He wakes chained to a chair.
He aches. All over, the deep pain of sore muscles, of yesterday's exhaustion. His head pounds and, oh, he still hasn't released his quirk's hold on Muscular yet.
Hopefully the villain's already detained and in holding, he thinks, before snapping the fingers of his left hand.
His left hand, which is attached to his left wrist, which just recently got lightly toasted. It doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it should.
Which brings him to his right arm, which is certainly not as painful as it should be.
"Ah. You're awake."
Oh, goody.
"Unfortunately, I'm no doctor, so I have no idea how well I set your arm before—"
"You're two hundred years old," Izuku snaps and, oh, okay, his voice is back. "I'm sure you could've picked up a doctorate or two at some point."
"I'm not a medical doctor," his father stresses, sounding… amused. "I did what I could for your voice." Now, the voice turns sober. "But I'm afraid some things can never fully be healed."
Izuku resists the urge to sigh. His heart is pounding, he's shaking, and he is not going to give in to his father.
"So why am I chained to a chair?" he looks up, taking in the room he's—oh. Okay. He's still in the Noumu lab, and, over there, is a man who is definitely not his father puttering around a workstation.
"It's… a necessary precaution, for now," his father sighs. There's footsteps as the man moves closer and, oh, wow, that is a hand on his shoulder! "One I hope I'll be able to do away with soon."
"Don't bet on it," Izuku mutters. The spots where his right arm had been broken ache. Was his father telling the truth about it or had he deliberately not healed it right?
That thought leads him to his throat, to his voice. It's still rough, but stronger, now, like it's had months of healing. It doesn't hurt as much as it had been, either. In fact, his neck barely hurts at all.
"You know, there's a reason they weren't trying to immediately heal my voice," he says, taking stock of the way it feels now, the way it vibrates in his chest. And it's—it's rough.
"That may be," his father murmurs, and then steps back, finally, finally lifting his hand. "Now, I'm curious, about many things. Your mother hid you so well from me. It's quite impressive. Changing your names, your appearances, having you hide your quirk… I checked past registries. Prior to U.A., the official description of Negation was so vague. I don't doubt that you could've kept hiding. So, perhaps I'm curious: why expose yourself like you did at the Sports Festival?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you." Izuku twists his head, catching sight of his father out of the corner of his eye, drumming up his worst glare, channeling his inner Bakugou.
"Oh, you're a mouthy one. Did Yuho never teach you manners?"
"Maybe I, maybe I just don't feel like being polite to you." Yuho… that name is familiar, in too many ways. Maybe—no. No, he can't start thinking about this now, he needs to keep himself together, he can't start doubting his mother.
His father sighs. "That's unfortunate. I'm sure you'll change your mind soon." The man's footsteps are soft, even, measured as he walks towards Izuku, who can't help the way his body tenses as the man approaches. There's a pause, Izuku all but holding his breath, and then a hand comes down and ruffles his fucking hair.
"Stop touching me!" It comes out less 'I'm going to bite your hand off' and more 'I'm going to hide in the first small space I come across'.
"Oh, Izuku." There it is, that soft, sad, disappointed tone again. There's no continuation—the man just walks away, over to a computer by the wall of the room. The man presses a button and leans down to a microphone. "Kurogiri. Ragdoll, if you would?"
Ragdoll?
Oh. Oh no.
He can't look away, breath coming shallow, as the dark portal appears and Ragdoll stumbles out. Her hands are bound behind her back and she's blood loss-pale and wrapped in bandages, wearing a pair of sweats and a shirt that hangs off one shoulder.
The first thing she notices is him. Her eyes go wide, and she inhales quickly.
"Oh, kitten," she gasps, blinks quickly, and takes a few steps towards him.
"Ragdoll," he gasps, shaking his head.
"Hello, Ragdoll. It's an honor to meet you," his father says, and Ragdoll's attention snaps to him, yellow eyes narrowing and teeth bared in a silent snarl: the image of a hissing and spitting cat. "I see you're already familiar with my son."
That catches her off-guard, her eyes widening again as she glances between the two of them, back and forth, and Izuku can't look at her anymore, something coiling and sitting heavy in his gut.
"Funny. I see no family resemblance," Ragdoll says, and Izuku glances up, just long enough to see her smile at him.
No.
No.
She should be, she should be trying to… trying to escape, to leave, anything, anything to get her out of his father's clutches, not… not wasting her time on him.
