It always began the same way.

Quiet.

Warm.

Almost peaceful in a way that twisted in Leo's gut like a knife, because it was a lie. A place built out of memory, stitched together from fragments of a life that didn't exist anymore — couldn't exist anymore. And yet, it always tricked him for a few precious heartbeats.

This was his childhood home.

The little house tucked away on the outskirts of the city in Vermont. Faded yellow walls. Sunlight slipping lazily through the windows like golden ribbons tangled in dust. The faint smell of dinner still lingered in the air — something rich and home-cooked, the scent of his mother's favorite stew filling every corner of the small living room.

Photographs lined the wall, every frame neat and lovingly placed. Family smiles frozen in time. Laughing faces. His little sister mid-giggle, cheeks chubby, her tiny hands clutching a worn-out teddy bear — the same one he'd won for her at a county fair. His parents standing close together in another photo, tired but happy. And there, off to the side of a few pictures, was him — younger, eyes less guarded, a crooked grin that hadn't yet learned how to disappear behind scowls or clenched teeth.

But beneath all that warmth, beneath the familiar creak of the floorboards or the hum of the old refrigerator, there was that gnawing, cloying sensation in Leo's chest. Like an itch he couldn't scratch. A wrongness seeping in through the cracks of this perfect little scene.

Because his feet wouldn't move.

No matter how hard he tried, they remained rooted to the floor, heavy and unyielding, and it was only when he finally forced himself to glance down that he saw why.

Chains.

Thick, blackened iron links coiled like serpents around his ankles, each one sunk deep enough into his skin that inky blood trickled sluggishly from the wounds. The sight sent a sick shudder through his body, a pulse of dread that raced up his spine and lodged itself like stone in his throat.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Not again.

Not tonight.

Leo clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze away from the chains, dragging it upward with effort that felt monumental. And there — standing at the far end of the hallway — was his little sister.

She looked...almost right. Almost.

The same tangled mess of dark curls. The same oversized pajamas she had insisted on wearing even though they dragged across the floor. But her eyes were wide. Too wide. Glassy and vacant in a way that made his stomach turn.

She smiled.

But there was no life behind it.

"Big brother," she called softly, her voice paper-thin and distant, like it was being whispered across an empty graveyard. "You promised you'd protect me."

His heart lurched violently against his ribs.

"I..." The word caught in his throat, rough and dry like he'd swallowed sandpaper. "I—"

A metallic groan cut him off — the chains around his legs tightening with every desperate inch he strained forward. They dug deeper, black ichor welling from the gouges, the sticky warmth of it sliding slowly down his calves.

But his sister was already stepping back. Slipping further away into the darkened hallway like a ghost dissolving into mist. And behind her, shrouded in shadow, were the figures of his parents.

Silent.

Motionless.

Their skin pale and waxen. Their faces slack, their hollow eyes white and clouded like old porcelain dolls left to gather dust.

Leo's mother raised a trembling hand, slow and deliberate.

Her voice when it came was barely above a breath, but it hit him harder than any punch he'd ever taken.

"Why didn't you save us, Leo?"

The lights overhead flickered.

The cozy warmth of the dream peeled away like rotting wallpaper, revealing the decaying truth beneath. The air grew thicker, the golden sunlight bleeding into a sickly yellow hue that clawed at his vision.

And then...the smell hit him.

Copper.

Iron.

Blood.

He looked down again, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The floor was no longer carpet.

It was soaked through, deep and endless, with that too-familiar crimson.

Thick, congealed, clinging to his bare feet with each faint movement. It stretched outward like a living thing, spreading into every corner of the room, too wide and too deep to have come from anything less than a massacre.

It was the stain he'd stood in that day.

That helpless, frozen moment burned into the very marrow of his bones.

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed — slow, deliberate, impossibly heavy.

Metal scraping against metal with each step.

No.

Leo's breath quickened, ragged and sharp, as every fiber of his being screamed not to look back.

But he knew he would.

He always did.

Because that was the nature of this nightmare.

And when he turned — against every last desperate plea in his heart — he was met not with the masked man from his memories.

No.

It was worse.

It was himself.

Or rather — something that had once been him.

Older. Taller. Monstrous.

The Bear tattoo had twisted grotesquely across his body, its fanged maw stretched wide enough to consume what little humanity remained. Chains that once served to bind it hung loose, broken and jagged, dragging across the blood-soaked floor with each lurching step.

