warnings: AFO is a slimy bastard, boundary violations, implied/referenced sexual content (very lightly implied, at the end of the chap)
He wakes chained to a chair.
He aches. All over, the deep pain of something he can't quite name, of exhaustion. His head pounds and, oh, oh, what was that.
He had touched a star and the star won.
He can't help the groan that escapes as he shifts. His neck is still, his whole body is just one big ache and it feels like there's something stabbing his eyes out. Had his father handed him over to Toga at some point while he'd been unconscious?
…No.
A villain he may be, but that doesn't fit with what he's seen so far. His father wants to… turn him, not kill him.
His awareness extends beyond the pain, towards the surface and away from the depths. There's something, dried and crusty, on his cheeks and his chin and his mouth tastes of metal and blood. Chains rest heavy around his ankles, keeping his bare feet pressed to the cold concrete floor, and…
There's also something on his wrists. More than just the chains, there's a pair of… metal bracelets? One on each wrist, and they're attached to—
They're attached to fabric. Sleek fabric, smooth and metallic and covering the pinky and ring fingers of each hand.
Oh.
Okay.
He finally pries his eyes open, and if he thought they were being stabbed out before, he was wrong. The lights are stabbing now, and his eyes flinch shut again.
"Ah. You're awake."
His father is still there, and Izuku grits his teeth in a pained snarl.
"I'm very disappointed in you." What did he even expect? "You could have killed yourself with that stunt."
Why does he care, Izuku wants to ask, but the words won't make it all the way to his mouth.
"I've healed you from that as much as I can. I hope you won't make the same mistake again, Izuku."
Oh, he won't. His father could rest assured—it would be a long time until he'd even consider trying to use Negation against him.
There's the sound of shifting fabric, footsteps against concrete, and.
Something's humming, but it's not something he can hear.
He opens his eyes, and he looks at his father, and he sees that shift, that pulse, that writhing mass of quirks under his skin. They're humming, they're screaming and singing and crying and he's only just now noticed them.
He's finally awake.
"You seem distressed," his father says. "Your pulse is racing, your breathing is shallow."
He can't respond. There's just him and that—
That black hole.
He was wrong, his father isn't a star, not really, he's a black hole, and the quirks within him are the star he'd touched.
"Izuku."
There's a hand on his forehead, and he spasms.
"Don't." His voice cracks. "Don't, I, get, get back."
"Oh, Izuku," and that hand, big and cold and pulsing with the energy of hundreds of stolen quicks begins carding through his hair. "It's okay. I forgive you, of course. The gloves are just… insurance. Your brother had to wear them, too, before he learned control."
His brother?
Oh.
Right.
"He's still not my brother," Izuku hisses. That hand keeps going, keeps moving, that steady pace. His father hums.
"I'll give you a little bit to recollect yourself," the man says, that hand finally, finally leaving his hair. "I'll return in ten minutes. Even with this… delay, we should continue your training."
Izuku's eyes track the man as he leaves, watching the trails of light he leaves behind in his wake, little bits of starstuff his quirk couldn't hold onto.
He blinks, twice, clearing the trails from his eyes, and now that the black hole, the star at the center of the universe is gone, he can truly see the rest of the Noumu lab.
He wishes he couldn't.
His whole body tenses as adrenaline floods his veins, a fight-or-flight response that can't do anything right now. There's…
There's so much wrong.
The Noumu are exactly as they were, and physically exactly the same. It's him who's changed, looking upon them with eyes—
With eyes that can see quirks now.
(Is it just his eyes, though? Because he closes them, and they're still there, he can still make out the Noumu, just barely…)
And the Noumu…
The Noumu are a terrible, horrible patchwork quilt. Stitched together by someone sewing denim to corduroy to silk to cotton, where his father was a black hole filled with stolen stars, these are broken stars slammed together by an outside force that shouldn't ever have touched them. They're filled with different colors, all clashing and swirling and striking against each other. The textures don't match, the pitches the frequencies the harmonies, none of them match.
And there, among the weirdness and the wrongness and the chaos, is one normal. human. being.
