'Gimu is the second pillar. This is piety and forgiveness in turn. Sometimes debts cannot be repaid through conventional means, and it is the debtor's responsibility to be pious to the debt-holder in lieu of payment. But it is also the debt-holders duty to accept not all debts can be paid as they pleased, and to forgive their debtors [Is forgiveness a foreign concept to you, Dark Shadow?].'

—Excerpt from 'The Pillars of Moral Heroics' by Ryo Asuka and annotated by Fumikage Tokoyami.

The alarm rings, shrill and piercing. It means Izuku needs to get up. Ponderously, as though a massive ship turning, he leans over and silences it.

"Get up," he whispers through the haze of his mind.

Lethargy grips him. He knows it's Tuesday, knows that if he doesn't get up then he'll miss another day of school. But he can't find the motivation to care.

The door opens. It heralds his mother, looking tired and worn. Guilt washes over him like a wave, tears threatening to spill.

"Hey, honey." She sits beside him and runs a hand through his hair. "You gonna get up?"

He grunts, too indifferent to do anything else.

"Alright," his mother says gently. "I brought your medication." She shakes a clear bottle. The blue pills within rattle threateningly as a viper.

"Kaa-san, no," he whispers, pulling away. "I hate… what they do to me."

She smiles gently. "You know you need them."

"I don't." The tears fall. "Please don't do this."

"Has Mikumo spoken to you recently?" He doesn't answer. "Take the pills, Izuku."

He does. The numbness is intense and any interest he has dies with it. His phone always shines with the light of unread messages, but they are so distant. It is a struggle to eat anything, but he forces the pork cutlets down with the red pill he must take.

The darkness abandons him, the monsters seemingly indifferent to him now. He can stand in the dark and know he is truly alone. Sleep is quiet, dreamless, and only now does he realise how horrifying it truly is to not feel anything. Even the cruellest nightmare would be better than this haze.

The cycle continues on Wednesday and Thursday. He pleads with his mother, takes the pills at her insistence, and tries to work up the energy just to breathe again. On Friday he tries to run. He makes it all the way out of his bed and to the beach. Barely a mile in, his body betrays him and Izuku has to find a bin to be sick in. He shambles home, shaking violently. The couch is comfortable and unchallenging. He sits there for hours until his mother returns, and switches on the TV for him. He wonders if he greets her and then lets go of the thought.

On Saturday the haze fades somewhat. Or maybe he's simply getting used to it. He takes his phone and there are dozens of messages waiting for him. A vague sense of guilt passes through him. It takes hardly any effort to force a smile—and the rush of endorphins is so so beautiful for he feels something more than dullness—and send a group message. More messages flood in but he doesn't have it in him to respond.

On Sunday he decides perhaps enough is enough. "Kaa-san," he says to her from his spot on the couch.

"Yes, honey?" She walks over and ruffles his hair gently. "You need anything?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to remember why he called her over. "I want…" He frowns. "I need to do something. And you won't like it."

She doesn't. Not in the slightest. He has to drag up every bit of emotion and passion not quashed by the drugs to get her to listen. In the end, it is a single plea that sways her.

"Please, kaa-san."

The house is larger than the one he shares with his mother. Larger, yes, but there are signs of damage. Dark scorch marks litter the pastel yellow walls, and there is a hole in the wall. The garden is well maintained and shows no sign of damage.

"Hello, Izuku," Kaachan's mum greets, brushing her muddy gloves across her apron. "I'm not sure I like this idea."

He blinks slowly. "You don't have to."

She looks to his mother. "It's your choice."

His mother sighs. "I'd rather do it here instead of having him leave in the dead of night."

Izuku very nearly flushes. It had been a consideration. An option he would have taken if she hadn't agreed.

"Alright." Kaachan's mother walks to the door. "Katsuki, you little fuck, get your ass here."

"The fuck you say, bitch," he hears Kaachan roar from inside. "Say that again. I fucking dare you." The boy's footsteps are thunderous, and he shoves through the door violently.

"What the…" Kaachan trails off once he sees Izuku, his expression running through every form of sad anger Kaachan knows.

"Kaa-san, I'll be fine." He looks to her until Kaachan's mother leads her to a spot just out of earshot but still in sight. "Hi, Kaachan."

Kaachan takes a shuddering breath. "The fuck are you doing here?" he shouts but there is no heat to it.

