『 Chapter 35 』
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Her fingers are sickly cold.
That's the first thing Y/N realizes, or, well, more so remembers, when she comes to consciousness. Now that she thinks about it, her entire top layer of skin has goosebumps and chills glide along it. The cold is more of a discomfort than anything, nothing debilitating. Maybe cold isn't the best word to use, numb would fit this situation better, wouldn't it? At least she's not shivering—
Wait, that's not...right. Why is she shaking? She doesn't know why she's shaking, she didn't know when she started shaking. Bubbling unease burrows itself in the peripheral of her mind, tapping on her bones and causing her to quiver. Tap tap tap tap. Her breaths are heavy, sounds buzzing from around her, creaks of floorboards, clinking of glasses, it doesn't help the feeling.
Y/N's hands weigh of steel, her feet of iron. Rooted into place, her muscles try to shift and form into normal movements and stretches, but her current, statue-like nature provides the burden of sloth. The air around her doesn't have any specific temperature, but it feels sticky, with the faintest whiff of ale or scotch.
Stars pull at her skin, their tiny fingers sparking lightning against her trembling form. Frost and fire, gaseous twisters of imbalanced equilibrium, two sides colliding in a specter of space. The stars have sharp nails, picking at her scabs and running their palms over every fault she has.
It takes a few blinks from her heavy eyelids, but this time, she actually wakes up. She hadn't even realized what she felt before was false, a mirage of some sorts. Waking up twice felt like a slap to the face, guts twisting in nervousness and concern.
This time, however, Hidaka knows where she is.
The lapse of images in her head is menial and spins along the back of her eyes like a motion picture. She can still feel their grabby fingers around her biceps, the glacial blade along her throat, the prick in her arm, the warmth in her veins, the vast sea of purple mist, being thrown to the ground, the cold floor, the yelling, some explosions, a short stream of tears from the noise, curling up and trying to fall asleep, and then the silence.
She honestly expected more from the so-called League of Villains. A name like that, one which carries infamy around it like a cape should be as imposing at it sounds—but this place doesn't reflect that at all. Y/N doesn't have the energy to laugh, but seeing some small, cramped room act as the base for such a revered group would normally erupt a chuckle from her.
She doesn't have time to reminisce on the scenery, however. Someone is kneeling down in front of her. It's in this moment that she realizes she's sitting down in a chair. The person is finicking with some sort of metal, she can hear the twisting of bolts and the sound of a tool, most likely a screwdriver. Hidaka's own (eye color) eyes trace the patterns on their full body suit, the gray streaks standing out against a slate black background. She can't tell what they look like.
Their head tilts up, their white spaces for eyes meeting her cloudy ones. Even though their face is obstructed by a thin layer of fabric, Y/N can see the flow of their lips and their expressions clear as day.
"Welcome back, princess! How was your sleep?" They ask, pep in their tone. "Idiot, why are you asking her that? You're not supposed to care!" A second, but different, voice from the same mouth iterates. She should know his name from the news, but she doesn't.
Her mind is moving so fast but her body is far too heavy. Y/N doesn't like how long it takes her to respond or the way her words slur together just the slightest. There's a disconnect somewhere within her, and she wants to pry it from her chest like a cancer and burn the ashes to send them away in a storm. Somethings off.
"Who the fuck are you."
Hidaka's voice isn't as sore as she thought it would be, but her tone is frail and low, it doesn't contain nearly as much bite as she wants it to have. There's a lot of things out of place and a lot of questions unanswered. The void in the left half of her ribcage grows, swallowing the uncertainty and replacing it with panic.
The dim lighting and rusty tint from the brick walls flickers shadows along the wood as the man stands up and takes a seat on a bar stool. The way he plays with his fingers and swings his legs reminds her of a child. She can't stand him. Saying that is ironic, funnily enough, because Y/N literally can't stand.
She looks down at herself, eyes widening. There's a metal harness over each joint in her body and more, from her toes to her neck. Two around her ankles, two around her knees, two around her thighs, one around her waist; those are just the ones that are bolted to the back of the chair. Her forearms are pinned to the armrests of the chair, wrists and palms face up. More harnesses: two around her wrists, two around her elbows, two around her upper arms, and one around her throat.
