Sometimes Shouta wonders if he still occupies space in his mother's mind.
He never hated her. And he thinks she never hated him. There was just never enough time shared between them for any hate to begin with. They were never close, even when Shouta was very young. He can't even say they grew apart, as they were never fused together in the first place.
Maybe Shouta held some resentment for her in his teen years, back when he was in middle school and was inwardly searching and begging for any kind of emotional connection and support. But that resentment stopped pretty early on when he went to high school.
Because then Shouta found those emotional connections elsewhere.
His father, although similarly cold and unapproachable, was better for the most part. He cared, and Shouta knew it. There was never a doubt in his mind that his father cared a lot for him. But he just never showed it, so it was hard for Shouta to think very highly of him.
His parents didn't hurt him. They were competent, and they did their job of raising him. But that's where the line in their relationship ends.
Shouta views his mother and father as just that—parents.
His mother made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him after she found out about his partnership with Hizashi, not because of any bigoted ideals, but because she simply didn't like him and thought he was rather childish.
Case in point, Shouta always knew that his parents didn't quite understand him. There was a wall between them, unable to be broken down, and an even larger gap expanding their distance. Because of this, Shouta matured pretty quickly by himself.
At the time, he didn't find an issue with this. It's what formed his rational mindset. Besides, he preferred independence to being monitored heavily.
But at this very moment, he's beginning to realize that maybe their methods of dealing with him have fundamentally screwed him over in the long run, because here he is, holed up in a dim room with an aching body and a sleeping teenager, and he doesn't know what to do next.
What is the protocol for this? When the child you've taken in after watching over for months beforehand admits in the middle of a heart wrenching breakdown that he was abused horrifically by the very same person who should've been the one protecting him? What could you even say to that?
"I didn't want them," Izuku repeats, again and again, and Shouta feels horror settle across every square inch of his battered skin.
God, no one will ever be able to knock the wind out of Shouta again, not like that. Not like Izuku did.
Now, Shouta knew Izuku's father was a villain, or at least a criminal of some kind, but he just didn't know the extent of it. How could he? It was always clear to Shouta that Izuku had been heavily mistreated and hurt, and he figured it was due to his father—either from his absence or presence—but this?
Suddenly, Shouta can understand Izuku's struggles in admitting the details of his past now. It must've been hell to live through it, so Shouta can't imagine how hard retelling the story to others must be.
Especially when the threat of that abuser still hangs over you.
Shouta closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, keeping his hold on Izuku tight. Very shortly after promising to give more details later about how exactly he acquired his quirks, Izuku passed out. He's still leaning against Shouta, breathing shallow but steady, and the storm is still raging outside.
Allowing himself just a few more minutes to recuperate and wrap his head around the situation, Shouta thinks hard about his early life with his parents. When he had an issue, or when he was upset and feeling vulnerable, how did they handle it? He can't recall. Actually, did he ever really go to them with those issues? Maybe he didn't. Maybe that's why he's feeling so uncomfortable right now.
Sensitivity training can only help so much for situations like this. This is not some random civilian Shouta can calm down and treat in the middle of a catastrophe or villain attack—this is his student. His ward. A kid he's been mentoring even prior to giving him the application for this damned school.
Hell, Izuku lives with them, so even the term 'student' is a little misleading. It misses some of the core elements that encapsulate his and Izuku's relationship.
If I were my mother, Shouta thinks, how would I handle this?
But even as he wonders this, Shouta finds himself frowning deeply. It's probably not a good idea to think in hypotheticals, especially when it concerns his mother. Realistically, he wouldn't want her to come anywhere near Izuku, as she's far too harsh and uncaring, so why would Shouta want to be anything like her? No, he'll have to figure this out himself.
Shouta hates more than anything not knowing what to do immediately after a hard event. It makes him anxious and annoyed—it makes him angry at himself, because he should know. Shouta should always be the one in the know. He should always be prepared and one step ahead of the game.
That's his job.
But Shouta is lost and admittedly a little in over his head. He's on his own right now, and he hasn't felt like this since high school.
Perhaps some part of himself does blame his mother still. Would he be more ready for these types of situations if his parents had loved him as he wanted? Shouta will never know.
Regardless, it doesn't matter now. There is a villain out there, alive and well, supposedly, with the power to take and give quirks. It's an insane concept, but it's not entirely unbelievable. Shouta has read old files and historical documents from centuries ago about a supervillain with this same ability, a man who held control over nearly the entirety of Japan for years before being knocked off his throne by the very first unknown heroes.
