Arms, strong and tight hold onto him, squeezing against his stomach painfully.
He kicks and he screams, throwing all the power his seven-year old body can muster into his struggle.
Small, pathetic explosions erupt and pitter out against the men holding him back. All futile against their overwhelming strengths.
Shouts of "Let me go!" and "Deku" are ignored and disregarded, despite his shrieking voice and his aching throat.
The world morphs and twists and suddenly he's falling, twisting, and tumbling until he hits the ground. The force rattles his body down to the bone. A mirror falls right in front of him, cutting the air like a guillotine descending from above. Burrowing into the ground, cracking the crumbling asphalt below.
Before him stands his 14-year-old self. Shoulder sagging under an unseen weight. Dark circles, akin to bruises underline his eyes, making their crimson color stand out against the pallor of his skin.
His reflection has anger written into every line. Dripping off its figure in rivers as he knocks violently against the glass entrapping him in. The shouts of 'Pathetic' and 'Coward' are as futile as his last ones.
A sensation on his arm breaks his gaze from his raging reflection. His eyes lower to his hand with a start. A tiny, delicate hand clutches onto his fingers, touch tentative despite the desperation he can feel emanating from the action.
His eyes take forever to travel from the hand to its owner's face. What he sees almost brings him to his knees.
There, still as tiny and frail as he remembers is his best friend. The very one he failed to protect. His hair is a vibrant emerald green, but his face is blurred. As if his mind can't quite remember the boy's exact features.
Either that, or it was his own cowardly subconscious trying to protect itself from the imminent pain it would feel.
The hand clutching his own is ripped away as shadowed figures appear around them. Clutching onto the smaller body and dragging him away. His hand is outstretched fruitlessly, fingers reaching for the object of his nightmares, knowing that his endeavors were useless.
'Kacchan!' The voice echoes and bounces off the walls around them, resonating louder and louder with each reverberation. Soon the shouts turn to a different tone and suddenly 'Kacchan' turns to 'Katsuki'
He wakes up with a gasp, like a drowning man inhaling his first, desperate bid of oxygen. He heaves, neck damp with cold sweat as he clutches onto his shirt like a vice.
A hand rubs at his back soothingly and he doesn't have to look to his right to know who it belongs to.
"It's alright, Katsuki, it's okay, just breath sweetheart." Inko's voice is soft and low as she coos, as if talking to a child. It should irritate him. It should make him angry and indignant. However, he can't help but feel a deep, resonating gratefulness towards her. This woman who lost everything and yet still took the time to take care of him. Treat him like he was her own son.
He wants her to be angry, to shout at him for being there and doing nothing. They've had the conversation thousands of times before. Countless nights full of regrets, accusations, and wonder.
The anger, the regrets, the grief, he could take. He's done it so many times, that it feels like a simple part of his life now. An old scar that never healed. It's the wondering, however, that makes his body tremble and his insides scream.
It's the not knowing that slowly cuts away at his mind.
"Just breathe" She whispers and it feels like she's not just talking to him. "It's going to be okay."
_______________________
Bakugou Katsuki doesn't know when his life changed. The lie is scorching to his own mind. The truth was, he could pinpoint the exact moment his world morphed and turned upside down.
The day his entire purpose centered itself around on single event.
Izuku was taken and he wasn't just a kid trying to become a hero.
Izuku was taken and he turned into the kid who wanted to save his friend.
The boy who'd spend countless sleepless nights looking into obscure military branches and classified missions in the hopes of finding a trail.
Some kind of proof that Izuku Midoriya ever existed outside of their own minuscule, insignificant world.
He'd scour the internet for information on any sort of quirkless experiments. Any hint that could lead him to his target.
However, no matter the amount of time and effort he spent, he always ended up at a dead end. The military was watching them, there was no doubt about it.
Aunt Inko couldn't even file a police report for fear of the worst.
It made the blood in his veins boil and the sweat in his palms ignite.
He learned to cover his research, to be subtle in his quest. Writing any information he managed to find in code and keeping hidden any evidence he came across. However small and inconsequential.
The day he got accepted into UA didn't mean what it would have all those years ago. Don't get him wrong, he was happy, ecstatic even. After all, it meant he was only that closer to his goal. It just had nothing to do with his childhood wish to be number one.
It wasn't until the USJ incident, however, that he finally got a good lead.