Y/N can't move.
There are two many eyes fixated on her, esophagus screaming from dryness, begging to release a cough. Hidaka swallows it. Too many people are standing when there are so many chairs open, but their figures look over her. Shadows don't cast on her face but instead on the floor, but her corner of the room is still so dark.
Hidaka feels small. Their gazes are emotionless, looking at her with nothing but indifference.
"The League of—"
"She knows that, Twice." One of the taller ones interrupts. He has a marred face stained with burgundy scars. She recognizes him from before, his hand encapsulating her small jail and keeping her away from people she loved. "She was asking about you."
"Oh, well my name is—"
"She knows it now, no need to be repetitive."
"Geez, you're such a rain cloud, Dabi."
The man, now identified as Twice, deflates. With a huff, he crosses his arms and falls along the bar top. A girl with two blonde buns pats his head in comfort. The first thing Y/N notices about her is her pointy teeth. She's older than Y/N, but not by much.
Hidaka can't think straight. Her mind is wobbly, swaying on a slacking string, unable to keep itself up. The edges of her vision are blurry like a fog, simple and fuzzy. The upper left side of her head pulses with aches, eyes drooping shut in hopes to ignore the pain.
Her head must've shifted too much because the collar around her neck tightens about half a centimeter due to the movement. Y/N's eyes go wide, fingers feeling colder. She doesn't move again, afraid the brace will shrink once more. It had to be because of her...there was no room for coincidences here in the League of Villains base.
If she moves at all it will constrict again, right? The thought of that spikes against her bones with a drumming intensity, head swimming with too many ideas with the pressure on her throat.
"Be careful, young lady. That brace will constrict the more you move, it's a defense mechanism so you can't try and shift your head too much." The fancily dressed man in the corner says, quelling her inquiries. "We've seen what you can do when you have any sort of freedom, so we had to strip that away from you."
This metal band around her neck is so tight, the metal bending and coiling and dripping frothy rust—dripping water her mind convinces itself. Cloying aqueous water spins down into her lungs without permission, spilling out her lips and nose and filling the world with gray.
Get me out get me out get me out—
There's a click of a button, and a small television is turned on. Like moths to a flame, everyone in the room turns to face the contents on the screen. Y/N doesn't realize it, but the distraction saves her from her own mind.
Attention diverted, Y/N's heart drops at the images that flash by. It's Aizawa. He's wearing a finely pressed suit, hair slicked back into a simple style, stubble freshly shaven. He looks better than ever, but the solemn and flat stare on his face says otherwise. On second thought, he doesn't even look sad, more so serious.
Hidaka wants to shakes her head slightly but doesn't, for any more movement would cause the neck brace to tighten (tighten tighten tighten like a gray hand around her throat tighten tighten tighten like a dark cloth mask over her head tighten tighten tighten like water in her lungs) and scrape against her skin, so her eyes just fall to her lap. She's exhausted even though she had just recently woken up, muscles clenching involuntarily and her heart pounding fervently.
Her teacher speaks of regret and apologizes for his lack of preparedness for a villain attack. He claims that he hadn't been strong enough to protect the countless students injured, and that he is remorseful for the unease that this event has placed on society and the students' families.
At the thought of that, Y/N wants to cry. She doesn't know why the idea of tears comes so easily to her in this state, but she can't help the stinging warmth growing behind her eyes. She is a mentally weak person, she notices. A pathetic one too.
She had only been gone for half a week and she already misses her mom and her dad. What a homesick fucking child.
All she can think of is her mother's stories, her cooking, her ability to know what to say and when to say it, and her capabilities of just being a mom. Hidaka's mind is set on her father's boisterous laugh, his stupid jokes, his small idiosyncrasies, and his words of praise and pride just because he had the privilege of being her dad.
She hates how distant shes felt from her parents since she's started training for Yuuei and its exams. All she's ever had to lean on is family, and now they're so far away she doesn't know how to go back to them...but then the most important person comes to her mind.
Ohta-Ran is one of the only reasons she is alive.
Tears fall when Y/N remembers that. She recalls their breakfasts before the sun came up, her small feet padding along the wooden hallways, the way her eyes sparkled when Y/N talked about her studies and her friends, her games and dreams of space and becoming an astronaut, her plushies spread around the house and stained with dust, and the soft, childlike wonder in her voice.
