Chapter Text
Upon further reflection, “You have got to be kidding me” is not the greatest opening sentence he could have started with.
Overhaul narrows his eyes. The masked man in the bowler hat asks calmly, “And what do you mean by that?”
“I just got finished being arrested for all this bullshit and I really don't want to go through it again,” Izuku says.
“Arrested?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened while you were arrested?”
“Heroes locked me up and tried to offer me essentially the same deal as you, except with less murder, and way more legal jargon?”
Overhaul raises an eyebrow. “And what did you do?”
“I told them I didn't have any useful information for them, and when they didn't believe me, I just broke out.” Izuku intends to stop there, but his mouth keeps moving. “Which is my tentative working plan for right now also, because I honestly can't help you with whatever you're trying to do.”
No one really seems to believe him. “Our information got leaked to you somehow, Deku,” Overhaul says simply. “I want to know how.”
“Uh, a mix of bad luck and misfortune that is specific to me being what I am,” says Izuku.
“Your Quirk?”
“Haha, that's hilarious. Something like that.”
One of the masked men -- what had Overhaul called him earlier? Shin? -- focuses his attention oddly on Izuku, for whatever reason. “What is your Quirk?”
“Hell if I know.”
Overhaul looks slightly annoyed by the non-answer. “Mr. Compress,” he calls. “Describe Deku’s use of his Quirk to me again, if you will.”
The guy in the top hat nods sharply. “He drew on my forehead and pressed his head to mine. The necessity of the symbol, as well as physical contact, is why I hypothesized his Quirk must work through some combination of writing and physical contact, hence why I suggested his hands be bound… He didn't seem to do anything, but the strangest sensation came over me. A rush, a shiver, the sliding sensation when you are drifting off and something drags you back awake… Something inside of me sparked. I am a show man, Overhaul, I make it my business to describe and astound. And yet I have no words for what I felt--”
“Wait, hang on a minute,” says Izuku, and stares at Mr. Compress accusingly. “I fixed your Quirk?”
Mr. Compress nods. “Yes.”
“Your entire Quirk?”
“Y...es.”
“I fixed your entire Quirk and this is how you repay me?” Izuku says furiously. Who the fuck is Mr. Compress? Izuku is going to wring his guardian spirit’s neck and then he is going to extract a terrible revenge upon this man.
Mr. Compress clears his throat. “Understand my position, Deku--”
“No,” says Izuku.
Before Mr. Compress can say anything else, Izuku spots his spirit entering the room -- a hovering creature with dark marble-sized spheres orbiting around it as it moves. Izuku remembers this spirit. “Wait, I know you. You’re the guy with the fucking -- trophy case of tokusatsu figurines in your kitchen area? The guy who looked like a complete fucking shut in? That guy? Did you even pause for a moment to consider that maybe a trophy case goes better in your bedroom or living room instead of your fucking kitchen?”
Mr. Compress’s mask hides his expression, but his aura immediately flares with embarrassment. Overhaul raises a single eyebrow. The bird doll, lounging on the sofa next to Izuku, snickers. “Which franchise?”
“That’s not important--” Mr. Compress starts to say.
“I’m going to break out of here,” Izuku tells him aggressively, “And then I'm going to break into your house and throw all of your dishes on the floor.” Mr. Compress stares at him from behind the mask. The bird doll laughs. Izuku glares. “I could do it, you know! I remember where you live!”
“Oh?” says Overhaul with casual interest. “Where is it, then?”
“I have no idea.” He only remembers where it is because he had to climb through the sewers to avoid some spirit’s territory. An address, though? Hah.
Overhaul looks at him unblinkingly. “You just said--”
“I know what I said. Everything I say is complete horseshit. I don’t even remember what his face looks like.”
Mr. Compress’s aura tinges blue with relief. Izuku tries to murder him with the force of his gaze alone.
“You… don’t remember what his face looks like,” Overhaul repeats. “Despite the fact that, in order to repair his Quirk, you had to be face-to-face.”
“I don’t remember unimportant details like that.” Izuku glares at Mr. Compress’s spirit. “I do remember the important things, though, which is that he’s a dumbass who got his Quirk erased and he never would have gotten it back without me. He owes me.”
He stares accusingly at the spirit, unblinking, until it contritely flares its aura. Its mind nudges his, whispering, name your price, within my power it will be done.
Izuku wouldn’t normally ask anything -- it’s not like the spirits care to listen to him, most of the time, why bother? -- but being kidnapped by the yakuza is a pretty good reason to break that rule. Then your power, when channelled by him, cannot be used against me, he says. That will pay the price.
Overhaul narrows his eyes. “What did you just say?”
It will be done, the spirit whispers.
“Nothing much,” says Izuku. “Just laid a non-serious non-curse tangentially on Mr. Compress for being an ungrateful jerk.”
“What do you mean?” Shin asks sharply.
“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? I fixed his Quirk and he helped me get kidnapped. That’s the most ungrateful thing anyone could do. He deserves it.”
Mr. Compress’s aura flares with nervous energy. Yeah, that’s right, asshole. Squirm.
“What curse did you lay on him?” Shin tries.
Has he been listening at all? It wasn’t a curse. “I didn’t.”
“Then what did you just do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything to him. ”
“That contradicts what you said earlier,” Shin says, sounding increasingly frustrated.
“I get that a lot,” Izuku says.
Overhaul lets out a short sigh. His minions immediately straighten up, attention shifting to him. “This is all unnecessary,” he says. “Deku. How did you know who had been attacked with the Quirk-breaking drug?”
“Their guardians told me,” Izuku’s mouth says entirely without his permission. Wait a second, what -- why--
“Who are their guardians?”
“The sp--”
Izuku stops cold. The urge to keep speaking presses against the back of his teeth. What the hell -- his deepest and longest-kept secret, and he almost spilled it to a complete stranger, just like that?
That’s when he feels it, finally: an insidious and black compulsion saturating the room in its shadowy aura, so subtle and pervasive he hadn’t noticed it until he’d almost blurted out the truth. It presses against him, and Izuku, furious, flares his energy and burns it away. In the corner, the black and serpentine creature raises its head and turns to look at him with cold, toxic yellow eyes.
“What were you saying?” Shin prompts.
“Go fuck yourself,” says Izuku.
The answer takes him aback. “Who gave you this information?” he tries, and the compulsion presses in on Izuku again. Izuku bares his teeth as he burns it away again.
Shin bows his head. “I’m sorry, Overhaul. It seems my Quirk could not be of help after all.”
Overhaul waves a hand dismissively. “No matter. We suspected this might be the case.” He lean forwards and rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “You never did say what your Quirk is, Deku.”
“That’s funny,” says Izuku. “No one asked.”
“What is your Quirk?” Shin tries.
Izuku gives him a dirty look. “I’ve gone fifteen years without breathing a word of it to anyone, and I’m not about to break my streak for some guy wearing sneakers with his plague doctor mask .”
Bowler hat guy bristles, but Overhaul just looks thoughtful. “Chronostasis, is the dart gun with you?”
“No, but I have some of the cartridges.” The plague doctor guy who’d initially confronted him outside the compound pulls a few syringes of dark liquid from his coat. Izuku does not have a good feeling about this. “Shall I?”
Overhaul nods, eyes meandering back to Izuku. “The temporary form will do.”
Chronostasis approaches him from the side and reaches out to take his arm. His gloved hands handle the syringe delicately, but his intention is clear.
Fuck that.
Izuku doesn’t struggle or try and move away, and emboldened, Chronostasis moves nearer to put the syringe to Izuku’s neck -- and near enough for Izuku to draw his foot up and nail him in the balls.
Chronostasis double over. Izuku gets his feet under him on the cushion and rolls over the back of the couch, away from everyone else, and lands in a crouch; he makes a break for the only exit in the room. Someone grabs his ankle and yanks him back, and without his hands free to catch him, Izuku crashes against the floor. He rolls over, and the bird-doll guy appears, landing on his stomach and driving all the breath out of him. Izuku curls in, wheezing, and the bird-doll grabs the front of his hoodie, barking, “Stop making trouble for our boss!”
