warnings: vomit/emeto, criminal acts of coercion (i'm sure you remember that AFO is literally holding Ragdoll's life over Izuku's head), panic attack, implied/referenced self harm (in the past: scars are seen and mentioned, and it's briefly noted that a POV character is feeling sh urges again)
What is he supposed to be doing? What is this supposed to accomplish? Is his father hoping that Negation will turn out to be a copy of… of his quirk?
The first time he breaks contact is after about five minutes. His entire body is shaking, he can feel tears slip down his cheeks, and Hold is the only reason the child in front of him hasn't curled up into a tiny ball of fear and pain.
The keening, the whining, the pained little noises are the worst part of it.
Using his quirk like this hurts her.
"Why have you stopped?" his father asks. "Resume."
Izuku's eyes flicker over towards his father and the woman he holds under his blade.
He leans forward and resumes, red lightning blazing to life as he resumes his grip. The girl's skin is warm underneath his hand, too warm, almost fever-hot except maybe that's part of her quirk.
He holds her arm.
Seven minutes later, he lets go again.
"I'm sorry," he whispers as her whimpers fill his ears. "I'm sorry."
"Do you want Ragdoll to die?" and Izuku's shaking his head, vision blurring with tears and with motion.
"No, no no no," he says. "No."
He can't look, not at the girl, not at his father and Ragdoll, not at anything, so he reaches blindly and finds the arm again. His stomach is churning, he can barely breathe, it's like there's a vice around his lungs and it's going to be there forever. It's just him, his hand, and that hot skin underneath.
Fifteen minutes.
It takes fifteen minutes for his red lightning to turn red and black. It feels like something s underneath his hand, something that should be whole, that's always whole, except now it's gone, it's in tiny broken pieces.
The girl's skin cools. Not like she's dead, because she's not, she's still there, breathing and unconscious, but her skin is cooling to a normal temperature and Izuku's mouth is filling with spit.
He turns his head to the side and throws up. There's spots of heat, on his arm, his leg, where he hadn't entirely missed himself. A headache pounds behind his eyes, swiftly crystalizing into one hell of a quirk backlash, and now his mouth tastes awful, to boot.
"I should've expected some quirk backlash, I suppose." His father echoes his own thoughts. "We'll get you cleaned up in a minute, but first," his father's voice grows louder as he draws closer, "I'm curious what happened here. Take a look, Izuku."
His heart pounds. His heart hasn't stopped pounding. Will his father kill Ragdoll if he doesn't look?
Izuku looks.
The girl is completely unconscious with his father crouched over her supine body. His hand is on her head.
"I can't feel a quirk in her," his father says. Izuku can hear the way the smile curls in his voice. "She's just as quirkless as Ragdoll over there. What about you, Izuku? Do you feel any additions?"
Does he?
"What—" his voice gives out, and he clears his throat. "What should it feel like?"
"Oh," his father stands. "It's just—an addition. Every quirk feels slightly different. Maybe it's a heat?"
"There's…" Izuku shakes his head. "There's nothing."
His father steps closer, within reach, but… Izuku feels like maybe he'll throw up again, and his head hurts, and then he can't move because that hand's on his head again.
"Interesting." His father hums. "You still only have one quirk."
He can't help the relieved exhale that escapes.
"Let's get you cleaned up and into clean clothes, and then we can discuss this."
He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's not having his chains undone.
"Please don't make any escape attempts," his father requests. "I'd prefer not to have to subdue you."
His father won't be able to do much subduing if Izuku gets there first. But well, maybe he'll wait, because he stumbles as he gets to his feet. His knees hurt, his whole body aches and he's still shaking all over.
And then his father's there, a steady hand on his back. Izuku shudders and pushes the arm away. His father heaves a loud, disappointed sigh, but the hand doesn't return, and Izuku stumbles through the Noumu lab after the man.
His father leads him to a residential area, of sorts, a set of rooms with a bathroom and a shower. It's a nice shower, in a nice bathroom, way fancier than he expects to exist in this sort of warehouse, with light blue tile floors and shiny silver tap handles on everything. The shower curtain has a tree on it and the bath towels are lavender.
"Clean towels and washcloths are in the second drawer down on the right-hand side of the sink. Feel free to use whatever toiletries you wish. I will find some clean clothes for you."
With that, his father all but shoves him into the bathroom and closes and locks the door behind him. Izuku can just stand there for a few moments, blinking, as his mind fights to catch up. What the fuck is even happening? He's just… being turned loose in this bathroom to do whatever the hell he wants? What if he wants to make a bomb out of the cleaning materials under the sink?