"Maybe if you had seen me before I was disfigured, you'd be able to tell. He looks a lot like I did when I was his age… Of course, the resemblance would be a little stronger if he would stop dying his hair."
There's a moment of quiet (not quiet this room isn't quiet there's the whir of machines the sound of bubbles from the tanks and the screams he can't understand what they're saying but they sound like children-)
"Why did you have your henchmen take me?" Ragdoll's voice is full of steel in a way Izuku hasn't heard from her before.
"Oh, that's the golden question." Izuku looks up to see his father clasp his hands together behind his back. "In short? Your quirk. It's fascinating. Search. The ability to keep track of, and know the weaknesses of, up to one hundred people? So… powerful."
"You're a quirk trafficker?" Ragdoll frowns. "You know I'm a thirty-one-year-old pro hero. Not many will be interested in… purchasing me."
"Oh. Oh, no, Ragdoll." His father laughs. "I'm no petty trafficker." Disdain drips off his voice. "No. I want your quirk for myself. It'll make a nice addition to my arsenal."
"What?" She takes a step back, seeming to lose even more color from her face.
His father steps forward.
"Oh, yes," he says, a crackle of red and black lightning crossing his body. He holds a hand out, and Ragdoll—
Ragdoll freezes in place.
"Wh-what—" she stammers. "What is this?"
"This is only one of the many, many quirks I've collected over the years I've walked this earth," the man says. Izuku can't see his mouth, but he can hear the sick little smile. "It's called Hold. A little deceptively simple, but it gets the point across." He walks forward, his steps echoing through the warehouse. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, I truly am, but Search is just too powerful a quirk to not collect. I thank you for your sacrifice."
His hand comes down on Ragdoll's head, covering her eyes. Izuku can't tear his gaze away, watching as that same red and black lightning covers Ragdoll, gathering intensity until it's absorbed into the man's skin, rivers of glowing red threading their way into his skin and disappearing under his sleeves.
The only noise Ragdoll makes is a pained whine, gaining in intensity until his father lifts his hand and she collapses to the ground, the noise cutting off.
"Doctor." That draws the attention of the other man in the room. "Please see to her."
The doctor says nothing as he retrieves Ragdoll and takes her to another part of the warehouse. Izuku's father, for his part, just stands in his spot, hands curling into fists.
"Now this… This is a powerful quirk," he says. He turns towards Izuku and walks forward. "Not powerful in the traditional sense, no, but oh, Izuku, I'm sure you understand the value of the nontraditional. You've trained with Eraserhead and Longnight, no?"
"You've done your research," Izuku mutters. Can the man even tell how he's glaring at him?
"Of course I have!" The man sounds affronted. "You're my son! To do any less would be neglecting my duties as your father."
"Oh, yeah, you're real Father of the Year material." He puts a drawl in his voice the same as he's heard from Shinsou many times. "Kidnapping me, using a quirk on me without my consent, chaining me to a chair…" Izuku shrugs. "You're a shoo-in for the position."
"Would I have a chance to talk to you any other way?" the man asks, and, okay, he has a point there, but still. There's a reason his mother left and a reason she kept him away from this man. "Your silence tells me enough. I'm going to be making up for lost time, though. Tell me, Izuku, why do you want to be a hero?"
"What." Okay. That's. Not what he's expecting.
"Why do you want to be a hero?" The man repeats, sounding patient as can be.
"Why should I tell you?"
The man sighs. "I suppose you have no reason to trust me."
"I think the kidnapping bit has something to do with that!"
"I deserve that," the man says, stepping closer, closer, until he can rest a hand on Izuku's head. Izuku stills, remembering the red and black lightning, the keening noise Ragdoll made, the way she collapsed. "But Izuku, you must believe me: hurting you is the last thing I want to do."
"But it's still on the list." The response comes, unbidden, from the depths of Izuku's mind where once upon a time he saw a shirt for sale with that on it, printed in English. Now that it's come to mind, that would make a great present for Shinsou.
"What?" The man recoils, and his hand leaves Izuku's head and Izuku can breathe again. "No!"
"You're already hurting me," Izuku points out. He breathes in and summons his inner Aizawa. "You kidnapped me, and I am currently chained to a chair against my will. There's no way to spin this that isn't hurting me."
The man inhales. "…You are correct. Unfortunately, some level of precaution must be taken, for now. I'm sure you'll understand. Now: why do you want to become a hero?"
"To save people from villains like you," Izuku spits.
His father…
His father laughs.