“Piss off,” Izuku coughs out, narrowing his eyes as he takes in the aura of the doll. A possession -- this person isn’t even here physically, are they? “Not gonna… be talked down to… by the guy lecturing me… through a fucking puppet. ”
The bird-doll stills in shock. “How--?”
Izuku headbutts the bird-doll as hard as he can, sending a burst of his own energy through the point of contact. The bird-doll falls limply over as some large blond-haired man comes tumbling out, eyes wide with surprise. Izuku curses -- he thought it was a nonlocal possession, not a direct one -- but there’s no time to account for that miscalculation. He’ll just have to accept that this player is still on the stage. Izuku rolls back to his feet and runs for it.
The blond-haired man recovers and manages to grab him by the wrists. Izuku shouts and kicks out, but the man is bigger and stronger than him, and Izuku doesn’t have use of his hands anyways. The man pins him face-down on the ground.
“Fucking brat,” Chronostasis wheezes, somewhere above him. “Boss, should I use my Quirk on him?”
A pair of footsteps approaching. Izuku tries to turn his head to look, but the blond-haired man grabs him by the hair to prevent him from moving. All he can see is a small patch of bare linoleum floor. “No need,” Overhaul says dismissively, and Izuku hears clothes rustling as someone crouches down near his legs. “Hand me the drug. Hold him in place, Mimic.”
Izuku can feel his heart rate steadily rising, beating jackhammer fast in his chest. His breathing is coming more ragged. He can’t see what’s going on, he’s trapped -- he can hardly move -- Izuku jerks when he feels a pair of gloved hands grab him by the ankle and roll up the cuff of his jeans to expose bare skin. He tries to yank his leg away. He fails. A moment later, he has to grit his teeth as a needle is jabbed sharply into his leg.
At first, Izuku doesn't feel anything, but then a strange tingling sensation starts washing through his body; some foreign glass-cold energy surging through his blood, slipping all the way through him. It feels awful and thick and slimy, and he involuntarily shudders through his whole body. He flares his own energy in an attempt to burn it away, but it’s like -- it’s like trying to hold water, all of it slipping away from his reach.
And then the foreign energy turns. Rolls over, transforming from a tingle to a molten-hot burn, a fire tearing, a wind howling, screaming through the smallness of his body. It seizes him by flesh and by spirit, digs in its hooks, and pulls. Izuku hears himself make a choked-off scream. It’s tearing him apart. His vision goes double, his mind and body pulling two different ways and his body is shaking , the nerves sparking and sparking like live wires gone mad and the energy is still tearing him apart. “S—st,” he hisses out between clenched teeth, but he can’t unclench his jaw -- his muscles are completely seizing up -- the floor falls out from under him and it’s just him and the merciless glass-cold energy ripping him apart from the very bone--
His vision whites out. It’s all he can do to cling on, hold himself together when he feels like he’s being completely undone. But it’s still tearing at him; it’s everywhere; it’s not going away--
Izuku flares his energy as high as it can go, and he burns.
When he comes back to himself, there’s no one holding him down; he’s curling in on himself, panting and clammy with sweat. The taste of blood is on his teeth. Experimentally — and because he doesn’t have any dignity left to lose — he spits, and drops of red splatter on the floor in front of Overhaul’s shoes. “Fuck,” Izuku hisses out in a ragged breath. Well, there’s no taking back whatever it was Overhaul and company just saw. “What was that?”
“The short-term form of our Quirk-breaking drug,” Overhaul replies. His expression is clear of any guilt or stain on his consciousness; his eyes are bright. He doesn't care.
“Fucking figures,” Izuku mutters, eyes falling back shut. “Nothing ever works right on me.” He hopes they don’t spend the next two hours slowly torturing him with that fucking drug.
“What do you mean by that?” Overhaul queries.
“I just fuck things up,” Izuku feels himself mumble. Ah. The compulsion from earlier has settled on him again, but he's so tired. He can't find it in himself to fight. “It's just because of who I am. Nothing ever goes right around me.”
He drifts off for a bit, then. He’s completely depleted; his energy reserves have never been this low. He barely rouses when someone drags him across the floor and dumps his body on the couch. He only realizes he's listing over when someone catches him and holds him up. Izuku drags his eyes open, and, oh, it’s the bird-doll again. Seems like the blond man is back to his weird possession shenanigans.
Overhaul crouches in front of him. That one guy, Shin, is by his side. “Let’s try this again, Deku,” Overhaul says. “Who told you about us?”
“The heroes, mostly,” Izuku feels himself say. “I didn’t really have a clue who you guys were before they arrested me.”
“Then how did you know who had lost their Quirk?”
“The,” Izuku starts, and stops, trying to hold it in -- the compulsion presses down on him. He has to speak. But he doesn’t have to do it in a way they’ll understand, does he? He switches to the second intonation. Their guardian spirits told me, and led me to them so I could fix their Quirks for them and reconnect them with their charges.
Overhaul’s eyes narrow. “What did you just say?”
Izuku repeats himself, still in the second intonation. The serpentine spirit uncoils itself from the corner and slithers over to him at a leisurely pace. He’s fairly sure this spirit is the one responsible for the compulsion; this doesn’t look great for him.
Overhaul seems impatient. “I’d suggest you give me some answers soon,” he says, and puts a single gloved hand on Izuku’s leg. “Or I may start removing limbs.”
Izuku watches the black serpent slowly climb its way up said leg. It looks at him with amusement in its poisonous, heavy gaze, and Izuku can’t help but laugh, a bit wild, a bit unhinged. “There’s no point in telling you anything. It wouldn’t help you,” he says. “I guess this is as good a way to go as any. Dismembered in a yakuza stronghold ‘cause I don’t have anything worth listening to. Beats being bitten in half by an invisible monster in a jail cell.”
“It wouldn’t help us,” Shin repeats slowly. “But would it harm you?”
Oh, fuck him for catching that. “In all probability, yeah.”
“How so?”
You’d want to kill me, at best, and experiment on me to hell and back at worst? Izuku says drily. I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re thinking about doing anyways, though, so… He trails off. The serpent spirit has wound itself around his torso. Izuku looks down at it uneasily; it gives him a sly look, and then he feels it: another compulsion settling over him. So, you know, Izuku says, but the compulsion squeezes him, and the rest of his words come spilling out in the first intonation. “What’s the point? There’s no reason to talk to you at all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Shin queries.
“--B-because it doesn’t matter what I say--” Izuku clenches his jaw, but the words keep pouring out anyways with no conscious input from him, as if they’ve bypassed him entirely and are coming straight from his thoughts. “If I tell the truth, you won’t believe me -- if I don’t, then I’m a liar -- and even if you do believe me, I still lose. The end result is the same.”
“And what end result is that?” Shin prompts.
“Oh, you know, the usual criminal pastimes -- torture, murder, or.” The last answer presses against the back of his teeth. He struggles for a moment not to speak, but -- “Or you’ll try and use me like all the rest.”
“The rest?”
“Yeah,” says Izuku.
Shin seems dissatisfied. “What do ‘they’ try and use you for?”
No. He doesn’t want to answer this. Izuku grits his teeth, but the compulsion squeezes him tight, and more words come spilling out. “They’re always making me do things I don’t want to do -- like--” He doesn’t want to answer this question! He doesn’t want to let them know! Izuku flares his bare reserve of energy, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth--
“Like what?”
Fucking hell. “Gh--” The compulsion constricts around him. “Like with the temple… and f-fixing Quirks -- and -- ngh --” No! Out of all the shit he reveals tonight, this is the one -- the one he absolutely cannot--
“And?” Overhaul queries.
Izuku lets out a ragged breath and uses the last of his energy to try and cut the compulsion away. The snake spirit coils around him tighter, flaring out its own energy until it seeps into his veins, smothering his energy like black ashes burying the last of a flame. “And All for One,” Izuku finds himself saying. Fear settles lead heavy in his stomach; he feels tears prick his eyes. “All for One and his stupid fucking Quirk.”
Fuck. Fucking hell fucking fuck.
Overhaul’s gaze sharpens, and he leans forward. “What do you have to do with All for One?”