…He checks under the sink. There's nothing he can make a bomb with, but there is a can of scouring powder and a sponge.
Okay, so, no blowing his way out with improvised explosive devices. Guess he's just… taking a shower. Except the lights are stabbing his head and the shower's going to be noisy anyways.
He spends a couple moments playing with the light switches until the lights are at a low, manageable level, and then he pulls a clean towel and washcloth out of the second drawer down on the right-hand side of the sink.
He drapes the towel over the shower curtain bar, along with the washcloth. He turns the water on, undresses, waits for it to get hot.
He steps in.
The water is hot, throwing up steam already. It sears his shoulders and runs in rivulets down his chest.
The water isn't the only thing making his face wet. Those are tears, too, salty and warm but nothing compared to the heat of the shower water, the heat of the little girl's quirk, whatever it was.
His scalp stings, and uncurls his fingers, one at a time, until he's no longer pulling his hair.
The water is still hot.
He's still trapped.
There's a handful of thin, straight scars on his upper thigh, and it's been so long since the desire to add to them has been this intense.
That's what the hot water's for, he supposes.
It helps.
Everything softens into a haze as he picks up the shampoo… and then sets it down. He doesn't need that.
He settles for the body wash, something vanilla and sweet and creamy, and it makes him think of home. It's… such a familiar scent, one of his mother's favorites. Was it one of her favorites when she was with his father? Is that why it's here, in this place? The bottle is brand new, he can tell, just like the shampoo and conditioner—also favorites of his mother's.
His mother.
Fuck, his mother. She must—she must be so worried. This is it, the nightmare, the worst situation. Has she been informed, yet, that he's been taken?
(What is he thinking, of course she already knows. If nothing else, Aizawa would tell her.)
Aizawa.
Shit.
He'd broken his promise. He'd broken his promise to head back to the lodge, to stay safe, and now here he is. What had he been thinking?
There's a new keening noise, and, oh, that's him. His throat's creating that. That's his strangled voice, and his scalp is stinging again, and his legs finally fail him, dumping him on the floor of the shower.
He can't drag his hands back out of his hair now. He can't unbend his spine from this position, from how he's curling over his knees, and he can't stop the noise his throat is making, he can't hold back the sobs—
He breaks.
He shatters into tiny little pieces, sitting here, in this shower, this small piece of safety in the middle of danger. He's alone, for now. He's safe, for now.
His shoulders, red with the heat of the water, shake with the force of his sobs as he curls in around the hole in his chest where his innocence used to be.
(He didn't think he was innocent before, but it's not something you notice until it's gone and you're left looking back at a before and an after and-)
And he's here, still, his feet flat against the porcelain surface while water drums against his shoulders.
Shouta is in and out of meetings with parents all day in between meetings with Nedzu, Kan, and the school's PR directors to figure out what they're going to say in the upcoming press conference. To the parents, they apologize for the lapse in security, in their judgment. They promise that security updates are coming, that the parents will be briefed on what they are and how they plan to improve as soon as they can.
He goes home with exhaustion dragging at his limbs, weighing his eyelids down, eating away at his insides. Hizashi isn't there, still on-air, but Inko is, and she's taken over their kitchen, the sounds of Put Your Hands Up Radio emanating softly from her phone.
"Hizashi said it was… fine, if I baked some," she said, as explanation. "I can't go to work, right now, and if I don't do anything, I will lose my mind."
"I get it," Shouta replies, shuffling to a stop next to her, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jumpsuit. She's moving as he stops, flitting from one part of the kitchen to the next, constantly in motion. There's her tablet, on the kitchen island, and one of Shouta's old law textbooks open on the table, a partially filled notebook next to it. "Studying law now, too?"
Inko sighs. "It's something I've… known, a bit, but I figure, with the… unique position I'm in, I should refamiliarize myself with it."
Unique position. Ah, yes, the unique position of having been privy to many of the most dangerous villain's secrets and yet coming forward with none of them. Fear, especially fear for family, can be a powerful motivator, but even that knowledge can't silence the small part of him that wants to blame her for the situation they're in right now.
"That's probably a good idea," he says instead of the one hundred and one other things he wants to say.
Inko sighs. "Do you think Nemuri, Tensei, and Emi would be willing to do dinner? Perhaps Detective Tsukauchi, as well, that man's probably working himself to the bone, he seems like the type…"
Shouta frowns. "I think they would," he says. His phone is already out and the message to Hizashi already in progress. "It's a little late, but I don't think any of them would mind."
"And you don't mind?" Inko asks, turning to look at him, and for a moment, he's struck by how similar her eyes are to her son's. Shape, color, even the question they're asking now… he's reminded, so much, of the day he'd first met Midoriya, of a shy little twelve-year-old who looked up at him with big green eyes and asked him, are you sure you don't mind training me?
