Chapter Ten: Mass Hysteria

It had been another two weeks.

Maybe.

It could have been more. It could have been less, but Aizawa tried his best to keep track of the days he was separated from Hizashi. He knew that he was required to shower or bathe twice daily, and tried hard to keep track of this mental tally – but it was hard when everything blurred together, because his mind wasn't quite right. It was more than that though. Time just didn't pass quite right in Giran's living quarters – not when Giran stole large swaths of time from Aizawa's memories everyday.

It was true that Giran could only make Aizawa forget ten minutes at a time with one touch, but when Giran was constantly touching him. Hours were lost as if Aizawa had been black out drunk. It was as if…Aizawa thought for a moment, but he had lost his train of thought.

Aizawa furrowed his brows and bit his lower lip – his mind went blank more and more often, and he couldn't remember simple things anymore like what he had been eating moments before, even if Giran's quirk weren't affecting him. However Giran's quirk worked, it seemed to have pervasive side effects. Speaking of hunger –

His stomach rumbled, and he sat up on the plush couch. The marble kitchenette wasn't too far, but his inner thighs ached from things he couldn't remember. Right, that's what Aizawa had been thinking about earlier. Giran was always touching him – always making him forget for hours and hours at a time until days blurred into nights. Aizawa could feel his mind slipping away…Aizawa blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes as his mind got fuzzy. He tried to remember why he had chosen to sit up.

Then, his stomach rumbled again. That's right, he was hungry. Aizawa forced himself up off the velvet cushions and ignored the twinge in intimate places. He stretched and felt as he were getting stronger physically at the very least. Despite the bandages on his arms keeping pressure on pillaged veins, despite the lack of autonomy and the nights he couldn't remember – his body was recovering. A healer had soothed the severity of his burns, but pink scar-tissue handprints still littered his pale skin. At least he couldn't see those handprints anymore, as Giran had provided him with clothing.

Meandering through the ornate suite, as over the top and as gaudy as the man who had designed it, Aizawa caught his reflection in the gilded, floor length mirror across the room. There he saw a man he hardly recognized. His hair was cut short – faded on the sides with a few inches on top. His beard had been shaved. His teeth had been flossed and brushed. The clothes were simple enough – a light grey set of pajama pants and a button down pajama shirt. The soft fabric was luxurious on his skin, and he had more sets than he knew what to do with.

Aizawa bit his lip as he watched his reflection watch back him in return. He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. From so far away – unable to see the crows feet and age lines – he looked ten years younger. He looked the way Giran wanted him to look. Aizawa tore his gaze away and tried not to think about how he had spent a decade distancing himself from this façade that Giran had created, and how he was right back where he started.

He sighed, and made his way to the kitchen that was fully stocked with everything but knives or sharp implements. He grabbed a premade onigiri from the stainless steel fridge, feeling the plastic wrap crinkle under his fingertips, and guilt made his empty stomach clench. He didn't deserve to eat these good foods and wear these soft clothes – not when Hizashi was still trapped as a hostage in the basements below. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to go to him, to apologize for abandoning him and running away, to see if he was still alive or if Dabi had already killed him.

But Giran wouldn't tell Aizawa anything about Hizashi, and Aizawa still tensed when he remembered the first and last time that he had asked:

They sat at the dining table – a farce of a family unit – and Aizawa chewed his meat steadily with an aching jaw. It had been so long since he had chewed anything of substances and the joints protested the effort. He swallowed, and wished that Hizashi could experience the privileged burden of eating too much too soon. Aizawa put down his fork. He was prohibited from using knives, and so Giran had already cut Aizawa's food into bite-sized pieces.

Aizawa waited a moment, collected his thoughts, and then looked up at Giran across the table. The man ate in silence, as per usual, and skimmed the news on the phone that never left his sight.

"Giran," started Aizawa softly, waiting to acquire the other's attention.

Giran looked up over the rims of his lenses, looking all the more like a stern father discouraging a child from speaking out of turn. It made Aizawa's stomach turn, and so he chose his words carefully.

