Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What is your relationship with the villain known as Shigaraki Yami?”

“I don’t know what you mean, officer. The only interactions I’ve had with him are at the USJ and Hosu.”

 The officer’s eyes were cold and hard. Izuku stared resolutely back. 

It had begun, as all things do, with a single look.

Or maybe it started earlier. Maybe it had started with running into Shigaraki at the mall. Yeah, that seemed like the beginning.

Izuku had talked to All Might’s friend, the detective with the truth quirk, but something must have slipped or he must have said something wrong. God , how could he have been so stupid ? The detective had let him go with an odd look in his eye, one Izuku had merely dismissed as stress, or worry. Everyone knew the police and heroes were being worked to the bone to catch the league.

And then it started. Little furtive looks when the teachers thought he wasn’t looking, a few seconds of hesitation before calling on him, an odd reluctance to leave any student alone with him. Which was stupid. He hadn’t done anything ( the false back of his closet sang to him- liar liar liar ) at least not since middle school. Back then he’d just been so angry, angry at the world for the way they treated the quirkless, at fate for dealing him such a shitty hand, angry at his father, though he didn’t know why, angry at Kacchan, at his mother, and at every single person who walked by like nothing was wrong. 

He’d been so goddamn angry. 

At least now he knew why he woke every day with the thought that the world was wrong-false-not true. Back then he’d had no option but to sneak out at night and take out his anger in the only way he knew, violence and bloody fists and the thrill of the hunt ( in his defence, he’d only ever gone after the worst of the worst ).

His classmates weren’t stupid. They picked up on what the teachers didn’t want to tell them, and sure enough, slowly Izuku had become the class outcast. His once-friends shied away from him, looked at him like they couldn’t figure out what he was doing there, or took any excuse not to stay around him. 

God, what a throwback to middle school, huh?

It wasn’t obvious of course, and rather than the hatred and scorn he had been expecting ( quirkless-freak-get away he might infect you ) there’d been more puzzlement, and way too many hushed discussions on the definition of a ‘villain’.

Eventually, something had to snap. Maybe the league killed someone or robbed a bank, maybe the teachers finally had enough “proof” ( they looked sad to see him go, why were they sad? ) but here he was, in an interrogation room far from any do-gooder officer who might interfere. Like Naomasa. Honestly, Izuku just thought the officers had been having a rough few months and really needed someone to take their anger out. He sympathized, but curled up in a corner, covered in bruises and what seemed to be blood (was it coming from his head?), he really really wished he could fight back. But no, that would just make him guiltier.

He really hoped they didn’t call his mother. He couldn’t deal with that right now. Not since he got her quirk.

‘It's all for Mikumo ’, he reminded himself. He would not sell out his twin, God knew what they would do to a confirmed villain if this was what they thought was appropriate for a suspected traitor.

 Heh. Suspected traitor. He really had played up the part, hadn’t he?

Acting shifty, taking off at the nearest opportunity, practically begging for any news on Mikumo. If he’d had a student acting like that, he would have been suspicious too. 

But they didn’t know Mikumo. They didn’t know his smile when he drank hot chocolate or his stubbornness. They didn’t know how fiercely protective he was, or how he would ignore his own body giving up and bleeding out if it meant saving Izuku. They didn’t know how he was scared, always so so scared, of his secrets and his duty, and more than anything, of his father. Izuku would do anything for Mikumo.

Far away, the object of his thoughts fell into bed with a despairing groan. Then he groaned again because he was still injured, and flopping onto his bed hadn’t been the wisest move.

His idiot twin had gotten himself arrested for supposedly feeding them information as if Izuku could knowingly harm a fly. That dumbass was probably tied to a chair right now, in some interrogation room with a fat police officer who wanted to beat some kid up and took the assignment of ‘interrogation’. God, he was probably covered in bruises. And blood.

Mikumo turned over, hissing as it pulled at one of his injuries. Yeah, the naive idiot was probably stubbornly silent, trying his best to save Mikumo. He knew Izuku had an absurdly high pain tolerance, but still, the thought of his better half sitting chained up in some dingy cell taking beatings for him did not sit well. 

Were the heroes genuinely stupid? Could anyone seriously look at Midoriya “I will help you” Izuku and think ‘this kid is colluding with the villains’? Yes, his twin was powerful and dangerous, but so was every pro hero. Yes, Izuku was uncannily observant, and reminded him of Father, but so was Mikumo himself. More than anything, his twin was good.

They didn’t understand. They didn’t understand just what kind of mess they were in. He didn't think they ever would. How do you explain Fate? Destiny? How do you even begin to untangle the struggles of villain fathers and grieving mothers, of twins who were made to forget each other, twisted reflections of each other? How do you explain bloody secrets and human experimentation, vigilantism ( he wasn’t fooled by Izuku’s flustered denials), heroes, villains, and the many, many shades in between? How do you explain inheritances and legacies, quirks stolen and quirks passed on, immortal supervillains and heroes made to defeat them? How do you even start?

As he fell asleep, he wished fervently, for one moment, that they could see the truth. That both of them could come clean with everything in a way that no one was hurt. It would never happen, of course, but wouldn’t it be nice?

Wouldn’t it be nice, if, for once, everything was good and no one was hurt? If no one had to suffer the consequences of his actions? He was tired of being tired, tired of dying, tired of watching helplessly from the sidelines as everything he cared about fell to ruin, again and again. He was sick of choking on the guilt and the pain, sick of the noose around his neck, pulling tighter and tighter every second. Was it too much to ask for a chance to loosen it?

Two neighbourhoods away, a woman sighed. She had a rather minor quirk. All she could do was hear wishes that came from the soul and let other people hear them. Practically quirkless. Soul-wishes were rare, and even rarer were those where she could help. Wait. She could do something here. Aha! Her neighbour's niece (cute kid) had a quirk perfect for the situation. Of course, she wasn’t going to force the child, but she’d float the wish across and see if she wanted to help.

Ashiko Magari had been lying in bed when she heard the voice. Oh! This must be what Nakamura-san meant when she said her quirk helped her connect to people! It was so cool! The voice belonged to a boy. He sounded sad. That wasn’t good. She didn’t want him to be sad, because then he would go to sleep sad and then have bad dreams, and then he wouldn’t get sleep and mama always said sleep was important. Ashiko didn’t know some of the words he used, but she got the gist of what he was trying to say. It sounded hard to do, but he needed help, and she could help him, like a hero! All she had to do was use her quirk, and she knew she could do that!

 She nodded decisively. Yes, she would help the boy, like All Might would! She closed her eyes and reached inwards, searching for the warm fuzzy feeling she always got when she used her quirk.

Now, here is where we pause. Ashiko Magari was a remarkable child with an extremely powerful quirk. Not offensive, no, but useful all the same. Her parents had relatively average quirks themselves, her mother could project any story on a screen and her father could create a small pocket dimension to store small objects.

Ashiko, on the other hand, got the best of both worlds. Keeping in line with the Quirk Evolution theory, her quirk was a mish-mash that could only be described as ‘OP’. Of course, being five years old, she had no idea what she was even capable of. Her quirk, inaccurately called ‘Theatre’ could transport people into a pocket dimension where they watched an outside view of their own situation. So far, she had only used it once, to solve an argument some strangers had been having on the train by showing both sides of the story.

So little Magari wished very hard, and like all absurdly powerful quirks of the younger generations, power leapt to her fingers, practically begging to be used. All she had to say was “I want everyone who’s- um- who’s part of the sad boy’s story to be there. Wait! Not the bad guys! All the heroes, so then they can help him and then he won’t be sad anymore. Oh, and Mr, Quirk, could you pretty please make sure no one gets hurt? I don’t think they’ll be very nice to each other if they -if they are hurt.”

In a pocket dimension that was simultaneously close and far away, Aizawa Shouta cracked his eyes open. There was some light filtering through his eyelids. Didn’t he close his blinds? Holy shit, could someone turn that off?

But his blinds were not open. This wasn’t even his bed, with a gorgeous blonde husband and a yowling cat pawing at his sheets. Aizawa paused. Then he considered the likelihood of his kidnappers ever having such nice clean floors and decided that he was going back to sleep. 

He was just about to roll over when he heard the screaming. Oh fuck, that sounded like his kids. Oh double fuck, that was Snipe’s voice. And Nedzu, who did not seem to be behind this if his confusion was anything to go off. This was not good. Anyone who managed to kidnap multiple pro-heroes and an entire class of highly guarded teenagers either had a very powerful quirk or a very strong vendetta. Not good.

He smoothly rolled over to see the entire room. It was… a theatre?