The soldier that saved them was undeniably Japanese military. He just needed to find him again. Find him and make him talk.
He just hoped that he wasn't too late. That somewhere out there, Izuku Midoriya was still okay.
__________________________________________
Inko Midorya hadn't lasted long in an apartment on her own, all those years ago.
She had lost her world, her entire reason to exist in an instant.
The walls of her home felt foreign and stifling. Every nook and cranny seemed to call out to her, a reminder of what wasn't there. What was missing.
Izuku was everywhere, and Izuku was nowhere.
It got to a point where she would barricade herself in the guest room. Knowing it was the only space in the entire house that wasn't crawling with cracked memories and lost, stilled moments.
The Bakugous's having lost something that day too, had been her saving grace.
Mitsuki had offered her a place in her home, welcoming her into their lives with open arms.
Inko doesn't think she'd still be here If it wasn't for them.
Mitsuki and Masaru were both incredibly supportive. Yet, to her surprise, it was with Katsuki that she bonded the most.
Where she had lost a son, the boy had lost something equally as precious.
It embarrassed her and warmed her to be so dependent on the teen. Yet, she thinks, in their own way, it was exactly what they needed.
Those thoughts made her weep, at night, as her mind conjured the life they could've had if her world hadn't been stolen from her.
Her only saving grace was the knowledge that her boy still lived. Or at least she hoped he did.
The military had forbidden her from seeking any outside source of help to search for her son. Threats on his life had been too important for her to ever risk going against the General's demands. Even though it killed her, she couldn't fathom being the reason for her son's death.
She just hoped, hoped that wherever he was, he was happy and safe.
She went to sleep every night, knowing, in the far, deeply buried corner of her mind, that it was only wishful thinking.
___________________
"Have you been so careless in laying low that the teachers sought to offer you a place in the hero course without even trying?" The Dragon's words cut through the air like a knife. Tension prominent in the hardness of his voice. Arctic opened his mouth to reply, an affirmation on the tip of his tongue, but cut himself off when the man continued speaking. "Do. Not. Answer that."
There was an edge to his voice now. One that made every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. "Could you stay undercover if you were to take on such a task?" Once again, the general didn't wait for him to answer.
"Go on probation, for now, go through Eraserhead's training but hold onto the right to change your mind if need be. If you are, at any given moment, at risk of being compromised, you are to inform me and back out immediately. Am I understood?"
"Understood, Sir." He echoed, hands held firmly at his sides.
"Now, gear up, the information on your next mission has been sent out. You are to report at dawn. Over and out."
_______________________
Aizawa wasn't planning on going on patrol tonight. He really wasn't.
His plans for the night consisted of a soft couch, piles of cats, and packets of homework to grade. It certainly didn't include getting a call from Tsukauchi Naomosa just as he was about to get comfortable.
The Detective, however, had other plans for him in mind.
An informant hinted at something going down at the docks. A known hotspot for Drug deals and local trafficking.
So, Aizawa had done what any respectable underground hero would've done. He'd sulked for a few minutes before huffing and gearing up. Sending a quick text to Hizashi on his way out to tell him not to wait up. Even though he knew the man would probably stay up anyway.
His movements were strong against the wind, muscles working all the more as he ran across the rooftops. The current greeted concrete and skin all the same. Tousling his long hair violently with every step he took. Nonetheless, his strides were silent, imperceptible.
Getting there, he wouldn't have guessed something was going on. Yet, the silence that encompassed the space was eerie and uncomfortable. The only sign that something wasn't right.
Peering beyond a big, brown metal container, he spotted his targets.
They stood in something that could be interpreted as a circle. Back turned towards each other as if fending something off. Or, more accurately, someone.
Whispers were being hissed to each other, hands clenching and unclenching around their respective weapons. In other words, fear seemed to radiate from their every move.
He barely had time to wonder why before a figure rose from the shadows, blending so well that Aizawa hadn't noticed him at first glance. It was one that Shouta recognized all too well.
A dozen of men were lying at his feet. He noted with prominent relief the rise and fall of their chests. Thankfully just unconscious.
It seemed that he didn't have to interfere just yet. For now, he would wait and watch.
The kid's suit melded well with the darkness. The matt-black armor didn't reflect what little light could be found in the area. His helmet, however, was absent tonight. Replaced by a dark mouthpiece that covered the lower half of his face. His white hair looked slightly ruffled in in the wind, a great contrast to the obscurity that seemed to cling to him.