It's the doctor, short and bald and his quirk is like honey, shimmering gold across the skin. It's calm, lazy, unhurried. Its hum is… content. Mellow.
Such a contrast to everything else around him.
The ten minutes pass, Izuku's eyes flicking around, passing over everything until the man filled with stolen stars returns and Izuku's attention is drawn, inevitably, back to him. He's leading someone, someone small—
Another child.
This one is gender indeterminate, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and gym shorts that expose shaggy-furred goat legs. They have big brown eyes with horizontal pupils, grey hair, and two small nubs on their forehead where their horns are growing in.
"I hope you're ready to resume your training, Izuku," his father says, leading the child forward until they're both standing in front of Izuku. He forces his eyes to take in the child's quirk, away from his father, to just look at the low, steady pulse of grey light next to the hundreds of burning stars. He turns his ears from the discordant noise, the contrasting tones of his father's quirks to take in the low, strong hum of a stable interval coming from the little satyr child.
"You mentioned your quirk does not negate mutation quirks," his father says. "I wonder if it can remove them."
"Shatter," Izuku whispers. "It's shattering."
His father nods. "Shatter, then." He holds out a hand, red and black lightning dancing over his arm as he activates Hold.
Under his skin, it's different. There's a shifting, and then one quirk comes to the front. Hold is dark, a steady brown, and he can see a sheen of that brown cover the satyr child's grey.
"Now, Izuku, I am going to release one hand and remove the glove. You will not like the consequences of attempting to use your quirk against me a second time."
Ragdoll's no longer there, physically, but she doesn't need to be. He hasn't forgotten what happened last time.
The chains are removed from his left arm, and there's the sound of a key turning in a lock and the click of it unlocking and the cuff around his left wrist is released, opening up and allowing his father to pull it and the smooth metallic fabric it's attached to off.
Izuku flexes his fingers, making and unmaking a fist, reveling in the feeling of all five fingers being free for just a moment.
"Any time now, Izuku," his father says, and Izuku looks at the satyr child, who's looking up at him with big brown eyes, gagged just as the last girl was.
"I'm sorry," Izuku whispers, reaching forward to wrap his arm around the fur-covered upper arm of the child in front of him. The fur is short and course under his palm, and rather than drawing it out like he had with the little girl and her hairclips, he focuses.
He can see Negation working, the way Hold just goes poof but the child is still motionless like it's active. And, well, Negation has never truly worked against heteromorphic quirks like this, but he can still see it happening, even though nothing of the child changes.
Eclipse was… an apt name to choose, he thinks, as he sees the grey of the child's quirk fade to nothing, only a corona-like ring of light remaining around the edges.
And so he grits his teeth and focuses. The child's keening is in harmony with their quirk, a third note added changing the interval to a chord and it's nothing Izuku can name but it hurts. It hurts a place in his chest, the empty point, the silence of his own quirk letting the pain of the other resonate in that spot.
He focuses, and watches, feels, the other quirk shatter under his skin and there's a ringing nothing where the quirk's sound used to be. There's a grinding, shifting, and it's nothing to do with quirks (and yet everything to do with them) as the child's physiology changes. There's a tug, under his skin, and Izuku doesn't know what it means but he maintains contact the whole time, bones shifting and changing and fur falling off in clumps until the child slumps, unconscious, and Izuku lets go, allowing them to lay in a pile of fur that once was theirs until Izuku took it away.
There's only echoes, wisps of grey remaining within the child's form. Will those fade, as well, with time, or will they always be there?
He almost doesn't want to know.
"Amazing," his father breathes. "That was less than three minutes, such an improvement from last time. I'm proud of you."
Izuku bares his teeth. His head is still pounding, and he can feel a twinge in his nose that's warning him of an upcoming nosebleed. At least he hasn't thrown up, this time.
"Hold still," his father says, and then he slides the glove back on Izuku's left hand, the cuff locking with a click. He rips his arm out of his father's hold with a snarl, pulling it close to his body.
