori knew that he was an outlier of an outlier, not only born quirkless but willing to try and become a hero anyway. He had managed to get into classes at U.A., but even so he barely passed his tests and even then he got shuffled into the General classes rather than the Hero course. How Nana even managed to find him, let alone decide that he of all people deserved to be her successor he never knew. But find him she did, and if he was to be worthy of that gift then he could do no less.
The question is, how?
He blinks, and then slaps himself in the face. For some reason he keeps forgetting he’s friends with a principal of one of the best, if not the best, Hero Academies in all of Japan. He picks up his cell phone and dials the number without looking at the time. Unbeknownst to him because of his rather hectic hero schedule the time he’s currently calling is 4:15 in the morning.
He will get some valuable information from this call and a rather interesting point in the right direction. What he doesn’t know is that he will pay for this call later on. While he will not, in retrospect, regret this phone call he will not be able to be awake on the hour of 4 A.M. without having every single light in his house on and being armed with a baseball bat.
It will not help.
&
“This is starting to be a problem.”
“No shit?”
Izuku sighed as he listened to his brother and his best friend going back and forth. They were sitting on the grass of the park that had long since been comondered for Izuku’s classes, watching as the crowd of people slowly filed in. In a way it was everything Izuku could have ever wanted, a whole mass of people rearing and ready to become heroes, a group of people that actually listened to him, that didn’t just toss him aside as the quirkless weird kid or the boy with crazy brothers and a psychotic best friend.
The problem was that it was just too many of them.
It was fine at first. His classes were always compact things, maybe a group of ten kids and their parents. Then the first curious pro-hero showed up to check on things and make sure they weren’t doing anything illegal, until he got roped into the class too after hearing one of Izuku’s examinations. After that he had to have spread the word to his friends, who spread the word to their friends, who posted it online, and suddenly the place was starting to get packed with people.
Fifty people had wanted to be examined last class and that had taken almost the whole day. Izuku didn’t even have time to train with Kacchan, which of course pissed his friend right off. It took the combined power of him and his brother to keep said explosive friend from bursting a blood vessel. It didn’t help that Mikumo was just as annoyed, the only difference being he was far better at hiding it.
Izuku might not be the best at the whole social thing, but he knew his brother and Mikumo was getting very irritated after the last few classes.
It seemed like their shared dream was being drowned out by people wanting his help, his insight, his ideas. Izuku had to wonder if that was what Kacchan had felt all those years ago, when all people would talk about was his quirk. He liked his class, some of them might have wanted to know him, but a good few only wanted to see what he could come up with and then they would disappear again. He knew he was being used, but at the same time he didn’t want to stop because he knew he was helping people, helping them in ways that he wasn’t helped when he needed it.
But it couldn’t go on like this. Too many people, not enough time. He wasn’t a professional, he didn’t have a school, all he had was Miku and Kacchan. If things kept going like they were going he might not even have that.
There had to be a way to solve this.
“There is one, we just have to figure it out.”
Izuku turned to look at his brother, only to see Miku’s one visible eye blink at him. “You were muttering again bro, like you always do when your brain goes into overdrive.”
He felt a hand slap itself on the top of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. “And we’re not going to leave you either punkass. I said I’m going to the top and I sure as fuck not going to settle for some worthless trash being my second.”
Izuku couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his mouth as he grinned. “That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me Kacchan.”
Miku snorted. “Nooo, you’re thinking of the time he said he wouldn’t kill you for eating the last cup of spicy instant ramen last week.”
Izuku felt the fingers in his hair tighten just a bit. He hastily grabbed his best friend’s arm and pushed it away before trying to defuse a fight in the making. “I think I might have a solution to our problem!”
Kacchan gave him a suspicious look. “Like an actual solution or are you just trying to keep me from getting my payback.”
“I thought you said it was okay!”
