Rats

by IAmNotFromNewfoundland

Clay never imagined anyone saw potential in him. His Quirk couldn't be that impressive, could it? But someone believed otherwise, and now he's heading to the world's top hero school. Japan is a long way from Kentucky, but maybe a change of scenery is exactly what he needs—to make friends, unlock his Quirk's potential, and find his place as a hero.

26. Chapter 24 - Crusin'

Chapter Twenty-Four : Crusin'

"Well, bonjour, monsieur!" Aoyama exclaimed, striking a casual pose as he strolled into the room where Clay lay in his clinic bed. "How is your hand? Still shining, I hope?"

Clay had only been moved to U.A.'s clinic about an hour ago. The pain meds were still coursing through his veins, dulling the worst of the agony but not enough to completely mask the steady throb in his hand. They'd told him to wait for Recovery Girl, and for the past hour, he'd been running through a mental list of ways to apologize for dragging her back early from her vacation.

Hearing the door open, Clay turned his head and raised his heavily bandaged hand. "A lot better now, take a look," he muttered, extending his middle finger in mock display. "The hell you want? Ain't you supposed to be internin'?"

Aoyama gasped theatrically, placing a gloved hand over his chest as if Clay's gesture had physically wounded him. "Mon dieu! Such rudeness for someone who's come bearing gifts!" He tilted his chin up, his sparkling smile unfazed. "I told my mentor I simply had to visit my dear classmate, oui? A hero must be kind, even to those with the manners of a barnyard animal."

Clay groaned, slumping back against the pillows. "If you're here to gimme a hard time, just get in line behind Midnight, Thirteen, and Skipper."

Aoyama ignored the grumble, sweeping into the room with a flourish. He placed a small box tied with a gold ribbon on the table beside Clay's bed. "For you, monsieur. A little something to brighten your recovery."

Clay eyed the box warily. "What is it? Glitter bombs? Fancy cheese? A fried snail? Something French and weird, ain't it?"

Aoyama rolled his eyes, his pose as exaggerated as ever. "I'll have you know it's chocolate. Dark chocolate. From one of Paris' finest pâtisseries. Très chic."

"Chocolate?" Clay raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, I'll be… Chocolate doesn't sound half bad…"

Aoyama's smile widened, his glittering demeanor unwavering. "Even heroes must maintain a balance, mon ami. Elegance and kindness in equal measure! Besides…" He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a playful whisper. "It would be positively unfashionable to let you mope here alone."

"Guess I shoulda given you more credit," he said, opening up the box with his uninjured hand and seeing the dark brown truffles inside. "Thanks, friend."

Aoyama straightened with a satisfied grin. "It is my pleasure, monsieur. But if I may offer one piece of advice?"

"Oh, here we go…" Clay muttered, already regretting his gratitude.

"Do not let this setback dim your sparkle!" Aoyama declared, pointing dramatically toward Clay's bandaged hand. "Even the stars must face the darkness to shine their brightest!"

Clay blinked at him for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. "You know what? That was the weirdest damn thing I've heard all day, but… I'll take it."

Aoyama tilted his head slightly, his smile remaining steadfast. "Bien sûr, Clay. Even the strongest among us must sometimes endure trials to reveal our true brilliance. Speaking of trials…" He leaned casually against the bed's railing, keeping a wide berth from Skipper who was perched on the bed's headboard, his eyes glinting just slightly behind his usual theatrics. "I heard about the villains who caused all this trouble. Dreadful business, non?"

Clay's smirk faded into something more neutral, his good hand idly scratching at the edge of the blanket. "Yeah, real messy. Seems like they weren't even interested in the prisoners—just raisin' hell and takin' shots at us." His gaze flicked to Aoyama, and he forced a half-smile even if the topic was not something he wanted to dwell on. "Why're you askin'? You plannin' on joinin' the fight next time?"