His class, Detective Tsaukachi, and the other UA Heroics teachers ( oh thank god, Hizashi was here, he would feel bad that they had managed to take them both later ) were all present in their pyjamas (o r in the case of the good detective, his office wear. Everyone knew that man did not know how to take a break. ) They all looked confused and vaguely embarrassed to be wearing pyjamas with their coworkers on them. It would have been hilarious if the situation wasn’t so dire.

A grunt pulled his gaze to another blonde figure stirring sluggishly across the room. Yagi. Aizawa’s eyes widened.

“NOBODY MOVE!” he yelled out for the rest of those present to hear. His head darted around for other, similarly traumatized Heroes who would probably be having nightmares right now. The rest of them were awake, good, and they were looking at Yagi with a grim, solemn sort of acceptance. Ah, trauma, thy name be cursed.

“Yagi,” he called firmly. 

The man had been still ever since the commotion had started. Now, when Aizawa called him, it was not Yagi who opened his eyes, but All Might, gaze set dead on Aizawa himself. Finally, he let himself unfold, taking everything and everyone in with a gaze at odds with his usual cheery look. It was sharp and wary, and he felt infinitely better about the man as a human being. No one could be that happy all the time.

His class was full of wonderful, observant, compassionate hellions, who simply took in the situation and responded in the best way possible - pretending like it never happened.  Of course, had they chosen to do this in any way other than creating a cacophony of questions, shouts, and general hullabaloo, he would have been infinitely more grateful.

At least no one was restrained. Small mercies. But there was also no door or window in the theatre, which should be impossible, because they were obviously put here by someone. It also violated several theatre safety regulations, but he wasn’t going to think about that.

It was the oddest theatre he had ever been in. Instead of regular seats, there were several couches and beanbags haphazardly strewn around the room, all facing the screen. There was also, in the centre of the room, a very conspicuous blank circle of flooring. 

A flash of light.

A sudden hush fell over the assembled captives. Oh fuck. Fuckity fuckity fuck. There, in the empty circle, were two glass boxes. It was not the boxes that caught their attention however, it was what, or rather who , was inside them. 

BANG.

Shigaraki Yami pounded his fist against the glass. Behind him, covered in bruises and bloodstains,  Midoriya Izuku laughed hysterically in his own cell.

Chapter Text

Uraraka couldn’t tear her eyes away. Less than five feet from her, separated by glass, stood the boy she had thought was her best friend. She was kind of glad he was locked in a box. Not because she wanted to be cruel or out of some sick revenge, but because she didn’t know what she would have done if he was free. Would she have hugged him? Punched him? Floated him into the sun? Who knows? Certainly not her. 

If he was really the traitor, it was safer that he was locked away, wasn’t it? Who knew what he was even capable of?

It was disturbing, having Shigaraki and Izuku next to each other. Like this, she couldn’t tell them apart, both littered with injuries and snarling at them like wild animals desperate to escape.  They’re like warped reflections of each other, one supposed to be good and one supposed to be bad, exactly the same in all the ways she has not allowed herself to think of till now, and different in all the ways she’s told herself before. 

Haven’t you heard that story before? Your best friend is attacked, and when you reach ( always too late, never fast enough ) there are two of him. The good one whom you’ve learnt to trust, and the evil clone who must be killed. Except there, the evil clone knows nothing about you, and you can trust the strength of your friendship to root out the rotten one. Here, there was no good or evil twin, only the boy she had trusted through life or death and the boy who had tried to kill her friends, and the fact that she didn’t know either. 

In front of her was the boy who lied to them all, who curled over his doppelganger like he would give his life for him ( hadn’t he done that once for them too? ).

 Midoriya Izuku and Shigaraki Yami. 

They really were eerily similar, now that she has a chance to look at them.

They looked at the room around them with that same calculating, analytical look, dissecting every expression and quirk and personality in the blink of an eye. They had that same stubborn look to them, like if they were going to go down, they were going to go down fighting. Uraraka could respect that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t unnerve her.

How had she not noticed it before?

She seemed to be noticing a lot of things too late these days.

Was any of it real? Were they all just played like fiddles? She felt bad about falling for it, the innocent wide-eye act, the naive doe stumbling around. But surely, some of it was real, right? The laughter and the memories, the smiles and the tears, were they all just a fucking lie? 

Was this too a ploy by the villains? Capturing multiple heroes and hero students, trapping them in here with no food, no water, just a screen to (presumably) communicate with the Big Bad? No, she didn’t think so. Looking at Mikumo and Izuku, there was no way the villains were behind this, not with how scared they looked. To be fair to them, they were massively outnumbered. If not the villains, though, then who?

Before anyone can break the tense silence the theatre is in, the screen flickers to life. Some students jump in surprise when it starts playing, and look appropriately chastised when Aizawa glares at them for their lack of situational awareness.

He’s on the tail end of his worst sickness in four years when it begin.

Sure, Mikumo has been sick for the last three months, and he hasn’t been allowed to be unsupervised for just as long, but now he’s recovering, and he has certainly learnt the lesson his father had been hellbent on teaching him this time. He just needs to go outside. The only fresh air he’s had has been from his bedroom window, opened as wide as it will go, but not wide enough to even stick his head out of.

Kurogiri almost doesn’t let him. Last time he’d been allowed out unsupervised, he hadn’t come back until Kurogiri dragged him back six months later, barely conscious and hacking up his lungs. Mikumo, however, insists he will be fine, and now he knows that he shouldn’t venture out too far, if he keeps his quirks away and head down, then he won’t have any trouble.

As he expects, nobody even looks twice at him. He knows he can’t leave again until his condition improves, so he will find his way back eventually.

There are hundreds of kids his own age meandering home, and he figures that all the local schools are letting out. All the easier to lose himself amongst the city streets, that way no suspicious shopkeepers ask him if he’s supposed to be at school.

He learnt that the hard way.

At least Kurogiri had begrudgingly given him some money.

“We need more milk,” Kurogiri had intoned, as though he were asking for the world. “Tomura is almost out of onigiri. Fetch those and buy something for yourself if you must go outside, Mikumo. But come straight home if you feel unwell at all, yes?”

Whatever.

They’re lucky if he comes back with anything, least of all for Tenko. 

So he takes the tiny freedoms that he is allowed, and wonders if there’s any way he wouldn’t have to go back. Maybe if he could source his own meds…

What the fuck.

Was this a movie?

Did someone kidnap them all to watch a movie? What kind of sick power-play was this? Snipe chanced a look at the subject of the movie. Shigaraki Yami, or as the screen proclaimed him, “Mikumo”.  

The kid looked absolutely gobsmacked. Well then.

Next to him was Midoriya. Now, he may not have been as close to the Hell Class as Aizawa or Yagi, but even he had held a soft spot for the tiny brat. A brat who looked perfectly comfortable next to a known villain. Though the sight made his heart ache, he turned away. The atmosphere here was already as friendly as fire ants, there no point in throwing a hissy fit.

He took a seat on one of the surprisingly comfortable couches. If this was what their captors wanted them to see, he was damn well going to sit down and conserve his energy. He’d just had a full day of classes and a raid on a warehouse today okay? He was damn well going to sit if he wanted to.

Mikumo was absolutely not having a good time, thank you very much. 

Fuck. He didn’t want to be here, while his privacy was torn apart and life was picked through and criticized by the heroes of all people. Would they even get off their high horses or just sneer at everything he said or did? 

What the fuck was happening. Why was it happening. How. Who was doing this to him? Why, out of every single wish he’d ever made in his pathetically short life, had this one been fulfilled? 

His life wasn't exactly tea-party material, and he would really rather not give the heroes any more ammunition against them. Or worse, let Izuku know all the stuff he’d been hiding.

Speaking of which, his twin had gone past the what-the-fuck stage, past even the analyse-everything phase, and straight into the this-movie-is-giving-me-information-phase. Fucker.

Izuku was staring at him with that mix of “I’m not mad, I'm just disappointed” and “kicked puppy” he always had when Mikumo was injured. 

Hypocrite. 

“You were sick? For three months? And he trapped you in there?”

Ugh. Fine. He felt kind of warm and soft inside when his twin was worried about him. Ew. No one could ever find out.

“To be fair, the last time he let me out, I ran away for six months, as you just heard. There was absolutely no way he was going to take a chance with me again.”

Izuku just waved away that detail, like running from your family and responsibility was something one does casually. Around them, the rest of the entourage has decided to sit on the sofas. Foolish. They didn’t even check them for potentially harmful things! There could be needles full of drugs with just the tips poking out of the seat, or a mechanism to bind them, or anything really. He would know, his father had bound him to his dining chair too many times for him to just sit anywhere without due caution.

Izuku’s friends sat, leaving a very conspicuous space in between them almost unconsciously. The sight made his breath catch.

 Ah. 

They noticed. An awkward moment ensued while they tried to scoot together in a way that covered all the empty spaces without it being too obvious. They also studiously avoided looking at Izuku, who was doing much of the same. Cowards. 