Its eyes — golden— burned with savage hunger.

It smiled.

And the voice that crawled from its throat was his own — warped, gravel-thick, almost unrecognizable beneath the weight of violence and fury.

"You survived," it rumbled. "We survived."

Behind him, the faint whispers began to stir again.

Soft at first.

But growing.

Multiplying.

The voices of his family. His mother. His father. His sister.

All overlapping in a cruel, suffocating chant.

"You shouldn't have."

"You shouldn't have."

"You shouldn't have."

Leo's vision blurred — whether from tears or the blood beginning to trickle slowly from his nose, he couldn't tell. The chains around his chest tightened like a vice, each breath sharper, harder to pull.

And the monster — his monster — lunged.

The last thing Leo saw before darkness swallowed him whole was its gaping maw stretching impossibly wide.

Ready to devour him.

Ready to pull him back under.


The knock came again.

Soft.

Too polite for its own good.

Leo stood there, barefoot on cold, scuffed wooden floors, staring at his apartment door like it had personally offended him. The faint echo of knuckles tapping against cheap, splintering plywood felt almost surreal after the night he'd had — after the kind of dream that left your heart beating too fast, your mouth tasting like copper, your body coiled so tight it felt like a spring waiting to snap.

Behind him, the apartment was still half-dark. His tiny slice of Mustafu — more box than home. A shitty kitchen with a half-broken fridge that hummed like a dying engine. A sagging couch that doubled as a bed when he couldn't face his real one. The scent of old cigarette smoke and cheap coffee clinging to the air like it belonged there.

Another knock.

Hesitant.

Muttering.

"...Okay, just drop the notebook and leave, Izuku, don't bother him. He's probably asleep... or out... or—"

Leo dragged a hand down his face with a low sigh that scraped raw across his throat. The last of the cold water from the bathroom still clung to his skin, chilling against faint scars and the ever-present ache of the tattoos curled across his arms.

Of all people to be standing outside his damn door at six-thirty in the morning... it had to be Green Bean.

Or as the rest of Mustafu knew him — Izuku Midoriya.

Resident nerd. Walking hero encyclopedia. And Leo's neighbor.

Leo didn't know exactly how it had happened — how they'd slipped into this weird, reluctant pattern of nods in the hallway and awkward conversations about quirks over garbage runs — but at some point... it stuck.

He kind of liked the kid.

Which was annoying.

Leo unlocked the deadbolt with a click that echoed louder than it should have in the quiet morning.

The door creaked open.

And there stood Midoriya — green hoodie slightly rumpled, freckled face pale with the kind of awkward panic only a pure-hearted idiot could manage, and a battered notebook clutched in his hands like a peace offering.

Leo leaned against the doorframe, green eyes half-lidded, voice rough from sleep and ghosts that refused to stay buried.

"...Green Bean," he greeted flatly, because of course he did. "You waking up the dead this early, or am I just lucky?"

Izuku flinched like he'd been caught breaking into a vault.

"A-Ah! Blackwood-san! I—I didn't mean to wake you up—! I just—uh—well—I finished those notes from yesterday's class and I thought since you mentioned missing that one part about quirk application theory and the limitations of—"

Leo raised a hand — slow, tired — like the universal signal for please shut the hell up before my brain bleeds out my ears.

Izuku trailed off immediately.

Leo squinted at him, taking in the kid's usual nervous energy, the way his foot shuffled unconsciously against the hall floor, the dark bags under his eyes that said neither of them were exactly sleeping well these days.

But then Midoriya's gaze — big, too observant for his own good — swept over Leo.

The bare chest.

The bruised ribs faintly visible beneath fading ink.

The faint trace of dried blood still crusted beneath his nose he hadn't bothered to wipe clean completely.

Izuku's face crumpled into concern faster than a building under a villain's punch.

"Blackwood-san..." softer this time, less frantic, more real. "...Are you okay?"

Leo blinked once.

Twice.

And then — against every tired, bitter part of him — the corner of his mouth tugged upward in something too dry to be called a real smile.

"Do I look okay, Green?"

It came out rasped and flat and more honest than it probably should have.

Izuku, bless him, didn't back off.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't run.

If anything, his grip on that stupid notebook tightened like he was ready to square up with Leo's nightmares himself.

Leo sighed again — deeper this time, resignation and reluctant fondness bleeding together.