"Moi?" Aoyama placed a hand over his chest, feigning surprise. "Of course not! I leave the rough-and-tumble work to you rugged types." His tone shifted slightly, taking on a more serious edge beneath the usual sparkle. "But… I do find it fascinating. Their motives, I mean. Why cause such chaos without an apparent goal? Unless…" He trailed off, letting the sentence hang just long enough to suggest deeper curiosity.

An awkward pause.

Aoyama laughed lightly, waving a hand to break the tension. "Oh, forgive me! I must sound like a conspiracy theorist. It's just that these villains are so unpredictable—it's enough to make anyone wonder what's truly going on, n'est-ce pas?"

"Sure," Clay muttered, his tone guarded. He shifted in the bed, popping a truffle into his mouth as if to signal the end of the topic. "Appreciate the chocolates, though. Nice of you to drop by."

"Of course," Aoyama said, stepping back with a flourish. His usual charm returned, but his eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary on the bandaged hand before flicking up to meet Clay's. "Do rest up, mon ami. After all, we wouldn't want you to miss the next time you can dazzle us with your heroics."

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room, the faint shimmer of his cape trailing behind him. As the door clicked shut, Clay leaned back into the pillows, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Sparkle Boy's got a weird way of talkin'," he muttered, tossing a truffle to Skipper, who caught it deftly. "Can't tell if he's bein' genuine or just tryin' to make conversation… You don't think he's sweet on me, do you?"

Skipper chittered between bites of the truffle, the sound uncannily like laughter.

"Do I really look like I swing that way, Skip?" Clay muttered, shaking his head as he popped another truffle into his mouth. "I got a froggy girlfriend, for cryin' out loud."

He paused, chewing thoughtfully. The truffles were surprisingly good—better than he wanted to admit.

"French did help us kick Britain outta the States," he added with a smirk, glancing at the little rat. "And hey, an olive branch is an olive branch."

Clay leaned back, letting the sugar settle as a pleasant buzz against the backdrop of lingering pain meds. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax. The clinic room was quiet now, save for Skipper's contented squeaks and the faint hum of the overhead lights. It would've been peaceful if not for the nagging feeling in the back of his mind—it's been a while since he'd heard from Tsuyu. He quickly worked out that it was because he hadn't checked his phone since leaving that morning in Midnight's mom-SUV.

Buddy, where's my phone?" Clay groaned, turning over despite the way it made his head spin.

Still munching noisily on his truffle, Skipper lazily pointed his tail toward the table beside the bed.

"Ah, if it were a snake, it woulda bit me," Clay muttered with a chuckle, reaching over to grab the phone. His eyes widened when the screen lit up.

"Thirteen missed calls, forty texts, and over a hundred in the group chat…" he whistled low.

Clay scrolled through the sheer flood of notifications, his thumb pausing as he skimmed through the names. His family, Tsuyu, and just about everyone in the group chat had reached out. Even Skipper paused mid-chew, looking up at him curiously as Clay mumbled, "Well, I'm a popular guy today…"

The first text was from his mom, and it was exactly what he expected:
Mom: "CLAYTON BEDFORD DERREKS, WHAT DID U DO TO UR HAND? CALL ME NOW. I SWEAR IF U DONT ANSWER, IM GETTING ON A PLANE."

"Yeah, it's holy hellfire," Clay muttered, typing up a quick response with his good hand.

Clay: "They got me on the good stuff. I'm coming out of it now. I'll call you once they let me out of the clinic. Love you ma."

Next, he checked the ones from Tsuyu, which were heartbreaking in their own way.

Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI]: "Saw what happened. Are you okay?"
Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI]: "Ribbit. Answer when you can. I'm worried."
Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "If you can type with one hand, you can answer me, ribbit."

Clay felt his chest tighten as he scrolled through Tsuyu's messages. Her usual calm, measured tone came through even in text, but there was an unmistakable thread of worry weaving through her words. It was a terrible thing to see.

Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "I asked Sero. He told me what happened to your hand. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "You're not trying to act tough, are you? Ribbit."
Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "Please let me know you're okay, Clay."

