Wow, long time. Haha
No excuse, just depressed. This chapter is kinda boring, but we're about to start chugging along into the actual canon time-frame, so yeh.
I'm going back this next week to update the writing. Kinda feel like it's paced too slowly. Emotional breakdown and recovery are really long-winded in real life, but I think in a story it might need a good shove once in a while.
Thanks for coming back or coming by. You're all awesome.
"Detention."
It's Mitsuki, her rough tone clashing with the faint ticking of a nearby grandfather clock. Her brows are furrowed for an uncommon reason. It's not often that she's in a position of weakness, or of misunderstanding. She's a Bakugo. As she walked into this meeting, head held high, brows dropped in determination, it was with confidence.
After a brief conversation with Masaro (who was angrier than she'd recall ever seeing him, in his strong, calm way), Mitsuki rang the school and scheduled a meeting to discuss the ongoing bullying. She loved her son and wanted the very best for him. But she also knew that if she wanted her son to be successful, he'd need to learn from this. If anything was important, it was learning to be supportive of others, not…not whatever he was doing the past few years behind her back.
Now, the woman before her, Aldera's principal, shuffles papers on her desk, feigning thought as if the decision weren't already made. She gives Mitsuki a small smile.
"Yes. We hold the highest standards of behavior for our students, so he must be punished in some way. But since Katsuki has already apologized–"
"To you, not to Izuku–"
"At Aldera, Bakugo-san, we are not in the business of cutting off young heroes from success for simple mistakes. Your son will be properly reprimanded, I can assure you."
She's clean-cut, shining black hair so straight it looks like glass. Her brown eyes are honey-like, beautiful. The blonde leans back in her seat.
"'Properly reprimanded' how? Detention is too easy for the little shit, he needs to learn about the consequences of his actions."
"He'll be helping to tend the courtyard flowerbeds. I think it will be a lesson in assisting the community, no? If he does poorly, the flowers could die."
"That's not punishment. You can replace flowers."
The principal smiles. "Midoriya is…resilient, Bakugo-san. The harm your son inflicted is, let's say, already overcome."
Already…what?
Mitsuki stills, though her fingers crush the sides of her purse. She takes a deep breath and clicks her phone open. No notifications. Good. She runs her fingers through her hair as she exhales. She regains eye contact.
"I'm not really in the joking mood, hon."
"Ah, I apologize, Bakugo-san." The woman clears her throat and sips from a stainless steel tumbler. "I intended no joke with that statement. I assure you, as before, that I take all incidents involving the health and safety of my students seriously. Thankfully, though, any threat of harm has passed. You needn't worry about this incident or any future recurrences. Truly. Boys like yours have so much energy, so much potential. These things are bound to happen. Now we only need to make small corrections and your son will be on his way."
"How the hell can I not worry? What about Izuku?"
At first, the woman looks puzzled, and she locks her hands, fingers weaving together. Her brown eyes illuminate in recognition after a moment.
"Bakugo-kun may see the school counselor at any time, Bakugo-san. I assure you that he will have access to every service we can provide for his physical, mental, and emotional health. And if you feel that Midoriya-kun poses a threat to your son's success, I have no doubt that we can find an arrangement to limit contact. I should have done so long before this could ever happen."
Mitsuki stares. A moment passes, her eyes hidden behind confusion and disbelief. The dark-haired woman is about to speak again, but Mitsuki is already tuning her out. In fact, there's a crescendo of static rising in her ears.
Because that…is so unacceptable. It's jarring, like taking off a pair of sunglasses in bright sun. All of these people, this heartless bitch of a principal, all were Izuku's reality for years. All of this discrimination was festering and thriving and she'd never thought to look for it, or acknowledge it. She hadn't even noticed her son's role change from friend to abuser.
Truly, shockingly, she'd never seen how different her Katsuki's world was, as a budding hero, compared to Izuku's. She never thought everyone who knew the green-haired little booger was just waiting to pack six feet of dirt over him. And yet here, before her, is an example of the power behind the quirkism coloring his life.
A principal hated his guts. Doctors, peers, every person he's run into…Is there anyone that's gentle to him? That tells him he's not fighting alone?
"You're fucking with me, right?" She recalls what her son said, and the barest flash of what Izuku had done in response interrupts her. He'd tried to kill himself. Not even in high school yet, and she knew, she just knew that if Katsuki wasn't his friend, then the boy had no one.
"Everything that you just said. About Izuku? You're kidding, yeah?"
"Bakugo-san, I–"
Mitsuki slams her hand on the armrest of her chair. "It's just one fucking question, dammit. Because I find it absolutely impossible that you are going to ignore and neglect that little green-haired shit who lives alone in the home that his mother, my childhood friend, was murdered in."
