Chapter Text
Tenko’s alarm goes off at 7:00 am, sharp, and for a moment— alone in his bedroom with his scattered thoughts and his things and the dust— it feels like he’s a kid again; responsibilities starting and ending with keeping himself screwed together enough to go to class without fresh disciplinary action and a disappointed mother.
Urgh.
Tenko hated elementary school.
And middle school.
And high school.
And college, sometimes, which is if nothing else an improvement over always.
He hates a lot of things— including getting up early, but. Shit to do, little brothers to catch unawares.
Mom’s already moving around the kitchen when he wanders out of his bedroom, cleanish t-shirt pulled loosely over his head and arms tugged halfway through the sleeves of one of Dabi’s coats— swiped during the rush to pack, fuck you, it’s his apartment.
The asshole in question’s still lying on the living room couch, nearly identical jacket pulled loosely over his head to block the light. He’s got a million of the things: most of them pretentious, some of them passably cool, all of them artistically distressed.
Tenko’s got better things to do then mess with Dabi. The prick sleeps on, undisturbed.
Down the hall the floors exactly as fucked as Tenko left it the night before. Gloved hands tingle. They’re covered again, safe again, for the sake of Mom’s shit and his own pride, but--
If Tenko wanted too, and. He’s sometimes thought about it. If Tenko wanted too, he could live without them, he thinks. But--
Tenko doesn’t like thinking about how he became a Midoriya.
The gloves stay on. The gloves have stayed on for a while.
Anyway. He still feels…kind of bad, about the damage. He’s got cash? Probably he should head out later and replace what he broke.
Further still, Mom’s bustling about the kitchen, packing up lunchboxes for the day ahead.
One for Izuku, one for her, and two more besides. She’s always been too nice for her own good.
Tenko steps through the entryway and Mom glances sideways; smiles. Tenko knows her too well not to see where it wavers around the edges, where the makeup doesn’t quite cover the bags under her eyes, where she’s just— slightly— out of step. Breaking her shit made him feel…kind of bad, but he woke her up on a work night, after Izuku got hurt, and the sour lingering fuck-shit-fuck in his mouth is as genuine as it gets.
“You’re up early,” Mom remarks. Tenko shrugs and slips behind her, commandeering a sizzling pan of sausage. He can’t really cook, but all he has to do is make sure the meat doesn’t burn until the rice is ready, which is. Do-able.
“Don’t want to miss Izu-chan before he heads out.”
Mom spins to face him, gesturing reproachfully with her wooden spoon. Tenko surrenders with grace, hands in the air. “Don’t be mean to your brother! He’s had it rough--”
“I won’t, I won’t!”
Mom doesn’t look like she buys it, which Tenko guesses is fair. Bullshit is bullshit.
They work in companionable silence until the rice cooker dings and Dabi shuffles into the room, rubbing the sleep out of his fucked-up eyes with equally fucked-up hands. He stops in the doorway. Glares. “Nice jacket,” he snipes.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Mom gently nudges Tenko out of the way, shaking the sausage onto a plate and cracking the first of the eggs into the now empty pan. “I think it’s cute!” she says. The eggs sizzle loudly— sunny side up, with sausage, on rice. It’s a good breakfast. “Matching with your boyfriend—”
“What,” Tenko doesn’t yell, because he’s being super reasonable right now.
Dabi very unhelpfully doesn’t say a word, sitting down at the table like he isn’t leaving all the work to Tenko, the useless bastard.
“Absolutely NOT.”
“Sorry, Midoriya-san,” Dabi says.
Mom pulls out the first bowl (a cheap, plastic thing, like all the tableware and cutlery in the house) and spoons some of the rice into it. “Oh! Apologies, young man!” The sausage is tossed in, and then the egg, cooked to perfection. She slides the first bowl over to Dabi and cracks the next shell. “I didn’t mean…”
“Mom,” Tenko wheezes. “I would. Literally rather die.”
Dabi pops a piece of sausage into his mouth and chews with deliberate slowness. “Well, if you’re gonna say it,” he says. “I think I vomited a little.”
“Shut your hell mouth, Dabi—”
“Boys!”
Izuku’s impeccable sense of dramatic timing hasn’t changed a bit, and he chooses this exact moment to wander in the kitchen, eyes still tracking the hole in the floor. “Nii-san! You are back!”
And Tenko thought the property damage was subtle.
“Yeah. I’m back.”
