TW: Violence within the first half.
Bakugo looked tired. It honestly threw Izuku for a loop. He was so used to the boy's normal appearance; prickly, alert. Like he was always ready to burst out of his clothes for a scuffle. His Bakugo had looked like a ticking time-bomb, always an inch away from exploding.
This Bakugo looked more like a steam engine, bubbling and exuding pressure, but measured. Controlled. Ish.
The blond boy dressed casually, like he'd just come back from an outing with his goons. Though, Izuku noted, he couldn't see any of the usual suck-ups. Maybe he'd told his boys to screw off one too many times, but from the way his palms were twitching, maybe he'd been doing some secret training. Shaky hands were his tell that he'd exhausted his quirk. Izuku didn't know how you secretly practiced lighting off explosions in a city, but he wasn't a judge.
He wanted to get out of Bakugo's way; more than anything, he just wanted to avoid confrontation. Scrambling to his feet, Izuku turned to the train's exit. Waiting a few extra hours for his train would be easier than dealing with the blond. Before he could even take a step, however, two things happened.
First, he felt a steel grip on his tricep, holding him in place. Second, the train doors slammed closed. A brief yellow light flashed overhead, warning of the impending acceleration before the view of the station slid out of view.
"Oi. Th'fuck areya going?" Bakugo said, tugging on his arm. It wasn't rough, but to Izuku, it felt like a branding iron clamped on him. Robotically, Izuku turned to face the taller boy, unable to respond like a reasonable human. Huffing, Bakugo shoved his arm out of his grip. Izuku stumbled.
"Uh-uh… He-hello K-k-k-ka-kach-chan." Izuku tried to say, his throat growing tighter and dryer with every syllable. Kacchan gave him an exasperated look before slipping past him and sitting in Izuku's place, not even bothering to move Izuku's bag. He cast a blatant look in his direction, not bothering to hide how he studied him. His eyes trailed from his bright sneakers, up his newly muscular legs, and lingered on the tips of his fake fingers.
A war waged inside Izuku. It was a harsh battle, fought by a thousand warriors of a hundred nations. Izuku's gut was churning with the exertion, making him wish there was a real bathroom on the train and not an emergency cubby.
One nation wanted him to run; to leave his bag and escape to the handicapped section, no matter how many gnarly looks were sent his way. Anything but confrontation; speaking to Kacchan was the losing condition of their war.
Another nation wanted him to speak, to talk with the boy he'd looked up to all his childhood. It'd been closing in on a year since he'd last seen the bigger boy, and he wanted to catch up with him. It didn't matter to this army that they'd barely held a conversation since they were four, they just wanted to chat, to show off.
There were warriors in that army, however, who defected to a third party. Each had their individual reasons, but they all recognized a singular truth. There were only two people Izuku had ever met who came close to his own obsession with All Might. One of them happened to be standing in front of him. None of these warriors dared face the man he indirectly hurt.
These conflicting ideas forced stomach acid into Izuku's mouth like a geyser. Doubling over with his hand to his mouth, Izuku did everything to not throw up. Bakugo scooted away from him.
"Fucking quit that shit. If you're gonna hurl, do it over there." He said, throwing a haphazard thumb over his shoulder, not noticing he was pointing at a pregnant woman. She scooted over as well, giving both of them a dirty look. It took all of Izuku's strength to push his vomit back down, the effort sending him into a kneel.
Sucking in breaths like a dying man, Izuku kept his lunch in his stomach. Muttering curses under his breath, he took a glance around and wished he hadn't. Every person was staring at him like a particularly unpleasant bug.
A pregnant woman, primary schooler, salary man, and a man with a scar on his chin were giving him especially wary looks. He felt a shoe nudge his thigh. His eyes trailed from the sneaker, up a dark pant leg, to a shirt, and landed on the scrunched face of Bakugo.
"Can you fucking stop? First, you fuck up being saved by All Might, now you're fucking up my commute? God." The boy grunted. Izuku blinked. The train disappeared.
Thunder consumed every sense in his body. A thousand-million bolts of lightning struck his ears, spinning around him like blades on a fan; or was he the one spinning?
He tried standing, but he only managed to get to one foot before falling onto his side, helpless. Nothing he did could stop his lunch from escaping him, his self-control evaporated. What happened? Where was he? What happened to the train—?
Where the four passengers had been were four EMTs, and they were standing over him. Two of them made to grab him; the plump one stood back. A man with a goatee tried shaking him.
He surrendered himself to their efforts; whatever happened to the train, whatever was happening to him, he could trust medical professionals to help. But they didn't.
