Okay! Sorry for the late update, I've been struggling to come up with the more healing-and-loving parts of the story, and I'm trying to stay one chapter ahead for once. A couple points to address:
-Aizawa might be a little OOC at the end of the chapter. I apologize, and know that I am properly ashamed. But I tried. I really tried, and no matter how I worked it, I couldn't fit it to happen any other way. Sorry! And if he isn't, please let me know, because it's definitely a weight on my mind. In future chapters, it should get better. I haven't seen anyone else work Aizawa with an actively suicidal and hurting rape victim, so I have no point of reference.
-I tried to fix the italics thing. I hope it worked. There are a few of them this chapter.
-There's a lot of focus on Akito in the next few chapters. This is, after all, her story. I hope it doesn't come off as Mary-Sue ish. Gal's been through a lot.
I hope you all enjoy this chapter! This is the dark before the dawn. You'll see what I mean in the next chapter. :)
Tomura's not really sure what to do in his Akito's absence.
He's not sure if she's dead or not. She had gained most of her weight back after he had made sure she got enough food, but he'd never expect her to throw herself in the way of that idiot Nomu's punch. He had explicitly said to capture her, to bring her back, not to fucking kill her.
And she had thrown herself in its way, like she wanted it to kill her! Like she had wanted to die! After every-fucking-thing he had done for her! After everything that they had together, she chose death—why? Why?
He had made sure she was so well taken care of, too! He had done everything he could to make her happy, fed her foods that she seemed to like, made sure she went to bed with her desires sated every night, didn't punish her unless she deserved it.
Unfortunately, she had asked for punishment quite often with her misbehavior, but didn't she understand it was for her own good? He loved her. And he had always brought her pleasure after the fact. No, all her needs had been met.
And he thought she had accepted him. She had let him chain her ankle without a fight, obviously not worried about the restraint. It was just for her own safety, he had told her, even though he secretly had done it to make sure she couldn't escape. He knew she didn't want to after the first time; she had never tried again. He had made sure to set the boundary, and while he thinks, in retrospect, that he might have been a little overzealous in his anger and jealousy—wasn't he enough?—she obviously had gotten the message.
Then again, he thinks to himself, she had run from his side at the end. He had seen her with All Might and Nomu. He assumes that she had been trying to be useful or get herself further aroused by helping Nomu cause All Might more pain. He'd never get the answer now.
He had honestly thought she couldn't die, but it seems that Nomu was enough to create an exception to that rule. That had been remedied, though, because even with his master's obvious displeasure, he had made sure to give that Nomu the most painful death possible. No mercy for the one who had killed his beloved.
And All Might. Taking her body from him like it wasn't his! He might have been able to find a way to resurrect her with his master's help. Even if she didn't come back quite… right, it would be better than Akito gone altogether.
A quiet whisper in the back of his mind has him wondering if she really is dead. If he shouldn't declare outright war on U.A. and get her back. But that's silly—even if she could withstand his quirk, the damage Nomu had wrought was something not even her healing could fix.
No, she was dead.
He's going to have to find a replacement. Sure, the next one won't last as long as Akito, but he can dye her hair, put in colored contacts, and he'll have her back, even if only for a few days. But if he can keep them coming, he can keep a facsimile of his love with him for a little while longer, just until the grief ends.
And once he's rewrought the world into his image, into a place where he can do whatever he wants at his pleasure… well, maybe he'll search for a more permanent replacement. Someone quirk immune, maybe. All he has to do is make sure he can get the hair dye and contacts. Then it'll be just like Akito never died.
For now, though, he needs to find a woman to take her place for as long as she'll last. He can't just go without his love forever. And he'll send out feelers, see if she's possibly still alive. It feels like a slim chance, so he's not going to wait.
"Kurogiri," he says hoarsely as he enters the bar.
"Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?" Kurogiri says, a little subdued after his leader's breakdown earlier.
"I'm leaving. When I'm back, I want the storage room cleared out."