"I know you've done so much for me already, but the man I came here with…" Aizawa paused when he saw Giran narrow his eyes, "Is he dead?"

Giran locked his phone and interlaced his fingers over his mouth.

Aizawa knew that look, and it made his heart race. He steeled himself for a harsh answer.

"There's no reason for you to be concerned with another man while you eat the food I've provided for you," he said, his cold eyes and flat tone making Aizawa go cold.

Aizawa broke eye contact and stared at his plate.

"We were just colleagues, Giran," said Aizawa softly, bordering on an insistence that he knew Giran wouldn't appreciate.

"DON'T LIE TO ME," bellowed Giran in a jealous rage, and with a surprising agility, he reached across the table and grabbed Aizawa's wrist. Giran pulled Aizawa forward into the edge of the table with enough strength to bruise both Aizawa's wrist and his ribcage. There was silence as Giran squeezed until Aizawa winced, but Aizawa was still brave with his newly healed body – he hadn't relearned his lessons yet. "You want to see him don't you? Make sure your precious lover is doing alright?" snapped Giran, the grip ever tightening.

"I don't want to see him – I just want to know that you'll feed him and keep Dabi away from him," rushed Aizawa as the grip bent his bones and made his wrist start to creak, "Fuck – that hurts, Giran – "

"You won't see him again, so you shouldn't care," rumbled Giran, "And watch your language, Shouta."

"You know what I'll do if he dies," threatened Aizawa – an old threat – one that had worked well in the past, but the words always felt childish and petulant on his tongue.

"I'll kill you both if you don't learn to shut your goddamn mouth," snarled Giran – and in a flash of sterling silver, Giran stabbed his fork through Aizawa's hand and into the table below. Blood sprayed red over their faces like freckles and Aizawa screamed when the metal pierced through his flesh and muscle and sliced out through the other side. Giran released his grip, but the utensil nailed Aizawa's hand down and prevented him from retreating like the beaten dog he was.

"I'm sorry," groaned Aizawa as the pain laced up his arm and blood started to pool on the table.

"Finish your food," muttered Giran as he stood and took his plate to the sink – all the while muttered about wasted blood and ungrateful brats.

Aizawa looked down and tried to stop himself from shaking with cries of pain. Tears were dripping onto his steak from the tip of his nose. He knew that Giran wouldn't remove the impaling weapon until Aizawa complied with his demands. He had been through these power plays before. And so Aizawa started to shovel the food into his mouth with his free hand. Giran had used Aizawa's fork, and so Aizawa ate like an animal until the pool of blood reached his empty plate.

Giran watched and waited until Aizawa swallowed his last bite.

Without a word, he yanked the fork out of Aizawa hand. Aizawa withdrew his hand swiftly back to his body, cradling it against his chest as blood blossomed against his shirt. He cried in agony until Giran finally pulled Aizawa into his arms. Aizawa flinched at the contact, but the gentle pressure and warmth helped soothe his shaking body.

"I'm sorry, too," muttered Giran, "I didn't mean to lose my temper. Do you forgive me?"

Aizawa nodded quickly against Giran's chest – there were no other answers to give that would not end in more pain and suffering.

"I'll make sure your friend is taken care of, but you know you can't see him." Giran rubbed Aizawa's back in small circles to soothe the man, "Not if you want my protection. Do you understand?"

Aizawa nodded again, his eyes shut and his soul shriveled. He knew Giran would hurt him sometimes. He knew that Giran's temper was a frightening beast to be reckoned with – but Dabi still scared him more, enough to comply with these demands and restrictions. But enough to abandon Hizashi? Aizawa wanted nothing more than to run to his old friend and make sure he was okay. And yet still, he nodded.

"Alright, I'll call the healer," said Giran gently, "This won't happen again, okay?"

"Okay," whispered Aizawa, but he knew Giran was lying.

Still, the promise of a healer was enough to make some small part of Aizawa feel cared for – and that just made Aizawa hate himself even more.