“I said I wouldn’t kill you, didn’t say shit about maiming!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen please, we have business at hand.” Mikumo slid in between them, pushing at Kacchan’s chest while subtly shielding Izuku with his body. “Our problem is a sudden increase in students, so much so that our training is suffering as a result. So Izu, what’s your proposal?”
He tells them.
The matching grins on their faces does not fill him with confidence.
&
Kuga Haru, or as he was more widely known as, Death Arms, grumbled as he took a seat next to his friend.
Kamui Woods, or as he was less widely known as, Shinji Nishiya, paid him little heed as he got comfortable.
Around them was a group of about 40 or so different people of all ages. Some were parents who brought their kids here, some were teenages who were choosing to waste their free day of lazing around doing more work, and others were unaccompanied adults like themselves. It was this last group that had Kuga’s attention while they waited for the class to begin. He wondered if most of them were like him, pro heroes scouting out potential sidekicks, or if they were here for the actual class.
As he reached into his pocket for a cigarette the thought of getting examined himself crossed his mind. He shelved it just as fast though. He had been a pro for years, and while his quirk might not have been the flashiest thing to ever show up, it had served him pretty well over his career. He didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand however, he wasn’t such an old dog he couldn’t learn a trick or two, but that wasn’t what he was here for.
“There are kids here you know.”
Kuga turned his head slightly to give his friend the side eye. For his part Nishiya showed no signs of being bothered or intimidated, merely returning his friend’s stare from underneath the hood of his purple hoodie. With a sigh Kuga gave in, putting the cigarette back in its box.
“Ain’t like we’re in costume. Wouldn’t kill ya to let me have a smoke.”
“Even if we’re not in costume we’re still adults. It’s our job to provide a responsible example.”
Kuga snorted. “Example my chin, you just don’t wanna look bad sitting next to me.”
Nishiya blinked. “The thought did cross my mind, yes.”
“You cheeky little-”
The sound of a small explosion cut him off, turning not only his head but the head of the whole crowd to the three figures standing before them. The subtle mummering of the crowds conversation dies almost instantly and Kuga knows that everyone there is doing the same thing he is and examining the three teenagers. What he sees only validates his reason for coming to the whole shindig in his opinion.
On the far right stood Bakugou Katsuki, his blond hair sticking out like one of the explosions he was infamous for throwing around like confetti. Finding info on the kid was almost disgustingly easy, his quirk marking him to the fast track. An almost straight A student with a magnetic personality that seemed to draw in others, an outspoken desire to be a hero, and the drive to not only achieve that dream but to aim for the top while doing it.
Kuga knows that kid is a rising star in the making, and the fierce gaze he levels the crowd with only cinches it.
By contrast the figure on the far left is his polar opposite, at least in appearance. He slouched slightly with an almost casual air, his hands in his pockets. His dark hair stood out in random angles, giving it a sharp almost angular appearance. His one visible eye was hooded, and it roamed over the crowd in a lazy motion.
Kuga wasn’t fooled, he had read up on this kid too.
Midoriya Mikumo was a paradox, at least according to public record. He had almost straight A’s, similar to Bakugou, but his behavior in class was nothing short of apathetic. He was noted for not doing much of anything, or barely appearing awake in most cases, and only responding when seriously prodded.
It was also on record that when he saw a younger classmate was being attacked by assailants he fought like a junkyard dog and had left all of said would be bullies on the ground bleeding and barely conscious.
Without using his quirk once.
He was one to watch to be sure, but also maybe told to ease up a touch when it came to fighting. A hero’s job was to help bring in criminals, not corpses. A lesson Kuga needed to learn himself starting out, at least until the third criminal that heard his name literally ran in front of a moving car to avoid a beating. That was, thankfully, only embarrassing for all involved rather than traumatizing.
Shaking his head to dislodge the old memories he instead turns his attention to the star of the hour.
Midoriya Izuku.
His stature was almost identical to his brother’s barring a few key differences. Instead of a lazy slouch he practically radiated excited energy. He smiled wide and open as he greeted some of the people sitting in the front row, most of them repeated visitors to his little club. In his hands were a number of notebooks, each one the size of a small book and he held them with firm grip.