The words scald her tongue as they leave her mouth. They were meant to cut at the black-haired woman before her, but instead, they plunge into the freshly-scabbed wounds on her heart. It hurts to know that someone can ignore the needless deaths of any more innocent green-haired people in her life.
"He dropped himself off this very building and had his fucking blood power-washed off the pavement. Do you not understand that he…he matters? Because while I care about my son, I care about Izuku too, and it seems like you're very willing to let him drop off the map any way he can. He needs help, you dumb fuck, just as much as my Katsuki."
The woman eyes Mitsuki, whose breaths are deep, eyes sharp like talons and already blood-red.
"It is my understanding that there is no legal avenue for which we can intervene on Midoriya-kun's place of residence. He is more than welcome to visit with our counselors when he has time available–"
"So that's it."
"I'm not sure what you expect from my staff, Bakugo-san–"
"Nothing." The word is spat from Mitsuki's mouth in distaste. She stands quickly, shuffling her bag onto her shoulder and jabbing a finger at the other woman.
"I guess I expect absolutely nothing but shit to come out of your shitty quirkist mouth."
The blonde leans onto the principal's desk, hands shoulder-width apart. "I'm pulling my son from your school and you bet your flat ass that I'm going to find a way to get Izuku out of this fucking death trap you call a fucking middle school."
"He may withdraw himself at any time."
Withdraw.
Mitsuki clenches her jaw, teeth grinding together painfully. Disbelief seeps into the rage that had stormed around her only a second before. The woman looks entirely unbothered. There's even a small upturn to her lips.
"You don't think we'd fight to keep Midoriya-kun, do you?"
Never mind, the rage is absolutely back and with a murderous vengeance.
"You absolute–"
"Son of a bITCH –gAH!"
Naomasa is having an awful day. And for once, it's because of things that meant people were safe. Well, saf-er.
The bad-ness of the day is exacerbated by this phone call, and the fact that he's just stubbed his toe very hard on the leg of his living room couch and dropped his cell phone.
Dear god he needs caffeine and a nap.
He continues to curse as he grabs the phone and puts it on speaker, dropping it more carefully onto the couch cushions. It's chipped, but otherwise okay. Small mercies.
"–he's suicidal, the other kid won't leave him alone with us, and every fucking hospital and home I've called has given us the finger, so tell me that this isn't legal, please."
It's Eraserhead. And he sounds pissed, in his tired way. Great.
"I wish it wasn't legal, believe me…" Naomasa inspects his toe, and determines that it's probably not broken. "But, look…why do you think I had you watch him? My hands are tied on this, Eraserhead. Having someone look after him was the best I could do."
"Your best is awful, then, detective. Hizashi and I aren't medical professionals. The kid needs real professional help."
"I agree. But I don't know what to tell you."
There's a heavy sigh. "If he's actively suicidal, which he's clearly indicated, he needs constant supervision and Hizashi and I are not able to supervise him 24/7. Unless we bring him to school with us, but that's–"
"I'm sure he'd like that."
The hero's response is deadpan. "He's not going to UA."
Naomasa sighs. With a last glance at his foot, he picks up the phone and sets it on the kitchen counter. He pulls out a coffee filter. "I don't see many other options."
"Well, that's two of us. The other kid doesn't want to let him out of his sight."
The detective chuckles. "Take him too, then." He scoops a third tablespoon of coffee grounds into the filter, a few grains sticking to his fingers.
"I wish you would take this seriously."
"I am! But I honestly don't see a lot of options for you and the kid. Or, kids?"
There's an unhappy grunt from the hero. Naomasa watches the coffee machine begin grumbling, hot brown water starting to drip into the glass pot below.
"This was not in the job description."
"I didn't know I couldn't help quirkless kids either, Eraser, join the club."
The other side of the line is quiet for a moment, and Naomasa imagines the dark-haired hero is rubbing his face in frustration.
"He said he's tried before."
"Suicide? Sadly, yes."
There's a pause on the other end that the detective hardly has time to assess before-
"You knew this and didn't tell me?" Aizawa's response is laced with venom.
"How was I supposed to know he was still suicidal?"
"You clearly didn't inform me well enough to effectively do this job."
Honestly, he's probably not wrong. Naomasa rubs his thumb over the small chip in his phone's screen with s grimace.
"Look, I'm sorry, I don't have much experience with kids in this line of work and–"
"How did he attempt?"
Naomasa responds quickly. "He jumped off his school building."
There's a moment of silence from the hero.
"...How long ago?"
"It's…been several weeks now. Maybe a month or two."
Another moment of silence. Only this one feels particularly intentional. Or just angry. Naomasa feels like it's an angry silence.
"Weeks?"
"Yes?"
"Right. Remind me to never let you supervise a child. Ever."
"I don't understand why that's relevant, Eraser."
"How are you a professional?"
"Skip the sarcasm, please."
"His mother was murdered since then, and he's been living alone. What did you think, that his mental health would flourish?"