His father sighs. "We will resume after lunch. The doctor will bring you food." His father's quirk shifts, a shimmering, dancing sky blue coming to the front with a crackle of red and black and that shimmering sky reaches out and lifts the now-quirkless child with a flourish of his father's hand.
Izuku watches them leave.
True to his father's word, the doctor brings him lunch. It's a sandwich and a glass of tepid water.
Izuku refuses to eat it until his father returns and threatens Ragdoll again.
"How do I know it's not drugged?" he asks, holding it in one hand and glaring up at his father.
"Why would I drug you?" his father asks.
Izuku wrinkles his nose and eats the sandwich and drinks the water. It's rather dry, but he eats it. He waits again, a whole half hour filled with nothing but him, his father, and the Noumus, until the doctor is instructed to bring another prisoner, this one an adult, out.
…How many people has his father even kidnapped for this?
"I want to see how your quirk interacts with a mature quirk," his father says, unlocking the left cuff and pulling the glove off again.
So Izuku reaches out and shatters another quirk.
That's what he spends the afternoon doing, shattering one quirk and then another until his nose bleeds and his head feels like it's splitting open and he can barely keep his eyes open.
"I think that's enough," he can hear, distantly, his father say. "For now. I'll give you a bit of a challenge tomorrow."
The glove-cuff goes back on. He can feel the chains loosening, unwinding, but he can barely move, slumping into his father's arms.
He doesn't- he doesn't want this, struggling to get his own legs underneath him, but he's weak, completely drained, and his father picks him up, one arm under his knees and one around his shoulders.
"Oh, Izuku," his father murmurs. "You've pushed yourself too hard today. You should have let me know you were reaching your limits earlier."
He wants to protest, wants to explain that he was already at his limits and that the man holding him was holding someone's life over his head.
But he can barely keep his eyes open.
He hears a door click open, feels himself get set on a bed and a blanket tucked over him, and then hears a door shut and a lock turn.
It's dark, and quiet, and now, as he feels the writhing-pulsing-mass-of-starstuff that is his father walk away, there's a distinct lack of other people, other quirks around him.
He can't manage to hold onto consciousness for much longer.
He wakes covered in sweat and tangled up in blankets that aren't his. There's dried blood on his face, on the pillowcase, on the blankets and even on the borrowed-gifted-stolen hoodie. His mouth tastes like iron and morning breath and his head is killing him… but what's new.
The door opens.
"Ah, you're awake now. Good."
"You have fucking Search, you already knew I was awake," Izuku mutters, dragging his forearm across his face in an attempt to maybe… who knows. Kill his headache? Feel less groggy? Whatever. He's awake now and he's not happy about it.
"You were asleep for thirteen hours," his father says, like Izuku hasn't even spoken.
"It's almost like quirk overuse knocked me out." He levers himself upright until he's sitting up. Maybe he should ask if he can wash his face, but.
But he doesn't.
His heartrate picks up at the thought, so he shoves it aside and stands, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. His spine cracks like snapping twigs, and that metaphor just reminds him of the part where he stabbed Muscular's eye out with a stick.
He takes a deep breath. He can't afford to think about that, not right now, so he shoves it aside with the thought about washing his face and ten thousand other thoughts he can't have right now (who's Yuho are the heroes coming for him why is his father being like this what's going to happen to the people whose quirks he shattered yesterday) and steps forward, towards his father, towards the door, towards another day of who-knows-what in the closest place to hell on earth.
His father leads him back out to the main area of the Noumu lab. "Have you ever known such a perfect invention?" he asks, laying a hand on the glass of the nearest tank. "I'm curious, Izuku. Can you sense quirks?"
"Can you?" Izuku fires back, crossing his arms.
"Yes, I can." Oh, a straight answer. "I used to be able to see them, when I had eyes. Now I can only feel them, so to speak, physical sensations, when I lay my hands on someone. For example, yours feels like nothing. Not the nothing of the quirkless, but the nothing of the void of space." Oh! Cool! They're both on the space metaphors! "So tell me, Izuku, can you sense quirks?"
"Yes." There's no need to tell him that it only happened after he tried to use his quirk on him.
"Oh? How do you experience it?"
