Chapter 2

.::Calm and Rational::.

By the time Shouto finally hauled himself onto a river bank the sky had become much lighter, sunrise finally taking effect and brightening the world. He dragged himself out of the water and sprawled on his back with a tired gasp, his limbs splayed outwards as he greedily sucked in air and tried to rest his weary muscles.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed since he first dove into the icy river in his desperate bid to escape, but he suspected it had been at least half an hour. Most of that time had been spent traveling underwater, surfacing for air only when absolutely necessary to avoid being seen by any potential pursuers. Each time he resurfaced the scenery underwent massive changes, the river's swift current carrying him away even faster than he'd expected.

Exposed to the dry air at last, Shouto could feel his clothes clinging to him uncomfortably, making him grimace. At least I can fix that, he thought as he willed the left half of his body to generate more heat to dry it out. It took some more intense concentration than usual since he hadn't needed to do this very often in the past, but he could still let his mind wander enough to reflect over his situation.

Right now, it looked like he'd successfully gotten away, but the sheer ease of it left him more wary and suspicious than anything. At some point during his escape he'd expected to hear angry shouting behind him, or to surface for air and find some random Villain on the riverside pointing him out. But since waking up, he never spied so much as another soul.

If that building had indeed been the League of Villains' base, there should have been a stampede his way the moment Dabi yelled out. The most logical explanation he could think of was that Dabi had been there alone. But why? Did that mean he'd been trusted to guard Shouto alone—or that he'd captured Shouto for personal reasons unrelated to the League? Their encounter during the attack at the summer camp flashed to mind unbidden, how the man had jeeringly addressed him before disappearing into the portal with Bakugou.

"How sad... Todoroki Shouto."

Just remembering his taunting smirk sent chills down his spine, making him grind his teeth in frustration. When faced with Dabi he couldn't help but recall how helpless he had felt back then, unable to do anything to save his classmate, and it made his blood boil.

Not what he needed right now.

Scowling, he sat up and looked down at his now-dried clothing, eyes narrowing critically. Now that the sense of urgency had faded he took time to study it in more detail. The clothing had obvious signs of wear. The jeans had a hole in the right knee, and the hem of the t-shirt was starting to fray. The hooded jacket he wore over it looked particularly well-used, the black fabric frayed around the sleeves' cuffs, and the left sleeve even looked a little singed.

Interestingly, the jacket had deep pockets sealed with zippers, and he now realized he could feel something in them. Hesitating, he unzipped one and reached inside, his fingers brushing against a bundled wad of fabric and something plastic. He pulled out the fabric first, unwrapping it to find... an eye patch?

He paused, confirming it was, indeed, a surgical eye patch, the color a little off and no longer a pristine white. Probably not that new. He glanced at the rest of the wad of fabric and recognized a medical mask usually worn when one had allergies or colds. It looked considerably fresher than the eye patch at least. Reaching back into the pocket to grab the other item, he pulled out a pair of surprisingly large sunglasses.

This... this would be useful. He didn't know where he was or if any Villains might be nearby, so he definitely needed to keep a low profile until he found help. The eye patch and mask combo might stick out a bit too much, but the glasses alone would easily hide the scar on his right side. If he put up the hood and covered his hair, he should be able to avoid notice until he could find a Hero.

Assuming, of course, the Villains didn't recognize his clothes. Shouto grimaced at the thought, knowing they would likely remember the clothing they'd put him in. He didn't even want to think about how he must have been changed into this, or whether the boxers he could feel under the jeans even belonged to him. He didn't exactly have any other clothing he could wear though.

He shelved the uncomfortable thought for now and opened the other pocket, hoping for a decent distraction from his sudden discomfort.

This time, he felt a cell phone and a tangled charger.

He perked up instantly as he pulled it out. It wasn't his phone, and the screen had several cracks near the edge, but it was better than nothing. Crossing his fingers that the impromptu swim hadn't damaged it, he moved to press the power button only to pause. Through the spider web of cracks on the screen he could faintly glimpse his reflection, the sight hazy and too dark to really be clear like a mirror. Even so though, he could immediately recognize a key difference from his usual appearance:

His hair was a single dark color.

Raising a hand to carefully touch the ends of his hair, he noted the texture felt different than he remembered. Slightly more coarse, maybe a bit dirty, like it hadn't been properly washed in a while. He yanked a strand loose and held it up to his eye to squint at it. It looked pitch black, which made no sense since he'd pulled it from his right side—the side with white hair.