It was hard to believe a kid so young could cause this much of a stir, but then again Kuga had been one of the heroes who read up on him.
Quirkless, young, inexperienced. Those were the words often brandished online or in the various “official” meetings some of the lower ranks had attended. But those words were often followed by prodigy, disturbingly inventive, and savant. The kid had a knack, nay a gift for dissecting quirks. With his insight people were thinking of what they were doing in a new light, often to devastating results.
The idea of a kid like this in the hands of villains? That made even Kuga nervous. Thankfully the kid was an outspoken hero supporter. Some even called him borderline fanatic, but they were often disregarded. He wanted to be a hero, a quirkless hero at that, and despite everything and everyone going against him he was clawing his way towards that dream with a tenacity that was inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.
With the two bamboo swords strapped to his waist, the belt filled with pouches, the armor, and the easy way he rested his hands on the hilt of said sword he looked like he was ready for war.
Kuga gestured with a tilt of his head, “Oi Nishiya.” His friend followed his gaze and gave the outfit in front of him a few seconds of thought. “Not bad, especially for a beginner. Would have gone with a bandolier myself, easier reach.”
“Think he’s got what it takes?”
Nishiya gives it a few moments of quiet consideration. “If that’s how he arms himself before even taking a first step towards a hero course? Probably.”
Kuga gives a nod of agreement before he hears Midoriya Mikumo clear his throat.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming once again to our little gathering. Now I know you’d all like to get on with things but unfortunatley we have an announcement to make first.” He turns toward his brother before giving him a nod.
Midoriya Izuku takes a deep breath, sighs, and then looks up at the crowd. “I’m sorry everyone, but I can no longer give examinations like I used to.”
Before the crowd has a moment to speak Bakugou cuts them off. “Simply put, there’s too many of you fuckers.”
Everyone hears a smack as the black haired twin puts his hand on his face. Midoriya Izuku merely coughs before continuing. “R-right, as Kacchan said-”
“Spewed from his mouth,” his brother cut in.
“Said, I just don’t have time to examine classes this large at a reasonable time frame.” The Izuku kid’s tone was apologetic but also level. He was delivering facts and Kuga couldn’t help but approve at how he never once tried to make it seem like it was the crowd’s fault for simply showing up.
“I’m not going to rush you guys, because that would mean that not only might I miss something but I might actually hurt your chances at attaining your dreams of being a hero, and if I do that then there was no point in making my club to begin with.”
“Which is why we thought up a solution,” the Mikumo kid says, his one visible eye flashing. “We’re going to teach you how to fish, figuratively speaking.”
Kuga blinked and tried to figure out how fishing applied anywhere in this situation before Bakugou cleared it up for him. “We’re not going to waste anymore time doing the thinking for you, from now on we’re gonna teach you fuckers how to think like we do. Then maybe we can all get some shit done instead of sitting on our asses all day waiting for you to get with the fucking program.”
A hand tentatively rises from the crowd, a boy with glossy pitchblack skin and glaringly white eyes timidly asking, “Um, h-how do we do that?”
Mikumo smiles, “That’s actually the easy part.” He places a hand against his chest. “Here, we’ll use me as an example. My quirk allows me to breathe fire and control it as it leaves my mouth. I create smoke as a side effect and can control that as well.” He raises a finger, “Knowing all this, what do you think I can use my quirk for?”
There’s quiet murmuring in the crowd while some of the younger people try to figure out what he was getting at. The adults either join in or keep their eye on him, examining the boy for any hint of what he was getting at.
After a few minutes tentative answers are shouted out.
“You could make a fireball.”
“A mobile smokescreen would be easy for you.”
“I could see you as a pretty good range fighter.”
Mikumo smiles at the answers nodding at each of the speakers. “Very good, and all true.” His smile then takes on a sharp edge as he turns to his brother. “Hey Izuku, mind reading off the first few lines on my page?”