He feels sick. He wants to throw up. The words keep tumbling out. “If he hadn’t kidnapped Bakugou and if he’d just -- if he’d just left it well enough alone, then no one would have come to me for help and I never would have known and I never would have been involved but he did -- he should’ve just quit! ‘Cause if he did then I never would’ve had to -- to--”
“To what?”
Izuku bites his tongue, so hard he tastes blood. The snake spirit tightens its hold on him again, and it lays its fangs on the bare nape of his neck. The compulsion is so strong now, it grips him all the way from within, to his very blood, to his very bones. It won’t let him go. And all those angry words and thoughts he’s been keeping inside -- “I wouldn’t have had to kill his spirit!” Izuku bursts out, suddenly furious. “I wouldn’t have had to destroy his Quirk! If he’d just stopped and minded his own fucking business, if he hadn’t gone and done any of that then I never would’ve gotten involved and everything would’ve been better! But now he’s Quirkless and good as dead and I have to carry that on my shoulders now, and I don’t have his Quirk, but I might as well have it, because I know how to do it too! I don’t want to know, I never did, but I’m always being backed into a corner, I always end up having to do all this -- this garbage, this fucking shit--”
Overhaul’s eyes are wide. “You are… the third party at Kamino Ward?”
“I didn’t want to be,” Izuku says. “I didn’t mean to interfere. But then he was -- he was going to take Bakugou away again, he was going to kill All Might, someone was going to die right in front of me -- of course I had to do something.” Of fucking course he did.
“Why aren’t you using the same abilities now as you displayed at Kamino Ward?”
“Can’t,” he says, feeling tired. “The circumstances were one of a kind. I’d only ever do it in a life-or-death situation, and there’s no one to do it with right now, anyways.”
“What did you do, and who with?”
He’s already revealed the second greatest secret he has. There’s no point in fighting the compulsion now. “All Might’s Quirk spirit,” he says dully. “I fused with it.”
Overhaul looks at him sharply, and his expression melts into something full of calculation. He tilts his head, and the fluorescent lights catching on the sides of his face illuminate his ice-chip eyes into something clear and utterly devoid of conscience. This man does not care what he does to Izuku.
It would be more frightening, if Izuku hadn’t been on the receiving end of that kind of look from almost every spirit he’s ever met in his life.
“What exactly,” says Overhaul, leaning forward, “is the full extent of your abilities, Deku?”
“I don’t know,” says Izuku. He looks directly at the serpent spirit. “And if you had any mercy at all, you’d knock me out before he can ask me any more, or all your secrets will be spilled too. And there’s no one here who that would help.”
“Who are you talking to?” Shin says.
“A snake.”
There’s a pause. The serpent shifts, considering, and a moment later, the compulsion to speak in the first intonation lifts. But the kirin spirit also steps forward, eyes full of fury and mourning.
Dark-scales, it says. That’s enough.
The serpent flickers out its tongue. He is the name-eater, it says. What do you care about him.
He is just a boy.
Please, Izuku says. I’ve already told them enough. Nothing else I have to say will help them. That’s all he intends to say, but then the truth compulsion nudges him, and before his brain can catch up to his mouth -- I’m tired. I just want to stop.
Something shifts in the serpent’s bright eyes. Dark-scales, if you do not do it, I will, says the kirin.
“Can you replicate All for One’s abilities?” Overhaul asks.
Yes, Izuku replies. He feels so exhausted; this interrogation has taken every last thing he’s had to give. I wish I didn’t know how.
The serpent spirit looks between Izuku and the kirin, hesitating for a long, long moment.
And it squeezes Izuku one last time. A compulsion settles heavy over him, and his consciousness starts to fade out, pressed down into a welcome dark.
Sleep, the serpent tells him. Everything blurs, and then Izuku is lost to the peace and dark of complete oblivion.
--
When Izuku wakes up, he’s strapped down to a cold table in what looks like a dark medical lab. He can barely move. The straps dig into his skin, and no matter how much he twists or struggles, he can’t reach any of the buckles.
It’s all he can do not to panic. He takes deep breaths, one after another, as his heart race picks up -- races -- takes long minutes to slow back down, and then he does an inventory of himself.
The last traces of the sleep compulsion are dissipating from him; there are also traces of a different spirit’s energy in him. Someone was using their Quirk on him while he was unconscious? He can’t feel any adverse effects. Checking his energy reserves, he notes that his energy is somewhat replenished; he uses a bit to burn out the last bits of that foreign energy.
He’s still clothed -- thank god -- and most important, he can feel his protective amulet still resting smooth and warm against his chest. Izuku sighs in relief.
Then he turns his gaze to the hulking, seething beast hunched over by the wall, so tall it nearly reaches the ceiling. It has glowing neon eyes and a shadowy muzzle full of white teeth, but beyond that, it’s difficult to say; the skins, faces, and pelts of all manner of peculiar beings are stitched together over it like the most grotesque of cloaks. There’s a black ichor still dripping from the seams, like some horrific impersonation of blood.
Whose spirit are you? Izuku asks.
Skin-beast is my title, and Overhaul my charge, it says in a long rattling hiss of a breath. The smell of something rank and fetid washes over him. It peels its lips back into a curious smile. And you are the little name-eater who has stirred up so much fear.
Izuku grimaces at the title. How long have I been out?
Nearly three hours, now, it says. It shifts to peer at him more closely. You have gotten yourself into quite a situation. How did you find this place?
Followed the kirin. Worst decision I’ve made this week.
The skin-beast laughs, a gravelly and screechy noise that makes him wince. It seems to be in a good mood, so Izuku tentatively asks, What happened while I was unconscious?
My charge has taken quite the interest in your abilities, the skin-beast says. It sounds amused. He took you apart and put you together a few times, and took some of your blood as well, but he was interrupted by some business. Satisfied, it adds, I expect he will be back soon.
He… took me apart? Izuku says, feeling a cold chill on his skin.
His ability, inherited from me, it confirms. He may disassemble and reassemble anything he touches.
Overhaul wants to experiment on him.
Fuck.
His heart rate is rising again, and there’s a tingling sensation starting in his fingers and legs. He’s having a hard time controlling his breathing. Why are you here? he forces out, between shaking breaths. Couldn’t have just wanted to watch me sleep.
The skin-beast laughs again. Izuku’s skin crawls. You are the most interesting thing to happen in here in months, it tells him with a wide, toothy grin. Of course I would be here.
And no one else is here to spectate? Izuku says flatly, lifting his head as far as he can to glance around the room. A lot of medical equipment he doesn’t like the look of, a couple of worrying machines… but no other spirits.
I scared them away, the skin-beast confirms smugly. They are afraid to be in the same place as me.
And here Izuku is, alone in its presence. He swallows and reminds himself that he has his protective medallion on still. Why?
If I like them enough, it says, I skin and eat them.
It stretches out a little, preening, as if to show off the collection of skins in the patchwork collection it’s wearing. Izuku turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. You said I’m the most interesting thing here, right now, he forces himself to say, past the nauseous, uneasy feeling in his stomach. What do you want from me, exactly?
Your skin, it says bluntly, whimsical and unconcerned. Izuku’s stomach drops as it smiles at him, its teeth white and gleaming in the faint light slipping through beneath the door. That medallion of yours is protecting you, for now, but I can wait.
You’d kill me while Overhaul still wants to get something out of me? Izuku asks, feeling sick.
Ah, says the skin-beast. Aaahhhh, it says again. Now that is the question, isn’t it? I quite like the idea of having you for my collection. But then again… It tilts its head to the side. I’d quite like it if you told Overhaul about us spirits as well.
Izuku feels like someone has just doused him with ice water. What? Why?!
He has done some astoundingly entertaining research using my abilities, the skin-beast says, sounding proud. Enough to isolate the effects of another’s Quirk from their blood. If he knew of us… It rolls its shining eyes to meet his, bright and amused and utterly devoid of empathy. Imagine what he could do.
Izuku doesn’t want to. I don’t want to, he says.
The skin-beast ignores him; it merely sighs dreamily, turning its gaze to some faraway dream. Once again, it murmurs reverently, once again, perhaps, I could walk the first plane under the sun.
Ah, right. That, Izuku can understand… but he really doesn’t want the skin-beast on the first plane, terrorizing humans and killing whoever catches its eye, and more than that, he really doesn’t want Overhaul to know anything about the spirit world at all. If Izuku had to tell anyone, Overhaul is quite possibly the last person on Earth he’d choose.