Y/N doesn't know why she was blessed with an angel in her life, much less one in her household, even less one that looks like her and shares the same last name. She doesn't deserve it, she doesn't deserve her little sister. And right now, all Y/N can do is let small, imaginary tears roll down her cheeks at the thought of Ohta crying in their fathers arms, wondering why her older sister isn't coming home.
"Modern day heroes are so uptight, don't you think so, Bakugou?"
Bakugou?
Oh.
She was never alone for too long, Y/N realizes. Everyone's backs are turned to her, facing the other side of the room. She can't see past the villains' imposing figures all that well, but one of them shifts for just a second too long to let her get a glimpse of the boy. They are on complete opposite ends of the bar, the entire League of Villains standing between them.
He, like her, is burdened with restraints. His look like leather seatbelts instead of metal cuffs, crossing his abdomen and waist two times over, legs pinned to his chair with shackles. What's special about Bakugou's setup, however, is the steel block that his hands are ensnared in, pinning his arms to the front of his body.
Katsuki isn't talking. She's so accustomed to hearing his brash voice ringing out when he hears someone talking bullshit, but he's uncharacteristically quiet this time.
One of the villains, whom she recognizes from USJ because of the hand clinging to his face, monologues about the goals of their organization. They talk of heroes and monetary value, saying compensation takes away from the value of justice and heroism. Shigaraki (his name, she remembers his name because she wants to break his ribs like he did hers, stand on his stomach and crush his hopes like shattered bone) is a hypocritical bastard without critical thinking skills.
Y/N wonders how he ever got this much power in the first place. Power comes with recognition and infamy, and his sharp eyes and paling skin have become one of the talismans to the dark side of society. He seems a bit childish, and Y/N wants to tear the confidence from his chest and crush it in her hands.
"Dabi, release his restraints."
That is a stupid idea.
Hidaka nearly laughs. How fucking idiotic is this guy? Do they not know anything about Katsuki at all? How are you going to kidnap people so meticulously from a group of stand-out-individuals and not know anything about them?
"Huh? This guy's going to fight, you know." At least one of them has some semblance of common sense.
"It's fine. We need to treat him like an equal since we're scouting him."
Y/N verbally guffaws. Eyes turn her way, as if they forgot she was there in the first place.
"You've got some sort of brain damage, don't you, you gray fuck." Y/N chides, sloppy eyes falling to the bar top and slow tongue eventually forming the words. "Scouting us? You have some nerve."
She can see through the pale fingers on his face that the leader blinks at her slowly. Shigaraki has red eyes, and Y/N is starting to think everyone does nowadays. Bakugou, Iida, Aizawa, Shigaraki...it's a common theme.
He's calculating something in that decaying brain of his, Hidaka thinks. His fingers come up to scratch at the rough skin near his neck, flakes flying off from the pressure of his fingernails. It's too quiet in the bar, the TV not humming with outside voices, the screen not spinning pictures.
Tilting his head to the side, his eyes move to each clasp around her figure, committing the way each metal bar pushes a little too tight into her skin to memory. She's looking at him with slight barbarity in those (eye color) eyes of hers, a cloud of languid slowness is awash across her face.
He remembers the way she had brutally mauled one of his goons during their first meeting, his mind catching on they way she held the person's head in her hands and melted his skin off like liquid. Shigaraki wonders what her hand would feel like around the column of his throat, squeezing—
"You say us so confidently," Tomura replies before he can let his mind wander any more (as much as he might want to), "this discussion isn't about you."
Dabi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black glove. There's only one of them. It's thin and smooth, not cloth or cotton like winter gloves. He wiggles his right hand into it, flexing his fingers. His marred skin is bumpy underneath it, but all it does is remind him that he's himself and that he'll never be anyone else, even with a cover or mask. Dabi grins.
It only takes a few steps to reach Y/N's side of the room. Dabi looks down at her. She's so pathetic sitting there with that dopey, not-fully-there blanket over her visage. How far she's fallen from that glorious pillar of sun that she was on the day of the Sports Festival, and Dabi grins that this organization was apart of that descent.