With his hair uncovered, he appeared even younger. Which made what Aizawa was witnessing even worse.
The boy- no solider, rose from his crouch, straightening with a grace Eraser had only seen in veteran heroes.
Arctic raised his arm, hand outstretched, and only had to clench his fingers into a fist for all the weapons in his opponent's hand to shatter simultaneously. Decomposing under an invisible force. Only serving to strengthen their panic as they found themselves sorely helpless and overpowered.
It didn't stop them, however, from going for the worst possible response.
Aizawa cursed as two of them charged at the soldier, snarling as they ran.
Arctic, for his part, didn't seem the least bit concerned. Dull eyes, one green, and one blue watched their moves with something akin to boredom. Waiting until the last possible moment to move out of the way of an incoming punch. Barely having to sidestep to dodge it with ease.
One of his arms came up once again, this time to hit his opponent on the back of his neck, knocking him out instantly.
The second villain, more out of stupidity than bravery, only faltered for a second before twisting into his own attack. His torso lowering as if to tackle Arctic to the ground.
His running approach was interrupted by a brutally efficient ax kick to the spine. The force sent him crashing down. His chin burrowed painfully into the concrete, knocking a couple of teeth out and leaving him in a whimpering mess on the ground.
With the two villains down, the three remaining seemed to hesitate more. Some of them visibly took steps back as if to make a run for it.
Aizawa would've found it funny if he wasn't so painfully horrified to witness all this coming from a child. A child soldier no less.
Blinking, he almost missed it. He watched, eyes wide as the boy moved with a speed almost too fast to see. Charging at the villains in turn. Two were sent flying into separate containers as he made quick work of taking them out. Leaving him standing in front of the last one, his figure straight and impossibly still as he regarded him for a moment.
Like a snake ready to spring onto its prey, his eyes seemed to take in the man before him. Aizawa could easily guess this was the leader of the current operation.
Although from his visible tenseness and fear, he probably was just an underling to someone more powerful.
He could see something starting to form on the man's left hand. A spike of some sort morphing out of his open palm. However, before his apparent quirk could take full form, his hand was wrenched out of his side and twisted. A sickening crack resounded through the area as he cried out in pain. Eyes wild and disoriented as he was pushed onto his stomach, face pressed again to the asphalt.
Arctic performed the move with calm detachment. Eyes as cold as his moniker implied.
It made something twinge in Aizawa's guts as he swallowed. Dread and anger boiling in his guts.
He knew then, that he couldn't let this go any further. Already moving from his hiding place, he approached the pair cautiously.
He heard it then, a low, distorted voice filling the air. Until now, the only sound had been the villain's ragged breathing and low cursing. However, when Arctic spoke, the temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees.
"Who do you work for?" His mouth gear distorted his voice, making him sound more robotic than human. It only served to make him seem more intimidating. His hand, still clutching onto the villain's dislocated arm pressed harshly onto the wound. Making the man beneath him shout out in agony.
"That's enough." Arctic didn't seem the least bit surprised at the hero's arrival. Barely sparing him a glance. "I'll be taking it from here." For a painstakingly long minute, he thought he'd have to fight the kid. However, after a moment, to no small amount of relief on Aizawa's part, the boy nodded once, then straightened and released his hold of the villain.
Arctic regarded him for a moment before turning, legs bending as if to take off. Aizawa spoke before he could.
"You don't have to keep doing this." His voice sounded desperate to his own ears. "You saved me once, let me return the favor." For the first time in so long, he let his guard down. Letting some emotion slip into his tone. "We can help you."
Silence, heavy and loaded with something he couldn't quite place, met his exclamation as the boy turned one last time and met his gaze.
"I don't need help." His crystal, icy blue eye seemed to flash an electric yellow as he said the words. So unnatural it made the hero shudder. Once again the kid seemed to meld into the darkness, disappearing into the night without another sound.
Aizawa doesn't know how long he stands there, looking at the previously occupied space, now empty and devoid of life.
A cold, heavy knot forms in his gut as he gathers his wits.
Turning finally to call Naomosa in order to arrest the villains. Wanting nothing more than to get the night over with.
For, he knew, without a doubt, that his sleep would be entirely restless. Some part of him was impossibly grateful that Hizashi would be waiting up when he got home.