Naomasa winces.
"I…you're right. I should have mentioned that. I just didn't want to reveal too much of the boy's personal information. And I put you on his case for a reason, I was worried, believe me."
There's a small hum from the other line that doesn't sound particularly incensed, which settles Naomasa's nerves. Despite dealing with criminals and hardened public servants all day, he's still not a fan of danger or ill-will being directed at him.
"Is there anything else?"
The massive sigh from the other line is followed quickly by the hero's defeated response and the click of the call ending. Naomasa chuckles and pours himself a fresh mug of coffee.
"A raise, please."
"I can't do that."
"Please let me pee in p-peace!"
Hitoshi stands outside the bathroom of Eraserhead and Present Mic's apartment. Izuku squats in said bathroom, holding his face by the fat of his cheeks.
"Seriously, green-bean, I'm not taking my eyes off of you."
"But I-I really have to pee!"
"That sounds like a personal problem, kiddo."
Izuku groans and flexes his fingers in his hair.
"I…I know I should have told you about, about…"
"You should just shut up and piss, because I'm not ready for anything you have to say right now."
"So now you're m-mad at me?"
Hitoshi glares at the forest-green gemstones in his friend's eyes. He's angry, yes. But more than that, he's scared. To never see his friend's bright eyes again, his shy smile, to hear his shitty jokes and see his tasteless fashion sense.
Most of all, Hitoshi is terrified. After months, he'd never even glimpsed a fraction of his best friend's pain until an hour ago. He might not have ever known because…
Because Izuku would have been gone right now if it weren't for some fluke of a question at quirk training today.
Izuku almost died today.
And it sets every nerve ending in Hitoshi's body alive with white-hot fire.
"You're not allowed out of my sight. Ever." His voice is firm, eyes set in stone.
"Toshi, this is rid-ridiculous…"
"Like how? Like killing yourself? Is this more ridiculous than being dead?"
Izuku winces at the words, but doesn't respond. He doesn't know what his purple-haired friend wants, what he needs to hear or explain but it can be anything…Izuku will tell him anything to heal the tight twinge of fear in his voice, or wipe the wet tracks dripping down his cheeks, or calm the ragged red puffs that show the intensity of his weeping. Except…
"That's not fair,"
"But killing my best friend is?"
"I just have to pee and w-we can t-talk aft-"
"No, I've already said you're not leaving my sight so just deal-"
"Just leave f-for 10 seconds please-"
"Why, so you can slit your wrists real quick?"
And Hitoshi doesn't mean for those words to slip out but they do, and they taste bitter, like bile, as they splash pain across the greenette's face. The boy clutches his arms, and doesn't respond.
"Shit, that's…That's not cool I'm sorry…I…"
"What are you both yelling about. Do you not know phone etiquette or…" Aizawa steps in from the hallway to stand across from Hitoshi and trails off. "What is this, actually."
The room is tense, and Izuku is sitting far too still for Hitoshi's liking.
"He said he had to use the restroom and I said no because of obvious reasons."
Aizawa huffs and stares at the taller boy.
"Because he's suicidal you don't think he needs to carry out basic bodily functions?"
"No, I just don't think we can leave him unattended for any amount of time!"
Aizawa sighs. Because that's sweet, but ridiculous. As most teenagers are, he supposes. Working with heroic teens for years on end has left him with a perceptive bleeding heart. He rests a hand on Hitoshi's shoulder.
"I agree with your thinking to an extent, but how about we leave the bathroom door open and sit outside in the hallway. Midoriya should still have some semblance of privacy right now."
Hitoshi's eyes break away from the underground hero toward Izuku. The boy hasn't looked up again.
"Is that acceptable to you, Midoriya?"
The tuft of green locks bobs in affirmation, and Aizawa guides Hitoshi out of the restroom with a hand on his shoulder. They pause on the other side of the hall, just out of view of the bath.
Hitoshi rings his hands, eyes downcast. The presence of the hero just feet away makes him on edge. He feels downright awful, and hopes the hero doesn't notice.
Or at least won't mention it.
"He'll be okay."
Lavender eyes wince at the words. It brings to mind all the ways that Izuku will not be okay. Because so many of those situations could happen in just seconds. And he'd be gone. And Hitoshi would be powerless.
He'd known powerlessness almost all his life. Shunned, hidden, essentially quirkless. And it was okay, because some day he'd have control again. He had his quirk, if nothing else. It was his iron grip on the slippery threads of a future where he was a hero.
But time had passed, and since their heart-pounding first meeting, Izuku had become something like super glue. He'd encouraged every hope in Hitoshi, broken apart every what-if. He'd cemented Hitoshi's future. He made it attainable, made that grip impossible to slip.
"We won't lose him, kid. I promise, with everything I have. "
I can't lose him.
I can't lose him.
I can't lose him.
I can't…
I can't lose everything.