"...C'mon," he muttered, stepping back from the door. "You're up now, I'm up now. Might as well ruin our morning together. Hope you like coffee strong enough to take rust off metal."

Izuku's eyes widened — surprise and maybe... maybe even a little hope flickering there.

"Y-Yes! I mean— I like coffee!"

Leo arched a brow.

"We'll fix that."

And for the first time that morning — maybe the first time in a long while — the weight in his chest eased.

Not much.

Barely at all.

But enough.

Enough to let someone in.

Even if it was just a Green Bean with too many notebooks and too big a heart for his own good.


The coffee in Leo's kitchen was strong enough to wake the dead — or kill them outright, depending on how much you cared about taste.

He didn't.

Izuku Midoriya sat awkwardly at Leo's tiny table, hands wrapped around a mismatched mug that looked comically large in his grip, like he wasn't sure if he should be drinking from it or using it as self-defense.

But drinking was the last thing on Izuku's mind.

Because for the first time since moving in across the hall, he was seeing Leo Blackwood — really seeing him.

And what he saw was enough to leave the poor kid absolutely speechless.

Leo sat across from him like it was the most normal thing in the world — shirtless, scarred, every inch of his skin a battlefield of ink and memory.

But it wasn't just tattoos.

No.

It was so much more than that.

Stretching across Leo's torso — starting from the jagged edges along his ribs, rising up in stark, brutal black — was the Bear. Towering, feral, captured mid-roar as if frozen in defiance against the world. Its massive form reared back on hind legs, claws raking down Leo's arms, each line sharp and violent, slicing through flesh to leave trails of red inky blood that shimmered faintly on the surface of his forearms like it hadn't quite dried.

Golden-yellow eyes glared outward from the Bear's skull — twin suns burning with protective fury, even as heavy black chains snaked across its form, looping and curling around Leo's body like they were trying — and failing — to hold the beast back.

But that wasn't all.

Twisting along Leo's back, just visible from the way he leaned forward slightly, were the Serpents.

Two of them — sleek and monstrous — coiling around his torso like living brands. Their scaled bodies wrapped around from his spine to his shoulders, their mouths latched into the muscle there, fangs buried deep, drawing forth the same slow trickle of ink-blood that stained his skin beneath the bite marks.

Their eyes were different from the Bear's.

Not gold.

Not warm.

But a deep, unnatural purple — dark enough to drown in, glowing faintly like twin coals in the low light of the kitchen.

Izuku's muttering started small.

A whisper beneath his breath.

And then faster.

Faster.

"Oh my god— they— the Bear— it's not just decorative, that's a full summoning seal, no— it's deeper— it looks alive— and the serpents— they're binding agents or— or a defensive mechanism— maybe symbolic of control or balance— but they're biting him— that's actual extraction of power through pain— and the inky blood— it's reactive— is that a permanent bleed or does it coagulate back into the tattoo structure after use—"

Leo stared at him.

Blinked slowly.

Sipped his coffee like a man who had long since stopped being surprised by weird shit at six in the morning.

"...Green," Leo rasped, voice rough with sleep and lingering gravel from nightmares, "you plan on talking to yourself all morning, or you gonna start breathing sometime this century?"

Izuku froze mid-sentence, eyes snapping up — wide, mortified, cheeks already dusting pink like he'd just realized he'd been monologuing to himself for five straight minutes.

"A-Ah! S-Sorry! I— I didn't mean to— I just— I've never seen anything like—"

Leo raised a hand lazily, cutting him off.

"Nah," he said, mouth twitching in faint amusement, "it's fine. Gotta admit, watching you go full cryptid over there is more entertaining than brooding over my own crap."

Izuku flushed deeper but — predictably — the minute Leo gave him even a hint of permission to ask questions, the damn burst wide open.

Notebook. Out.

Pen. Ready.

Eyes. Shining like he'd just been told All Might's original costume designs were up for auction.

"S-So! Okay— your quirk— is it constantly active? Do the tattoos appear upon activation or are they always there? Can you summon the Bear at will or does it require emotional triggers? The serpents— do they enhance your physical abilities or are they more for defense? Oh! And the blood! Is it part of your quirk's drawback or is it more symbolic, like a visual representation of exertion—?"

Leo let out a low, rumbling chuckle — the sound catching in his chest before rolling free, raw and real in a way it hadn't been in a long time.

Maybe not since he was a kid.

"Jesus, Green," he drawled, scrubbing a hand through his hair, "you really are a damn walking encyclopedia."

