Hisashi slumped into the hospital chair beside Izuku's bed, dropping a backpack to the laminate floor beside him. Izuku himself had just finished his last session with the resident pysch, Ms. Quinzel, in which they had explored his relationship with his parents, his 'friend' Bakugo, and his overall life being quirkless.

Izuku had left the sessions with headaches and a note to meet the First Son's counselor a minimum of three times. Now he was waging war with his hospital bracelet, trying to pry it off. Hisashi leaned forward, producing a pocket knife, and snapped the strange material clean off.

Izuku rubbed his wrist, and stood up, wincing. Nearly dying, it turned out, was not very pleasant. Everything hurt in a dull, constant way.

"Ready to get out of here?" Hisashi asked, shouldering his bag.

"Definitely! What's in the bag?"

Hisashi smiled. "I've been thinking," He said as they wound through the sterile halls. "About trying it on someone else as well."

Izuku's chest tightened. "What…"

"This was indeed a learning experience," Hisashi said. Izuku thought something unkind in response, but didn't say it. "Booze was a bad idea. As were painkillers. As was using my own child. Pain and fear are inextricable from panic, and panic aids in the production of adrenaline and other fight or flight chemicals."

Izuku's brow creased. Was he saying that...he cared about Izuku so he didn't want him to be the test subject?

"There are only a certain number of situations," He continued as they passed through a pair of automatic glass doors and into the cold day, "Where we can introduce both enough panic and enough control. The two are in most cases mutually exclusive. Or at least, they don't have much overlap. The more control, the less need to panic, etc. etc."

"So what's in the bag?"

They reached his car and Hisashi tossed the item in question into the backseat. "Everything we need." Hisashi's smile grew. "Well, everything we need but the ice. And the subject. But we're going to pick her up now."

Her?

Her turned out to be a pale skinned girl around his age. She was slightly taller than Izuku with a round face framed by wavy blonde hair. Her eyes were a bright aqua-blue with prominent lashes. Her lashes were hard to see though because of her pink oval framed glasses.

She was wearing a white short sleeved dress shirt with plaid cuffs, with pale gray capri pants. She finished off the ensemble with pair of heeled brown boots.

Melissa Shield was her name. The daughter of the illustrious David Shield. But what fascinated Izuku the most was the fact that something about her was decidedly wrong. She was like one of those pictures full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle, and even then, a few always slipped by.

On the surface, she seemed perfectly normal, but as she spoke to his dad, and to Izuku himself, he would catch a crack, a sideways glance, a moment where her face and her words would not line up. Those fleeting slices were fascinating. It was like watching two people, one hiding in the other's skin. And their skin was always just a bit too dry, on the verge of cracking and showing the color of what was hidden beneath it.

"Very astute Ms. Shield."

Izuku had missed the answer, and the question. He looked on as Hisashi explained to Melissa what he was studying and what they were attempting to do.

Izuku watched the way that Melissa's eyes took on a sheen as Hisashi spoke, and the change in her tone as she responded. It matched the nervously shifting muscles in her face as she tried to hide her excitement. The zeal peeked through the corners of her mouth, the fascination around her eyes, the energy in her jaw.

She really was quite beautiful. It was if she had found something amazing. Even better, as if she had found it and wanted to keep it a secret but couldn't'. It shone through her skin like light.

Her smile widened.

"Everything" that they needed amounted to a dozen epinephrine pens, and twice as many one use warming pads. Hisashi grabbed three of the pens and lined them up on the kitchen table beside the stack of warmers and stepped back, casting a sweeping motion over it as if offering the two teens a feast. Half a dozen bags of ice leaned against the sink, small rivers of condensation wetting the floor.

"Did you steal this?" Izuku asked, lifting a pen.

"It's not stealing if it's mine," He countered as he took up a hand warmer and turned it over to examine the removable plastic on the back that served as an activation mechanism. "I've been helping the medical division for years now. They didn't even blink."

Izuku's head was pounding again.