The two ones helping him up slammed him back down, the goatee man grabbing him by his neck. He squeezed Izuku tightly, not letting an ounce of air down his throat. He lifted Izuku an inch off the ground before slamming him back down, his head whipping against the crumbled, filthy concrete below.
"Why the fuck did you let this happen? What the fuck were you thinking, you little fucking shit?" He said, continuing to strangle him. The plump EMT kicked him in his exposed side.
The goatee man pulled his hands off his neck before backhanding him across the cheek. It hurt more than anything; more than getting kicked by Nighteye, more than getting shot, more than blowing his arm to pieces. It gave him a chance to breathe, though, and he took it.
"I-I-I'm so-so-s-s-sorry—" Izuku tried to say before the plump EMT kicked him in his crotch.
"You fucker killed him! You ruined my life!" She screamed. Izuku groaned, rolling over away from them. He shouldn't have.
Where Katsuki Bakugo had been, All Might's corpse had taken its place. The man was far past putrefaction and was barely more than bones, yet a river of blood continued to seep out of him. He tried to cover his eyes from the stomach-churning sight, but when his hand touched his face, it came away bloody. He threw up again.
Curling into a ball, he ignored the way the EMTs continue to grope and hit him, and he ignored the way the smell of copper permeated his nose and thunder filled his ears.
He didn't know long he was curled into that ball. It could've been seconds. It could've been hours. Days was pushing it, but not out of the question. Each punch and kick just made him curl tighter and tighter, forcing every sensation out of his head. He felt cold.
Then, something in his gut shifted. A familiar warmth washed over his core, spreading out from his abdomen to his fingertips. He didn't uncurl, but he relaxed slightly.
When someone touched his shoulder, he flinched. It was a well-manicured hand; feminine, wearing the same polish his mom did. There was a scent of vanilla on it; a vintage, inexpensive perfume.
"Hey, honey. C'mon kid, it's just me. Everything's alright, Nine, nothing will hurt you with me around." A feminine voice said. Blurry-eyed and jumpier than he'd ever felt, he peaked his head out from the crook of his elbow. The crumbling building around him disappeared. He wasn't on the train, either. He was in the void like he often went to between dreams.
Seven had a hand reached out to help him up, a soft smile on her face. Izuku sniffled, hesitant to take it. It took him a while, longer than it should've, for him to move. He continued to just stare up at Nana, unbelieving. It was all so surreal; his quirk had always spoken to him in his dreams. It whispered to him every night, but the past wielders had never come to him in the day.
That wasn't what truly gave him pause, however. What made Izuku's heart flutter and chest squeeze was simply the expression of pure, unadulterated love that flowed off Seven in waves. It was different than anything he'd ever experienced, bar his mother. But his mother had never been confident in herself, and her affections mirrored that. Seven emanated confidence and pride in herself and him, and Izuku felt that difference.
He took her hand.
[x]
Katsuki Bakugo had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. For sure, he'd felt worse. He'd broken his arm once, and it stopped him from using his quirk for two months. When All Might had died protecting some green-haired brat on national television, he cried for a week. Certainly, he'd felt darker emotions than right now. But his sheer discomfort at Deku's public meltdown trounced anything he'd ever felt.
He hadn't really meant anything by his comment, to be honest. It had just slipped out as his irritation grew. In fact, he was a little annoyed at himself for saying it, and not just because it led to the current situation.
Katsuki probably was the only person besides his parents who knew that it'd been Deku at that shopping mall on a fateful day. He'd recognize that mosshead anywhere. At first, he'd been inconsolable. He doubted it was possible to throw a bigger tantrum than what he did.
Useless Deku had finally done it. Everyone at school knew he'd been a waste of space, that he only got in the way. Nobody had ever suspected, however, at just what scale he would be able to screw shit up. Sure, he ruined people's fun and annoyed just about everyone with his idle presence, but nobody thought it could be worse.
Then he got fucking All Might killed.
Katsuki—really, he should've been euthanized with how much shit he gave everyone in the fallout. He gets that. Nothing he did had been appropriate or even reasonable, to be honest. Nobody was safe from him, nothing was sacred. He just about did everything wrong, up to and including getting himself marked for public quirk usage. He'd been scot-free with it all his life, everyone knew he'd been destined for greatness. Nobody wanted to ruin that for him. Still, no one could ignore a tree being blown to smithereens in a public park.
The one thing he never did, however, was snitch on the kid. No matter how much Katsuki fucking loathed Deku in those moments, he never told a soul. It just wouldn't have been right, even if the guy had earned it in his opinion. Maybe his morals had some screws loose, but it made sense to him.