"Why do you think I'm here?" he asks in turn.

Kaachan's fists clench. The flowers and dirt might mask the scent of nitroglycerin, but Izuku will always know it intimately. His scars burn hot in remembrance.

"Because you're a fucking bleeding heart," Kaachan says at last, without venom but always with anger. "Because you were right when you said I could never be a hero. And you fucking had the audacity to show me pity."

He frowns, trying to remember saying that. He can't.

"I never said that." Before Kaachan's perpetual anger can turn hot, he adds, "I can't remember a lot of things. I might have said that but it wasn't-no, it… I don't know, Kaachan, but I wouldn't say that."

Kaachan takes half a step forward. "Can you make some fucking sense? Why the fuck are you acting so weird?"

"They're making me-I'm… I'm not fine." He glances at his mother who's expression is tense. "They put me on meds. I can't feel things properly."

Kaachan stays silent for a long time.

"Say something."

"You're broken," Kaachan says hoarsely. "I broke you."

"I'm not broken," Izuku snarls, teeth bared. "Don't you dare-not you, never you. You have no right."

Kaachan watches him. And then, slowly, he sits on the step. It brings them to eye level.

"I don't," he agrees softly, angry only at himself. "But you're the crazy fucker who thinks I have a chance."

"I'm not crazy," Izuku whispers. "I'm-I'm not."

"You're the one who told Zapper to stop being a dick to me just as I was about to blow him the fuck away."

There is something so fundamentally wrong in seeing Kaachan with his hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees, and almost calm. Izuku can taste the anger in the air still, but none of it is directed at him. And even then, there's more guilt than he wants to stomach.

"I don't remember that," he admits, terrified because just how much did Mikumo take form him?

"Fuck, do you even remember the day we matriculated? Do you remember that conversation we had?"

Izuku swallows. "No. I just-you were being nice and left me alone."

Kaachan stares then huffs. "It's me. It's fucking always about me, you shit." He laughs suddenly, broken and bitter. "That is just so fucked up. Look at us. What a pair we make. Just two fucking broken people who don't know how to deal with anything."

"I'm not broken," he snaps, startled at the heat in his voice.

"You know me, but I also know you." He leans forward and only now does Izuku see the tears he's fighting back. "Deku, no Izuku, how did you get that scar."

He points to Izuku's temple where the streak of white hair prominently shows. "What?"

"How. Did you. Get it?"

"I f-fell," Izuku whispers, terrified very suddenly. "I fell."

"I thought so." Kaachan reaches out, but when Izuku flinches he lets his hand fall. "Here's the truth you're running from—"

"No!"

Kaachan startles. "You're that fucking afraid. What do you think will change if you know?"

"N-Nothing."

"You're a piss poor liar. Fucking tell the truth."

He bites his lips, one sharp tooth slicing straight through. He wipes the blood away with the back of his hand.

"The truth." He glances once more to his mother, aware that he can run and never face this. "The truth is that I might not be able to forgive you."

"You shouldn't," Kaachan says, softer than Izuku's ever heard. "I pushed you down. I ran because I'm a coward and don't deserve to be a hero."

Something in him breaks. He can feel it shattering like glass and slicing his insides. And yet, seeing Kaachan bare his teeth in righteous anger directed only at himself frees Izuku. It is the closest to kindness that Kaachan can come to.

"I don't-I can't forgive you." Izuku closes his eyes. "But I don't hate you. I never could."

"You should," he hisses. "If any fucker has the right, it's you. But you're a stupid ass bleeding heart who doesn't know any better."

That startles a laugh out of him. "H-Hawkmoon said all life is precious."

"The fuck does that bitch have to do with shit?"

"It means I think your life has meaning," he says, strongly, unwavering despite the haze. "It means you're worth being forgiven, even if it takes me a while."

"You're a fucking idiot," Kaachan roars but there's no anger there, just a boy who's never learnt to be quiet—who never needed to learn for when you are the strongest everyone must hear you roar.

"I am," he agrees. "I'm an idiot. But I want to be a hero."

He leaves. The drive home is quiet, and thoughts are difficult to string together. Despite that, he feels as though some anchor that had been dragging him down is… not gone, but not as heavy. He forces a smile for his mother when they get back.

"Thank you, Kaa-san," he says.

She hugs him and though it is warm, much of her kindness fails to penetrate the haze. He wants to sleep and never get up again.