The green haired boy blinks before setting his mouth into a determined line and opening one of his notebooks. Bakugou settles for giving his friend a silent glare over his brother’s head, which Mikumo returns, before nodding in something akin to acceptance. After a few seconds Izuku reaches the page in question.
He clears his throat before going down the list. “Smoke weapons. Smoke shield. Jetpack. Steampunk armor.”
The crowd sits silent before as one turning back to look at Mikumo. He smiles at them hands behind his back and a solid black sword-like object floating at his side. Bakugou snorts before holding up a hand and squinting his eyes a little. In his palm a thousand little explosions cause a harsh glow to burn between his fingers.
Izuku for his part merely smiles at the crowd. “The one constant I noticed in all the people I helped is that they kept asking me what their quirks could do. They wanted to know what was possible, what they could do, what they could aim for. It wasn’t until I had to think about it that I could finally see what I was doing differently than everyone else.”
He points his finger at the stunned onlookers, still smiling. “You all look at the world and ask what you could do. I look at you and wonder what can’t you do. ”
His eyes flash and Kuga can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement ride up his spine. From the slight intake of breath around him he knows he’s not alone.
“Before this class is over we’re going to show you all how to ask yourselves that question.”
He claps his hands still smiling. “So, let’s get started everyone!”
Chapter 9: Preparations
Notes:
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ "I cast raise on this decrepit rotting corpse~"
Just a little touch up to show that A. I'm not dead, B. still working on things, and C. Still got a plan for this idle musing that's grown into a monster all its own.
If you want to know why I had time to actually think and write instead of scramble to stay alive thank the quarantine that's swallowed most of the world and a job that was actually willing to help me stay afloat instead of throwing me to the woods to save a few bucks.
This is only half want I originally wanted to send out mind you, but it stopped at such a good point continuing on from there felt, excessive. Besides it's been some time since I exercised my writing muscles and better to start a new chapter than drag out this one.
Got to put the cake in the over before we can set the kitchen on fire and all that.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I need more money.”
Toya, or Dabi as he was currently calling himself, didn’t even bother to look up from the magazine he was flipping through. It was the usual hero worshipping gossip rag that he always hated as a child, but if there was one thing that kept you in the loop without being tracked by electronic devices it was magazines. As he was currently making sure his disappearance a few weeks ago still hadn’t been made public, Shigaraki's utterance didn’t really register as all that important. That being said it didn’t hurt to at least attempt to be sociable, even if his conversation partner was about as eloquent as a drunken raccoon.
“Why do you need more money,” he asked as he turned another page. There was a snort from the bed above his futon and a pillow smacked him in the back of the head.
“Because you’re currently in low level shit and that ain’t going to cut it.”
Now Dabi decided to look up at his partner , for lack of a better term. Said boy casually backhanded the pillow thrown back at his face and stared down at him. Dabi, while currently at least partially fluent in what he called “Shigaraki’s weird bullshit” was still sometimes surprised by the crazy nonsense that came out of his mouth, like now for example.
He decided against his better judgment and just bit the bullet on this one.
“Alright, what exactly do you mean by low level and why would I want anything higher?”
Shigaraki glared at him like he just said something stupid and scratched at the side of his neck with his weird four fingered glove. He sighed, like talking to Dabi was some kind of penance for a grave crime and spoke slowly as if he was explaining clouds to an idiot.
“All the crap you’re currently wearing was either mine, Izuku’s, or Mikumo’s. The only reason you can wear that is because we decided we didn’t need that gear any more. The only reason you get rid of gear is because you’ve got something higher level.”
And now he pointed a finger at Dabi, as if he was making some kind of grand proclamation.
“Since you just started as my party member all you had was base level gear. Even if you got the gear I left you that just means you got gear that was at the same level as your base level when I found you. That means that as I level up and as the others in my party leveled up so do you.”