That was why his nails dug into his palm, forcing him to keep calm. Blood dribbled between his fingers, unbidden. Deku had almost immediately fallen apart when Katsuki had gone for his throat, clutching his head with an arm and rolling over on the floor. That was embarrassing enough, both knowing he caused it and as a second-hand embarrassment. What was worse was the dude's other arm had fallen off.
Deku was an amputee. Probably from when All Might got capped. And Katsuki had the brilliant maneuver to give him shit for it. Something ugly twisted around in his insides.
Then the smoke had come.
It had taken a few minutes of restless rolling and groaning, but it happened. Katsuki had been utterly dumbfounded when, after muttering some shitty apology out, he began emitting gas.
It had started small; just leaking out of his orifices at first, but the output grew exponentially as time went on. Within five seconds, Deku's body had covered itself. Within ten, everyone in the cabin was struggling to breathe.
The other shitty passengers had rushed to the corners and sunk to the ground, expecting the smoke to rise with the heat, but Katsuki knew better. This wasn't exhaust, this was static gas. Deku wasn't burning, he was simply emitting. He stood up on his seat, getting as tall as possible.
"Get up high, morons!" He had barked, directing his glare at the pregnant lady. "It's sinking!"
It would've been good advice, too, if Deku had just stopped emitting after a while, but he didn't. It only got worse.
Five minutes from there stop and no way to get fresh air, somebody called for help; Katsuki didn't catch if it was the police or the Hero-Line, but it didn't matter. Ignoring the way his arms burned, he gathered the passenger in a corner and set off a few explosions, pushing the gas away. His palms were bloody and exhaustion made his quirk ache, but he knew for certain that the smoke wasn't combustible. Normally, he'd let the extras choke, but he couldn't let it slide for the pregnant chick.
By the time the tunnel they were in opened back up into a station, Katsuki's arms felt like they were going to fall off. He tried to bang open the sliding doors early, but his strength was depleted. The scarred man tried to help him stay steady on his feet, but he shook himself off before Katsuki had the chance to.
When the door opened, only one individual was standing at the ready. Waltzing in with the gusto of a fresh hire and the serenity of a vet, Katsuki groaned as the man gave him a wink.
"Ok listeners! Please, no need to worry. Ahem." Present Mic stepped in front of the crowded passengers, throwing them a peace sign. Izuku was still emitting smoke, but he looked like he'd sat up with some groggy clarity. The hero glanced back at the quintet, shooing them out of the cabin. A low humming rumbled in his throat.
"Sorry little listener!" He said, his vocal cords warping halfway between his trademark voice and quirk. A half-sonic blast erupted out of his mouth, pushing all the excess smoke out the backend of the cabin. The windows nearest the man vibrated, but none broke, a sign of his massive restraint. Katsuki remembered a video of the man shattering stone with a scream once.
Katsuki's last glance at Deku was brief, but it made his heart churn with guilt. The other passengers congratulated and thanked him for his help, but he shrugged them off. He didn't deserve shit praise, he just tried to make up for causing it in the first place. He knew, better than most, just how bad he had it.
[x]
Hizashi Yamada had been having a groovy day. Shouta had let him come over to pet his cats and Kayama had agreed to come on his show. Plus, on top of all that, he'd rescued not just one, but two cats from trees today. Not every day was smooth sailing, but days like these were what he lived for.
When he got a call for public quirk abuse, his day got a little worse, he wouldn't lie. Those cases were usually bull-malarky anyways, with quirk laws being so stingy, but once he heard the details, he rushed right over. A little listener in peril? Two little listeners? Three, if you count the kid in the womb? Some poor civilians stuck in a hotbox they didn't sign up for? He was their man.
Before he blasted all the smoke away, he'd thought the kid would've been older. Fifteen, maybe. At least in high school, with the way the caller described how potent the quirk was. His heart sunk when he realized it wasn't even a teen. Barely a tween, at that.
The boy seemed to blink lazily, like he'd just woken up. He was puffy-eyed, and bruises ran across his neck. What dress Hizashi's attention the most, however, was the kid's arm. Gone below the delt. Definitely not a defect.
The closer he got, the more obvious it'd been. The little guy had a panic attack or something in the vein of one. It wasn't that uncommon, to be honest. Not even for just kids, but adults struggled too, and they often suffered the consequences. People with dangerous quirks were often regarded negatively, especially ones who weren't trained. To be honest, civilians with powerful quirks were generally viewed as badly as the quirkless, just for the complete opposite reasons.
Protocol told him to report it to the police so they could handle it. They'd deal out the due punishment, too, if the courts were busy. The protocol was bull-malarky though.