Aizawa sighed and shut his eyes against those memories. He hadn't angered Giran since, and Giran had kept his promise. He showed Aizawa photos of Hizashi alive and well – a kindness that Giran didn't have to bestow. Aizawa told himself that it was better this way. When Aizawa and Hizashi had cohabitated – Hizashi had been forced to rape him. Hizashi had been forced to murder someone. Hizashi had starved and wasted away with the ever-looming threat of Dabi over their heads. It was better this way. Aizawa told himself that Hizashi would be happier this way with peace and food and security. And so Aizawa tried to accept his fate – that this is what life would be like from now on – and this this is what Hizashi would have wanted.

Aizawa bit into the onigiri ball, but the flavors fell flat, and couldn't compare to the few life-saving meals he had shared with Hizashi in between episodes of brutality, rape, and torture. This thought, however, was thrust to the back of his mind, and Aizawa decided to wrap the onigiri up and put it back in the fridge. He was tired, and he had done too much thinking for the day. He just wanted to sleep until Giran inevitably came to wake him up. Aizawa went back to the couch, closed his eyes, and imagined that Hizashi was with him.

It had been two weeks since the video surfaced online. Or perhaps it was more like the video was abruptly forced into the public consciousness, unable to be contained or erased. It stared when school computer screens were hacked at noon, and it escalated when the video was sent to every single news outlet in Japan. It popped up on porn sites and social media sites until smaller domains were forced to shut down. The tabloids were next, spinning tall tales which misinformed news stations believed with alarming readiness. This was all that anyone could talk about for two weeks. Parents were furious. Students were scared. The news pandered to the fear of spies and corruption in hero society. The media cycle reached peak saturation within twenty-four hours, and the public outcry forced UA to shut down. Police investigations turned their sights on the UA staff. The search and rescue operations had been nearly forgotten by all but a few. Kayama Nemuri – Pro-Hero Midnight – was one of those few who remembered.

As Nemuri patrolled the empty halls of UA after dark, she stopped by the classrooms that had been left empty by her missing friends. Aizawa. Hizashi. Vlad. There had been no leads until that video surfaced, and Nemuri almost wished it hadn't. Standing in the doorway of the 1-A classroom that had been empty for just over a month now, Nemuri bit her lip and sighed. Her heart hurt, and unwanted images plagued her memories:

"Tell me what you want, love," murmured the man whose half scarred lip had just been wrapped around Aizawa's genitalia. Aizawa begged the man to keep going as the camera angle panned down to the man's finger wiggling inside of Aizawa's–

Momentarily frozen in place and hypnotized by the lurid images, Nemuri recovered and sprang to action across her Modern Art History lesson. She leapt forward to yank the cord out of the electrical socket, and the screen went dark just before the rest of Aizawa was exposed to his 1-A class. Her back was turned to the class, and there was complete, dreadful, silence. She couldn't think. She couldn't process what she had just seen. Sketches and grainy surveillance images of that villain's face had been on the news for weeks. A man known only as Dabi – already wanted for arson and a handful of suspected murders – had now been accused of abduction and kidnapping. Questions overloaded her mind. What was going on? Who had hacked into the school networks? Why was Aizawa on screen? Enjoying himself - allowing himself to be recorded? Nemuri's stomach twisted. She couldn't think straight, but her students – his students – were waiting, and so Nemuri turned slowly to face her students. The range of facial expressions stretched from fury, to disgust, to confusion, to terror. Her eyes fell on Bakugou – the poor kid who had only just recently been rescued from the League himself - and at great cost. She watched Bakugou's wide, fearful eyes that looked so out of place on his features. He had come back alone, and that weighed heavily on everyone in the school.

Still, the students watched her with bated breath, waiting for her to react, but before Nemuri could speak again, the door flew open.

"Did you see?!" shouted Cementoss, but the horror stricken expressions told him all he needed to know.

"We saw - how - how did you know?" asked Nemuri, feeling unsteady and out of breath as she placed her palms on the teachers desk for support.

"It's everywhere – on every screen in the school – someone hacked UA," he said, the panic underlining his tone betraying his stoic expression, "Principle Nezu wants everything off now, phones, computers, everything!"