Kurogiri isn't really good at finer facial expressions, but Tomura can feel the confusion anyways. "For what reason, if I may ask?"
"I'm finding a replacement," Tomura says, not particularly thrilled by the idea but also desperate enough for his love to make do with an imitation.
Of course, he's not going to share his bedroom with her. No, there's no room for it with the new shrine he had built for his true love.
If she's alive, he's sure she'll be happy to see a physical representation of his adoration.
And if she's not… well, he at least needs her body back. Before it decays. U.A. probably still has it. Wishing he had thought of it earlier instead of breaking down, he plucks his phone out of his pocket.
The spy has already proven themselves. He'll just have to see if they can prove themselves again. A tingle runs down his back, the insane notion that his love is alive sending his member twitching. For now, though, he'll find someone else.
So when he leaves the hideout, he makes sure to keep his eyes peeled for anyone who even vaguely resembles his one and only.
I don't take the elevator.
After three days of hiding the fact that I wasn't eating at all, despite the protesting of my stomach, I'm around five foot four and a little under ninety pounds. I had lost thirty after having my abdomen almost completely ripped out of my body, but nobody at U.A. has any point of reference to know that I lose weight when injured, burning calories to heal wounds, just at a superhuman rate. Recovery Girl had mentioned that I should start eating a high-calorie diet and had given me a free pass for seconds and even thirds at the cafeteria, if I could eat that much. I obviously hadn't listened to her, but the concern had warmed my heart a little.
A fall from a skyscraper is probably something I'd have a hard time healing from at full health. My body as it is and my empty stomach should mean that, upon impact, I shouldn't even start healing. I'll just splat and die.
The thought of the passersby who will likely be traumatized by seeing my broken body make me feel a little guilty, but I push that aside. They'd understand if they'd been through what I have, I tell myself, even as it feels like a selfish rationalization.
But what else I am supposed to do?
I'm winded by the time I reach the top, even having had to pause for intervals on the way up. Forty-three flights of stairs are no joke. Still, the calories I'm burning only help my cause.
My palms are sweaty as I slip under the partition that clearly prohibits access to the roof. If they really didn't want anyone coming up here, they would put a lock on the door or something. A little partition isn't going to stop the determined, and I'm more determined than the average person.
Up this high, the night sky is clear. Gleaming stars in unfamiliar constellations shine down on me and the moon is full. I stare at its beautiful face until, unexpectedly, a disapproving expression seems to superimpose over that bright circle.
"You wouldn't understand anyways," I mutter at it, looking away. Still, that strange feeling of the moon disapproving of my actions makes room for a sliver of doubt to worm its way into my heart.
Ignoring it, I walk up to the railing. There's only the smallest ledge for me to stand on, barely a foot concrete between me and death. I stare at it for a long time—longer than I can justify for being so set on killing myself. I shake my head; where's this hesitation coming from? Tomura's still out there and from what I understood of canon before my transportation, he still wasn't gone even long after I read what I had. I'm barely into the plot at all; really, I'm only at the very beginning. I got lucky with Nomu punching instead of grabbing. I'd be back in captivity if not for that, severely punished and worse off than before.
I can't even fathom it.
I'll never be free as long as I live, I tell myself. There's no point in continuing to live. No one's waiting up for me, no one cares about me personally, no one expects anything from me. Even Principal Nezu was hesitant to assign me to any task that was little more than gardening or janitorial work. I don't have a degree in this world, even if I had in my previous life, so obviously he isn't going to let me go anywhere near teaching. Especially given the circumstances of my rescue—that I was basically stolen away from Tomura under the guise of being dead—no one has any reason to trust me.
"Why?" I whisper desolately, leaning forward on the railing, gazing down at the street below. It's mostly eclipsed by streetlamps at this height, but I can't help but imagine the people who would be walking around at this time of night. There's probably more than a few Pro Heroes around, scouting to stop crimes before they escalate. Various small-time criminals, certainly. Older businessmen and -women heading home after a long day at work. A mother walking with her children to the subway after stopping at the store for a late dinner. Lovebirds on a romantic walk through the streets, going on a date. It's their first one, or it's the one where someone's going to propose.