So, it's not out of the realm of possibility to think that this old supervillain has descendants—one of which possibly being Izuku's own father. This makes Shouta sigh in defeat. What kind of endless cycle of abuse must have occurred for that villain's bloodline to have continued on for so long?
Izuku must have a similar quirk, Shouta knows. It's why the winged Nomu at the end of the Hosu attack didn't have any quirks left in its blood. There was no self destruction—it was all Izuku's doing. It was probably the only way the kid thought he could live.
If Shouta is right, what is the next step forward? Such an ability is incredibly sought for. It's overpowered for sure and more than likely extremely helpful in war.
It's also the perfect tool for a villain looking to assume control.
No wonder Izuku has hid it for this long. What would have become of Izuku had he been upfront about it since the beginning? No matter what, he would have always been seen as the aggressor. As the villain. Because who would want to be around a boy with the power to strip you of all your abilities? Who would trust him?
Even a close friend would, at the very back of their mind, have a little inkling of doubt there. And could you blame them, honestly?
It's unsettling. It's not right. It's almost... abnormal.
Such an insane power shouldn't be allowed to exist. No one person should have that power. Erasure is similar, sure, but it is only temporary and has thousands of drawbacks—a quirk that can steal others at will, and permanently, too, is much different.
That's the sort of thing that tips the universal scales of balance the moment it bursts into existence.
Shouta didn't quite understand it before, but now he does. Of course Izuku thinks Yagi would hate him after finding out the truth. Shouta has no doubt in his mind that the number one pro hero has been involved with at least one of Izuku's family members for this very reason. Only someone as overpoweringly strong as All Might could counter a being with multiple quirks. But even with that in mind, there's still something gnawing away at Shouta. The boy spoke as if there's something far more personal to this.
Like Yagi would have another reason to hate Izuku terribly.
It pains him to even think about it. He hasn't had a decent amount of rest in days. The mission he was sent on with Hizashi sapped him of all his energy, as it was physically and emotionally demanding. It's not often he's given undercover assignments across the country, but when he is, he knows it's always going to be hard.
The actual job was simple enough in the end. Getting there, though? Well, Shouta was deathly silent as he used his scarf to drag away the dirty remains of a brutalized young woman from a hallway so his target wouldn't become distracted and screw up their plan.
Time was precious for their mission, and they weren't offered very much of it.
Just as always, Shouta did what he had to do to remain within the given parameters.
His body throbs with each intake of air, and bruises litter the skin beneath his clothing. Ever since Izuku put his hands on him, Shouta's vision has been blurry. Almost dangerously so. He can make out general objects and detect movement, of course, but he can't see any details at all, only blobs of color and light.
He only hopes it's fixable.
Shouta's phone buzzes in the silence, signaling that Chiyo is close to arriving on campus. He glances down at the blurry figure that is Izuku, who is still in deep sleep, and thinks about how he's going to pick the kid up without waking him. He hopes he's too exhausted to stir easily, as waking up will make things much harder for both of them. Izuku heals faster when he's sleeping anyway.
He's about to try and stand up when he hears heavy footsteps coming from down the hall. He tenses a little, immediately alert, but then relaxes when he hears Inui's telltale knocking pattern. The counselor opens the door quickly and whisks inside upon Shouta's grunt of permission, obviously frazzled. Shouta bets he ran all the way here, if his damp fur has anything to say about it; he can hear the droplets hitting the floor along with the squelch of wet shoes.
"I came as soon as I saw the message," he begins in a low rumble. His gaze softens considerably once he notices Izuku tucked under Shouta's arm, and his tail swishes against the polished tile as he approaches. "Though it seems I'm too late."
"Not too late," Shouta grumbles, relieved to have Inui here, as he doesn't think he can navigate through these bombshells alone. "He'll need you once he wakes up."
Inui offers to take Izuku from his arms when Shouta stands up awkwardly, and Shouta hands him over begrudgingly, knowing it's probably better for his back this way.
When Shouta leads Inui out of the room, he trips over his boot. It's only thanks to Inui's steadying hand that he doesn't faceplant.
"Are you alright?" Inui murmurs, eyes darkening when he looks over his coworker's form. "You look ill."
"I'm fine," Shouta says, waving him off. "My vision is just being weird. Let's get him to a better room."
Shouta puts his hand against the wall and guides himself down the hallway, face pinched. It's a good thing he's familiar with this wing of the building.