Izuku squints at Tenko, gears visibly turning in his dumb little head. Probably Tenko’s expression isn’t subtle either. “M-mom,” he stammers, “I think I’m maybe going to go to school early—”
Inko swats Tenko lightly with the spoon, which is for the record VERY UNFAIR, and bustles over the other end of the kitchen, pushing Izuku into the chair next to Dabi. “Don’t be silly, honey! You don’t actually have to go to school today, not after—”
“I’m really fine,” Izuku says.
“At least eat, then,” Mom allows. “I won’t let your brother bully you.”
“I wasn’t bullying him!”
Mom swats him again. “Sit down at the table, Tenko.”
Tenko sits down at the table.
“Mom said you weren’t supposed to bully me,” Izuku says, backing up, one step, two, really? Are you doing this, little brother?
Dabi sniggers.
“I’m not bullying you.” Tenko closes the gap between them. The alley is dirty and tucked away and absolutely nobody is going to come to Izuku’s rescue, finally. “So. You’re gonna tell me what the hell you were thinking.”
Izuku twitches, a fraction of a step to the left, like he’s thinking about running for it. He doesn’t, though.
“I was thinking.” Izuku frowns and stops moving. Takes a deep breath. “I was thinking, that he looked like he needed saving.”
It’s a stupid thing to say. If Izuku did anything, it was place another civilian in the line of fire. Stupid, idiot, dumbass— but there’s steel in his spine, the hint of something Tenko hasn’t seen in a while. Izuku wants to be a hero, but it’s a fragile dream, a coping mechanism. What’s this…?
He dismisses it.
And… Tenko wouldn’t touch this, usually, because his brother’s hobbies are stupid but his, but. Izuku nearly died.
“You didn’t save anyone,” he tells him, and means it.
Izuku flinches.
“You didn’t save anyone and you almost— that villain would have killed you, dipshit. You could have died, running into shit too big for you. Trying to play hero.”
Another moment passes between them, and
“I’m, I’m sorry, but-- I had too!”
Oh, Tenko realizes, a fraction of a second too late. Izuku wasn’t flinching, wasn’t cowed at all, just— kind of pissed now, maybe. Maybe. It’s been a while since he’s been caught off guard by something Izuku’s done. “Nobody else was doing anything and Kacchan wasn’t going to make it much longer and it was— my fault!”
Dabi beats Tenko to the punch.
“Other people’s fuckshit isn’t on you, you know.”
“I have this HANDLED, Dabi.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Nii-san. I’m going to go to school now.” A beat. “See you later.”
What?
“What? We aren’t done, brat—”
“Yes, we are.” Izuku steps towards him, not away, buoyed by some unknown font of courage. “It’s okay, Nii-san. You don’t get it, but.” He pauses. “It’s okay. I don’t regret it, and…I won’t? So.” He shifts the backpack on his shoulder and sets off for the mouth of the alley. Tenko almost stops him, but—
What the hell.
“Let’s go,” he tells Dabi.
Dabi blinks, incredulous. “What the fuck are you—”
"Did you hear me? Are you going deaf? Let's go."
“Alright,” Dabi says. “What the hell was that.”
Tenko tilts the blender sideways, squinting at the fine print. This is…maybe the brand Mom had? It’s hard to tell, and the original is in too many pieces and dust to look at closely. It seems like a nice blender, he guesses, if he had to judge.
Dabi grabs his sleeve, yanking roughly on the fabric of the stolen jacket.
“Creep.” Another yank. “You’ve been ignoring me for thirty minutes.”
“…I’m thinking.”
Dabi drops the sleeve. “About…?”
“Ahhh… The brat’s hiding something, obviously.” He tosses the blender into the cart and tugs it further into the supermarket, eyes peeled for anything else he might want, or Mom might want, to make up for the property damage. He’s got cash.
Academic dishonesty pays way more in college then it ever did in high school.
“Yeah,” Dabi says. There’s a thoughtful bent to his voice that wasn’t there before. “He… is, huh.”
“Something else…happened.” Tenko pauses, halfway between the frozen foods section and a towering aisle of bread and bread-adjacent products. “I think...” Does he want a bagel? Maybe. “He’s serious, about that villain being ‘his fault’. And something else, but I don’t know…”
There’s a headache building behind his temples, because something is going on, something he can feel in his bones, but what…? Dabi’s swatting at his hands before he can even properly register they’re at his neck, the hypocritical barbecued asshole. Tenko digs into his arms instead, picking at the scabs.
“And.”
“I think,” Tenko says, tossing the bagels into the cart. “That we’re going to pay Katsuki a visit.”