It takes him by surprise when he hears the explosions booming from just a few blocks away.

In this world, with heroes abound and idiots who love to gawk at them, people don’t tend to run away from danger, anymore, but instead right towards it. This time, Mikumo wills himself to follow the crowd and his wrinkling nose.

He finds an almost entrancing vision before him, quirks abound, fire licking up the sides of buildings faster than water can put it out, the raging explosions all emanating from one almost miniscule source; a teenage boy, perhaps the same age as Mikumo is, in the hold of what looks like a strong villain’s quirk.

Even that quirk, Mikumo thinks, mind racing as he absently pads through the crowd to get a closer look, is beautiful; to completely transform the human body into something else, something that the crowd cringes at the odour of, booing and hissing, is impressive, but he’s drawn to the power of explosions. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything like it – he’s seen firework quirks, and just plain fire quirks, but explosions, those… he hasn’t seen something like this.

He wants to play with it so badly that it’s almost intoxicating, and it only hits him when he hears a barely muffled scream from the boy, eyes filled with tears, that he’s a hostage, and not a villain, not a kid throwing a tantrum.

He needs help, and nobody is helping him. There are heroes all around him, but the poor boy’s quirk, in trying to defend himself, is making none of the heroes willing to step foot near him, for fear it’ll weaken their offence.

Mikumo takes a step closer, heart like ice in his chest as his eyes rove the streets. Is anybody… going to help him?

Another step.

Could he-?

No. He freezes, feet frozen like ice to the floor.

Father will be angry, father said not to-

“All Might was here?” he hears someone call out, and he freezes head darting around wildly, trying to find the number one amongst the heroes or the crowd, surreptitiously pulling his hood down over his hair, shrinking as much as he can.

The crowd bumbles and yells for All Might, and he knows that it’ll be over, soon, which means he isn’t going to have to make a difficult choice after all.

He just has to leave before All Might finds him.

 

 

Oh , Katsuki thought distantly, we’re going to see this again .

They were all there that day, huh.

There were many things he could be thinking about, like how apparently, both the villain and the hero-student were both fucking idiots who were going to run to his rescue, or how both of them looked at his quirk with the same borderline-sociapathic interest/ love.

Or that they both had zero fucking self-preservation, apparently.

He didn’t want everyone to see this, to see how weak and helpless he had been. How he’d needed the help of useless Deku because he wasn’t strong enough to beat one measly Slime fucker. 

Looking at Shigaraki hurt his head. A lot. Was this what Deku- Izuku - meant? Had Shigaraki been the other child in the car? 

How long had their parents been lying to them? How long had his life been one big cover-up? That day, when Izuku had used a quirk, is that why his head hurt? Because deep down, he knew that everything was wrong and there was someone missing? 

Mikumo.

That was the fucker’s name. Hearing it on the screen just confirmed it. 

He just hoped they sped past the Sludge Villain incident as fast as possible, because if he had to watch himself getting choked to death by literal sewage he was going to explode someone. His hands sparked just thinking about it.

Only they didn’t.

What?

Fucking hell, whoever had kidnapped them had either drugged them to the gills full of quirk suppressants or had made the walls of the shit that was in police cuffs. 

He growled, “Hobo-Sensei, our quirks aren’t working.”

Never had he managed to reduce a room to such chaos with only six words. Hobo Sensei’s eyes widened and he tried to use his quirk, confirming Katsuki’s suspicions. Voices rose as people yelled and cried about not getting to use their shitty crutches.

The twins looked especially panicked. Good. They deserved some fucking panic after all the crisis they made him go through.

He was close enough to hear them.

“How are you not bleeding out?”

“Shut up, they’ll hear you.”

“I don’t care if they’ll hear me, your quirk is the only thing keeping you relatively alive right now.”

“Fine. Ugh, you’re such a mother-hen. I think it’s still there, just passively working to hold me together. Whatever this is doesn’t erase the effects of quirks on us, clearly, you haven’t had some magical Eureka moment about the past.”

“So you’re not going to die in the next hour?”

“I am not.”

“Oh, um. That’s good. Yeah. Okay.”

Wow. They were fucking awkward even with each other. He suppressed a grin, then remembered what they were watching, and any remaining joy fizzled out on its own.

He turns on his heel to leave, and his shoulder is knocked hard by a kid with green hair and a yellow backpack, but he doesn’t wait around to shoot the boy a glare.

“Oh my bad. Sorry.”

“That was you?”

All Mikumo has to do is leave.

Kurogiri has it pulled up on the news as soon as he steps foot back in the bar, shoving off his hood and staring at the coverage.

“All Might,” Tenko seethes, curling his upper lip. “Soon he won’t be a problem, isn’t that right?”

At the sight of Shigaraki Tomura, many shoulders, that had unconsciously relaxed, tensed. A few of the students flinched, seeing him up so close.

“Right,” Mikumo ducks his head, tucking his chin into his chest as he slides into a stool, watching the news until it passes onto something different, some other sob story that he doesn’t care about.

The boy was okay. All Might had intervened – rescuing both the explosive boy, and another kid who apparently got in the way of the heroes, but both safe.

He doesn’t sleep well, that night, and he tries to blame it on the cold still sitting on his chest.

But he can’t. He could have helped.

Mikumo could have done something.

Quirk nullifier, localised oxygen deprivation to prevent the explosions, hell, even Tenko’s quirk could have come in useful.

And Mikumo hadn’t done it.

He sits up sharply, thrusting his hands over his ears, trying to shake off the way his head pounds, but it won’t let him go.

You could have done something, it hisses. You could have done something if you weren’t a coward.

All Might may have saved the day eventually, but if Mikumo had gotten mixed up in it, he’d be dead, his father had promised that years ago. All Might knows his face, knows his name, there’s no force on earth that would let him live if All Might and Mikumo ever crossed paths.

Not getting involved was the right thing to do.

The boy survived.

It’s fine.

But, he knows, bitten fingernails gouging into his scalp. Someone else did something, too. Before All Might got there. That means you could have done something.

The knowledge burns. It makes him hungry for something that isn’t food, that can’t be given, can’t be taken. He glances at the bottles of his medication that litter his desk.

It’s the only thing that stops him from leaving, knowing how dire it got in Iwaki, how close Stendhal was to dumping him at a hospital and just leaving him there. The only taste of freedom he’d ever truly had, and he can’t even keep it.

“What happened in Iwaki?”

“I -uh- I ran away, and Stendhal found me. He thought I could use some training. Called me a ‘useless pampered prince with too much trauma and too little common sense.”

A pause. 

“..pfft. That actually describes you.”

“Shut up”

There must be another way, Mikumo resolves, unsteady hands fisting into his bedsheet. He’ll find a way.

 The theatre was silent as they all tried to absorb what they’d seen and reconcile ‘Yami the villain’ with ‘Mikumo’,  a child who was wracked with guilt for not saving a stranger, even though the heroes had been there, not doing their job. 

After a while, Izuku spoke. “You feel really guilty about that huh? Kacchan was fine. I saved him. It isn’t your job to save everyone, Mikumo. Remember, you can’t save everyone . ”

Mikumo glared at him uncomfortably. His idiot twin was an idiot who needed to shut up like, yesterday. It was probably his fault they were all stuck here anyway. And what a hypocrite! There’s no need to feel guilty, Mikumo, as if Izuku wasn’t so overcome with his own guilt and feelings of uselessness that he had been sneaking out for years to take out his own anger on petty criminals. 

“It wasn’t yours either, but that didn’t stop you, huh?”

A glance around showed that most of their unwelcome guests thought he was talking about the Sludge Villain incident. Izuku, on the other hand, understood him perfectly well. Bitch. They both may need therapy, but at least he wasn’t the one with a reputation. He tried to convey the general sense of ‘ I am worried about you beating up men twice your size but I will also mock you relentlessly about it’ through his gaze. Maybe it would work if he just concentrated hard enough on knocking some sense into his idiot.

 One of the brats, Kaminari, if he wasn’t mistaken, interrupted the staring contest they’d found themselves in.

“Uhh, who’s Stendhal?”

Four voices replied in unison, “Stain.” 

It was the rat-thing, Aizawa, Mikumo himself, and surprisingly, Izuku. Damn, he kept forgetting his twin wasn’t actually clueless, just very bad at keeping his nose out of people’s business. Still. He was an idiot. 

Over the next few months, Mikumo trains harder than he had in Iwaki, even at the risk of pushing his body too far; Kurogiri keeps feeding him bigger and bigger meals, trying to at least get him to put on some weight, or even to maintain it, but his body just isn’t built for it. Still, he needs to practice his quirk, hone it, knowing that when the opportunity eventually comes, and it will come, he must seize it at whatever cost to himself or to his father.