He squinted his eyes and scrunched his nose like he was smelling something foul, which in Dabi’s mind should not be as cute as it currently was.
“You’ve leveled up but you’re still wearing the same gear we gave you. You need new gear but for that I need money.”
“Don’t you get an allowance,” Dabi asked, raising an eyebrow critically.
Shigaraki slowed down, as if the idiot's pace wasn’t enough and he had to sink to preschool levels while considering bringing out hand puppets.
“Yes. But that income is base level income. You can never get good gear with base level income. You have to level up that income which means I need to make money other than simply waiting for it.”
Dabi blinked, parsed this through his “Shigaraki’s bullshit” filter and got ‘You need new clothes so I need money to buy you new clothes.’ Deciding this wasn’t going to fly he answered “If I need new gear then I’ll get it, not you.”
Shigaraki didn’t even bother to change his tone as he replied “How can you do that if you’re trying to hide?”
Dabi swallowed the lump of fear that threatened to grow in his stomach and kept his face blank. Years of training with his father, of training to make the crying stop, came to the fore. His features could have been carved from granite as he said “what do you mean trying to hide?”
Shigaraki waved him off like the words weren’t even a revelation. “I figured it out by watching you. You stay away from windows, you never go out unless it’s with me or one of my party members, and every time you do you keep your hoodie up and wear a mask to hide your lower face.” He points to the surgical mask currently resting on Dabi’s bandaged neck.
“I don’t care that you’re hiding,” he continues, waving his hand again like the mere thought is as unimportant as a gnat. “You’re my party member now which means when that becomes relevant or when I get our social rank high enough you’ll tell me why, what I do care about is you running around in underleveled gear when a boss fight might happen at any time.”
“Boss fight,” Dabi couldn’t help but ask, incredulity fighting like a mad dog to be shown upon his forcibly still features.
“Yes, boss fight,” Shigaraki replies, getting down on the floor so he can level his head with Dabi’s own. He leaned close, holding his hand up to his mouth as if to whisper a secret. “I’ve fought my own before my party found me. It wasn’t easy and it hurt but I won, even if my gear was basic. I’m not going to let you fight yours in the same kind of gear.”
Dabi closed his eyes, the vision of his father returning unwanted to his mental sight. “Who did you-”
Shigaraki cuts him off, tapping his ungloved index finger against Dabi’s forehead. “Our rank isn’t high enough for you to know that. Just know that I know that boss fights happen at any time and any place. You need to be ready. I’ll help, because we’re party members and that’s what we do, but I might not be able to carry you and beat the boss alone so we need to both be in the best gear when that happens.”
Dabi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “And you think clothes will be enough?”
Shigaraki scoffs, “Of course not, that’s just to help even the odds a bit. We’re going to have to level up the old fashioned way too.” He leans away from Dabi a bit and scratches his chin. “We can’t use Izuku’s class, too much scrutiny. We’ll have to do it in secret.”
He stares Dabi in the eyes, “ After we find a way to get more money. Put on your shoes, we're going sidequest hunting.”
Dabi stares at Shigaraki with features slowly melting into dread. In the days to come this will fondly be remembered by him as the correct response.
&
Shouta Aizawa, as a rule, does not get impressed.
From his years as a Pro hero, from his years of training, from his total life experience if he was going to be totally honest, he has been disappointed in what he sees.
That is not to say that there have never been exceptions to the rule of course. Yamada Hizashi was one of the most prominent ones, as was Oboro. Even Kayama if he was being totally honest, when she wasn’t annoying him to death at any rate. But those individuals had crossed a lofty bar, and with every one of them doing so, raised it that much higher in his mind.
It was rare, truly rare, when he found someone to have that potential, that possibility, of crossing it again.
Which is why he is somewhat amazed with himself for finding three of them.
Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Mikumo, and Midoriya Izuku were a study in contrasts. Shouta would readily admit that he wouldn’t have thought the two Midoriya’s were at all related if it were not for their names and identical faces, and Bakugou’s very posture screamed loner at the top of its voice, and yet they stood together with the ease of familiarity.