"What the hell?" he hissed, panic starting to bubble inside him. Did they dye his hair while he slept? How did he sleep through that?!

No, he thought abruptly, silencing his rising unease as his more logical side took over. The texture of his hair didn't fit with that theory. He could tell by touching it that it hadn't been properly washed in at least a few days, meaning the color had been like that for at least that long. On that note, he distinctly remembered taking a shower last night so it should be clean. He briefly considered a body-switching quirk, but immediately dismissed it since he still had his quirk as well as his scar.

So his memories had been erased, then? That seemed like the most logical explanation. The specific details could wait though. For now he pressed the power button on the phone, holding his breath until the screen finally lit up with the company's logo. Never had the boot up process felt so long, the seconds seeming to stretch into minutes as he waited for it to finish. Finally the screen shifted to a generic phone background patterned after fire, making him snort.

Might be Dabi's then, he thought, thinking of the man's blue flames. Something about the memory made his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he pushed it away for the moment and swiped across the screen. An entry box for a pin code came up, making him grimace. He didn't know what the code might be, and he didn't dare try to guess it in case it might be programmed to send some sort of location alert in case of a wrong guess.

While he couldn't unlock it, the lock screen at least showed the time and date, and his eyes quickly darted towards it: November 14th, 7:19 AM.

His stomach tightened with sudden dread, a cold chill washing over him that had nothing to do with the wind or his Quirk. No, that couldn't be right. Not because he'd lost any time, but because that lined up exactly with what the date should be. Last night he remembered seeing the date November 13th when he checked his phone after hearing it ring in the shower. Once again he unconsciously reached for his hair, the stands still unclean under his fingertips.

What's going on?

'DON'T PANIC!'

Izuku found the underlined instructions at the top of the letter very hard to follow as he stood in an unfamiliar bedroom in the middle of the League of Villains' apparent headquarters. He took another deep, calming breath as he forced himself to look down at the rest of the letter, noting the paper shook a bit as his hands trembled. 'Don't panic,' his handwriting said. Easier said than done.

Part of him questioned if he should even bother reading it, because chances were the letter was fake and he'd be wasting time. On the other hand though, he was already kind of absolutely screwed over.

Right now, it was safe to assume he was in the heart of the League of Villains' headquarters. Escaping on his own would be nigh-impossible; Shigaraki alone could easily kill him, and he had no idea who else might be there. Chances were he'd be mobbed the second he opened the door. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut, forcibly shoving down his shudder at the thought of who (or what) might be outside the door.

The only thing going for him was that he hadn't been restrained, which didn't add up. A lot of things didn't add up, actually. Shigaraki's tone hadn't been cruel when he called out to him, sounding almost gentle, which Izuku honestly thought might be even creepier than if he'd been threatening him. Along with that, this room didn't match up with a prison cell; in fact, all signs pointed to it being someone's bedroom.

He frowned and looked up at the mirror, focusing on the photos he'd noticed taped along the edges during his cursory inspection after first waking up. He hadn't actually looked at them yet, but now that he did he sucked in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing Shigaraki's withered-looking face in the topmost one.

The Villain sat in what looked like a bar, his chapped lips pulled upwards in a creepy-looking smile and the deep wrinkles above his eyes creased further by the expression. Behind the counter stood Kurogiri, the man's misty form constrained into a bartender uniform of all things as he polished a glass. Izuku almost didn't notice him, his attention focused on the prosthetic hand Shigaraki held up with the palm facing the camera and fingers spread as if waving.

Gulping, Izuku tore his eyes away from the photo to look down at the next one. And then immediately regretted it as he recognized his own face.

He was incredibly young in this one, standing in a park with Kacchan covered in dirt and sporting big grins at the camera. He'd been too young to remember actually taking the picture, it had been taken but he still recognized it instantly, it had been taken way back when they'd been toddlers. Back before Kacchan manifested his Quirk and Izuku had been diagnosed as Quirkless, before they'd grown apart.

Its presence here chilled him, a deep shudder coursing through his body. Last he'd seen it had been when he moved into the dorms at UA, when he'd looked at it and decided to stow it in a drawer just in case the other boy ever decided to visit the room for some reason. Back then it had been in a frame, but here it just hung loose on the mirror, held in place by a piece of tape. Why the heck would this photo be here out of all the other pictures he owned?

