Years later, Izuku found himself in an eerily familiar situation while on another routine mission. He was with Uravity (Ochaco Uraraka) and Red Riot (Eijiro Kirishima) this time under the guide of the No. 2 Hero, Hawks, and they were raiding another villain base deep underground, the kind of place where illegal experiments and black-market dealings thrived. Izuku moved through the underground tunnels with the efficiency of someone who had seen too much, his footsteps precise, his breathing steady. He had done this countless times before, enough that the weight of each operation had settled into his bones. The details didn't matter anymore. Get in, neutralize the threat, save anyone who needed saving, and move on to the next.

He had learned how to do that—move on. Even though his heart had never really healed.

Bakugo was the one mission he'd never completed. The one failure that had carved a hole in his chest and refused to heal. Years had passed since that day, but the guilt had never faded, not really. It was always there, lingering beneath the surface, pushing him harder, keeping him on edge. He couldn't afford to fail anyone else.

Izuku's team had already cleared most of the facility, the air thick with the acrid smell of burnt wiring and dust, he was just doing one last sweep to make sure they didn't miss anything. It was a necessary ending to every mission; an obsession he couldn't ever get over. Ever since Bakugo disappeared, the thought of not being the last one to cover every inch of a place would almost make him physically sick and so, even though it was annoying at times to others, Izuku always did a thorough check every time.

He scanned each room methodically, not thinking about anything beyond the task at hand, but something gnawed at him, a feeling he couldn't shake—like he was being pulled toward something, even though he couldn't explain why. It was that gut feeling, the one he had learned to trust more than anything else, that drove him onward. He hadn't trusted it last time and it caused him to lose Bakugo, so he never doubted it again.

As he turned the corner, he noticed a hallway that was unusually clean for the rest of the abandoned building and actually still had power, although flickering. The hall still had the stale smell of neglect but also a twinge of cleanliness, like someone had washed something recently.

"Deku, all levels are clear and some small fries were apprehended, but otherwise the building is neutralized." He heard Kirishima tell him through the comms system, making his heart skip a beat from the contrast of the silence. "You alright in there?"

"Yeah, just found an unusually clean hallway hidden down here."

"What do you mean?"

"This place is a dump; why would one hallway not be as dirty?"

"Ah, gotcha. Copy that. You got an ETA on when you may be done?"

"When I'm finished." He said gruffly as he made his way down the hallway.

"Oookay then." Kirishima answered, unbothered by his snippy response.

Kirishima had been an incredible source of comfort for Izuku regarding Bakugo's disappearance and his guilty feelings. Kirishima was Bakugo's best friend and one of the few people who could tolerate the spitfire for more than twenty minutes. Although not as close as Izuku was, Bakugo always acknowledged him as his friend and was willing to be more open with him than other people. Hearing that his friend was missing was a blow to him too and he and Izuku bonded over that shared loss. He also understood Izuku's obsessive need to be the last one out but he liked to have a timeline for everyone else's sake.

Izuku returned his focus back on the door, the metal rusted and barely hanging on its hinges, but somehow didn't fit the atmosphere. Izuku felt like something was going on in this hallway and that behind this door was going to be something important. The door had a latch on the outside (For keeping something in, Izuku thought) and although it was rusted, the clean stripping showed it had been used recently. Izuku grabbed the latch and pulled up the hinges creaking loudly through the silence.

The room was small, barely large enough for a person to stand upright in, and the walls were cold, wet concrete, with a dim light that flickered weakly overhead. At first, the room seemed empty, just near darkness and the damp smell of neglect, but then, Izuku's green eyes adjusted, and he saw it. A figure in the farthest corner, barely more than a shadow, crumpled against the wall like a discarded puppet. Whoever it was, they were laying uncomfortably on their side, the chains that held them to the wall making it hard to lay down. Izuku could smell blood and sweat as he slowly approached, wondering if this person was even alive.

"Hey," Izuku whispered softly, his voice barely audible. "Can you hear me?"

His voice, though soft, seemed loud in the vacant room and the person sat up quickly, seeming surprised. Seeing Izuku, their demeanor changed and they plastered themselves against the wall, pulling their knees to their chest. He moved closer, his eyes narrowing as the figure shifted slightly, a faint tremor running through their body.