Dabi laughs.
“Are you seriously buying that.”
“Fuck you,” Tenko says, and tosses the pack of energy drinks in the cart.
“That’s like…gasoline, but for your liver.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
“Disgusting.”
“No, seriously, did I ever ask for your—"
Mom’s gone when they make it back to the apartment, on-shift at the store. She won’t be back until later, Tenko knows, when school is out and Izuku is just about getting home. He sets the blender on the counter with the rest of the groceries (to be dealt with later) and wanders off.
Nothing to do but wait, he guesses. The good thing about high school is that it ends at a very specific time, and Katsuki’s not the type to skip. Nothing to do but wait.
And wait.
And wait.
…Dabi still refuses to play Dark Souls with him.
“Do you actually know where he’ll be.”
“I know Katsuki.” Well. Izuku knows Katsuki, and Tenko knows Izuku. Close enough.
It takes some sneaking before Tenko and Dabi track down Katsuki, alone, slouched on the stone ledge of the school’s tiny koi pond and scrawling mechanically into a notebook. The sneaking is necessary. Aldera Junior High tolerates Tenko’s presence less than Izuku’s elementary school ever did.
Hypocrites.
Tenko gets caught pushing Katsuki around once and they all but call the police. Precious widdle nest egg Kacchan— and all the brats in Izuku’s class, nobody gets a pass here— make his brother’s life hell and get off scott free.
The writing on the wall’s always been easy to read.
Tenko strides forward with purpose, hands buried in the pockets of the stolen coat. Dabi doesn’t follow, by all appearances content to hang back by the side and watch. “Heya, Kacchan!” A strangled cough behind him— what, is he not sincere enough for Dabi?
Katsuki declines to look up or otherwise react, even with Tenko up in his space. That’s not normal, but neither’s Katsuki wandering around without his little gang, or whatever the hell’s going on with Izuku. Somethingis going on, and the answer— whatever it is— is hanging just. Out. Of. Reach. Tenko can feel it.
For now, though.
“Hey Senpai!” Tenko pitches his voice up, well past what Katsuki actually sounds like. “It’s ever so nice to see you!”
Katsuki twitches.
Not the reaction he was looking for. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again, but with a better plan, this time.
Tenko leans into his space.
Katsuki twitches again.
Leans further.
Further still.
Another twitch, and—
The pencil goes still. Katsuki’s given up trying to do his homework, it looks like, but he still isn’t looking at Tenko. “Did you get kicked out already,” he asks, too flat to be a proper question.
Every time they talk Tenko remembers— vividly, in high definition— how easy it would be, to take off a glove and wrap a hand around his shitty little neck and
“…Wasn’t him on the news yesterday, was it?” Dabi drawls. Katsuki’s hands crackle dangerously, and Tenko very definitively Does Not Jump.
The asshole managed to materialize unnoticed over his shoulder, somehow, lit cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. Tenko very definitively Did Not Jump but Dabi chuckles a little anyway, smoke blowing just past Tenko’s right ear.
Absolutely fucking disgusting.
Possibly more infuriating then that is that this is what cracks Katsuki’s shell. Golden Boy’s looking at Dabi like he personally spat on his mother, or... something else that might actually bother Bakugou Katsuki. Half for the comment, half for the cigarette itself, Tenko thinks.
He’s always been a piss-poor excuse for a delinquent in all the ways that don’t mean being vicious little bastard.
…Dabi’s infuriating, but. “You know, I do think I remember something like that.” Katsuki’s hands pop louder, notebook smoking in his hands.
“Do you remember what happened?” Dabi asks, rocking back on his heels. “I’m thinking… villain attack…?”
Tenko snaps his fingers. “You’re right! A couple of idiot brats, caught in the middle of it—” Pop pop pop, not quite a boom but he’s getting there. Tenko can practically see the meter going up. A few more good hits and
“I remember one of the kids,” Tenko says, “was so pathetic even the other brat could tell he needed saving.”
Katsuki explodes.
“I didn’t need shitty Deku’s help, you fucking bastard, I never needed his help—I didn’t ask him to save me! LIKE HE EVEN COULD! I coulda saved myself if he hadn’t gotten in my way!”
Is he crying? Oh, he is, hot, angry tears. That’s cute.
“You sure? Nothing else happened—”
The notebook’s a lost cause, smoldering remains fluttering down into the pond for the fish to eat. “I’m sure,” Katsuki snarls, stumbling forward, fire at his fingertips— is that a threat? How. Cute. “Fuck off or I’ll make you fuck off; fucking halfassed excuse for a villain.”