"I suppose that's what I must look like, in your eyes. Knowing Yuho, she's passed her compassion on to you. Eraserhead, in the correct underground circles, is well-known for his drive to protect the victims of society, and Longnight was all but revered for their work dismantling quirk trafficking rings. What if I told you that you will never be able to save the people you truly want to save as a pro hero?"
"I'd call you a liar," Izuku responds.
"And if I can prove it to you? That, as a pro hero, you'll never be able to truly help people?"
"Then I'd do it anyways."
His father laughs. He sounds… fond, walking forwards, standing over Izuku. "The Hero Public Safety Commission will always be in your way. They can't have heroes like you out there, running around unchecked, or they'll lose their power, their grip on society."
"What?" He tries to lean back, tries to get the main out of his space, fails.
"Haven't your mentors, your mother, told you yet? The Commission has skeletons in their closet, and you'll be one of them if you continue as you are."
"What do you mean." His chest feels—hollow. This. This… Japan isn't America.
That doesn't mean we can't have corrupt institutions, too, his inner Yonaga whispers. A little voice that sounds like Aizawa chimes in, America doesn't have the monopoly on political corruption.
"Have you heard of Pop 'n' Rock?" the man asks, stepping away, walking over to his computer setup. The lightning crackles and a… USB cord? pops out of his arm. He plugs it into the computer.
"Of course," Izuku replies.
"A rising pro hero," his father says, "with quite the destructive quirk. She could… level buildings, if she so felt like it. And she has."
Izuku blinks, watches as the man pulls up news stories on Pop 'n' Rock. There's… so much collateral damage.
Every time it's not caught on camera, the news stories claim the damage was caused by villains. Every time it is, the damage is brushed off, downplayed, even when it costs lives.
He's thought about it before, of course. It's hard to ignore in such a popular young hero, and he listens as his father echoes his thoughts out loud.
"Do you think she could hide such damage on her own, hm? How about something a little more incriminating? Do you remember the pro hero Mystic?"
Mystic. Number Three in Japan before her untimely death. Her body was found washed up on a beach in Miura two weeks after her disappearance.
No one had ever been prosecuted for her death.
"What are you saying?" He doesn't need to ask. He knows what his father's trying to say.
"The Commission had her killed," his father replies. "She was getting too close to one of their skeletons. Unfortunately, I was unable to find out what she had discovered, but it was dangerous enough for them to kill the beloved Number Three for it." The man chuckles.
"You have no proof."
"Oh, but I do," his father says. A window appears on the monitor: grainy security footage, but it has color, and that's enough to recognize Mystic in her street clothes as she runs into an alley. Moments later, two figures in hoods follow her. Then there's footage from the other end of the alley, sharing the same timestamp. A car drives up, backs up to the alley, and then drives off.
"Video can be faked," he says, but his heart's not in it.
"Maybe so." His father's voice is… pleasant. "Mystic is only part of the puzzle, of course. There's so many more. Have you ever wondered about Endeavor?"
All the time.
"What about him?"
"Oh, I want to hear from you, now," his father says, turning back towards him. With his… USB cord still plugged into the computer, there's no way he can walk all the way over to Izuku.
He sighs, letting his head drop. "Endeavor uses his fire exclusively, even around civilians and in heavily-populated areas. He's careless about collateral damage, including permanent and disabling disfigurement of criminals, and, occasionally, civilians who get too close. He's a walking ethical disaster and the only reason the use of his fire doesn't violate Protocol III of the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons is because pro heroes aren't considered military." He sighs again. "Let me guess: Commission intervention?"
"Yes!" His father sounds delighted. "Exactly! Now, tell me, do you honestly want to be part of the system that lets a man like that thrive in it?"
Izuku grits his teeth. "It can be changed."
His father chuckles. "Yes, it can. I believe that, too. I can help you do that, you know."
"I don't want your kind of help."
"Hm." The man sighs, disconnecting from the computer. "You say that now." A flash of red light and the cord disappears, leaving the man free to walk over to Izuku. "I interrupted a training camp for your quirks, didn't I? How about I help you train your quirk, to make up for that?" Izuku looks up, at that mask, and feels a fresh fear grip his heart.
"Again: I don't want your help," he spits, thankful his voice barely shakes, and even that's covered up by the ever-present rasp.
"Oh, I'm not offering," the man says. "I'm giving."
The meeting room is cold. The AC is on full blast, chilling everyone in it.