He stared at the still image on his laptop screen, letting his mind wander as years of analytical analysis and teaching instinct simmered behind his eyes.
Izuku was the first focus of his interest, if for no other reason than the paradox he represented.
Quirkless heroes were not, as a rule, impossible. He’s heard tales of one or two overseas that seemed to do quite well and his own personal experience with the vigilante Knuckleduster has shown that even those who were quirkless were not powerless. It could be done, but the odds of doing so were astronomical and the path fraught with perils. Even so, Izuku not only stood with the ease and self assurance that betrayed experience, he had the skills to back up his claim.
Shouta clicked on the video resting in the corner of his screen, watching it balloon up to rest in the center.
In the middle of a field, rough circle carved in the grass, Midoriya Izuku moved with the speed and grace that a Shouta starting his first year at U.A. would have slightly resented.
His opponent, a young man with a crocodilian appearance and enough muscles to shame a bear, was constantly being pushed to the back foot. Tail, arms, even his jaws on occasion, were being used to their maximum effect, and yet all they seemed to do was hold the green haired boy at bay. Swords, smoke bombs, and at one point something that looked like a bolas made from a bicycle chain were all used to devastating effect, pulling the poor kid down in a matter of seconds.
When the smoke cleared the young Midoriya merely sheathed his two wooden swords, unlaced his opponent’s feet from their impromptu trap, and helped him up with both hands.
The whole match from start to finish was thirty seconds.
The rest of the video was Izuku coaching his beaten opponent, patting his back encouragingly and asking him questions about his quirk while making very slight suggestions. It was different from past recordings of him, his explanations no less in depth but reduced in scale. He was leading them towards the water but leaving them to their own devices now.
Shouta approved. If you handfed people they never truly learned.
He closed that video and opened another.
Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t sparring in this video, which in itself was a rarity. Here he and Mikumo were helping a group of, what Shouta could only assume were eight year olds, with their emitter quirks.
They corrected posture, fixed footwork, and even had the forethought to teach them about friendly fire and line of sight.
In Shouta’s experience not a lot of potential students ever thought of such things. They wanted the biggest flash, the strongest effect, not giving a care for precision. If they could take out a couple of giant robots they considered that a win, which was only reinforced with an admittance letter, and it was up to him and his coworkers to force them to actually consider the consequences of their actions.
He really wanted that test removed, if only so he didn’t have to spend half the first quarter of the school year reigning in the little cretins.
“Honey I’m Home~”
Shouta didn’t bother to look up from his laptop but he did wave in the general direction of the voice.
The fond scoff he got in return let him know that his gesture was seen.
“So babe how was your day,” his boyfriend asked, arms wrapping around Shouta’s shoulders and pointed chin plopping on his hair.
Shouta patted Yamada Hizashi on the face with his free hand before leaving it there, thumb idly rubbing at his cheek as he responded. “Fine so far, just looking in at something Nedzu wanted.”
“Ah the golden boys,” Shouta could hear the smile in his boyfriend’s voice, it was almost as loud as the smugness. “Told you those kids were gonna be something.”
Shouta hummed in response, thumb still rubbing Yamada’s cheek as he went through his files on the laptop screen. Yamada for his part merely leaned into the caress, all but purring.
Shouta would go to his deathbed before he admitted that sound was one of the things that got him dating Yamada in the first place.
“So did they meet my boyfriend's slash almost husband’s illustrious standards?”
Shouta made a noncommittal grunt as Yamada lifted himself from his shoulders with a kiss to his palm and climbed over the back of the couch. “Don’t know yet,” he replied, “Saw them in person but that’s not really enough to be sure. I’ve been watching a few new sessions since then and still have to watch the last one.”
“Figured you would’ve already burned through it all by now babe,” Yamada said with a nudge of his shoulders, “not like you to put something off till I get back.”
“Wanted your opinion on this.”