And then Cementoss ran to the next classroom, leaving 1-A in the wake of the news.

"Sensei…" started Uraraka with her finger tips tapping against each other and her cheeks redder than usual, "What's happening?"

"I don't know," she groaned as she turned off her cell-phone to avoid anything that might be racing through the school's WiFi.

"T-that man…" started Midoriya, his stammer stopping him momentarily, "he was at the training camp…he burnt down the forest…" A few of the students nodded and murmured – they remembered as if it were yesterday, and Bakugou slammed his fist on the desk.

"I remember that ugly bastard!" shouted Bakugou, interrupting Midoriya's mumbling in the process, "He was one of the assholes trying to brainwash me!"

"Seriously?! Is Aizawa-Sensei brainwashed?" whined Mineta, his voice high pitched and grating on Nemuri's nerves "You didn't tell us that gross looking guy was a pervert, Bakugou!"

"How the hell would I know that?!" shouted Bakugou, his face reddening as his temper flared, "I'd kill him before he tried shit like that!"

"You don't have to be so defensive," muttered Mineta, growing smaller in his chair, "If Aizawa-Sensei couldn't fight it, it's less embarrassing if you couldn't either."

"Shut the fuck up and die!" snarled Bakugou as smoke seeped from the palms of his hands, "No one fucking touched me!"

Explosions rattled the desk beneath Bakugou's hands, and Nemuri stepped between the boys before Bakugou could attack the smaller boy. A fight had been brewing between them for months since Mineta accused Bakugou of liking men because he ignored the girls in class, and it seemed like those homophobic tensions were reaching a breaking point.

"Calm down, this isn't helping," ordered Nemuri, her hand threatening to rip her sleeve and knock out the entire class, but the students couldn't be contained.

"Well, Aizawa-Sensei would never do that with a villain. That probably wasn't even him!" proclaimed Kaminari, and Kirishima agreed reverently, adding nonsensical opinions on masculinity and heroism. There was a chorus of a agreement from the rest of the students.

"I don't know…it looked like he was enjoying it," said Mineta darkly from behind Nemuri's protective stance, "And he was literally asking for it."

"Shut up, Mineta," groaned Mina, "you can't say shit like that, you idiot."

"You don't know what you're talking about," added Momo, "didn't you see the burns on his body? That man has a fire based quirk - if he wanted to - to force Aizawa-sensei to act a certain way…" Momo's voice broke over the implication. And then the room went quiet and the murmuring stopped, even Mineta got a pained look on his face. Nemuri swallowed. She hadn't noticed anything besides the obvious – had there really been burns? Her stomach did flips and her skin tingled with sympathetic pain. Before the students could discuss any further, a voice sounded over the intercom:

"This is Principle Nezu. Classes have been cancelled for the day. Teachers, please escort your students to their dormitories. The students are not permitted to leave for the next twenty-four hours. Meals will be delivered. The Internet service to the buildings has been shut down. After the students have been escorted, we will have host all staff meeting in the conference room within the hour. Stay safe and take care."

Chatter broke out in pockets across the room. Nemuri grabbed her whip and cracked the weapon in the air. "Everybody shut up and follow me," barked Nemuri. She turned and trusted that the students would follow. She didn't want to think about Aizawa willing fucking a villain. She didn't want to think about what those burns on his body meant either. Nemuri and the students walked in silence. Any whisper of conversation earned a snarl from Nemuri and a crack of her whip. They went quickly, and so she was one of the first teachers back to the conference room at UA.

Principle Nezu and Thirteen sat whispering at the oval table when Nemuri walked in.

"Nemuri, how is 1-A?" asked Nezu, his twitching tail betraying his calm voice.

"They're not doing well," sighed Nemuri as she sat and put her head in her hands, "those kids were molded into heroes by Aizawa; he made them who they are today…he's like a father figure to them."

"You would think that things would have changed by now, but panic brings out the worst in some people," said Nezu quietly.

Nezu nodded with a solemn expression. The video didn't look good, and while Japan was becoming more progressive, the LGBT community still lacked visibility. Of course there was still intolerance. "And Todoroki Shoto?" asked Nezu.