And here I am, at the top of a skyscraper, living my last moments.
I take a deep breath, but it hitches. "Why?" I whisper again, a lump forming in my throat. Swallowing is difficult and painful. "Why me?"
I dash my hand across my face before tears can do more than form. This is the only way out, I know this. It's been clear all along, but Tomura made it crystal. I never belonged here. My quirk was a curse to keep me in this world, this place I hated. I never liked it here. I've always wanted to go home, and I'd never been thankful for a moment for this place. I'm sure there are people who would have been, but I'm not one of them. I miss home, my friends, my family, my pets… I miss it and would give anything to go back. I never wanted this.
And Tomura was just the nail in the coffin. I could have maybe learned to be happy here, someday, or at least content. But he'd stolen me, stolen everything from me, and now all that's left is to drag this living corpse over the edge of the railing and let it meet its rightful end. I don't know how I still exist after everything that's happened. I'm free, like I always wanted, and I'm dying under the night sky, breathing fresh, icy air, by my own hand.
There's no reason to feel so empty about it.
I only realize I'm crying when a cold wind buffets my face and I feel the tears chill against my face. Oh, well. No one's here to see.
Enough dawdling, I tell myself, and hitch a leg over the railing, then the other. Still, I just sit, staring down over the edge, staring into the abyss—staring into my death.
What awaits me, I wonder. It could be something terrible.
Sniffling, I wipe my face futilely again. "It can't be anything worse than this."
This is different than death by Nomu, I realize. That's why I'm having these stupid doubts. It's not as easy as just throwing myself in the way of a fist, and it's not to protect anybody. Right now, I have time to think, to reconsider.
What if U.A. really could keep me safe?
What if I could find a way to make friends? Would having people who love me make this any easier? What if I could find a way to afford therapy? What if it really was possible for me to heal? What if, with my knowledge about the plot, I could get Tomura defeated, captured, maybe even killed before he ever hurt me again? What if…?
"No," I say harshly, my anger at the thoughts vocalized. "Do you really want to go through all that?" I ask myself. "You're broken. That's it. You don't even know how to love anymore. You're an empty well, used up and dry. Nothing can fill you up again. Nothing can ever—can ever make this okay! Th-there's n-no going b-b-back! A-all I'm good f-for is—is d-dying—and I c-c-can't ch-change that! I d-don't want to live! So f-fucking jump!" In my tears and broken sobbing, the world narrows to a singular point: the street below.
Don't think. Just jump.
I stand, mind and soul in tatters.
"Hey—!"
I lean forward and let go, closing my eyes as I hurtle to death.
A breath, two, and then I stop, suspended in air. My heart stops, my eyes shoot open, and then I look up. Carbon fiber and strips of alloy hold me aloft. I'd barely dropped three stories. I see a dark-haired man leaning over the railing and realize what's happened.
I can't help the wrenching loss in my voice. I've been foiled again.
"WHY?!"
It's business as usual this evening. Aizawa's already rounded up several villains on his usual route. He's feeling a bit peckish and a lot tired, so he decides to head up to his favorite perch to have a quick snack. He can't stay long as it's not a particularly good vantage point—a little too high to be effective—but he indulges. So far, the night has been slow. Mondays are usually like that, especially cold ones. Nobody likes to be out when it's cold, not even him, though it helps with staying alert.
He reaches the top with little effort. It takes him a moment to make out the shape of someone sitting on the wrong side of the railing, and even then it doesn't click right away. What is this person doing here, interrupting his break? Annoyance flares through him. He doesn't recognize this person as one of his fellow Pro Heroes, but a civilian shouldn't be up here at this time of night. It's prohibited, for one thing. It's his space, for another.