Inui blinks at him, unconvinced, but dutifully follows. "Your pupils are unevenly dilated. You may have a concussion."
"It's just my quirk. It's an easy fix, so don't worry about it. We should be talking about Izuku here."
The mutant is silent for a moment. "I see he fought you."
"He wasn't in his right mind," Shouta says immediately, perhaps a little too sharply.
Inui adjusts his grip on Izuku and carefully helps Shouta around a corner. "You don't have to convince me."
The neutral tone makes Shouta wince. He pauses for a moment, leaning against the wall to gather his words. Stabbing pains are shooting through his temples, and a bout of nausea overcomes him, but he wills himself to ignore it. "I can't stop thinking about it," he says after a moment, remembering the boy's stricken face. "I don't think I've ever seen him that terrified before. Not even after Hosu."
Inui hums thoughtfully. "Do you know what led up to this? The texts you sent weren't very clear, and the others haven't responded to me yet."
"They're probably talking to Nezu," Shouta supplies. Taking another deep breath in, he begins to tell Inui the events of what happened starting from when he arrived on campus. He leaves out some of the details of the actual altercation between him and Izuku, not to protect the boy, exactly, but more so he won't have to rationalize it all just yet. Inui seems to understand the situation plenty without needing those details, however, as he's silent for the most part and thinking hard.
"He opened up to you?" He asks when Shouta gets to the part where Izuku woke up. "How was he acting?"
"Like he thought he was about to be killed any second."
The lines on Inui's face deepen, and his whiskers twitch a little. "How was his control over his abilities?"
"He couldn't keep any of it contained. It's like it was hurting him to try." Shouta reaches the room he's been looking for and opens the door after sliding in his ID. "I figure he was so overwhelmed that he couldn't."
"Which is natural for a pup of his age and background. I'm only surprised this is the first time we've seen this happen. Most others in his shoes would have had more incidents by now."
Shouta leans against a side table, squinting to watch his large coworker gently lay his student on the bed. "I don't think this is the first time," he admits, thinking of the muffled sounds he hears coming from Izuku's room sometimes in the middle of the night. The mornings following these events, Izuku always has deep bags under his eyes and a haunted look on his face that tells Shouta he didn't sleep at all. "I can see now that he's been getting worse this past month. Much worse. I think he's only gotten better at hiding how everything's been affecting him until now."
Inui folds his burly arms. "His class involvement and grades have been improving, though, yes?"
"Probably because he wanted us off his back."
"You say that as though you think he was planning something."
Shouta walks over with some difficulty so he can scan the boy's face. In sleep, Izuku has never looked so still. He is so silent that it almost puts Shouta on edge. "I think he wanted to make sure we were paying less attention to him in case he needed to do something stupid."
"Like?" Inui prompts, eyes trained on him.
Shouta matches Inui and crosses his arms. "Fleeing. For good this time, I bet."
They both take a second to watch Izuku then, who is still deathly silent and unmoving.
"He has tried his hardest to rush things," Inui says eventually. "I feel he is under the impression he is running on borrowed time."
Shouta sinks into the chair beside Izuku, massaging his temples. "When I was on the train ride back, Yagi sent me a few paragraphs over text. He said he was worried about something, that a few weeks ago Izuku told him he wasn't going to spend his life running, whatever that means. That he feels he 'needs' to become stronger now in order to live the rest of his life how he wants." He crosses one leg over his knee, needing to take as much weight off his ankle as possible. His next words are placid. "What does that sound like to you?"
Inui doesn't answer immediately, but when he does, he's grave. "Like a child trying to beat the clock."
Yeah. A kid desperately trying to do more than he's been allowed. "He wants to withdraw."
"As I suspected he would."
"I don't want him to," Shouta admits.
"Of course not," the hound agrees. "Even pushing aside the legal matters, it's simply more dangerous for him to be away from here. And he won't be able to become a hero like he wanted."
At this, Shouta shakes his head and shares with his coworker Izuku's plan of joining the Commission. The more he speaks, the more Inui's fur starts to bristle slightly by his neck.
"I can see the appeal," Inui begins, "but you must speak with him about exactly what would change if he says yes to this. He will be giving up most of his autonomy—which he has been fighting to keep ever since he came to this school. Everything he's done here will be for naught. He realizes this, right? Perhaps he is so anxious that he doesn't care."