Nemuri frowned and thought back to the face of the students. Todoroki was always so stoic and quiet – she hadn't noticed him. "I don't know. Bakugou seemed the most agitated, but that's to be expected – " started Nemuri until she noticed the look exchanged between Nezu and Thirteen. She didn't have a chance to ask before a few other teachers filed in. Power Loader, Snipe, an Ectoplasm clone, and Recovery Girl were the last of the staff who were not required to guard the dorms.

"Did anyone finish the video?" asked Nezu as the teachers took their seats. Most expressions were hidden behind masks, but there was a general air of queasiness, and everyone shook their heads. "Understandable, it was difficult to watch – but the video was provided to media outlets as well, and there was a development half way through that strictly pertains to one of our students in particular – Todoroki Shoto." There was murmuring across the table, but no one had heard, and no one had dared let the video play."The man in the video – Dabi – he claimed that his birth name was Todoroki Touya," said Nezu before an outburst of disbelief:

"That' s impossible! Endeavor doesn't have a son that old! I've know him for decades!"

"Dabi is a villain, he's obviously lying!"

Nezu waited for their indignation to pass before continuing, "Regardless of whether or not his claims are true or false, elements of the video were…particularly convincing to mainstream media." A murmur swept through the teachers. "Our own student, Todoroki Shoto, may not be safe anymore, and we must remain vigilant."

"Are the villains coming for him?" asked Nemuri, suddenly feeling guilt stricken that she had left the students to fend for themselves.

Nezu shook his head and sighed, "No. There has been a public outcry within the past half hour to remove Endeavor from his agency and strip him of his license. The hashtag - TodorokiTakeDown - has been trending in the social media algorithms. Todoroki Touya's birth certificates – forged or not – have surfaced as well, and the timing is…inconvenient…given what happened to All Might at Camino Ward just a few weeks ago."

Nemuri bit her lip and fidgeted with the sleeve of her suit, "So people think that Endeavor is corrupt?"

"We all know that people have looked for reasons to hate Endeavor for years," confirmed Nezu, "but they think our teachers – Aizawa at the very least – may be corrupt as well. We don't need to worry about the villains right now; we need to worry about the police and public hysteria. An investigative team is on its way."

"Aizawa isn't a traitor," said Nemuri with less conviction than she had intended, but she knew that his promiscuous reputation – his questionable choices in men – his sour attitude and lack of respect for the media – none of this was going to work in his favor. The dissent began almost immediately:

"You don't know that, Nemuri. From what I saw, it didn't look like he was fighting back," muttered Higari, Pro-Hero Power Loader.

"You've worked with him for years," spat Nemuri, her hands shaking with rage, "You know he's a good person."

"That's the thing, Nemuri - I don't know him that well…none of us do besides you, Hizashi, and Vlad. And now those three go missing together?" Higari muttered in response, "We can't...we can't just ignore all the signs. We know that someone's been leaking information…I don't want to believe that Aizawa is a traitor, but I don't believe that anyone here is a traitor either. Given the evidence…don't you see how suspect it is?!"

"How can you say things like that, Higari?" Her fingers balled into fists until her nails threatened to break skin, "They've been abducted for weeks – you don't know what he's doing to survive."

"I would rather die than survive like that," snarled Higari as he stood with his own fists at the ready, and Nemuri stood to match him.

"Calm down!" barked Ectoplasm, his clones populating the room to contain the potential outbreak, but the teachers kept their composure.

"We will talk about this later," said Nezu firmly, "Nemuri is right. Until we know more – Aizawa is still one of us, and we will not turn against one of our own. That's the last thing anyone needs right now."

"Principle Nezu – " started Power Loader.

"Dismissed," said Nezu, and the teachers dispersed with their tails between their legs.