He takes a step forward to reprimand the person, capture weapon ready to catch them if he startles them the wrong way, but then he hears them muttering to themselves. The raw agony in their voice brings him to pause. They're crying.
"Nothing can ever—can ever make this okay! Th-there's n-no going b-b-back! A-all I'm good f-for is—is d-dying—and I c-c-can't ch-change that! I d-don't want to live! So f-fucking jump!"
A chill runs through him at the hopelessness, helplessness in the person's voice. He's never heard this unhinged kind of pain, the kind that consumes and consumes until there's nothing left. He's not usually one who deals with jumpers—they leave that to more recognizable heroes, ones who have the disposition to be comforting and soft with emotionally volatile people. He personally doesn't understand the finer points of suicide and this isn't really a job for his style.
But then the civilian is lurching to their feet. Any sort of indecision that he might have been harboring evaporates in a flash and he lunges forward.
"Hey!" he tries to call out, but the person doesn't acknowledge him and in the next second, they've… jumped.
The horror of it leaves him breathless—he's never witnessed a suicide and doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget this—but his capture weapon shoots out, almost of its own accord, and catches the person before they've fallen too far. Logistically, the length they'd fallen and his timeliness in catching them means that there shouldn't be any major damage from the jerking halt.
"WHY?!"
The hoarse scream sends chills down his spine. He's never heard this tone before. It makes his stomach twist out of sheer upset that someone could sound so broken.
What has this person been through to make them sound this way?
They start struggling against the scarf-like strips, trying to free themselves. It brings him back to the moment and he wrenches them to safety. For an adult, the person is inexcusably light. No fully-grown human should be so easy to manipulate, and he almost overcorrects the person's course in his expectation of much more resistance.
Finally, he brings the person to safety and is surprised to recognize them—her.
It's Tomura's lover, the one who wasn't actually his lover but his captive, or so Recovery Girl had hinted upon his stern recommendation that she be jailed or at least interrogated. She had healed All Might with her blood. Recovery Girl had recommended that he talk to her and see if she was willing to fix his more permanent damage, what she herself couldn't heal with even her kiss. He had declined; he didn't want anything from someone who could very possibly be on Shigaraki's side. He'd prefer the injuries, thank you very much.
(He knows that's not rational but he can't help but blame her a little for his new handicaps. Having her fix them doesn't mean much when part of him still very much believes that she was a willing accomplice.)
When he lowers her to the ground, a safe distance from the railing, he doesn't release her. She's crying raggedly, but when she looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, he sees a hatred there that outmatches what any villain has ever looked at him with.
"Why?" she demands abruptly, harshy. "Why? You don't have the right!"
"Death is never the answer," he says, monotone, not really knowing how to handle this. His thoughts are racing: why would this girl want to kill herself now that she's supposedly free? And, more likely, if she's a willing accomplice to Tomura, she's been given all the freedom she needs to return to him. This is completely illogical. He just… doesn't get it.
"What would you know?" she shrieks, fighting half-heartedly against her restraints. "You wouldn't know anything!"
"I know there's a better way than this," he says, determined to stay calm in the face of a wounded, cornered animal. That's what she brings to mind, the imagery making him feel sick to his stomach. No human should be subject to whatever it is she's experiencing… lover of a villain or not.
"No, you don't! You don't know anything about what I've been through! You'd have jumped a lot faster if you had had the same things done to you!" It's kind of hard to understand her through her wretched tears, but he gets the general gist, and suddenly he feels the creeping, cold suspicion that he's severely misjudged this woman.
"I would never jump," he tells her firmly still. He wouldn't. Nothing is ever bad enough to end it. "I wouldn't give up just because of a few bad things." He knows he sounds unsympathetic, and he kind of is, but he doesn't understand, just like she says. All he knows is that life is never worth giving up on.
The woman stills. Akito—that's her name, he recalls. The expression on her face makes him think she's seeing red at his words, and in retrospect, maybe he should have tried to be a little more empathetic, or at least gentle.