Shouta nods at that last part, remembering what Izuku revealed to him just thirty minutes ago. "It was hard for me to follow what he was saying. He was talking so fast and moving on so quickly that I—I didn't really know what to do. He was so... sure of himself. And then when he brought up his father, he got even more upset. He blames himself for everything, and it's like he couldn't hear me." His listless eyes scan the room for anything to look at that would make sense to him. "Do you think I should tell Yagi?"
"No," Inui says immediately.
"Why?"
"Because he begged you not to."
"He was his teacher first. He needs to know eventually, and I don't like prolonging the inevitable. It's irrational for sensitive situations like these."
Inui's ear flicks. "Yes, he must be told eventually. But telling Yagi everything the pup told you in confidence will only widen the gap between the two of you. And right now that is a terrible idea. He needs someone he can trust and lean on, Aizawa. If he pleaded with you to keep quiet, then it's serious. I trust his judgment, despite everything. At least wait until things cool down and he can find his head again. For now, I advise we keep the situation of the pup's true quirk quiet."
The storm has stopped outside, finally. They are given a little reprieve, not that it bodes anything well right now. Shouta throws up a hand to show he acknowledges and agrees to Inui's request, much too tired to speak any more.
Inui, sensing that perhaps Shouta needs just a second alone, heads for the door after a quick parting bow. "I wish to speak with the principal myself. I'll keep a lookout for that notebook, too. If he stirs, please let me know."
And with that, Shouta is left alone in the white room that smells like clinical antiseptic. These are two things Izuku hates, Shouta thinks.
Izuku prefers off white colors, and he hates the smell of rubbing alcohol or cleaning supplies. It's why whenever he cleans the apartment on a whim, he always insists on opening all of the windows, turning the air conditioner and fans on to the max, and using as little bleach as possible. He got into a little disagreement with Hizashi a couple weeks ago about this, in fact. Shouta leans back in his chair and recalls it.
Hizashi told Izuku he shouldn't be afraid to use more of their cleaning supplies, which prompted Izuku to say that less is more, and that he's saving them money whilst still getting the job done. Hizashi, however, held his ground and tried to explain to Izuku that the way he's cleaning now is inconsistent and would only cause buildup of grime in the future, and that he would really rather Izuku not clean in the first place—not because he does a bad job, really, but because it's not his responsibility. Izuku protested, using his past apartment's 'cleanliness' as proof that he was right about his methods and should be allowed to use them to help his teachers. But when Hizashi attempted to gently let the boy know that that's probably not the best example to use, Izuku pushed back. In a moment of pure frustration, no doubt kindled by anxiety and insecurity, Izuku snapped that Hizashi should find something else to project onto, that he was being too controlling and ignorant since he 'didn't know anything' about his old home.
The room fell deadly silent then, as neither of the two adults ever expected Izuku to say something so angrily—not to Hizashi, at least. There was a good ten seconds of shock sitting in the air, and Hizashi didn't say a word. Shouta stepped in quickly, though, deciding he couldn't ignore what he heard.
He thought later that night that Izuku is probably the only teenager in existence to ever be grounded from cleaning. He is also likely the only person to ever apologize so genuinely without being asked to after spending just a few minutes brooding in his room.
That instance just goes to show how much Izuku despises harsh smelling chemicals and medical areas in general. Shouta understands better now, and he can't help but regret the way they handled Izuku's outburst that day.
He is so deep into his thinking that the next hour passes by in a daze. Nemuri visits for a minute to drop off Izuku's notebook and check on him—how she managed to retrieve it, Shouta can only imagine. Recovery Girl shows up not too long after, bringing her supplies with her.
She must have already been given the rundown, as she doesn't ask for any explanation. She never does when it comes to Shouta anymore. He figures he's been in here so much that she just can't be bothered.
"Your vision should go back to normal in a few days," Chiyo grunts, sitting on her rolling stool in front of him. She is carefully wrapping a bandage around his eyes, her touch featherlight. "But you need to keep this blindfold on or it will worsen. Absolutely no reading and no harsh lights, got it? Put Erasure on the back burner for at least a week. I'm giving you prescription eye drops, too."
God, seriously? He can't use Erasure for a week? He's going to need to find someone to cover his patrols at least for the next few days.
She takes off her gloves, her back now to him. "Are you going to press charges?"
Shouta clenches his pants with trembling fingers. "Are you really asking me that?"