Izuku ducked his head sheepishly — still writing at a breakneck pace — but there was a bright, honest grin tugging at his mouth now, like he couldn't help it.

Leo leaned back in his chair, gaze distant for a beat, watching the serpents' fanged brands shift faintly against his shoulder as he flexed his arm.

"They're always there," Leo said eventually, voice quieter, rough around the edges but honest.

Izuku's scribbling slowed.

Leo shrugged one shoulder.

"They show up when I need them. Or when I lose control. Serpents came later. Guess the Bear wasn't enough."

Izuku's gaze softened.

He didn't say anything about the weight behind Leo's words.

Didn't have to.

Leo appreciated that more than he could say.

"And the blood?" Izuku asked carefully.

Leo huffed a tired laugh.

"Drawback," he admitted.

Izuku sat back slowly, staring at him like he'd just seen a dragon up close and lived to tell about it.

"Incredible," he breathed.

Leo snorted.

"Reckon most people go with horrifying," he said, but the edge in his voice wasn't sharp. Not really.

Izuku shook his head.

"Not horrifying," he said, firm, sincere in that way only someone like him could be. "It's... powerful. Strong. Like a guardian beast."

Leo blinked.

Paused.

Felt something settle weird and warm in his chest that hadn't been there when he'd woken up shaking in the dark.

"...You're a weird kid, Green."

Izuku smiled.

Leo shook his head, reaching for his coffee again.

"You know what's worse though?" he added with a dry grunt. "Still don't got a damn name for it."

Izuku's eyes practically sparked.

Leo groaned.

"Oh hell," he muttered, already seeing where this was going. "Here we go."


The small kitchen fell into a rare, companionable quiet.

Izuku still hadn't touched his coffee — probably for the best. Leo made it strong enough to peel paint. The kid might vibrate straight through the damn floor if he drank it.

Leo, for his part, sat nursing his own mug like it was keeping him tethered to the moment. The ache of restless sleep still clung to his bones, the ghost of the nightmare lingering somewhere in the tight set of his jaw.

He caught Izuku staring at him again.

Not at the scars this time.

Not even at the tattoos.

But at him.

Like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't have a clean edge.

Leo huffed through his nose, rough and tired, eyes narrowing slightly.

"...Alright, Pages, what's got your gears grinding now?"

Izuku blinked like he'd been caught trespassing.

"W-What? Oh! Uh— nothing! I just—" He hesitated, fidgeting with his pen. "I guess I was just thinking about... yesterday."

Leo raised a brow over his mug.

Yesterday.

Right.

He remembered catching a glimpse of the kid stumbling back into the building looking like a damn train wreck — dirt-stained, wild-eyed, and wearing that shell-shocked look people only got after their whole world flipped sideways.

Leo's stare sharpened slightly.

"You gonna tell me why I caught you looking like you'd gone ten rounds with a dump truck yesterday, Grasshopper, or am I supposed to guess?"

Izuku flinched.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for Leo to catch it.

Leo leaned back in his chair, lazy posture but sharp eyes — watching the way Izuku's grip tightened ever-so-slightly on his pen.

That was interesting.

"N-Not that bad," Izuku lied. Badly.

Leo's brow arched higher.

Uh-huh.

Sure, kid.

"Right," Leo drawled slowly, "and I'm the damn Tooth Fairy."

Izuku fumbled for an excuse like a man scrambling for a life raft.

"I—uh—kinda... tripped?" he tried weakly.

Leo just stared at him.

Flat.

Unamused.

Kid was about as good at lying as Leo was at subtle charm.

Tripped, huh?

Sure.

Because normal kids definitely came home scuffed to hell, with that haunted, overthinking look in their eyes like they'd just seen something big — something life-changing.

Leo could take a wild guess.

Probably involved him.

All Might.

Leo didn't press.

Not really.

Because there was one thing about Izuku Midoriya that stood out in a world full of fake smiles and half-truths.

The kid was loyal.

Painfully so.

Whatever he'd seen — whatever he was guarding — it wasn't out of selfishness.

It was protection.

Leo respected that more than he could say.

He snorted low, shaking his head.

"Whatever, Freckles. Not my circus. Not my clowns." He paused, then added dryly, "Yet."

Izuku visibly sagged in relief — which only confirmed every suspicion Leo had — but he let it go.

For now.

Instead, Leo shifted — stretching slowly, the scars and ink along his arms flexing faintly beneath the movement — before nodding toward the serpents curled along his shoulders.