Bending down slightly, Dabi reaches out his clothed hand. Y/N flinches at his movements, but can't do much to get away. His first two fingers and thumb latch onto her jaw, his fingertips pushing into that soft face of hers. He hopes that the pressure will bruise her, but he doubts someone as dynamic as Hidaka Y/N will be stained so easily.
"You're not being recruited, dollface," Dabi says, tone husky and rough, "don't be so self-centered, would ya?"
Dabi's eyes are electric, lightning bolts and thunderclouds shifting behind his stare. The crescendo of the storm is suffocating, the deafening roars of blackened clouds rolling along the skyline. Tidal waves and whirlpools, Dabi is a hurricane of a human being.
"...Let go of me." Y/N's voice is subdued and shaky. She can't look him in the eye.
His chest vibrates as a chuckle leaves his mouth, lips pulling into a larger grin. He adds pressure to his fingers, feelings the strong bones in her jaw. Her fingers curl in discomfort and he can see her try to shift in place. She's uncomfortable under his grip and gaze.
"Where'd all that spunk go, peach?" Dabi drawls, eyes following the curve of the scar across her nose and along the lower rim of her eye. "Are you scared?"
He can watch and feel every muscle in her face move as her face goes sharp at that sentence. Flames sprout in her optics, white and lilac and burning burning burning. They're tornados that arc and uproot all life, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. Dabi wants to douse that fire and relight it over and over again in some devilishly sick game.
Y/N looks him straight in the face. "No." She has so much conviction that she even convinces herself that she's telling the truth.
Dabi presses his fingers deeper into her cheeks, watching the way her brow twists in pain.
"You want me to let go? Beg for it."
"Fuck you."
His eyes flash brighter. "Ah, atta girl! There's the moxie I missed so much."
There's a low rumble that sounds from behind him. Dabi flicks his gaze over his shoulder and across the room. His sights are on Bakugou, who's spiky hair is casting dark shadows over his solid eyes. The student looks angrier than he did a few moments ago, but he was always angry, so that wasn't saying much.
"What, do you want attention now, too? God, you both are so needy," Dabi says, "it'll be your turn soon enough."
"Dabi, stop already," the tall, masked man in the corner says, placing a hand on his peer's shoulder, "mocking them isn't going to help."
Letting air out through his nose, Dabi huffs like a child. But Compress was right (somewhat).
Looking back down at Y/N, Dabi stares at her a second too long. Before he lets go of her jaw, Dabi smiles infernally. He increases his pressure to his full strength just for a moment before violently jerking her head to the side, forcing her to pull on the brace around her neck.
As he finally releases her, the scorned man grins darkly at the faint gasp that leaves her lips from the metal collar tightening around her throat. He laughs at her, turning away and taking his position against the brick wall once more, pocketing the glove.
"We're...we're not going to join you," Y/N murmurs, scared to speak so much that the brace will tighten again, "there's nothing you...nothing you can do to make us."
Now, someone else's voice fills the silence.
"To fill in the gaps of your knowledge, young lady, I have to say that you aren't here because we want you to join us." Mr. Compress says, his black and white mask hiding all emotions on his face. "That role has only been tailored for your friend over there."
What?
If she is not desired to join their association, then why is she here? Why, of all people in her class (Midoriya, a boy with too much knowledge and so much intuition, Todoroki, a boy with unharnessed power on par with pro heroes, Yaoyorozu, a girl of class and versatility, and countless others), has she been chosen to sit in a chair for seemingly no reason? Surely, there—
She just notices the wrap around her upper left arm, her sleeve pulled up to her elbow. Her bare skin stares back at her. On her forearm are a few pieces of medical tape, a long, clear tube dangling off the edge of one of them. There's a cotton ball pressed against her, a thin bandage used to secure it in place.
Her eyes follow the tube taped to her arm, watching it twist and turn until it reaches a cylindrical tank. It's crafted out of a silvery metal, flawless from the outside. She recognizes it: iridium.
"Your blood is a resource." Shigaraki's harsh voice sends shockwaves of cold through her chest. "A never ending supply of toxic, corrosive acid and poisonous gas. We've decided to collect it to use it in the future."