"Well, you'd be well within your rights, especially since there's no telling if your duration for Erasure has decreased again or not. I'm afraid not even my healing can help you with that." She washes her hands in the nearby sink. "But I guess you're right. I apologize."
Shouta only sighs, trying to get used to the blackness that greets him once he opens his eyes now. This entire situation is just so shitty, and it's all his fault.
"I know that face," Chiyo says out of the blue. She rolls back in front of him. "Quit thinking so much, boy. The worst is already over."
"What?"
"I've been at this school for longer than you've been alive. I remember healing you in this exact position more times than I can count after a training day gone wrong. I know exactly what you're thinking, and let me tell you this: you did what you had to do. There's no point in moping like that."
Shouta frowns. "I'm not—"
"And look, he opened up to you in the end. That's a good thing. That means you did something right."
He rubs his shaking hand, the same one Izuku nearly snapped. He lets her words wash over him, and he wills himself to believe they're true. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him now," he confesses, hoping to hear something else from the wise old lady.
But Chiyo only shrugs and taps her cane on the floor. "The same you've always done. Be there for him, but don't let him walk on you. Make sure he knows you're not planning on leaving."
After healing Izuku in one last increment for the day, she's gone before Shouta can truly take in what she said.
Even at her age, she's busier than most other pro heroes.
Sometimes, Shouta wishes she could afford to let herself rest.
Is it a bad thing, becoming softer than he's ever been before? Shouta can't get this thought out of his head. It's been haunting him for the past few hours.
He hasn't left Izuku's side for the most part—not just because he's blind at the moment, but because he doesn't want to be gone when he wakes up. If he wakes up at all, that is. Chiyo warned him that with the state of exhaustion his body is in, Izuku may be asleep for the rest of the day and then some while his body heals from the stress.
It's just strange to Shouta. The fact that Izuku fought him so hard and without even a pause.
His student hit him. Choked him. Spit on him. Bit him. Izuku bit him like he was a wild dog.
The tooth marks on Shouta's arm are scabbed already; the radial bruises extending from each puncture are a mottled mix of yellow and brown hues. Chiyo did her best, but she refused to heal any further so as not to knock Shouta out.
It was so sudden and bizarre to Shouta. This entire situation has been, to be honest. He still can't quite wrap his head around it.
The fight near the end caused a big commotion. Izuku was being cornered by Kan and Snipe, and he had to fight off all the other present teachers too. So, when Shouta punched him square in the jaw from behind, he almost felt bad about it.
It wasn't a fair fight. Not that it matters.
When Shouta got Izuku to that first room, he prayed the boy would stay asleep even though he knew he wouldn't. When he looked over, busy disinfecting his eyes and cleaning up the blood, Izuku was sitting on the floor, looking dejected and sad and—more than anything else—terrified. Shouta's anger nearly dissipated altogether right then upon seeing the cuts and bruises littering the boy's skin. A lump lodged its way in his throat when he saw the way blood dripped like a broken faucet down Izuku's neck and soaked his clothes. The worst part about it is that the kid didn't even seem to notice.
Thinking about it now, after the fact, Shouta can't blame him for everything that happened.
He sits in this stiff chair, his back aching and his eyes throbbing, and listens to the sound of Izuku's heart monitor and breathing close by.
No, he can't blame him at all. Shouta too, sometimes, mistakes allies for foes. He too, sometimes, lashes out and ruins relationships because of his own fear and confusion. And Shouta too used to cower and hide after doing something unforgivable, unable to comprehend how on earth he ended up where he was.
It was worse when he was in middle school. Shouta would bristle when people got too close to him too quickly, and he'd react on instinct before giving himself the chance to think things through. This often made Shouta feel like a disappointment, as his parents were even more distant upon receiving the phone calls home and the weekly meeting requests by the teachers.
They never said it aloud, but Shouta knows they wished their son was anyone else.
So, Shouta thinks he does understand pretty well, all things considered. Because he too can cause damage in ways he never imagined before.
When Izuku stood up on wobbly legs, Shouta didn't approach him first. His student's face was red and raw, already beginning to bruise from Shouta's hit. He advanced towards Shouta with a franticness rarely shown before, his eyes dark and sad and no longer bright.
But Shouta was still the first to make contact. He rested his large hands on Izuku's shoulders even though it did scare him. Genuinely.
This kid, whom he has cared for and protected and taught and carried out of a burning building, scares him now.
But he still deserves the shoulder touches and the head pats, because just because he can hurt doesn't mean Izuku can't still be kind.