“I’m the villain, huh,” Tenko says, not half amused. Maybe he is!
Dabi curls his lips around the end of the cigarette, sucking in. Blows out, and there’s no way that’s all cigarette, the showy bastard. “You really gonna start shit on campus?”
Oh, what the fuck. Tenko finally has an excuse— but, but, Dabi’s not wrong. Even if Katsuki starts it, the school could raise hell, more hell then Tenko really wants to deal with below the angry bullshit Katsuki always manages to stir up. Not this time.
Saved again, hunh?
Katsuki simmers, and maybe…but, nah. He storms off, flinging out insults by the twitchy dozen.
Whatever.
“Urgh,” Tenko says, kicking back against the cool stone wall around the Koi pond. Dabi’s got his eye on Katsuki, storming off, smoking and crackling all the way up the courtyard and out the gate. “Urgh. Katsuki’s…”
“A ‘shitty brat’?”
Is that an impression? Is he being mocked?
Tenko dismisses it. Too many things to think about, too many scattered points of interest buzzing around in his brain, but where’s the connection…?
“Yeah.” Tenko scratches at the sides of his neck, frustrated. “Yeah, but he’s the same.”
Dabi squints at the still smoldering notebook in the pond, then back at Tenko, eyebrow raised.
“…Shut up. He’s upset, but he’s not— it makes sense. He had to get bailed out by my brother. So he’s…?”
“Flipping his lid.”
“Yeah.”
They stand like that for a while, alone by the Koi pond, as alone as Katsuki’d been before they’d arrived. Tenko stands up. “…It’s not him. Whatever—” he waves his hands vaguely. “—this is. Izuku would be the same, if Katsuki was the same, but he’s not.”
It makes sense to him.
Dabi stands up too, taking one last drag of his cigarette. “Alright,” he says, and flicks the burnt-out butt onto the ground. Tenko hopes they blame it on Katsuki.
Tenko sets off for the exit. Dabi follows.
Izuku’s home by the time they make it back— but so is Mom, happily examining her new blender. “Thanks, sweetie,” she says. “But, you aren’t really going to drink that sh—”
She stops herself right in time, because the world will probably end when Midoriya Inko lets her children catch her swearing.
“The energy drinks,” she says instead, primly.
“I told you,” Dabi sniggers.
What the hell.
“This is my life, Mom—”
“It’s bad for you, honey.”
“My life!! I am an adult!!”
“Oh, you’re an adult, are you—"
Dabi leans against the cabinet, eying Tenko with dumb bastard amusement because he’s a dumb bastard who’s having far too much fun, and Tenko should really just kick him out, jesus. “She’s got a point. You gonna drink this shit in front of your own mother?” He pauses. “Aren’t you…nineteen…?”
“Exactly,” Mom agrees, smiling brightly at Dabi. “You’re still my baby, honey.”
He should really kick Dabi out.
Izuku manages to hide out for the rest of the night, only once emerging to scarf down dinner before retreating back into his room. Whatever bravado he’d possessed in the mornings clearly dimmed in the light of day. Tenko thinks—well, he could pull him out. He could, but he won’t.
Pushing Izuku didn’t work the first time, and Tenko doesn’t like repeating mistakes.
This is gonna require finesse.
“Waitin’ him out, hunh,” Dabi says. There’s no opinion there, not really, which is just…. typical. Dabi doesn’t really have a lot of opinions, does he? No, that’s not it. He has them, he’s just—
Hm.
Dabi pokes him, square in the shoulder. Tenko pokes him back. “Yeah,” he says. Shrugs. “I guess.”
Pushing Izuku won’t work, but that doesn’t make the waiting easier.
Everyone has to sleep eventually, and Tenko lets himself close his eyes earlier then he usually might. He’s got things to do, maybe.
The list of things to get back at Izuku for goes up another notch.
Tenko wakes up to three facts:
It’s 9:00, and Mom’s still unconscious. Good. She deserves it.
It’s 9:00, and Dabi’s fucked off— somewhere. No note, not that Tenko ever expected one. He’ll show up later, or he won’t, and Tenko doesn’t care either way.
It’s 9:00, and Izuku’s gone. He left a note, of course, shiny Present Mic stationary attached to the fridge with a homemade magnet in the form of All Might’s eternally smug face. Tenko distantly remembers Izuku bringing it home when he was five, back when it was kind of cute and he thought the hero thing was a phase.