Putting his hands up, Hizashi made a show of his slow approach, announcing himself before he got close.
"Hey, hey, little listener. How we feelin'?" He asked. The boy's gaze dropped to his hand as if he was surprised by something. His tiny shoulders—athletic, he noticed—shook. Tears freely flowed down his face, but he wasn't sniffling.
"Well, I can't say that clears anything up, but that's alright. How about we just sit down and chill?" He said, before getting criss-cross applesauce. The train, he noted, wasn't scheduled to leave for another ten minutes. He'd just shoo off anyone who tried to get on. The kid didn't say anything, but he shifted into a half-criss-cross, one foot planted on the floor. He hugged the one on his chest.
"A-are you g-gonna arrest me?" The kid asked in a small voice. Hizashi smiled. So they could speak.
"I dunno. Do you wanna be arrested?" He asked, putting as many good vibes as he could into his reply. The kid shook his head.
"No."
"Alright."
"Huh?"
Present Mic smiled. The kid looked surprised, he must've been sure of his fate.
"It's your lucky day, kiddo. Only a butthead stickler arrests a kid for stuff like this. I'm no cop, either." He said, winking. The boy studied his shoes.
"But I b-broke the law. Maybe I hurt someone." The kid said.
"Yeah and nah. Yeah, you broke the law, but the passengers were fine. The blonde kid had some spunk though."
"So why aren't you arresting me? I broke the law." Hizashi stifled a laugh. The kid really was a rules-Ryan.
"Little listener, the job isn't about punishing people. It's about helping. You seem to need more help than those other fellas, and the idea of putting a polite bloke like you in handcuffs ruffles my feathers."
At that, the boy finally looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes were a pleasant pine green with freckles to match. His mouth opened into an "O" shape as if the entire conversation only just registered.
"You're Present Mic. I-I like your show." He said, a wobbly smile on his face. Hizashi nodded, putting on an air of pride.
"The one and only! So you were an actual listener. This does pose a problem, however!" He announced. The boy winced in retaliation, afraid that the other shoe was about to drop. Hizashi held in a chuckle.
"You know my name! But I am in the dark about yours! Who are you, listener, and what're you about?" He said, false charisma rolling off him.
"O-oh… I'm… I-Izuku Midoriya. Maybe a future hero? Presently a-a m-mess." He mumbled, stumbling over his words. Hizashi chortled; hey, the kid was funny.
"I like the cut of your jib, kid. Hey, you want some ice cream, Mr. Future Hero? We can call your mom after."
They left the cabin soon after, with Present Mic being sure to get the contact information out of the witnesses. He doubted they'd spill about little Midoriya, but by pulling a few strings, this'll all blow over by next week. Nezu would make sure of it, as a favor to Hizashi.
They both got mint, with Midoriya getting a second scoop.
[x]
Inko was rubbing slow circles into Izuku's arm as he slept, curled up in her side. When Izuku's number had rung on her phone, she hadn't expected such a boisterous voice to come through. A mix of worry and excitement had shot through her; why was a hero calling her, using her son's phone? He seemed so pleasant, however, so her anxiety alarms didn't trigger immediately.
That changed when he told her the situation. She barely waited to tell her boss she was taking off the rest of the day, or to text her second boss that she wouldn't be coming in tomorrow. Present Mic had been an absolute angel, offering to escort Izuku home while she rushed back herself.
Inko needed to start thinking about what she was going to do for all these heroes her son ran into. They all were just so amazing and helpful; she didn't know what to do with herself.
She'd expected the worst when they met up. She practically expected Izuku to be catatonic, wrapped in a million and one bandages. It was a pleasant surprise to see him snacking on a mint ice cream, but it hadn't eased her worries. Her baby was still standoffish, even more than usual. Wrapping him up in the biggest hug she could muster, she held him as long as she could. Present Mic had the sense to look away.
He didn't accept her money when she tried to reimburse him, stating it'd be rude to accept payment for a gift. That was when the waterworks started for her. She shook his hand a thousand times, bowing twice for each before he left.
Holding Izuku as close as possible as she ferried him back upstairs, she spotted a black smudge on his shirt. She was about to wipe it off before she realized what it was; a signature. That was it, she decided. Put Your Hands Up Radio was receiving an anonymous wine basket.
Inko spent the rest of the afternoon coddling and comforting Izuku. The impression from Present Mic had been a casual one, but he was sure to inform her of the gravity of what could've been. Izuku had a public, quirk-infused meltdown, and it was only by his grace that he wasn't spending the night in police holdings. She should've kissed the man's shoes. More than once.