It's not a large group; just Nedzu and his "inner circle" of teachers (meaning Shouta, Hizashi, Nemuri, Snipe, Thirteen, Kan, Ishiyama, Shuuzenji, Maijima, and the newest addition of Yagi). Nedzu is sitting at the head of the table, as always.
(Kan, the truly newest addition, never involved in these kinds of meetings—except. Except his kids were involved in the attack, too.)
"Twenty-six." Every eye in the room turns to Nedzu. "Twenty-six injured students, and one taken."
Shouta grimaces and looks down, his hands curling into fists. To his right, he can feel Kan glaring holes into the wall behind Snipe, Thirteen, and Ken.
To his left, Hizashi reaches over and places a hand on his thigh.
"To be attacked, during a training camp meant to prepare students to face villains… we should be embarrassed by the irony." Nedzu sighs. "We feared a resurgence of villains, but our understanding of it was naïve. They had already started their war—their war to destroy hero society."
"Even if we had understood it, would we have been able to defend against it?" Nemuri asks. "With all these events, unfolding one after another… Since All Might, organized crime has been all but weeded out."
"So we got too complacent during that peace without even realizing it," Hizashi adds. "We thought we had time to prepare."
The room is quiet for a moment, and Snipe speaks next. "Having the Sports Festival right after the USJ… we can't keep taking unyielding positions like that. Having a student kidnapped is our greatest failure. Along with Midoriya, they've stolen the trust people had in us as heroes, as teachers."
"All the news outlets are filled with criticism of U.A. right now," Nedzu agrees, his expression as pleasant and unreadable as always. "And no one knows why they want Midoriya, so much so as to sacrifice an objective they already had in their grasp."
A fresh snake of anger curls up in Shouta's stomach, to hear one of his students described as an objective so callously. It's far outshined by the anger burning in his chest, the need to go out and hunt down every last member of the League of Villains until he gets his student back.
"Depending on what they want with him, this could spell the end of U.A. as an educational institution."
Another solemn silence, and Shouta feels Hizashi look down at the table in front of them.
"Since we're on the topic of trust, there's something I'd like to say," his husband says. "Given everything that's happened, I think we can safely say… there's a traitor among us, isn't there?"
Various teachers gasp, and Hizashi continues on. Shouta watches him from the corner of his eye. "Only the teachers and the Pussycats knew where the training camp was to be held! And that's not all that's suspicious." His hand leaves Shouta's thigh as he stands and slaps his hands down on the table. "Using their cellphone information, even the students—"
"Mic, stop it." That's Thirteen.
"How can I?" Hizashi asks, and Shouta can hear the—the strain, tearing at his voice, the strain of failure. From the way Nemuri shifts, he knows she hears it too. "We need to clean this place up—"
"What about you?" Snipes drawl cuts in. "Can you prove that you're 100% clean? Can you assert that everyone here is clean?" Hizashi sits down, a dissatisfied noise that could be called a whine escaping as he crosses his arms. "If we suspect each other, then we'll destroy ourselves from the inside. Looking for a traitor isn't something we should do in a hurry."
"At the very least, I trust you all." Nedzu takes the reins of the situation, waving a paw at everyone in the room. "I can't prove that I'm completely clean, either. For now, what we must do as a school is guarantee the safety of our students. With the suspected leak, there's something I've been thinking of doing for a while now! That's—"
A phone call is here! A phone call is here!
Yagi stands. "Excuse me. I have to take this."
"We're in a meeting! Turn off your phone!" Hizashi snaps as Yagi slinks out of the room, not unlike Shouta and Hizashi's cat slinks off when she's been seen doing something embarrassing.
Shouta sighs. "Principal. What were you about to say?"
"I was about to say, that maybe it's time we build those dorms we've been considering!" Nedzu raises his hands, the closest approximation to a gleeful grin on his face.
"Dorms?" Shouta growls, already feeling the stress of watching his nineteen idiots 24/7 settling around his shoulders.
"We have two locations," Tsukauchi says.
Shouta is at the back of the room, leaning against the wall while Kan stands, arms crossed, next to him. Yagi is standing with them as well, 'standing in' for All Might. Endeavor, Best Jeanist, and Edgeshot are also in the room, sitting at the table. Nedzu is there too, standing on the table near Tsukauchi.
Tsukauchi, who is pointing at two pins on a map of Kamino Ward in Yokohama.
"The first location was provided by Yaoyorozu Momo, a member of U.A.'s Class 1-A who had the forethought to attach a tracking device to the Noumu involved in the attack on U.A.'s first-year training camp. She provided us a receiver for the device earlier today when we took her statement. The second location was deduced through witness statements and descriptions of the villains involved in the attack on the training camp. We are still working on confirming this location."