"Tonight?" Melissa asked, not for the first time since Hisashi had explained their plan.

"Tonight." Hisashi confirmed, plucking the pen from Izuku's hands. "I'm going to have Izuku run this with you. He knows what to do, and what to look for...considering your similar...conditions."

His tone changed when he said quirkless and Izuku wondered, not for the first time if his father hated the fact that he was quirkless.

He was leaning towards yes, due to the fact that he was even letting Izuku do these experiments.

"I considered dissolving the epinephrine directly into saline and having Izuku administer it to you intravenously, since that would give you a more reliable distribution, but it's slower than the EpiPens, and depends on better circulation. Besides given the nature of the setup, I thought a more user friendly option would be better."

Izuku looked over the supplies. The EpiPen would be the easy part. The compressions more difficult and damaging. Izuku had been given CPR training, and had a intimate understanding of the body, but it was still a risk. Neither could truly prepare the teens for what they were trying to do.

Killing something was easy. Bringing it back took more than measurement and medicine. It was like cooking, not baking. Baking took a sense of order. Cooking took some flair, some art, and luck. This kind of cooking required a LOT of luck.

Melissa grabbed two EpiPens, and arranged them in her palm. Izuku's gaze wandered from the pens to the warmers to the ice. Such simple tools. Would it really work?

Melissa said something. Izuku dragged his attention back.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Your father left, he said you could handle it?" She half stated, half questioned, gesturing beyond the bags of ice to the window. "We'd better set up."

Izuku ran his fingers through the ice water and recoiled. Beside him, Melissa slit the last bag open, watching it rupture and spill ice into the tub. With the first few bags, the ice had crackled and half dissolved, but soon the water in the bath was cold enough to keep the cubes from melting. Izuku retreated to the sink and leaned against it, the three EpiPens brushing his hand.

They'd talked about the order of operations several times by now. His fingers trembled faintly. He gripped the lip of the counter to still them as Melissa rugged off her capris, followed by her shirt and then bra, exposing a series of faded scars that hitched her back.

They were old, worn to little more than shadows, and Izuku wanted to ask, but didn't. It turned out not to be necessary because Melissa answered without prompting.

"My father did it, when I was younger," she said softly. Izuku held his breath. David Shield hadn't been seen or heard from in the last four years. There was a far off quality to her voice, and Izuku couldn't help but notice the was. Past tense.

Izuku wasn't sure what to say, so he offered his own slice of misery. "My best friend has been...torturing me for the last 8 years, because I'm quirkless. I understand."

She looked at him for a moment, before turning away, the scars on her back warping with the gesture. "I suppose you do."

She stepped up to the tub, her knees resting against the porcelain front as she looked down at the shimmering surface. Izuku watched her watch the bath, and felt a strange mix of interest and concern

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified. Weren't you?"

Izuku could vaguely remember a flicker of fear, a matchsticks worth fluttering before being gutted by the pills and the whiskey. He shrugged.

"You want a drink?" She shook her head.

"Alcohol warms the blood, Izuku," she said, eyes still fixed in the water. "That's not what we're going for here."

Izuku wondered if Melissa would actually be able to do it, or if the cold would crack her mask of charm, shatter it to reveal the normal girl beneath. The bath had handles somewhere beneath the surface, and they'd done a walk through before dinner-neither had been hungry. Melissa climbing into the then dry tub, curling her fingers around the handles, tucking her toes under a lip at the foot of the bath. Izuku had suggested cord, something to bind her to the tub, but she had refused. Izuku wasn't sure if it had been bravado or a concern for the state of her body should this fail.

And Hisashi wasn't here so if anything happened, all of the blame would fall on Izuku.

No pressure.

"Any day now," Izuku said jokingly, trying to defuse the tension. When she didn't move, didn't even offer a hollow smile, Izuku reached over to the toilet, where his laptop rested on the closed lid. He opened up a music program and hit play, flooding the tiled room with the heavy base of a rock song.