They barely spoke, even by the time of sundown. Izuku seemed to be content to just be wrapped in a blanket burrito with his mom and watch television. Of course, she couldn't let it stay that way forever, but tonight? No problem. She'd message Fujimaki tomorrow and ask him for an earlier appointment slot this week. Inko's qualifications in this department began and ended with motherly comfort.
In the early weeks, meltdowns had been common. There was no way to tell the severity of today's, but her intuition told her it'd been bad. Awful. Her boy hadn't been this quiet since his physical therapy with the Utsushimis.
They watched his favorite movies; a pentalogy about Early Quirk Korean vigilantes. It was nice; they were cheesy, but they were fun enough that even she enjoyed them. She pressed a hand behind his head and played with her quirk, pulling popcorn into his mouth.
It was towards the end of the fourth movie that she got a text. It was from a different app than work, so she didn't have any real reason to ignore it. Inko paused as she read the name.
Nighteye and her's texting history was the length of her phone screen, which was on the smaller end. Basic inquiries on schedule and finance made up the bulk of it. The most recent message was a quarter of her whole screen, apologizing for the Tokage incident. Surprise gripped her as she realized it wasn't another scheduling request.
Mirai Sasaki (Nighteye?): Izuku is not answering his phone, but I see his location is with you. Please let him know at your next convenience that I've scheduled a meeting with Professor Sasami Fujimaki. Her office is close to mine, and she asked to meet him face to face. Friday at 11 a.m.
Inko stared at the message, not comprehending any of it. She swiped on her phone for the date; it was Tuesday. Why would a professor want to speak to her son? Why would Nighteye care?
Inko Midoriya: I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I don't understand. Why would you do that? Also, my son is in a bad spot right now. I don't know if he'll be able to make it.
Mirai Sasaki (Nighteye?): I am sorry to hear that. He seemed very chipper at noon. May I ask what happened?
Inko Midoriya: I'm not sure, but I suspect a flashback. Izu's been quiet ever since.
Mirai Sasaki (Nighteye?): Alright, well, I can reschedule if necessary, but Sasami is a difficult woman to pin down, so I hope he will be able to pull through.
Inko Midoriya: I suppose I agree, but I still don't understand. Why are you playing middle man for this?
Nighteye took a while to respond. Inko didn't press him for answers; the man was notoriously busy, even without knowing the man somewhat personally. They were a quarter through the final movie and out of popcorn when he replied again. She decided that she was definitely speaking to Nighteye, and erased that silly question mark. It'd been a leftover from when they'd first contacted another.
Mirai Sasaki: I presume you are away of the boy's Hero Notebooks, yes? Well, he handed me and Sorahiko one about himself, and I couldn't help but be impressed. Simply put, his observations are above mine, and I felt that putting him against the best in Japan would be a good measuring stick. I am under the impression that he is taking classes far out of his age range?
Inko Midoriya: Yes sir. He's doing remarkably well with his studies despite all the malarky you put him through.
That was a bit of a stretch, Inko thought. She wasn't privy to what they did with Izuku every day, but she saw the aftermath; she had to wash his clothes. Bruises, scrapes, throw-up, and massive sweat stains were becoming increasingly less concerning. Inko didn't like becoming numb to it, but if her baby seemed content as he often did after a good day with Nighteye, she let it slide.
Mirai Sasaki: The fruits of his efforts are already starting to show. Still, I believe that the current trajectory of his academic path is equally important, especially his knack for quirk theory. Perhaps nothing will come of it, but we all agreed to give Izuku time with this woman. I'll need an answer by tomorrow if I'll need to reschedule. Have a nice night, ma'am.
Nighteye's green icon dulled to gray, and that was that. She let the conversation roll around in her head while she fiddled with her phone, swiping to her message hub. Izuku's icon was green.
Peering down at her little boy, she felt her heart warm. Izuku must've fallen asleep on her side in the last minute or so. The messenger app was still open, and on at the top of his screen was a little pterosaur icon.
[x]
AN: This is the kind of chapter that I feel like I will edit more down the line, but honestly, it's fine. The last section was going to be therapy, but I figured a burrito blanket would be a better placeholder. I'm kind of annoyed that Izuku's flashback was more of a hallucination, but it gets a very clear point across so I'm happy.
A guilty admittance: I really am only writing this story for two reasons. 30% is because I like my Izuku and I think his interactions will be interesting. 70% is because I ship Tokage and Izuku, and there are less than a handful of good ones; though if anyone knows any actual goldmines, let me know.
I didn't reply to anyone last chapter, because I'll say it all here. Thanks for the well wishes. I think I will update again, but I don't know. I think this will be my story to chip away at in between personal projects.
Please review!~