Instead, he simply says, "I think I need to go back to school," and knows she will burn the world down to see it happen.

-TDB-

He wakes up exhausted on Monday morning, wrung out and despondent. Curling up in his blankets and pretending that the world didn't exist seems a more viable option with each passing option. It takes all he has to roll out of bed and land on the floor. once he's there on the floor, once he's made the first step of the day, everything comes just a tiny bit easier. Taking a walk is nowhere near as strenuous as the runs he used to take, but it feels much harder. But with each little act like making his bed or forcing a smile for his mother or taking a shower and eating breakfast builds up inertia. He almost feels normal—or maybe he' just getting used to the numbness when he enters the gates of UA.

They seem different today. Less hallowed and sacred, and more testaments of strength. They are enduring, yes, but they will never be eternal. They are gilded but the gold and silver sparkle was just his own bias. It doesn't make the sight he once saw less true, only different.

He sees a familiar face. It brings the slightest warmth to his heart.

"Ojiro," he calls out.

The blonde turns, startled, his eyes widening upon seeing Izuku. He gapes, mouth wide, before he regains his composure and shuts it.

"Midoriya… you're back?" The question is cautious, more tentative than he is used to from Ojiro.

His grin feels weak and paper thin, but it is the best he can do right now. "Yeah, I am."

"You didn't-we thought you weren't—"

Izuku shrugs, walking closer. "I didn't know until last night. But I'm here if you'll have me."

Ojiro shakes his head slowly, looking at Izuku as though he's a complicated chess piece. His smile, when it comes, is small, just a mild rise at the corner of his lips.

"Yes, always." He claps Izuku on the shoulders. It nearly brings him to his knees. "Come on."

And though he finds it condescending that Ojiro uses him as an armrest, the casual indifference to where he's been is overwhelming. His smile turns warm as Ojiro tells him all about what he's missed. It isn't overly interesting, but he feels included in their lives, even like this.

"USJ?" he asks when Ojiro mentions it.

"I sent you a message about it."

Izuku lowers his head. "I didn't really read them."

"Don't worry about it." Ojiro claps him on the shoulder again. "Yeah, we're going there for training. Do you think…"

"I don't plan on missing any more school."

"Good," Ojiro says uncertainly. "Good."

The class is quiet, uneventful. The teachers are content to leave him alone, but after Present Mic skips past him for a question he raises his hand and feels the entire class watching him. Izuku answers the question, but something about the simple act diffuses the tension that has permeated the room whilst he has been unaware.

He leaves a bit later than usual with Tokoyami, having stayed behind to ask Cementoss a few questions regarding the homework he missed and working out a schedule to submit it—apparently getting hurt, having a mother who threatens to sue at the drop of a hat, and going through a mental break entitles you to not having to actually do homework; and whilst that appeals to the part of him that just wants to nap all day, the part of him that wants to be a hero rebels against the very idea of taking advantage of the kindness.

Tokoyami is quiet on the way back, and seemingly content with the silence. He could very well be a statue, one that moves and has feathers perhaps, but the indifference to the silence would be the same.

"D-do you remember what you said to me?"

"We've spoken on many matters," Tokoyami replies, not unkindly.

He flushes but soldiers on. "You said you have a debt you want to repay. I think, maybe, I get what you were saying. Maybe just a bit. I'm supposed to accept the way you want to pay your debt might not be the way I want it to be paid?"

"The second pillar, Gimu." Tokoyami makes a sound of acknowledgement.

"But I still don't get why I can't just forgive you and be done with it."

"Hmmm, perhaps think of it this way." He raises on hand and weighs his next words on it. "By my actions, you were harmed. I am at fault. And if I am at fault, then do I not owe you a debt?" He raises his other hand. "But how must it be repaid is the question. Should I heat a metal rod and burn my face?"

Izuku stumbles, feeling sick. "Never." A shudder racks his body.

"Why not? Would it not be equivalent exchange?"

"That's…."

"Cruelty for cruelty is not the way of a moral society. So, if I cannot directly pay you that way then I must find another. And even should you claim to forgive me, I am still uncertain if you understand the gravity of that action."

He looks away. "I do," he mutters. "I do."

"Really now?"

"I saw Kacchan yesterday."

A hand on his shoulder turns him around. Tokoyami's avian features are contorted in anger. "What would possess you to confront him?" he says, calm, controlled, and half a step from shouting. "Do you have any idea what he could have done to you?"