"You really wanna know about all this mess?" he asked, voice low but genuine.

Izuku's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

"Y-Yes! If— If it's not too personal!"

Leo chuckled under his breath.

"You already seen it, Noodle. Might as well give you the damn tour."

Izuku leaned forward instinctively, pen poised, eyes wide and focused.

Leo let the silence sit for a beat.

Let it settle like weight on old bones.

"First one that showed up was the Bear," he began, tracing a finger lazily along the heavy chains wrapped down his forearm. "Right after... the worst night of my life."

Izuku's excitement dulled — softened into something more careful.

More respectful.

Leo appreciated that too.

"Didn't even know I had a quirk," Leo continued, voice distant. "Thought I was quirkless. Got through my whole damn childhood thinking I was the family runt."

He smiled, sharp and humorless.

"Turns out, my power just needed something real nasty to wake it up."

Izuku's pen hovered hesitantly over the page.

"...Trauma-induced quirk activation," he whispered, like saying it too loud might hurt.

Leo nodded once.

"Yeah. Something like that."

His hand drifted to his shoulder, thumb running over the faintest warmth where the Serpents' fangs sank eternally into his skin.

"The Bear showed up first. Big. Loud. Full of rage I didn't even know I had. Nearly tore my damn arms apart when it first showed up."

Izuku's breath caught audibly.

Leo snorted.

"The chains? Those came later. Not just for the animals." He tapped his chest. "For me."

Izuku's pen stilled completely.

"For you?"

Leo's eyes were steady.

"When I get too worked up... too far gone... the chains keep me grounded. Keep the beast from tearing outta me and wrecking everything in its path."

He hesitated.

Then — softer — like it tasted bitter.

"But chains tighten. Chains pull. And chains hurt."

Leo exhaled slowly, his green gaze distant.

"The more I fight... the more I lose control... the tighter they get. Like dragging barbed wire around my heart."

Izuku's face crumpled with something halfway between awe and sorrow.

"...That's..."

"Hell of a drawback, huh?" Leo finished for him, smirking faintly.

Izuku shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "That's... powerful."

Leo blinked.

Stared at him.

This damn kid.

This earnest, ridiculous, too-big-hearted kid.

Powerful, huh?

Leo leaned back again, letting the faintest real smile ghost across his face.

"You're somethin' else, Junior."

Izuku flushed bright red.

"J-Junior now?!"

Leo chuckled low, shaking his head.

"You keep talkin' like that, I'm gonna have to put you on the payroll."

Izuku grinned — bright, a little shy — but real.

And for the first time all morning... the chains around Leo's heart felt just a little looser.


The quiet hum of the apartment was only occasionally broken by the frantic scratching of Izuku's pen against notebook paper. He was completely absorbed in his own little world, hunched over Leo's kitchen table like a man possessed. The kid's brow furrowed in deep concentration, green eyes darting between lines and messy sketches like this was some kind of life-or-death operation.

Leo sat across from him, all sharp lines and quiet exhaustion, nursing what had to be his third mug of coffee this morning — the bitter kind that could strip paint. He watched the kid from beneath heavy-lidded, unimpressed eyes, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying how deeply ridiculous he found this whole situation.

Of all the things Leo thought he'd be doing with his morning, sitting shirtless in his shitty little apartment while his neighbor — this nerdy, twitchy little quirk-obsessed kid — tried to give his cursed-ass quirk a name was not on the list.

But Izuku was relentless.

Determined.

And hell... Leo could respect that.

Still, watching him mumble to himself while flipping through half-ruined pages, Leo couldn't help the dry rasp that escaped his throat.

"This is about the dumbest thing I've let happen in my kitchen."

Izuku either didn't hear him or was too deep into whatever analysis-mode he'd disappeared into to care. He was rambling beneath his breath again, words spilling out faster than Leo could really track — something about quirk symbolism, identity, power reclamation — as if a name somehow fixed the fact that Leo's power came with more blood and scars than pride.

But there was no malice in it.

No fear.

Just... curiosity.

That weird, infectious Midoriya-brand energy that even Leo's scarred, exhausted ass couldn't fully shut out.

Leo watched him a moment longer before shaking his head, muttering under his breath.

"Kid acts like I'm some kind of collectible card waiting to get laminated."

Izuku perked up like he'd heard that, turning bright red but undeterred. If anything, it only seemed to fuel him.