Clay let out a soft groan, guilt prickling at the edges of his mind. He hadn't meant to worry her, but now he felt like a world-class idiot. He managed to worry her so much that Tsuyu of all people sextuple texted. He started typing back, one-handed, his good thumb moving quickly across the screen.

Clay: "Hey Tsu. I'm ok. My hand got banged up pretty good. They had me on the good stuff and I woke up a second ago. Recovery Girl's gonna come by and fix it. I'm sorry to worry you."

He hesitated for a moment before sending another message.

Clay: "Didn't mean to make you worry. I'm sorry Tsu."

The reply came almost immediately, her typing uncharacteristically quick for someone so composed.

Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "You should have told me you were in trouble. I'd have flown back if I knew."
Tsuyu [FROG EMOJI: "Don't apologize. Just take care of yourself. You're more important than you realize, ribbit."

Clay smiled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest despite the lingering ache in his hand. Before he could type a reply, his phone buzzed again, this time with an incoming call. Tsuyu's name and the familiar frog emoji popped up on the screen.

He answered quickly, holding the phone to his ear. "Tsu? You didn't have to call—"

"You didn't have to downplay everything, ribbit," she interrupted, her tone soft but firm. "Sero said you almost lost your fingers. That's not 'just a banged-up hand,' Clay. I know you're tough. You don't have to keep proving it to me."

Clay winced, feeling properly chastised. He would have taken being chastised by his mom over Tsuyu any day of the week. "Yeah, uh… sorry about that. It's all fine now, though. Honest."

There was a moment of silence on her end before she spoke again, her voice carrying a warmth that softened the tension. "I'll take your word for it, ribbit. But… if it happens again, call me before they put you under. Please."

"Yes, ma'am," Clay said with a faint chuckle, though the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.

"Good," Tsuyu replied, her voice calm once more.

The silence stretched out for a few moments, and Clay had the faint feeling of the dark chocolate in his stomach lurching. "Your big sister is showin'," he said, only half-sure he wanted to make an attempt at humor.

There was a pause on the line, the kind of pause that made Clay worry he'd taken the joke a step too far. Then Tsuyu croaked softly, her quiet laugh soothing the knot in his chest. "Maybe. Ribbit," she said, her tone light but still tinged with concern. "But you needed it."

"Yeah, I reckon I did," Clay admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. "Thanks, Tsu. Really."

"You're welcome, Clay," Tsuyu replied, her calm voice steadying him in a way nothing else had since the fight. "Get some rest, okay? I'll check in tomorrow. Are you still good for Sunday?"

"Yes, ma'am," Clay said, the words slipping out naturally. "I'll crawl there if I have to." He shifted his foot as he watched Skipper leap from the headboard to the foot of the bed.

Tsuyu's soft croak-laugh came through the line again, filling the quiet. "Don't crawl, ribbit. Just… take care of yourself. My parents will be happy to meet you."

Clay smiled faintly, scratching the back of his neck. "I'll do my best. Can't have 'em thinkin' I'm some coward that will take any excuse not to meet 'em."

"They already think you're brave," Tsuyu said, her voice calm but sincere. "They saw how you handled the press—even while you were still hurt, ribbit. They thought it was impressive."

Clay chuckled, though the sound was laced with embarrassment. "Brave, huh? Pretty sure 'ol sunshine would call it reckless," he said, his voice laced with gravel as if to imitate Aizawa.

"You were making jokes," Tsuyu said, Clay could a faint smile in her tone. "Even when you didn't have to. That's brave, Clay. Ribbit."

Her words hung in the air, warm and grounding. Clay shifted in the bed, feeling a sudden rush of emotion he wasn't entirely prepared for. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks, Tsu. You, uh… mean a lot to me, y'know?"

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then her voice softened even more. "You mean a lot to me too, Clay. Ribbit."

His chest tightened, and before he could overthink it, the words tumbled out, unpolished but genuine. "Love ya, Tsu."

The silence that followed made his stomach flip, but it was quickly replaced by a quiet, steady, but undeniably joyous reply. "I love you too, Clay. Ribbit."