Yamada looked at the screen, reading the title of the video yet to be played.
“Middle Schoolers own hero?” He blinked a few times. “This is either going to be really cool or really embarrassing.”
“I’ve got good money on both.”
“Well now I’m just giddy.”
Shouta clicked the video link, turning up the volume and snuggling next to his soon to be husband (as soon as he found a good enough ring, he promised himself) while they waited for the video to load.
&
Izuku rested on his hands, face turned up to the sky while the sun set on his backyard, turning the dark brown of his porch into a burning orange. He took a breath, enjoying the calm breeze blowing across his sore and aching muscles.
“Look I don’t see what’s so hard about this ash breath, you breath fire you make smoke. It’s simple-”
“No it isn’t. Fire doesn’t work that way. I breathe fire, I accept that. But where the fuck does the smoke come from?”
Kacchan and his brother continue to argue into the evening, an odd observation on Mikumo’s part suddenly turning into a twisting obsession that Izuku would have been following down with them if he still wasn’t so sore it was hard to move.
It had been a good day over all, a good month really.
Ever since they changed up the class a few weeks ago everything had been going far more smoothly and their training had moved up several notches. There weren’t anywhere near pro level, but the fact that a group of volunteer students led by him managed to take one down was nothing to sneeze at.
The fact that a bokken to the back of said hero’s helmeted head was the thing to knock him to the ground didn’t hurt any either.
“I’m not having this argument with a guy who’s been distilling my sweat like a weirdo, especially when that guy has been blowing smoke out of his ass of a face for years .”
“Do you want nitroglycerin grenades or are you content to just sweat at people angrily and hope for the best?”
“Considering you almost blew yourself up twice I’ll take my chances you maniac.”
“Hazards on the road to progress! Now help me figure out why the fuck I’m not dead yet considering I, as you so beautifully said, have been breathing smoke for years.”
“A cruel god?”
“Izuku dear, you’ve got mail.”
Izuku tilted his head back until the sky was replaced with an upside down view of his mom. She had that mildly amused look on her face that she always got when she heard one of their scientific arguments and a letter resting in her hand. The fact that he and Mikumo would often dissect quirks from the most “mundane” of details seemed to both amuse and perplex her.
He tried to explain it to her once, how the fact he was quirkless let him look outside of what someone would usually think when it came to their abilities. Mikumo on the other hand just called them “an offence to rational thought, Charles Darwin, and a kind and benevolent god because evolution does not work like this” every time he latched onto a detail that annoyed him.
Which twisted around to his experiments with Kacchan’s sweat because in his words “you should have exploded the minute you sweated outside your mother’s womb or so much as twitched”, the minor explosion caused by said experiments, the meeting of the local fire department and Backdraft, the minor excitement that meeting caused (he did not squeal no matter what Mikumo said), and the resulting banning of all science experiments without an adult present.
Which is why the three of them were sitting in the backyard while Mikumo was having a shouting match over why he shouldn’t be alive because he was apparently burning his lungs enough to make smoke every time he used his quirk.
“Thanks Mom,” Izuku said, letting none of the thoughts that just blew past his mind appear on his face as he reached for the letter. From the mildly raised eyebrow he got in response he knew he wasn’t quite successful.
“Who’s it from,” he asked to distract her, pushing back on his arm to sit upright again.
“U.A.,” his mother replied, before sitting next to him and placing her hands on her lap.
For a while there was nothing but the calming sound of wind, the chirp of various insects, and Mikumo and Kaachan’s ever increasing shouting match.
The sound of the back of Izuku’s head hitting the porch while his mother giggled at his reaction joined the chorus soon after.
Notes:
Yes I'm a filthy Erasermic shipper and no I'm not going to apologize for it.
(Also Tomura's backstory is extremely different in this AU than normal, partially due to the fact that it wasn't released when I started. Now that it has, expect it to play into future scenarios. Irons in the fire ladies and gentlemen, Irons in the fire...)
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