"You'd better turn that nonsense down when you're searching for a pulse." Melissa warned.

And then she closed her eyes. Her lips were moving faintly, and even though her hands hung at her sides, Izuku knew that she was praying. It perplexed him, how someone about to do this could pray to Hm, but it clearly didn't bother his friend.

Wait. Were they friends?

When Melissa's eyes fluttered open, Izuku asked. "What did you say?"

Melissa lifted one bare foot to the rim of the bath, gazing down at the contents. "I put my life in his hands."

"Well," Izuku said, earnestly, "Let's hope that he gives it back."

She nodded, and took a short breath-Izuku imagined that he could hear the faintest waver in it-before she climbed into the tub.

Izuku perched on the tub, clutching a drink as he stared down at Melissa Shield's corpse.

She hadn't screamed. Pain had been written across every inch of her face, but the worst that Melissa had down was let a small groan escape from clenched teeth when her body first broke the surface of the icy water. Izuku had only brushed his fingers through and the cold had been enough to spark pain up his entire arm.

He wanted to hate Melissa for her composure, had almost hoped-almost hoped- that it would be too much for her to bear. That she would break, give up, and Izuku would help her out of the tub, and the two would sit and talk about their failed trials.

Izuku took another sip of his drink. Melissa was a very unhealthy shade of white blue.

It hadn't taken as long as he'd expected. She had gone quiet several minutes ago. Izuku had shut the music off, the heavy beat echoing in his head until he realized it was his heart. When he'd ventured a hand down into the ice bath to search for Melissa's own pulse-fighting back a gasp at the biting cold-there had been none.

He'd chosen to wait a few more minutes, though, which is why he'd poured the drink. If Melissa did manage to come back from this, she wouldn't be able to accuse Izuku of rushing.

When it became evident that the body in the bath wouldn't be reviving on its own, Izuku set his drink aside, and got to work. Dragging Melissa from the tub was the hardest part, since she was several inches taller than Izuku, stiff and submerged in a basin of ice water. After several attempts, he tumbled back to the tiles, Melissa's body hitting the floor beside him with the sickening thud of dead weight.

Izuku shivered. He bypassed the EpiPens for the stack of blankets and warmers, remembering Hisashi's instructions, and quickly towelled the body off. Then he activate the warmers and placed them at the vital points: head, back of the neck, wrists, groin. This was the part that required luck and art. Izuku had to decide at what point the body was warm enough to do compressions. Too soon meant too cold and too cold meant the EpiPen would put too much stress on the organs. Too late meant too long and that meant a much greater chance of Melissa being too dead to fix.

Why wasn't Hisashi here?!

Izuku snapped the bathroom's heat lamp on, ignoring the fact that he was sweating, and grabbed the three pens from the counter. Three was the limit, and he knew that if there was no response by the third pen, it was too late-and set them on the tile beside him. He rearranged them, returned them to their straight lines, the small behaviour giving him a sense of control while he waited. Every few moments, he checked Melissa's temperature, not with a thermometer, but against his own skin.

They had realized during their walk through that they didn't own a thermometer, and Melissa had insisted on Izuku using his best judgement. It could have been a death knell, but her faith in Izuku revolved around the fact that…

Izuku didn't actually know why she trusted him so much, but he would not, could not let her down.

When Melissa felt warm enough, he began compressions. The flesh beneath his hands were coming up to temperature, making the body feel less like a popsicle and more like a cadaver. He cringed as the ribs cracked beneath his hands, but didn't stop. He knew that if the ribs didn't separate from the sternum, he wasn't pushing hard or far enough to hit her heart. After several sets, he paused to grab the first pen, and jabbed it down into Melissa's leg.

No response.

He started pumping again, trying not to think about the breaking ribs and the fact that Melissa still looked thoroughly, undeniably dead. Izuku's arms burned and he resisted the urge to cast glances at his cell phone, which had tumbled from his pocket in the struggle to remove Melissa from the tub. He closed his eyes, continued counting and pressing his intertwined fists up and down and down and up and up and down over Melissa's heart.