Clay blinked, a dopey grin spreading across his face despite the lingering throb in his hand. "Well, uh… guess I'll be seein' you Sunday, then."

"You'd better," she replied, her tone light but fond. "Goodnight, Clay. Never worry me like that again, rat boy."

It took Clay a moment to wrap his head around the fact that she said it. It was almost as surreal as a woman who wasn't his mom telling him that they loved him. "Yes Ma'am. Night, Tsu," he said, wondering if he were having a post-surgery fever dream.

As the call ended, Clay set his phone down on the side table and let out a long breath. Skipper chittered softly from the foot of the bed, his tiny eyes fixed on Clay with what felt like judgment.

"Yeah, I know," Clay muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Don't get hurt, don't make her worry, don't make myself look like a fool in the process. You'd think I'd figure that out by now."

Skipper let out a sharp squeak, as if to say, About time.

"Hey, I got a 'I love you' outta her. Never thought I'd see the day."

Skipper tilted his head, his whiskers twitching as if weighing Clay's statement. He let out a series of soft squeaks, each one carrying a tone that could only be described as sarcastically supportive.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Clay said, smirking as he reached out to scratch behind the rat's ears. "Still counts, even if it's sandwiched between tellin' me off."

Skipper chittered in agreement, scurrying from Clay's feet to his torso, nudging his tiny nose against Clay's fingers. The two had a silent few moments, both spending a little time thinking about how much their lives had changed since going on this adventure.

He finally rolled over to the table, where he took a quick glance at the group chat he had with the guys, or 'the boys' as Clay would call them.

The group chat was predictably chaotic. A deluge of messages had poured in over the course of the day, some of them peppered with emojis and varying levels of concern, confusion, and teasing. Clay scrolled back to see where it all started.

Kaminari: "YO CLAY IS ON TV! [TV EMOJI] [COWBOY EMOJI] [RAT EMOJI]"
Kirishima: "WHAT?! What channel?"
Kaminari: "Some local thing! He's with those journalists! Bro, he's got his hand all bandaged up but he's still makin' jokes lmao."
Midoriya: "Is he okay?! Why is his hand bandaged? What happened?"
Sero: "Yeah, about that... Clay caught a bat. With razor blades glued to it. With his hand. Didn't let go for some reason."

Kirishima: "Oh man... is he okay?!"
Kaminari: "Caught a WHAT?!"
Sero: "He hurt his hand bad. Like, really bad. Doctors aren't sure if he's keeping all his fingers yet."
Midoriya: "That's terrible! Is he getting proper care?!"
Kirishima: "Bro, WHY didn't he just let go?"
Sero: "Because he's Clay. The idiot didn't let go. That's the whole story."
Kaminari: "Low-key the most cowboy thing I've ever heard but also the dumbest."

The chat devolved for a bit, with plenty of worried and incredulous comments from Midoriya and Kirishima, offset by Kaminari's mix of admiration and disbelief.

Sero: "Anyway, I just heard from Thirteen. He's stable, but his hand's gonna need work. I'll update you when I know more."
Kirishima: "Thanks, man. Keep us posted. Poor guy must be feelin' awful."
Kaminari: "What a beast though! Razor blade bat, and he's STILL cracking jokes."

Sero had followed up with updates as the day went on:

Sero: "Recovery Girl's on her way back early to take care of him. Should be fixed up by tomorrow."
Midoriya: "That's a relief! Please let us know when she's seen him."
Kirishima: "Seriously, thanks, dude."

Finally, Clay decided it was time to chime in, typing one-handed as he glanced at the messages.

Clay: "Alright, alright, y'all can stop frettin'. Recovery Girl's finally in town. Said I'll be good as new by tomorrow."
Kaminari: "COWBOY LIVES!"
Kirishima: "That's awesome, bro! Rest up, alright?"
Midoriya: "We're glad you're okay, Clay! Please take it easy."
Sero: "About time you said something. Now go to sleep before Midnight shows up to scare you into it."