Nemuri was still furious recalling those hateful words exchanged at that the meeting. It had been two weeks since then, and she still wanted to wring Higari's neck for doubting their friend. Sure, everyone knew something was off about Aizawa - he was grouchy and isolated and borderline cruel to his students at times - but Nemuri knew he wasn't a traitor. If only the public agreed…Aizawa's entire life had been dissected for two whole weeks on public television, and the media had been nothing less than mean spirited. At least no more videos had been released, but society was still in chaos. The general feeling was that if a high school teacher/Pro-Hero could become one the most-wanted men in Japan, then no one was safe, and no one could be trusted.

Nemuri sighed and closed the classroom door. She made her way back to the dorms to check on the students remaining in the dorms. Nearly half of the students had been temporarily withdrawn by anxious parents – including Todoroki Shoto – but who could blame that family? Endeavor had not made a single statement, nor had anyone seen him leave his estate. The Todoroki siblings had all been called back to their family home, and not a single one had left the property since. Endeavors reaction did nothing to help sway public opinion in a positive direction, and so it was dangerous for any Todoroki to be seen in public right now. It was understandable, but at least a few students remained. And so Nemuri made her way across campus and entered the dorms without so much as a knock. When she walked into the community room, a small gathering of students jumped out of their skins and shoved papers into the couch cushions. Coincidentally, it comprised of mostly the same group of students who had gone after Bakugou at Camino Ward: Midoriya, Kirishima, Momo, Kaminari, Iida, Tokoyami, and Jirou. They looked guilty and nervous and entirely suspect.

Nemuri frowned and crossed her arms across her chest, "Heroes need better poker faces, kids." There was a smattering of awkward chatter as Nemuri's eyes narrowed. There was a notebook half hidden under Kaminari's leg, and Nemuri released an exasperated sigh. She extended her palm and said, "Give me the notebook under Kaminari and the papers in the sofa behind Midoriya."

The students hurried to comply, and the scent of nervous teenage sweat permeated the air. Nemuri opened the notebook. The first page consisted of a list of locations surrounding the past areas of operation for the League. Half of the items were crossed out. She flipped to the next page and noticed Midoriya's scribble instantly. There were paragraphs upon paragraphs of theoretical usages of each student's quirk. First was Jirou and her earjack quirk – it was noted that her quirk would be useful in narrowing down the list of locations. Next was Kirishima and his resilience to fire quirks…fuck, this was irresponsible. When had they had a chance to do this during lock down?

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" barked Nemuri, "This isn't the time to draw more unwanted attention to UA."

It was quiet for a moment until Iida spoke.

"I apologize and take full responsibility, Kayama-sensei!" shouted Iida as he bowed until his forehead touched the coffee table.

"Damn it, Iida, I know this wasn't your idea," snapped Nemuri, crinkling the papers in her hand.

"We're just trying to help," mumbled Kaminari, "It seems like none of the adults care about finding them anymore."

Jirou elbowed Kaminari in the side, and whispered something angrily, too soft for Nemuri to hear.

"This is grounds for expulsion," snapped Nemuri, "Not only are most of you on probation for Camino Ward, but don't you know what would happen to UA if this got out? If any of you ended up severely injured or even dead?!" A ripple of soft explosions pulled Nemuri's attention towards Bakugou. "Katsuki Bakugou - don't you dare - " she started before Bakugou cut her off.

"You're wrong about this!" he shouted so loudly that his voice echoed off the walls. His face look pained and Nemuri's throat closed over her words, "I know this is dangerous - more than anyone else here, but I also know that we can't leave him there. We can't leave any of them there! We're heroes for fucks sake! How can you live with yourself without trying to help? Aren't you supposed to be setting a good example?" His angry tone faded into something soft and broken, and he said, "Those people are villains, and I don't care what you say…I'm getting our teachers back." He crossed his arms and tried to look brave, but Nemuri had already seen him.

"Bakugou," started Nemuri gently, her expression softening as she watched this poor, guilt-stricken child trying to act grown up in an unforgiving world, "it's not your responsibility – no one here is responsible for what us adults need to figure out. They're going to be okay," she lied through her teeth, "We're going to save them."

"They won't be," spat Bakugou, "you don't know what they're like."