Leo caught the faint murmur of a possible name, the words slipping from Izuku's mouth with far too much sincerity.

"Tattoo Titan."

There was a beat of dead silence.

Leo slowly lowered his mug.

The look he gave Izuku could've dried paint.

"You're kidding me."

Izuku froze.

"U-Uh— I— I thought—"

"Pages," Leo cut him off with a tired sigh, "I got enough problems without sounding like some try-hard pro wrestler from the eighties."

Izuku frantically scribbled over the name like erasing it from existence might save him from Leo's judgment. But it didn't stop him. Not even close.

He tried again.

And again.

The next one was somehow worse.

"Beast Binder."

Leo snorted loud through his nose.

"Sounds like a damn circus act. What's next? Am I supposed to juggle chains mid-fight?"

Izuku flushed deeper, fumbling with the next.

"Ink Howl?"

Leo raised a brow, utterly deadpan.

"Not leading a punk rock band either, Sparky."

It became a game after that. At least to Leo. He wasn't about to admit it — wouldn't even hint at it — but hell, it was probably the most entertained he'd been in weeks. Just sitting there, tired bones, aching scars, and this ridiculous green-haired kid tripping over himself trying to name something that had been nameless and cursed for so long.

The names kept coming.

Painbringer.

Ink Warden.

Veincaller.

Each one met with Leo's rough, unimpressed humor, dry comments rolling from his throat like distant thunder.

But then...

Then Izuku paused.

Just for a second.

His pen hovered over the page.

The air between them shifted — not tense, exactly — but careful.

Like Izuku wasn't sure if this next one was too much.

Leo watched him, green eyes narrowing faintly, waiting.

Izuku's voice, when it came, was quieter. Almost reverent.

"Chains of the Beast."

Leo stilled.

It hit different.

Not in that flashy, over-the-top way Izuku's other ideas had. Not like some forced hero branding meant to stick on a billboard. No.

This was something raw.

Heavy.

Simple.

It sounded like him.

Chains.

Beast.

Everything Leo Blackwood was... and everything he fought not to become.

For a long moment, Leo didn't say a word. Just sat there, staring at the words inked onto that battered notebook page like maybe, for once, someone had seen the truth beneath the scars.

Finally, he let out a low, rough sound — not quite a laugh. Not quite anything close to mockery.

"...Huh."

Izuku's head snapped up, green eyes wide.

"You... you don't hate it?"

Leo leaned back slowly in his chair, the faintest curve pulling at the corner of his mouth — something dry, but not sharp.

"Not bad, Junior."

Izuku lit up like someone had flipped a switch in his chest, practically bouncing in his seat.

"For real?!"

Leo shook his head, more amused than he'd been all morning.

"Don't let it go to your damn head."

But for the first time in a long time, Leo felt... okay with something sticking to him.

Chains of the Beast.

Yeah.

Maybe that wasn't so bad after all.


The streets of Mustafu were starting to come alive in that tired, grey sort of way only certain neighborhoods could. The kind of early morning where the concrete felt cold even through the soles of your shoes, and the sky hung low like it hadn't quite decided if it wanted to clear up or rain again. Old apartment blocks lined the streets like crooked teeth, laundry strung from windows, rusted balconies sagging under the weight of small lives stacked atop one another.

Leo knew every crack in the sidewalk by heart at this point.

He walked with that heavy, unbothered gait that turned most people out of his path without thinking about it. Not because he was trying to look intimidating — that part just came naturally. Broad shoulders, scarred arms, and the faint outlines of chains and beasts hiding beneath his hoodie did most of the work for him.

Izuku, small and awkward at his side, didn't get that kind of room.

Kids they passed barely spared him a glance — but those that did still whispered. Even this early.

There went that Blackwood kid.

Leo heard it. He always did. He just didn't care anymore.

But Izuku kept stealing little glances his way — not nervous like he used to be, but curious. Thoughtful in that overactive brain of his. No doubt still chewing on the fact he was the only person at Aldera who'd seen beneath Leo's hoodie. Seen the Bear roaring across his chest. The serpents sinking fangs into his shoulders. The chain-scarred truth of a quirk that wasn't pretty or flashy or built for show.

Leo could feel those eyes on him like the morning chill.

"You keep starin' at me like that, Pages, people are gonna think you caught feelings," Leo muttered low, not even glancing his way.