They were afraid.

This was the reason Izuku did these last minute checks. What if he hadn't done this? This person would have died here and it would have been his fault for not taking the time.

"Hey," Izuku said again, his voice firmer this time but still calm. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm a hero, so I'm here to help."

The person kept their head turned from him, the filthy strands of long, tangled hair falling over their face like a shield.

Something wasn't right here… He didn't know what it was, but in the pit of Izuku's stomach, there was something very wrong, like he was missing something.

The light from a barred window above helped illuminate the cell and help Izuku assess what exactly was going on. The person's clothes were in tatters, barely more than rags clinging to a gaunt, scarred body. Their wrists were shackled to the wall, the metal cutting into their flesh, red and raw. Even from here, Izuku could see how thin the man was, how the skin clung to his bones like he hadn't eaten in days. Weeks, maybe. Whoever this was, he had been through hell.

Cautiously, Izuku moved closer, his breath even, as he knelt down in front of the man. The room was deathly quiet, the only sound the faint rasp of the man's shallow breathing.

"I'm a hero. I'm going to help you." Izuku repeated, trying not to startle the man.

The man didn't respond, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Izuku's eyes flicked over him, taking in the scars, the bruises, the way his body trembled with every breath. For a moment, the man remained still, his face hidden behind the curtain of dirty hair, and Izuku decided to try talking to him again.

"My name is Deku and I'm a Pro Hero. Do you have a name?"

The man flinched violently, pressing further into the corner. Suddenly, a low, broken sound came from his throat; a growl, almost, but weak… desperate… as if that was the last line of defense he had against… someone. Most likely the person who did this to him.

Izuku had been on rescue missions before where villains had taken prisoners and he was dispatched to find them, but he had never encountered a reaction like this. How long had this guy been down here to revert to instinctual defenses, as if logic had been forgotten?

Izuku inched closer, careful not to startle the man. If this guy was going back to instinct, that meant even if he had a Quirk of another kind, his natural senses would be heightened and he would react like an animal. Hearing Izuku shuffle closer, the man let out another growl and slowly turned to look at him, just enough to reveal his eyes from behind the wall of hair.

The eyes that stared back at him were wide, hollow, and filled with something that made his stomach twist. There was no recognition in them—only fear. But something about those eyes… something about them felt familiar.

Izuku's heart raced as he scanned the figure more closely, his mind racing through possibilities. The longer he looked, the more that gnawing feeling in his chest grew, until it became almost unbearable. Izuku's eyes traced the jagged scars lining the man's arms, the sharp angles of his gaunt face hidden beneath the long hair that covered his features. And then, in the dim light, something caught his eye: a faint glimmer of orange peeking out from beneath the rags of his clothes. He followed the color down and realized it was making an X.

Realization slammed into Izuku's mind, his eyes going wide. No… it couldn't be…

His hands trembled as he reached forward, gently brushing away the long strands of hair that obscured the man's face but he reared back violently, trying to steer clear of Izuku's touch. As he sat upright, Izuku was able to see what he bad wanted more clearly now: the familiar orange fabric of a hero's suit—torn and stained, but unmistakable. The edges were torn and burned, the fabric frayed from whatever horrors he had endured, but Izuku knew who it was, deep in his gut. He had seen this suit in hundreds of battles, standing tall, unyielding, unbreakable.

He stared at the man huddled in front of him, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The body, the face—it was so thin, so bruised and broken that it was almost impossible to tell—but those eyes.

Those unmistakable, defiant red eyes.

"Ba… ku… go…?" Izuku asked, his voice trembling at the word leaving his lips.

He hadn't spoken his name in so long. The thought of this person actually being his long lost friend… "Bakugo, is that really you?"

hi... i am not dead... yet. i'm still dancing and singing and highland flinging (if you get it, you get it)

anyhow, this is obviously a new fanfic. my first fma one. it's gonna be a dark one, but that's what you come here for right? should i finish the other stories i have one here? yes. will i? debatable. enjoy anyway lol