OUT WITH FRIENDS, it reads. SEE YOU LATER! :)
What the fuck.
Mom steps past the kitchen threshold, yawning. “Oh! Tenko, sweetie!”
Tenko turns to face her. Glances up at tired, bagged eyes, then down, at the slippers he got her for her 40th birthday, fuzzy orthopedic things with creepers printed on them. “I wasn’t expecting you to get up until— well, noon,” she laughs.
Tenko shrugs.
It’s been a weird couple of days.
“Izuku’s out,” he tells her. “With friends.”
Mom nearly makes a scene, hands jerking violently halfway through the motions of pouring a cup of orange juice. “H-he— friends?”
“Yeah. Friends.”
“Oh,” Mom says, and frowns. Time slips by, one second, two, and she comes back too herself, sliding Tenko the now-full cup. He takes it without complaint. Mom always manages to remember he hates pulp, even though he knows she likes it.
She’s still thinking. It’s not hard to guess what.
Izuku doesn’t have any friends. Not a thing Tenko guesses Mom wants to accuse her youngest son of lying about, but…well. The note is suspicious. Izuku is acting suspicious.
“He…didn’t tell me about any new friends,” Mom starts, naked worry left out to hang in the open air between them. “I…I’m glad?”
Tenko sips his juice. “It’s weird,” he points out. Mom deflates.
“Well…yes, it is, but why would he—”
If nobody else is gonna say it. “Lie?”
Mom deflates further, sagging against the kitchen counter. Look at what you did, little brother. To lie to Mom and, worse, not even cover his tracks— Izuku’s always been chronically stupid, but this is too much.
Tenko thinks: Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. Left the word hanging between them, unacknowledged. Maybe.
“Dabi’s out too,” he says instead. Mom perks up. He’s thrown her a bone she’s more than willing to accept until Izuku returns and they start this mess all over again; an accusation, not an acknowledgement, or at least a new line of inquiry. Later.
“That’s too bad.” A second glass is poured, the container of orange juice returned to the fridge with mostly steady hands. “That boyf—”
“Mom!”
“That friend of yours,” Mom amends, “he’s a good one, I think.”
Tenko nearly chokes on his juice, halfway between a laugh and a snort. “Only you, Mom.”
“Don’t be mean!”
The way she phrased it, you’d think Dabi was her son. Tenko knows, of course, the place in her heart reserved for him is unconditional yada yada yada, but. Hm. Today isn’t going to be the day he tells her Dabi thinks her insistence on formality— “Young man,” not his shitty fake name—is because she doesn’t like him.
It’s his fault, anyway. All the pseudonyms in the world and he had to pick the one stupid enough Mom think’s its half an insult.
“Since you’re home…?”
Tenko snaps back to attention, eyes on Mom’s hands, on the subtle, nervous twitches he knows by heart. “Yeah?”
“It’s been… a while since it was just us, huh? You don’t mind spending some time with an old woman, do you—"
She didn’t even need to ask.
Their first stop is a little tea house, tucked away a few blocks from their apartment—Mom loves the pastries, and Tenko loves the faintly outraged expression the manager always gets when he steps through the door. There’s not technically a dress code, but Tenko can tell she thinks his (black, slightly grubby) hoodie doesn’t cut it.
Mom orders green tea and little cakes drizzled with honey. Tenko doesn’t pay much attention to what he’s ordering, just asks the lady what the sweetest drink on the menu is and gets that.
“Ah,” someone says, halfway through their impromptu breakfast. Mom’s left for the restroom, leaving Tenko alone at their table. “Look at that, La Brava! Youth! A newfound appreciation for the gentlemen’s calling card, instilled in the next generation!”
What. Tenko turns his head, cup of tea trapped halfway between his mouth and the table.
There’s a man, hair as preternaturally grey as Tenko’s, and a… woman? She’s small, proportions squashed past the boundaries of the baseline. They look like clowns, dressed to the nines in matching suits and thickly applied makeup, or worse—heroes.
“Hail, young fellow!” crows the man, cheerily waving a cup of his own. “And well met!”
The woman (La Brava?) giggles sharply. “How gallant, Gentle!!!”
Tenko sets down the cup. “Do I know you.”
The man, Gentle, shrugs, tea sloshing messily over the sides of the cup and onto his fancy outfit. He doesn’t seem to care. “Perchance, young fellow! Perchance! My dear companion and I have been racking up views of the infamous variety—”
Wait. Wait a fucking second. Are they…youtubers???