At this point, Izuku honestly didn't know which picture he found creepiest anymore: that one, or the photo below it showing him and his parents. It looked innocent enough at first glance. They were at home at the kitchen table, Izuku beaming at the camera as he sat next to a birthday cake with a candle shaped like the number eight on it while his parents smiled behind him.

While he couldn't decide if it was the creepiest, this one was probably the most concerning, because he didn't remember it. No, more than that, he remembered his dad had missed his birthday that year due to a storm delaying his flight back from America.

This photo shouldn't exist.

Okay. Okay. This made no sense. This made no sense. THIS MADE NO SENSE. Don't panic, he mentally commanded himself in an attempt to calm down, and then paused as he recognized the words as an echo of the letter in his hands. He snapped his eyes back to the paper instantly, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at his handwriting.

'Dear Izuku,

Hi, this is you.'

Those six words served as an anchor for Izuku, roping him out of his anxieties and giving him something to focus on. He still didn't know for sure if this handwriting belonged to him or some imposter, but right now it didn't matter. Nothing about the situation made any sense, and at this moment this letter might be his only clue to what was going on.

Gritting his teeth, he silently counted to ten and paced his breathing to something less like hyperventilating, and then began reading.

'Dear Izuku,

Hi, this is you. Sorry in advance, I know this is probably really awkward and scary for you, so I'll just get to this point. If you're reading this, then you're probably having a memory-loss episode. Again. It happens sometimes.'

He paused. That... was not how he expected the letter to go. At all. Frowning, after a moment he resumed reading, squinting at the paper more closely.

'When we were twelve we got attacked by a guy whose quirk screwed with our memories. We got better, but sometimes our memories randomly get a little messed up and we forget again for a while. We (as in, me and everyone else, not just you and me) call them "episodes" because it's just easier. We don't know why it still happens, but it does. So I decided to just write this letter to catch you up on everything (and so we don't have another "escape" incident). I also keep a daily journal, but it's easier to go over the "bigger picture" things in a letter first.

So to start, the episodes usually leave us with really hazy memories, and what we remember seems to vary a lot in each one. First off, you may or may not recognize Shigaraki Tomura as a Villain. Don't panic! He won't hurt you! Actually, we call him Tomura-nii. We've been living with him and the Villain Alliance since we were eight.

If you don't know why we'd start living with them, then, well... Sit down. If you remember, just skip the next paragraph.'

Izuku paused again, feeling his stomach churn as he considered the two paragraphs. A memory-scrambling quirk? Episodes of amnesia? Villain Alliance? Tomura-nii!?

Distantly, he thought it was amazing how two paragraphs could totally throw everything he knew out the window. He'd barely even started reading this thing and already it sounded like some sort of fiction. Glancing at the warning to sit down, he decided it couldn't be more shocking than the other stuff so far, so he just continued reading where he stood.

He regretted it immediately.

'When we were eight, Dad got into a bad car accident in America. He was okay, but he couldn't fly home alone. We still had school so we stayed with Kacchan's family while Mom went to America. On their way back... the plane crashed. Everyone died.'

Izuku reread that five times, eyes wide and disbelieving and a strange numbness slowly creeping over him. No way. Trembling, he opened his mouth and a shaky breath escaped him, tinged with a high-pitched sound he recognized as the start of a sob. Feeling his legs begin to wobble, he turned and staggered towards the bed before he could collapse, his steps far too clumsy for his liking.

When he got close enough he just threw himself onto the mattress before his legs could give out entirely, landing with a thump and burying his face in the blanket. The paper fell onto the comforter forgotten for the moment, his empty hands clutching at fabric instead. Squeezing his eyes shut, he quietly counted to ten and tried to control his breathing.

Five sentences. Five sentences was all it took to make his world feel like it shattered.

It's a lie, he thought, This wasn't written by me, it's all just lies to screw with my head and make it easier to manipulate me. Izuku knew it was likely a trap, meant to shock him and lower his guard. Yet while he knew that logically, emotionally he felt the beginnings of panic and despair starting to bubble inside him, a crushing sense of emptiness blossoming painfully in his chest.

Even if the letter might be full of lies, something about reading it in his own handwriting made it feel more real, and he could feel the familiar sensation of tears springing in his eyes. For a minute he just stayed like that, trying to control his breaths and waiting for the tightness in his chest to loosen.