Especially at the cost to his father, he thinks, swallowing roughly as he stares at the clock and freezes it. The seconds hand stops ticking, and his heart keeps beating. The fly buzzing against his wall stops in mid-air, and he just lets the world hang for a blissful moment.

There’s still noise in the distance, traffic, sirens, the average noises of the city, but this little block, this building around him is frozen as if in a little pocket of his own creation, just for him.

It’s the easiest quirk he has mastered; he doesn’t know why it comes so easily, and he has no reason for it being that way, it’s just his favourite. It’s like a warm breath of fresh air when he can hear Tenko’s footsteps and he knows all he needs to do is breathe and it will cease, and he will have a few blissful moments of peace before the earth snaps back into place.

It’s easy, and it’s beautiful, and it rarely makes him unwell.

Other quirks aren’t quite so pleasant, but that’s what he must train.

He’s heard his father and Kurogiri arranging their plans, and he knows that in a few days he and Tenko will have to start rounding up troops.

Tenko will, at the very least; Kurogiri has advocated that he shouldn’t, given his condition, and his father hasn’t yet overruled him. Perhaps he’s too much of a flight risk, given his time, and company, in Iwaki; he’s almost made a name for himself, though Yami is nothing in comparison to the name that even their allies fear speaking.

He’ll be ready, he thinks, by the time their plans come to fruition. He’s stockpiling the medication beneath his bed, taking it only every other day when he can, saving as much as possible so that when the time finally comes, he can take it with him and run, having no need to come back again, long enough to find someone who can help.

Toshinori tried to look away. He really did. But right there, on that screen, Mikumo was the perfect mirror of his boy. That relentless drive, through pain and hardship and sickness. That obsessive love for quirks. Come to think of it, this ‘training montage’ would have happened at the exact same time as Izuku’s own training. He was getting really sick of all the parallels drawn between the boys, and they'd only been here for half an hour at max. 

Except.

Except this child could use multiple quirks. This child had All for One, or some variation of it. Was this ‘father’ All For One himself or some other villain who got lucky with their kidnapping victim? How did Mikumo even become a villain?

The time finally comes.

He slips into a Yuuei gym uniform, design ripped straight from last year’s festival, and knows that he can hide away, he can make his eyes big and innocent, he can cry and beg, he can pretend that he was just some boy in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If he’s lucky, they might mistake him for some Business or General Education student, someone who got pulled in from campus by Kurogiri’s quirk.

He hopes it’ll be that simple. All he needs is an out.

Even Mikumo knows this plan is as far-fetched as it is idiotic; if All Might is weakened by the battle with his father, then he hasn’t shown it. There’s no chance he’s so weak that Tenko or the Nomu could kill him. It’s not possible.

So Mikumo slips through Kurogiri’s warp gate and tucks himself into a hidden corner, watching intently as Eraserhead tries to take on an army.

It’s a nice enough quirk, Mikumo thinks, admiring from a far; simple, but effective. It could be more effective, though. What makes it so deadly is Eraserhead’s technique.

A warp portal opens not far from him. Mikumo cusses under his breath and presses himself further into the shadows. His ploy is only going to work if he’s stumbled onto by accident, and he just needs to hide from both the villains and whatever students Kurogiri has thrown in his direction.

Explosions rattle the ground at his feet, followed by angry yelling, gleeful whooping, and Mikumo resists the urge to glance around the wall and watch the quirks in action. This might be his best opportunity, but he can’t waste it just because he was curious-

“Midoriya?”

It would be funny, the way not a single person was breathing, if it wasn’t so fucking sad. 

For most of the students present there, the USJ had been their first and only actual encounter with villains, brutal and bloody in the way the media never showed. Even now, they were frozen, staring at the carnage and their own terrified selves. 

Seasoned pro-heroes, used to coming home bruised to high hell, flinched at the sight. The USJ marked their first failure as teachers, infinitely more important than any failure as Heroes. They’d failed to protect the children under their care, save children they’d promised would be safe till it was their chance to shine, to go out and protect and save. 

Nedzu sighed. Watching this only reaffirmed what he’d been trying to convince the Board for years. The Sports Festival was a huge security risk. It should really be banned to the public because right there they were broadcasting the weaknesses of future Pro-Heroes, and more importantly children , to the whole world. If it wasn’t for the control the  Board had and the funding the Festival gave, he would have restricted the festival to Pro-Heroes and screened agencies in a heartbeat. 

Iida broke the uneasy silence that had pervaded the room. 

“I strongly suggest we all sit down, as this scene will be hard on all of us. Is there anyone who feels as though they will not be able to watch it? Um. There isn’t much we can do about that, but perhaps we can help each other through it and prepare for any unpleasant surprises.”

Tsu got up and grabbed a pillow. She walked over to Izuku, who looked bewildered to be acknowledged by any of his peers.

She stared at him.

“I don’t know whether you really are a traitor, but at the USJ you tried to save me. Thank you for that. I don’t think I ever thanked you for it, did I?”

Izuku, overcome with emotion, only mutely shook his head.

“Well, then. Thank you.”

Mikumo stiffens. Shit. Is someone this way? I didn’t see-

“Midoriya, dude, I can see you! It’s okay, man, it’s just us!” the voice comes again, and Mikumo turns towards it, baffled to find a red-head skulking towards where he’s hiding in the shadows. He paints on his best innocent, confused look. The red head is waving at him, looking almost relieved to see him.

“I really thought it was Mido-bro.”

“Thank god – that mist-guy spread us over the facility! Bakugou and I took care of a couple low level thugs, you’re probably smart to try to hide, what with your quirk the way it is.”

“I…” Mikumo pretends to stammer, shaking his head. Internally, though, he wonders what the hell this kid is doing.

I’m not using a disguise or illusion quirk, though one would probably have been smart, so why does this kid pretend to know me? Maybe he’s just… stupid.

The room was tense. Mikumo winced. He didn’t mean to say that. It wasn’t his fault this stupid thing showed his thoughts.

Evidently, Bakugo didn’t agree, as with a yell of “What the fuck did you just say, you piece of shit?”, the blond tried to throttle him. Well. Failed to. He just banged against the glass and scared the shit out of Mikumo. 

Or maybe it’s a trap. His heart clenches, and he wonders if this is his father’s doing, a failsafe he had never even considered.

“Hey, Bakugou! I found Midoriya!”

An angry yell. “Tell the bastard to stay out of my way!”

Mikumo tilts his head, hearing powerful explosions, following the noise to an airborne blond, one who looks intent on taking down the last villain left standing.

His quirk is stunning and familiar.

It’s when he glances at Mikumo with angry red eyes that Mikumo recognises him as the boy from a year ago, the one that All Might had saved.

It’s him.

(The heroes almost refused to save him, Mikumo thinks, eyes wide, staring at the blond, Bakugou, so he’s going to save himself)

Something about his plan had been miscalculated, and his mind races, trying to find out where, figure out why, but the red head doesn’t bat an eyelid, and neither does the blond as he stomps over, lip curling .

 

Bakugo was getting really fucking sick of these fucking awkward silences. Everyone was staring at him. 

“Shut the fuck up. I’ve wanted to be a hero since I was born. Ask Deku.”

All the eyes swivelled to Deku. Creepy. He just nodded mutely.

Transparent broke in, “Is it just me, or is it kind of messed up that he thought his father would trap him as a failsafe?”

He was glad that the attention was off him and onto that fucker. Ha, Mikumo looked as uncomfortable as he had a few seconds ago. Payback for that psycho-analysis shit.

“Stay out of my way,” the blond snarls, nostrils flaring. Mikumo’s lips thin, eyes narrowing in fury.

“I’m not even in your way, asshole,” he spits back, shoulder-checking him as he wanders closer to the pavilion. “Look, we need to hide. The villains-”

“You’re a coward all of a sudden?” Bakugou spits.

“The real Deku would never back down from a chance to get beaten up. Fucking masochist.”

Izuku spluttered as his former classmates laughed and his twin smirked at him. He was not a masochist, thank you very much. 

“Coward, or clever?” he challenges, stepping forward, and the other boy just blinks at him, as if surprised, eyes narrowing.

“Deku would also never blatantly do that.”

Wrong move, Mikumo supposes, but all of this is wrong, wrong, wrong, nobody should know this face, nobody but All Might-

“I’m going to the centre of the action.” He growls under his breath, turning to the red head. “Either come with me or babysit Deku, just stay out of my way.”

“We’re coming,” the red head decides for them both, giving Mikumo a firm nod, and Mikumo really wishes he’d chosen his hiding place just a little better.

And, he thinks quietly, he wants to know why Deku just sounds so familiar.