The skin-beast has to know that, though, at least. It wouldn’t have told him any of this if it wasn’t trying to open some kind of negotiation. What is it playing at? Why should I tell him anything?
If you tell him, the skin-beast offers, I won’t eat you at all.
In its own, weirdly naive way, it seems to think this is a fair deal. Izuku twists his lips sardonically. If I don’t tell him, you’ll try to eat me. If I do tell him, he’ll never let me go until the day I die. He shakes his head. I think I’d rather be eaten, if it’s all the same to you.
Pity, says the skin-beast. But to have the name-eater in my collection would be a fine tradeoff.
It looks rather pleased at this, and Izuku wishes, not for the first time, that he never did what he did at Kamino Ward. Not the part where he and All Might’s guardian spirit stopped All for One -- he could never regret keeping someone from being killed. But afterwards, with the the unmaker--
Izuku lets out a long, tired breath and closes his eyes. The amulet is reassuringly warm around his neck.
If there’s nothing else, he says, I think I’ll go back to sleep.
There’s nothing he can do now but wait.
--
He wakes up who-knows-how-long later to the sound of Overhaul snapping on a new pair of gloves. He squints against the fluorescent lights; above him, Overhaul and his dumb mask and dumber feather-lined hood come into view. He’s holding an empty syringe.
Overhaul doesn’t say anything to him as he jabs the syringe into the crook of Izuku’s arm, and Izuku doesn’t say anything either. He just watches silently as Overhaul collects his blood. The man then disappears for an indeterminate amount of time, probably to look at Izuku’s blood; when he returns, there’s a thoughtful look in his eyes.
He walks over to Izuku, still strapped to the table, and puts his hand on Izuku’s arm. Izuku draws in a sharp breath when he feels foreign energy flooding his system -- with barely a thought, he uses his own energy to burn it away. There’s no way he’s letting that stay in him long enough to find out what it does, especially if Overhaul’s ability is what the skin-beast claimed.
Overhaul looks down at him, puzzled, brows furrowing. Energy pours into Izuku’s system again, and again he burns it out.
If this is all that they’re going to do today, Izuku is probably going to lose. It takes more energy for him to purge something out of a system than for it to invade; in a war of attrition, there’s no way Izuku can last. He has to find another alternative.
Overhaul’s expression morphs into something clinical, cold, and thoughtful; the insertion of his energy into Izuku’s system is slower this time, and it gives Izuku a moment to observe how exactly his Quirk works. It seems that the five fingers, five points of contact, acts a shortcut gateway through which Overhaul’s energy comes. Izuku grabs the gate and slams it shut. Yes, that’s much more efficient.
Overhaul withdraws his hand. “Tell me, Deku,” he says, “what does my Quirk feel like to you?”
“Why the hell would I tell you?” Izuku says. There’s the barest tremble in his voice.
Overhaul nods, a bit absently, and retreats from Izuku’s field of vision. Somewhere past the direction of his feet, a drawer opens. Something metallic clinks. When Overhaul reappears, he’s holding disinfectant and a scalpel in his hands.
Izuku feels himself go completely, utterly cold. His eyes are riveted to the scalpel. He knew that Overhaul was going to try to -- that he -- that he was an awful excuse of a human being -- but somehow, it didn’t sink in until now, with the harsh white light gleaming off the indifferent and terrible edge of a metal blade.
“If you do not cooperate, or at minimum, cease disrupting my Quirk,” Overhaul says, with all the dispassionate annoyance of navigating a business contract, “then I will have to do this the old-fashioned way, and there is no anesthesia in stock.”
He feels sick. Bile is rising in the back of his throat. He thinks he might have started to shake. “I hope you choke and die.”
Overhaul doesn’t even blink. “Even if I did have some on hand, I would not be able to use it. The application of anesthesia is a precise and exacting field, where a small error can easily result in the subject still conscious through surgery, or the subject entering a coma or dying. And I do not have any particular training in this field.”
He pauses, looking down at Izuku; the light above them casts shadows over his face. “Do you still care to test me?”
Izuku grits his teeth. He hates Overhaul, with everything he has in him; hates Overhaul more than almost anyone he’s ever hated before. He wishes Overhaul would drop down dead right where he stands.
When Overhaul uses his Quirk again, though, Izuku doesn’t try to stop him.
--
Nearly three hours later, Izuku is tossed into an empty room with a tiny, adjacent bathroom and locked inside. Knowing that they have pre-prepared cells like this makes his stomach churn. And in conjunction with everything else that’s just happened--
Izuku stumbles into the bathroom and throws up into the toilet.
He’s learned more about his own body than he ever wanted to know: his ability to tolerate others’ energy in his system for long periods of time, for one, how much blood he has for another. But worst of all was when Overhaul removed Izuku’s arm and grafted it to something else for study, and Izuku could still feel everything that was being done to it. Could still control it, even, because his energy was still in it--
Overhaul had been particularly interested in that. Izuku shudders and puts a hand to his mouth, trying not to throw up again.
If he doesn’t find a way out of here, he’d rather kill himself and be done with it than endure this. He’ll take off the fucking medallion and let the skin-beast eat him, if he has to. He doesn’t fucking care.
Izuku breaks down in the bathroom for a few minutes. He cries embarrassingly and even punches the wall. It’s stupid; none of it is going to help the situation. He forcefully shoves all of those emotions away and gets himself back together so he can think of a way to escape.
If he could try going through the in-between place… he doesn’t know if he can get there by himself, though, and he’s scared to try. Senshajou said that he should ask them for help if he needed it, though. Maybe…?
Izuku bites his index finger. With his blood, he quickly draws a hexagonal Script on the floor, then scrawls a please help and one half of a locating rune on it. The other half, he draws on himself. He channels his energy into the Scripts, and the hexagonal Script burns to life; a copy made of his white energy peels away into the second plane and whisks away through the wall. Hopefully Senshajou will get it soon; hopefully they’ll come--
Only minutes later, the skin-beast shoves its head through the wall, its eyes glowing eerily and casting strange lights in the room. I cannot touch you while you are wearing that medallion, it says, but I will not allow you to leave, either.
It opens its mouth to show him the half-chewed remnants of his message, and then it finishes chewing it up and swallows it entirely. Izuku stares, fists clenched and trembling, as it grins at him and disappears from the room.
He’s on his own.
His legs give out from under him, and he sits down hard. His finger is still bleeding. What can he do? He isn’t a fighter, there’s no way he can win in a physical fight against any of the Eight Precepts on his own. His Scripts only work against other spirits. What the hell can he do?
Find a way back to the in-between place on his own, without losing his mind. He’ll have to make a new Script for it. He doesn’t even know where to start.
Izuku’s eyes burn, and he has to fight not to start crying again.
Okay, just get yourself together, Izuku. You’re bleeding and you only have so much blood. Izuku wipes his eyes and goes to the bathroom sink. Plugging the drain, he fills it with water and sticks his hand in. The water slowly starts turning pink. When he’s satisfied with its color, he uses his teeth to rip a thin strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt, then binds his finger as best as he can.
Okay. That should work for ink. The next question, then, is what the hell he’s supposed to write.
There are four planes: the first, or the physical; the second, for minds and auras and particularly determined spirits; the third, where most guardian spirits reside, and which is for dreams and transitions; and the fourth, where the most powerful spirits reside, and where -- Izuku suspects -- the soul of someone in a deep sleep or a coma might walk.
Fourth-plane spirits are so vast and so intrinsically connected to the universe that they’re almost too great to perceive. It’s the plane of planetary spirits, spirits of stars and nebulas and entire galaxies -- the plane in which things like the star-song are sung. Beyond it, there is only the Other Place -- where all beings go when they pass on, and from which no soul nor spirit has ever returned.
The in-between place is none of these things. If the planes are what make up the universe, then the in-between place is the thin structure underneath; the place where things go when they slip between the cracks. If the universe is a stage, then the in-between is backstage. It is the thin boundary between the universe and the vast, dark nothingness beyond. A single misstep there and Izuku would disappear from existence entirely.