This wasn't working.

Izuku took up a second pen, and plunged it into Melissa's thigh.

One. Two. Three.

Still nothing.

Not for the first time, panic filled Izuku's mouth like bile. He swallowed, and resumed compressions. The only sounds in the room were his whispered counts and his pulse-HIS pulse, not Melissa's-and the odd sound of his hands desperately trying to restart his friend's heart.

Trying. And failing.

Izuku began to lose hope. He was running out of chances, out of pens. There was only one left. His hand slid from Melissa's chest, shaking as his fingers curled around it. He raised the pen, and stopped. Beneath him, sprawled on the tiles, was the lifeless body of Melissa Shield.

Melissa, who believed in God apparently, and hid a monster inside just like Izuku, but was able to hide it better. Melissa who had just slipped into his life. Melissa, who had actually meant to something to Izuku, no matter how quick it had been.

One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

And then, somewhere between Izuku giving up and reaching for his phone, Melissa gasped.

Melissa took several gulping breaths, cradling her chest. Her eyes struggled open, fighting to focus. She took in the room around her, the view from the blanketed floor, before leveling her unsteady gaze on Izuku.

"Hey," she said shakily.

"Hey," He responded, fear and panic still scribbled over him. "How do you feel?"

Melissa closed her eyes, considering as she rolled her head from side to side. "I...I don't know...I'm fine...I think?"

Fine?

Izuku had cracked her ribs, broken at least half by the feel of it and she felt fine? Izuku had felt like death. Worse than. Like every fiber of his being had been plucked or torqued or twisted or cramped. Then again, Izuku hadn't died, right? Not the way he was certain Melissa had. He'd sat and watched, made sure Melissa Shield would be okay. Maybe it was shock. Or the three shots of epinephrine. That's what it had to be. But even with shock and a nowhere near healthy amount of adrenaline...fine?

"Fine?" he echoed aloud.

Melissa shrugged.

"Can you…" Izuku wasn't sure how to finish the question. If this absurd theory had worked and Melissa had somehow acquired a quirk by simply dying and coming back, would she even know it? Melissa seemed to know the question's end.

"I mean, I'm not starting fires with mind or making earthquakes or whatever. But I'm not dead." There was, Izuku could hear, a faint waver of relief in her voice.

As the two sat in a pile of damp blankets on the water streaked bathroom floor, the whole experiment seemed idiotic. How could they have risked so much? How could Hisashi have let them? Melissa took another long, low breath and got to her feet. Izuku rushed to catch her arm, but Melissa shook him off.

"I said I'm fine." She left the bathroom, eyes carefully avoiding the tub, and vanished into Izuku's room in search of clothes. Izuku plunged his hand down into the icy water one last time and pulled the plug. By the time he'd cleaned up, Melissa had reappeared in the hall, fully dressed. Izuku found her examining herself in the mirror, frowning faintly.

Her balance faltered, and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself.

"I think I need…" She started.

Izuku assumed the line would end with 'doctor' but instead Melissa met her eyes in the mirror and smiled-not her best- and said, "Some food."

Izuku managed to pull his own mouth into something like a smile then too.

"That I can manage."

Melissa insisted on going out.

Izuku thought they could just as easily get something delivered in the comfort of the apartment, but since Melissa had experienced the more recent of their traumas and seemed rather intent on being in public, perhaps wanting to live it up, Izuku had indulged her.

Now they were on the far side of full, and drunk-or at least, Izuku as; Melissa seemed remarkably lucid considering the sheer quantity of Hisashi's alcohol that they'd consumed-saying and sauntering down the road that ran so conveniently from the local restaurant back to their apartment building.

It made going back and forth a breeze.

Despite a festive air,both had done their best to avoid the subject of what had happened, and how lucky Melissa-and really both of them-had been. Neither seemed eager to talk about it, and in the absence of any abilities-other than feeling extraordinarily lucky-neither really had reason to gloat as much as thank their stars.