"A few bad things?" she says lowly, and her eyes are wide and crazed and in that moment, she's not just wounded and cornered, but rabid. Her hardened green eyes lock on his, glimmering with tears. "Tell me, Aizawa-san, have you ever been tortured by him? Minutes upon minutes of your flesh decaying and healing and decaying and healing? And it never stops, and he gets off on it. It's enjoyable for him!"
Aizawa assumes she's talking about Shigaraki and he fights the shiver at that description. Of course—she has regenerative healing, so if Shigaraki had wanted to punish her, holding her still with his quirk activated would be agony. He remembers vividly the feeling of his elbow disintegrating, skin falling away completely to reveal raw muscle. And, if what she's saying is true, she had been subjected to that, frequently, but not facing any reprieve because she could heal before it would damage her irrevocably.
He knows immediately that for once, his logical assumptions have failed him. Tremendously. His knees go a little weak at the thought of that pain for more than the few seconds he had experienced. Repeatedly? For minutes?
How was she still sane? That kind of pain is enough to break any mind.
…Maybe she isn't.
Taking the weight off, just to make things easier, he lets himself kneel beside her. She's still talking, he realizes.
"—so he gets his jollies like that, but it isn't enough! Now he's turned on!" She laughs hysterically and sobs at the same time, making her cough and retch for a long moment. "And I'm right there, and he decides that I'm the perfect person to—to—"
Aizawa gets the picture pretty quick and it curdles like milk in his stomach.
"To—" she stops to shriek wretchedly, then, "to rape me. Over and over and over and over and over—" She turns hateful green eyes to him. "And he thinks he loves me! I know it, the moment he finds out I'm alive, he'll hunt me down again! I can't go back! And I can't live with this! So do you understand, now, Aizawa-san?" She spits the honorific like venom. "So you can let me go now! If anybody deserves an end to the pain, I think I fucking qualify!"
He doesn't do anything for a long moment. This is a human's lowest point, he recognizes. This is the pain of life taken too far, stretched too long, born too heavily. What right does he have to stop her, truly? She has a point.
But his chest twinges in indignation at the thought of letting her give up now, especially now that he knows the truth of what she's been through. She's free now. She has a chance. She can make things better for herself. She can only go up from this rock bottom, even if she's terrified of Shigaraki coming after her again.
And he knows, then, inexplicably, in the deepest reaches of his soul, that he never wants to see anyone, but especially not this woman, ever end up here again. He can't stand this pain and it's not even his.
Without even thinking about it, forgetting in that moment his hatred of unnecessary physical contact, that he doesn't particularly like anybody besides his colleagues and even then it's a stretch sometimes, and that nothing he can do will comfort this girl, he pulls her closer to him, releases her from her restraints, and gathers her into his arms.
And then, as though the leaking dam has burst, she shatters into a thousand little pieces against him, sobbing into his chest and clutching him like the only lifeline that has ever existed, and Aizawa feels some of his harder edges soften for her.
"It'll get better," he murmurs into her hair. Warmth flows through him for a reason he can't possibly fathom. For a reason he doesn't understand himself, he adds: "I'll make sure of it."
He doesn't think she hears him over the sounds of her pain, but he's never be more serious. All he knows is that Shigaraki boy is going to die. He won't be allowed to hurt anyone else, not as long as Aizawa is around to stop him.
Then, softly and almost inaudible, it turns out she had heard. "Please, I just want it to stop hurting… I just—j-just want it all to stop." And then, her wishes spoken, and perhaps she thinks he didn't hear her, either, she breaks down again.
She might not even have been talking to him. She might not even realize she was speaking aloud.
Gathering the inconsolable woman into his arms, he starts the trek down from the roof of the skyscraper. He supposes his patrol is over; even though he's the most ill-suited person he can think of for the job, he's needed here, with her.
But the thought of calling someone else in to take over doesn't even occur to him.
:)