Nemuri's heart hurt, and she pressed a palm to her chest. She didn't know what Bakugou had gone through while he was taken - no one did. He had obstinately refused any medical or psychological care. The only reason he had gotten away with going straight home was because no one wanted to put him through the trauma of sedating him and dragging him to the hospital - it helped that he appeared entirely uninjured, but this made Nemuri think that Bakugou had been omitting some horrible truths. She wanted to ask. She wanted to know what her friends might be going through this very moment, but she wouldn't - not when a quarter of the class was listening in.

"You're right, we can't know what's happening to them, but…" Nemuri paused. Where had her youthful vigor gone? When had she become so stern? Perhaps Bakugou was right, but it was irresponsible. It was illegal even, but she saw the pain and determination under Bakugou's flushed cheeks - the desperate need to make a difference on the faces of her students – and Nemuri's heart swelled with a youthful passion, "Look…just - just show me what you have so far, okay?" And so, Nemuri took a seat on the sofa between Midoriya and Iida. If this was going to happen - and she doubted she could stop them - then they were going to need help.

"You mean we can try?" gasped Midoriya in disbelief, and Nemuri nodded softly.

"You'll need someone who can subdue the enemy," said said as she opened the notebook of plans and started to read, "and I'll take responsibility for whatever happens."

The students looked at one another, and hope returned to their faces.

"Fuck yeah!" Shouted Kaminari, with a final elbow jab from Jirou.

Two weeks passed in solitary confinement – that's how long it had been since Dabi took Aizawa away. Hizashi could still see the fear in Aizawa's eyes when he was taken away. That image plagued him. He knew what that psychotic monster did to Aizawa, and it killed Hizashi that he couldn't care for Aizawa's injuries afterwards, and he was sure that Aizawa was accumulating injuries. It drove him crazy while he was alone, and his only visitor was hardly reassuring. Every other day or so, a strange masked man came by to provide Hizashi with food and the shots that suppressed his quirk. The man never stayed long and never answered any of Hizashi's questions, so Hizashi didn't know where Aizawa was, or if Aizawa was okay. Hizashi's only hint that Aizawa was alive was that the League continued to waste quirk suppressants on him. He was sure those small syringes of fluid would be worth too much, especially if the source had died. But Aizawa wouldn't die, Hizashi told himself, not now. Not here.

And so Hizashi bided his time and tried to think of a way out. In his stir-crazed state, Hizashi could only fantasize about bellowing so loudly that the building collapsed around him and buried the villains in rubble – but that was so very un-heroic of him. No, Hizashi would subdue them…he would call for help…he would find Dabi and slice his goddamn fucking throat.

No.

"Stop it," he groaned into the silence.

Hizashi shook his head and pressed his fingertips into the sides of his skull. He couldn't think those thoughts. Those were evil, malicious thoughts that heroes didn't think about. Hizashi's heart raced as he tried to think about anything else, but there was so little to think about in this barren, lonely room.

If only Dabi would visit him. Hizashi wouldn't be scared this time. He would wrestle him to the ground even without his quirk and force Dabi to bring him to Aizawa. He would make Dabi pay and let Aizawa watch.

"STOP," bellowed Hizashi.

The shout rang in the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. His toes curled in the bed sheets and his fingers pressed into his skull until everything hurt. Panicked by the ill intentions racing in his mind, Hizashi sprang out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He kicked past empty food containers and left footprints in the ashes of Vlad's cremation. Hizashi turned on the cold water – making sure it was as cold as ice – and flattened his palms against the shower tiles. Hizashi exhaled forcefully as the icy water shocked his system. He knew that isolation could drive someone crazy, but it felt like he wasn't even himself anymore. He felt angry. He felt violent. Memories of blood flickered in his mind – Vlad's blood. He felt the vibration of impact coursing up his forearms from the moment he crushed Vlad's skull with that metal rod. The regret and remorse were gone. His hands itched with the need to hurt something, someone, anyone –

"Get it together," Hizashi whispered to himself, "this isn't who you are."