“It’s familiar because that’s what I used to call him back then, dumbass. You were probably there the whole time.”

“..Kacchan?”

“...what the fuck did you just call me?”

“That’s what I used to call you right? Kacchan?”

“That’s what I called him, at least. Still do.”

Bakugo grumbled something unintelligible, but it was pretty clear to everyone that he didn’t exactly mind being called ‘Kacchan’ by both the twins because deep, deep down, he was a softie.

“They’re in the pavilion,” Mikumo says, pointing in the direction of Eraserhead. “He looks like he could use backup.”

Bakugou’s grin is menacing and wild, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, yeah, I can handle that, no problem.”

They make a beeline for the centre, the three of them, and Mikumo’s racing heart just makes guilt pump through his body like blood. Is he leading them to their deaths? Tenko will surely want to kill them, right?

But where is All Might? He’s supposed to be here, if he were here-

They get close enough for Mikumo to see Eraserhead beneath the crouching Nomu, powerless to stop as Tenko’s outstretched hand as it lands on a girl’s face, her eyes wide with shock.

Ashido walked over to Tsu and sat down next to her, offering her arms out for a hug which the poor girl took gratefully. It was probably terrifying watching yourself get almost turned to dust. 

 But she doesn’t disintegrate, and the red-head and the blond run even faster towards them, and Mikumo lingers only to watch closely, so close that he’s the first to see another fist, a third raised by another student, green hair all he registers as it looks like he gears up for a killing blow, and sure, he wants to get out, but he doesn’t want Tenko dead, he doesn’t deserve that, does he?

“Were you really going to kill him?”

“...no?”

“Why was that so unconvincing?”

“He was trying to kill Tsu, okay? I think that warrants slightly more extreme action.”

“Why do you know how to throw a killing punch?”

Aizawa looked up from where he was slumped in the corner, immensely interested in the answer. When did he get there? Thankfully, the movie played before Izuku was forced to make up a convincing lie. 

He’s across the pavilion in the blink of an eye (what a waste what a waste what a waste-), even before the Nomu can take Tenko’s place, and his hand is faster than the other boy’s, wrapping securely around his wrist and twisting, slamming him over the shoulder in one fell swoop and sprawling onto the ground, rolling out of the momentum himself and jumping back to his feet, hands raised, ready to fight again, but-

But there’s –

That’s –

That’s him, isn’t it?

The other boy is getting to his feet at the same time, but the snarl on his lips falls almost as quickly as Mikumo’s does, into something much more harrowing.

Something that might just be the perfect mirror image of his own expression.

“Oh my God,” the other boy says, taking a half step back, almost involuntary. “Wh-”

“What are you?” Mikumo demands, shakier than he intended, stepping forward threateningly. “What is this?”

It feels as though the whole field has silenced but for the roaring heartbeat that might be his own, thundering against his chest, body shaking with cold.

Even Tenko is uncharacteristically silent, the Nomu still perched over Eraserhead. That much blood, he thinks, almost an afterthought, he’ll probably die.

The other boy doesn’t move, just staring at him like he’s crazy. The students in the water don’t move either, their gazes darting between the two as though it were a game of tennis.

“What,” Tenko finally interrupts when the silence stretches on for too long. “Do you think you’re doing?”

“This isn’t me,” Mikumo snarls back. The other kid looks even more baffled.

Midoriya, Mikumo finally clocks, the kid’s name must be Midoriya. They didn’t mistake me for anyone, I’m his spitting image. 

The door slams open, and All Might is here.

 

Did hero brats just love sitting in silence?

“Oh my god, that was so tense.”

“Shut up Kaminari.”

Uraraka spoke before Kaminari could, “So you really didn’t know?”

Mikumo looked at Izuku. Thought back to that day. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn’t had a chance to process any of it, but he was pretty sure he had thought Izuku was a construct of one of his quirks or a trick from his father, something to trip him at the last second so that he would come home defeated and his father could be appropriately sympathetic and gloating. It did seem like his style.

Izuku spoke, "I thought maybe one of the villains had a quirk that could let them mimic people, for infiltration y'know?"

Mikumo did know. Toga had a quirk that could let her mimic people's appearances. Still, he wasn’t going to rat her out to the heroes, not after everything they’d done to her already. He kept his mouth shut. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s relieved or not, because surely, surely All Might’s arrival means their demise, but this boy before him, with a face he knows so well from years of looking in the mirror, must have seen All Might before, All Might must know his face to be one of his teachers, and yet he’s still alive, how can he know – how can he-

All Might moves quickly, quicker than Mikumo’s sluggish gaze where it rests on the other boy, Midoriya, and before he can even register it, Midoriya has moved out of harm’s way, and then so have the other students, and then so has Eraserhead, and then –

The air escapes his lungs, and he panics, panics-

“Stay down,” All Might says sternly, and he’s talking to Mikumo. “This isn’t your fight, my boy.”

 

Izuku didn’t think he’d ever get used to that. The number one hero calling him “my boy” and looking at him with such obvious care and affection, even in the midst of an actual villain attack. It made him feel kind of warm and fuzzy and like he wanted to hurtle toward the man and give him the tightest hug he could. If only he wasn't considered a traitor now. He'd do anything for another hug.

Fear floods him, head to toe, and he watches, stares, because All Might didn’t recognise me, he doesn’t know me, he thinks I’m Midoriya, he thinks the boy put himself back in the fight after All Might removed him, he thinks, he thinks-

He looks sharply to his right, eyes wide and watery, mouth handing low in shock, only to find Midoriya’s expression the perfect mirror.

The other two students don’t know which one of them is… theirs.

“What’s happening, ribbit?” the girl says, as though she hadn’t almost lost her life a moment ago.

“Honestly kero? I was trying my best not to break down or hyperventilate.”

Midoriya, the other boy, swallows, but Mikumo is the first to speak.

“I don’t know,” but Midoriya’s comes out the same time, and they scramble away from one another, almost in time, entirely oblivious to the battle raging behind them.

“Oooh, the plot McThickens TM. .”

‘How did you verbally say that. What the fuck.”

“You’re with the villains,” Midoriya says immediately, lips twisting. “This – this is a quirk, right? You – you look like me, but you’re not me, that – that’s what this is, right? But why me?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Mikumo snaps, shaky, gaunt. “You’re the one doing this, you’re the one who-”

“You guys can fight all you want,” the short purple kid says. “I’m making a run for it!”

 

“Ugh. Mineta, if you don’t want to be a hero, why are you even here?”

“Hey! I want to be a hero! Just not in my first year of high school with no training or support! That’s just called ‘wanting to die’!”

“He’s got a point, y’know.”

“Ugh. When Mineta of all people is right, you know something is seriously wrong.”

“We’ll take Mr. Aizawa with us,” the girl says pointedly, and together they drag their practically dead teacher away.

Midoriya doesn’t move.

Neither does Mikumo.

All Might’s fight rages behind him, against the Nomu, but neither of them can even look towards it, staring only at each other.

“This is a trick,” Mikumo finally whispers. “My father put you up to this, didn’t he? Show yourself, your real self-”

“What are you talking about?!” Midoriya demands, climbing to his feet, looking anxiously after his injured teacher and then to All Might. “You’re the villain! You’re the one who’s – who’s fighting with them! Is this a trap for me? Is that it?”

“Why would a congregation of villains set a trap for you, huh?”

“Shut up. You know why I thought that.”

Mikumo glares at him, offended. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, whatever you are!”

“Ouch. Not even a ‘who’. I’ve been reduced to a ‘what’. Rude. ”

There’s a loud bang behind them, and they’re both knocked over by the force of All Might’s final swing, and he’s sure, he’s so sure that he was right, that All Might has won, and the smoke clears, and he hasn’t.

 

He steps forward, towards All Might, wondering if he can help, but he’s tackled to the ground by Midoriya throwing quite a shoddy punch -

“Hey!”

-by Mikumo’s standards. Still, it cracks against his cheek painfully, and he’s just glad it missed his nose. He pushes back against Midoriya, throwing his own punch and making sure it connects to his nose, taking grim pride in the crack it makes when blood spews down his cheek. It only riles the other kid up, twisting Mikumo’s arm and flipping him onto his front, knee in the small of his back and tugging painfully at his wrist.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Mikumo all but yells, looking back over to All Might. “He needs-”

Ice crawls across the Nomu, and All Might sees it the same time the rest of them do, snapping off Nomu’s arm, and freeing himself of his position, just as the blond, Bakugou, and the red head from earlier slam into Kurogiri, both grinning wide and feral.

“Midoriya, there you are, man, we were wondering where you –”

The red head pauses. Mikumo stops struggling for a second to look towards him, all eyes falling on them once again, Tenko, the two boys from before, a new one with half white, half red hair.

Even All Might.