“Did you make some new friends?”
Mom’s back.
Tenko weighs his options and comes to a Perfectly Reasonable conclusion, tipping his cup back, downing the rest of it in a handful of heavy gulps. Gentle says something in response, indignant, and La Brava titters. You could not PAY HIM to give enough of a fuck to process that. “Can we leave?”
“Tenko? Tenko, are you being rude again?”
“Never fear, Ma’am!” Gentle adds unhelpfully. “I feel no animosity towards this young gentleman in training. No, quite the contrary. He reminds me of myself as a lad…”
At his side, La Brava is—oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Mom,” Tenko hisses, “Mom, she’s filming us.” Can he break the camera with Mom watching? No, maybe not, but if she just
Mom blinks, and blushes, and kills Tenko’s hope of a quick getaway. “Oh,” she says, “dear, I’m a mess—”
“NONSENSE,” says Gentle.
“I can’t believe you,” Tenko huffs, half-serious.
“I think they were nice people!”
They were weirdos, but there’s a tilt to Mom’s jaw that brooks no argument, a stubborn expression Tenko’s seen mirrored on Izuku’s face a million times. Whatever. He’ll deal with the aftermath later, when his baby brother inevitably tracks the video down.
Behind them, the teahouse recedes into the distance, afternoon sun bouncing cheerily off tiles and glass. No destination in mind, not yet, but the walk is nice. It really has been a while since he and Mom did anything, hunh?
They wander.
Down through the city streets, past shops and little neighborhoods; cutting carefully around Yuuei campus because she never forgets anything, and nobody wants to deal with baby hero traffic. It’s bad enough in the off seasons, let alone when schools in session.
An hour— maybe two, it’s hard to tell— is wasted window shopping in a little plaza an hour and a half’s walk from their apartment. Tenko doesn’t like shopping, but mocking hideous outfits? Fun for the whole family. They buy ice cream, after, and set up shop on a little bench near the fountain that dominates the center of the space.
Chocolate, strawberry, mint. Izuku’d probably make fun of him for the flavor combination, but Mom isn’t complaining.
Tenko snags a bite off the top and passes the cone to Mom, who accepts the offering gracefully, tilting it side to side to catch the melting ice cream. The plaza’s full of people, yapping about something or another, dumb petty problems and sales and did you hear, All Might’s coming to town—
A hand on his shoulder, small, familiar, Moms. He breathes
“Today was nice,” she hums, leaning into his side. Tenko leans back, and nods. She’s right. Today was nice.
Another handful of minutes passes like that, ice-cream passed between them like a baton. Mom finishes off the cone and tilts her head, looking at him sideways through the fringe of her hair. “Oh, honey,” she says. “Look at you!”
Look at him?
“You’re getting so tall,” she continues. “I…” She chuckles, but if there’s a joke there Tenko can’t find it. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you.”
The thing is, the thing always is-- “Why?”
She’s facing him head on now, head tilted to meet his eyes. “…Why?”
What could he possibly say to that?
“Tenko, honey,” Mom says. “Tenko, look at me?”
Was he not?
“Why wouldn’t I be proud of you, sweetie?” What kind of question-- Tenko can think of a million reasons, all of them off the top of his head. “Oh, honey…listen. Listen to me?”
Alright. He’s listening.
“To be honest with you…I don’t always understand the things that bother you. And I try, but I think, sometimes I’m not— no, honey, let me finish.” Tenko closes his mouth. “Sometimes,” Mom continues, “sometimes I think…I know, that I’m not enough. I just, want to t-tell you—”
Oh, fuck, is she crying? No, not yet, but he can see the dam breaking.
“I just want to t-tell you, that I know it’s been hard, but you’re— I know you’re trying so hard, baby, and you’re doing it! You’ve g-got friends now, and you know I never— I never finished college, but look at you! You’re--” shaking hands rub at watery green eyes. “Not that that…even if you didn’t, o-or weren’t, I’d be proud of you. T-that’s my job, all right? So, don’t you tell me not too!”
“Ah,” Tenko says. “I—”
What the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
“…I’m proud of you too,” is what he settles on, the words heavy in his mouth.
Mom’s really crying now, big fat tears rolling down her face. “F-for what, honey?”
“…my job too.”
She crumples. Tenko hopes it was the right thing to say.
They make it home just as the sun begins its descent below the horizon. Mom putters off to the kitchen to make dinner; curry, Tenko thinks, if he’s identifying the smell correctly. He doesn’t follow. College isn’t pressing, right now, classes are a joke and he’s got time before the next exam, but he has essays to write. Some of them his, even.