It gives Shouta some perspective, truthfully, on what it must have felt like for the people he hurt in the past. To suddenly be snapped at, out of nowhere, and lose the trust they thought they'd always have. To have to swallow their own fear and reach out to Shouta again.
It's why Shouta sometimes still can't believe Hizashi chose him.
Carefully, Shouta reaches out with his hand and feels for where Izuku is laying. His breathing has quieted down to being near nonexistent, and despite the loud heart monitors, Shouta is still a little paranoid that Izuku will slip away.
His palm finds Izuku's forearm tucked beneath the white sheets, and he forces himself to relax once he lets his hand rest on it, focusing on the heat radiating even through the layers.
Warmth means alive, and that's all that matters to Shouta.
They are an unlikely pair, truth be told. Shouta keeps his hand gently on top of Izuku's arm—the only contact someone can receive after they've hurt another so badly.
They are like animals in a shelter with bright yellow papers attached to their cages, unfairly labeling them by emotions much too hard to explain and even harder to curb. To most everyone else, they are bad dogs with bite warnings.
Shouta's phone buzzes incessantly. He can't read the contents of the text messages even when he goes against Chiyo's orders and pulls his bandages up a little. His vision has only grown worse, the old lady said that even with her quirk, it will have to get worse before it gets better. He may even lose his vision entirely in a day or so before things return to normal.
He knows they're from Hizashi, as he has the AI on his phone read all of the messages to him—some of them incomprehensible. He doesn't manage to reply, as his throat is too scratchy and raw all of a sudden to tell the AI exactly what he wants to be sent.
But there are quick, loud footsteps outside, and it sounds to Shouta like platform boots, and he knows it doesn't matter now.
When Hizashi rushes inside, Shouta can't see him, and it leaves him feeling helpless. But he can smell the soot on his body even with ten feet between them, telling Shouta that his partner didn't even shower before coming here after the mission.
There's a sudden intake of breath, and it's soft, the way the air moves into Hizashi's mouth. The sound of his boots hitting the tile in such a familiar cadence puts Shouta at ease. He looks up, still seeing darkness, and imagines what his husband's face looks like now.
"Shouta," the man breathes, barely audible at first. "Oh, God."
Lifting a hand to calm him down, Shouta speaks in the general direction of where he heard him. "It's fine. Don't work yourself up."
"Fine?" Hizashi repeats incredulously, and he's crossing the distance between them like he's annoyed it existed in the first place. "You look like shit and you just got back; when did this happen?"
Shouta huffs, not wanting to explain the recent events once again. Would it have killed his other coworkers to tell Hizashi more details? There was no reason to make him so worried. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words escape him the moment Hizashi kneels before him and takes his face between large, rough hands.
Despite the callouses built up from their recent mission, Hizashi's touch is featherlight. He runs his fingers over Shouta's jaw, thumbing his cheek and ghosting the spaces just beneath his eyes.
He's so close that Shouta nearly melts directly into him. Instead, he inches just a bit closer, still lost in what to do from here, but Hizashi helps him out. He pushes forward slowly and presses his lips to Shouta's in a delicate, chaste kiss. Hizashi's bottom lip is split, no doubt from a lucky blow from a villain, and Shouta's stomach clenches a little at the thought.
When Hizashi pulls away, his fingers begin to softly touch the bandages covering Shouta's eyes, and he presses down gently as if to reassure himself that they're actually there.
There's something else lodged in Shouta's throat now, and it's making it hard for him to initiate any sort of conversation, but he swallows hard and tries anway. "Chiyo already saw us. It's nothing serious."
Hizashi's breath is warm against his face. "You don't get to say that. Not about this."
Allowing himself to revel in the touch of his best friend's fingers all over him for just a moment more, Shouta pulls back and places both hands on one of Hizashi's wrists, not speaking until he's sure he has his full attention.
"Baby," he says, and the word quivers on its way out, unused to being said aloud. Shouta is never usually one to use endearing terms like this, as he's never seen the point, but now is different. He feels as though his insides have been scooped out and replaced with crumpled up paper, and he just needs Hizashi to listen to him. "He was scared."
The confused silence that follows is a knife against Shouta's throat.
"What?" Hizashi stands up, now leaning down a little to still be close to him. "What do you mean?"
Shouta doesn't respond. He can't see Hizashi, but he knows just from the tone of his voice that the cogs in his mind are turning. He knows he doesn't need to explain any further.