“Uh,” the red-head’s eyes squint. “Please tell me someone else is seeing this?”

“I was really confused! I though maybe I’d gotten a concussion or been hit by a villain's quirk because there were two Mido-bros!”

“It’s a trick,” Mikumo snarls, driving his head into Midoriya’s chin, and making the boy wince, but he doesn’t let up; he’s physically stronger than Mikumo is, but that’s not entirely a problem; he flickers, moving himself only a fraction, for just long enough to make the other boy lose his grasp, and then he flips them, so his elbow is at Midoriya’s throat, caging his legs with his own. “This is a – a trick!”

“Stop messing around!” Tenko snarls, furious. “This is already not going according to plan, stop making things even more complicated and quit your shit already!”

“I’m not doing this!” Mikumo insists, and Midoriya struggles beneath him, hands reaching up to gouge at his forearm.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up!”

“Aw, you guys really do sound like siblings.”

All Might moves so quick that he doesn’t see it, separating the two of them to far corners of the pavilion, before returning to the centre, to the assault on the Nomu.

“This can wait,” All Might snarls. “Justice can’t.”

Someone snorted at the cheesy line . 

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Mikumo retorts, and glances back around, picking a point far away, and flickers away, quirk activating and pulling him halfway across the USJ before anyone can even try to stop him, and this time he makes damn sure to hide.

The rest of the fight unfolds before him, and he watches it all, peeking behind debris where he knows, knows nobody can see him.

When All Might finishes with the Nomu, the hole in the ceiling letting through an array of sunlight and fresh air, he turns to Tenko.

He can’t hear the exchange, not from here, but the body language is clear.

Leave, or I will make you.

The funny thing is though, Mikumo thinks, tilting his head ever so slightly, why would he give them a chance to run?

He’s All Might.

He doesn’t need to let them run.

 

The teachers tensed. This was getting into dangerous territory, like ‘National Secret” territory. Still, there wasn’t much they could do except impress upon their students the importance of secrecy.

Yagi cleared his throat and looked at the children, all of whom were looking at him with confusion. 

“There are going to be a lot of secrets revealed soon, and important ones at that. Remember, it is the choice of the people involved whether they want to clarify or share anything with you. And more importantly, some of these secrets are dangerous. Can you promise me, all of you, that you will guard them with your lives?”

After a hesitant second, there came a chorus of affirmations and nods. Good. He settled back into his sofa. 

Midoriya, who now shows himself to be an idiot, darts forward when Tenko seethes, reaching out with his own outstretched hand to kill All Might, and he puts himself between the hero and Tenko. Mikumo’s breath is sharp, and he inches forward, to do something, anything, get back down there, do something –

When there’s a gunshot.

And another, and another, and Midoriya falls to the ground, and he can hear Tenko’s anguished howl before he disappears into Kurogiri’s warp gates.

 

“ Were you shot??”

“Nah, I was fine.”

Amid the smoke and debris, All Might stands, victorious, but-

He is half the size, Mikumo realises, eyes widening as he steps even further into the shadow, watching very, very closely. He’s small, he isn’t strong, he’s – he’s emaciated.

 

Father was right.

“WHAT?” “wHAT?!” “What the fuck?”

Through every head in that goddamn theatre, the only thoughts were either a constant litany of “ whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck ” or a succinct “Shit.”. The students just found out that their idol, the Symbol Of Peace, the almightly, the unequalled, the transcendent All Might, was sick or hurt. 

And the teachers? Well, they just found out that Mr. Big Bad knew about All Might’s injury, and probably fully planned on exploiting it. ‘Shit’ indeed. 

And Midoriya – Midoriya doesn’t look surprised, only panicked, until a wall cuts All Might off from the other students, and both slump, either in pain, or relief.

“Deku-kun knew?!”

Midoriya looks around, again, as if searching for something, blood drying dark against his lips from where Mikumo made contact, but he stays laying on the ground, legs looking mangled, and… broken.

His legs were broken.

Mikumo cocks his head. How did Midoriya break his legs?

The jump. It had to be.

His quirk… broke his legs?

 

“Midoriya does like breaking his bones, mes amis.”

That doesn’t make sense. Quirks are rarely dangerous to the user…

 

“Unless you have Midoriya blood”, the subject of the scrutiny muttered, and his twin snorted in agreement.

And his face doesn’t falter, not even for a second. If he is someone else beneath Mikumo’s face, he doesn’t show it.

Which means that now, irritably, Mikumo has to go home. He has to speak to his father, he has to know more about the boy who stole Mikumo’s face, and he has to know how.

 

The screen went black.

Chapter Text

The heroes and Detective Tsukauchi (who’d spent weeks scouring the internet and the streets for any hint of the League) leaned forward eagerly. If Mikumo was going to speak to his father, they would finally get a look at who their unseen orchestrator was. You know, Mr. Big Bad, the one behind the scenes, the puppeteer stringing them all along?

 

Mikumo takes the long way back to the bar, and slams the door open as hard as he dares, hissing.

“So it’s a bar, in a 100-kilometer radius of UA.”

“100 kilometres? How on earth does that narrow it down?”

“They have a warper, Shoji, it wasn’t outlandish that their base was out of Japan altogether.”

 

“You assholes left me behind! Are you fucking stupid? What if I’d been caught?”

“We hoped you were,” Tenko snaps back at him, and Mikumo glares at him. “Not our fault you were having play time with that brat. What did you even think you were doing, trying a trick like that?”

“I told you, that wasn’t me! Whatever that thing was, I didn’t do it! All I did was stop it from killing you, so you’re welcome, by the way!”

“‘Thing?’ Ouch. I’m truly hurt. And here I thought you actually tolerated me.”

“Do shut up, my dearest twin, before I become an only child.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” Tenko demands, flexing his fingers and wincing; Mikumo registers that Kurogiri is bandaging Tenko’s injured shoulder. “You’ve been behaving like a shit ever since you got back from Iwaki. I figured that your dear father would have taught you your lesson, but if you just wanted the attention, you can fuck off back.”

“Tomura,” Kurogiri says warningly, and Tenko grimaces, looking away.

“Shigaraki is kind of an asshole, isn’t he? I mean, besides the whole mass-murdering thing. Also surprisingly childish. And listens to Kurogiri.”

Mikumo glanced at Grape-Head. Mineta? Whatever, the weird diaper kid, and answered, “Yeah, Kurogiri pretty much raised us both.”

“Dadgiri for the win!”

“Shut up Kaminari.”

Yeah, attention,” Mikumo spits, ignoring the white-hot rage bubbling in his gut. “I loved the attention of my own fucking clone, are you goddamn stupid? I need to speak to my father. It must be of his doing, has to be.”

“ Your dad can make clones? That’s so cool bro!”

“Kirishima you dumbass, I don’t think his dad uses the clones for anything good. The USJ Noumu was probably a failed clone or something.”

“We have more important problems than your stupid pranks,” Tenko snarls. “Like how our intel was wrong about All Might. He’s not weak at all.”

“Of course he isn’t, he’s All Might,” Mikumo bold-faced lies, willing himself to forget the image of the number one hero as thin as a scarecrow. “Now call my father, this isn’t any less important – I have to know if this is his doing.”

“Your father is very busy, Mikumo. He isn’t at your beck and call.”

“This isn’t my beck and call, Kurogiri, this is about finding out why there is another thing out there with my face!”

He stops, finding his heart to be pounding in his chest and he hates the feeling of it crawling up his throat, whole body trembling with the urge to throw something, to burn something.

“Did he clone me?” he asks quietly, finding that he can’t look anyone in the eye. “Is that it? Did – did he make another of me to – to experiment and discard? Or – or is it some trick of his, some test, something for-”

“Mikumo.”

 

There were some mutters and heavy looks passed at what the on-screen MIkumo said, but he couldn’t care enough to listen. He had something more important to see.

He glanced over at Izuku, gauging his reaction carefully.

It was worse than he had expected. He had expected hysteria, confusion, maybe some denial. Planned for them, even.

But Izuku's face was carefully blank in an all too familiar way. It made something in him curl up and anticipate pain-punishment-hurt .

It wasn't hard to see the resemblance.

When Izuku spoke, it was with the stilted, formal accent his father had instilled in him. His twin spoke with a quiet rage, something bubbling under the surface, deadly and sharp.

"Mikumo."

Mikumo had to bite his tongue to keep back the instinctual 'Yes Father?'.

"Yeah?"

"That's Father, isn't it? I remember him."

"Yeah. What do you remember?

"Not much, just the day he took you."

The day they were separated? That was nothing much? On the contrary, it was everything. But one look at Izuku's face let him know he wasn't going to get any information. If there was one thing his years with Father had taught him, it was how to tread carefully around volatile family members.