"That's why we can't move tonight, for anyone curious!" Nedzu chirps. "We're also still working on coordinating with all the pros we're planning on including!"
"You have four of the Top Five," Endeavor growls. "How many more do you need?"
"You four would be enough, if we were dealing with a normal villain! However, this is not just an organized group of villains, but they're overseen by the most dangerous man any of you have faced." Nedzu's features rearrange into something Shouta recognizes as the man's version of a frown. "It was an evil we thought dead until recently."
"He's called All For One," Tsukauchi says. Out of the other three heroes, only Edgeshot stiffens. Only Edgeshot is already familiar with the name. "Known for the ability to take and give quirks, he's been a major influencing power in Japan for a very long time."
"Then why have we never heard of him?" Best Jeanist, this time, leaning forward with his hands laced in front of his face and elbows resting on the table.
"Because he hasn't wanted you to," Edgeshot replies. There's a pause, presumably for a facial expression of some sort. "To reveal himself would be to forfeit much of his power."
"Then why have none of you revealed him?" Endeavor asks.
"He's already revealed," Edgeshot counters. "In the history books. A major player from the dawn of quirks, he's been alive for two hundred years. Of course, even today, who would believe that? I certainly struggled to."
"You're telling me he's immortal?" Endeavor growls, and Shouta can see Tsukauchi press his lips together into a thin line.
"The man steals quirks," Nedzu is the one to reply. "It stands to reason he's found immortality or longevity or revitalization quirks of some form over the years!"
Endeavor grumbles, but settles, and Nedzu continues.
"We'll likely split the reporting heroes into two teams, one for one location and one for the other! I am currently considering Best Jeanist to lead one, and All Might to lead the other. Aizawa, Kan, you two are here because the three of us are the important third prong: the distraction!"
"Oh, no," Shouta grumbles, feeling more than seeing Kan shift next to him.
"Once we have confirmed the second location, we will call a press conference for the same time the raid is scheduled!"
"Please kill me now," Shouta mutters.
The child is six or seven, wearing a purple tank top and light jean shorts with butterflies embroidered on them. There's hair clips, brightly colored and shaped like various animals, hanging loose in messy black hair.
"She has an emitter-type quirk," his father says. Izuku just tries not to look at her, tries not to see the gag, see the way her eyes (so wide and dark and filled with fear) look at him like he might be able to save her. "You tend to use your quirk just by quickly touching the subject you want to use it on, so I wonder, what happens if you maintain contact?" He releases one of Izuku's arms, his left one, and leaves the rest of him chained to this chair.
With his arm free, Izuku can see the skin of his wrist, the freshly healed burn scar there. It's vaguely handprint-shaped, the same way the scars on his neck are vaguely fingerprint-shaped, and still a fresh, angry red.
"Activate your quirk on her, but maintain contact," his father orders. The girl is under the affect of Hold, still and scared and crying. His father is still behind him after unchaining his arm.
"No," Izuku says.
His father sighs. "Do as I say. Don't make me ask again, Izuku."
"I won't do it," Izuku replies. His hands start to shake, the tremors making their way up his arms.
The presence behind him shifts as his father steps away. "Doctor." He sounds so terribly disappointed. "Please bring Ragdoll back out."
It takes a couple minutes for the doctor to return, wheeling Ragdoll out on a gurney. She's still unconscious, an IV inserted in the crook of her elbow. His father steps away, towards Ragdoll, and then he's standing over her, a crackle of red and black lightning summoning a white blade from beneath his skin.
"It's such a waste to kill her," his father says. He seems to be looking down at Ragdoll, but Izuku can't see through the mask. "I've already taken her quirk. There's no need for me to harm her further, but, well." The motion is clinical, precise, as he brings the blade to rest against Ragdoll's throat. "If you won't comply… perhaps drastic measures will be taken."
Izuku swallows. Breathing… he's supposed to be breathing, right. Ragdoll's life depends on it.
"I really won't ask again. Please activate your quirk and maintain contact with the child."
His hand is shaking, tremors running through it like seismic waves. The child still held in place, silent, terrified, shaking as much as he is.
He wraps his hand around her bare shoulder, red lightning flickering as all five fingers make contact.
Just like his father asks, he holds it there.
Mystic is my friend's OC. You can find her featured in the story Rebel in the Gray by Yamadadzawa on ao3.