Izuku knew he couldn't stay like that for long though. His current situation didn't give him much leeway to waste time freaking out, not when there were Villains all around. Soon he forced himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes as he slumped against the wall. He turned his attention back to the letter, his expression smoothing into a stony mask of determination even as an overwhelming sense of dread crept over him.

Izuku had no idea what to expect from the letter anymore, and less idea if he could even trust it. However, right now this small stack of papers was his only clue as to what was going on. Even if he had every reason to doubt its contents, his only alternative would be to actually go into the hallway and look around, which he'd prefer not to do. At the very least the letter gave him a starting point. The opening paragraphs mentioned something about daily journals, so he could poke around to look for them afterwards.

First, though, he needed to finish reading this. Mentally steeling himself, he grabbed the papers and turned them over to resume.

'After that we lived with the Bakugou family for two months. Then, when the school year ended, we ran away. Don't ask me the reason. I don't think we were thinking that clearly back then, we were just kinda upset and felt like a Deku. And that's when we ended up meeting Tomura-nii and Kurogiri-san. They're not actually the ones who found us, but if you don't remember how we got to the headquarters or why we're still here... Well, it might be better I don't say. Sorry. I don't want to write it down where someone could possibly find it.

Just, understand. Tomura-nii is our family now. He cares about us, a lot. I mean it. He's even killed people who tried to hurt us before. (Freaky, I know! It's his way of showing he cares, he just had a bad childhood. Like, really, really bad.) As far as he's concerned, we—as in, you, Izuku—are his only family, whether you remember him or not. So don't be afraid of him, he won't hurt you.

The others are pretty okay too, especially Kurogiri-san and Mr. Compress. Aiko-nee is nice too of course, but she doesn't come by too often anymore. Oh man I hope you remember her, I can't write down about her anywhere. If you don't though, I swear you can trust her.

Just—you are absolutely safe right now. There's no need to freak out. No one will hurt you.

I wish that was all I needed to write, but the episodes can screw with our memories a lot. Those are just the most urgent facts. We've tried to run away before thinking we were in danger, and it usually ends pretty messily for everyone involved. Mainly, I cry a lot and Tomura-nii ends up disintegrating like three different walls in frustration. It's really embarrassing after we get all our memories back, and kind of the reason I decided to write this letter in the first place. Well, one of them, anyway.

Hopefully now you're a bit more calm, so I can get to the really big, world-shattering stuff. As in, literally world-changing events. Sometimes we forget this stuff too, so I hope you're still sitting down.'

Once again Izuku stopped reading, this time heeding the warning and taking a moment to brace himself. After how shocking the rest of the letter had been, he didn't doubt the sincerity of the 'world-shattering' bit. Even though he kept reminding himself it was likely all a fabrication, it was easy to forget that since he was reading it in his own handwriting.

Reading it inside this room didn't help matters, either. He glanced up at the Hero posters plastered on the walls, at the bookshelf full of books with spines he recognized from his own bookshelf. The still-open drawers in the dresser where he could glimpse clothing in his size that matched his tastes. The room might be unfamiliar, but the space felt like somewhere he would live, the contents subtly pointing at him as the owner.

The only real disparity was the lack of anything about All Might, but Izuku knew Shigaraki had a grudge against his mentor. If he did start living with the Villain at a young age—especially after running away—he probably wouldn't have much All Might memorabilia on hand. An action figure and hoodie, maybe, but Shigaraki seemed like the type of person who would just disintegrate any merchandise out of spite. When taking the story the letter told into account, it... made sense.

Blinking, Izuku quickly shoved the thought away, his frown deepening. Focus, you still don't know if any of this is actually true. He took a few seconds to steel his nerves before turning his attention back to the letter.

It still didn't prepare him for the next sentence.

'When we were seven, All Might died in a battle against the villain All for One.'

Thank you for the large support so far! I've gotten a good amount of reviews so far, and a lot of favorites and follows. I'm glad you guys like it so much!

So Izuku's letter has the highlight here. It doesn't explain how he got here, but hey, at least we have an explanation for other Izuku's life with the League. Also, because this is an alternate universe, the League of Villains is called the Villain Alliance there. No reason to keep the same name.

Not much else to say. I'll be posting at least one chapter a week, probably on the weekends, so see you then!