"Of course," Shouta replies. "It'll be good for all of us. I'll call the Detective and then I can help you cook."
"Oh, that's not—"
"My kitchen, my rules," Shouta overrules her, giving her one of his best dead-eyed stares. "I'm helping you cook dinner."
Inko sighs again, but it's accompanied by a soft, affectionate smile, and he considers that a victory.
He Does Not Think about where the clothes he's putting on come from. There's a pair of worn black jeans that are just a little bit too long and gather at his ankles and a plain grey T-shirt. He's given a plain navy-blue hoodie, too, because apparently his father isn't a fan of him being cold, even though he's choosing not to rectify the fact that he took away Izuku's shoes.
(He doesn't even have socks, it's just his bare toes against the world.)
He knocks on the door when he's dressed, his hair still damp and leeching heat out of his head so he's put the hood up to at least retain some heat.
His father is right there, opening the door within moments.
"Come, Izuku," he says. "I have so many ideas for your quirk."
That's not terrifying at all. He says nothing, just follows his father silently, head down.
"I'm wondering—does your quirk work against heteromorphic quirks?" Izuku shakes his head. "Izuku. I would appreciate an answer."
Oh, yes, that's correct, his father is fucking blind.
"No, it doesn't," he murmurs.
"Speak up," his father says.
"No, it doesn't work against heteromorphic quirks," Izuku snaps, glaring up through his bangs at that wide back in front of him.
"Hm. Well. I wonder if that's still true. It seems like your quirk has gone through an Awakening, of sorts, or perhaps it just did something it's always been able to do. I think it's worth it to try again, though…" The man slows down. That hand reaches out, to touch him again, to do something again, and Izuku doesn't think.
He just reaches out.
Reflex.
Five fingers wrap around the man's hand, touching skin, and—
He can feel it.
There's a pulsing, living mass underneath the man's skin. There's—
It feels like touching a star. It's like looking into the center of the universe. It's like Izuku's been asleep all his life…
And only now is he awake.
(He's unconscious before his body hits the floor.)
Emi is the first to arrive, letting herself in without knocking. She bounds in, dropping her purse on the table.
"Holy shit, Eraser, you would not believe the shit my superiors are fucking saying, holy shit."
"Four expletives?" he raises an eyebrow, even though she can't see it as he's babysitting noodles. They're his strongest food cooking skill, and he's going to take this responsibility seriously. "It must be really bad."
"They're calling this the 'beginning of the end' for U.A., along with all sorts of other, much more morally questionable and incredibly insensitive things that I will not repeat for respect of people in this room!" She probably smiles at Inko.
"Your discretion is appreciated," Inko replies.
"So, what's with the lawbooks out and about?" Emi asks. Her footsteps are loud and heavy as she walks over to him and leans around his side to look at what's on the stove. "You brushing up your lawyer skills?"
"Inko is," he replies.
"Oooh, Inko!" Emi turns, bounding back over to Inko. "You switching careers from trauma nurse to lawyer?"
"I just thought it would be useful to refamiliarize myself with certain aspects of the lawbook."
Shouta can feel the way Emi projects her skeptical expression. "These are all on villain and vigilante law."
"Yes. They'll be useful in my future, I think," Inko agrees.
Emi hums. "I feel like, as a pro, I should keep digging, but as your friend, I should probably let this lie for now!"
"As astute as always," Inko agrees. "How have your students been?"
That's the biggest distraction button Inko could've hit. Emi's always ready to espouse the virtues of her classes.
Hizashi and Nemuri are the next to arrive, walking into the apartment in the middle of Emi telling Inko a story about one of her more uppity students getting their ass handed to him by a first year with a supposedly useless quirk. Hizashi swings by the kitchen for long enough to give Shouta a kiss hello, and then he's off to the shower to wash all the product out of his hair. Nemuri follows him into the kitchen, joining Inko and Emi and throwing in stories about her own classes.
Dinner is just being finished up when Tsukauchi and Tensei arrive, at the same time.
"I wasn't expecting to see Tsukauchi on the way up," Tensei says, wheeling into the dining room. He smiles as he continues, "is he being added to the big sistering?"
"Yes," Inko says. "He is."
Tsukauchi is slotted into the group, sitting between Tensei and Nemuri.
"Work topics are strictly off limits tonight!" Hizashi declares, not faltering even under the power of the looks he's being given.
"You do realize who you're talking to, right?" Nemuri asks, glancing around the group. "Five pro heroes, a detective, and a trauma nurse? What do we have to talk about that isn't work-related, especially after this fucking week?"