So, yeah, the in-between is kind of a tricky place to get to, and a tricky place to be. To make it worse, Izuku isn’t sure it even has a proper name to write down in a Script, or if a Script will even work in the in-between. And what case should he be writing in, too…? For every plane, there’s a corresponding intonation and written case, but what does the in-between have?
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. Just think. He’s been to the in-between place before, he’s heard the way Senshajou talks in there, the way those words are shaped -- not as syllables or sounds, but transmitted like sudden and inexplicable knowledge obtained in a dream. If he can just feel out the shape of it and put it down, if he could just remember--
He takes his time, thinking it over. The gray quality of the in-between, the surreal and dreamlike quality. How the universe had slid away into some translucent, glittering thing beyond the veil. The dim light and shadow that slanted through the space, overlaying each other at sharp and impossible angles, and Senshajou’s speech, how it wasn’t so much spoken as it came into being as if it always was…
Izuku feels for the kernel of knowledge hidden in those memories, and something shifts, deep in his mind, as if awakening, as if a slow movement in the mist. He opens his eyes and dips his finger into the bloody water of the sink, and begins writing on the walls.
--
Three failed Scripts. His energy is running low, and there’s not much water left in the sink, but he’s gotten closer with every try. This is the one that will get him home. He’s sure of it. If he just adds a couple more clauses around the edge, to make sure he doesn’t lose himself when he enters…
Izuku is just finishing up with the last glyphs when he hears the cell door open. He startles, fumbles to write down the very last of the glyphs -- the door shuts with a click -- he braces himself and draws up his energy to activate the Script -- the bathroom door swings open, and Izuku freezes.
Standing at the door is a girl, no older than ten, frozen in spot. She’s a child.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks, horrified. He quickly shifts his focus to the second plane; there’s an aura frantically moving around on this floor. “Are you running from someone?”
The girl doesn’t move for a second longer, and then she nods, casting a fearful look back to the main, empty room of the cell.
Izuku looks over his Script one more time. He only wrote it to get one person through the in-between space, and he doesn’t know if it can handle two--
He looks at the girl. It’s not even a choice, really.
“I can hide you,” he says. “Do you want me to?”
She jerks her gaze back to him, surprised, and for a moment Izuku thinks she’s just going to run back out there, but then they both hear it -- footsteps rapidly approaching down the hall. She nods.
Izuku holds out his hand, and she takes it with a fearful expression. Her hand is so small. “I need you to close your eyes,” he says, and she does, squeezing them tightly shut. “Take as deep a breath you can, and hold it. Whatever you hear or feel, don’t look, don’t move, and most importantly, don’t let go of my hand.”
He pushes his energy into the subject clause written on his arm; it glows, and with a mental command, he sends it winding down to his skin and climbing onto the girl’s hand instead. He slams the other hand against the fully written Script on the wall, burning it to life. Clear as day, reality around him splinters and refracts until he can clearly see the four planes overlaying each other, and more than that, the thin curtain separating them from the in-between place.
Izuku pulls the curtain over the girl just in time for the cell door slamming open.
A man with shaggy, light-colored hair appears in the bathroom doorway. His eyes flicker to the bloodstained sink, to the slight scorching on the walls from Izuku’s failed Scripts, to Izuku crouching down by a messy, water- and blood-stained wall.
“Geez, what the hell have you been up to in here?” the man mutters, casting one last look around. His eyes skitter right over the space where the girl was standing. “Haven’t seen a girl run in here, by any chance?”
Izuku can feel the Script starting to destabilize; the energy doesn’t want to hold together. It wasn’t made to hold a human. “I heard someone rattling the doorknob,” he tells the man tersely, straining to keep the Script from falling apart.
The man nods and closes the bathroom door, and a moment later, Izuku hears the cell door slam shut with an audible click.
Izuku pulls the girl out of the in-between space and wraps her in his arms, covering her with his body as the Script destabilizes. The energy bursts like a firecracker. White light flashes over the walls. There’s a faint hiss as the bloody water that made up the Script evaporates to nothing. Izuku sets down the girl and glances at the wall, where the only trace of the Script is a red-brown powder crumbling to the floor and faint black marks singed into the plaster.
“Are you okay?” he asks, turning back to the girl. He takes in her appearance: long white hair, a single horn, red eyes -- she’s tearing up, but she isn’t making a sound. Izuku frowns, but then he remembers -- he transferred the subject clause of the Script to her, and the Script just imploded. He curses mentally and gently takes her arm. “I’m sorry that hurt. Let me just check--”
He rolls up her jacket sleeves and stops, frozen. Her arm is completely wrapped in bandages.
If she’s running around terrified down here, then -- what’s Overhaul doing to her? What the fuck?
“Hey,” he says, in as gentle a voice he can manage. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Deku, what’s your name?”
She bites her lip before answering in a voice so quiet he can barely catch it, “Eri.”
“Eri-chan, I want to check that I didn’t hurt you too bad just now. But I’m afraid that taking off your bandages will hurt you more. On a scale of one to ten, how much pain do you feel?”
Eri fiddles with the hem of her jacket, looking down at the floor. Finally, she holds up three fingers.
“Do you think it would hurt more if I take your bandages off?”
Eri gives a tiny shrug, still not looking up, but she squeezes Izuku’s hand a bit tighter. Best not try it right now, then. He can feel her trembling through their grip.
“Eri-chan,” he says, “why are you in this place?”
She mumbles something he can’t hear.
“Can you repeat that?”
“Researching my Quirk,” she mumbles.
“Does it hurt?”
She nods, and Izuku feels a deep, burning anger spring to life. It’s one thing if Overhaul pulls this kind of shit on him. But this is -- she’s just a kid.
Izuku has to get her out of here.
He runs through the calculations in his head. His Script destabilized, but that’s because it wasn’t meant to carry a human through the in-between. He’ll have to make accommodations. -- Izuku mentally rearranges the Script in his head and nods to himself. This could work; he’ll just have to work out the kinks as he goes.
“Eri-chan,” he says, “do you want to leave this place?”
Eri jerks her head up sharply to look at him. There’s a flash of fear in her eyes before she looks away again. “Can’t,” she whispers.
“Nevermind that,” he says soothingly. “Don’t think about whether or not it’s possible. Just tell me: if you could leave, would you?”
There’s a long, agonizing moment, and then Eri nods, just once. Her aura is tinged through with fear.
“Thank you for putting your trust in me earlier,” Izuku says to her. “You were really brave. I’m going to tell you a secret now, okay?” Eri’s eyes flick up to his. “I’m about to leave. Do you want me to take you with me?”
“I-if you…” she swallows, and persists in a small voice. “He’ll hurt you.”
Izuku’s heart clenches. “Overhaul?” She nods, tightening her grip and looking down at the floor again. Izuku didn’t think it was possible for him to hate Overhaul even more than he already did, but he does. “You don’t need to worry about me; I can take care of myself. Earlier, I told you I could hide you, didn’t I? If you want to leave, then I promise that I’ll get you out of here too.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
And that’s when the kirin spirit sweeps in through the walls, aura pressing down with fear and fury both. It turns its head to pin Izuku with its terrible red glare -- and then it pauses. The name-eater boy?
Eri throws herself at Izuku, burying her face in his hoodie. Surprised, he wraps his arms around her in a hug. “I want to leave.”
“Then we’ll leave,” Izuku says, not looking away from the kirin. “I promise, Eri-chan, I’ll get you out of here.”
The kirin takes a step forward. You will? it says, sounding disbelieving and hopeful all at once. You could not even save yourself.
It seems to be Eri’s guardian spirit. And if it is, and if Eri really has been experimented on like Izuku thinks -- then no wonder it is so tragically angry all the time. I’ve been working on a way to leave through the in-between place, Izuku tells it, and I was able to use my last Script to hide Eri-chan from the man she was running from. I’ll need to tweak it to let me take two people at once, but--
The kirin’s aura flares at that. You will not, it commands. A human is not meant to go through the in-between. She will not last.
Izuku frowns. He’d suspected it wouldn’t be pleasant, which is why he told Eri to close her eyes, but… He makes to pull away from Eri, but she hugs him tighter. He gives her a baffled pat on the shoulder. “Eri-chan, what did it feel like when I hid you?”