The air shifts, and Hizashi is looking between Shouta and Izuku. His gaze lingers on Shouta's blindfold and then returns to Izuku—more specifically, to the fresh bandages around both his hands. They act as more of a barrier than an absorbent this time around.
When Hizashi lets out a shuddering breath, Shouta knows he understands.
"He did this to you?"
The question is asked so faintly that Shouta wouldn't have heard it if not for the otherwise silence in the room.
"It's not permanent," Shouta tells him, just as quietly as before. "He didn't do it maliciously, Hizashi. It—" His voice cracks painfully, forcing him to try again. "It'll take a few days, that's it. I'm fine."
We're fine, he thinks.
Tender fingers once again carefully press at the blindfold wrapped around Shouta. Hizashi's hands travel over his delicate eyelids, as if massaging them. "How was he even able to do it?"
"Caught me by surprise," Shouta offers lamely, not able to provide a better explanation.
Because honestly, Shouta just never thought he'd have to worry about an attack like that. Not from Izuku.
"He managed to get the upper hand?"
"He's growing stronger, Hizashi."
The blond is left speechless for a few moments, obviously stressed out. "He didn't have to hurt you like that," he says eventually, eyes sliding back and forth between the two.
"I know. And he does, too." Shouta tries to hold him tighter to bring him back down to his level. "Trust me, it's not going to happen again."
"That doesn't change the fact it happened at all," Hizashi counters, shaking his head and pulling away completely. His voice is wobbly, as if he's close to crying for some reason. "You look like you need to rest. I'll be back in a few. I wanna hear what Nezu has to say about—"
Shouta lurches forward to grab his hand but misses, blindly searching through the air for him. Quickly, though, Hizashi reaches for him and grabs his hand, telling him he's there.
"Wait," Shouta says, breathless, and his face burns when it comes out as more of a plea than a request. "Please."
His eyes are burning terribly again, but he ignores it. He isn't in the mood to deal with the pain of putting in eye drops once again. And now is probably not a good time to ask Hizashi to do it. He'd probably miss the drops completely with how shaky he is.
He feels some kind of moisture dripping down, though, and he prays Hizashi won't acknowledge it. The hot tears drip down into his bandage with only a couple little streams escaping through it.
Hizashi waits patiently for him to continue, but Shouta is suddenly unsure of himself. How is he supposed to articulate this?
You were right, Shouta wishes he had the strength to say aloud. We should've dug more into his past. I should've tried harder to reach him, to get him to spill. Because now he's coming apart and I don't really know what to think. He's haunted by his blood, and his quirk puts him in danger with each step he takes. How can I possibly help a kid like this?
Is there any good way to admit all of that?
Whatever the answer may be, all Shouta knows for sure is that he doesn't want to do any of this alone.
For the first time in his life, Izuku isn't sure what he's done wrong.
He stands above a pool of churning stars, his fists clenched by his side. The black sludge laps at his feet and rolls over his feet gently. It doesn't stick, though. They are like oil and water—unable to be mixed.
This hasn't happened before. In the past, he would sink beneath the stars and drown upon stepping into the pool, but now he can't go in. It's like he's being blocked from it.
Which means he's essentially stuck inside this realm hosted by Extract. If he cannot make his way into One for All, he cannot go anywhere else. He's in danger.
It becomes pretty clear what's happened, the more Izuku thinks about it. He has simply been banned from entering One for All. The bridge has been severed, and Izuku isn't sure how to fix it from his end.
He feels something hot worming its way through his stomach at this realization. Why would they do this? He didn't think Shimura was being serious. He had thought, naively, that after what just happened she'd let it all slide and not care that he was visiting again so soon. In fact, he was kind of hoping for that, as he really wanted to see his master's vestige and be in his presence for just a few minutes at least to calm his rising anxiety.
But here he is, stuck inside of Extract and, more importantly, not beside his master.
Izuku doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to let himself believe that the vestiges blocked him from coming inside, but the more he walks around, trying everything he can think of to fix the bridge, the more he thinks that this is out of his control.
He has no say in their decision making at all despite being the most recent holder of their shared quirk.
After what feels like hundreds of futile attempts at breaking in, Izuku gives up. He sits there above the swirling universe, staring down at his wretched reflection and those dastardly wings.
He brings his knees to his chest, and as he moves, the monsters inhabiting Extract's realm begin to crowd around. They circle him, bringing the shadows closer and closer. Unlike every other time, however, Izuku does not panic. If he is to be ripped apart again and again and again inside his own mind as punishment for the things he's done, so be it. He curls up on his side, letting the void waves tug and pull at his skin.