But still the anger burned in him, and the icy shower could no longer quench that fire no matter how badly his limbs shivered and his teeth chattered. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…" He muttered until his voice gave out from the hypothermic chills. Hizashi waited until his brain was as numb as his body. Until the anger was frozen and sleeping in his core, and slowly he began to feel like himself again. He pulled himself out of the ice water shower, and dragged his shaking limbs through the ash covering the bathroom floor. As he made his way slowly back to bed, Hizashi heard a knock at the door. The door opened, but Hizashi didn't look up. He fully expected the masked man to make another series of rude and non-linear comments before leaving an odd assortment of edible items. Last time, it had been a few cups of green Jell-O along with a steaming hot instant ramen. The time before that had been a lukewarm, microwaved bag of vegetables and a tuna fish sandwich with a bite taken out of it. He felt sick just thinking about whatever the man would bring next.

"What, are you that unhappy to see me?" rumbled a voice that Hizashi hadn't heard in weeks.

Fuck. Panic slugged through his icy veins, and Hizashi forced himself to turn towards the offending voice. There stood Dabi, the man who had taken Aizawa away and never brought him back.

"Where is he?" demanded Hizashi through gritted teeth. Water droplets fell from his wet hair and overgrown blonde beard as he shook with anger. Before Dabi could respond, Hizashi saw red, and Hizashi vaulted himself up over the bed that separated them and bellowed despite his lack of a quirk, "Tell me where he is before I snap your neck!"

A flash a blue fire blinded Hizashi long enough to disorient him, the heat made him flinch. There was a flurry of parried blows and a well-placed punch to the throat that left Hizashi gasping for air. Hizashi felt hands on his forearms, and Dabi's leg swept under Hizashi's feet to throw him off balance. Before he knew it, Hizashi was whirled around onto his stomach and bent over the edge of the bed.

"You think I won't kill you, you motherfucking asshole," snarled Hizashi as he struggled uselessly against Dabi's hold, "What are you going to do? Fuck me? Well I don't give a shit!"

Hizashi snapped his teeth at the nearest fingers pressed into the bed - trying to bite a finger off in one fell swoop - until Dabi started to laugh.

"You're not my type," chuckled Dabi without releasing Hizashi, "A few decades too old to be honest."

"You sick fuck!" Bellowed Hizashi. He thrashed and snarled into the bed – all the rage he had been feeling while cooped up in this hell – all the violent urges were breaking every barrier he had built up. "You had no problem hurting Aizawa!"

"Yeah well, Giran paid me well for that and Viagra does wonders when you need to keep it up," said Dabi with another raucous burst of laughter.

"I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I swear to god I'll kill you," growled Hizashi repeatedly, his spit foaming at his lips.

"I'd like to see you try, but don't you want to know why I'm here?" asked Dabi before letting Hizashi go and taking a few steps back. Hizashi swirled and lunged immediately, but Dabi easily sidestepped his clumsy efforts. One more poorly executed punch from Hizashi, and Dabi had Hizashi twisted into a standing wristlock.

"I don't care why you're here," spat Hizashi as he felt his joints starting to twist out of place.

Dabi shrugged and took out a rope from his deep jacket pockets. "Well, I'm supposed to debrief you anyways. We need to do some tests on your blood chemistry and shit, so you can either walk down the hall with me, or I can hog-tie you."

"What are you saying?" barked Hizashi as he pulled in vain against Dabi's wristlock.

"I thought you weren't interested," laughed Dabi, but he continued on anyways and started to wrap the rope around Hizashi's slackening wrists, "I don't understand all the science bullshit, but Shigaraki said that using the quirk suppressants does something to the brain…anger, psychosis, seizures or something…I don't know, but the boss man wants a medical work up since you're the last one here who got dosed."

"What about - where are the others?" asked Hizashi with a panicked stutter - his anger dying out for the first time as fear became his predominant emotion.

"Well, you killed the first one," laughed Dabi as he proceeded to drag Hizashi out of the room, "And everyone else is dead."

(A/N) Going into lockdown soon, and it reminds me to enjoy my hobbies and do what I love as self care in these awful times. So, to everyone who has kept up with this story over the past year, and to everyone new as well: Take care, my dear readers, and stay healthy. With love, Aspen