A pause. “Scary,” she says, finally. “Everything was cold. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was floating. I could hear you talking… but it was really far…”
You see? the kirin says. You cannot take her through there.
Izuku sits and absorbs this information. Unfortunately, it makes sense. The in-between place is… the bare wire framework of the universe, hardly a place for a first-plane creature. But if he doesn’t take her through there -- what else can he do?
Let me lend you my strength, the kirin says suddenly. How did you fuse with the chimera? I am willing to do it with you.
Izuku takes a shaky breath, mind racing. If there’s any other way to do this, any other way at all…
He can’t think of one. And he already decided that he’s going to get Eri out of here; if he has to sacrifice himself, then that’s how it is. But still--
Before I tell you, he says, you have to promise not to use this information against me, and to never give this knowledge to anyone else.
The kirin frowns. Will this knowledge harm anyone?
Me, says Izuku. Which is why you have to promise. He shifts so he can hug Eri better; she doesn’t show any signs of letting go.
It studies him for a long moment, before finally saying, I promise I will not use the information you are about to reveal to me against you, nor will I give this knowledge to anyone else, so long as you speak the truth and these conditions will bring no harm to me and my charge.
It’ll work. I let the chimera possess me, Izuku says in a rush, and looks away. His heart is beating fast.
Possess you? The kirin sounds startled.
Yeah, says Izuku. You can see how the planes don’t work right around me, right? If you possess me, you and your powers can interact with every single plane at once.
He glances at the kirin carefully to monitor its reaction. There’s a puzzled crease to its eyes, and its aura pulses contemplatively. I… will be able to use my power on the walls keeping her captive?
Izuku swallows. There are so many tempting reasons for a spirit to want to possess him. But the kirin made a promise, he reminds himself. It can’t use the knowledge against him. Yes. I’ll only invite you in if you promise to leave after we’ve removed Eri from immediate danger.
The kirin looks at him with hungry eyes, and Izuku is afraid for a moment that it won’t make that promise; that the temptation of having Izuku as a vessel is too much -- but the kirin only says, I promise I will abide by your terms, so long as we are united in the common purpose of removing my charge from Overhaul’s care.
Izuku lets out a breath. “Okay,” he says out loud. He swallows again and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. His heart is pounding, and he’s fairly certain he’s about to lose his nerve. To lose control like that again… But what else can he do? Eri has to go free, no matter the cost to him. “Eri-chan, are you ready to go?”
Eri nods into his jacket. But, the kirin adds, I would prefer to do a partial possession, not a full one. I am not fond of overwriting one’s mind.
Izuku nearly cries in relief.
He takes a deep breath, and another. For this to work… He takes off his medallion and puts it around Eri’s neck. If it can’t protect him, then maybe it can offer some measure of protection to her instead. “Eri-chan, this might look a little weird to you, but don’t be scared. Okay?”
And then, turning to the kirin, Under the terms we have agreed to, I-- He swallows one more time, throat dry. He has to force the last words out. I invite you in.
The kirin glows, and then Izuku’s world is consumed by a rush of pale golden fire streaked through with red -- and a moment later, when they open his eyes, the kirin is gone, and everything has been tinted gold as if they’re viewing the world through the thinnest shell of a rose pearl. They flex his hands experimentally; his nails have turned into black, wicked claws, and its teal scales are covering his hands and running up his arms. They open his mouth and exhale a plume of black smoke.
Eri pulls back and looks up at them curiously. “Deku?” They peer down at her. She’s so small! She’s so near! “You look different. You…” She reaches up, and they bend down obligingly. Her hand touches something attached to the skull above the eyes -- my horn, the kirin whispers. “You have a horn like me,” she says, full of wonder, and touches it again.
“That’s because I’m borrowing your power for a bit,” they say -- the boy in them says.
She withdraws suddenly, looking fearful. “My… my Quirk?”
The kirin moves to speak. “Do not worry, Eri,” it rumbles, and something about the mortal form’s voice takes on a strange and echoing quality, distorted until it is almost in the second intonation, but not quite. “Your power cannot hurt us.”
Her mouth parts in awe as she stares up at them, and they smile at her reassuringly. Then they crouch down with their back towards her. “Alright, then, it’s time to get out of here. Climb on!”
Eri clumsily clambers on, wrapping her arms around their neck nervously, and they spring up. The kirin’s energy courses through him, golden and overflowing and so full of vitality, mingling with the boy’s strange, inert, and so very condensed energy. They go to the cell door to turn the knob. It’s locked. But it doesn’t bother them; they just put their hands to the door and push. It crumples under their force, and a moment later, they are standing in the hall.
“Wow,” Eri whispers into their ear. They chuckle, and scanning the second plane, they lope towards the most likely location for the stairs. In short order, though, they see the skin-beast block their path. Its eyes are hungry, and the many faces stitched into its skin are stretched grotesquely, the holes where their mouths should be stretched wide open as if screaming.
What an interesting development, time-walker, it says. To think you would join with the name-eater. How curious.
Get out of the way, they say.
No, I don’t think so. It peels its muzzle back into a grin. I’d much rather skin you instead.
It leaps. They send out a sweep of golden fire, and the hall ignites. The skin-beast crashes into them with its pelts on fire. It sends a pulse of ugly, slimy energy slithering into them, but a careless flick and the energy is burned out, easy as anything. And then they put their hands to the skin-beast’s face; the room pulses once with their energy, and then the skin-beast is frozen mid-growl, unable to move.
You could not defeat me even when we were not united, the kirin says, amused, what made you think you could defeat us now?
They leave the skin-beast caught frozen in time, golden flames licking at its heels. It will break free soon, but if it is wise, it won’t come after them again.
“What happened, Deku?” Eri whispers.
“We had to take care of an unexpected enemy,” they reply. “We may have another few fights before we are truly free. But do not be afraid, Eri. We will protect you.”
“We?” Eri asks.
“You have never been alone,” they say. Then, more kirin then boy, “I have always been with you.”
They climb up the stairs and lope through the maze-like halls. Avoiding other humans or spirits is easy, so long as they keep an eye on everyone’s auras on the second plane. It is easy to ghost through this floor, and the next…
The fire alarm goes off. Weird, do they not have fire alarms on the floor I was on? the nameless boy thinks. We probably should have put out that fire.
It does not matter. They cannot stop us, the rest of them says. Eri clings tighter to them, but doesn’t say a word. They climb up to the next floor.
This time, they come across a few of Overhaul’s masked human subordinates. “Hey! Who the hell--” one of them says, and then, “Put the girl down right now!”
“Get out of the way,” they say.
In response, the skinnier human draws on its guardian spirit’s power, and its hair shoots out towards them at blinding speed.
Not fast enough. They skip out of the way, grab the hair, and with a flare of their energy, set it ablaze. The human screams, and they blur forward to grab it by the throat and slam it into the wall, knocking it out. They turn to the other human. “Will you fight, too?”
Its face splits into a huge grin. “Came here to put out a fire, but instead I get to fight you,” it says with obvious pleasure. “So you’re the kid who defeated All for One, huh? I’m going to enjoy this.”
Enough talking. They blur forward, claws outstretched -- but the human grabs their clawed arm and sends them skidding down the hall. Annoyed, they set the hall on fire. The human barrels right through the wall of flame, heedless of how its clothes and hair ignite. With a joyous roar, it charges forward at them. They frown and catch its energy-enforced punch. Ah; its spirit’s power has coated it in bronze armor. They pull on the boy’s well of energy, then, sending the white energy through the armor and vibrating it at just the right frequency until the armor shatters.
Then they break the human’s arm, throw the human away, and continue on.
Except they sense the human rush them again, and annoyed, they whirl around and catch the human’s punch again, shattering its armor just as before. “You are outclassed,” they say, annoyed. “Leave.”
The human laughs. “It ain’t over ‘til one of us is dead!” it roars. “You’ll have to kill me if you want us to stop! So show me what you got!”
What an annoying amount of bluster. They send out a wave of their energy and wind back time on the human, watching dispassionately as it collapses to the ground with a scream. Soon it will wither away into nothing. Such is the nature of time. They turn to walk away--
No! the boy says suddenly, strongly. Don’t kill him!