It feels as though he's on a bed of nails—not that Izuku hasn't slept on anything worse before.
He tucks his wings close to his chest, using them as blankets, and it's then that the first shadow breaks through the ranks to investigate.
A little creature that Izuku can only describe as a mutated dog comes up to him using all six of its legs. Its flesh is made of disgusting flaps of thick black sludge, and the pieces move like waves with each movement. The neck extends far out from its body, and the skin flaps here click into place like scales once it reaches Izuku. Instead of attacking like expected, it sits down right next to him, and its eel-like tail snakes around to curl around mangled paws.
Bubbles of what must be blood blow out of the ridges between the flaps every few moments, and Izuku watches them float away through half-lidded eyes.
You're an interesting thing, he thinks, and despite his better judgment he touches the creature with his palm, patting its head. It leans down, allowing it to happen, and Izuku's curiosity sparks a little.
He can feel the remnants of quirks he hasn't been around in years broiling around beneath the hot, steaming flesh. Dirty residues of anger and grief and death fill up his nose, but he still doesn't pull away.
One by one, the rest of the monsters come to him, all with different looks and quirks making them up.
Perhaps Izuku judged them far too harshly in the beginning. Previously, Izuku would be hunted down and torn apart by all of them, but right now they're all docile and sweet for the most part.
They tighten the circle around him and flop down in the spaces next to him, revealing scarred flesh and incomplete bodies. He pets them absentmindedly, enjoying the slight distraction.
But pretty soon his anger overtakes him again. There is no more shock and sadness hanging inside of him, instead there's something a little more heavy.
He did what the vestiges wanted right? He told Shouta about the parts of himself that would make even the most open person turn away from him. He was vulnerable. He trusted someone else. He's confused now.
On some nights, when Izuku was too sad to speak his mind, Shimura would sit with him in All Might's realm and comfort him, assuring him that opening up would be the good step. She was arguably the pushing point for Izuku to truly get help and admit those things to Aizawa.
She promised him it was the right thing to do, and yet here he is now—banished.
Did he do something wrong? Did he miss a step? Sure, he threatened Nezu and betrayed Aizawa's trust by hurting him, too, but it turned out okay, didn't it? Well, it went better than Izuku thought it would.
Was that not good enough for the vestiges? Did he forget something?
The more he thinks, the more annoyed he becomes. He has trained day and night, even in his fucking dreams, to become stronger, to become a successor that will handle One for All in a way that wasn't possible before. He has broken himself, again and again and again, just to ensure he would make the other users happy that they got stuck with him.
He only ever wanted to make them proud of Yagi's decision for once.
One for All is his quirk just as much as it is theirs, right? Izuku is finally starting to believe that now. So why would they cut him off? Even if it's just a temporary thing, it's too far. Don't they know what he's attempting to do? Don't they know what he's trying to accomplish for everyone?
He shuts his eyes in frustration, burning like a freshly born star. The monsters chitter and purr and hiccup all around him, resembling hyenas. It's been a while since he's stayed this long in this realm, so he doesn't exactly know when he stopped fearing these malevolent creatures, but he doesn't care much.
The more he sits, curled in on himself, hands absentmindedly petting the touch starved monsters before him, the faster his anger leaves and that emptiness returns.
He sighs to himself. He is hanging on only by a thread. It is invisible and wraps around his wrists and ankles, cutting off circulation. His blood flows freely from the cuts, but when it touches the creatures pressed against him, it turns gold. The light wreaths around them, and he watches it, feeling so very tired.
He is asleep, he knows. How long has it been? Couldn't have been more than a few hours, he hopes. Will he wake up in chains? Will he be in a cell?
The more he imagines, the more defeated he becomes.
He needs to get up and fight. It's his duty. But right now he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to wake up.
He's never told anyone this before, but this is partly why he has problems falling asleep. Not just because his mind won't let him, but because he doesn't like the actual waking up part. He is always sore and achy when he wakes up. His vision is blurry and his eyes are puffy, too, as if he's been crying when he hasn't.
And it's funny, really, because it's been so long since he's last seen his mother, but he still wakes up with things to tell her. And every time it happens, it hurts even worse.
So, Izuku simply wishes he wouldn't wake up.
He sits in the darkness, surrounded by monsters of his own creation, and can only wonder if there is anything left for him after this.