His laugh is bitter and broken. "More than you know." He pulls away from Tokoyami's grip because no matter what, he is still stronger than anyone else in his class. "You were right. I hadn't forgiven him."

Tokoyami watched him for a moment. Then nods. "That is progress and that is important."

They walk in silence again, meandering through the city. He texts his mother, so she doesn't worry, and on a whim, he takes a picture with Tokoyami next to a sports shop, the boy doing his best to stay out of the picture.

The beach is quiet and empty. Izuku leans on the railing and inhales the scent of seawater untainted by rot and corruption. He could stand here watching the sun slip past the horizon for all eternity, unmoving as the stars in the sky.

"You find peace here."

He looks to Tokoyami and finds the boy sitting on the ledge, legs dangling freely and elbows resting on his knees. Precarious though it looks, the boy seems none too worried about the possible drop to the ground. Maybe confidence in his quirk, maybe confidence in himself.

"I… do?" He inhales, smelling and tasting the salt in the air. "I do."

"We all need that which calms us."

"What else do you do?"

"I find a level of distraction in video games. Books have always had many lessons to be learnt. Meditation, as well. And I study the occult." He glances at Izuku out the corner of his eye, almost as if expecting a reproach. "You don't find that shocking?"

"Why would I? I've seen what the darkness looks like."

He takes comfort in the warmth of the sun, in the all too real breathing of Tokoyami, and the chill of the sea. Those feelings, and the haze in his mind, ground him. It makes it simple to not think of what could be lurking down there.

It takes hardly a thought to draw a piece of shadowstuff, hardly larger than a pebble, to his hand. He tosses it in the air, getting a feel for the weight—which exists only should he choose it—and raises his arm.

In the space between breaths, he grasps for the quirk his mentor bestowed upon him. Not much of it, just a tiny scrap that hardly makes his senses tingle.

With a flick, the shadow pebble soars over the beach and lands on the water for but a moment before it continues on its way, one skip after another until it is too small to see even the wake of its passing. Izuku smiles and rubs his hand, bruises deep beneath the skin already forming.

"I get that it's scary trying to trust someone," he says, wincing when he flexes his hand, "with something like that. But I'm starting to understand fears can be conquered. And it's easier when you have a friend."

"You're talking about your quirk."

Izuku nods. "And yours. I don't know much about yours, but I know what having a voice in your head is like." He rubs the back of his hand along the bones, feeling for breaks. "Do you know why I was gone for a week?"

"In truth?" The breeze ruffles his dark feathers. "No. They said you were sick."

"That's… I guess that's accurate. My quirk drove me-no, I guess it was all me maybe." He takes a breath and starts again. "My quirk did weird… things to me. I started hallucinating a voice and it got worse and worse. And seeing Kaachan after what happened kinda just-well, it broke me."

Tokoyami hums deeply. "You are here, now, and that is all that matters."

"Maybe," he concedes. "It took the name of my twin, Mikumo."

"I didn't know you had a twin."

"I don't."

Tokoyami shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, I didn't mean to—"

"It happened a long time ago," he says, more bitter than he expects. "The point is that I know what you're going through, probably better than anyone else. Maybe I don't know all the details, but we can try."

"I think, perhaps, that I would not take issue to that."

He goes home, happy for once. Dinner is ready, which makes him feel guilty, but he makes up for it by cleaning up after the meal.

"I'm happy for you," his mother says, kissing him on the forehead and leaving.

In his room, he pulls out his homework and gets started on it. Maths comes first—easy as breathing—followed by the backlog of literature homework he has. After a particularly hard-line stumps him, he picks up the pill bottle and rolls it in his hand. The shake and rattle of the red pills distract him.

"I hate these things," he says.

-TDB-

The glass is spotless, as they all should be. It serves as the perfect vessel for the ice, and then a respectable amount of gin, a can of dry tonic, and a slice of lime. Kurogiri hands the glass to the patron, a villain he has yet to speak with, along with a coaster.

He says nothing as the villain drinks it one gulp. It is not his job to teach them manners. No, he makes the drinks and keeps the bar orderly. They are not his only duties, but they are the only duties this villain has any reason to know of.

The cloth on his sleeve is discoloured. He sets it with the other dirty cloths and retrieves a new one to wipe down the mess the villain leaves because of course, he would completely neglect to use the coaster.