Their vision goes double, and Izuku suddenly feels them splitting down the middle where they used to be a harmonized whole. Why? the kirin queries. His life is of no worth.
Yes it is! He’s alive, so it’s worth something! He’s not a threat to us, so just -- let it go!
There’s a long pause, and then the kirin cuts its energy off. The human stops screaming. Their vision stabilizes, they come back together. They march down the hall.
I think you scared Eri, the boy murmurs in their mind.
A real wave of regret settles in the kirin, then. “How are you feeling, Eri?” they say.
Her arms tighten around their neck. “I’m scared,” she whispers. “I thought -- I thought he was gonna die.”
“I’m sorry, that won’t happen again. No one is going to die.”
See? Don’t do that, the boy says. Humans have different rules than you.
The kirin remains silent, but they both know the boy is right.
Why hasn’t Overhaul appeared yet? Perhaps he is away on business, and entrusted care of the compound to his underlings. It doesn’t matter. They scan the second plane to pinpoint the rest of the auras on this floor… no one, really. But somewhere beyond, there are plenty of auras clustered along a grid. They’ve reached street level. “Eri, do you know where the door is?”
She doesn’t. They wander the floor for a little bit before they finally find an exit, and then they’re stepping out into a well-kept backyard. The sky above is dark and filled with stars. Three hours until sunrise, the kirin in them notes.
Someone stumbles out into the yard. “Wait!” They turn around with a frown to see the same annoying persistent human from before, the one they’d spared. “Hey, kid. You could kill Overhaul easy as anythin’ right now, couldn’t ya?”
They ponder the question for a moment. “Yes. His power is trivial compared to his spirit’s. It would only take a moment.”
Eri, on their shoulder, shivers. They frown. “But that’s none of our concern. Sorry, Eri. Let’s get out of here.”
They flick their hands, golden flames roaring to life.
“Wait!” the man yells, running forward.
Perplexed, they spare him only a glance before leaping up, using their flames to propel themselves over the compound walls and into the night sky.
We need to land a decent distance away, the boy in them mutters. They can track us through the sky by the brightness of our flames. They switch their vision to the second plane and gauge the city; there, far in the distance -- a darkened patch, devoid of auras. Likely a public park, abandoned at this time of night. That will do. Shifting their hands, they steer themselves towards their chosen landing spot and send themselves higher into the air -- and higher, and higher…
The buildings below them shrink and shrink. When they’re at a good height, they cut out their flames. Velocity alone should carry them most of the way from here; and now, there are no flames to track them by.
Eri screams. “Don’t worry!” they shout. “We’ll land safely. Just hang on tight!”
They hurtle down towards the ground, and the wind rushes past them so cold and sharp it could cut them. The stars are beautiful, glittering and distant above the thin and misty clouds. The nameless boy in them can’t help but open their mouth and laugh, exuberant, at the weightless feeling of their fall -- nothing to catch them, nothing around them, nothing but this sweet and utter freedom.
“We’re free, Eri!” he enthuses, and he laughs again. “We’re free!”
Not quite yet, the kirin reminds them. We must still land.
Izuku laughs as they fall down towards their landing spot -- and sure enough, it’s a nice public park with plenty of trees. Time-walker, your turn! he shouts.
We have been using my power this whole time, the kirin points out, but it pulls its golden energy around them, catching them and Eri in a golden bubble. Their racing descent slows down to a brisk leap to a casual downward saunter, and then in a cheerful exuberance, they set the trees beneath them on fire to burn the branches in their way.
Ah, we probably shouldn’t have done that, Izuku remarks. Someone will see it.
Hm, says the kirin, and puts the fire out.
They land lightly on the grass. They crouch down and let Eri tumble off their back onto her feet. She looks around with wide eyes, then looks up at them -- and they can’t help but grin and sweep her up into a hug, spinning her around. She squeaks, her aura flaring with surprise -- but then a creeping, insistent awe. “We did it! We’re out!” Izuku laughs, and the golden sheen fades from his vision as the kirin retreats from him and ends the possession. “We did it!”
He sets her down, breathless and grinning so wide it hurts, and she gives him a small, hesitant smile back.
“Now, all we have to do is get you somewhere safe,” he says cheerfully. “I could take you to the police--”
The smile drops from her face. He stops. “No?”
“He might… he might look for me there,” she whispers.
“Oh, Eri.” He tries to think of someone else to give her to. “Do you want me to take you to the heroes?”
She shakes her head. Izuku frowns, but no one else comes to mind. “Then… Do you want to stay at my house until we figure something out?”
She looks up at him shyly. “C… can I?”
He tugs at his lip and looks askance at the kirin. Guardian spirits usually don’t want him around their charges longer than strictly necessary. But the kirin shakes its head and says, She will be safe with you. If you would take her with you… I would owe you a great debt.
You don’t owe me a debt for doing what’s right, Izuku says, rolling his eyes. He holds out his hand to Eri, and she takes it tentatively. “Then let’s go home for the night, Eri-chan. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”
They walk down to a nearby bus station, where Izuku grabs a flyer and scans the subway train schedule. There’s a station about half a mile away, and it has trains running every hour all night. Good enough for him. He walks with Eri down the streets; she seems happy to be outside, although she glances around nervously on occasion.
They pass an apartment where some clothes are being hung out to dry, and Izuku steals a beanie to hide Eri’s hair with, bunching her long hair into a bun before sliding the beanie over it. Izuku also exchanges his hoodie for a baggy brown coat and finds a red sweater to replace Eri’s jacket. There. It’s not much of a disguise, but better than nothing.
The station is nearly abandoned. He doesn’t have any money or a train pass, but after scuffing up his hair a bit and making himself look sufficiently distressed, someone is kind enough to scan him and Eri through the gates for free. After fifteen minutes of waiting, they board the train that’ll take them closest to his apartment. They sit down by the window, with Eri taking the window seat. There’s no one else in this particular car.
Izuku doesn’t think much of it until he sees a man with long, light-colored hair enter through the doors with a large, armored lion spirit stalking at his heels.
The kirin, at Izuku’s side, bristles. It’s him, it snarls.
Izuku sits up straighter. The man strolls down the corridor and sits down in the row behind them. “Hey, kid,” he says. “Why’d you go running off like that, huh?”
He and Eri both stiffen at his voice. It’s him -- that guy Izuku told the kirin not to kill. He turns to make eye contact with the man over the edge of his seat. “How did you find us?”
“My Quirk makes me real sturdy,” the man replies with a grin. “Ran after ya over the rooftops, followin’ that fire of yours. ‘Course, I lost you for a bit, but then you set those trees on fire. I just followed you from there.”
Izuku grits his teeth. The kirin, at the side, flares its aura, angry and regretful. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t stick around to hear me out, back there.” The man shakes his head with a tsk. “Been following Overhaul ‘cause I couldn’t beat him. If I’m gonna follow anyone for bein’ stronger than me, though, you’re way more interesting. Prolly less boring, too.” He grins at Izuku. “Ain’t leaving until I beat you, fair ‘n square.”
“When we fought you said it wasn’t over ‘til one of us died, ” Izuku hisses.
“That’s right.”
“You’re just -- you want to follow me because you want to fight me to the death?”
You should have let me kill him, the kirin says darkly.
Don’t even think about it, the lion spirit says, bored, appearing at its side. He’s just looking for a good fight, like anyone would.
“Got it in one,” the man confirms. “I’m from an underground fight club, and there ain’t no match there that don’t end in death.”
“This is fucking real life, not some -- some stupid fight club!” Izuku whisper-yells.
“Who cares? I’m just looking for a good fight.”
“I’m fifteen!”
“Damn good for a fifteen-year-old. Didja really take down All for One? Had a hard time believing it ‘til you broke my arm.”
Izuku twists around fully to face the man, feeling something bubbling hot and furious in the pit of his stomach. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pick a fight with a teenager a decade your junior? Go outside and get a hobby!”
The man just laughs at him. “Hobby? Kid, this is my life. I want nothin’ but a good fight where I can go to fuckin’ town with my Quirk. But there ain’t many who can take a punch from me and still stay standin’ on their feet. I punched you, and you weren’t even phased.”