Izuku presses his lips together. Should—should he? Dare he?
He dares.
"Why should I tell you?" He fights the urge to shrink back as his father whirls around, instead squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin.
"Izuku." His father sounds… irritated. "I am growing tired of your insolence."
"Good. Be tired," he snaps.
His father doesn't snap. He doesn't lose his temper, he doesn't summon a fiery rage.
Instead, Izuku feels very, very small as his father steps forward.
"Izuku. I have been very patient with you thus far." Chaining him to a chair was patient!? "However, that ends now. I will not tolerate any more backchat from you. Do you understand?"
His heart pounds in his chest. He… he doesn't want to show any more obedience, but.
But what will he do?
"Izuku. Do you understand?"
"…Yes." He lets his shoulders hunch, his head drop. He understands.
"Yes, what?"
His stomach drops. Is… is he really insisting on this? "Yes, sir," he spits.
"That's not what I'm looking for."
"Then what are you looking for?" The question is out before he can keep it in.
"Izuku, I am your father. Don't you think it's time you address me as such?"
No.
"Yes, father." He lets himself slouch the rest of the way, looking up at the man through his eyelashes.
"That's better. Now, you can sense quirks. You can sense the Noumu, yes? Now, I wonder what would happen if you used your quirk on one of them." The man turns back to the tank like he's gazing at the thing inside with fondness.
"I'd die, probably," Izuku says. It's not backchat if it's an honest answer.
His father tsks. "Oh, I doubt it. If you could survive attempting to activate your quirk on me, then I'm sure a Noumu is nothing. After all, they only have four or five quirks at once." He pushes a button, and the liquid begins draining from the tank. Izuku watches, unable to tear his eyes away, as the creature sinks to the bottom of its cage. It's unmoving, eyes open and unblinking. Without the pale green liquid he can see that its skin is a sickly pink, like conjunctivitis or contact burns.
Another button, and the glass opens.
"Why don't you go try using your quirk on it?"
Minor problem with that: Izuku's still got the gloves locked onto both hands. He says as much, and his father sighs before grabbing his right arm. Izuku refuses the reflex to tear it away from him, and instead holds stock still, barely breathing, as his father unlocks the cuff and pulls the glove off.
"There. Now go try."
Izuku lets his hand fall back to his side and steps forward, barely breathing. The few shallow breaths he takes through his nose almost make him retch, the smell radiating off the thing stinking of… of something.
So, he just doesn't breathe, hesitantly reaching out with his right hand.
Maybe he should think about this?
He takes a step back, and then another, until he's far enough away he can breathe without the smell of the thing so strongly in his nostrils.
"Izuku," his father says, voice cold.
"Sorry. S-sorry." Izuku shakes his head. "Just… smells."
"Ah. I never considered that they smelled. I can't smell much, these days, between the mask and severe damage done to my nose. Take your time."
Izuku takes a deep breath and physically shakes himself, shaking off the words, the feelings, until it's just him and the thing in front of him, and the big question: does his father want a negate or a shatter? He just said activate, and, well, his quirk can do two things now!
…His father probably doesn't want him to undo all the hard work of making the Noumu, so probably just a negate. Izuku takes a deep breath and this time holds it as he walks towards the tank and the still, still creature inside it. He raises his right arm and takes one more step.
His fingertips are centimeters away from the surface. He's hit pause, for a just a moment, nibbling at his lower lip before leaning forward the last couple of centimeters.
He aims, ignoring the wet, sticky skin beneath his fingers, feeling out the easiest quirk, something flickering and green that shoots along the surface of the being like cars going down highways. He feels it, pulsing under four fingertips, and then lowers his thumb.
Red lightning flashes, and the green is eclipsed. He lifts his hand and, physically, there's no change to the Noumu.
"Very good," his father murmurs, and Izuku stiffens as the man leans over his shoulder. "Can you negate more than one at a time?"
Izuku reaches forward again. The Noumu has five quirks: the green one, two red ones of varying shades, a white one, and a steady, solid blue, likely a mutation quirk. He thinks of the pinker red and makes all five points of contact.
His quirk activates.