The words stain her soul and embellish and brand her brain with a searing crisp of everything that's wrong with the world. Crippling, paralyzing fear snakes around Y/N's form. Her skin becomes so tight that it almost doesn't fit her body anymore. Teardrops pooling in her eyes singe at her waterline, sizzling in anger and panic.
"You're nothing but a reservoir." Tomura states with shivering depravity. "You'll sit in that chair for so long that your limbs will atrophy, kept alive as long as we see fit."
"We've already taken a little more than a liter of blood while you were asleep," the girl standing at the bar, Toga, says with too much enthusiasm, "it's too bad that I can't drink it, but collecting it forever is a close second!"
The murmurs of the universe that were once small doubts in the back of her head now grow into the laughs of heinous hyenas. Every villain stares down at her, grinning to themselves at her reaction. Broken, shattered, splintered, all words to describe the look on Hidaka's face. She's silent and unmoving.
Everything that she feared, everything about herself that she hated, everything that she promised to hide away in the deepest depths was brought to the surface and displayed under the sun. Her quirk was being exploited to hurt more people than she already had. And there was nothing she could do about it.
But as wise woman once said: The world moves on without you.
"Dabi, like I said before, release Bakugou's restraints. If we want him to understand our side, we must treat him like an equal."
The man in question shifts his weight on his legs, hands buried in his pockets. He glances at the Yuuei student in question.
Katsuki is embittered, his face twisted in rage. His eyes have never looked so hellish, maelstroms whipping up some kinda of monster deep in his veins. His skin is wrinkling, scrunched up and his brow furrowed. Bakugou's lips hang open, teeth clenched so tight they threaten to turn into dust. He's the personification of anger, aura blazing red and crimson.
"Twice, you do it."
"What, me? No way!"
"Do it."
"Fine..."
Twice shifts towards Bakugou and kneels down. His hands start fiddling with the iron box around Katsuki's wrists, as everything keeping him in place leads back to that capsule. It takes a few twists of a key, but the box unlocks and Katsuki is free from his bounds.
He keeps his head down, hair shading his face in dark. Bakugou doesn't move out of his seat, rubbing his wrists out of habit. Shigaraki starts to speak again, but he doesn't get far in another monologue before he's silenced.
As if it was nothing, Bakugou leaps from his chair and throws Twice to the side like he was a doll. Lunging forward, Bakugou places his hand on Shigaraki's chest and releases his quirk.
BOOM.
Light fills the room, followed by layers and layers of smoke and sparks. Bakugou is yelling something, but Y/N can't focus on what he's saying because her ears are ringing and her throat is closing up.
But, once again, Bakugou is smiling. His grin is vicious and wide, glaring at the league while he shifts on his feet, sweat dripping down the side of his head. He's laughing at them, mocking the stupidity of the villains for thinking they could recruit him, thinking they could change his goals and passions, thinking they could forcefully deviate him off the path to his dream of heroism.
"If you want me to listen to you, get on your knees and die!" Bakugou roars, hands flexing at his sides. "After I blast through you to get to Hidaka, I'm getting us the hell out of here! Neither of us want to stay in an annoying place like this for too long."
Hidaka wishes she was more like Bakugou in some aspects. He's valiant and strong-willed. Katsuki's an unwavering statue of strength; but she knows more than anyone that's probably a lie (a front, more or less, always more than what meets the eye). Either way, she admires his courage and stubbornness more than she should. In their situation, as it stands, she doesn't think she'll ever get the chance to tell him that.
After the barrage, silence falls like a blanket of snow. There's a standstill. Eight villains stand in between the two students, practically oceans and mountains away. Bakugou and Shigaraki are breathing heavily, ready in a moment's notice. But, despite that, no one moves.
Bakugou should leave her here, Y/N thinks. There's not much left for her to live for, no events else to look forward to, not many things left to desire. But, if he leaves her, then the league will only continue to use her, bleeding her dry until they inevitably feel she's useless. Some people deserves to die but even a death such as that isn't fitting for someone with the name of Hidaka Y/N.
And so, only for a second, Y/N wonders how much she has to pull on her metal collar for it to suffocate her to death.
But then there's a knock at the door and the wall explodes.
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Pexego- galician. [peach]