Izuku flushed bright red on cue, sputtering something half-defensive, half-panicked under his breath about quirks and observation and analysis.

Leo snorted, shaking his head.

Kids like Izuku didn't survive in places like Aldera unless they learned how to curl in on themselves. Keep their head down. Blend in. Leo? Leo didn't blend in if he tried. But for whatever reason, this nervous, rambling, too-honest-for-his-own-good kid hadn't run screaming yet.

That earned respect in Leo's book.

Hell, earned nicknames too.

Izuku was still grumbling quietly about quirk documentation when Leo's phone buzzed in his pocket — sharp against the dead air of their walk. The battered old flip phone flipped open with a practiced flick of Leo's thumb, screen casting a dull glow in the overcast morning light.

The sender made him pause.

Toshinori.

It wasn't common for the old man to text him out of the blue — especially not when he knew Leo hated looking at the damn thing unless necessary.

The message was short.

To the point.

Exactly like the man himself.

"Need to talk soon. Something important. Keep sharp."

Leo stared at it for a long second, jaw working slightly. No context. No elaboration. But the words sat heavier than they should have.

Toshinori didn't waste words unless it mattered.

Whatever was coming... it wasn't good.

He closed the phone with a soft snap, slipping it back into his hoodie pocket without comment.

Izuku noticed. Of course he did.

Leo could feel those wide, wondering eyes flicking his way again.

The kid had no poker face.

"Everything okay, Blackwood-san?" Izuku asked carefully, voice softer than usual.

Leo grunted.

"Wouldn't be the first time life decided to kick me in the teeth before breakfast," he replied casually, but the edge in his voice was undeniable.

Izuku looked like he wanted to ask more — probably ten different questions battling for dominance in that over-crowded brain of his — but wisely let it go. Smart kid.

Their path wound closer to Aldera now. The building rising ahead of them like every sad, tired school building in a city that didn't give a damn about the kids inside it. Faded walls. Cracked sidewalks. Graffiti barely covered by lazy paint jobs.

Leo could already feel the shift in the air.

The weight of eyes.

Some of them hostile.

Most of them wary.

No one in this place really knew Leo Blackwood.

But Izuku did now.

And as they crossed the street toward the gates, Leo shoved his hands into his pockets, voice gruff but quieter than before.

"Keep your head up today, Little Man," he said without looking at him. "Lot of people round here think scars mean weakness."

Izuku blinked, looking up at him, confused.

Leo's green eyes flicked down, sharp and knowing.

"They don't."

And for whatever was coming next — whatever Toshinori needed to say — whatever weight was about to drop — that was a lesson Izuku Midoriya needed to learn.

Fast.


By the time the school day finally dragged its sorry corpse to an end, Leo Blackwood was already counting the seconds until he could get back to his place, drown himself in bad coffee, maybe catch a nap if the nightmares gave him a damn break for once.

But the familiar buzz of his phone in his pocket killed that plan before it even started.

Another text.

Toshinori.

Leo flipped open the old flip phone with the slow inevitability of a man checking for bad news. He wasn't wrong.

"Need you to meet me. Important. Don't ignore this one, kid."

The address followed after — somewhere unfamiliar, closer to the outskirts of Mustafu. Leo sighed low through his nose, shaking his head with the tired patience of a son who had long since given up expecting his old man to communicate like a normal human being.

He grumbled under his breath, but the smallest, traitorous smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth.

Of course he wanted it to sound dramatic.

Old habits.

Leo pocketed the phone, kicked a stray can off the sidewalk, and started walking.

The closer he got, the more the city peeled back — old buildings thinning out, concrete giving way to the rougher edges of Mustafu's coast. And when he finally turned the last corner, what greeted him was... a hell of a sight.

A beach.

Or what was left of one.

Dagoba Municipal Beach, the sign read — half-buried in trash, sun-bleached, hanging on to life by rusted bolts. The stretch of sand beyond it looked more like a landfill than anything else. Old appliances sat like skeletons sinking into the earth, tires stacked haphazardly along the shore, plastic bottles glittering like broken glass in the low evening sun.

Leo stopped, emerald eyes narrowing faintly at the view.

"Real scenic spot you picked, old man..." he muttered, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair.

Then, without warning, the air shifted.

A sudden gust kicked up sand and salt-heavy wind, and a booming laugh cracked across the empty shoreline like thunder.

Leo's body moved on instinct, boots digging into the sand, head snapping toward the sound just in time to see a wall of muscle and ridiculous blonde hair land a few paces away in a burst of energy.