He seems to find this incredibly funny. The lion spirit licks her paw and remarks, It’s true. There aren’t many who are worthy out there.
This man is so fucking stupid. “I honestly don’t give a shit. Find someone else.”
“Ah, but a match ain’t over ‘til one of us is dead,” the man says cheerfully. “I lost this time, but next time I’ll give you a run for your money, you’ll see.”
“Absolutely not,” says Izuku.
“There’s nothing I want more than a proper fight,” the man says wistfully. “One that makes me afraid for my fuckin’ life… one that pushes me to the absolute edge! One filled with the kind of raw power that comes from putting your life on the line! I want to have that kind of brawl -- I’ve been searching my whole life for it! And then here you come along!”
Eri is trembling in her seat, and something dark and ugly is stirring in Izuku. This man, strolling in without a care in the world -- and for what? Just to throw his life haphazardly at whatever he finds in hopes that it’ll -- what? Give him a thrill? Is this all he has in his life? Is he so empty? He breathes deep to try and curb the anger in him, but -- this man has also outright declared his intent to kill Izuku. Izuku can understand that kind of declaration from a spirit, but from a person --
He can feel himself flaring out his energy, leaking his hostility all through the air. He tries to reign it in, but -- god, this man is so fucking dumb, and his motives are so -- so -- meaningless.
“Is that all you have to say?” he says, flat and low. There’s something dark in his voice, every ounce of his disdain and dispassionate apathy compressed into a gunmetal blade.
The man draws back, and some quicksilver unease flashes through his eyes, but the grin remains. “Not interested?”
Izuku forces himself to breathe in through the nose, past the black temper clotting in his chest. When he exhales, he lets his energy pool in the shadows beneath his feet in a vague effort to release his anger. The kirin and the lion spirit are drawing away, ears pressed back against their heads. “Of course I’m not interested,” he says, in a voice as calm as a river in the night. “Who would care for such a petty, asinine thing?”
The grin is gone from the man’s face, and he’s looking at Izuku with the same deeply unsettled look that everyone always does. It doesn’t touch Izuku. “‘Power,’ ‘fighting…’” he mocks. “Shut the fuck up. If that’s all your life is worth, then get out of my sight.”
He glares. The man is barely breathing, watching him with clear, sharp eyes, but unmoving in his seat, as if some distant power has seized him and held him frozen there. His aura churns dark with fear, fluttering rapidly at the edges with confusion. He doesn’t seem like he’ll say anything else. Izuku turns away.
Sitting next to him, Eri looks up at him uncertainly, and it occurs to him, then, that he just swore in front of her.
“Fuck,” he says, and then slaps himself in the face. He did it again. “Eri-chan, how are you holding up?”
She glances uncertainly at the man behind them. “...Is Rappa-san going to follow us…?”
“He better not,” Izuku says darkly. He’s got enough on his plate.
“S-say,” Rappa says suddenly. “That fightin’ ability of yours -- you can’t use it all the time, can you? Otherwise you never would’ve gotten caught by Overhaul in the first place.”
Izuku sets his jaw and very determinedly does not look back. “None of your business.”
“Ah, but you’ve got everyone after you now, don’tcha? You were arrested by the heroes, weren’t you? And the girl’s important somehow, I hear. The rest of Overhaul’s gang is gonna come running after you.”
Izuku just knows Rappa is grinning again, and he really wishes he could wipe it off his face. “I said, it’s none of your business.”
“If I stick with you,” Rappa says, “you get an extra bodyguard for the kid, and I get my pick of good fights.” He sounds incredibly smug.
Izuku’s first instinct is to say no, but -- he stops, and looks at Eri. He doesn’t have any fighting ability on his own, except the ability to occasionally circumvent someone’s Quirk. But it won’t do him any good against fast fighters like the ones in Overhaul’s employ. If someone came to take Eri back, he… wouldn’t be able to protect her. Not by himself.
“Eri-chan,” he says. “Did Rappa ever do anything to you?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. “He… he’s newer,” she says. “I didn’t… see him a lot.”
“Would you be scared of having him around?”
It’s a stupid question, actually. Izuku grimaces at himself, but Eri says, “I… Is he going to take us back?”
“Well, Rappa?” Izuku says curtly.
“Nah,” the man says with a laugh. “This is way more fun.”
Eri bites her lip again, then shakes her head. “Um… whatever Deku-niisan thinks is best…” she mumbles.
Izuku glances at the kirin. It looks incredibly displeased, but it’s also assessing Rappa and not dismissing the offer outright.
If he ever wants a good fight from you, the lion spirit offers, just call for me. I’d be more than happy to tussle with him.
The kirin casts a distasteful look at it. Extra insurance never hurts, it says begrudgingly. He seems straightforward enough, but his loyalties are fickle. I do not like it.
I can’t think of a way to get rid of him. If he could find us after we leaped halfway across the city, he could follow me any time, no problem, Izuku mutters darkly. He should just turn Rappa in to the police, honestly, but then Rappa might injure them and escape back to the Eight Precepts. Turning him in to the heroes…
Izuku isn’t feeling particularly amenable to contacting the heroes at this point in time.
“Fine,” he says out loud, feeling like he’s losing some kind of game. “You can come along, but there’s ground rules, okay? Otherwise the deal’s out.”
“Sure, kid,” Rappa says cheerfully. “Lay ‘em on me.”
“No picking fights or purposefully drawing attention,” Izuku says. “No attacking me or Eri. If you put Eri in danger in any way, actually, we’re done. Also? No murder. Except in self-defense or defense of others, I guess.”
Rappa gives a theatrical sigh. “You make this so difficult. I want to fight you too, you know.”
Izuku makes a face and glances at the lion spirit. She looks back at him with interest. “...I’ll consider it on a case by case basis.”
“Eh, I guess that’s the best I’ll get. I’m gonna have a go at anyone who attacks me, though.”
Izuku sighs. “Fine, whatever. But that’s it. Okay?”
“You got it,” says Rappa cheerfully. “So, what’re your names, anyways? Never bothered to learn them.”
Izuku sighs again and puts his head in his hands. He hates every decision he’s ever made, for leading him up to this moment. He regrets this so much.
--
They reach Izuku’s apartment, and Rappa and Eri watch as Izuku digs out a spare set of lockpicks from the soil in the flowerpot and breaks in through his own front door. “You sure this is your apartment?” Rappa says, amused.
“Shut up,” Izuku says. “I lost my keys.”
Rappa laughs at him. Izuku shoots him a dirty look and lets them into his apartment.
His apartment seems so much dirtier and more crowded with two other people in there. Izuku kicks his clothes on the floor into a pile and straightens up his bed, then tells Eri she can go to sleep there if she wants. Eri hesitates until Izuku tells her that it’s no problem, not to worry about it. After that, she crawls under the blanket covers and is out like a light.
“Nice place you got here,” Rappa says to Izuku when he walks into the kitchen.
“Shut up, ” Izuku grouses. He digs through the fridge. Oh, thank god, leftover takeout. He tosses it into the microwave. “I don’t have a lot to eat here, and I don’t know if I’ve got the money to feed two more people, but you can make yourself welcome to the contents of my fridge while you’re here.”
Rappa hums, but he doesn’t make for the fridge or anything. He just kind of sits there and watches while Izuku rapidly devours his food. Izuku is so fucking hungry. He’s expended so much energy in the past twenty-four hours -- it’s a miracle he’s still awake, honestly. It’s probably the adrenaline.
Sure enough, when he finishes eating, the exhaustion hits him like a truck. He blinks, sways, catches himself on the table; it’s all he can do to put his dish in the sink and walk back to his bed. “I don’t have an extra bed,” he tells Rappa, “but there’s a couple extra blankets in the closet, plus a few spare pillows lying around. Sorry, I’m exhausted. You’ll have to fix your own bed.”
He collapses into his bed, next to Eri, and his fatigue truly crashes over him then. He sighs deeply, eyes drooping closed, rapidly drifting away from consciousness. He’s so tired after everything that’s happened today.
In the distance, Rappa murmurs something -- “just a kid, huh,” he thinks he hears, but it’s so murky and far away. His exhaustion swamps him.
And then he’s out.