It took more effort than he was used to, but he managed to tear his eyes away. It was clearly something that enraged Izuku. Best not to provoke him.

His trembling ceases. “Father,” he looks toward the monitor, but his father isn’t there, only the audio feeding through. “Father, did you hear – what of-”

“I thought I taught you to have a better control of yourself,” his father chastises, and Mikumo flinches, looking away as though his father were standing tall before him. “Is this the manner we have taught you to hold yourself?”

 

“Oh that bastard ,” Izuku hissed, like he already knew how this was going to go.

“No, but –”

“Then you should control your temper. Our plans depend on it.”

“They could be ruined by the boy!” Mikumo says, before he realises what he’s doing, and his fingernails gouge into his forearms. His father is silent, a cue to continue. “The other one, the one that looks… that looks like me. Kurogiri told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

It feels like judgement, it feels like rage, and Mikumo can only cringe away from his father’s voice.

(this is why he should have just left, should have gone anyway, left it behind, never explored, never questioned, just run, like the plan all along-)

“Was – was it, was it your doing, was it the doctor, was-”

“Don’t be foolish enough to use that tone with me, boy.”

“Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up , you manipulative, rotten excuse for a human being.”

Dead silence.

Nobody knew how to react to this version of Izuku, vicious and feral. Full of so much hate. Even when they had declared him a traitor, he had not been this angry.

Toshinori, on the other hand, was halfway to a heart attack. 

The blood pounded in his ears. His heart thudded in his chest. His hands shook. His vision distorted, as if he were looking through a fish-eye lens.

That voice had plagued his nightmares for decades. 

His mortal enemy was clutching his throat, the right vice stopping him from breathing. The powerful, shadowed figure loomed over him with a grin that gleamed like knives.

All For One was alive, and he was Young Izuku's Father.

He took a deep breath.  Another. 

He watched on.

Mikumo freezes, eyes darting over to Kurogiri and Tenko. Neither are looking at him, staring down at the bar. He stammers a response.

“I… I’m sorry, father.”

“Good. Remember your place, child. And remember that you are the only reason that you are here. Oh, but my dear child… you wouldn’t remember that, would you?” Mikumo presses his back to the wall and slides down in response, burying his head in his hands. “You were so precocious when you first manifested your quirk. This may have even been your doing, child. I found you so long after the fact that you had no idea what you’d done.”

“But…” he stammers, quiet, so quiet, talking to his hands. “I – I don’t remember that. My quirk can’t have… could it – could it have been…”

“You know your quirk is unwieldy. I’ve done what I can for you, but when you fight me on everything, boy, then I can’t offer you any more help.”

“But – no, it can’t have been me,” he tries to insist, forcing down tears. Father hates tears. “His quirk, it – it wasn’t like me, it wasn’t like mine, he just – he just looked like me.”

Silence falls, hanging over them for so long that Mikumo lifts his shaky gaze, waiting with bated breath for his father’s final word.

It was horrible. Stifling and unbearable, the weight of an audience staring in frozen horror and morbid fascination at Mikumo having a breakdown on screen.  He wanted to scream, wanted to shout his throat raw that this wasn’t a show and he wasn’t an actor, snap at them till they looked away, but wasn’t that what they were all here for? To pry into their lives and dissect them, extracting what useful information they could and leaving him and Izuku bare with their secrets for all to see.

Earjack Girl - was her name Jirou?- broke in, “What the fuck?”

The girl next to her, Creation Girl - which was such a versatile and overpowered quirk what the fuck how was it even possible (not like he had any room to speak) - added on, a heartbroken look on her face, “I-is this what villains are like?”

No, villains were not like that. They were not as weak and pathetic as him, crying over the littlest of things that were probably their fault in the first place. Father was just showing him his place, and shedding light on something important. Anyways, what the fuck did she know? If he wasn’t locked in a glass box, Mkmo would have punched one of the “Heroes” by now, just to get that stupid vapid pitying look on their faces. He deserved their rage much more.

“What was the other’s quirk?” he asks, after an eternity. He trembles.

“I – I didn’t get a good look. But – but I think it’s some kind of strength quirk.”

A pause. “Then what convinces you it isn’t your own doing?”

“His – his legs, they broke,” it sounds so silly to say it aloud. “M-my quirks, they don’t do that to me. I’m stronger than that.”

"It’s not silly, that’s actually a really good observation."

It’s the only part of him he can take pride in, now. They may make him sick, but they don’t break him.

With only one very notable exception.

“And he tried to take a hit for All Might,” Tenko seethes.

“I see,” father says, something like amusement touching his tone. “Kurogiri, is this true?”

“Yes, master.” The mist inclines, a half nod. “The boy was equally as surprised as Mikumo was. Other students were not surprised by his presence. He is at least a part of their class.”

“How exciting… this may work far, far better than we had planned. In fact, Kurogiri, when you are done here, come to me. We have much to discuss of our plans moving forward.”

“Certainly,” Kurogiri intones. “If I may ask for the doctor to look over Tomura’s wounds-”

“I don’t need that bastard,” Tenko snarls, and it is one of the rare sentiments that Mikumo agrees with wholeheartedly.

"Who’s the doctor?"

"No one you need to concern yourself with."

He’s distracted, though, barely even listening, sliding into the corner of the room furthest from the screen and curling into a small ball, putting his head in his hands, and willing himself to remember what he’s done. He wills himself to remember what he must have done all those years ago, if he ever split himself apart when he was trying to get to grips with his quirk, and even now he has no control over it.

It controls him.

He shudders, cold, and his nails rake his arms up and down, trying to recall the face that he sees each morning, and wondering why it had to be that face.

(It is worth noting that a quirk hurting its user is nearly unheard of. They are meant to aid and protect. In this too, the Midoriya Twins seem to be outliers. Both analytical geniuses, able to dissect any quirk down to its basics with a quick glance. Yet both with quirks they cannot control, that control them and hurt . Almost like a balance has been created, push and pull, give and take.)

When master summons him, Kurogiri goes without complaint; it is his duty, and he does as his master bids, no matter what he asks. This time, his Master, though his eyes are long gone, stares curiously at the USJ article on the screen.

“Ew, what the fuck is that!”

“Don’t be rude, kero. That’s Mikumo-san’s Father.”

“Wait doesn’t that mean he’s Izuku’s father too? Damn, Midori really got the good genes from his mother.”

Yagi shuddered. He’d never been less happy to be right. 

Kurogiri’s cold heart pumps on.

“You asked to see me, master.”

“I did,” Master acknowledges, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “So it is true what my youngest tells me?”

 

“Hmm. He rubs his fingers together like a stereotypical villain from those pre-quirk movies.”

Oh my god, I forgot Todoroki was here, he’s been so quiet.”

“Yes, master. There was another boy identical to him at the USJ. I thought it to be one of his own tricks, at first. He is fond of them.”

“It could still be,” master warns. “He is a troublesome boy, don’t you think?”

Kurogiri remains silent. He is certainly precocious, he thinks, but doesn’t voice it. Shigaraki Mikumo is young, younger than Tomura and with far less exposure to the world, what with his condition. His escape to Iwaki had been more time away from prying eyes than since before he was born.

“See? Dadgiri!”

“Dunce Face, shut the fuck up.”

“No no wait Bakugo, he’s right!”

“And it is also true that the other seemed to possess a quirk, Kurogiri?”

At this, the other man in the room shifts, interest piqued enough to have Kurogiri wanting to step back.

He has never liked the Doctor.

Izuku stirred from the hateful half-trance he had fallen into. He squinted at the screen. 

“Hey Kacchan, is it just me, or is that doctor kind of familiar?”

“It is, master,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing. If he had brows, he is sure they would be furrowed. “Is that a cause for concern?”

“Concern?” Master laughs. “No, certainly not. Interest, indeed, but concern?”

The silence falls, and Garaki’s beady eyes glint in the light. He says nothing, and Kurogiri is glad for it; he doesn’t think he would stomach a single word the man says today.

“Wait a second. That’s the doctor who diagnosed me quirkless!”

A few murmurs spread, but Izuku paid no attention to them. He looked expectantly at Kacchan, hoping his faulty memory hadn’t let him down again.

Kacchan frowned, “Isn’t he that guy- what’s his name -Tsubasa or some shit?”

“Wasn’t his grandson one of your lackeys? Wonder what happened to him.”

“I think this will work out far more favourably than intended, in fact, though it should never have happened at all,” All for One dismisses abruptly.

“Indeed,” Kurogiri agrees slowly. “Tomura was quite irritated that his plans were interrupted by the boy. Although, Master, if I may...?”

His master’s head tilts, but it does not turn towards him. “Go on.”