Tenko thinks, alone in his room with his laptop situated awkwardly in his lap: man, this really is high school all over again, isn’t it?
Gross.
An hour after that, Dabi reappears.
“Where the hell were you?” Tenko wandered out of his room the moment he heard activity in the entryway, and shifts casually, leaning on the living room wall. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t give a shit.”
“None of your business,” Dabi replies.
“Okay. All right. Good to know you’re still an asshole.”
Dabi narrows his eyes. “You literally just said you don’t give a shit.”
“I don’t.”
“Alright then,” Dabi says. “None of your fucking business.”
Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen, curry sauce splattered on the front of her apron. “Oh, young man! You’re back!” She smiles warmly, and ducks back into the kitchen— “we missed you!” she calls over her shoulder.
“We didn’t,” Tenko asserts.
The expression on Dabi’s face is— indescribable, in it’s dickishness. Tenko glares. Opens his mouth to say something, but wait, what’s that…?
Dabi clearly wasn’t expecting his space to be invaded and pinwheels backwards, out of reach. It doesn’t matter. Tenko already has what he wanted.
“What the fuck—"
Tenko lifts the long, clearly white hair into the light, examining it from different angels. Dabi looks, if anything, more annoyed.
“Great,” he says. “You’re shedding on my clothes now.”
“It’s not mine,” Tenko replies. “What, did you boyfriend leave something behind while you were out?”
Dabi stares. “My— what,” he starts. “I…oh. No. Not a— no!”
What’s that look supposed to mean?
“Seriously, it’s fine. If you finally found some dipshit who can tolerate your personal—”
“She,” Dabi hisses, “is not my boyfriend, holy shit.”
A moment passes.
“Aren’t you gay.”
Dabi pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re related,” he spits out.
Getting personal details out of Dabi is like pulling teeth, and even Tenko isn't gonna push the conversation farther than this. There’s no opportunity, anyway.
The front door swings open. Izuku’s home.
Dinner is tense.
Izuku picks at his food nervously, like he can physically feel his family’s attention. Tenko wouldn’t be surprised if he could. He looks— not unlike he’s been hit by a truck, dirty and sagging and visibly exhausted, what did he do…?
Dabi’s watching the three of them like the car crash is still in motion.
“So,” Mom says. Izuku freezes. “You, um, haven’t mentioned your new friends before, honey. What… are they like…?”
Izuku’s bullshit hangs in the air between them.
“I wasn’t…um.” Izuku picks at his curry. “…I wasn’t hanging out with friends, Mom.”
Tenko hadn’t really expected him to admit it. By the look on her face, neither had Mom.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh. Then— h-honey, where were you?” Izuku flinches, and if that hurt then it was deserved. He made Mom worry. He made Mom worry, and for what?
“Iwasworkingout,” Izuku blurts. He was. What? What did he say? “I was working out,” he repeats, slower this time.
Oh, what the hell.
“W-why did you—” lie, Mom doesn’t say, because Izuku picks up the thread of the conversation before she can finish her sentence.
“I know you worry about, um. Me,” Izuku mumbles. He takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. “I thought…I dunno what I thought. I shouldn’t have lied.” He looks up. “I just— the Yuuei entrance exams are coming up, you know, and I’ll never make it in if I don’t…at l-least try…?”
It’s enough for Mom. She melts, relaxes, and Tenko? Tenko doesn’t blame her. Izuku’s story makes sense, on the surface, and what mother wants to think she’s being lied too twice over? Him, though…
No, he’s not dropping this.
If the nervous glances Izuku’s sending him over the rice mean anything, his little brother knows it too.
Hah.
Tenko rifles through his old stuff, pawing over video game cartridges and cherry bombs and manga volumes he didn’t like enough to take to college. Dabi’s watching him like he’s been watching everyone since Izuku got home—if this is a car crash, who’s the car?
Metaphors are weird.
“What,” Dabi asks, “are you doing.”
Tenko continues to rifle through his shit. Mom keeps all the stuff they didn’t toss tucked away in a series of big, plastic bins, and he’s positive what he’s looking for is in this one. Papers, early, messy attempts at knitting socks, come on—
Oh hell yes.
“Looking for this.” Tenko raises the little black box to eye level, shaking it so the device within audibly rattles. Dabi looks less then impressed.
“Looking for…a box.”