All Might.

Tall.

Massive.

Glowing like a goddamn sunrise even here, surrounded by garbage.

Leo blinked, deadpan, utterly unimpressed.

"Holy hell, could you not—"

But before he could finish the sentence, the familiar hiss of air venting echoed sharp against the breeze, and the man shrank — muscle fading, power draining — until only Toshinori Yagi stood there in all his lanky, skeletal glory.

Thin.

Tired.

Grinning like a fool.

Leo dragged a hand down his face with a long, suffering sigh.

"You know, there are easier ways to say hey, kid, come meet me at the local trash pit."

Toshinori just chuckled, rough and fond, reaching out with the casual affection only a dad could get away with — his bony hand ruffling Leo's hair like the guy didn't look seconds away from murder every time someone else tried that.

"There he is," Toshinori said, voice warm like worn leather, rough around the edges but steady. "My favorite grump."

Leo let the old man have it, shaking his head as he stepped further onto the sand, boots crunching over discarded cans and broken shells. The air smelled like salt and rust and old city.

"Alright," Leo grunted, emerald eyes narrowing. "You gonna tell me why we're standing in the world's saddest postcard, or do I gotta start guessing?"

Toshinori chuckled again — but this time, there was something a little more tired underneath it.

He asked first about how Leo was doing.

Living on his own. Eating right. Sleeping at all.

Leo gave him the usual answers — half-truths. Mostly surviving. Nothing new.

The kind of answers Toshinori didn't fully believe but didn't press on either.

That was their rhythm.

The back and forth of two people who knew each other's worst days like scars on skin.

But when Leo finally cut through the small talk — sharp and direct like he always was — Toshinori's face shifted.

Straightened.

Settled.

Serious now.

"You remember that green-haired boy you were walking with when the sludge villain incident happened?" Toshinori asked, his voice lower, calm.

Leo snorted without thinking, shaking his head.

"Pages?" The smallest grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hard to forget. Kid's about the only friend I got hanging around Aldera."

And the way Toshinori's face lit up — that spark of real joy in those tired eyes — caught Leo a little off guard.

"Perfect..." Toshinori murmured, half to himself at first, before laughing quietly under his breath. "This is beyond perfect!"

Leo stared at him flatly, unimpressed.

"Okay," Leo drawled, brow raised. "What's perfect about me having one friend — and that friend being a nerd who looks like a strong breeze might kill him?"

Toshinori grinned wider.

"Because I've chosen that very same young man..." He paused — not for drama, but for the weight of it. "...Izuku Midoriya... to inherit One for All."

For a second, Leo just stared at him.

Blank.

Like his brain had to buffer for a full five seconds before the words hit.

And then?

Then he laughed.

Low.

Rough.

Real.

"You're shitting me," Leo said, shaking his head with that tired, crooked grin that only showed up when life decided to be extra stupid.

But Toshinori — bless him — just smiled even bigger, shaking his head slowly.

"Dead serious, my boy."

And for all the chaos that had been Leo Blackwood's life — all the nights drenched in nightmares, all the fights, all the blood — there was something about that truth that felt... right.

Of course it was Izuku.

Meek.

Forgiving.

Ridiculous.

But strong in all the ways that mattered.

Leo couldn't even be mad.

"Hell..." Leo muttered, glancing out across the trash-strewn beach, emerald eyes soft in a way that didn't happen often. "Crazy world needs a few people like him left in it."

Toshinori laughed again — softer now, proud.

"You planning to keep an eye on him then?"

Leo snorted, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets.

"Yeah..." he answered without hesitation. "Guess I am."

Not because he owed anyone anything.

Not because of debt.

But because Leo Blackwood didn't know how to stand still when people like Izuku were about to throw themselves into hell.

That wasn't how he was raised.

That wasn't how Toshinori raised him.

Toshinori stepped closer, ruffling his hair again — gentler this time.

"You don't owe me a damn thing, Leo," he said quietly. "Having you in my life... it's been a blessing. In ways you probably can't even see."

Leo went quiet.

Felt that stupid lump in his throat try to crawl its way up.

But he shoved it down.

Grinned sharp and tired.

"Yeah, well... guess you're stuck with me either way."

Because that's what family was.

That's what All Might would've done.

And Leo Blackwood?

He was gonna walk beside Izuku Midoriya until the damn world learned not to underestimate either of them.