Which they did freely, tipping imaginary but brimming glasses skyward as they stumbled back to Hisashi's house. They poured invisible liquor on the concrete as a gift to earth or God or fate or whatever force had let them have their fun and live to know it had been nothing more than that.

Quirkless they would remain for the rest of their lives, and they were now okay with that.

Izuku felt warm despite the flurries of snow, alive, and even welcomed the last dregs of pain from his own unpleasant proximity to death. Melissa beamed dazedly at the night sky, and then she stepped off the sidewalk. Or tried to.

But her heel caught the edge, and she stumbled, landing on her hands and knees among a patch of dirty snow, and tire tracks and broken glass. She hissed, recoiled, and Izuku saw blood, a mear of red against the dingy, snow dusted street.

Melissa proceeded to sit on the lip of the curb, tilting her palm towards the nearest streetlamp to get a better look at the gash there, glittering with the remains of someone's abandoned beer bottle.

"Ouch," Izuku mumbled, leaning over to examine the cut and nearly losing his balance. He caught himself on the streetlamp as Melissa cursed softly and pulled the largest shard out.

"Think I'll need stitches?"

She held out her bloody hand for Izuku to inspect, as if his vision and judgement were any better than her own right now. Izuku squinted, and was about to reply with as much authority as he could muster when something happened.

The cut on her hand began to close.

The world, which had been swaying in Izuku's vision, came to an abrupt stop. Stray flakes hung in the air, and their breath hovered in the clouds over their lips. There was no movement except for that of Melissa's flesh healing.

And Melissa must have felt it, because she lowered her hand into her lap and the two gazed down as the gash that had run from pinkie to thumb knitted itself back together. In moments, the bleeding had stopped-the blood already lost now drying on her skin. And the wound was nothing more than a wrinkle, a faint scar, and then not even that.

The cut was just...gone.

Hours passed in blinks as the two let it sink in, what that meant, what they had done. It was amazing.

They had given Melissa a quirk.

Melissa rubbed her thumb over the fresh skin of her palm, but Izuku was the first to speak, and when he did, it was with an eloquence and composure perfectly befitting the situation.

"Holy shit."

Izuku stared up at the place where the lip of Hisashi's apartment building's roof met the cloudy night. Everytime he closed his eyes he felt like he was falling over, getting closer and closer to the brick, so he tried to keep them open, focusing on the strange seam overhead.

"Are you coming?" Melissa asked.

"She was holding the door open, practically bouncing in her eagerness to get inside and find something else that could physically wound her. Zeal burned in her eyes. And while Izuku didn't exactly blame her, he had no desire to sit around and watch Melissa stab herself all night. He'd watched her try all the way here, leaving a dotted red trail in the snow from the blood that escaped before the wound could heal. He'd seen the quirk.

Melissa now had a quirk. A regenerating one of some kind. Izuku had felt something when Melissa had come back to life seemingly quirk free: relief. With her new abilities being thrust into his wavering line of vision all the way home, Izuku's relief had dissolved into a ripple of panic.

He would be relegated to sidekick, note-taker, the brick wall to bounce ideas off of.

Hisashi would leave him, if he hadn't already.

No.

"Izuku, are you coming or not?"

Curiosity and jealousy ate at Izuku in equal measures, and the only way he knew how to stifle both, to quell the urge to wound Melissa himself, or at least try-was to walk away.

"Go on," He said, mustering a smile that came nowhere near his eyes. "Go play with some sharp objects. I need to talk a walk." He descended the stairs, and nearly fell twice in three steps.

"Are you fit to be walking?"

Izuku waved her inside. "I'm just going to get some air, I'll be fine."

And with that, he took off into the dark, with two goals on his mind. The first was simple: to put as much distance as he could between himself and Melissa before he did or said something he'd regret.

The second was trickier, and his body hurt to even think of it, but he had no choice in the matter.

Izuku had to plan his next attempt at death.