“Looking for what’s in the box, dipshit.” Tenko grins, wide enough even he’d probably label it vicious. “It’s a button camera.”
Dabi stares.
“Are you seriously going to bug your own little br—ow, jesus—!”
If Dabi didn’t want Tenko to kick him, he should have kept the volume down. Does he want Izuku to know they’re planting a camera on him?
“Yeah. He’s going out again tomorrow, probably. I’m catching him.”
“…this is like, a huge invasion of privacy. For the record.”
Tenko shrugs. “First of all, if he doesn’t notice I’ve— you know— ” he makes a gesture that roughly approximates ‘planted a bug somewhere he’s too stupid to notice’. “Then he deserves it. Second of all, you don’t actually care and we both know it.”
Dabi doesn’t deny it.
This is probably some kind of valuable life-lesson. Wisdom passed down from big to little brother. Tenko pretending to respect his privacy was a right Izuku lost when he lied to Mom’s face twice.
Little bastard.
“Anyway,” he continues. “You know how he brings his notebook… everywhere.” Tenko makes a clicking motion with the hand not holding the box. “We’re putting it in his pen.”
“We.”
“Shut up, asshole.”
Setting his alarm for 5:00 am, sharp, is one of the worst thing Tenko remembers doing in— a while, and that’s a long fucking list. Which is LITERALLY exactly the kind of scenario he stocks up on energy drinks for, Dabi.
It’s fuck-o-clock in the morning and he still won’t accept Tenko’s very generous offer of carbonated caffeine. Wow.
“You’re really doing this, huh.” Dabi keeps his voice low, because Mom is still asleep a few rooms away and Tenko will commit murder if it means she gets a few hours extra rest. It’s not like he’s difficult to hear, anyway. The two of them are crammed together on Tenko’s bed, side-to-side in an unavoidable consequence of how small the space is.
His laptops settled snugly between them, tuned into the camera’s live feed-- not that it’s picking anything up.
Yet.
Izuku’s notebook is still in his backpack, the pen tucked along with it. The only thing the little device is picking up now is the dark interior of the bag and the muffled, whispery noise of canvas rubbing against canvas.
They’ve been watching it for a while, now. If something’s gonna happen—and Tenko is absolutely positive something’s gonna happen—it’ll be soon.
He takes another sip of his drink, ignoring Dabi’s disgusted shudder.
Come, little brother.
Come.
On.
…The bag’s stopped moving.
“Here it is,” Tenko whispers, eye’s glued on the action. A minute passes, then two, then a dozen, and the camera is finally exposed to the light. Izuku’s opened the bag.
His brother pulls out the pen, and the screen is filled with
“A dump?” Dabi asks, confused.
“Dagobah beach,” Tenko replies, eyes narrowed. What…?
The camera shakes, Izuku jotting something down too quick to read, or for the camera to catch much of anything beyond motion blur. He pauses. Just enough of the notebook in its view for the laptop to display something that looks a lot like…dry, technical notes on…weight training?
Hunh.
Someone—a man, Tenko thinks—says something, too indistinct to make out. The little spy-camera was expensive as hell, an impulse buy that cost Tenko a few month’s ill-got cash, but it’s got limits. “Sorry!” Izuku calls back, “I’m not slacking!! I just—y-you know, it’s, I write things down, itseasierformetogetmythoughtsin—”
“Midoriya, my boy,” says the unknown man, not quiet at all now. “Don’t worry!” The man laughs. “To be honest, I admire your dedication!” Is that voice really a mystery? Doesn’t Tenko know it from somewhere?
The camera shits, Izuku twirling the pen with nervous fingers. Here’s a pile of trash, there’s the faintest glimmer of the ocean, here’s a massive hand--
The camera shifts again.
“What the fuck,” Dabi curses, whatever attempt he was making to keep his voice down forgotten in the moment. Tenko can’t even blame him. What the FUCK, Izuku.
All Might bends closer to the camera, hollow eyes dominating the laptop screen. He is, presumably, skimming the notes Izuku was taking, for whatever reason Izuku was taking them. What the fuck. He nods. What the FUCK. “This is good work,” he begins, and explodes.
Smoke fills the screen.
“Dabi,” Tenko says, his voice alien to his own ears. “Dabi, why did All Might turn into a twink.”
Silence.
“…I don’t think you know what that word means.”
“Are you— what the hell.” He pauses. “What the SHIT,” he yells to the ceiling, and Dabi, and Izuku, oblivious on the other end of the computer screen.
It’s going to be a long day.