Shouta drags a hand down his face. She's not wrong. The other adults at the table are shifting, glancing around, before Hizashi raises a hand, pointing at the ceiling: lightbulb moment!
"Oh! Have you all listened to Chouko's new album?"
"You ask that like you haven't been playing it obsessively on your show," Nemuri replies, rolling her eyes.
"Well, yes, that means most of us have listened to it, therefore, most of us can talk about it!" Hizashi gestures around the table, and, well, he's correct. The only one Shouta's not sure listens to Hizashi's show is Tsukauchi, but even he is nodding.
"Glam pop isn't my favorite genre, but I've enjoyed a few of her songs," Emi says, kicking off a conversation about musical artists and favorite genres. Most of them already know this information about each other—especially the core four of Tensei, Shouta, Nemuri, and Hizashi—but it's still a light-hearted topic that all of them can talk about.
"—but what I really like about Three Left Turns is that they don't shy away from talking about things that are normally considered taboo." Tsukauchi is in the middle of giving a lecture espousing the virtues of his favorite band. All of them are paying attention, yes, but Tensei is practically hanging off every word. "What popular band explicitly addresses topics such as quirk discrimination and the experience of having a fallen pro in the family so openly? And these are, these are very personal topics to all three of them. I mean, their lineup is," Tsukauchi holds up a hand, counting off on fingers, "heteromorphic quirk, 'villain' quirk, and quirkless. They know what they're singing about."
"Oh!" Tensei perks up. "That must be where the name comes from, right? There's three of them and they're all… left turns, so to speak."
Tsukauchi nods. "That's exactly it."
"Personally—" Nemuri jumps back into the conversation, and Shouta turns to look at Inko. Her eyes are still red, and there's still lines of tension around her eyes and mouth, but, well, she's smiling just a little, and she's participating in the conversation, so Shouta will mark this down as a win in his books.
The conversation keeps turning, Emi and Hizashi driving it forward from topic to topic—when asked what her favorite genre of music is, Emi answers "comedy", which leads to the group talking about their favorite comedians and favorite jokes. They keep going, until Tensei needs to leave because Chimiko's there to pick him up. There's a bitter twist to his smile as he says that, but it eases slightly as Nemuri turns to beg Tsukauchi for a ride home, the woman stalking towards the detective who holds his hands up in defense.
"Okay, okay!" he gives in easily, and Nemuri straightens, grinning.
"You're the best!" she says. She turns to Shouta, her grin shifting into a smile. "I'm going to hear from you first thing tomorrow morning, alright?" she says, and he nods. "Hug?" she asks, and he steps forward, letting her wrap her arms around him. She holds him for a couple breaths, and then squeezes before letting go and turning to Hizashi. There's no hesitation: the two of them crash into each other, and this time, Hizashi is the one picking Nemuri up with his skinny twink arms and squeezing her while she pretends to choke.
He sets her down, and she goes to hug Inko while Shouta turns to Tensei, who's looking at him with serious golden eyes.
"Hey," Tensei says. "I'll see you later, okay?" He reaches up to bump Shouta's arm with a fist. "Call me if you need to talk."
Shouta nods. "I'll see you."
Tensei leaves first, and then Tsukauchi and Nemuri, and finally Emi, leaving Hizashi, Shouta, and Inko alone in the apartment. Inko turns to them, a weary smile on her lips.
"Thank you," she says. "For tonight. I needed that."
"I think we all did," Hizashi replies. He steps forward, opening his arms, and Inko steps into them. Shouta watches for a moment before his husband is reaching out and pulling him into the hug. It lasts for maybe a minute before they're stepping apart, Inko swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm going to go call Hisashi," she says. "He's trying to get cleared to take some time off and come back to Japan for a bit, but, well. We'll see."
Shouta nods and watches as Inko turns and walks down the hall, her phone already held up to her ear. Hizashi's arms settle around his waist as his husband rests his head on Shouta's shoulder. Monster, who'd been hiding from the chaos, walks out from her hiding spot under the couch with a mrrp and wraps herself around their legs.
They stand there like that, Hizashi burying his nose in Shouta's neck, Shouta relaxing into his hold. The apartment is quiet, now. He can hear the sound of Inko's voice, carrying through the walls as she talks to Hisashi. He can't make out her words, but she doesn't sound like she's crying, so that's good.
They stand there until Shouta sighs and pats one of Hizashi's hands.
"We should get some sleep," he murmurs. Hizashi nods, his moustache scratching at Shouta's neck.
hey! not a textbook cliffhanger, at least!