(How To)Forgive and Forget

Quirks(Are Difficult Bastards)

Dinner was eaten quickly, and everyone disappeared just as quickly afterwards. After doing the dishes, Izuku grabbed his notebook and settled in the main bar area, content to perfect his sketch of a new hero and listen to Shigaraki and Spinner's gaming session.

They're the only ones in the room, Kurogiri having disappeared to god-knows-where after the kitchen was properly cleaned. Honestly, Izuku doesn't blame him. Gaming sessions can get...violent. Not physically, but the two villain's colorful verbal insults were enough to leave anyone cringing from the imagery.

The sound of them arguing is familiar enough to have him on the edge of dozing, his pencil slowing to a stop as his eyelids slide shut. He doesn't fight it, hoping tonight will be the night the seven figures leave him alone.

___________

They turn on him. Again. A strong sense of deja vû hits him as he watches the figure lunge at him. Behind them, two figures stand still, as of frozen in place.

Determination fills him as he stares down the charging figures. He's going to get a good night's sleep, One For All and All Might be damned.

"STOP IT!"

He screams into the void, his frustration bleeding into his voice as he pushes the closest figure away from himself. Their glowing eye sockets flare bright red, and Izuku is plunged into a new scene.

___________

Crumbling buildings tower over him. Rubble rests at a pair of black booted feet, and small fires and puddles of water litter the formerly pristine street. A street lamp creaks and sways unstably in the breeze, flickering on and off. Smoke clouds the air, obscuring the sky.

In the distance, police sirens wail, and the scuffle of fighting can be heard. A closer look reveals a pool of blood near the boots. But the boots don't move, and—not Izuku, it's someone else, someone else's body, someone else's life—grips the objects in their hands. Said objects seem to be molded to their hands, the cloth wrappings softened and pliable under their calloused hands. The weight feels like a weapon, but there's no way to confirm it, because a loud, ineligible shout sends them running, their side twinging with pain—but it isn't Izuku's pain, this feels different from the burns and cuts and broken bones—leaping over rubble and ducking into a nearby alleyway.

They pause to rest, about to put away the objects in their hands, but something stops them. They stare into the shadows of the alleyway, eyes picking out irregularities in the darkness.

"That was faster than expected. Good job, Thief."

The person—not Izuku, but he feels his lip lifting accordingly—snarls at the white haired businessman. Grey eyes meet his own, and they glare at him.

"I'm not a thief, you asshole."

The voice is androgynous, and the objects in their hands—swords, Izuku realizes—raise up, the cold metal glinting as they slide into a fighting stance.

"What else do I call the person who took the power that kept my little brother alive?"

The snarl sharpens, and incredulous anger bubbles up in their chest.

"At what cost? Your brother never wanted a power, and you forced it on him because of your own selfish desire to prolong his suffering!"

The white haired man's face twists into a sneer, and the air grows heavier, making it hard to move.

"You know nothing."

A hand extends, and Izuku's world explodes.

___________

Izuku jolts up, One For All crackling and charging the air with energy. Warm liquid runs down his face and neck, and he feels something metallic bubbling up in his throat.

"Holy shit HE'S BLEEDING—"

"Is he dying?!"

His vision comes into focus, and he spots Spinner hovering over him with a horrified expression. Shigaraki is staring at him from the couch, looking distressed.

In the background, the T.V flickers, the save screen for an unfamiliar game decorating the screen.

Dimly, he touches the liquid on his face and brings it to his face. It's sticky and dark, and the smell alone lets him know it's blood.

"That's new."

Spinner looks worried, but Izuku ignores him, standing up and grabbing his notebook, mind whirling from his...dream? Experience?

"Izuku. Sit down, your bleeding a lot. What's going on?" Spinner sets a heavy hand onto his shoulder, and his burn scar twinges in response.

Blankly, the green haired boy stares at the villain. Blood. Right, there's a lot of blood. He needs to clean that up. Then he can deal with...whatever that was.

He lifts up the hem of his shirt, wiping up his nose first, then his neck as he examined the beanbag he was on. From what he can tell, there's no blood on it. Good. That would be a pain to clean.

"Izuku, seriously, you're freaking me out dude. One minute you were napping, the next you were bleeding and convulsing and then you woke up with your Quirk activated. What happened?"

He looks at Spinner. Then over at Shigaraki.

They're...concerned. For him. That's new. No one was ever really concerned with him, just his fragility.

"...I...don't know." He frowns, looking down at the bloody shirt hem in his hand. One For All...something is going on inside it. Maybe it isn't rebelling against a Quirkless owner like he originally thought. But he's reacting differently to One For All, so much so that it might as well be a different Quirk from the one that All Might described. He's on his own here.

First breaking bones, now this. Can I go a month without a Quirk crisis?

Frustrated tears prick at his eyes, and he glares at the floor.

"I don't know."

The hand lightly squeezes his shoulder, grounding him.

"Hey, it's okay. The bleeding looks like it's stopped, so why don't you go clean up? Come back after you're done, we can keep an eye on you and see if it happens again. Who knows? It might be someone's Quirk."

Numbly, Izuku nods and turns to go. There not much he can do right now, but washing off the blood seems like a good start.

___________

After he washes off the blood and changes into a new shirt, he trudged back to the bar, so exhausted that he's past heavy eyelids.

Spinner and Shigaraki are on the couch, and the lizard man moves over, patting the space in between them expectantly.

Izuku obliges, wedging himself between the villains and leaning back on the soft cushions, wrapping his scarred arms around his knees and staring at the screen. Neither man comments, and both go back to playing the game, albeit a little quieter and with the occasional sidelong glance.

His limbs feel heavy, and the T.V is too bright, forcing him to close his eyes. The faint sound of gaming music lulls him into darkness, and for the first time in weeks, Izuku sleeps peacefully.