When the bar is empty, he switches on the screen to the side. It flickers to life, though the image is darkened, and he can hardly make out any details but a hazy outline of what might be a man.

"Sensei," he greets politely. "You wished to speak to me?"

"How goes the preparations?" The voice is clear and dark, but not malicious. It used to send chills through his gaseous body.

Now it is normal.

"The boy you sent to us provided a map of the location. I verified the information myself."

"Good, it saves you unnecessary work," Sensei says sincerely. "Heroes always provide their own downfall. And what of Tomura?"

"He prepares our… comrades."

Sensei chuckles, more a growl than anything else. "You think little of them. Perhaps rightly so," he concedes. "But they all have value."

"As pieces on a board?"

Whatever sense of humour he got from Sensei disappears. His mist body freezes as even with the barrier of distance and technology between them, the great villain's absolute malevolence is terrifying. Because distance means nothing to a man this powerful.

"Do not," Sensei says, voice dripping with sheer cruelty, "ever consider your allies as pieces on a board. That is the way of heroes like Endeavour and Best Jeanist. We are better. We must be. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," he croaks, "sensei."

The malevolence disappears. The glass falls from his limp hands as he slumps forward on the counter, his senses still operating on a flight or warp the fuck away reaction.

"Good," Sensei says genially, all previous hints of 'obey or die' gone. "Please do make sure Tomura eats. It would be disappointing if he collapsed of exhaustion."

"Understood."

"And notify me of any changes regarding your quirk."

The call ends. He takes a few minutes to calm his frayed nerves. Once he is certain he can do anything without collapsing, he pulls out a lunchbox from the fridge in the back room. He adjusts his vest and puts on hand in his pocket. He looks the picture of calm and casual.

With a though, a warp gate opens, and he steps through. It takes only a moment to go from one place to the next.

This moment lasts for an eternity. Kurogiri exists both on either side of the gate and within it all at once. This is nothing unusual.

But things have been different recently. There is something watching him, observing and judging his every action in this formless void dancing with sparks of green lightning. It makes him feel nauseous for he knows if he ever had more than a moment—eternal though it is—to look at what observes him, something fundamental would break. He wants to run and flee in terror. Any rational and mortal creature would want to.

The world resolves the impossibility of his multiple locations. The Kurogiri in the bar collapses under the weight of paradox resolution. The Kurogiri in the void becomes the warp gate that the Kurogiri in the other room walks through.

It worries him. Even when they burnt a city and held back an infestation, his quirk had not changed to any extent. Now, though, it is alien even to him.

He strides through, not allowing an inch of his unease to show through to Tomura. His ward sits on a rooftop, playing a handheld game, and utterly ignoring ignorant of his presence.

"Tomura," he calls.

"Just wait. Nearly got a new high score."

Kurogiri will never understand this blatant addiction to games his ward has, or even why Sensei permits it. There is a certain appeal to the games that he can appreciate in their interactivity, but the depth and time Tomura puts in them bothers him.

He walks forward and forms another warp gate right below the main device and sends it back to the bar. Tomura stands abruptly, the two halves of the controller still in his hands and looks ready to punch Kurogiri.

He thrusts the lunchbox in Tomura's chest before he can get a word out. "Sensei,"—he always finds it fascinating that the mention of their leader always silences Tomura—"sends his regards. He also suggests you don't forget to eat."

Tomura huffs. "I don't need a reminder." Still, he takes the lunchbox and opens it.

"How were the preparations?" he asks, taking the controllers.

His ward sits, much in the same position as before. "I don't like them." He takes a bit out of the meal. "They're useless."

"Why?" he asks, genuinely curious. Planning and logistics are his duties for Tomura hardly ever has a plan past 'attack, attack, attack' no matter how much Kurogiri drills their importance in his head.

"We're taking a high-level tank, a DPS beast, a support class, and a fucking trash mob to fight the end game boss."

"I see…" Those terms mean little to him. "Regardless of how you feel, our allies are not disposable."

"They're only good as a distraction." Tomura snorts. "You didn't even fucking like them."

"No, I did not. I still see them as disposable." He sighs. "But Sensei would very much disagree."

A/N:

That's all from me for now. Thank you for reading this. If you enjoyed the story leave a favourite and if you have any questions just drop a review. But know all of that is unnecessary, and as always your readership is quite enough for me. Cheers.