"Good, good. What are you thinking, when you're using your quirk?"
His breath stutters in his chest.
"Uh, I'm just. Thinking of. Of a quirk. Concentrating on which one I want to negate," he replies.
"And? What if you concentrate on the mutation quirk?"
Izuku reaches forward again, concentrating on the blue. It's deep, and it rings like the satyr quirk, even though it's hidden underneath four other tones. He makes five-finger contact.
Negation activates.
Nothing changes.
"I think something's different," his father says. "Doctor. The boy with the tail, if you would?"
The boy with the tail? The boy with the tail? Izuku stops breathing, his heart skipping in his chest. Could he—
Could he possibly have gotten his hands on Mashirao?
"Izuku? What's wrong?"
That voice, that voice is soft, gentle, and heat rises, from the bottom of his gut, rising up through his core, following his spine up, squeezing at his chest.
He hates that voice.
Izuku doesn't answer, just wraps his arms around himself and glares, glares at the shiny pink skin in front of him, glares at everything and nothing in particular.
His father says nothing more, just lays a hand on Izuku's shoulder and Izuku wishes that he could rip it off.
Shouta wakes to an empty bed, the sound of chatter in the kitchen, and the smell of pancakes and coffee drifting through the apartment.
It was probably the coffee that woke him, if he's being honest with himself.
He drags himself out of bed and runs a hand through his hair. It's a tangled mess, so he'll have to run a comb through it at some point, but not now. He pulls his phone off its charger, drops it in the pocket of his sweats, and slumps out of their bedroom and into the kitchen, where Hizashi is cooking and Inko is nursing a large mug of coffee. It's one of Hizashi's, a white mug with a tie-dye pattern in the colors of the bi pride flag. There's another one of Hizashi's mugs out, the one Shouta had bought him for their first anniversary that has LOUDEST HUSBAND EVER! printed on it in highlighter green on black. It's complete with black coffee in it.
There's a third mug out, the color-changing one of Shouta's that's plain black when it's cold but turns white with a pattern (in this case, cats, lots of cats) when hot liquid is put in it. It obviously has hot liquid in it, and he picks it up and takes a sip of it. Perfect.
"Morning, Shou!" Hizashi chirps. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," Shouta replies, sitting down next to Inko. "Both of you?"
"I slept fine, thank you," Inko replies, while Hizashi says that he slept like the dead… at least until his alarm went off.
Shouta can sleep through anything except the smell of coffee and teenagers getting into shenanigans, so Hizashi's alarm (and Hizashi getting up) rarely wakes him. He has a special alarm, for those circumstances that require him to get up independent of his husband, but normally Hizashi is his alarm.
Hizashi is just finishing the first batch of pancakes when Shouta's phone starts vibrating in his pocket. It vibrates more than once, so it's a phone call, not a text, and he pulls it out and answers as soon as he sees Nedzu's contact.
"What," he growls.
"I just got the call from Tsukauchi that they just got confirmation on the location! I hope you're ready to speak to the press tonight!"
"When?"
"Please be ready at U.A.'s PR office at 19:30! The conference will start at 20:30 on the dot!"
"Got it. Anything else?"
"No! I'll see you tonight, Aizawa!"
Shouta hangs up and sets his phone down on the table with a groan. "Hizashi," he says. "PR office. 19:30. Tonight."
"Do you want me to help you get ready?"
"Yes."
Inko looks up, eyes dancing between the two men. "I'll ask Nemuri and Emi if they want to have a little get-together at either of their places while you are, then."
Is—
Oh.
Oh, he gets what she's insinuating.
"Thanks! We appreciate that," Hizashi replies, grinning. Shouta's not normally the blushing type, but his face is heating up now, mostly because that's his sister (his fake sister, but shh) and. Well.
He does appreciate her.
new update schedule? NEW UPDATE SCHEDULE?
i was looking at how many chapters i have pre-written like. i have 20 chapters beyond this one written (the last 9 of this fic, the first 11 of the second installment) and. so. i'm moving to every other day until i either a) run out of pre-written chapters or b) feel like changing again
so
yeah