“I believe your youngest may… relish in the opportunity to handle the matter himself.” he blinks, wondering if there is something broiling in his gut with the way he squirms. “Perhaps it is best to let his curiosity run its course, especially after his recent… stint in Iwaki. He may dispatch the boy for himself. Perhaps he could even offer us a way into-”

All For One’s laugh brings only silence. “The boy is too soft for that, Kurogiri. I’ve always asked you to watch over my boys, and now more than ever we enter a crucial phase. Do not fail me now.”

Kurogiri bows his head. “Certainly, Master. Will you need anything else?”

A pause. “Did you happen to catch the boy’s name, Kurogiri?”

Kurogiri blinks. For a second, he almost lies. He doesn’t know why, nor why he doesn’t, but Kurogiri almost lies.

 

“Maybe he somewhat remembers you,” Mikumo murmured to his twin.

But his master has always seen through his lies. “Midoriya, sir. I believe his name was Midoriya.”

“Midoriya,” All for One murmurs thoughtfully. “And not quirkless. How interesting indeed… yes, if it can be done, bring the boy to me. I know what he could be capable of, and we do not want that potential realised.”

For a moment, an uneasy silence lay suspended in the air. What did it mean that All For One, the most dangerous, murderous, menacing villain they knew and would ever get to know, thought that Midoriya Izuku was a threat? That All For One thought he was too dangerous to be left alone?

They looked at him.

Izuku hadn’t noticed. To him, it was probably a given that he was dangerous, and that his father would have the foresight to treat him as more than a pest. Maybe there were some things they still didn't know about their classmate, despite the looks into his past.

“Yes, Master.”

“And send my youngest in to see me.”

“Right away.”

Kurogiri has quite the sinking feeling that young Mikumo will not enjoy the conversation with his father.

__________

“Father,” Mikumo ducks his head when he enters his father’s room, avoiding even looking in his direction with all the tubes and beeping machines Garaki uses to monitor his health, and God knows what else. “Kurogiri sent me.”

“Sit.”

He doesn’t bother finding a chair, sinking to his knees on the spot so he has even less of a reason to look in his father’s long-gone eyes.

Mikumo refused to look anyone in the eye. How could he? Right there, they could all see him kneel at his father’s feet. The subservient position left no doubts. Father owned him and made sure it was clear to anyone beholding the scene, even though everyone present already knew it. At least he wasn’t getting punished. Now that would have been humiliating.

“You are becoming unwell again,” he comments, and when Mikumo looks up, he realises he needn’t have worried. He hasn’t turned his face from his screen. “Why are you not taking your medication, Mikumo?”

“I forget sometimes,” he lies shakily, wondering why his father thinks he’s sick again – he doesn’t feel it. His father can probably tell. He probably knows exactly why Mikumo hadn’t been taking them. He knows what he was going to do, he was going to-

“What were you going to do?”, Izuku said sharply. Like this, the resemblance to his father was uncanny.

Mikumo was undettered. With a saccharine smile, he mocked Izuku, “What do you think? Use that minuscule brain of yours for once, brother mine.”

“If you don’t take it on time, you will become ill again,” his father says, gentle in a very particular way. “I wouldn’t want what happened to my dear brother to become of you, little fern.”

“Ah, the gaslighting tone,” sighed Izuku.

“The gaslighting tone?”

Todoroki nodded his agreement, “Gentle yet oddly threatening. Makes you doubt yourself.”

Uraraka grabbed his face, “Why do you know that so well? Are you okay, Todoroki-kun?”

“Of course not,” Mikumo whispers, swallowing his guilt. “I’m sorry, father. I’ll – I’ll do better.”

“Ensure you do. His death was painful and slow. Yours won’t be.”

“Implying he knows how you will die, and it won’t be a slow death. Is he going to kill you?” Izuku tilted his head at Mikumo with a wry grin. His twin returned it.

They both knew he was only keeping Mikumo around till he was no longer useful. 

He wonders when the true punishment is going to start. When his father will punish him for – for whatever he should have done to the boy who stole his face. He hasn’t even mentioned it yet, only enquiring after his health.

He hates it. He’d rather the vault so he has no reason to draw this out for longer.

“I’d like you to tell me of this… Midoriya, Mikumo.”

He wonders if the phrasing is deliberate, to make the name sound almost his, to dangle it out of reach like a cat pawing for his master’s toy.

 

Nedzu spoke up for the first time in a while, “It is.”

“There’s nothing to tell that Kurogiri hasn’t already told you.”

“I am asking you, now,” his father says sharply. “And you will tell me what I ask of you.”

He looks down again. “There’s still little to tell,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “He looks like me. That’s all. Doesn’t know how to throw a punch.”

“Liar. The bruise I left on you begs to differ.”

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

“That’s because you have a freakishly high pain tolerance, weirdo.”

“You can't speak. I saw you in the middle of the night once.”

“Shut up.”

“You fought him?”

Mikumo scowls. “Hardly. I broke his nose, I think. I’d have hurt him more, but All Might separated us. I don’t think he knew which one of us was…” his eye twitches. “It wasn’t a trick, was it, father?”

“Not one of mine,” father chuckles, rolling a tube between his thumb and forefinger. “As I told you, this must be a creation of your own. You are getting to the age now where you are offered some independence, aren’t you? You enjoyed your time in Iwaki.” He shakes his head though, sighing heavily. “It’s only too unfortunate that any longer and your illness would catch up to you. You understand that, of course. I had to punish you for it. My brother’s mistakes needn’t be yours.”

He knows that he isn’t being addressed, and he chokes down the plea that has gone unheard since he was a child.

He’s never understood how his father can’t heal him. He has an arsenal of quirks at his disposal, and not one can help.

Ojiro, ever perceptive, pointed out, “Maybe he can heal you and is just keeping it out of reach. Seems like something he would do. But he said his brother had the same thing, so maybe it’s just this one illness he can’t.”

Mikumo can’t even help himself.

“Our plans did not fail today, little fern, you see that, don’t you?”

“Yes, father,” he lies. All Might isn’t dead. That was Tenko’s goal. “I know.”

“Tomura has a goal, now. Something to work towards, to undermine the society that has made you and I the way that we are. But you, child, you don’t have that, do you?”

Mikumo stays silent.

“Your time with the vigilante in Iwaki, you enjoyed it, did you not? Exacting your own justice on the rotten criminals that heroes overlook for flashy villains?”

He shifts, not quite uncomfortable, but distressed, his chest tightening, heat rising up his neck. He hadn’t known his father… knew.

“Yes,” he admits, like a compulsion, because lying to his father is worse than admitting the truth. “Yes, father, I did.”

“You enjoyed the goal, the training, the task, having a purpose,” he sounds like he’s smiling, and Mikumo shakes. “Ten years of protecting you, keeping you under my wing, and all along I had never let you decide for yourself, little fern.”

He doesn’t dare interrupt because he doesn’t know where this is going, and father is less angry than he normally is. He had thought that the failure to kill All Might would sour his mood, but it hasn’t, not in the least.

“You only needed a task, something to do, son. So I will grant it to you.” He turns then, glancing over his shoulder, his smile wide and eerie; Mikumo hates it.

“Same.”

“Midoriya Izuku,” his lips form the name, and Mikumo can only blink at it. “You are to kill Midoriya Izuku.”

 

 

The room sat in breathless silence.

Mikumo gave a small, wry smile. Of course, his father would order him to kill his own brother. Why on earth were they so surprised?

Izuku let out a mirthless laugh, gesturing bittering at the screen. He asked his teachers and friends, “Is this who you think I sold you out to? My father? I don’t know if you can tell, but he isn’t exactly fond of loose ends like me. Prefers that they be rotting six feet below, y’know?”

“You knew his name?” is all Mikumo can breathe, and his father’s grin sharpens, turning his face toward the monitor.

It hadn’t been the news on the screen, Mikumo realises, finding the photo on the screen before him to be of – well, himself, in the uniform of a heroics student, red tie knotted awkwardly.

His school files. It must have been in the documents that Tenko had stolen just yesterday, as part of the class going to USJ, and yet he hadn’t looked.

“He is the only thing that will get in the way of our plan, Mikumo.” His father says, as though the matter is settled. “That will be your responsibility. Kill the boy, and however you created this problem, it will be resolved once it is done. Dismissed.”

Izuku inhaled sharply as a new (old?) memory unlocked itself. 

He’d been tiny, his father more behemoth than human, and that absolutely vile man had been staring down at him coldly. 

“Defective. Absolutely useless. No point in having you around, brat, should just dispose of you. Still, my little fern would miss you, and so would Inko. You’re lucky she loves pathetic little things like you. I, however, have no desire to waste my time with you. Dismissed.”

Ah. So that’s where his self-worth problems came from. And his hatred for smarmy villains.

“But-” He stops himself when his father leans forward. “Yes, sir.”

The screen went blank.