Clay chuckled softly, a warm feeling settling in his chest. His thumb hovered over the keyboard before he added one last message.

Clay: "Appreciate y'all. Really."

The responses flooded in almost instantly, a mix of teasing and genuine camaraderie that left Clay grinning as he set his phone down. Skipper squeaked softly, curling up near his shoulder as Clay finally allowed himself to relax.

There were two more texts to read. One from Mina, advising Clay to call Tsuyu, with the message repeated at least twenty times with slight variations, and one from Riley.

Riley: "Next time, don't grip onto razor blades. Glad you're ok little brother."

The door creaked open, and Clay tilted his head lazily, expecting another nurse or one of the guys sneaking in to give him grief. Instead, the familiar figure of Recovery Girl shuffled in, her small frame somehow managing to radiate both grandmotherly warmth and the stern authority of someone you didn't dare argue with.

"Well, well," she said, her sharp eyes zeroing in on Clay like a hawk spotting prey. "You're the one who decided to test his grip with a razor-blade bat. What were you thinking, young man?"

Clay sat up straighter, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Well, ma'am, I wasn't exactly thinkin'. It just sorta… happened. Figured it'd cause more bleedin' if I let go."

Recovery Girl sighed deeply, shaking her head as she made her way to his bedside. "You're lucky you didn't lose any fingers. Holding on tighter after you realized it was cutting into your hand? That's not bravery, Derreks. That's stubbornness." She gestured for him to extend his injured hand.

Clay obeyed, wincing as she unwrapped the bandages with efficient movements. The exposed hand was a mess—deep cuts crisscrossed his palm, angry and red, but far from the worst-case scenario he'd been imagining. He had to admit that it was the worst injury he had to date.

"I can heal this," Recovery Girl said, her tone softening slightly, though her disapproval lingered. "But you need to remember that protecting yourself is just as important as protecting others. If you'd let go of that bat sooner, you wouldn't be in this bed."

"Yes, ma'am," Clay muttered, the faintest flush creeping up his neck. "It was just… y'know, instinct."

"What's the English expression? If I had a dollar for every time I had a student told me that, I could buy this school. Instinct can be retrained," she replied sharply. "You'll need to learn that if you want to last as a hero. Now hold still."

Clay braced himself as the healing energy surged through him, a warmth spreading from his hand up his arm. He barely had a thought how weird it was being kissed like this. The stinging pain dulled, replaced by an itch that had him clenching his teeth. A few moments later, Recovery Girl leaned back, examining her work with a satisfied nod.

"There," she said, wrapping fresh bandages around his hand. "It'll be tender for a while, but you'll have full use of it again. You can't always count on being this lucky, young man. Use some common-sense next time, hmm?"

Clay gave her a small, grateful smile. "Yes, ma'am. Thanks, ma'am."

She patted his shoulder lightly, her expression softening into something closer to kindness. "You're a good kid, Clay. Don't let that stubborn streak of yours get you in more trouble than it's worth."

As she shuffled toward the door, she paused, glancing back at him. "And tell that rat of yours not to nibble on my equipment next time. I saw him eyeing my cane."

Clay snorted, his grin widening as he looked down at Skipper, who froze mid-chitter with what could only be described as a guilty expression.

"Got it," he said with a chuckle. "He's on his best behavior, ma'am."

Recovery Girl left with a faint smile, the door clicking shut behind her. Clay leaned back against the pillows, flexing his newly healed fingers. Skipper crawled up onto his chest, letting out an approving squeak.

"Guess I owe you too, buddy," Clay muttered, scratching behind the rat's ears. He glanced at his phone one last time, noting the flood of texts and feeling a rare, quiet warmth settle in his chest.

"Looks like I'm stuck with a whole lotta folks who care," he murmured. "Better start gettin' used to it."

He fired off just one more text.

Clay: "Goodnight fellas, no BDSM dungeon for me tonight. I'm crusin'."

With that, Clay finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Skipper's breathing keeping him grounded as the day's chaos faded into the quiet of the clinic.